Tarah Woodblade (23 page)

Tarah pursed her lips. The shield hid him pretty well. She reached back and fingered the feathering on her arrows, wishing she had taken some from the gorcs. She had only five left; two steel-tipped, two iron, and one with a stone tip. She moved further down the hill to get in closer range. “Watch out, Djeri! That sword is sharp!”

“This is Killer!” Clobber announced, raising the blade into the air. “The mistress’ gift!”

For a brief moment, the ogre’s head rose above the shield, giving Tarah a narrow window. She fired for his temple, but the ogre brought his shield up slightly. The steel-tipped arrow glanced off the top of the shield and penetrated the ogre’s scalp. It traveled along the top of his skull to stick out the other side like a garish tribal piercing. Blood poured down either side of his face, but the ogre made no sign of his discomfort and continued his slow advance on the dwarf.

“Just back away, Djeri. I’ll pin him down!” Tarah shouted.

Djeri didn’t move, still leaning on the pommel of his gory mace. “I’m not afraid of his sword.”

“Killer will chop you in two!” Clobber sneered. Tarah fired an iron arrow at his foot and cursed as it stuck into the bottom of the ogre’s boot heel. “Your armor is nothing, dwarf-dirt!”

“Your face is nothing,” Djeri spat.

“Move, Djeri!” Tarah yelled. “I know that sword!”

“Too late!” said the ogre. In one fluid motion, Clobber lurched forward, coming briefly to his full height as he swiped down with his massive arm. The sword, designed to be used two-handed by a human, had a blade that was four-feet-long.

Tarah watched in horror, fully expecting the dwarf to be cleaved in two. But Djeri was deceptively fast. As the sword came down, he leapt backward, jerking his mace with him. The tip of the sword scored the front of the dwarf’s breastplate, leaving a long jagged tear, but it didn’t slice his flesh.

The ogre quickly ducked back behind his shield.

“Hey!” Djeri said, his anger directed at Tarah. “Why didn’t you fire? I just gave you the perfect opportunity.”

  Tarah’s face flushed. He was right. While the ogre had made his strike, several critical areas had been exposed. Why hadn’t she fired? Tarah pulled back another steel-tipped arrow. “Sorry! I won’t miss next time.”

“I hear you!” said the ogre, rage in his voice. “I’m not scared.”

“You should be,” Djeri taunted. “We killed all your friends. Your mistress is dead.”

“No! She lives!” Clobber yelled. He made as if to lunge again, but thought better of it and stopped, remaining crouched behind his protection. “She speaks to me!”

“Liar! You haven’t heard from her in three months?” Djeri snorted. “Come on! Come closer so I can kill you too!”

Tarah watched with concern as Djeri lowered his gory mess of a mace. It was as if he was unconcerned with the ogre’s next attack. She nearly cried out in warning, but thought better of it. Surely the dwarf was doing this on purpose to draw the ogre out. She began to edge around as they spoke, hoping to get a better angle.

“The mistress talks to me! She’s part of me,” the ogre declared, shifting behind the shield in a way that Tarah couldn’t see. Djeri could see what he was doing though and he didn’t seem concerned.

“Yeah, I see that eye in your head,” the dwarf said with a knowing nod. “I’ll bet it’s been hard keeping your friends convinced that you were still in charge. It had to be difficult for someone as stupid as you are to make it sound like you were giving out her instructions.”

“She wants you dead now too, dwarf-dirt!” the ogre snapped.

“Is that so?” Djeri said. He let the head of his mace hit the ground and took a step forward, right in the path of the ogre’s previous strike. “That eye in your head itches, doesn’t it, now that it’s started to rot?”

The ogre roared and attacked again, launching his long body forward, his arm stretched out in a mighty swing. This time he brought his shield up with him, protecting his head and neck as he struck. Djeri saw the sword coming, but he didn’t jump away. The dwarf leaned into the attack instead, yanking the ugly head of his mace up from the ground just in time to connect with the long blade.

Tarah wanted to scream at him to dodge, but didn’t let his opportunity slip away. She launched the steel-tipped arrow into the ogre’s lower back just under the lip of his armor, a kidney shot. She ran towards them, knowing that her strike hadn’t been enough, sure that Djeri had been cut down.

The ogre gasped in pain and sunk back behind the safety of his shield. To Tarah’s surprise, the dwarf was standing unharmed. He was staring dumbfounded at the head of his mace which had been cleaved nearly in two, the halves hanging open like a split melon.

Tarah laughed in relief and notched her second to last arrow. Clobber wasn’t doing as good a job covering himself anymore. His wounds were taking a toll.

“Agh!” Clobber yelled. “Go away, dwarf! I must kill the Woodblade.”

“My mace!” Djeri said. “You split my favorite mace!” He charged the ogre, his weapon swinging back. The ogre shifted to meet him.

Tarah couldn’t allow the dwarf to be struck by that sword again. She fired, her iron-tipped arrow striking the back of the ogre’s left leg just above the knee. Clobber reared back, but was unable to stand, his hamstring severed. He fell to his knees and brought up his sword in just enough time to block the dwarf’s blow.

Djeri’s mace struck the ogre’s blade with an audible ring and one of its hanging halves broke completely free, bouncing off the ogre’s breastplate before hitting the ground. The dwarf leaned into the ogre, the remaining half of his mace gripping the sword. Djeri let go of the weapon with one hand and punched the ogre in the face with his gauntleted fist.

“Stop!” Clobber complained and Djeri struck him again, breaking the ogre’s nose. The dwarf had him pinned. He couldn’t stand because of the wound in his legs. He couldn’t move his left arm because it was holding his shield, and the dwarf’s weight kept him from moving his sword arm.

Tarah now had a clear shot of the ogre’s back. She sank her last arrow into the ogre’s lower back beside the other one. The ogre howled in pain and frustration. Djeri’s fist struck a third time, catching him in the open mouth.

Teeth hit the ground and Clobber roared, shoving with all his strength. Djeri rolled to the side, allowing the ogre’s arm to push past him. Then the dwarf completed his spin and brought the remaining half of his mace down against the side of the ogre’s head. Clobber fell to the side with a groan, landing on top of his shield.

“Now,” Djeri said. “You big pile of-.”

Tarah pushed past the dwarf and stood over the ogre, placing one foot on his chest. “You said I couldn’t kill you with an arrow.” She grabbed the steel-tipped that still protruded from Clobber’s scalp and tore it free. She pulled back.

“M-mercy,” the ogre pleaded, tears running from his eyes. “P-please. I’ll go back home. I’ll leave the little peoples alone.”

“Tell your mistress that Tarah Woodblade survived,” she said and fired, piercing the moonrat eye in the center of his forehead. Clobber’s eyes rolled up and he went still. Tarah stepped back and threw the bow down on top of him.

Djeri stood there stunned for a moment. “That was brutal.”

Tarah turned on the dwarf with a snarl and shoved him. “What were you thinking? He could’ve killed you!”

Djeri barely moved. “Why did you do that?”

“What? Kill him?” she asked, incredulous. “You were going to kill him.”

He took off his helmet and looked at her with questioning eyes. “He said ‘mercy’, Tarah.”

You don’t kill an enemy that’s asked for quarter
, agreed her papa.

“Shut up both of you!” she yelled and pointed at the dwarf. “This thing didn’t deserve mercy, not after what it did.”

Djeri’s brow furrowed, “I know that it’s been living in your home, stealing your things-.”

“Living in my house? This is my papa’s sword!” She pried the pommel of the sword from the ogre’s dead fingers. Flashes of thought poured through her mind as she touched the weapon; the ogre’s triumph at his find, his religious fervor as he slew one of the goblinoids that wanted to leave. She gasped and shoved the sword into the dwarf’s arms. “None of his memories remain with it now.”

Djeri nodded slowly, “I understand how you feel.”

“Do you?” she asked, glaring. “I buried this sword with my papa ten years ago. This isn’t theft, this is desecration.”

The dwarf had nothing to say to that. There was sadness in his eyes as she turned away, leaving the weapon with him. Tarah walked towards her house, pulling her staff from the harness on her back as she went. She had to see what else the creatures had done. How many of her memories were left?

The scraps of paper lay scattered around her porch meant little at first. Then she bent down and picked one up. Her hands shook. It was a page from one of her books. She scanned over the small amount of writing but couldn’t tell which book it was from. She strode up to the porch. It hadn’t occurred to her that they might destroy her collection on top of everything else. She rushed through the front door, her heart pounding.

As she waited for her eyes to adjust to the light, the first thing she noticed was the smell. Her house smelled like a wild animal’s den; all musk and body odor. And the air was damp. Why was the air damp?

The front room had once been a tidy space. A round dinner table and chairs had sat on one side next to a cupboard, while two more cushioned chairs sat in front of the fireplace. Now the kitchen chairs were broken in pieces and the table stained and covered in vile carvings. The padding on the chairs by the fire had been torn out and shreds of paper were scattered all across the floor. The walls had been painted with strange symbols and representations of the moonrat mother. Each one more vulgar than the next.

She touched her grampa’s chair by the fire, hoping against hope that she would feel some remnant of his thoughts. Unwanted memories flashed through her mind instead; the evil thoughts of the goblinoids as they had defaced the room, followed by the ogre gleefully feeding her books to the fire. She withdrew her hand as if stung and moved down the hall, tears streaming down her face. The two doors at the end of the hallway had been defaced with more painting, but remained closed. Tarah paused, afraid to open them.

Her papa had built their house over the mouth of a cave that extended into the hillside. The cave had been converted into their sleeping space. Her parents had built a wall dividing the cave into two rooms, one for them and one for Tarah.

She placed a hand on the doorknob to her room, hoping at the very least that her hiding spot had been undiscovered. Tarah winced as the bloodthirsty thoughts of the ogre entered her mind. She shoved the door open. That musky stench was stronger here.

It was immediately obvious to her that Clobber had taken her bedroom as his own. Her bed frame had collapsed under his weight, her blankets dirtied. Her dresser, something her grampa had brought to the house at great expense, had been emptied, the drawers broken, and vile contorting figures were carved all over it.

The entire rear wall of the room was taken up with a twisted shrine. The moonrat skins she kept for use with armor repair had been laid out on the walls and an intricate representation of the moonrat mother had been painted beneath them. Piled on the floor in front of the shrine were the rotting heads of woodland animals the goblinoids had hunted.

Tarah backed out of her room and looked to the last door. A thick lump stuck in her throat. It had been her parent’s room in the beginning and then Grampa Rolf had moved in after her papa died. Tarah reached for the knob but couldn’t make herself open it. She backed up and slowly slid down the wall, her face in her hands, unable to face what was inside.

Tarah wasn’t sure how long she stayed in that position, but she became aware of sounds in the front room as Djeri moved about. She didn’t bother to look, absorbed in her despair. Finally, she heard the heavy clomp of his footsteps come down the hall. There was some shuffling and then a thump as he sat beside her.

He said nothing for a while. Then he let out a long sigh. “I-uh, gathered the bodies out front and cleaned out the front room as best as I could. I looked, but there’s not much of use left.”

“They’re gone,” she muttered.

“Who?” he asked.

“My papa. My grampa,” she said, her head still in her hands. “Gone.”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “Was your grampa . . . here when you left?”

“No. Their memories are gone,” Tarah explained. “I was gonna go in there but I can’t.”

“Those goblinoids can’t take your memories away, Tarah. No matter what disgusting things they did to the place.”

“No! You don’t understand!” She looked at him, her eyes swollen and red. “I feel memories. When I touch . . .” she shut her mouth. What was she doing? Why was she telling him this? She could ruin everything.

“When you touch?” he asked, his eyes kind.

“I don’t tell folks this,” Tarah said. But she wanted to. She needed to. She paused, her jaw working, but neither her papa or grampa said anything to help. “W-when I touch something I can feel a residue, the memory of the thing that last touched it.”

Djeri’s eyes widened in sudden understanding. “Like when you track.”

“Yes! I can feel the thought that the animal had when it made the track.” Tarah felt a sense of relief as the words came out. This was something she hadn’t shared with anyone. Not even her papa. Only her Grampa Rolf knew. “I-I. In this house. I don’t move anything. I don’t like to clean because . . . because-.”

“Because you might destroy the memories they left behind,” he said.

Tears fell from her eyes again as she nodded. “This place is ruined! Everything I touch only has the memories of those . . . those monsters!”

Djeri’s hand rested on her arm and Tarah turned to embraced him, sobbing into his armored shoulder. What was she doing? She never embraced people. But the dwarf didn’t recoil. He brought his arms around her and held her, letting her cry.

Once her tears had subsided, he said gently, “And that room?”

She looked at the closed door. It had been full of their thoughts. So many memories. She had left it unchanged for years. “It’s Grampa Rolf’s room. But I can’t go in there. I can’t! I know they’ve done something awful to it.”