Chapter 141

Chapter 141: Servant of the Axe, 41- Reef of Corpses

Servant of the Axe

Chapter 41

Reef of Corpses

There were no less than three easy ways onto the plateau, not counting the places where vines were thick enough to allow climbing.

“There’s no help for it, boss. We either put our backs against a cliff, or we let them surround us. Neither is a good option.”

“Well, let’s see if we can’t find a finger ledge or something similar that will protect us on three sides.” I said. I didn’t have high hopes, and my low expectations were more realistic. We got an almost-corner.

“We’d last longer on that ridge up there.” Dimmihammas said.

.....

“Nah, that’s a trap.” Narces said. “No way down off of that, and at least here spears that miss go over the cliff. If we run them out of throwing spears before I run out of arrows, we’ve got an advantage.”

“Well, one of us, at least, should be up there, to spot them coming.” Dimmihammas said.

“And you are volunteering?” I asked.

“Unless Madonna wants the position.”

She shook her head. “I need a bonfire or similar to tap Fire mana from.”

“That’ll give our position away.” Narces said.

“No help for it.” I said. “This is their island, they’d find us sooner or later. If they’re coming, which isn’t a given.”

“We never found those other two, they know we’re here.” Gamilla said. “I don’t speak the pygmie tongue, but that chieftain sounded angry.”

“She would have killed me.” Madonna said. “I’m sorry they’re that stupid, but I’m not sorry if we have to kill them all.”

“Madonna, may I have the knife?” Dimmihammas asked.

“What, risk both you AND the Obsidian Death?”

“The blade has a name?” Kismet asked.

“It does now.” Madonna said.

I reached into my inventory, retrieved my parrying dagger. “Take this, Dimmihammas. It’s not magical, but it’s done me proud.”

Dimmihammas squinted, but took the knife. “Ugh. Mortal steel.” He spat to the side, as though protecting himself from being reduced, somehow. Or so it seemed to me; I certainly do not have a degree in devilish psychology.

“I’m the Lumberjack by class, I guess I’ll start gathering firewood. Narces, Gamilla, take turns on watch, we’ll want to be rested in case tonight turns violent.”

And so it was. Narces skinned and butchered the burrowing bear, and a small cooking fire started. Although I found a downed tree, I lacked the sheer muscle power to bring it back all at once.

“This isn’t enough wood! Work faster!”

“You are free to join me, if you wish.”

“I will make do with what feeble fires you can provide.” I reminded myself that I had access to second tier muscles, just three hundred or so biomass points out of reach. I was larger than her, almost up to Narces’ rib cage.

I went to chop off another length of tree trunk and drag it back to camp.

It never ceases to amaze me how many people will attack from downwind, out of your line of sight, and think they have surprise. He got away, but left a nice trail of blood.

“You’re wounded.” Gamilla said.

“They’re getting bolder as the day gets closer to dusk.” I said.

#

Shortly after dusk, they emerged from the jungle, eleven in number, painted white with black eyes and mouths so as to resemble ghosts.

“I almost feel sorry for them.” Gamilla said from my right.

“Yeah, given how many of them we killed when the sun was up...”

One of them vanished, and Madonna screamed.

Flash Step.

A common warrior ability, third tier.

I whirled and struck, but there was some manner of stone bracer on his arm, sufficient to block my blade. He smiled at me, and...

There was a squelching noise, and suddenly Gamilla’s spear-tip was sticking out of his temple like a devil’s horn.

“Nrg, nrg, nrg.” He said, as Kismet drug him to the ledge and rolled him over.

I still had nothing resembling Flurry of Blocks, and my chainmail was keeping the bottom of the sea safe from harm. I endured my portion of the thrown short spears, but was unable to cover Kismet and Madonna completely.

“Arrr, Rhishi, more blocking!”

“Yes, don’t you have Taunt?” Madonna asked.

But most of their spears were launched at Gamilla. She must have been wheeling like a dervish, for I could feel the wind her passage was kicking up on my back. Faintly, but it was there.

“Ugh.” She said, pulling the spear out with a grunt, and chucking it out over the cliff.

“I don’t think social skills work if they don’t understand the language.” I said.

“No, you boob! Taunt! The ability, Taunt.”

[Purchase Ability: Taunt] I told my system.

[Ability: Taunt has been purchased for seven Pankratios points.]

It seemed to be some kind of lewd dance move, involving thrusting hips while pointing at each of them and making a beckoning motion.

And as eight spears were hurled at me in a final volley, I realized why I hadn’t prioritized it. This was the exact opposite of a survival maneuver.

I couldn’t crouch, the women were behind me. But I threw up my shield, and blocked what I could. One of the spears penetrated the shield, but not with enough force to break my scales. But it lodged there, and I had to cut my shield loose.

No, literally. I cut the leather straps.

Howling and screaming, they charged us. Narces fired arrows off into the darkness, but they were surprisingly agile.

Madonna whispered an invocation, and hurled a bolt of flame at the most distinctive of ghosts. He wasn’t the chief, but that did not save him. His hair caught fire, making an exceptional target for Narces.

And then, no shield, no armor, with only my blade, I was suddenly fighting off four spears. Thank you, Geralt, for your obsessively unfair lessons. I have no doubt that without them, my story would have ended there.

Cut by cut, I made them pay. Then there were three spears, then two, and then none, and Narces was picking them off as they fled.

Breathing hard, sweat in my eyes, I collapsed to both knees. I had a sudden need to relieve my bowels, and no energy to move. Was everyone alive?

“Someone, help get me to the cliff.”

“Oh, Rhishi, you’ve lived through worse. C’mon, you can pull through.”

I explained what I needed, and was flexible enough to get it done with Kismet’s help.

#

All of us were wounded, Narces included. I think I was the worst off, hit eight times, but none of those were particularly deep, nor did I have a serious injury.

Kismet had been struck in the upper arm, which had soaked her entire right side with blood.

Madonna had a gut wound, which had somehow not pierced her intestines.

Gamilla was missing a chunk from the side of one of her ribs, and a bleeding wound above and behind her eye.

Narces had been hit in his left side collarbone, and was spitting up blood, but appeared in good spirits.

We disposed of the dead and dying, of which there were eight. Nine, counting the reckless one. Not a bad night’s work, and I should have said as much before passing out. But I didn’t.

[Something something quest accepted, words, words.]

“Husband! Husband! Get up.”

I said something like “No. Never. Spirits, why? The sun isn’t even up.”

“Dimmihammas hasn’t returned.” She said.

“I’m least wounded, I’ll check.” Gamilla said.

My wife jabbed me awake again, careful to put her fingernails into my wounds.

“There’s only blood on the escarpment; I. Want. My. Monkey.”

I vaguely recall saying something about craziness and crack pipes, but somehow Madonna got me on my feet, and we were tracking drops of blood and broken twigs and down the main path, and through the jungle, and back to the caverns. All of us, not just Madonna and I.

When she dropped me to invoke, I collapsed and lay there insensate.

There was screaming and the smell of blood, and a very short battle, if it could be called that. I was feverish the next day, and Dimmihammas yet to regain consciousness, so we were left on the shore opposite the village, on the theory that I could escape into the ocean if there were spare pygmies about.

.....

There were arrowhead fish, but they got more nibbles in on me than I managed against them, and I returned to the relative safety of land.

Dinner that night was herbs and vegetables, with a single coconut split between us.

Dimmihammas lay curled up with both hands pressed to his bloody scalp. He barely seemed to regain consciousness, but Madonna assured us he was cursing up a storm in fluent diabolic.

“How do you feel, boss?” Narces asked the next morning.

“Less like I got fed to an orphanage.”

“The war is finishing up today. You coming with?”

I propped myself up with the assistance of a nearby rock. “I won’t win any medals for athleticism.” I said. “But let us finish this.”

Fools that we were, we did.

#