M. Mathias - Through the Wildwood

Darbon hurled his rock into the back of the arm-wielding ogre’s head. The ogre reached to the wound, staggered a step, and then fell to its knees. Retrieving another rock from the underbrush, Darbon slammed the ogre’s head again. This time it fell in a sprawl and lay still, its skull a concave mush.

Darbon looked around and saw Trevin cleave the head from the only ogre left that he could see. He realized, as the last beast crumbled to the ground, that they were alone again. The ogres, the tree beast that had saved him and Matty, even the wolf-riding Kobalts, had fled. He’d seen the bright flash reflecting off the trees when it happened. Now he saw the ogre’s husk of a body; a toppled statue of ash, just like the one he had fallen into the night before, was all that remained of the beast that had touched the wizard’s shield.

Darbon turned as Trevin fell to his knees. The soldier’s chest was heaving as he gasped for air. Darbon counted five, no, six dead ogres around him. The camp was littered with green-fleshed bodies and thick with the stench of ozone and molten copper. Already insects were buzzing about, searching for their share of the free meal.

“Darby?” Matty called. “Darbon, I can’t see.”

“I’m here, Matty,” Darbon replied. He saw that she was curled in a fetal ball, lying in the scrub brush. “Just stay where you are.”

“I can’t see, either,” Vanx said. “If someone can tell me, I’d like to know what’s happening.”

“They’re all gone,” Darbon told him in a tone that inferred that he had no idea why. “There’s another charred ogre by Quazar’s orb; the flash might have scared them away.”

“What of Trevin?” Vanx sat up and rubbed at his eyes furiously. Still, all that he could see was splotches and blurs.

“I am here,” Trevin said between heaving breaths. “Is everyone all right?”

“Other than being bright blinded, I am,” said Vanx.

“Darby is not all right,” Matty said, her voice a little more steady than before. “He’s been clawed across the back.”

Turning in a circle like a dog chasing his tail, the still naked young man twisted as if he might get an angle to see his own back.

“Help Vanx over here, and we’ll see if we can get that cleaned out,” Trevin ordered. “With those filthy trolls it’s the infection you have to worry about, not so much the wound itself.”

Trevin got to his feet and examined his arms and thighs. “We’ll need some cold water too, to wake up that fargin wizard.”

“They’re after his pack!” Matty said. “That’s what they came for.”

“What makes you say so?” Vanx asked as Darbon helped him stumble closer to her. He couldn’t figure why the Kobalts, much less an ancient enta would help defend them. He was still trying to figure out why the Kobalts had led them to Quazar.

“It reached for the pack,” Matty said. “I saw it plain. It wasn’t reaching for the sorcerer or Gallarael.”

After Darbon set Vanx down close to her, he gave Matty a hug. She seemed to forget herself and let out a long sob of relief.

“Must be a secret pocket in there for gold,” Matty mumbled. “I only saw the stuff for spells when I looked.”

“Components,” Vanx corrected. He’d seen some stones when he’d explored the contents of Quazar’s pack. Everything else in there was typical, as far as spell- working goes. The ogres weren’t after those. It had to be the stones. But why? What were they for?

“You’re a greedy, ignorant woman, Matty,” Trevin said in a kindly, almost sweet voice. “What by all the fargin’ gods would a bunch of fargin’ ogres want with some fargin’ gold?”

“I may not be very smart, you bastard.” She wiped a tear from her face and seemed to grow a little angry. “I don’t know what sorcerers and wizards hide in their packs, nor what those nasty beasts are after, but I am not greedy.” She spat in his direction. She then reached out and felt until she could put a hand on Vanx’s arm. “Go help Darbon clean his wound, Trevin,” she snarled. “And if you’re so fargin’ smart, you tell me what those things are after, because they didn’t get it and they’ll probably be back sooner than later.”

“Aye.” Vanx nodded. He was starting to be able to pick out shapes and shadows again. “She’s right, Trev. Hurry, and don’t forget to bring back some cold water. I want to wake that wizard up and find out what’s in that pack.”

Again Quazar came up into a brawler’s crouch with a sputtering yelp, but it was Trevin who splashed him this time.

“Quazar the cowardly wizard, we should call you from now on,” said Trevin with a disgusted snarl on his face. “You’d let us die at the hands of beasts that were coming after YOU?” Trevin spat a wad of cottony saliva at the point where Quazar’s translucent shield met the earth. “What is worse is that instead of helping us with your magic, you hid in your shell like a frightened turtle.”

“They’re gone then?” Quazar asked with a nervous glance around the corpse-strewn campsite. His voice held little remorse and even less sympathy for Trevin’s anger. After heaving a sigh of apparent relief he looked the guardsman in the eye.

“Stand back, sir, or I will use my magic to defend myself. You cannot conceive the importance of the artifact I carry on my person. Did you not see the very Wildwood come alive to defend us? The ogres must not get the Blood Stone back. They should have never had it in the first place. But beyond that, I saved Princess Gallarael from further harm. You should be thankful for that alone. Now step back, I say. Back! Back!”

“Trev,” Vanx called. He still couldn’t see well, but he could hear just fine. “Give the wizard some room.”

Vanx wasn’t sure what this Blood Stone was about, but the idea of any powerful artifact in the possession of some half-feral, half-sentient creatures was unnerving at best. Ignorance and magic didn’t mix very well, nor did magic and flesh-hungry instinct.

“Listen to your Zythian friend, Trevin,” Quazar said. “Give me some room.”

“Zythian?” Trevin asked as he took two steps backward and turned to look at Vanx. “You’re not Zythian, are you Vanx? You don’t look Zythian.”

“Oooh, I should have seen it before now,” Matty said in a gossipy tone. “Only the blue eyes of a Northlander mixed with the yellow of a Zyth could make eyes that color of green.” She rubbed her own eyes wishing she could see. “I’d bet he’s half and half. I bet he is.”

“I am,” Vanx said defensively. “What of it? It doesn’t change who I am or how I feel, or how I think.”

“Can you-can you really turn into a bird-a bird and fly?” asked Darbon. He was feeling the pain of his wounds now. He looked as pale as the river wash.

“Blah! Blah!” Trevin blurted. “I was wondering how you were able to see so fargin well at night.” He scowled down at Vanx who could see well enough now to register Trevin’s expression of disapproval. “It changes something all right.”

This is it, Vanx thought. Either I’ll be shunned as a strangeling or put back into chains. He decided that he should have listened to his elders. They’d all warned that the human condition didn’t allow for much tolerance. I should have never hoped that these people, as kind and honorable as they can be, would be able to see past my race. They-

“What it changes is the fargin subject, wizard,” Trevin continued, surprising Vanx completely. The guardsman stalked back over to Quazar, who’d just dispelled his protective orb. “You’ll not trick me so easily, old man. Now quit trying to turn us against each other and start convincing me not to shorten you by a head.”