"True enough. Eventually, they would run out of villages to plunder."
"I suppose you would stop them if they tried to raid this one. They would have the mighty Barbarian Scourge of the Seas to help them." Brahgen tilted his head. "Although I suppose the question remains of who the mighty Scourge would side with."
He opened his mouth to reply but paused and looked around. A handful of the Followers had heard what the dwarf had said and immediately started to spread the gossip to the rest of the group.
"Well…that secret didn't last," Skharr muttered.
"Why were you keeping it a secret?" his companion asked. "I would have thought it would have meant you didn't need to perform for our trip like you did for Captain Reed."
"Because sometimes, the past needs to stay in the past," he answered and tried to ignore the fact that many more gazes had settled on him, followed by the inevitable whispers. "Those stories were about another side of me—someone I'm trying to not ever return to."
"Why?" The dwarf shouldered his pack again and noticed that they were still being spoken of in hushed whispers as they walked slowly out of the village to the road. "Are you…uh, trying to atone for something you did?"
"Atone?" Skharr countered. "Do you mean repent?"
"That’s more religious than I intended but it will work." Brahgen grinned.
"I don't repent." He shook his head. "I did what I did. There can be no way to change that. All I can do is change what I do from this point forward and leave the mistakes of the past in the past where they belong. They become lessons, to my mind, of what I should never return to."
Chapter Twenty-Two
The weather continued to grow warmer the farther south they traveled. While it certainly quelled any anxiety they might have about the cold, Skharr discovered that other problems arose from it.
What annoyed him most were the insects and other creepies. Mere nuisances in Verenvan, even in the summer, they soon became true threats as their path wound closer to the jungles in the south. Centipedes, scorpions, and spiders began to make regular appearances and the barbarian soon learned that he couldn't abide them.
"They aren't that bad," Brahgen said as he cautiously allowed one of the spiders to climb onto his hand. "The way you treat horses…well, I think I can communicate with the smaller crawlers in the world."
He couldn't help a gentle shiver that trickled up his spine at the sight of the furry, eight-legged creature climbing up his companion’s arm.
"You truly are afraid of them." The dwarf narrowed his eyes. "I can understand that a few are a little more unfriendly than we might like, but you do understand that they are more scared of you than you are of them, don’t you?"
"You'd be surprised," he retorted and tried to not look at the spider. "Besides, I've had the pleasure of encountering their larger cousins in the mountains and even in a few forests. I wouldn't say I fear them, but…well, I have a healthy respect for creatures that can kill me with one bite."
"This one can't," the youth answered although he kept the monstrosity away from his friend. "Brown spiders have poison in their fangs but not enough power in them to bite into human skin. They prefer to eat other insects and in some cases, they even attack slugs when they can. There are more than a few farmers in the Southern Kingdoms where they bring in the spiders by the barrel to keep slugs and snails away, as well as other pests."
Skharr nodded. "While I can appreciate that, I think it would be best to appreciate it from a safe distance."
Perhaps the dwarf would feel a little more comfortable in the south. As the weather turned warmer, his mood appeared to improve, even when a warm rain fell practically every afternoon. Or maybe he felt better the farther they moved from the sea and closer to the mountains in the south.
The peaks were massive but no snow capped them, which was an oddity in its own right. More than a few dwarf clans had made the region their home, especially since they discovered that they could span their cities across multiple mountains. There were even stories about underground paths that led from one dwarf city to another.
He hadn't seen anything like that himself yet, but it seemed like it might hold at least some truth. The only reason dwarves in the north tended to temper their exploratory digs was for fear that they would emerge near a troglodyte or goblin tribe—or worse still, along the feeding path of a wyrm.
Perhaps there were fewer of the larger creatures in the region. It would balance the scales, given how many of the other pests crept and scuttled through the forest. Unfortunately, the hope that Brahgen would be able to talk the crawlers away for a night didn't work out the way he hoped it would. After another night during which he barely slept thanks to the heat and having to slap his skin every few minutes, Skharr decided he’d had his fill of the southern regions of the continent.
Verenvan felt like a distant, pleasant dream as he meandered along the dusty roads.
It wasn't long until they passed through the first set of defenses outside the mountain city. It didn't look like it was in disrepair and there was no sign that the inhabitants had been killed. A small moat had a river running through it and spikes on either side.
A few campfires in the area told him that they relied on scouts in the outer reaches to warn the city. The chances were they already knew that the two of them were approaching.
A short while later, heavy hooves thundered toward them. The barbarian put his hand on Brahgen to stop him but the dwarf laughed and shook his head.
"If we're in danger, there will be no saving us."
Skharr still held himself ready as a group of battle rams galloped into view. They were nowhere near as fast as horses but they were certainly faster than a human could run and appeared to wear full plates of battle armor without breaking a sweat. He had a feeling that any infantry troop would be hard-pressed to hold their formation when those spears and ram horns collided with them.
The fifteen dwarves came to a halt before they ran the two travelers over, and a few spears remained pointed at the barbarian.
None were pointed at Brahgen, however, and the leader slid from his saddle and pulled his helm off to reveal a proud, thick, black beard complemented by a bald head. He marched to where the youth stood. He was taller than most dwarves—a few inches over five feet—and filled his shoulder pauldrons better than the rest.
"Brahgen fuckin' AnvilForged, what the fuck are you doing here?" the dwarf demanded before he uttered a deep, hearty laugh. "I’m jokin'. Your uncle sent us word that you were comin' and that you were being escorted by a beast of a human. I don't know why they thought this'un would pass for that, but I guess any human that’s taller than average would look like a beast to old Throk."
"Hello, Uncle Fas," the youth grumbled.
"That's Uncle Fasenroar to ye, laddie." The dwarf turned his attention over to Skharr and tilted his head awkwardly to look at him. "What do they call ye, big-un?"
"Skharr DeathEater," he answered. "Fasenroar AnvilForged?"
"Nae, GoldHoard. The boy takes his father's name but needs his mother's clan to keep him alive. We should have guessed that was the case."