Generations: Broken Prophesy Story

Chapter 20

    The cold chill that had settled into his guts couldn’t be dispelled.  Every instinct screamed ‘DANGER’, and by Odin, he was going to listen this time.   His mad dash from the Great Hall draws a few looks of curiosity, but none try to stop him as he bolts through the northern gates.  His legs pound across the loose gravel and dirt of the road leading to the northern forest.  Before reaching the logging camp set up there, Chaser turns off the road and dives into the thickest part of the forest.  Upturned roots try to tangle his feet, branches and brush reach out and grab at his arms and face.

    Reaching the path leading down into his home, Chaser can smell fire.  Eyes narrowing as he climbed down, he spied in the heart of the cove, Spitlout and a pair of his friends were fanning out.  The bushes covering the opening to his family's den were ablaze, Spitlout himself holding the brand.  One of his cronies was armed with a heavy metal linked net, the other an ugly looking axe.

    “Spite…  Ya’ know dragons are fireproof, right?”

    “Aye…  But tha’ devil hasta’ breathe.  The smoke‘ll drive it out, then we finish it.”

    With his heart thundering in his ears, Chaser rushes forward.  The closest figure was the smallest of the three, a farmer named Dogsbreath.  Grabbing the net in one hand, Chaser darts between the larger man's legs, tripping him and entangling his legs in the confusion.  His cry of surprise is cut short as his jaw makes a solid connection to the ground.

    Spitelout turns to see what is causing the commotion, his broken toothed grin shines with malevolence.  “Sidin’ with the beast are ya’?  Well tha’ works for me.  Get up! Ya’ fool.  Kill ‘im!!”

    When the man with the axe turns, Chaser finally recognises him.  Gutgore the Senior, one of the village's less talented tanners, shifts his axe in hand, lumbering forward.  The first swing is slow, Chaser easily dancing out of the way.  The return stroke isn’t.  Dropping to his back, the axe head is so close he can feel the wind against his face.  Rolling, Chaser lunges back to his feet, as the axe slams down, chopping down into the gravel where he was, just moments before.

    Dashing forward, Chaser gets into Gutgore’s swing, grasping the axe with both hands.  Gutgore grins, his gap filled, grey-green teeth and the stink of something stronger than ale gives the young man a moment of pause before struggling to gain control of the weapon.  Gutgore’s smile fades as he finds the fishbone valiantly struggling.  Despite being nearly three times his size, the older man honestly has to exert himself to maintain control.

    Chaser narrows his eyes; in the blink of an eye he twists, bringing one of his feet up to land squarely between Gutgore’s legs.  The older man squeals in pain as the wind is driven from his lungs, and both of his hands let go of the axe to grasp his injured family pride.  

With a firm grasp on the axe handle, Chaser completes his turn.  His awkward move brings the axe completely around, completing the spiral strike by becoming buried deeply into Gutgore’s chest and permanently silencing the larger man’s wheezy whine.

    Chaser’s world explodes in pain as Spitelout joins the fight.  The attack comes suddenly as the man’s firebrand slams into Chaser’s back, sparks and embers scattering around the clearing.  The power of the blow sends the young man to his hands and knees.  Glancing back over his shoulder, Chaser sees another blow coming.  Rolling to his side, he groans to himself as the loose gravel digs into his tender back before completing his roll and returning to his feet.

    Chaser balls up his fist, closing distance to his granduncle and swings.  Spitelout almost laughs at the smaller boy’s folly, but is abruptly silenced as his vision flashes in pain.  For one brief instant all Spitelout can see is pink flesh and black scales.  Pushing back, he sends Chaser spinning to the ground.  But with almost inhuman speed the boy recovers and charges again.