I am pleased to introduce Mitchel Rose, fellow fantasy author, and a fine writer of the fantastic if his foray with the short story "Ivory Hunters" is any indication. I had the pleasure of having Mitchel send me a copy of his story, which is a part of a larger work involving the same characters you will meet here.
Mitchel's style is straight forward fantasy. He uses an elegant simplicity in his writing that elucidates the point without miring the reader in a swamp of unnecessary details. I was particularly fond of his concepts for the fallen moon on which the villainous race that peoples his tale dwell. I also enjoyed the "Touch" that gave the main character her unique ability to combat an otherwise invulnerable supernatural threat. But I digress; I will allow the reader to formulate their own opinions of his work, and hope that you enjoyed Ivory Hunters as much as I have. God bless!
“Bandits.” Oxebrow Rugg announced scanning the forest. “I smell bandits.”
Tasmae walking at his side stopped dead. Her gloved hand went instinctively to the hilt of her sword. “You sure?” She asked.
Rugg tapped his long wart ridden nose with one gnarly black claw. “Goblin senses are second to none girly.” He said smugly.
“And I was having such a nice day too.” Tasmae sighed. “Well as nice as is possible when one is travelling with a demented goblin pirate.”
“You love me really.” Oxebrow concluded unhooking the battle-axe from his back. He swung it experimentally in the air and stretched his squat stocky body.
Several ragged figures padded like wolves out of the undergrowth to block the road. Oxebrow grinned triumphantly showing his misshaped fangs. “See bandits. I’m always right.”
The bandit chief a bull necked thug in a mangy leather cuirass pointed his grimy broadsword at the companions. “Hold where you are. This is our territory.”
Oxebrow made a disgusting snorting noise through his nose. “Your territory little man? Last I checked these lands belonged to the King.”
“These lands are ours!” The chief snarled. “The King’s far away cowering in his sapphire palace. His law don’t mean nothing here.”
“We are agents of the King.” Tasmae said primly stepping forward. “On important business for His Majesty. You would be wise to stand aside.”
The other bandits sniggered at her assertion. Tasmae rankled at their arrogance. Though she looked formidable in her dark grey jerkin and travelling cloak all they saw was a sickly looking girl barely in her fifteenth year. A bitter smile twisted her cupid bow mouth. The thugs would soon be in for a rude awakening.
“To pass this road you have to pay us a toll.” The bandit chief was now saying. He leered at the girl. “As you are high and mighty agents of the King you’ll pay double.”
Oxebrow fixed his beady eyes on the ruffian. “I don’t think girly here made things clear.” He drawled. “It’d be better for you to slink back to whatever dunghill you crawled out of before you get hurt.”
“You think ‘cause you’re a pox ridden goblin we gonna wet ourselves and run away?” The chief chuckled. “I fought your scum in the last Ogre War and gave many of you ugly rats a taste of my steel. I’ll gladly put one more of you filth out of their misery if you want it so bad.”
Oxebrow went dangerously still. Tasmae cast an anxious glance at her brutish companion. Dark fury gathered on his narrow ruined face. She knew from the Chancellor’s secret files that Rugg had also fought in the War. He had lost all his kin in the bloody conflict and had been left without a tribe or a home.
“I’ll give you one last chance to save your ugly hide.” The goblin said flatly. “Leave now before it’s too late.”
The bandit chief spat on the ground at the goblin’s mismatched boots. “I’m done trading words with a gob. Run these pair through!” He snapped to his men.
The bandits, eight in all, rushed forward. The chief lunged at Oxebrow meaning to run him through. The goblin’s simian bulk moved with startling speed easily side-stepping the attack. His massive claws moved in a blur and he thrust upwards with the hilt of his battle-axe.
There was a satisfying crunch as the bandit chief’s nose shattered under the impact. He gurgled something incoherently and Oxebrow smashed him hard in the stomach. As he went down three of his comrades rushed to attack.
The goblin swung his axe in a devastating arc shattering the cudgel of the nearest bandit. Oxebrow used the flat of the blade to smack him across the face sending several of his rotten teeth flying. As he staggered back the goblin promptly brained him. His two companions backed away but then came on again.
Suddenly a streak of grey rushed past. Tasmae sword drawn slashed and feinted with expert precision. Though Oxebrow outmatched her by sheer physical strength she had been trained by the finest bladelords of Ullithore. As a bandit made a clumsy parry she dodged it with ease and caught his arm. Hard steel cut soft flesh like butter and the thug screamed in agony. He dropped his weapon and clutched at his wounded arm.
Another scream came from behind her and she barely got out of the way in time as Oxebrow hurled another bandit like a caber. He hit a nearby tree with a heavy thud. The goblin grinned savagely and roared in triumph.
That was the last straw. The remains of the bandit gang turned tail and fled back into the forest. Oxebrow cackled like a maniac and shook his battle-axe after them.
“Where you going boys? I was just getting warmed up!”
Tasmae sheathed her sword. “We best get moving.”
“I was just getting warmed up.” Oxebrow repeated plaintively. “That’s the trouble with humans no staying power.”
The girl gave the still moaning bandit chief lying on the floor a sharp kick then set off down the road. “Come on.” She said sharply. “We need to get moving.”
“Humans.” Muttered the goblin shouldering his battle-axe. “No fun in them.”
* * *
They emerged onto a wide ridge and stood side by side looking down at the landscape below. The pair had reached the boundary of the King’s lands. Here the lush forests and rolling farmlands of Stoutland gave way to the desolate moors and fetid swamps of Bleakland. Tasmae looked out across the grim countryside her eyes tracking the silver serpent of the Jarl River. It stretched all the way to the iron grey wall of the Morlocj Mountains.
The day was clear enough to almost make out Dire Peak itself and the metal moon of the Skravok sprouting like a tumour from its side.
“Can you still sense him?” Oxebrow asked breaking through her broodings.
Tasmae closed her eyes and concentrated. Her mind reached out seeking Ivory’s taint using the gifts that she had cultivated at the Hidden Academy. The old familiar headache came back with a vengeance as her senses reached out and fixed on the sickly green flicker of the Skravok’s corrupted aura.
“Yes. Got him.” A cold clammy trickle ran down from her left nostril.
“You’re bleeding again.” Oxebrow grunted. He came toward her.
Instinctively she backed away. Taking a lace handkerchief from her sleeve she dabbed at the nose bleed. The girl thought she saw hurt flash in the goblin’s eyes but his gaze quickly became hooded and he returned his attention to the landscape.
Feeling a little guilty she offered him a weak smile. “Don’t worry. I’m used to it by now.”
Oxebrow merely shrugged his misshaped shoulders. “Humans are weak little things girly.”
You’ve upset him again, she thought sourly. You always manage to do the wrong thing. Why am I so stupid?
Once again she began dwell upon the strange events that had led up to their unlikely partnership. After all a daughter of a Duke hardly attended the same soirees as a former mercenary and sea raider. But she was no ordinary rich noble’s offspring. She had been five years old when the Alchemist Council had taken her to their tower and given her the Touch. Her father, an ambitious man, wanting leverage with the King, had offered up his youngest daughter for the process.
In those long terrible months when she had writhed in agony, the burning pain making her moan pitifully she had cursed the selfish old man from the bottom of her heart. But her hatred had made her stronger, not physically like Oxebrow, but mentally and emotionally. Curled up in her filthy cell at the Hidden Academy, vomiting blood and clawing at her skin her spirit had been re-forged in steel.
It had to be if she was to ever survive the endless war with the hated eldritch race of the Skravok.
“I’ve got him.” She said. “He’s heading west.”
Oxebrow nodded, his earlier pique replaced by solid professionalism. “He’ll try to use the swamps as a shortcut back to the moon.”
Tasmae closed her eyes again. “His men are moving slowly if we hurry we can catch him.”
Oxebrow chuckled. “Eager to get to the kill girly. You must have goblin blood in you.” It was an old joke but Rugg did not seem to ever tire of it.
“I just want this finished.” She said icily. “Too many people died because of that monster’s schemes. There must be a reckoning.”
Fury flared in Tasmae as she recalled the havoc Ivory had caused. The Skravok had come down from Dire Peak infiltrating the Lower Counties intending to spark a war in those troubled lands. He had corrupted several of the local nobles promising them further wealth and power. A few well timed assassins here and there stirred up the embers of war, including the killing of the four year old son of the King’s cousin. Tasmae had found the body mutilated and broken by Ivory himself. She had watched his father howling with grief and vowed there and then for vengeance.
Fortunately Tasmae and Oxebrow had thwarted Ivory’s schemes before it was too late. They had smashed the cult of fanatics Ivory had established and undone the chaos he had sewn, but the monster himself had escaped with a handful of his followers. Frantically the King’s agents pursued in an attempt to catch up before the Skravok could reach the safety of Dire Peak and the infernal moon that rested on its slopes.
Instinctively the girl clenched her gloved hands ignoring the dull burning pain that constantly gnawed at them. Skravok were eldritch outsiders of the Twisted Realm, immune to mortal weapons and magic. Only the Touch, the secret process conceived by the Alchemists could destroy the physical body of a Skravok. They had given Tasmae their creation, changing her body irrevocably through vile potions and secret arts forging her into a weapon, a burning light against the darkness.
Tasmae smiled cynically at the patriotic rhetoric the Alchemists had drummed into her. There were others like her, those given the Touch. People called them Torchers because of what they did to a Skravok’s body. Answerable only to the Chancellor they travelled across the kingdom seeking out possible Skravok threats and intrigues. Though trained in sword play and the esoteric martial arts of distant Nepan, Torchers did not act alone. They always worked with a warrior, a grunt to deal with Skravok henchmen and other irritations like the bandits from the road. In most cases the Torcher’s companion was a knight from one of the ruling families a noble warrior gifted with chivalrous courage and impeccable manners.
From his place next to her Oxebrow let out a loud belch. Tasmae looked sourly at him. In most cases . . .
“Best get moving then girly.” The goblin said at length. “I’m itching to mash up some more Skravok worshippers.” He bounded off down the dirt track. “Hope your little girly legs can keep up.” He added giggling like a schoolboy. Oxebrow was half mad and prone to erratic behaviour. Like everything else in her life he was something else Tasmae had learned to adapt to.
“I think I can manage.” She replied drily before marching after him.
* * *
Ivory’s trail led them to a small village close to the river. Before the Skravok had escaped his headquarters Tasmae had managed to pierce him with an aura dart. Unable to remove it the Torcher and her companion would be able to follow Ivory until he reached the mountains and the protective magical wards that surrounded Dire Peak.
The girl looked around warily at the cluster of mean looking hovels clustered along the dirt road. Fearful villagers peered at them and shrank back at the sight of the wild eyed goblin in his mismatched armour. Several of the men however armed with pitchforks mustered the courage to approach them.
“What do you want here?” Demanded their leader a burly man with a thick beard and wearing a blacksmith’s apron. “We have nothing to offer.”
“We do not want anything.” Tasmae replied coolly seeing the edginess of the inhabitants. “We are hunting enemies of the King. They came this way yes?”
The men exchanged weary glances with each other. The blacksmith remained impassive. “No one passed this way.” He said gruffly.
“He took our children!” A thin haggard looking woman suddenly cried out. She rushed toward Tasmae her hands outstretched imploringly. “Please he took our children! He took my Sasha! Please help us!”
The blacksmith glared at the woman venomously and stepped forward. “Quiet Orla!” He snapped. “Go inside!”
“Please help us!” Orla, the woman pressed, ignoring the big man. “Please he took our children!”
Some of the men came forward joining the blacksmith, but a growl from Oxebrow stopped them in their tracks. Tasmae took the woman’s hands in hers. “What are you talking about? Who took your children?”
“Men came to the village,” Orla said between her tears. “we tried to fight them but he, their leader, he, he was not like them. We tried to stop him,” She looked accusingly at the blacksmith. He lowered his grizzled head.
“What happened?” Tasmae pressed.
“We tried to stop him, but he wanted all our children. His men took them. They went to the swamp.”
“We would have followed,” The blacksmith added sullenly. “But he was not human. We are simple folk, we couldn’t fight that!” Anger tinged his voice and the girl would hear the guilt as well. It was something she recognised in many who had suffered a brush with a Skravok.
“No, the thing that took your children is too powerful.” Tasmae offered. “You were right not to fight him.”
The blacksmith did not answer. He merely glowered at the girl.
“You can fight him!” Orla blurted out wild hope screaming in her eyes. “You can go after him! Bring back our children! Bring back my Sasha!”
Tasmae gave Oxebrow an uneasy glance. The goblin looked out at the wilderness. If Ivory had the children there was little chance there was going to be a joyful reunion anytime soon.
The girl looked back at Orla and forced an encouraging smile onto her pale face. “Don’t worry,” She said, “We’ll get them back.” The lie tasted like ash in her mouth and when finally she forced herself to look over at Oxebrow again the goblin refused to meet her gaze.
* * *
In the cave on the edge of the swamp the disciple cleaned the last of the blood from Ivory’s hands. What was left of the village’s children lay splayed across the floor. A warm afterglow filled the Skravok’s belly. It had been foolish to stop and play with that Torcher brat and her goblin thug so close on his heels but Ivory could not help himself.
A sharp pulse of pain from the aura dart in his side sliced through him and he flinched. They were close by he realised, maybe close enough to catch up with him and his minions. Ivory scowled and kicked his disciple sharply. The masked man bowed obsequiously and backed away.
The Skravok sneered at the weakling. It was thanks to him and the other incompetent humans that his glorious master plan had ended in disaster. Everything had been going so deliciously well, the Counties were at each other’s throats and all-out war was imminent. A war that would have engulfed the entire Kingdom if Ivory had had his way, and when everything was in chaos the Skravok would have seized total control.
But just as victory was within his grasp the meddlesome Tasmae had shown up to spoil everything. She and that blundering oaf of hers had ruined all his glorious achievements and forced him to flee with his tail between his legs back to the Skravok moon. Ivory snarled at the thought.
The Scorpion Council had warned him not to leave Dire Peak. Too many of their brethren had perished when the humans developed the Touch. It was better to remain inside the moon protected by their magical wards. The world no longer belonged to the Skravok, they moaned at him, better to stay hidden away until the time was right to strike back.
Ivory rankled at their craven words. Two hundred years ago the Skravok had ruled this miserable world. From their moon they terrorised the land bending the human cattle to their supreme will. But then the rebellion had come and the Torchers and the moon had been brought down dashed upon the grim slopes of Dire Peak.
Since then the mighty Skravok race had gone into decline while the human filth multiplied and spread across the former Skravok dominions. Frustrated and power hungry Ivory had railed against this unjust fate and had gone out into the world to tip the balance of power.
And now he was returning in failure. The Scorpion Council would berate his pig headedness and his rivals would use his misfortune to usurp his position amongst the Clans. Fury roiled like a storm inside him and the Skravok almost devoured the attendant disciple out of spite.
Oh how he wished he could do the same to that Torcher brat. Her agonies would be exquisite for the indignities she had heaped upon him. He would make her scream and beg for her pathetic little life and he would make her half mad goblin pet watch her suffering.
A sudden thought struck him. Perhaps he could still turn defeat into victory. If he captured a live Torcher and brought her back to the moon then everything would not be lost. The Council would jump at the chance to inflict a cruel revenge on the vile human, their sorcerer-scientists could even dissect her, maybe develop a way of counter acting the deadly Touch.
Excitement began to stir in him as his mind raced. If the Skravok no longer had anything to fear from the Touch they would move into the open again. No longer would they be forced to hide in the shadows. He would be regarded as a hero, the saviour of the Skravok race. Ivory imagined himself at the head of a victorious army reducing the human kingdoms to rubble. He would be more powerful than any other Skravok before him. He would wipe away the impotent Scorpion Council and become Supreme Emperor for all time.
But how to capture the Torcher? The question brought him back to the ground with a bump. The ragged band of followers he had would be no match for her and the goblin and he could not risk himself in open combat. Ivory brooded before an answer came to him.
He had other allies in the swamps. The Marsh Ghouls still worshipped the Skravok as the gods they truly were. They would eagerly rally to his banner if he so wished it. Ivory closed his eyes and concentrated. A mental impulse went out and soon connected with the feral intellect of a nearby tribe. Like obedient dogs they scampered towards the hideout without a second thought.
Ivory opened his eyes and smiled cruelly. Now, he chuckled to himself, there would be a reckoning.
* * *
“Why do you lie to them?” Oxebrow suddenly asked as they moved through the undergrowth.
Tasmae flinched as if she had been struck and rounded sharply on him. “What would you have me do? Tell them the truth?”
The goblin shrugged. “Why not? You give them false hope.”
The girl frowned. It was rare for Rugg to question her decisions. “Isn’t that better than no hope at all?”
“No.”
The finality of his assertion stopped her dead. They moved on in tense silence Tasmae trying to come up with a suitable retort to Oxebrow’s blunt insensitivity but found herself lacking conviction. Both of them had seen too much hardship and tragedy to know false hope was crueller than bleak despair. Still without hope what was the point of even carrying on the fight they were pledged to?
Before she could go deeper into any more philosophical brooding a shrill scream split the air. Immediately Oxebrow unhooked his axe and had slipped into a battle stance. Tasmae drew her own sword as more screams sounded all around them.
She saw spindly grey skinned things running through the trees. Baleful eyes glowing spectral green glared at her from beneath tattered cowls. The stench of graveyard filled her nostrils. Great, she thought, Marsh Ghouls this day just gets better and better. She was not surprised however, many evil creatures served the Skravok and Ivory must know by now they were closing in on him.
A half rotten face suddenly rushed out from the bushes. Tasmae raised her blade just in time as the Ghoul’s huge black talons lashed out to slice open her throat. She pushed forward with all her strength forcing the monster back then she drove her sword through his shrivelled stomach.
As the monster’s body fell to the ground she heard Oxebrow let out a guttural war cry. She looked up to see the goblin surrounded by the Ghouls. They rushed at him in savage abandon even as he cut them down with his pitted battle axe like so much chaff.
She was just about to rush and join him when something huge and black suddenly lashed out at her. She tried to hack at this new threat but it wrapped itself tightly round her stomach. The force squeezed hard enough to make her drop her sword. She let out a strangled gasp and through water filled eyes saw a huge serpentine head rise up to hiss at her.
“Oxe!” She gasped. “Help me!”
But the goblin could not hear her. As one the rancid Ghouls leapt at him and he went down beneath the sheer weight of their fetid bodies. Then suddenly she was hoisted off her feet held in the coils of the giant snake and carried away into the woods.
Dark magic radiated from the creature’s moist scaly body and Tasmae realised it had been created by Ivory. The monster must be close by controlling the snake. Everything went past in a blur and then suddenly she was in a clearing in another part of the forest.
A rickety carriage stood waiting along with Ivory’s remaining disciples. The snake slithered to a halt and the Skravok grinned up malevolently at her.
“Ah my dear Tasmae what an unexpected pleasure.” Like all Skravok he could alter his shape to whatever he pleased outside the moon. He appeared before Tasmae the way he had in the Low Counties as a cherub faced infant boy. He wore a pristine white doublet of silk and lace and his hair was corn gold blonde and curly. Tasmae glared at him in disgust.
“Beast! I will destroy you for what you have done!” She snarled.
“Indeed.” Ivory sneered, the angelic child image incongruous with his harsh gravelly voice. “You might find that hard when you are inside the moon. Let us see how brave you are grovelling before the full might of the Skravok master race.”
Tasmae stopped short. “What?”
“I thought that would make you more humble.” Ivory laughed nastily. In many ways he was very much the child he masqueraded as. “I shall enjoy tearing you to pieces.”
A long piteous shriek split the air. It made Tasmae shudder as she recognised the voice that had issued it.
“Ah that sounds like your disgusting goblin friend.” The Skravok grinned. “I’m afraid there will be no rescue from that quarter.” He flicked his hand at his snake servant. “Now get her in the carriage! I want to be out of this wretched place as soon as possible.”
The serpent again to slither forward. Tasmae struggled frantically but she could not break free of the monster’s grip. Suddenly she heard something slicing through the air. She looked up to see Oxebrow’s battle axe cartwheel out of the undergrowth. It embedded itself in the snake’s head killing it stone dead. A heartbeat later it disintegrated to dust as the magic holding it together dissipated.
Tasmae fell to the ground and Oxebrow covered in Ghoul blood and his skin shredded from dozens of wounds rushed into the clearing. He roared like a bear and launched himself at Ivory and his disciples.
The Skravok’s face contorted with rage. Black fire launched from his fingers and engulfed the warrior. Tasmae’s heart leapt in her mouth but the Alchemists had conditioned Oxebrow to better resist Skravok magic. He took the full brunt of the force and ploughed regardless into the disciples who had hurried forward to protect their dark master.
Terror filled Ivory’s eyes and he scrambled for the carriage. “Not this time.” Tasmae muttered and sprang to her feet yanking off her gloves. She covered the distance between them in heartbeats.
Ivory turned just in time to see Tasmae’s strangely glowing hands press against his chest. “No!” He screamed. “No I cannot die!”
The girl’s body shuddered as the power of the Touch surged through her. Ivory’s whole body glowed white hot and erupted into a blazing inferno that towered over the girl. Amidst the flames she caught sight of Ivory’s true form, twisted and reptilian, and shuddered.
Then abruptly it was over. The fire vanished along with the Skravok. Tasmae sank to her knees reeling from the after pain of using her gift. In her mind she witnessed all the acts of cruelty and depravity Ivory had committed as his spirit was absorbed into her. After a few moments his darkness had faded too but Tasmae still retained the memories. They would be added to all her other Skravok kills.
She was aware that everything had gone silent. She looked up to see Oxebrow finishing off the last of the disciples. He was nothing more than a wretched pulp of burns and blood but he grinned savagely at her.
“Nice work girly.” He beamed. He lumbered over and helped her to his feet. Wearily she retrieved her gloves and covered her hands. She tried to walk forward but her legs gave out. The goblin put an arm around her and propped her up. Side by side they limped away without looking back.
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