Slaughter of the Szaranya

Treats of a Hero - His Arms and Armor

Viegalf - one of the first three heroes - came to the bottom of Hag's Vale wisely, under cover of night and behind a high grassy hill. And, he came armed, with tools for the shedding of blood. As this hero stalked through tall grass up to the hill's summit, he looped a gut string over the notch in his horn bow. He pulled and found the draw heavy. No muscled country farmer, not even one of the little giants of the wild hills, could have drawn the horn bow to its length, but the weapon groaned and bent like supple leather under the hero's hand. In a quiver on his back were twenty pointed shafts. Two axes strapped tight to his hips had their edges dusted in coal to conceal their shine. The axes - one for each hand - hung sharp, oiled, waiting. The axes were a mercy for the hero's enemies. The hero's iron hands could deal death just as surely as the axes they carried, but the axes were quicker for the victims.

Viegalf crouched in the grass as he came to the hilltop. He scanned, his eyes cold and pitiless, up the slope of Hag’s Vale. Just beyond this rise, one of the thralls' bonfires shone yellow against the black twilight. It burned atop a little stone cliff just ahead. Behind the fire, the first tower reached to the sky, where it's ragged and broken top silhouetted against the stars.

The hero took from a loop at his belt a sturdy helmet. The helmet was made of scales atop a backing of thick cloth, a pliant but strong material, with a leather strap to cinch it under the chin. The scales came from the belly of a water lizard named Ralsgyrt. Ralsgyrt had been a monster the size of a good sailing ship. Ralsgyrt had lived in an underground grotto beneath the cliffside village of Arnsk's Dive. Had lived – until the hero came. Viegalf had plunged into the surf beside the cliff, and swum down to the sea caves where the lizard dwelt. In a great cavern half submerged in briny water, with glowing strands of ghostly seaweed shining off the bones of Ralsgyrt's victims, the hero Viegalf had wrestled the great lizard. Avoiding its poisoned fangs, Viegalf had swung an axe into one of the monster's man-sized eyes. The shining axe blade had gouged the eye’s slit. Then Ralsgyrt had pleaded for its life, but the hero had no pity in his quests, and laid the other axe into the monster's other eye. And while Ralsgyrt was blind, Viegalf had propped it's jaw open with a sturdy driftwood log, dragged the creature down below the surface, and held it there until it drowned on the brine of its lair.

It was this monster's azure belly scales that armored the warrior's helmet. A matching set of scale mail armor protected his torso and limbs, with darker azure scales peeled from Ralsgyrt's forehead. His feet were encased in boots, warm on the inside, yet like anvils for crushing anything they trod.

Watching the bonfire now, at the top of the rocky ledge ahead, the warrior pulled this helmet over his skull. He lashed the leather strap tight under his beard.

The supple scale mail armor and helmet made not a sound as the warrior stalked through the tall heather and short juniper trees. Viegalf moved invisibly through the wind-tossed growth. At the base of the rocky ledge he slung the horn bow over his arm and shoulder. Then the hero climbed the rugged stone.

Viegalf slowly raised his eyes over the lip. All the green verdure had been tramped at the top of this small bluff. Across the open dirt, the bonfire burned hot and smoky, its stacked logs cracked and smoldered beneath a high yellow flame. The light of the fire fell on the small profile of Viegalf's helmet. Past the fire, a door of rotten wooden boards hung recessed into the first tower's entrance. Viegalf saw a man - once a man, now a thrall - beside the door. He wore the pelt of an animal. The thrall stood near the fire to warm his otherwise naked flesh. Against the grey tower behind him, a bone spear rested.

The thrall had not noticed the hero's small head poking slowly over the lip. The rocky ledge – the helmeted head - lay in the heavy gloom beyond the firelight. The thrall watched only the cracking logs, his eyes lidded and unfocused.

Viegalf raised himself onto the plateau.

Happy Warrior Wednesday (for more info, check out

The Brothers Krynn

). This was a diversion from the current TreatsOfWriting serial, In Different Color. I wrote Slaughter of the Szeranya as part of a short story collection for last year’s NaNoWriMo challenge (before joining Substack). The full story is about 13,000 words in 8 parts. I hadn’t intended to publish it, as the final product contains structural/pacing issues I’m unhappy with. If you want more of this sort of thing let me know; I’ll see about fixing it (or starting from scratch).

Thanks for reading.