Tales of
Erogenia
Based
on the online comic created by J.E. Draft.
Episode 3: The
Chapter
2:
Thorns
By the end of the day,
Varden’s feet felt as if he was walking on
coals. His body stank of sweat
and more than anything else he wanted a good
swim. But they had not seen the
faintest trace of water other than a few muddy holes filled with animal tracks
and too badly fouled to be safe to drink.
They survived on a small
waterskin that Zenaria had made out of the stomach of the animal she had
killed. By the end of the day
it was almost empty and Zenaria tucked it into her
belt. Most annoyingly Zenaria
seemed in much better shape than Varden was and he glowered at her as they
finally stopped to rest.
“Cheer up Sir Knight;
we’ll find water when we get closer to the
mountain. See how it
shines.”
“What has shining to
do with water?” Varden asked.
“Snow, you Kivalian
moose. The top of the mountain
is covered with snow.”
“How can a mountain
have snow in all this heat?” Varden growled.
“It would
melt.”
Even you must know that
the gods decreed that the temperature drops as the altitude
increases.”
“We were not taught
such things in the order,” Varden
sneered. “Only priests and
scholars dabble in such knowledge.”
Zenaria looked at him
incredulously. “That knowledge
might just save your life, Sir Knight.
Where there is snow there is water.”
Zenaria did not comment
further. Sometimes Varden’s
ignorance astounded her. Had
they not been thrust together by chance and if he had not saved her life
twice she doubted she would have had anything to do with
him. She did admit that the knight
was brave, kind, and noble to a fault, but his ignorance and self-righteousness
sometimes grated on her and this was one of those
sometimes.
She reminded herself that
he was also very good in a fight, and just as good in a bed, even if most
of the times they had made love they had never been anywhere near a
bed. “Time to camp,”
she said. “Over
there.” She pointed to a
thick grove of the ubiquitous thorn bush.
It looked to be near impenetrable, and therefore, perfect for their
purposes.
“I’ll see what
I can find for supper,” Zenaria said, stringing her
bow. “You set up
camp.”
“Certainly,
princess,” Varden replied. He
took out his knife, and carefully approaching the thorns began to hack out
a campsite.
Zenaria smiled and looked
about for suitable prey. Since
she and Varden were not planning on staying long she had decided against
killing one of the larger animals, although she was sure that it would not
go to waste. But it went against
her upbringing. Warriors of the
Snow Leopard never killed anything they did not intend to eat except in self
defence. She looked for one of
the spike-horned deer she had killed the previous day and soon found
one.
However, this deer turned
out to be not quite as cooperative as the one she had brought down on the
previous day. It caught sight
of her and bounded away with thirty foot
leaps. Undaunted Zenaria followed,
moving in a circular path to approach from
downwind. The deer proved to
be particularly cautious, moving steadily away and frustrating her plans
to get close enough for a clear shot.
But Zenaria was not about to give up that
easily. She needed the meat the
deer would provide for Varden and herself and she was not about to switch
to easier prey like one of the cow-like animals that made little effort to
escape.
She circled still wider
eventually getting into a position from which she could approach the skittish
deer from behind a screen of thorns
bushes. Slowly she edged closer
until the deer was barely fifty yards
away. Just as she was about to
draw her bow, however, a large chicken-like bird darted out from in front
of her. It was the deer’s
salvation and the chicken’s doom.
As the deer bounded away once more Zenaria switched her aim to the
chicken and caught it dead centre.
A heartbeat later a second bird flew up and Zenaria drew and fired
almost reflexively.
She knelt by the two birds
and completed her ritual of thanking the gods and spirits and then got suddenly
to her feet, alerted by the sound of something heavy crashing through the
bush. She was just in time to
see something vaguely familiar charging toward
her. It was a giant animal that
at first glance seemed covered with
armour. Its nose sported two
horns, one behind the other; the one in front almost the length of her forearm
and the second horn about half that.
She knew the animal; sort
of. She had been attacked in
her homeland by the great woolly rhinoceros and readily recognized its smaller
kin, if a beast that probably weighed forty times what she did could be
considered small. It pushed its
way through the thorn bushes as if they did not exist and charged toward
her.
Zenaria was trapped against
the thorns, but given the choice between being trampled and some painful
scratches, she chose the latter.
Leaping to one side she crashed into the thorns, ignoring the pain
as the rhino roared past just a hand’s breadth away from
her.
The huge animal turned with
amazing speed, swinging back toward her while Zenaria fought to free herself
from the thorns that now entangled her
clothing. As she did so, she
caught sight of the reason for the rhino’s attack as an infant version
of the monster trundled into view.
Quite by chance the baby rhino headed straight toward her attracting
the huge parent once more. She
had no choice. Ignoring the agonizing
pain she pushed deeper into the thorns and through to the other side, leaving
considerable amounts of her flesh and clothing on the sharp
barbs.
But she was still not
safe. The mother rhino followed,
brushing aside the needle sharp thorns and heading straight for
her. Desperately Zenaria tried
to use her agility to dart aside, but the thorns caught her, leaving her
directly in the path of the rhino.
At the last heartbeat she tore free, but not enough to prevent the
horn from hooking her low. It
caught the fleshy part of her thigh; and then she was flying through the
air tumbling like a rag doll. The
landing was as painful as the flight, a thorn bush breaking her fall and
laving her hopelessly caught, her body pierced in more than a score of
places.
She was too much of a warrior
to faint, but the pain was excruciating.
Bleeding from a hundred wounds, with dozens of thorns piercing her
flesh, she lay on top of the bush, her weight slowly pushing her deeper into
the flesh-shredding thorns. For
a few heartbeats Zenaria hardly dared move; then as she realized what was
happening she tried to struggle free.
A savage wave of pain surged through
her. For an instant her vision
blurred and blackness swept across her eyes; but she fought back from
unconsciousness, knowing that in this savage land passing out would certainly
mean her death.
She moved as slowly and
carefully as she could, but even the tiniest movement brought pain so exquisite
that it pushed her to the edge of
consciousness. But she couldn’t
pass out. She could hear movement
near her and overhead the huge long-necked birds were
circling. She was now prey and
if she didn’t escape the scavengers would tear her bleeding body
apart.
With a tremendous effort
of will Zenaria tore herself free, dropping to the ground free of the
thorns. She found herself face
to face with a score of the dog-like scavengers she had seen
earlier. Up close they were
formidable creatures with huge heads, thick necks and powerful
forequarters. Massive jaws dripped
with saliva and they made cries that were disturbingly human as they slowly
edged toward her.
Zenaria had long since dropped
her bow, and she drew her sword and knife, swaying slightly as she tried
to fight off the impact of her ordeal.
She was close to collapse; something that would result in her being
almost instantly torn to pieces.
She had no doubt the huge jaws of the beasts she faced would make
very short work of her.
It was her good fortune
that they did not come at her all at
once. Instead the boldest came
at her first, striking low as if to hamstring
her. Instead it met the point
of her sword, its own impetus skewering
it. Zenaria immediately wrenched
her point free. She had hardly
exerted herself in the attack, but she felt
weak. She was bleeding profusely
from the gash the rhino horn had made in her thigh and the hundred or so
wounds inflicted on her by the thorn bushes constantly wept
blood. By rights she should have
attempted to staunch the flow of blood, but faced by the pack of predatory
dogs she had no choice but to defend
herself.
A second dog came at her
and a third. Zenaria cut them
both down, gaining a respite as the other dogs cannibalized their dead
fellows. But she had no time
to tend to any of her wounds. Close
to collapse she leaned on her sword and waited for the next
attack.
Warned by the fate of their
fellows, however, the dogs chose not to attack her head
on. Instead they tried to find
a way to circle behind her. But
Zenaria had her back to the thorn bushes that had so badly savaged
her. Now they kept her from being
attacked from all sides. That
did not stop the dogs from trying, however, several of them attempting to
get beneath the bushes and come at her from the
side.
It boiled down to a
stalemate. The dogs circled for
an opening and Zenaria waiting for them to
attack. However, unless her wounds
were tended Zenaria knew that that standoff could have only one outcome;
one that the dogs seemed to understand.
Eventually she would be too weak to defend
herself. Already her legs were
shaking from the effort to stay on her
feet. She had lost too much blood;
it was only a matter of time, and not very much time at
that.
And then suddenly dogs were
flying in all directions as a whirlwind of slashing steel hurtled into
them. Zenaria took a step forward
and fell to her knees as her legs gave way, but Varden didn’t need her
help. Intent on their prey the
knight had come upon the dogs unaware and cut down several of them before
they even realized her was there.
The others made a brief attempt to resist and then fled before the
knight’s slashing blade, leaving ten of their number dead in front of
Zenaria.
Varden moved to her as Zenaria
struggled to rise, ashamed of her
weakness. “Stay down,
princess.” Varden’s
words were a command, not a request, and unaccustomed as Zenaria was to taking
orders, she readily complied.
Rarely had she felt such weakness and it was clear even to her that
she had been badly injured.
“We have to stop the
bleeding,” Varden continued.
“And that leg wound comes
first.” As he spoke he removed
Zenaria’s belt knowing that was where she kept her medicine
kit. He opened the pouch and
took out a needle and a length of catgut.
Zenaria lay still and let
him work. She was really too
weak to do much else, but she knew she was in good
hands. In spite of Varden’s
martial inclinations the Knights of the Silver Order were trained to heal
as well as kill and Varden was blessed with a power that went far beyond
the abilities of the ordinary healer.
She didn’t even wince
as the knight used their scarce water to wash out the gaping wound the
rhino’s horn had made in her thigh.
Warriors of the Snow leopard carried stoicism to an extreme and she
lay completely still as the edges of her wound were pinched together and
the needle bit into her flesh.
Varden’s skill with
the needle matched his skill with the sword, but Zenaria’s senses
dimmed. She felt herself slipping
into sleep and fought to stay awake.
Varden noticed as well.
“Stay awake, princess.
You can sleep after I’ve healed you; not
before.”
Zenaria forced her eyes
open. It helped that everything
Varden was doing was incredibly painful, but she said nothing as he moved
to treating her other wounds. These
were numerous and quite a few required stitching, but nothing to match the
mumber of stitches on the wound in her
thigh. Many of the sharp thorns,
some of them up to four inches long, had broken off and had to be pulled
out before Varden could begin his
healing.
Calmly and methodically
Varden went about treating Zenaria, removing her clothing as he did
so. There wasn’t much to
remove as most of it had been torn to shreds, but he carefully hung it up
on one of the thorn bushes until he had stripped Zenaria down to her
skin. Only when he was certain
he had removed every thorn did the knight lay his hands on her and close
his eyes.
Varden had healed her before, but it was a sensation Zenaria never got used to. She felt her body warm beneath his hands as the knight invoked his saints and called forth his power. The heat increased until sweat poured from every pore in her skin and sweat streamed down her bloodied body; and still the heat mounted until she felt as if she was engulfed in flames and then it was gone, leaving her weak as a kitten. Gently Varden placed his hand upon her forehead. “Now sleep, princess.”
Zenaria’s eyes were already closed, and she needed no urging. Sleep came so quickly that she didn’t even have time to reply before the world faded.
She awoke weak, but refreshed and ravenously hungry. The sun was in its midmorning position and she guessed that she had probably slept. A delicious smell came to her nostrils and she sat up salivating. A few feet away Varden was tending a fire. He looked up and smiled as he saw that she was awake. “How fares my princess?”
“Well,” Zenaria answered. “But very hungry.”
Actually she was better than well. Varden’s gift had the unfortunate effect of healing everything, leaving her body as unblemished as a newborn. It even restored her virginity a side-effect she found somewhat irritating. However, even more galling was the fact that it also eliminated all trace of her battle scars. How would anyone in the Clan of the Snow Leopard know of her accomplishments if she bore not a single trace of her adventures?
“What are you cooking?” she asked, noting that what Varden was tending over the fire looked vaguely familiar.
“I found these birds just a few yards from here and got to them before the scavengers did. They had your arrows in them, so I thought it only right to claim them.”
As if guessing her next question Varden spoke again. “There was and is a plentiful supply of dog. It is a bit stringy, but quite edible. I thought it best to save these for when thou awoke from thy sleep.”
Zenaria had eaten dog before and found it quite good when boiled, but she decided to spare Varden that information in favour of accepting the roast foul. It was very good and not surprisingly tasted quite a bit like chicken. She ate all that she was given and still wanted more, but had to be content with just one. She knew it was part of the healing process. Varden’s healing drew partly on the spiritual and partly on the resources of her own body. It left her with an appetite that a single chicken could not satisfy. “Perhaps,” she said, “I might try some of that dog. After all they tried to eat me.”
“Drink first,” he said handing her the water skin. She noticed that it was full and looked at Varden inquiringly.
“I followed the animals,” he said. “Surprisingly I found a spring that was not fouled. We can fill up there before continuing.”
Zenaria reached for her tattered clothes. “I will have to hunt first. These will no longer do.”
“Tomorrow,” Varden replied. “Today thou rest. Tomorrow thy may assume thy accustomed role.”
Zenaria lay back. Tomorrow would
do. After all they still had
no idea where they were or where they were going.
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