Chapter 16

Thruum’s Call

Tamaran scrambled from the ravine as quickly as he could manage. The mud caked his fingernails and boots as he struggled to dig in and work against the terrain. The youth clung to the vines and saplings, using them for leverage to pull himself free of the wet pit. His thick hair now plastered to his face and the sides of his head with sweat and mud. He had to repeatedly wipe it from his eyes to see clearly. It was no easy task, but he persisted. The blade of his scimitar remained clenched tightly between his teeth. That helped keep him from crying out. His arms and legs burned from the exertion. The effort sapped his remaining strength. The climb emptied him into a small clearing of sorts, or what passed for a clearing in this extremely dense forest. There was space between the larger trees and a view of the sky overhead through the thick canopy. He collapsed on the ground rolling to his back in the leaves and grass. He stared up at the darkening sky. His chest rose and fell in heavy pants. The sword fell from his face, and he wrapped aching fingers about the hilt though he felt too weak to lift it. This hour plus of retreat left him beyond tired and lethargic. The struggle against the mud finished the job. He could see the last rays of day sliding from view and the shadows taking hold of the forest completely. He closed his eyes and sighed. This was hopeless. He had lost. He heard the hurried footsteps of the cultists shouting his name as they came for him. That sound so near sparked a new wave of adrenalin. He crawled back to his feet, sword in his grip, panting. He wanted to live! His uncle and father would be ashamed to know he simply gave up. What of his Psi-Knight dreams? What sort of knight gave up? Tamaran lifted his scimitar ready for battle though he had trouble holding the weapon upright. It felt so heavy in his hand.

“Tamaran Alseid Kophar, we are together again at last. I had come to think you might be avoiding me. By the holy virtue of unity, we come together.” Muhal stepped from the brush not fifteen paces away. A glow of sickly green lit the darkness. A sphere of wavering energy appeared floating in the air before the hunter. The grin he wore said it all. The man believed he had won. His was a face of triumph. The cold joy of the hunt coming to its end showed plainly in his smugness. He was enjoying this immensely.

Tamaran raised his scimitar and glared. “I do believe you are correct, Muhal. It seems that we are together again despite my best efforts. You are like that camel dung stuck to the sole of my boot I cannot shake free.”

The man’s smug grin faded. Muhal whispered another prayer then raised his pendulum. It swung wildly back and forth. The cultist hunter scanned the trees around them then returned his gaze to Tamaran. Muhal laughed. It was a deep belly laugh, a laugh of victory. “Praise be to Thruum! You should be very honored boy. Not many receive such dedicated attention from me. I may not know the full reason for your value beyond your cursed blood, but I am a faithful servant sent to answer his call. The Shinning One believes you are his. I suppose we shall see.” The desert lander stored his pendulum and dipped his head in prayer while clutching his amulet. He spoke loudly. “I beseech thee brother. Come and find your salvation. We are ready for you. They are both near.”

“I am not your brother! I never will be your brother!” Tamaran growled back at him. These constant requests to join him grew tiring. “I can speak from experience. No one wants your extra attention, camel dung.”

Muhal opened his eyes with a question on his face. He shrugged the thought away as he realized the youth assumed he spoke to him. Out came a spiked weapon that did not look familiar. This was a weapon developed on a distant continent. Muhal found it interesting and claimed it as his signature. It was attached to a long and thin rope. The desert hunter began to spin the spiked tool at the end of the cord in a tight circle at his side.

“The time for your insolence is finished, boy. You belong to the sect now and forever. If you resist further, you will force my hand. I can assure you; you do not want to force my hand. My mercy is… limited.”

Tamaran spat at him. “That is what I think of you, your dead God and your false mercy, camel dung!”

Muhal’s eyes grew wide and then narrowed in anger. The boy’s words were sacrilege. He roared, “Men! Take him!” His three remaining cultists emerged from the shadowy forest from every direction. Tamaran found himself surrounded.

His heart pounded and his body ached, but he raised the scimitar anyway. The first of the cultists leapt at him with a blade. Tamaran spun and deflected the attack. He continued in a full circle trying to watch them all. He stumbled but recovered quickly. His panting breath revealed his exhaustion. His arm trembled to hold his weapon aloft. He jabbed his scimitar wildly to keep them at bay. The floating sphere of green energy cast everything in shifting shadows outlined by the silver moonlight that slowly commanded the scene. He saw the spinning rope flash forward. Muhal’s strange weapon wrapped about his legs, pinning them together and dropping him to the forest floor as the hunter jerked those legs from beneath him. Tamaran slammed into the ground and for the briefest of moments it felt like some strange dream, up and down became confused and then the impact jarred him back to the present. He hit the ground hard. His head smacked the earth with a wet thud. His scimitar flew away in the fall. Weaponless, he scrambled desperately to untie the rope from his legs. The effort proved futile. The men moved in on him.

“Take him, but do not kill him,” Muhal stated calmly. “Try not to spill too much of that precious blood. It is more valuable than gold or gems. Master Vrauth will no doubt have need of every spare drop before he is delivered safely to The Anomaly. The Shinning One will be most grateful.” The man gazed down on the frantic and struggling youth. “You have been a worthy hunt, boy. Few have cost me so much effort. Take pride in that compliment.”

The first cultist reached Tamaran. As he leaned forward to grab the man a trio of arrows struck his chest throwing him backwards - dead.

“Keep your hands off him you demonic fanatics!” Vallen shouted as he struck a pose and aimed his bow for a new target. The nobleman all but materialized from the forest as his cloak’s blending magic ceased. The other cultists threw themselves behind trees for cover. Their leader did not flinch.

Hunter Muhal looked at the young nobleman and smiled. “It is about time. Blessed be the savior. Drawing out the hunt like this is difficult. I feared my prayers were mistaken. Are you the one?” He cocked his head ever so slightly. His dark gaze squinted in uncertainty as he studied Vallen. “Never mind, that can be sorted later.” The man pulled forth a strange instrument, some sort of horn, from his robes and lifted it to his lips. It appeared to be constructed from the actual horn of an animal but was carved from wood with incredible detail. He blew into it and a deep sound bellowed out across the forest. It was unlike any horn the nobleman had ever heard before. The sound it generated was low and foreboding. The closest sound would be a wounded moose only deeper and louder. The alien sound caused the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck to rise.

Just then, Daffonil sprang from the bushes behind one of the hiding cultists. She drove Starmane’s horn into his leg and then sprang away melting into the forest. The man shouted in pain and scanned the dark wood all around him for any sign of the elf. He held his blade out threateningly.

Another of the men fled for different cover as a familiar skunk’s butt appeared in the brush. He was not about to suffer that torture again. His eyes were still bloodshot and watering from the first assault. An arrow struck the tree next to his head as he moved.

“Hunter Muhal, the Idosian has allies all about us.” One of his men cried out. As if in answer to his warning, Bronwick burst through the brush with a war grunt and cleaved the man down the middle with his great sword. Maggie bathed in blood.

“Surrender, Hunter Muhal,” Farrah called from hiding. “You are the one surrounded now. You cannot win.” She figured her voice would be more threatening than the sight of her. She kept her lantern at the ready and her eyes closed. Darkness enveloped them quickly.

“Yes, surrender while you still can, asshole!” Reena added. She stayed hidden too. She liked this plan.

“Ha Ha Ha, hole of an ass!” Stench chirped. “Hole of an ass!”

Muhal heard the many voices chiming in from the woods, but his smile remained confidently in place. If he held any concern the man did not show it. It was almost as if he expected this, as if he welcomed it.

Tamaran struggled to free his legs from the cord, but Muhal began to drag the man closer to him. Why was he still grinning? That only made this all the more terrifying. “I might need a little help,” he cried out as he tried to grab a sapling and slow the progress. “Shoot him or cut the cord or something!” Tamaran’s voice sounded a touch panicked.

Vallen aimed an arrow for the arrogant sect hunter’s head. The desert land huntsman watched the nobleman target and did not even bother to duck. In fact, he smiled and lifted his chin in the nobleman’s direction. The arrow flew at him. Vallen’s aim was true. His marksmanship had always been praised by his instructors. The arrow sailed directly between Muhal’s eyes. It struck something invisible an inch from his face. Some sort of magical barrier blocked the arrow and it deflected harmlessly into the brush.

Muhal laughed. “Excellent shot. Ah, you must be Lord Vallen Manique of this famed Manique Estate I kept hearing about. The handsome young noble woodsman, pride of this region and throb of many a young maiden’s heart. Glad to finally meet you. The people of this land respect your house and look to your namesake for support, more your father than you, but still worthy of note. You should take pride in that, boy. I might like to see this regaled estate sometime to understand all the fuss.”

“He’s protected by magic from my arrows,” Vallen called out as he aimed for other areas of his body. Three arrows struck the man at his leg, arm and chest, these also bounced away harmlessly. “He’s completely shielded.”

Daffonil sprang from the tree cover again. This time she dropped from above and sank her weapon into the same man she struck before. He cried out and stumbled away, taking a weak strike at her with his blade in retaliation. He missed. The elf moved so easily through the forest it was hard to keep his eyes on her. The fact that her clothing blended with the foliage only added to her camouflage. Daffonil climbed back into the tree. The light of day was faded but her elven eyes could see as if the sun still shone thanks to the glowing green orb and the moonlight overhead. It was not dark just yet. This cultist was the last of Muhal’s assistants. Bronwick saw the man scrambling to escape. The giant half-orc barbarian tore through the brush with a roar and cut the man down in one swipe. His orc vision worked perfectly well day or night.

“You are alone now, Hunter Muhal. Surrender while you can,” Farrah called out. “Perhaps there will be mercy from the courts if you repent.” The man ignored her threats and dragged Tamaran closer. Despite being alone, he still looked surprisingly confident.

Realizing this could turn bad if that man got his hands on their friend, Vallen switched from bow to sword and charged Muhal. “We have given you fair warning!” He hoped his sword would fare better against the man’s magical shield. If nothing else, he could distract him from pulling Tamaran within reach and maybe cut the cord from his legs.

Daffonil’s scream pierced the darkening sky. The elf was thrown from the air as the entire tree she rested in was suddenly uprooted and falling. The crash of trees ripping near them claimed the scene. All attention shifted to the new arrival. A familiar pair of yellow eyes with the slatted pupils of a serpent gazed hungrily down upon them. Those large eyes then rose impossibly high into the air. Again, they were amazed at how something so big could move so stealthily. They never heard it coming.

“The beast! The beast is back!” Vallen shouted a warning for the others as he backed away in fear.

The nobleman tried to alter his course to check on Daffonil but the creature towered above the scene and moved too fast. It reached down with one massive paw and swiped across him. Those six-inch claws cut into his side and bat him away like a child’s ball. Vallen soared off into the woods with a pained cry and the cracking of branches. Muhal looked up at the beast and laughed in triumph. Now they knew why he was so confident. He somehow learned to control the beast. Was it his magic or that horn? Tamaran gazed up at it in terror and yelled then struggled to escape the cord wrapping his legs with renewed fervor.

Another figure materialized from the forest. A torch flared to life in his hand. The light of his flame illuminated him clearly for all to see. The gray robes of the sect identified him as yet another enemy. The designs on his robes also identified him as someone of import akin to Muhal. Brother Skrey stepped from the shadows. “I heard your calls clearly. We have come, my brother. By the virtues of faith and unity we are here. As you can see, my mission was a success.” Skrey’s eyes lingered on the beast admiringly. “Let us bring yours to fruition as well. Let the glory of Thruum display its power to these heretics. Let them see the futility of their efforts and regret their many choices in life. We would have come sooner but others tried to delay us. They were heretics of the worst kind and refused the call of Thruum vehemently. A shame since their blood is treasured. The fools cost us dearly. I lost many of my troops to them. Still, we triumphed. Let all see what becomes of those who refuse us!” The new priest raised something in his hand and tossed it forward to bounce across the ground into the small clearing.

The item he tossed rolled to land next to Tamaran. The tangled youth gasped and recoiled in disgust from a severed elf head. Daffonil was busy prying herself free of the pinning branches of the fallen tree, but she spotted this new arrival, and she stared in shocked horror at the sight of her elder, Faerin, or more accurately his severed head discarded on the ground. His pale flesh drained of blood and those vacant eyes haunted her.

“No!” she gasped. Her voice caught in her throat.

“Choose your path wisely, heretics!” Brother Skrey shouted with his arms raised to the sky. “Thruum’s mercy is sharp and fleeting. Your time for forgiveness is slim. Come forward my brethren, come forward and conquer. Reveal the truth of despair to these heathens. Let them see clearly that their plight is hopeless.” The man’s voice rose as he shouted to the sky in a dark language that sounded like it escaped from the pits of the abyss. His voice shifted into animalistic squawking sounds.

Torches began to light, one after the other. Six in total flared to life in the dark woods including Skrey’s. In the glow of those lights, they could see the gray robed figures holding them. They could also see other shapes, disturbing shapes huddled nearby. They looked like slender men maybe five to five and a half feet in height. These strange figures stood with their arms wrapped about them and their feathered cloaks pulled tight to their bodies. There was at least a dozen scattered about in the edges of the torchlight. The new priest let his hood fall away to reveal his bald head and the many tattoos covering it. The symbol of Thruum sat prominent at Skrey’s forehead sweeping back from between his eyes to the top of his head. The point of the triangular symbol rested directly between his thick brows. His eyes held a glare of madness.

Brother Skrey stood at the huge beast’s side and reached up to pat the fearsome creature on its haunch. “I believe you have met my friend before. I think he likes you. He required effort to reclaim but now he shall have his reward for returning to us. His reward will be your blood and bones for him to chew and your screams of pain to savor. Your flesh can add to that of those foolishly persistent elves in his belly.” The man rubbed the beast like a favored pet. “You have come back to the fold, haven’t you?” The man returned his attention to them. “I hope you don’t mind, but I brought some new friends to meet you, complements of the master. Winglets, awake!” He squawked again in that animalistic voice.

At that shout all the smaller dozen men threw their arms wide. They were not wearing feathered cloaks as it initially appeared. They had black-feathered wings attached to their long arms. They spread those arms high and wide. The men’s faces were long and mishappen, cloaked in dark shadow. Upon closer inspection, those faces were not human at all. They were sunken and avian. Their beaked faces rose to glare at them with large black eyes. Their faces had a skull-like texture. These vulture men began to shriek loudly and flap their wings as they each rose into the air in a flock of death.

Skrey began to laugh sharing a knowing nod with Muhal. “The master has outdone himself. Magnificent, aren’t they, brother? These beasts show no signs of withering. They will carry the hunt to the skies! None will escape us. Thruum’s true children are among us once again, my brother!”

“What the hell are those things?” Reena gasped from her hiding spot near the recently expanded clearing. Stench shook his head side to side. The tiny blue gremlin vanished behind a tree trunk.

The massive beast’s initial thrashing tore the clearing wider in the forest. At least now the moonlight graced the area with a modicum of visibility. Stench only squealed and crouched down lower at the sight of them. He did his best to hide. The gremlin did not like the look of any of this. He could smell their strange stink in the breeze. Birds of prey often hunted gremkin for food. They went from outnumbering the priest seven to one to being outnumbered at least two to one themselves. Never mind that the beast alone had been too much for them all to handle together before with additional allies at their sides.

Daffonil crawled from the wreckage of the fallen tree. She whispered a prayer for the old spirit’s life. That tree was at least sixty years old. Ashe would be angry for certain. These cultists ended the old tree without a thought. Other smaller trees and numerous bushes and plants were torn asunder at the beast’s arrival. The sheer destruction wrought by this creature was sickening. The death was sickening. It did not belong here. None of them belonged here. She whispered another prayer to return Faerin’s energy back to the flow. Her gaze hardened to a glare at Brother Skrey that promised retribution. This man killed the elder guardian of the forest, and her close friend. Faerin had become akin to a father for her. She heard the priest’s words replaying in her pointed ears. He spoke of “the elves”. That statement implied others. She wondered how many others of her kin these people killed; how many other lives were taken by that beast. Her pod was small. Between Faerin and Starmane their damage to the balance of the forest was immeasurable. These cultists would pay dearly. She limped slightly and held several large scratches across her arm and face. Without delay, the elf scampered through the brush to come up behind the beast. One of the vulture men swooped at her. Its feet ended in large talons instead of toes. The bird creature missed its mark but just barely. Daffonil rolled away from the attack and dove to sink the horn of the unicorn into the beast’s backside. It roared and spun about to retaliate. As the large creature spun its tail knocked Skrey and one of his cultists to the ground. The unexpected blow ended his cackling and left him with a bloody string of wounds. The beast’s tail spikes were sharp.

“Thank the spirits. At least one of you is silent,” Tamaran grumbled as he tried desperately to break the cord about his legs. His efforts were futile. He wasn’t strong enough. The only saving grace was that Muhal was so engrossed in watching the newest vulture beasts all flap about that he stopped pulling him closer.

Reena looked for an opening. This was like hell come to life. The shadows cast by the torchlight and the glowing green light only made the commotion more confusing to discern. Figures soared into the air and shifted through the trees while that massive horror of a beast crashed about destroying everything it touched. When it roared, she cringed. What could she do? Reena did not want to reveal herself. Everything looked so dangerous, but these people were her friends. They had become her new family. They were in serious trouble. She had to do something to help. She leapt from her hiding spot and dashed to Tamaran’s side. The girl used her knife to saw through the cord about his legs, freeing him. She then helped the man stand.

“Thank you, Reena,” he panted. “We must try and…”

Just then one of the vulture creatures swooped low and snatched Reena in its talons. Those large hooks dug into her shoulders drawing forth blood and eliciting a scream from the young girl. The creature then launched upwards, flapping its wings frantically to gain altitude. Reena went up with it, dangling from its legs, kicking and screaming. Tamaran dove to catch her but missed. He fell to his face on the ground and Muhal came for him quickly closing the final steps between them.

“It seems you have forced my hand, boy. I warned you about that, did I not?” The desert land hunter smirked. A part of him was grateful the Idosian resisted. His capture would be much more entertaining this way. Muhal did so enjoy a challenge and a fight. He realized this particular hunt lasted longer than any in over a decade. A small part of him would be sad to see the chase draw to a finish. This boy gave him a good run. He just had to take care not to be overly violent. That was a past flaw. “By the holy virtue of perseverance this hunt ends tonight,” he whispered. “Blessed be Thruum!”

Through the trees behind them Bronwick roared and grunted as he swung his massive blade with reckless abandon. The barbarian was fully engrossed in his battle rage. His gray eyes held that crazed glaze. The orc-blooded man did not care how many there were. He did not care that he was sorely outnumbered. He only cared to cut them all down. He slashed the wings from a vulture man that swooped for him and followed through to hack into a cultist. Maggie received her fill of blood this day. The sect member managed to cut him first, but the giant man did not even notice. He simply grunted and tore the robed man apart. If anything, Bronwick’s wounds spurred him onward. More of the flying creatures swooped in to attack him. Their talons tore through his flesh, but they could not get a grip as he elbowed, slashed, bit or punched them away. Those that caught hold of him met his wild punching, biting and kicking until he found enough freedom to lop them into pieces with his huge sword. He was far too heavy for them to lift. Battle was his element. Bronwick proved a pure killing machine.

Farrah saw Reena snatched into the air and gasped. The healer had no distance weapons at hand. Her staff could not reach the girl. She called for Vallen to shoot the creature down. She had no idea if the ranger still lived. He flew into the trees and did not surface again. It was a horrifying sight to see him batted away by the beast. Unsure what to do next, she broke from her own hiding spot and raced into the growing fray. This seemed insane, but she had to help somehow. Tamaran needed her. Farrah only knew they could not get their hands on him whatever the cost. If they wanted him this badly it could not be good. A cultist lunged at her with his sword, but the man tripped over something and missed terribly. Farrah ran past him. Two of the vulture things swooped at the golden beauty. Their timing proved flawed. They collided midair, tumbling to the brush below in a tangle of shrieks and feathers when she ducked.

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Farrah ignored all the distractions and held her course. Her eyes could see clearly in the darkening shadows. She ran for Muhal ducking below more vultures. Fear caused her heart to pound in her ears. Farrah raced up behind him. She raised her staff in both hands and brought the weapon down on the back of his head with a solid crack. A lesser wood might have broken from the force of that blow but the magnon wood held strong. The man never saw the attack coming as he was wrestling Tamaran into a choke hold. His head swung forward violently from the blow and blood trickled from his mouth and hair. Droplets splattered on the desert youth’s face. The cultist leader tumbled forward to the ground with a grunt in a daze. That blow split his head open. Tamaran kicked him away and regained his footing. He rubbed his bruised neck and gasped for breath. Farrah grabbed his hand and pulled the exhausted man to her side as she headed for tree cover.

“We must escape this place, Tamaran,” she gasped. “They came for you and at this rate they’ll have their prize.” Tamaran nodded emphatically. He did not want to be here, and he certainly did not want to become their prisoner.

Muhal rubbed the back of his head. His hand came away with copious blood. He glared up from the ground to see who dared strike him. He spotted Tamaran with a young woman at his side. The woman’s golden eyes were glowing in the shadows.

His face brightened and he laughed hysterically. “Praise be to Thruum! The other has surfaced! She has the eyes! Perhaps she is akin to him. Thank you for delivering her to me oh mighty Thruum. Those of special blood await their place in the creation of Jadahal and your ultimate revival!” He pointed to Farrah. “She is the one we were awaiting. She is also a special blood. Their blood is most sacred. She is another gift to the savior. Take them both alive. Thruum demands it! The rest are expendable.” Muahl fell into a prayer to help mend his own wounds.

“The hell I am.” Farrah grabbed Tamaran by the arm and turned to flee in a different direction when two cultists charged them. “I don’t know what he means but we will not wait around to find out.” The pair looked up as Reena sailed by kicking and screaming in the grip of the vulture creature. It swooped low and beat the girl against branches as it flew. Curses worse than any sailor could construct spilled from her lips the entire way and she swatted ineffectually at the creature. “Reena!” Farrah cried out but she had no idea how to help the girl. She was dangling easily twenty feet above their heads.

A pair of arrows sailed overhead and struck the vulture in one wing. The bird man careened to the side and then dropped from the air with a flutter of its wings and a pained screech. Another arrow struck it, finishing the job. Reena screamed as they both crashed into the brush. Luckily, the thick vegetation softened the fall. Vallen stood leaning heavily on one leg. He had definitely looked better, but he was standing and firing his bow. That alone gave them all hope. His aim remained true. He continued to fire arrows at the flying forms soaring through the trees. He brought another of the horrid birds down. The torches cast shadows about the combat making it hard to tell who or what and decipher friend from foe.

The massive juggernaut beast tore through the forest, ripping the smaller plants from their roots in pursuit of the elf. It was tired of the woman and her painful jabs. Daffonil dodged through the trees in a mad dash keeping one step ahead. The beast’s blood still dripped from the unicorn horn. “That was for Starmane,” she giggled. Her happy grin did not fit her predicament or her wild eyes.

The elf ran for a thicket intending to slide through it and put another barrier between her and the monster. She suddenly found her body refusing to respond to her commands. She screamed and struggled but could not move. Every muscle locked into place, frozen. Her long, pointed ears picked up the sound of chanting and she realized what was happening. The cult priest, Skrey, held her in the grip of his prayers. Magic had her. The bald man chanted and clutched his holy amulet as he extended his hand and closed his fist in her direction. She felt the pressure of his fingers closing over her entire body. While he held her in place, the beast drew closer. Its long neck snaked between the trees and its yellow eyes narrowed when it spotted the elf standing still. It stopped running and instead sauntered up to her casually, savoring the fear. That tapered head split open into a huge mouth filled with jagged teeth. A forked tongue flicked out. It moved slowly as it lowered its face into her view. The beast reveled in the terror it found in Daffonil’s almond-shaped eyes.

“Help!” Daffonil screamed and then giggled at the absurdity of that cry. She realized everyone had their own troubles. They all needed help. She focused inward and began a prayer to the forces of The Green for aid. “Hear my call and help in any way you see fit. May The Green expel these dark forces from this sacred forest. Help us cleanse this evil and restore the balance.” The druid remained defiant, hopeful.

The beast’s head lowered with teeth dripping saliva. It hung inches from the paralyzed elf’s face. Her body ached from the crushing grip of the spell. The priest used powerful magic on her. Skrey could have crushed her outright, but he only maintained the grip so that his beast could do the job. The creature was clearly savoring this moment. Did it smile? A squeak sounded and a stream of musk sprayed into its right eye and its open mouth. The beast howled and jerked away to rub at its face. Its eye burned like it was on fire as did its throat. Peaches was there wiggling her tail in the beast’s direction. The stream shot past the beast and washed over Skrey as well. The man ended his chant immediately and began to cough and sputter. A droplet of the musk entered his mouth, too. He avoided the majority of the attack but still needed to wipe some of the muck from his robes and cheek. The smell overwhelmed him. His magical hold over the druid ended and she sprang to the nearest tree to put something between her and the howling beast. She snatched up her tiny companion on the way.

“Praise be to The Green!” Daffonil gasped as she stretched her muscles. That was close. “And praise be to you, my little darling Peaches,” she grinned happily.

Her tiny companion just saved her life. She lifted the skunk to her face and gave her the biggest kiss on the head. Peaches squeaked and looked up at her lovingly. One of the vulture men swooped in and snatched the skunk up in its talons tearing the animal from Daffonil’s arms. Peaches cried out and was gone, vanished into the night air.

“Peaches!” Daffonil called to her friend, but the bird creature soared high overhead and out of reach until a pair of arrows struck it and it plummeted to the ground.

Daffonil ran to check on her companion. She pulled Peaches from the dead bird’s talons. The tiny skunk only had enough strength left to sigh and then went limp. That sight stabbed her heart. Daffonil clutched Peaches close and sobbed. She began the prayer to heal wounds, but the magic was too slow, too weak. Her prayers were far too novice and beyond drained. The healing faltered. She could feel the last bit of life energy escape the tiny animal in a final breath. Peaches felt lifeless. She returned to the cycle. The elf woman’s eyes watered. Tears streamed down her cheeks unchecked. Her heart ached. The prayer faded from her quivering lips.

“Peaches, you cannot leave me.” She crushed the tiny animal into her chest.

From the shadows, Vallen tackled the elf. They rolled away as a massive paw slammed into the ground where she once kneeled. Sharp claws tore a deep trench in the earth. The beast howled at the loss of its prey. Zane looked upon Vallen severely injured and his sobbing elf wench cradled in his arms. Vallen felt the pain of the elf and tears threatened his eyes, too. His heart hurt for her. Such a happy person should not be crying. Everything seemed so hopeless. This was a losing battle. The tears drew out Zane’s full ire. They had no time for emotion or weakness.

“Get back to your feet, princess! Mourning has no place on the battlefield, you mewling babies. You can cry afterwards or join the dead skunk feeding the weeds with your blood,” he hissed the words at Daffonil. The elf seemed confused by his anger and his change in voice.

Vallen had to scold his friend and then console her. “Shut your mouth, Zane! We all know this is a dire situation. We’re doing our best to survive. Never speak to her that way again! Do you hear me?”

Vallen stood and pulled Daffonil after him as he scrambled between two trees hoping they might slow the pursuing beast. The elf followed his lead but did not understand why he was arguing with himself. Why was he speaking in a different voice and where was Zane? She remembered him mentioning his skulking friend. Realizations began to fall into place. She could revisit that idea if and when she survived this ordeal. Whatever happened, these new thoughts pulled her from her mourning.

Bronwick plowed through another cultist and a pair of vulture men. Their talons tore large gashes in the big man’s arms as he hacked them from the air, but he did not care. They could add more scars to the tapestry of his body. Those scars were symbols of courage and strength. The half-orc was fully lost in his rage. The fury of battle claimed him. He was a force to be reckoned with. The wild man absorbed the majority of the focus in this battle, and he welcomed it fully. He felt a blade stab into his shoulder. He spun to backhand the sect member responsible. His strength knocked a tooth from the man’s mouth and dropped him to the ground with a shattered jaw. Reena dove from the shadows to drive her knife into the fallen man’s throat. The man reached up to claw at her face, but Stench was there chewing on his fingers. He died gurgling as he tried to cry out. Reena stood and kicked him for good measure. She almost fell over with the effort. She could barely stand. The girl looked rough with gashes bleeding from her shoulders and numerous scratches across her body, neck and face. She turned and a fist slammed into her nose, knocking her prone. looming over Reena stood Brother Skrey. The bald man began to chant in that strange language and then reached down to grab her bleeding face. The power of his dark faith flowed from the priest into the girl. She tried to stab his hand, to kick him away, to scream, anything but his magic flowed into her. Reena could only feel her will slipping away like water through a cracked vase. Her eyes rolled back into her head. Hopelessness and despair claimed her mind. Her consciousness began to fade away and her arms fell limp at her sides.

“You will be the first of your friends to succumb to the call of Thruum.” The bald priest raised his other hand to the sky and spoke in tongues. His thick brows knitted in concentration. “Yes! Feel yourself giving in to the sweet surrender of my voice, child. Let me in. Let the despair fill you. Let Thruum feast on your soul and cradle you in his tentacles to build you anew.” Reena’s struggles began to lessen. She could no longer kick, no longer move her fingers. His voice sank into her mind offering the bliss of darkness, sadness and silence. Her knife slipped from her grip.

“Bad! Bad man! Let Reena go!” Stench climbed up Skrey’s robes like a ladder. It looked like a tiny blue monkey scaling a tree. The gremlin grabbed his head and bit his ear, drawing a gush of blood.

The bite interrupted his prayers as blood trickled down his neck. He did not release Reena’s face but used his free hand to slap Stench from his shoulder, sending the gremlin tumbling away head over heels. The man focused back to Reena. The girl watched her best friend try to save her and get slapped for his efforts. That sparked something inside her. They promised not to leave each other alone. She knew what it was like to be alone, and she wouldn’t wish that on anyone, especially not Stench. They were family. She could not leave Stench by himself again. She resisted Skrey’s magic, forcing the growing darkness from her mind. Her fluttering eyes began to focus. She gritted against the pull of his prayers and her fingers curled into claws.

“I… will not… listen to your… bullshit rambling any more you… shit bag!” The girl clawed at his hand, digging her nails into his flesh and drawing blood. “I refuse… your damn call!” She spat into his face and clawed at his lips.

His eyes hardened and his chants shifted. Skrey used his other hand to grab her flailing wrists and hold her down. The man was much stronger than the weakened young girl. “If you will not turn then let your life become his! One way or another you will serve as a symbol for your friends!” The man’s chants grew louder as he shouted to the sky. His eyes turned black. Veins of darkness spread out from the far corners of those eyes like cracked glass under his pale skin. Swirls of dark energy began to seep from Reena’s eyes. She screamed as if her soul was being torn from her skull.

Bronwick heard the girl’s screams and immediately kicked aside the vulture he fought to go to her. Reena was under his protection. She was his last official duty with the Looms. He tore across the battlefield to find her and save her. His eyes fell over a terrible scene with the girl pinned beneath the tattooed cultist, convulsing. Her mouth frothed and her voice shifted between piercing screams and a strangled gurgle. Darkness flowed from her eyes to his mouth as if he were drinking her essence away. The girl’s screams were bloodcurdling. He ran with speed born of anger. Bronwick raised his sword at his side and swung with all the strength he could muster, knocking Skrey from her and splattering his blood across the trees in a massive spray of crimson. Maggie cut the man’s arm completely off at the shoulder in the savage attack. Skrey bounced away minus one arm, crying out in pain. He came to stop against a tree and desperately tried to focus enough to heal the gory wound as his life’s blood poured away in buckets. His remaining hand slapped at the gushing stump futilely. From the bushes dove a screeching figure to land on his back. Stench took both clawed hands and began to rake across his bald head and face slashing him to ribbons. When the man tried to talk the gremlin grabbed his tongue and held it while continuing to bite and scratch him. He even bit the man’s tongue. Skrey’s prayer escaped as gibberish. The magic did not flow. He did not heal.

Bronwick saw that the gremlin had the man under control, so he turned to help Reena back to her feet. She was not moving. He lifted her into his arms and shook her gently. The sight pulled him completely from his rage. “Wake, girl. That is not sleeping grass. This is no time for naps. The enemy surrounds us. We need you!” Reena’s head lolled from side to side limply. Her skin was so pale and clammy. He began to panic, pressing his slightly pointed ear to her chest. There was no breathing, no heartbeat. “Reena!” He grunted her name and flew into a new rage, shaking her limp form to no avail. The girl’s dead body fell to the side as he took his massive sword in both hands and charged to finish Skrey’s cries with a powerful chop. “I’ll kill you all!” He growled. His wild eyes searched the battlefield for more victims. He spotted Vallen fending off two cultists and favoring his bloody side.

The beast roared nearby as Daffonil jabbed the unicorn horn into its leg and darted away again. It was a deadly game of tag that the elf was currently winning. She knew one misstep and it would end abruptly with her gruesome death. She also knew she had to keep it focused on her. If it turned its attention to the others, they would not stand a chance. She understood how to fight in the forest, she held that advantage here, using the terrain and its size against it. Plus, Starmane’s horn was one of the only weapons to hurt it.

Two vulture creatures swooped in to snatch away Tamaran and then Farrah at Muhal’s command. One talon found a hold on Tamaran’s arm, the other missed. The creature soared upwards dragging the man into the air with it. Tamaran’s shouts rang out. The one reaching for Farrah met with a staff jabbed into its beak instead. The woman forced the tip of the stick into its mouth. She then guided it sideways as it flapped its wings and jabbed its talons at her. One wing became tangled in the brush, and it tumbled away. She turned to see Tamaran rising into the air, lifted by one arm. She threw her staff at Muhal, clipping his face and dove to wrap her arms around her friend. The vulture continued to flap with all its strength, and it continued to rise into the air very slowly with both people dangling from it. This was the largest of the vulture-beasts. Another of the birds swooped in to claim Farrah in its talons, though the woman very nearly escaped. It had a firm grip on her belt. She dangled from its hold with arms and legs flailing. Her cries and Tamaran’s faded as they ascended into the sky.

“Yes! His will be done! Yes! None can escape the will of Thruum!” Muhal cackled. He whispered another prayer. “Take them away! Return to the temple!” The hunter-priest shouted. He screamed up at them again. This time his voice sounded like squawking that only the birds could understand. In response to his commands, the vultures headed north staying just above the trees. One held Tamaran by his arm the other with Farrah by her belt.

Vallen watched the pair kick and shout down to him for help as they were carried above the treetops and out of sight. He shouted back to them but could do nothing to stop it. He currently fended off a pair of cultists with his sword. One of his opponents crumpled sideways as a huge blade bit into him. The other man turned to face Bronwick. The wild barbarian seemed a bigger threat than the injured nobleman. A loud grunt and a headbutt sent the man stumbling backwards with the orc-blooded man on him. Vallen limped back to reclaim his bow. He had to try to save the others. A scream stole his focus. The huge beast clipped Daffonil with one claw as she darted past it. The girl tumbled head over heels crashing to the ground. In a flash the creature pounced. It finally caught the darting rabbit of a girl.

Vallen lost sight of his friends being carried away. He hesitated, concerned for Daffonil. He was torn on where to go next. He didn’t know what to do. He felt his shoulders slumping and his body was so tired. Huge gashes bled from his side where the beast swiped him with its claws. He began to feel lightheaded. They were overwhelmed. He was overwhelmed. Tamaran and Farrah were gone. Everything seemed lost. They weren’t going to survive this.

“No! No! Don’t you lose your goal, dammit! The elf bitch is dead,” Zane hissed. “Focus on saving your loser friends in the air! Remember, they want them both for some damn reason. Shit, they’re gone. Focus on saving yourself then. Fuck this! We should just run now. They are all lost. Run! For fuck’s sake, run!”

Vallen shot Zane a glare to be silent. The man drew his bow and began launching a series of arrows at the beast. They struck and bounced away without penetrating its thick hide. Vallen screamed in frustration as he continued to fire rapidly and limp towards it. He would not relent. He had to help Daffonil. He fired his arrows until one found its way into the hole already torn by the unicorn horn. That did get its attention if only for a moment. The beast shot him a glare promising death. He heard the second and last of the cultists fall to Bronwick behind him. He looked to the big man desperately for help. The clearing was a mangled field of bodies bathed in moonlight.

“She needs your help, Bronwick. Please, the beast is upon her!” Vallen’s voice pleaded, and he pointed.

He wanted to do more but knew his efforts were next to useless against this thing. In his current state he could not stand against it in a sword fight. He doubted he could hobble fast enough to reach it before it shredded her to pieces. Bronwick charged in that direction leaping over bodies. He was much closer and much faster. A vulture swooped in and knocked the big man from his feet sending him sprawling to the ground. The barbarian had to bat it away with his fist to recover his footing. He sprang back up and continued his charge to Daffonil.

Muhal saw the chosen ones carried away by the winglets. He felt the thrill of the battle, the invigorating surge of victory. This was a good hunt! Some men had fallen, but that was the cost of success. All of this blood was spilt in the name of Thruum and it was glorious! He watched the beast pounce on the small elf. His grin spread wide. He wanted to stay and see the beast enjoy its well-earned kill, but he had other priorities. His personal mission was still incomplete. He did not leave missions incomplete. He moved to Find Skrey’s body, claiming a vial of blood from his corpse. The sight of the man was gruesome. He would not let his brother’s mission go unfulfilled, either. Master Vrauth wanted that blood. The desert land hunter paused to whisper a prayer over his fallen brother. Without the man’s aid he might have lost it all. A blue gremlin jumped to land on the dead priest’s chest and barred his teeth and claws threateningly. Stench hissed at him and Muhal kicked the gremlin into the bushes.

Seeing the interaction, Vallen moved to intercept the cult hunter. One of the vultures swooped down to lash at the man with its talons. Vallen swung his sword to keep it at bay but was forced to take cover beneath a tree.

“You did your best heathens. Your efforts were admirable if misguided. I would have liked to take you all in as slaves. You would make for wonderful additions to the faith, such vigor and drive. Alas, I have more important matters to attend. Some are more valuable than others and now you will be nothing but food for the beast. What a shame. By the holy virtue of detachment, I release your fate, young Lord Manique.” Muhal offered a dip of recognition to the nobleman then pulled his hood back in place and slipped into the shadows with the vial of blood in hand.

Muhal then called to the few vulture-beasts remaining, ordering them to seek their brethren in the sky and aid in the delivery of their prize. All his men had fallen here as had Brother Skrey, his men and over a half dozen winglets. That was a disappointment. Skrey was capable and his troops were useful. Ultimately all were expendable for the cause. He considered blowing the horn to command the beast to retreat, but chose to let it have its fun instead, to let it distract them further and finish the kill while he made his exit. He could call it to him later after they were all dead. If it fled, he still had the vial. Muhal wiped the blood from his mouth with his tongue and rubbed the gash across the back of his head. That would leave a nice scar. These heathens put up a good fight. He vanished into the dark wood with a chuckle of delight.

Daffonil rolled from beneath the beast when Vallen distracted it with his arrows. She dove for the cover of the forest and clamped a hand over her ankle. She felt the terrible wound as blood bathed her fingers. The claw that tripped her had sliced it clean to the bone. She whispered a prayer though it was difficult to focus through the pain. She knew it was useless. Her prayer energies were expended. A spark of energy filled her though she had no clue where it came from. The meat sealed some and most of the blood stopped flowing. The wound was far from healed. Her very last ounces of prayer magic expended. It was a miracle that much remained. She pressed her back against a tree and tried to calm her mind, to focus on her next move. The tree she leaned against toppled, tossing her away as its roots pulled from the ground. The beast’s long neck swiveled around to meet Daffonil; fangs barred. It seemed this would be that one misstep. This would cost her life. At least she fell defending the forest as a true guardian should. Come what may. She jabbed it in the eye with the horn. If she was to die here, she wanted to hurt it first. She giggled. It howled and climbed to its hind legs. One clawed forepaw batted the small elf away ending her giggling as it rose in fury. Daffonil rolled at least twenty feet before she stopped moving. She lay still on the ground, face down. Red began to seep through her leafy clothing. The beast howled and clawed at its face trying to tear the unicorn horn free from its eye socket.

Vallen hobbled to the elf and dropped at her side. “Daffonil, open your eyes. Speak to me!” The man was oblivious to the raging beast towering above them. He felt pain fill his heart and consume his thoughts. “Daffonil… Daffonil can you hear me?” Tears fell and he was lost to emotion as he cradled the woman’s small form to his chest. Images of his mother filled his mind. He remembered cradling her bloody body to him just like this. His hands were so small then. He was just a child.

Zane, seeing they were about to join the stupid elf in the realm of the dead decided he was not going down without a fight. Something hit the ground nearby. He spotted the unicorn horn lying a few feet away and snatched it up to face the beast. He knew the horn could hurt it, could penetrate that impossibly thick hide.

“You want to kill someone? Fuck it! Try killing me you mutated bastard!” Zane was not about to let his sappy friend die, even if he probably deserved it for his stupidity. How was he sitting here crying when it was about to eat them?

The beast’s head swiveled to view Zane with its one good eye. Gore and blood dripped from the other socket. A loud grunt-roar and the spray of more blood stole its attention. Behind it, Bronwick leapt to the attack, hacking away at it in his unbridled fury. He saw Daffonil go flying and end in a still heap. Watching yet another of his companions fall pushed him over the edge. He was the warrior, the mercenary. These people, his friends, were his new tribe. It was his place to protect them. He was failing his duty again.

Two solid slashes cut lines across the flank of the beast before it could react. The massive creature spun and ripped the big man across the chest with its claws. They cut into Bronwick in several neat lines that spilled forth his blood in buckets. Those slashes cut through to the bone. Those were just more wounds to add to the brutal tapestry of his battered body. He fell and slid backwards but did not stop. Though he looked as if he should be dead already, the barbarian jumped to his feet and charged back at it. His pretty gray eyes filled with hate. He cut into the other claw as it swiped for him again. The beast howled with pain and anger. Two of its digits flew away in a spray of gore. Bronwick fed on that sound. He waded into it with powerful chop after powerful chop. He sliced it across the neck as its head lunged for him. The cut was severe but did not stop the attack. The beast snapped its massive jaws shut over the half-orc and jerked him from his feet. The jaws closed over the upper portion of his torso. His head and shoulders vanished into its gaping mouth. The beast reared up on its hind legs to sling him back and forth in a vicious shake of its long neck. When the beast stopped shaking its head, Bronwick’s body dropped from its face in a heap of gore. His beloved great sword, Maggie, fell from his hands to lay at his side. The beast dropped back to all fours and savored the taste of the half-orc’s blood.

Bronwick’s headless body lay in plain sight under the moonlight. Seeing there was nothing left to lose, Zane stumbled forward and took advantage of surprise. He sank the horn into the side of the beast’s head. “Since the sap is too distraught to do it, let me throw my fucking life away instead. I should have known he would be the death of me.” Zane pushed with every ounce of strength he could muster to wedge the horn into the creature’s skull.

The beast jerked instinctively slamming into the mercenary plus the nobleman and throwing him backwards. He lost hold of the horn, leaving it imbedded in the howling creature’s temple. Vallen was amazed at what he witnessed, amazed that Zane had done it. The nobleman flew backwards and hit the ground hard. He felt darkness creeping over his senses. He tried to rise, to reach Daffonil but never managed to move. He called out to Zane. He heard his friend groan. Everything faded to black.