Roots - Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Two: A Taste

Flames licked up the side of the house just as Aldon collapsed. A smash of glass sent shards flying across the room and a torch, wavering in the wind as it flew, against the rear wall. The wooden décor began to char and smoke instantly until bright orange embers leapt up and ignited.
“We got a problem here,” Briar said through clenched teeth as he slammed a table through the window to block it up. “This fire won’t go out!”
“A thousand curses! Their fire is enchanted, don’t touch it!” Garen bellowed to Briar as he attempted to stomp it out. “Just get Aldon out the back—“An arrow whistled passed Garen’s shoulder and planted itself with a thud near the door. “Never mind, there’s too many of them out there. We have to hold the fort. You worry about blocking up the windows with the spare shields in the back. I’ll take care of the flames.”
Briar shot off to the back room as instructed while Garen stood slowly, leaning heavily on his staff. “Took, come quick!”
“What is it?” He squeaked, shying away from the fire.
“I need you to help me with the flames! I can hear them alright but there’s too much sound about. I need you to aim the staff for me. Quickly, they will not wait long for us to flee the destruction. We have to save the fort!”
Took looked at him and swallowed nervously. His small hands shook and his knobbly knees quivered like thistles in the wind.
“So you really can’t see anymore..” He mourned. “So much beauty in the world. But they’re trying to destroy it!” Took scanned the room quickly. “Twelve, two and seven o’ clock!” He squealed and leapt up on the table as the tendrils of heat roared ever closer.
“Aquas!” Garen bellowed, the word shivering with power. Took could feel the vibration emanating from Garen. The light cast from the flames seemed to darken against Garen’s. A scintillating glow filled the room as a spiraling trail of shimmering fog snaked its way down Garen’s arm and up the staff. His eyes glowed in the light with the pale blue of his eyes visible in the dark. A bubbling like that of a small brook gradually grew into a crescendo until a roaring waterfall drowned out everything else. Foaming and misting a few inches from the staff, coiled out a torrent of water. In a jet-like stream it pounded away the fire in cascading waves of the roaring enchanted water until steam replaced the smoke. The room smelled sickly sweet of hickory and oak. Aldon lay still on the floor, soaking wet.
“You got it, Garen you—“ Took cut off abruptly followed by a thump as he hit the ground. Garen reached out for him futilely, knowing he was gone.
“Took? Took!” Garen growled and gripped his staff with both hands. He could hear the voices outside calling out to them with false hopes of mercy. “I’ll show you mercy.”
The fort’s inside was a dreary gray as the smoke and steam floated to the ceiling and drained out the small holes and irregular gaps the fire had burned through. The floor was warped and several boards curved up on the end. Rain drifted in slowly through the gaps as a slight drizzle, thumping to the ground with a slow, funeral march tempo.
Briar ran back into the room and staked the shields over any gaps where the fire had burned through the walls and over the door’s hinges and side. “The only way they’re getting in is if they blow a hole through. And these bastards just might.” He said with a sorrowful look. “I’m sorry about your little friend, Garen. I know this must hurt but we have to stay calm. Aldon is still unconscious and as he said; in no position to fight.”
Garen nodded quickly, strategizing and planning ahead. “Yes, you’re right, of course. Let me see what I can do.” He strolled over to where Aldon had fallen and reached around for him until he found his face. “He’s ice cold. Breathing and a fine pulse, but in a catatonic state. I would say shock but he was standing for too long before falling. I think he’s being subdued mentally.”
Briar did a double take as he further fortified the fort with the last shield. “What, possession?” His face betrayed nothing more than a common worry; but his voice was an octave too low to be nothing.
“Yes, but I can free him with enough time.”
“How long do you need? I could—“
“Oh mister old man! We’ve got a little present for you and your little friend!” One of the voices outside crowed with a deep guttural accent. “You won’t even have to worry about a burial after; we’ll take care of that.”
“Go to Hell you coward!” Briar called back, fueling the fire as an idea grew in his mind.
“Coward? It is you who is hiding!”
“Not from you, but your army. I’ll face you and your two best men in closed quarters combat in exchange for ten minutes’ peace.”
A silence ensued as Garen raised his eyebrows and breathed out a little whistle. “That’s hardly fair.”
“What? Think I’ve lost my trade?” Briar said brandishing his knife from seemingly nowhere.
“I meant for them.” Garen replied and reached to Aldon’s belt. “Here, take his as well. Three on one are tough odds regardless.” He said and held out Aldon’s rusty little knife.
“We accept, you old fool. But don’t expect special treatment from us for the elderly.” They guffawed in a rapid fashion.
“They even laugh like animals.” Garen spat as he began to chant over Aldon.
“No, I like animals. These are monsters.”
* * *
Briar stepped outside slowly; making sure the door was shut completely and walked around to the back of the fort to face his attackers. They were a motley bunch; covered in various armors and clothing with absolutely no symbols to identify them as a clan. Few had scars or any severe armaments put into a complete setup.
They’re just rookies. Even their weapons have passed from hand to hand.
A broad, squat man stepped forward with his chin raised. His eyes were small and gray, the rest of his face hidden by a drenched beard. His clothing was black and purple with a large axe in his hands, the blade resting in the dirt. A thick, pungent odor like rotten meat spilled from his mouth.
“You challenge my captain, brother and my honor.” He said crudely. “We accept challenge.” The crowd split and ringed around the two of them. Jeers and cheers began to follow them as they spread out. “Come, let’s show old fool how we win.” A very tall man stepped forward brandishing two short swords and a spear on his back. A shorter man stepped beside him with a large scimitar painted black hanging from his side.
Scimitar’s are slow to draw, short swords are sensible enough but his footing is wrong, and that axe is too heavy for him.
“Ready die old man?” The shortest with the axe sneered and spat on Briar’s shoe. “That for you, pig!”
The crowd around them chanted louder and louder until the three opponents cried out to begin. Instantly they began to circle him, surrounding Briar on all sides. The rain continued to pour in sheets and the wind howled like those mourning a lost child. The black sky gave little light aside from the flashes of lightning and that cast by the crowd’s torches. Briar tried to drown out the chanting and beating of weapons and shields as they set a battling mood.
Briar began to count to himself, pacing the men and their steps. One on each side at an angle with varying weapons. A slightly larger gap between the first man and the tallest. Six steps, nine steps, three--
The shortest bellowed on top of his lungs and lunged at Briar from behind. The old Ranger easily sidestepped the slow swing of the man’s axe and allowed its’ momentum to carry the man forward and past him. The other two struck out in turn as well, swiping blindly and yelling strings of curses. Briar ducked the onslaught and backed away hurriedly.
I’ve got to keep this going. No killing until Garen’s had his time. He’d better hurry though; I’m not as young as I used to be.
“Stop moving, you squid-faced poppet!” The shortest roared yet again and rushed into the fray. Briar caught the long handle of the axe mid-swing and pushed it with the man near the end for the optimum fulcrum until it spun in a full circle, severing the man’s left hand as he fumbled to take it back.
The man stared dumbly at his bloody stump as the others froze and stared. The pounding stopped one by one as the men took notice of what had happened. The man’s eyes grew wide and pupils shrunk. His face waned instantly as his arm pulsed blood like an overfilled cup; bubbling up and running out.
“My..he..I..hand.” He blabbed as he fell to a sitting position, cradling his wound. He sat like a child throwing a tantrum; arms folded tightly and lip pulled up. “Hand..kill..for.” He stuttered as he stared at his chalk white hand a few feet away, sitting oddly as if it had shown up uninvited.
“What’d Bray say?” The other man said turning to his captain.
Briar unclipped the safety on his knife sheath with a click. “He’s in shock from blood loss. I think he meant to say..he took my hand. Kill him.” He said slowly for them to understand and stood with his arms at his sides.
Garen, hurry. Things are about to get much, much worse. I never should have done that. I didn’t even mean to or think about it. It just happened.
The rain continued to pound as a constant cacophony of sound. Briar strained his ears to hear through it. The torches crackling; sizzling as a rain drop hit them, the others’ heavy breathing, the crowd’s bizarre thrumming, the break of thunder in the distance. Faintly, he heard the tell-tale slip-slop-slip-slop of someone running through mud behind him. Briar turned on his heel, head low, and in a glint of light unsheathed his knife with a flourish as the man charged with his scimitar.
The blade passed Briar’s neck close enough for him to feel it drip water down his throat. Instinctively he jumped back and crouched low to avoid more blows. But the man didn’t press him. He slowed as his drive faded and dropped to his knees; his hand gripping something on his front, scimitar dropped beside him.
“He is gone!” The third man announced, his voice shaking slightly. His face however sneered as brutally as ever. His nose crinkled up one side as if he had smelled something awful. “My brother lies dead, by your hand. It is just you and I now old one. Captain versus ex-Ranger. How fitting. Let us see how much you have remembered.” He reached down to his dead comrade and with a slurp yanked out the knife imbedded in the man’s chest. “And how much you have forgotten.”
He dropped Briar’s knife in the mud and swirled his short swords menacingly. Back and forth like the head of a cobra ready to strike. Briar watched the man’s movements then his feet, then up to his eyes. They were ice cold and black.
This man has seen much more battle than the others. He has given and received death, now living without fear of it. I envy this man.
“Fall to Captain Rigt.” The man whispered to himself. Suddenly he bounded to the right, and zigzagged to the left back and forth until he was upon Briar. He thrusted low at the old man’s stomach only for the flat of the blade to be kicked away. He spun in a circle to follow the kick and brought his second blade down against Briar’s shoulder, shearing away flesh and cloth.
Briar recoiled and ignored the shooting pains in his arm. Damn it, got cut. Not as fast as I used to be. He could feel his blood warming his elbow and upper back. He would have to get it looked at when he got back inside. How long’s left anyway!
Another furious stroke at Briar’s chest followed by a set of rapid swipes forced him back several paces until he was beside the short man who had already bled to death. His face was blank and white even in the darkness. His eyes remained open and staring at the battle.
That will not be me.
Briar slipped his foot into the mud and just as Rigt stepped forward, kicked it up from the grime. A large metallic object flung against the captain’s face and knocked him off his feet. Stunned, he rolled to his knees and wobbled as the axe once again sunk into the ground a few inches away. He spun his head to the side a little too quickly and vomited.
“Where is he, men? Where’s he gone!” He cried as he wiped his mouth and swept up his short swords, a thin line of blood trickling from his temple to his chin.
“To Rugr! He’s looking for his knife!”
He turned to his brother’s body and found his quarry scrambling about in the mud. “A pig should play in the mud.” He muttered loudly enough for Briar to hear. “You didn’t finish me off, so I shall give you a chance to find your blade. Go on.”
Briar fumbled around in the ice cold muck. His hands were numb and scraped against several rocks. Several of his finger nails had cracked and stung miserably in the filth.
Where is it? I know he dropped it in here somewhere. This is just my luck that I would lose my weapon in the heat of battle. And I know too well he won’t hold to his word of letting me search much longer.
“Find it yet, old man? Or do you perhaps need some new eyes?” He guffawed. The crowd laughed uproariously with every passing joke. “Maybe a cane so you can fight with it and walk. Or maybe you should just retire to being our chambermaid. I think you would look stunning in chains don’t you?” He said with a wave of his hands. “Hurry you old sloth, I tire of waiting. Honestly, I could have killed you a thousand times by now!” Slowly he began to agitate as Briar ignored his comments and moved no faster. That calm face drove his to a snarl as he watched. “You’ve had long enough! You can eat the mud until it eats you!”
The rain pelted his back as Rigt lunged at Briar with an uncannily fast strike, Briar stared back at his reflection in the whistling blade’s mirror finish. Time seemed to slow, the rain drifting lazily like snowflakes past the frozen crowd. Their flames seemed to morph like a constant blooming and dying of firelillies. Briar fell on his back as his hand shot to his belt, seemingly of its own accord, and threw Aldon’s knife; covered in thick, grimy mud, whistling into Rigt’s open mouth; the blade extruding out his neck. He saw it spin and sink in with a loud sound like wet sand being shoveled. Rigt froze as mud filled his mouth and blood coursed down his front and back. He frantically clawed at his neck and collapsed into the mud convulsing and hyperventilating with a sickening gurgle and choking. Briar watched the thrashing scarlet stain as the mud sucked him slowly under until he disappeared to its insatiable appetite.
Time seemed to settle back in and reality with it. Briar shook the rain from his eyes and stood. He eyed the awestruck crowd slowly and waited for them to charge him any moment. He decided to take the initiative. “I’ve defeated your three top men, and earned our ten minutes reprieve.” He said stating the obvious and hurriedly strode to Rigt’s body. He rolled him over and reached into his mouth. “I’ll just get this,”-he heaved as he removed the knife from Rigt-“and be on my way inside.”
The circle opened slowly as he walked past, his footfalls splashing in the silence. A loud voice roared after him.
Damn.
“Oh no you don’t! You think you can just waltz out after killing our captain and men? String him up and finish what Rigt started!” An extremely large man ordered and pointed to Briar’s chest. His face was lined with three striped scars like that of an animal attack that stretched from his permanently curled lip to the scalp of his bald head. A thin goatee covered a small portion of it on his pale white skin.
Several men rushed Briar and took hold of his arms, wrapping a thick rope to each. Briar froze as the lines were pulled taut. His shoulder wound tore painfully with an audible rip and bled freely. A small red puddle splotched the mud.
“Wait! What the ‘ell is—“
An explosion shattered the earth directly in the center of the bandits’ ranks. A bright green trail of smoke leading to it showered sparks overhead. Bandits were tossed in all directions screaming. The smell of sulfur filled the musty air and sprayed mud and gore in all directions. A single large wave rippled across the ground and lifted the rainwater in a large drop. Briar was thrown to the ground as the army split into a run.
“Leave the ol’ man ‘ere to die! Retreat back to the ‘ills! Retreat, no one’s good to ‘em dead!”
Briar slid the ropes off numbly and dragged them away with him. He stopped at the corner of the fort and turned for a glance of the destruction. A large crater smoldered out in the field. Dark mud drained into it, pulling a few broken bodies with the current. The dead were scattered about as if thrown by the wind in a haphazard manner. Briar shivered once and knocked on the door.
“Lemme’ in, Garen, they’re gone for now.” He croaked through grit teeth. His arm had gone numb and replaced with a burning shooting through his veins. “My blood feels like it’s on fire, let me in!”
Briar listened as something heavy was dragged away and the latch lifted. The door opened quickly and Garen ushered him inside. The door was securely protected once more before anyone spoke.
“Where’s Aldon? Is he awake?”
Garen gestured to the back room. Briar walked slowly to the barracks and saw Aldon laying in a cot, his eyes fluttering slightly as he slept.
“He awoke and told me what he saw before I put him to sleep. The retransformation of his body will be excruciatingly painful and I could not do that to him with lack of anesthesia. However, there may be a few peculiar side effects of such a complicated procedure.”
“Like what?” Briar said as he collapsed onto a bed. “On second thought, think you could stitch this?”
Garen folded back Briar’s sleeve and cursed. “Poison. It has goblin blood on it. Calm down, it doesn’t kill but will cause severe pain and temporary muscular dystrophy. I can seal the wound and staunch the bleeding, but I cannot cease the poison’s course.”
Briar breathed a slow breath out through his teeth. “Do it. I’m feeling older and older each second.”
Garen pulled back his sleeves, revealing thin, frail arms resembling a child’s. Briar sucked in a breath and tried not to stare. Garen noticed and managed a small, sad, smile. “The price of a lifetime of magic. The resources needed for such feats are immense and call for energy. Sometimes more than you have. I was foolish with my knowledge as you know, but now you see my punishment for such recklessness.” Garen’s blind gaze wandered elsewhere. “If only I could have saved him.”
Briar turned his head to the far corner of the room. There, upon the largest bed, lay a sheet draped over a small figure. A crimson blot tarnished the tranquil sorrow of the scene.
A white hot pain stabbed at Briar’s arm and pulled him away from the death.
“There, it’s done. Get some rest before they return. I’ll keep watch and pass it on to Aldon once he’s done. Drink plenty of water to flush out the poison.”
Briar nodded and pulled off his filthy clothes. “Didn’t you say something about side effects earlier?”
Garen stopped at the doorway and leaned heavily on the frame. “You will see for yourself soon enough.” And with that, thumped down the hall with his cane. Briar nodded slowly and tried not to acknowledge the growing fear in the pit of his stomach as he laid his head down to rest. He peeked over at Aldon sleeping and convinced himself not to risk waking him just to see if he was truly alive.
Please don’t give me any more nightmares of a child.