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Authors: Jason Halstead

Tags: #tolkien, #revenge, #barbarian, #unicorn, #sorceress, #maiden, #dwarven mines

Victim of Fate (9 page)

BOOK: Victim of Fate
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Alto ducked an angry swipe and jammed his
sword in a second time. The creature snapped its beak, narrowly
missing his face. He backed away from the beast, drawing it towards
him, and smashed his blade into the side of its head to drop it
into the stream. Alto looked up and saw other creatures,
amalgamations of animals that could not inter-breed, coming out of
the darkness. He heard Tristam and the others cursing and fighting
but they were growing further away.

Alto nodded. This was it then; he had to
fight his own way free. His horse was across the stream and some
distance away. He needed to cross over the water. He glanced at the
stream, his heart racing with the memory of the poisonous fog
rising out of it. Was the stream as cursed as these animals? Alto
staggered away from it and climbed back fully onto the bank. He
wanted to stay clear of it, that much was certain.

A deer with the hindquarters of a rabbit
slammed into him, knocking him into a tree and off his feet. His
breath was jarred from his lungs by the impact, but one of the
deer's antlers had broken off. Alto used the tree to brace himself
as he rose up. His chest ached from the strike but his mail had
saved him from being gored. The hopping deer rose up and shook its
head. It glared at him and blew its breath out. The deer's head
lowered to bring the remaining tines of its antler in line with
Alto before it stamped its feet.

Alto jumped towards it and to the side,
angling enough so that his arcing sword smashed into the twisted
animal's face as it charged him. Alto spun away, jarred by the
impact against his weapon, and saw that the deer would never bother
him again. He backed into another tree and pushed off it, anxious
to put distance between himself and the horde of unnatural
creatures.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 8

 

Therion watched the adventurers scatter.
They'd escaped his fog of death, surprising him, but then they'd
stumbled into his army of experiments. The creatures were failures,
all of them, but for once they were making him proud. The failures
feared him but beyond that, they had no intelligence or redeeming
qualities, or so he'd thought. He'd cast his thoughts of them aside
once he’d finished with them, but now he wondered at the wisdom of
doing so. They'd come together and fought against the invaders.

With a few spells aimed at confusing the
warrior Rosalyn watched so closely, he'd ensured that the young man
was separated from the others. He'd fought back, though. Even
stranded and alone, he'd killed two of his experiments before he
fled from the rest. Therion had been forced to work more magic to
guide the warrior’s friends away and repel them from the forest to
ensure he had the young man to himself.

The wizard strode through the forest, intent
on intercepting the warrior and dispatching him. He'd hoped to be
rid of the boy without direct intervention, proving to Rosalyn once
and for all that any help that might come would stand no chance.
Perhaps it would be better to show her his strength. He could twist
her under his grip as much as he liked, but he wanted her mind
intact. Destroying her hopes of rebellion directly and showing her
that he had earned the power he wielded was the better path to
take.

Easier, certainly, for the boy had picked a
random path that took him towards Therion's home in the woods. Or
perhaps it wasn't chance that chose the path. Therion had made his
way in the bog in the northern part of the forest on purpose. There
was a source of magic there that he'd been studying. A dark and
powerful magic that came from the bowl of a tree that had long
died.

Legend held it had once been the willow that
a willow nymph made her home of. She'd fallen in love with a young
man who had wandered into her glade and used her magic to ensnare
him. Over time, he resisted her lures but she'd stolen too many
years of his life. He was a withered old man who died trying to
make his way back home. The nymph had turned inward and grown
darker, seeking out the harmful side of the nature magic she
wielded. In time, she languished and so did the willow that was her
home. As its health failed, so did hers, until all that remained
was a vengeful and corrupt spirit that poisoned the earth around
her. It was that magic that drew Therion. He'd learned much from it
and based many of his experiments on how she'd twisted the powers
of nature to create unwholesome aberrations.

The glade turned bog had called to him many
years ago; perhaps now it called to the warrior as well? Did the
warrior, perhaps, remind the shadow of a spirit that remained of
her own lost love?

Therion smiled as he strode through the
forest. Perhaps there was more he might learn yet from this. No
matter the course, he would soon have the girl convinced of his
supreme power. As soon as she threw herself upon his mercies and
understood that she was to serve him in all ways, to offer herself
to him in all ways, then she would be his. Then he would at last
have someone who would share his appreciation of all things in life
with.

 

* * * *

 

Alto trudged through the forest and began to
regain his wits. The corrupted animals disappeared behind him as he
wandered. Whether they fell behind or sought easier prey, he wasn't
certain. He hoped his friends had found similar respite.

He rested against a tree and glanced around.
Ahead of him, the forest seemed darker. The ground had squished
under his boots, suggesting wetter forest or perhaps even a swamp.
In the dark, he admitted he'd lost his sense of direction. The
trees overhead kept him from seeing enough of the stars to guide
himself.

Alto started to sheathe his sword and then
stopped himself. Having his sword ready seemed a far safer idea.
Unless he tripped and fell on it. He took a breath and let it go.
Perhaps leaving his father's farm wasn’t such a smart idea after
all.

The warrior pushed himself forward,
continuing into the darkness. It made sense that wetter ground
would mean he was nearing the stream again. If he could find a safe
way to cross it, he only needed to get to the edge of the forest
and he could make his way back to the horses and his friends. With
that hope in mind, Alto pushed himself faster through the
darkness.

Several minutes later, his boot splashed into
a puddle. Alto stopped and pulled his foot out of the sucking mud.
He scowled and looked around, trying to make out details in the
darkness. Plants and vines that had gone dormant for the
approaching winter offered threatening shapes in the darkness. He
remembered the animals and expected one of them to leap out at him
at any moment.

Alto jabbed his sword into a thicket. Other
than the rattle of cracking twigs, he was both disappointed and
relieved that nothing happened. Alto stepped around the thorny mass
and moved forward into the soggy ground. If the stream had erupted
in poisonous bubbles, he wondered if the marsh he'd found himself
in would do the same thing. Alto sucked in a deep breath and held
it until colors danced in his vision. He repeated the process,
hoping against hope it would keep him safe from the fog.

Alto paused after several minutes of trudging
through the swamp. He panted a few moments and then stared into the
darkness. Leaning to the left and the right, he confirmed his hunch
and grinned. He saw lights. He wondered if it was the torches of
his friends or someone's house he might rest and recover in.

With a final breath, he made ready to head
out when something splashed in the marsh behind him. Alto spun,
sword held ready, and peered into the darkness. He saw a ghostly
white image materialize from the shadows, starting with what looked
like a pointed spear.

 

* * * *

 

Rosalyn was detached. The adventurers neared
the wasp nest, making it far further than they had any right to.
The magic of the mirror allowed her to see through the dark,
showing how doomed they were soon to be by the wasps. She turned
her thoughts away, wondering instead what she needed to do to
convince her captor that she was ready to be his plaything. At
least until she could escape and return to her family. The wizard's
mirror had shown her they were alive.

Without explanation, the adventurers turned
and fled from the nest. Rosalyn perked up, surprised by the turn of
events. All but one of them ran as though their lives depended on
it, for surely they did. The one who lagged behind still fled but
he seemed confused. He glanced about and slipped on the banks of
the river. At one point, the young warrior even dropped his shield.
Rosalyn bit her lip; he was the one she'd hanged her hopes on. Now
something was wrong with him.

Her tooth split her lip open when she saw
shapes emerge from the trees that looked to have come from a
nightmare. Animals with mismatched parts converged on the
adventurers, driving the warrior farther from the rest. He was
surely doomed this time.

The warrior looked up in time to take the
swipe of a bear on his armored shoulder instead of the side of his
head. He was sent sliding back into the river but at least he was
alive a few minutes longer. He rose up and attacked, moving with a
speed and strength she hadn't seen before. The aberration that
attacked him soon fell to the side. The warrior moved on, calling
out to his friends through the mass of unnatural creatures.

Rosalyn frowned. Why had the mirror focused
on the warrior and not the rest of his troop? She could see through
the battle that they were fighting and retreating, but she couldn't
make out any details. One of them was even casting spells. She
wondered what Therion thought of that. Was this wandering wizard a
threat to him?

The warrior made his way up the bank of the
stream and away from the river, only to be attacked again by
another aberration. He was knocked off his feet, pinned against a
tree this time, but the beast that assaulted him was also stunned
by the assault. He used the precious seconds well and threw himself
at the hybrid animal, cleaving its deer head in two on his way
past. He kept going, lurching deeper into the forest and picking
his path at random. He kept glancing back but none of the creatures
gave chase.

His breathing slowed and he seemed to settle
down. As he came to his senses, he studied the forest and took
breaks, appearing to try to determine his direction. Rosalyn began
to suspect he was a dullard until she noted how carefully he was
studying the ground and the trees. He was trying to figure
something out. She sucked on her lip and wondered what it was that
intrigued the man so. He moved on, picking his path with care as
the ground began to soften under him.

Rosalyn grimaced. She could see the puddles
and pitfalls that lay ahead of him but she could tell from the way
he walked that he could not. He stopped and retraced his steps many
times, searching for safer passage through the swampy forest. He
stopped at last and stared ahead, peering straight at Rosalyn
through the mirror. His eyes widened and his lips parted, and then
they curled up into a faint smile. Rosalyn realized she was smiling
as well.

"You fool, he's not looking at you," she
chastised herself. Or was he? When Therion had brought her to his
home, they'd come through a marsh. Maybe he'd found the wizard's
house? Rosalyn stiffened and looked down at herself. She had no
clothes, just the cruel tattoos imbedded in her skin. He couldn't
see her now, even if he was coming to rescue her!

Rosalyn looked back up, torn between wanting
to cry out for help and her fear of this handsome young warrior
seeing her in such a scandalous state. Surely he'd turn his back on
her, maybe even kill her for being so brazen and shameless. A
whimper escaped her throat. She stared into his eyes and felt
herself drawn to them. She felt a connection, as though he was her
lifeline. Her path to freedom and sanity. The warrior turned away
from her to look behind himself.

The spell broken, Rosalyn followed his gaze
and saw what he could not: a magnificent white horse moved through
the marsh. The mud kicked up by its hooves failed to gain purchase
on its pure hair. It was no simple horse, she realized. A straight
horn emerged from its forehead, marking it as a unicorn.

Rosalyn was confused. Unicorns were supposed
to be beautiful and pure creatures, not the unwholesome corruptions
that the warrior had fought earlier. Yet he was squaring up against
it and raising his sword aggressively. Didn't he know any better?
What sort of a fool was he?

The unicorn came to a stop in front of him
and shook its head. It stamped its foot and blew. The warrior
lowered his sword and, after the unicorn bobbed its head up and
down, he sheathed it. He reached out and ran his hand along the
majestic equine’s face, and then moved to rub its neck and side.
The unicorn stamped its foot again, showing impatience.

The warrior grabbed on to the mane of the
horse and vaulted onto its back. He nearly slid off but righted
himself just in time. The look on his face made a giggle slip out
of her mouth. The warrior looked like he'd never ridden bareback
before.

If he was able to ride a unicorn, surely he
had a heart as pure as she'd hoped for. Something to match his
boyish and handsome face. She felt her chest swell with hope. They
were so close; they just had to ride through the marsh to the
wizard's home and come inside. Her cage was only two rooms in from
the front door.

The unicorn turned away. The warrior held on
tightly and lowered himself before the beast bolted through the
dark forest in a gallop. She watched it go, expecting the rider and
horse to crash into a tree at any moment. After a few moments of
the unicorn gracefully navigating the runways of the forest, she
realized she'd been left behind. He'd been so close!

BOOK: Victim of Fate
5.01Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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