The Shattered Path

Chapter 2 - The Report

"Do you be so blind?" demanded a gruff voice.

Aryl held a hand before his eyes. The sun flared behind the wide frame of a man. Jaegor's harsh tone was unmistakable. The pressure of the boot lessened against his chest allowing him to gasp a full breath and finish his cough.

"Nothing to say for yourself?" Jaegor asked. "I'd be embarrassed too, if I be you."

"Most folk ask if you need help rather than knock you down," Aryl snapped. His fear shifted to irritation. And thirst. He wanted water. He also wanted to get out of the frontier more than anything, but he had never been so thirsty.

Jaegor stepped backwards, away from the sun directly above. "How be you, friend? Be needing help?" he mocked. His leather clothing was nearly the same as Aryl's attire, yet clearly more worn, stitched and patched, with dark splotches which might have been bloodstains. Two swords hung from his belt, one over each hip. In his left hand, he held his bow upright, like a walking stick, but leaned no weight upon it.

Aryl stood and patted the dust from his shirt and pants. He wanted to be angry. He should be angry. Yet, he couldn't be. The other scouts had poked fun at him and sat back waiting for the wilderness to gobble him up, but not Jaegor. He had been helpful, if not always kind. Aryl had little respect for authority, at least he couldn't recall ever respecting it, but he had endless respect for someone like Jaegor who braved the frontier on his own, never truly beholden to any master. Even if he hated the frontier himself.

"Did you know this be giant country?" Jaegor asked, smiling through his bushy beard. The hood was down on his mud-brown cloak, revealing his curly blonde hair which framed a face covered in sweat and filth.

"No," Aryl sighed. Jaegor had earned the right to taunt him. A month ago, if Jaegor had asked that question, he would have laughed at him for peddling scary stories.

"I bet there don't be giants for miles," the hardy scout added, holding a gloved hand above his blue eyes, looking as if he were squinting into the distance, though he surely couldn't see far in the sea of stone spires.

"I hadn't seen hanarans this far south. Didn't think anything ever came this close to the fortress," Aryl explained, rubbing his aching temple.

"Well, I bet that tree-tosser said he never seen a scout this far north before," mocked Jaegor. He smiled for a moment, but frowned before continuing.

"I hate them giants. They be cruelest of the cruel. Never pity them. Not their women. Not their children. I once watched a pack of their little ones rip a fellow scout's legs off and beat him with them. They kicked him about long after he be dead." His eyes hardened like glacial ice and his brows curled low in anger at the memory.

"Don't you have any stories where a friend lived?" asked Aryl, trying not to imagine the scene which Jaegor had just described. Jaegor always seemed to have a tale of a scout who hadn't survived an adventure. He seemed to have a story for every situation.

Jaegor stroked his beard, mumbling and looking from ground to sky and back again. "That reminds me of a story though. A fellow scout be recounting a tale of another scout who took a beastie spear in the skull while sitting in camp. And at that same moment, he took a spear himself in the skull. Killed dead where he sat. There be a stain here somewhere."

Jaegor raised his right arm and twisted it, apparently looking for a bloodstain. He suddenly dropped to a crouch, eyes going wide, holding his free hand above his head defensively. He looked left and right, as if expecting an incoming spear to strike him like the man in the story.

Nothing moved among the brown boulders and rock spires. Aryl cocked his head and waited.

"Unlucky that tale be." Jaegor stood straight. He opened his mouth to speak again, but instead, shot a glance over his shoulder, as if trying to catch the unseen beastie before it could loose its spear at his skull. He faced Aryl again, opening his eyes wide for emphasis and tapping the side of his head with a thick finger. "Best keep it to yourself," he whispered gravely.