by Samuel Kennedy
in Issue 90, July 2019
There wasn’t even a ripple on the stagnant water. The Battle of the Southern Guilds had taken place less than a week earlier, and the plains of Polmarta were still littered with the bodies of the fallen, but Duna was already almost a hundred miles away. Surrounded by dark, drooping trees that cast black shadows under the noonday suns, the Intua princess was facing a new battle in the swamps of Glendor.
She stood in the shallows, brown water just below her knees. Perfectly still, she watched the water’s surface, waiting for the slightest stirring. The hint of a frown was beginning to show on her face. Patience was the one characteristic of her people Duna seemed not to possess. Denizens of the frozen south, the Intua were a proud, fierce people. Patience and perseverance were valued traits for survival in the cold mountains. And perseverance Duna possessed to the point of stubbornness. It was patience that she lacked, and she had already waited for her prey for nearly an hour.
But it was more than just her usual impatience that troubled her today. She had seen combat many times, but the carnage of the battle against the Southern Guilds weighed heavy on her mind. She knew doubt could be fatal on a hunt, but a dark thought tugged at the back of her mind.
Why do I even need to kill this creature?
The Barakoth of Glendor belonged to a nearly-extinct species of ancient predators. For the most part, its kind stayed well away from cities and settlements, feeding on small game in the deepest parts of the swamp. But this particular Barakoth had migrated to the lighter swamp regions, less than 5 miles from the walls of the city of Glendor. In the past three weeks, it had slaughtered errant sheep, cattle, and even a few unwary travelers.
But there was no malevolence in the Barakoth’s actions. It did all this to survive, Duna knew that. But in order for the people of Glendor to live in peace, the creature had to be disposed of. Its power and ferocity couldn’t coexist with civilized folk, and Duna couldn’t help but wonder if she had that in common with her quarry. Especially after the massacre at Polmarta.
She heard the call of a ferrin somewhere in the distance. Holding her dagger at the ready in her left hand, she pushed a lock of blonde hair from in front of her eyes. Most of her people had nearly white hair, and their skin was a pale, grayish blue. But years of adventuring in warmer climates had turned her hair blonde, and given her countenance a brighter blue tone, with the slightest hint of purple. What she did have in common with the rest of her people was her great strength and stature. Duna was 6 feet and seven inches tall, and as she took a step deeper into the swamp, the thick, twisted muscles in her limbs rippled with far greater life than the stagnant waves around her.
Her build had a certain degree of grace and athleticism, but she was far too large and muscular to be called attractive by the conventional standards of civilized peoples. But that supposed shortcoming didn’t trouble the Intua. Every pound of muscle and bone had been hardened by hunting and fighting – in mountains and jungles, castles and bars, against a wide range of opponents both men and beasts. Wielding a sword on the battlefield had always felt natural to her, at least until the guilds of Polmarta had revolted against their overlords.
Apart from her dagger, Duna was without weapons or armor. She was lightly dressed to remain nimble in the water; a bit of cloth was wrapped around her waist and another across her breast. Her armor and ornaments waited on the bank, along with her spear, bow, sword, and quiver. Her only protection on this hunt consisted of thick leather armbands, made from the hide of a Fhojerian pit beast.
A gray-green hulk stirred on the bank. Arms crossed behind his head, Tarquas Ironglaive watched her step deeper into the dirty water. This was her hunt, so he sat with his back to a bakkan tree and stood watch over Duna’s gear.
Like Duna, Tarquas was an oddity in this part of the world. He was a half-breed, part human and part Orothkin. His 7 feet of height and the gray-green of his skin differentiated him from the humans, while his sharp facial features and blue eyes showed he was no true-blood Orothkin. Still, he was the son of a powerful chieftain, which meant he would never be an outcast among the green giants of the western hemisphere.
His travels in search of adventure were his own choice, simply to satisfy a restless spirit. It had been almost five years since he had seen the mighty stone towers of his home, but still he travelled further. Duna had found him tracking marauders in Fhojeria, as she was hunting the pit beast that had terrorized the region. Tarquas had unknowingly beaten her to the kill, which was why she had first attempt at the Barakoth today. Tarquas had traded the beast’s hide for the chance to accompany her into the swamps of Glendor; though in honesty, she would have let him tag along for free. Even the heartiest adventurers sometimes wanted companionship, and Tarquas had proven himself more than capable against the Southern Guilds.
He stood up now, stretching his massive arms toward the sky and letting out a deep yawn. Like Duna, he had set aside his armor, and was clothed only as much as decency demanded. A curved dagger thrust in his belt was his only weapon. “No sign of him?” he queried.
Duna dragged the tip of her dagger across the surface of the water. The resulting ripple was the first movement of the waves since she had waded in. Her mouth settled into a scowl in response to the Orothkin’s question. “Nothing. Nothing but – Wait!”
Both warriors stood frozen as a patch of scaly hide broke the surface of the water just yards from Duna’s position. Her hand gripped the dagger’s hilt a little more closely. Tarquas stood ready, nocking an arrow on his bowstring.
The scales disappeared as suddenly as they had emerged, all without rippling the water. Duna’s eyes narrowed. They had known the Barakoth would be difficult to track in his own environment, but its stealth far exceeded their expectations. Seconds started to tick by. Would the creature resurface? Would it attack? Duna knew that at any moment, she could feel a powerful tail wrap around her legs and pull her under. She would never show weakness in front of the Orothkin, but behind her gritted teeth, the princess of the Intua felt a creeping fear climb her spine.
Although she couldn’t see it, the great Tarquas Ironglaive was apprehensive as well. But, like her, he would never let it show. His Orothkin pride would never allow it. Instead, a battle-hungry smile spread across his face, revealing sharp tusks almost an inch long. A calloused hand drew the bow back silently, holding steady aim at the Barakoths’s last known location. Waiting for the creature to fully surface may have been torture, but he knew the impending battle would be worth it.
For a few moments, the entire swamp was perfectly still. Even the ferrin had stopped its cawing. Then the water suddenly seemed to heave upward, an eruption of mud and foam. The massive figure of the Barakoth burst from beneath the surface. The scaled horror towered above Duna, with claws as sharp as razors, and five rows of serrated teeth in its enormous jaw. A roaring screech poured from the creature. Time stood frozen for one brief second, as the roar echoed among the trees, and the exploding water droplets hung in the air.
Then Duna attacked.
With the harsh battle cry of the Intua, she leapt forward at the beast. With his horrible slashing claws, the safest place to be was right next to him, too close for him to swing effectively. She wrapped both legs around the Barakoth’s torso, and her right hand latched onto the monster’s shoulder. She was now up against the creature’s vitals, but also low enough to be out of reach of those snapping jaws.
The Barakoth writhed this way and that, hurling great sheets of water to either side with each sweep of his monstrous tail. His reptilian body twisted, trying to dislodge the attacker. The five rows of teeth snapped together inches above Duna’s head.
Clinging desperately to the wet, muddy scales, Duna held her dagger in an underhand grip. As the monstrous body twisted, she thrust the double-edged blade between the scales. The dagger went deep; thick black blood ran along the blade and onto her hand.
The Barakoth let out another roar, which was met with an approving shout from Tarquas. The battle-hardened half-breed was nearly dancing at the water’s edge, watching Duna wrestle such a powerful beast. He desperately wanted to leap in and test his own strength against it, but he resisted the urge. This was Duna’s hunt, and he would not interfere unless by some mischance she became the hunted one.
Duna had cut deep, but she had missed the heart. Twisting its massive body, the Barakoth turned and dove beneath the muddy water. Duna struggled, trying to keep her grip on the creature and her head above the waves. The Barakoth lurched from side to side, making it difficult to aim another blow. The mud made it difficult to see, but Duna could feel the movement of the whip-like tail stirring the water beneath her. Suddenly the tail reached up, and wrapped around Duna’s left leg. With a desperate gasp for air, the huntress was pulled beneath the surface.
A mere five feet below the waterline, and the muddy water – which was now thick with the Barakoth’s blood – was as dark as a night sea. Duna felt the creature sliding from her grasp, saw a shadow pass in front of her. The grip on her leg loosened for a moment, only to tighten again and pull her deeper. Powerful strokes cut the water around her, the tips of Barakoth claws just grazed her shoulder. Her dagger was still in her hand, but her wild thrusts struck only water.
He looked terrified, didn’t he?
A rogue thought pushed itself to the front of her consciousness, and with it came a face. It was a soldier, little more than a child, fighting for the Southern Guilds. He couldn’t even hold a sword properly, and he was so afraid. Duna stood over him, watching the blood drip from her sword. His blood. His life. Gone in an instant; and with it, Duna’s confidence in the noble houses of Southern Huntebrod and their cause.
She needed oxygen. Bells were ringing in her brain, calling her back to the present. The danger was in front of her, not in the past. She thrust again, and this time the dagger struck flesh. The grip on her leg released, but just as it did, she felt a claw tear along her ribcage. She wanted to scream, but there was no air in her lungs. All she could do was swim upward.
She thrashed her way toward the surface, the Barakoth still circling.
Has the hunter become the hunted?
Duna silently cursed her subconscious. Why did it have only questions, no answers? And why did it choose now to ask them? She clawed for the surface, angrily pushing the thoughts from her mind. They wouldn’t help her now, right now survival was all that mattered.
Her lungs burned. Something pressed hard against her side, reminding her of the searing pain in her wound. She could see the dull glow of the suns overhead. Her face broke the surface.
Air poured into her heaving lungs. But it was only a moment. Then the tail caught her again, this time winding around her torso. She felt as if the air was being squeezed back out of her again. Then it pulled her back under. She wondered, almost detached, what it would be like to die. This sinking into nothing in spite of your best efforts – was that what the child of Polmarta had felt?
Her right hand brushed against a scaly hide, and she pulled her thoughts back to reality. She had no choice when the boy attacked. Skilled warrior or not, he would have killed her if she hadn’t killed him first. The same was true now. She drove the dagger in her left hand forward, felt the dull squelch and thud as the blade sank in up to the hilt. There was no way to know where the blow had landed, but the Barakoth recoiled as if he’d received a death wound.
Two hands gripped her firmly by the arms and pulled her upward. Blind instinct made her struggle, but the grip was unrelenting. It pulled her to the surface, where she drank in great gulps of air. She found her footing as Tarquas dragged her closer to shore.
“Is he dead?” she gasped.
Tarquas still had one arm around her, his other hand gripping his spear. The surface of the swamp was coated in Barakoth blood, but nothing could be seen of the beast itself. He turned his thoughts instead to Duna and her injuries.
She was weak from blood loss. Her head was spinning; the muddy bank felt unsteady beneath her feet. Above it all was the question in her mind.
How could I have taken part in that slaughter?
She had killed before. She had nearly died before. Why was this so different?
Tarquas was already bandaging her side, applying herbs to prevent infection. There was a look of pride in his eyes, a barbaric thrill at a victorious hunt. Duna looked past him, back to the filthy water. The Barakoth had floated to the surface. The scaly form seemed even more massive in death, tail stretched out and arms extended. Its head had turned sideways, and the massive jaws hung open, serrated teeth glaring in the sun.
Duna leaned against the tree as Tarquas waded out to drag the carcass to shore. Even in death, the beast looked menacing. Yellow eyes stared out from deep, bony sockets. Duna winced as she tried to sit up. She was fortunate she’d been able to keep away from the teeth. Five rows of serrated teeth as long as a human hand.
Tarquas propped the Barakoth’s head on a fallen bakkan trunk. “Should I pull a tooth for you, or do you want to keep the whole jaw?”
Duna thought for a moment. Teeth and claws were trophies for ordinary hunts. Taking a full set of teeth was reserved for celebrating special victories. Again, the question echoed in her head.
How could I have taken part in that slaughter?
Tarquas must have seen something in her face; he looked at her questioningly for a moment.
“Or we can leave it for now…”
Duna finally sat up straight, pressing her hand against the bleeding. Tarquas came to her side, placing a hand on her shoulder to steady her as he looked the bandage over.
Duna placed her hand over his. “We shouldn’t have fought for the nobles.”
“I know.”
His voice was low, quiet. Duna had been expecting at least a little bit of surprise in answer to her statement, but Tarquas’ face betrayed no emotion. Or was that a trace of regret in his fierce warrior eyes?
“I know,” he repeated, his head hanging ever so slightly.
Duna watched him for a moment, and ultimately let out a sigh. “I don’t need a trophy this time. We can haul the carcass back to Glendor, and then find somewhere else to travel.”
Tarquas nodded as he helped her to her feet. A few minutes later, the duo mounted their horses, the massive body of the Barakoth sprawled across a cart behind them. With thoughts of today’s battle and the battles they had fought before weighing on their minds, they rode away from the swamp in silence. It wasn’t until they had turned the dead Barakoth over to the Huntmaster of Glendor, collected their bounty, and left the city walls behind them that they stopped to think about their next move.
It was Tarquas who asked the question. “Where are we going now?”
Duna hadn’t thought of that before now. In fact, she hadn’t planned on travelling with the half-breed after the hunt was over. But now she smiled slightly. There were always more adventures, and she could always use the company of someone she knew was trustworthy and competent in a battle.
She turned her eyes toward the west, where jagged red mountains tore the skyline. “I’ve never been to Tulrao.”
And with that, the two travelers put the mistakes of the past behind them by putting spurs to their mounts, and rode off to discover new adventures. The past would always haunt them to a degree, but there was always a new sunrise to look forward to.
©July 2019 Samuel Kennedy
Samuel Kennedy is an author and blogger who has been telling stories since even before he learned to write. He’s written stories in just about every genre, with an emphasis on adventure and personal struggles. He loves creating flawed heroes, likeable villains, and conflicts that make us question our own assumptions about the world and fiction. Samuel Kennedy can be found online at https://samuelkennedywritesstuff.home.blog/. This is his first appearance in Swords & Sorcery.