Interlude - Drus I

  Drus growled under his breath as his feet caught another root and he nearly stumbled. The forest closed in all around him. Thicket after thicket of shrubbery, enormous trees clustered together like bundles of hay. Why was there so much brush and undergrowth in this place? A man was supposed to see his feet as he stalked the woods.

  Above, the canopy was a dark blanket that hid all but tiny glimpses of the sky. For someone trained since birth to navigate using the stars and measure the wind and temperature at a glimpse of the sun and clouds, he felt like a blind man walking without a guide.

  His pants were still soaked wet from his fall into that blasted river. He almost drowned until he found a large piece of driftwood to hold on to. Had he worn one of the pilfered pieces of iron armor some of the men had taken to wearing, he might have sunk before he had the chance. Just thinking about it had his fists curling in rage.

  One day, he’d kill the human who threw him from the bridge for the humiliation. That was worse than any damage from their fight. The hole left by that strange dagger on his thigh muscles had already closed, and though his left arm was still sore from the burn scars of overusing the vambrace, that too would soon be naught but a memory.

  Suddenly wheeling, he roared and threw all his strength behind a strike. The tree whose roots had tripped him shook with the blow. Above, a bird cawed and flew away in fright. Drus pulled back, his anger momentarily spent. The punch had gouged a fist sized hole into the trunk. Leaves drifted down over him and he batted them away. How could even the leaves be irritating here?

  He’d grown to hate these Goddess-forsaken trees. Hated the rivers. Hated these strange lands. Drus had come with the expedition for a chance to earn glory for his clan and for the entire Kruwal race. To return to an era where the whole continent was once theirs to roam and rule.

  Though he wasn’t privy to all that took place behind the closed doors of the Highest Council, he agreed with his mother. The Kruwal had grown weak. Weak and cowardly. They’d grown used to hiding in their valley stronghold from the lesser races, satisfied with scraps where they once had the whole. Yet if the lands out of the Great Valleys all looked like this, then perhaps their ancestors had been right in sequestering themselves there.

  Shaking himself, Drus took off once more in the direction of their camp. The river hadn’t carried him for long, though it was enough that he ended up further south than he wished. He cut west from the river, then turned north. The forest was denser here, and he twice had to climb one of the giant trees to properly orient himself.

  The War Master had warned them of a Nefayn Enclave deeper into the forest and to stay away from it. He kept that in the back of his mind as he trekked his way north. He’d never seen one of the tree-dwellers before, but he wouldn’t mind showing them the strength of a Kruwal for the first time. A few of the band leaders had discretely sent scouts looking for the Nefayn, but none had found anything yet.

  It was past noon when he found his way into their camp. When the sentries let him through, Drus immediately noticed something different about the clearing they had taken for themselves in the middle of the forest. It was crowded. Not by new Kruwal arrivals, but crowded with captured humans. A large group of them shuffled with ropes around their hands and ankles through the rows of rough canvas tents toward one of the open-air pens set up for them. More humans awaited inside.

  Drus frowned at the sight. Before he left, there had only been a few human captives from the scattered farms around the area, and there hadn’t been nearly that many people on the western side of the village his war band had raided.

  Not my war band anymore, he reminded himself bitterly.

  Looking around, he spotted the section of the camp they had settled in. The men were back already, sitting around unlit campfires or resting in their tents, their numbers diminished somewhat. Had they overtaken the bridge after he’d fallen and captured all those humans? There was glory in that, even if he’d scarcely partake of it now.

  The animal enclosures had been restocked as well. Dozens of pigs were snuffing the muddy ground of their pen while half of the cows had been let out to pasture on the grassy patch behind the camp. Nearby, a large brood of chickens clucked and flitted about their own enclosure. His stomach growled, an ache settling deep within it. A whole roasted chicken sounded like heaven to him.

  Instead of going to eat, Drus strode toward the largest tent at the center of the camp. The men of the other bands barely acknowledged him. No respectful nods thrown his way like usual. So it’s settled, then. As he walked by a group of warriors, he ended up making eye contact with one of his bandmates, Thussen. Just yesterday they’d shared a pig roast and laughter around the campfire. Now, Thussen’s lips curled in distaste when he recognized him.

  Drus looked away. Perhaps I shouldn’t have grabbed onto that driftwood after all. The thought was a low, cowardly thing, and he was no coward. Indignation rose within him, a throbbing anger that set his teeth grinding. He was ten times the warrior Thussen was.

  With his head held high, he stalked past his bandmate and soon stopped before the tent of the War Master. The warrior stationed at the entrance took a second to recognize him.

  “Well, well. Heard you were dead, lower-warrior Drus.” The guard took pleasure in announcing his new rank outloud. “Thought we’d find your body laying in the bottom of the river somewhere. Here to see the War Master, yeah? It’ll take a minute, you understand. His time is too valuable to go around meeting with the riff raff.”

  This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

  He felt his fists balling, ready to knock some sense into the guard. The man’s canines flashed into a smirk, and Drus had to let a breath out to calm himself. The guard well knew that Drus would be hanged and quartered if he attacked him. He couldn’t even challenge him to an honor duel. A lower-warrior had to prove himself before he could challenge anyone.

  It took nearly half an hour until he could see the War Master. Most of it because the guard didn’t bother announcing Drus’ presence until ten minutes after he arrived. His stomach was churning by then, though he couldn’t attribute the feeling solely to hunger.

  “You failed me, Drus.” That was the first thing War Master Lutten said when he walked in.

  “War Master,” he started, but the man just bowled through him.

  “Your new superior, Band Leader Krast, was just telling me what happened at Riverbend.”

  Drus’ eyes shot to the other man in the tent. His former hornmaster stood a few steps to the side of the War Master’s chair, skulking as he was wont to do. Lutten had picked Krast as the new leader of his band? The man was a lickspittle. Short, scrawny, and with the spine of a cockroach. Even now, in front of the War Master, Krast refused to look him in the eyes.

  “I even let you take the sorcerer with you,” Lutten said, “and yet you couldn’t take a single human village on your own. Perhaps I should send you back home earlier than expected. I need real Kruwal here. Warriors, not weaklings.”

  Drus burned at the insinuation. “War Master, your… pet human was useless,” he spat, and everything he wanted to say about that damned sorcerer spilled out. “He’s out of control, no matter what the witchmen tell you. With how much of the tonic they’ve given him, he should be dead by now. But he’s only gotten stronger. Stronger and more deranged. He delayed our raid by an entire day with his rambling.

  “He insisted on some kind of promise to attack only on the day of the human’s festival. And worse, some of the men in the other bands follow his lead. They think he sees visions from the Goddesses. I had to take my own war band and march ahead to the village by ourselves.”

  There was the sound of a throat clearing. “Your former war band,” Krast said.

  Drus almost lunged at him, but War Master Lutten simply raised a hand.

  “Nevertheless, you still failed. The sorcerer has become quite the asset for our cause, and if you can’t rein him in, then perhaps you did not deserve to lead a war band at all.” Lutten’s dark eyes suddenly glared at him, and Drus felt a spike of fear despite himself. Even at his age, the War Master was a fearsome fighter. “A Kruwal warrior is worth ten human ones. Ten. Perhaps you don’t count yourself amongst this rank, but I expect one of my band leaders to sweep through the dregs of humanity with no issue.”

  Biting the inside of his cheek, he felt his eyes lower in shame. In truth, Drus was disappointed with himself as well. He’d fought like a fool back in the village. It had been his first ever battle without the blessings of one of the Goddesses or the blood-forged weapons they left behind before leaving the valley, and he’d severely overestimated his strength and damage resistance throughout the fight.

  “There was also a group of those chasers we heard about,” Drus said, looking up. “They might cause us trouble. I believe these lands to be under their protection.”

  “Hmm, yes, so I’ve been informed.” Lutten sat back in his chair for a moment, considering. “It is unfortunate that they are here. I was told there wouldn’t be any serious resistance to our coming, but it makes no matter. Krast assured me they are not like the seasoned veterans of the Second’s Kingdom, nor are they anything like the famed high ranking human chasers.” He waved his hand in the air. “The absence of the blessings is a handicap, yes, but a temporary one. It didn’t stop my other band leaders from succeeding on their own missions. I trust you saw the human bounty we’ve recently captured.”

  Drus nodded reluctantly. He wasn’t sure why the War Master had ordered so many humans captured if they’d just become their serfs in the end, but he chose to stay his tongue. He couldn’t outright question his leader’s commands in his current position.

  He turned to Krast. “So you managed to take Riverbend, then, and take all the humans?”

  “No,” War Master Lutten answered instead. “Those came from a little hamlet north of Holdenfor and all the farms we could find after scouring the countryside.” His hands swept over a rough map of the area. “None will escape our grasp.”

  “Indeed I did not. The bridge was destroyed, unfortunately,” Krast added. Goddesses, but his voice had a pathetic whine to it. “But the villagers fled south, toward Holdenfor. They will be ours, eventually.”

  “Yes, see Drus?” the War Master said derisively. “At least in this, you weren’t useless.”

  He seethed silently. “I don’t see why all this subterfuge,” he told them. “If we are to take the town and establish a city of our own, why not simply do it? We have a man inside the town already, you said. Why concern ourselves with burning farms and scaring off villagers?”

  “You lack vision, boy. This isn’t just about our future city.” Lutten clicked his tongue, irritated. “I shouldn’t be discussing any of this with you anymore. You are no longer a band leader. Were it not for your mother’s pity favor, you would be nothing.” The War Master glanced toward the vambrace on Drus’ forearm and showed his teeth. “Perhaps I should take that from you too.”

  Drus sneered at the words, though he couldn’t help but take a step back. To steal a relic from another clan was the highest of sins.

  “The Goddesses would curse you for eternity,” he hissed.

  Lutten didn’t answer immediately. He stared impassively as Drus shuffled stiffly in place.

  “Worry not, little warrior,” he finally said. “I will not break tradition over a failure like you. Go, leave my sight.”

  Despite the insult, Drus felt the muscles on his back relaxing. He’d been ready to fight and die against the War Master, rank be damned.

  With a final glare toward Krast, Drus turned to leave. He stopped himself just inside the tent. Given the War Master’s own social transgression, perhaps the man would answer him despite his demotion. Wetting his lips, he asked a question he’d been holding back since just after they left the Great Valleys.

  “When can we expect the fresh warriors you promised would join us, War Master?”

  The tent grew quiet behind him for a heartbeat. Then Lutten gave out a bitter laugh. “You mean the ones your mother promised me?” he spat.

  Drus furrowed his brow. His mother? He turned to look at the War Master, and the man was no longer laughing. Lutten watched him with sharp eyes, as if gauging his reaction. The stare soon turned to disinterest

  “Fear not, boy. They will come,” he said easily. “But only after we have a city to house them. Perhaps your mother might come herself. And if a Matriarch comes, a Goddess might follow.” He waved him away. “Now go, lower-warrior Drus, and do remember that some men are already cursed.”