Year 3041 AGD
Month: Year’s End
Fourth Eighthday
Eve of New Beginnings
Continent of Terroval
Docks District
“So, that’s what all the hubbub is about, eh?” The older boy looked down at the crying boy in front of him and tried his best to put on a welcoming face. “Them’s the strokes of life, though. Lost my pa to the army and my mum to a bad cold. Been on my own for near enough to four months now. Guess we poor, uncivilized folk ain’t the only ones who get a bucket of waste water dumped on our lives.”
Victor had told his story using as few words as possible, so he could be understood through his sobbing. He kept trying to pull himself together, but it just didn’t seem to be working. The first thing he had tried was the breathing technique Shaylyn had taught him, but when he started the process, he would remember all of the lessons she had taught him over his few years of life and the tears would come back with a vengeance. Everything he knew, he knew because of her, and now she was gone, taken by the man in the blood red robes. Where have I seen those robes before? Trying to think of anything but his loss was nearly impossible, and this made him so frustrated that he felt like he’d never stop crying.
“… and that’s when I met Ol’ Man Walkins. He’s been teachin’ me and a few of the other boys how to survive on the cold, hard streets. It’s kind of him to take us in; he says so all the time. He says that the world belongs to rich men, and as long as it does, they won’t miss the things we take. Why, just yesterday, he had us…”
Wow, he talks a lot. Victor was trying to listen, he really was. For some reason, though, his mind wouldn’t let him concentrate on anything. The only time he had ever felt like this before was when he had accidentally burned himself with a fireball that went off too close. It took him a moment to register what the big boy had been talking about. “You mean that you are thieves?”
“No, no, we ain’t thieves. I asked the same question myself once, then Ol’ Walkins, he set me straight. He said that rich men are decent enough folk most of the time and that if they knew of our… of the… damn, what’s the word he used? Anyway, if they knew of the bad way we was in…”
“Plight?” Victor asked quietly.
“Yeah, that’s the word. Dang, you sure are smart for a little kid. See, if they knew of our plight, they’d be givin’ us stuff anyway. So, since they’d give it to us anyway, there’s no need to bother ‘em about it. We just slip in at night and take what’s comin’ to us anyway, or we slip a wallet from a pocket here or there and lighten a gentleman’s load for ‘em.”
“So, what you’re saying is that you take someone’s property without asking them, and you’re not thieves?”
“Exactly. See, I knew you was a smart one. Ol’ Man Walkins is gonna like you. You’re small and smart, and he says them’s the best qualities for what we do. I’ll bet he puts ya at the head of the boys. Under me, of course. It’s a really nice place. We got…”
A thief! I can’t be a thief. What would Shaylyn say? He brooded on that thought for a moment before one of the lessons she had given him came to mind.
“Now, remember, Victor, just because you can spin a blade or staff doesn’t mean that you should. There’s intimidation, and then there’s showing off. Intimidation will get you out of a fight. Showing off will get you dead.”
Victor was glad to finally be getting lessons with a dagger. Shaylyn had started teaching him how to fight last year. Sure, she called it playing, but about six months ago, he had realized what she was really doing. It was just the way that she taught. Learn by doing. That’s what she called it. No matter if it was reading, enacting a Shaping, or wrestling; she always had him dive right in, and she’d be there to give him pointers on what he was doing wrong. Ever since he could remember, he had been taught this way.
“If you can learn how to use a weapon effectively, you can learn how to impress others with it. But not before you learn to use it well. Are you listening to me, Victor?”
He nodded and tried to look more attentive.
She leaned in close with the dagger she was carrying and pointed the tip of it at his nose. “Repeat everything I just told you, then.”
He did, even going back a few minutes into her instructions on how to hold a blade correctly. “Not too tight, but not too loose. Too tight and every strike will jar you. Too loose and the weapon will come out of your hand and it’s useless. Just because you can use flashy moves with a weapon doesn’t mean you should. If you try to show off during a fight, it could get you killed. Once you know how to use a weapon well, then you can try to use it to intimidate or impress, but only to try to stop a fight before it starts.”
“Very good, Victor, I know you think I’m just pestering you with little details, but it’s the little details that will keep you alive. Of course, someday, when you are about fifteen or so, you’ll have to learn some of this all over again. Your body will start to feel different, and you’ll have to relearn what it’s capable of. It’ll be awkward for a while, but as long as you keep your mind sharp and your body fit, it shouldn’t be too bad,” she said quietly, a hint of sadness in her voice.
“You sound as if you’re not gonna be there when that happens.” Victor had noticed her telling him what to expect when he got older for a little while now, but this was the first time he had addressed it verbally.
“First of all, it is going to, not ‘gonna’. You don’t need to sound like a street urchin. Second of all… I’m not always going to be here. There will come a day when I’m gone. You’ll have to rely on all that I have taught you when that day comes.” She leaned in and kissed him on the forehead before giving him that look that he dreaded—the look that said she was trying to remember every hair on his head perfectly. “When that day does come, Victor, I want you to do everything you can to survive. No matter what, you must survive.”
I’ll survive, Shaylyn. No matter what. A new set of tears started rolling down his cheeks, and he realized that the boy was still talking.
“… Roland, he’s a good kid, but he likes to look up the ladies’ dresses. Besides that, though, he’s pretty trustworthy and loyal as a dog.”
He paused for a second to catch his breath, and Victor jumped at the opportunity to get a word in. “I’m Victor,” he said, putting his hand out in front of him to offer a handshake.
“Oh, yeah, where are my manners. Shawnrik Larston at your service, Victor, but everyone just calls me Shawny, or Big Shawn. I kinda prefer Big Shawn, myself. I’ll answer to either, but please don’t call me Shawnrik. It makes me sound like a wuss.”
The pleading in the large boy’s voice nearly made Victor laugh at the ridiculous situation. If not for his heartache, he might have. “How about if I call you Shawn? Or Larston?”
“Sounds good to me. Don’t mind people callin’ me by my last name. Kinda makes me feel important, like Ol’ Walkins.” He puffed his chest out to make himself look even bigger.
Victor was finally able to get his emotions somewhat under control, at least for the moment. He wiped his eyes on his sleeves and then wiped off the extra moisture that had accumulated on the rest of his face. That was when that the guard showed up.
“Hey, you two, what are you doing out this late?” a young man wearing the purple, black, and gold of the City Watch asked.
Of course, being a fine youth of above average intellect, Victor answered as any upstanding young man would.
“Nothing,” both of the boys intoned at the same time.
“Ah, nothin’, eh? Now, I asked myself, what would two boys be doing around the Docks District on this fine evening? Of course, my first thought was nothing, but then something nagged at me.” He pointed at Shawnrik. “Don’t I know you?”
“Well, of course ya know me, Watchman Tanner. You’ve mistakenly brought me in on theft charges two times now… wait! That’s three times, countin’ yesterday.” Shawnrik grinned.
Victor looked over at his new companion and mouthed, “three times?”
Shawnrik shrugged. “Whut? It was his mistake. An’ Watchman Olsons has brought me in twice for pickpocketin’, but I don’t know where they’d get a notion like that.”
“I, for one, saw you palm something with my own two eyes. If it wasn’t for the fact that no one will press charges on you, you’d be shipped outta’ here already. Mark my words, I know you’re one of those kids Ol’ Man Walkins has working for him, and only the lord general could guess who he’s really working for.” Watchman Tanner’s gaze shifted over to Victor. “You, I haven’t seen before, though. You new?”
“No, s—” Victor started to say.
“He’s my cousin, sir; his father is visitin’ from down south. A bright one, this one is—not into livin’ on the streets out here, no sir. His name’s Victor, and he can read an’ write better than most of them richy types in the North Ward.” Shawnrik placed his hand around Victor’s shoulder, smiling as big as he could at the officer. “Father’s gonna put him in the Academy or maybe even put him to trainin’ with the Mages’ Guild.”
“Is that the way of it, boy?” Watchman Tanner asked
“Well, sir…” Victor started, not wanting to lie.
“Of course it’s true. Are you callin’ me a liar?” Shawnrik must have correctly interpreted the look on Victor’s face because he elbowed him. “Ain’t it true? Your name’s Victor, and you can read and write and all that.”
“Well, yeah, I can…”
Watchman Tanner watched the display unfold in front of him and rolled his eyes. “Well, you just be careful of this one and that Ol’ Man Walkins, you hear me, Victor? You do have the look of a sharp lad about you, and I wouldn’t want to see you getting into trouble like your friend here.”
“Yes, sir,” Victor stated meekly.
“Off you two go, then. The Docks District isn’t any place for kids to be hanging about after dusk. It’s almost New Beginnings; people get crazy on a night like tonight. Be safe and stay out of trouble.”
“Of course, Watchman Tanner. Let’s go, Victor,” Shawnrik said as he turned, pulling Victor in his wake.
The boys walked in silence after leaving the watchman behind. Well, Victor was silent, and Shawnrik was the antithesis of silent. But Victor had been mulling over a thought in his head for the whole walk and finally just had to get it out. “You have been caught stealing from people five times? You must not be a very good thief,” he chided his new-found companion. “Maybe I should find someone better to teach me how to survive out here.” He said it jokingly, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he kept the idea open as a possibility.
“Ha… ha…! Don’t worry, Ol’ Man Walkins and me will teach ya everything you need to know to keep yourself alive on these streets. Remember, when ya meet him, don’t be rude, and don’t tell him we ran into the City Watch or he’ll birch my hide. And if the fact does come up for some reason, we don’t need to tell him I lied to the man about you being able to read and write and such.”
“But I can read and write,” Victor said, hopping over a steaming pile that had been left by the horse trotting ahead of them.
“Well, we don’t need to mention that, either. I don’t think Ol’ Man Walkins ever learned how. That’s the last thing ya need—him thinkin’ that you think that you’re smarter than everyone.” Shawnrik straightened Victor’s clothes a bit. “Okay, this is it.” He pointed up a set of rickety looking stairs that led to the second floor of one of the drinking establishments in the Docks District.
Victor had seen the sign naming the place “The Serpent’s Dagger” on the front of the building. Tucked back behind the main streets, the street they were on was probably considered an alley by most. Well, if I want to learn the darker side of city life, this is the place to do it. That thought jarred him to a halt, and he wished he had more time to consider the implications of it, but Shawn was already pulling him up the steps to the door.
He could hear the muffled sound of voices from the other side, and when Shawnrik opened the door, Victor was assailed with the odors he would soon learn to identify as cheap brandy and cigar smoke. There were two men talking at a table. One was a large fellow who looked like he could have been a farmer in a past life, but the scars on his neck and face made Victor think that he was probably a bouncer or a thug. The other man was much smaller than his counterpart, the remaining hair on the back of his head more grey than black. The two took note of the boys’ entrance but continued their conversation as if they weren’t even in the room. Shawnrik pulled Victor to the nearest set of bunk beds, gesturing for him to be silent.
“They called this last year the Year of the Shadows,” the smaller one was saying. “If only they knew how well they named it. They say this one is the Year of the Rat. Ha! I say it sounds like another good year to be a man of enterprise. Anyway, Terrik, Lionel will probably be needin’ your services about now. You’d better go back down there.”
“I go.” The big man nodded his head and grinned at the two boys before he opened the door leading outside.
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
“So, Shawny, what do we have here? You bring us back somethin’ to eat?” Ol’ Man Walkins poked Victor in his ribs and frowned. “Doesn’t have much meat on him. Guess we’ll have to make a stew.”
“This here’s Victor, and he’s been orphaned just this very night. His house was burnt to the ground, and his aunt was taken with it. He’s a bright lad. Wiry enough for—” Walkins held up his hand and Shawnrik stopped talking. Victor embedded the motion into his memory so that he might try it later.
“That true, boy?”
“Yes, sir. A mage in a red robe burned it down.” Victor didn’t miss the look of recognition that passed through the old man’s eyes. “I sure would like to know who did it,” he added.
“The Blood Mages.” The old man threw it out, seemingly already preoccupied with other thoughts.
Shawnrik balked. “The Blood Mages? As in The Blood Mages? As in the Blood Mages of Siniquity?” He looked at Victor. “Oh boy, does your family have some enemies.”
Victor looked between the two of them, trying to remember where he had heard of the blood mages of Siniquity. Shawnrik was mumbling to himself about fiery death and torment, and the old man seemed to be thinking deeply, himself, when Victor finally dredged up the memory from two years ago.
On the rooftop of their little home, Victor and Shaylyn sat staring up at the stars in the sky. They had just returned from one of the many excursions that Shaylyn had started taking him on recently.
“But I didn’t know his breath was going to be that bad,” Victor whined.
“That’s one of the reasons that I told you not to let them charge you. You can never tell what they’ve just finished eating. The smell can be putrid. You need to get used to these things so you don’t pass out when no one is there to help you.” Shaylyn smiled down at her ward. “So, Victor, it’s your birthday tonight. The only gift I have for you this year is knowledge. What would you like to know?”
Victor blurted out without even thinking about it, “How old are you?”
“Too old. Try something else.”
“Okay. Where were you born?”
“I was born on this continent in more peaceful times long ago. The city I was born in was called Draco’laire.” Shaylyn sat watching the boy, wondering what he would ask next.
“Wow, Draco’laire. That sounds neat. Can we go there sometime? What’s it like?”
“Draco’laire is no longer there. From its bones, the center of Siniquity was built. Siniquity is ruled by the Council of Nine and the Blood Mages. It is a land that possesses potent energies that have been around for as long as anyone can remember. Those energies have been twisted by the Council and by the mages, who use them for their own depraved purposes. It is no longer my home.”
“Oh… I’m sorry, Shaylyn. Do you remember what it was like?”
She smiled down at him as she remembered her long ago home. “There were towering spires. Beautiful works of art everywhere. A good portion of the city was plated in gold, which sparkled in the sunlight. The city itself was carved from the great mountain Lairemont. Most of the towers are still there, but a lot of the gold has been stripped away by the mages. Too many men came with the “evil” creatures of the world when they were exiled to Terroval, and they banded together to create their own corrupt form of government.”
“Who are the blood mages? And the Council of Nine?”
“The Blood Mages are men who have become so twisted by their own need for power that they make deals with creatures of great power—and great evil—to borrow some of their power and allow the mages to tap into forces which should not be tapped into. They do not follow most moral laws and will do whatever they need to in order to retain their power. Slavery, murder… you name it, and the blood mages have probably done it. Their path to power is relatively quick compared to the path the mages of the Protectorate take, but it comes at the cost of their souls and countless other lives in the process.
"Of course, blood mage is a general term to describe their order as a whole, but there are many different suborders. The most prominent field of study seems to be Necromancy. The prospect of power over life and death seems to draw the most sinister and twisted of these individuals.”
Shaylyn thought for a moment, unsure that he was ready for this information yet. “As for the Council, their members change regularly. It is not an easy thing to hold onto power amongst so many who crave it. These men are not to be trifled with, Victor. Never take them lightly.”
Remembering where he had heard of the blood mages, Victor thought the knowledge should comfort him somehow, but it didn’t. For a while, the three people in the room sat staring at nothing, each lost in his own thoughts.
Finally, Ol’ Man Walkins addressed Victor. “So, you want me to teach you how to survive, eh?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well then, Victor Deus, today is your lucky day. I’ve decided to teach you just what you want to know. And probably a bit more.”
Victor smiled. He loved learning new things and knew that this man would be able to teach him the basics of living on the streets. However, a thought intruded on his moment of relief. Funny, I don’t remember telling him my last name.
Year 3042 AGD
Month: New Year
New Beginnings
Continent of Terroval
Caverns beneath the city of Safeharbor
He moved through the dark caverns underneath the city of Safeharbor, lurking through the dark tunnels like a cat hunting a mouse. Perhaps a better example would be a mouse hunting a cat, Nim thought. This was not the first time he had decided that something down here was in need of killing. The tunnels he now moved through were some of the same corridors that the inhabitants of what was then called South Harbor had used in their three years of isolation. In the millennia since, new passages had opened up, and new residents had settled into these caves.
Sure, the upper levels were safe, and the wagon trail from the Docks District into the different sections of town was heavily guarded. Still, the area of the caves that had been converted into a sewer and the tunnels below it were where many creatures flourished. Just about every type of creature you could find lurking in a cave somewhere on Terroval could be found in the corridors of these massive caverns. Patrols were sent through periodically to clean out the unwelcome guests. Alas, it seemed to just make some of them stronger; those that survived bred like rabbits. They bred with their own species or any other—one of the downsides of so many of the creatures on the continent possessing draconic bloodlines. But the real problem with having a cavern full of assorted nasties below the city was that sometimes, a few of them came up to play.
Nim had been on many of these excursions in his time in the Protectorate, and he knew that most of the creatures on the continent had made the discovery that they were all surprisingly interbreed-able. It was bad enough finding a bugbear or an ogre on one of these outings, let alone a monstrosity like the one they were hunting tonight. Creatures like this one always made him itch in uncomfortable places.
Always one to dress to impress, Nim felt dirty in his drab hunting attire. The simple black cloak was thoroughly depressing. It wasn’t just the clothes, though. Anyone would feel unclean sneaking around down here amidst all the grime and waste. He would need to bathe for half a night to feel clean again. His discipline and training would not allow his unease to affect his job this night, however; you couldn’t let little things like a fetid stench and a cloak without the least bit of embroidery distract you when hunting a creature this dangerous. No, if you wished to stay alive in this multitude of rat-infested corridors, you had to keep your weapons drawn and your mind on the business at hand.
Nonetheless, avoiding touching the walls while trying to stay hidden in the shadows was becoming quite the game. It didn’t hurt that the game also distracted him from dwelling on just what kind of creature left a path that was so easily followed. The tracks were easily distinguishable amongst the muck—not that one would need to be skilled, anyway, to follow this beast with the trail of crimson it was leaving in its wake. The creature would learn tonight that it had chosen the wrong place to settle down.
Nim had made a name for himself many years earlier by hunting down people who’d thought they could use innocents for their own pleasure or entertainment and making them see the error of their ways. It was difficult for those who didn’t know him well to understand the reasons behind some of the things he had done in his career. Precious few had been with him long enough to see things as he did, and that handful of friends and converts was the flesh upon which he had built his dynasty. Well… that and a well-placed wish. There were few things that Nim trusted. His friends, himself, and his weapons: those three things had yet to fail to live up to the expectations he put upon them. In rare occurrences, they had even surprised him by surpassing those expectations, which was why he was not alone in his pursuit this night.
Whereas Nim was like a slight breeze, Ashur was a gale. Ashur was a little shorter than the average human male, and his gear hid corded muscles as strong as any blacksmith’s. Pale skin made it apparent that he was not getting enough sun lately. His brown hair was trimmed short so as not to be a bother, and when he wasn’t taking his ease, he could nearly attain a noble stature. The man was actually quite good at stalking when he wasn’t mumbling.
“Stupid sewers. Don’t know why we’ve got to take care of things like this. City’s got guards, ya know!” Ashur murmured while looking back at his companion. He nearly stumbled on what Nim hoped was mud and turned his focus back to the path ahead, obviously not wanting to fall face first into whatever it was his boot had found.
Stepping around the spot Ashur had slipped on, Nim moved closer to his friend so he could speak quietly. “Yes, my friend, but as you know, there are only a few of the watch who could handle a creature as challenging as I believe this one will be. Not to mention, those who could handle it have much more important things to worry about at the moment. Besides, I needed to get out of the mansion. We have been cooped up too long, you and I.”
“I know that. You don’t think I know that?” Ashur nearly bellowed the second half of his question.
“Will you keep your voice down, you big ox? I’m pretty sure that he already knows we’re trailing him, and he doesn’t seem to be too worried about it. I’d rather not have him knowing exactly where we are.” Then again, we could always use you as bait. Nim grinned at the thought of anything mistaking Ashur as easy prey.
Ashur’s focus was on the path ahead, so he failed to notice the grin on his companion’s face. “Hell, at least if it knew we were back here, it might stop so we don’t have quite so far to walk to get home. Besides, I’m tired and hungry. And you have that meeting with the merchants’ guild shortly after sunrise. Let’s get this done as quickly as possible. It’s already gonna take us till night’s heart to find a way outta here.”
“Well, we have been gone awhile. I—” Nim hushed as he sensed movement up ahead.
Ashur eased his axe out from behind him and checked the longsword at his side when his companion fell silent. He turned to make eye contact with Nim, and Nim recognized the gleam in those brown eyes. It was the one that said he was either getting ready for a fight or looking at a beautiful woman—both potentially dangerous situations. “Party time, I’d say.”
“Your wish is my command.” Nim slipped into the embrace of the shadows.
He had long ago learned how to use the shadows that already existed to create a greater darkness for himself to hide in. It was a much easier process down here where there was little light to begin with. As long as he didn’t run into any grey elves or any of the other creatures that possessed a natural sense for reading body heat, he would be completely concealed. Slipping to the opposite side of the corridor, he moved silently along the wall. He was the first one to see the creature.
It stood about 10 feet tall, the top of its head only a foot below the ceiling. Black wings protruded from its back in a grisly manner. The wings looked as if they had only recently developed and had forced themselves out of the beast’s back. Nim assumed that it was an ogre—one with a little too much black dragon blood running through its veins.
The malformed wings weren’t the only thing that brought him to this conclusion. Its skin was somewhere between the thick grey hide of an ogre and the dark scales of a black dragon. (Nim always liked calling the condition skin-scales, for it not only summed up what he was talking about but also rolled off the tongue rather teasingly.) By far, though, the worst feature of the beast was its grotesque, bulbous face. Like the rest of the thing, its face couldn’t seem to decide if it was an ogre or a dragon. It was definitely ogre in nature, yet its face protruded outward into a reptilian snout. Sharp, pointed teeth lined its maw in uneven patterns. It also had small, horn-like projections curving forward from each side of its head. The horns had developed behind its ears and had pressed its earlobes forward as they grew, potentially limiting the mutant’s hearing.
Located directly across from the creature yet safely concealed by the shadows and his cloak, Nim watched Ashur and the creature slink up to the same corner. They arrived at the corner at about the same time and both stuck their heads around it to have a look around. It took all of Nim’s self-control not to burst out laughing at the scene. He watched Ashur’s face as his friend recognized that he was looking at the monster’s belly and slowly brought his gaze upward to see the creature’s face. Meanwhile, Big, Ugly, and apparently None Too Bright was still looking down the hall. Nim slipped off to the left to get behind the hybrid before it realized that Death’s messengers had come a-calling.
Ashur had not been expecting a giant, scaly belly six inches away from his face, and if it hadn’t been for his experience and training, he surely would have cried out. Instead, he slid his gaze upward to see the outline of a disfigured, humanoid face peering around the corner above him. The four-foot difference in height was working to his advantage at the moment. If not for his close proximity to the creature, he probably wouldn’t have been able to see it; unlike Nim, Ashur couldn’t see more than a couple of feet around him in this low light.
Silently congratulating himself for already having his axe at the ready, Ashur squatted low to the ground in order to gain as much momentum on his swing as possible in such tight conditions. After what seemed like an eternity but couldn’t have been more than ten heartbeats, the creature finally looked down. In a blur of motion, Ashur sent the steel of his blade swinging for the creature’s neck. The crossbreed pulled back in surprise, hitting its head on the ceiling. The axe ended up hitting the shoulder of the massive beast, deflecting off of its collarbone. Still, it had taken a mighty blow, and the upper portion of its left shoulder was hanging from its back by its skin-scales.
Backing up to get some distance from his foe, the ogre-dragon wasn’t expecting an attack from behind. Nim stabbed hard with one of his daggers, cutting deeply and nearly severing one of the beast’s wings. It howled in excruciating pain. Great, this is where it gets fun. Nothing better than a half-crazed ogre-dragon hybrid that’s backed into a corner, fighting for its life. Nim’s mind set into motion, thinking of all the things the creature could do. You gonna run or fight, my large mouse? His question was answered a second later when the beast went into a frenzy of motion, swinging its arms in every direction, striking out blindly at those who had hurt it.
Staying out of the ogre-dragon’s reach and yet within sight was difficult, but Ashur dared not move any closer while the thing’s arms were flailing. Great. Nim drags me into yet another situation where I can’t see a damn thing in front of my face. If it weren’t for the creature being so damn big and flailing around so damn much, I probably wouldn’t even be able to see it. Yet again, I’m the only one who can’t see a damn thing. Recalling that Nim was currently behind the creature, he amended his thoughts, deciding that he wasn’t the only one at a disadvantage. Sure, you can see me, but who was it that poked ya in your backside? With that, he broke into a big guffaw and raced toward the flailing beast into what he considered his favorite kind of fight: the kind you might not walk away from.
“Eat the blade of my axe!” Ashur swung wide, hoping to get under the creature’s right arm and score a hit in its midsection. Right before the blow connected, he learned that his earlier shot to the creature’s shoulder had not reduced the strength in its other side by much. Its left arm slammed into his side, sending him flying across the corridor into the opposite wall.
In the time it had taken Ashur to run wildly into battle and get flung a dozen feet, Nim had sunk a dagger in the ogre-dragon and was getting ready to throw another. He let fly, hitting the creature’s other wing as he watched his friend’s body get knocked, quite literally, into the wall on the other side of the corridor. “Stay there!” he shouted.
Ashur let out a groan, finding himself partially embedded in a rock wall. Okay, I’ll stay right here. He thought it sounded like a good idea. Still, he started moving his arms and legs to make sure they worked and accidentally unplugged himself from the wall in the process, plopping unceremoniously onto the floor. “Ugh.”
“Who behind me that thinks they so sneaky? I smell you, serpent. Now I pluck out your fangs, me thinks, yes?” The beast spoke for the first time as it turned around to face what he considered the greater threat. He was still satiated from his earlier meal but now thirsted for something else—blood. He expected to see one of the various lizard-men species or one of the vicious dragon-men, known to the rest of the continent as the Dracair. Instead, he found a creature that looked an awful lot like any other human. That was as much as his small brain was able to process before the hairs on his body stood up and the world was filled with light and pain.
Ashur was getting up onto his knees when the lightning arced out of Nim’s hands and struck the beast full in the chest. He closed his eyes at the sudden brightness of the bolt but not quickly enough. Spots were everywhere on the insides of his eyelids, and when he opened them again, the spots were all he could see.
Nim walked up to the downed creature and pulled back his hood, revealing his face to it.
The beast looked up into the face of Death’s messenger and realization dawned across its grotesque features. It knew why it had smelled serpentine. “Why you kill Granik, you dragon-man? Dracair, yes? We hate humans.”
Nim looked into the face of the beast and nodded solemnly. “Yes, I am the bastard son of a Dracairei. But I am nothing like you.” With that, he slit the creature’s throat, granting him a quick death, a courtesy that was not afforded to the beast’s victims earlier that night.