BT - Book 1 - Chapter 105

Dawn brought drums.  The great, repetitive bass thump of the Durgh war machine spurring into motion woke Micah from his restive slumber.  For a moment he just lay there, staring up into the cloudless sky.  Birds chirped from nearby berry bushes as a gentle gust of wind rustled their branches.

It was a perfect day to end things.  One way or another, by the time the Sun set, Basil’s Cove would no longer be his concern.

Micah sat up, stretching the stiffness from his muscles.  He might very well die today.  He’d seen the Khan in action once before, and the man was a force of nature, his blessing transforming him into what Micah could only call a lava elemental.

Even with all of his levels and enchantments, it might not be enough.  Micah had planned to wait until he was level forty to challenge the Khan, but fate, in the form of a cranky sun god, had decided otherwise.

Do or die sounded so dramatic, but it had a certain appeal to it.  After turning sixteen for the fourth time, he’d found himself almost crippled by emotional exhaustion.  Repeating the same actions over and over again while he tried to fix an almost impossible situation had worn Micah down until there was almost nothing less.

He needed closure.  Success mattered less than simply finishing things.  Micah wanted to defeat the Khan.  He wanted to save everyone and make everything right once again, but if he failed, not having to go back to thirteen once again.  Well, as grim as it sounded, it was enough to brighten his mood.

“Good Morning Micah,” Drekt rumbled from where he was boiling a kettle of water over a pile of dried scrub grass.  The pile of brown vegetation burned cleanly, without any noticeable smell or smoke.

“Not a cloud in the sky,” he continued cheerfully, taking a couple pinches of plant matter and inserting them in a metal ball covered in fine holes before dropping it into the kettle.  “A fine day to sweat and bleed for Ankros.”

Micah crouched down next to the big warrior, accepting a diminutive porcelain cup from him, before chuckling wryly.  “I’d agree, but I would prefer to do more sweating than bleeding.  I like to leave the ‘serious injury’ part of the equation to the other guy.”

“The pain is half the fun.”  Drekt cracked a smile back at him, pouring some of the concoction from the kettle into Micah’s tiny cup.  “It helps ground you.  To remind you that you’re alive and that your struggles means something.”

“Awfully philosophical there, big guy.”  Jo plopped herself down next to the large warrior, proffering her own mug to him.  “I’m not really one for introspection.  Just point me in the direction of something that needs stabbing, and I’ll take care of it.  I’ll leave the whos, whats and whys to some historian trying to make sense of all this shit.”

Micah took a sip of the tea.  It was a little bitter, but hot enough to help fight off the morning chill.  More importantly, it had a bit of a kick to it.  Nothing major, but still adequate to help him start what looked to be a difficult day.  There wasn’t much more he could expect from the handful of herbs and leaves that Drekt studiously collected while they hid out by the lake.

“Did you have a good night’s sleep?”  Micah asked in between drinks from the cup.  “Ready to go out there and commit some mild treason?”

“When am I not?”  Jo grinned back, taking a sip of her own.

Telivern padded over to the fire, resting its muzzle on Micah’s shoulder long enough for him to run his fingers through the deer’s fur.  It leaned forward, sniffing the drink before shaking its head with a disinterested snort.

“Critics.”  Drekt shook his head, a cheerful smile on his face.

A moment later, the four of them were joined by Trevor, Sarah and Ravi.  The big panther was cheerful, her tail and wings practically vibrating as she looked from one person to another.

On the other hand, Trevor and Sarah both looked extremely tired.  The bags under their eyes practically looked like dark makeup as they shuffled toward Drekt and his teakettle.  Apparently, they didn’t respond well to a long night of talking and worrying over the future.

Micah gave them a moment with their mugs of tea, instead reaching out to scratch Ravi behind the ears.  The big cat leaned into him, rumbling affectionately as she rubbed her head against him.

“Papa excitement?”  Her childish thoughts trickled into his own.  “Something big happen now?  Soon?”

“Soon enough.”  Micah finished his drink and stood up, looking back at the Durgh war camp as it began to stir, stretching like a giant black snake across the horizon and out toward the fortified citadel of Westmarch.

Even from their hidden bluff, he could hear the ringing of bells and make out the panicked glint of steel on Westmarch’s walls.  Evidently, Martin and Brenden’s disappearance on the eve of battle was sending the outmatched fortress into a panic.

It wasn’t like it really mattered.  Even with the two of them present, there was no way the defenders would have been able to fight off the Durgh.  In all likelihood, the knight and squire would have just fled the keep before battle was joined anyway, leaving the disposable and low level blessed of Westmarch to die in their stead.

Micah cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention even if Trevor and Sarah could barely keep their heavily lidded eyes open.  He clasped his hands behind his back.

“So,” Micah began uncomfortably, acutely aware of the attention on him while the Durgh war machine unfurled itself behind his back.  “The big day is upon us.  Some of us have been waiting for it longer than others.  Over and over again.”

He let the moment drag out, waiting for the laughs that never came.

Telivern’s nose poked into the side of his neck, uncomfortably cold and wet in the chilly morning air.

Disappointment.

“Well.”  Micah chuckled nervously.  “I guess you can’t please everybody.”

That, at least, brought a round of strained laughter from the rest of the group.

“All right.”  He looked at each of his teammates in turn.  “Are there any questions about the plan?  The Durgh are a people deeply rooted in tradition.  If we do anything out of order, it could jeopardize everything.  Although I’m sure it would amuse Luxos, I won’t be all that thrilled to come all this way only for the Durgh army to kill us because someone incorrectly recited the name of a challenge rite.”

“But it would be funny,” Jo chimed in, taking a final sip of her tea before setting the cup down.  “Seriously, all of this effort over so many timelines only to be torn apart by warbeasts due to a slip of the tongue.”

Telivern snorted behind Micah as he rolled his eyes.

“Don’t worry,” Trevor replied with a yawn.  “You drilled the timing and names into us something like thirty times last night.  I’m going to remember what I have to say and do until my dying day.”

“Given how brutal Durgh challenge rites are,” Jo cut in with a smirk, “that might not be very long.”

Before Micah could say anything, Sarah swatted her sister on the back of the head.  “Not the time Jo,” the other woman muttered.  “I get being inappropriate now and again, but save it from when we aren’t about to risk our lives on a do or die mission.”

“We’re ready Micah.”  Sarah smiled weakly at him.  “Gods save us from this dumb plan of yours, but I’m not going to let you go off and get killed on your own.  If we end up going down with the ship, we go down together.”

“Good.”  Micah smiled back.  “Because from the way those drumbeats are speeding up, I’d reckon it’s about time for us to get a move on.  Finish your tea and grab your weapons folks.”

He turned around making his way over to Martin’s unconscious form, and slinging the comatose old man over his shoulder before picking up his spear.  Micah had repaired the weapon while hiding in the Great Depths with Jo, undoing some of the damage dealt by the fight with the Luoca.

More accurately, he’d slapped the magical equivalent of a bandage on the enchantments.  Hastily re-etching charred mana pathways and reapplying some of the marred runes.  In the long run, the weapon was doomed, but for the next month or so he’d be able to use it and just over full efficiency.

When Micah turned back to the fire, the rest of the party was finishing their preparations.  Drekt had just finished strapping on the last piece of armor while Trevor checked his weapon one final time.

Jo walked over to Micah, motioning for him to lean to the side so that she could cinch a burlap sack to his belt.  Even through his greaves, Micah could feel the mana from dozens of powerful single use enchantments thrumming through the bag.

He nodded at her appreciatively, before calling everyone else to the ready.  In tense silence, Martin still draped uncomfortably over Micah’s shoulder, the seven of them began walking toward the Durgh camp.

Before they got halfway there, a squad of about twenty guards came out to stop them.  Micah remained calm, leaning slightly on his spear as the warbeasts circled their party.  Trevor and Sarah fidgeted nervously as the biggest of the Durgh, a massive barechested man almost half again as tall as Micah.

“Stop humans.”  The Durgh glared at them.  “In the name of Khan Krosst, Tass’dur has been invoked.  As penalty for the massacre of clan Rokdur your lives are forfeit.  Will you die with honor as warriors, or will you flee and abandon what little honor you have?”

“Personally.”  The gigantic warrior spit on the ground, arms crossed.  “I hope you flee.  We could use a couple more warbeasts for the coming purge.”

“Neither,” Micah replied, keeping any emotion from his voice and face.  “I am invoking the rite of Bulthar.  I have killed one of the men responsible for ordering the attack on Rokdur and captured the other.  It is my intention to present the perpetrator to Khan Krosst to end the Tass’dur purge.”

“You do realize that the penalty for falsely claiming Bulthar is much worse than simply being twisted into a warbeast, right?”  The man looked Micah up and down appraisingly, obviously not terribly impressed with what he saw.

“I am aware of the nine punishments and three torments.”  Micah nodded, forcing a note of casual boredom into his voice.  “That said, why would I worry?  I have the perpetrator over my shoulder right now.”

The Durgh glared at Micah, as if trying to see through him.  Finally he guffawed loudly.  A second after their leader began, the rest of the warriors surrounding them followed suit.  For almost a minute, Micah simply stood stoically as the warband almost howled themselves to tears.

“Human,” their leader finally replied, the barest of smiles on his face.  “You have to know that even with Tass’dur revoked, a raiding party of this size will not simply go away.  If you truly have captured the perpetrator alive, the Khan may be pleased enough to let you leave unmolested, but we will have our blood.  Maybe the raid will be limited and the human noncombatants will be allowed to retreat with honor, but things have come too far to end things without battle.”

“Not if I beat Khan Krosst in a formal challenge.”  Micah smiled back.  “That should be enough to turn this army around and send everyone home without a fight.”

This time there wasn’t a pause.  The Durgh commander simply burst out laughing, doubled over with his hands on his knees.  Micah just watched, shifting Martin’s body slightly to make himself more comfortable.

Finally, the warrior stood back up, wiping a tear from under his eye as he addressed Micah once more.  “Eidrak Taress.  For that bit of bravado you have more than earned my name little warrior.”

“Micah Silver,” he replied, planting the butt of his spear into the ground before performing a little half bow for the Eidrak.  “I presume we can continue on to see Khan Krosst now?”

“You may not yet have hair on your balls.”  The Eidrak chortled, turning around and waving their party on.  “But there is no doubt you are carrying boulders rather than stones in your pants.  If you’re foolish enough to challenge the Khan, I’ll take you to him myself.  By Ankros’ blood, there’s no way I’d miss this.”