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  With the man not responding to her warning, Helena instinctively launched her broadsword at the Kudgel.

  Nolan Ducat dropped the chunk of meat he was inspecting and caught the sword by the handle as it spun through the air at its target. You’re the one not paying attention, dummy, Helena thought as Nolan gave an annoyed look at the warrior-woman. He back-kicked the Kudgel and sliced a large but superficial gash across the rider's painted chest. The war symbols became skewed with blood as the Kudgel staggered back, with Nolan driving him farther back with a tremendous heel stomp to the man’s chest which nearly flipped him backwards. He cut another non-lethal wound into the man’s thigh before dropping the sword and bending down to whisper something into his ear. The dragon rider’s face contorted in fear as he shook his head up and down, as if agreeing to some terms unknown to Helena. The Kudgel scurried off back down the hill, and Nolan casually picked up a chunk of charred dragon meat. Looking back at Helena, he laughed.

  “Why’d you let him go?” Helena asked.

  “After the words of advice I just gave him, I doubt those Kudgels will ever set foot on this hill again. Even if they did, it’s no big deal. I have far better ways of dispatching foes. What you saw here was just the tip of the iceberg.”

  “That fiend was going to fry us all to a crisp.” Helena placed her hands on her hips, not concerned with the way Nolan looked at her naked form.

  “There are two reasons I let him keep his hide. One: so he can relay my message to the rest of his company, if there is any. And two: any man who can tame and ride a red dragon can’t be all bad.” He winked at Helena and gave a quick look at her pierced nipple, “You better just be thankful I can’t get a hard on anymore, little lady. If I was a few years younger, you’d be in some trouble.” Nolan whistled a cat call and carried the chunk of meat into the house.

  “And I suppose that’s dinner?” Helena pointed to the dragon meat.

  “Unless you’d rather starve,” Nolan gave his daughter a stern look, “Remount my crossbow.”

  “Do I have to? I wanna talk to her.” She pointed to Helena.

  “You don’t have to do anything, just like I don’t have to give you dinner either.” Nolan walked back into the house.

  Helena chuckled. I guess it’s Nolan after all, she thought

  Before Helena could realize, Noletta had somehow picked up the massive crossbow and remounted it to the porch. It’d been less than five seconds.

  “Don’t mind Daddy. He don’t like company, that’s all.”

  “I figured he was just playing hard-to-get.”

  Noletta shrugged and walked to the doorway.

  

  Helena was given some of Nolan’s clothing—smelly, thick, and oversized—and she sat at the dinner table before the hearth while Nolan cut up chunks of the dragon meat. “I didn’t know you could eat dragon,” Helena said.

  “Aren’t many left…most people think they’re extinct, so naturally people forgot what a delicacy it is. It’s hard to get to the meat…but those exploding arrows I crafted are powerful enough to penetrate their scales.”

  “You crafted those arrows?” Nolan paused the carving and grabbed another one of the red-tipped arrows to show Helena. She took a closer look at the tip. “Runes?” she asked.

  “Learned them from an old elf magician. The ball is basically hardened clay made from various materials that only explode on impact when the rune is activated. If it weren’t for the runes, they’d explode at the slightest touch.”

  “How do you activate the runes?” Helena asked.

  “An incantation.” He set the arrow on the table.

  “What’s the incantation?”

  “Ain’t gonna tell ya.” Nolan continued with his previous duties. “But you could tell me, girl, what you’re doing on my property and who those ruffians are out there.”

  Helena tried to explain, but found the details of her memory to be somewhat hazy. Nolan obviously grew irritated by her silence.

  “I went through the trouble of fighting those bastards off, twice, and killed a damn dragon to save your hide. My privacy is precious to me and, after years of peace and solitude, it’s ruined by some bitch in the buff.” He glared at her, holding out his hand, “And I’d like my weapons back, please.”

  “Weapons?” Helena asked, looking at her swords which she’d laid in her lap. She realized quickly that Noletta had told her the night before she was unarmed when she was found. The swords were obviously not hers; they were too finely crafted to be hers. These swords belonged in a museum, not some shack out in the wilderness. Nonetheless, they belonged to Nolan.

  “I’m sorry,” she placed them on the table, “I panicked when I heard the dragon and grabbed the first swords I saw.”

  Nolan grabbed the sheathed swords with one hand and put them back where Helena had found them. He then took off his thick buckskin jacket and hung it on the pommels of those swords. As he came back into the light, Helena was amazed. She had assumed earlier that Nolan had wrapped his arm inside his jacket due to some injury, but where she expected to see an arm in a sling, there was a mottled lump of flesh just after the shoulder. He wore a smudged, sleeveless white tunic which fit tightly to his torso; it was obvious his left arm was removed quite some time ago.

  “Something wrong?” He held up his muscular right arm, patting himself and looking down sardonically.

  “No, I just didn’t realize…”

  “…realize what? That I was missing an arm?” He set a plate of charred red meat in front of Helena and then gave Noletta a smaller portion.

  “It’s not a big deal…I’ve seen warriors with more severe injuries.” It was a true statement. “I’m more surprised that you’re alive at all, to be honest. I was beginning to think the legendary Nolan Ducat didn’t even exist.” She chuckled.

  He walked over to what Helena assumed was a pantry. “Legendary?”

  “Yes, Mr. Ducat. There aren’t many who haven’t heard of your exploits.”

  “Well, listen here, whoever-you-are…most of what you’ve heard about me is either highly exaggerated or completely false.”

  He walked over to a barrel of beer and began to fill the cups. He stopped at the last, apparently realizing there was still something in it, and took a sip. “Oh, that beer is definitely rotten!” he said, coughing and spitting as he poured the cup’s contents on the floor. He then filled it with beer and looked back at Helena. “That cup will be mine.”

  “You still didn’t answer my question,” Nolan stated. “What were you doing on my property?”

  “Good luck on that, Daddy. I asked her already and she don’t remember a thing.” Noletta was already digging into her dragon meat with her bare hands.

  “If you expect to receive my hospitality, I strongly suggest you start remembering.” Nolan’s voice dripped with menace.

  “I honestly don’t remember exactly…I know I was traveling north with some companions, Benny Clout, Dale Beranger, and …” At that moment Nolan held a hand up at Helena. The look on his face made Helena’s hair stand on end. It was the first time Helena had ever been scared of another human, let alone a man.

  “Dale who?” His face trembled with anger.

  “Dale Beranger, he was one of my compa—” Helena was cut short.

  Nolan had leaped from his seat across the table, tackling Helena to the floor with his right hand on her neck, choking the life from her. Normally, she would have used her grappling skills to escape, or perhaps reverse Nolan's choke into an arm bar or a similar hold, but Nolan’s grip was far too strong, and Helena was too gripped with fear to attempt anything. All she heard before she began to black out was Nolan’s warning, “Speak my son’s name again and I’ll gut you like a pig!”

  

  Dawn was approaching by the time Virtue and Bum had cleaned the last of the mess made by the patrons of the tavern. The miners (who were mostly dwarves) on the other side of the Gant Mountains had struck the mother lode of precious me
tal and gems, and to celebrate, they bought drinks for everyone in Gant. It meant a heavy payday, or night, for the Fox Den, but it also meant there’d be no rest until the sun appeared in the east.

  “Thanks, Bum.” Virtue slung a soiled cleaning rag over her shoulder. “I haven’t seen a night like that since Jack passed.”

  Bum rearranged some chairs that had been knocked over escorting a particularly drunk dwarf from the establishment. “I’m glad it’s over, to be honest. I had to break up three brawls tonight. I don’t think I’m made for the bouncer’s life. Lucky that giant got here a few hours ago to clear the place out…it wouldn’t be bad if Dale or Benny were still here to help.”

  Virtue paused, and tears began to well up in her eyes. It had only been a matter of weeks, but it felt like a century. She had spent every day right by Benny’s side for almost 6 years, and now it seemed as if Benny had never even existed. Failed attempts at long distance telepathy hadn’t achieved fruition, and without an experienced mentor (the vampire, Tele, couldn’t be located and had likely fled the region), she was left by herself to spend most of her spare time studying. She began to sob and Bum held her.

  “I’m sorry, bat girl. Benny’s going to be okay…they all will. Keep practicing with that mind-talking thing you were telling me about. With your talent, it’ll pull through in no time.”

  As they hugged, they failed to notice the eerie black smoke crawling through the floor boards around their feet. With her vision blurred by tears and buried in Bums chest, she didn’t even notice the dark-haired man form from the vapors less than a foot behind Bum.

  “There anyone in this town you haven’t fornicated with?” By the time Virtue recognized the voice from her past, the figure had bit Bum in the neck. He flew like a bat out of hell over the orc’s falling body, pinning Virtue to the floor. “And with an orc, of all types? I never took you for a bottom feeder, Laurel.”

  Virtue gasped for breath as the man pressed his body into hers, grinding his man parts hard into her private region. He ripped her leggings off like tissue paper and, after revealing his own fifth appendage, proceeded to rape his former lover. Virtue fought to get away from him, but she couldn’t.

  “Ammarod…please!” She thought speaking his name would trigger some act of mercy, reach whatever remote goodness was left inside the one she had once loved and, in fact, still loved. The man violently drilled himself into her repeatedly, his face hovering as sweat dripped off his nose into her eyes. Ammarod, whose embrace had once been so tender and compassionate, was a wild animal, and Virtue was beginning to bleed. Out of desperation, she dug her long fingernails into his wrist, which stunned Ammarod just enough for her to get out of his choke hold. “HELP!” she cried.

  “You bitch!” Ammarod brought the full force of his forearm into her face as she continued to scream. Finally silencing her, he rose to his feet, redressed, and drew a rapier from his unfastened sword belt.

  “Help…” Virtue gasped through bloodied lips, crawling away from the figure who was about to kill her.

  “Help won’t come, Laurel. You’ll be left to die, alone, unloved…just like I was!”

  Just then, a massive figure broke through the door frame, taking the doors off the hinges and knocking over tables. Liverwart stood at his full eight feet, panting hard but ready for a fight. He’d been carrying an intoxicated townsman home when he’d heard Virtue’s scream. Now he was in a rage, and eager to find the source of her trouble.

  “You hurt friend! Me hurt you!” Liverwart screamed.

  Ammarod laughed. “I am like smoke, mist, and vapor. I move like a cool breeze on a warm summer day. I can strike like lightning in a thunderstorm, and come over you like a cyclone. You are slow, fat, and dumb. Do you have any idea of the beings I have fought and defeated?”

  “Me giant problem for you, puny man!” Liverwart threw a haymaker at the man’s face, but he turned to mist and reappeared to the giant’s left. Liverwart threw a mighty backhand, but Ammarod repeated his last action.

  Ammarod smoked himself as Liverwart threw a knee and reappeared in the air, somersaulting over the giant’s head, punching downward and catching him right on the bridge of the nose. Blood spewed from his face and, blinded by pain, unable to breathe, Liverwart stumbled across the room, tripping over and through a table and swinging punches through the air in all directions.

  “I’m sorry you had to get involved in this,” Ammarod stomped into the side of Liverwart’s right knee, which was at Ammarod’s waist level, and the giant crumbled in a crying heap to the floor. “You’re only trying to defend a friend, giant, and I admire that…it’s more than some would do…but you’ve stuck your nose in where it doesn’t belong. I’ll make this as quick and painless as possible.”

  Ammarod drew his rapier again, but as he moved to strike he felt a feeble hand grab his right ankle. Looking down he noticed the orc he’d bitten with a paralysis bite coming to. He kicked Bum away violently and delivered a heavy boot to his face. However, in his distraction, Liverwart had recovered, grabbing Ammarod by the throat with one hand and throwing him across the room and through a window. As he landed outside, Ammarod could feel a shard of glass embed itself deeply into his shoulder blade. He could still dispatch the giant and orc without much trouble, but he knew the ruckus would soon draw the attention of the townsfolk…he couldn’t afford to make a spectacle which could draw a more formidable opponent.

  “For now, Laurel,” he said under his breath and, in the blink of an eye, he turned to smoke, drifting quickly across the river and into the wilderness.

  Chapter 3

  Dale

  A ll that was in Dale’s mind when he awoke, was how to stop that damn headache. Also, the pain in the little finger of his left hand, where a large thorn had somehow lodged. At least the latter he could fix; he put his teeth to the base of the thorn and yanked it out. His finger still hurt, but that would soon enough ease.

  It wasn’t even dawn yet; the night sky was still visible through the trees. Dale sat up and examined his surroundings. He had nestled between the exposed tree roots of a mighty cedar, safe within nature’s refuge. He’d covered himself with his brown traveler’s cloak, making him indistinguishable in the black forest, and had used a thick wadding of moss for a pillow. He was in the north…the foothills…and he was trying to find safe passage into the mountains. He remembered the Kudgel threat, and the Sky Titans, and knew that, while he’d love to continue sleeping on his bed of moss, bugs, and earthworms, his party couldn’t afford to waste any time in getting to Alfen Gulfadex. Jumping to his feet, he wrapped his cloak across his torso, tying it in a knot at his hip, fastened his utility belt and sword, and called out to his companions. “Ben, Helena, and purple haired horny toad…time to wake up! We gotta…”

  Wait, where the hell was everyone?

  He searched high and low in the surrounding woods, calling the names of his companions, but everywhere he went, he just found more trees. He gathered his belongings and wandered about, trying to make sense out of where he was and what had transpired. Dale had always prided himself on his memory, but at this particular moment he was having trouble just remembering the names of his companions. Finding his way to a small brook, he knelt down and dipped his entire head into the icy water. While immersed, he muttered an old incantation taught to him by Cycleze long ago, and as if a lightning bolt had stuck him right in the face, he flew back from the edge of the stream.

  “It’s all coming back to me…” Dale gasped.

  He never liked using the spell, especially not now, since it only worsened his headache. But, of all the spells Cycleze had tried to teach him in years gone by, it was one of the few Dale found practical. Cycleze had a name for the spell, but all Dale bothered to remember about it was that it helped recollect memories that had been lost due to physical trauma, hexes, or other sorts of chemical or magical interference. It didn’t bring back all the details, but enough for Dale to know what had happened.

  We’d mad
e our way into Upper Sultry, and were ambushed by a group of Kudgels. We were tortured, drugged—which I presume is the reason for my faulty memory—and we were going to soon be killed when, somehow, Benny had gotten loose and freed Helena, Burgundy, and I. We got separated while fleeing; I had to fight off a group of Kudgel soldiers…and I guess wandered around half-conscious until I came to that large tree over yonder.

  Dale rubbed his forehead hard while conducting his interior monologue. He wished the incantation had brought back the finer details, such as who (if anyone noteworthy) had lead the Kudgels that caught them, how Benny had gotten free, and how they were separated, as well as how long Dale had been lost in the woods before falling unconscious underneath the tree. Judging by the growth of his beard, Dale suspected he’d been separated from his companions about two weeks, as he did remember shaving on the morning before their capture.

  Should’ve paid more attention to Cyc’s teaching, Dale thought. But he was always by my side, and I thought he always would be. I never needed to learn any magic.

  If he’d been well-practiced with the few spells he knew how to perform, he’d have been able to recall his entire memory, but he had to make do with what he had. It was possible that the particulars would fill in the blanks as time wore on, but there was no telling how long that would be. So, he walked along the shore of the stream until he arrived at a small bridge and trail leading through the woods. It was narrow, but appeared to be somewhat traveled due to the bare ground of the trail; so, judging by the constellations, he took the path leading northwest.

  For all his traveling in Lower Sultry, he’d never really explored the northern continent aside from the Imperial City and the surrounding country. From the gently sloping terrain of the forest, he guessed he’d arrived at the foothills of the northern mountains, which began just after the Imperial City and increased in crest and valley until becoming the actual mountain range.