My Name is Ruin Read online

  “Gets you trainees every time,” said the battlemage. “Before you ask, it’s but a training aid. A gift from a mage I helped with a huge clawed and magic-resistant problem. The weapons are good enough for battle practice, not as personal arms. They would do in an emergency, but they won’t stand the rigor and test of several battles.”

  “Still, a unique magical artifact. You said trainees? You’ve trained others before?” asked Pavel, catching what the hermit said.

  “Two. All sent to me by persons I couldn’t refuse,” replied Encratas, a slight distaste evident in the answer.

  “Where are they now?” came Pavel’s inevitable query.

  “Dead, I assume. Food for those out there,” answered the hermit with a sweeping gesture directed at the waiting woods beyond the palisade. “Final test. They didn’t come back. The Plain of Shinar above us would be more welcoming.”

  Pavel grinned at the reply. If it had been meant to frighten him, it was a poor effort. Though he appreciated the sense of drama the hermit had put into the presentation.

  Then the sounds of a lute being plucked and then played reached their ears. Sheqer was practicing, tuning his instrument. A melody abruptly emerged from the mass of notes filling the air. But it was nothing like Pavel had heard before, and from Encratas’s expression, neither had the hermit.

  It was a mingling of the bizarre, the sad, and the desperate. Then Sheqer sang the words for the tune.

  Mortals cry and shout,

  Winds blow at the horrors of the night

  Shadows walk and darkness calls

  At a soul’s despairing cry.

  Never shall I walk these sands

  Of woe and beasts unleashed

  A distance no man may reach

  At a soul’s despairing cry.

  Tremble, oh sons of men

  At the silent drums of hell and night

  They call to thee,

  Make your soul’s despairing cry.

  Now the restless seas have ceased,

  Turbulent waves of pain and foe

  All sated, watered and fed

  With thy soul’s despairing cry.

  “Damn it, bard! Be a bard! Sing something happy!” shouted Encratas.

  ***

  Encratas was standing before the pair who were squatting on the ground. It had been a long four weeks filled with a monotonous, yet rigorous daily regimen. A regular diet of martial practice with different weapons, techniques, and mental training packed Pavel’s days.

  It was an education in the killing arts and related magical knowledge unceremoniously accompanied by the unrequested attempts of Sheqer at judging whether he was becoming proficient in his chosen profession. Unfortunately, his repertoire now tended to be bawdy, much to the consternation of Encratas. Though the hermit couldn’t reprimand the bard for the content of his songs – he did ask for happy ones. Now, the two waited for the battlemage to explain Pavel’s task for the day.

  “A different training awaits you today, apprentice. The first of your three tests. Your predecessors passed this one, so I believe it won’t be that difficult for you,” said Encratas casually.

  “Can I go with him?” asked the bard. “Keep him from being bored.”

  The hermit’s eyes bulged at Sheqer’s request. He stared intently at the bard, and when he saw that the demon was in earnest, laughed loudly. It was one of the rare times that Pavel saw Encratas in such a paroxysm of mirth. Finally, the man got his breath back and wiped the tears from his eyes.

  “It’s your throat, bard. I doubt if those out there would appreciate your singing. I certainly didn’t.”

  “No need for insults, Master Battlemage. I do intend to go with Pavel, and when I do become the most famous bard in all the lands, you won’t get an invitation to any of my performances. Remember that,” replied an obviously peeved Sheqer.

  ***

  The pair walked along a disused forest trail they found several feet into the woods. Pavel’s task was to retrieve a fang of a creature Encratas referred to as a lake worm. However, he declared there were many variations and names of the creature. The battlemage mentioned nyami, strandvorm, and other terms. The appellation just depended on the realm where they were found.

  “And what do you call this creature, Master Battlemage?” asked the bard.

  “What else? A lake worm. Body of a snake, head of a fish with serrated fangs as its prominent feature. A bit large,” answered Encratas, who then turned to his apprentice with a smile. “It has some magical qualities, so be ready. And don’t kill the beast. It hasn’t bothered anybody, except those foolish enough to disturb it.”

  The words of the hermit weighed heavily on the pair as they continued along the trail. The lake was about twenty miles from the training camp, but that was in a straight line. With the winding path and the fact that they had to pick their way through the forest once the trail shifted, it was going to be more than the specified distance.

  “Imagine that. Don’t kill the miserable worm,” complained the demon, quoting the hermit. “What a weird mortal.”

  “Could it be a bukavac, Sheqer?” asked Pavel. There was always that possibility. It was a body of water, after all.

  “Doubt it. Demons like that prefer places near human settlements. There’s nothing of that sort nearby. It would have nothing to do, and probably starve back to nothingness,” replied Sheqer carefully. “But if it’s a demon, then maybe my Master would allow this humble servant to talk sense into it.”

  “Talk sense?” exclaimed the incredulous Pavel. It was something clearly out of character for Sheqer.

  “You want me to say eat it? Consume it? Grab its power for myself? That would have been the old me. As I have repeatedly said, I have to be in character as much as possible. Even if my actions would be the old me. In short, I’ll try my best to tear the essence out of its pitiable physical form and feast on it.”

  Now that’s the demon I know, thought Pavel.

  ***

  “There’s a pack of wolves stalking us,” advised the bard after two hours of walking. The duo had turned from the trail which curved to the east.

  “I know. Quite large ones,” replied Pavel calmly.

  Strangely, he could sense them, and even smell the animal excitement which now stirred the pack. But they weren’t magical; the man knew he would have immediately recognized that critical trait. Still, he was curious to see the physical effects of the intense magical energy the surroundings had on natural creatures. The predators seemed unnaturally quiet for their kind.

  “I believe they’ll strike soon,” observed Sheqer.

  “There’s a clearing up ahead. A small one, but it’ll do,” replied the man. “I’ll wait for them there. I hate being stalked.”

  “Good. I get to watch from a proper, comfortable position,” grinned the bard.

  Pavel stood in the middle of the clearing. He was clad in the leather armor the hermit insisted he wear as a mere apprentice. It was no protection against the beasts now about to make him their meal. Agility and speed would be his best defense. As the bard watched from the safety of the top of a nearby tree, the man carefully brought out his choice of weapon, selected from the magical armory of the hermit – a pair of stabbing daggers.

  Throughout their days on the training ground, Pavel was at first struck by the number of weapons, some familiar and many unusual, which the battlemage was able to provide. Finally, he asked the hermit about that odd fact. The hermit simply told him that what was illustrated on the hide was basic weaponry. A secret word, an infusion of magic, and then a desire for a particular weapon gave it to the hand which dipped into the coverlet.

  This time, the apprentice asked for what Encratas called fist daggers, or kattari as called by the people who created them. They were large knives with wide, double blades. Instead of the horizontal handle, it had a vertical grip for the entire hand. But they were still training weapons, and Pavel hoped they would serve him well. He liked the way his body used and
moved with the blades. The hermit did say that the practice aids were useful for short-term purposes, not for extended combat, and the present test was as interim as things could get.

  The unusual weapons were intended for close-range melee combat, and the possibility of fighting in a forest eliminated a lot of arms from the list of candidates. The kattari, longer than the average fighting knife, and with its wicked, sharp edges on broad, slim blades would wreak havoc in a melee as long as the skill to use them was there. Pavel knew how to handle them, and he liked the way each movement of the user was liable to inflict grievous injury. The blade was in line with the wielder’s arm, and it was like boxing with blades for hands. With knowledge of the various techniques developed for the weapon – the cobra coiled thrust and the tiger claw, among many – Pavel felt confident and ready.

  Suddenly, the apprentice could sense the pack. They were approaching him but from different directions. It was a move apparently intended to close the circle around Pavel. He reflected briefly on the uncommon intelligence displayed by the creatures. But it was a thought broken by the sudden rush of one of the wolves. A great white beast broke into the clearing, yet remained where it was, silently observing the waiting man.

  A distant recollection in his mind about dire wolves told him that the predator was a huge one, larger than the creature he recalled. The apprentice guessed that what was before him was about eight feet in length, not counting the tail. It still looked like a wolf, though its eyes intently stared at him with something akin to intelligence. Slowly, others of the pack emerged from the trees. Pavel was surrounded.

  7

  Yuyukkhūra

  “Oy, Master!” came Sheqer’s shout.

  “Some have decided on dessert instead!”

  A magnificent beast, thought Pavel, admiring the stately grace of the deadly predator. The sleek fur, the great shoulders, and the perfect proportions of the four-legged creature reflected the beautiful symmetry of a killing machine. Out to have me for a meal, but still impressively majestic.

  He noticed the rest of the pack had halted as soon as they emerged from the woods surrounding the clearing. All were smaller than the first one, which meant the wolf that first greeted Pavel was the Alpha male. Yet, the beasts remained eerily silent.

  Pavel smiled and readied himself. A list of possible spells came to memory, and his mind arranged the available few in their intended sequence of use. Encratas had taught him how to conjure magical defensive enchantments that provided personal barriers, but they all came with the warning not to use or rely on them when facing human enemies or brute attacks. Human weapons might be ensorcelled, and every strike against such shields degraded their effectivity.

  Brains and training make the best defenses, Encratas had emphasized, even against magical attacks. Pavel still remembered the man’s final advice during that lesson –

  “Unless, of course, you’re up against a deity or an equally powerful spirit,” said the battlemage. “In that event, kiss your balls goodbye as they’ll be fleeing ahead of you.”

  ***

  He maintained his battle stance, never keeping his eyes off the leader. Pavel instinctively knew the pack wouldn’t rush him. It would be a fight between him and the Alpha. The huge wolf had stopped pacing and now faced the waiting warrior.

  Abruptly, his perception was flooded by a host of magical bursts, a warning that something else was approaching the clearing. And the pulses came from all over. There were a lot and closing fast.

  “Hey!” he called out to the enormous wolf, not knowing if he would be understood or not. “Something’s coming, and I doubt if it’s more of you.”

  Somehow, Pavel got the impression that his silent stalkers were prey for another kind of predator – a magical one. From what he could gather, there were a lot more of the newcomers than the seven wolves of the pack already in the glade. As the Alpha turned its head to the trees, it was apparent that the huge animal now detected the arriving creatures. Pavel didn’t know if he was understood, or the distance between them and the incoming hunters was close enough for the wolf pack to perceive the intruders.

  The man almost laughed at their situation. He was in the middle of a ring of dangerous predators which were also being hunted by another group of beasts of prey. It was irony at its best. Pavel saw the attention of the wolf pack was already diverted, and many, with bared fangs, had now faced the trees. Everything was still quiet.

  Too quiet, as even ordinary forest sounds were gone. But the apprentice, despite his magical knowledge – innate and taught – still couldn’t identify the incoming hunters. His skill told him they were too far off to be magically determined. All they could do now, man and wolves, was wait. There were no avenues of escape.

  ***

  Then Pavel heard the newcomers crashing through the forest undergrowth. This close to their prey, the hunters had abandoned any attempt at concealment. At the same time, their magical nature registered in his mind. They were yuyukkhūra, woodland beasts with some magical abilities which they use to lure prey. Lying in wait deep in the undergrowth, they would call out to their victims in familiar and known sounds.

  But this kind was the huge dog-lion variety, unlike their crocuttas cousins, a subspecies which was a dog-wolf combination. These magical beasts were pack hunters the size of small horses, with the temperament of a camel to match. Worse, their groups were much larger than mere wolf packs. Pavel could already count more than twenty.

  The Alpha stared at him, gave a low growl, and then turned its back on him as it faced the incoming enemy. Pavel was caught in a bind. To both kinds, he was prey, but a battle was in the offing, and any movement toward the trees on his part might be construed as a hostile move by the wolves. The man was trapped where he was, with nowhere to go. The apprentice gave a quick glance toward the location where the bard was positioned safely. He could swear Sheqer was grinning. The demon was high up in a tree some distance away, but Pavel thought he saw the flash of the bard’s teeth.

  I should have insisted on his presence down here, considered the warrior regretfully. He couldn’t die anyway, and his flesh would probably prove to be the worst thing those wolves ever tasted.

  Several forms unexpectedly crashed through the thicket on his right, and immediately swarmed the two wolves positioned on that side. The attackers were a quarter larger than the wolves and looked like mutated hyenas in color and fur. The distinctive striped skin led to a lion’s mane and a bizarre lion’s head with a hyena’s mouth. Instead of fangs, the creature had sizeable, sharply serrated bone ridges lining its jaws.

  A sickening crunch signaled the demise of one of the wolves. One of the hyena-like beasts had been able to get its jaws around the neck. Pavel expected the yuyukkhūra to immediately feed on its victim, but it dropped the dead wolf and joined the rest in tearing the remaining wolf to bits. He had to give it to the defending beast. It fought well, viciously biting back and ripping off bloody pieces from some of the predators.

  The rest of the pack was now fighting against large shadows leaping out of the thicket. But the man saw they were vastly outnumbered. The pack was facing five to six yuyukkhūra to each wolf. The now-bloodied Alpha had already killed two of its attackers. Yet, the dog-lions which had disposed of their victims were rushing to attack the huge wolf.

  Pavel stood ignored in the middle of the battle. He was thankful for being ignored, but also upset at his treatment. The Azat had physically and mentally prepared himself for a battle and yet was disregarded by all the predators in the glade. A dark part of him was raging at the oversight, even as his thoughts turned toward what would happen once the struggle between the two groups was over.

  The clash between the predators was an eerie one. Only low growls marked the efforts of the remaining combatants. Pavel started slowly moving back to Sheqer’s tree. Only three wolves, including the Alpha, remained, and they had adopted a back-to-back formation, surrounded by their numerous foes. Some of the new arrivals had falle
n, others were wounded. But the man could see it was but a matter of time. Even if the wolf pack were clearly the better fighters, they were smaller in size and a lot fewer in number.

  Pavel was nearing the tree when three of the yuyukkhūra which were at the back of the crowd decided not to waste their time trying to join the fight and try instead for the human morsel.

  “Oy, Master!” came Sheqer’s shout. “Some have decided on dessert instead!”

  ***

  He turned and faced the trio of yuyukkhūra. The deadly waiting game was still going on between the wolf survivors and their hunters. Pavel didn’t know whether to be pleased that he’d get the chance to practice or be irritated at the nearby presence of the bard. Sheqer was liable to burst out in another dismal song or make snide or annoying comments. Or worse, a running commentary.

  One of the beasts rushed him once the hunters were halfway to him. But the telltale tenseness of the muscles of its hind legs gave the movement away. It leaped after a few powerful bounds. The hasty beast found the kattari blades slicing twin furrows on its underside.

  Pavel had likewise moved, but forward, to meet it, and his outstretched blades let the beast’s momentum do the job of cleanly slicing through its stomach. At the same time, it enabled him to keep his eyes on the pair following the first. He knew the impulsive attacker with large slits in its belly was done for.

  Before either of the two could react, the warrior had already pushed forward and slid between the pair. He struck both with each of the blades. But Pavel only let the kattari dig halfway down the bodies of the beasts and let the sliding movement of his body along the ground perform the task of cutting the sides open. As Pavel skidded past the yuyukkhūra, the mortally wounded beasts howled, to the man’s surprise.

  At the dolorous sounds, the entire group of yuyukkhūra stopped and stared. Of the wolves, only the Alpha and a grievously bloodied member of the pack remained. The third member had been caught by its muzzle and quickly dragged into the waiting, murderous circle. But the wolf leader was slowly being cut to pieces too. Its face was scarred by slash marks, and blood was freely dripping down into the ground.