Chronicles of The Life-Taker, pt 10!

Welcome all to another John Garrett Stuff newsletter!

This episode marks the end of this installment of The Chronicles of the Life-Taker.

Notice I said this “installment” - oh yeah, there will be more in the future.

As most know by now, I'm working on the second full-length novel for the Life-Taker, and I started these “Chronicles” to help me out with some writer's block I was having on the main story.

I found that writing Kurzhon's somewhat smaller adventures helped to unlock some of the problems I was having on the second book.

So now I want to focus more on the Life-Taker novel, hopefully to be released in first-quarter 2024.

With that said… what will come next week??

I've got more. Much more. We'll be taking a look at another story I came up with that is kind of technical and yet kind of fantasy.

Make sure to be back here next time for some more of my, well, "John Garrett Stuff".

The Life-Taker…!

As for Kurzhon, it's time to violently wrap up the violent adventure of a violent character. In the last episode, Kurzhon was rescued without consent (is such a thing possible??),and as the kids would say... he feels some type of way about it!

CHAPTER 10

“I am Kurzhon, Called The Life-Taker. Do What You Will.”

~ Kurzhon the Life-Taker

* * *

Time seemed to slow down around Hossy as the big man approached him.

Hossy was many things, but he was no coward. He had seen fighting, and could even be judged “pretty good” by the usual standards.

But to Hossy, it was his mind that had allowed him to excel. He could always see an angle where others could not. Because of this he always had the utmost confidence in himself, even when others would write him off.

It was that very confidence, which overrode an almost animal urge to run, that was indirectly responsible for his death that day.

The direct cause was known to Vultaikan warriors as “Master Ihzan’s Cobalt Strike”, which would soon be administered by the hulking, enraged man stalking toward him.

Even though it was the last thing he wanted to do, Hossy stepped forward. He raised his hands, palms outward in a calming gesture.

“Now look, friend,” he began, “I’m certain you had that under control but—”

Those were the last words Hossy ever said.

One moment the big man was ten paces away, and the next he was in the air, spinning wildly as he blotted out the sun.

Even if Hossy had reacted quickly enough to try to block the incoming blow, Master Ihzan’s Cobalt Strike allowed any warrior proficient enough to master it the ability to gather energy, convert it to force, then strike using the power of gravity to assist in such a way that blocking was nearly impossible.

The fist that struck Hossy full in the face hit with such power that the front of the bandit’s skull collapsed inward in a fountain of bright red blood.

He died instantly.

But that was not good enough for Kurzhon.

Before the body fell, Kurzhon struck again and again, howls of rage echoing through the sunlit morning along with the cracking of bone.

What had stood just a moment before was a living, breathing, talking man.

What fell to the ground was a misshapen lump of bloody meat.

More screams —not from Kurzhon— erupted into the air.

The gathered crowd had finally had enough. Kurzhon’s animalistic rage drove everyone to make for less dangerous places, and quickly.

People ran every which way, shouting and crying out as they did so.

Kurzhon looked around for the friends of the man he had just killed, and spotted Kavel drawing back his bowstring, preparing to fire an arrow at him.

Kavel’s face was bone-white, his eyes and mouth wide with horror as he loosed the arrow.

His eyes and mouth grew impossibly wider as he watched his arrow plucked from the air and viciously hurled to the ground.

Then the large dark man was running at Kavel, crossing the distance fast.

Too fast.

Before Kavel could prepare another arrow, the big man snatched his longbow from his hands and began beating the archer with it, using the dense wood as a club.

Kavel was actually grateful when the bow finally broke, but his gratitude only lasted for a moment, because then the kicking and stomping began.

***

Nearby, Wakely was disgusted.

Not by the violence itself, but he was attempting to recover Hossy’s coin purse, and the vagaries of fate had conspired to lay it to rest in the middle of a quickly congealing puddle of Hossy’s own blood.

Repulsive, Wakely thought. The things I must do to procure just a little coin these days…

Wrinkling his nose, Wakely pulled a handkerchief from inside his colorful cloak. He was reaching for the purse when he heard a particularly sharp cry of agony.

Wakely turned and saw that the man who had fired the arrow would never fire one again. At least not in this lifetime.

I suppose that’s what one gets for murdering a Drake, Wakely thought, conveniently forgetting that he had just been rooting for his companion to do the same thing.

Turning back to Hossy’s brutalized body, he plucked the coin purse from the bloody mess it was in and tried wiping it off. He was pleased by the weight of the purse.

As he stood, he tucked it away into his large bag, which by now was the heaviest it had ever been.

He wondered what would become of Whudhold. Just then he realized he did not know much about the town… but who did?

Was there a Mayor? Who would replace the guardsmen? Who would replace the ferryman? Someone must be paying these people… but who?

Did Whudhold levy taxes?

Wakely shook his head. So many questions, and he would likely never know the answers.

All he knew for sure was that he was never coming back here.

He walked the short distance to the post where he had tied his horse, which was waiting patiently with the Life-Taker’s impressive tan mount.

It seemed a whole world had been unlocked today. He wondered where they would go to next?

Wakely had planned to use today’s bounty to pay off some outstanding debts he owed, but now he wondered if he must pay those debts at all. Perhaps Kurzhon might… negotiate… a settlement of those debts for him.

He smiled then. Yes, things would be different from now on.

He was packing his newly gained treasure onto his horse when a shadow fell on him.

Wakely, alarmed, spun around quickly. Then he heaved a sigh of relief.

It was the Life-Taker.

***

Uncomfortable moments passed, until Wakely could stand it no more and began speaking.

“I was just about to tend to your mount, friend! I think it best we take our leave of this place and I thought next we might head back east to—”

“WE?” Kurzhon barked out the question in such a way that the challenge was obvious.

Wakely fidgeted, suddenly very aware that there was now no one… not one blessed soul… other than he and the Life-Taker in view.

“Er, yes, I think we’ve developed a fine partnership, and I just thought—”

Now Kurzhon threw back his head and laughed. Rich, throaty laughter. The laughter went on for quite some time, and Wakely began to feel offended.

“May I ask why you’re laughing?” Wakely snapped, not liking the way this conversation was heading.

Kurzhon finally managed to quell his laughter. He sighed, then wiped a small tear away from the inside of his left eye.

“Ahhhhhh… ‘partnership’… thievery is wasted on you,” Kurzhon said, with a very real smile on his face, “you should have been a mummer.”

Wakely was about to snap a retort, but Kurzhon’s demeanor changed, and the laughter was gone.

“Hand me that bag, thief.” Kurzhon stretched out a hand toward Wakely’s bag of ill-gotten goods.

“Wh-what?” This was all Wakely could think to say. He was trying to put off handing over the bag as long as possible.

“Surely we can work this—”

“The bag, thief. Now.”

Kurzhon’s eyes had flicked over from the bag and locked onto Wakely’s.

Swallowing, Wakely averted his eyes and slowly handed the bag over to Kurzhon.

Without another word, Kurzhon snatched the bag and opened it, rifling through the contents with zeal.

He removed coins, jewelry, paper money, and even things Wakely thought were likely worthless.

Kurzhon stepped over to his horse and began stowing the items in his animal’s saddlebags.

Again, without speaking, Kurzhon swung his arm back to hand the much lighter bag back to Wakely.

Wakely reached for it, hopeful that there were still some choice items remaining, but then Kurzhon seemed to think better of it, and he brought the bag back to his chest.

He rifled within the bag again for a few moments, then said “ah!” and grabbed at something toward the bottom.

Wakely’s heart sank when he saw Kurzhon pull Lady Monidale’s ruby brooch out into the light.

Kurzhon tucked the brooch into his saddlebags with the other items he had removed from the bag.

“There, thief,” said Kurzhon, handing the bag back to Wakely, “what remains is what you deserve for your efforts today. Be happy with what you have, it is more than you would have received without me.”

Wakely heard the warning in the deep voice, and clamped his mouth shut, lest he say something unwise.

“Now,” said Kurzhon, “I am going north.”

With that, he grabbed his horse’s reins and simply began walking away, leading the animal along. He turned and looked over his shoulder as he did so.

“You go another way.”

The tone was such that Wakely did not consider following the Life-Taker.

Dejected, he looked into the bag to see what Kurzhon had left him. While it was nowhere near what had been there, it was still a decent haul for one morning.

Still, he could not force himself to be positive. For a brief moment that morning, he’d had a fortune, respect and power. He could not forget such a thing easily.

He ruminated on what could have been for awhile, daydreaming in the late morning light.

Then he heard the creaking of doors opening, and rustling of people venturing outdoors.

Looking around, he realized the Life-Taker was now gone from view, and he was alone…

…with angry people that he had spent the whole morning robbing.

Quickly, he untied his mount and hauled himself into the saddle. He nearly kicked the poor beast’s guts out getting him to run, but he had to be away, now.

As he feared, he saw more and more people appearing from the structures around the town center, more and more men pointing at him. Some actually called out after him. Some ran, presumably to get their own mounts to give chase.

Wakely clenched his teeth and hoped his horse still had something in him after last night’s ride. He was going to need it!

As the sun began a final ascent to it’s midday crest, Wakely the thief rode west out of Whudhold, possibly never to be seen again if the pursuing mob caught up with him.

***

Had Wakely looked to the right of the western trail as he and his horse raced out of Whudhold, he might have seen something peculiar there among the tall grass and trees.

But he did not look, so concerned was he with keeping his head on his shoulders. His attention was focused on nothing but escape.

Neither did the riders that followed soon after him look to their right as they charged after their quarry. The focus of their interest lay ahead of them.

Had they looked they might have seen the alabaster skin, dark hair and wide eyes of a lithe young woman lying prone in the thick grass, desperate to escape notice.

The Lady Monidale lay quietly as first Wakely, then the thunderous hooves of his pursuers shook the ground not ten paces from where she was hiding.

Damp grass and crawling things clung to her, but she was not afraid. A mere day earlier she would have been screaming if she had found some multi-legged thing on her person.

But now…

…now, she had experienced true fear. The dark man, his cold eyes, his cold voice. His terrible, monstrous strength…

Her body shook in response to the thought.

The man had meant to kill her, but she had survived.

And I will have my revenge, she thought, gritting her teeth.

She did not know how, but she would make it back home, back to Tersi. She would!

Then she would have that man hunted down. Her people would hunt him to the ends of all lands. They would find him and bring him back to her, then she would do much worse than making him cook a meal.

She smiled at the thought of humbling the foul man.

All she had to do was get up and start moving. The sooner she moved, the sooner she would be back home.

Yes, get moving… get moving, she told herself.

But she did not move. Not for a very long time.

***

Relatively nearby, Lundy had steered clear of the trails and plunged headlong into the forest at a run his husky frame could not maintain.

He ran on as long as he could, the images of Hossy and Kavel being murdered replaying in his mind’s eye.

Finally, the forest became too thick and he tripped, landing in a wet, mossy mound of foliage.

The tears came then, and he howled, raged and swore at the thought of his friends’ brutal deaths.

Hossy and Kavel had always told him what to do, and they had always taken care of him.

But now, he would have to decide what to do, and he didn’t need Hossy to tell him.

That man, Lundy thought, he’s gotta pay!

Gradually the tears stopped flowing, and Lundy sat up, placing his back against a moss covered tree.

Lundy knew he couldn’t do it himself though. He had seen what the man could do.

No. He would need help to get that man. A lot of help.

But how? How could he get people to help him?

Then he remembered some of Hossy’s lessons. They would find someone who had common cause with them, and team up to accomplish a goal they couldn’t do alone.

Later, they would usually double-cross and kill those people, but Lundy decided this time he would not do that.

That man… someone like him had to have many enemies. Lundy just needed to find them.

Lundy stood then, resolve burning in his chest. He clenched his fists in affirmation.

He would find the man’s enemies, he would join them, and he would be there when they brought him down.

Lundy began pushing his way through the tight spaces of the forest, vowing that the man would regret making an enemy of him.

***

As the day moved on and turned into evening, just as the last light of the sun was surrendering the sky to early stars, a group of men waited nervously at the western gate of Whudhold.

Hoofbeats could be heard now, the sound growing louder. The sound of many hoofbeats.

Bristan Barriston, the Mayor of Whudhold, tried to project authority as he stood with the remaining several town guardsmen, most of whom had not even been on duty earlier in the day.

The guardsmen paid little attention to their Mayor, only on the approaching riders.

It was as they feared. A contingent of warriors… from New Shenjen.

The riders charged through the open gate, past the waiting men, and then swung around, expertly and gracefully moving into a rigid formation behind one man.

Mayor and Guardsmen stared open-mouthed at the newcomers.

New Shenjen. Perhaps the most powerful nation in all of Straifus, perhaps the darkest and most vile.

It was always best to keep contact with New Shenjen to a minimum, and yet their resources were such that doing business in the northeast of Straifus was almost impossible without interacting with them on some level.

They wore black, their armor and liveries trimmed with maroon borders. The national insignia of a double-edged sword held aloft by a fist was in evidence in many ways.

It was not a welcoming sight.

There were thirty men in this company, not including the one man who took position in front of them.

This man quickly dismounted his horse and began walking toward the Mayor. He did not speak or otherwise greet the waiting men.

Bristan stepped forward, attempting to take charge of the situation.

“Knight-Commander Joon,” he said brightly, “Don’t worry, I got rid of the Drake’s body, no one will know! It is an honor to—”

The back of a gloved fist colliding with his jaw silenced Bristan. The Mayor’s head snapped to the side with a painful cracking sound. The guardsmen all watched as a tooth flew from the Mayor’s mouth.

The backhand was followed by another backhand, which snapped the Mayor’s head back, and finally a third which collapsed Bristan to the ground.

All sunlight was gone now. The men from New Shenjen had banished it as they arrived. It was only in the torchlight that Knight-Commander Joon was visible.

The man turned his back on the Mayor as he spoke.

“Were you not told… to alert New Shenjen… to the presence of the Life-Taker immediately should he appear?”

No response came. Bristan struggled to pull his wits together and stand up.

Knight-Commander Joon turned around.

“Must I repeat myself?” he hissed.

“N-NO!” Bristan cried.

“No, what?” Joon demanded, through clenched teeth. “You weren’t told to alert us about the Life-Taker?”

“N-no! I mean, YES! I was told,” Bristan cried, tears streaming down his face.

“Then why do we find out about this at such a late hour?!” Joon screamed, causing the Mayor and guardsmen to jump.

“Had you sent the bird the moment he arrived we could have been here, or at least on his trail!”

“He was busy whoring, my lord!” came a voice from the darkness.

All turned, and a Whudhold guardsman appeared, dragging a young girl behind him.

The other guardsmen immediately cried out.

“Steffun, you coward! You ran away during the fight and now you come back here—”

“SILENCE!!” Knight-Commander Joon shouted. And they all went quiet. Only the crackle of the torches could be heard for a long while.

The smirking guardsman pushed the dark-haired young girl toward Knight-Commander Joon.

Joon grabbed the wide-eyed girl by her jaw, turning her head this way and that.

“Well,” he said, “it seems the pleasures of your flesh have denied my great King his own much longed-for pleasure.”

In a flash, Joon’s other hand came up, then he grabbed the girl’s head and twisted. An audible snap! cut through the air.

The girl fell dead in front of the Knight-Commander.

“Noooooooo!!” shouted Bristan, “I love her!! NO NO NOOOOOO!!”

The Mayor fell to his knees and began crawling to the dead girl.

Joon was disgusted. As such, he put everything he had into his kick to the Mayor’s head.

The Mayor flopped over onto his back, completely unconscious.

Joon observed the man laying there for a moment.

Without turning he called out.

“Wait until he wakes and then hang him.”

Joon’s arm shot out, pointing at Steffun, again not turning to face the recipient of his words.

“You will now be Mayor of this foul pit!”

Steffun grinned and stepped forward, “I pledge my—”

“Yes! Yes!” Joon, cried, annoyed. He turned then to face Steffun.

“Remember, as your predecessor did not,” Joon growled, “that New Shenjen pays for this rat heap, and we only keep it operational for our purposes, no one else’s.

Steffun lost his grin. “Absolutely sir, absolutely, I—”

But Joon turned his back on the man. He was already wondering how he would deliver this bad news to his King, that they had been close to the Life-Taker yet again, and they had lost him, yet again.

There were only so many disappointments a King was willing to endure.

“Um, sir?” Steffun asked, and the urgency in his voice actually reclaimed Joon’s attention.

“What is it?” he barked, even more annoyed with each passing moment.

“The guardsmen. I’ll need all new ones. This lot will never follow my orders.”

“Ah,” said Joon, nodding in the affirmative, “of course not. You’re a scheming, cowardly traitor.”

Steffun reacted as if he had been slapped. He looked as if he was going to say something in retort, but Joon raised his hand.

“Kill them.” was all he said.

Instantly, all thirty New Shenjen men dismounted their horses with crisp, practiced movements.

The night air was filled with the sounds of swords clearing their scabbards.

The New Shenjen warriors advanced on the much smaller group.

Joon paid no attention to the quickly-finished skirmish, but instead wondered again about his own predicament.

He had failed to procure the Life-Taker. Again.

His King very much wanted this man, for his many offenses, some against New Shenjen, and some against the very family of King Minos.

Knight-Commander Joon knew he did not have many failures left before he would be… replaced.

He vowed that the next time he came close, he would not miss.

He would take the Life-Taker, no matter the cost.

***

Far away to the north, Kurzhon the Life-Taker walked on beside his horse (who was also named Horse), thinking not at all about the fate of the town of Whudhold or its people, those he had hurt or even killed.

If, by some miracle, Kurzhon would have known about the declarations of revenge left in his wake, about the massing of a nations’ resources against him…

… he would not have cared.

Such was his nature. Any who desired his death were encouraged to come forward and attempt to realize such a thing.

Not only would he expect it, he would expect nothing less from those he considered his enemies.

And as far as Kurzhon was concerned, everyone was his enemy.

As if to belie that notion, Horse whickered softly.

Kurzhon turned and smiled, a genuine smile of affection no human would ever see.

“No, not you, Horse,” he spoke, and laughed as he did so, “you are not my enemy.”

He reached out and placed a calming hand on the animal’s neck.

“You are my friend,” Kurzhon said in a soothing tone.

“My only friend in all the lands…”

Kurzhon smiled then. He would have it no other way.

As he continued down a path toward a destination and goal only he could fathom, he smiled and lost himself in dreams of power and glory and violence and death.

This land is weak, he thought, and knew those words were truth.

***

THE END (of this installment)

Thanks a lot for reading and make sure to let me know what you thought of the ending of Chronicles of The Life-Taker!