Irukstahn

Since this is just a small taste of my novel in progress, I should probably explain some of the more abstract elements:

sprikkaan - an igneous rock filled with pockets of combustible gas. Used like flintstones in the Eastern Mt. area
ghera-cat - a brown-furred, black-striped feline hybrid, distinguished by long wavy ears and a very large, bushy tail.
Karahkuum - the "evil" deity, IE the devil
Bloody Legions - the armies of Hell, often used as an epithet
Feratimos - the "good" deity

And so without further ado, the story...

Chapter 2

It was the sound of someone pounding on his door that first woke Larac. He rolled over, staring at the ceiling for a moment. Early morning light streamed through the cabin’s windows, but the insistent knocking would not let him enjoy the scene. Grumbling, he threw off the covers and stumbled half-asleep to the door.

         A tawny wildcat stood in the doorway, his fist an inch from pounding Larac’s face instead of hard wood. “There you are! Finally!” His voice was near panic.

         “What is it, Tristen?” the tiger asked wearily. At Tristen’s age, everything was a crisis. He did his best to ignore the frantic tone.

         “Dire grizzlies,” was all the wildcat said. Immediately Larac was on the alert. Only a few days ago, they’d driven off two of the marauding beasts. If more were venturing down already…

         “Let me grab my armor,” he muttered, turning from the door. Tristen put a hand on the tiger’s shoulder, shaking his head.

         “You won’t need it,” he said mysteriously. “Just come with me. Rikke and Vahn are already waiting.”

         Puzzled, Larac shut the door and followed Tristen across the village. He expected to take the main road up into the mountains, but Tristen seemed to be leading him elsewhere. As they passed by the bathhouse, Larac smiled slightly, remembering the previous night. The memory was quickly disrupted as his sharp eyes caught a trace of red in the reservoir above the building. Blood…? he wondered silently.

         They pressed on, following the stream upwards. Occasionally, Larac noticed still water or pools- all of them had shadowy traces of crimson swirling through the otherwise crystalline currents. Whatever Tristen was leading him to must have lost a great deal of blood. Images of Thahn and Droesse rushed back, along with the others he’d watched die over the years. Quietly, he prayed that this latest casualty survived.

         After a while, the wildcat glanced back over his shoulder. “Almost there,” he assured Larac breathlessly. They’d been climbing for almost an hour, and the rugged terrain was beginning to wear him out. The tiger simply nodded. It was becoming clearer why Tristen had told him to leave his sword and armor behind- on the trail they were following, such items would only be a hindrance and tire him out faster.

         At last, Larac began to hear sounds of conversation. They rounded a final bend and found Rikke and Vahn waiting for them, standing in a small clearing beside the stream. Both were ankle-deep in gore.

         The bodies of several dire grizzlies lay strewn about, cut open with a wide assortment of weaponry. Blood soaked the ground, flowing liberally into the nearby water. Flies were just beginning to gather on the corpses and the entire place reeked of fear, hatred, and death.

         “Who… what could have done this?” he wondered aloud.

         “We don’t know,” Tristen answered, his voice shaky. “We came up here for an early-morning hunt, and found them like this. Look, none of the meat’s been taken, none of the fur or claws.” The wildcat shuddered. “They were simply slaughtered.”

         Larac felt sick inside. In the foothills, the great bears were always a threat, but the villagers of Irukstahn held a constant respect for even the most dangerous beasts. Life was taken only if there was no other option, and even then they wasted nothing. Never had he imagined seeing such a charnel house as this. Silently, he knelt beside one of the dire grizzlies and lifted its massive paw. Between its claws was a scrap of fabric from Thahn’s shirt- this was the same bear they’d driven off a day ago. Rage and sorrow twisted together as he held the bear’s paw to his chest, growling in frustration. The growl quickly became a grunt of pain as something sharp dug into his palm. He turned the giant limb over, finding something metallic buried deep in the creature’s paw. Slowly, he extracted it, wincing as he heard it scrape against the bear’s thick bones.

         Tristen watched in fascination. “What is it, Larac?”

         The tiger turned it over in his hand. It was a blade of some kind, long and narrow. It had snapped off at the base, but the blade’s design spoke volumes. “Spear point. Look around, all of you. See if you can find anything else.” His eyes grew hard and distant. Metal weaponry meant someone from the east side of the mountains, probably across the plains. No one, man or feral, could do this much damage alone. One dire was worth five hunters at least- there had to have been more than forty of them to slaughter the bears the way they had. Caravans did not keep more than two-score warriors on hand simply for killing wildlife. That meant…

         “Found something,” Vahn exclaimed, holding a glittering blade up. “Looks like it might have been a dagger.”

         “Sword hilt,” Rikke declared. “Fanged skull on the pommel.”

         Worry etched itself across Tristen’s face. “Larac, what’s going on?”

         The words felt sour on his tongue as he spoke them. “Bandits did this. Two scores of them, at least.” Adrenaline began to course through his veins. The bodies here were only a few hours old, including the time spent climbing. The hunting trio had only just missed them- it was a stroke of luck that Tristen had not been discovered or ambushed on his way back. And if they were this close and traveling west, they could not possibly miss Irukstahn. A cold fear gripped him.

         “Vahn, Tristen, get back to the village. Move as fast as you can without being seen. If Irukstahn is under attack, hide until I get there. Otherwise, warn everyone you can. Get the women and children out, tell them to hide in the forest. Hurry!” When they continued to hesitate, his head shot up. “Go!” he snarled.

         “And what about me?” Rikke asked, watching the two of them race back the way they’d come.

         “We’ll take the main road. If we’re lucky, these murderers will still be on it. We can strike from the tree line. Slay one or two, then drop back. Delay them as long as possible. And bring anything you’ve found.” The tiger’s eyes narrowed as he growled fiercely. “Feratimos help the bastards who did this. If he dares.” Still gripping the broken spear blade, he whirled and sprinted from the clearing, Rikke hard on his heels.

~

         Rosche panted hard, following his colonel back towards the pass. Behind them, the black smoke was already beginning to cloud the sky. The soot clung to his fur, sticking in the numerous cuts and abrasions still leaking blood. The stinging pain was the least of his worries however. Behind him were six of the renegades who’d started the blaze. Most of their comrades were still down in the village below, delivering fire and death to anything they could.

         The ghera-cat dodged around a large boulder, glancing up the road. The others were up there somewhere, waiting in the mouth of the Pass. They would be more than enough to dispose of the murderers on his heels. If Rosche ever made it that far. From the forest to his right, he heard an unearthly roar.

         Undergrowth scattered itself across the road as a large tiger tore himself loose from the pines. Behind him, a lithe gray wolf followed suit, bounding onto the packed earth. Both were clutching strange oblong rocks in their hands. Rosche slowed, turning to watch. The bandits halted as well, approaching the strangers cautiously. The one in the lead, a tawny bobcat, stepped forward.

         “I give you one chance and one choice- stand aside or die,” he declared firmly. His voice was neutral and matter-of-fact.

         The tiger’s response was swift. He hurled the rock at his enemy’s feet and lunged. The bobcat gave a harsh laugh as the rock struck the ground in front of him, but his mocking laughter quickly became an enraged snarl. The rock shattered on impact, igniting as it did so. Blazing shards ricocheted into his feet and ankles, setting the thick fur alight. An instant later, the tiger cut him down.

         Rosche stared in fascination as the pair ripped into the bandits. They moved as one, darting in beneath their enemies’ blades and wreaking a terrible destruction. A fox with a patched eye dodged behind the tiger, only to be impaled on the wolf’s broken dagger blade. Quickly, the wolf traded it for his slain enemy’s rapier.

         “Larac, behind you!”

         “Got him, Rikke. The cougar, on your right!” A cougar fell to the ground, his eyes glazing over in death. The war axe tumbled from his lifeless hands. A shadow fell across Rikke’s back.

         Larac turned from his kill just in time to see a massive grizzly slip behind the wolf. He opened his mouth for a warning, but the words came too late. The grizzly’s mace crashed down, killing Rikke instantly. He lunged for the bear, but a black jackal to his right darted in, knocking him off-balance. The tiger snarled, twisting sideways to regain his footing. Too late, he saw the jackal’s arm move, the oblong rock it cast at him. The ground underneath him exploded in flames.

         A hand clamped down on Rosche’s shoulder. “Let’s move, lieutenant!” the coyote demanded. Obediently, the ghera-cat turned, but he could not put the brief fight out of his mind. The tiger and wolf were obviously from the village below. The colonel seemed to know what he was thinking, and cast a glance backwards. “We did all we could, Rosche. We’re simply too few to stop them.” The coyote sighed, bowing his head. “Irukstahn is lost, Lieutenant. All we can do is pray that their souls rest peacefully.”

         Rosche nodded, but his gaze kept drifting back down the road. Somehow, he doubted the warriors he’d seen would be content to rest peacefully. If they rest at all…