Chapter 40:
Tales from Zemliharos: Night of The Striga
As Peter rushed into the fray within the town square, the battle to retake the city had already broken into a bloodbath. Several of Sir Bošnjak’s men were pinned down by the half dozen strigas who swooped down from the skyline of Zemliharos, while a dozen or more still remained in the eternal evening’s sky. As the soldiers attempted to save their brothers from the striga’s grasp, they bit down on their comrade’s neck and roared out their metallic scream, stunning the untrained foot soldiers before swooping back into the safety of the sky.
With his own supernatural speed, he charged from behind one of the perching striga, looking to swiftly finish off one of the men as the others attempted to ram their halberds into its chest. Peter caught the striga’s neck in between his jaws before it could be given the chance to escape and bit down with his bestial force, crushing its neck on impact and filling Peter’s mouth with its bitter black blood. Upon seeing their own slaughtered by the krsnik, the remaining striga rushed back into the air, desperate to escape Peter’s golden force. With his newfound focus, Peter zeroed in his attention on one of the fleeing beasts and let his single desire to hunt them down consume his mind.
It was then he felt the golden wings sprout from his back. Like he had as a raven all those dreams ago, Peter took flight, trusting his base instincts to guide him forward. While his bear form felt heavy midair, he thrusted himself high enough into the air to catch a straggling striga, slashing his claws into its chest and ending the creature before it’d get the chance to bellow out another cry. Soon, several of the other striga piled onto Peter’s back, tearing at his wings. He felt his sudden flight break as the golden energy keeping them in place dissipated. He flipped onto his back as he collapsed back towards the town square, pinning one of the gangly striga. All Peter could hear was their brittle bones crushing under him as a bolt of pain rang through his back.
With his midsection exposed, one of the striga swooped down with its claws outstretched, ready to tear into Peter’s underbelly. He attempted to curl into a ball to prevent his vital organs from ending up on the cobblestone, but the sharpness near came. Instead, he felt its lifeless, severed corpse fumble into him, knocking the breath out of his lung but was far from a fatal blow. As he struggled to catch his breath, Sir Bošnjak stood over him, his blade still oozing the striga’s darkened blood from his blade. He nodded to the knight, who kept his eyes constantly moving, in search of his next target. Peter rolled back onto his back, but by the time he was able to reenter the fray, several of the bowmen perched from the cathedral fired their burning arrows at the unsuspecting striga in the air. One of the shots made contact, causing one of the creatures to crash into the fountain at the center of the square.
Their panicked screams filled the evening sky as the remaining creatures retreated back towards the safety of their main tower. Peter attempted to release his own roar and stun the creatures out of the evening sky, but they were now out of view.
Sir Bošnjak raised his sword and pointed towards the tower. “Charge.”
The men around them gave a rallying cry and rushed towards the tower’s courtyard. Peter dashed alongside them, ready to end this where it all began. However, when the men reached the courtyard, they saw Baba Roga perched from the tower’s main balcony, with a young boy held in her grasp, “Make one more step and I’ll be making cobanac out of every remaining petal in my care.”
Peter stopped in his tracks, the rest of the men following suit. The witch jeered at the army who stood at her doorstep. “Take one step into the tower and my sisters slaughter every last one of them. Every hour you stay, another one of ya gets added to tonight's stew. Be a clever clog now.” Baba Roga cackled as she disappeared into mist, the young boy alongside her wailing in shock as he vanished into the air.
The army stood in anticipation. Peter allowed himself to transform out of his krsnik form. Sir Bošnjak, turned to face Peter, “Ignore the hag, we have the men, we’ll have the city back within the hour.”
“I’m not letting my people be slaughtered in the process.”
“Your people have been dead for a long time, we have to end this now.”
Jakov rushed to the frontline, “We can’t do it, Your Grace, we must retreat. There’s no point in taking back a barren city.” Jakov spoke with a higher tone in his voice than usual. Peter knew the squire to be as good of a liar as he was a swordfighter. He knew if there was any chance at saving his people, he’d have to at least have Baba Roga assuming her wishes were fulfilled.
Peter turned to face his men. “We return to the ships, you’ve fought valiantly, but the risk is too great.”
Deathly silence filled the air. Sir Bošnjak glared at Peter, “I never took you for a coward.”
Peter stepped forward, back towards the town square. Jakov stayed close to Peter's side, whispering to him, “In the tavern cellar, there’s a trapdoor. The tunnel leads directly into the tower. Lords use it to avoid making a scene.” Peter nodded.
Sir Bošnjak shoved Jakov out of the way, obscuring Peter’s path forward. “I personally swore an oath to our Kraji that we’d retake this city. I intend to uphold it, with or without your help.”
Peter stared at the knight, fearful that if he kept raising his voice, he’d have his new plan completely blown. He stepped forward to face the knight head on and lowered his voice, just enough for him to hear only, “You have to trust me. I’ll retake the city myself within the hour. Pretend to retreat. If I’m not back by then, turn around and storm the castle.”
The Knight leered at Peter. The two locked eyes, until he nodded, returning back to his men. He led the march, and they all followed suit. Peter put his hand on Jakov’s shoulder, and he smiled at the squire. He returned the favor. As Peter stepped in line with the men, attempting to bury himself in the crowd, he then made his next transformation. With a tiny flash of gold, he was now but a simple rat, darting between the towering boots that stood over him, appearing like nothing more than another fiend looking to make a meal out of the fresh corpses that darted the town square. As the soldiers tended to their dead, Peter scurried across the cobblestone making a straight line for Zemliharos’ local tavern, The Dancing Bear.
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