Forger chapter 1-3 by Jude Alquinto (easy novels to read txt) đ
- Author: Jude Alquinto
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âA devilâs what you are.â
âYour words are but sounds.â
Its figure shrunk upon every step. From a massive beast to a lifeless long-tail wolfâcovered with rips and every bone out of place. As if its flesh was clothing; worn, ruined, and discarded.
Upon the creatureâs leaving, the man eased himself on a tree trunk toppled to the ground by his enemyâs strength. He rested his eyes upon the young lady sitting on the ground two steps away.
âYou there. Girl. You a girl? You still alive? Because if youâre dead, Iâll be on my way now. I donât handle well with corpses.â
2. An Evening StrollShe sat on the ground, heaving breaths, staring into the dirt, petrified by the monster she had exchanged gazes with. Ants have already started to climb her dress.
âItâs gone,â he said. âMalicious little lout wonât be on its feet for a while, I think.â Exhaustion made his eyes see the fallen trunk as a feather bed, its coarse bark felt like silk.
She looked left and right, careful attention to sound as she did. Fog blurred the woods and foliage. Rustling leaves and silence all around. No oddities in sight; save for the presence of the man beside her.
âWhere is it?â her voice, the frailest of sounds.
âTurned to a wee carcass, as I see it. All bloody and torn,â seeing the girl still fazed, he added, sounding more casual, âit looks more adorable now than a while ago, I assure you.â
He touched her shoulder to help her rise. The girlâs response was a terrified flinch.
âI can stand, sir.â She looked up and beheld her protector. Her eyes ran from his head to toe and once more. Filthy clothes, filthy hair, filthy allâdefinitely not a sir, she thought.
âIf you can stand, letâs be on our way, then,â he spoke as if it was an obvious fact, âunless youâd rather enjoy the night alone.â
He took notice of the fear that lingered in the womanâs eyesâwarily darting left and right, as did her whole headâoverly alert for danger.
The forger, with a flick of his wrist, spawned back four of his loyal swords to promise her that no harm would approach them.
âItâs a bit late to be here. Youâre from Tardel?â he queried.
An unknown man wearing clothes no better than a banditâs suddenly asked where she lived. Common sense required her to lieâbut the eveningâs grim air dictated otherwise.
She nodded timidly, âY-yes⊠why?â
âCome on, then. I rot there too.â With two hands to push down his knees, he rose with a grunt. âThe Guideâs just a few hundred yards from here.â
âBut I barely know you.â
âMy fair lady, so sweet and mild,â his tone was gentle but with a hint of fading patience, âif I was to rape, kill, and loot you, in any order, I shouldâve finished by now, donât you think?â his swords took a turn in the air, as though saying indeed to their forgerâs words. His candid query was enough to have her revise her thoughts of him.
She stood, patted the filth off her clothes, and walked.
âYouâre going the wrong way,â he said. To which she turned.
Both of them treaded through the ghastly woods with knees muttering of fatigue and fright. The man purposely made his swords surround them so as to guarantee that a protector was still with her; and that heâd be safe as well. The iron planks zipped frantically left and right, up and down, like bees in search of a pretty flower to stab.
It pays to have an anxious sword or four floating around where vision is very limited. One would seem demented but it was practical. After all, an eerie forest with poisoned trees, fanged animals, blinding mist, and a talking monster was never an ideal place to be in during the night⊠or any other time of the day.
In the midst of their silence, the forger noticed the womanâs soft hair swing in tune with her stepsâwhich was quite a rare sight for a man who spends his days around people devoid of grooming.
âA thousand thanks,â she said, barely enough to be heard.
Speaking with his nose, he gave a short âhmâ for a reply.
Letting a few dozen steps pass by, she spoke again, âyour swords gave me quite a scare⊠swinging about so near me,â she said in honest intention to commend her saviour, âit must have been an ordeal to gain such mastery.â
âAbout that,â he said, âI have to say, youâre the luckiest girl Iâve ever met.â
âWhy is that?â
âI didnât notice you at all until the fightâs about done.â
âYou what?!â Her eyelids flipped open upon realizing that she went unnoticed while a flock of flying swords scrambled everywhere, nearly mincing her flesh and bones without care. She recalled one sword stabbing the ground a few inches away from her knee.
He shrugged. âThis is a forest damned by some spectre they call the whisperer⊠and itâs night⊠and a talking pissed off bloody thing was frantically eager to bite my head off,â he explained, âI mean, whoâd bother to check for damsels in distress given those circumstances?â
She thought deeply, brows knitted, then nodded with a quirk on her lips, âFair enough. Iâm not in distress.â
âOf course, youâre not.â
They continued walking.
âWho the hell are you, anyway?â He roared a yawn, âI forgot to ask.â
âIâm Arza,â She said, careful of disclosing herself to the stranger. Walking amidst the dark woods, she turned her head to see her saviour by the corner of her eyes. She needed a name should her escort start painting himself in darker shades. âAnd might I learn the name of this brave knight who almost killed me by pure chance?â
âAxev. But Iâm not brave and Iâm no knight.â The part where he nearly dismembered her a few times needed no correcting.
âWhat are you, then?â
âSomeone living quietly, but hounded by misfortune.â
âWhy?â she asked, âyou donât seem to have lost a limb. Your headâs still there⊠thatâs fortunate. Or is it your coââ
âNo, all parts still here,â he said, cutting her short. He sighed in preparation for a quick tale which had a dab of pride contained in casual speaking. âIâve gone against eight men beforeâeight men, bladders bloated with ale. Two of which were forgersâeveryone was holding something sharp to poke me with⊠all because they were in search for a bit of merriment. Then I happened to be passing by. Not as harsh as losing my cock but quite unlucky, donât you think?â
âAnd?â her expression lit up slightly.
âAnd what?â
âWhat happened next?â
âHere I am, alive. And they⊠feel quite hurt.â
âYou killed them?â A mild rise in her tone.
âHeavens, no.â His swords twitched in accordance to his shock. âI outran them⊠Iâm good at that,â he said. âGave them a few taps here and there, though.â
âBroken arms and legs?â
âAnd some scratches.â
When in a forest too dark for angels to tread, the slightest rustling of bushes demanded immediate attention. A nearby wolfâs growl sent Arza racing to Axevâs side. The forger, startled as well, flicked an open hand to his right. His four blades dove into the bushes. Nimble little feet on scrambling soil told that the beast had gone away. His senses led his body without consulting the mindâa convenient trait to have when a little short on time.
âIsnât this place a bit odd for a girl?â he asked, prompting her to walk again.
âI was on my way to Bont for some parchment.â
âWhy Bont? There are parchmenters in the city.â
âThereâs someone there I know. Sells cheap, that man⊠but just for me and no one else.â
âHowâd you end up in these woods, then?â he asked. âIt takes quite some skill to stray from a straight path.â
âMy father had me accompanied by a horseman. Harn, he called himself. We were treading the Guide. But there was a snake on the road, longer than a spear and green as grass. The cursed serpent startled our horse. Wassel, that four-legged idiot, ran blindly into the woods, confused which of her feet to use first. Harn fell and his head hit a rock⊠badly. Wassel went on without me but three wolves got her quick. She gave me a chance to escape.â
âAnd then you got lost?â
âI never get lost,â she spoke it like a creed. âI left Wassel⊠and wandered with little familiarity over the terrain.â
âThat is getting lost.â With knitted brows, Axev asked, âWhat do you need paper for, anyway?â
âYou wonât believe me.â
âIâll try to.â
âIâm a maker of maps.â
âA cartographer?â Axev stopped, âI think youâre a few decades short for that.â Three swords went to Arzaâs side and melted into shackles, quiet as they could. The fourth one found its way to his hand. âIâve come across people in these woods. Raiders or scouts, a few of âem. Most would act innocent until you turn your back.â
âIs that why you stayed behind me all this time?â
âA map-maker, lost. Thatâs a bit rare, is it not?â The shackles slithered by Arzaâs feet. âAnd at the Whispererâs Den at that,â he added. âSurely, youâve heard the song about this place,â
âA whisperer⊠now it makes senseâŠâ she spoke with brighter eyes. Unaware of the chains by her feet, Arza started to sing a line from The Whispers in the Den, softly so sheâd not be heard by whatever beast hid in the cover of night. âHold my hand, said the guide⊠donât eâer you let go.â she turned her back on Axev and carried on walking. âFor the mist, oh it gently whispers in yer ear.â Even to ears innocent of music, the mildness of her singing enticed. The chains danced to her melody like serpents tamed by flute. Axev swung a foot at the best dancer for discipline.
No raiderâs this lively, he thought. Carefully, the shackles crawled away from her feet, straightened, crunched themselves back into blades, and resumed positionsâswaying in the air as if caressed by the sweetness of her voice.
âA shortcut⊠I roamed aimlessly expecting Iâd soon stumble upon a bloody shortcut to Bont,â she said in defence, hands on her head and sounding as if finding a shortcut in such grim place was certain as her next breath. âShortcuts are my specialty, you see. Iâm a map-maker after all.â
âBloody, yes. Shortcut⊠one to a grave, perhaps.â
âWhy would you be here, then? That is, if I may ask.â
âOn a hunt for them flappinâ wolves,â said he. âBy the way, who are you making maps for? A girlâs got no use for that.â
âFor a rich man,â she said, âIâm not supposed to name him.â
Axev sheared the branches blocking their way. They yawned alternately as the evening took its toll on them.
âA defenceless girl strolling at night in a forest that many fear tread,â he said, peeling off the itch off his scalp fondly, âyou do realize that your presence here transcends the bounds of logic, yes?â
âIâm not defenceless,â answered Arza, âIâll have you know, I have a knife with me.â
âHow frightening,â he smirked, head cocked left, all superior and smug, âthis knife you take pride in, has it served you well so far?â
âThere was a thief, once. He tried to touch me⊠quite ardently,â her casual voice melted to one filled with regret, âI had to cut his neck so heâd stop. There was a raper too; and a merchant.â
The forger had not expected
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