The Chosen by Kris Kramer (read the beginning after the end novel TXT) 📕

Liam felt good about his performance in the battle, he would definitely appreciate the survivor not rounding up all of his friends and returning any time soon. Liam was fairly certain that his bark-skin armor was severely damaged in a few places, and he highly doubted he could find a smith in the caverns who could repair the bark of an ironbark tree. And even if he did find one, chances were the smith couldn’t recreate the abyss black dye that permeated the armor. Any sane Thorn would rather wear no armor at all than armor that looked pieced together.

But more than just the chipped armor, if Liam was being perfectly honest, he was exhausted.

Such an admission of fatigue didn’t come easily to the proud Thorn. The tales of old told of his legendary predecessors handling similar fights without the help of two little archers. Of course, it was Liam’s extraordinary courage that had produced the victory. The trackers had run away from a fight that Liam had heartily embraced with gusto. As required, Liam struck a pose worthy of his triumph: hands on hips, elbows out, chest high, and one eyebrow arched up perfectly. He even thought about putting one of his black leather boots on top of a fallen foe. Where was a sketch artist when he needed one? He made a note to hire such an artist before his next expedition. Fame did not come to those who did not advertise.

“Oi, numpty!”

Disturbed from his celebration, Liam turned to the nuathreen called Bruce—or was it Booze?—with an appropriately irritated look.

“Aye, you,” continued the tracker. “You’re off in the clouds while your mate’s lying here in a pile of his own guts. Shame on you!”

True enough, Brian lay on his side, where Liam had pushed him over, with a deep groove sliced into the chainmail armor covering his abdomen. The claws of a hulk had obviously raked him brutally. Now blood flowed from just under his ribs. As with most firbolgs, Brian’s waist was the same size as Liam’s, but overall the boy had the exaggerated hourglass shape of his people, resulting in oversized shoulders and stout legs. A firbolg’s head matched its shoulders, resulting in a wide, flat face featuring almost no nose and long, narrow eyes. The boy’s eyes were closed now, but not with the straining force of a mortally injured firbolg. If not for the growing stream of red staining Brian’s grey cloak and the floor tiles beneath, Liam would’ve sworn the boy was merely asleep. Gil crouched next to Brian, checking for a pulse.

“Ghrian’s calling him, Bruce,” he reported gloomily.

Nuathreens fought angrily, spoke angrily, and drank angrily, but they had soft hearts for fallen friends. Even Liam could see the true sadness growing in both trackers at the sight of the dying firbolg that they’d not even officially met. Considering their innate empathy, it was strange that nuathreens were among the few races that had never mastered the healing arts of light magic.

Liam couldn’t heal any more than the trackers could, but he was a valiant warrior. Surely they didn’t expect him to masterfully inflict and repair wounds?

These distracting thoughts faded as panic set in. What if Brian really died? How would Liam tell Brian’s parents? The boy was everything to them. How would Liam pay his rent? He hadn’t had a student in a month before Brian showed up, having been cast aside by all the other trainers. The clumsy firbolg had happily followed along with the soon-to-be world-renowned Liam, but now he would die in the dirty depths of Teekwood Caverns.

It was a sad payment for the valor that Brian had finally shown in battle. Liam would never have guessed that the tall, muscular, and completely uncoordinated firbolg actually had such bravery to charge a mad herd of hulks. A smile spread across Liam’s face. He alone had taken this boy that no one else could train. He alone had molded Brian into a true warrior, a true Thorn of Andua.

“Have you lost the plot, mate?” demanded Bruce, poking the distant Liam in the thigh with his curved sword. “Your boy is dying here! This is not a flippin’ joke! You have to do something!”

Why did the nuathreen have to be so insistent and confrontational all the time? It was hardly the proper way to act, especially in the presence of a gentleman. Not quite sure what to do next, because he usually did the killing and not the reviving, Liam gazed down the tunnel with his best thinker’s pose.

And he saw a pale apparition appear from the gloom. Before he could help himself, a small scream squeaked out from his lips, his hand belatedly cutting off the sound. Fighting hulks was one thing, but Liam had no desire to fight off a ghost. They were already dead and hence, unkillable!

Both nuathreens observed Liam with apparent confusion as he started to backpedal away from the latest player in the bizarre scene.

“Gil, what’s his problem?” asked Bruce.

“I have no clue, Bruce.”

To Liam’s dismay, Bruce beckoned the ghost closer.

“Are you out of your mind, nuathreen?” he snapped in a harsh whisper, not wanting to displease the ghastly apparition.

“Are you out of your mind, you daft prat?” replied Bruce. Then to the pale, armored ghost, Bruce said, “Oi, are you a druid?”

Now panic-stricken, Liam said, “What difference does it make? It will devour all of our souls if we don’t flee now!”

“Gil, he’s completely off his flippin’ rocker.”

“Aye, he’s a complete nutter, so he is, Bruce”

Liam fought to hold back the redness of embarrassment from his face as the apparition drew closer. This was no ghost, just a very, very pale woman in some of the worst fitting, and looking, armor Liam had ever seen. Now the scene made sense to the previously and unnecessarily perplexed Thorn.

The lady had been creeping cautiously down the tunnel, but now she started running, causing Liam to twitch involuntarily, despite knowing now that she was no ghost. Bruce shook his head.

“Flippin’ ants in his pants, Gil.”

“Aye, Bruce.”

The woman knelt down over Brian, lifted his chainmail, and peeled up the shirt underneath, revealing three parallel crimson gashes. She started the familiar chant that Liam had heard many times after a battle. Her hands glowed with pure regenerative energy, the bluish white light casting a long shadow behind her. The gaping wounds sealed shut at her touch as the energy transferred from her healing hands to Brian’s broken body. After three repetitions of this process, Liam started to wonder if she’d appeared too late. He deduced that she must be in the early stages of training, which also meant that her healing powers were far from perfect. Also, judging from the tacky state of her appearance, Brian’s life didn’t rest in the competent hands of an expert. Despite all of that, she wasn’t giving up. She kept her hands on Brian’s side, her eyes squeezed shut.

“Better to die gloriously in battle, than to live a peaceful life and die of old age,” Liam said proudly.

Bruce shot a glance at him in response, and Liam could see the little archer shaking, veritably twitching all over. Had his profound phrase affected the tracker that much? When the tracker stomped towards him, Liam realized that perhaps he’d misjudged. Perhaps the nuathreen was actually seething and boiling over with rage.

“WHAT’S WRONG WI’ YOUR HEID, YOU GORMLESS TWIT?” Bruce screamed at a shockingly high volume for such a small creature.

Liam refused to answer such a ridiculous question. There was nothing wrong with his head.

“You just don’t get it do you, mate?” Bruce continued, but before he could add anymore to his diatribe, Brian coughed and sat up like a shot. The young lady jerked away, let out a surprised squeal, fell on her rear, and then scooted back a few paces, her hand covering her mouth.

Liam had never seen such a novice. Shocked by her own abilities? Ridiculous. A Thorn never doubted himself, not for a second.

“Thank you, druid,” Brian said weakly, panting to catch his breath. Running away from death could really take the wind out of a person.

“You’re welcome,” she stammered, staring at the space to the side of Brian.

“You see his darkness, don’t you?” Bruce asked.

“Looks like it, Bruce,” Gil added.

The young lady alternated staring at the nuathreens and back at Brian. Liam didn’t see what all the fuss was about.

“What is that?” she asked, standing up slowly.

“It’s a firbolg thing, lassie,” Bruce said casually. “Something happens after they’re brought back from the dead. I don’t really know, because I can’t see it.”

“Aye, only druids can,” added Gil.

“But I’m no druid.”

Bruce smiled.

“You must be something, lass, because only druids trained in Arbreldin can see the darkness,” he said.

“But I’ve never even been to—”

“This is all very interesting,” Liam interrupted, bored out of his mind. Arbreldin was the holy seat of the druids, and therefore packed to the gills with crazed idiots who believed in magical trees and mystical sunrises. Bunch of damn tree huggers if you asked him. “Who are you, and what is a lovely girl like yourself doing down in a hellhole like this?”

The woman turned to him, as if seeing him for the first time. He had that effect on women. Only a true Thorn could take a woman’s breath away every time they locked gazes.

“Just ignore him, lass,” Bruce said. Liam threw his most outraged glare at the small creature, but the nuathreen didn’t even possess the courage to acknowledge him.

“Aye, he’s a twit,” Gil added.

Before Liam could think of an appropriate way to express his displeasure, Bruce was already talking again.

“Does his darkness walk beside him?” he asked, somewhat tentatively.

“Uh, I’m not sure,” the girl replied uneasily. “What does that mean?”

“I hoped you knew,” Bruce said with a sigh. “It’s just what people ask every time a firbolg’s brought back to life.”

“Aye, never knew what they were on about,” added Gil.

Liam had never heard of this, but in fairness, he didn’t really hang around the dead much. He was too busy trying to create more dead.

“Fair enough,” Bruce said after an awkward silence. “So what are you doing down here, lass?”

“My name is Eilidh. I came down here with my friend Ruaidhri, and we got separated.” Desperation flooded her voice. “You have to help me find him. Please.”

“Sorry, lass,” said Bruce. “We’ve got business in the forest to attend to.”

Gil frowned slightly at his friend and then nodded in agreement.

Liam noted their leather armor and realized their true purpose in the caverns.

“Yes, dear Eilidh,” he said very deliberately. “These trackers should probably return to their patrol through Teekwood, instead of sneaking off to make a few silver pieces hunting animal parts for witches.”

The pair of trackers now stared at Liam, silent for the first time that he’d noticed. Andua relied on the likes of these to roam the border with Caldera, searching for signs of enemy troop movements. Truce or no truce, the Reds couldn’t be trusted as far as Liam could throw them, which was probably quite far actually. He made a note to find a better metaphor.

Liam examined the young woman. In the right light, she was actually very pretty. She’d spent far too much time in the dark halls of the caverns, but that was nothing some sunlight on the surface couldn’t fix. Yes, she could be very beautiful if she had a few hearty meals and filled out a little. And she needed him. How could Liam possibly refuse such an offer from a potentially pretty girl? Although, he did wonder if this Ruaidhri was more than a friend. Well, that dalliance wouldn’t last long after this Eilidh girl had spent some quality time in the presence of a courageous Thorn.

And to top it all, off-the-cuff adventuring always earned far greater notoriety than futilely educating a hopeless student. As far as Liam was concerned, his choice was as crystal clear as his own gorgeous eyes.

“Of course I will take you and rescue your fallen friend,” Liam said. “Nuathreens, as payment for my spectacular fighting services, I require that you take Brian back to the surface. He’s of no use on such a quest, as we saw in that recent skirmish. And the pair of you are borderline useless, running scared at the first signs of a stampeding gaggle of hulks.”

Bruce and Gil looked at each other in disbelief. Liam saw their response and laughed heartily. Perhaps too heartily, but was there such a thing