Something Extra - Hungry Heart - Ch. 5 (Patreon)

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Chapter Five – Impossible Errand

Duril went to the door. When he opened it, he came face to face with a tall and muscular man. He was so tall the healer had to look up at him and the determined look in the dark eyes staring at him from under thick eyebrows twisted in a frown made him shiver a little. The man wasn’t a stranger, and he wasn’t exactly a man, either. But, unlike Duril, who was detested and spat upon by the townsfolk who saw his infirmity as a reason to believe themselves superior, this man was someone. 

“Good evening, Sir Varg,” Duril said politely.

“Duril,” Varg replied curtly.

Did the powerful wolfshifter know who he was? It was at least a little bit surprising since they had never talked or even crossed paths very often. Duril couldn’t recall ever noticing Varg throw one look in his direction. He wasn’t only a powerful wolfshifter, he was one of the protectors of Whitekeep, and his job wasn’t an easy one. The town authorities wasted nothing but the best on him, as well, to repay his kindness, and that meant that Duril had never been called to heal his wounds, either.

All those things together made him forget how to speak. 

“Is there a certain Toru living with you?”

Duril swallowed once and then nodded. What could Varg want with Toru? Did they know each other? He made room for Varg to step inside. The room seemed to have instantly shrunk after crowding two such magnificent men under his roof. 

“What’s the plan, old man?” Toru asked and nonchalantly threw one arm over Duril’s shoulders.

There was a small flicker of darkness in Varg’s eyes that wasn’t lost on Duril. What could that be about? He tried to nudge Toru in the ribs for talking like that to one of the protectors of Whitekeep, but his guest dodged him swiftly and tightened his hold, all the while not looking once in Duril’s direction.

“As I suspected, an attack is underway. They are a lot more numerous than what we dealt with on the hill. We need all able-bodied men.”

“Awesome,” Toru commented. “Then let’s go.”

“Wait,” Duril said. “What’s happening? Who is attacking us? I’ll come with you. I am a healer,” he added somewhat stubbornly, the words Varg had spoken ringing in his ears. Able-bodied men. One category of people many thought he didn’t belong to; but that just wasn’t true. He was a healer, and the people in town needed his help, whether they liked it or not.

“You would be better protected if you remained indoors,” Varg said in a slightly strained voice.

“Duril is a healer,” Toru said. “Actually, he’s a hell of a healer. He put me together after that --”

It appeared that Toru had suddenly forgotten how to talk. Duril threw a curious look in his direction, but, indeed, his guest’s mouth was shut and there was an expression on his face, as if he were a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

This time, there was a small exchange between Varg and Toru, and Duril wondered about it, too. 

“How do you know Sir Varg, Toru?” He opted for the most polite way of asking that question. Given his low standing in the town, he didn’t see himself in the right position to ask the protector a direct question.

“He almost fed me to some pesky birds,” Toru said promptly.

“I taught him how to hold a broom,” Varg spoke at the same time.

Duril looked once at Toru, and then at Varg. There was a quiet conflict underway, and it appeared that the two didn’t want to let others know the nature of their relationship. But the broom comment made things quite clear; it had to be that Varg had set Toru to helping clean up the mess at the Tinker Inn after that fight both his new friend and Rory preferred to be tight-lipped about. He didn’t know what to make about the comment about birds, though.

“Sir Varg, I know that I’m not as skilled as the other healers in town, but I know how to dress wounds and I already have some potions for pain that could come in handy.”

“Why are you calling him sir?” Toru asked. “He’s nothing but a mutt.”

Duril gasped. “Toru, Varg is one of the protectors of the town. Apologize immediately.” His eyes shot at Varg, waiting for something bad to happen. But, to his consternation, all he could read in the wolfshifter’s eyes was unhidden amusement. Toru had to be one hell of a charmer to get away with such an insult. 

“It’s all right. You can come, Duril. But be prepared to fend for yourself.”

Duril knew what Varg meant. It was a two-edged phrase. If the townsfolk didn’t want him around, Varg wouldn’t babysit him; also, if the attack overwhelmed them – 

The thought gave Duril the shivers. Was it that bad? That was a warning not only for him, in particular, but it was for everyone. They were in severe danger. “What’s attacking us?” he asked.

“Black rocs. Throngs.”

The look in Varg’s eyes was enough for all the words left unsaid. Even Toru appeared unsettled.

As he should be. As should everyone else.

***

The night had been quiet, but with the first rays of the sun, all worries came to light. The town’s fortifications consisted of nothing more than a wooden palisade and a few towers scattered along the fence. Toru grimaced as he took in the deplorable state of the so-called defense. Against those birds, the townsfolk didn’t stand a chance.

Varg had informed him briefly that the scouts had brought word that the birds were now heading their way, stopping only briefly to meet other incoming groups and fly in circles until their flock of doom had absorbed the newcomers. 

Whitekeep was isolated from the rest of the kingdom, out of the way, so an attack there appeared strange in a time of what people believed to be one of peace. But, in the past, it had been a small but strategic fort in times of war; a fact that was largely forgotten. Varg still remembered, and Toru had listened carefully to what the wolfshifter had to say.

He could understand why people called Varg sir and bowed to him. But Toru was not from those parts, and he shouldn’t have bothered to defend the town. The wolfshifter’s position with the people there didn’t interest him.

Yet, he couldn’t turn his back and leave. Duril was there, and Rory was there, and they were good people. Toru might be used to only thinking about himself, but he wasn’t that heartless. 

Also, who could say how far the next human settlement was? At least here, he could enjoy Duril’s and Rory’s awesome cooking, among other things. There were many things worth defending, he decided.

“Are these people even good at fighting?” he asked. As he looked around, scared eyes met his almost everywhere. The few mercenaries in town, and the strongest men were present, but most of those holding spears and bows appeared to have had little to do with warfare.

“They’re going to have to be. It’s not like there’s anyone else to defend what’s theirs.”

“You’re doing it,” Toru pointed out. 

“Yes,” Varg confirmed, but offered no reason why.

“What are we going to do?” 

It was a question with a hard answer, and Toru got one in return. 

“How fast a runner are you?”

Of course, the mutt had to respond with another question instead of answering. 

“How fast do I have to be?” Toru asked. “Damn,” he finally realized, “do you want to use me as bait? I’m not shifting in front of these people. They’re horrible to non-humans.”

Varg opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but then reconsidered. “Don’t shift here. Only once you’re as far as you can possibly be.”

“What’s the idea?”

Varg gestured for him to follow. They began climbing one of the towers and, when they were at the top, the wolfshifter pointed at the expanse of sky stretching in front of them. For a moment, Toru took in the surroundings. He loved summer best, and the dark fog rising on the horizon made him feel a chill down to the marrow of his bones. He was a long way from home, wherever that was.

“Our scouts say that their numbers are growing. Taking them all head on is not possible. We need to trim down that flock.”

Toru nodded. “You want me to run them in circles once they’re close enough for the arrows to reach them.”

“Yes. It’s dangerous. If you don’t want to --”

“I’m not scared.” Toru puffed out his chest. “I’ll do it. But make sure you have enough arrows and sharpshooters. This lot looks like they’re no good at throwing stones at sitting ducks.”

The grim expression on Varg’s face told him that he wasn’t far off the mark. Eh, some things couldn’t be helped. “So, what are we waiting for? Let’s get down and I’ll show those ugly birds some running.”

Varg placed one hand on his shoulder. They were alone up there and no one could see them well, not even those in the other towers. Something fluttered in the pit of Toru’s stomach.

“You and the healer,” Varg started. “Are you two …” It looked like the right words didn’t come easy to the seasoned fighter.

But Toru understood, and he snickered. “What? Promised? I wish. I guess I’ll have to work hard to impress Duril. He likes girls.” His eyes were darting sideways, and he was talking too much and too fast.

“Then it’s all right if I do this.” Varg leaned in and kissed Toru, shutting him up.

The sensation of rough lips seeking his took his breath away. The mutt wasn’t a bad kisser, but that wasn’t the point. Toru needed to stick to his words and couldn’t allow a nice kiss to mess with his head. He didn’t have time to indulge that mental debate right now and pushed Varg away when the other stopped.

“Take care out there, Toru.”

“You’re sending me on an impossible errand and tell me to take care.” Toru scoffed, but it was more so that he could pretend he was unaffected by the way the wolfshifter kissed. 

He kissed with confidence. Toru’s lovers were usually impressed with being noticed and also he chose them carefully. He liked men who were soft-spoken and tender, not rough beasts who could break his bones if they wanted to. Varg was overwhelming in more ways than one. Even now, he could still feel where the wolfshifter’s lips had touched his, like a mark. Did wolves mark their mates? Toru didn’t know. 

But he knew one thing. He didn’t want to be marked. Not today, not ever. 

“Make sure those sharpshooters of yours are sharp enough.” He walked past Varg, but he was stopped by a strong hand.

“On the far left, there’s a door in the fence. You get too tired, you rush inside. You’re hurt, you get there, and you’ll be taken care of.”

“And if I can’t get there?”

“I’ll come for you,” Varg said, with the same confidence he used when kissing.

Toru felt a small unfamiliar shiver running down his spine, and it wasn’t all unpleasant. Someone had his back, and that never happened.

***

“Come on, you stupid birds,” Toru mumbled to himself. He was at a fair distance from the wooden fence guarding Whitekeep, and he hadn’t yet met the flock. 

At least, it was safe to shift here. There were no trees, only open land, so the occasional scouts couldn’t witness him turning into his tiger form without him seeing them. He climbed the hill with ease, and the familiar warmth of his fur gave him strength.

From there, he looked ahead. He no longer had to cuss at the black rocs and their absence. They were there.

***

Varg observed the apparently erratic movement of the flock and shouted the order. The arrows filled the sky, and a few birds fell on the ground. So few hit their targets, he thought, but he didn’t let it show. He shouted an encouragement at the men readying their bows again, and another round of arrows darkened the sky.

There were several more birds struggling on the ground again. Varg observed them and when he noticed one stretching its wings to fly again, he cursed under his breath. He grabbed one of the men next to him and put him in charge of the shooters. He had another task to undertake.

***

He closed the distance between himself and one of the monsters, with an axe at the ready. “Don’t take any chances,” he ordered the others. “Make sure you aim to kill. The head and the neck. The eyes, too.”

Lower, it would be useless. The ribcages of these birds, as he knew, were tough like steel. It was no wonder that not many arrows had brought them down, probably bouncing off those hard bones instead of going through the flesh. 

But it was all they got. Varg raised the axed and brought it down the head of one of the birds. The blood splashed, hitting his face. The inhuman sounds the rocs made as they were stabbed through the eyes, or had their skulls crushed, made even the hardened soul inside him tremble.

It was an impossible errand, as Toru had put it, but there were bigger fears to worry about still. Who had sent those birds and with what purpose?

***

Toru stopped for a moment to catch his breath. The townsfolk were busy sending arrows over the palisade and from the towers, but they weren’t near slimming down those numbers, as Varg had said. He wasn’t blind, and he could tell something wasn’t working. Too few birds fell from the sky, and while he had managed to lure them to follow him, he didn’t know how long the trick would work.

He could run like that forever if need be. But Varg and the townsfolk needed to hurry if they wanted to survive.

Yes, he could run like that as long as they needed him to, Toru thought as he jumped and roared, making the stupid birds follow him again.

***

Varg crushed another bird’s skull when he heard a sharp cry of pain. One of the rocs had its beak run through the body of one of the townsfolk who had insisted on following him. 

The others hurried to subdue and kill the bird, but the man’s body was torn and his eyes were glassy. Varg hurried to his side but could do nothing except close his eyelids. “We’re done for now. Take him with you.”

They needed a break. And Varg needed to enlist another group of men. He couldn’t allow the morale to drop. As harsh as that sounded, so far they only had one casualty.

***

“What is going on there?” Duril asked as he tried to get through the people glued to the walls and staring outside. 

“They’re bringing in another one. I think this one is missing a foot,” someone commented.

Duril hurried to the door, ready to receive the new patient. Something was making the birds run in circles instead of attacking them, but that was no relief. Varg had gone and come back, each time enlisting other men to go out in the field and slaughter the birds fallen from the sky. But he didn’t need to go out in the field and look, to tell that their numbers were wearing thin, while those of their attackers didn’t appear to have one dent.

In the face of adversity, the townsfolk had seemed to have forgotten he wasn’t one of them. He had been working side by side with the other healers for hours now. 

Varg was the one to enter the improvised tent and placed the maimed man on the makeshift bed. The patient was shaking and he was in shock. Duril grabbed the last of his pain-killing potions and brought it to his lips.

As the other healers hurried to deal with the emergency, Duril took in Varg’s tense shoulders and the deep frown on his face. His leather and metal armor was dark red with blood. As the wolfshifter walked out, Duril hurried after him.

“We’re not doing well.” There was another thing he wanted to ask, but he didn’t dare. Where was Toru?

“I know,” came the laconic answer. 

“Why do our arrows cause so little damage?” he asked.

Varg turned to look at him. “They’re doing enough. It’s just that these birds are tough. Too tough. Even if the arrows go through, they don’t kill them.”

That was why Varg had to go in the field again and again to make sure those fallen birds stayed there. He was tough; he was a wolfshifter and a protector of the town. But even he was growing weary. 

Duril pondered for a moment. And then an idea struck him. “What about poison?”

“Poison?”

“For the arrows,” Duril explained. “So that they can kill the birds.”

Varg’s face lit up slightly. “Where are we going to get poison?”

“I have some venom at home. And we can make more poison if we use the sap from the hipoman tree forest at the edge of the swamp.”

Varg nodded. “Walk with me,” he ordered Duril. As they moved through the people, he began shouting orders, selecting people to come with them.

He wasn’t surprised to see the line of men and women in front of a large table on which a few pots were placed. Rory was hard at work, feeding everyone, but there were a few guards, too. The meals were free, and even in that time of need, some were trying to take advantage of the situation. He waved a quick hand at Rory, and the young innkeeper waved back and raised a large ladle filled with soup. “Aren’t you hungry?” he shouted.

Duril just made a sign for Rory not to bother and pointed discreetly at Varg. Rory smiled at him and gave him a thumbs up. 

Walking with Varg surely made him look different. The sea of people parted in front of them, and a few threw him curious looks, some filled with envy, and others with admiration. It was so unusual that Duril felt a little scared.

***

“This one’s also dead,” one of the mercenaries told him. “I guess that poison is working.”

Varg nodded. The sun was up in the sky still, but there were not many hours until dusk and that would make their job a lot more difficult. Duril’s idea had saved them a lot of grief. The corpses of birds were now piling high, and the stench was becoming unbearable. 

“You go ahead and rest. I’ll just wait here and kill each one that still moves,” Varg told the mercenary. The man was tough, but he was already yellow in the face to the whites of his eyes, and there was no real need for him to be there, anyway. 

He had seen the striped back going to and fro, maddening the rocs. Toru was still hard at work, on his impossible errand. If he could keep going, so could Varg.

***

Damn. Varg grabbed his arm and nursed it close to his body. One moment he had looked the other way, and one of those stubborn pests, one that refused to die so easily from the poison, had nicked him in the arm with its tough beak.

There was also something else. He blinked hard, but the graininess in his eyes didn’t go away. What could it be? If it were the poison –

His mind went blank. The sky above him mocked him, as he fell among the mountains of corpses.

***

His muscles were growing numb, but he didn’t care. The townsfolk and Varg were there to kill the birds as they fell, and their dead bodies made piles as high as houses. It was reassuring to watch Varg from a distance hacking and slashing through those nasty creatures, but there was no time to lose. He kept running and running.

But, for a while now, it looked like no one moved around the big piles of dead birds. Could it be that Varg had gone for a snack? Now, that was uncaring. Toru hadn’t had anything to eat since last night. 

The birds had retreated for the moment and Toru welcomed the break. He shifted into his human form and approached the battlefield. Damn, the stench was too much, and that was saying something coming from him, who could eat anything –

He froze for a second when he saw the fallen fighter, but his feet moved of their own accord. 

“Mutt, you better not be dead,” Toru pleaded as he crouched next to Varg’s body. He felt his neck and the skin was still warm. 

The smell was so intense that it was getting in his eyes, making them water. Without one ounce of hesitation, he hiked Varg’s body in his arms. “Damn you, mutt, do you need to weigh a ton? And you better not die.”

He was aware of the water coming out of his eyes and falling on Varg’s face. The droplets turned into crimson rivers. The wolfshifter must have killed dozens of birds, and hopefully, that was their blood.

***

Varg opened his eyes and groaned when he realized he couldn’t move. Someone moved on his right and something cold and pleasant was pressed against his forehead. “Sir Varg, you really scared us.”

He recognized the voice, but his addled mind couldn’t tell who it was. A pair of small tusks on a friendly face appeared in front of him. “I’m glad to see you’re still with us.”

Oh, it was the healer, Duril.

“Yeah, like what do you think you’re doing, dying and all that?”

Now that was a voice that he had no trouble placing. As dire as he could tell his situation was, he started laughing.

“Has he lost his mind?” Toru asked quietly, but loud enough for Varg to hear him. 

“No. I think Sir Varg is just happy to hear you berating him like that,” was Duril’s answer.

Now Toru’s face joined the healer’s in his field of vision. “Glad to see you’re not dead, mutt.”

“Glad to see you, too, kitty.”

The healer moved away. “I hope you’ll have it in your heart to forgive me, Sir Varg.”

“Please, don’t call me ‘sir’. It’s just that people are calling me that so often that it gets tiring to correct them after a while. But, you, Duril, you make sure that you don’t ever call me ‘sir’ again. And I don’t see what you want me to forgive.”

His voice was slow, and the words came hard, but he was indeed, alive. That was all that mattered.

“I was the one to suggest the poison, and it almost killed you,” Duril justified himself. “Good thing I had the antidote at the ready.”

“And good thing you didn’t tell those horrible people anything,” Toru added. “They all hurried to get to you like you were a lost treasure or something. And also, that you, Varg, told them that you only wanted Duril to take care of you. Seriously, I believe they thought you were a goner, or something.”

Had he said that? He couldn’t recall a thing, but Duril had saved his life, and the healer didn’t have to ask for forgiveness. “The poison helped us get rid of many of those birds. You have nothing to apologize for.” He would have gotten up and shaken Duril’s hand to express his gratitude, but he couldn’t move much. “Why can’t I move?” he asked.

Duril hurried and began freeing his arms from restraints that Varg noticed only now. Toru did the same with his legs. “You were thrashing badly after Duril gave you the antidote. We had to do something so that you didn’t hurt yourself.”

That made sense. Varg flexed his limbs to get the blood flowing. “Where do we stand? Are those rocs gone for good?” He made a move to stand and dizziness overcame him. Duril hurried to support him. 

Toru seemed troubled. 

“What’s going on?” Varg asked. “How long have I been out?”

Duril was the first to talk. “You fought the poison through the night. The birds … since this morning, they have been gathering outside the town, landing on the ground around the corpses.”

“They started eating the guts and flesh of those dead things,” Toru intervened. “The sharpshooters kept at it, but …”

“They’re making themselves immune to poison,” Duril added.

Varg cursed inwardly. “How many are still out there?”

“Enough,” was Toru’s answer. “The damn things, they’re like the spawn of hell, that many they are.”

“I need to go out there and kill as many as I can.”

“I’m afraid you’re in no position to do so, Sir Varg,” Duril said. “I can’t, in good conscience, let you go out there again.”

“So that I don’t hurt myself and die?” Varg asked. “And if I sit here, doing nothing, how is that going to help with my survival? Or all our survivals?”

Duril fell silent. Varg knew well enough that he had gotten his point across.

“There may be a way,” Toru said. “As I ran around --”

“Why did you do that?” Duril asked.

Varg observed his two allies a little. It appeared that Toru didn’t want even his close friend to know about his shapeshifting abilities. It wasn’t his secret to tell, so Varg kept silent, but only for a moment. “I sent him to scout the area and draw the birds’ attention.”

“Was that why they kept flying in circles? But how come they didn’t catch up with you?”

“I’m really fast,” Toru said brightly.

“He’s really fast,” Varg said at the same time.

Duril threw them a crossed look but didn’t ask anything else. 

“What’s your idea?” Varg asked Toru.

The tigershifter moved his weight from one foot to another. “It’s kind of a crazy idea.”

“Just say it before we end up food for those beastly birds outside.”

“There’s a large green lake at the edge of the swamp.” Toru pointed in a vague direction, but Varg knew what he was talking about. “It’s deadly, right?”

A dark green mist often rose from the lake and its surroundings were scorched. Nothing could grow around it, and no one went there. People couldn’t breathe for more than a dozen times near it without falling dead to the ground.

“What are you thinking, Toru?” Varg asked directly.

“Someone could lure them there.” Toru stopped for a moment, and Varg realized that he was just waiting for the understanding of the situation to sink in.

“I will do it.” He tried to stand again, but both Duril and Toru hurried to push him back, one gently, the other roughly. “Do you really expect me to sit here idly while there is a town to save?”

“Yes,” came the simultaneous reply.

Frustration overcame him, but he was still too weak to protest properly. “And who will do it?”

“Not you,” Duril pointed out the obvious. “I heard great things about you, Sir Varg. I don’t believe foolishness was ever mentioned. What good will it do to have you die on such a quest? There are other people here who should think of the well-being of Whitekeep at least half as much as you do. They’re strong and fast.”

“I’ll do it.”

Toru’s determination appeared to take them both by surprise.

“You’re new to this place,” Duril said softly.

To Varg, it was clear that the healer had feelings for the tigershifter. That was more than just the voice of reason talking.

“But no one is as strong and fast as me,” Toru pointed out stubbornly.

“Even so,” Varg argued. “How about letting others do their job, too?”

“And have them botch it? I saw them,” Toru said with pique in his voice. “They’re big on talking down people, but they’re all a bunch of cowards.”

Varg quirked an eyebrow. Had anyone mistreated the tigershifter? There had been that fight at the inn, but otherwise --

Duril shifted nervously in place. “They didn’t mean anything by that. They’re just --”

“Bad people. And ugly, too,” Toru said, as he crossed his arms over his chest and pouted.

Varg had to push back the immediate thought of how cute that pout was. What was he thinking now, almost half dead? He shook his head. There would be plenty of time to play with such thoughts, once their survival was assured.

“All the more reason then, not to risk your life to save their hides,” he pointed out. “And what did they do to Duril? Who?”

Duril looked away as if he was guilty of something. Varg had serious doubts that was the case. During the short span of getting to know the healer, the half orc had struck him as a gentle, intelligent and caring person. Whitekeep should have been happy to have him.

But it was not like he didn’t see what some people were like. There were no forests without twisted, ugly trees, and this town was no exception. He would deal with that later. Now, he needed to talk Toru out of it.

“At least, you should let them try save their town,” he suggested, aware that a direct demand would be met with stubborness.

“They’re free to try after I fail. But I won’t fail,” Toru added quickly. “I never fail.”

Normally, Varg would have praised that kind of confidence, but now he worried.

“I’ll make a protective mask for Toru,” Duril said. 

All that time, the healer must have been thinking of solutions. Again, Varg was impressed. “Will it work?”

“Toru is too stubborn, so it will have to work,” Duril replied. “I’ll go prepare it right away.” He disappeared from the tent, leaving the other two alone.

Varg watched Toru in silence until he was sure Duril was out of earshot. “You’re going tease them to give chase.” Toru nodded. “And then, you’ll jump.” Another nod confirmed. “Can you even jump across that lake?”

Toru gave him a look as if he was wondering whether Varg had just met him or something.

Which was actually true, but it didn’t matter. If anyone could pull a stunt like that, it had to be the tigershifter.

TBC

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