Raiders of Uecketev Part 2

Year 22840

Month of Owah

Durkquire Marks (age 18)

Raiders of Uecketev part 2

Waves beating upon the shore sounded in Durkquire’s ears. Nausea tugged at his stomach and he tried to roll over to satisfy the urge, but pain ripped through his left arm and up into his chest. He groaned and forced his eyes open. It was dark. A flickering light came from up upon the sandy hill. The smell was foul.

He lifted his right arm and gripped the body draped atop him. It was cold and stiff. Cerra? He remembered it all. The pain coming from his left arm was the injury received from the fire nauxen’s jaw clamping down upon it. His hand trembled. He reached up and around her head, drawing it closer to his face. His eyes stung as tears filled and fell from them. He sobbed silently, holding her tight.

Voices in conversation grew louder as they walked along the beach. Durkquire’s grip tightened on Cerra and he listened.

A higher pitched male voice spoke, “Still, he could have waited for us.”

The deeper tones of another male responded, “You know boss likes to make an entrance. Shame how this one turned out though. Doesn’t look like we’ll be back here.”

“And we get stuck with the messy jobs.” The first’s voice squeaked.

“Don’t let him catch those words coming out of your jabber. You’ll end up in the corpse pile with the rest of these folks.”

If there was air in Durkquire’s lungs, it was gone now.

Everyone’s. . . dead?

He felt as cold as Cerra. His heart ached, his eyes blurred over again. He brushed his fingers through Cerra’s tangling hair. Durkquire inhaled. He gauged his inner well. I’ve been out for hours. His well was full.

Durkquire whispered, “Salabotte.”

He rubbed the back of his head into the sand to distract from the discomfort as his mangled arm pulled and shifted, healing underneath Cerra. As the minutes passed, he listened to the men return to the coast two times, each time coming closer to him to collect the dead for burning.

The weave ended its draw upon his well. He took hold of Cerra’s shoulders. I’m sorry I failed to protect you. He gently set her on the ground beside him and pulled the lids of her eyes shut.

“Last ones are over here.” The deeper toned man spoke on the approach.

“Good. I’d like to get going. This place is empty.” The shrill voice cracked again. “Boss cleaned this town of every last rund and pretty face. I’d like to go spend my share as soon as the ship ports in Corpaniese.”

“Now, that I agree with you on. Herram has been waiting patiently for us to finish. Let’s get these bags of bone and get out of here.”

They laughed. Their laughter cut short a few feet from where Durkquire stood. Durkquire’s breaths came out harsh and angered. His fists clenched and opened, dropping sand.

“Nevizot. Netrimus.” He spoke the weave with deep conviction and lifted a hand out to the raiders standing before him.

The sand lifted at his command and pulled the two men down into the ground up to their necks. They shouted out. Durkquire quickly directed a compressed gag of sand across their mouths. However, the stone naux and Herram were on the move towards them in response.

Durkquire grumbled. He would have to be fast.

“Where is Dreggar?” Durkquire knelt, yanked the men’s heads up to look them in their eyes.

Soft muffling sounded and Durkquire sighed. He willed the gag off one. “You were saying?”

“Dreggar’s gone. Everyone is but us and Herram.” The shrilled voice came from the thinner of the two.

He returned the gag and looked out to the sea. The obsidian ship was gone. The man appeared to be telling the truth. With a heavy sigh, Durkquire released his grip and stood back a few steps. He gave a tilted nod. His eyes narrowed in on the men at his feet.

“Sleep in your horrors, blight of Marmidon.” Durkquire raised his right hand to them.

The weave was still active and drawing upon his well. A swift yank downwards and muffled screams were buried deep within the sandy ground. In the silence, it was easy to hear the steps of the naux approaching.

Durkquire looked back to Cerra, Kerch and Peelie’s still bodies. He wanted to do them right, give them a proper burial.

“Gerard? Manam?” Herram called out to the silence.

Durkquire turned his attention to the approaching beast and its rider. He lifted a hand, ready to cast a weave. His naux should still be blind on one side. He shut his eyes for a moment to recall which eye Cerra had thrown her stone. The left. He concluded.

His footing shifted as he prepared to sprint to the beasts’ left side. He took a deep breath to steady his racing heart. I can do this. He’s the last one here. Relying upon the other man’s word wasn’t the wisest thing to do, Durkquire knew this, but as far as he could see, it was true.

“You lazy louts are trying my patience!” Herram shouted.

Sore muscles reminded Durkquire as he sprinted, that if he were to be injured, it would likely result in his death. The naux picked up on his movement faster than Herram did. Durkquire ducked into the beasts’ shadow and lifted his right hand to cast first at Herram. He’d learned from his short-lived fight with Serrath, and Dreggar, that the nauxen only attacked upon command.

“Saisette!” He felt the draw upon his well and directed the weave up at Herram to bind him in place.

“Cursed ethrean!” Herram continued into a string of derogatory insults.

Durkquire didn’t waste time. He moved onto the next weave. “Nevizot Netrimus.” He lifted his left hand up with his right. Holding the prior weave while enacting a new one had an instantaneous effect upon Durkquire. His insides twisted and pained him. He quickly withdrew the weaves he had cast, cutting them off from his inner well and stumbling backwards, bent over, as the internal writhing continued.

Herram laughed. “Even I know you can’t cast two weaves at once. At least not ones requiring constant access to your well.” He paused. “I’m going to assume you did something to Gerard and Manam. That isn’t very nice is it?”

Durkquire looked up to him. His face only visible by the pale light of the moons at half cycle. “Doesn’t even begin to pay for what you all did.”

“You’ve got guts kid. Shame.” He patted the thick neck of his naux. “Iet, saem ziens.” He spoke to his naux.

The beast jolted into action, lunging out at Durkquire. I’m going to die! Adrenaline flooded his chest and limbs. He found himself running despite the pain within. Why do I run? He partly hated himself for it. Everyone he knew and loved was now dead. Misery would be his company the rest of his days. Nobody would want to endure that. He looked behind at the naux that chased after him. Each swipe of its massive claws narrowly missed as his body responded to the threat.

No. If I die, no one will know what happened here. Nobody will be here to recall that they lived. To share their stories. To celebrate their lives. His heart pumped harder as his conviction strengthened and his steps hit the ground harder, propelling him forward with increased speed.

“I remember you.” Herram called. “You were on the beach when we arrived.”

Durkquire glanced back in time to see another incoming swipe. He dropped to the ground and slid underneath it, towards the beast’s belly.

“And I’ll be the last one you see.” Durkquire reached up and made contact with the nauxen’s scaled belly. “Zidu Ledus Parizet!” He pictured the sharp-edged floral ice patterns as they materialized within the beast.

With the following second, Durkquire twisted his hand and enacted the final part of the weave. The naux bellowed out in a pained roar as the floral ice began to twist within, cutting apart its innards.

The air brushed past Durkquire’s face, almost tangible, with the flailing of the naux. He dodged as best he could, but took a hit from its’ rear foot. The force of being hit, threw Durkquire several feet away. He gasped for the air that was knocked from his lungs. Rolling over, he could hear Herram running towards him. A metallic ring sounded as a weapon was drawn.

Durkquire pushed to his feet and turned to face him. Herram’s foot kicked into Durkquire’s gut, knocking him back down to the ground. The pale light of the moons glinted off the edge of Herram’s dagger as it came down. Durkquire’s left hand rushed upwards at Herram’s wrist. He felt the hard metal of the cross guard. Aching pain radiated through his hand as he pushed it upwards, pulling Herram’s hand with it.

Durkquire’s right hand tightened into a fist. He drove it up into the man’s gut while taking hold of the dagger with his other hand. Each motion he took was fluid, shifting from one to the next naturally. With Herram’s dagger, Durkquire yanked his left hand down with the tip pointed at Herram’s chest.

In the final moment, Durkquire looked at Herram’s fearful gaze. His heart wrenched and he hesitated. The tip of the dagger pressed in upon Herram’s sternum. Herram backed down and lifted his hands in surrender.

“Spare me!” He pleaded.

Durkquire kept the blade pressed against him, and kept tabs on Herram’s raised hands.

“How about a truce?” The man was grasping at straws.

“You are in no position to ask for such a thing after everything you and your fellow murdering thugs did.” Durkquire reached out and took a strong grip at the back of Herram’s neck. He lifted the dagger to it and pressed hard enough that blood was drawn.

“No. Saem ziens. I think you have miscalculated your victory.” Herram smiled, a chortling laughter caused his neck to press in and out of the dagger cutting in deeper, but not killing him.

Durkquire spotted the incoming swipe of the naux on his right. He let go of Herram to turn and face the naux coming in fast, but everything was spinning with explosive pain as he was hit and flung. He felt his skin torn open at the pointed tips of nauxen claws that moved across his chest, until he was airborne. The dagger he had held, fell to the ground with a thud.

Living déjà vu as he skipped across the ground, Durkquire tried reaching out to slow each impact. His fingertips burned with the friction, ripping the skin off and tugging at his nails. He cried out and groaned when he came to a stop.

Is he coming?

He opened his eyes and tried to blink the world into staying still. The sky continued to spin. The form of Herram stood over him, spinning with the rest of what he could see. The wet tip of the dagger pressed in against Durkquire’s neck.

“I ought to kill you.” Herram took hold of Durkquire’s hair and pulled his head up, pressing his neck into the dagger’s edge. “But, maybe what is worse, is letting you live. You will live, knowing that you couldn’t protect anything, not even yourself.”

The spinning slowed to a stop and Durkquire was able to clearly see Herram’s face. He glared up at the vile man and spat at him.

Herram flinched. He dropped Durkquire’s head, but kept the dagger pressed tight. “Maybe you’re more trouble alive. May Marmidon rest your soul.”

The same force from earlier pushed Durkquire to live. It hit him like the waves crashing against the shore. Each beat of his heart was a wave of water pushing and pulling upon an inner will to survive. Against every pain that wracked his body, Durkquire swung his arm up under Herram’s and pushed it up into the air. He rolled and jumped to his feet to run.

What can I do?

His options were limited. He would not do well against Herram while the naux was still there. With each passing step, he realized more and more, that he couldn’t take them on, not now. Reaching up to his chest, he opened his hand and pressed his palm in.

He thought of Peelie as he called out the weave, “Masiems.” He clamped his jaw shut and blinked away the tears as he ran.

The farther he got the more care he took to keep each step from alerting Herram or his naux. He slowed to a walk, and glanced back every few seconds. Shouts of anger came from the man as he realized Durkquire was gone, far out of reach.

He released the weave cloaking him, and sighed.

Taking a deep breath, he smelled the char of timber, brushed into the air as he walked through town. He stopped to take it in. Every building was smashed and burnt. Debris covered the roads. It was strange not to see anyone, and horrifying to know where their bodies were. Durkquire turned around and stared at the bon fire. The flames were low now, and the light coming off the pile outlined the gruesome scene.

A deep sorrow drew tears to his eyes again. What had started out as a lovely morning of festival preparation had turned into an unimaginable nightmare. He bit at his cheek and wiped his face dry with the shreds of his shirt. His chest burned. The deep cuts from the naux were sticky as he pulled on his shirt.

His body shook with fatigue, and waves of cold added to his instability. The force of adrenaline that had kept him going, withdrew. He stumbled into the corner of a broken home and slumped down to the ground. Ash covered the floor and strange creaks sounded from all around as the wind passed through.

I’ll get them. Every last one.

Durkquire held a hand to the wounds across his chest. “Salabotte.” He let the weave slowly draw upon his well.

I’m coming for you, Dreggar. You and your men.