81st of Spring, 511 AV “Why do they all wish to hurt us?” Ulric stared at the Gasvik. “We want to know. We are special because we have you, but why do they hate us so? What have we done? “Wena oen adnj wadkn dom,” spoke the Gasvik. Its response was cryptic as usual, but it seemed confused by the question. Nothing made sense any more. “They murders our father, then leaves us in front of a door. Why that door? Dying urchins are thrown into the canals. We have seen this. But why not us? Why were we given salvation? Why were we taught to fight? Were we being watched? We fought them, all of them, with everything we had. Now we are forgetting something.” “Jaodm wuen bau eom dbos iboaomd.” “No, we must embrace our fate.” Ulric shook his head sadly. The dawn had been stained red, but only now, as he peered down at the strange camp, did he realize the hand of prophecy. It had to be. He had come upon a party of hunters, the only people he’d seen since his journey began, and now he meant to scatter their hacked remains for the crows. They had murdered his father. They, and every person like them, had to perish in the crucible of his righteous vengeance. “We must do this alone,” he spoke to his Gasvik, whose lips curled into a broad grin, exposing a pair of sharpened tusks. “Weoma wek teon adoep.” The creature padded away, leaving Ulric alone. He studied the camp again, noting the pair of concealed tents, the drying frames where mottled hides were stretched taut by ropes of sinew. He saw a woman crouching apart from the others, scraping scraps of meat and gristle from a freshly skinned pelt. There were four hunters, a man and two woman. They were clad in leathers and kept their bows close, but didn’t seem to possess much in the way of other weapons. He saw only knives, a sword and a wood axe, which meant they’d surely fall to his axe if he could only close the distance. Are you ready to die, my sweets? Leaving his crossbow among the wisps of heather, Ulric strode away from the boulder he’d used to conceal his presence, feigning a limp. “Friends,” he called weakly. “Help me.” The hunters leapt to their feet, reaching into their quivers. “Who the petch are you?” shouted the plump woman. “Nobody. Friend.” Ulric hastened his pace, letting his ‘injured’ leg drag behind him. He let himself trip, tumbling a few paces down the slope, then rose unsteadily. “Help me.” He tried to adopt a look of terror. “Raiders. Caravan. Burnt. Everybody dead.” “What’s he talking about?” The man frowned. “He’s armed,” cried the youngest, a dark-haired woman whose face was marred by a swath of burn scars. “Roger, Liv, be careful.” “Well, that’s not unusual,” scowled Liv. “But I don’t like the look in his eyes.” “Please!” Ulric kept moving closer. “Hold it right there,” snarled Liv. She signaled for her comrades to raise their bows. “I’m warning you, one more step and we’ll use your worthless hide for target practice.” Raising her own bow, she pointed it threateningly at Ulric. He scowled, but did as she said. “Why does it shout at us? We just wants to talk.” His words didn’t seem to allay their fears. “Lay down your weapon,” Roger snarled. Ulric had other plans. He surged forward, bringing up his shield as he dropped into a crouch. Two shafts sank into the wood, and a third into his thigh. He snarled at the sudden, white-hot pain, but knew instinctively that he couldn’t afford to waste this moment of confusion. He charged into their midst, hacking at Liv. She staggered back, almost losing her feet. Roger threw his bow aside and scrambled for the wood axe, while the scarred woman loosed another shaft that struck Ulric in the side. It was a glancing blow, but the point still grated against his ribs, causing him to falter. His face contorted into a grimace. He darted to the side, delivering a thundering shield bash as she tried desperately to notch another arrow. One down. Then the other woman was upon him again, sword whistling through the air. Ulric raised his shield, blocking the blow as he hacked at her knees. She retreated, and then tried to skewer him. Bitch. He stepped into the thrust, swiping it aside with his shield, and drove a boot into her chest. He would have finished her, but then Roger was hacking at his blind side, forcing him to make a hasty retreat. “Bastard!” Roger wept as he tried another frenzied strike.“Bastard!” Ulric swept it aside contemptuously, then his own axe flashed out, hooking Roger’s forearm. The point sliced deep into flesh, causing blood to well out in a crimson tide. Roger cried out in pain and astonishment as he was pulled off balance, so Ulric bashed him with the shield for good measure. “Leave her,” Ulric snarled. He raised his shield to block another hack, then swept his axe down. It crunched into the man’s shoulder, driving him to his knees and causing the weapon to drop from his fingers. “Is that all you’ve got?” He chuckled, turning his eyes on a dazed Liv. Her own eyes widened in fear, but instead of running, she leapt in again, trying to decapitate him. Stupid. Ulric ducked to the side, letting the blade sweep over his head. As Liv overbalanced, he drove his shield into her face, then brought it back around in a backhand swipe. The metal rim struck her cheek with a sickening crunch, but before her eyes could so much as roll back into their sockets, the axe tore her entire jaw away with a gout of blood. Stupid. Ulric split her skull just to make certain, and then went back for Roger. The man was crawling away, moaning as he clutched at his ruined shoulder. He made a strangled noise as the axe suddenly sprouted from his back. Then he was still. “And now,” Ulric began to giggle as he regarded the scarred woman. “What shall we do with this one?” |