One Moo'r Plow

BBook 2: Chapter 23: Black Sun, Black Blood.

BBook 2: Chapter 23: Black Sun, Black Blood.

Bleak was the sun that dawned over my restlessness. Even as the first streaks of light broke the horizon, I was already awake. No sleep had claimed me that night, in truth. Claymore in hand and lantern in the other, I stalked the grounds of my farm, eyes open and nostrils sniffing at the air.

They were out there, somewhere. Here for me. Ready to kill, willing to slaughter.

No human trackers had wanted to venture into these dense, endless forests already brimming with danger to track down a warband. We would have to wait for Tehaliss return instead. Lerish could be called upon, but the huntress was still unwell. Her wounds both physical and mental took time to heal, and I would not force her into such a dangerous task without her full preparedness.

I knew, however, that they would come for me. In lieu of finding the warband first, I awaited them instead.

The small store sentinels gazed at me as I stomped past, their piles of rock just above freshly-sprouted and growing crops. They would likely be destroyed if the warband made its charge across my fields. Spawned of stone and given rudimentary life by the System, they could be replaced.

My farmhands could not. Magic could not replicate the lives and souls of those that toiled away for me: humans, beastkin, drow.

It was with this knowledge in mind that I called them all outside their quarters, summoned the watchmen from the fields. Nervous and on edge, they gathered before me.

Go home. I ordered them. This place will soon be unsafe. I pay you to work for me, not lay down your lives in the face of certain death. Make no mistake, when the warband comes, you will be butchered before them.

Those few voices that protested were without any real gusto. Even those who stated they were worried for me were more relieved to be sent away. These people were not warriors. They were farmers, builders, guards even. But not full fighters that craved blood and violence and death.

Not like those whose race I shared.

Seems a bit counter-intuitive to send away your security. Tash commented once people had begun to trickle away.

What will they defend against? I asked. Do you think they will stand a chance against a few dozen blood-drunk minotaur warriors?

Doubtful, but you paid for their services, did you not?

I was reminded then that he was, well and truly, a drow. This callous disregard for the lives of other races was a slightly prominent feature among his kind. All the easy charm from him did little to hide that.

I did, and my decision is made. You are going with them. Take the cows and lead them down to the loggers camp. Keep them there until I have sent for them.

That caused his smile to falter somewhat. However, he had little argument given his recent example of others.

Might I at least take some of the field guards? Shouldnt be an issue with them bein off duty and all.

Go. Make sure you dont lose any of my animals.

With that I observed his brisk pace away, then winced as a harsh whistle split the air. With help rounded up, the herd was soon driven back down the mountain towards the loggers camp. There was grass and pasture for them beyond the fields there. One by one, I made sure all workers on the farm were cleared out, unhappy as some might be. Most were simply relieved to be sent away from the danger that approached.

And soon, I was once again alone. After yesterdays events, Velton had told Ishila that under no circumstances was she leaving his protection. The half-orc had finally relented after much argument on the condition that Lerish be provided the same help.

Only Gol refused to leave. The big brute followed me around as I paced around the farm, armor donned and claymore in hand.

Now came the part that no warrior liked; the waiting for battle. The tense silence as violence became inevitable.

Noon found me alone, sat upon a stump next to my lodge. From here I overlooked my farm, silence only broken by the soft rasp of wood being shaved. Claymore standing upright next to me, I sat and absently carved pieces of wood. Not quite focused enough to give them actual shape, I stared out over all that I had built and waited for the destroyers to come.

With naught but Gols stalwar company and my thoughts, I soon found hatred in my heart.

Until now, all that attacked me had been mindless monsters, agents of the dungeon that knew only death, greed-driven humans and little else. Those I had dispatched out of necessity, out of solemn duty to ensure mine and others safety. But these were a different sort of monster. Gareks own race who had journeyed across vast distances, fueled a the sole purpose. To cut me down and take what was rightfully mine.

Too bloodthirsty, too stupid to build anything other than a legacy of slaughter and death. Only able to take and tear down.

I understood then why so many hated my kind.

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This was personal. Their names and histories I may not have known, to cut them down would not be done with cold dispassion. Now, I fought in defense of all that I had built and those who relied on me.

It was with cold dread that i watched a figure stride from the forest.

Clad in dark armor, their features becoming clearer as they drew near. Yet I did not need to see those cruel eyes to know who it was. The feeling of dread and unbound malice preceded her. As did the stench of blood.

Valencia. I greeted the dreadknight with trepidation. My stomach was knotted with discomfort as she climbed the hill. Hand on my claymore I watched her, memories of our last encounter fresh on my mind.

You could not have selected a more unfortunate time to grace me with your presence.

Crooked was the grin that cracked the corner of her mouth. A cruel, empty thing akin to something going through the motions with none of the feeling.

Why, Garek? Waiting for some old family to arrive and burn your doorstep? Came the mocking voice. Wait no more, for I have brought them to you.

With that, she tossed a burlap bag held at her side to my feet. I stared at the tied cloth matted by blood and knew full well what was inside.

I refuse to open that. I snorted, nose crinkled in disgust.

You are, however, just barely clever enough to know what it signifies.

Half of my worries faded, at least. Instead of a ravening warband, I now had only Valencia before me. And I would be the grandest of liars if I spoke that I would not have preferred the warband. This woman might be the evil I was familiar with, but that did little to assuage me with her present.

The warband is gone. I uttered the obvious.

Exterminated like the vermin they were.

Again with the empty, cruel smile. There was naught on her so much as a scratch. Her armor remain unscathed save for now-dried blood and pieces of fur that had caught between the joints. Fur ripped off the bodies of the minotaurs she had killed.

Quite frankly, this woman terrified me, deep inside.

You have my thanks for that. I finally choked out. You saved lives, this day.

We both knew that was not why she had taken the task.

Gol snarled from my side as Valencia threw back her head and laughed. Unease filled even more of me as I waited.

I know, and you know you did this out of spite, driven by your hatred. But I will see it as some glimmer of good left in you.

The dreadknight stopped at those words, shaking her head.

Never. I hunted them down, killed them with my bare hands, and I enjoyed it.

Good still came of it. You may be driven by hatred, but even you might make this a better place, Valencia.

You have seen what your kin have wrought wherever they go, minotaur. Do you think my hatred wrong?

She did not remark on the second part, I noticed.

I am very, very well aware that my race is bloodthirsty to the core, driven by a need for bloodshed. I even more than you understand their savagery. And I am not one of them, Valencia. There is a reason I am here and not among them.

The very best of my efforts kept my voice cold, smothering out the anger that bubbled inside. To give her the satisfaction of getting under my skin was to let her win. And that, I refused.

Yet you remain a minotaur. You are not the only one familiar with your kind. I know that is in your very soul to be drawn to battle. That you will give in to bloodlust if pushed hard enough.

Then why provoke me? I spoke with some frustration. I have done my best to leave all that behind, to live a better life, and you insist on trying to drag me back.

I need little reason to do whatever I desire. Valencia spoke. Yet, I slaughtered your kin and came here so that you may see I am the superior warrior between us. Snuffed them out because they thought themselves worthy of slaying you. Crushed their dreams underfoot simply so that they will never dare dream again.

Understand. She continued. You are mine to kill. Mayhap not now, for their is no satisfaction to be had from a battle where you will not fight back. But someday soon, you will slip. Let the beast inside slip its chain just a notch too far. And on that day, I will be on hand to put you back into the dirt. To show you that I am stronger, in the only language your kind understands.

You are. I returned without hesitation. There. You have gained your validation from me. It is known between us now. You are the greater slaughterer, the superior warrior. But I am a warrior no more. I am a farmer now, a protector by necessity.The crops are my battlefield now, the cows my arrayed troops. Are you satisfied, Valencia?

Yes. For now. She smirked. Only a fool would see you are not special, minotaur. You seem perhaps the first of your kind to grow past the anger, so far. That is what makes you dangerous.

Are you so lost in your own hate that you refuse to see? I fought to keep the anger from my voice. What must I do to prove that I am not like the race I left behind? I have fought to right peoples notions of me since the day I arrived here, been nothing but good and kind to where even your Baron acknowledges that I am not a danger.

Have you, Valencia, ever considered that that monster that lurks this place may be you?

If those words struck anything within her, the dreadknight did not show it. Instead she gave me the most surprising thing of all. I blinked in surprise as her features showed a true smile, softer than her usual empty facsimile, some semblance of humanity behind the shell.

I know that I am. I was damned to this fate, meant to be a monster in human skin.

And never have I seen you fight against it. You have accepted that with glee. Become a more malicious, vicious killer than I ever was.

There was a moment of silence as she contemplated my words.

Someone has to make all those monsters out there scared of the dark.