Last Strathulian Standing Read online

  An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

  www.ellorascave.com

  Last Strathulian Standing

  ISBN 9781419918711

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  Last Strathulian Standing Copyright © 2008 Daisy Dexter Dobbs

  Edited by Briana St. James.

  Cover art by Philip Fuller.

  Electronic book Publication October 2008

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

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  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

  LAST STRATHULIAN STANDING

  Daisy Dexter Dobbs

  Chapter One

  In the Distant Antediluvian Past, When the World Was Young

  The waning sun seared the horizon with liquid shades of red and orange, burnishing the forest with tones of gold. Aydon surveyed the land, eager for tendrils of the night sky’s deep purple to descend, providing a measure of asylum from those in pursuit. As he neared a clearing, the stench of days’ old death mixed with smoke assailed his nostrils. Layered over the sounds of crackling fire, he heard a woman’s voice raised in entreaty.

  Aydon crept closer, employing well-honed hunter skills avoiding any noise that might signal his presence. The dense brush provided adequate cover as he crouched, spying the scene of abject grief before him. While hardened by recurrent confrontations with death, the mournful wailings of a female grieving still touched what was left of his battle-scarred heart.

  “O great Shorana,” the woman cried to the heavens. “Goddess of the spirit world, ruler of the dead, receive Runako into your fold. Keep this good and venerable man close to your breast. Let him suckle your soothing milk of tranquility to ready him for his journey to Niranjan.”

  As near as Aydon could tell, the bloodied figure of a young man lay in the midst of dry brushwood, arms—what was left of them—crossed over his chest. The woman, who held a blazing torch in one hand, became almost inaudible as she leaned in close, speaking words that Aydon imagined were loving and tender.

  Before she could set the kindling alight, a heinous roar pierced the air. From the other side of the clearing, a pair of ragged, hairy giants raced toward her, brandishing crude weaponry. The cold malevolence in their eyes was clearly visible to Aydon, even from a distance.

  The gray cast to their flesh, raised purple veins pulsing beneath their skin and third eye in the center of their foreheads clearly delineated the formidable duo as Pushgans.

  The woman sprang to her feet with swift, catlike precision. Aydon expected her to run but she stood firm, chin raised in defiance.

  “By gods, can I not even be allowed to send him to Niranjan with a proper farewell before you do your evil bidding?” she yelled with unconcealed bitterness, motioning to the man’s body with her torch.

  The pair, whose visages seemed devoid of the light of intelligence, spared a brief glance at each other before continuing to lope toward the woman.

  “We thought we finished the job,” one of the men said as he reached her, dragging her close and knocking the torch from her hand. Though dwarfed by his mass, she fought valiantly, kicking, elbowing, punching and scratching.

  “She must be a witch to have survived the onslaught,” the other man said.

  “Then we’ll fuck her witch cunt and burn her,” the first man said with unfettered zeal. His fingers went to his breeches.

  Acting on impulse long ingrained, Aydon broke through the brush, his long sword held high as he let forth a battle cry. All three became motionless for an instant, caught in surprise. The Pushgan who sought to overtake the woman seized her, clamping his arm in front of her neck and holding a knife to her flesh.

  The other behemoth growled and headed for Aydon, a knife in each meaty hand. While regarded as a man of considerable height, iron muscle and intimidating presence, Aydon was no physical match for the monster-man’s bulk. However, quicker, lighter on his feet and unquestionably more clever, Aydon proved to have the advantage.

  In little time and sustaining only a few bloody gashes to his arms, chest and legs, Aydon had conquered the Pushgan. With one mighty disemboweling slash of his sword from skull to groin, he split the giant open like a plump sheep, sending him straight to the pits of hell where he belonged.

  “One step in her direction and I’ll slit her open, just as you did my brother,” the other man threatened, his voice warbling with emotion as he eyed his fallen kin sprawled atop a grim heap of bloated corpses.

  His knife point was pressed firmly enough against the woman’s neck to draw a trickle of blood. Though she maintained incredible calm, Aydon knew the woman had little chance to free herself. Her captor’s blade could easily sink into her flesh, severing her head with a swift sidelong stroke.

  “Release the wench and come face me like a man,” Aydon goaded. “Or are you fearful that I’ll spill your innards all over the earth just as I have your dull-witted brother’s?”

  A corner of the Pushgan’s mouth curled into a foul smile as his eyes locked with Aydon’s. With his free hand he fumbled with his breeches.

  “So, you are eager to taste the point of my blade, puny one,” he said to Aydon. “Fear not. Your turn will come, as soon as I satisfy myself in this wench’s hot hole. Then I’ll let her watch as I slice your belly wide.”

  The woman’s eyes widened briefly. She guarded her fear well. Aydon gazed at the pair, focusing his attention on the woman, who looked as filthy, matted and unkempt as her subjugator and his dead brother. But, grime aside, he sensed she possessed some sharpness of mind—more than the other man, at least.

  “Go ahead, take her,” Aydon bluffed. “She is no concern of mine.”

  His gaze on the woman intense, Aydon inclined his head to the right with a slow movement, hoping she’d understand his intention. He watched as she too, slanted her head, gradually enough to avoid alerting the man.

  As soon as there was enough clearance, Aydon whipped the small knife from its place at his side. With a singing arc it careened through the air until it met its mark—the eye in the center of the man’s forehead. Sunk to the hilt, his knife adorned the Pushgan’s skull as if he had been born with a knife handle as a horn.

  As the giant fell, the woman let forth with a small cry. She fell to her knees, head lowered and shoulders shaking.

  Aydon went to the smoldering torch first, snatching it from the dirt and sticking it back into the fire to light it once more. With the flame strong again, he strode to her side, lifting her to her feet with a gentleness he thought long gone.

  “I will stand guard as you light the funeral pyre for your dead husband…or was he your lover?”

  “My brother,” the woman said, raising her eyes to Aydon’s as she accepted the proffered torch. “You have saved my worthless life. I am forever in your de
bt.”

  “That’s not necessary. I release you from any such allegiance. Just see to your brother quickly and then be gone so we can avoid further attention and I can be on my way.”

  The woman looked kindly upon the visage of her brother’s corpse, chanting softly as she touched the blazing torch to the brushwood. It wasn’t long before his broken body was consumed by flame.

  She picked up the short sword at her feet and strode back to the body of the newly horned heathen whose open eyes were fixed in a death stare. “In my brother’s name, with my brother’s sword, Pushgan, I cast the final blow to your vile body and pray that your worthless soul be hurled straight to hell.”

  Lifting the sword high, she plunged it into his chest, drew it out and then thrust it again, this time at the juncture between the dead man’s thighs. Aydon winced, his hand instinctively cradling his own cock as he watched the sword meet its mark.

  Bending over the Pushgan, she grasped the necklace he wore, yanking it over his head and affixing the dangling charm to her own neck.

  She tramped to the gutted corpse of his brother and repeated the plunge of pointed steel into chest and groin. “May you join your brother in eternal agony, you foul, despicable Pushgan dog.”

  Aydon wholly understood her actions and apparent state of mind, for he’d been there countless times himself. He found it surprising and admirable that a lone woman besieged by brutal carnage embodied such spirit. Most women would likely be cowering and babbling in hysteria by now.

  After finishing the gruesome twin acts of finality, the woman wiped the bloody sword on the heathen’s garment and then sheathed it at her side.

  “Well, what are you waiting for?” she solicited Aydon. “I know what it is you want. Come on then,” she urged, her stance firm and proud. “You may as well get it over with and be on your way. I have no fight left in me.”

  Something inside Aydon’s chest coiled tight at the realization that she was offering herself to him.

  He found it challenging to look in the woman’s eyes, for her gaze was impossibly bleak, as if she bore the weight of the world upon her small shoulders.

  With all the gentleness he could gather, Aydon answered, “I assure you, I want nothing but your safety and well-being.” He managed a smile meant to ease her qualms. “Night falls soon. Off with you quickly now. Go back to your people and take refuge.”

  Before responding the woman cocked her head, giving him a strange look, as if trying to detect his true motives for rescuing her.

  “I have no people,” she said, her shoulders slumping, her voice weary. “These were the last.” She motioned to the grim horror of corpses around her. “I am the last of my tribe. The last Strathulian standing.”

  “You are from Strathul? What are you doing so far from your city?”

  She appeared to be in the midst of an internal quandary, studying Aydon while trying to decide whether or not to converse with him.

  “By Tordanuk of Pushga’s decree, Strathul was annihilated,” she explained. “Every structure demolished. Men, women and children violated and slaughtered with a sick sense of jollity. The survivors fled, only to be tracked down to face a bloodbath where we now stand.”

  She breathed a sigh. “The Pushgans you’ve just slain were part of the horde that attacked us. That one,” she pointed to the horned and castrated corpse, “is the fiend who slew my brother.” She fingered the silver charm at her throat. “He took this from around my brother’s neck after plunging a sword through his heart.”

  Aydon took in the butchery around them. “How did you manage to survive?”

  “After several of Tordanuk’s cutthroats violated me, they turned their attention to others. Ravaged, I had no fight left in me and crawled away like a coward to hide my bruised and bloodied body among the lifeless remains of my people.”

  A single tear coursed down the woman’s dirt-covered face, leaving a trail of surprisingly fair skin through the caked brown mud. Aydon winced at the thought of this young female being desecrated by a ruthless band of soldiers, drunk with the revelry of butchery and sex. He lifted her chin with his knuckle and smiled.

  “What is your name?”

  “I am called Jia-Nian.”

  “No, you were not a coward. Hold your head high, Jia-Nian, and leave here knowing you did all that you could to brace against Tordanuk’s men. A young woman is no match for such brutes.”

  “Young.” Jia-Nian spat a humorless laugh. “Yes…I remember a time when I was young and innocent. A time when I had faith and hopes and dreams. But that has taken leave along with my virginity and everything I ever loved. Today I sent my older brother to Niranjan. Three days ago, to no avail, I fought a man who defiled my mother and then hacked into her heart with his axe.”

  Jia-Nian’s eyes filled with tears. “As I lay pinned by a captor invading my virgin channel, I watched my father’s head severed as he battled to protect my younger brother and sister. And then I saw those Pushgan beasts violate both my brother and sister, mere children, before hacking them to death.”

  The expression on Jia-Nian’s face spoke of dark, evil, unthinkable atrocities that no woman or child should ever know of firsthand. Aydon’s heart softened. It was no wonder she had great difficulty in choosing whether or not to trust him.

  “No, I am no longer young,” she said. “I feel as old as the blood-soaked earth beneath my feet.”

  “There is a small village called Farkol less than a day’s journey past those rocks,” Aydon said, gesturing to the craggy rock formations. “Go there. They are good people. You will be safe there.”

  “No.” Jia-Nian shook her head. “I am coming with you. I am your slave to command at will. Forevermore I will serve you, do my best to protect you, use my healing skills on you after you return from battle.”

  Aydon grasped her shoulders, looking down into her determined face and he smiled. “Jia-Nian—”

  “What is your name?”

  “I am Aydon the Bold, Guardian of Zalvanus.”

  “Zalvanus…that’s where my people were headed before Tordanuk’s men caught up with us. In fact, Zalvanus is the reason Tordanuk loosed his vengeance upon us.”

  “He tried to convince the Strathulians to join his cause against Zalvanus,” Aydon easily surmised.

  “Yes. We refused. The Zalvaneans have always been kind and good to us, seeing that we were never without food or medicine when needed. Their healers saved our people from plagues and restored men torn in battle. No, there was no way we would ever consider joining forces with that madman Tordanuk to aid his quest to conquer Zalvanus.”

  Jia-Nian’s shoulders straightened. Her chin thrust high. “The people of Strathul made the decision to fight to the death. And that we did…except for a lone survivor.”

  Aydon’s eyes narrowed as his gaze fell on the heap of corpses. “How did the bodies come to be gathered in such a manner? Surely Tordanuk’s men weren’t so orderly.”

  “I did it,” Jia-Nian said, great sadness in her eyes as she looked to the fetid pile of flesh. “One by one, I dragged each of the dead out of the brush and into the clearing so I could make a communal funeral pyre for my people. Each of them deserves the traditional ritual farewell that I gave my brother.”

  Aydon was taken aback, his admiration for the woman mounting. “For any man the grisly feat would have taken great strength and resolve, but performed by a woman so slight? You amaze me, Jia-Nian.”

  She gave a resigned nod. “I prayed to the great Ko’Loran for strength and he graced me with the vigor I needed to complete the task. I have learned that even someone small becomes capable of surprising feats under unforeseen circumstances.” She drew in a deep breath, releasing it with weighty measure.

  “You have already done so much for me, a mere stranger, Aydon. Your lack of selfishness fills my heart with gratitude. I am truly blessed to have the good fortune of being rescued by one of the legendary Guardians of Zalvanus.”

  “I thank the gods th
at I happened by at the right moment,” he replied.

  A nearly imperceptible smile played at her lips as Jia-Nian looked up at him. “I-I hate to be more trouble than I already have, but I fear I have little strength or stamina to see to the rest of the task myself. Would you mind helping me…” Her voice trailed off as she gazed at the bodies.

  “There is ample kindling around us,” Aydon answered, fully comprehending her unspoken need. “We will gather and position it together and then set it aflame while you speak the necessary words.”

  “I am grateful, thank you. The thought of leaving my people to the buzzards and vermin is just too overwhelming. If I may ask just one final favor, Aydon?” Jia-Nian looked up at him, her weary gaze suddenly firing with the heat of anger.

  “Name it.”

  Wordlessly she gestured to the giant Aydon had gutted. “The Pushgan is too big for me to move. Will you drag him away? I refuse to include him as I honor the Strathulians.”

  It was an undertaking Aydon was glad to manage. Before too long the mound of bodies were ablaze. Jia-Nian gathered up her satchels, stringing them over her head and across her shoulder. It was clear to Aydon that she was as eager to flee the overpowering smell of burning flesh as he.

  “Come, I will give you a ride to Farkol. You need rest and recovery, Jia-Nian.”

  “A ride? On your shoulders?”

  Aydon laughed. He positioned two fingers at his lips and whistled. “Danior!” In a moment a fine, sleek brown horse burst through the bramble, galloping to its master’s side.

  “What a magnificent animal,” Jia-Nian breathed, smoothing the horse’s mane. The horse responded with an affectionate nudge to her breast.

  “Behave yourself, Danior.” Aydon glanced at Jia-Nian and smiled. “It’s been a long time since Danior received praise from a woman,” Aydon explained.

  Aydon patted one of the goatskin pouches slung over the horse’s back. “I regret that I cannot offer you water or wine, Jia-Nian. My supply is dry and needs to be replenished.”