The Onyx Throne Ch 68 70

Chapter 68

"Are you sure? One more game before you have to leave, aye?"

"Apologies, good master Elgrin, but we must be on our way. With the last of our purchases being delivered, it is time for us to go. We have many miles to cover today."

Lethelin touched her thumb to her heart and her head and bid him farewell.

"Aye, as you say," he nodded more than a little disappointed. "But do come and see us again."

"If it be Stollar's will," Mitchell said as he tightened the straps on his pack. The extra thickness of his new armor required some adjustments. "We enjoyed the stay. And the room."

"Yes, the room is quite nice," Lethelin agreed.

"Stollar's will, aye," he nodded causing some of the trinkets woven into his beard to jingle. "Safe travels to you both."

With that, Mitchell and Lethelin headed back towards the western gate. The sky was still dark off to the west but the first hints of light could be seen creeping up over the tips of the peaks some miles to the east. The air was crisp and cool as they passed under the stout wooden beams and started upon the path back to Gilriel's. From the corner of his eye, Mitchell saw Lethelin wince ever so slightly and there was a hitch in her step.

"What's wrong?"

She gave him a sidelong glance and he saw a little color flair in her alabaster cheeks. "My ass is still a little tender from last night. You could have healed me when we were done."

Mitchell grinned.

"I could have, but then you wouldn't have it as a reminder today. I like that it makes you remember all that we did."

"That's kind of the problem," she said under her breath. "I can't stop thinking about it and it's making me wet! I want you to rip my clothes off and take me in the middle of the road!"

Mitchell pulled her close and kissed the top of her head.

"That would certainly get them talking seeing as we're still in sight of the town."

"It would," she agreed, with a thoughtful look. "Although, an audience might be fun."

"We'll ask Allora when we get back."

"Oooo," Lethelin said with a sly grin.

They weren't through the trees more than a few minutes when a black void emerged from the dense underbrush and began to trot alongside Mitchell.

"How was your night alone?" Mitchell asked the shadow cat.

"Frustrating. Hunting is poor this close to the two-leg settlement. And you would not let me eat the other two-legs, even though they are not friends."

"Not if they are no threat," Mitchell repeated the instructions he'd given Vras before they entered Clayfaire. "If we are attacked or in battle, you are free to do whatever is necessary to protect yourself or me and the girls. But until then don't attack any of the two-legs."

Vras sneezed indignantly but didn't argue. As they walked, Mitchell noticed that Vras's head was now even with his waist. It hadn't even been a month since they'd found him in the mountains and he had nearly doubled in size. Mitchell recalled the damage dogs like pit bulls could do to a person and knew that Vras would make chew toys of a pit. He shuddered at the thought of what his companion could do to a human even now.

Mitchell reached out his hand and scratched behind Vras's ears.

"It's good to see you though. I'm glad you are safe."

The cup ends of Vras's tentacles spread open and they picked gently at the back of Mitchell's hand as he scratched the big animal. The creature had enough control over the little claw-like hooks that it used to latch onto prey that he could tug at the skin of Mitchell's hand but not break it.

"I, as well."

As they walked on, setting a quick but not hurried pace, the morning turned into afternoon and the sun climbed high. It was warmer today than it had been previously and Mitchell found himself sweating under the extra layers of the gambeson and brigandine. The weight was inconsequential, especially with his increased physical strength, but it was definitely harder to keep cool. And he could feel where it didn't fit quite right and he wasn't looking forward to the chafing he knew would follow. He had been tempted to take it off but Lethelin warned him not to.

"It's better to get used to it now. And you'll have to begin sparring in it as well. It will throw off your balance and timing and you have to learn to adapt. Even with the light armor I wear, I had to spend time practicing in it."

Mitchell sighed at the inconvenience, but didn't argue with her. He remembered back to his time as a captive and the mercenaries wearing their armor, even in the heat of the desert. This wasn't nearly that hot and if those bastards could do it, he knew he could handle this. He shifted it around, wiped some sweat from his face, took a drink of water, and pressed on.

Vras turned out to be surprisingly good at keeping them on the path. He could smell their trail from when they had traveled this way the day before and so there was no time lost as they tried to stay on course by following landmarks that they had memorized before leaving the grove. While Mitchell believed what Lethelin had told him about the gods here sometimes being capricious, it was hard to see Vras as anything but a gift. Their shadowy companion set out to roaming far ahead of them out of boredom at their much slower pace, but always returned after a while, sometimes with something in his mouth to offer to Mitchell, sometimes not.

"I think he likes checking up on you," Lethelin said bemusedly after Vras showed up after nearly an hour away, circled them a couple of times, sniffed, then bounded off into the forest again without a word.

"He said he has to protect the

tar s'thyr

, so I think he looks at it like his responsibility."

"If he wasn't a nightmare made flesh, it would be sweet."

It was getting close to evening with the sun dropped low enough that Mitchell could no longer see it through the canopy when he decided they should think about camping. They'd made good time but hadn't been pushing hard. He figured they had another four to five hours of walking before they got to the grove and it was just as easily done in the morning.

They found a relatively level patch of ground between the squat and gnarled trees and Lethelin began to clear away a space for a fire while he gathered up wood. As he stood up with the last few branches for this load, a strange smell hit his nose.

He had grown accustomed to his sharper senses overall, but occasionally something would stand out much more than something else to the point that it drew his attention. This was one such instance. It smelled...

Mitchell inhaled again and turned into the wind that had been blowing from their backs as they walked southwest from Clayfaire.

It smelled like a gym locker room. Mitchell wrinkled his nose at the foul odor like old sweat and unwashed towels. Why would...?

Mitchell's eyes went wide as realization hit him. He dropped the bundle of wood and drew his sword.

"Leth!" he called in warning back toward the camp and began to sprint the short distance.

"Balls!" Mitchell heard from somewhere behind him. "Go now!" the voice shouted.

Mitchell heard the unmistakable sounds of bow strings releasing. Not even stopping to think, he snapped the blade burst spell into existence as he ran. The spell formed around him almost instantly and his vision was clouded slightly by the spectral forms of thousands of arcane knives spinning like a cyclone with him in the eye of the storm. Sure enough, he heard the sound he had learned to recognize in his practice. At least two arrows hit the spell and were sliced to splinters. Mitchell let the spell run its course and didn't cast it again, trusting the cover of the trees to shield him from whomever was behind him.

"Close in!" the gruff voice called. "Move!"

The clearing was up ahead and Mitchell could see Lethelin just standing up with a confused look on her face.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion. Lethelin's bright green eyes started to widen seeing him running full tilt with sword drawn. He heard the sound of another bow string behind him and he started to yell at her to get down but it was too slow. Everything was too damned slow!

Lethelin saw them, then. Whomever was behind. Her hand began to reach for her own bow, but it was too late. The arrow that had been fired was not coming for him, this one had been aimed at her. Mitchell had no spell to stop it.

The arrow came streaking in from Mitchell's right and it took Lethelin high in her chest on her left side. The force of it spun her around, her gorgeous coppery red hair spinning in a wide arc and she fell.

"No!" Mitchell screamed as the world sped up with startling quickness.

Three more meters and he was in the clearing. Lethelin was down and on her side moving but she wasn't getting up.

"Mitchell," she coughed. "I... I've been shot."

"Don't move!"

"Wasn't planning on it," her voice was high and tight, her breathing starting to get ragged through the pain.

Behind him, he heard the sounds of several sets of footsteps. They were closing in.

He kneeled down to try and assess her. The arrow has passed clean through and the barbed tip was sticking about three inches out of her back. Small favor, he thought. He didn't think it hit an artery but there was still a steady stream of blood coming out of the wound. There was no way he had time to dress it, though. They were coming.

"Fuck!" he snarled and spun to face his attackers.

He could see four of them darting through the trees wearing light tan and green clothes. Not the best camouflage among the darker browns and deep greens of the forest, but they weren't really going for stealth. He saw one peek from behind a tree and a bow fired again, but Mitchell was ready this time. He dodged it easily, not even needing his spell. His vision had no trouble tracking the arrow and he took a step to the side. The arrow slammed harmlessly into a trunk behind him.

Mitchell returned fire with the arcane missile spell and he was rewarded with all of his shots landing solidly into the tree where the one with the arrow had fired, but it was just to force them to stay behind cover. He hadn't expected the attack to hit. Still, he was pleased to hear a string of curse words at the sudden explosion of bark.

"You're going to have to do better than that, you fucking cowards," Mitchell taunted.

He could feel his anger growing in his chest, like a blast furnace stoking to life. They had come up on them in secret, attacked without warning, and now Lethelin was hurt. The embers of his rage surged hot and all consuming. There would be no mercy for these men, whomever they were.

"Where's the knight, boy?" the gruff voice called from his right. He had a strange accent that Mitchell hadn't heard before. "She's the one we want."

Another movement from his left. In the growing darkness, Mitchell saw sparks of light about twenty meters through the trees and he heard the crackle of electricity. Diving behind the nearest tree, arcane lightning arced through the clearing passing just a few feet above Lethelin's head. She screamed and tried to cover herself, crying out in pain at the sudden movement.

Mitchell thought furiously. There were at least four of them and they were spread out, forming a semi-circle around the camp. There was at least one magic user. Lethelin was down and she was hurt bad. Going for either side would not only leave him exposed to the two behind him, but also leave Lethelin undefended. He needed a distraction. He needed--"

A growl sounded from above his head. Mitchell looked up and saw a shadow among shadows crouched on a branch with glittering emerald eyes.

"There you are!" he said, relief washing over him.

"Maula is bleeding. Did the other two-legs do this?"

"Yes! They are here to attack us. They want Allora."

"Who's he talking to?" one of the voices called out.

"Balls if I know. Maybe he's using a message spell," another voice answered.

"Get in there, Dennik! You and Larin go from the left and I'll go right with Henerton."

"Are you sure it's even him? We haven't seen the knight all afternoon."

"It's him. And if it's not, I'll head back there and take that old drunk's head myself. If the knight's not here, he knows where she is. Now get in there or I'll feed you to the nearest troll!"

The low growl coming from Vras's chest grew in intensity and Mitchell once again felt the hairs all over his body stand on end. It must be some sort of instinctive response to hearing the sound of one's own death, he figured.

"May I kill these two-legs?"

"Mitchell...I don't feel so good." Lethelin said.

She lay on one side, her head at an odd angle. The arrow sticking out of her back wouldn't let her lay flat.

"Kill them," Mitchell said coldly as he looked up into the eyes of, to use Lethelin's own words, a walking nightmare. "Go for the magic user first. Then, take the other one on the left. Show them the power of gratha. I'll take the two on the right."

Mitchell could just make out the ear flick and then Vras was gone. Even watching him move away down a branch, Mitchell couldn't hear a thing. He wondered for a moment if he should pity the men for what was about to happen to them, but then Lethelin coughed and groaned and that thought vanished from his head like a cockroach hiding from the light.

"You boys really fucked up today," Mitchell called out around the tree. He needed to buy a little time for Vras to get into position.

Mitchell could hear them creeping closer. He could even judge the distance. Two sets of feet, moving cautiously over the uneven ground, maybe just four or five meters behind now. Their breathing was deep but even. No panicked breaths. They were cautious but confident. This wasn't their first rodeo.

Then there were the two on the right, a little farther back. They were going from tree to tree also, but not as quickly.

"How you figure that, boy?" the gruff voice said with a chuckle. "If the knight was with you, I'd be worried sure enough. Any man would. But we've been following you since we caught your trail this morning. It's just you and the fiery haired one. So, I think we'll be okay."

Mitchell laughed then. He laughed loud and long and he actually felt a couple of tears roll down his face.

"You..." Mitchell sucked in a breath through the last few chuckles. "You really should have watched more closely, then."

"Eh? Why's that?" Confusion was clear in the man's voice.

"You figure he's gone crazy?" a new voice asked. Henerton, Mitchell assumed.

"Because," Mitchell called back to them through panting breaths, "there weren't just the two of us."

Chapter 69

From Mitchell's left, there was suddenly a blood-curdling scream. A scream of such utter terror that it sent ice coursing through Mitchell's veins. There was a flash as magic split the darkening forest, but the spell must have not had the desired effect.

"Help! Larin! Larin! Help It's a--"

Whatever words that poor bastard had been about to say ended in more high-pitched wailing and then the forest went utterly silent. No night birds chirped, no insects hummed and the air had stopped. It was as if the forest itself knew death stalked the branches and everything was trying to go unnoticed.

"Dennik!" screamed a voice to the left. "Dennik, where'd you go? Balls and cock, man! Say something!"

"That must be Larin," Mitchell thought.

"What in the nine hells happened?" the leader screamed out, panic making his voice shrill.

"I don't know! Something pulled Dennik up into the trees. Something--Oh, balls and fucking taint!" The man screamed.

"What is it?" the gruff voice shouted.

"It's his fucking arm! His fucking arm just dropped down from the tree!"

Mitchell began to hum an old tune, discordant and ominous. Then, when it got to the line he wanted, he called out in a sing-song voice, "

I am the devil, and I'm coming for you.

"

Once again, he lamented not being able to say it in English as the cadence and intonation worked so much better, but he wanted them to understand his words.

"What do we do, sergeant? There's something in the trees."

"Oh balls," Lenik screamed out. "Sergeant, there's something he--"

The screams started again. And they kept going this time.

"Sergeant! Help! Ahhh..."

"Larin!" the voice of the sergeant rang out. "Henerton, get over there and help him."

There was no response.

"Denass burn your soul, you coward! I'll see you flogged for this!"

"Mother! Mother help!" the dying man screamed into the uncaring night. Those were the last actual words that he ever managed to say. The rest was nothing more than shrieking. Closing his mind to the terror of the poor bastard who just had the unfortunate luck of meeting a gratha, Mitchell made his move. He knew he wouldn't get a better chance. He hated the man who'd shot Lethelin, and still those high, pitiful screams were turning his bowels to water. He couldn't imagine what it was doing to his friends.

With the sounds of the man's torment filling the night, Mitchell bolted from the tree and veered just to the left where the one called Henerton was standing, crouched behind a tree about three meters behind where Mitchell had been. He could see them clearly, even in the gloom. Hernton was a stocky human, about thirty years old or so, with a day's growth of stubble on his squarish face. He had on a leather helmet fashioned in the same color as his light tan and green clothing and Mitchell spotted a gambeson not unlike his own under the cloak he wore at his shoulders. He had a sword in his right hand and, when Mitchell broke from behind the tree, he saw him looking over about two meters at where his sergeant, whose name Mitchell still didn't know, was also crouched. He was an orc, Mitchell now saw, and a big one. Then again, Mitchell had yet to see a small orc. Maybe they came out of the womb six-and-a-half feet tall.

Seeing the size of the orc confirmed his decision to go for the smaller human instead. This way he could focus all of his attention on the former and not have to worry about his back. As he charged, he fired three quick arcane missiles at the sergeant to keep him pinned long enough to take care of Henerton. It had the desired effect and the startled orc dove behind the tree to avoid the streaking bolts of energy flying at him.

"Fucking taint!" Henerton shouted and brought his blade up to meet Mitchell's strike.

The man had been startled, but not as much as Mitchell had hoped. His training took over and he was only put out for a second which meant Mitchell was going to have to work a little harder for this one.

Their blades clanged together and Mitchell felt the power in the stocky man's form. He was shorter than Mitchell by a few inches, but he was very broad in the shoulders, and his arms were thick. He grunted under the force of the Mitchell's attack and swore as he was driven back a few steps.

Mitchell knew he had only moments before the big orc was at his back. He needed to put this man down fast. He could already tell the armor his opponent wore would deflect arcane missiles so he opted for a firebolt instead. As they broke apart, Mitchell fired a quick blast towards the man's face, which he ducked while bringing his sword around to swing at Mitchell's midsection, forcing him back a step. Yeah, this guy definitely knew what he was doing.

Mitchell met the strike, parrying it with ease and riposted back, aiming for the man's neck. It was his turn to dance back now as he barely avoided the strike.

Just then, Mitchell heard the orc behind him and, on instinct, he cast blade burst and, as the swarming blades erupted into existence, he was rewarded with a scream of pain from behind him. Not bothering to turn and look at the damage he just caused he advanced on Henerton who was starting to panic as he tried to stay clear of the wall of death scything towards him.