III: Fire of the Bereaved
A sudden gust of icy wind bit at the bare fingers of her free hand while the other held the folds of her scarf over the lower of her face. Snow crunched beneath her boots and silently fell from the eternal grey sheet that covered the skies overhead. The lands around her might’ve been crop fields in other seasons but here, wherever here was, the grip of winter was harsh. But also beautiful, Nia admitted to herself.
The region she found herself in was mountainous, with steep cliffs and stony canyons that turned it into a latticework of flat hills and plateaus joined by multitudes of creaking bridges and carved pathways that were hard on the calves. As it stood, she found herself on one of the higher flats which granted her full view of far mountains ahead and behind, presenting her with a sense of scale she seldom experienced. It had a rugged beauty that Nia had come to appreciate since leaving the Waywards. Much had passed in the years between then and now.
As a sell-sword Nia was free to seek her own employment wherever she saw fit, as well as wander wherever she saw fit, and though she had never left Rishuya she knew there was much within the region for her to uncover. The world beyond was of no concern to her. People were always in need of someone to kill a beast, take vengeance on marauders, or otherwise be their muscle. It suited Nia just fine. She’d even joined a small party of adventurers one time and made a nice sum of coin once they’d slain that awful warlock who was abducting children for use in their nefarious rituals. Yes, that had been a good week.
Even so, with the freedom she now had, Nia did sometimes miss the Waywards. Whether it was the company or comradery she couldn’t decide, yet with those memories also came the remembrance of why she left them. Like Nia they were wanderers, though unlike Nia they adhered to a code that held them back. It didn’t make them weak exactly, the Wayward fighters certainly were skilled, but it prevented them from being efficient. Where Nia saw the set, straightforward path, the Waywards wanted to take the longer, difficult approach. She’d seen that approach cost people their belongings and, on occasion, their lives. Nia wanted no more part in that. It always had a cost.
She fixed the travel bags slung over her back and marched on through the cold towards a village in the distance. Dull orange flecks let her know it was inhabited. Whether or not they’d welcome her was a separate matter. Everywhere was different. Once Nia had visited a town which was violently opposed to the idea of adventurers and mercenaries. Hopefully the village ahead wasn’t anything like that place.
As she closed the distance with every shivering step, she made a mental note of any defences in case the residents turned on her. Such precautions were second nature by this point though in this case pointless, for it seemed the only defence this village had was a hairy dog in the main street that barked happily at the children who played with it. There weren’t even watchtowers or barricades. No fences, no guards, not much of anything really. Just some farmers holed up for the winter, wrapped in layered furs and huddled together under the awnings of sturdy but unglamorous buildings, laughing and chatting to one another. Some held steaming mugs close to their faces and Nia felt an eager gurgle rise in her stomach.
“You lost, traveller?”
The voice came from a middle-aged man with a bundle of firewood in his arms. He stood on a small set of steps that led up to what Nia assumed to be his home and his face flickered in and out of darkness as his furred hood was blown about in a sudden wind.
“Not anymore,” Nia said, pulling down her scarf to let the fellow see her face. “But I am in search of lodgings for the night, if you can point me in the direction of the local inn?” And perhaps some work, she grumbled mentally.
“Ah,” sighed the stranger. “Adventurers always are.” He sniffled and finished his short climb to the doorway. “We don’t usually get many travellers and the inn only has two rooms to spare, with the rest being used for food stores. And we already have some wanderers who dropped in out of the blue.” Again he sniffed before he struggled to open the door, both his hands occupied. “But if you don’t mind a little bit of mess then my wife and I are happy to have you for the night.”
Nia weighed her options for a moment. She didn’t need to do much to convince herself to stay with the friendly fellow. It was free of cost and if he turned out to be some kind of creep she was versed well enough in the way of the blade to protect herself.
There was some resistance from the man’s wife, mainly that she didn’t want a complete stranger in her home, but once Nia sat herself on a chair in the corner and stayed out of the family’s way the argument died down. And it was a family. Three children, the eldest nearly twenty and the youngest old enough to walk but young enough to ogle Nia like a carp in a pond. The middle child busied themselves with tending the fire in the middle of the home. After a time the light outside dulled and Nia found herself seated at a table, the ogling toddler stubbornly fixated on her despite being told not to stare. She would’ve been annoyed by the attention but in truth the child had an amusingly pudgy face so she let them keep their unfiltered curiosity. A few times during the meal, a hot broth of meat and vegetables, she pulled faces at the infant which made them smile and point. Going cross-eyed produced the best reaction.
Warm and relatively safe Nia let herself drift into sleep with the comfort of a full belly. If only everyone she met was so friendly. Actually, no. She’d be out of a job if everyone was kind to each other. With that grim thought she entered a dreamless slumber.
Until a crash startled her awake and she reflexively jumped to her feet, blades drawn. Her hosts had heard it also and wore worried expressions made all the starker by their tiredness. They rose from their beds and tossed queries and conjecture between one another as more crashes and clanging echoed from outside.
The parents made to move to the door, broom and shovel in hand, but were stopped when Nia warned them back and made the movement herself. Before she could even open the door however it was thrown off its hinges and nearly knocked her down, splintered wood filling the room just as frightened screams did. A blur of motion and four horrible figures were in the house, hooting and letting out wretched giggling. It was a sound Nia knew all too well. Goblins. Feral goblins.
The green-skinned raiders darted their large, black glassy eyes about the room, more interested in possible loot than any potential threats. Huge jaws, like bear traps, opened and formed into wicked grins, displaying dozens of needle-like teeth while drool dribbled out between them like vile venom. Their gnarled hands grasped crude weapons looted, repaired, and recycled endlessly from raids long past. Blood, old and fresh, was splattered along their blades.
Their large heads finally cocked in the direction of Nia but not until after she drove a sword through one of them, splitting their body from shoulder to hip. It fell in a heap on the floor as the other two hissed. She used the opportunity to charge them and, with her arms wrapped around each, pull them out into the street, away from the family that had granted her sanctuary. The snarls of the goblins were cut short, a single swing as Nia rose slit both their throats. Now outside, she was witness to an all too familiar sight.
The village was under attack, a full-scale attack. Homes unleashed screams of terror and just as many were already ablaze. Bloody bodies lay strewn about the street. Even the animals had been butchered, seemingly for no other reason than amusement. Shoddily crafted arrows jutted out from sheep, chickens, and horses alike, whereas the wounds on the homes’ owners looked to be inflicted by blade and tooth, body parts gnawed upon by the scampering rabble that now looted the houses.
One stepped from the door, hauling a heavy hessian sack, and spotted Nia. The feral goblin snarled and with its needle-like teeth bared and it pressed its long, green, pointed ears against its neck like a hound. With dark eyes that glittered in the flames of the buildings around it, it pointed at Nia with a dirty claw and chattered something in a language unknown to her. Other feral goblins snapped their eyes at her from inside, the windows open and allowing full sight to what they’d done to the family members who’d thought to seek refuge behind barred doors. With wicked grins and excited growls they poured from the building like monstrous roaches.
Nia readied her blades and in the light of the late-night moon butchered the raiders, cleaving limbs as easily as snapping kindling. To say they tested her skills was a lie. Their bodies split under her storm of slashing strikes. All they did was die and, with their broken bodies, make her footing somewhat uneven. In short time she found a possible leader, a larger goblin with trappings of skin, fur, and bone that wielded a crooked staff, and cut them open down the middle as they ran.
There was more to be done. This was no small band of marauders. Down the main street were yet more screams and yet more chaos. Blood of the innocent had turned the snow to a red slush and a burning fury woke in her chest. But she wasn’t alone in her effort to repel the attackers.
Down towards the middle of the village was another figure. Dead goblins lay around them. The figure drifted to and from each feral creature, flowed around them like a patient spectre, before delivering a blow that put them down. This fighter didn’t much seem to care that some of their enemies had landed blows on them. Though Nia didn’t see any reason to help them, they did just fine on their own, where they were where the goblins were now concentrated. Not only that but bigger goblins, armed with better weapons and armour, continued to raid homes with malicious jubilance.
She fell upon them like a wave of carnage. A bloody toll was exacted upon the invaders, their bodies now also in the snow alongside their victims. It wasn’t the justice the dead had wanted but it was the only justice she could offer. Her craft was violence, much as it was the goblins’. Only, she was better at it. That was how justice was served. That was how battles were won. Not with rules and honour, with sheer bloody determination and skill. Nia had no doubt that the folk who’d been prey for the feral goblins were good, honourable people. It wasn’t their fault. They’d likely gone their entire lives without having to learn how to wield a sword, let alone own one.
A hulking goblin turned its attention on her, wild strikes produced in answer to her presence. Dodging one blow she landed one of her own. It was too shallow. The goblin shrieked in anger and struck her with its battered shield. Nia made distance between them before she decided to do away with her twin shortswords. Blood pooled in her mouth and was spat at her feet.
“Take pleasure in the fact that it took this blade to slay you, beast,” she growled between her clenched jaw.
Nia drew her family blade, Ryumeio, and took a stance. The large goblin, enthralled by the idea of prey that fought back, smiled and barrelled toward her. A leaping strike took off the top of its head and, as Nia landed, drove the sword down into the back of another goblin, one that wasn’t so aware of its surroundings.
In the violence the once huge crowd of goblins had dispersed to sow destruction on their own terms elsewhere in the village. Now it was just her and the other warrior. She glanced at them and took note of their condition. Their armour, foreign and mismatched, was dented and bloodied and yet the wearer’s expression was sturdy. Determined. Though advanced in age the man exuded the aura of one who’d survived countless battles. He stood there, quietly breathing, before his eyes met hers. She nodded, acknowledging his combat prowess, and began to head in the direction of the closest display of destruction.
The heavy footsteps behind her let her know that the man had elected to follow her. She rounded a corner with the intent to see if they’d keep it up, only to have the plan thrown to the wind. Face to face with a huge being, she was momentarily stunned. A hulking figure, unlike the goblins all around, for it was eight feet tall, possessed muscles that threatened to split the skin that covered them, and a huge savage-looking axe in one hand, stood before her. Spikes jutted from its shoulders just as tusks jutted from its jaws. In its eyes was a bloodlust barely contained. Its free hand swiped at her. Powerful yet sluggish, Nia narrowly avoided the attack, its vulgar fingers striking nothing but armour.
In a sudden burst of speed the huge humanoid then struck her with its weapon. Despite the fact that the blow from the axe head surely broke more than one rib, Nia was thankful its wielder remained cumbersome enough to mistime its attack. Had it been the blade that hit her and not the flat top, well … No time to worry about that, a voice in her head commanded. Fight!
The old man from before stepped up beside her and with a wary gaze the flittered between Nia and the hulking brute, he took a stance. Together, then. They did not trust each other, they hadn’t even traded names, however only by working together would they have a proper chance of winning. There was little sense in denying it, as she often did in the past. She gritted her teeth and readied for the lumbering charge of the monster. It bellowed a bloodthirsty roar and with thunderous footsteps lunged to deal death.
Nia didn’t wait to watch what the old man did, though heard a metallic clang as she ducked under the brute’s overhead swing. As she rose, she drove Ryumeio into its side. Blood gushed forth from the open wound but the beast didn’t care, its focus remained ahead. Blow after blow it hammered down on the old man who had stood his ground, his armour breaking apart with every attack that landed. He just wasn’t quick enough to dance around this beast like he was with the goblins. However, the brute had taken the bait and left itself open to Nia’s attacks. It may not have cared about the eight-inch cut in its side, but she would make it care.
Quick, deliberate strikes drew blood from the hulk’s back, sides, and legs. Until it gave her a reason to stop she unrelentingly delivered strike after strike. Blindly it swatted at her, showing her as much regard as it might a mosquito. To remind it that she meant business Nia removed three of its thick fingers. In a heartbeat it spun to her and used its bloodied hand like a battering ram. In one short, quick blow Nia was sent to the ground, a horrible pain in her stomach letting her know that her dinner was about to come up.
The beast looked about to gloat, a proud glint in its small, beady eyes, when the end of a sword erupted through its midsection. Bloodied and battered, the old man remained on his feet and his weapon in his hands. He wrenched the blade to the side and opened the creature’s gut. With a wretched gurgle it sunk to its knees. Yet it breathed still.
Nia kept the contents of her stomach down and came to her feet. She regarded the huge beast for a moment. Then she drove Ryumeio through one of its eye sockets, ending the creature at last.
With a grunt of exertion Nia pulled her sword free of the hulking goblin-beast, Ryumeio slick with its brackish blood. A flick got rid of most of it. In the seconds that followed the chaotic din of the goblin assault faded, replaced by the sound of running feet. The cowards had seen their greatest fighter slain and turned tail and ran.
Huffing, Nia glanced at the old man who had helped her kill the beast and offered him a grateful nod. His armour was dented and near useless now, though without his help she doubted either could’ve taken the brute alone. She turned away from them and started to walk back to where she’d left her gear. Hopefully no goblin had run off with it. If it had, well, she was just going to have to leave this village short a few carry bags.
“Girl,” a voice of gravel called from behind her. As no one else was around, Nia assumed it was directed at her. She didn’t turn to face the speaker. “That sword,” the man went on, “where did you get it?”
Nia’s temper started to build, the tone of his voice was hostile, she was tired and hurt and just wanted to put distance between her and this now ransacked village as soon as possible.
“It’s mine,” she responded, begrudgingly facing the stranger. A sufficient answer though not for this old man. His posture hardened, his demeanor soured as the man began to lift himself and his weapon above the blood soaked snow.
“Trust me, this sword is not worth your life old man.”
The stranger, now standing, weapon at the ready sent a short, stone battered response in return
“Oh, but I think it is.”
