Roar, page 10
But then, after the Enforcer had recovered from his injuries he had accused her mother of failure. Or of betrayal. He seemed to alternate between the two. And even as Camille had been trying to help the physicians in treating her mother's injuries, she had been hauled away to the dungeon. The Enforcer deserved to die for that. Of course there was a long list of things he should die for. But in her mind that one topped the list.
Unfortunately all she could do as she had rotted in that dungeon, was take pleasure in the fact that he too had been injured. That, according to all those who had seen him since, he wore a mask to hide his burns. It wasn't enough but it was something. Lord Aston had always been a conceited and vile man. He was known for forcing himself on women and then claiming that they had thrown themselves at him. And he enjoyed nothing so much as torturing people. For that he deserved whatever pain he felt whenever he looked in a mirror – and so much more.
It was a pity he didn’t live in permanent pain, unable to walk. Because that was the reality that was now her mother’s life. Most days she was out of her mind. Given the circumstances that probably wasn’t a bad thing. Camille had heard that on the days when she was lucid, that her mother would beg for death. The man deserved to die. Unfortunately she didn’t have the power or means to end his life. So she would settle for his being badly scarred.
The Eternal King should suffer too, she thought. Unfortunately she didn't know what he looked like. Maybe he too was scarred. There was no way to know. He never took off his armour and never raised his visor. The only time she had ever seen him was in the mornings in the Palace of the Sun when he stood on his balcony in the palace, overlooking the rest of the city, surveying all the misery he had caused. All she had ever seen of his face was the narrow slit across his steel visor which let him see out. Some days as she had watched him from her hovel, she had wondered how he even breathed in that thing. Maybe he didn't. But if he did, she'd like to stop him doing it for a while. A year or two perhaps.
As for the wizard who had done this, he was dead. Far beyond her reach. But that didn't mean that she couldn't add her prayers to Mara's in wishing him a terrible afterlife. She might not believe in the Seven Sisters but if they existed then she was more than happy to think of them supping on his soul. Or better yet that he had been sent to the underworld for the lamaia to feast on eternally.
Thorm Endorson. She had a name at least. Now she knew who she should curse.
Chapter Nine
Mara was with the escapees! Thorm was beside himself with disbelief when he discovered that. In fact he almost fell out of the tree he was resting in when he first set eyes on her.
He hadn't noticed her before, mostly because he'd been hanging a long way back and she had been covered in filth like all the others. But as the party had stopped for lunch he'd had a chance to climb up into the bow of an elm and study them in detail. He had wanted to get an idea of how fit they were and what they needed. But all of that had been forgotten when he stared down at the group and saw the one woman he hadn’t expected to see, sitting on the ground in front of him.
He saw her and he simply didn't know what to think. How could she be with them? He'd thought she was still in the slave gangs. Not in the dungeon. Something must have changed. He imagined she must surely hate him. But still he kept asking himself, what were the chances that she would be among those he had rescued? And the only answer he had was that they were small. And yet he was stupidly happy that she had been one of the people he had helped rescue.
There was not much else to be happy about however. Not when he glanced at the other two woman she was with. One was Camille, the daughter of the hag. The creature or woman who had tried to kill him but who had end up transforming him into this. The woman who she believed he had in turn injured. As the woman’s daughter, Camille would also hate him should she ever found out who he was and what he'd done.
The third woman was the one who had seen him in the sewers and screamed at him in terror. She just thought he was a monster.
Three women, all of whom had cause to either hate or fear him, had somehow come together close to the tree he was hiding in to curse his name! What were the chances?! And now between them they would know much of his life story. Perhaps they would at some stage piece together the rest. It was a wicked joke! Surely the gods must be toying with him? The Seven Sisters playing him like some sort of stumble-bum? Setting him up for a complete disaster? As if his life could get any worse! But why? Was it just some sort of celestial game to them? A chance to see how much amusement they could glean from one broken mortal? Or had he actually done something to offend them? Because he could think of no other reason they would do this to him.
And just when things had been going so well! Or at least a little well. He had just learned a new spell the previous night. And while that might not be any great help to him in returning to his proper form, it would prove helpful while he was trapped in his current one. Besides, who knew what else he might learn when the avaryads returned?
The terrible thing though was that as he lay there, barely fifty paces from the three women and unable to make out much of what was said, he found himself aching to go to Mara. All he could think when he saw her out in the sunshine, her hair washed and once again glowing in the sun, her rags discarded for the clothing provided by the avaryads, was that she was so beautiful.
What was wrong with him?! She had hurt him so badly and yet all he could think about even now was going back to her. She had betrayed him with that foul Lord Aston, and yet the minute he saw her smile he forgot how she had wronged him and the pain she had caused. He could not trust her. He knew that. And yet every part of him ached to forgive her and simply forget what she'd done.
He was also painfully aware that she did not love him. She was no follower of Sister Galena's as he had foolishly once imagined. In fact he doubted she had ever met the Goddess of Love. The demons of perfidy perhaps. She had been with him only because he had been a man with prospects. She had seen him as a way for her to rise through society. With her family's name and his reputation as an artisan, not to mention the possibility of a Royal contract, she could have climbed all the way to the top. And her beauty would have helped. She would have no doubt seduced every man she could find who could help her succeed in her ambitions.
Thorm knew it was why she had tried to make the deal she had. It wasn't about the bits and pieces she might have earned. The Dunmores had a proud estate in the city and a trading empire. Mara had presumably decided that her family would be willing to supplement any losses made by accepting a Royal contract for the guns because of the prestige the family would receive in exchange. And Mara herself would glory in being the wife of the greatest artisan of guns in the realm and a man who held the King's favour.
It had never been about him. And yet even as he stared at her, with her big blue eyes, full lips and wondrous smile, he realised that he didn't care. At that moment all he wanted to do was to take her in his arms and breathe in her scent as her long, lustrous raven coloured hair fell around him. He was a fool! A true dullard!
Fortunately he couldn't go to her. She would run screaming when she saw him. He was a lion. The others would kill him in a heartbeat if he tried. That was why he was perched in a tree, some distance from them, with a spell of chameleon on him that made him look like bark. And he didn't have arms to hold her with anyway. But it still wasn't right!
Sounds intruded on his reflections, and for a moment he was grateful for the interruption. Until he realised they were twigs snapping underfoot as someone approached from behind.
Thorm turned hurriedly to see who was coming, and then wished he hadn't. Because it was worse than he had feared.
Trolls! And it was not one but four! A hunting party of wrinkled, hairy viciousness. Thorm could also see that they were collared. That meant these trolls had been raised and trained. Somewhere out there there would also be their masters. Troll hunters. Leading them in the hunt.
The King wasn't trying to recapture the prisoners. He was trying to kill them! And he had sent out one of his most vicious weapons – the troll hunters – to do the job. It was these sorts of fighting packs that had been one of the reasons why the King had been so impossible to overthrow. He was said to have entire armies of the vicious creatures at his call. Captured from the northern ice lands, raised and trained in pens, he used the trolls on his enemies as an object lesson. Few would dare to attack a king with such monsters under his control.
He had to stop them! The trolls would kill a lot of people. Maybe all of the prisoners. The hamadryads were relatively fit compared to the other escapees but they were only lightly armed. Collectively they were in possession of one sword, a couple of maces and some belt knives – all that they had been able to salvage from the dungeon – and of course some crude wooden spears and bows that they had been making while on the run. They could fight, but trolls were tough creatures. They didn’t stand much of a chance. As for the others, they had been in the dungeon far longer, and weren't trained in fighting. They were helpless.
That left only him to defend them. And while not an hour earlier he would have done it because of his need to protect the hamadryads so he could learn something of their magic and perhaps something more about his curse, the minute he had seen Mara, those thoughts had become incidental. All that mattered was that he save Mara. It didn't matter what she had done or that she had no true feelings for him. He had to save her!
Without even thinking about it Thorm struck the nearest of the trolls with the only spell he had that he thought might work – a ray of cutting light. After that it was too late to think much about anything.
The creature screamed as the light caught it full in the face – a tortured sound like that of metal rubbing against metal. The troll’s hide was too tough for the ray to cut through it but it seemed it could burn. The troll screamed in pain and leapt away, and though its head had become a bright beacon of fire, it still managed to move too fast for him to get in a second strike. That didn't matter though as Thorm still had other targets, and even as the first troll was now running blindly, he hit the next with the same spell.
After that chaos ensued as the trolls broke and ran. The two on fire seemed to be mindless with pain while the other two forgot their training and returned to their bestial instincts as they panicked. Unfortunately their instincts served them well, and they scattered into the trees leaving him with no targets to strike.
Meanwhile Thorm could hear the escapees screaming and yelling too as they were alerted by the screeches of the trolls. He could just make out a voice yelling out orders just above the general sounds of panic. It sounded like they were being told to pick up their things and run.
Behind them some hundred or so yards but closing quickly, Thorn heard the sound of other men yelling. It had to be the troll hunters. It wouldn’t be long, he thought, before the sound of gunfire followed.
Thorm leapt lightly down onto the forest floor, knowing that he couldn't strike the trolls from where he was, and then raced after the last one he'd seen running away. It didn't take long to find the third troll, since in its desperation it had tried to force its way through the tangled branches rather than ducking and weaving around them. That slowed the troll down considerably, making it an easy target for Thorm. He threw out another ray of cutting light and rejoiced when he saw its back catch fire. But even as it screamed in pain, he had to dodge hurriedly as the troll suddenly turned and leapt at him with all the ferocity and speed its kind were renown for. He wasn’t quite fast enough and took some nasty gashes to his side.
Thorm roared in pain and fury, but then struck back with his own claws. Trolls were tough, their skin leathery and resistant to even the sharpest steel, but his claws were made of diamond. They sheered through the troll’s back as though it was paper, before finally finding some purchase around its hip, allowing Thorm to spin it around and hurl the troll at the nearest tree. And when it bounced off and fell into the scrub just in front of him, he hit it again with his spell of cutting light.
The troll screeched some more while trying to wrestle its way free of the tangle of scrub and get to its feet, but it had finally been slowed, allowing his light to burn deep into its chest.
Soon there was no more troll and no more scrub. Just a small fire burning out of control. There was no time to celebrate his victory however, as the troll masters arrived, heralding their arrival with a musket ball that sliced across his back.
Thorm roared angrily and then ran for the closest of the soldiers with all the speed he could find. It was a lot. The ground practically blurred beneath his paws as he bounded forward, too fast for the shooter to be able to take aim a second time even as he drew his pistol. Still, there were more hunters appearing from the trees – and all of them were armed.
In a heartbeat he was among the hunters, grabbing them one by one by their blue cuirasses. They tried to shoot him, but he was dodging and weaving at such speed that they had had no hope of succeeding. Worse for them, because Thorm was spinning them around as he grabbed them, the hunters mostly succeeded only in shooting one another. He heard a couple cry out as the shots cracked. He didn't know if it was out of fear or in pain. But even if they missed, Thorm made sure to toss each of the hunters up in the air like pebbles, high enough that when they came down and crashed into the trees he heard bones snap.
In a matter of moments all six men wearing the blue of the Eternal King were down. Thorm eyed them closely. Some were moving, some weren't. A few looked as if their bones had been broken. They were lying in strange positions that bodies weren't supposed to be able to make. And there was blood everywhere. They weren't dead – yet – but he knew that few of them would survive long. Not in the wilds where the forests were full of scavengers – chief among them their own trolls. And they wouldn't be able to defend themselves. Their weapons were scattered – their shields too – and their rifles had all discharged. As for their armour it had been shredded. Only a couple of them still wore their bronze helms. They wouldn't protect them from much.
The King had clearly fitted them out with deficient armour. Boiled leather was fine for city guards who mostly had to deal with drunks. But it wouldn't stop a musket ball or an arrow. It wouldn't deflect a well aimed sword. And it most certainly wouldn't stop his claws. But he felt no sorrow for them. They had taken the King's coin to hunt down and murder unarmed people. They had also probably killed many others – either directly or through their trolls. And they'd shot him! They deserved their fate.
Thorm left them where they were, broken and bleeding, and set off after the remaining trolls. The three of them were the true danger. And while one of them at least was blind, they hunted as much by smell and sound as anything else. One of them was of course, completely unharmed.
The trolls weren't hard to find. The two trolls he'd set on fire, were screeching with all the strength they had – he didn't know why. Calling for help perhaps. Or simply out of pain. But he decided he didn’t really care. Even though they had managed to put the fire out, neither had eyes to see with. No facial features either. And because of their constant screeching, they never heard him approach. Thorm dug his claws into the back of the first and ripped out a chunk of its spine, then did the same to the second. Both trolls fell to the ground with scarcely a screech and then lay there bleeding to death.
That left only one troll to deal with. But Thorm didn’t have to go looking for it, as it unexpectedly found him and hurled itself at him. It was fast. But by then with the rage and fear racing through his blood, he was faster. Even as it leapt at him, clearly unafraid of any mere lion, he spun and ducked, before reaching out with his claws to open up its entire side as it flew past. When it crashed to the ground it couldn't seem to get back up. Instead it just struggled, a shocked look on its ugly face. Soon it too would be dead he knew, judging from the lake of blood pouring onto the forest floor beside it. But he made sure of it by ripping out a piece of its spine too.
Then it was over! Four trolls, six soldiers. Thorm congratulated himself silently as he stood there looking over the body of the last troll. It seemed he was a better fighter than he knew. But his moment of pride was interrupted as he once again heard the sound of feet running and then felt the sting of a musket ball in his buttocks. He roared angrily and leapt into the air, thinking to kill these new soldiers.
Only to find himself stopping almost in mid-air as he spun, when he saw that it was a pair of hamadryads brandishing the hunters’ weapons. Hitting the ground, Thorm rolled and sprinted into the forest away from them.
What was this?! The people he was trying to save – that he had just rescued from the dungeon – were now trying to kill him?! It seemed so very unfair. But he also knew that they did not know he was a human trapped in a lion's body. Or that he'd rescued them. All they saw was a savage predator.
