"The malchik rides better now." Eyes on the young dyermo, the rune-priest reined up a moment, holding back Joachim a moment. "It worries me, though. All this time, so many chances, still he refuses to speak of his exile."
Glancing forward briefly, Joachim nodded. "Few who get cast out do. His mother's blood runs strong there, pride and strength."
Garzog let his companion past, accepting the pack ponies reins for a bit. Years in the temples, learning the holy rites held more knowledge about people. Those who did not talk broke under pressure, or so his teachers drilled him. Three days of moving by twilight, letting the boy adjust slowly to Jzhan's light set them behind schedule. Fortunately, all the books matched during their Gemmarium stay. No complaints lodged for them to send back home. Bandits being still on a road known for its highwaymen.
That worried him more, despite his normal optimism. When things go easy on a journey, eventually some disaster would balance the scales of fate. Finding unknown relatives, that also disturbed him. The tale of his escape, hints at best on the reasons for his exile. Nothing since then.
Flash of light in the mid-morning sky turned his face upwards. Above the foothills they traveled through, a fireball tore through the air, moving east to west. Thunder roared over them, heat and noise mixing into pain. Reins tore free of his hands, the pack animals driven mad with fear, bolting into the small gully downhill from the road. Garzog proved priests possessed colorful vocabularies, just like dockworkers and miners.
Ahead, the malchik launched from the saddle against his will. Underground life never prepared one for bucking mounts. He showed graceful moves, a rolling landing ending on his feet. Joachim kept his pony still, much to Garzog's chagrin. His own mount danced about wildly, trying to gain enough head for bucking him off. The priest fought the pony, keeping the reins tight, waiting for noise and light to die.
Jzhan barely moved across heaven's vault, when the worst part came. From the fireball, sparks flew out along its path. Overhead, Garzog noted those pieces of Athalan sprout wings and darken into dark forms, evil incarnate. "Bozhemoi! Korshun vAdz!" Warning the others that the vultures of Hell flew the sky.
From a crag nearby, a small red form sailed into the sky. Growing larger with each breath, the dwarves held their breath, as the young dragon challenged those entering his domain. Roaring a challenge, the lizard unleashed flaming breath and claws upon a cluster of the creatures. Even as many showered down into the hills, more beasts from beyond the clouds turned upon the dragonlet. More flames erupted, as the young dragon learned the hard way that demons were immune to its fire.
Dzhino gasped as demonic claws rent scales most weapons barely scratched. Moments later, the shadow rotted remains landed around them, in fist sized chunks, though one thigh bone crashed through a tree intact, turning the pine into a torch as the dragon's blood reacted to pitch the trees wept out of broken branches.
Above, the beasts still circled. Some dove down, racing over the treetops, seeking more to destroy. Vulture wings on human bodies, dragon's legs and arms, ending in razor talons, head made from mishapen skulls, marred by ridges, horns and other projections. Fear washed over Garzog, the pony screamed, tearing free reins, leaving his hand raw with leather burns. Two racing heartbeats later branches buffeted him out of his saddle, landing on his back hard. Gasping, he crawled under the thick pine, seeking some cover.
Around him, more trees took flame, the smell of roasted dragon meat mixing with familiar pine torch smells. Already, the frightened animals fleeing the destroyers of life ran wild, driven away from flames only by instincts, charging away only to be caught by the Korshun. Garzog shut his eyes, sickened at the fates of the beasts. Torn apart slowly, to enhance the fear the demons dined on with flesh.
He heard Joachim give a battle cry from the mountains, then the sounds of axe on bone. Garzog's anger flared, at himself for cowering in fear, and the demons for attacking his soratnik. Comrade-in-arms, they had sworn at journey's start. The priest's hand found the ugly keistyen on his belt, the spiked ball on leather strap. Courage returned to him.
It took many beats of his heart just clearing the trees, eyes darting to find Joachim. Air washed over him, driven downwards by a demon hovering just an arm's length above his head. Rage fueling his strength, Garmrond howled out, swinging his weapon upwards.
Screams of pain and hate spoke the damage done, as the Khoshun landed, bones sticking through the scales and feathers on its wing. His next attack scored better, silencing his foe by taking the fang filled jaw off the skull. Garzog swung again, rewarded with the crunchy sound striking the chest made, reminding him of ice covered snow being walked on.
Moving away fast, the priest sought the next target, noting one struggling with something to his right. Whirling the ball over head as he moved, he ran the short distance. Gleaming metal slammed into its leg just as he changed the weapon's motion from orbit to arc, shattering the skull. The body collapsed, leaving the young dyermo beyond it struggling against bone to remove his mother's ax. Falling claw grazed his left leg Before either could ready their weapons again, another demon stooped through the trees. No other weapon to his hand, Garzog released the strap, grabbing a branch lopped off by the boy's inexperienced swings earlier. Thrusting the jagged end upwards, the demon wrenched away left, only to find a dagger streaking across the air, sliding into a deep eye socket.
A stroke of lightning split the skull open seconds later, released by silver metal reacting to its ichor. Garzog cursed at the burning sensation on his face and hands, knowing the blood carried acids. Rolling acoss the torn up grass, the priest worked frantically to remove the liquid. Over his own screams of pain, the sound of an axe ripping wood apart echoed for a moment. Then stillness fell. Daring a look up, face still stinging, Garzog noted the Korshun flying into a draw of the mountains, seeking easier prey. Around them, trees burned fiercely, flames licking upwards, only to race across the forest's crown.
"Garzog! Dzhino! Get to that gully!" A hand lifted his shoulder up, shoving him downhill.
He staggered over to the corpse on the ground, grabbing the strap of his keitsyen, before shuffling to the small boulder filled gorge. Dzhino joined him, supporting his shoulder. Garzog's left leg felt numb, looking down the claw marks in his pants told him the damage would be ugly.
"This way, cousin. I see our ponies." Dzhino kept him moving amid the trunks, ash and smoke. Tossing his eyes forward, still not trusting the goggled eyes of the youth. He noted many shadows in the gully, near a small rock cluster.
"Go slow, there will be many things there, Dzhino." The priest tried to roll the strap around his hand, finding the ichor turning it too slick for easy grip. The ball hung several time on deadfalls. Not trusting the demons departure, he found the weapon's feel comforting.
More trees erupted as the blaze spread, darkening the skies with smoke, while the flames brightened the ground. Suddenly, Joachim grabbed both their arms, turning them downstream, beyond the rocks still corralling more creatures. "To the stream. I see an overhang there." Tugging the wounded pair left, away from the springs they now heard burbling over the fires. "Get under the ledge, wait for me. Rounding up the ponies may take a bit."
Over the lip, a small stream dribbled down, just enough to keep the air moist. Crossing the shallow waters carefully, Dzhino balked suddenly, yanking back Garzog's arm harshly. Barely heard over the noises, the priest heard a curse of the underworld. "Light blind me. Tenovkot!"
Garzog held his breath a moment, releasing it slowly after a few beats. "Surface predators rarely kill during a fire. They seek the same as others, safety, then escape. Just keep us a bit separated."
Dzhino muttered curses under his breath, moving them through slippery rocks carefully. Once behind the thin curtain of water, he held them up. Growling the Tenovkot turned on them, lowering into a crouch. The priest pushed the axe Dzhino started to raise down, letting it lie along the dyermo's leg.
"Let's sit, malchik. Take the threat away, let it know what we seek is the same it does." Lowering himself to a boulder, the priest winced, pain racing through the damaged leg. "I need to clean and bind this wound. Left pouch holds my battle kit."
Dzhino leaned his mother's ax on the same boulder, close to hand, but not an immediate threat. Reaching slowly to the indicated belt pouch, he pulled out a bandage, vial containing a golden oil of some kind, and cloth strip for binding. Hands shaking he passed them to his cousin. "Tovarisch, below the dirt, we let you live or die. No knowledge of these things exists."
Garzog nodded, knowing this of the yadneik kindreds. "Your society lives in poisons, so you must build a hardier stock. Above the stone, we understand things differently." Motioning to his leg, he spoke simple instructions. "Bare the leg first, keep the knife low, where the koshka will miss it."
Drawing one of the black metal blades taken from the corpse days before, Dzhino gently parted the strands of cloth between tears. Slow motions marked his lifting the strands off Garzog's flesh. Ragged breathing spoke volumes about the pain for the priest.
The growling feline stayed wary, ears back, eyes narrowed. Tension left its frame slowly, settling back and down to ground from her pouncing stance. Garzog kept his eyes towards the cat, not daring to look at the damage the korshun managed down there.
A sigh of relief from the youngling surprised him. "Scratches. Not deep. Festering, so I'd say poisoned. You have a bandage?"
Garzog softly chuckled, the rolling gravel sound drawing again the eyes of the tenovkoshka. Lacking a mane, he guessed it a female. The great tusk teeth hung from her upper jaws, the lower ones barely less formidable. The head cocked at an angle, looking at him strangely like a domestic cat. "Yes, but we need a poultice. Something to draw out the poisons. Zvyeroboei and myata. Two plants. You know them?"
"Myata is common here, mostly in shady places. Smells strong. Zvyeroboei, I never hear of." Dzhino worked the leg a bit, worried at the red streaks froming above the scratches. "Otrava, zloba?"
Garzog worried at that comment. Poisons and venoms, from the shadows, he was not sure he could deal with. He knew the runes to draw, his teachers and the Slon, the great healer of the rune house, drilled those into his head. With the warning that the gods gave him such for others, not himself.
"The poultice first. We shall worry the other later, hoping the herbs draw out the bad things." Grimacing, Garzog, noted the boy's cheek also touched, but not festering. "What caught you?"
Dzhino shrugged. "Wings of one of the beasts. Your face and hands are bad too."
Shrugging it off, the rune priest dredged his memory about finding the herb needed. "If we get the ponies back, take out some oats and bran, they drink poisons and puss. The herb is tall as you, yellow green leaves, bright gold flowers with black dots."
Dzhino's hiss spoke he knew it. "Smyertkorm. Death's forage, animals die eating it. Not wise,
Dzhrets." The use of the ancient term for the herb-priests gave Garzog hope.
"That which kills the beasts also kills the puss. It only kills from inside your stomach, not your skin." He gasped in pain as one wound burst, sour smelling green stuff oozing from it. "Fast, boy. Trust me on this."
Dzhino left slowly, never turniing his back on the Tenovkoshka. Garzog noted it staring at him after the dyermo left. Poison began twisting his thoughts, opening doors better left closed. Meeting those deep eyes, he found somethiing unexpected. Worry. She could smell the demon poison, knew what the shadow vultures' venom raised in his folk.
Pushing back the urge to strike everything around him, Garzog spoke softly. "I still hold my mind, Koshka."
Something pushed at the edges of his thoughts, her nostrils flaring again at the sick smells from his wounds. A paw batted at the rivulet between them several times, eyes narrowing.
It took several fingers of Jzhun's journey between mountains over them for the idea to form in his head. Pain lanced his body and neck, first signs of the frenzy to come, he was sure. "Wash the wounds. Yes, but the water will be fouled by the poison then, koshka."
Now the claws extended, raking the mud around the bank, before the paw struck water again. Within his skull, something pressed back the rage, squashing the fiery pain moving up from the wound for a moment. Garzog found his hands moving without his orders, tearing bits of his breeches away from below the wound, dipping them in the water, squeezing the cold liquid over the scrapes.
Struggling to keep his breathing steady, the dwarf hissed softly. His feline companion tensed a bit, still holdiing his gaze. Several lathings later, he dropped the scrap, grasping a handful of mud, coating the wounds, the gravel and sand amid it breaking the other two lines open.
Rapid footsteps through breaking branches announced another visitor. Looking away franticly, Garzog growled his anger. Dzhino held some magenta flowers, not the leaves he asked for.
"Better thing, Kaplya Soltsye!" Seeing the wounds weeping into the soil, the boy grunted. "Dirt not good for wounds." Tearing his own strips from the ruined pants, Dzhino rubbed the dirt away. "It may work, though, Less angry now. This will help." Fist crushed the flowers, letting a pink fluid drip across the wounds.
Screaming, twisting away, Garzog started to rise, hand seeking the keistyen's strap again. His head twisted around wildly, then met the beast's eyes again. He collapsed, barely aware of things. The tenovkoshka growled, the dyermo's hand pressed him flat on his back. Shaking, he found the strength leaving his body.
"You've killed me boy." What he shouted fell as a whisper.
Something cool touched his leg. He lost count of the touches, red coloring his vision. Splashing combined with wetness, rousing him back a bit. The rage subsided, his vision still stained in blood.
Releasing his weapon, Garzog struggled to sit up. "It's passed. Sorry. The venom held me there."
Dzhino backed off, facing the other bank. "Why did she not kill me."
Lost in the relief, the words spent much time connecting. "What?"
Never turning, the boy again bathed his wounds with water. "She wore a collar. That tenovkot hunted me."
They both glanced up, rewarded with a rare sight, even within the mountains. The beast moved along, two smaller ones following.
"Detyonish" The word for little beasts turned the boy his way. "They sent a gravid huntress after you. Once she birthed, instinct took over. She is feral now, may even take the entire pride with her."
"We keep them solitary." Doubtful tones filled the boy's voice.
Garzog laughed, the poison fading more from his body. "Not solitary enough to prevent her being with cubs." Nodding up the hill, the priest lay back. "Lvyonok. Little lions. Those require a big male mating her."
Dzhino lifted another flower, plucking petals onto the wounds. "Five I saw. Pray more run feral, but count on three still hunting me."
"Hunting you? Why?" Furrowing his brow hurt, Garzog discovered.
"Loving ne tot dzhyenshcheina."
His chuckle became a cough, as a shadow covered him, water spilling from a canteen.
"We all love the wrong woman, Dzhino. We men cannot help it." Joachim's voice.
"The ponies?" Fogs closed in around Garzog.
"Better than you, Garzog." Joachim chuckled.
Just as he faded, voices came over the murmuring stream.
"Good work with that dagger. We get to town, I will buy you several silver ones to replace it." That rumble he knew.
"Spasebo, tovarishch. Luck there, first one I grabbed." The boy lifted his leg. Garzog let him.
"Soratnik, malchik. We have shared blood and battle." There was no chuckle, just that grim tone his friend used most times. "You passed my test. Stood ground, good aim, followed orders. Even doctored up Garzog on your own."
"Only a priest can seal that bond." Garzog chuckled softly, beating Joachim to the words.
"In combat, warriors are the priests, malchik." The fogs rolled over him, giving him rest.
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