Tarah Woodblade (18 page)

“Y-you son of a-!” Tarah hacked. She coughed. She retched. She turned on the dwarf and began pounding him with her fists. “You trying to kill me?”

Djeri raised his arms defensively, absorbing the blows. “I didn’t say inhale it!” Finally he wrapped his powerful arms around her and held her still while she struggled. “Just calm down. Breath easy. The burning will fade, I promise.”

She stopped struggling and forced herself to breath easier. He was right. After a few moments, the burning in her lungs faded. She was left with a molten sensation that went down her throat into her stomach where it burned like a blacksmith’s forge. “You can let go of me now.”

Djeri released her and backed away. “Do you feel warmer now?”

“Of course I do!” Tarah spat. She was sweating and her cheeks were flushed. “Anyone would feel warmer after going through that! I feel like I ran friggin’ five miles!” Then she laughed.

“That might have worked too, but not as fast,” Djeri said, laughing along with her. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting that to happen. For a moment I thought you might pass out.”

“I nearly did!” she said, then coughed again. She stood, breathing heavily. “Why in nature would anyone drink that stuff on purpose?”

“I tell you, it’s a delicacy,” he said then picked up the bottle and released the stopper to take a swallow for himself. He stopped the bottle and whistled. “You shouldn’t feel bad. I’ve been drinking this stuff my whole life and still it gets me.” He sucked cold air in through his teeth as he put the bottle back in his pack. “Uncle says it’s the human side of my heritage.”

“You’re heritage?” Tarah said, confused.

“Yeah, my daddy was half-human,” he said, then frowned, looking embarrassed. “I don’t know why I just told you that. I never tell anybody that.”

“Your papa was?” Tarah asked. “I never heard of a half-dwarf before.”

He swallowed and sat back down next to his armor. He picked up his needle and wire thread. “There aren’t many. Dwarves and humans don’t tend to . . . like each other in that way. It happens, but not often.” He began stitching more pieces of fur into the armor. “Life can be hard for a half-dwarf. Other dwarves are usually nice about it, but you can’t avoid the looks and whispers. To make things worse, my daddy’s family was more rough on half-breeds than most. He ended up moving away from them as soon as he was old enough.”

“But how would being half-human affect his blood magic?” Tarah wondered.

Djeri shrugged. “In that way it’s the same as being a half-elf or half-gnome.”

“There’s half-gnomes too?” Tarah said, her jaw dropping.

“Yeah. It happens,” Djeri said. “As far as their magic goes, you never know what a half breed will end up like until they’re fully grown. Some take more of their human side; some more of the blood-magic race. For a half-dwarf, for instance, they might have a varying amount of the dwarf toughness. My daddy looks mostly dwarven, but his magic is weaker than other dwarves. He doesn’t heal quite as fast as regular dwarves do.”

“And what about you?” Tarah asked.

Djeri smiled. “Well, my momma was full dwarf and of a proud heritage, too. I’m full dwarf as far as anyone can tell. I’m tough as any of them.”

Tarah nodded, but she knew he wasn’t saying everything. She could see his human part in him, even if it wasn’t obvious at first. She didn’t press him on it, though. That was his business. Djeri didn’t say anything further and they sat in silence for awhile. Then Tarah stood.

“Well, I think I’ll try and get some sleep,” she said.

“I’ll stay up awhile,” Djeri replied. “I need to get my armor finished.”

“Right.” Tarah walked over and removed Neddy’s feeding bag, then brought one of the bedrolls over to the lean-to and laid it out. She pulled her quarterstaff next to her and slipped inside. This was her first time in an academy bedroll. It was thicker and made of a stronger material than the one she usually brought on long journeys. The inside was quite cold at first, but the pepperbean wine was still working strong and her body heat warmed it up quickly. Soon she was completely comfortable and her tired body seemed to melt into the fabric.

Tarah’s eyes rested on the dwarf. He was still working on the armor, though the pile of unfinished plate was fairly small. Every once in a while he would stop and look in her direction, a slight crease in his brow as if his thoughts were troubled.

Djeri was a mystery to her. For some reason she felt oddly comforted by his presence. It was so strange. She had never felt comfortable in the company of anyone besides her family. Not even the people she guided. Not even after weeks of travel with them. And here she was after one day of knowing him, at ease with the company of a dwarf- well, three quarters of one anyway.  She had even gone and . . . she had . . .

Tarah swallowed. She had actually stripped naked. Had she really been so brazen as to stand there in front of him as if such a thing didn’t matter? Not that a dwarf, or any man for that matter, would feel attraction to someone that looked like her, but why had she done that? She would never have stood naked in front of anyone else she could think of, so why had she felt no shame over doing so in front of Djeri?

She pursed her lips at the frustrating train of thought. Surely papa wouldn’t have approved of her behavior, but he and Grampa Rolf had remained silent. Hmm. She nodded curtly. That in itself was a good enough answer. Why should she feel shame or embarrassment if they had no problem with it? Getting out of those wet clothes had been a necessity. After all, it had been about survival. Tarah Woodblade did whatever was necessary.

With that comforting thought, she let the troubling questions go and allowed her body to fade off into sleep.

Chapter Nine

It was dark. Dark and warm and to Tarah’s discomfort, the air around her was also moist. Moist like the inside of someone’s mouth. She was fully clothed, wearing her armor and boots.

Blast, it was stifling. She sat up and her head hit something soft and rubbery. And wet. She reached up and her hands slid along a slimy surface. Where was she? The floor underneath her undulated and rose up slamming her against the soft ceiling. Then it fell back down again and Tarah bent, reaching for a wall or a doorway, anything. Her hands encountered something hard and unyielding. The walls were made of large interlocking plates of some kind. They were like . . . Teeth! She was inside a mouth.

She shouted. She kicked. She pried at the enormous teeth, but the mouth wouldn’t open. Finally she pulled out her belt knife and began stabbing.

With a hideous creak, the jaws began to open. Sunlight poured in and Tarah’s wincing eyes saw blue sky. The tongue beneath her moved forward and Tarah slid out under the teeth and past huge lips into open air. She got to her knees and stood to find that she was far above the ground. The forest seemed to be a hundred feet below.

She turned to see an enormous hooked beak of a nose and two enormous eyes. She was standing on the tongue of a giant. How could this be? Did a giant this large even exist?

The tongue stretched out further and propelled her upwards. The giant’s lip was curled in a snarl. His brow was furled. There was hatred in his eyes. Why hadn’t he chewed her up? Why hadn’t he swallowed her?

Because I wanted to feel you suffocate on my tongue
, said a voice from deep within her mind.
I wanted you to drown in my saliva
. She cowered in fear as a building-sized hand rose up from below, forefinger and thumb extended.
Perhaps I’ll just settle for popping your head
.

Tarah screamed and her staff appeared in her hands. She lashed out at one of its enormous eyes. The tip of her staff changed, transforming into an arrowhead, and pierced the black center of his eye. She twisted. The giant screamed. Its fingers clutched at her, but in its haste it knocked her aside instead.

Tarah fell from its hideous tongue. She plummeted towards the trees below as the giant roared in anger. Saved from the beast, now she would die from the fall. In desperation she clung to her staff, willing it to save her.

As if in response, her staff grew rapidly. It lengthened and its end shot towards the ground beneath her. Suddenly her descent halted. Tarah clutched her staff, suspended just feet above the treetops. The red wood expanded until it was the thickness of her arm.

You think to escape? Foolish girl!
The giant’s head descended towards her, its face contorted with rage. Enormous hands reached for her.

Tarah slid down the staff as fast as she dared. Soon she was surrounded by the branches of the trees. The staff lurched and Tarah leapt away, clutching a thick branch. She turned her head in time to see the staff tear from the ground and disappear into the sky above.

Downward she climbed from branch to branch until her boots touched the forest floor. A roar of anger echoed from above and she heard a crash in the forest behind her. Tarah ran.

She was disoriented at first, but soon she realized she was not far from Pinewood. A strange certainty entered her mind. If she made it to her house, she would be alright. Her papa would protect her.

She fled through the trees, knowing exactly where to go. This forest was familiar territory. She had been traveling it all her life. The trees called out to her as she passed with whispered greetings. She continued to hear crashing in the forest behind her, but her fear was gone.

Tarah enjoyed the run. Soon she would be home. Her papa and grampa would welcome her with open arms and she would be safe. The crashes faded behind her. Then the path leading to her home came into view.

Tarah stumbled to a halt. The stone pathway leading to her door had been torn up. The flat stones her father had so painstakingly carved lay broken and cast aside. Where the stones had been the ground was wet and red, as if moistened by blood.

She walked to the side of the curving path until her home came into view. Tarah’s heart sank. The facade of her house had been painted the rusty brown of dried blood. Staked up around the perimeter of the house were the heads of Pinewood townsfolk. She recognized them. These were the people she hadn’t been able to save.

Tarah ran to the door and tried to open it, but it was locked. She pounded on it, ignoring the sludgy redness that came off on her hands. “Papa!” she cried. “Grampa Rolf!”

“They’rrrre deaad,” said a horrible voice and a face appeared in the window beside the door. It was the deformed face of the moonrat man.

“No!” shouted Tarah. “They’re not dead. Papa!!”

“He’s rigghht next to youuuu, girrrll.” The moonrat man hissed.

Tarah turned her head and saw her father’s face. His head was mounted on a pike next to the door. His proud jaw hung open and his eyes stared at her unblinkingly.

“No.” She backed away in horror. “Papa!”

On the other side of the door, mounted on another pike was the head of her Grampa Rolf. A sheet of parchment had been nailed to the side of his head. Scrawled on the parchment was a long list of crimes, each one attributed to different versions of her grampa’s name. Some of the names she had heard before, but all of them were written in her grampa’s own handwriting.

Thievery – Rolf the Pincher

Lying – Ramshackle Rolf

Assault – Rolf of Pinewood

Adultery – Rolf, son of Ben Yelloweed

Murder – Rolf Beraldi

“No,” she said, shaking her head in denial. A crash echoed from behind her and she turned to see the approaching form of the giant’s torso above the treeline.

The door to her house creaked open and shadowy creatures flooded out. Each one of them had a face like a mix of moonrat and goblin and each one carried a wicked sword.

“No,” Tarah sobbed.  The goblin-moonrats streamed towards her. Tarah backed away, her boot’s squelching in the bloody mud.

She called out for help and suddenly her staff reappeared out of nowhere. The red wood was stout and firm in her hands. Tarah gritted her teeth and stopped, facing the goblins, her weapon at the ready. She wasn’t about to be slaughtered. The creatures hissed and slowed warily.

Unfortunately, her triumph was short-lived.

The area around her grew dark. The moonrat man stood in the doorway of her house and laughed. The staff drooped, its wood becoming soft in her fingers. Tarah looked up and saw the rapid fall of the giant’s enormous foot overhead.

WHAM!

Tarah swore as her head struck the roof of the lean-to. She flailed about for a moment, disoriented. Then the top of her bedroll fell away and she caught a glimpse of the familiar clearing in the pale morning light.

“You alright?” Djeri asked. The dwarf was propped up on one elbow, looking at her bleary-eyed from his bedroll. He had evidently decided not to sleep next to her under the lean-to because he was laying next to the smoldering remains of the fire.

“Uh, yeah,” Tarah said, blinking for a moment. The inside of her bedroll was sweltering and a thin sheen of sweat covered her body. She climbed out, momentarily grateful for the icy chill of the morning air.

The dream still sat heavy on her mind. She wanted to dismiss it, but it had seemed so real. She felt a gnawing certainty that this was different from her usual dreams. For two nights in a row now, her dreams had been vivid, but this one was more so. This one meant something.

She fixed the dwarf with a worried gaze. “Djeri . . . I got a favor to ask you.”

“Huh?” Djeri pulled an arm out from under his blankets and scratched his head. His arm was covered in platemail and Tarah understood that he had put it back on before going to sleep. His boots and gauntlets were the only parts of his armor sitting outside his blankets. “What are you talking about?”

Tarah pulled on her boots, ignoring the cold wetness that still lined the inside. “I want, no, need to go by my house right away.”

“You mean now?” Djeri asked, sitting up all the way.

“Yes. Right away,” Tarah said. She stood and lifted her armor off the line with a grunt. It wasn’t as heavy as it had been the night before, but it was still damp. Putting it on wouldn’t be pleasant.