Page 81 of Blood Fist

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ridan dodging attacks from the other monster. He deflected a smaller boulder with his sword, ducking under the thing's massive arm to strike.

Only for his sword to clang off its side, nearly spinning out of Ridan’s grip.

Brune gaped. His hammer had no such trouble. It had taken out the Gollum with a single blow.

Letting Ridan serve as a distraction, he raised his shield to slam against the beast's outstretched arm, knocking it up as he swung his hammer and clipped its chin. Its head snapped back, severing at the throat. It collapsed in a muddy heap, like its comrade.

Chest heaving, Brune glanced down at his hammer. It didn’t look any different. There was nothing special about it. Ridan swore angrily as he righted himself, kicking mud off his boots.

“They were impervious to a blade…” he mumbled, still transfixed by the sight of his muddied hammer.

He had so many questions, but just as he wanted to ask, he felt eyes on his back. Turning, he found golden eyes watching them. After a moment, the chain scraped against the rocky floor and the figure crawled into the light.

It was a man. Or at least,mostlya man. Those eyes were bright and round, slightly bigger than a human’s.Dingy hair curled in matted ringlets against his head, falling onto a face that was far too thin to belong to anything living. His nose was thick and flat, tapering to a point just above his upper lip.

But the thing that stood out was a pair of brown and white misshapen wings folded to the man’s back. One was bent at a terrible angle, curling into his spine. The other dragged piteously, long feathers broken off and exposed.

The feather on his wrist jerked forward, and he untied it, watching in fascination as it flew towards the man. He collected it with palsied hands, looking at it with wonder. Stroking the little thing with large clawed fingers, his golden eyes zeroed in on Brune.

“Where is Schok?”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

THE FLIGHTLESS

He said his name was Buzzard.

Ridan had no reason not to believe him, but honestly, he was having a hard time believing anything. His fingers were still tingling from where his sword harmlessly bounced off the Gollum. What should have been a killing blow hadn’t even fazed the creature.

The dead things were slumped over in a pile of sludge. What could have been hair were stalks of thin looking reeds sticking out at all angles around their heads. The rest of their bodies comprised soft grey flesh, discolored in many places. When he poked one with his boot, the flesh gave only a little until it hit something hard. Scraping away at it with the toe of his boot revealed overlapping wood.

Ridan stared for long moments and still didn’t understand what exactly he was looking at.

“Gollums,” Buzzard rasped from across the cavern. Ridan turned to see Brune lifting him to his feet. “Nasty buggers.”

Osmond used to tell them stories of Gollums tofrighten them when they annoyed him. Creatures born of festering magic.

“Are they yours?”

Buzzard started to laugh, but he doubled over in pain, fingers clawing at Brune’s bicep to keep upright. “No,” he wheezed, head dropped as he caught his breath. “They must have a master, but they are unknown to me.”

Keeping his sword raised, Ridan stalked over to the chained man. “Perhaps you should tell us what you do know.”

“You first. Where is Schok?”

He lifted his sword. “You’re not in any position to?—”

“Ridan.” Brune’s voice was quiet, but stern. He was looking at him over Buzzard’ss drooping head. “We all need answers. But this isn’t the place to get them.”

The anger didn’t abate in the face of Brune’s logic, but it did concede to it. None of them wanted to spend a moment longer in the presence of the decomposing Gollums. And while he didn’t trust Buzzard, it was clear he wasn’t working with them by choice. If his poor condition didn’t give it away, then the massive chain locked around his neck did.

The bulk of their supplies were with the horses, but Ridan did have some jerky with him. While Brune tried to find a way to release the chain, he offered it to Buzzard.

“Can you eat that?”

“I’d eat my own feathers at this point,” the man grumbled, leaning against the wall for support. He plucked the meat off of Ridan’s palm carefully with blackened talons. They were dull, cracked and bloody. Buzzard chewed the jerky, eyes closed.

He took in the warped wings and the flattened nose. The claws.