Chapter 3 - Vetch

...The Previous Day...

The lank, scrawny albino beastman paused and looked back. He was silhouetted in the entrance of the cave his thin shadow half falling  on the human girl (naked like him) kneeling on the rough floor of the cave. She stared back up at him and he curled his lips showing her his sharp yellow teeth and saw both fear and anticipation in her wide eyes. Her face was flushed, dank hair was plastered to her head, sweat dripping from her chin and ran between her breasts. His cock twitched.

Moments earlier he had been expecting to fuck her, now that his pack leader Garhorn had finished with her. Garhorn, the one-time Warchief, had claimed her womb but left her ass to his followers and Vetch would have been the first to plant his seed there... but for the sudden bray of alarm from their pack-mate in the ravine that had driven Garhorn to gather his weapons and race from their lair - and compelled Vetch to follow.

Hesitating in the bright sunlight of the cave mouth he could feel his pink skin itching and already starting to blister. It was his nature to hunt at nightfall and skulk in caves during daylight but, from here, he could hear the sound of fighting rising from the ravine below and Garhorn was already at the base of the slope below the cave running to meet the battle. Vetch was expected to follow his leader.

What Vetch lacked in physical power as a beastman he made up for in wits and cunning. Long ago had worked out the rules... Live! Eat! Fuck!...in that order... and he had abided by that mantra. Pack mates saw him as a coward but beastmen who'd put their cocks before their bellies or their bellies before their lives often did not live as long as Vetch had.

Garhorn expected help and Vetch would, indeed, follow - while it served his own interests. Humans, dogged and vengeful, were the greatest danger to the goatspawn in all the lands and their intrusion meant the beastmen would be leaving this area sooner rather than later regardless of whether they could overcome the immediate threat. Fucking the human female would have to wait until it was safe - if there was time. But Garhorn had already killed her mate and planted his spawn in her belly and so human vengeance would be following in due course.

Promising to himself that he be would be back for her the scrawny white haired goatman with the chaotic crown of yellow horns hefted its cudgel and buckler and leapt after his leader, leaving  the girl, Nelly, squatting wide eyed and naked in the cave.

Vetch's hooves kicked up clouds of dust as he followed the sound of Garhorn's passage squinting against the bright light to keep sight of the strong dark goatman as he hopped down the slopes to the ravine floor and the sound of human shouts. But, rounding a corner, he halted fast and drew back. 

A little way down the slope leading to the ravine floor he saw Garhorn had encountered another human. It looked as if they had almost ran into each other and were now engaged in a furious fight. At this distance Vetch could not see much details, his eyes were poor in the bright daylight, but the small human was ducking and weaving, stabbing at Garhorn with a short sword to prevent him taking advantage even as it gave ground. Garhorn had the clear advantage in size and strength but he was being wary and Vetch edging down the slope saw that the big goatman had already taken a wound to his arm. Maybe the small human had surprised him but now he was holding back perhaps waiting for Vetch or waiting for his weaker but nimbler opponent to make a mistake.

Slowly and carefully Vetch advanced, but keeping to cover as it did so; it looked like the human was stalling as well. His caution was well founded as before he had even halved the distance another human, a big male  wielding a bigger sword in both hands, came into the fray with a bellow and suddenly it was Garhorn who was at a disadvantage. 

Vetch halted again, pressing himself against the ground hidden by the scrub. He weighed his options. If he intervened he could balance the odds in this melee, distracting the smaller human for a while. But the big human looked a match for Garhorn alone and Vetch could not be sure of Garhorn prevailing. And another shout from the ravine below told him that there were other humans as well probably fighting one or both of the other pack members Pag or Krrek. There was no guarantee of quick victory even if Vetch joined the fight, or that things wouldn't get worse anyway. 

... and, if he abandoned Garhorn, maybe the Warchief would not survive to blame Vetch...

He made his choice and, unseen, slunk off, turning down the steep slope into the ravine below leaving Garhorn to his fate.

He scrambled down the slope to the ravine floor bypassing the sound of fighting downstream and began to move cautiously but quickly away from the sound of combat making his way up the ravine parallel to the water keeping to the undergrowth for cover and to provide shade for his sensitive eyes and skin. 

But, despite his caution, he heard the sound of running feet behind him. He pressed himself to the ground and peered through the bushes ready to run or fight. A human raced past him, splashing though the stream, oblivious to the prone beastman and as it passed ahead Vetch risked a better view. The human was unarmed and, judging by the stumbling gait, he guessed it was fleeing the other fight. That boded well for the beastmen but behind him he thought could still hear occasional sounds of combat so things were not settled. He could turn back and rejoin the fight, but was still unsure of the odds. Instead Vetch decided to follow the human. Chasing down an unarmed enemy fleeing from a fight was the kind of opportunity that Vetch would not miss; especially if it took him further from the main fighting.

With a cautious lope he began to stalk his prey staying to the undergrowth at the side of the meandering stream.  If his pack-mates prevailed after all there would be spoils to be had - first to those who had shed blood. And if by a miracle Garhorn survived then Vetch could still claim he had played his own role in the fight.

After a short while Vetch slowed, he had lost sight of his quarry. His sense of smell was not as acute as some beastmen but he could tell the human had left the stream. Crossing the water hurriedly he followed the faint scent of man into a gully on the opposite side of the ravine side. The greatest danger was that the humans behind him prevailed and came looking for their missing pack-mate, but he knew that humans could not track by smell, unless they had hounds, and he had already travelled a distance deeper into the ravine so he would be safe for a while, he gambled. 

He edged forward between the rocks. There was the human, bent over the broken trunk of a tree that had fallen from the slope above. It was retching and panting and a pile of vomit lay at its feet. Vetch's face twisted into a grin at the sight of the human's discomfort. There was still the delight in seeing suffering and satisfaction could be had in taking vengeance, even belatedly. The human carried no weapon but for a knife sheathed at its belt. Despite his ingrained sense of self-preservation such an easy kill was too great a temptation for Vetch's ingrained cruelty.

He crept forward, soft hoof-falls unheard over the human's choking sobs and was almost on the human before it sensed his presence. As it spun he lunged forward, dropping his shield, his free hand clamping over the human's mouth, stifling the cry, forcing it back into the branches of the tree and pinning it against the trunk. Cudgel raised to deliver a death blow he hesitated to savour the moment. The human was frozen, eyes wide in terror and Vetch could see that it had already emptied his bladder down the front of his trousers. 

The human was a young male, with untidy dark hair and large brown eyes . It was breeding age and seeing that it was paralysed and unresisting Vetch felt his cock hardening instinctively even before the thought had entered his consciousness

He wasn't going to kill this one, he was going to fuck it! 

Species or gender did not matter to the unnatural fertility of the brood, except to inform them of what orifices were available for abuse and impregnation, the progeny that spawned only required a fertile vessel. Too young or too old and breeding was pointless although that would not mean that they would also be safe from causal murder and consumption. 

Vetch had had to give up the female in the cave, and probably would not get back to her, but this male, unclaimed by another, was more than adequate compensation. The human must have felt Vetch's cock pushing up against his own groin and glanced down at the dark pink shaft that had slipped from Vetch's furry sheath and was rising above the albino goatman's single, swinging testicle and its eyes widened with the realisation of what his assailant intended.

Vetch's grin broadened.

Dropping his cudgel he snatched the knife from the boy's belt then he spun the youth around bending him over the tree trunk, his hand still clamped over the human's mouth. Vetch had a thin frame weaker than many other beastmen but surprise and his wiry strength was still enough to control this youth given the advantage of his position. 

He put his weight on the youth's back as they struggled, both grunting. His teeth closed on the human's neck and he pressed the knife against its throat, enough threat to quell its struggles, for a moment, while the other hand clawed at his victim's trousers pulling them over the human's lean buttocks, leaving scratches from his claws and the knife he held awkwardly. When the trousers were past the curve of the youth's ass, Vetch raised his hooves and kicked them further down the other's legs, cursing the inconvenience of such attire while the human winced and cried each time a kick from the beastman's goat legs bruised his thighs or ankles.

Once the trousers were gathered around the lad's calves Vetch, leant forward to press his chest on the victim's back, keeping him pinned and, growling in his ear, positioned his hips. His cock, hardened with his desire to mate, was now a rigid column of angry red flesh. The penises of beastmen were of wide variety and Vetch's was not the largest but it was thin and long with a tapering head that was already glistening with pre-cum With unerring accuracy it pushed between the boys buttocks and pressed against the puckered ring of its anus. The human froze at that and Vetch, without hesitation, pushed inside, feeling every joyous moment of the penetration as the muscles of his victim's sphincter were pushed wide by the taut flesh of his spearhead as it thickening girth forces its entrance. The youth now struggled and bucked but it was too late... the natural order of things was for animals and the other races to serve as vessels for the beastmen's seed. And once a beastman's cock had penetrated a potential mate then its fate was sealed. 

A beastman could impregnate an animal in less than a minute and they had the stamina to spread their seed throughout an entire flock in less than an hour. But when the circumstances allowed it they would take their time, prolonging their own pleasure and the humiliation of their victims. 

And this was Vetch's first human.

Vetch leant over to press his  weight down on the boy, his knife hand stifling the human's gasps as he continued to push inside as far as he could easily. Then he began short, hard thrusts, grasping the human's meagre genitals for control gradually ploughing his cock deeper into the youth's rectum as he felt the human's resistance ebb and his pre-cum lubricated the loosening passage.

With each stroke Vetch felt the human's will lessen. Whether they walked on four legs or two it was the ultimate purpose of every lesser species to serve their beastman sires, Vetch knew. Penetration by their masters' cocks reminded them of their role and Vetch could tell as the human's breathing began to match his own and his thrusts, each accompanied by a low grunt that showed this mate was already awakening to its destiny.

Pulling his victims head around, Vetch's tongue lashed the boy's face, leaving it glistening with his saliva and the boy gasped, staring up at him. The wide, gasping mouth was an invitation for Vetch and he pressed his own against it and thrust his thick tongue into it, pushing aside the humans as he forced it deep. The human's hand reached up and grasped Vetch's horns, but did not try to twist him away as the beastman pressed his lips against his victims' as he forced his long tongue against the back of its mouth and into its throat. The human choked and gagged for a moment but then settled, submitting to another penetration of its master's flesh into its pliant body.
  
As he slid his tongue out again he felt the boys own tongue, slick with their shared saliva, move against it and he felt his organ now sliding its full length unhindered within the human's ass Vetch knew that his mate had now accepted its fate as the bearer of his spawn.

Pushing his cock hard in he released his grip on the boys hardening genitals and shifted it to the lads hips knowing he no longer need force to control the human. Lifting his weight from the others back he raised himself upright. The boy moaned with the change of position. Vetch's mouth twisted in pleasure and a string of drool fell on the gathered material of the boy's shirt.

Then he started to fuck the human in earnest, rocking his hips back and forward, slowly at first pushing his cock into the boy's ass in short strokes but gradually increasing pace and depth. The boy grunted at the first few strokes then his moans became higher and sharper as the tempo increased, he had freed his feet from the tangle of his pants and parted his legs slightly, easing the pressure of the penetration. Vetch's tapered cock was now beginning to slip easily within the youth's rectum. The lubricating pre-cum foamed at the entrance of the boys distended anus and now ran in small rivulets down both of their testicles. He could feel the muscles of the humans passage massaging his organ as his grunts and the human's gasps synchronised with the rhythm of his thrusts.

Vetch could have released his seed at any time now, but the pleasure of using this enemy of his species for his own gratification, reducing it to nothing more than a object to his lust, a slave to his mastery, meant that he was going to prolong the experience. 

He felt his mate's hips moving hips moved against his own as the tempo increased, each thrust his groin flattening its buttocks as Vetch's turgid organ slid to its hilt into the human's asshole in a spray of fluid that coated his stomach and ran like a river over his heavy testicle which swung between the human's legs like a pendulum, crushing the other's own scrotum. Together they worked towards the conception panting, breathing and grunting in unity. Vetch felt his climax nearing, now unstoppable, a wave of pleasure not just from the physical stimulation but also the utter dominance over his mate. With one last thrust, burying the head of his organ deep within his mate's bowels he lifted his head and let out a bray as the orgasm overcame him, barely aware of his victim spasming at its own climax.

He exploded deep within the human as he arched his back and pushed his hips hard against the human's ass flattening the lads buttocks. His testicle spasmed and cock juddered as each contraction forced a gout of his hot sticky seed into his victim. For a while he lost himself in the moment that defined his species as he pumped a torrent of seed into his new mate's fertile, hungry viscera, a river of life joining the two in supernatural conception while the human's own thin white cum splattered uselessly on the ground beneath it.

The passion ebbed and Vetch looked down on his conquest panting and mewling beneath him as his cock with slowing pulse pushed more gouts of seed into its body until the tide ebbed. Beastmen hated and feared humans, their greatest mortal enemy. But this one was crushed, defeated, dominated, now turned into a vessel for his kind. His hand had closed over its neck again but the boy craned his head around to gaze up at him standing astride him, cock still impaling the his ass, and Vetch saw the love for his sire, the worship for his master in the tear stained eyes.

Then he pulled his cock free, leaving a gout of grey-yellow viscous semen to splatter over the human's buttocks and thighs. The human male collapsed at once into the branches of the tree, turning to look at his master and the sire of his children. Its bloodshot, tear-stained eyes settled on the beastman's softening cock and the long strand of cum that hung oozing from its tip. It parted its lips and leant forward as to catch the issue in its mouth but Vetch stepped back, denying it even this act of submission and the human youth fell on its belly sobbing prostrate before him. A heavy glob of the seed dislodged by his movement fell onto his hoof and the human at once closed its mouth over it and began licking and lapping at it.

Vetch pulled his hoof away from the fawning boy and then brought it down on top of the human's head, pinning it against the hard dry ground. He stood there looking down at the creature beneath him, once a feared enemy, now humiliated, a worm under his feet. It writhed beneath him, its head pinned, his seed oozing from between its red, naked buttocks. His monstrous larvae was now festering in its belly, growing stronger so, a few months from now, in a orgy of blood and gore, they - his spawn - would burst free of the host consuming its flesh as they escaped to grow into full beastmen and plague the world in turn; parasitic and yet bearing the features of their human mother-host; a sick mockery of natural conception.

His genitals swung over it, the testicle still heavy with more of the seed that fill its bowels, his  long smooth cock, still slick, hot and angry red from reaming the human's passage, twitched as if uncertain whether to withdraw back into its sheath, its job done, or rise once again to further humiliate the wretch. Beneath the hard pad of his hoof Vetch could feel the bone of the human's skull flex as he applied pressure and heard it whimper at the threat...

Then he head a voice, a human shout, from behind him in the ravine. Cursing he realised that the human's compatriots had indeed come looking for their missing pack-mate Deciding fast to let it live and bear his spawn he lifted his foot from the human's head and quickly gathering his buckler and cudgel and keeping the human's knife as well, he bounded away; up the slopes  climbing around the ridges and outcrops, wary for the sound of pursuit until he was well up the ravine walls. There he paused to find a spot to look out. He could not immediately see the clearing or his human mate below him but then, out in the ravine, where the stream glistened amongst the undergrowth he saw movement. He peered with his poor eyes and perceived a human, calling and then from below him a second joined the first,  this one his victim he thought. There was an alteration, he heard shouts but then they embraced briefly and began to move away out of sight, down the stream, away from Vetch.

He chuckled dryly. Mundane beasts would often return to their herds and their flocks  after impregnation, acting as if nothing had happened, and it looked to Vetch as if this human would do this. So the young man would not tell of his encounter and Vetch was safe from immediate reprisals and perhaps next season the young human would find somewhere quiet to spawn Vetch's offspring. But, for now, the humans had obviously won the day's fight down the ravine and so Vetch was a lone wanderer again.

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Vetch turned north again, keeping to the slope travelling parallel to the stream until he thought he was well beyond any risk then he descended again to the ravine floor where it was cooler and the going upstream was easier. Heading into the hills, the ground rose as the shadows lengthened and the stream became less distinct, becoming a mere trickle as he passed the rivulets that fed it until it was barely a shallow gully and then just a crack in the broken slopes. He reached a crest where behind him he could see the ravine stretching away behind him to join the wide valley. Ahead of him were the dips and rises of the hills. He went on following the trails of animals between rocks and through crevasses in the hope of finding a shallow, unoccupied, cave where he could wait out the rest of the daylight.

One advantage that his goat eyes gave Vetch was that had excellent all round vision, so even squinting in the daylight through watering eyes he did not miss the movement in the ridge above him. He pressed on, hoping it was just lone beast but when he saw movement behind and on the other side and something cross between the rocks a little ahead he knew he was being surrounded. He moved off the path finding a shallow depression under an overhang in the rock face and pressed himself into it. There he would not be out of sight or have any chance of evading his enemies but with cover from above and a solid wall at his back attackers could only come at him from the front. He was coward but he knew he was boxed in and there was nowhere to run so he readied his cudgel and small animal skin shield and prepared, reluctantly, to die fighting.

The sound of movement amongst the rocks and the small trails of displaced dust and pebbles from above told him that his assailants were converging as he flared his nose, trying to discern a clear scent of what and how many stalked him.

And then from around the corner a low voice croaked: "Vetch".

Vetch exhaled. Being recognised meant he was back among the brood and those that knew him already. That did not mean he was out of danger but at least it was familiar. He stepped slowly out of his cover.

On the path an old grey goatman waited. Behind it stood two larger and far more ferocious looking beastmen. Vetch bowed his head deeply and kept it there. He was aware of the movement of others behind him. 

"Twohorn, my lord" he said in the Beastspeech. The old goat nodded and Vetch raised himself nervously to face the trio.

The two bodyguards were both goatmen as well. The larger was two heads taller than Vetch and nearly as broad as a bull. It was clad in layers of iron and leather armour, its eyes glistened from slits in a heavy hood, and it carried a heavy double headed war axe; and if it chose to wield that thing then Vetch knew he would be dead in an instant. Vetch did not know its name, or even if it had one. The other was not as tall or broad but still bigger and more powerfully built than most of its kind and distinctly uglier. It had a large square head, its small eyes set high, a thick snout almost a proboscis curved down from its pate to its crooked mouth, and long ears hung under its short horns. Its black pelt was short and so thin in places you could see the dark wrinkled skin around its face and neck. It wore thick leather armour and carried a iron tipped spear and large shield. Vetch knew its name, Magrad... a bully and a thug, even by beastman standards. 

Just by his ugliness Magrad could have been taken for an abomination - a corrupted being twisted and malformed. Many beastmen had been touched by chaos at birth including Vetch himself, with his pale colourless skin, white fur an  twisted crown of horns, but Vetch had seen goats like that in the west and knew that Magrad was probably a pure-breed and would therefore look down on him as those unsullied tended to on their mutated brethren.

But it was the old grey goat, Twohorn, who Vetch truly feared and not just because of his command of the others. Twohorn was a veteran, an older beastman, perhaps, than any Vetch knew of excepting the god-kings or the evil Bawlgher in the mountains. Some said Twohorn was a century old. But for a beastman to get grey with age suggested fearsome capacity regardless of appearance and plenty of stories abounded of Twohorn's sudden, unexpected and unpredictable, deadliness. Twohorn's angular head was large for a goat but his skin was visibly tight over his bones and his fur was growing thin on his pate. The width of his shoulders suggested he had once been a formidable size but now he seemed to be thinning, his flesh thin over veins and wasting muscles. His ears were torn and his eyes were cloudy but they still locked on Vetch with a piercing gaze. His curving horns were broken, one almost at the base, the other jagged at the mid point. 

He was well clothed by beastman standards. He wore stiff boiled and studded leather armour over supple kidskin: a thick cuirass, a skirt of leather strips, and greaves and vambraces all fine quality. All well fitted, either fashioned for him or acquired diligently over a long life of banditry. A curved scimitar and long knife hung at his belt and an iron rimmed shield was strapped across his back.

"Where is Garhorn?" the old goat asked in the Beastspeech, stepping towards him, the two bodyguards following. 

Vetch let his bucker, knife and cudgel drop to the ground but hesitated before answering, "In the ravine". He tilted his head indicating behind him.

Twohorn did not react or break his lock on the other's eyes.

Vetch stopped breathing, then reluctantly added "... maybe dead... there was fighting..."

"Fighting?"

"... humans... many men"

Twohorn blinked and he seemed to be considering this. "How many?" he asked after a moment, a low growl in his voice,

Vetch thought about this for a moment. There were the two he and Garhorn ambushed in the cave, another two fighting Garhorn on the slopes and his victim and the other he had spied in the ravine. Lying seemed like a bad idea under the ancient goatman's searching gaze but he didn't need to go into details unless asked.

"Six, maybe more," he replied. He suspected that few other beastmen would be able to count that high but Twohorn certainly would. "Two brothers killed. One man killed."

"You ran?"

Vetch felt his heartbeat quicken. "I fucked one," he said hoping this would count as a contribution.

Twohorn gave him a long stare. Then he leant down and gave Vetch's naked genitals a deep sniff his nostrils flaring while Vetch concentrated on suppressing even the smallest twitch that could have been interpreted as a challenge and would mean his instant death. After a moment Twohorn drew himself up again.

"In the ass" said the old goat and he chuckled showing broken yellow teeth while Vetch kept his face impassive. Then the old beastman's grin faded. "Stupid... the humans will take revenge."

Vetch swallowed. "This one went quietly with a belly full of my spawn. It will not tell," he replied, trying to sound confident.

Twohorn shrugged dismissively. "Zalafel has started a crusade, has called on Garhorn to lead a legion. Whitehoof and Bawlgher have heeded the call. We need Garhorn." The emphasis was on 'we'. "Bone Gnasher awaits in the hills. We need Garhorn before we go north."

Vetch felt his blood run cold. Zalafel was one of the two god-kings of the beastmen, a manifestation of the Severed Beast who could kill with a glance and whose word could not be disobeyed. He was also the instigator of insane and reckless raids, often into human lands, that would usually lead to the deaths of all those who followed. This was deep politics for the beastmen. Whitehoof, Zalafel's favourite, was a pure-breed and intolerant of the tainted. He preached that the beastmen should strive to be equal with humans, cast iron, build cities... perhaps trade even. On the other hand Bawlgher, the mad beast in the mountain was the progenitor of some of the most twisted and tainted monstrosities amongst the beastman race, his offspring were hated for their extreme corruption and even more for their sterility...  anathema to the kin. But feared terribly too.

Twohorn himself was both feared and respected,another one of Zalafel's inner circle. It made sense that he wanted Garhorn as a counter to Whitehoof or Bawlgher... or even both. Whitehoof and Bawlgher were both powerful but also disliked by many. Garhorn was strong and respected, a pure-breed and an effective and merciless warchief. And Twohorn perhaps thought he could control him more easily. So Garhorn's exile was ending.

Vetch felt a mixture of jealousy, fear and hunger stirring. Twohorn, Zalafel, Bawlgher, Whitehoof... the conjunction of these powerful beastmen meant great opportunity and equally great danger. And Bone Gnasher, who had drive both Garhorn and Vetch into exile, was now waiting on Twohorn to return his old rival to his band? Where did a lowly hanger-on like Vetch stand in this? At the moment he was doing badly, it seemed, bearing bad news of Garhorn's fate.

Behind Twohorn a small group of beastmen were now congregating up the path. Twohorn turned to them and called: "Fetch Grag". At there fore a scraggy leather clad beastman turned to  convey the message, from the glimpse of tattoos and hanging strings of bones Vetch guessed this one was a shaman. 

There was a brief commotion then a goat man pushed through the crowd and made his way down the path to Vetch, Twohorn and the two looming hearth guards

When this newcomer had reached them Twohorn spoke again: "Find Garhorn. Bring him if he is alive. If he is dead, bring his horns. Here. Tomorrow. This time, before sundown."

Vetch was relieved for what was at least a temporary stay of execution. He did not need to answer in the affirmative but bowed deep, bending his knee in supplication. He snatched up his shield, knife in one hand and cudgel in the other.

"Take Grag" Twohorn added. Vetch looked up. The other beastman met his eye. This creature was probably of the same age as Vetch, maybe in a second decade, mature for a beastman, and better built than Vetch but still average at best for the species. He also bowed as Twohorn inclined his head in silent command then hurried forward past the brutal bodyguard, Magrad, to Vetch's side. As he passed his master Twohorn growled "Do not fail me".  Grag gave another bow and Vetch could smell fear.

Twohorn moved away with his lumbering hearth guard in tow, Magrad pausing for a moment to give both the goatmen a threatening look, and Vetch raised himself to his feet and turned to Grag who met his gaze as their lips curled in mutual contempt now that the old goat's attention was no longer on them.

"Why you?" Vetch asked bluntly. He reckoned that Grag was well down in Twohorn's estimation and he at least was under probation.

"Fuck off" said Grag.

Vetch shrugged. Twohorn and his two bodyguards had rejoined the small pack maybe a dozen strong that had now gathered up the path. Vetch saw him converse with the shaman. He turned back the way he had come and Grag followed. 

He passed three more beastmen, the stalkers who had surrounded him, perched insouciantly on the rocks above, watching him. These were small in stature and Vetch recognised their sharp rodent features. He recognised them, they had once been known as the rat pack and there had been a large number of them all of similar species. The homogeneity was unusual for beastmen who, by the nature of their reproduction, usually coalesced into loose groupings unrelated to and unconcerned with their common parenthoods or blood ties But the rat pack had seemed to function well and had been an effective terror under its leader, Toret. Until Toret had died and the rat pack had dwindled. Twohorn had obviously absorbed the remnants into his own pack. Vetch did not know how many remained now; this could be all of them.

The ravine stretched out again before him darker now in the growing twilight and he hurried his pace down the slope again. Vetch would not consider defying Twohorn's command. As the God-king Zalafel's spokesman his word carried a deeper command than just that of clan loyalty or fear. But Grag was a problem. He did not trust him and knew that he was not trusted in return. 

Best if he took the first opportunity to murder his companion then.

He didn't get the chance. The moment they were out of sight of Twohorn and the rat pack Grag hit him in the back of the head with the butt of his spear and Vetch was sent tumbling face first, his head smashing against rocks. Dazed for a moment he barely had a chance to twist around as the other beastman was on top of him, pinning his cudgel arm against the ground with his spear haft, his other hand clamped around Vetch's jaw as his teeth snapped in front of Vetch's face. His full weight bore down on Vetch, the albino's buckler was pressed with his hand between their chests. 

Grag sniggered his eyes narrow with murderous, or worse, intent, his spittle falling on Vetch's face. Vetch worked his fingers free of the strap of his buckler, he had been holding the stolen knife in the same hand, apparently unnoticed by the other beastman and now his grip was free of the shield he could push the shield aside.

"Now..." said Grag evilly, then he paused, feeling the sharp edge of the blade pressing against his chest. He looked down to see the knife in Vetch's hand, pressing between the seam of his leather jerkin above the heart but against his flesh nevertheless.

Vetch tightened his grip on the blade and smiled himself, he was in a bad position but so was Grag and he would make the other beastman bleed if he tried anything now. 

Grag snorted then pushed himself up and away, letting Vetch himself push back. Grag was physically stronger and with the spear and his own shield against Vetch's knife, cudgel and buckler, probably still had a marginal advantage. But he let Vetch get his hooves under him and stand and for a moment they weighed each other again, then both lowered their weapons. 

A truce for now.

That night as the near full moon rose he and Grag cautiously scoured the ravine. They found no humans live or dead but the smouldering remains of Krrek, his deer horns severed and taken from his charred skull, and the bloodied corpse of Pag, already claimed by a hungry cougar who watched the beastmen warily, growling low, until they withdrew;  the cougar was too great a danger for them to consider challenging, especially alert and possessive of its scavenged meal. And they could sense wolves gathering to challenge for the feast.

On nights like this the bright moonlight shone brightly on Vetch's white pelt but his visibility the albinoid beastman enjoyed hunting under its broken reflective glare. He felt the lunar glow that bathed him also invigorated and emboldened him, his weak eyes could see better that in either the glaring daylight or the darker nights, his sense of smell was heightened and his loins felt more keenly needful of release. When stalking he would keep to the darker shadows but when he left them his prey would often freeze, in awe or fear, at the sight of his ghost white form as he fell upon them. But a cougar or a wolf pack was still too great a challenge to risk his life on and he had decided that Grag was not to be relied on.

They searched up and down the slopes, finding the place where he had left Garhorn fighting the humans. There was blood, not much, and no body. Grag's sense of smell was stronger and they followed a slight trail down the slope to the base of the ravine. And, here and there, in soft patches of sand Vetch thought he could make out fresh prints from Garhorn's heavy hooves alongside human footprints, all together, leading down to the mouth of the ravine. They bickered and argued about the meaning of this but eventually agreed that all the signs were that the big beastman had been captured and taken by the humans into the valley. A humiliation so great that neither could easily accept it. 

From a high vantage they looked out across the valley to the dark hills opposite where Vetch knew a human tribe squatted in it rock pile hovels. He had raided their herds the month before with Krrek and Pag but never tarried or really scouted out the land on that side. Grag argued without conviction to continue following the trail as best they could, Twohorn wanted Garhorn by the next sundown. But the night had grown old and, while there was enough darkness for them to cross the valley, the trail would be more difficult to follow in the open valley floor and they would probably be stuck there in unfamiliar human territory at daybreak. Better, argued Vetch, to deliver Garhorn late than not at all, and hope for Twohorn's mercy. They would cross the next day, in the afternoon, try to find and free Garhorn after sunset and flee back to the ravine. If Twohorn sent out warriors to find the errant pair then they would, hopefully, have Garhorn in their company and be heading back when found. Perhaps his humiliation could be used to deflect or distract their master's ire or their silence traded for Garhorn's support.

Grag reluctantly agreed and Vetch led them back carefully to the cave where he had squatted with Garhorn and the pack. They entered gingerly through the front, wary of an ambush or even encountering a vengeful Garhorn if by some chance the Warchief had freed himself of his captivity. But it was empty but for the corpse of the human male Garhorn had killed, lying open mouthed, surprised expression still on his pallid face. The female he had left was gone, dashing any small hope Vetch had for the opportunity the fuck her. He realised he had really been hoping that she had remained, sitting naked in the pool of Garhorn's semen, waiting for him.

He contemplated the body in the middle of the cave floor, baffled that the humans had left it; not even stripped the shoes, belt and clothes the way that beastmen would, with the dead's possessions becoming the spoils of the pack to be divided at the leader's whim. Vetch knew humans gained their strength from their irrational regard for one another, he had seen their pyres for their fallen. Leaving the body for animals to gnaw seemed unusual. Perhaps the female had not returned with them or recounted the events in the cave. But perhaps they would come back later for their missing compatriot, whether dead or alive. 

He retrieved his meagre loincloth and belt from amongst the scattered bedding where he had nested the in the peaceful weeks before and now had somewhere to hang his shield, cudgel and stolen knife. On the ground nearby he spied another knife on the floor, dropped by one of the humans he guessed. He picked it up and inspected it, it was heavy with a serrated blade, a good weapon or tool. Securing it with another loop of leather strap he turned to find Grag pissing in the corpse's open mouth. He hissed and the other beastman tuned to smirk at him, but stopped nevertheless.

"Could have fucked it" said Grag. 

Vetch scowled at him. Besides an aversion to breeding with the too old or the too young beastmen would generally never think of partaking in the fucking of the dead. What would happen with the beastmens' unnatural seed in dead flesh? Vetch did not want to know: some things were better unimagined. Despite all their depravity beastmen had affinity with the forces of life and fertility, not death and decay. Maybe that was why Grag was out of favour with Twohorn? 

"Hungry... could eat it too", the other beastman added kicking the body as his urine gurgled down the dead man's throat and bubbles grew and popped between its lips.

Vetch shook his head. He too was hungry and was not averse to consuming human flesh, although it would have been more appetising if Grag had not befowled it. 

"Men may come back for it" he said. Grag stilled and looked thoughtful . "They do not leave their dead". Usually. 

"We should leave... find somewhere else" said Grag.

"No, we sleep there" Vetch tilted his head to the back of the cave where the walls narrowed into a short passage leading to darkness. "Another chamber, and another passage to escape, if too many come. But if one or two come we can take them".

"Why?" said Grag.

"Because we can" hissed Vetch. He was not brave himself but it was good to test the other's mettle. Also he was curious to see if any human's would come and the thought of the capture of a lone human stirred his loins. He had tasted that fruit and would taste it again if he could. The rear chamber was a good place to lurk as the chimney that rose up from it was easily climbable and lead to an opening high in the buffs that would be difficult to find from outside. This was where he and Garhorn had hidden when they heard the pair of humans invading the cave the day before.

Gathering leathers and furs for bedding and bones for gnawing the two beastman withdrew to the small rear chamber and settled down for the remainder of the night; both kept their backs against the wall. From his position in the deep shadows Vetch could see the mouth of the cave and the dark shape of the corpse through the passage and he could probably hear anything coming though the rear entrance where the human's had originally entered the main chamber.

Light slowly permeated the cave, and seeping down the chimney above them as the sun rose. Both beastmen drowsed fitfully, wary of each other but it was later in the morning when Vetch was roused to full wakefulness by a sound he recognised as movement though the rear passage. 

"Humans?" whispered Grag, his eyes wide as he got to his feet stooping against the low ceiling.

Vetch nodded and peered into the large chamber as human shapes began to emerge, shadows against the light of the cave mouth and whispered voices in the human tongue reached his ears along with the soft scrabbling of Grag as the other beastman began to clamber up the chimney to escape the cave. Vetch felt apprehensive, if he followed now it would be too easy for Grag to kick him back down the chimney and alert the humans. But also he thought he recognised the shape one of the humans. 

The day before he had been the standing in the entrance of the cave, looking down at a girl, now he was looking down on a girl, kneeling beside the corpse once more but this time she was the one silhouetted against the bright cave mouth. But he was sure it was the same one.

Vetch drew back into the shadow to watch and wait.


