Chronicles of The Life-Taker, pt 9!
Uninvited Breakfast Guest...
Hello out there, I hope everyone is doing well! Thanks much for choosing receive news of my creative doings from wonderful Wisconsin, USA.
I have to admit that I haven’t been as productive as I would have liked this week, and that’s because I was playing the awesome Baldur’s Gate 3!
Mind you, I didn’t say I was any good at it… being good at these video games is for people younger than me :)
Still I enjoy going through the world that’s been created and seeing all there is to see.
Every night I tell myself “just 30 minutes, and then off to bed!”
Well, that 30 minutes turns into an hour or longer, then the next thing I know it’s the middle of the night, and the next thing I know after that is that it’s time to get up and go to work!
Whew! My trials and tribulations are epic, I know…
The Life-Taker…!
At least I managed to bring forth another installment of Breakfast with Kurzhon, er, I mean Chronicles of The Life-Taker.
So now… here is Part 9 of Kurzhon's adventure (part 8 seen here).
CHAPTER 9
“Drakes Are Good For Killing, And Not Much Else.”
~ Kurzhon the Life-Taker
* * *
The Drake stood before Kurzhon’s table, his eyes locked with those of The Life-Taker, who remained sitting in a pose of complete relaxation.
There was near total silence in the tavern. No one spoke. The only sounds were from people adjusting themselves in their seats, or trying to get closer to where the upcoming action was sure to begin. A small crowd surrounded the table.
As the staring contest continued, Wakely took the opportunity to look over the Drake from his vantage point.
The tall man’s skin was weathered, as it would be due to the Drake’s constant traveling. His dark blonde hair was pulled back in a severe hairstyle that ended in a tight bun.
Wakely thought the tightness of the hair made it look as if the Drake’s entire face was being pulled back across his skull.
Beneath the Drake’s gray cloak Wakely could see the thick hilt of a sword on the man’s left hip, ready to be drawn at any moment.
But the Drake’s clothes were ordinary and unremarkable, at least to Wakely. He couldn’t find any items of interest to his particular hobby.
The Drake’s face was another matter. Wakely could see barely contained fury on the tall warrior’s face. His cheeks were red, his jaw was tightly clenched, and his eyes were narrowed to slits.
Then the Drake spoke.
“The bodies outside. That was you?” the Drake’s voice was deep, though not so deep as Kurzhon’s.
But just as hard.
Kurzhon smirked even more than before.
“It was,” he replied.
“And what did these people do to offend Kurzhon The Life-Taker?” asked the Drake, contempt in his voice.
“Yes, I know who you are, and I am not impressed. Again, what did these people do?”
Without giving Kurzhon the chance to answer, he kept speaking.
“Did someone step on your boot? Did they share harsh words with you? Did they ask you to follow the laws that every civilized person follows without complaint?”
“How many must die to satisfy your murderous whims!?” shouted the Drake, no longer able to contain his anger. Many people in the crowd jumped at the sudden exclamation.
Kurzhon, still smiling, answered quickly.
“At least one more.”
The tone of his deep voice left no doubt of the intended threat.
Again, the tavern fell silent, and the two men kept their eyes trained on one another.
Finally, the Drake broke the silence. Adjusting his position and tone to address the entire crowd.
“My name is Davillo Yantry! I am a Knight of the Order of The Drake! I hail from the GrayRock Citadel, and I promise you there is no more need for you to fear! This man will be taken for trial, where he will answer for his crimes!”
He then reached into a pouch hanging from his waist and pulled out a set of dark gray wrist manacles. He held them in the air for all to see, then returned his gaze to Kurzhon.
“Stand up,” he said. His voice was hard and his face was stone.
Kurzhon did not stand. Instead, he used his foot to push a chair away from the table toward the Drake.
“Not yet,” Kurzhon said, through a smile that was no longer genuine, “first, you will break bread with us, Drake.”
Again, the word ‘Drake’ was dripping with contempt.
Davillo scoffed audibly.
“You are mad! I will never sup with the likes of you!”
Kurzhon spread his arms to encompass all the food on the table.
“But we have so much,” he said, his voice strained, “and prepared by a noblewoman of some renown. You simply must.”
The last words were hard, and the smile fell from Kurzhon’s face as he said it.
“Do you lack wits?” Davillo barked, “I said —”
Before he could finish, Kurzhon burst up from his chair, shocking everyone and causing many to cry out in alarm.
In a flash, Davillo had his sword out to fend off attack, but the attack never came.
Instead, Kurzhon had grabbed the nearest woman to him and held her by the neck. Her face was drained of blood and her eyes were wider than should have been humanly possible.
“YOU COWARD!” shouted Davillo, brandishing his sword. “Release that woman at once and face me!”
The Drake bounced on the balls of his feet, unable to take action, but desperately wanting to.
Kurzhon smiled as he held the woman’s throat in his massive hand.
“Not yet, Drake.” He hissed. “First, you will pick up that bread… and EAT. IT.”
As he spoke, he nodded his head down toward the meal that had been prepared by Lady Monidale.
Again, all in the tavern were stunned into silence.
Wakely could see the captive woman’s body shaking uncontrollably. All except her neck, which was held fast by Kurzhon’s strong grip.
Kurzhon spoke once more.
“You must realize how easily I can and will kill this woman. Do it, Drake. EAT.”
When Davillo didn’t move, Wakely spoke up.
“You heard him, Drake. EAT IT!”
Wakely tried to sound as imposing and ominous as Kurzhon, but he knew he had failed when the Drake cut his eyes down toward Wakely.
He couldn’t hold the Drake’s stare and looked away, shrinking back into his chair.
Davillo moved, barely restrained fury obvious in every move. He thrust his sword back into it’s scabbard, then stepped forward to the table.
Reaching down, he plucked a piece of Lady Monidale’s lumpy, misshapen bread from a plate. Then, with his eyes again locked onto Kurzhon, he took a large bite of the bread.
Kurzhon’s smile nearly split his face in two.
“Now chew, Drake! CHEW!” Kurzhon shouted, laughing as he did so.
Davillo began chewing… then his eyes grew wide and he stopped.
Wakely burst out laughing, but Kurzhon snapped at the Drake.
“Do not spit that out, Drake! Eat it! Swallow it!”
Davillo had no choice but to continue chewing the foul bread. He worked hard, as the bread refused to be vanquished, retaining it’s rubbery consistency and disgusting taste no matter how long it was chewed.
After many long moments of chewing, Davillo was finally able to swallow. He did so with an audible gulp that caused Wakely to again laugh out loud.
The Drake was shaking with anger, but he visibly composed himself.
He replaced the manacles inside his cloak and stepped backwards.
“I am going outside, where we will settle this. After I defeat you in combat, you will be taken to the GrayRock where you will stand trial for all the crimes you have committed across the entirety of Straifus.”
This came out as a vicious whisper, then Davillo turned and stalked out of the tavern. The gathered crowd parted quickly and silently before him.
All eyes turned to Kurzhon.
He simply opened his hand and let the woman he held fall to the ground. A few hesitant people came forward to help her. They did not want to get too close to the angry man who had murdered so many people that day.
Kurzhon stepped over the body, not giving the woman a second thought as he drew his axe from it’s back scabbard.
“Finally, this pissant town provides some entertainment,” he growled as he stalked toward the door.
The crowd, which had already parted for Davillo, drew even further away to clear a path for Kurzhon.
Wakely grabbed his bag of recently acquired merchandise and scurried out the door after Kurzhon. There was no way he was missing even a moment of this.
***
When Kurzhon walked out into the sunlight he saw that the Drake had already removed his cloak and stood in the wide lot of the town center.
The Drake had his dull gray sword at the ready. With his cloak now gone, Kurzhon could see that Davillo was wearing a loose-fitting, common white doublet with a dark gray leather jerkin over it. The strong build of the Drake’s body was apparent even under the clothes.
Dark gray breeches and black boots completed his outfit. Kurzhon thought the gear well chosen. Loose enough to provide any range of movement, yet not loose enough to provide distraction.
Drakes certainly love their gray, Kurzhon thought, his attention drawn once more to the dull metal of the gray sword.
He wondered what that metal actually was. Drakes guarded the secret closely. The metal was not unbreakable, Kurzhon knew, but it was pretty close.
The Drake’s facial expression was one of cold contempt as Kurzhon neared, and then stopped mere paces away.
“You could surrender now and spare yourself injury,” Davillo said. “Spare your audience the trauma of more bloodshed.”
Kurzhon knew Davillo was referring to the crowd of people who had followed him out of the tavern.
“I don’t know, Drake,” Kurzhon said, “not many can say they have seen a Drake beaten and killed. I would not deny them that.”
Before Kurzhon could finish, Davillo launched himself forward, directing a vicious overhand strike to Kurzhon’s head.
Kurzhon easily blocked, as Davillo knew he would, but then a series of lightning strikes followed, each probing a different skillset, requiring different defenses.
Axe whirling, Kurzhon blocked each attack as it came, impressed with the Drake’s speed. This was not a foe he could disregard, and yet he was still not fully engaged.
“Come now, Drake!” Kurzhon shouted over the ring of metal on metal, “stop testing me and fight!”
Kurzhon went on the offensive then, but he was not simply testing.
A hurricane of assaults came down on Davillo then, and as he was forced into pure defense, he was also grudgingly forced to admit that this “Life-Taker” had a well-deserved reputation. His skill could not be refuted.
But this admission did not shake Davillo’s confidence one bit. He was a Drake, and the lawless thug before him had taken too many lives. He would not fail.
***
Meanwhile Wakely and the rest of the gathered people watched with silent awe.
The two men moved so fast it sometimes appeared that they moved from position to position by skipping the intervening movements that should be necessary. Because of this, the sounds of the metallic strikes did not match what Wakely was seeing.
From his perspective it looked as if there were a hundred whirling axes and a hundred gray sword blades swinging and striking and swinging again.
And yet neither one of the fighters appeared to have the upper hand.
Strangely, despite the fury of the battle, Wakely began to grow… bored.
He wondered if this fight might go on forever, with no one ever landing a solid strike.
Then one of the fighters kicked the other in the groin.
***
Kurzhon went down to one knee when the groin kick landed.
At the very last instant he had turned, sparing himself the worst of the blow, but the impact he did take caused him to lose his breath and nausea to erupt in his stomach.
He had not dropped his axe, but he realized his head and neck had been unprotected for crucial moments as he kneeled, recovering from the blow.
Had the Drake wanted him dead, he would have been dead.
Kurzhon looked up at the Drake. The man’s face was still cold and angry.
The kick to his face came before he could react.
This time Kurzhon did drop his axe as he fell onto his back. He scrambled onto his stomach and dove for the axe, but was beaten by Davillo, who kicked it even further away.
“Yield!” Davillo shouted down at Kurzhon.
Kurzhon turned onto his back, then stopped moving, glaring up at the Drake.
“Your contempt and dismissal of Drakes was your undoing,” Davillo said, loud enough for all to hear.
“Yes, we are honorable! Yes, we are good!” Davillo shouted, then pointed his sword down at Kurzhon.
“But you thought dirty tricks and unfair fighting were solely your province. You were wrong!”
Kurzhon’s scowl was such that it would sour milk still inside the cow.
Even though he was at a distinct disadvantage, and he had underestimated the Drake, he would still turn this situation around somehow.
He locked eyes with Davillo, preparing a hostile remark that he hoped would get under the Drake’s skin.
But then something seemed wrong about Davillo’s face.
No, not his face… his entire head.
There was an arrow through it.
***
Hossy slapped Kavel on the back. He was giddy.
“Great shot, mate!” he squealed. “Did you aim for his head?!”
Kavel smiled but scrunched his face up in mock anger.
“You wound me, sir! Of course I was aiming for his head!”
“I could’ve also taken’ him, Hossy!” Lundy said.
Kavel and Hossy both looked at each other, then burst into laughter. Lundy frowned. Anger apparent on his face.
As the three continued talking, the crowd of people fell back away from them as if they had been on fire.
Kavel slung his bow back over his shoulder.
“Well, I hope you were right about him, because I just killed a Drake.”
Hossy waved the concern away with a quick hand movement.
“Ahh of course I’m right! This is just the start of a new time for us, boys, you mark my words —yes what is it, Lundy!??”
Hossy reacted irritably as Lundy tapped him repeatedly on the shoulder with a staccato pattern of alarm.
“Hossy! Hossy! He’s coming this way! He don’t look happy!”
Hossy turned to look, and Lundy was right. The big, bald man was stalking toward them.
He did not look friendly. In fact, the look on his face could be described as distinctly murderous.
Hossy swallowed hard.
***
TO BE CONCLUDED NEXT TIME
Thanks for reading and make sure to let me know what you thought of Chapter 9 of Kurzhon’s adventures!
Be back here next time for the thrilling conclusion of this installment of Chronicles of The Life-Taker!
