Chapter 26: The Promise of Revenge
His two captors were confident—perhaps more than they had any right to be. Sitting in the back of a shaky cart hitched behind a carriage pulled by two large horses, Dal kept his mouth shut and said as little as possible as a marauder named Volorn and his counterpart, Grolm, sat up front in the shade and shared some liquor together.
They don't seem worried about me escaping, Dal thought to himself.
Though his hands were bound behind his back and his feet were shackled, the two men should not have been so sure of themselves. They clearly knew that Dal had the ability to become something other than he currently was, but neither of the men knew any of the specific details; therefore, they did not have any way of knowing that it would still be about three-and-a-half days before Dal shifted into a different class, nor could they know that what he'd become would be random or, at the very least, outside of Dal's control.
As far as they were aware—or at least, should have been aware—Dal could shift at any moment. Yet, they did not act as though that was the case. This meant Dal was dealing with buffoons: murderous, bloodthirsty buffoons. But regrettably, they made up for their intellectual shortcomings with violence, as evident from the fresh blood dripping down the side of Dal's mouth.
For the past two hours, the marauder named Volorn would approach Dal completely at random and strike him hard in the face. Each time, the attack would be completely unprovoked and unprompted. It did not matter how quiet Dal remained or how cooperative; the man clearly felt a supremely dark hatred for Dal as a result of what had happened in that pub in the Summerglades, and it was as though he could not resist.
"This is all kinds of fucked up," he heard Volorn complain to his counterpart.
"I know, man, I know."
"Do you, though? Do you really understand me, Grolm?"
"I do."
There was sadness in the marauder's voice. "That piece of shit slaughtered my little brother, and I can't even give him what he deserves."
"Boss's orders."
"Well, why don't we just say he died, then? Let's torture him ourselves, make it real slow, and then we'll tell Boss an Ostros patrol found us and the kid was taken out with an arrow or something."
The other marauder, Grolm, made an unhappy-sounding grunt. "Watch it, Volorn. Talking like that'll get you killed."
"I don't care, man. I just don't care. There's two things I wanna do to that God-forsaken motherfucker. And that's gouge out his eyes, and cut off his balls. And then let him live like that for a little bit before taking some more things away from him."
"Well, if you ask, Boss just might let you. But it's not your call to make, Vol. So please, calm down."
The two continued to argue, the topic staying the same. Dal listened as they debated over whether or not Volorn should be allowed to enact what he considered vengeance. It was a debate he was losing. Clearly, the other fellow, Grolm, wasn't going to allow it. And that served Dal just fine. No matter what, Dal needed to continue living.
Because that would be the only way he could kill the both of them.
I'm not letting this go, he thought, his mind replaying the moment that Volorn's flail had caved in the back of the child, Jona's, head.
I'm not letting this go!
What neither of these two men understood—what they couldn't understand—was that for all the hatred they felt towards Dal, the hatred that Dal felt towards them in turn was a hundredfold, perhaps even more. Sure, he was keeping it off his face, and he wasn't muttering or growling about how badly he wanted to rip their balls off, but inside, he felt a darkness in him that hadn't existed for a long, long time. They'd really woken up his mean side.
Going to kill them both, Dal thought. They will die.
The rage he felt towards the two of them was so terrible that it actually hurt more than his bruised and battered face. But for now, he kept all that rage locked up inside him, finding a nice little place for it right next to his guilt. Yet, unlike his guilt, this cage would actually be opened someday soon, but only when the time was right.
Because there was just no forgiving animals like these.
No, not at all. The only appropriate response was to remove them from existence, and to make sure they suffered as they were sent to hell.
And so, as the rickety cart continued along the uneven, poorly paved dirt pathway, Dal did not mind the constant bumpiness, nor did he mind the way his flesh felt like it was cooking while completely exposed to the hot, burning, and punishing sun. He didn't mind the sweat, and he didn't mind the burns he'd get all over his face and skin. All of that was just fine with Dal. As long as he was able to kill these two marauders and whoever they worked for, he would endure all of it. And it was for this reason he opened his mouth and called to them in warning as he caught sight of a pack of horses approaching from far off to their left.
"You two!"
Both of them stopped talking at once, and as though surprised, they spun around and glared at Dal. "What the fuck?" Volorn asked. "Did he…did he seriously just speak to me? I guess he wants more pain, huh, Grolm?"
"Calm down," Grolm warned him, his expression serious. Then, to Dal, he said, "And you. Keep your mouth—"
"Untie me and unshackle me," Dal said, interrupting the man, whose expression turned immediately into a scowl while the scowl already worn by Volorn deepened.
"The nerve," Volorn said, balling his hand into a fist and moving towards Dal. "The absolute fucking nerve of this—"
"A patrol is heading this way, you fools!"
This caught their attention. Both men stopped at once. "A patrol?" Grolm asked.
Dal nodded. "Look northward." Both men turned around, and Dal had to resist swearing at them for being so blindingly stupid. "We're heading east. Northward means look to my left."
This time, they looked where he indicated. At the moment, the three of them were heading eastward towards Hell's Pass, and at their current rate of travel, Dal estimated they would arrive at the pass in somewhere around eighteen hours' worth of time, but that was of course factoring in breaks to let the horses rest. Perhaps, if they wanted to risk pushing the animals a bit harder, they could stave off another hour or two, but in either event, they wouldn't reach the pass until early tomorrow morning.
Ahead of them and in the distance, Dal could see the massive, towering mountains of Ahna, Shik, and Morfroth, and framing those three, a giant among giants, was what was believed to be the tallest mountain on the planet of Galiad: the great mountain known as Gialore. Interestingly, Dal thought he could also just see the faintest outline of one of the southeastern faces of Candep, which was even farther in the distance, though most of it was concealed behind Morfroth. Lastly, behind Candep, there was another mountain called Cradel, but that one was entirely out of view.
Now, as Dal gestured with his chin to the north, the two men finally saw what he had pointed out. And from the look on their faces, they were both on the verge of panic. "Fuck!" Volorn shouted. "What's an Ostros patrol doing this far east?"
"I don't know," Grolm said. "Shit!"
"What are we gonna do, buddy?"
"I don't know!"
Volorn looked at Dal. "We should kill him and throw him off before we're spotted."
"You've already been spotted," Dal said. "And if you kill me, they will know you are marauders, and you'll be killed or arrested." Dal met the man's eyes. "Untie me, and I'll handle them."
"Handle them?"
"Yes. I'll get them to leave us alone."
At this, Grolm and Volorn looked at one another, and then both men turned to Dal as though he was crazy. "Do you think we're fucking morons?" Volorn asked, his tone coming across as a combination of outrage and disbelief.
"Yes, actually, but I'm not trying to trick you."
"Oh, really?" Volorn snorted and released a derisive laugh. "I suppose you suddenly just decided to help us from the kindness of your heart, huh?"
"No," Dal whispered. "From the darkness of it."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Dal stared even more intensely into the man's eyes. "I'm going to kill you both. Thus, I don't actually want to escape. And I don't even want the Ostros patrol to kill you, either. No, I want to be the one who does it with my own two hands. For that reason, it's just not in my best interest right now to have you hauled off to jail or decapitated painlessly by some overeager patrol guard."
The two men once again stared at each other, and their confusion and disbelief only seemed to increase. "He's obviously lying, right?" Volorn asked.
"Of course he is. It's clearly bullshit."
Becoming frustrated, Dal grunted and said, "Listen, you two. It doesn't matter whether you believe me or not, because you really don't have a choice. The patrol has already spotted us, and they're already heading over here to investigate."
Dal sat up straighter. "Look, right now, you only have four options. Number one: you turn yourselves in. Number two: you go out fighting. Number three: you kill me and then you go out fighting. And finally, number four: you take a chance that I might be telling you the truth, and if I'm not, you go out fighting just the same. In other words, you've got nothing to lose here."
For the third consecutive time, Volorn and Grolm regarded one another, and the two men, both dressed in a mismatched combination of crudely wrought iron and patchy animal fur, began to nod as though reluctantly accepting Dal's proposal.
"All right, fine," Volorn said. "But if you try to pull any shit, I'll make sure you die with us. I swear it to the God above. I'll prioritize killing you over the patrol. Hell, it works out for me, because it means I get to avenge my brother before joining him in the afterlife."
"Noted."
Very quickly, Volorn reached behind his waist near his right side, and then, from a pouch on his hide trousers, he produced a small dagger. Stepping forward and around Dal, the restraints were cut, and now fresh blood at last flowed into his wrists. At the same time, Grolm worked to unlock the shackles binding his feet. At last, with all four of his limbs free, Dal stood up, stretched, and just had time to wipe a trickle of blood away from his nose as a whistle was blown and a man's voice called out to them.
"Whoah there!" he shouted, the sound of ten horses galloping making it difficult to hear his words. "You three! Stop your horses! Now!"
With a nervousness evident in each of his steps, Grolm turned around, returned to the carriage, and tugged on the reins, causing the two horses to come to a halt. A moment later, a man who Dal took to be a guard captain—and a member of the Knight class—demanded the three of them get onto the dirt path and stand side by side.
"Do what he says," Dal whispered to the two of them. "And let me do the talking. That's the only way you're getting out of this."
They nodded at him, but he could tell they didn't trust him. They had no reason to, either. What Dal was doing right now was insane. Even still, he felt compelled: drawn by an anger so vicious it frightened even himself.
Lining up side by side with Volorn and Grolm, Dal stood in the middle of the two men and smiled at the guard captain, who was a man who appeared to be in his early thirties with a bit of brown hair sticking out from the sides of his plated helm. He was flanked by an entire patrol of guards, all of them but two who were likely members of the Soldier class. There was even one spellcaster among them, though Dal strongly doubted she was a sorcerer; most likely, she was a Mystic, like Rethi, or perhaps she was still even a tier-1 Apprentice.
I'd better not Identify them, he thought, realizing that to do so might come across as suspicious. It wasn't worth it just for the sake of appeasing his curiosity.
As the guard captain approached, Dal was glad to see that the two marauders were remaining quiet. This was good.
You've survived for so many years, he told himself. Use everything you've learned and seen.
Dal waited before speaking. But he did so carefully, like a predator waiting to spring on its prey. He did not say so much as a word until he clearly and plainly was able to observe the guard captain opening his mouth. He waited until that exact moment to angrily, rudely, and most importantly, impatiently interrupt him.
"What the fuck is going on here?" Dal asked him, drawing upon just a tiny fraction of the rage he was saving for the two marauders. The guard captain, seemingly confused and perhaps a bit offput, opened his mouth a second time to say something, but Dal cut him off yet again. "It's bad enough you lazy, good-for-nothing patrolmen are letting marauders run free all throughout Ostros, but now you're going to put me off schedule, too?" Dal shouted. "Is this how you treat tax-paying citizens of Ostros?"
The guard captain frowned. "Sir! Do not speak to me that way." The man removed his helm and held it under his arm. "I'm here because I observed suspicious travel activity." His eyes turned red, flashing several times as he seemingly identified all three of them. This only seemed to deepen his frown. "Are you two…marauders?" he asked, his hand lowering to the broadsword sheathed at his hip.
"They sure look like it," another of the men said. "Two Soldiers and one…Goat Castration Specialist. Likely a kidnap victim. Just look at his face."
Dal could hear the two marauders shift as though ready to kill Dal and then immediately throw themselves at the patrol guards. But Dal was quick to preempt their activity. "Marauders?" Dal asked. Then he released a fake, but genuine-sounding bout of hateful, angry laughter. "Ahaha! Marauders! I fucking wish."
"Sir?"
He turned around and pointed at Volorn. "This is Volorn," he said. Then he pointed at Grolm. "And this is Grolm. And these two cutthroat sons of bitches are no marauders. But they might as well be, though, for what they charge." Dal released a string of obscene profanity then added, "Thanks to your war, I can't even travel about anymore without mercenaries to accompany me."
"Ahh," the guard captain said, looking slightly at ease. "These two men are mercenaries?" He narrowed his eyes. "But what need would a goat castrator have for mercenaries? And why are you so beaten up, young man? And furthermore, why are you traveling towards the Hell Mountains?"
"Yeah," another of his men said. "And how's someone your age and your class able to afford mercs? Who are you really, and why are you here?"
"Why do you think?" Dal asked, making himself sound annoyed and frustrated. And now came the most important part of his performance. He needed to sell this. If he screwed up even slightly, Volorn would slit his throat, and he would be deprived of his revenge. No, he could not afford to slip up. He needed to do this perfectly. Even without being a theater-related class, he somehow had to dig deep enough to pull this off.
Channel it, he thought. All that anger. Channel it.
And so, with every bit of scorn, disgust, and even misery that he could muster, he looked at the guard captain and said, "Do you think I'm traveling to this monster-infected shithole mountain range because I enjoy it?"
"Hm?"
Dal got out of the line, where the three of them were standing together, and he began to pace back and forth. "Sir, get back where I told you to stand!" Once again, his hand hovered threateningly near his sword. This was good. But Dal still needed to channel more of his anger, and so he did exactly that.
"Oh, fuck off!" he shouted at the guard captain while continuing to pace. "If you're going to arrest me, just do it. Then, at least father will have no choice but to acknowledge the shame of his 'goat castrator' son." Dal spun suddenly towards the guards and laughed. "Oh, that would be fantastic indeed. Then I won't have to pick up his minerals for him like some…some dog! Yes, I think that's a great idea. Arrest me."
But the guard captain didn't. He merely sighed and looked at his companions. "It's just some noble's spoiled brat," he said to them. Afterwards, he glared at Dal. "You know, rich kids like you, who blame the world for not being given a Battle Class—you sicken me. I had to work my way up from farmer to get where I am. And you're crying and moaning because daddy made you do a little work and even let you buy some Soldiers to protect you while you do it. Guess what, little boy—no one protected me when I was your age. I had protect myself."
The guard captain pointed at him. "And another thing: you could really stand to lose that attitude, Dal Rineloch. I'm just doing my job. And there's nothing I need less than having little shits like you think you can shout me down because you're high off daddy's money. No, you can fuck off."
And with that, Volorn finally spoke. And to his credit, he performed his role admirably despite having no idea he was going to play it. "I'm sorry about the kid, captain," he said. "I keep whooping his ass, but he doesn't change his behavior. But just to set the record straight, I work for his father, not for him."
"Maybe you're not hitting him hard enough. At any rate, I'll let you three get about your business." He half-turned around, stopped, and then again faced in Dal's direction, pointing to him once more. "And you need to learn some respect, young man. That's no way to talk to a patrol captain of Ostros."
"Yeah, blow me, you fucking iron-headed prick." Dal gave the man the middle finger, turned his back to him, and then jumped onto the carriage like he owned it. "Volorn! Grolm! Let's go. Or I'm telling my father it's your fault the shipment is late."
"Whoop that kid's ass a little harder next time," the guard captain said in disgust as he turned around and remounted his own horse.
And just like that, Dal had accomplished two things at once: he'd gotten the guards off his tail, and he'd somehow actually earned the respect of his captors, who looked at him with something that could almost be called admiration as they took off once more towards Hell's Pass.
Good.