Darius Chapter 27

Heldrus tried to keep a level voice as he spoke to Peskimir.

“Right, um, don’t be alarmed, but I believe that is a spit out there. I think it might be for us...”

Peskimir’s eyes grew wide. She replied with trepidation.

“Ohhhh no. Nope. Anything but that. Do you think they’ll kill us first? I really don’t want to burn to death, please Heldrus.”

“It’s not up to me! I won’t burn you, ask them.”

He wriggled his whole body in his quest to nod towards the guards. They mustn't have enjoyed the spotlight, as the guard closest to him lashed out with the spear, this time slashing him with the pointy end.

“Oi, you little fucker! Put that toothpick away before I snap it over your thick noggin.”

Heldrus wasn’t in a position to make demands, and although the Trenk didn’t understand the words, the emotion behind them was clear. He shoved open the door, letting in the mid-morning light, then yelled a garbled call to the dancing Trenks. They stopped hopping around and instead peered into the hut at the two cowering forms inside. Heldrus had blood streaming from the gash on his leg, which got them excited.

They started chanting and slapped their greasy hands around the prisoner’s ankles, dragging them along the ground until they lay next to the fire. A Trenk holding Peskimir’s dagger lashed out at them, feinting a thrust. She could feel the sweltering heat drying out her skin and cracking her lips. It felt like the small hairs on her legs would catch fire like little sparks. With a great effort, she rolled away from the fire so that she was facing Heldrus. He didn’t look very confident.

“Heldrus, please tell me you’ve got a plan – I really don’t want to be Trenk food, they won’t even cook me well on that thing.”

Humor was Peskimir’s way of rationalizing their situation. Heldrus wanted to say something comforting, anything, but he didn’t have time to reply. Two brutes flipped him onto his face and hoisted him onto their shoulders. From there, a smaller Trenk temporarily loosed his vines so that the spit pole could be threaded through. The pole cuffed him on the head and raked along his back as they slid it through the vines. Peskimir groaned as she watched. There was nothing she could do.

The vines were re-tightened around Heldrus and he was held only meters from the fire while the Trenk Shaman rubbed a mess of mud, paints and plants over his face and clothes.

I’m being seasoned.

The shaman uttered a chant under his breath, growing in volume and ferocity until the whole camp was wound up in a wild frenzy, shaking themselves and screeching at each other. A group of four younger Trenks started brawling, one tripping over Peskimir and landing in the flames. He gasped and fumbled his way out, his foes laughing at the roasted fiend. Heldrus and Peskimir could only gaze in wonder at the raucous scene.

When the performance died down, the brutes still holding Heldrus adjusted him on their shoulder so they could place him on the spit. They walked forward, one on either side of the fire with Heldrus dangled above. Immediately, Heldrus coughed and spluttered, the smoke and heat filling his eyes and mouth and drying his skin. He had a moment of respite as his clothes blocked some of the heat, but they quickly started to singe, leaving him exposed to the immense heat. It was a new kind of suffering for Heldrus. Even though the flames weren’t directly licking at him, the blistering coals were cooking him like a winter feast. He arched his back and tried to stay as far from the fire as possible, away from the flames. When that didn’t work, he threw himself left and right, hoping to somehow tip one of the supporting poles.

If he’d known the result of doing so, he might not have tried.

The pole nearest his head snapped on one side and his spit pole fell out of its support, sending him plummeting face first into the fire. Just before he made contact with the hungry coals, the pole lodged its top in the ground, leaving him in an even hotter predicament. Peskimir scrabbled around on the ground until her feet faced the rear support pole, and she gave it an almighty kick, knocking it out of the ground and collapsing Heldrus into the fire. He bounced into the coals for one fiery second, then rolled out onto the grass, oohing and aahing at the cool earth.

Somewhere in the fall, the vines around his legs were loosened. He kicked them off, got to his knees then struggled to his feet, hunching over and swinging the rear of the pole at the approaching Trenks. They didn’t appreciate having to hunt down their dinner twice, and the rusted swords they brandished made it clear they were now happy to kill their meat before cooking it. Heldrus spun in clockwise circles in a desperate attempt to fend off the monsters, but he was stopped in his tracks when the two muscly Trenks that had lifted him onto the spit caught the pole and stopped him. He caught sight of them by bending over and looking between his legs, and reacted by rushing backwards, planting the pole in the chest of one Trenk, knocking him to the ground. He spun anti-clockwise now, jerking the pole from the remaining brute’s grasp and clocking two more on the head as he performed a one-eighty. He rushed to the blade dropped by the Trenk and steadied it with his knees, sawing through the vines around his torso and arms.

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It was a precarious maneuver, but by the time the pack of raging Trenks crashed into him, he had gotten loose enough to shake himself free of his manacles. They took him to the ground, but in the confusion, they were punching, kicking and biting each other as much as they were Heldrus. He shimmied free of the slippery mass and rushed to Peskimir, deftly cutting through her vines without jabbing her. She threw an arm around his shoulders for support while she worked on bringing back blood flow to her arms and feet.

“I’m not leaving without my dagger. Where is that little shit from earlier?!”

“We really don’t have time! We’ve gotta get out of here, we can get our stuff back later!”

Peskimir ignored his warning and sprinted to the largest hut in the perimeter. She crashed through the clay door – wooden reinforcement and all – and scanned the interior. It was far from luxurious, but there was a stash of shiny objects in the corner, including one of her daggers, and their cooking pot.

That explains the fishy smell in here.

She recovered as many of their belongings as she could, finding more items stolen from their saddlebags in the stolen pile. For good measure, and out of habit, she pocketed a few pieces of jewelry that had probably been looted from a travelling noble.

It’s about time they gave something back.

She now just needed to find the little Trenk from earlier. She charged through a Trenk that pursued her into the hut and blustered through the disjointed pack, eyeing off the smaller monsters with a scowl. When she found the culprit, she picked him up by the collar of his tattered shirt and yanked the dagger from his grasp, making sure to give him a box on the nose with the hilt of the dagger. She scanned the crowd, looking for Heldrus.

“Alright, all set! Let’s get the fuck outta here!”

The clashing of blades rang out nearby. Heldrus was being pushed into a corner by a pack of four armed Trenks. Peskimir rushed over, hurdling the hands and blades nearest her. She jumped and delivered a nasty kick to one of Heldrus’ four attackers, propelling him flat into the dirt. The next went down with two precise stabs from her daggers, and Heldrus took the opportunity to lash out with the two crumbling blades he’d scavenged, slicing off the heads of their remaining foes. He glanced at Peskimir.

“Thanks for the save, let’s go!”

They burst through the hedge-like perimeter and found themselves in a sea of waist-high bushland. They could vaguely see the sea on the horizon, so they headed that way, hoping to find their former campsite and horses. The Trenks had caught on to their escape, and hustled along, chasing down their prey. They had the advantage of being able to crouch under some of the bushland, but it wasn’t enough for them to catch their former meals. After a kilometer of hopeful pursuit, the Trenks gave up and went back to their camp, empty bellies rumbling.

Noticing this, Peskimir and Heldrus took a short break.

“That is why one of us should keep watch during the night. Is your leg okay?”

Heldrus was sitting on the ground, inspecting the long gash on his left calf. The exertion of fighting and running had caused it to bleed quite freely, but it was starting to congeal and slow now that they had a chance to breathe.

“It’s...fine. I don’t think it went too deep. Do you see the horses? I can’t remember if we tied them up.”

“We did! Yeah! When you were getting firewood, you tied them to that log, right?”

Heldrus didn’t look convinced.

“Potentially. The damn Trenks might’ve let them loose or taken them, too.”

“Pretty sure we were the biggest game in that camp. Two horses would've been pretty noticeable, and tough to carry, even with their numbers.”

Heldrus heaved himself to his feet and they pushed on to the coast. He limped a bit as the pain set in, but it was nothing that a nice dip in the salt water couldn’t fix.

“Alright, so, we scour the beach for our camp and horses? Then we just continue on like nothing happened?”

Peskimir flashed the daggers at her waist and brandished the cooking pot in the crook of her arm, filled with the other trinkets she’d found.

“As far as our supplies are concerned, nothing really did happen. I’ve got most of it here. Only issue will be if we can’t find the horses, cos I’m not carrying this much longer.”

They eventually met with the ocean, but the campsite and horses were not in sight. Heldrus washed off his wound in the water and patted it dry with his shirt. Peskimir laughed as he got lost trying to put it back on and poked his head through an arm hole.

“You donkey, sure you didn’t get hit on the head?”

Heldrus poked out his tongue and pretended to storm off along the beach. Peskimir chased after.

“Waiiiitttt! Nawww Heldy, I didn’t mean it! Are you sure we should go that way?”

Heldrus stopped and found his usual demeanor. He gazed up and down the coastline, searching for something familiar.

“Errr, I actually don’t recognize any of this, so it might be best to back-track towards Erinstone. Unless you have your bearings? Those little shits must’ve dragged us for miles!”

Peskimir scrutinized their surroundings before her eyes fixated on a gnarled tree.

“Oh! Oh! I know that one! We were riding along when you were all moody, and I remember thinking how much I’d love to clock you on the head with a branch off that. The trunk even looks like your face down there, look!”

The tree was old and dead, and had two sizeable lumps near its base, with a long section of twisted bark around it. Heldrus wasn’t impressed with the comparison.

“It looks more like a mashed pumpkin.”

“Your words, not mine.”

They continued past the tree, trusting Peskimir’s instincts. A few hundred meters later, they crested a small dune and sure enough, the two horses stood tied to a grey, fallen log. They looked tense, and Peskimir rushed to them, pulling the flagons from their saddlebags and giving the poor beasts some water. They eagerly lapped it from her cupped hands, puffing and blowing after a hot morning in the sun.

“I’m sorry, Bingo, I’m sorry. We got a little caught up, you see? We’ll find you a nice big lake to drink from soon.”

Heldrus checked the saddlebags. He reached in a pulled out his sword, the glimmering steel covered by its drab scabbard. He breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that the dumb creatures hadn’t looked hard enough to find the blade. His father had gifted him the sword when he was young, not long before he was sent off to his death. He had told him that once he could wield it, he would be welcome to come on his father’s raids. He brought it as his only joyful reminder of Erinstone.

The two travelers saddled up and continued their journey.