Jason Cosmo: Hero Wanted

Chapter 7

True to Mercury's prediction, it rained the next day. And the next. And the day after that. The downpour did not relent for five rainy days. The Longwash overspilled its banks, sweeping aside boulders and trees as it rampaged southward. The rising water forced us to abandon the track beside the river for higher ground. Alert for flash floods and mudslides, we picked our way along the hilltops. When we emerged from the wilderness a week later, my companions and I were drenched, chilled, dirty, and exhausted. Our horses were nearly spent from the effort of trudging through thick mud. We wanted nothing more than to kick off our boots and prop up our feet by the hearth of a homey inn.

Unfortunately, there weren't any in Grimmel. It was a grim little place, not so much a village as a logging camp. The forest region of northern Brythalia boasted oak, ash, elm, birch, and maple mingled with cedar, fir, and pine. The Brythalian forest was said to be the overgrown remnant of the primal nursery wherein The Gods first cultivated the various kinds of trees. This was a questionable claim, considering both the colossal destruction wrought during the Age of War and the fact that none of the trees in the region were more than a few hundred years old. But every nation needs its points of pride. Darnk claimed to be the home of more than five hundred and sixty-seven varieties of fungus found nowhere else in Arden.

Grimmel was a collection of crude bunkhouses, a mess hall, a guardhouse, and a few storage sheds clustered atop a barren mound of earth and stone near the flood-swollen Longwash. The twangy rasp of saws and the loud crack of axes from the surrounding forest suggested that most of the men who lived here were at work. Perhaps a dozen loggers and brown-shirted Brythalian men-at-arms milled about the camp itself. They offered no words of welcome as we rode into the encampment, but boldly eyed Sapphrina and Rubis with hungry leers. Mercury and I rated only surly glances.

We stopped in the center of the camp. The men spread out in a loose circle around our horses, surrounding us. Most were armed with axes, staves, or knives. The few unsavory soldiers reached for their swords. So did I. Most of the workers in these camps were criminals sentenced to hard labor. Their supposed jailers were not much better, as criminals could also be sentenced to service in the Brythalian army. Guards and guarded were united in their intentions toward us.

"I advise you girls to stick close lest you be dragged behind a woodpile and never come back," said Merc.

"We're outnumbered," I said quietly. "Should I make the first move?"

"Let me handle this."

Eyes hidden behind his sunshades, Mercury silently studied our would-be assailants. No one moved. No one spoke. Merc suddenly raised his right hand and pointed at the biggest man present, a burly logger holding a thick tree branch like a club. Five thin beams of blue light lanced from Merc's fingers and converged on the man's bare chest, which promptly exploded in a spray of gore and shattered bone. He fell over backward in the muck. Blue smoke curled from the ragged hole in his chest.

"I am Shadrizar the Sadistic," announced Mercury in a low, menacing voice that gave even me chills. The loggers and soldiers backed away fearfully. "I seek lodging for myself, my squire—and this pair of man eating vampire-succubi she-devils from Hell!"

On cue, the faces of Rubis and Sapphrina lit up with a ghastly green glow. Sharp, protruding fangs appeared in their mouths. The entire mob fled into the forest, except for a single soldier who was apparently rooted to the spot in sheer pants-wetting terror.

Mercury pointed at him. The guard flinched like a whipped dog. "You! See to it! Or I will feed you to them now!"

The twins smiled their fangsome smiles. The soldier blanched and hurried away.

Mercury threw back his head and laughed like a maniac. "That is what you call creative intimidation," he said. "With a simple Blue Bolt of Death and a minor illusion, we have averted a senseless and time-consuming slaughter. Although a slaughter of this lot might be a public service."