Chapter 13 Preparation
“Master, I know you’re hunting a were-creature. And i know you’re not happy about it. But can i hear the whole story please?” Torrin chose his words carefully. Tristran had been in a terrible mood the whole way back to their room.
Tristran sighed, “Torrin, this is exactly why i will not let you join the deathcasters. I am under orders. I have no option right now. The Mistress of death has personally summoned me to slay this creature, and I don’t think the boy is the monster. It’s those damned fools who created him. My faction is very secretive so we can be mysterious and terrifying, but we were all kids at one time. All of us are just mortals. We’re nothing more than an adventuring guild that specializes in assassinations and death.” He had been preparing his spells and equipment since they arrived at their room two hours before. Currently he was checking fasteners on his armor making sure none were loose.
“If you hate them so much why do you still serve them?” Torrin sat down on the cot across from sulking warrior. Torrin finally saw the warrior without his armor on and noticed scars of varying length littered the mans body. Bruises from his recent battle with the Flametongue, grew a sickening yellow as they healed. This was the first time it struck him that his master was a man. Nothing more, until this point he had viewed him as death, unkillable and fictitious. And then he had viewed him as a hero. And now his master, stoic and masterful. But he had never once thought of the humanity Tristran bore. Every quest, every battle was life or death. One slip, one swing too wide and it could all end.
“Because of love Tor. Because I am trying to prove myself to the Mistress of death. I’m one of the few who have met her, or at least know that I have. If i don’t walk away from that wretched place with love, what was the point? I’ve slain fathers, brothers and sons. I’ve assassinated kings and killed evil queens. The training I received as a boy warped my mind to believe victory is me leaving the battlefield alone and victorious, no survivors.” Tristran hung his head a bit, though cathartic he didn’t truly understand why he told the boy all of this. Maybe it was because in a few months he’d never see him again, or because they were kin and shared a common traumatic experience. Or perhaps it was because he just needed to talk for once, no judgement. Though the visits were rare, he normally only confided in Selena, the mistress of death, he sat quietly pondering his newly found expressiveness.
“Oh. Well i don’t know the first thing about love and girls.” Torrin’s face blushed. A bit in embarassment.
Tristran leaned over and scruffled his hair, standing up and going to Bjarnhande. “I don’t expect you to know Tor. But thank you for listening. Just know what happens tonight i don’t want to happen. You can’t raise a wolf and expect it to not kill.”
“Isn’t there any other way?” Torrin was scared, this intimidating warrior he seemed to idolize was having an emotional crisis currently. Though he hadn’t spent long with him Tristran was everything to him right now. He was so far from home, he had lost the only family he knew and when he finally arrived back at the tribe they might all be dead. Tristran was also one of the strongest fighters he’d ever seen. He idolized the man.
Tristran stood up, “no Torrin! There is no other gods damned way!” His face was red and he was yelling. “Unfortunately, as i stated before i have a mission! I am to follow that to the letter. If the Mistress says kill, i kill. If she tells me to run into an enemy encampment and die then that’s what I’ll-“ Tristran stopped, a sudden calm coming over him. “I’m sorry Torrin perhaps you are on to something.” He pulled out a little slip of paper and mumbled a bit, the more he read the wider his smile grew.
“What is it master?” Torrin had retreated to the corner of his bed, not out of physical fear but understanding that Tristran needed space.
“It says ‘rid the city of the problem,’ nowhere on here does it say kill!” Tristran turned around grabbed Torrin off the bed and hugged him in joy. “I need to speak with my sect leader, um, stay here Torrin.” He left the room quickly carrying a stone with odd markings on it.
—————
“Akemund are you there?” Tristran was in the bath house, the rooms were private which means his conversation would be.
“Tristran i told you to address me by my honorific as everybody else does. But to answer your question yes i am. What do you need? Is the deed done?” A low voice rang through the stone.
“No not yet. Tonight. But that’s what i need help with. Tell me, have you ever heard of a hybrid were-creature?” Akemund, though not as skilled as Tristran in combat was a mastermind tactician. During the rebellion he and Akemund had almost evenly split votes to take the high knights chair, Akemund won by one vote, a vote cast by Tristran himself.
“Unfortunately i have. A particularly nasty abomination they are. Please don’t tell me you’re about to face one. Though i have no doubt in your skill i still fear you may be out of commission for awhile after the fight.” Akemund chuckled a bit, “a curse removal spell won’t work since they are born and not created and they typically lose all sense of control when they transform.”
“Right, i know that. Sometimes i think you forget who you’re talking to. But my question is, can one be captured? Can one be worn out until there form flickers and turns? A typical cursed were-creature is forced to transform under full moons what of a hybrid?” Tristran was speaking quickly, anxious to have his suspicions confirmed.
“Tristran this is not like you. You always kill first ask questions later. What’s got your knickers all balled up?” Curiosity was edging into Akemund’s voice.
“Answer the question high knight, and then I’ll tell you my reasons.”
“Fine, fine. Yes. Theoretically because the creature is not cursed to be transformed the entire full moon, if he were to expend too much energy his metabolism would force him to change shape back to something that didn’t need quite as much energy to sustain. But that’s just a theory Tristran, i mean this man needs to die. God forbid he infects more and we have a plague of hybrids on our hands.” Akemund yawned
“It’s not a man. It’s a boy. A fucking boy Akemund. Created by a group of elders to bring the next evolution of were-creatures. I will not have that blood on my hands if i can prevent it.” Anger slipped into his voice.
“I understand old friend. But don’t let your ideals kill you, she’s waiting for your return.” Akemund was about the only one who knew The mistress and Tristran had a forbidden love.
“Understood. I need to go finish preparing. But i won’t be returning anytime soon, something else came up. Fair well.” And Tristran ran his finger over the stone, cutting off the connection before Akemund could prod or issue an order. He had a way to salvation, but would he survive the attempt? Was it even going to work? It was worth a shot.
——————
“Torrin i want you to pay close attention to the fight. You’ll be out of harms way but i want you to watch and listen.” Tristran was pulling metal plugs from Bjarnhande. The holes were angled.
“Master what are the holes for?” Torrin looked on inquisitively. Aside from his armor and weapons Tristran hadn’t prepared anything else.
“You’ll see Torrin. That’s why i want you to watch and listen.” a soft smile crossed his face, “Torrin, thank you. I’m sorry i lost my temper earlier, you didn’t deserve that. You’re question might have just saved a life.” The boy stiffened proudly. “Alright time to gather the others and meet the old crone.”
Chapter 14 the blades lamentation
It was close to midnight when the group reached the elders shop. Torrin noted their faces had all taken on a stern look, even Endalmiir was hardly talking to the boy.
Stolen story; please report.
As promised the elder was in her shop waiting, a somber look on her face. “Sir, tell me again why we are bringing the beast to our district?”
Tristran glared at her, she was a filthy excuse for life. “You and the rest of the elders are bait, but first you need to find him for me. Use that mut nose and sniff him out.” His lip curled in disgust at just the sight of this coward but she did as he said and started out of the shop and towards the streets.
“He’s already close by, west, about one hundred and fifty meters,” she took a deeper whiff, “on the rooftops.” She turned towards the group.
“Armon. Endalmiir. You know the drill, except this time watch the boy for me will you?” Tristran’s demeanor changed yet again. His eyes began to dilate, steam was beginning to appear from his nostril. He slid his helmet over his head, covering the thick black hair as he ran off into an alley way, easily jumping over a wall onto a roof.
“Kid follow us. You too elder. We have a deadline to meet, it won’t take him long to route the beast to your district.” Endalmiir put his arm around Torrin’s shoulder and began walking in the direction the elder said the were-creatures lived.
Torrin didn’t know what he just witnessed but his heart was beginning to pound, he could feel his adrenaline pumping, preparing to fight or run. But more than that he felt a caged animal clawing at his mind, the berserkers often described this feeling before entering their fugue.
—————
“There you are.” Tristran was leaping across rooftops following the silhouetted bulky form of the hybrid. It was time to get it’s attention, he pointed a finger at a roof corner near it and fired a bright red bolt. The creature stopped abruptly and turned to face his direction, “that’s right. Over here.” The beast sniffed the air, and hunched over awkwardly beginning to run on all fours. “Fuck!” Tristran doubled his pace, never gaining an inch. When he caught a glimpse of the creature he’d fire a shot, the beast would turn the opposite direction. Though it was hard to see, the beast was thick with muscle, tattered clothes covered it’s torso blowing in the wind. If it wasn’t going to follow him he could at least push it the way he wanted to go. Another shot, another turn. They weren’t far now but he had to catch it before it hit the ground or else it would tear through the were-creature civilians.
Suddenly it stopped, lifting it’s broad long snout into the air and let out the most grotesque howl he’d ever heard. It was as if a bear roared, and a wolf howled at the same time. It was loud and sad like a wolf who lost it’s pack, sending a shiver down his spine. The abomination turned west and took off on a dead sprint, shingles clattered to the ground, a constant sound of shattering trailing the beast. It finally took the bait.
Tristran took in a deep breath and once again doubled his pace, his body would protest the over exertion in the morning, but for now, adrenaline pumped through his veins. The hunt was on. His feet padded along at an almost rhythmic beat, like the drums of war beating faster and faster as the host of soldiers grew closer to their foe. The beast dropped out of site not 30 meters in front of him, he’d gained on it. The eerie howl loosed again and Tristran heard the scream and yelps of the civilians. Not a moment later he shot off the roof, using his momentum to kick the beast with both feet. It barely moved. That was to be expected. It turned and swiped at him but he was already rolling to recover from his kick, it missed pawing the air where his head would have been if he were upright. A quick glance and he saw them, the elders. They were stationed by a communal fountain. The beast swiped again but with the other paw, this time he danced to the side. Another quick glance, there was Torrin and the others. Good it was all set up, time to fight and survive.
The black clad warrior stood, his leather armor shimmering in the full moon as he finally saw what the beast looked like. A grotesque mix of bear and wolf. It’s snout was a mix, long but broad, the head was thick but had pointed wolf like ears. The coat was mostly brown except for the gray white strip down the center of it’s back. Paws the size of his head with nasty looking hooked claws hung at it’s sides reaching below it’s knees, much longer than any normally proportioned body. It’s legs were bent like a canine’s and short but also thick with a bears musculature. The most alarming thing about the monster was it’s eyes, one was bright blue and the other ghostly white. A characteristic of the wolf, yet filled with pain and sadness like a human. This would be a tough fight. It was powerful like a bear, it’s long arms and claws could reach him even at full distance with Bjarnhande. It was fast as he knew, but what he didn’t know was how quick it was.
“I’m giving you one chance. Boy if you’re in there, please don’t do this. I don’t want to-“ he was cut off as the beast belched it’s terrifying scream in his direction and then turned towards the elders, snarling and growling. Another scream as it started slowly stalking towards them. “Shit.” He lunged forward catching the beast in the thigh, but the hide was too tough. What was meant to immobilize only sent it into a rage. Quickly it turned and caught him off guard slamming a large paw into him and throwing him into a building. The beast turned back once more, and stalked towards the elders once again.
Tristran knew what he had to do, he had to get in it’s way. Between it and the elders, he’d had worse ideas he guessed. Stumbling back up he caught his breath and skirted the creature, ending up 20 meters in front if it. Spear at the ready, he prepared himself. His spear started spinning, a high pitch whine projecting from it matched by a humming as he matched rhythm. The creature screamed again, distorting the sound with the force of it’s breath and charged.
—————
Torrin watched from a distance, at the fountain where the elders stood. He had heard a painful scream in the distance and knew the beast was coming. He heard it before he saw it, shingles crashing to the ground as the heavy feet slammed into the rooftops heading directly towards the fountain. When it finally appeared it sent a shive down his spine. Not a moment later tristran flew down and tried kicking it, bouncing off. As he rolled to recover it swiped, then swiped again, this time a dodge. He looked away for a moment glancing at all the were-creatures peaking out to watch the battle and then he heard a high pitch note play, and build harmonized by a deep humming. As he looked towards the sound he saw Tristran spinning Bjarnhande, standing in the beasts way before it could strike the elders. He was already battered, his normally pristine armor was dirty and gouged from the one strike. “Armon? What is that? Why is Tristran’s spear whistling?” The sound made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
Armon stiffened a bit, “just watch Torrin. You’re about to see why Tristran is so feared, the blade dance.” He looked at the boy a soft comforting smile on his face hid his fears. This was like no other opponent he had faced alone.
“What’s a blade dance?” Torrin looked on completely fascinated by odd fighting style. And then it began. A metallic ringing as spear met claw.
—————
It was sudden but not unexpected. The beast took the first swing, a broad sweep to his torso. It was met with Bjarnhande’s blade. He allowed the power of his opponents strike to propel him to the opposite side, his feet almost gliding across the gravel. He countered, swinging his spear in a wide arc using his spin to gain momentum. It was blocked by the beast massive forearm. He brought the spear in close, going into the balancing stance he used on the Flametongue, but this time his hand were as far back on the haft as possible, and extra distance he could get would be crucial for now. A few jabs came his way, knocked away by his long sharp blade as he retreated and the creature advanced. It was his turn, he unleashed a flurry of thrusts pushing it back as it batted them aside. But one found purchase in it collar bone. Again the hide was too thick for any real damage, but this was a battle of attrition, he had to win by wearing it down. Another exchange, this time the beast switched it up going on all fours and biting at his thigh as he used the spear as a lever and kicked it hard on the side of the head, finally it budged. When his foot slammed into the beast it stumbled to the side. Hardly noticeable but it was there.
Enraged the beast let out a scream again, charging full force and sending him flying into another building. This time he coughed up blood. It turned back to him, finally he had it’s attention. It’s strikes were faster now, not as wide and much closer. He choked up on the haft, blocking and dodging. Left strike, parry, dodge to the left. Met with a tight strike, block and counter with a strike from the back end of his spear. Next a bite, thrust four times, make it retreat. The beast lunged, met by Tristran with sweeping uppercut slashes. One caught deep in the creatures arm it went limp. A scream of pure unadulterated rage spewed from the beasts mighty maw. Shit it was faster now, how much longer till this thing tired out? A massive claw buried itself in his armor, breaching the leather and puncturing the warriors flesh. Blood started trickling down his torso.
Tristran started humming louder, changing pitch. He couldn’t wait to block he had to be the aggressor. He swung in arcs, spinning as the beast blocked and sent the spear in the opposite direction, using the momentum to reign in the spear and unleashing an uppercut. He caught it in the jaw leaving a gash across it’s snout. It tried to counter but only had time to block and retreat. Tristran pushed forward, backing it into a corner. Thrust, slash, thrust, thrust, uppercut, kick. He had it pinned, it’s movements slowed as it tired. For five minutes he kept it cornered, slowly draining its stamina. The humming becoming his strength, his mantra, the only thing keeping him upright as the blood continued to trickle from his wound. Bjarnhande sang a song of horror, the high pitch ringing echoing in the alley way. The plan would work! It was tiring.
Horror filled him as the beast caught his swordspear looking at him, no not at him. Tristran turned around as the muscular beast threw his spear aside and shot towards the end of the alley where the elders stood. “No! You fucking fools!” He had lost. Rage welled inside him as he gripped Bjarnhande so tight his knuckles turned red and lunged for the creature, catching it in the back of the leg, sending it tumbling forward. The elders scattered. But the beast was up and on one of their tails, tristran vaulted, slamming with all his weight into the creature. It’s fighting spirit had returned, it was hungry for blood. He had lost, he was only human. He had over exerted himself trying to save this boy, the blood loss making his thoughts fuzzy all he had was instinct now.
—————
Torrin watched in amazement as Tristran kept the beast at bay for five whole minutes. Engaged and attacking the entire time. He looked on in horror as he saw the elders creep around the alley way to watch and the beast regained it’s composure to strike the group. It was then he noticed the change in pitch of Tristrans spear, it was no long terrifying and fast. It was somber and melancholy. As if it was lamenting at what it was about to do. Moments later the beast slumped to the ground before changing back to it’s human form and with it Tristrans demeanor.
—————
The injured beast struck furiously at the warrior as he easily side stepped and dodged and blocked. Looking for that opening that would land him the death blow. There it was, the beast reached for him, he slashed upwards knocking its mighty arms up making them miss as Bjarnhande buried itself in the heart. A soft sigh was let out from the last breath and it slumped to the ground, slowly changing back into the true form of horror. Before Tristran lay the lifeless body of a 16 year old boy. His hair matted with mud and face caked in blood, a peaceful look resting on his face. “Rest easy now, your fight is over son.” The normally proud calm warrior let out a blood curdling scream as he slammed his fist, spear still in hand, into his chest. A challenge to the world, the only way he knew to deal with the horrid emotions he now felt. The scream faded as his lungs fully collapsed. A deep gulp of air, followed by another scream, this time deeper, a war cry. His vision turned red as a rage came over him and he pounded his chest. Stalking slowly towards the elders, a terrifying smile on his face. He slid the bear helm off, throwing it to the ground. Lip curled, and snarling as if a feral animal. Each step was heavy, his grip tightened around nasty bladed spear.
“You! You did this!” Tristran pointed his spear at the old merchant lady. “All of you!” This time he gestured towards the spectators. “Are you fucking happy? A boy died here today! He died because of these old fucks!” He walked up to the crone, leaned in and whispered, “i had a way to save him. Your grandson, he could’ve lived.” The old crone’s eyes, welled with tears and then they grew wide as the life drained out of them. The long vicious spear head buried into her chest, protruding from her back. The crowd gasped as Tristran ripped it from the body now on the ground and walked away.
“You will not get away with this!” One of the elders spouted.
“Fucking try me. You’re the monster here tonight. And all of you owe me a life debt, i will collect. Mark my words i will collect.” Tristran said as he continued to walk away hunched over, holding his left side and filled with more emotions than he knew how to handle.