Going Feet First Ch. 06

Boots started clomping down the hall outside. Flak climbed onto the window sill and swept his feet out. Before the door could open he lowered himself down and kicked off the wall to drop the last seven feet to the ground.

His boots hit the street and he rolled forward into a couched position, taking an immediate look around. The thumps in his chest picked up, his breathing growing hasty. He was on a cobblestone street, surrounded by buildings ripped right from the renaissance and built in the shadow of a giant canyon. It wasn't Vietnam. No way was he there. In fact, it wasn't anywhere he knew.

"Where the fuck is this? What in the FUCK is all this?!" he roared, trying to clear his thoughts.

Flying... over 'Nam... then fucking ZAP, lightning... crash... cat man... cat man... Redding... Rockland... forest... forest.... This ain't Earth... he thought, a bead of sweat running his brow as he swung his head in every direction to take in the buildings around him. "WHERE THE FUCK AM I?!"

The door to the Doctor's home opened up, two men in armor stepping out and drawing swords. Right away the Marine spun around and examined their defenses: leather armor bolstered by simple steel breast plates and cups over their groins. There were plate coverings on their gauntlets as well but nothing sufficient to hamper an offensive.

"Hold it right there, whoever you are," the lead... knight ordered.

"You gonna fuckin' lock me back up in that fucking room?" Flak growled.

"No, just want to talk," the warrior replied as he stepped in toward the Marine, his partner circling around to cover an escape route.

"You don't look like you're gonna talk," Flak growled, pulling his KA-BAR and shifting his feet to a defensive stance.

"Taking precautions. Drop your knife," the lead commanded, now cornering Flak between him and his partner.

"Make me."

The first shuffle of boots came from behind him. Flak spun and dodged the sword as it swung down at him. Acting on the knight's forward momentum, he stepped forward and drove a fist into his gut and slammed the pommel of his knife into his temple.

The iron-clad warrior stumbled from the blow, but quickly came around with a retaliatory right-hook. Flak ducked the strike and swung upward with the bone of his elbow, growling with pleasure at the satisfying crack of a nose shattering.

A body covered in steel plates crashed to the ground sending a calamitous racket echoing through the street. Yet with only a drop of sweat running the side of his face, the Marine sheathed his blade and turned to the next foe in line. Holding the knight's gaze, Flak turned his head and spat on his partner who still groaned on the ground.

"You gonna get some, too? Won't even use my knife, C'mon!" Flak taunted, motioning with both hands for the medieval warrior to step in.

A scream pierced the night as a scorching pain lit up Flak's spine. He dropped to all fours, fists clenching and unclenching while his whole body shook as though he were suffering a seizure. He could feel thousands of tiny knives stabbing into his neck where the spine met the skull and a tornado in his flesh like blenders working his organs. This Hell dragged on for several seconds until Flak finally clamped his jaw down and pounded a fist into the stone street. Still roaring through clenched teeth, he brought one knee up and braced against it to push himself back to his feet.

His efforts were rewarded by another collapse and an even louder scream as that pain came down on him tenfold.

A man in red and yellow robes stepped out from the Doctor's house, waving his hands around in front of his chest as he chanted in a low voice. When his words stopped, so did the pain, and a moaning Flak was left sprawled out over the street, barely capable of raising a finger. When the shackles locked around his wrists, he knew he was done.

"We only wanted to talk," the lead knight patronized. "Now his face is busted and you're going to the stocks."

"Get your filthy, fuckin' hands off me," Flak growled in a hoarse voice.

"Still got some fight in you?" He raised a black club. "We'll fix that."

The Marine still managed a solid "fuck you" before he saw the stars and his vision faded to black.

............

Accepting demeaning glares and violating probes from his own kind was tolerable, but patience was a resource of Farok's that was being tapped dry. Rapidly. The first checkpoint on the narrow, cliff-side path leading to Redding was laced with Petra's scent. It was also guarded by a half dozen men proudly sporting the city's colors on their chests and, as Farok quickly learned, they were not fond of a Neko, or one wearing armor at that, asking for permission to enter their precious country in the early evening.

A man with a crossbow sat on a cliff above, keying his weapon as he kept an eye on the blond, bipedal feline. Farok noted his position and gauged the distance to wonder if he was within range of a throwing knife or one of his pellets of shock powder. Of course, such an act could easily thwarted by the two men in mail on the Neko's left, the other two on his right, or the man right in front of him in full plate-armor inspecting the kit he carried.

For all intents and purposes, the ex-Hunt Commander would be better off to kill them here and blame the Dark Elves with whom they warred. But explaining his own survival would prove a headache and how to replicate the signs of an elven incursion was beyond his knowledge.

He could simply kill them. Ensure none survive to witness his act. That course of action would require him to keep discreet in the Human lands for a few days, then approach the city once their suspicions died down. It would have to be a last resort, one he shouldn't have to use so long as his armor did not come off to reveal the mark seared into him upon his last promotion...

The fur on his shoulder was still grey where they burned in the image of the claw and the ranking emblem for Hunt Commander. That had been in a time before Hector. Before Farok was in a position to loathe his leader. Even with the position he found himself in now with his tribe, that promotion was still be one of the proudest moments of his life.

"So you are from the forest, Mr. Salkahn? A mere tribesman?" the commanding knight asked as he used the tip of his sword to shift Farok's cloak aside to view what he carried.

"I've never left the woods until today," the Neko replied, arms crossing over his chest.

"Hmm, why is that? Leaving, I mean. Wanted to see the power of ingenuity and civilization?"

"To find a woman, another Neko that came here several days back."

There was a chuckle from the guards.

"I can understand that. You kitties go ass over end when you find 'the one...' What I can't get my head 'round though..." The leader withdrew his sword from Farok's cloak, but didn't sheathe it. "Is why a forest cat is wearing armor. And good stuff at that."

Farok shrugged, "Bandits and Ra'zorlichs prowl those woods. And the dead have no need for what they once carried."

There was a mutual hum of approval from the humans. "Kill some them Red-Talon fucks, huh?"

"Only the ones who lacked the wisdom to leave me in peace."

Farok had to force himself to withhold a grimace at his own comment, thinking on the weight it carried. It wasn't a lie, exactly, but that wasn't what bothered him. How quickly his own men had turned upon him was what disturbed his thoughts. How they abandoned the warriors bond for an unjust royal. That is what bothered him.

"Why were they after you?" one of the lessers probed, earning a scowl from Farok.

Balancing on teetering nerves, the outcast Ra'zorlich was going feral from the scent of his assassin floating in the air. Their questions ebbed on the last strings of his patience when the delays he faced were already bringing him to the end of it. Even if his assassin was in their city, they held no right to block his path to her.

"Answer him. And don't try to lie to me, I will know and you won't see your woman again," the Commander ordered.

Farok's eyes drifted to his right, his mind tracing back to the last time he had seen Petra. And Teirie. After they had been given their mission and were getting ready to go out on their hunt. The lead Shadow Stalker had passed their target's picture over to her younger and then turned to him.

So how did you get such a good look at the humans without being close enough to kill them? she asked.

He had frowned and hunched over slightly while still trying to maintain his authoritative posture. I had gotten close to them, but the weapons they held proved too much for me to handle and I had to retreat.

You are a terrible liar, Petra had told him bluntly.

Couldn't fool one of your own troops even if he were stumbling drunk, Teirie added.

Fine, Farok admitted. One of the humans had a magic weapon. He threatened to kill us all, including himself if we persisted in our chase. I refused to accept the risk.

Hmph, Petra coughed, when I kill him I'll bring back his weapons. Then we'll see if you are a commander, or a coward...

I am no coward, Farok grumbled. A coward knows how to lie.

He let a growl loose from his throat as he looked up at the human before him and answered, "Very well. They were 'after me' because I failed an impossible task set by our king."

It seemed his words didn't fully work their way into the heads of these men, as some confusion was stuck over their faces. In moments however, their leader clued in.

"Failed your king? You were a Red-Talon?! You're talking about the Ra'zorlich king, aren't you?!"

The Neko shrugged as the men immediately had their hands on their weapons.

No use holding back now.

"Speak of him I do, as I was once his Hunt-Commander. A... general, of sorts. He asked me a task and let his pride cloud his vision. I failed, he came for my head, and I became hekarrim, one without a tribe. Fool as he was, King Hector followed me after I fled and I slew men I once called brothers."

One human drew his weapon from its sheath, but Farok still kept his hands clear of his. It was this lack of action that he hoped the humans recognized. After all, it was their last chance to see he meant no harm, a courtesy that would not be extended a second time.

"I was one of them before, but no longer," he clarified. "All I have left is what I carry on my back and the woman I seek. I offer you no ultimatum, no intent to remain among your people or do harm. I wish to only collect her, and leave as timely as possible."

The lead shook his head and gripped his bastard sword with two hands. "Once a Ra'zorlich, always a Ra'zorlich. And all your kind is ordered to die before you foul our home."

Fools.

Farok moved back a step and pulled his sword from his sheath with a flourish, hunching over slightly as he took deep, calming breaths. He analyzed the men around him, watching their footing, their posture, how they held their weapons. From their form he could estimate their skill and from there he could decide who to kill first.

Shifting his feet shoulder-width apart, sliding his lead foot forward a half step, he brought himself to a ready position. His teeth showed as he glowered at the crossbowman above that was taking aim at him. The man wrapped his finger over the trigger and let his shoulders drop as he let out his lungs.

The arrow launched forth from the drawstring and Farok began his deadly dance.

With lightning movements he took a step back and raised an arm for the bolt to bounce off the plate over his forearm. When the commander stepped in to take advantage of this retreat, Farok charged forth and deflected the incoming thrust with the flat of his blade. Manipulating the whole of his body mass, he brought his sword up to strike at the joint of the chainmail between his opponent's hand and wrist.

Blood sprayed Farok's face as the appendage was sundered from the arm, the blade clattering to the ground. Not wasting a moment of opportunity, the Neko's slammed his shoulder into the commander's gut to send him crashing back into his two men on the left.

The guards to the right fell in Farok's sights next and he stabbed forward with his sword. Steel clashed and sparked as the rightmost guard parried the incoming strike, but that didn't matter as a claw followed up to tear off half his face before digging in on his cheekbones. Ignoring the agonized scream, piercing the night, the Neko's reared up and booted him in the chest to send him over the cliff.

There was no time to watch his descent as Farok spun and used his weapon to block a slash coming to slice his head in two. A battle cry thundered from the guard's throat he started hacking away at the Ra'zorlich in a blind rage. With each strike the Neko took a step to the rear while blocking and deflecting the attacks with ease.

Steel rang and sparked several times over before Farok managed to lock their blades together and use the pause as a chance to drive his knee up into the human's gut. The Reddite guard gave a solid "oomph" as he doubled over. His skull gave a sickening crack as the tip of a blade stabbed through his forehead, just as quickly was withdrawn again. Even this small victory offered no chance at rest as the guard was replaced by his comrade charging forward from the left while sweeping his blade low.

A feral simper curled up Farok's lips. He swung his blade down to block, and with a flourish and a flick of the wrist sent the human's sword flying from his hand. Another redirection of the weapon's momentum, and the ex-Hunt Commander had his longsword buried to the hilt in his enemy's gut.

"Pathetic," was all the Neko growled, ripping his blade free and letting the corpse fall aside.

Three men slain, Farok turned to the commander of this group of guards. Wrapped in his cocoon of steel he laid in the arms of his last swordsman, staring at the gushing stump where his right hand once was. At the sound of heavy breathing drawing closer, both of the men looked up at the approaching Neko and started scrambling backward, calling desperately for help.

On the rocks above, the crossbowman tried to scale the cliff and escape. In moments the screams below turned to gargled groans, then to silence as the golden terror tore into them. The bowman's leather pants soon reeked of urine, his face dripping with fresh tears as he climbed for the top of the trench and away from that monster's bloodshed.

He took only a moment to look back, and when he did he saw the fur-ball stripping off his cloak and the gear he carried. It took only a few counts and he was down to nothing but clothes and armor. And with this unnecessary weight dropped, he leapt onto the rocks of the cliff and started scaling wall after him.

"Oh fuck!" the guard yelled, scrambling to get up higher, faster.

He could hear that steel armor of the cat-man clatter behind him, the Nekonian curses as he dug his claws into the Rock. He was gaining. Fast.

"I don't want to die, I don't want to die!"

He threw his hands over the top of the cliff, grabbing onto the solid yellow grass of the plain around the Sundered Trench. With every ounce of strength he had, he forced himself up and over the edge, ready to sprint away to get the distance he needed for his crossbow.

That was his plan until a claw dug into the back of his leather jerkin and sank into the flesh of his lower back. He tried to get a grip on the dirt and grass as he cried out for help, but his strength was outmatched by the Neko pulling him back.

"Then you should have let me pass," Farok grumbled before he heaved the guard over the cliff to send him wailing down onto the sharp rocks below.

Panting heavily after his mad dash up the stone wall, Farok looked out across the Trench and spotted a building not too far down the road with lights burning in the window. Many more of Redding's guardsmen were rushing out the door and to the horses lashed to posts outside.

Damn, reinforcements... Farok mentally grumbled.

The climb back down wasn't nearly as swift as his climb up. Every part of his body felt ready to fall to pieces under their own weight after having to propel him so quickly up the cliff in his armor. His foot lost its grip more than once and each time had him one failed grasp away from joining the two he had tossed to their ends.

When he was back down on the trail, he donned his gear again and set a quick pace away from his slaughter. His map said Redding was perhaps a half-day walk, but Farok didn't have the strength in him for that. He would need what little he had left to avoid the men coming to investigate what had not been a quiet engagement.

Find shelter, rest, wait. No doubt their alert will rise when they find the bodies, I'll have to wait until it clears.

It was wait he never anticipated to take so long.

...........

A line of torches along the wall lit the hollow interior of the Great Tree with a dim, flickering light as the moon rose to its peak in the night-sky outside. The next night would be the new moon judging by how it waned, and when it came a great darkness would fall across the land. In more ways than one if Tanza's visions rang true.

The torture of a sleepless night haunted her after Galen's departure with Celia. Horrible flashes of sights that the boy had to suffer and her sister had to endure, sights she wished she never had to hear or see. There was an impossible urge for the elder to leave her sisters and journey out to influence the outcomes herself until Necela finally granted her a new vision.

One that revealed the light at the end of the couple's dark path.

As it had come to her, she had brought it to Celia; a gift the youngling no doubt relished as her world seemed to crumble after her capture. But now the time had come to see if Galen had the strength to see it true. If he still lived. The Drow hadn't been a part of Tanza's vision, they never even occurred to her until he met them on the edge of the forest. Now they played the wild card that could sow seeds of victory, or wreak their own destruction upon everything Galen had worked towards.

With no new vision to assure her of either, the Tree Elf elder waited and gazed through her cauldron to find something to distract her.

Her magic pot could only show her what happened within the forest, and she mostly watched her Life Givers doing their duties outside and the Mana-Wells, working within the safety of their magic home. But when she desired to do so, she could spy upon Galen's friend, Michael, as he continued to settle in his place among the Willhers. It was distraction enough to keep her mind off her worries. At least until a sudden heat flourished in her belly.

Tanza blinked as the glow of her white aura over violet skin shimmered and shifted inward to her midriff, then focused around her core. Unnoticed by her, her ultramarine eyes took on a pink glow within her pupils same as the skin below her navel. Fresh tears pooled in her eyes, tracing her cheeks around the broad smile drawing up on her lips.

Yes... yes... she thought, wrapping her arms over her stomach while on the verge of giggling as more drops of happiness streamed down her cheeks. Necela and sweet Calia, thank you.

After fifteen days of wondering if she had caught or not, her visions refusing to grant her an answer, her closure had come. The unnerving wait finished and she could feel the rabble of Nightwatchers twirling inside her. Elation steamed her chest as her heart pumped an impossible cheer through her body and the new soul growing within her.