Wolf's-head, Rogues of Bindar Book I (44 page)

Thrusting such
thoughts out of his brain, he groped for Lolispar. Around the other
side of the obelisk he ran. Quickly he slashed at the Dakkaw’s
bonds. Loosening the Dakkaw’s legs, his arms, was a death wish, but
only desperate men commit themselves to desperate deeds.

“There,
Dakkaw!” Baus cried out fiercely. “You are free. Never say that I
did you no favours. Use your freedom to your advantage for both our
sakes!”

With bonds
stripped, the monster reared alive. He tore at the ropes and ripped
off his shredded cloak and flexed his muscles with untold fury. The
oak-knotted nakedness of his upper torso was awesome to behold.
Corded limbs flexed like serpents. From sheer mass alone, the
Dakkaw could pummel three men at once. He pulled his legs to
motion, freed himself of the prison spire and stood facing Baus
with a hateful glare twisting his scarred, blooded visage. Baus
expected the worst, but the ogre did not maim him. Easily he could
have crushed him like a hunter’s bird in his palm, but he
hesitated. The shouts of the villagers echoed in his mind. It
seemed to remind him of something deep in the past, many hurts
committed—injustices far too numerous to give a free pass.

Baus gave a
fateful wave. Beyond his hopes remained a glimmer of conviction
that he would pass on to the afterlife without a mauling.

The Dakkaw
flashed a grin—a crisp idiotic grin, but with a vitriolic bellow
that was to turn men’s bowels to ice as he hurtled toward the manor
to meet Baus’s pursuers.

With no staves
or sacks of shallots and onions to hinder him, the ogre became an
impenetrable target. He was something that men could not be. A
thing of fable, an aberration of nature that would rise in its
hour. Hysgode gave a horrid shriek and turned tail back to Silsoor
on viewing the leviathan charging at him. He gaped over his
shoulder, terror quailing his bowels. Despite the Vulde’s
vindictive persuasions to engage the menace, he fled past like the
powdered pretender he was. Tulesio was marginally braver, drew his
sword, but was fast on Hysgode’s heels, the battle cry dying in his
throat, with other members of the town watch taking his lead.

The Dakkaw
ripped after them. He snatched a brand off the lintel, howling with
rancorous glee and set fire to the sacks of shallot and onion
strewn about the plaza.

The bakery
began to burn. So too went Gwaent the carpenter’s shop and its
thatched roof. The whole village was soon catching in flames. The
monster staved in doors, smashed windows, pulled down flags and
banderols which ironically were to celebrate the hanging on the
morrow. Nothing could stop the monster in his moments of vengeance.
He smashed the unfortunates he caught—without remorse, dashed their
brains to the cobbles like dolls or scarecrows or stamped their
legs to pulp with tramps of his elephantine feet.

Panic swept
through the village like an infectious disease. It was one of those
horror tales spoken of in storybook legend. To subdue the Dakkaw in
close quarters was one thing, but to lay him low on open ground—was
near impossible.

The
pandemonium gave way to destruction and death. It was well past
midnight and lights were ablaze in all the old manors, and now
Krintz’s gongs pounded with a relentless fury. Their vehemence
could do nothing to stop the unbridled assault.

Baus did not
pause to critique the slaughter. He grabbed a torch and ran
pell-mell to
Haggleman’s
pub toward the north end of the
square. Ale-sotted patrons staggered out and rushed to intercept
him.

“What’s the
furor?”

Baus howled:
“The Dakkaw has escaped! Run for your lives! Are you fools?”

“What? You
call us fools?” In ever swaying numbers they closed on him.

“Yes—fools!”
Baus shrilled. “The ogre is on the loose! Flee, or perish—’tis your
choice!”

Many backed
off and chose to flee; others snatched up weapons and stumbled
toward the center of the square, taking up arms against the ogre. A
foolish choice. Baus was spared a lengthy argument; he tore himself
away from the throng and fled as if he never had, scuttling down a
back alley, stumbling over bales and rain barrels, shaking the
miserable, cobwebby haze out of his head. How foolish of him to
have indulged in his urges!

Fleeing
harum-scarum, Baus passed through another darkened alley, then
stumbled headlong through cramped spaces between stanchions, sacks
and an iron gate. He swerved, weaving a path at intervals, leaping
ever upward toward the hills on Krintz’s north side. He passed the
town’s inner palisade, stumbling through sheds, sties, gardens,
other shadowy places where no one was about. He looked into the
chill night. Luckily he still possessed his brand, otherwise he
would have been lost.

Reaching the
outer palisade, he stopped, puffing before what he believed to be
the northern gate. He tossed his torch up over the wall and began a
hasty clawing up over the wooden pales that in days past defended
Krintz from its enemies. He jumped down the other side. The fall
set his ankles throbbing. He rolled off, coddling the stabbing pain
and cursing himself as he clutched at his heels. He picked himself
up, snatched at his torch and limped off into the darkness. Even as
he hobbled down the dirt path angling toward the larchwood forest,
he looked back to see pillars of flame roaring skyward. The
fireworks lit the black sky in a ruinous wreath of crimson. Baus
knew well the grim outset had been spurred by his own doing—and
that the Dakkaw’s grisly work had only just begun . . .

* * *

So ends the
first book of
Rogues of Bindar
.

To discover the
fate of the adventurer, download Book II,
Freebooter
of the
Rogues of
Bindar
series.

* * *

Other books by
Chris Turner:

The Relic
Retriever

Fantastic
Realms

Future
Destinies

Denibus
Ar

Discover other
titles by Chris Turner at Smashwords.com:

http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/Innersky