The Deal

Guided only by the light of the moon shining overhead, four horses cautiously wove their way through the thick brush of the forest, finally coming to a stop just at the edge of a clearing. The riders dismounted and tethered their mounts to the nearest tree. “We’ll have to go on foot from here,” Terrathias whispered as he tucked a few shurikens into his wrist pouch. “No sense in announcing our presence before we have to.”

“Agreed.” Hilsric shrugged his shield onto his back, giving him the appearance of a large metallic turtle. He strapped his sword tightly in place to reduce the amount of noise he was about to make. Elves were normally silent when they moved, but despite his finely crafted armor he still took extra steps to keep from being heard. If things went well tonight, they would strike a blow against the evil god Innoruuk and his minions. If things didn’t go well, they’d each get to visit their own god in person.

Hilsric looked over his shoulder at the crazed barbarian, who was testing the sharpness of his menacing-looking axe with the tip of his thumb. “Well, most of us anyway. Silly heathen.”

A lock of red hair blew near the corner of his eye, and Hilsric turned around to come face to face with his wife. Valentia was beautiful, even by human standards. Faith had brought them together, but through love they remained bound to each other. “A prayer, husband?” she asked softly.

Hilsric nodded and held Valentia’s small hands in his. Neither wore gauntlets for their prayer, preferring to feel the warmth of each other’s hands in hopes that their combined effort would show Mithaniel Marr their devotion to him and to each other. They prayed for his blessing in the upcoming conflict, to keep all of them safe - faithful and heathen alike.

Aultan held his axe and looked at the old temple silhouetted against the night sky, the moon casting long shadowy fingers toward them. “You think the medallion is in there, old friend?” Terrathias asked the barbarian.

“It’s in there. I’d wager your sister that it’s in there.”

“And my sister spoke so fondly of you too,” Terrathias said and looked across the clearing, mentally scouting a path through the long grass to lead the group to the temple without being seen. "No accounting for taste I suppose."

Aultan sniffed the air and could smell the faintest scent of Valentia’s perfumed soap nearby. “Prayer meeting’s over.” He looked over at the monk. “You ready for this?”

Terrathias' smiling face took on a hardened edge. “Naturally. I just need a minute to think of nice things to say at your funeral.”

“Just don’t let your sister talk.” Aultan turned his attention back to the temple, scanning the shadows for movement of potential sentries. “Sounds like the girl talks too much as it is.”

The paladin and cleric walked up behind them. “We’re ready,” Valentia whispered.

A moment of silence passed between everyone while they prepared themselves to advance on the orc temple. “You think Sherlen is going to keep up his part of the deal?” Terrathias whispered to Aultan.

“The rogue has more bend than break in his word,” Aultan said as he strapped a throwing axe against his thigh. “He set up this deal. When we get the medallion, he’ll take it off our hands. No problem.”

+ + +

“Please, you have to understand,” Sherlen said with a pleading tone in his voice. “I can't take the medallion off your hands.”

Sherlen’s tailoring shop was closed for the day, so Aultan was free to speak without anyone overhearing him. “What I have to understand is that we had a deal,” Aultan said and pushed the leather satchel across the counter top. “Just reach under the counter, open the holding box, and start pulling out gold. Or, if you prefer, precious stones. I’m none too fussy as to which I take, as long as you give.”

Sherlen looked at the hulking barbarian staring at him but didn’t dare meet his gaze. “Look Aultan, you know I want to help you with this. I truly do. I just…” He leaned close. “The guild doesn’t want this kind of attention. Not right now. The church of Innoruuk is looking for the medallion, and they’re taking the head of whoever they find it with.”

“You’re a thief. Your guild is filled with cutthroats and bandits. Now you’re worried about attention?” Aultan placed a scarred hand on the counter, palm down, right beside the satchel. “We had a deal. Now, me and my people went through all sorts of unpleasantness to grab this little item. I kept up my end of the bargain. Best you keep yours.”

Sherlen looked at the satchel as if it was about to jump up at bite him. “I understand things didn’t go well.”

The berserker’s eye twitched. “They never do.”

+ + +

Aultan slammed his shoulder against the heavy wooden door to brace it, a trickle of blood and sweat running down his left arm. Terrathias grabbed a thick beam of wood and slid it across the door to bolt it shut. With Hilsric tending to his own injuries, Valentia pulled a length of gauze from her backpack and started wrapping Aultan’s bloody arm. “Hold still,” she ordered. “You’re no good to anyone if you bleed yourself unconscious.”

Hilsric set his shield against the wall and concentrated, summoning the blessing of Mithaniel Marr to close his numerous wounds. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but this was supposed to be a relatively empty temple wasn’t it?”

Terrathias sat down on the floor and sucked in a deep breath to calm himself down. “Well it’s empty now,” he said between measured breaths.

“That was just a stretch of good fortune on our part.” Hilsric winced while the blood magically stopped flowing and wounds closed. “Still, that’s what we get for taking the word of a thief.” He directed the comment at Aultan, who had set up the meeting with Sherlen. He always set up the meetings with Sherlen. Hilsric saw nothing good or noble in dealing with that thief. Somehow it seemed that every mission they undertook on the rogue’s behalf became much grander in scale. After awhile it became clear that his god must be testing him, forging him on the anvil of conflict. He was not about to fail that test. “If Mithaniel Marr hadn’t been smiling on us - “

“If your god wanted to do some smiling, he could have smiled all those orcs away.” Aultan watched Valentia cinch the gauze just snug enough to slow the bleeding without cutting off the circulation. The girl knew her work. “That’s good enough,” he said with more appreciation than he’d expected.

Valentia could almost smell the blood still dripping off the barbarian. Only some of it was his. The rest had been inside a number of orcs until the berserker indulged in his maniacal bloodlust. Watching him succumb to the rage that ate at his soul was disturbing to see. The cleric now watched the crimson slowly seep through the gauze. “I could heal those wounds, you know.”

“Save your magic for when we really need it. This is just a scratch.”

“Yes, I suppose that very large orc was just using his sword to try and kill an itch you had.”

“I returned the favor, so it all worked out in the end.” Aultan’s gaze told the cleric that the discussion was now over, and so she let the big man walk away without pressing the issue further.

After examining the room, ensuring that no secret passageways lay hidden behind the heavy brick walls, Hilsric took a moment to touch Valentia’s hair while she knelt to repack her medicinal supplies. She looked up at him and smiled nervously. “That was close,” she said under her breath.

“The main thing is that we’re all still alive,” Hilsric announced. Terrathias nodded in agreement. Aultan didn’t look like he cared one way or the other. “You’re still alive Aultan,” Hilsric said. “The way you fight and still manage to draw a breath afterward… that’s something.”

The barbarian picked up his axe and spun it twice, letting the small pieces of blood and flesh fly off onto Hilsric’s armor. “Yep, still here so you can waste more time trying to save my dirty evil soul. Look at Terrathias. Not a scratch on him. You think your god had something to do with that?”

Terrathias shrugged. “I think it had more with me not getting hit. You should try that some time.”

“I’ll look into it.” Aultan adjusted his mail shirt with a tug of the links across his chest.

Hilsric lifted one of the burning torches out of the holder mounted on the wall and looked down the adjoining hallway. “It looks clear this way. We should be on our way before that survivor brings back any friends that might not have been killed.”

“I still can’t believe you didn’t hit that orc with your throwing axe,” Terrathias said to Aultan. “I thought you never missed.”

“I don’t like to miss. Big difference. Besides, I was busy with his two friends. Some of us do more than dance during a fight.”

The paladin looked impatiently at the others. He turned and started down the hallway on his own with the torch in one hand, sword in the other. Valentia noticed her husband pulling away from the rest of the group. “Hilsric, let’s move together.”

The elf looked back and gave his wife a loving smile. “Darling, don’t worry. Our quest is righteous. We will prevail.”

That’s when the floor fell out from under him.

“Hilsric!” Valentia rushed to the edge of the hole. Terrathias rolled to his feet and caught the end of the rope Aultan tossed to him. He ran beside Valentia and looked down, hoping to see the paladin intact, or at the very least alive.

The elf was alive. Fortunately there had been two large, armored ogres to break his fall.

Aultan quickly surveyed the room beneath them. The two ogres were equipped much better than the orcs had been, so Aultan looked to see what they were protecting. On the far side of the room, directly beneath one of the many torches hanging on the walls, was a dais about four feet high. Atop the dais was a black shimmering spider, shining like a jewel.

“The medallion,” Aultan whispered.

Hilsric had knocked one of the ogres to the ground, breaking one of the brute’s fang-like teeth in the process. The other, a beast with a large red scar running across his face, was drawing the largest sword Aultan had ever seen. Like a cat, Terrathias silently dropped through the hole and landed beside Broken Fang and pushed Hilsric off of him. The elf managed to roll onto one knee and drew his sword just as Red Scar brought down his own steel.

Valentia quickly cast a spell, momentarily stunning Red Scar before he could cleave her husband in two. It was just the opening Hilsric needed to slash Red Scar across the stomach, knocking the ogre back a single step. Broken Fang was trying to roll onto his side, but Terrathias was already going to work with fists that moved faster than seemingly possible.

Hilsric stood up and picked up his shield just as Red Scar began casting a spell. “Shadowknight!” Aultan shouted the warning as a mystical bolt flew from the ogre’s hand, striking Hilsric in the chest. The holy knight screamed in pain, giving the sneering Red Scar a chance to close the space between them and reach out with his hand -

Red Scar looked up as a guttural roar announced the arrival of death from above.

+ + +

Aultan reached across the counter and grabbed Sherlen by the lapels of his fine-looking coat. He pulled him off his feet and almost dragged him over the counter. “You’re a bucket of dung wrapped up in pretty tailoring. Make no mistake - you’re not talking with the Paladin here. You wrong me on this deal, I will end you. I will grab you by the ears and rip you from crown to groin, and I won’t care how much of you gets splashed on my boots.”

The rogue shook himself free of the big man’s grasp. “Now look, let’s be civil about this.”

“Civil?” Aultan said. “Look carefully at who you’re talking to.”

“Out of respect for the business we’ve done in the past, I’m going to overlook you putting your hands on me like this.” Sherlen’s eyes betrayed his nervousness, regardless of what his mouth was saying. “I would advise you to take your wares elsewhere. My hands are tied in this matter.”

Aultan grabbed Sherlen by the wrist. “You mean this hand?”

Before he knew what was happening, Sherlen watched his thumb disappear into Aultan’s mouth. The wet crunch sounded like someone biting a chicken bone. The blood sprayed Aultan’s face as he shook his head violently from side to side. Sherlen screamed in pain and jerked his hand out of the berserker’s grasp… but not completely out of his mouth.

While blood continued to squirt from the ruined digit on the rogue’s hand, Aultan spit a piece of bloody meat onto the counter top. He grabbed Sherlen by the throat. “I can do this all day.” He flashed his bloodied teeth. “In fact, I think I want to do this all day.”

The barbarian shoved the smaller man back and picked up the satchel. He shook the contents out and the black spider medallion rattled onto the counter. “Take it,” Aultan ordered.

Sherlen cradled his bloody hand, his pale face getting significantly paler at the sight of the medallion. “N-No!” he stammered.

“Pick. It. Up.” Each word struck like another nail in the rogue’s coffin, but still Sherlen shook his head.

Aultan nudged the medallion with the edge of the satchel. “Why not? Afraid that you might drop dead if you touch it?” The expression of surprise at his statement was all the confirmation he needed. “You might have mentioned that before.”

Sherlen was at a loss for words. “I… I thought you knew?”

“Oh I know it,” said Aultan. “Now.”

+ + +

Aultan and Red Scar stared at each other. “Hilsric, help Terrathias with the other one.”

“I’m better suited to handle -“

“Just do it.”

The monk flew by them, flailing wildly, courtesy of Broken Fang and a very powerful throw. “Thisoneisupandheisnothappy!” he shouted as he soared past.

The paladin turned and parried a sword with his shield, a warhammer with his sword. To fight with two weapons simultaneously, Broken Fang clearly had weapon skills. He needed to be dispatched quickly.

Red Scar gripped the hilt of his sword with both hands. “You will die screaming,” he threatened in his native tongue.

Aultan smiled and raised his axe. “You first,” he replied in Ogre.

In the hallway above, Valentia watched the melee unfold and prepared to use her magic to heal anyone who appeared to need her help. She felt somewhat secure in that the ogres couldn’t reach her, yet her magic could reach her husband and their comrades. Watching Hilsric in combat was like watching water flow, his elven grace and natural aptitude with the sword slowly getting the better of the powerful ogre warrior. Terrathias, showing almost unnatural agility, seemed to move in between the ogre’s swings to inflict startling damage with only his bare hands.

In stark contrast was Aultan. The berserker fought with reckless abandon, lost in the throes of combat. His axe struck like lightning, hard and lethal. The shadowknight would start to cast a spell, and it would either be interrupted by Aultan’s cleaving weapon or a quickly tossed throwing axe to the head.

Red Scar gave as good as he got. He was taking two blows to land one, but when his sword struck flesh it left very large wounds. Luckily for the barbarian not many had landed, but the ones that had were telling blows. Blood spilled out from between the links of his damaged chain mail, the might of the ogre’s blows cutting the metal rings in half before biting deeply into the barbarian’s body.

The paladin used his magic to momentarily stun Broken Fang, and then struck while the opportunity presented itself. The berserker, lost in his bloodlust, seemed to strike even harder the more he bled. Valentia’s magic healed Aultan just enough to keep him from mortal danger, but not enough to bring him out of his killing frenzy. At one point, barbarian and elf were almost back to back and Valentia could see the skill and savagery all at once.

Lost in philosophy, the cleric didn’t see Terrathias tumble toward the dais. She did, however, look over when he yelled “I’ve got the medallion!”

She didn’t quite scream when he picked up the jeweled spider, turned pale, and fell to the ground dead. Shock didn’t let much sound escape at all.

Red Scar slammed his shoulder into Aultan’s face and knocked him to the ground. He then raised his blade overhead, confident that he was about to open the barbarian’s head like a ripe melon. What he didn’t see was the throwing axe Aultan managed to pull from thin air. It flew with lethal accuracy, striking the ogre’s exposed face. He shrieked and dropped his blade, staggering backward and clawing at the small weapon that had burrowed into him. He grabbed the axe handle protruding from his eye socket and yanked it out, spilling blood and eye juice down his face.

Hilsric’s focus didn’t waver, despite hearing his wife cry out and the angry howl of the other ogre. He pressed his attack of magic and steel, hoping to finish the fight before Broken Fang could overwhelm him with a flurry of blows. He struck out with a spell, stunning the warrior once again, and bashed his warhammer aside with his shield. Hilsric saw his opening and drove his sword straight up under the ogre’s jaw. Despite the blood that gushed out onto his hands and down his arms, he didn’t stop pushing until the sword’s hilt rested under the ogre’s chin and several inches of steel poked out from the top of its head.

Red Scar threw the small axe back at Aultan. It was an awkward, untrained throw. Still, it managed to strike the barbarian in the shoulder. But Aultan didn’t acknowledge the blow. His attention had been momentarily drawn to the body of Terrathias lying dead on the ground. Killed by a god’s trinket.

Many great and wise scholars have deliberated on the berserker. Some call them madmen who lust for murder. Others say they possess the soul of a demon and constantly fight to control it. Still others say that they have no soul at all.

Aultan was no scholar. All he knew was that his only friend was dead.

For that, blood would be spilled.

The scraping of steel against stone turned Aultan’s attention back to Red Scar, who slowly picked his sword up off the ground. The berserker’s hand tightened around the handle of his mighty battle axe. “Like I said before,” he said through gritted teeth. “You first.”

The one-eyed ogre didn’t hesitate. With a mighty swing, he brought his sword down in an overhead slash. Aultan’s left hand reached up and grabbed the blade as it came down toward his head, almost cutting the fingers clean off. Without so much as a blink, he yanked the sword out of the ogre’s hand and threw it aside. From above, Valentia was too stunned to cast, to breathe, to even blink.

The berserker. The embodiment of rage itself, who left nothing but death in his wake.

Red Scar quickly started to cast a spell. He saw the barbarian’s face twisted in an animalistic snarl. Aultan’s shout of “My turn,” was the last thing Red Scar would ever hear.

The first blow from the huge axe split the ogre’s breastplate and dug a deep, bloody trench into his chest. The second blow dug deeper, tearing through flesh, bone, and organs. The third blow plowed clear through to the spinal cord. After the fourth, torchlight shone through Red Scar’s back as his body fell to the ground.

That didn’t mean Aultan was about to stop. No, he continued to hack at the body for as long as the fire burned in his veins. By the time his blood cooled, Aultan’s arms were like lead. His legs trembled. He was spent.

The pile of bloody flesh heaped in front of him was unrecognizable as either man or beast.

Valentia climbed down the hole and Aultan thought he saw her run by him to check on the fallen monk. Hilsric was saying something to him, but the roaring in Aultan’s ears was too loud to hear anything. The ground rushed up to meet him, and everything was swallowed in darkness.

+ + +

Rogues were generally known for their agility. But when Aultan threw Sherlen across the room, the rogue didn’t land on his feet. He crashed through a loom and bounced off the wall, landing in a most non-agile heap. To his credit, Sherlen did get to his feet in time to avoid the chest full of spools that would have crushed his head had he been a moment slower.

“Aultan! Stop!” Sherlen held up his hands and pleaded for the rampaging barbarian to stop. He’d wrapped his damaged hand in fabric to stop the bleeding, giving him the appearance of a ball of bloody cloth attached to his wrist.

A chair broke apart under the barbarian’s foot. Too much had been lost. A deal was a deal, and Aultan was not about to walk away from it empty-handed. “The money,” he demanded. “Now.”

The rogue begged off. “Okay, okay. You win.”

“Sure I do,” the barbarian said with only a hint of defeat in his voice.

Sherlen cautiously walked behind the counter. His remaining good arm lowered beneath the counter top and emerged with a burlap sack that Aultan knew hadn’t been there moments before. Sherlen rested the sack on the counter top and slid it toward the barbarian. Aultan snatched it up and shook it, feeling the weight and listening to the jingle of coins. “You’re not going to check it?” asked the rogue.

Aultan spat a gob of the rogue’s blood on the polished wood of the counter. “Do you think I should?”

Sherlen lowered his head and stared at the floor. Aultan turned his back to him before starting to walk away. The rogue’s eyes lifted and a dagger slid out of his sleeve into the palm of his good hand. “You bas -“

A throwing axe whistled through the air and slammed into Sherlen’s face, carving it out like a small skull canoe.

“Better luck next life,” said the barbarian as the body fell to the floor.

Aultan pushed the door open and a little bell jingled to announce his departure. The “Closed” sign still hung in the window and there it would remain until the thieves guild sent a new man to mind the store. Once the shop was open, Aultan would return to look for noble work. After all, he wasn’t one to hold a grudge. Besides, business was business.

Stars shone overhead and in the distance Aultan could hear the bards playing their instruments at the inn. He wasn’t sure where Terrathias was right now, but Valentia had assured him that the high priests at the temple would be able to bring him back to the land of the living. Doing so would take a considerable amount of magic, which would also cost a considerable amount of money. So much for the big payday this job had brought in.

Terrathias had almost died a worthy death. Had he died in battle, Aultan would have let him enjoy the afterlife. But to be struck down by picking up a trinket seemed a trivial way to die, even to a man who held such little regard for life to start with. Besides, berserkers weren’t known to amass many friends in their relatively short lifetimes. Aultan had one in Terrathias, and he wasn’t about to let the monk off the hook that easy.

Also, he didn’t want Terrathias’ ghost following behind him the next time Aultan went to visit his sister. There were just some things a brother should not see.

Fin.