This is late and I blame Derek.
Rape of Ganymede by Rembrandt van Rijn (1635)
Keirn kept a tight grip on his sword. It was a good tool, as far as tools went. Sure, it wasn’t particularly helpful with matters of eating or sleeping but it served a much more important role in his life.
It was scary.
While the idea of an adventurer wasn’t completely laughable to most people, the fact of the matter was that your common man was more versed with hoe or purse than the business end of a blade. True masters of the craft were hired by kings and nobles, filling out the ranks of prestigious armies or filling a tutoring role behind think castle walls. For the average man, there were few opportunities to receive proper instruction in its use.
As it were, most wielders were self taught. The fundamentals were straight forward: pointy bits go into fleshy bits. But the grace and skill of true swordsmanship were far more difficult to master. Instead, Keirn found it more advantageous to fabricate an air of mastery than to develop the talent itself. So long as most people assumed you were trained, you rarely had need to draw the blade at all.
The light the steel ever saw was in use against beasts who had no mind to recognize the danger of the blade itself. But then, loud noises were just as effective in those situations.
But today was different. Keirn hadn’t faced a man astride an enormous bird of prey with a thirst for blood. If their positions were reversed, Keirn seriously doubted four scantily armed dimwits would really strike fear of death in their adversary’s heart.
He took to the rocks slowly, almost hoping that if he never reached their apex he wouldn’t have to face the danger beyond.
It was Kait that crested the top first. He waited for her cry of fear, for her to reach for her bow and come staggering back from an assault. He tightened his fingers around his weapon’s grip in anticipation.
But she did neither. She just stood there, peering off into the distance with one hand raised to shield her eyes from the sun.
“What do you see?”
“Nothing.”
Impossible.
The men made quickly to her side, surveying the land before them.
The plains were an expanding sea of scrub brush and broken ridges. Grey rock burst from the ground like the blunted skeletal teeth of some enormous monster. Life clung to the soil deficient earth, wrestling tiny, hooked branches through the cracks in the earth. From this vantage point, the four of them could see for leagues in all direction.
And there was, quite literally, nothing.
There were no corpses, no feasting bird and no bloody savage hacking at the dying. It was as if all the people they had been travelling with were little more than illusions that had scattered into the dry wind and swept over those crumbling mounds.
“Are you sure this is where they went?” Kait asked.
“You’re the nature expert. Why not peruse the ground and sniff out their footprints.”
“Oh brother, one does not smell footprints,” she sighed, bending down to poke at the sticks and twigs scattered about.
Keirn turned to Derrek.
“This was the way they went right?” he whispered.
“‘Fear not when the people turn to nought but ghosts of memories, speeding upon the threads of ever changing winds.’”
“Probably not the most applicable,” Keirn sniffed at the quote. “Quentinon?”
“Burloque, but close,” Derrek grinned. “The People of the Sky and Sand.”
“Perhaps they sought shelter in those ravines?” Jeremiah said, pointing down into the rocky crags.
Like wicked scars, deep trenches ran through the earth as if it had been stretched and torn asunder. Their dark shadows cracked the rolling plains, the ground seeming to crumble into their depths.
“And the roc?”
“Followed maybe?” Jeremiah shrugged. “At the very least, the creature can’t be as fearsome if it’s bound to the earth by a ceiling.
“That’s only a marginal comfort,” Keirn sighed.
But his grip did relax.
“At the very least, we’re likely to run into the enemy before we find the survivors,” Jeremiah warned. “So we best be as prepared as possible.”
Kait stood, nodding as she pulled her bow from about her back. Keirn wondered what she thought she would do with her weapon since he could hardly remember her hitting a tree behind the chapel’s small teaching hall let alone an active combatant hoping to spill her innards. She wasn’t even practised against wild game, fearing she would do harm to the cute rabbits or peaceful deer that would serve better as dinner than wild decoration. But she held it with the practice of at least a few moons and would hopefully serve to startle any potential attackers when she inevitably missed with her arrow that had yet to be notched.
Descending into the crag proved trickier than their initial examination suggested. The ground was much looser than they thought, and any wrong step would send a cavalcade of stones tumbling down into the growing expanse below them. Jeremiah clanked ahead, his big arms flailing beneath the bent metal sheets encompassing them. The closer they got, the steeper the descent became. But their intrepid leader at least plotted out a route for them to follow, whether it was by tumbling a few feet and scrambling for handholds and indicating where the ground was too dry to travel or not.
But they eventually arrived at the yawning cavern entrance. It seemed quite large, a bit of a surprise given how insignificant the scar looked from the hilltop. It also appeared quite dark, a revelation that the group hadn’t really considered before clamouring down to it.
“We should be able to make some headway,” Jeremiah gauged, “before we run out of natural light. Assuming we go slow enough for our eyes to adjust.”
“Where do you think it leads?” Kait whispered.
“Underground,” Keirn muttered.
“It does appear to start levelling off more ahead,” Jeremiah encouraged. “Just watch your step!”
His suit clanked as he took one unsure step after the other into the darkness. When last sight failed them, they could still hear him rattling about. After a few moments he finally caught that they were still standing outside and not following close behind his fearless advance.
“What are you waiting for!” echoed his voice from the depths.
“Just waiting to see if you get ambushed,” Derrek called back. “But given your lack of screaming it appears safe enough.”
The bard trudged slowly after. Kait gave Keirn an expecting look before heading after her companions. Breathing one last reluctant sigh, Keirn entered the cavern. As they passed beneath the yawning opening, the air drew noticeably cooler. The brush around the entrance was hardier looking too. With the cold came the damp as the walls appeared slick with a moist sheen.
“Look at that!” Kait cried. “Footprints.”
Imbedded in the ground were numerous imprints of the feet that passed through earlier. Large, four talon prints had stamped out many of the tracks, leaving thick indents in the soft soil.
“That roc must have been quite eager to come down here,” Derrek said. “A bird does not willing give up its sky.”
“It looks like our escorts were quite hasty in their retreat too,” Jeremiah said, motioning further into the cavern. Scattered about the ground were various assortments of equipment. With well honed instincts, the group made their way over to scavenge through the discarded belongings.
“Seems mostly rudimentary tools,” Kait observed, holding up some iron shovels and dull utensils.
“Maybe the Rakstas came here for the extra pottery?” Derrek offered, indicating a few battered pots.
“These can’t belong to the caravaners,” Keirn said. “Many of these have begun to rust from the moisture.”
And none of them looked particularly valuable; old, yes, but nothing that would be worth carting back to civilization. Nevertheless, Keirn caught a glance of his sister pocketing some of the smaller needles and rope into her pockets.
“Success!” cried Jeremiah. The others turned to see his discovery. He held up a simple torch pointing to a few more abandoned upon the ground. “Looks like fortune still smiles upon us.”
“Great,” Keirn muttered. “More reason to keep pressing on.”
The others ignored him as they set about setting the torches alight. It was more difficult than they anticipated. The rags were damp, making them reluctant to catch a blaze. Furthermore, none of them had their equipment and instead they had to rely on some flint and tinder also abandoned in the cave.
“You know, I’m surprised we haven’t heard anything or seen a body,” Kait muttered as she brushed back her hair and passed the igniter to Jeremiah.
“You sound almost disappointed,” her brother teased.
“I know how much you were looking forward to looting them,” Kait shot back. “But even still, I can not imagine the entire caravan group managing to keep ahead of their pursuers given how difficult it would be to organize them. Surely someone would have sprained an ankle or gotten scared or tired.”
“Or they would hear the roc chasing them and be shouting orders or preparing to defend themselves,” Jeremiah added, giving up on the task and passing the tools to Derrek. The minstrel took one slow look at the torch, at the tools, blew gently on both then ignited a spark with his first clap.
“I’m still waiting for the mid act plot twist,” Derrek said, handing the fiercely burning torch back to Jeremiah. The large man stood, holding the flame before him to better gauge his direction into the deep while Keirn busied himself with collecting the others.
“While I’m inclined to think life imitates art,” Keirn said. “I really don’t know what twist you’re expecting. I think the only surprise that would get me would be if they managed to kill that roc.”
“Naw, that isn’t big enough,” Derrek said. “It has to be something more unexpected. Something the audience wouldn’t have any preparation for.”
“Quiet!” Jeremiah hissed. “Someone is coming.”
The others looked passed him and deeper into the cave. Sure enough, a bright orange glow was quickly growing in the darkness. They could hear heavy steps of iron clad feet. There was a sharp scraping sound of metal rubbing threateningly over the exposed rock.
“Put out the torch!” Kait cried.
“That will be unnecessary!” boom a voice that reverberated about them.
“Wait… doesn’t that sound like-“
A great beast of a man materialized from the dark. Though only his head and shoulders were properly illuminated by the fire in his hand, the others could easily fill in the shadow details. He was a towering man, with unruly light hair unkempt over harsh boney features. Small eyes glittered beneath a pair of smudge spectacles stretched over a broad face. His skin was light and greyish but bulk clung to his great frame, filling the cavern. And held in one massive hand was a monstrous twin edged axe.
“Andrie?!” Kait, Jeremiah and Keirn cried.
“That would work,” Derrek nodded to himself.
The broad man grinned: a toothy and slightly unsettling gesture that revealed a pair of canines slightly larger than most.
“Keirn Fadden. Why am I not surprised to find you here?”
“What’s your play in this?” Keirn muttered.
“I am here to stop you, my adversary,” Andrie replied, tossing his torch aside and hefting his mighty weapon into his hands.
“I’ve already told you,” Keirn sighed, “I’m not your nemesis. Second, what have you done with the refugees?”
“Oh, they have been taken care of,” Andrie replied. “Much like you will be shortly.”
“Please, we don’t need to fight about this!” Kait cried.
“There can be nothing but a fight between me and my sworn enemy,” Andrie said. “The fates forever drive us together so that our blades may clash until the destined day when my axe will feast on his flesh.”
“Look, I’m not going to take back those comments,” Keirn said. “And I am not your forsworn or whatever the hell your barbaric culture calls people you have a grudge against.”
“Do not think your attempts to demean my great people will unbalance me this time!” Andrie cried. “I shall not fall for your devilish tricks again.”
“What tricks?!” Keirn said. “You only lost because you’re a terrible swordsman!”
“I really don’t think that’s the best approach if you’re trying to be diplomatic,” Derrek observed.
“There shall be no diplomacy today! Ready your weapon fiend, don’t make me cut down these bystanders just so I can get to you!”
“Who, us?” Jeremiah asked. He quickly stepped to the side, freeing space between his friend and the threatening man. “Don’t hold back on our account.”
Derrek and Kait quickly made way for the conflict as well.
“Traitors,” Keirn muttered. “Weren’t you three the ones gung-ho to kill the bird?”
“I will not allow you to harm my allies,” Andrie said, swinging his axe into a battle stance. “Prepare your soul, foul one, for tonight you sup at the honoured table of combat. And your heart is the main course!”
“Really? That’s your battle cry?” Keirn asked.
“RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”
The great man charged towards Keirn, his axe lifted menacingly over his head. In the half shadows and wavering light of the cave, he even struck a rather formidable appearance as he came stomping over the rocks. The ground shook noticeably beneath the young man’s boots, sending reverberations echoing along his bones.
Fortunately, however, Keirn had faced the man before and knew that, despite his lack of proper training, he was still far better prepared than his so-called ‘rival.’
Not that the axe nor the strength behind it wasn’t dangerous. However, his enemy lacked two important skills. Firstly, he held his weapon all wrong. It was quite heavy, with a large amount of weight focused in the head to give more momentum in its swings. By leaving it retracted for the full length of his charge, he left himself slightly off balance as he struggled to keep it at such an awkward angle.
Second, Andrie was a man who had proven that his martial skills weren’t his only deficiencies. While he professed a refined upbringing, he showed a startling lack of insight. Keirn didn’t even hold his sword as he was still clutching the small pile of torches in his hands. He simply shrugged, tossing the blunt pile quickly in front as the big man came lumbering forward. The torches clattered upon the slick floor, rolling underfoot.
Andrie cried as his boot fell upon one of the torches. His heel dug in, spinning the stick in the opposite direction. Suddenly, his momentum shifted, adding to the weight of the great axe dangling behind him. He flailed his arms in a desperate attempt to regain his balance, his feet kicking wildly beneath him to find some purchase.
Instead, they slipped over the moist, smooth stone. With a great crash, the man fell ass over head backwards, his axe slipping from his grip and clattering against the stones and into the shadows.
Keirn walked boldly forward, jamming his heel into the man’s rib and producing another groan of pain. He then slid his sword from its sheath and pressed it lovingly against his neck.
“Now that that’s done, how about we see about meeting with that ally of yours?”
Andrie bared his prodigious teeth, but Keirn just pushed his blade tighter against his throat.
“Do you really want to argue with sword?”
“Shall we take this with us?” Derrek asked, attempting to pick the axe up. However, the weapon was heavier than he anticipated, and he only managed to clank the blade uselessly against the stone floor as he struggled to lift the handle. The bard groaned and grabbed for his back.
“You dare touch my honoured weapon?!” Andrie growled.
Keirn dug his heel further into the man’s chest to silence him.
“Might as well, since he’ll probably just add that to our long list of travesties if we leave it behind.”
“Your list,” his sister quickly corrected.
“Right, of course. Thanks for the back up, team.”
“We wouldn’t dare break the sacred principles of a forsworn duel,” Kait teased, assisting Derrek with the ridiculous axe. Between the two of them, they managed to get it airborne.
“Shall we?” Keirn said, smiling down at Andrie.
“They dirty it with their hands,” he grumbled.
“I promise they’ll wash afterwards,” Keirn said. “Up you get!”
The oaf grunted as he was kicked to his feet. Jeremiah was quick to take the rope Kait had procured earlier and lashed it around the man’s thick wrists. Andrie struggled, but only enough to communicate his displeasure. His eyes remained narrowed on Keirn’s slender sword still pointing his way.
Their procession continued as it had, only this time Andrie was kept carefully within Keirn’s sword reach.
“You’re mistaken if you think I’m going to help you,” Andrie grumbled.
“Please, can we cut with the tough routine,” Keirn sighed. “You don’t perform it well.”
“But you do have a really good outfit for it,” Derrek said encouragingly.
“Oh? You think so?”
“I’m a big fan of the rabble look. Quite the disconnected set like you scavenged the remains of a terrific battlefield.”
“You never said that about mine,” Jeremiah grumbled.
“Yours is like ordered chaos. Too much effort was made to create something that would be fairly pleasing to the eye given what was at hand. Kind of like someone rummaging through another’s trash and saving the best pieces.
“But this, this here is almost a masterpiece. Look at how he utilizes the butt of a buckler as a kneecap. Rubbish bits of leather, torn and frayed hold the discordant pieces together as if the very ravages of time were clawing at the chinks of his very persona. It delivers a better cohesive package that helps solidify his image of a hired thug.”
“Why thank yo- Hey!” Andrie objected. “I am no thug!”
“I wouldn’t get too worked up,” Keirn said. “All his compliments are pretty backhands. All things considered, that was overall a positive portrayal. Certainly not how I would describe it.”
“And how would he describe you, bane of my ancestors?”
“Flunked student.”
“Peace,” Jeremiah called. “We have a dilemma.”
The passage broke into two equally dark and foreboding tunnels continuing into the gloom. However, both looked equally used and the brief moment of silence revealed no telling signs down either.
“Well, which is it,” Keirn probed with the tip of his blade.
“I warned you before, I would not lend assistance,” Andrie replied.
“Are your murderous allies truly worth dying over?” Keirn asked.
“I will not be swayed from my honour by your slanderous tongue.”
“That’s rich coming from you,” Keirn said. “Speaking of which, what are you doing way out here? Don’t you have some port you should be plundering?”
“I am not some common raider.”
“But your people are, aren’t they? Isn’t their whole claim to fame centred on their endless razing and pillaging of coastal settlements?”
“I would not expect you, of simple mind and simple understanding, to comprehend even the smallest fraction of our traditions.”
“Well, I don’t know about the rest of you, but it certainly looks to me like you’re just some common mercenary.”
“I am sure you would know what a mercenary is.”
“Actually, we have worked with quite a few,” Kait agreed.
“And for someone who professes a higher moral standard, you seem to be quite willing to sell it for the slightest hint of gold,” Keirn said. “But I may not be the moral expert of our group. What say you, Jeremiah?”
“Don’t bring me into your ridiculous taunts,” the dark man replied. “But… it does seem pretty questionable what you are doing; selling your sworn blade to the service of murderers.”
“That’s precious coming from you lot!” Andrie shouted. “What price is high enough for you to sell your swords? I suspect it is not very much. Perhaps a warm meal and a bed but judging by your meagre size maybe it was just the bed.”
“Look, we just want to help,” Kait pleaded. “There could be some people still alive…”
“Oh, they’re alive alright,” Andrie warned. “But I suspect the same won’t be said for you four much longer.”
“Can I just start stabbing him?” Keirn sighed.
“My soul is ready,” Andrie cried, drawing erect.
He was mighty tall.
“It’s left,” Derrek announced.
“What?!”
All four of them turned to the minstrel who was leaning nonchalantly against the heavy axe now that Kait had dropped it for a brief respite.
“How can you be so sure?” Keirn asked.
“He’s been eyeing that passage ever since we stopped here,” Derrek explained. “Clearly, he is expecting some sort of assistance to arrive.”
“That seems like quite a leap,” Jeremiah said.
“Well, he also looked extremely worried when I made that announcement, as if my suspicions were correct,” Derrek shrugged. “Furthermore, while the ground has become too hard to hold decent imprints, you can still see some scratches from the talons of the roc which clearly doesn’t frequent this area.”
“How did you not notice that?” Keirn accused his sister.
“That’s just conjecture!” Andrie cried. “This man is clearly mad!”
“Yeah, but he’s our mad man,” Keirn said. “Let’s get going.”
“Fine! It’s too the right!”
“Do you think this is his attempt at subterfuge?” Kait wondered.
“The passage to the left is heavily trapped,” Andrie warned. “Walking down it would assure your deaths!”
“He does seem like he’s trying too hard,” Keirn agreed.
“Weren’t you prepared to lay down your life for these people?” Jeremiah asked.
“They’re not my people. They’re just a job,” Andrie retorted.
“Well, let’s just be safe and have Andrie take the lead,” Keirn said, prodding with his sword towards the left tunnel.
“Please, you’re making a mistake!”
“What is the meaning of this?”
The party turned to the shadows, where a large man emerged wrapped in the distinct garb of the Rakstas tribals. The others drew their weapons, but there was something peculiar about his voice that stayed their weapons.
“Careful, come any closer and we’ll be forced to hurt him,” Keirn warned.
“Please,” the man said, raising his hands peacefully. “There has been enough blood today.”
“That’s quaint coming from you!” Jeremiah cried. “How many of the caravaners did you mercilessly slaughter before you felt the quota had been filled?”
“It’s not like that at all.”
The man reached up towards his face, causing the party to raise their weapons in warning. But the man ignored the bow, swords and lute pointed dangerously at his chest and simply pulled at the scarves until he had fully undressed his head.
“The caravan master?!” Kait cried.
“I think that would make a better surprise,” Keirn whispered to Derrek. The minstrel nodded his head in agreement.
“Please, we can not tarry here. Follow me and try and keep quiet.”
“How do we know this isn’t a trap?” Keirn demanded.
“You don’t,” the caravan master said. He then reconsidered his reply. “But I will give you my word that no harm will be dealt to you. But please, do hurry!”
The four weighed their options, turning to each other for a decision. Finally, Keirn lowered his blade.
“Fine, but we’re keeping this one tied up.”
“Very well, but make haste!”