Thralls of a Dread Lord (1.24T)
Welcome to my weekly serial. This is a rough draft that I am working on, for your reading pleasure.
It is a fairly grim tale, so be warned.
Here is the first post from this series.
<>
Retaak peered across the fire at Uyaashie. Like most Hobs she was sharp-featured, almost elf-like in some ways. The large round glasses that she wore, however, gave her a bookish, almost disarming look.
“Ask,” he said, simply, knowing that it was better to satisfy her curiosity than risk ruining what little cohesion the band had already gained.
“I have heard about you, read about you… is it really true that you have been broken more than any living Spawn?”
“It is,” said Retaak. “At least that is what Waachear tells me.”
“Did you know that Waachear has been offered the position of Master of Pain twice, and refused both times?”
“I have not. What does that have to do with me?”
“Some say that as a new Master of Pain he would have to leave the Great Warrens, and thus lose his chance to break you further…”
“… or finish me when that Dread Lord allows it.”
“Maybe so,” said Uyaashie, smiling. “You fascinate me, Retaak Wildborn. Even now, you rebel against the Dread Lord’s way. He created us. Why would you reject his way?”
Retaak regarded Uyaashie for a moment; her tone was conversational but the way that she cut to the heart of his thinking put him on edge. He had no way of knowing what she knew, and understood less about her character than she did his. After all, she was Wechegak’s agent, wasn’t she?
“I was born in the wild,” said Retaak, looking her in the eye. “I knew my father and my mother at a young age in a way that many spawn never do. When this Dread Lord arose, we were compelled by the Kaasukak to come to Bemachorak and join his legions, but I still remember life in the wilds. I knew freedom, Uyaashie. I cannot explain it to you beyond that, any more than I could to Waachear and his blades.”\
“But he created us,” began Uyaashie.
Retaak held up his hand and said, “I have answered your question, friend Uyaashie. I have no desire to debate theology with you. We need to focus on our–”
A trilling whistle, just loud enough for them to hear, signaled an alert. None of the band was asleep yet, and so they all took up defensive positions until Uyage stole into camp. The Orc woman, bow strung and in hand, crossed the camp to Retaak.
“The Bloody Axe has followed us,” she said. “We must make haste and leave.”
“I thought you said you covered our trail,” accused Uyaashie.
“I covered our physical trail and left a false scent trail,” Uyage snapped back. “They are tracking us by other means.”
“How many are there?” asked Ashoktyaar, running a finger along one of his blades.
“Too many,” said Uyage, “Come look for yourselves, you can see their torches down the slope from the overhang.”
She led them to a rocky outcropping and pointed out into the dark below them. At first Retaak saw nothing, but after a moment he saw tiny sparks of light between them and the distant flames of the Dread Lord’s towers. As he focused on them, Retaak realized what he was seeing.
“There must be hundreds of them,” said Kuzat, ears twitching. “They are using Bargest-hounds to track us. I can hear them now.”
Uyage swore. Bargest-hounds were nearly impossible to foil. They were also rare and hard to control; someone wanted them dead.
“Gather your things,” said Retaak grimly. “We move.”
<>
