Inns and Invocations Ch. 01

"That would leave at least three more," Conall gasped, trying to get his breathing under control. "Liam, Reece and Stilty."

Gael jabbed at the stairs with his thumb. "You cause a distraction, I'll pick them off from the outside. Good?"

Conall opened his mouth for an answer, but Gael had vanished as quietly - and quickly - as he had appeared. Picking his steps carefully, Conall crept up the stairs. A long hallway was before him, with rooms going off to either side. To his right, he heard frantic sobbing from an open door, punctuated by grunts and stinging slaps on flesh, each one only causing more sobs.

Liam. Your depravity ends tonight.

Like a vengeful shadow Conall swept into the room, taking in the ghastly scene in the blink of an eye. Bleeding from numerous small cuts, an elven woman with tousled golden tresses was draped over the bed. Her arms had been tied across her back. Standing behind her, trying to line up his cock with any of her rear openings, was Liam, struggling to keep both his erection and the squirming and kicking woman in line. By all accounts, he was failing at both.

Conall froze for a heartbeat, his mind ablaze with visions of Deirdre, beset by others like Liam. A fear clawing at his heart from the moment he boarded the rickety wagon which had carted him here, to this godforsaken frozen hellhole in the midst of nowhere.

The Orc Blood in his veins roared and he snatched Liam's neck, dragging him off the sobbing woman. Conall's blade came up and buried itself in the struggling man's rib cage. He stabbed and slashed, tearing out Liam's throat with the edge of his blade before kicking him away.

The elf woman fled across the bed, her doe eyes fastened to the bloody specter shaking gore off its blade.

"You'll be safe," Conall rasped, already halfway out the door. Her sobs followed him as he returned to the hallway.

Deirdre, be safe, he thought, his heart pounding in his ears.

Two long strides brought him to the next door. Reece stood over the motionless form of a naked elven girl, the left side of her face one giant bruise and her mouth a ghastly blood-smeared affair. Three other elven women cowered on the bed, their eyes pits of loathing glued to the naked man strutting in front of the window. Their wrists and ankles had been bound with belts and drawstrings.

"Just you wait, the moment Bokney will be back, I'll filet your filly and you'll eat her fucking innards for what she's done to me balls," Reece hissed, pressing a pillowcase against his violated crotch. Streaks of red stained the once pure linen.

"If you had paid any attention to my teaching, you wouldn't have that problem," Conall growled, entering the room with his blade at the ready. "A true soldier is never without a weapon."

Reece jerked upright, hand going to his side - only to realize he wasn't wearing his weapon belt. Or anything else for that matter.

"Why are you not dead?" he shrieked. Reece quickly bent down and hauled the unconscious girl into an upright position, shielding his body with hers. "Not one step closer or-"

Reece jerked violently as something hit him from behind. His eyes went wide in disbelief.

"How...?" he gasped, fighting for breath. "You...?"

He dropped the girl from suddenly powerless hands and stumbled forward, tripping over her prone body.

A lone, green-fletched arrow protruded from his back, neatly planted beside his spine.

Like a floundered fish, he squirmed on the floor, desperately trying to force air into unreceptive lungs. His eyes never left Conall, his face a mask of bitter indignation.

Conall knelt down and grabbed Reece by the hair, exposing his throat. "I should leave you here to choke, you traiterous bastard. But I have to make sure you'll be dead for good." Snarling, he slit Reece's throat.

One of the naked women, her emerald mane streaked with silver, slid from the bed with outstretched arms. "Cut me free, will you?" she pleaded.

He cut the drawstring binding her wrists. "I'm not here to hurt you," he added.

"I know," the elven woman said, slipping the binds holding her ankles. "Thank you. Pray, visit your wrath upon the other one, with the eyepatch. He's taken our youngest and went for the barn. Please?"

Conall stormed from the room, the Orc Blood pounding in his veins. As if the denizens of the Burning Pits were after him, he sprinted across the courtyard, finding the barn by the stench of spilled blood alone. He burst through the door and froze.

Ringed by seven low-burning candles, someone had turned the center of the barn into a ritual space. The body in the circle had been expertly dismembered and flayed. A trough nearby stank of blood. A sobbing pile of skin cowered near the circle, clasping two small, intertwined hands.

"Why, oh why have you tricked me so?" The voice was smooth, silky and wracked with self-loathing, emanating from a slender, horned skull wrapped in taut skin. An eyepatch with a heart stitched into it sat askew on it's forehead.

Conall came to a halt, almost forgetting his defensive stance. "Is that you, Stilty?"

The... thing in front of him uncoiled. Wet, leathery wings unfurled and a thin, naked tail dragged behind the six-feet tall abomination struggling to its feet. Arms and legs were stick-thin, with barely a trace of muscle. Yet it managed to come to its feet, albeit with some effort.

"So you didn't die. Good for you," it chirped.

From the corner of his eye, Conall again saw the mutilated remains of the elven child. Maybe as old as his twins were by now, if they were still alive.

"Come clean before I kill you," Conall snarled. "What did you do?"

"Isn't it obvious, you fool?" the thing formerly known as Stilty hissed. "I paid my dues to Desire, finished my bargain." A hoarse, bitter laugh tore itself free. "And I thought I had it all figured out."

"I guess it didn't quite go as planned?" Gael's cool voice came from behind Conall's shoulder.

"Of fucking course it didn't!" Stilty spat, his sputum hissing on the pressed dirt floor. "Instead of making me a proper human, she... turned me into this!" The demonic apparition spread its arms. "I told her to purge the cursed blood from me and this is what I got!"

"I'm almost inclined to leave him like that," Gael said, snickering.

"He must die for his transgressions," Conall growled, the Orc Blood coursing powerfully through his veins. "Before his next bargain claims another life."

"Suit yourself," Gael said. There was a flurry of movement and an arrow hissed past Conall, piercing the demon's thigh. "All yours."

Roaring, Conall charged the stumbling winged abomination, taking it clean off its feet and ramming its horned head into the floor.

Sharp claws tore into his back as Stilty fought back but its spindly body was no match for the alchemical fury powering Conall's every strike. It was only a matter of moments before he had shattered Stilty's birdlike skull and cracked its flimsy neck bones but, for minutes on end, fueled by white-hot fury, Conall pummeled the demonic aberration, until not a trace of life remained in it.

The Orc Blood went with his fury and all Conall could think about were his twins, Maera and Moira. He fervently prayed to Mercy that they were still alive when he made it back home. If he ever got there.

The floor suddenly raced up to greet him.

* * * *

The farm burned. As Conall ran across the yard, the blood-soaked ground noisily sucking at his feet, he came across the still form of Uncle Ivar. One of the old man's arms was missing, brutally torn off at the shoulder by a vicious axe strike. Half a dozen arrows had hit the old man's back. His haggard face was twisted in silent outrage. Conall spread one hand across his leather-clad chest, invoking Mercy's blessing upon the dead.

Misshapen shadows loomed and swayed at the edge of his perception. Still running, Conall tore his bow from his shoulder and loosened a few arrows. His volley had little effect. Even if one arrow hit one of the ghostly assailants, it simply reshaped, effortlessly closing the tiny puncture wound.

He didn't remember the yard being this wide - no matter how fast he ran, the house wouldn't come closer.

There was sobbing nearby, clearly echoing above the din of battle. A woman was fighting her grief.

No! Not the girls!

The thought raced through Conall's mind, granting his exhausted, battered body new energy.

Suddenly, he was in the bedroom. Four black-clad men were on the bed, roughly fucking a gurgling, fair-skinned being between them.

Roaring, Conall grabbed the closest one by the scruff of his neck. Liam, his throat an obscenely gaping hole, grinned at him even as Conall threw him across the room.

With Reece's cock in her mouth, Deirdre stared at him, her coppery tresses stained with thick ropes of seed. To his horror, her face was one of utter bliss, even with Stokey and Bokney viciously ravaging her nethers.

He reached out to throttle Reece but, like the shadows surrounding the yard, the leering, grunting man dissolved into smoke, obscuring his vision.

The next moment, he was in the girls' room. Maera and Moira were asleep in their bed, unaware of the terror looming above them. Leathery wings unfurled as Stilty advanced on the bed, two hatchets at the ready.

Conall lunged, trying to grab the demonic apparition, but it was too late. The hatchets came down, going for the necks of the twins.

"No!" Conall wailed as blood fountained. Stilty turned around, brandishing Moira's head, his snout ajar and tongue snaking towards the leaking stump of her neck.

Sharp slaps hit his cheeks. He raised his hands to ward off the stinging blows.

"Wake up already," a female voice said nearby. Another slap followed.

Conall stopped flailing, fighting to get his eyes open. His body barely reacted, drained and tired beyond belief. Not even the incessant fighting against the raiding orcs twenty years ago had left him this devastated.

Gray light slanted through a nearby window, bathing the small, sparsely furnished bedroom he was in in dismal twilight. Aside from the bed, a nightstand and stool, Conall noticed a small table and narrow wardrobe.

Leaning over him was the emerald-haired elf woman he'd saved earlier. She didn't look much better than he felt, her eternally youthful face creased with grief lines and her blue eyes sat deep in their sockets.

Conall opened his mouth to say something but only a horrible groan escaped his lips. The elf plucked a keg off the nightstand and poured water into a small, beautifully engraved wooden cup. "Here," she said, gingerly placing the vessel into his hand. "Drink."

He downed the water and cleared his throat. "What happened? Why am I here?"

The elf slumped onto a stool next to the bed. "We couldn't leave you lying face-down in the barn, now could we? While Gael took care of Mai'dir, he asked us to take care of you. So we did."

"Mai'dir?"

"Our youngest. The... body in the barn. Gael took it with him, to bury her under the trees."

"I'm sorry," Conall began. "I wish I could have done more."

The elf laughed softly, bitterness lacing the sound. "I'm not sure if I should praise or curse you, Conall. Had you not stopped at our gates..." She cast down her eyes, a single tear spilling down her cheek. "And yet, without your intervention, we would all be dead." She dabbed at her cheek with her sleeve. "I'd be a disgrace to what remains of House Calantir if I didn't thank you."

"I don't deserve your thanks. I should have dealt with scum like Reece and his ilk much sooner." He drank the last of his water and struggled into a sitting position. He managed with all the grace and alacrity of continental drift. "At first I thought proper discipline and hard work would turn them into upstanding men."

"Sometimes the only way to deal with a rabid dog is to put it out of its misery," the elf said grimly, refilling the cup.

"Killing my subordinates without a proper trial is forbidden," Conall said. "And knowing my superiors... raping and murdering a few elves in the line of duty is no grounds for such punishment." He sighed, taking another sip. "They'd slap me in irons the moment I'd try and state my case and then it'd be off to the gallows for murder."

"You did the right thing cutting down those animals!" The elf shook her head, her eyes blazing in anger.

"I'm afraid Lord Carver, for all his ambitions of restoring the Old Kingdom, cares little for the quality of men doing the actual work," Conall grumbled. "I was a fool to not see it sooner."

There was a moment of thoughtful silence then the elf asked:

"What are you going to do now?"

Conall chuckled wearily. "Not much I can do save make my way back home without being caught by the black cloaks. I need to make sure my family won't suffer for my deeds."

"Why should they?"

"Because the village I hail from is under Carver's yoke. The black cloaks are keeping the peace."

"Or holding the people hostage? One more reason to despise the tyrant," the elf spat. "Fine. You wait here a moment." She rose off the stool, her every move much more energetic than before.

"Where are you going?" Conall asked.

"Fetching a bit of food. You can't hope to cross the Elven Woods weak like a kitten," she said from the door.

Conall checked his surroundings. His clothes and gear were nowhere to be seen. He was naked under the sheets.

Doesn't matter, he thought. Weak as I am, I couldn't fight off an angry sparrow anyway.

He waited and listened. The occasional clink of crockery found its way to his ears, along with the soft creak of floorboards from below.

Eventually, the emerald-haired elf returned, bearing a tray. The young girl he had saved from Reece followed, carrying a few items across her arms. She looked much better than before, even with a thick poultice covering the bruised half of her face. She placed the items at the foot of the bed, bowed slightly and left the room.

"You must think me horribly rude," the emerald-haired elf said, placing the tray on the nightstand. A tall mug smelled of hot broth and a plate was piled high with some leaf-wrapped, rectangular treats. "All this talk and I never introduced myself. I am Nimiel Calantir. Well met... despite the circumstances."

Conall offered her the ghost of a smile. "Etiquette was the last thing on my mind. Well met... and it seems you already know my name."

"Your men made no secret about it when they rejoiced about their betrayal," Nimiel said, offering him one of the leafy treats.

Conall eyed it curiously. "Do I eat everything?" The treat smelled fresh and zesty, more like fruit than bread.

"Yes. The Aelthelas leaf gives the bread a bit more flavor while also making sure it keeps better."

Conall dug in. The food was truly wondrous. Just a few bites in, he felt his strength returning. Every movement seemed easier than the one before and by the time he had downed the last piece alongside the hot broth, he moved with the ease and grace of a much younger man.

"Try and stay away from dubious potions from now on," Nimiel said, a flicker of a smile tugging at her lips. "Whatever Gael gave you nearly killed you."

"You don't say." Conall chuckled. "Without his Orc Blood potion, I couldn't have saved anyone last night." Softer he added: "Maybe dying afterwards would have been the due punishment for my negligence."

"You're still alive, so the gods deem you useful after all," Nimiel said. "If you want to dress in garb other than your former uniform, some of Oryn's clothes ought to fit you."

"I can't wear your husband's clothes!" Conall protested.

"Please, we insist. Oryn was my brother-in-law and his widow, Shalla, has agreed to donate some of his things. After all, you saved her daughter from a most horrible fate." Nimiel indicated the items at the foot of her bed. He saw his short sword, clothes and other things. The elf turned towards the window, giving him some privacy.

Conall shrugged the sheets off him and tried the clothes she had brought.

Among the smith's simple, yet well-made garb he found a shirt and pants which fit him. His eyes fell upon a beautifully carved bow and quiver full of arrows.

"Before you protest... these are mine to give," Nimiel said. "One doesn't have to be a clairvoyant to know that you'll need good weapons. Rythial is a wonderful, strong bow and has felled many a beast during my wild years. May it fell many more wielded by your hands."

"Thank you."

Nimiel shook out a forest-green cloak. "Take this along with you as well. The Elven Woods are a dangerous place, even without Carver's black cloaks gunning for you. This cloak will shield you from enemy eyes."

"One of the fabled Elven cloaks?" Conall asked, caressing the fabric.

"Indeed. Handed down through my family for generations. And precious little good it did in our time of need," Nimiel said bitterly. "May it offer you the protection you undoubtedly require."

"I am not worthy of such gifts," Conall said, relinquishing the cloak.

Nimiel favored him with an unsettling look. "Believe me, gratitude is only one of the reasons why I am lavishing these gifts upon you. Necessity is another."

"How so?"

"By accident, you stumbled upon what you've been tasked to find," Nimiel said, pulling a piece of parchment from her sleeve. "House Calantir has been the guardian of the Dragon Stone Of Fire and this holds its location."

"You're taking a huge risk telling me this," Conall said.

"Are you truly going to barter your life on this information?" Nimiel asked, a coy smile playing around her lips.

Conall shook his head. "No. I am truly done with Carver and his army."

"Then I task you with bringing this information to his enemies. Make sure it never falls into the wrong hands." Her voice laden with ceremony, Nimiel placed the paper in Conall's hand. Strange glyphs were arrayed in a certain pattern.

"I shall do as you've asked," Conall said. "And I should better hurry." Conall reached for his boots.

* * * *

At the edge of the clearing, Nimiel came to a halt. "One more thing, Conall."

"Yes?" The leather armor, previously worn by Stilty, felt odd. Stiff and new and barely damaged. Conall adjusted one of the hip straps.

"Before you bother yourself with the parchment, make sure your family is safe. I heard you call their names last night. The Dragon Stone can wait another month or two. It is more than obvious your Lord Carver has no bloody clue where to cast his greedy eyes."

"He is my lord no longer, believe me."

"Find your family, Conall. Take them with you and make sure they won't suffer the same fate we did. The Lifegiver bless you and the ground you walk upon." Nimiel touched his forehead. A spark of pure radiance jumped from her fingertips. "May your path be clear and even."

Conall chuckled wryly. "And that did sound proper elvish."

"As it should, Conall, as it should. Be safe." Nimiel clasped his hand.

"Same to you. What are you going to do now?"

Nimiel sighed. "Considering the circumstances, it might be best if I took my kin and returned to Velanthalas, our shrouded capitol. Gael said he'd send some of his friends to watch over us but I feel wary with zealots like him around."

"A wise decision. Knowing my former superiors, you won't be safe here much longer. My men and I were to scout ahead before the bulk of the main force would have scoured this region."

"All the more reason for the both of us to get going then. Safe travels. We might never meet again."

Conall offered one last, grateful nod before he slipped between the trees, the wondrous elven cloak making him all but invisible between the ancient trunks. When he turned around for one last look over his shoulder, the emerald-haired elf was gone. Conall adjusted the bow and quiver on his shoulder. It would be a long, lone walk through enemy-infested territory. He not only needed to worry about the local wildlife and the Stalkerites but Carver's army as well. He knew about the standing orders to execute deserters on the spot and even if no word of his exploits got back to camp, any patrol worth their salt stopping him would notice the wild hodgepodge of elven and man-made equipment and ask unpleasant questions.