Chronicles of The Life-Taker, pt 5!

Hello out there, I hope everyone is having a great weekend.

No really juicy project updates this week, so let’s get into what Kurzhon The Life-Taker has been up to.

Here goes Part 5 of Kurzhon's adventures (part 4 seen here).

CHAPTER 5

“Those who oppose me must pay!”

~ Kurzhon the Life-Taker

* * *

Lem and Werner, the two guards stationed at the Eastern Gate of the town of Whudhold, had no reason to expect trouble that morning. At least not at the gate.

When they ferryman had returned the prior evening he had reported a minor altercation at the Whynnag dock. This was not unheard of. There was not always room for everyone, and those who had to wait would sometimes take issue.

In response, Whudhold would just assign a few extra guards to the ferry for the next week or so. It lowered the number of passengers they could take, but better to be safe than sorry.

As such, the guards, dutifully vetting all travelers entering the town, expected any trouble to come form the docks, not from the Eastern Gate.

Thus, they were unprepared when exclamations were heard from the end of the long line of travelers looking to gain entry to Whudhold.

First there were muffled shouts, then cries of alarm, and finally outright screams as people threw themselves to the sides of the road, scattering their belongings everywhere.

The guards finally saw what the people were trying to avoid.

Riders. Two men riding at full speed. The first rider was a large man, dark-skinned, bald, his face angry. His horse was also large. Large, tan, and looked to be some sort of war horse. Bulky and intimidating.

Lem stepped into the path and raised his arms.

“NO ONE RIDES INTO WUDHOLD!” he screamed. “YOU’LL DISMOUNT AND —”

He never finished his demand. Werner cried out, grabbed him and pulled him roughly to the side, causing both of the guards to tumble to the ground. Just in time, too. The large man on the horse had not even slowed down, nor had he acknowledged Lem at all as his mount thundered past.

As the two guards climbed to their feet, a second horse rode by. This one slender and white. It’s rider was also slender and fair-skinned. He wore bright, garish colors and waved his hand at the guards as he rode by.

“Apologies, friends! My companion is in quite the hurry!” he shouted with a playful tone, and his words were just barely heard, so quick was his speed.

Werner scrambled past Lem and began closing the gates, ignoring the angry shouts and cries from the travelers looking to enter.

“LEM!” Werner shouted, “don’t just stand there, go gather the others!”

Lem, who had in fact just been standing there, reclaimed his faculties and obeyed the order, running to alert the other guards to the presence of the two riders.

***

The largest, most convenient Inn in Wudhold was, practically, but uncreatively, called The Wudhold Inn. It was considered the best place to stay, as it was nearly centered within the small town, equidistant from the East, West, and North Gates and the South Dock.

In front of the Inn this day was a large carriage. Two men were at the back of the carriage, taking inventory of the items to be loaded. Both wore some combination of green and gold trappings.

“I believe all the Lady’s belongings are accounted for, Squire Reginald.” said one of the men in a dry, sharp voice.

This man was the Steward to Lady Monidale of the nation of Tersi. It was his duty to keep all of the Lady’s practical affairs in order as she traveled, and he took this duty most seriously.

“I expected nothing less, good Farrel,” said the Squire. His voice was nasaly and high-pitched. The Squire, though tall, well-built, and easily over thirty summers, had always wished he could do something about what others called his “squeaky voice”.

In contrast, Steward Farrel was possessed of not only a dry, laconic voice without notable inflection, but also a look that suggested the same. He was balding, and what was left was gray. His build was slim and he actually looked dry, as if he might blow away in a stiff wind.

“I will alert the Lady immediately. We can leave at once.” Steward Farrel said, even as he mentally counted the luggage items once more.

Hoofbeats were heard behind the two men, but neither turned.

In this place, where everyone was always going somewhere else, it was not uncommon for horses to be moving at all times of day and night, and not even uncommon for them to be moving fast. Many times travelers were late and wanted to be on their way.

As they were directly in front of the entrance to an Inn, it was unremarkable that the hoofbeats would stop behind them.

“I was hoping to find you.”

This came from a deep, rumbling voice. The tone of menace in the voice was unmistakable.

Both Squire and Steward spun around. As the sun was still rising behind the speaker, they could only see his silhouette.

A large shape dismounted from a large horse, bright morning sunlight shining around the dark figure.

Squire Reginald stepped forward, shading his eyes to block some of the sunlight.

It was then that the features of the man coalesced into visible details.

The man was big. No, not big. Huge. His skin was dark and covered not only in rippling, hard muscle, but criss-crosses of old wounds on his mostly bare torso.

The man’s face was both angry, yet pleased. That smile, though. No one could mistake it for pleasant.

Then Reginald remembered the man from the Whynnag dock. Immediately, he reached for his short sword, but not before the big man’s hands shot out, grabbing both the Squire and Steward by their necks.

As easily as a normal man might lift a child’s doll, the big man swiftly hoisted the two men in the air and brought their faces before his. Kurzhon had found something gratifying in the fear that had bloomed in the Squire’s eyes as he was recognized.

Thought he couldn’t breathe, Reginald moved again for his sword. In response to this action, the big man shook both the Steward and Squire like rag dolls, grinning madly as he did so.

“Reach for that sword again and I snap both your necks right here,” said the man, his voice washing over them like waves.

“Now…” said the man. “I am going release my grip enough for you to speak. When I do, you are going to say these words…”

Wide-eyed, both men nodded as much as they could. The man continued.

“My Lady. From the looks of him… I bet he smells… of ripe old cainder fruit.”

As he spoke, the smile on the big man’s face faded, and all that was left was undisguised malice and contempt.

And the promise of violence.

Nodding at Farrel, he spoke again, voice raspy with controlled fury.

“You first.”

The Steward, now knowing who the big man was, and what he wanted, confidently rasped out the words.

Wakely stood nearby, noting with growing unease that people from both sides of the street were starting to pay attention to the altercation.

No one moved to intercede.

Kurzhon stared at the older man as he finished the line, saying nothing. For awhile, Wakely swore that nothing moved in the town. Not men, or horses, or insects, or wind, or even time.

Finally, Kurzhon spoke.

“So, it was not you who said those words,” he said, his voice flat and hard.

The Steward shook his head as much as Kurzhon’s hold on his neck allowed.

“No! No, my Lord!” he rasped out. “I did not say it! I would not say such a thing!”

Kurzhon tightened his grip on the Steward’s throat.

“But you certainly laughed when it was said,” he growled, the anger welling up in his tone.

Both the men in Kurzhon’s grip began scrambling and trying to speak but it was too late.

With a vicious twist of his arm, Kurzhon snapped the old man’s neck like a dried branch. The crack! of the breaking bone echoed through the air.

Immediately, the bystanders that had accumulated burst into shocked outcries of fear and condemnation. Some began shouting for a Drake.

Kurzhon dropped the dead man to the ground without care, then turned his attention to the Squire.

“Now you,” he snapped. “SPEAK.”

Squire Reginald shook his head and tried to adjust his voice. He prayed to all the Gods who might be listening that now, just for one small utterance, his voice would not be as it truly was.

The Gods were not listening.

“It wasn’t me!” Reginald squeaked out.

The Squire knew he had failed as he watched instant recognition appear on the large assailant face.

Unrestrained fury replaced that look when the large man spoke again.

“So, cainder fruit, eh? Why don’t you tell me what I smell like now!”

With that, Kurzhon forced the Squire’s face into his armpit, then immediately wrapped his powerful arms around the man’s neck, crushing in on it with brutal force. Reginald’s face began turning red, then that red shifted to purple, and his eyes bulged.

Before another moment had elapsed, the door to the Inn burst outward and two guards in the same green and gold as the Squire appeared.

“Unhand him you common DUCK!” screamed one of the guards as both advanced on Kurzhon.

“That is a Squire in the service of the Lady Monidale of Tersi!” the other guard shouted.

“Squire?” Kurzhon barked. “I hope those are easily replaced!”

With that, Kurzhon squeezed and twisted, the result of which was to audibly snap the Squire’s neck. He let the body drop.

“NO!!” shouted both the guards. Even more shouts and cries came from the growing crowd surrounding the action.

“Now,” Kurzhon said his voice dark and cold, “where is this Lady Monidale?”

He took a step forward toward the guards, drawing his axe from it’s back scabbard as he stepped over the recently deceased Squire.

“I would like to speak with her.”

Wakely swallowed hard. He hoped, for their own livelihoods, the guards would run away.

***

TO BE CONTINUED NEXT WEEK

Thanks for reading and make sure to let me know what you thought of Chapter 5!