Rise of Dachwald (Boxed Set, Books 1 through 2) Page 7

  Another wolf came rushing straight at him. He let the other two wolves, quickly bleeding to death, drop to the ground, and grabbed the incoming beast behind the back of its neck with his right hand while simultaneously swinging his own right leg back behind him, causing him to be facing the wolf’s right side. He kneed the wolf hard right in the face, shattering most of its teeth like dry, brittle twigs, and then grabbed it by its hind legs and began spinning it around. This kept the other bloodthirsty wolves at a distance. In spite of the pain and frustration it was experiencing, the wolf couldn’t help momentarily marveling at this interesting new perspective it had of the world as it was spun around and around like a tornado.

  Ending the ride, Tristan threw it at another wolf. CRACKKK!!! Their skulls collided against each other like those of two musk oxen battling over mating privileges. This knocked one of the wolves unconscious, and while the other’s head was turned to the side from the collision, Tristan pulled out a dagger and threw it right into the wolf’s neck. Blood spurted out like water and steam from a geyser, and the wolf dropped like a rock.

  Two wolves left.

  They still had not entirely given up on the idea of him being their meal, but they were certainly having second thoughts. Tristan locked eyes with one of the wolves. Although moments before it looked savage and bold, its eyes were now struggling merely to meet his gaze. Suddenly, Tristan sprinted forward—not with the speed of a mere human, but with the speed and swiftness surpassing even that of a wolf—picked up the wolf with one hand and, while it was completely paralyzed with fear, began biting its neck savagely, like a hungry lion devouring an antelope. He then threw the wounded, bleeding heap of fur at the other wolf, which was now wetting itself. It sprinted off into the night, howling in a combination of fear and outrage at this horrifying upset of nature’s laws. The other wolf limped behind, bleeding profusely. Tristan felt much better now. His head felt clearer than it had in weeks, and he was now wholly focused on his mission of getting the venom from the pregnant anacobra.

  Tristan turned and began walking towards the cave, his speed hampered by the heavy underbrush. The cave in which he planned on searching for an anacobra was still a couple of miles away. In the distance, sounds of animals engaged in mortal combat, some killing, others being killed, echoed throughout the forest like the sick notes of some psychotic symphony. As he continued walking along, he came across a stream. The bed of the stream was solid stone, and with the reflection of the moonlight, it was a beautiful sight to behold. A couple miles south the stream turned into a large waterfall.

  Tristan was now approaching the cave.

  He crouched . . . and listened.

  Nothing. You could have heard a mouse sneeze.

  He closed his eyes. Concentrated. Smelled the night air. He was pretty sure he smelled an anacobra—at least one, maybe more. The smell was like that of wet fish. He went ahead and took a couple of swigs from the potion that would help him withstand up to several bites. It tasted horrible. He grimaced as it went down his throat. He squinted hard, trying to penetrate the unforgiving blackness of the cave’s bowels.

  He saw nothing.

  (time to make some night vision)

  He took out a bottle of kindror and tilted it vertically into his mouth. It tasted bad, but not as bad as the antivenom. He prepared to enter the cave.

  (aren’t you forgetting something?)

  He was. His scent needed to be covered. Another swig. This substance was called sphinter, and it could neutralize just about the most powerful of scents. He almost always had a spare bottle on hand.

  Moving forward.

  (careful, it would be just like one of these sneaky fiends to be lying right next to the entrance inside the cave—coiled, smiling, waiting to give you a kiss of death right on the side of your neck)

  Luckily, the kindror was starting to kick in. He could see inside the cave as though it were daytime and the sun shining. He inhaled deeply a few times through his nose, silently, sniffing for anacobras. He smelled the same wet-fish odor as before, but only slightly stronger now.

  (should I go after the anacobras with magic or sword?)

  Magic was slightly more reliable but took more energy, and if he used too much too soon, there was the danger he might be too enervated to fly to safety, if needed.

  (don’t want that to happen)

  He continued looking ahead.

  Nothing.

  Then . . . all of a sudden . . . he felt a light, tickling sensation on the back of his neck, as if some joker were rubbing it with a long, damp dandelion.

  Tristan was no fool. This was no dandelion.

  Springing up like a kangaroo that’s just sat on a colony of army ants, he quickly used his magic staff to hurtle himself up into the air and hover. Looking down, he saw not one, not two, but three anacobras, fat from pregnancy, down below him. He saw the strike of one of the anacobras hit where he had been standing about half a second ago.

  (you’re getting old, Tristan)

  Unfortunately, for him, when he had shot up in the air, his kindror had fallen to the ground, and he knew he only had a few minutes of night vision left before he would be surrounded by total darkness. He stretched out his hand and used Glisphin to control the heads of one of the anacobras.

  It was furious. It writhed violently, trying to free its head from the cataplexy that had overtaken the top of its body. Tristan was now perched on top of a ledge about twenty feet above them. One of the anacobras hissed irefully and began slithering towards him with all the speed that a legless creature can muster. He pulled forward hard on the head of the anacobra that he had been suspending in the air. It was glad to finally regain partial muscular control, and it was furious! It lunged forward hard, propelled both by its own energy and Tristan’s pulling on it, and Tristan directed its outstretched fangs towards the back of the hooded neck of the snake that was slithering towards him to attack.

  The anacobra sank its fangs hard into the other anacobra’s neck like nails being driven through soft wood. Tristan knew this brief distraction was only going to afford him a few moments of safety at most. He jumped onto the back of the anacobra’s body and slid down it like a kid on a slide at a playground. As he hit the ground he picked up his kindror and then shot himself back up into the air immediately, barely dodging the strike of the third anacobra. He did this right in the nick of time too, because as he shot up in the air everything turned pitch black.

  Tristan was not one to easily lose his cool, but the sudden onset of darkness in this anacobra-filled room caused him to panic for a second. He had no idea of his surroundings at this point. He immediately tossed some of the awful-tasting liquid down his mouth with all the vigor of a drunk tipping back his last bottle of sour mash whiskey, and his night vision returned right as he just about smashed directly into the side of the cave. Not knowing just what might be behind him at this point, he decided it would be better not to remain stationary, so he quickly pushed off of the cave wall and flew across to the other end of the cave without even bothering to look.

  It was a good thing too. As he pushed off of the cave wall and went flying in the other direction, he just barely dodged the strike of this third anacobra that was pursuing him relentlessly and furiously. He couldn’t resist stealing a glance back at his previous handiwork, however. The bitten anacobra was writhing about in absolutely tortuous pain. The anacobra that had bitten it looked down strangely at it, perplexed, as if it did not know how exactly to respond to what it had just done—anacobras usually don’t kill their own kind. The dying anacobra, amidst its writhing in agony, looked up angrily at the anacobra that had bitten it. It spit venom up at its murderer’s eyes. The anacobra dodged the venom, a somewhat bewildered look still plastered on its face, as if it wished it could undo what it had done.

  Tristan turned his attention back to the third anacobra. It was coming at him fast and with a vengeance. Tristan turned, focused hard, then shouted, “HIKSIN FIEHN FIENDWÜHER!” and aimed h
is staff right at the charging serpent.

  The serpent was stunned and could not move. He knew he didn’t have too much time. This magic spell might work on small animals for long periods of time, but on an animal this size he’d be lucky if it remained stunned for more than fifteen seconds.

  Tristan wasted no time.

  He lunged forward, flying through the air on his staff and cut the serpent’s neck with his sword. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a clean cut. He had severed about forty-five percent of the serpent’s head, but the rest remained intact, and it was madder than hellfire!

  He pulled two daggers out of his pocket and threw one. SWSS . . . SWSS . . . SWSSS . . . THWACKK! It landed directly in the anacobra’s right eye. SWSS . . . SWSS . . . SWSSS . . . THWACKK! The second dagger landed in the anacobra’s left eye, blinding the beast, and greatly wounding it also. It was hissing in anger and agony. It tried to strike, but so many of its neck muscles had been severed that it couldn’t build up much speed. In fact, Tristan easily stepped to the side as the strike came towards him, putting the serpent’s neck in the perfect position for a final cut.

  WHACKK!!

  He brought his sword down hard against the back of the serpent’s neck, this time completely severing its head from the rest of its body. The head weighed about thirty pounds, and had a diameter of about three feet. He forced it into the large sack he had brought with him, and then tied it tightly.

  He wasn’t in the clear yet, however. He saw that the snake that had been bitten was now apparently dead, but where was the other one? He was growing tired of the cat-and-mouse games. He wanted to get back to his lair so he could finish the potion he had been working on for weeks.

  (what about invisibility?)

  It wasn’t something he did often. It required a lot of magical energy and could leave him weakened. But at this point, it just might be worth it. He took out a bottle of fundehur, and drank the whole thing in one gulp. Then he downed the last final drops of his kindror as well as the rest of his bottle of sphinter, to remove his smell.

  He began walking towards the entrance to the cave.

  (is the sack invisible too?!)

  Kasani! All the invisibility and smell-proofing in the world wouldn’t do any good while carrying a huge, bloody snake head! It was time to leave . . . and quick. There could be many more snakes in here, and they might even be summoning each other to come and join the fight against this unwelcome intruder. Come, help us destroy the human! he could almost hear them saying.

  “What the Kasani,” he said to himself; “I really don’t have much choice!” He clutched his staff and flew out of the cave as fast as he possibly could. Using this much magic was going to weaken him, but the alternative was much uglier. As he flew out of the cave, he saw that the third anacobra had laid an ambush for him that just might have been successful had he been walking. It was coiled behind a large rock just outside the cave, waiting to spring on him as soon as he exited the cave unwarily.

  He continued flying all the way back to his lair; he knew this would drain his magical energy for some time, but he really didn’t have any choice. The smell of the severed anacobra head would doubtlessly catch the attention of just about every predator on the ground. Anacobras were tasty meals, and wolves loved to eat the scraps left over whenever one died or was killed, as did lions and many other large beasts. Sometimes even other snakes came to partake of the feast.

  As he flew over the large valley, hauling the severed snake head over his shoulder, he saw something that interested him. Both of the wolves that had survived their encounter with him were now being attacked by another pack. Having been reduced in number to only two, they were no match for a rival pack numbering eight. They put up a brave resistance, but within minutes they were felled and being eaten. Their howls of pain and agony echoed throughout the valley.

  Tristan smiled. He loved this place. He couldn’t have picked a better home. It took immense energy for him to focus as he ascended to his lair.

  (what I wouldn’t give for a pholung right now!)

  But he didn’t have his whistle. Also, the pholung might not have even been willing to come anyway, because as soon as it smelled the anacobra, it would have been petrified with fear. It would be interesting to see which primal instinct would was stronger: the pholung’s fear of Tristan’s wrath or the pholung’s fear of being eaten by the serpent.

  (perhaps another day I’ll try the experiment)

  His lair was about four thousand feet above the valley. The canyon walls were at a ninety-degree angle to the ground and offered very few footholds. He knew it wasn’t impervious to attack, but anyone who dared attempt such a feat would pay dearly. From his home to the top of the cliff there were another six thousand feet of sheer cliff wall. This large distance made it more or less impossible for someone to attempt to rappel down the side of the cliff wall to reach him. Plus, he had a large collection of booby traps and other nasty surprises all along the cliff both below and above his lair to greet anyone brave enough and foolish enough to attempt to pay him a late-night visit. Concealed razor blades hidden in the cliff wall would cut to pieces anyone attempting to scale it. He had a large wheel inside his cave he could turn attached to an endless series of other small wheels and pulleys causing the razor blades to emerge from the cliff wall like flesh-eating zombies from the grave to cut any intruders to pieces. Many of these were features he added after Koksun successfully climbed into his lair centuries ago. Although he ultimately considered Koksun’s arrival fortuitous, he didn’t want any more surprise guests.

  Finally, home.

  He stooped down to pick up Koksun. He flinched slightly at first, fearing his master was still angry, but when he realized Tristan was no longer mad he gladly allowed himself to be picked up.

  “It’s been a long night, Koksun; it’s time to sleep,” he said, stroking him softly. He purred and relaxed in Tristan’s arms.

  Tristan walked to the cliff opening. By the right-hand side was a handle attached to a large steel sliding gate. He pulled it, and the gate slid along perfectly cut grooves until connecting with the other side of the opening. He then pulled out a huge padlock and put it on the handle and used a foot-long key to lock it. As he inserted it inside the padlock and turned it, large razor blades sprang from tiny slits along the sides of the padlock like retractable claws exposed for battle. A person’s hand would be cut to ribbons trying to pick this lock.

  The sliding gate itself was also covered with large razors. There were also some bells placed along it to alert Tristan to an intruder. Tristan would probably smell the intruder before the alarm bells would go off anyway, but he believed in extra precautions. Seeing the gate was secured to his satisfaction, he turned and walked towards the largest bookcase. He pulled out the book titled Glisphin Death Spells, and as he did so a lever pulled a lever which pulled another lever that pulled a rope attached to a pulley that in turn slowly raised a small portion of one of the stone walls. It was completely silent, so silent that even if someone had been in there and pulled the book out, he would never even know he had just opened a secret passage. The passage was only about two feet tall and two feet wide, and it was located behind a large chair. It went back about thirty feet. He pushed Koksun forward first, and then he slithered through.

  The passage led into a large, luxuriously decorated room. It contained a bed about ten feet wide and fifteen feet long covered with the finest satin sheets. There were bookcases all around the room containing many books on Glisphin, and there were also volumes on Dachwaldian history and philosophy. On the right wall, Tristan had a huge collection of weapons on display: halberds, long swords, short swords, two-handed swords, maces, clubs, cudgels, throwing stars, darts, longbows, crossbows, pikes, shields, ball and chain maces, helmets, chain mail, and many other instruments of death. He also had some additional staffs there, all with ornate carvings on them written in a very ancient tongue. The ceiling was about thirty feet above the ground, so there was plenty of room
for storing weapons. In front of his bed was a large treasure chest filled with gold, diamonds, pearls, sapphires, silver, and many other precious metals. Four large imposing torches lit the room.

  Tristan lay down and closed his eyes and was asleep in minutes.

  The next day, Tristan awoke and immediately began working on his potion. He removed the anacobra’s severed head from the sack, took a sharp sword, tilted the snake’s head so it was facing the ground, then cut one of the fangs off; while doing so he held a bucket underneath the area where the fang had been attached. Venom spilled quickly out of the opening like water coming out of a faucet, and he collected it in a large bucket. He would save the rest of the venom for later. Next, he took all the ingredients besides the venom, mixed them together in a large pot, and then added water. Then, one by one, he took only the plant portions he wanted destroyed by his potion and dipped them in venom. He then added these to the pot and stirred them. He lit a fire underneath. He let it burn for about five hours. The water boiled angrily, and steam rose like smoke from a bonfire. After all the water evaporated, what was left were a large number of tiny, hard pellets.