Once again, continuing on with the revamping of the first few chapters. Since Fan has made some changes to its formatting system since the first version of this chapter was originally posted, the format for the Dart/Ragnarok mindspeak has changed.
(Ragnarok's thoughts)
/Dart's thoughts/
Hope you enjoy it.
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Dart's POV:
(Dart?)
/Nghh…/
(Dart, time to get up)
/Shut up/ Mentally I curled in on myself, wrapping myself comfortably around a rather pleasant dream that involved large amounts of food and all night in which to eat it.
(Fine. But don't blame me if your throat gets cut)
That got my attention. I stirred, opening my eyes slowly. The night before, I had taken refuge from the weather in a small cave in the lower regions of the mountain range cutting through the forest some distance from Deningrad. The entrance was partially blocked by a fallen slab of rock, and once a small fire had been lit, the cave had made a passable place to spend the night. The fire had burned itself out at some point during the night, and chill had begun to settle into the stone walls once more. Daylight streamed through the entrance, providing just enough light to enable me to see the mess I had gotten myself into while I slept.
"Hold still there now, laddie buck. Don't be trying any sudden moves on us, do y'hear?" The speaker bit down on the end of a tarry looking cigarette, breathing a puff of smoke out of the corner of his mouth as his tanned and wrinkled brow lowered over sunken eyes. In his middle-years, with a beetling brows and a beard that fell part way down his chest, he looked the sort that might be marrying off his eldest daughter, or perhaps bouncing grandchildren on his knee. Except that he was holding a long, bright lance instead of grandchildren, and that long, sharp point was tickling my adam's apple. Letting my breath out in a long sigh, I lay my head back and shut my eyes. I knew the point of that lance; it'd been pointed at my chest, or at least in my direction, more than once over the past few years.
"Hello Torric. Aren't we both getting a bit old for this sort of thing?"
"You know how it is." The voice was careless, but I caught a hint of steel embedded in it. "They've upped your bounty again, you know."
/Great. That's the last thing we need/ "Really?" I opened one eye. "I hadn't heard. What're they offering now?"
"Enough that I was able to convince a couple of other fellows that it might be worthwhile if the lot of us tracked you down and split the reward."
"What, generosity? From you?" I raised one eyebrow. "Your advancing years have changed you, old man."
A ghost of a smile hovered about his features, but I didn't miss the brief flick downward of his eyes. While his right arm held the lance steady, his left hung limply at his side, useless. A clean thrust through the shoulder in the Barrens two years ago had long since deprived him of its use. "Nice try boy, but I'm not fool enough to chase you alone anymore."
(Perhaps wisdom does come with age) Ragnarok murmured.
/Perhaps/ I replied, somewhat doubtfully, then let out a long sigh for Torric's benefit. "I suppose this is the part where I'm supposed to get quietly to my feet so that you can bind my hands and herd me back down the mountain at spear point?"
"You're getting used to this." He slid the cigarette across to the opposite side of his mouth and spat, the mess splattering on the stones next to my head.
I shrugged. "Passes the time." The spear was pulled back and I gingerly eased myself to my feet.
A young man, hardly more than a boy, scurried out of the shadows of the cave with a length of rope. Holding my hands out obligingly in front of me, I waited patiently while he fumbled with the hemp, hands shaking and his eyes flicking from his work to my face almost constantly. No sooner had he finished than he was gone, scrambling away over the rocks as he shot fearful glances back over his shoulder. One corner of my mouth twitched with amusement. Whatever stories were circulating about me, they certainly didn't seem to do anything to diminish my reputation.
Torric aimed a kick at his disgustedly as he passed. "Coward. Would you believe he was actually fighting to get me to take him on for this?"
"Youth is like that."
"Tell me about it. He's a dead-eye with a sling and stones though. I've seen him take down a hawk on the wing. All right, get moving. It's going to take the better part of the day to reach Deningrad, and we don't have enough snow runners for everyone."
"Sounds fun."
"Enjoy it while you can. You're going to be one of the ones running alongside them."
"I knew there had to be a catch somewhere."
In trying to escape the cold winter winds the night before, a good campfire had been sufficient to keep my little cave at a decent temperature. Now though, forced out through the narrow entrance onto the windswept plateau beyond, the winter chill hit me full force. Thankfully, I had long since discarded my armor for a heavy lined overcoat, albeit a rather battered one. The oilskin took the worst of the bite out of the wind though, so I was moderately comfortable. Which was more than could be said for the shivering, motley crowd of hunters crowding around the cave mouth.
I'd seen happier. Chins blue with stubble and dark, five o'clock shadows etched beneath baggy eyes, they were dressed in the assortment of furs and parkas that made up the national winter dress of Mille Seseau. Ice crystals glittered where breath had frozen on beards and fur lined hoods; the nearest of the men cupped his fur mittens over his mouth and puffed hot air into them, trying to warm his freezing nose.
"You got him tied Torric?" A swarthy, hollow-eyed man carrying a chipped war axe squinted at me against the glare of the snow. "I want my share of the bounty, but I'm not coming near him unless he's trussed like a turkey."
"He's not going to bite you Caleb. Someone get that sword off his belt; if the queen don't want it, it'll fetch a nice price on the markets."
"It's mine," one of the men, a thin, rat-like fellow hurried forward, eyes bright as they took in the sword. The scabbard was plain battered leather but even a quick glance of the hilt showed it to be the work of a master. Burnished steel cross trees stretched out a hand span from either side of the grip, the early morning sunlight catching the smooth contours of the metal. The hilt itself was a fair deal longer than what one would usually expect to find on a blade meant for single handed use, but it was wrapped well in hard black leather, stained and worn from hours of use. Twined around it was a slim length of silvered wire, gleaming wickedly in the new light. This gave the rat-like man pause; as worn as the leather was, the wire looked painfully sharp. In the end he opted to remove the sword scabbard and all, cradling it in his arms by the sheath as he carried it away without ever touching the hilt.
I smiled thinly. He would try to remove the wire once he returned to the city, but he'd sooner be able to break the blade in half. That sword was a relic from the age of winglies; the material focus of the spell that had sealed Ragnarok into the pits of the Mountain of Mortal Dragon so many thousands of years ago. He had had me retrieve it from the ruins of the crater a few months past, and since then it had proved a valuable thing; tempered by magic, the sword would have only one master. Even should someone somehow manage to steal it, so long as I carried Ragnarok within me the blade couldn't be turned against me.
A second rope halter was slid over my head and around my shoulders, pinning my arms to my sides. Taking the end of the rope, Torric led me over to his snow runner and swung up into the saddle of the shaggy, two legged-beast. Fixing the lead tightly to horn of the saddle, he gave it an experimental tug. Satisfied, he raised his voice so that the other men could hear him.
"All right, listen up ladies! We got a full day's ride back to Denningrad from here, and I don't plan on fumbling around through the woods in the dark. Ryan, take Letton with you and scout ahead of us. I don't want to be delayed because some river ice decided it was gonna start breaking up early." He paused for breath while the two he'd appointed set their heels into their mounts and started off down the mountain, their snow runners' wide feet carrying them swiftly across the hard capped snow. "The rest of you lot form up around me, and keep your eyes open." With one last suspicious glance down at me he started off at a walk, pulling on the rope to make sure I didn't fall behind.
No snow had fallen overnight, but the wind sighing out of the passes had put a crust on the top of the snow that made walking difficult for the few of us on the ground, and those who were fortunate enough to be mounted had to slow their pace to match our own. It made for slow and tiring going, but it didn't take long for the steep slope and snow to take its toll. After half an hour of grumbling about our pace and glancing up at the sun Torric finally ordered one of his men to pull me up behind their saddle and picked up the pace to a lurching trot that allowed us to make considerably better time.
The ride continued like this for much of the day, sometimes riding, sometimes walking. When we finally reached the dense tree cover of the evergreen forest they put me on foot again. The snow was only ankle deep, and I jogged along at Torric's stirrup, stretching the cramps from my time mounted out of my legs as I ran.
The sun sank lower in the sky. When at last it had disappeared behind the darkened crowns of the evergreens that gave the forest its name, I let myself fall back to the end of my tether, surreptitiously working my wrists against the stiff rope bindings. In their hurry to reach the city the hunters had more or less ignored the state of my bindings, and as the darkness deepened I slowly worked them loose, one loop at a time.
(We're getting close to the city) Ragnarok grumbled. (Can't you hurry things up a bit?)
/Hold on a minute. I'm almost done/ I peered through the semi-gloom as Torric signaled the column to halt for a quick breather. /Who has the sword?/
(It's sticking out of that heap of gear fixed behind the saddle of the runner behind us. See it?)
I glanced around. The runner was a few paces behind us, just out of reach of the tether. I'd have no problem once the halter was off, though. /Got it/ Around my wrists the last loop of the rope fell free. Gripping the cords in my hands, I twisted them tightly between my fingers so that the slack wouldn't be noticed.
One of Torric's men nudged his mount forward, walking it impatiently in a circle. He was a big man, bundled in furs to the point that all that could be seen of his face were two dark eyes, glowing like dying embers in the last rays of red-gold sunlight filtering through the tree branches. A large rusting halberd was held loosely in one hand, ready to use at any given moment. He pulled his runner to a stop in front of Torric; the beast's blunt head tossing as it champed on the chilly metal bit.
"I'm not liking this much, Torric." He said bluntly, his voice a low growl pitched to carry. "Not liking this at all. We're never going to make it back to the city by sundown at this rate."
"Really?" Torric's slow voice was heavy laden with sarcasm. "And what would you suggest, Mark? Heading back at a full gallop and risk bustin' up your mount's leg? Where'd we be then?"
Mark shifted uneasily in his saddle. "I've ridden worse grounds than this before Torric, mark my words. S'not what I'm worried about. The wolves are hungry this time of year. A little pack of runners like this, they'd look on as a welcome treat. We might get back to the city short a runner or two if we run, but if we stay out here for too long, the wolves…well, this winter isn't getting any easier, but if the number of packs are shrinking its only cause them as are left are growing. Growin' hungrier too, and more daring if you catch my meaning."
Torric considered this, leaning back against the chair-like cantle of his saddle. More than once he glanced back at me before looking away again, weighing his options. At last he nodded curtly to Mark. "All right then. You take your horse and try not to break your fool neck heading for the city. Once you get there, head straight to the palace and tell them who we've got with us. One of those Sacred Sisters is a dragoon; she'll be anxious to get her hands on him. You change mounts and bring them back this way quick as you can. We'll keep after your trail, so we should meet you somewhere along the way, got it?"
The big fur-clad man nodded, apparently satisfied. Wheeling his runner about he slapped it across the back end with the butt of his halberd and they were gone, thundering off into the woods in a spray of snow. Torric watched him go, then turned his head away and spat on the snow beside the track. "Damned fool," he growled, then raised his voice. "All right, let's not stand around all day. Move it, ladies."
(Now would be as good a time as any, Dart)
I didn't answer. Instead, as Torric's horse started forward at a trot I let the tether snap tight, pulling me forward face first into the snow. I was dragged a few feet, bumping and tossing, before Torric pulled up with a curse, grumbling about hypothermia and exhaustion. Next to me the snow crunched noisily as the runner carrying my sword passed beside me.
Opening my fingers I let the rest of my wrist bindings fall away, at the same time shoving myself to my feet and shrugging the halter loose over my head. As the man swung his mount away from me with a cry, I lunged forward, my right hand finding the long hilt of my blade and heaving on it. With a sibilant whisper it slid free from the entrapping leather, the blade harsh winter turned steel in my hand. Flexing my wrist, I drove forward at the rear of Torric's mount.
The animal screamed as my blade flashed out across the back of the leg, cutting the muscle and sending it plowing forward into the ground as I whirled away to face the other rider again, who came charging through the snow with a roar, lance extended before him. Without thinking I ducked and twisted to the side, the steel tip of the lance missing my shoulder by a hairsbreadth. Rising from the crouch I slashed upward, cutting the spear haft cleanly in two and smashing the man from the saddle as he rode past. He tumbled to the snow, unconscious, but by then I had already turned to face the third man, approaching me cautiously on foot.
Anyone with half a brain in their head will warn you against ever taking on more than one man in a fight. Anything beyond this and the odds are against your favor and in truth running becomes the best option. But when there's no opportunity to run, tactics would dictate forcing your opponents to face you one at a time, if possible. But while this is true, whoever first thought up this school of tactics didn't have Ragnarok.
(Behind you) He barked as the third man went down beneath my sword, howling and clutching the bleeding stump of his arm. Twisting around, I stepped back and slashed out with my blade, knocking aside the point of Torric's short lance as he thrust it at my midsection. He'd been thrown free of his horse as it went down and his lip had split, dribbling blood down his face. Now he looked a bit-wild eyed as he thrust again, this time at my kneecap. As always, his dead arm flapped uselessly at his side as he wielded his weapon with the other.
/How many more are there?/ I demanded, slapping aside the trust and countering with a slash of my own, which Torric deflected with an expert flick of his spearhead.
(Two. One of them is having trouble with his horse, but I give you about five seconds before the other one gets his axe free and charges)
I grunted as Torric swung the haft of his spear around unexpectedly, catching me in the ribs. /He's mounted?/ I thrust out warningly, but the man danced warily away. He knew from experience that I never really got down to business until I took a hit.
(Yes)
/Glorious/ I growled. Torric shifted his grip and lunged forward again, driving at my midsection. Feinting a step backward, I shifted my weight mid-stride and moved swiftly toward him, knocking his spear clear away as I reversed my sword and drove the crystal-topped pommel stone hard into his gut. A stunned look on his face, Torric dropped like a stone. With him taken care of, I made a rush across the clearing to strike the fourth man out of his saddle before he could completely free his double headed axe from its entanglements. He fell sideways from the saddle with a lurch, striking his head nastily against the bole of a misshapen tree as he dropped.
Breathing heavily, I turned away from fallen man to face the last of them, the same young man who'd tied the bindings on my wrist in the first place. He'd only just managed to get his horse under control and now sat at the edge of the clearing, struggling to hold his horse with one hand while he fumbled at his waist with his other for his sling. When he realized he was the only one left mounted though, the sling fell from his grasp, forgotten in his panic. Then with a curse he set his heels to his snow runners' sides and was off, disappearing into the darkness between the trees.
/That wasn't so bad/ I sunk down onto my heels in the snow, waiting for my breath to come back. It had only been a brief fight, hardly lasting a minute, but the day's exertions had taken their toll on me.
(Keep your eyes open. The scouts are still out there, and that boy might run into one of them) And then, as an afterthought, (You should have killed him)
/Not the way he was running/ Wiping my blade on the snow, I examined it idly. It was long for a single-handed blade, almost long enough to be counted a bastard sword, but the steel was surprisingly light and sharper than a surgeon's knife. Two narrow blood channels ran almost the full length of the blade; between them glittered a line of curious, spidery runes etched in what almost appeared to be blue crystal, though they had neither cracked nor shattered with use. They spelt 'Ragnarok' in the wingly tongue, though all the power that name had lent to the sword had been used in the sealing spell.
When my breathing had returned more or less to normal I got back to my feet and slid the bare blade into my belt. The runner carrying my sheath had run off into the woods; I'd have to find a replacement later. One palm on the hilt of my sword to keep it from tangling itself in my legs, I made my way slowly back across the clearing to where Torric had crawled onto his elbows and was coughing up blood in bright spatters on the snow. If he heard me approaching, he gave no sign.
"Sorry about that Torric, but I'm sure you can understand why I'd rather not go back to the castle with you." I kicked his spear away and crouched next to him in the snow. "Miranda has an awful temper, and she might do some things she'd regret later."
The old hunter wheezed out a painful laugh, one that quickly turned to another wave of hacking coughs. "Regret? I don't think there's a person on this earth who'd regret doing much of anything to you, child-killer. That sacred sister would be counted a hero if she just chopped you up and left you for the bears."
My face stiffened a bit at that. "I see." I got to my feet, dusting the snow from my knees. Child-killer. The truth of that name cut deeply. But really…
I reached inside the folds of my overcoat, rummaging through one of the deep pockets that lined the interior.
(What are you doing?)
I ignored Ragnarok's hiss. The truth is the truth. Ignoring it won't change a thing. Tossing two flasks of healing potion into the snow beside Torric, I turned away. "Here. Split those between your men and get out of here quickly. That Mark guy wasn't kidding about the wolves, and they're not very picky about what type of flesh they take this time of year." Feeling slightly mollified, I started off into the woods.
(You wouldn't mind explaining what that was about, would you?) The dragon grumbled as we left the clearing.
I grunted, walking a little faster. The snow was shallower here, the ground sheltered by the wide boughs of pine and spruce trees. /Being ripped apart by wolves isn't a pleasant way to die. We're close enough to the city that they should be able to make it back safely, even if they don't meet up with that escort/
It didn't take long for darkness to fall completely. Moonlight filtered down through the snow-laden branches of the evergreens, painting the surface of the snow with a mosaic of light and shadow. I had gone perhaps half a mile when the first howls reached my ears, rising and falling like the wind in the cold night air. I stopped next to a squat fir tree, one hand automatically to my sword hilt while I listened. More lupine voices joined the call, until it seemed that the entire woodland must ring with the sound.
Slowly, the cry died away. It would rise again soon; once the wolves found the track of their prey, they would be loath to let it go. Unable to help myself, I took a step back in the direction from which I had come.
(Just leave them Dart. If they make it out, if they make it out)
/And if the wolves get them?/ I demanded.
(Wolves have to eat too) He said philosophically.
/Arrgh…/ I cursed aloud and turned around, pulling my sword carefully from my belt as I did so.
(Humans) Ragnarok complained as I started back the way I had came at a run. (They tried to kill you. Now you're trying to save them) He sighed. ( I think I've pretty much despaired of ever understanding your logic)
Torric had managed to rouse what was left of his men and had continued down the path towards Denningrad. By the time I returned to the clearing they had gone, though one of the fallen snow runners had been chopped to pieces where it lay, in hopes that the wolves would find it before they found them. The path of the hunters was painfully clear even in the darkness, a broad swath of churned up snow wandering back and forth among the trees. Sword held at the ready I followed after them, sometimes running, sometimes walking in order to conserve energy.
It didn't take very long to find them. The hunters traveled in a loose knot, gathered around the single runner that was left to them with their weapons at the ready, watching the woods nervously. Torric led the group, limping heavily every other step. One of the men rode slouched over in the saddle of the snow runner, swaying with every step the animal took. I stayed behind the tree line, out of sight as the cries of the wolves rose again.
(I don't know what you plan on doing) Ragnarok muttered. (You can't stop a pack of wolves all by yourself)
I remained silent. Of course I couldn't; it was difficult enough trying to kill one wolf on the run, let alone a pack. I could use my dragoon spirit, but then…
The hunters picked up their pace slightly, but now the wolves were starting to appear in the forest all around us, shaggy grey bodies moving in and out of the darkness. Once one appeared almost beside me, ghosting silently out from between the trees to regard me silently. Startled, I took a swipe at it with my blade, but the creature avoided it, baring its teeth at me in a silent snarl before disappearing back into the darkness.
We were perhaps three or four miles outside of Deningrad when the first of the monsters broke past me and lunged down the slope, only to be brought up short on the end of Torric's lance. After this there was no stopping the flow: emboldened by the death of the one, they began to race out from between the trees, staying back only just out of the reach of the longest weapons. In seconds a shifting, snarling ring of slathering jaws and foaming teeth surrounded them, wolves stalking back and forth as they gathered the nerve to attack.
At the edge of the tree line, I hung back in indecision, my own mind telling me to do one thing while Ragnarok growled another.
(Use the spirit! What's the matter with you? First you're worried sick about them being killed, and now you're freezing up when they're about to be ripped to pieces?) He fumed. (Just blast the beasts to Mayfil and be done with it!)
And still I hung back. Yes, I could easily destroy the wolves with the arm cannon of the Divine armor… and most likely kill the men as well. At the same time, if I left them…
A new sound reached my ears as I struggled with my options, a sound that was hardly audible above the snarls and barks of the milling wolves. The clack and rattle of a dozen arrows knocked and drawn in unison, followed by the snap and hiss of taught bowstrings released… and the wolves began to slump to the ground, falling beneath a black rain as the barbed shafts of the longbows found their targets deep in the bodies of the beasts. Confused by the sudden death in their midst the wolves began to break up, some fleeing back into the woods, others turning to face the new threat.
"Second rank fire! First rank down and reload!"
My head jerked up as another wave of wolves went down under the hail of arrows. I knew that voice.
(Looks like your friends still enjoy coming to the rescue)
/That's Miranda for you/
A third salvo of arrows rattled against bow staves as the strings were released, then a forth, and a fifth. Cheated of their meal, the remaining wolves fled into the darkness barking and snarling. Keeping myself pressed close against the rough bark of the tree, I prayed that the heavy, dark cloth of my overcoat would hide me within the shadows of the trees as Torric's rescuers started forward, twoscore armsmen with torches held aloft. And at their head, dressed in a heavy blue felt jacket and black breeches, came Miranda, an arrow still knocked to her bow. This was unsurprising; I pulled back farther behind the massive trunk of the tree. What was surprising was the child-like girl who tailed her, as scantily dressed as ever even while she shivered beneath an enormously thick sable cloak. Meru's silvery hair shone in the torchlight, and her head moved constantly as she chatted with the archers and the hunters.
I felt a smile pull at the corners of my lips as I watched her make her way amongst the armsmen. Even from a distance Miranda's advancing age had been noticeable in the shape of her face and color of her hair, grey shining with blonde in the torchlight, but Meru was unchanged from the day I had met her. I leaned out a little more from behind the tree, forgetting myself as my eyes followed her though the crowd. Of course…hadn't she once told us that winglies aged differently than humans and gigantos?
(Dart!)
I pulled back just in time as two arrows buzzed past my side, one of them actually catching itself in the thick fabric across the shoulders, though it only grazed the skin. As I pulled away I caught a brief glimpse of Miranda darting across the clearing toward me, reaching into her quiver for another arrow as she did so. Without another thought I broke and ran, zigzagging between the trees in hopes of throwing off her aim should she get me in her sights.
I kept running until my legs burned with fatigue. Ragnarok advised me that wearing myself out in a forest full of monsters was probably not the smartest thing in the world to do, but I didn't care. Miranda made a more difficult foe than an entire forest of beasts, though it wasn't because of the arrows. Oh sure, if she had the chance, she'd shoot me. Somewhere painful and incapacitating, but not life threatening; maybe the knee or thigh. She might kill me eventually, probably with a warrant signed by the three kingdoms, but before she did she'd ask me the question I hope I lived never to hear. That all-encompassing 'why?' was something I didn't think I'd ever be able to answer completely.
When at last I found I could run no more, I sunk down sweating and panting in the snow behind the base of a tree. I had some time yet; even if Miranda was still tracking me. Because of Rose's choker my body was much younger than her own was and in any case, I had always been the faster runner.
I'm not sure when it was that I began to laugh at the complete irony of it all. Years ago, sitting in the snow on the outskirts of a forest so much like this one with my hair and face blackened with soot and ash, I had sworn that once I was old and strong enough, I would become the hunter of the monster that had destroyed my home. And now, older and wiser, I was the hunted.
My laughter was a thin sound, feeble and lost amidst the surrounding trees. A few minutes later I got to my feet and started off deeper into the forest, leaving Miranda's arrow snapped in two on the snow for my hunter to find.
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Alrighty then. That's Chapter Two revamped. Once again, my apologies for the poor quality of the chapters to come. I'm working on fixing them as I come to them, but of course normal updates are taking precedence, so be patient.