Hi guys! So sorry for the long wait.
Third chapter! A new milestone (although everything is a milestone for me, so). I had fun writing this, as I feel this will set the story's general direction more firmly - but it also took me oh so long. So sorry for that, I hope it's worth the wait.
Once again, I do apologize for the errors that made it past my mediocre proof-reading skills, and thanks for reading my work. Comments are appreciated and nervously anticipated.
Enjoy!
* * *
Herry stared at the smoking remnants of his once prosperous caravan. His sister had burned about half of the wagons in her wake, her mastery of both force and process translating into utter havoc in her rage. The bulky slaver had always suspected that it was all too easy to lose control of such power -- but then again, he couldn't really blame her much. They both knew it wasn't really Serry or her magic that resulted to their downfall.
He slowly made his way to his supply wagon. It was the domain of Telen, his would-be quartermaster, an uncharacteristically number-wise Tann. Herry himself found the man odd. The Tann were strange enough, with their uncanny ways with horses and other livestock. But one who knew his numbers --
that
was strange. He always made it a point to avoid the man whenever he could, but it seems there was no going around it this time.
But upon reaching his destination, he found out that it didn't really matter, because Telen was dead. And his supplies were gone.
He watched as the men who were supposed to be guarding it paled at the sight of him. And rightly so. Several weeks' worth of road provisions for their travel to Timberhouse -- and quite lavish, too, in anticipation of their gains -- gone.
Once again, it really wasn't entirely their fault. Herry understood that. The damned beastmen savages were hard to spot in the dark, slinking around like the unnatural dogs that they are -- and damned hard to kill, too. It wasn't their fault that they got caught up in catching two of the monsters, stupidly
leaving their post
to join the fun
Forgetting
to consider that there might be others which would target their stock.
No, it wasn't all their fault. Herry was the understanding sort. But still. He
had
to kill somebody.
The wagon was a squad, solid affair. Its thick doors lay open, the provisions within gone. He stared at the mpty space for a bit before reaching out. His large hand grasped the shoulder of a scrawny boy -- barely even a man, maybe in his first twenty years, maybe less. His sword looked too big for his body, dangling on his thigh in a sloppily set scabbard. The boy practically trembled as the large man neared him, towering over the cowered youth and making no mystery about his state of mind.
Herry didn't say a word -- he was never one for talking. In one motion he gripped both sides of the boy's head and used all of his body to twist all the way to the right, ending the motion with one savage jerk. He felt the initial resistance, the tear so much like snapping living branches, the finality of it deafening in the chaos of the wreckage. The young boy dropped to the ground, twitching, dead within seconds.
The slaver dusted his hands impassively, surveying the men around him as they tried to ignore what happened. The boy's body on the ground gave a pitiful twitch, then went still. Somebody may have to burn the corpse, but then they have no lack for fire nor fuel. Not today.
"You," he said to the air in front of him, not really addressing anyone, "How much supplies left?"
"Sir," A middle-aged man answered rigidly, bravely stepping out. A veteran, by the battle hardened, jaded looks of him. "They left a little bit of the hard bread and jerky. Cheese, some. Ale still there too, probably too hard to carry. We have food enough for a day. Maybe two, if we stretch it, Clent -" his eyes flicked to the dead boy on Herry's feet, "Clent took inventory. When he- uh, was alive, sir."
"And this Clent, when he was alive, was?"
The man swallowed. "He was Telen's assistant, sir. Took the boy under his wing, he did. Son of a friend in Searle hoping to-"
"How long for just three of us?"
The man blinked. "Sir?"
"How long will the remaining food last if there was only three of us?"
"Well -- I, I don't know."
"Your best guess, soldier."
"One week, more?" He paled when he realized the implications of what he was saying. "Sir-" he began to say.
But Herry was already walking away. "Pack up everything, soldier. Enough for four mounts."
"But sir, we would starv-"
"Better pack
everything
." He almost cheerfully called out, "Or it's going to be your neck next."
He didn't hear anything after that, but he was sure the man followed his orders. A broken neck is the ultimate charmer, he thought.
Herry set off to find his sister. She was always the smart one, sure -- but in times like these she always gets carried away by her rage. She was probably off slowly cooking the one beastman Kin that they managed to recaptured alive, not even bothering to extract necessary information about their targets. Oh, he was the calm one, all right. In times like these you had to grit your teeth and hunch your shoulders and slowly get back up.
He was patient enough to wait, after all. But patience did not exclude revenge. The first step for getting up on his feet was making sure the gruesome deaths of that bitch and those beastmen scum would be the only thing that's waiting for them at Timberhouse -- the only city they could possibly wind up in this distance from Searle.
And if they didn't make it, well, the Great Forest was probably better at killing things than him, anyway.
Whatever may happen, he won't be sleeping easy until he'd had some blood on his hands.
