Thralls of a Dread Lord (1.71T)
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.
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Retaak laughed and laughed, giddy and grinning. He could not wait to boast to Ushochhushi or the pitborn spawn that he had slain a Deathstalker with his own hands and guile. He laughed until he felt weak in the knees which cause him to look down. His smiled died as he saw the blood, his own, pooling at his feet. He felt lightheaded.
He set the Deathstalker’s corpse down gently and began to bind his wounds. The cuts had all been deeper than they seemed at first and he had lost a lot of blood while squeezing the life out of his foe. As his hands moved with swift efficiency, his mind turned to the past.
Hold the cloth like so, make certain that those do not get in the wound, tie it here and here… his mother’s voice, her likeness long lost to Waachear and his ilk. He still remembered her teaching him how to bind wounds, to make a poultice, which herbs to pick and how to prepare them. It always came back to him when he did this, made him wonder what else he could remember through simple tasks. Could he ever regain what the minions of the Dread Lord had taken from him?
He felt weak and tired when he was finished. The elf had a bow, some arrows, and a pack of waybread. Filled with honey, nuts, and dried berries that seemed to burst to life as one bit into it, waybread was popular with any of the spawn who had worked up their distrust of elves enough to try it. Retaak considered that it could be poisoned, but the Deathstalker had been so arrogant, or angry that he had given up an easy kill with a bow. losing had never crossed his mind. Besides he had no choice.
He bit into the waybread. The flavours shot through him. There was a sharpness to the syrup; had they used maple instead of honey? walnuts and raspberry chased this, followed by the citrus tang of lemon. It was delightful. After the bread, he drank the elf’s water and set out, taking the elf’s knife and deathstalker mark.
The body remained behind, unburied. He owed the Deathstalker nothing and needed to make up ground before nightfall. He still had hopes of making it to the Fellspawn Warrens before Albyursia met her fate.
He walked for as long as he was able, until the sun sank, and then collapsed into a deep healing slumber.
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