[Mkguild] Healing Wounds in Arabarb (51 of ?)

[C. Matthias]

Healing Wounds in Arabarb
By Charles Matthias


Yajgaj had first gone to Gmork's listening room but the door was 
sealed against him. After many long months watching the mage and the 
Baron, he knew that the only time this room was magically sealed was 
when Gmork wasn't there. He would have to search for the mage, and 
the best place to do that was from the battlements.

He jumped up the stairs two at a time until he reached the eastern 
walls. Situated on the declivity they rose higher than the western 
walls affording him a good view of the entire castle and the land 
surrounding Fjellvidden. It took him only a moment to spot Gmork. The 
beastly mage was on the western battlements spewing fiery spells into 
the city. Yajgaj peered and saw a tangle of men and horses at 
Fjellvidden's western edge, but his eyes were not good enough to make 
out any details.

A sudden cacophony of Lutin screams behind him caught his ears and 
psun him on his feet. On the northern bank of the river near the 
bridge, he saw the dragon Pharcellus appear amidst the Lutin camps, 
spires of flame erupting from his jaws to roast the warriors. 
Thankfully none of them were Blood Harrow; that was one less chore he 
would have to tend to.

Still, he felt a vicious thrill fill him and with the little 
earthenware jar hidden in his left hand, he raced back down the steps 
to the next landing and crossed the bailey to the western 
battlements. Gmork had a gleeful, concentrated look to his snout and 
eyes as he constructed strange runs in the air, bolts of brilliant 
flame arcing into the town where they were met by short screams. The 
half a dozen soldiers who had been standing guard were all clustered 
to either end of the wall as far from the wolf mage as they could.

He touched the bone knife at his right hip and then rushed down the 
wall shouting and waving his right hand in the air behind him. 
"Master Gmork! Master Gmork! The dragon! The dragon is back!"

Gmork dispersed the rune he had begun to draw, his jowls curling in 
irritation and his ears lifted along either side of his beastly head. 
"What did you say, Lutin?" The contempt in his voice was plain but 
Yajgaj liked it when his kind were underestimated.

For his part, Yajgaj tried to act sufficiently alarmed. He waved his 
arm and gestured to the east. "The dragon! He's back and at the 
bridge killing my people!"

"He is?" Gmork's eyes flashed over the Lutin's head, although from 
where they stood they bridge was hidden behind the northeastern 
portion of the castle. The wolf mage turned his ears as the breeze 
rushed through his pepper-gray fur; and then his eyes widened in 
fury. He pushed past the Lutin striding quickly toward the eastern battlements.

Yajgaj grabbed his bone knife in his free hand, jumped into the air, 
and drove its long sickle-like blade squarely between Gmork's exposed 
shoulders.

Gmork begrudgingly admitted that the Resistance had courage and a 
certain degree of ingenuity. After he'd managed to disable the wood 
mage they had fled between the buildings at the southwestern edge of 
the city where Gmork could not see them. And if he could not see 
them, he could not properly aim his spells. But the soldiers had them 
pinned there and two of his pups would keep them within the city. 
They had only two choices, either be cut down in by the soldiers, or 
make a break for the western gate. Gmork truly hoped for the later so 
that he could crush the handful with his spells.

It was not that he preferred to kill them himself; a dead man was 
dead no matter who landed the killing blow. But he felt more 
confidence that he'd be able to obtain that mage alive if it were his 
spells and not the indiscriminate swords in Calephas's army. So he 
launched and occasional bolt to help convince them that they couldn't 
stay back behind the buildings and in the alleys, but otherwise kept 
his attention on the gates far to the west.

The thought of having six pups was so delirious that the impertinent 
Lutin's interruption made him growl. At least until he heard what the 
foul little beast had to say. "He is?" he asked in alarm. The 
dragon's return could give courage to the Resistance and fear to the 
soldiers. If the battle turned against the soldiers, the people of 
Fjellvidden might find the last dregs of their courage and that was 
something he could not allow.

Gmork turned from the battlement and pushed past Yajgaj and started 
toward the higher northern ramparts to see the dragon for himself. A 
few more bolts of energy and spears of ice should be enough to finish 
that interloper off.

A sharp agony arrested him, and he spun on his paws with a bellow of 
rage, flinging the Lutin against the stone. His flesh erupted in fur 
from the tips of his ears to the long tail behind him, the expensive 
furs he draped over his body melding with him by sheer dint of magic. 
The Lutin braced himself against the wall, clutching his left arm as 
he tried to push himself to his feet.

Gmork reached behind him and yanked the blade form his flesh, blood 
pouring out before the wound closed itself up again. He turned the 
long, wicked knife over in his paws, glaring past it at the Lutin 
whose wide yellow eyes brimmed with hatred. "You little traitor," 
Grmok said as he dashed the knife against the wall where it shattered 
into a hundred tine fragments. "How long have you been waiting for 
that opportunity? How long..."

His ears turned at the sound of battle to his left and not just to 
his right. He did not take his eyes from the Lutin who had finally 
planted one foot beneath him and was pushing himself upright against 
the wall. The soldiers who were supposed to guard the battlements 
watched warily from a distance.

"You let the Resistance into the castle. Stupid. They're all going to 
die. As are your precious Blood Harrow." He flung one arm and a small 
bolt struck the Lutin in the chest, knocking him back to the ground. 
Not enough to kill, but he wasn't going to let this one die easily. 
The stab had hurt him! That could not be allowed.

The Lutin scowled at him as he scooted back a few paces along the 
wall before trying to get his feet under him again. A foul scent 
struck Gmork, and he noted a trail of familiar yellow crumbs 
decorating the edge of the outer wall. He twirled his claws in the 
air and deadened the Sulfur's gagging putrescence. "So you have some 
of that wonderful little powder the Resistance made. That's not going 
to help you either, Lutin. You..."

Gmork stared in delightful surprise at Yajgaj. The magic of the Blood 
Harrow elders was long rumored to be esoteric and he had long wished 
he could have studied it, but Lutin magic was closed to him. And it 
was also for all intents and purposes nearly invisible to him. But 
now, with his eyes given the focus and strength of the eagle, and his 
subject trembling before him, what was invisible now, though still 
subtle and easy to miss, was visible.

He barked a laugh and nodded his head, even as he allowed bright 
plumes of fire to balloon about his hands. "How interesting. And 
clever. You aren't really a Lutin after all."


Yajgaj didn't think a single knife to the back would be enough to 
kill Gmork, but he had expected the blow to have so weakened the mage 
that he'd have been able to finish him off with a few more quick 
strikes. Instead, he'd been flung against the wall while Gmork now 
towered over him with all his monstrous powers focused on him. The 
beast's face flecked with spittle, jaws snarling each and every word, 
yellowed fangs bared beneath quivering jowls, and golden eyes pulsing 
with unalloyed rage.

The first blow crushed the earthenware jar in his left hand, but he 
kept his fist tight around the remains, even as his pal and fingers 
began to sizzle with more ferocity than if he'd grabbed coals from a 
fresh fire. He scooted backward as quickly as he could, trying to 
decide what to do. Gmork advanced after him, staring intently at him 
and mocking his plans. Yajgaj trembled in fear when Gmork mentioned 
the Resistance in the castle. Either he stopped the mage now or they 
were all going to die.

But how? He had other knives at his side, and the powder burning his 
hand in the other, but the scent of the yellow powder was already 
gone because of Gmork's magic. What was there left?

And then, the mocking superior words of the wolf-like mage, who 
towered above him, more beast than man as he hunched forward with 
outstretched arms coated with flame, brought a fierce indignation 
into his heart. "You aren't really a Lutin after all."

Yajgaj, snarled about his tusks and grabbed one of his other knives 
in his right hand, legs tensing as he pushed himself up against the 
battlement wall. "Yes I am!" He flung his left hand forward, 
releasing the powder. Gmork spread his arms in a wall of fire with a 
barking laugh. The powder struck the flame and turned an unholy red 
and orange, pouring forth like a smear of oil across the beast's 
snout and face, burning and searing the fur and flesh. That liquid 
fire consumed Gmork's laugh into a howl of purest anguish.

Yajgaj got his feet beneath him as the beast tried to warp magical 
incantations in the air with his hands. The Lutin leaped forward with 
his right arm outstretched as his left reached for another dagger. 
Gmork's head dashed from side to side as the flames rode up his 
snout, across his cheeks and darted into his ears and melted his 
eyes. Yajgaj grabbed at Gmork's left side with one hand while the 
other drove the dagger up through Gmork's jaws, crunching bone and 
snapping his fangs shut.

As Gmork writhed and tried to reach for him, Yajgaj swung beneath him 
arm, feet digging at his thighs to give him leverage. He then drove 
the other dagger straight into the back of Gmork's neck, and with the 
force of his swing, sliced completely through the bone and flesh. The 
monstrous body fell twitched once and then fell forward to the stone. 
The flaming head bounced one to the side before coming to rest, the 
first bone knife jammed up to the hilt through his jaws.

Yajgaj stood gasping for breath as the smell of burnt flesh filled 
his nostrils. He couldn't afford to let the head burn completely, so 
he grabbed what was left of Gmork's furs and smothered the severed 
head with them. They sizzled and smoked for several long seconds, 
even as Yajgaj's left hand seared from where he'd gripped the powder. 
But the fire did go out.

The soldiers along the walls watched in horror for a moment, and then 
fled. Yajgaj stood up and looked at the body with a long-toothed 
smile. "I am a Lutin!" he declared, and then spat on the wolf-shape 
sprawled across the wall smearing blood everywhere.

Yajgaj bent down and picked up the wolf-head by the hilt of his 
dagger and was delighted to see that while most of the flesh had 
cooked over his snout and the front of his face, the rest of his head 
was still intact. He stashed it back within the furs and slung it 
over his shoulder. One head down.

Now he had to find that bastard Calephas and claim his second.

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

Charles Matthias


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