[Mkguild] Healing Wounds in Arabarb (40 of ?)

[C. Matthias]

Healing Wounds in Arabarb
By Charles Matthias


One good thing that had come out of his foster parents being 
fishermen, Jarl knew how to maneuver a boat even in a heavy current. 
They waited a minute after being swept into the Arabas before trying 
to steer the boat to the southern shoreline; it would have done no 
good to reach the shore within sight of the pups. A few minutes was 
all it took with the strong current to push them a mile downriver.

The Arabas flowed through a chasm of varying depths with Fjellvidden 
situated at one of the few natural ports along its entire length. The 
rest of the time, the course of the seasons had shaped the river 
walls so that they bowed outward, with each landing leaning over the 
water's edge until they finally gave way and were washed downstream. 
By this, the river grew over the course of centuries.

The rock ledges were especially sturdy to the west of Fjellvidden, 
which only complicated their goal as Jarl, Ture, and the two archers 
madly tried to prop the boat into a narrow cleft long enough for them 
to climb onto shore.

"Grab that ledge!" Ture shouted as the river smashed them into the 
little alcove of stone. Water splashed over the canoe's rim and 
sloshed in the bottom, drenching their legs and boots. One of the 
archers, Eivind, stretched across the prow to grab a shelf of jutting 
rock only to push it to his right. The prow swung into the cleft and 
lodged between the rock walls as the river pounded the boat, forcing 
the keel to swing against the rock wall.

"Hold on!" Jarl shouted as he leaned against the wall, digging his 
fingers into the rock trying to find purchase. The other archer, 
Bergen, steadied himself in the same way, scrambling upwards only to 
slide back down and grasp the edge of the boat with both arms to keep 
from being swept under.

Ture grabbed Bergen under the shoulder and hoisted him back into the 
boat even as it continued to rock and smack into the shelf. The 
ice-cold water soaked up their legs and made the stone slick to the 
tough. Jarl dug his fingers into his grip, but couldn't pull himself 
up more than an inch before he started to slide.

"We'll never get up this," Eivind snapped as he held onto the cleft. 
"The river will drown us if we don't get out of here."

Ture grunted. "We might be able to swing back out if we put our backs 
to the rock."

"We have to get to the castle," Jarl said, though both Bergen and 
Ture were turning around and bracing their legs against the tipped 
side of the canoe. The thane's grandson growled under his breath at 
yet one more failure, and then gazed back up the impossible rock 
shelf and blinked when he saw a very large puffin staring down at him.

The puffin stretched out his wings and spoke, "Would you like some help?"


It took a few minutes to get all of them up onto the road following 
the river's course, but the tundra men were strong and together they 
rescued all four of them. The canoe finally foundered after they were 
all free and was swept down the Arabas and lost to sight. They were 
each given a blanket and cloak to dry and warm themselves before they 
all followed the road back east.

"Thank you again," Ture said to the lead man, a very large, 
dark-haired man with angular eyes, broad, ice-chapped nose, and long 
pike axe slung over his back. Thuring nodded slightly in response.

"Machias recognized you. What were you doing in the water?"

"The mage's pups found us. We tried to lead them astray. I'm not sure 
if it worked."

Jarl pointed east as he walked stiffly at Ture's side. The many large 
dogs that accompanied the tundra men kept sniffing warily at him. "We 
have to get back to the castle so we can help them."

"If they're alive," Thuring said with a grunt. Jarl wasn't sure what 
he meant by that. "Do you know where they'll be? We need a trail to follow."

"The others followed the tunnel into the forest south of the city," 
Ture said softly as he glanced back at the other men with them. 
Machias the puffin was resting with closed eyes on one of the travois 
they carried, but his head did turn with their words. "I know where 
it opens up. But we'll need to get off the road."

Thuring laughed lightly and gestured at the stone and dirt road and 
then at the very thick forest that crinkled with hills and gullies. 
"If you can find your way through that maze, then lead us. Our 
friend," he jerked a thumb toward the puffin, "can't do that."

"I know a way," Eivind offered. "It'll lead us to the southern bridge."

"How far is that?"

The archer shrugged his shoulders before glancing at the woods and 
the river. "From here... two miles."

Thuring nodded and took his pike axe and rolled it around in his 
hands. "Lead and we'll follow."

Eivind nodded and turned the band of a dozen and a half men and as 
many dogs into the forest. The pines and larch enveloped them in a 
soft green gleam. Jarl pulled his cloak and blanket tighter around 
himself and muttered, "As long as this gets us to the castle."

----------

The Spring thaw turned what most of the year were dry little ditches 
through the forest into little streams that gurgled as they wended 
their way between tree root and stone. Some of these could swell so 
wide and deep that they could sweep a man away if they were not 
careful. But the stream south of Fjellvidden through which Elizabaeg, 
Brigsne, and the other members of the Resistance ran was never so 
deep as to threaten their lives.

But it was deep enough to hide evidence of their passage. At least 
from all but the most determined and skilled of trackers. None of 
them knew if that meant Gmork's pups.

"How far does this take us?" Elizabaeg asked, grateful that her boots 
were seal skin. It kept the freezing water out, even if not all of 
the cold. Her toes were numb as they sloshed through the foot deep 
water. At least the easterly breeze pressing at their backs brought warmer air.

One of the hunters who knew the woods gestured with thick fingers 
along the line of pine and elm to their right. "It runs through this 
gulley for two miles before turning south. If we strike north at the 
turn we should come out to the east of the castle."

Three maybe four miles more separated her from her son. She glanced 
behind them at the morning woods but saw nothing. "Let's keep moving. 
I don't want those things to catch up to us."

Not a one of them nodded, but their eyes narrowed as they walked a 
little more swiftly through the babbling stream.

----------

Gmork carried the stoppered bottle in one hand, but the loathsome 
baron was not his first stop. Attached to the inner bailey in one of 
the wooden buildings clustered in the courtyard was the kennels for 
the lord of the castle's hunting dogs. When Calephas and Nasoj had 
conquered Arabarb the kennels had been a source of pride and joy to 
the ruling thane. Now, where once the building had been kept clean 
and well-ordered, it was maintained only to keep it standing and to 
keep it from smelling so foul. The hunting dogs were twelve in number 
and often used by patrols when they were looking for a particular 
person in the city.

Only three of them weren't dogs. At least, they hadn't been when they 
were born. Keeper spies, they had lived and served in the castle as 
animals, all the while passing messages to other contacts, revealing 
various plans and troop movements that Calephas had arranged to both 
Metamor and the Resistance.

Gmork saw them for what they were as soon as he arrived. There had 
been four of them to begin with, and after claiming the devotion of 
the three in the best of health, he bid them kill and eat the fourth 
canine Keeper who had been older and of less use. And afterward he 
had forbid them from ever taking any shape other than that of simple 
dogs, or of trying to act as anything other than simple dogs.

He adored watching these who had once been men be nothing more than 
common beasts, living in the kennels as if they had always done so. 
But they did still have human minds and that made them useful for a 
variety of tasks.

Before entering the kennels, Gmork noted the human soldiers manning 
the southwestern gate and the battlements overlooking the city. Some 
of the Lutins even stood on the walls facing east. Many of them 
watched the sky, wary that the dragon would return. Gmork feared that 
as well, but this time he would not be caught unawares.

The kennel stank of droppings and resounded with a dozen yapping 
dogs. But when they smelled him, most of the dogs cringed and whined 
as they backed as far into their cages as they could go. He grinned, 
stretching his dark jowls across yellowed fangs. Three of the dogs 
sat at the front of their crates, panting and wagging their tails.

He crouched in the dirt, set the bottle behind him, and then unhooked 
the latch of their cages, a latch they could easily have undone had 
they just assumed their most human form. They waited until all of the 
latches were undone and with a gesture of one hand, Gmork bid them to 
come out. The three dogs, all hunting dogs of different sizes and 
fur, obediently walked out on all fours, tails held low, dark brown 
eyes fixed upon the golden orbs gleaming above Gmork's snout.

"My pets," Gmork addressed them with savor in each word. "You will go 
into the woods south of the castle and look for humans who are 
passing through that land. They wish to bring harm to your master." 
Two of them growled at the very thought while the third whined 
unhappily. Gmork stroked their heads one by one. "I know you do not 
wish that to happen. You are good dogs. Good pets. You love your 
master. And you will do as he asks of you."

They all sat on their haunches and stared at him with complete focus. 
He smiled, revealing his many fangs. "Good. Now, when you find them, 
do not let them see or hear you. But watch them, think about how many 
there are and what weapons they carry. And if they speak, think every 
one of their words that I might hear them. If they see you they will 
kill you. Do not fight them. Just watch them. Do you understand?"

They each barked once and he laughed warmly as he stroked their 
heads. "Ah, my pets. My good little pets. Make your master so proud 
of you." He leaned forward and let them eagerly lick his face for a 
moment before straightening and beckoning them to follow. They came 
to heel as he led them to the gate. The human soldiers all backed 
away as they saw him approach. His smile widened and jaws slavered with glee.

----------

What a Lutin considered good food and what humans would consider good 
food were often two very different things. Nevertheless, Yajgaj was 
careful to obtain fresh jerky, a small loaf of bread with a little 
bit of honey, and a wedge of cheese, all of it from Calephas's 
personal larder. This he kept on a covered platter as he artfully 
navigated through the halls of the castle, assiduously avoiding all 
but other Blood Harrow. No good would come of anyone wondering where 
a Lutin was going with food finer than any but the baron could eat.

He himself relished the thought of feasting on such fine vittles, but 
he dare not take such a risk for so small a thing as his own 
appetite. Lutins ate what they must; this was for a human.

Yajgaj did let go some of the breath he'd been holding when he 
reached the descending staircase down to his quarters and then to the 
dungeon itself. It did not appear that any had come this way since 
Gmork and his pups had come to consume Cajudy's corpse. Another relief.

He carried a torch with him down to the dungeon mouth and lit the 
other two torches standing just inside the gate. In the shadowed 
distance he could see the prisoner sitting with his head on his knees 
and his arms at his sides. A viper coiled to strike.

Yajgaj rested one hand on his knife hilt then chided himself for 
daring to contemplate violence against this man. It was one thing to 
press the blade to his back to make him listen, quite another to shed 
his blood.

Walking carefully, Yajgaj the Lutin carried the tray of delectables 
toward the prisoner. The man glanced up when he approached, eyes dark 
in the feeble light with a sombre countenance. "What time is it, Lutin?"

Yajgaj set the tray down and nudged it toward the man with one foot, 
being careful to stay out of the reach of those monstrously strong 
arms. "Morning."

The man reached for the platter and lifted each item to his nose to 
smell it before setting them back and. He crossed his legs, swinging 
the shackles into view, and then glowered at him. "You said you would 
bring food earlier."

"Gmork returned earlier," Yajgaj admitted with a grunt as he leaned 
forward a little. "Not safe until now. He not listening now. His pups 
don't listen as well. Food is good. Eat."

"It's morning," Alfwig replied with barely concealed anger. "That 
monster will have poisoned my son."

Yajgaj winced and lowered his eyes briefly. "Resistance not here yet. 
I don't know why. He try to make Lindsey a dragon. I cannot stop that."

"Every child he's had he gives poison in case it doesn't work," 
Alfwig snapped under his breath. "You know that."

"But... if it does work," Yajgaj offered. "We make sure Calephas not 
live long enough.... I am sorry." He sighed and took the keys from 
his belt and held them up. "I unshackle you now."

Alfwig stared at him for a moment before offering him the chains 
about his legs. Yajgaj grasped them in one green hand and unlocked 
the bolt. He handed the unlocked chains back to Alfwig and stepped back.

"You..." Alfwig sad after a moment as he picked up the jerky in one 
hand. "You have kept your word. And you apologize to me. You are a 
very unusual Lutin."

He stood a little taller, hands tightening into fists. "I am Blood 
Harrow. I help you save your son if I can." He took another step back 
and grunted. "I leave door unlocked now. Your things are above. I..." 
he stopped himself before he said anymore. Yajgaj turned and walked 
back to the door, being sure to extinguish the torches before he left.

The Blood Harrow elders had warned him something like this might 
happen. He chided himself for his weakness as he climbed back up the 
steps. Yajgaj ran one hand along the thumb bones dangling from his 
neck and his thick lips curled into a vicious snarl. These were his 
trophies, his symbols of power and prowess amongst the Blood Harrow. 
They were recognized as such by all Lutins and even by the wilder 
humans. His hands had done this, his bone knives that he himself 
carved, and his skills as a hunter.

He took a deep breath and decided to spend a little time watching the 
walls with his fellow Lutins. Maybe he'd seen the Resistance finally come.

----------

Gmork could feel where his two newest pets were hiding in the hall 
outside Calephas's laboratory. Both of them were sore and cramped but 
they did not dwell on this. So close to them now, their master could 
almost feel their desire to burst from the hidden alcoves to 
prostrate themselves at his feet and adore him. But their adoration 
was fixed by a firm obedience that all his pets quickly learned. They 
did not move a muscle when he passed them by, and moved as few as 
they could when they breathed.

He did not like going to the baron's laboratory. Even creatures that 
were part dragon awakened in him a deep loathing. He did not show 
this to the baron whose own blood was so foul to Gmork now that he 
would not even deign to feed it to any of his pets had he the chance. 
But in this he had no choice.

The boy who'd vexed him the previous night was chained naked to the 
wall and looked delirious; his head bobbed back and forth as if he 
were lost in a thick fog. Calephas stood with crossed arms scowling 
at the boy while the tiger Weaker slouched in one corner like a 
marionette with its strings cut.

Calephas glanced briefly at him as he entered. "What do you want?"

"The Resistance has been more active than we realized. They've 
created this." He offered the bottle with the yellow powder to Calephas.

The baron stared unmoving for a moment before finally taking the 
bottle and turning to his work table. He set out several smaller 
flasks as well as prongs and knives. "What is it?"

"I have seen no magic on it, but it smells foul and it burned one of 
my pups when it got wet." Calephas grunted but said nothing as he 
took out the cork and sniffed. "A spell keeps it from making you retch."

"Weaken the spell so I can smell this. " Gmork did so, but only a 
little. Calephas bent over the opened bottle and breathed in quickly. 
His blue eyes widened and he held the bottle as far from his face as 
he could. "Good enough." Gmork's tail wagged once as he restored the spell.

Calephas took a small clay dish and emptied the contents of the 
bottle onto it. He then stirred through the yellow powder with one of 
his knives, noting the flecks of sparkling white that were mixed 
throughout. He sighed at first and then a moment later chuckled.

"This," he said, pushing a square clump of the yellow powder around 
with the end of his knife, "is Sulfur, commonly called brimstone. It 
is relatively harmless in this form. But it does produce a very foul 
stench. It isn't uncommon but it can be tricky to keep. It seems that 
there is another alchemist in Fjellvidden."

Gmork had heard of it before; Nasoj had dabbled in alchemy as well at 
one point. "Would water make it burn?"

"Not unless you made vitriol first," Calephas replied with a shake of 
his head. He then slid the knife beneath one of the gleaming what 
particulates and frowned. "This I have never seen before." He scooped 
the particle under the knife, and then dumped it into a bowl filled 
with water. It sizzles and darted back and forth through the water, 
burning with a fiery light for only a second before there was nothing 
left but a thin trail of smoke.

Calephas's lips pulled back in a grin. "Very impressive. The 
Resistance has a very clever alchemist."

Gmork winced as he saw what the single particle could do. It was 
little surprise that a face full of them had sorely wounded one of 
his pups. "Will ice do the same?"

"Probably. Make some and I will test."

He scowled at the baron briefly, but stretched out one hand, and with 
a subtle twist of his finger sand claws, made the water in the bowl 
freeze solid. The bowl cracked with a popping sound. Calephas took 
another of the white particles and dropped it onto the top of the 
ice. It sizzled and bored down through the ice, a bright vibrant 
light that burned their eyes.

"Very interesting," Calephas mused and rubbed his chin with his free 
hand. "I wonder..." He poured another bowl full of water, and then 
took a larger scoop of the Sulfur with the white particles and dumped 
then in. The flash and billow of putrid smoke that erupted from the 
bowl was instantaneous. Calephas and Gmork both jumped back, the 
former waving his hands in front of him and laughing. "What a 
delightful little weapon they've made! You don't dare get them wet. 
What were they carrying these in?"

"Little earthenware jars. I do not know how many they might have. Yet."

Calephas poured the rest of the powder back into the bottle and 
stoppered it again. He took another bottle from his shelf and poured 
a little bit of the contents onto the plate. It had a strong acrid 
odor, but did not react as explosively as water had. "If you find 
this alchemist, capture him and bring him alive. I would be very 
interested in learning his secrets."

"I make no promises," Gmork said with a slight curl to his jowls. 
"Have your fun." He turned and left the foul chamber as quickly as he could.


----------

May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,

Charles Matthias


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