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

own. But you all must stay here. I can't have the rest of you trampling about like a herd of bison!"

The boy nodded. He was afraid. Gruesome doubted the young necromancer had the strength to survive the Honorless; but they needed to fight them now, before they moved on. Pjodarr wasted no time and left while Gruesome tended to the var. Tarac paced back and forth while the havtrol removed the kits from the raucous animals. He was not gentle with them like the shaman and they nipped and growled at him. When he was done, he faced the necromancer.

"If your pet is not back before Pjodarr, we will not wait for it. Every moment we let them live is a blight on my oath to Jaga."

Tarac said nothing.

They waited in silence. The night grew dark. Gruesome knew the shaman was clever and did not fear for the man's life, but each moment saw the boy becoming more fidgety. A true warrior had to be calm before battle. There was no time for short nerves when your enemy was upon you. The female perked up her ears before Pjodarr stepped from behind a tree.

"There are eight of them," he spoke quickly. "Another died and one of the eight looks badly wounded."

Gruesome felt relieved. "So, they fought amongst themselves then."

"No." The shaman did not look at him. "They found a party of humans, a small caravan of some sort. The men were able to kill one and hurt another, but they stood no chance. Couldn't have been more than thirty in their group."

"Eight havtrols killed thirty men?" Tarac's eyes were wider than a dwarf's shield.

"Some of them were women." He looked up through the thick net of limbs. "The men's fates were kinder." The old man turned to Gruesome. "They feast now. With their bellies full, they will want sleep. They will be slower."

The var all jumped to their feet and faced the way they'd come, hackles raised. Gruesome's weapons were in his hands before any of the big hounds could snarl.

The Folik creature raced between two trees, sword on its back. It sprinted in full armor, and then came to an abrupt stop at Tarac's side. The necromancer pressed his left hand against the things chest and sighed. He smiled at Gruesome, and the havtrol saw him fully composed. So, it was not the shaman that bothered him.

"Good," Pjodarr spoke low. "We're all here. Let's prepare."

 

Chapter 19

 

"You have all forsaken your oaths!" Gruesome roared at the top of his lungs. Blade held shield and sword high beside him.

Sixteen rage-filled eyes glared at him. They snarled and growled through blood-drenched lips. He took in the sight of them, the horror of them. Dead bodies lay strewn about. Three horses were on their sides with their bellies and throats ripped open. They were still attached to a small cart. The dead men were mostly armored, maybe guards of some sort. The women were naked, ravaged and broken. Gruesome felt his blood rise.

"You have unwritten your honor in the blood of the innocent! You have turned your back on your people and your gods!"

An old havtrol spat blood at him. His warrior's braid unkempt, the savage's white hair hung loose behind him. The pale-skinned Honorless rose to his feet.

"The gods are dead, fool. Your oaths mean nothing."

"You would give your honor so easily for folly?" Gruesome had heard the line before. Did they truly think the sleeping gods died beneath the Great Mountain?

"Is it folly to take what we can with the strength given to us by your gods? Surely they meant us to be better than these weak bags of flesh!"

So, this was their leader. He was a big brute; Gruesome guessed he’d seen thirty seasons or more than himself. Two of the havtrols were completely bald. The rest were like the old one, a ring of hair above their ears only and long in the back. No hair grew on the top of any havtrol's head. Some of them wore scraps of ill-kept armor, but none held weapons of steel. The metal of the dwarves was not suited to life in the mountains. It needed care the Honorless could not provide. But their teeth and claws were weapon enough.

"You mistake your purpose, coward." They were all on their feet now. Blade did not twitch beside him. The old general would hold fast. Gruesome's own hands rested on the heads of his great weapons. These base creatures would soon feel the full weight of them.

The old havtrol smiled. "The two of you think you can take us? You think your honor will make you stronger?" The rest laughed. The leader reached to his feet and picked up a woman's limp body and shook it. She screamed. She was alive! Her clothes were ripped, and claw marks marred her flesh. "I was saving this one for later. But I will make you a bargain. Throw down that pretty steel of yours, and you may have her." He sniffed her hair and moaned. "Young and fresh!"

"You mistake my purpose now!" Gruesome hefted the hammer and axe. "You have all forgotten the names of your fathers. Your mothers shed tears for their lost sons." The Honorless stamped the ground and roared at him. "You have chosen your fates, and only your blood will make amends! Oblivion take you!"

He charged the leader. Blade moved with him. One havtrol threw itself at them, and the dwarf slammed his shield into its side. Glorious Tremble flashed and black blood flew. A club swung at Gruesome. He caught it with his axe-head and spun his feet. The great mallet in his right hand crushed into the brute's head. Its jaw cracked, and teeth and blood spilled out. Lightning crackled behind him.

Two more of the animals rushed Gruesome. Before they were a step away, giant roots sprang from the ground and wove themselves around their legs. The shaman held them in place while the warrior swung both arms. His hammer broke the collarbone of one, and his axe cut deep into the other's chest. Death would come later; he needed to weaken them all first. Snow rose up around him, and turned into huge slabs of ice. Two more havtrols slammed into them and the frozen walls shattered. But Gruesome was already past them. He was surrounded now by Honorless. This would keep them focused on him.

Something tackled him from behind. He fell to the ground, arms swinging. The old havtrol leaped onto his chest. The air rushed from his lungs, and he felt a rib crack. The old beast grasped his right arm with both hands and held it down. Another coward held his left arm. Their claws dug into his flesh where the steel plates of his armor did not cover.

"Hold him!" their leader screamed. A third fell on his right arm and sank teeth into chain mail on his right shoulder. Gruesome kicked his knee into the old one's gut. It grunted and wrapped rough hands around his neck. Spittle and blood fell on his face as the bastard leaned over him. "Join your gods in hell!"

The dark of night turned blacker as something rushed over them. With a growl, the female var slammed into the old havtrol. Sharp claws tore at Gruesome's neck as the hands were ripped from his throat. He hadn't even heard the shaman whistle for the var!

The creature on his left arm let go suddenly. It howled and scratched at its face. Gruesome and the other havtrol watched in horror as the thing's eyes, lips and tongue bulged and exploded in a shower of hot blood. It sizzled and steamed in the snow. Gruesome reacted first. He grabbed the Honorless on his right by the neck and lifted with both arms. It flailed as he raised himself to his feet and slammed the massive body onto the ground. He smashed his fists into the thick body again and again. He felt bones crack, but he did not stop until the beast's torso turned to mush.

Blood rushed in his ears, the rage was well upon him. The thing beneath him gurgled and coughed up black blood. Gruesome stood and looked around. One of the Honorless nearly ripped Folik's arm off. The dead man swung the big sword in one hand without as much as a flinch. The blade cut deep into its throat, and the godless havtrol fell to its knees. Folik twirled the hilt of his weapon in his hand until the blade pointed down and drove it through the havtrol's neck. Another Honorless was being torn apart by two var. The dwarf stood over the body of yet another.

"They're getting away!" Tarac's voice cut through the night. Gruesome spun around to see two of the havtrols running into the forest. He leapt after them.

"Gruesome, no!" The shaman beseeched him. The big warrior stopped in his tracks and looked at the old man.

"What?!" he roared.

"They are wounded; they will not get far! Tend to the living!" Pjodarr stood over the still form of a woman. She was naked and bleeding. The shaman threw off his cloak and draped it over her.

Gruesome roared after the Honorless. "You will not live another day! I will have your blood!" His breath steamed from his body. His heart pounded in his chest. He took a deep breath and offered a silent prayer to Jaga. He felt the rage leave him in a wave. The cuts and bruises he ignored earlier now ached.

He walked over to the shaman. The woman still did not move. Was she even alive?

"Carry her, please, Gruesome. We need to get her away from all this."

The havtrol bent to pick her up. She screamed in terror. She wrapped her arms about her legs and shook like a leaf. Her head moved back and forth as she wailed gibberish at them. Gruesome looked at Pjodarr. The old man waved him back and motioned to the necromancer. "Tarac, here, help me." Together they managed to lift the girl to her feet. She continued to sob as they carried her away from the carnage.

Gruesome picked up his weapons from the frozen ground. The var fought over two of the havtrols. Let them have them. The Honorless gave up all they were when they broke covenant with the gods. It did not bother him for the var to eat their flesh. Blade still waited over his fallen adversary, sword and shield at the ready. The havtrol he'd beaten with his fists moved and vomited blood. Gruesome shifted the wide hammer in his hand, stepped over to the dying beast and smashed its head in with casual ease.

"You think this brings you peace, Beartooth?"

Gruesome realized the old Honorless still lived. He regarded it with disdain. "Peace for me? No. But peace to those you might slaughter."

The villain laughed and coughed up blood. The var had torn into its shoulder then ripped open its belly. The Honorless lifted a bit of its guts and waved them weakly at Gruesome. "Bags of flesh, that is all we are. All we ever were." Its eyes were wild and bloodshot. The pale skin of its face was whiter from loss of blood.

"You would deny the gods' reason?"

"Reason?!" It coughed again. "The gods are dead, fool." One eye closed as it shuddered in pain. "At least they had the comfort of dying in their sleep. My sons burned. Burned in the river of fire. My strong, glorious sons!" Tears flowed down its cheeks. "Tell me the gods' reason for that!"

"Ours is not to question the will of the gods."

"Ours is only to lose the prides of our heart to their whims?"

"We all lost loves in the Burning. Only the weak lost their honor with them."

"I know you, Beartooth. You were chief, now you hunt us. Your honor is tarnished, just like mine."

"NO!" The var jumped at the warrior's voice. "Not like you, never like you. My honor will be reborn in your blood."