Action: Pulse Pounding Tales Volume 2

MUDUDA’S REVENGE By Graham Smith

The whip cracked a sharp retort in the cool morning air. Each of the five metal tipped tails stripped a tendril of skin from Likash’s back. Still he did not scream. Not even a whimper escaped his bruised and swollen lips.

To scream was to admit defeat. Whimpering would show cowardice, while begging for mercy would denounce his masculinity. He would die before he let a sound escape.

His face bore the marks of a savage beating he’d taken after being captured, the left eye was swollen into a sightless duck egg, his nose resembled a deer’s hind leg and blood from a tongue cut to ribbons by gritted teeth, oozed out of a corner of his ruined mouth.

The capture had gone much worse for the Mududa than it had for Likash. Eight of their number had fallen never to stand again. Animal nets had defeated him in the end. Fists and clubs battered his body into submission so they could bind his hands and lead him back to their Lord.

Likash closed his mind to the pain as he tried to find a way to escape his captors. His hands were bound in front of him. Two noosed ropes adorned his neck, with a hulking guard on either side of him holding the free ends. Behind him was the whip man. Driving him forward, punishing every stumble over an exposed tree root or momentary hesitation with a vicious swing.

Organised by the Leader, the rest of the Mududa trailed the whip man. Formed into ten lines, they walked three abreast on the narrow trail, their shouted threats advising him of his fate.

Again the whip cracked behind him. Five more lines of skin fell to the forest trail.

Likash knew where he was being taken. And why.

They were nearing the high citadel of Utubu, the Mududa capital. Balanced atop a river island and protected by deep gorges, the citadel was unassailable by a massed force, and the Mududa had learned to increase their vigilance against covert operations since Likash’s daring escapade.

The Lord of the Mududa would want his revenge. He had lost a lot of face when Likash had rescued Queen Issa. Retribution would be dispensed. Nastily. Slowly.

Likash knew that once he crossed the rope bridge to the island he was as good as dead. Yet it would not be a nice quick death. Or a satisfying slip into oblivion as he slept in his bed with children and grandchildren to his name. Instead it would be a torturous, excruciating death, which would have him praying to the six Gods for release.

Resolving to jump into the ravine rather than cross the bridge, Likash schemed and plotted in the hope of finding a way to escape.

A mountain stream traversing the forest trail gave Likash hope. Knowing from painful experience that the stones either side of the stream were slick with algae, he waited until both the guards were standing on the greasy stones and bolted forward, a deep breath filling his lungs in preparation for the tightening of the nooses around his neck.

He didn’t expect to pull free of the guards holding the ropes. They were too strong for that. He was unbalancing them, in the hope they let go of the ropes as they instinctively put hands out to break their fall.

They did as expected and he used the second of confusion behind him to make his getaway.

Naked and defenceless he ran through the forest with low slung branches whipping his face and body, the twin nooses round his neck flapping hempen tails in his wake.

Shouts and heavy footsteps followed him. No arrows were loosed as none of his pursuers carried a bow. Their mission was to capture not kill. Armed with knives and clubs made from the iron hard Hebdhu trees, they could cut enough tendons or break enough of his bones to disable his fighting ability. But first they’d have to catch him again.

If they caught him he’d have to win the fight that followed or make sure he died in the attempt.

Breaking into a small glade, Likash snuck a look over his shoulder to assess his lead. Eight paces. Good but not good enough. With his hands tied as they were, he couldn’t begin to threaten his best pace. Someone in the pursing pack would be faster than he was.

Wasting two paces of advantage, he removed one of the nooses. Now he had one less tail to worry about.

Pumping his legs as hard as he could, Likash thundered through the undergrowth, taking care not to entangle himself in thorn bushes or run headlong into a tree trunk shrouded by the dense foliage.

A second glade, a second glance over the shoulder. Seven yards on the nearest pursuer and twenty on the following pack. The nearest one had a different face than before. A knife was held where a club had been.

This was the fastest man they had and he was gaining on Likash. Reeling him in. When the gap closed by a few more paces, Likash would be hauled back by the rope around his neck. He wouldn’t have time to regain his feet before the pack were upon him.

The time to be defensive had passed. Action was needed to stop this pursuer before he caught Likash. He’d need a weapon though. Bound hands wouldn’t be enough, and he didn’t have time to disarm the man.

Seeing a pine tree ahead of him, Likash steered for it. Its spindly branches, spoke of its decay, its lack of life.

Reaching the pine, Likash lifted his hands above his head and leapt for a low hanging branch. The branch’s thumb sized girth was no match for his sudden weight. Snapping off it left him in possession of a foot long spear made of partially rotted wood.

As he landed Likash drove his left foot into the dirt to halt his impetus. Pushing off he launched himself at the nearest pursuer thrusting with his makeshift weapon.

Caught unaware by the sudden change between flight and fight, the pursuer ran straight onto Likash’s improvised spear. An inch of timber pierced his throat before the weak branch snapped.

Likash grabbed the Mududa’s knife and accelerated away. Five paces behind him the pack bellowed and cursed. A club sailed past his head. Warming to the theme, others launched their clubs his way. Twice he felt a bone-jarring blow as the clubs found the lacerated mess that was his back.

Ignoring the pain, Likash commanded his legs to keep pumping. To ward off the danger of the missiles striking his head, Likash zigzagged between the trees.

The knife in his hands was useless until he jammed the handle between his teeth. Holding his wrists as far apart as possible, Likash drew the rope across the knife blade without breaking stride.

With hands free, Likash could assist the thrusting of his legs with the pumping of arms. On an upswing he retrieved the knife from his teeth. Slick from his bloody mouth he had to grasp the knife tight lest he lose it.

On and on he ran until his breath became ragged and he knew that he was starting to falter. Normally he could have run all day, but the beating he had taken coupled with the blood loss had weakened his reserves.

He’d achieved his aim of gaining enough ground on his pursuers for him to turn hunter. His pursuers were now spread out into a long line separated by natural ability and stamina reserves. Yet they could all follow the trail of broken branches and squashed grass he’d left behind him.

Turning this to his advantage, Likash removed the noose from his neck. Feeding the noose around a tree trunk, he threaded the loose end through and laid it on the ground. A scattering of needles and leaves covered the rope. Likash stationed himself in a nearby bush and waited.

Two men ran through the undergrowth side by side. Likash hauled on the rope and both men went flying as their shins collided with the tripwire. Dropping the rope, Likash stabbed each man in the heart before they could raise an alarm.

Three times he repeated the trick, killing another four men. His ears warned him the next group would be larger so he grabbed a club from a fallen Mududa warrior and lay in wait.

Likash’s tripwire caught the first three of the four men who burst through the foliage. Two blows to the standing warrior felled him, allowing Likash to concentrate on the three who were struggling to untangle themselves from their fallen comrades.

Slashing two throats and spearing the third man in the eye, Likash turned to face the fourth man.

It was one of the brutes that had held a mooring noose. With no element of surprise to aid him, Likash would have to take on a man who stood a head taller and was twice his weight in a straight fight.

A smile crossed the brute’s features as he faced Likash down.

Positioning himself so the brute couldn’t move into the blind spot created by his swollen eye, Likash feinted a head shot with his club. The brute was slow to react, but when his club crashed into Likash’s, it sent a reverberation all the way back to the smaller man’s shoulder.

Likash had learned enough from the move to plan his assault on the giant. Repeating the feint, Likash waited until the brute had committed to his swing and dropped to his knees. A swift blow to each of the giant’s kneecaps brought him crashing to the ground. Staying out of reach of the giant’s powerful arms Likash delivered a death blow to the back of his skull.

The sting of a thousand angry bees lanced through his arm, causing Likash to drop the club.

An ugly sneer was spread across the whip man’s face when Likash spun to confront his new attacker.

Again the advantage was with Likash’s foe. Every time Likash moved forward to strike he would lose more skin to the five flailed assailant.

The whip man made no move to attack Likash. Instead he relied on the counter-attack as he waited for his fellow warriors to join the fight.

Two others appeared through the trees.

Aware that he couldn’t allow a long drawn-out battle, Likash reversed his grip on the knife and moved forward. Waiting until the whip man was ready for him, Likash feinted with his empty right hand.

The whip man reacted and swung his weapon. Turing his head away Likash took the full force of the blow on his arm. The pain caused him to bite another chunk out of his already ruined tongue.

Fighting to stay conscious, Likash gave a low backhand slash, his knife opening the whip man’s stomach.

Dropping the knife and snatching the whip from the whip man as he fought to hold hid entrails, Likash lashed out at the face of the nearest warrior. Four red snakes hissed across the man’s cheek with the fifth exploding an eyeball into a gelatinous spray.

His comrade wavered for a moment giving Likash the opportunity to swing the whip again. Gurgles escaped the frothing red mess of the man’s throat as he fell.

Stumbling through the forest Likash found a small stream. Digging handfuls of sodden clay from the bed of the stream, he smeared his wounds with clay to stem the bleeding. No one wound was life threatening, but he knew he’d lost a lot of blood and he could feel his strength waning.

More concerning was the remainder of the Mududa. He could hear their shouts as one by one they discovered the bodies of their fellow warriors.

Yet no more sounds of pursuit reached his ears. Only the shouts of discovery as others arrived at the battlefield.

While he tended his wounds, Likash recounted the battle in his mind. Totalled his kills, assessed his victories. One of the giant captors was gone, along with the whip man and thirteen warriors. That meant that there was still more than half the force left. Including one giant and the leader of the party who carried the nets.

A loud voice was issuing commands to the pursuers. He was instructing them to stay close to each other. To work as a team.

Likash listened to the leader give his commands with a sense of exasperation. The last thing he wanted was for someone to take control of the Mududa warriors’ tendency to isolate themselves.

He’d already lost a pitched battle against them as a group. He could pick off individuals in small numbers, but against an organised group with nets he would lose every time.

No longer fit to run from his pursuers, he would have to find a way to either hide or to isolate the Mududa into manageable numbers. Hiding was not his way: he was a fighter, the pride of his King’s army, not some child who cowered behind his mother’s legs. The decision was made. He would fight on until he won or died.

The only weapon he had left was the whip, and while he’d scored a kill and a maiming with it, he knew that it was designed to inflict pain rather than death. He’d been lucky his strikes had done the damage they had. Plus its noise would betray any attempt at a stealthy kill.

Foraging in the stream, he found a pair of fist-sized stones. Carrying one in each hand he circled around until he was behind the Mududa warriors. Each step was taken with care as he approached his quarry. Stealth was his friend. Surprise his assistant.

Creeping up behind two stragglers, Likash swung his left hand down onto the head of the nearest man. The sullen thud of a skull cracking alerted the other straggler. A shout escaped his lips.

Retrieving a club from his latest victim, Likash silenced the shouter with a blow to the temple.

The pack of hunters was now running his way, weapons readied. Using his good left arm Likash threw his last stone into the mess of running bodies before haring into the undergrowth with the club gripped in his fist.

With his latest assault eliminating another two enemies, Likash figured that he had killed or incapacitated half of the Mududa force.

Blood was seeping through the clay on his many wounds as the Mududa chased him. Encountering a steep ravine in the forest, Likash barrelled downhill with the chasing pack mere paces behind him.

Staying upright was a constant struggle for Likash, as his legs could not match the forward momentum of his upper body. Dodging roots and branches as he descended, Likash slung his near useless right arm around the bole of a young tree.

His impetus was reversed as he spun around the tree to face his pursuers. Several had passed him before realising his trick.

His swinging club greeted the remainder. Faces smashed and limbs broke under the fury of his swings. Cries wailed out from those whose bones were broken. Others lay silent.

Now Likash had the high ground. The remaining Mududa, including the other giant and the leader were several paces below him. Watching with caution. None prepared to lead a counter-attack.

The leader snapped a command. The Mududa fanned out into a crescent, with the leader and the giant at the centre. Step by step they advanced back up the incline.

Likash grabbed a knife for his right hand, the club held firm in his left. Turning his head he used his one good eye to observe the remaining ten Mududa.

The leader’s eyes narrowed as he assessed Likash’s injuries. Commands spilled from his lips as he directed the attack.

Likash moved across the incline to prevent himself becoming encircled. The Mududa matched his movement. Advancing upwards. Fanning around him.

The leader pulled two nets from around his waist and handed them along the line until they were in the hands of the outer markers.

Likash realised the leader’s plan. When the attack came, it would come from the flanks. With his left eye unseeing and his right arm effectively useless, the Mududa would use his injuries against him.

Seizing the initiative, Likash used a tree as a launch pad and propelled himself far to his right.

Taken aback by the sudden movement, the man he was charging at swung the net too low and too late to trouble Likash.

Bounding over the net, Likash swung his club just once, killing the man with a blow to the temple.

Snatching the net, Likash threw it at the next attacker in line. Too high. The man ducked under it, only for Likash’s club to land on the back of his skull.

The other Mududa backed away. Shouted threats from the leader halted their retreat but could not inspire an advance.

The giant was the one to push forward, the leader at his side.

Knowing that the other men would run if he could defeat this pair, Likash set off to meet them. Three paces from them, he dropped to the ground using his momentum to carry him downhill.

Likash’s knees were on his chest for an instant before they shot out and planted his heels into the groin of the lumbering giant. The force of the blow lifted the giant from his feet and sent him tumbling downhill.

Arresting his momentum, Likash used the butt of his club to pummel the leader’s feet. As the leader danced away, the knife in Likash’s right hand slashed at the tendons in his knees and ankles. The leader fell to the ground, his screams reverberating around the forest.

Leaving the leader, Likash went after the giant, who was leaning against a tree with both hands clasping his groin.

Cracking a defensive elbow with his first swing, Likash moved closer to finish the brute, when the giant struck back with a massive gnarled fist.

Likash’s vision swam as the giant went to repeat the blow. Likash knew another blow like that would finish him as a fighter, so he dropped to his knees below the punch and swung his club towards the giant’s shins.

A bovine roar accompanied the brute’s fall, only for Likash to silence him with a slash of the knife.

Scampering up the hill, he caught up with the retreating pack and set to work with club and knife. Six men fell at his feet. A seventh stood four paces away.

Facing the lone remaining Mududa warrior, Likash saw no fight. No bravery. Instead he saw cowardice. Fear.

Now he could scream. A blood-flecked roar gurgled from his mutilated tongue.

The Mududa in front of him took flight.

Likash let him go. He had no appetite for another chase. No hunger for further punishment. Let this man escape. If he dared to return a failure, he would tell the Mududa Lord of Likash’s triumph by his sole presence.

Using his club, he extinguished life from any Mududa who still breathed before setting off for home.

Likash looked forward to telling his King of the fight. Another wife or two would be his reward. War may even be declared. That would signal a rise in his tribal standing.

BIO:

Graham Smith is married with a young son. A time served joiner he has built bridges, houses, dug drains and slated roofs to make ends meet. For the last eleven years he has been manager of a busy hotel and wedding venue near Gretna Green, Scotland.

An avid fan of crime fiction since being given one of Enid Blyton’s Famous Five books at the age of eight, he has also been a regular reviewer and interviewer for the well respected review site Crimesquad.com for over three years.

He has three collections of short stories available as Kindle downloads and has featured in anthologies such as True Brit Grit and Action: Pulse Pounding Tales Vol 1 as well as appearing on several popular e-zines. His first collection Eleven the Hardest Way was nominated for a Spinetingler award. Twitter: @GrahamSmith1972

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Blog: http://grahamsmithwriter.blogspot.com/

Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Graham-Smith/e/B006FTIBBU/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1

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