Trunn stopped and hid behind the trunk of a massive oak. His nostrils were burning as they were trying to suck in all the cool night air, but he fought against his lungs and tried to keep his breath in for a few seconds and listen. On top of the rhythm of his pounding heart, he could hear the wind rustling through the branches, young and old, he could hear the jerky sounds of the crickets in the bushes, he could even hear his back skin scraping against the tree bark and the sweat drops sliding over his brow, but as much as he pricked his ears, he could not hear horse hooves or human boots feet trampling on dried leaves and the absence of that sound made him take a deep breath and laugh. 

He allowed himself a moment of rest and turned his head towards the sky to thank the moon goddess, Ora, for leading his enemies astray. Trunn knew the old gods looked down on him and would guide his steps in his quest. No spell or sorcery made by man can measure with the power of the old gods. At night the moon goddess, Ora, in daylight her husband the sun god, Methrir and when the time comes for his sword to strike, Kalor himself, whose mighty fist shakes the earth, will guide his arm. 

As Trunn gazed upon Ora’s round face and meditated on the virtue of the true gods, he noticed something peculiar rising in the sky, slithering like a white snake among the stars. 

He jumped on his feet and smiled. 

“Smoke! Ora, your greatness is unmeasured.” 

With newfound strength and agility he sprinted like a buck through the trees and bushes in the smoke's direction, taking from time to time a quick look towards the sky to make sure he is still on the right path. He gave no attention to the thorns and thistles that scratched his naked thighs but as he was drawing closer to the place where the white smoke rose, he felt his belly howling and his throat drying up. 

Through the thicket he could now see two yellow lights, gleaming like the eyes of a large fat animal, and it made him run faster. He halted behind a tree, just two leaps away from an old stone cottage that looked as if it was half swollen by the forest. 

Trunn scanned the area and approached the cottage slowly and carefully as if he was afraid the building might grow legs and run off, scared, through the woods. He spied through one of the thick dirty glass windows that radiated a warm yellow light and spotted a wooden table, a burning fire with a pot over it and a slender figure moving about. 

He drew his sword from the scabbard tied on his back and sneaked towards the entrance. He measured the old wooden door that stood between him and the first meal he had in two nights and estimated the amount of force he would need to exert to break it without losing balance. If there were hidden dangers inside, his stance had to be perfect and his arm steady. 

Trunn burst into the cottage,  slamming what was left of the broken door to the wall and he was greeted by the high pitched shriek of a red-haired woman. 

Frightened, she retreated until her back was pinned to the wall opposite to the entrance door and tried to crawl slowly towards the other room, but her invader bellowed:

“Food! Water!”

The woman froze in place, her half naked chest moving up and down rapidly. Trun, judging this was the only opponent he would find in this cottage, lowered his two-handed blade and began searching for his food and water, throwing the woman’s furniture from his way like a child throwing around his toys. He smashed two earthen pitchers to the floor until he found one that was half full with spring water and emptied it down his throat, without letting one drop spill on the ground. He smashed the pitcher against the wall when it failed to quench his thirst completely and then took his attention to the hearth where a delicious smelling broth was boiling in a black pot. 

Trunn crouched in front of the fire and cupped his left hand, while his right was still gripping the blade. He sunk his hand into the broth and brought it to his mouth and sipped ravenously the broth, despite the excruciating pain that made him holler. With his whole mouth burned he turned again towards the woman and shouted :

“Water!”

The red-headed woman grabbed a bucket that lay hidden in a corner of the room and a ladle hung above the hearth and offered the man water. 

Trunn slapped the ladle from her hand and snatched the whole bucket. He dipped his face in it and drank, extinguishing his thirst and his burning pain. 

“You’re an animal!” said the woman, disgusted. 

The man raised his head from the bucket, with a feeling of both anger and shame. He was thirsty and hungry and had every right to take what he so much needed. On the other side, the woman didn’t deny him anything, nor was she to blame for his condition. He gazed at her. She was a fair creature, far from her maiden years, but not near until a single ashen thread would be seen in her hair, the color of burning coals. In the warm light of the hearth fire and of the few oil lamps scattered around the small room, her skin glistened in the color of ripe peaches on her blooming cleavage, her naked arms and shoulders and her slender thighs that came down from the scarlet waves of her dress. The sentiment of shame won over that of anger inside Trunn’s head and he stood up and placed his sword back in it’s sheath. 

“Sit down,” said the woman gesturing the wide shouldered man on a chair that appeared too delicate to contain his brutish frame. Trunn however obeyed and sat down, placing one of his legs to the side as if he needed to support himself in case the chair broke. 

The woman produced a round deep bowl, the color of burned clay, picked up the ladle that Trunn threw on the floor and served him a portion of the hot gruel. She then opened a cupboard and pulled out a loaf of bread and a wooden spoon and placed them on the table. 

The man took a large bite of the bread and then dipped the rest into his bowl. With his mouth full he nodded thankfully towards his host. 

“You’re hiding from someone,” said the woman, but the man kept eating silently. 

“What’s your name?” she asked.

The man turned his head towards her.

“I’m not the one hiding. The one I’m looking for is the one who’s hiding. He’s hiding like a coward behind his men and behind stone walls, but I will draw him out and face him. He will die by my sword.”

The woman glanced at the huge blade strapped on his back. 

“Who is this unfortunate man?”

“Mahuranta”

The red-haired woman threw her head back in laughter. 

“You seek to kill Mahuranta? You alone and that piece of steel?”

Trunn grabbed her arm and pulled her down on her knees. 

“You know him, woman?”

“Who does not know his name?” said the woman struggling to release herself from his iron grip. 

“Who on these lands has not felt his scourge?”

The man released her and she crawled away on the floor until her back was against the cupboard. 

“He has powers you cannot comprehend. He cannot be killed by a mere mortal like yourself.”

“His tricks don’t scare me. The gods will look down and smile when Trunn will separate his head from his neck.”

The woman lifted herself up, took a flagon from the counter behind her and poured the man a cup of wine. She placed it on the table, carefully keeping her distance from the man and then took another cup and poured some for herself. 

“Even if you had the power to kill him, you will never get to him. Mahuranta sits on his throne in the Great Citadel, guarded by walls that reach the sky and a thousand immortal warriors.”

Trunn took a large sip from the red wine and then placed the cup calmly on the table. 

“I met some of his ‘immortal warriors’. Not a day’s walk from here I brought down their outpost on their ugly heads,” said the man proudly. 

“Then what are you doing here under my roof?”

Trunn sat silent.

“If your gods are so powerful, why don’t you ask them to satisfy your hunger and quench your thirst?” 

“Maybe I did ask them and they led me to your house,” smiled Trunn, finishing his bowl.

The woman cackled, her laughter resounding through the room like a gurgling stream. It was long since Trunn had heard or seen a woman laughing and he found himself gazing again at her fleshy bosom that jiggled up and down under the thin scarlet fabric. 

“What is your name, woman?”

She felt his gaze undressing her and smiled on the corner of her mouth.

“Did you ask your gods to satisfy your other needs as well?”

Trunn finished his drink.

“You are a witch! You could have poisoned this wine that you’re so gladly sharing.”

“Then your gods have failed you.”

The woman unfastened a small golden clasp from her left shoulder and let her scarlet dress fall around her legs. 

“Or maybe I too asked for something from my gods.” 

She gently stepped over her dress and swayed over to her guest, letting the dim light from the lamps cast dancing shades on her slender naked body. She put her hand through Trunn’s ruffled long hair and smirked. 

“I’m Esme.”

Trunn stood up from his chair and with a movement of his arm cleaned up the wooden table, sending the empty bowl and his cup to the floor where they shattered. He put his wide rough hands around the woman’s waist, lifted her on the table and laid her on her back. He unfastened his girdle, grabbed Esme tightly by her hips and he pulled her whole body towards him. The woman moaned loudly as he plunged himself between her thighs. She put her legs around him and squeezed him hard between them while Trunn was groaning, pushing himself harder and deeper. He lowered his body over her and began kissing her red lips, her neck, her collar bone, her plump, heavy breasts with an unquenchable thirst. 

The red-haired woman felt her body melting under Trunn’s steaming wide frame, but the feeling of her sharp nails digging into his bulging shoulders and the sound of her panting under him only incited him more and his thrusts grew more and more savage until her moans turned into shattering shrieks of pleasure. 

The armed guard unmounted from his horse and kneeled before a bush. He analyzed the branches and then turned his attention to the ground. He moved his palm over the crumbled leaves and then stood up and took a few steps to his left. With the same scrutiny he analyzed the dark ground and then took a couple more steps to the right. 

“The trails lead everywhere and nowhere. There’s no point in looking for him through this darkness. We’ll only lose ourselves in the woods. We should head back and resume our searches in the morning.”

“You want to be the one telling Mahuranta you lost him, because it was too dark to keep on following?” said his older companion from his saddle. 

“And what do you say we should do?”

The rider pointed to a stream of white smoke rising above the trees. 

“He is a man. He is tired and hungry. If we see that he surely saw it too.”

The guard smiled and climbed back in his saddle. 

“I take it you expect a larger share of the reward now?”

“I take it you still think I will share the reward with you?”

“It would be sensible, lest you want to feel the taste of my blade.”

“It would be sensible to keep your blade sheathed until we find that savage or none of us will find its way out of these cursed woods.”

“Are you afraid, old man?”

“Said the young pup who wanted to turn back because he’s scared of the dark.” 

The older guard did not wait for his companion to come back with a reply and drove his horse through the trees on the narrow path that led in the direction of the white smoke. 

“I’ll have your mare, after that beast guts you down,” said the younger guard watching his companion disappear in the dark thicket. 

Esma’s small cottage had two rooms, the one in which she received her unexpected visitor and the bedroom in which they now both rested on the straw mattress, under the cold moonlight peering through the open window. 

“You are accustomed to pain,” she said tracing the scars on Trunn’s chest as she laid on her side with her head on his shoulder. 

“I carried a sword for my tribe since I was a young boy. All the men in my tribe did. We fought to defend our village from other tribes, just as others fought to defend their village from us, but all respected the gods. Kalor smiles down both on the vanquisher and the vanquished if he stands his ground with sword in hand.”

“Where is your tribe?”

“My tribe is no more. When Mahuranta came to our land he used lies and deceit to turn us against each other. He allied with one tribe against another and corrupted our elders with promises of gold and power. They listened to his lies and he turned brother against brother, son against father. We forgot our laws and the gods have turned their face away from us. With illusions and tricks he slaughtered our warriors and enslaved our children and women. Now my land, my village, is home only to ashes and bones.”

“You fought against Mahuranta?”

“I fought against his soldiers. His men are weak and without honor, but they came in hordes. We fought as hard as we could but they crushed us and slaughtered every man able to wield a blade. I only lived because I fled to the woods before they got a hold of me. I dropped my sword and ran like a coward until I could hear my people’s screams no more. When I came to my senses it was too late. I returned but Mahuranta’s army had burned down our homes and there was nothing left. That day I saw the spirits of my dead brethren walking naked among the ashes screaming in pain because the gods have closed the gate to their palace.”

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Esma caressed his cheek and turned his face towards hers. 

“You ran to save your life.”

“Our life is nothing. I was raised to fight and die in battle, but when it was my turn to join my ancestors at Kalor’s side, I ran like a scared animal and the gods cursed my village for this cowardice. Ever since that day I have been hunting and slaughtering Maharanta’s servants. They’ve raised temples for him, they bow to him and worship him like a god. Ha! An insult to the true gods of sun, moon and earth. They are many and I am one, so I fought them with their own weapons. I attacked them in the darkness, I slayed them in their beds, I poisoned their water and food. Of these deeds I am not proud, but when I find Maharanta, Trunn of Harea will stand against him alone and challenge him in battle. When he will fall by my sword, Kalor will be pleased and he himself will open the gate for my people.”

“You think Maharanta will accept your challenge?”

“If he denies it,may he be cursed forever and may it be known that the last of the Hareans died with honor.”

Esma rolled out of bed and walked to the open window. She let the cool night breeze caress her hair and lifted her eyes to the pale light of the moon. 

“My husband, Bahtan, was brave like you. He was a powerful man and a fierce warrior. We lived in a large house in the great city of Ghadad. I dressed in the finest silk and wore the finest jewels. I had an army of servants at my feet. When they conquered our city, Maharanta demanded that everyone should bow before him and recognize him as their god. My husband refused and challenged that wicked sorcerer to combat. I had no fear that day because I knew the world had not seen a better swordsman than my love.

When Bahtan drew first blood I thought the fight was over, but my husband’s blade did not cut deep enough. Maharanta was frightened and he used his magic. He took my husband’s sight and laughed as my beloved hollered and waved his sword around in vain, hitting nothing. He then took the strength from his limbs and I saw my husband fall to the floor limp and powerless. My heart sank watching my beloved Bahtan like this, but there was nothing I could do, and the cruelty of that cursed magician knew no limits. He sliced my husband’s throat and let him bleed to death, but restored his eyesight so the last thing he could see was the image of me being stripped and ravished by his soldiers.”

Esma turned her head back and looked down on the naked Harean lying in her bed. 

“You are not the only one who knew pain.”

The woman walked over to a dark corner of a room and kneeled before a large wooden chest. 

“After they got bored with me, they tossed me into the streets, naked and wounded, as a lesson for others. No one dared to help me. The people I once regarded as friends cursed me and shut their doors in my face, not wanting to be seen aiding the wife of a traitor. I walked the streets of Ghadad naked and bleeding until an old woman took pity on me and brought me here. 

She tended my wounds and fed me. She taught me how to gather herbs and prepare them. She taught me other things too, things that a warrior like you would frown upon. After her death, I’ve been living here alone, trading ointments for food, but before I left Ghadad, I managed to steal something.”

The woman opened the chest and pulled out a long curved dagger. It’s hilt was golden and ornate with strange engravings and a couple of red stones, but it’s blade was smeared in dried blood. She stood up and handed the blade to Trunn. 

The man grabbed it by it’s hilt and held it in the dim light of the moon to inspect it. 

“It is the blade with which my husband wounded Maharanta.”

Esma turned back to the chest and pulled out a small vial that produced a soft humming noise. He held it up and with a look of pride and madness she proclaimed. 

“And this, this is my own creation.”

Trunn got up to look closer. He extended his hand to take the vial, but before he could touch it he retracted it and spat on the floor with disgust. 

“Witchery!”

The woman took the vial to her bosom and let it humm against her chest. 

“A blood wasp, a creature of revenge. Her sting has poison strong enough to kill any man, but she will only use it against one. The one who’s blood she tasted. She’s been alive for years, feeding on the dried blood from my husband’s dagger. The blood of Maharanta.”

“I care not for these tricks and illusions!” puffed Trunn with arrogance. 

“You alone stand no chance against that wizard. If his men don’t cut you down first, he will use the same spells he used on my husband.”

“If that bug can kill your husband’s murderer, then why haven’t you used it?”

“The blood wasp needs to be close to its victim. It needs to smell his blood. Take me with you in Ghadad. I will show you how you can sneak in the palace. We will find Maharanta and together we will make him pay.”

Trunn grabbed his sword, which was resting against the wall near the bed and slammed it loudly against his chest. 

“By this alone he will fall, not with tricks made by women.”

Esme dropped on her knees and pleaded. 

“You want revenge and so do I. Let us both have it, and cut down the serpent’s head. I’ve been a noble of Ghadad. I know my way around the court. With me by your side you can place yourself on the throne and rule as king. King! And me as your queen!”

Trunn looked down at Esma, and saw in her eyes the promise of revenge and the dream of a ruler far greater that he could imagine back in his native tribe. A chieftain, no, a king who will rule over his people by the old law, the law of the true gods. It was a dream that he dared partake in for no more than a moment, because in that image of himself resting on the throne of the great citadel of Ghadan he saw again the spirits of his fallen people. 

A king? No, a trickster stealing the crown through means of illusion, the same ville magic that corrupted his brothers. How will Kalor open the gates for such a deceiver?

Trunn pulled himself from Esma’s embrace. 

“No, witch. It will be done by steel, or not at all!”

A flood of curses birthed by frustration arose to Esma’s throat, but before she could open her mouth to spew them on the stubborn barbarian, the sound of hooves came in through the window. 

Trunn drew his sword. With regained strength he was ready to face any opponent brought by the forest, but the red haired woman quickly pushed him back. 

“No! Hide in here and I will draw them to you.”

It was not in Trunn’s nature to withdraw from a combat, but the acquired experience in dealing with multiple enemies by himself, especially enemies that had no issues in employing the use of bows, had tempered his manners. He could recall a dozen riders following him in the woods. If he would face them all outside they would riddle him with their arrows before he had the chance to charge them with his blade. The woman’s plan made sense. Inside they had little space to encircle him and they would be forced to fight the Harean one by one. Above all, Trunn knew he had to stay alive long enough to gain his chance against Mahuranta. 

Esma shut the door close and  rushed into the main room to find two soldiers coming in with their blades drawn out. 

“You’re by yourself, witch?” said the younger of the two, pleasantly surprised by the sight of their host who greeted them in full bareness. 

“How dare you barge in like two robbers in the night?”

“Maybe we are robbers, said the soldier sheathing his sword and grabbing a hold of the woman’s red mane.

“Or maybe one would consider an open door as an invitation. What type of wench lives alone with only a broken door between her and any scum that might pass through.”

“What good can a wooden door do for a woman that lives alone in the face of any scum who might force his way in?” said Esme, struggling to release herself. 

“It was not long since someone did,” said the other soldier still standing in the doorway with his steel ready and analyzing the recently broken entrance. 

“If the one we’re looking for is hiding inside, call him out or we’ll burn this wretched place to the ground.”

“There’s no one hiding in here”, said Esme.

“A man came in earlier. He satisfied his needs and then ran off into the woods.”

The younger man was squeezing Esme in his arms, seemingly more excited by the prospect of satisfying his own needs than carrying down his assignment, but his companion, less inclined for distraction, held his stand in the doorway.He had seen Trunn fight against his comrades.  He knew their enemy was more beast than man, and no beast fights more vicious than when cornered. Their number held no advantage in such a narrow space.

“Come out and fight, Harean,” shouted the old soldier, but his only answer was the sound of startled wings fluttering off the trees. 

“He’s in there, isn’t he?” said the younger man spotting a closed door. 

“Don’t go in there!” said his companion, but the eager soldier threw aside the red-haired woman and kicked the door open. He drew out his sword and allowed a moment for his eyes to try and distinguish the fugitive in the dark chamber. Nothing was moving inside, apart from a disoriented fly drawing circles in the moonlight around the open window. 

“Don’t go in! Let’s seal this place and smoke him out!” shouted again the other soldier, but his companion looked back at him with an insolent smirk. 

“And then we can share the reward? How about I end him now and keep it all for myself?”

The soldier stepped inside cautiously, looking to his left and right, but before his eyes could adapt to the darkness inside, they only caught a sudden metallic flash and he felt a deafening thump strike him in the chest. Trunn pushed his foot in the man’s belly and pulled out his blade from between his ribs, leaving the soldier to fall breathless at the red-haired woman’s feet. 

The other soldier howled a hateful curse and turned around to run ,but the Harean, like an animal who had just tasted blood, sprinted through the door and impaled the man with his sword before he could reach his horse. Trunn quickly pulled out his weapon from the soldier’s back and retreated to a defensive stance, expecting to parry an attack from his companions but he soon realized only two men had followed him to the cottage and burst in a bellowing laughter. 

He turned to Esma who was still inside, kneeling on the floor where the young soldier had thrown her. 

“A dozen riders were after me, but these two fools were the greediest.”

The woman was not amused by the Harean’s jest. 

“We should leave this place. Take me with you and we’ll sneak into Ghadad.”

Trunn frowned. 

“You had my answer, woman.”

“And what will the soldiers do to me when they’ll find two of their numbers dead in my house?”

Trunn sheathed his sword and walked over to the two horses that his hunters had tied up to a nearby tree. He stroked their backs gently and then undid their bindings and led them closer to the cottage. 

“I will take you with me to the city, as this place is no longer safe for you, but in my quest I go alone. Go and get dressed. We must leave at once,” said Trunn and turned his attention to the bags stored under the saddles, and began making an inventory of his newly acquired supplies: a few strips of dried jerky, a couple of cantines half filled with water and a neatly deposited pouch loaded with a few copper coins. A thought crossed the Harean’s mind, that by riding the soldier’s horses and wearing their clothes, he might pass as one of Mahuranta’s acolytes and thus find it’s way more easily into the great citadel. Trunn turned around to where he left one of his opponents lying in the grass, but, suddenly a flash of silver light flickered under his eyes, followed by a warm tingling sensation as if something was crawling down on his chest. He saw the red-haired woman stepping away from him with a dripping black dagger in her hand and wanted to say something but his tongue and neck went stiff. Trunn reached for his sword but before he could draw his weapon one last time, the night became darker , cooler and his limbs betrayed him to the damp grass under his feet. 

*

Two guards,  walking on both sides of the red-haired woman, led the way into the vast hall and took her through a forest of wide marble columns. Images of her husband bleeding to death under the same columns flooded her mind and made her stomach turn, but she struggled to retain her composure and kept walking. The guards, better built and more richly armed than the two that visited her cottage a night before, forced Esma to her knees before she could get closer than ten steps from the towering golden throne at the end of the hall, and announced her presence. 

“Great Mahuranta, king of kings, ruler of all souls under the sky, we bring you this woman. She claims to stand before you with the head of a vile creature that defied your power, the last of the Hareans.”

A crowned figure, that appeared tall even when seated, dressed in a robe enriched with all manner of precious gems waved a white slender hand and the guards retreated. 

“Show me!” he commanded and the red-haired woman reached into her bag and pulled out by a lock of hair the severed head of a brutish man who’s wide open blue eyes were frozen in a piercing gaze. 

Mahuranta smiled with satisfaction. 

“The face of a beast born in darkness and violence. A beast who fought so hard against the light and truth that I, in my great mercy, brought to his savage lands. Look at him now! Not so long ago, your husband stood in the same hall and chose death over life, isn’t it?”

The sensation of queasiness overcame Esma and she felt glad she didn’t have to stand on her feet. 

“My husband was a foolish man.”

“Indeed. To turn your face from me, is to plunge into oblivion, but you, you have served me well. Tell me, how did a frail creature like you overpowered such a beast?”

“With great cunning, my lord. I’ve lured the savage into a trap and slit his throat when least expected it.”

“To serve your master is to attain power, my daughter. And tell me, what were the last words of this traitorous Harean?”

“Ask him yourself, you bastard!”

Esma sprung from her place and hurled the head towards the throne, landing it right into Mahuranta’s lap and making the king gasp in terror as Trunn’s mouth opened and released the buzzing blood wasp. 

Mahuranta squashed the insect on his neck, but before he could raise his arm to order his startled guards to seize the red-haired woman, the wasp’s venom spread like a black lighting through his veins, until it reached his heart and made the king collapse without a breath in his golden chair. 

Trunn’s head rolled down from the king’s lap and tumbled down the steps all the way to Esma’s feet and his dead eyes closed forever changing his terrible expression into one of serenity and peace.

The End