Brewer King 08 (Patreon)

The bone white face leered at San as it dropped from the trees, the body was a misshapen orb of hair with five jointed chitinous legs sprouting from it. He realized that the face wasn’t the monster’s head, instead it was a plate of bone that eerily looked like a human face.

San saw the real face of the creature, underneath the hairy orb was a gaping mouth that dripped drool. There was a dozen eyes glittering in the waning daylight, sitting atop of stalks that sprouted from the top of the creature. The beast was hip height, smaller than Wolfram, but bigger than most dogs.

“Food…” the creature said, its voice was high pitched and inhuman.

“The Blessed Mother protect us,” the second man said, his attention focused upon the monster before them.

The creature jerked forward, moving incredibly fast. San saw that its legs were tipped with hooked claws made for rending flesh. He reacted immediately, slashing down with the sword in his hands.

The monster screeched, staggering back as a long gash opened along its body and a leg flopped to the ground. Green ichor pumped from the wound and it tried running off, making it only ten feet before it collapsed bonelessly to the ground.

San breathed heavily as he looked back up into the trees. The chittering continued and he watched as more bone faces appeared in the branches.

“Get up!” the second man was pulling the first man to his feet, he was ghost white and babbling. They grabbed the third man who was beginning to groan in pain. San was glad he was alright, he had struck him pretty hard with the spear. The fourth man was mewling, his hands gripped around a bruise that was forming on the side of his head.

“Gather up your weapons. We’re under attack,” the second man had retrieved his spear and was warily looking into the trees.

The first man was still rubbing his eyes, walking toward the spear he had dropped, when a figure dropped down onto him. He began screaming as the creature began using it’s claws to tear at the back of his winter coat. The second man was fast, slamming the spear into the creature and knocking it off the man. He followed up with a slash from his sword that cut deeply into the monster. It screeched and died.

The first man got to his feet, the back of his coat was torn, but he wasn’t bleeding. He snatched up his spear and stood back to back with the second man.

The fourth man had gotten to his feet, staggering to join the others. The third man, on the other hand, was still groaning, sitting on the ground. San wondered if he might have suffered a concussion.

“What the hell are these things?” San demanded, still looking into the trees.

“Rippers!” the fourth man cried, there were tears in his eyes. He held his sword in shaky hands, the only weapon he had left.

“They’re not supposed to be here,” the second man cried. “They come from the Far North, the Desolation, where monsters live. They haven’t been seen in these parts in generations.”

“We’re all gonna die,” the fourth man cried.

A ball of hair and legs fell from the trees, skittering toward San. He slashed with his sword, but it dodged the strike, seemingly suddenly moving in a different direction without slowing. A hooked claw slashed at him, but he managed to step back in time, just as another creature tried to fall upon him from the trees.

San saw it and swung at the creature. The flat of his blade slammed against the hairy body and it screeched as it was batted away. He immediately turned and slashed down with his sword, as the first creature had tried using the distraction to attack. The beast lost a limb and skittered back, screeching.

He heard shouting and yelling from the others, they were in a fight with three more monsters. The big man slammed his shield into one creature, knocking it off the fourth man, while the first man speared one of the creatures.

San refocused on his own battle, he rushed forward and thrusted his sword into the body of the creature he had batted away. It moved sluggish, seemingly disorientated. It screamed and staggered away, leaving behind a trail of ichor as it bled out.

The injured creature raced at him, San snatched up the spear he had brained the third man with and used the length and sharp point to keep the monster at bay.  He backed up, realizing he was near the other four men. The third man was vomiting and trying to stand, but moved about drunkenly.

A creature dropped down upon the third man, he went down without a sound. The long disjointed legs rose to strike down its hooked claws, but San threw the spear at the monster. It wasn’t a good throw, the blade missing the beast but it was enough to distract it. The first man ran the monster through with his spear, kicking it off his friend.

While his back had been turned, the injured monster raced at him. San barely had time to raise his sword, as it collided with him. He staggered back, the weight of his pack pulled him backward and he fell over. The monster climbing on top of him. He cursed as he felt the claws dig into his leg. The broadsword was between him and the monster, San turned the blade slightly and used his other hand to push the creature with the flat of the blade. The monster was fairly light and with a grunt of exertion, San threw the creature off of him. It bounded against the ground, hissing and screaming. The second man leaped forward and brought his sword down upon the creature, killing it.

San groaned and rolled to his feet. He nodded his thanks to the second man and turned to face the trees once more. The lack of chittering set San’s nerves on edge. The fourth man was sobbing, muttering prayers under his breath. The first man was helping the third to his feet, and the big man was scanning everywhere.

The trees began rustling, the winter stripped branches of the oaks shaking as dark shapes moved among them. The chittering began again, this time far more than there had been before.

“There’s too many,” the second man said. “We have to flee.”

San nodded, he could see the bone white pseudo faces among the branches. The monsters were wary now, with half a dozen of their kind dead on the ground.

“We need to get to a place without trees,” San said.

The big man the fourth man, shaking him to get his attention. “Help, Savol. Get Hazani up and moving.”

The fourth man nodded and rushed to help the two others. They got the man up, San saw the unfocused gaze of the third man. Blood streaked his face.

“Are you a warrior?” the big man asked, adjusting his grip on his spear.

“No, just a brewer,” San replied.

The man frowned and looked back to the trees. “We’re going to die here,” he said.

San felt an odd calmness settle down upon him. He looked at the white faces and although he was scared, he didn’t fear the death they would bring.

He took a deep breath and then nodded to the big man. “Yeah,” he said as he looked up into the branches.

Pain exploded in San’s calf. He cried out and looked down to see the spearhead of the big man’s weapon sticking into his leg. He immediately collapsed as the pain weakened his leg. The sword dropped from his hand and he gripped the wound, blood already seeping through the cloth wrappings.

“We don’t all have to die here,” the big man said. He looked at San sorrowfully, but grabbed the dropped broadsword and hurried back to his friends. “Run!”

San held back his curses as he gripped his calf. Blood had soaked the cloth wrappings he was using to keep the cold at bay. The spearhead had been sharp enough to pierce through them and into the flesh.

The chittering of the creatures pulled his attention away from the wound. The unholy monsters had scented his blood and they were now advancing as the others took the opportunity to escape. Unholy creatures… San pulled his pack off in record time.

His days in the village hadn’t been idle. He had some remaining oil left over and had used it to make a torch just in case. It was a green branch with the head wrapped in a plastic bag. He had used some unprocessed wool, or something that looked like wool, and old strips of cloth, soaked in the oil for an entire day and then wrapped in a plastic bag to keep it from drying.

He ripped the bag off and held the torch up.

“Fire in the Night,” he said. He thought back on the Sanitize spell he had used. He thought of the torch burning, of it lighting up and chasing away the monsters. “Fire in the Night!”

A bone faced monster dropped from the branches and raced at him.

“Fuck! Fire in the Night!” He yelled, but the torch didn’t respond. San dropped it and grabbed the shield the fourth man had left behind. He raised it as the monster collided with him.

His breath exploded from his lungs and he was thrown onto his back. The leg wound screamed in agony and he gritted his teeth as the hooked claws scraped against the wooden shield. He could hear more of the monsters dropping to the ground, their claws clicking against the ground.

San pushed with the shield and the monster pulled on it. He released his hold on it and then shoved his hands into his jacket pocket. He got the revolver out and with a two handed grip fired a shot into the center of mass of the monster holding the shield. It let out a sharp squawk and then collapsed to the ground.

The gunshot was loud and it caused the monsters to stop for a moment. San fired again, hitting the nearest monster. It screeched and danced away from him, a hole in its side spewing ichor. It died a few seconds later among its brethren.

That didn’t dissuade the monsters. Instead they tensed and then as one, began chittering even louder.

Two shots, only three more left.

He fired rapidly, taking two down and winging a third as it moved as he pulled the trigger. San cursed and snapped open the cylinder, the brass casings clattered to his lap and he felt his hands shaking from the adrenaline and fear.

A braver monster rushed him, San cursed, dropped the revolver and tugged at the camp knife he had attached to his belt. He got the blade out just as the monster collided with him. He once again was thrown on his back as the creature got on top of him, the claws raised and ready to strike down. The underbelly mouth snarled and drooled on him.

A growl filled the air and the monsters was viciously pulled off of him. San stared for a moment as he saw the outline of Wolfram in the twilight. Her massive jaws crunched into the body of the monster and she ripped it off of him. The monster screeched as it was tossed away, two legs ruined and a massive gash in its side.

San was out of weapons. The knife was pathetic, barely six inches of blade. He saw the torch and pulled himself toward it. The monsters were held at bay by Wolfram, sensing a powerful foe in her. It was fear and surprise that kept them from attacking, but that would fade soon.

He pulled a lighter from his pocket. He had thought he could light the torch with the power, just as he had managed to remove the blood and stains from his shirts. It was time to just use regular fire instead.

The torch ignited, slowly at first, but as the flames crawled across the oil soaked cloth, it roared to life. San looked at the fire and had a thought.

“Fire in the Night,” he said again. This time he could feel it, the warmth of mana passing out of him and into the flame. It flared a blue color for a second and then returned back to the normal orange flame.

The effect was immediate as the monsters began screeching again. The ones closest to him backed up, their claws out and flinching away from the fire. San raised the torch up high, causing the monsters in the branches to skitter back. He grinned and then cursed as his leg let out an agonizing blast of pain.

Wolfram continued to growl at the monsters, her hackles raised. The torch wasn’t going to last all that long. San guessed he had fifteen minutes. He would need to build a fire. He pulled his back over, leaned the torch against it, hoping that it wouldn’t fall and burn all his supplies. He pulled out some bandages he had made from the cloth he had found in the village and wrapped it tightly against his calf. The pain was intense, but he pushed through it.

It took a few moments but he managed to get himself into a standing position, his left leg throbbed and he could feel the coldness of the blood soaked bandages against his skin. It was painful, but he could put some pressure onto his leg. With one hand he grabbed his pack straps and with the other, he grabbed the torch.

The monsters continued to hiss and chitter at him, they moved about the trees, their eyes reflected in the torchlight. But they didn’t come any closer, they didn’t attack. Wolfram responded with growls and snarls, sending the monsters into a chittering fit.

San groaned as he limped. He spotted the spear he had thrown and paused to pick it up, that in itself was a painful experience. He used it as a cane as he slowly made his way down the road, in the direction that the others had fled.

The torch was guttering, most of the oil and cloth already burned away. That’s when he smelled woodsmoke again. San paused and peered into a space between two large oak trees. He saw the dim red embers of a fire. It was the campsite of the men who attacked him.

San looked down the road where the others had fled. Behind him, he saw the glittering eyes of the monsters. San limped into the campsite, noting the abandoned packs and items of the men. He sat down heavily on a large stone by the fire pit and extended his injured leg.

They had been in the middle of dinner, it seemed. There were dishes out, some kind of meat in wooden bowls and wild game spitted on a branch. There was also firewood gathered for the cold night. San helped himself to the firewood, tossing in the kindling into the fire pit. It began to smolder and San helped it out by dropping the flaming torch into it.

“Fire in the Night,” he said as the flames began to rise. The fire flashed blue once more and San grinned as the chittering from the monsters intensified. Perhaps the effect was based on the size of the flame?

Wolfram seemed to calm down as the fire roared. She began sniffing among the packs and immediately set upon the abandoned food.

In relative safety, San pulled the cloth wrappings off his calf, wincing as pain lanced through his leg. He saw the injury, a two inch gash that had been the tip of the spear. It was a wound to disable, not cripple. San was glad about that, if the big man had cut an artery or tendon, he’d be screwed. He had instead just injured him enough to slow him down. The old saying of ‘I don’t have to outrun the bear’ came to San’s mind.

He took out his first aid kit, found the small syringe within it and Sanitized it. He did the same with the bottle of water he had and then tried it on his wound, just to see if it would work. He didn’t know, but the skin flashed with a bit of light that made him think it might have. He irrigated the wound, cursing as he did. Then using his flashlight, checked to see if there were any debris within it from the cloth and from his hiking socks. It seemed clean, there was no blood gushing out, just a slow leak.

The stitches were quick and ugly, but he had a lot of experience with it lately. He cleaned the area with the last of the antiseptic and then wrapped it with the last of his gauze and more cloth wrappings. The calf throbbed and ached, but it would heal, if it didn’t get infected.

He popped a few aspirins and shivered as a bit of wind picked up in the cold night. His breath plumed before him and he knew it was going to be a freezing night, he could feel it in the air.

The men had gathered a lot of wood; San made use of it, building the fire high and then setting out his tent. He hadn’t used it in days, as the first night he had been worried about Wolfram attacking him and later he had sheltered in the village.

The tent was a three man all weather tent that Mary and he used a lot. He limped about, setting it up and then sat down heavily when he was done. Wolfram looked up from where she had consumed the food of the men. She yawned and lay her head down on her paws, just like a dog. San shook his head, she wasn’t his friend.

San chewed on some cold roti bread. He looked up to the sky and only saw darkness, clouds had rolled in. Soon he watched as thick snowflakes began to fall.

The fire was warm and he saw that the monsters had receded. Either because of the flame or the fact that they would get no prey tonight. San shivered, wondering about the other men. Did the monsters go after them?

He tried to not think about it. They had attacked him, they had injured him so they could flee. They did not deserve his empathy or pondering. If they died to the monsters, then that was their fault. Not his.

San built the fire up a little more. It needed to last all night.

Exhausted and in pain, San fell asleep in the comfort of his tent.

***

Morning came and San sat before the fire, boiling water. He had found some kind of tea among the possessions of the men and drank it slowly. It was minty, grassy, and delicious in his mouth. He knew it was tea, as there was a wooden cup with the dried leaves within it abandoned by the men.

Wolfram yawned. San had noticed she had brought back a corpse of one of the monsters. It lay half eaten and half buried in the newly fallen snow. He grimaced at the sight, it looked more insect in the daylight and there was green ichor liberally splashed around the camp.

San ate another cold roti bread and drank his tea. His leg still throbbed and ached, but he could put pressure on it. He knew he could walk and if he used the spear as a crutch, he could keep going.

The monsters were gone. He suspected that the village the men came from wasn’t too far. He remembered the fourth man saying he didn’t want to spend the night out in the woods, that meant this was their first night out. That would mean they had traveled the entire day to get to this point, just as San had traveled an the daylight hours to reach this midsection. If he pushed himself, he might reach their village by nightfall.

Then what? San didn’t know. All he knew was that their village was a destination. He didn’t know how they would react to his presence, if the four men’s actions were common then he’d be killed outright.

They did steal his sword from him and he was also on a quest to find the Mage Chief’s grandson. These people were the same as those that lived in the village, therefore they probably knew where Azalobana was.

He realized he didn’t have much of a choice. He couldn’t stay in the woods, not with those monsters about. He needed his injury looked at too, just in case. Most of all he needed information. He needed to know more about this world and what it held. Interacting with other people had to be done, even if it was potentially dangerous.

San finished his tea and roti, then he began stripping the campsite. The men had left behind some bedrolls, soft fur and leather that seemed to be water resistant. San bundled them up, along with some cordage, tools, and weapon maintenance equipment.

He limped his way back to the battle site; the remaining corpses of the dead monsters were all gone. San found the shield the fourth man had abandoned and picked it up. He found a short sword also, dropped by someone. He took it back to the camp, used the cordage to bundle the pack and supplies onto the shield, then used some para-cord and carabiners to make a harness. He tested it out and discovered it wasn’t too much of an issue to pull. He piled some firewood on and began following the half buried road.

It had snowed, but not too much. The heavy overhanging branches kept the road somewhat clear of snow and the churned up ground from the escaping men and chasing monsters was easy to follow.

***

San crested a hill, sweat dripping down his back and his face twisted with clenched agony. His leg was on fire and his back was beginning to ache something fierce. He stopped and breathed in the cold air.

The forest had thinned considerably, he could see the sky through the conifers and oaks, but there wasn’t much to see. The sky was overcast and a cold wind was blowing from the east. The snowfall the night before hadn’t been much, it had softened the hard edges of the world with a thin blanket.

That didn’t mean he lost the track of the others, the ground was torn up enough for even his non-existent tracking skills to follow. It seemed the men had a tough night; San noted more than a few spots where blood had been spilled, human and monster. It looked like they were dragging one of their members, as a furrow was made through the snow.

He had been following the trail all morning and now he saw where it lead. There was a large open clearing on the downslope of the hill. Where the trees seemed not to grow naturally. From his position he could make out a rough camp, beside a fallen log and a mound of brush and wood. He could see a rising wisp of smoke before it was snatched away by the wind.

San adjusted his burden and continued down the hill. Wolfram trotted behind him, sniffing the ground. She would disappear for a few minutes and then return, almost playful in her demeanor. Again, San stopped himself from trying to make her seem more than she was.

It didn’t take him long to reach the campsite; he frowned at what he saw. The most obvious signs were all the blood. Red human blood mixed and frozen along with the green ichor of the monsters. He spotted many dead corpses of the creatures, not taken like the ones in the woods. Wolfram began nudging the corpses, sniffing and probably preparing to have lunch.

There was a small fire still burning, a stack of sticks that would barely keep it going for an hour. Beside the fire was the bloodied body of one of his attackers.

San leaned on the broken spear and saw that it was the fourth man. The young one who was scared. His bushy hair was covered in snow, his lips blued, and his eyes closed. The front of his fur coat was torn to shreds. Blood soaked the entirety of his clothing, caked and frozen.

They had made a stand in this place the night before. San was impressed at how far they had gotten, especially when they were injured and helping one of their own who was concussed. San counted at least a dozen of the monsters, they had given more than they had taken.

He moved to the log to set down his burden. It was odd, to have lunch and rest beside the abandoned corpse of a human being. But the world was different now and he could do nothing for the man.

“Blessed Mother, take away the pain,” a soft voice muttered.

San looked to the bloodied man and saw his cracked lips moving. He was still alive.

***

Snow and ice crunched underfoot as San walked through the night. The moon had risen and the night was bright, but it was murderously cold. He shivered and shook, it felt worse than after he had swam in the river. His teeth chattered and his leg was both on fire and numb.

His burden moaned and groaned occasionally, telling San he was still alive. There wasn’t much he could do for the man, but it had been better than what his friends did for him. He had been cut up badly by one of the monsters, deep gouges across his chest and arms. A lot of blood lost.

The other men hadn’t done much than put pressure on the wounds, it had stopped some of the bleeding, but not all of it. He supposed they thought he was a dead man and left him with a tiny fire as some weird act of kindness or shame.

It wasn’t the blood loss that was killing him, it was the hypothermia that came with it. The man was nearly entirely blue; how he continued speaking and muttering prayers was beyond San’s medical knowledge.

San had built up the fire, warmed his bottle of water, stripped the bloodied coat off the boy, and cleaned and dressed the wounds as best as he could. He used the last of the cloth he had, then cut up the blankets he had taken, and finally wrapped the boy in mylar emergency blankets. He used the water bottle, the brass cookware he had taken, any water tight container to begin warming him up. It was a long process.

He had hoped to reach the village by nightfall, but caring for the injured man took all his time and effort. Not to mention his leg was screaming in pain as he tried working.

The night had been cold, but San managed to drag the boy into his tent and they had been tent buddies for a night. In the morning, the boy looked better, as better as one could when they had suffered major injuries. He was still muttering prayers, but he wasn’t about to become an icicle.

San spent the morning building a travois to carry the boy. Using the cordage he had found to make a new harness; he left the makeshift camp before mid-morning.

The traveling had been slow and painful, for San it was the pain in his leg, for the boy it was his injuries. San saw that some were bleeding again, but there was little he could do. He needed get him to his people.

Wolfram had been with him throughout the day, but as evening fell she disappeared. He hadn’t stopped much, figuring if he decided to stop and rest, he would never get back to moving. Exhaustion was clawing at his senses when night had fallen and then deepened.

His wristwatch said it was seven in the morning, but the days and nights were longer in this world. Twenty-eight hours instead of the twenty-four. He suspected it was near midnight.

A few more hours later he was about to collapse from exhaustion. He couldn’t feel his legs anymore and his clothing was frozen nearly solid. He gasped and looked ahead, blinking his eyes as he saw the distant glimmer of light.

It wasn’t electrical light, instead it looked like flickering torchlight. San trudged forward, sensing that he was nearing the village.