Michael Clark
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Butcher of Gadobhra Chapter 542
🕑 Added 2025-11-09 23:30:36 +0000 UTCThe Courier raced through the frozen landscape to the top of a small hill, then turned her lathered mount at the top, giving her a small rest. Scanning behind her, she saw the hundred-strong tribe racing in a loose pack behind her. They shouldn't be fast enough to catch her, but her horse was tired from weeks of demanding work, scouting the winter forces and small skirmishes. They were both worn out and in need of rest that they weren't going to get. Still, she had counted on breaking contact when she needed to. The problem was the shaman riding next to the man with a burning need to kill her. His spells were stealing the life from one horse or rider after another to sustain the chase. Over a score of nearly dead barbarians were strung out for miles behind them.
They had led the band of barbarian cavalry away from the larger patrol, changing the odds in the upcoming battle from four to one, sure to end in disaster, down to a manageable two to one. The arrow she had put into the Jarl's shoulder had been coated with a special alchemical concoction. It wasn't a poison, and didn't cause damage, so it couldn't be cured normally. But it itched like the devil and drove the person hit with it to irrational thinking. A crafty opponent might resist, but the Jarl of this tribe hadn't got to his lofty position by being the smartest person. Quite the opposite, in fact. With the burning itch spreading from his shoulder to other sensitive parts of his anatomy and up to his brain, he wanted nothing except vengeance on the enemy who had shot him and cowardly fled from battle.
Aretha dismounted and quickly rubbed the sweat from her horse, then gave it the last of her enchanted groats and apples. Each Courier had started with a generous supply of the special horse fodder, created somehow in the village of Sedgewick and shipped to the Imperial Army. They were for emergencies, and this counted as one. Her poor horse was on its last legs, and this was going to be their last dash to freedom. Her pursuers were barely half a mile behind now, just starting up the hill. The terrain ahead of them wasn't encouraging, only some scrub brush along a dried-up stream bed. Not enough to hide a jackrabbit, let alone a horse and rider. Her pursuers were barely half a mile behind now, just starting up the hill.
She revised her opinion as a giant, snow-white wolf leaped from cover and raced toward her at astonishing speed. Riding the strange mount was a Courier in a distinctive hat. She'd seen that hat in a new painting in the gallery at Franklin House. She hadn't yet met the man, but there was no mistaking Benjamin Franklin the 7th as he rode up to her, a large grin on his face. "Well met, cousin. If you'll follow me, I can make sure your playmates never catch up to you." He turned his mount to head back down the hill.
Aretha spurred her mount to follow and felt strong Courier magic take hold of her. Far stronger than her own. Her aches and pains were fading away, and her horse was regaining her strength. She had heard the outlandish stories about Benjamin, but none had included taming a Snarlfang. He wasn't even using a saddle or any type of reins, the monster responding somehow to his small commands. They ran past the small bit of scrub, her horse suddenly nervous, but never slacking their pace. Benjamin turned his mount a bit later and pulled a packet of letters from his ring. "I'm afraid I have to impose on you to carry my mail. These need to get Duchess Claudia. I'll make sure that you have time to break contact with those rude people pursuing you."
"There are a hundred of them with a Jarl and a Shaman! I'm not some damsel that needs saving, you can't take them by yourself."
Ben grinned, "Trust me, this wasn't a rescue. You did your job, I'll just be mopping up. Stay and watch if you like, but it won't be pretty." He reached forward to scratch the ears of his eerily silent wolf, who turned his head and demanded a thorough scritching. He seemed so unconcerned with the situation that she convinced herself to give her horse a rest.
The Jarl drove his riders onward, down the hill and past the small patches of scrub.
From the bushes, the dried stream, and even the bare dirt, hundreds of black wolves erupted all around the riders, howling and leaping at their prey. Escape was blocked from the front and the back by three immense Snarlfangs, each bigger than the horses the tribesmen rode on. Within seconds, the battle became a snarling morass of panicked horses and bloodthirsty canines. The wolves went for the horses' legs and throats. Snarlfangs grabbed riders from the saddle, killing them with a snap of their jaws.
The Shaman reached for his power to cast his mightiest spell, only to feel it countered, fetid winds blowing away the Ice Shards spell. Before he could try to cast another spell, he was dragged from his saddle and disembowled. The Jarl screamed and rode at the Courier he'd pursued for hours, only to find his path blocked by a black Snarlfang with glowing eyes. He drew his sword, the blade moaning with the souls it had taken. Whichever traitorous Beastmaster rode inside this beast was about to discover the price for opposing him.
Sadly, his mount wasn't up to the task. As the beast howled, it froze and wouldn't take a step further.
Astonishingly, the beast spoke. "Oh my, is that a Delgruder Soulsucking Saber? I've always been an admirer of his work, but I've never been able to get a Soulsucker for my collection."
The Jarl leaped from his horse, "My sword will kill you and add your might to mine. Fear my power!"
The Snarlfang rolled its eyes. "You sound just like a Paladin! I had my doubts about this little excursion. Thank you so much for allaying my fears." With a flick of an ear, Chartok released the souls from the blade. Anything weak enough for this fool to trap wasn't worth keeping. Then he charged, so fast the Jarl had only time for one weak slash failed to get past the coarse fur of the Necrowolf's coat. The next instant, Chartok's paw slashed off his arm at the shoulder. The sword went flying, and the wolf caught the hilt in his mouth. With a flick of his head, the blade opened the Jarl's throat. His lifeblood spilled on the ground as his astonished soul was pulled into the blade.
The rest of the battle was nearly over. No horse or rider escaped. Wounded undead fed upon them, healing their own wounds. Chartok dropped this sword on the ground, and one of his pack ran up to pick up the souvenir and take it along. "RISE!" At the wolf's shouted command, most of the destroyed wolves reformed, some as hideous zombies, others as slinking shadows. Only a few stayed on the ground unmoving, and like the dead humans, were quickly consumed.
Ben turned to Aretha, "Time for you to go. I'm not in command here, just an advisor to the Champion of Sedgewick while we hunt Northern Paladins. Tell Claudia and Harmonia that I'll keep in touch."
Aretha didn't have to be told twice, and her horse was more than ready to leave. She raced away from the horror she'd just seen, thinking to herself that the outrageous stories told about cousin Benjamin might just be true.
Chartok trotted up to Ben and Goodboy, quite pleased with himself. "Ah, nothing like a good ambush. I like ambushes. The undead are very good at staying still, and so easy to control when they do. After that, it's just turning them loose and watching as the experience pours in. And I got another Necromantic item for my collection! Strange that a Paladin would be using it."
Ben shrugged, "You know how it is. They start all holy and righteous, but it's a quick slide downward, and next, they're justifying using dark artifacts in the name of goodness. They say that power corrupts, but I think that the lust for power is just as bad. Show them a shiny, magical sword, and they suddenly find ways to convince themselves why it's a good idea to pick it up and lop off heads."
The wolf nodded in agreement, "An excellent point. I must admit that I've always had my suspicions, but I never get to have a decent discussion with them. They yell some hurtful insults and charge. And they are terribly at witty banter. This one was no exception. And he's boring even with his soul trapped in my new sword. Still in denial and screaming NO! over and over and cursing. I'll probably toss him out soon if he doesn't learn how to be polite."
"Just as well, really, most of them don't know how to have a conversation and explore different viewpoints. Holding extreme views does that. Better to be flexible in your morals. I know my family has always excelled at that. It makes life fun."
The wolf surveyed the battlefield, and his wolf pack gathered to move on. "This was certainly fun; the only thing that could be better would be to end it with a nice fat chicken in my belly. I notice you let our bait get away. A shame, I bet she'd taste like chicken."
"Ah...yes. About that. I'm using her to set up more ambushes. The Couriers from my house will gather information for us and help us find the Paladins."
Chartok considered that. "Which means they'll know where I am, so they can deliver this information? After all, you've pledged to stay by my side. Can't have you riding off on your own."
Ben patted his mount, "And leave Goodboy? Heavens no, we're just starting to get to know each other. No, I've arranged a way to gather the information that won't let anyone know our whereabouts except for someone we explicitly trust."
"That we trust?! I don't trust anything that isn't dead and under my control. Who is this person you think I can trust?"
Ben looked at the sky. "Perhaps a small demonstration?" He whistled loudly. From high above came an answering whistle.
Chartok looked up at the sky. A shadow swiftly descended, revealing the Shepherd who dangled from the claws of a monstrous moth. The thing radiated a menacing aura that put the wolf at ease. Even better, the Shepherd was holding two backpacks, one of which squawked delightfully. The bug and his pet landed, and Rolly put one pack in front of the wolf and handed the other to Ben.
"I brought dinner and a resupply. I hope you don't mind."
Chartok sniffed the backpack, "A fresh chicken dinner is always welcome. You've completed a nearly perfect day." He tore off the top of the pack, and the birds scattered, with the wolf gleefully chasing them down, one by one. Squirmie approved of his attitude. Chasing prey always improved the taste.
Ben opened his pack, pulling out a freshly made sandwich and a bottle of beer, "I appreciate the meals and keeping track of me. I sent off letters to the Imperial commanders. If you don't mind picking up my mail and delivering it with my dinners, I'd appreciate it. Any trouble on the flight over?"
"Nope. I've got a squadron of mallards on patrol and a flight of attack geese clearing the skies of winter spies."
Ben grinned, "Excellent, because this party is just getting started."
Comments
Peter Smith
More and more i adore the idea of chartok becoming a part of the "Challenges of Gadobhra"
Tim Nash
This line is repeated twice ‘Her pursuers were barely half a mile behind now, just starting up the hill.’
Engineer4God
Tank oo fur da chap!
Ender419
Wonderful chapter! I see Chartok has upgraded himself from being a menace to somewhat an anti-hero (at least for the war against the North). I just hope Goodboy doesn’t become a casualty as him & Ben are really getting along.
Ender419
🤣🤣 Thank you for making my day even better after reading this chapter!!
Tekbox
Cutting away from the scene in the last chapter is just pure evil, but this chapter was certainly fun as well. Can't wait to see how Chartoks adventures will go.
Felix H.
Attack geese. Perfect air superiority, boundless agressiin paired with fowled malice.
Christopher
I really love the geese and duck air wings.
RedInkQuill
The courier leads the jarl on a goose chase itching to get revenge.
Jennifer Leigh
Those four are great! I love how they've roped others into their 'whatever it takes' madness.
NameGame
Consistently enjoyable chapters. Thanks!
Andrew Denton
Man, I love this story.
Andrew Denton
And they are terribly at witty banter. Terribly poor, I'm certain.
