One Moo'r Plow - Book 2: Chapter 40: The Vastlands.

Ordering Ishila to stay behind was perhaps one of the hardest things I had ever done. The half-orc was eager for battle, ready to defend her home from the invaders to come. A woman grown, she was prepared to bathe her axe in the blood of enemies and emerge triumphant or not at all. The need to be the protector, the guardian of her hearth and home flared within, and it pained me to quench that.

“The farm requires a master.” I reasoned with her surly form. “In my stead, I need that to be you. What good is setting out to protect this place if nothing remains when we come back?”

This logic she recognized, surely. There was no one here I trusted to look after what was mine. No one save her. Tash and his spies had worked that point home, fresh on everyone’s minds. I myself was loath to leave the farm, but I had given Ironmoor’s plan great thought and concluded his reasoning was sound.

Ishila mumbled and grumbled, her arms crossed and defiance in her eyes. This pained her, I could see.

“And if the master doesn’t return at all?” She countered. “If one more blade would make the difference but it got left behind?”

“So eager to throw your life away, girl.” Valencia grinned from where she simply stood and exuded menace. “And I thought you would buck the base instincts of your race, this once.”

“I don’t trust you.” Ishila hissed.

“How fortunate then, that I don’t require your trust of approval in anything.”

I remained unmoved, looking down at the two. The dreadknight appeared nonplussed as Ishila glared at her, dislike in her eyes. Valencia’s presence made all around her uneasy, and the orc substituted annoyance in place of dread.

“Ishila.” I spoke. “Please. This will already be a dangerous, painful task. At least let my mind be at ease knowing that my work, my home, is in good and capable hands.”

It came slowly, but after much persuasion, she too relented. Promises to look after all that was mine secured, I left the two and set off to prepare. For a journey, yes. Perhaps my last.

I faced a tide of my own kind now. Warriors on equal footing with me in strength and bloodthirst. No longer would I have the advantage of the larger, more enduring body than my opponents, nor the edge that years of experience gave.

All my foes shared my frame and perhaps outdid me in years of bloodshed.

The Garek before me had been unable to keep up with his peers, taken desperate measures that had seen me sucked into his body even as life fled. The first choice I had made had been to leave, and I regretted that not.

Now, I went to arm myself for battle.

In the dim silence of my home, I prepared my armaments for the slaughter to come. The old battlegear that had belonged to the Garek before me I left in favor of something that had hung warded in my cellar for months now.

Sent to me by a faraway house of mercenaries once I had become Godtouched was a set of battle-garb sized for a full-grown minotaur. I was larger than that, but this mattered not. The armor hummed with enchantments, its size flexing up and down as I slipped on piece after piece.

Very much an expensive gift, meant to curry favor with me.

If I survived, it would. Red plates overlapped with each other on a dull white trim, each part of a greater whole. The surface redistributed force, I had found. If there was any other purpose for the myriad of magic within, I had not yet found them.

A heavy cloak that obscured my likeness I threw overtop, the hood left down because of my horns.

Once more, I strapped the claymore to my waist and wondered how many more conflicts this trusty blade would see me through. Another belt was wrapped round, this one fastened by magic and with pouches that held whatever I could need.

Those I filled with metal jugs of healing milk, high-grade flesh-knitter potions in case I ran out, and draughts of liquid energy. Small, tightly sealed bottles of metal that Ishila had told me to take care of. Liquid that would grant manic bursts of energy, ward off fatigue and chase away the need for sleep. Valuable, sought-after resources that had stayed put in my cellar for the longest time.

Resources I would gladly expand to give myself the smallest edge in this combat.

I stood and took a long look around at what was mine. Like any farmer I had ever known, I spent the least amount of time inside my house than anywhere else on the farm. Something that might change come the long winter. A comfortable bed took up a sizable chunk of my lodge, and a table rarely used to seat guests was pushed to the side, chairs tucked underneath it.

Plants stood in the windows, there to freshen the air a little. A counter with various abandoned experiments on it brought me a quick twinge as I glanced over toward it. My dabbling in combining the various monster plants had burnt out and been abandoned till now, forgotten in the wake of other, more important events.

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This was home. Gods Above willing, it would remain until I returned.

There was little fanfare as I exited my lodge and made my way back down the hill towards my most unlikely traveling companion.

The dreadknight stood at the ready, little needed for her to journey. I had at least prepared dried trail rations, yet if she had the same I could not glimpse or smell them.

“I still don’t like this.” Ishila grumbled. “Just you and her? She’s tried to kill you before. She could do it again.”

“Child.” Derision dripped from Valencia’s voice as she laughed. “If I wished to kill any of you, I would do so. There would not be a single force that could stop me. Not your walls, not your guards, not your father, not even Garek. Your life continues because I chose to save you. If I see fit, I could reverse that and end you.”

“Do not,” I growled at her. “We all know it already. Save it for the enemy.”

A small, momentary gloat from the woman that reminded me of her cruelty.

With a laugh, the dark figure turned and stalked away, malice in her every footstep.

“Make it home alive.” Was all Ishila said to me for a moment. “Please.”

“I’ll try. If Le’rish returns, tell her where we went. Whether she chooses to join us or not is up to her, but her skills and strength would be welcome.”

“And Ma and Pa’?”

“They were busy with something in the dungeon, is all we know. Preventing some disaster or other. I would give much for their help, but this task I must face without them. Tell them what has occurred, if you see them. If you do not hear from me within a reasonable time through messenger or in-person, leave. I’ll not have you die for an empty farm whose master is no longer alive.”

A pessimistic view, perhaps. I preferred to call it realistic.

The hug surprised me. The orc attempted one as best she could, her arms unable to fit around my frame. I returned it in kind, careful to be gentle.

“You’ll win.” She sent a lopsided grin up at me that wasn’t quite convincing. “Wup em and drive em back off.”

“I’ll certainly try.”

With that, I departed, pack over my shoulder and bad company at my side.

I had slept enough on the cart ride back from Ironmoor’s castle. Now, the time had come to put distance beneath my hooves and walk this lonely path.

Valencia proved quiet company. Her usual jeers and taunts were gone, replaced by tuneless hums as she walked, eyes forward. Her eyes did not move to scan the treeline for danger, nor did her scent betray any unease. The dreadknight simply didn’t care. Should any ambush occur, those unfortunate enough to attack her would realize who the real monster was.

The silence grew, and for the longest while I was content to let it weigh on me.

Yet in this void came questions. Queries to which I did not have the answer, much as I wanted them. Inquiries that mounted until they had to burst forth.

“What are the Gods Below?” The question broke the silence, followed by a rumble of thunder across the cloudy sky.

Blank eyes looked at me for a moment, their usual dancing glee gone.

“Stay far, far away from that knowledge, minotaur.” Was all she spoke. “Some things are best left unanswered.”

The quiet continued even as clouds roiled above, but my dogged pursuit of knowledge only grew.

“You mentioned them back in the baron’s castle. How do they relate to you?”

I swore I could glimpse a hint of sadness behind that veil of malice.

“Poor choices made by a girl without any other. Desperation that sealed off any hope she might have.”

These were words, certainly. But none that answered my questions. I cut off before I expressed as such and waited for her to continue.

“A demon was put inside this mortal shell. Not of my will, of course. No sane person would ever allow that. Done by a noble house desperate to fight back against a conqueror come to punish their hubris. The idea was that it would hollow out the mortal vessel, become a destroyer of their enemies.”

Uncertainty ticked in me now. Who was I talking to?

“To their horror, I resisted. Even worse, I subjugated the demon that was supposed to devour me. I broke it beneath my will. Shattered its psyche and ground it down to dust to be blown away on the wind.”

“And then?”

“And then I learned the Gods Above despised anything to do with the Hells Below. Their blessing faded from me. The Class and levels I had earned were stripped away. Their healing burned me, their blessings a torch pressed to my skin.”

‘And then the demon came back.”

“Without the patronage of the Gods Above, I turned to others. Cruel, demanding masters that take and never give. I proved myself to them.”

The sky rumbled with each sentence she spoke, simmering at her heresy.

“I’ve tried, of course. Done all I could to bring myself back to the Gods Above. Prove myself worthy of their blessing. But they’ll have none of it. You were there. I brought low a Godling and they snubbed me. Ignored me for you.”

All this she spoke without a speck of emotion in her voice, on her face, or within her scent.

“They have abandoned me. And so I will turn my back on them as well.”

Thunder sounded angrily from above, and the conclusion came to me that I really should not be meddling with divine forces.

“If they will cast me aside, then I will hunt their favored children. Bring low their chosen until they acknowledge me, or forever spite their names. There is no other path.”

She looked at me then, dead serious.

“Do not follow in my path, minotaur. Something wrong is within you. I can see it. Something not of this world. Whatever you do, do not let it fester, else your blessings will be stripped away as well.

Oh, if only she knew. That I was a soul from another world, inside the dead body of a minotaur long gone. But she did not, and I aimed to keep it that way.