An Unlikely Bride 12

She was afraid.

His heart was open and he could feel her fear; her nostrils wide to smell the blood and gore, the spilled viscera, broken bowels rich with the body's raw sewage. Eyes wide as she charged forward at his command, she trusted him, but trust could be lost and never won again for all eternity. A horse was split from shoulder to gut, the hind leg splayed wide from the blow in an unnatural pose above the spine, the rider was crushed below his dead weight. It wasn't fatal, but the attacker had crushed his head and made an awful mess.

Another body, frail, a malnourished woman, he could have counted the bones in his spine if he wanted since they were open to the air.

Movement down the hill caught his attention, two pairs of small feet as they scrambled over log and rock. Blackness chased them with wide, heavy steps. His bow was in his hands and an arrow knocked as Miranna galloped along.

A demonic head turned unnaturally over the shoulder, red eyes hard on him. It hissed.

He let go.

Evil screamed once more by his hand, but it did not die so easily. Another arrow flew free, whistling down to embed itself in the black shadow. Then another. Another. Another. Another. He sat on the still horse as his quiver's contents dwindled more and more, the foolish demon charged up the hill slower and slower until it hissed and snarled bitterly in it's defeat. Thonvar dismounted with hard hate in him, sliding down the slope to be near the demon.

It snapped it's teeth and chanted. Drums. Thonvar heard drums.

A mighty swing from his sword ended it all.

"Shut up," he muttered, standing there in triumph. "If only I could have--"

A gigantic, bloody mess tumbled down the hill toward him in a sick, twisted whinny. Teeth gnashed as it went by and hooves kicked, the guts spilled out all over and the struggling corpse pulled more and more free with every stomp in it's clumsy amble. Thonvar ended it immediately, yelling loudly as he forced his muscles to swing wide and hard.

It went limp, the upper cup of the skull with twitching ears still attached flew up and clattered down, the brains spilled out.

"HOOOOOOOGAAAAAAATHAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!"

Steeled blue eyes glared up at the wailing figure throwing herself down at him, he swung hard and merely took off her arm. It wasn't enough, she tackled him down and snapped her jaws with wild, unnaturally glowing eyes, the peasant's dress she wore complicated his struggling hands. He grunted and forced her up off of him, but she overcame the shove and pressed her bloody, naked torso to him with a feral growl.

His sword... He tried hard to get it, but it was caught up in dress. A piece of lip fell on his face and painted him with blood, she kept snapping and chewing as he cheeks got in the way and were bitten free. From front to back he saw all her teeth, her tongue lashing out and being snipped off in a savage chomp, he needed to get the dead woman off of him.

Then his hand felt something.

Swinging with all his might he brought the rock square into the side of her head, the blow forced her eye out of her socket and sent her reeling to the side. Flailing and struggling indicated his job wasn't done, an angry hand grabbed the back of her neck to steady her as the rock was used again and again to bash her brains in.

After the third, perhaps fourth, maybe fifteenth blow he noticed she wasn't moving anymore.

The forest was still.

Sighing to himself he stood up and walked over to his sword, tossing the dress over her exposed backside. They would need to burn her, burn it all, the demon would be put on display. That would come later. Finally allowing himself to exhale the tension he walked over and began plucking arrows from the dead brute, but after a few he noticed the body beginning to disintegrate. Eventually it was all gone, the armor it wore collapsed down to reveal it was actually hard bits of blackened carapace that disappeared as well. All that remained was it's massive triangular-shaped battleaxe, the gentle convex edge of the blade making up most of the weapon's length.

He took it as a trophy, but he didn't ever expect to use it. Gathering up the arrows that remained on the forest floor he stood up and looked around.

Movement caught his eye, something ducking behind the tree.

"You there, come out," he commanded, stuffing his arrows into the quiver. "Do not make me come and get you."

"You'll never catch me!" a voice called.

"I will if I shoot you in the legs," he countered.

An undeniable fact, but they lingered for a long while regardless and only slowly peeked around when the silence between them persisted. A boy. Teenager. From his dress and matted hair it was clear he had been traveling with little provisions, no doubt the dead woman behind Thonvar was his mother. That headless corpse at the top of the hill was probably the father, and somewhere out there was a hiding sister. If bandits found her they'd happily rape the girl, starving children were unwanted children and they were in the east; the forest folk had little honor.

"This was your mother," Thonvar remarked. "Those demons, they use evil magic to make the dead rise. Your father is up there, is he not?"

"That's not my da, that's Anghus, he married my ma. Not his. Reina isn't eith--"

He realized his mistake.

"So the girl's your sister?"

"No! She's... My ma said she found her in the woods as a babe, took her in, Anghus hated her 'cause he thought she was witch-born!"

"Some said I was witch-born," Thonvar offered. "Perhaps it is not so bad."

"Where are you from?" the boy asked. "You don't look like one of the nordics."

"Nordics? Aren't you from the north as well?"

The boy scowled. "I'm from Iweriu. Anghus made us leave 'cause my da's farm burnded right to the ground. We thought there was work up here, or he did, my ma believed him, but we ran outta food and... and..."

"I've heard enough. Get Reina. Let's get some food in you."

That boy didn't have to, she stepped out as soon as she heard his offer of kindness and warily approached. Thonvar didn't move, he stood in the way of them and their slain mother while ushering them on up the hill. They tried to look, he prevented it, they did not need to see her in such a state. Having more humans with would be a help, but he was not enthusiastic about feeding strays. They were having water troubles as it was, so the two would have to work for their meals.

After they were up on the road he calmed his horse and had the boy lead her back with the demon's battleaxe under his arm.

"When you get to the wagons, tell them I need two strong men and Agzi. Now go."

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More bodies to burn. He was beginning to get tired of the task, but they hurried and got it done in only a few hours. Thonvar found a small cart nearby, the wheel sliced in two and the frail jenny pulling it was braying hoarsely in palpable fear. They wouldn't be able to salvage it, but after the mother and her husband were burning he allowed the teenagers to pick through their old belongings for whatever they wanted. Unsurprisingly they skipped over the really valuable things and stuck with sentimental items, those he let the kobolds tear into with happy cheers as they picked over the junk.

At least they had gotten another animal and some spares, the wood from the ruined cart was hastily tacked on elsewhere until all that remained was the shattered frame and sliced wheel. A good haul.

Thonvar had also overheard the two newcomers talking and learned the boy's name, Declan, and he suspected there might have been some romantic feelings between them. Was that odd? He wasn't sure, but he could imagine that growing up together might have spurred something like that. They weren't related so there was nothing wrong with it, but it just seemed somewhat unconventional. Reminding himself that it wasn't his place to judge, and it was in nobody's favor to do so as chief, he discarded the thoughts as unwanted foolishness. More importantly was what he was going to do with them.

Declan was, by his guess, old enough to have been selected for more adult duties that involved danger or mental maturity. Perhaps he was fifteen, he seemed only a bit too young for sixteen, so by that time he would have graduated to using a blunted weapon in his sword playing. Reina would have had to decide what she wanted to do, she was definitely at the age where she would have to do something useful. From her fiery spirit he guessed she might have been hitting her male peers with soft-pointed spear had she been born hundreds of miles to the west.

Or perhaps she just liked to shoot stuff, most women of the Reach didn't have the physical strength to best men in single combat and instead focused on their archery talents. During times of war, had they been of the horse tribes, they would have been expected to at least guard the camp and often many were out on the field killing beside their brothers, fathers, husbands, and sometimes even sons.

Those who grew up in the villages and towns tended to stay put, but shield-maidens were still a common sight out on the road. They were often a welcome comfort to husbands, warrior lovers populated the oral history and myths of the Reach and beyond; all of the northlands had them. Southerners were a bit put off by the behavior, unless they were mercenaries or well-traveled, they stayed far away from the tough northern women who drank, sang, and fought like men. Some said they did other things like men too, but Thonvar didn't know anything about that.

All he had was Anza, she was more than enough for him. He smiled over at her and took her hand for a kiss, she giggled and swiped it over his face.

"How is your arm?" he asked, nodding toward the bandage.

Anza pouted. "Hurt."

"It will heal, you are strong."

A roll of her eyes marked her displeasure at the situation. "Not want hurt, not want strong, Anza want beauty."

"Yes, you have that as well. It seems you are rich with many things," Thonvar replied with a sly grin.

Scoffing at her annoying husband, Anza reached down and took a drink from their water skin. "Husband find water soon."

"We will be near a well soon enough, provided there are no more... distractions."

She looked unconvinced. "Yes, husband."

He didn't need to be told about the water situation at all, it was a weight he bore and he didn't like being powerless to ease it. They had more than enough food and if he kept hunting they would be able to sustain themselves for weeks, but water? They all needed water, even the animals, and with their munching on needles he guessed they needed it more than usual. As soon as they found a well it would be crucial to pull all they could from it, no doubt the locals would charge them up to the eyes for the service. Weapon dealers would pay dearly to have those demonic weapons, and if they had access to mages then perhaps they would pay even more.

At the very least they could sell the items pulled from the dead, a pair of kobolds had been hard at work since they left the battlefield to clean everything up. At least it was something, anything, they couldn't survive off the sack of gold Thonvar had and whatever coins that were tucked away here and there. Pay for the men wouldn't be easy, he doubted he could retain any of them since the situation had obviously changed. What man in his right mind would want to stick around when the dead were roaming free?

Maybe Ruran. Corrick. A few others too afraid to go south again. He expected only four, maybe five to stay with them, but the others would be gone the moment they got to town. Less mouths to feed, maybe the boy and girl would take off too. He would have liked to have as many humans as possible, at least for a conversation or two, but in his mind he had resigned himself to living among his wife's kind. He had gone beyond duty and expectations, Thonvar found himself looking forward to it.

Was it because he was chief now? He searched his heart, but the answers weren't there.

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Sardag looked a lot different than he expected, mostly because it was on fire.

Part of it was, at least. Honor demanded they assist, but just as he was about to give the order he remembered and thought of his father's cackling whenever he found a way to out-maneuver a foreigner. One of his greatest joys was making the other northerners look like fools, Ivarshold mattered little anyway so nobody cared if old Kargruuf tricked them out of some petty thing. Looking back at the water wagon he found himself smirking as an idea flickered in his head.

"Anza, listen to me. Have some of the kobolds take buckets of water and rush into town with them to help, nobody's using that well over there. Have the rest fill up the wagon."

She nodded quickly and crawled out of the wagon with singular focus.

Sure, they would help the good people of Sardag. That didn't mean those same people wouldn't turn them away when it was done, he didn't trust them, so while he was "helping" he would take advantage of the situation. Water was for all as far as he was concerned, and they were in need, they had children too. Had anyone called it theft they would be wrong, and even if it was, it was justified.

"Ruran, Corrick, gather the men and arm yourselves. I don't trust that this fire is natural."

"Aye!" Ruran replied before turning around. "Alright! Lads, listen up, get yer fuckin' arms and follow me, Thonvar smells a fight and we've got 'is back, don't we?"

Some enthusiasm was shouted back, more than he had hoped. "Zan! Get the others and watch the wagons! Agzi, with me!"

His giant crocodile woman jogged up with her new spear formed from a ruined greatsword and a thick pole, he wondered when she had time to make that. Then he remembered he had no time to wonder, the men were ready and needed leadership, and so off he went on horseback with his small force behind him.

Nobody was at the gate except for a wide-eyed guardsman. "You there! Where's the fighting?!"

"Down the street, past the market and in the old town. A hole opened up in the ground, demons came out of it throwing fire everywhere! They're still at it, go! Tell them Vismund sent you!"

"Come on!" he shouted, his horse spurred forward at a good trot while the men and sebeka huntress followed. "There! Ruran!"

A demon was storming across the street surrounded by a black aura, his throwing spear was as ready as it could be. A flash of purple and otherworldly lightness radiated through the spear as he threw it, the missile whistled faster than the swiftest arrow into the beast's side.

"SPEARMEN, MAH LEFT, COME ON LADS!" Corrick yelled, his steel-tipped weapon ready and couched under his arm. Others ran to him, forming a rank of men with the same posture of readiness to commit violence. That didn't deter their opponent, it snarled and hissed, wide red eyes locked on the horseman as it charged forward. Each step was a loud rumble, pebbles sprang up from the cobblestone as it plodded along, roaring loudly at the humans.

Agziqoh stood behind the line of men, her larger spear held high with both hands gripped tight around it's thick shaft.

"Thonvar I think you better throw another!" Ruran called.

He thought so too, another spear, another tightness in his back and arm before the magic signaled him to let loose. That throw he didn't hear, his heard was too excited and drowned it out as the tip sunk deep in the beast's arm. Ruran used his magic on the hulking black figure, twin blasts of pink and blue struck the beast's bare flesh and armor which made it almost drop to a knee.

"FORWARRR!"

"AYE!"

Thirteen spears stabbed up and sank in the black meat, twisting, pushing, sawing, stabbing again and again as the men drove it back. Thonvar armed himself with southern-style javelin and took aim, a red eye seared his psyche as he put all his focus on it. Sound faded away and the creature reared back, so Thonvar let loose again.

Magic-licked alloy split the crimson orb and cut the pained roar short, the beast stumbled in confusion before the mighty huntress delivered a killing blow under the jaw.

"Retrieve your spears, lads! Get ready, form up!" Corrick shouted. "Thonvar, 'ere!"

One, two, then three spears went back into the quiver as the men freed their weapons from the demon's body. He was ready for more! Now that he knew the blackness could bleed, could die, sent back to whatever hell they had come from, he wanted to kill and kill and kill. His rage grew as he pushed the steed forward, the men running behind him as he led the charge down the next street and...

A huge battle took place amidst townsfolk trying to put out the fire played out before them.

He almost ordered his men to join the fight when he saw demons spilling out of a house, howling and screaming, each with four little red eyes the locked on the vulnerable townsfolk. They moved like little savage beasts, hunched over on all fours, snapping their maws, he rode right for the closest one and kicked Miranna hard. She screamed. She didn't want to do what they were going to do.

Her hooves rolled the little freak and bashed it's brains all over the cobblestones.

"CUT THEM DOWN!" he yelled, springing off her back.

One of the demons caught him mid-air and they fell to the ground, struggling and scratching, rage boiled high and flowed out with a mighty shout before knocking as many teeth in as he could. Black ichor trickled down through his hair as he wound back again, the creature flailing incoherently long enough for him to grab the jaws with both hands.

Bones snapped, muscles ripped, skin gave way, he twisted and forced the busted mess into the vulnerable throat to make a delicious gurgle.

Looking up he saw his forces stabbing and slicing the others, but a few had managed to catch a fat villager and were doing their best to rip his arms out of his sockets. Thonvar's primal yell to the sky above made them pause, but it was too late, they could not stop the mighty blade's hungry snap through evil flesh.

A sharp pain in his arm made him glare, the other beast had clamped on and shook. It's teeth could not pierce the armor, he punched it between the eyes and fell on it with savage hacks until it's screaming ended.

Thonvar laughed wildly and breathed deep into his gut, his legs, rooting himself into the earth and becoming an unstoppable force before storming forward. Some of the guardsmen saw him, laughing as he stormed forward, he barely noticed their enthusiasm become renewed and morale soar. He needed to kill. Rage and hate had made him into a savage, he wanted blood on his face again, hot death sprayed everywhere, guts pouring out, ripped free from bellies by his own two hands.

One of the enemy roared and stomped toward him. His laughter stopped as he made his own little earthquakes.

His voice roared with a volume the demon hadn't heard, it's wide-eyed expression of shock changed to fearful eyes as it backed up.

"AYE LAD! FUCK 'EM UP, THONVAR!"

Unrivaled power in his swing batted the demon's frantic swipe at him, the black sword rang like a bell as it sailed out of the hand that failed to keep it; some fingers and a spray of blood remained nearby in close formation. A raised hand to defend, cut down the middle, the demon was at bay and snarled and snapped to take his killer with him. Thonvar's body took the assault, his shoulder screamed in pain as fangs slipped between bones and threatened to rip it all apart.

Their eyes locked. Blue on red. His burned with a hate that thirsted for vengeance to settle a never-ending blood feud against the invader's kind.

With his one good arm he gave the blade a hard thrust as it pierced black skin up, up, and through the neck. Blood was on his fist, staining his skin, the hot liquid came in waves as he twisted the blade and felt his crotch get doused by the vital essence of the enemy. Red eyes lost their luster, their fire, they dimmed as the jaws weakened and released him, the creature's life had spilled out onto Thonvar and it felt incredible.

He scowled and climbed up a bench like it were steps to stand on the sacred Lawstone.

"I AM THONVAR, SON OF KARGRUUF, AND CHIEF OF THE KOZAKRIM KOBOLDS, COME AND FIGHT ME AND I WILL KILL!"

A four-eyed demon snarled at him and sprinted in his direction. A thrown spear cut it down.

Thonvar winced through the pain and held his sword high. "CHALLENGE ME!"

Familiar warmth set in beginning at the shoulder, his body felt sickly and feverish all of the sudden. All of his being wanted to fight through it, but he had laid down a challenge, his honor was on the line and he stubbornly persisted. There were others out there, the black figures swung their swords and raked men with claws, but they were losing the fight fast with no leadership. Was that his last opponent?

He fell to a knee and used the sword for a makeshift cane.

An enemy seemed to take this moment of weakness as an opportunity to strike, it bounded over with sword held high. Wind came into his chest and he turned it into a sonorous war-cry, but he found that spearmen were in his way. Ruran was to his side, hands on the wounds oozing blood and venom, but Thonvar had no time for weak foolishness!

Like a predator on the hunt he leapt from his perch and past the spearmen, a one-armed swing was parried by the enemy warrior. Twisting himself he gripped his armor with the lame hand to keep it out of the way of a black blade's hissing strike. Quickly he punched the open maw with his sword-hand, the creature reeled but blocked his strike.

A shield to Thonvar's face made the world go black for a few seconds.

Just in time he saw evil's sword come down for him, but he raised his own and they sparked and clanged apart. Thonvar came out a bit favorable, he barely caught the unseen second opponent as his eyes glanced away. Using the energy he parried a dark spear to the side, twisting to catch it in his lame hand's grip before the enemy could retract it. Now he had two things to fight with.

Another swing, but this time he used the enemy's spear to stop his kin from ending the northman's life. It stuck. His hand grabbed the back of the blade as hard as he could, the spear and sword were now his.

He divorced his new property from the arm that refused to accept this new reality. A wet *chock!* was the song of a demon's elbow sliced neat in two.

Poison hadn't stopped his arm from being strong. Surprise was on the spear-wielding warrior's face as Thonvar yanked him closer and into ragged chop. Screams. Blood-curdling screams as Thonvar yelled through his savage hacking, arcs of hot ichor filled the air.

Something shot past his head, he snapped his head at the cross-eyed demon that had a tree trunk topped with scrap metal poking through it's forehead. A giant foot sent the corpse bouncing backward. He looked up at the big, snarling lizard as she found another target, the mountain of scale, muscle, and power led the charge into a pack of wily little demons. Humans dispatched them fast enough, but she merely had to grab them in her big claws before ripping them in two.

One bounced across the cobblestone toward him, tongue slobbering all over with eagerness. He wound back and threw his sword.

It wailed when the spinning blade caught the forehead and stuck in, little black hands trying hard to extract it.

"Yaugho hahim! Hahim!" it screamed, flailing around until Thonvar took the sword by the hilt. "Aevi kriis, n-nana wah--"

A boot on the creature's torso helped him slice forward and up with the good arm, splitting it's nasty little face in two. Struggling stopped, but it was still alive and weakly tried to crawl off. He wasn't going to let that happen, a brutal strike on the back of the head made it's feet kick and another to the neck caused rapid twitching to overcome the body. Maybe it was dead, maybe it wasn't, but it wouldn't live for long. He felt satisfied with the kill.

"Nasty 'lil fucks, ain't they?" Ruran muttered, pulling the creature back by a horn. "Guard said not to let 'em bite. The fuck is that?"

Thonvar scowled down at his shoulder. "A bite."

"Aye, and I bet you feel fuckin' great. Right then, let's get movin' lad."

He nodded. Talking about it made it real and his strength drained out of him, the wrathful blood lust he had simply was not enough to keep him going. He fell to his knee and struggled, but Agzi had noticed and hauled him to his feet. Poison coursed through him with every heartbeat, he knew his face showed the illness and struggled to sheathe his sword. For them the battle was done, his spearmen surrounded him and guarded their retreat along the path he took. While he was picking fights and throwing spears the others had been hard at work, bodies were all around.

Even so, seeing the size of the wider fight in the big open square reminded him their contribution was not so vital. They helped, yes, but it was the locals who did most of the fighting and dying. That suited him just fine; their contribution might have secured them a place not only outside the town, but inside as well.

"Here! Take him to the healer," a guard called, ushering them toward an open door, "that poison sets in fast."

"Aye, lad. We know. He's lived through it before," Ruran muttered.

That was the last thing Thonvar heard before passing out.

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A kiss woke him up, but his body truly did not want to cooperate. Stiffness, pain, he had been through it before.

There was a mage there, sitting at his little table and watching his patient with mild interest. Most people were, it wasn't every day they saw such an odd couple before them. A human chief of kobolds? What nonsense! He knew what they were thinking, but the presence of tired-looking guards that didn't seem to have aggressive intent put him a bit at ease about it. Of course she didn't mind the attention, Anza loved the surprised looks and curious stares, she smirked up at him as she read his simple mind.

"Husband feel good?" she asked with a sing-song voice.

"No, the husband does not," he grunted, straining to sit upright. "I feel so stiff."

Taking that as his cue, the whitemage stood up and folded his arms. "Yes, that is to be expected with your condition. I'm sorry, but you're an idiot. It's permanent."

"Are all you mages so charming?" he muttered with a steely glare. "Every one I meet is--"

"Arrogant? Rude? Uptight? Humorless? Annoying? Distrustful? Shall I go on, or were any of those the words you were looking for? I've heard it all, I don't care, consider it my fee for taking care of you. I get to call you an idiot for being so reckless."

"Do not think I wouldn't take your tongue as a fine for giving me a headache, I've faced worse, go outside and look."

Chuckling to himself the mage cocked his head and looked off to the side. "Mmm, yes, I did see the big buffoon in the market. Couldn't you have killed it, oh, I don't know, somewhere down-wind of my place of business? I should add this is also my residence, of course that means nothing to you, but the smell of rotting Anguran-born minions of what I presume to be a Dauva."

He just stared.

"Oh, of course, you cling to superstitions and half-truths up here. Yes, one of the demonic realms is known as Angura. Most of the lesser inhabitants serve a race of beings called the Dauva, and some are so powerful they might as well be called gods. What you see in the square are those minions, the armor-clad being was a member of the Dauvic warrior caste. Odd that they attacked in this way, normally they keep to their realm..."

"An ancient evil is awake, my people have no name for it. Only that Fear itself once ruled the sky, our dragon lord Thuunav took our song and used it to shatter the being. I saw it in a dream, my wife did as well, then when we came to Rangvaal we came upon the site of a ceremony and heard the drums in our dream."

A lot of words for him to say, but by that point Thonvar didn't care about hiding behind his shyness anymore.

"When was this?"

"A day before some bones rose up and tried to attack, blackness made them stick together. I killed it."

Nodding slowly the mage hurried to his bookshelf and pulled out one of the leather-bound tomes. Flicking through the pages he came upon one he liked and, carefully, he held out the book for the northerner to see. Immediately he knew what the healer was getting at, the black substance was described in great detail exactly as he saw it; even a note about destroying the head was there.

"Yes, that is it," Thonvar answered solemnly. He looked down at Anza and sighed before adding, "we were set upon by a force of the dead just days ago. Wights animated like this, we defeated them at a cost. I encountered another demon afterward, I killed it, but it rose a dead woman and a horse, I think they control that. This one did not last long, it dissolved into nothing and left only my arrows and it's blade."

"Summoned. You killed it, so it's link to this world was severed and that means it's physical form simply ceased to exist in our realm. It's complicated to explain, but summoned creatures from another realm do not exist here permanently. Not as we imagine 'permanent' to be. Out in the square are actual beings from that realm in this one, their actual bodies crossed the barrier and exist here and died here."

Thonvar nodded. "So where did it come from? Who summoned it?"

"Oh, who knows," the mage muttered. "Truthfully I did not believe the rumors, well, now I do. So you say you had a dream, hmm? Well, if it is as you say, then the Dauvas are not in control here. No doubt one of their god-kings made a pact or something, they're insatiably greedy, but rest assured that I have already contacted the Ancomar Order. They're demon-hunters, they specialize in Dauvic plots to slip into our realm and after my examinations I will know with some certainty which faction these belong to."

"I know little of any of this, only that I can kill them."

A sarcastic smirk curled the mages lips. "Yes, of course, now if you'll excuse me..."

Pulling himself to his feet, Thonvar groaned and reluctantly used his wife for help. What he wanted to do was rest, but he had people to tend to and probably a few problems to solve. Everyone gave him a wide path as he walked across the room and this trend continued as he went down the street, allowing him to see that a few of his men stood watch over a pile of arms and armor.

There was a trader that was trying very hard to get them.

"Have the men pick whatever pieces that want from that pile as salvage, remind Agziqoh to do the same. We're selling the rest."

They nodded and started gathering up the pieces in a small cart that nobody had claimed, the merchant practically lit up when he saw Thonvar. A quick glance told him that the creature before him had some elven lineage, but not much, he seemed more human and definitely from the south. Many of his type had come through Ivarshold, always looking for some way to make money and often at the expense of other people. One explained to him that, since those people had neglected their skill of negotiation, they had only themselves to blame for their ruin.

He might have respected that if the merchant wasn't out-right telling lies.

"I don't care what price you offer, my people come first."

"Oh of course!" the man exclaimed as he got out of the way. "I'm sure though, that whatever you have left over would be a lucrative opportunity. I would be a fool not to inquire."

"I have other things, swords, axes, knives... Had I the space they took up, I might be inclined to part with my more valuable trophies. For the funds to fill all that space."

Thonvar felt he was being quite clever, but his wife didn't stop looming with a menacing presence.

A predatory smile crossed the merchant's lips. "Yes, yes, I'm sure we can come to an arrangement. Fair trade, perhaps?"

Anza growled at the man. "Elfe go way now! Husband tired, not rest for be chief."

Sighing quietly Thonvar added, "what my wife has meant to say is I am busy."

"Yes, yes, of course, I'll... meet you out there. Yes."

That poor fool obviously didn't realize what the knife-ear in him was doing, he sounded like a damned thief trying to talk his way into a burglary. Annoyance heated the back of Thonvar's head and he waved the pest off, more or less pulling Anza along. Of course the damned problems came up right away, he saw a group of guards and townsfolk clustered around some kobolds that looked like they were about to start stabbing people. When he arrived they looked at him with the same fire, but his glare of authority made the group back off somewhat.

"What is the problem?" Thonvar asked, settling himself into a diplomatic mood.

"These rats are tryin' to take off with property!" a man grumbled as he stepped forward, his tubby belly prominent in front of him. "We string up thieves here, the whole lot of 'em deserve it."

"You will do no such thing."

A guard spoke up this time and said, "you don't make the decisions here, we do."

"Yeah, so why don't you," the fat finger stabbed Thonvar right in the chest, "go crawl back wherever you came from, we don't need your kind here."

At first he was going to allow the offending finger to remain, but when the man made the mistake of pushing he acted. Thonvar's arm was stiff and sore, but still fast enough for his hand to catch the man by the wrist with an iron grip. He wailed for help, but the guards could not stop the chief of kobolds from twisting hard until the fat knees kissed the stones.

"This man's arm is in your hands, Rangvaaler," Thonvar declared with a sharp, loud voice. "Take another step and it's broken."

"You break his arm and we'll--"

"What?" Thonvar interrupted, his eyes wide with fury. "What will you do?"

Silently the guard glowered, but the anger faded and mercy loosened the reachman's grip. Swearing under his breath, the fat townsman scrambled back as he cradled his poor arm like it had actually been broken. Maybe that would have helped him eat less, perhaps the disgusting pig would learn to be thankful for something. At least his resolve had been demonstrated, these easterners only responded to shows of strength as was the case with all weak-willed folk.

Turning his head, the chief kept his eyes on the threats as he asked, "they claim you steal, what is this about?"

"Kobold get buckets for--"

"This is about buckets?" Thonvar snapped, looking directly at the fat moron. "Those are *my* buckets. Mine. They were used to put out the fire on your town!"

"Well I--"

"My sword, these arms," he stepped forward, his voice gaining volume and malevolence, "cut through evil's servants to preserve your townsfolk! My body bitten, poisoned, as I killed their lord in single combat! All while the kobolds, at the order of their chief, Thonvar, son of Kargruuf, use his buckets to pour on your neighbor's homes so that they would stand today. Charity given freely, repaid by dishonor from a fat pig who cowered and hid!"

By that time he was leaning over the isolated man and shouting down in his face, the fat idiot still holding his arm as if it were his one treasure in the world. No doubt that accusation was true, the fool seemed on the verge of blubbering. Over what? Buckets! Greedy, deceitful, and dishonorable, just like so many of his kin that hid in their towns and villages squabbling over nothing. Petty nonsense. This man before him wasn't concerned about thieves robbing the town, he was concerned about not being able to steal from somebody else.

Redness came to his face as he glared up at Thonvar, his mouth opening to say something.

"SHAMEFUL PIG. YOU MAKE ME SICK. SICK!"

Startled by the volume, the corpulent fraud tumbled over and his gut relinquished it's contents with roaring flatulence. Scowling with contempt Thonvar stood up and stepped back as the kobolds, and a few townsfolk, laughed at the pathetic coward.

"Alright, alright, that's enough," a guard warned as he put his back toward the townsman. "Fine, you didn't steal. What do you want? A reward?"

Thonvar cocked his head slightly. "For?"

His mind was on his father as he pretended, of course he knew what he would be rewarded for. Grulf would have taken it, Oddvar trying to get more by using his words like a southerner, but their father... Kargruuf knew when to play dumb, Thonvar had watched him pretend and hide his amusement as a fool thought he was getting the better half of the deal. Then as soon as they left, his father would be already working on stabbing them in the back. Not in a dishonorable way, not with lies, but with their own arrogance.

He once said that a man might save himself if he realized greed was a common blight and his tarnished honesty shined brighter because of it.

"... For... Are you truly that damned--" the guard shook his head in frustration. "You have helped us, we know. Townsfolk here aren't used to seeing kobolds running around, somebody might get the wrong idea."

"We came here for supplies and repairs, to trade, there is much road ahead until we reach the Kjarvangir range."

"That's where you're going? Gods..." the guardsman shook his head. "Before the attack happened a man came, said the road there was full of danger. Fine, I tell you what, you keep your kobolds outside and we send some things you need."

"Agreed. A cartwright would know most of what we need, food, mead. Ale."

Nodding slowly the guard folded his arms and considered it. "Thane Gurnjar is in charge, I'll tell him."

"These lands border the Gunnarvik, who is your usual leader?"

"We have none, these are Gurnjar's lands, he is pledged to Jarl Uthgar the Long-tooth. His lands go far, to the mountains, the road across the river will take you away from his castle. Built by the dwarves, back when they were known as elves. It's big."

"Then Uthgar's lands borders mine. Who is thane of those lands that go up the mountains?"

"Oh, that's ruled by Hodvar," the guard muttered. "He was told to stay on his side of the river, even the jarl doesn't like him. Deals in magic, has elves in his keep, but he's useful and keeps the hill people out. Bandits, raiders... Kobolds."

Thonvar smirked as the guard glanced down at Anza. "I doubt I will have issue with him, but I thank you for the warning about the others. Humans?"

Actually he was quite thankful, he hadn't once thought about his new home and responsibilities in that regard. Surviving on the road took up too much effort, a pit of fear in his gut manifested when he thought about all the things he had never expected to worry about. An entire life spent expecting to be tossed aside as a political favor, doing his duty as the bastard son, not once did he pay closer attention to his father's lessons.

He would need to learn fast, but for the time being the guard interrupted his worry. "Men from across the mountains, wild folk, the bandits come from here. Sometimes elsewhere, the road going through the Hulvensjaar Pass brought them here and now since it's blocked they raid our lands. Heard about those haranja cats from the south running from the elves, but they got run off to the east. Some men of the south came by too, last year, somebody said they made camp out in the woods."

"Why have so many come through here?" he asked.

"You saw the road north, didn't you? That's the one they built in Valmar One-Eye's time, when he took the Pine Crown and became king of Rangvaal. Goes up to the fjordlands, up to the frost sea, people come by looking for the way to the Skyfire Forge and pilgrims go to the Northrock."

Surprised, Thonvar looked at the guard with a bit of suspicion. "They worship Otar in the south?"

"They worship Artak or something, a priest said that was their name for him," replied the guard with a shrug. "Said the names they have are different, but the gods are the same. What do you care? You pray to dragons and horses. Whisper to the sky, right?"

"Our ways must seem strange to you, but we also pray to the north gods."

"As you should. Take your kobolds, Dolvun is our cart-keeper, he will be out soon."