jmclarke
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Chapter 705: Heading off the Problem
🕑 Added 2023-10-27 22:21:52 +0000 UTC
The celestial dire tiger dropped, all half ton of him, straight for the rune-marked warleader.
Claws spread.
Deadly jaws parted.
The celestial vanished.
With a blurring strike aimed at the plummeting spirit, the warleader swung his sword, cleaving the dire tiger, sending it back to the upper planes. He leapt up, aiming his axe at Alex.
The young wizard teleported, behind the warleader, away from the weapon’s path, sheathing himself in haste magic. Turning in one smooth arc, the great, armoured warrior lashed out with both weapons.
The towering man was quick, but he was no First Apostle. Alex vanished, appearing again behind the warleader.
“Nice try,” he said pleasantly.
Lashing out, the warleader whirled.
The wizard teleported, vanishing. “Too slow,” he grinned, reaching out to Claygon. ‘Get your fist ready to strike the air to your right when I give the signal!’
‘Yes…father…’
The barbarian spun, lashing out with both sword and axe as Alex teleported circles around him. Snow kicked up, spraying the young wizard as he winked in and out.
Barbarians lunged, trying to grab him as he flickered across space.
“Stand still!” the warleader snarled under his helm; bloodshot eyes glowering beneath the visor. “
A red rune flared on his breastplate.
The warrior chief seemed to suddenly swell with power.
Light washed over his armour; he focused on it…
…just as Alex had hoped.
His concentration turned from the young wizard and Alex vanished, appearing before his face.
The armoured hulk froze.
Alex reached out, grabbing his helmet in a death grip. “Got you.”
The will of the Fool of Thameland battled against the barbarian’s own, but Alex had forged himself against the Mark’s wrath.
He’d pulled a greater demon through space, battling him with every step.
This rune-marked was no greater demon.
Hannah’s power washed over them, and they were gone, teleporting across the snow.
Barbarian warriors with weapons raised around them—trying to cut the Thameish wizard to pieces—disappeared.
Trees vanished. Snow disappeared.
Images across space whirled past the struggling warrior and wizard until Alex abruptly stopped, once again, materialising in the forest. He stared into the rune-marked’s confused eyes.
“What happened?” the warleader muttered.
“This!” The young wizard teleported again.
Gripping the warleader’s helmet.
‘Now,’ Alex sent the thought to Claygon.
The towering warrior—his face a scarred ruin—gaped at the Fool of Thameland.
His dull expression shifted, replaced by a huge, iron fist.
Claygon’s backfist connected, slamming into his right flank—driving into his face, shoulder and ribs—crumpling steel armour. Only the warrior’s reflexes saved him from becoming a smear on Claygon’s knuckles as he turned with the blow.
His body flew end over end, shooting through the forest, bouncing across snow, and landing in the giants’ woodpile. Stacked logs exploded, soaring high in the air.
Blood ran, streaming from nostrils, mouth, ears and eyes, when the warleader forced himself to his feet, wavering in place. His right arm hung uselessly at his side. His armour was flattened; red pouring between cracks and gaps.
Yet, he still moved forward.
“I will not…die so easily…” He snarled, spitting blood and teeth as he took a shaky step. “A dozen runes mark my body, proclaiming my deeds in battle for all to see.”
Runed warriors clapped fists to their breasts as the leader advanced haltingly.
“Here…father…you might want…this…” Claygon handed Alex his satchel.
“Thanks buddy,” the young wizard opened the bag slowly and deliberately, his eyes fixed on the warleader.
“Your human magic is strange, but it cannot stop me, you are not worthy,” he snarled, revealing bloodied teeth.
Alex drew a potion from his bag.
“You cannot—” the rune-marked leader continued, as a small bottle spun through the air toward him.
With a derisive snarl, he slashed at the potion.
Glass cracked.
Mist blanketed him.
“What is this? A fog for you to hide in? You are only delaying your death,” the warleader growled.
“No, not fog,” Alex smiled. “Do you believe you can fly?”
“What? Why would you grant me a gift of fli—Aaaargh!” the rune-marked screamed suddenly.
The booby-trapped flight potion gripped the warrior’s body, catapulting him wildly through the air. He shot upward, darted side to side—limbs flailing—hitting a tree trunk.
Twice.
His body bent, curving at the waist and his limbs twisted in odd shapes.
Howling and twisting, the leader flew through the air while his troops gaped, stunned into silence.
Striking another tree, his broken body dropped to the ground, his head going in another direction.
The wide-eyed skull spun away, glancing off all in its path; while the rest of him struck logs, the woodshed, an occasional boulder and the ground, eventually coming to rest in the snow.
As one, the shocked barbarians cried out, staring at the twisted ruin of the warleader’s body.
Battle stilled.
“Away!” Birger shouted. “You’re overmatched!”
“No…giant…” a rune-marked grinned, seeming to suddenly awaken from a spell.
The grin spread to other members of the warband.
“Yes! Now! True battle!” he shouted. “Yes! True warriors stand before us! Great deeds will be told of the one who slays them!”
“The war-leader now stands at the side of our god!” a rune-marked with a thick scar where an eye used to be, shouted. “The glory to lead now comes—”
An abrupt squishinging sound stopped his words.
The rune-marked-who-would-be warleader dropped, his head rolling from his shoulders.
At his side, a comrade brandished a bloody axe. “A contest of deeds! We battle for leader!”
A loud roar sounded, and a frenzy of violence erupted.
Rune-marked attacked, fighting each other, vying for leadership of the warband. They showed no mercy, hacking, stabbing, cutting to pieces all who they once fought beside.
But others turned away, pointing at Alex, Theresa, Claygon, Brutus and Bjorgrund. “Slay them, but spare the promised prize!” some screamed. “More runes for us! More blood for the divine!”
And they charged.
Claygon strode toward them. “Should I…shoot them…father?”
Alex teleported beside the iron golem, holding his staff high. “No, we don’t want to burn down the forest. We’ll have to do it the hard way.”
“It’ll take longer, but there’s an upside Claygon, it’ll be good practise for facing the church,” Theresa said.
Brutus bounded beside her, barking at the barbarians.
Bjorgrund came up beside them. He’d shattered the rune-markeds’ chains, his axe was chipped, and he was bleeding from small cuts along his torso.
Yet, his eyes were dancing as a big grin lit up his face. He looked determined. Focused. “I’m going to help too!”
“Get back to the cottage, Bjorgrund!” Birger shouted.
“No!” the young giant’s reply was resolute. “I’m doing this because I want to, father! I fought to protect you when I was small! Now I’m protecting you again!”
“Well said,” Theresa whispered, the Twinblade raised.
Together, the golem, huntress and cerberus charged into the oncoming horde. Claygon was the battering ram that cleared the path, war-spear cutting down warriors.
Brutus and Theresa followed behind.
The huntress was a blur of steel and death, slicing into attackers in threes and fours, leaving them where they fell.
Brutus ripped into barbarians, three sets of jaws clamping down, tearing in all directions.
In their wake came the young giant, swinging his axe, the rune on his chest burning ferociously.
When Bjorgrund’s axe finally shattered against a runed-warrior’s armour, he grabbed her, using her as a club, laying about himself with his ‘new weapon’ until it too was broken. He then grabbed another.
Alex stayed with Birger, conjuring Wizard’s Hands, tossing booby-trapped flight potions into the barbarians’ ranks, sending them careening, throwing their horde into further chaos. Greater elementals and celestial tigers threw themselves into battle, ripping, burning, tearing, freezing enemy bodies in layers of ice.
Their numbers thinned, but the barbarians never fled. They never cowered or begged for their lives. As warriors they lived, and as warriors they died, fighting on, their runes blazing until death.
The horde was cleaved away, leaving Alex, his companions and the young giant standing in the ruins of a mass of barbarian bodies.
Theresa breathed deeply, mist rising from her lips.
Alex’s mana pool sputtered. The energies of the aeld staff waned.
Brutus’ chest heaved.
Bjorgrund’s jaw hung down, his eyes wide, words failing.
Birger glowered at the ruined corpses around his home, his body language a storm of discomfort, confusion, relief and anger.
“They’re done with,” Alex scratched the back of his head, turning to the old giant. “Sorry about the mess, I’m sure you didn’t want us fighting on your doorstep, but we can’t always choose where our enemies fight us or how they fight us.”
“…that is true,” Birger said, limping forward, leaning on his crutch for support.
“Father! Here, let me help!” Bjorgrund rushed toward the older giant, offering his hand.
Birger shook his head. “I’m fine! I’m fine! I’m not dead, yet, son. There’ll come a time when I won’t be able to walk at all without your help; let me get by on my own until then.”
“Yes…father…” the young giant said, starting to turn away.
Birger grabbed him by a thick arm. “Look at me, son. ”
Bjorgrund kept his eyes down, refusing to meet his father’s gaze.
“I said, look at me,” the older giant pushed, his fingers gripping his boy’s arm.
“Father, I—”
“Just look at me.”
Bjorgrund grimaced, slowly turning his face to his father, but his eyes still lingered on the bloody snow at his feet.
“No, look into my eyes, son,” Birger said, his voice falling to a low growl.
The young giant looked up, meeting his father’s gaze.
Birger took Bjorgrund by the chin, his gaze burning into the younger giant’s eyes, turning his head this way and that. “Hm…how do you feel?”
“I, uh…” the giant started.
“No lies. How do you really feel? Speak plainly.”
“Um, I’m not hurt, father. They cut me a little, but my hide’s thick. These wounds are nothing that bother me.”
“And what about your mind? Your heart? How are you feeling here?” Birger pressed a finger to the crimson rune on Bjorgrund’s chest.
“A little excited…father. It was a rush, like I only feel when we’re hunting or when you’re telling your old battle stories,” he admitted.
“And fear?”
“What?”
“Did you feel afraid at all?”
“N-n—”
“Don’t lie, I said!” Birger snapped. “Answer honestly, did you feel fear?”
“Yes, father!” Bjorgrund finally shouted, his face washing red. “I felt fear! Why did you have to make me say that in front of these strangers?”
The old giant’s shoulders relaxed. “Good. Good. You don’t have the madness.” He pointed to the broken bodies of the warband. “When these rune-marked were overmatched, they turned on each other, looking for glory at all costs. Sometimes runed warriors get like that when the runes take them; they turn mad.”
Birger nodded to the headless corpse of the slain warleader. “That one has a better head on his shoulders—”
“Had,” Alex whispered.
“What?” Birger looked at the young wizard.
“What?” Alex asked.
“Didn’t you just say something?”
“Oh, uh…” Alex said slowly. “I said ‘had’.”
“...because he’s dead, you mean?” Birger asked.
Theresa was already grimacing.
“No, I mean…well literally.” Alex coughed awkwardly. “I mean he…lost his head. Literally. He had a better head on his shoulders…” He paused. “...because he’s now headless.”
“Oh! Oh!” Bjorgrund burst out laughing. “That’s good, actually!”
Birger stared at the Fool of Thameland, but said nothing. “My point, son, is that some rune-marked have better heads on their shoulders. They know when a battle is lost, when to order a retreat, when to use strategy…they aren’t just crazed berserkers, drunk on power and glory. Seems…you kept your head. I didn’t want you to turn into some blood-drinking berserker.”
“Is that what you were afraid of, father?” Bjorgrund asked.
“I still fear it!” Birger snapped. “You don’t know what’ll happen when more of these—” He tapped the rune. “—get scrawled across your flesh. But…it seems your mind’s your own. And if your first battle didn’t destroy you, then it’s a good sign. It’s a very good sign.”
Bjorgrund looked at his father with eyes that shone.
“Wait, before we continue, I have a debt I owe these good wanderers,” Birger said.
The younger giant looked at Alex. “We owe them a debt.”
“Aye,” Birger said. “And now I aim to fulfil it. You slew the ones seeking my son, and for that I am thankful. So, now I’ll tell you what I know; the beginning of the path to Kelda’s sanctum.”
He cleared his throat. “Tell me, have you ever heard of the Guild of the Red Mouse?”
###
Author's Note
Hello THIRTY-SIX cool fools, almighty chosen, wise sages, and mighty champions! Thank you for your support!
Words cannot describe how proud I am of that stupid 'headless' joke. Lmao, cya tomorrow!
Comments
TheRaptorOfHermes
reminds me of harry potter. nearly head less nick-the ghost
George R
Thanks for the chapter
ItWasIDIO!!
Hidden in plain sight
