Mad God's Muse

by Matthew P Gilbert

  He did not wait long. Sandilianus gestured with a roll of his head, and the two stepped away from the others to speak in private.

  Sandilianus offered him a wry smile. “You were right. It is not Elgies. It is a Nihlosian camp. We estimate two hundred men.”

  Ahmed raised an eyebrow. “That is no mere patrol. It would not seem to fit their pattern. Eleran says they keep to their city for the most part.”

  “Aye. There is something going on alright. I am half a mind to attack them and avenge Yazid.”

  Ahmed frowned. “We are under orders to return with intelligence, not fuck around and get ourselves killed for vengeance.” And it would absolutely put an end to any hope of cooperating with the sorcerers.

  Sandilianus nodded. “It’s was just angry talk. There is more reason than that to hold. They are not the only ones moving out here. We found the Elgies, too.”

  Ahmed could not conceal his surprise. “What? What are they doing?”

  “Hiding. Waiting. Our best guess is that they plan to attack the Nihlosians in their sleep.”

  Ahmed clenched his jaw a moment, absorbing the information. “How many?”

  “Three hundred or close to it. They are idiots, but they have weapons. With numbers and surprise, they stand a good chance of slaughtering the Nihlosians.”

  Ahmed felt a deep revulsion. “In their sleep. Without declaration of war. It is inhuman.”

  “I told you before, boy, you are naive. It is all too human, in my experience.”

  Ahmed glowered at his second, insulted, but knowing Sandilianus had spoken nothing but truth. Ilaweh is kind to have given me such a wise and strong guide. I am ungrateful and proud. “What do you recommend, then?”

  Sandilianus’s eyes widened in mirth. “Me? I don’t make policy. I follow orders. Give some. You need the practice.”

  It was Ahmed’s turn to chuckle. “So it is my choice? Then I say we intervene.”

  “And who is our enemy?”

  He is testing me. Making me answer the questions I ought to have already asked myself. Ahmed gave him a solemn, quick nod, and answered with confidence, “We are at war with the Nihlosians, but it is an honorable war for the most part. We can hardly condemn them for being confused. They did the right thing in the end. But the Elgies...” He spat on the ground in disdain. “They are evil men, murderers who attack like cowards, unannounced. It is the duty of all Ilaweh’s followers to destroy evil.”

  A broad grin spread over Sandilianus's face. “Bold. The twenty of us against three hundred? You want to make sure we all die well, eh?”

  Ahmed scowled at him, annoyed at the mockery, and stammered a bit as he answered. “The Nihlosians will be fighting them as well.” Ilaweh preserve me, if I lose the sense to even speak, how can I lead? His reasoning was sound, and he knew it. He took a deep breath and found his normal voice again. “The Elgies won't come at us as a mass. They will straggle in and we will cut them down like the dogs they are.”

  Sandilianus gave him a cool stare, considering. “The Nihlosians may attack us anyway, even if we are aiding them. They fear us greatly.”

  “As well they should,” Ahmed answered, his words strong, his confidence rising again. “If they turn on us, we will likely die. But I do not fear death in the service of Ilaweh. This is the right thing to do.”

  “And the prince? If we die here, our mission fails.”

  “Philip serves Ilaweh just as we do. He will understand, if not in this life, then when he sees us again.”

  Sandilianus stood for several moments, mulling Ahmed’s words and stroking his chin. Damn you! You needn't draw it out so! Finally his expression changed to a grim smile, and hammered a fist against his chest. “Then it is a good day to die.” He clapped a hand on Ahmed's shoulder and squeezed. “You did well. You've learned much.”

  “Is it what you would do?”

  Sandilianus chuckled and shook his head. “If we survive, I will tell you how I would have handled things.”

  Ahmed tried to give the elder soldier a sour look, but it was spoiled by his grin. “Old men and riddles.”

  “Incentive to keep me alive,” Sandilianus answered. “An important consideration in this business.”

  Now that the decision had been made, Ahmed felt the weight of leadership settle firmly on his shoulders once again, but it seemed to fit him better this time. Good. Perhaps I have some small chance of finishing Yazid's work after all. “Pass the word. To arms, and quickly. We will crush these dogs or die in the attempt.” He paused for a moment, knowing his next command would not be liked. “And tell the Nihlosian to stand down.”

  Sandilianus regarded him with confusion and some anger. “Ahmed! He has proved himself well enough to fight with us! Why would you insult him so?”

  “So he has, and I mean no insult. But things are already precarious. He said himself, his people are not fond of him. If they see him with us, it may make it even harder to get them to see reason. We cannot risk it.”

  Sandilianus ground his teeth and nodded. “I will tell him.”

  Chapter 15

  Hairball

  Logrus awoke to darkness, the scent of blood and smoke heavy in the air. He was in a tent, lying face down in the dirt, tied hand and foot. Aiul, likewise bound and bloody, lay motionless on the dirt floor beside him, perhaps dead.

  Logrus waited where he woke, silent and unmoving, listening and taking stock. He heard voices outside the tent, arguing, from the tone. Flickering shadows announced that a fire burned nearby, in front of the entrance.

  He tested his bonds and found them only marginally secure. There was a little play in the rope that he could make use of, given time and privacy. Fortunately, this was exactly what he had. The fools had guards outside, but none actually observing him. He allowed himself a small, wry smile, knowing exactly why that would be. What had he been, this time, in their eyes? It was doubtful that they even agreed upon it, save that it was a monster.

  The tent flap hung open slightly, just enough to allow him to peek out. It was a small window on the outside world, but enough to show immediate threats. Six guards sat around a fire outside, two on a bench directly in front of the tent flap. They were playing some sort of game and drinking, not terribly concerned about their captives. All were armed, but one had apparently taken Aiul’s mace as a trophy. He held it across his lap like a child, apparently quite proud of his find.

  It will be trivial to kill you all.

  He worked at the binding ropes, stretching them as much as he could, then twisted his left arm and pulled until he dislocated his shoulder. It was less painful than it had been in the past, but it was enough to make him bite his tongue to stay quiet. Putting it back will be worse. He wriggled his hands beneath his backside and around his feet, clenching his jaw at the pain of overstretched muscles, then used his teeth to untie the knots.

  Once free, all that remained was to reset the shoulder. It was a difficult process to do alone, and doubly so in that it needed to be silent. A tree would have been lovely for that, but there was none within the tent, and the poles were fragile. Logrus settled for lying on his side and pressing the shoulder against the ground. He put as much of his body weight against it as possible, and prayed to Elgar it was enough. For a moment, he feared it wasn’t, but at last he was rewarded by a satisfying pop and a jolt of nauseating agony. He bore it in silence. It was hardly the first pain he had endured, and it would certainly not be the last.

  He clamped a hand over Aiul’s mouth to stifle any unexpected cry, then shook him gently. Aiul gave a slight moan, at last rousing and looking at Logrus with cloudy, confused eyes. Logrus held his hand in place until Aiul was fully conscious, then released him, raising a finger to his lips.

  “Are you injured?” Logrus whispered as he removed his companion’s bonds. When his hands were free, Aiul probed his various aches and pains a few moments, testing for damage beyond bruising, then shook his head.

  “I don’t think so,” he whispered back.


  “You can fight, then?”

  Aiul’s eyes grew distant, his face pinched. He turned his head away and stared at the dirt floor, a bad sign. He was wavering. Logrus punched him in the arm, a hard blow, and glared at him, pushing with his eyes.

  Aiul rubbed at the pain and gave him an evil look. “No. No more fighting.”

  Logrus sighed. This was unexpected, but not unbelievable. The knights of flame were at times moody children. “Idiot. We must fight. There is no choice.”

  Aiul shook his head, still refusing to meet Logrus’s gaze. “It’s gone too far. I can put a stop to it right now.”

  “Fool! We will die here!”

  Aiul at last faced him, and Logrus saw there were tears welling in his eyes. “I am a healer, not a killer! Yet look at what I have become!”

  Logrus stared at Aiul. What did Elgar see in this weak, flinching buffoon? “Do you not know our captors? They are your people! The ones who killed your wife!”

  Aiul swallowed hard. “Yes. And all I need to do to prevent any more killing is to walk outside and bend a knee.”

  Logrus ground his teeth in cold anger. This was not mere moodiness. This was a betrayal of Aiul’s own goals. “You would bow to the woman who murdered your wife? I should kill you for such treachery!”

  Aiul looked, if anything, even more resolute. “Did you not hear what I said? There need not be any more killing!”

  “You make fine excuses, but here is another explanation, a simpler one: cowardice! You told me what it was to love a woman. And now you betray her memory to save your own skin!”

  Something dark and malignant flashed in Aiul’s eyes, and Logrus smiled in his own mind. There it is.

  Aiul hunched his shoulders and leaned toward Logrus. “I would trade my own life for hers if I could!”

  Logrus sneered at this. “Words. You’ve said before your life means nothing to you, so what is the sacrifice in that?”

  Aiul sat for long moments, stunned, his mouth working but forming no words. When he finally did speak, his voice was more a croak than a whisper, harsh and dangerously loud for their circumstances. “Shut up!”

  Logrus fancied he could see a faint gleam of red in Aiul’s eyes, a glowing ember needing only to be blown to burst back into flame. “If you will not kill for her, then I say your love was a lie!”

  Logrus could see it clearly in Aiul’s eyes as the jagged thing surged forth with the strength and savagery of a hurricane. He could almost hear the thunder, see the flash of lightning as the storm overtook Aiul.

  “You want me to kill for her?” Aiul roared, not caring if his captors heard. “I’ll start with you!”

  Aiul surged forward, but Logrus was both ready for the attack and significantly faster. He dodged Aiul’s charge with ease, leaving the lanky Nihlosian to careen headlong through the tent flap and trip over the occupied bench. Aiul, guards, and bench hit the ground in a flailing heap as the remaining four men gaped in shock.

  Logrus rushed to the entrance. Aiul lay face down in the dirt, cursing in pain and rage alongside an untended, dying fire. A boiling coffee pot, balanced precariously on a grate above the coals, steamed and dribbled around its lid. The fire hissed and sputtered fitfully at the unwelcome drops of moisture. Two guards were likewise entangled with one another and the bench, trying to regain their senses and their feet.

  The other four guards leapt from their seats, scrambling for their weapons and shouting for help. The one with Aiul’s mace took a bead on the back of Aiul’s head and raised his weapon high.

  Logrus tore a heavy pole from the tent as he stepped out, and hurled it like a javelin, sparing Aiul’s life by scant seconds. The pole caught the attacker full in the mouth, sending him to the ground in a spray of blood and shattered teeth. Aiul’s mace fell with him, landed with a leaden thud, and rolled within easy reach of its owner. Logrus wondered bemusedly if such was Elgar’s work, or blind luck.

  Does it really matter?

  Logrus lunged at a guard on the other side of the fire, one still reaching for his sword, and tackled him, sending them both spilling over the bench and to the ground. The soldier screamed and began flailing with bare fists. Logrus drove his fingers to the second knuckle into the man’s eye sockets, noting absently that the man’s scream of agony was slightly different than one of fear. Why had he never noticed that before? He had no time to contemplate it overmuch.

  He ducked another guard’s wild, panicked swing, feeling the weapon part his hair as it passed overhead, and lunged back toward the fire. He snatched up the boiling coffee pot and dashed its contents into his attacker’s face, then spun to deal with the next as his victim fell to the ground, screeching and clawing at his eyes in agony.

  Aiul, on his feet now and still insane with rage, snatched up his mace and swung it with both hands at Logrus’s head. The nearest of the two remaining soldiers blocked Aiul’s blow out of reflex. This was followed by a pause as the other combatants gaped at him while he cursed himself for a fool. The battle resumed a second later as Aiul, now inside the man’s guard, swung the mace backhanded and stove in the side of his helmet.

  Logrus leapt on the back of yet another guard and hammered the coffee pot against the man’s head. As the two went down in a crash, he saw, peripherally, the remaining guards fleeing, and Aiul chasing after them.

  In some ways, it was good, he reflected as he bashed the coffee pot against the guard’s now-cracked skull. He didn’t relish being hit from behind by a supposed ally. By the time he saw Aiul again, he would likely have forgotten any quarrel he had with Logrus. The Knights of Flame were like that.

  Logrus pushed the bloody corpse aside and sat alone for the moment, catching his breath.

  How many will we have to fight?

  Ahmed watched the camp from a nearby hill through Sandilianus’s spyglass. Men were fighting in the camp now, but why? And why so few?

  He passed the glass to Sandilianus. The elder soldier grunted and shrugged. “Odd. I don’t like it.” He passed the glass back to Ahmed.

  “Nor I.”

  A runner came pounding up and skidded to a halt before them, waiting breathlessly for recognition. Damn, what was his name? Ahmed was embarrassed that he could not remember. A generic would have to do. “Report, soldier.”

  “The Elgies are moving. They began their advance not thirty seconds ago. They have split their force and are approaching the camp from east and north.”

  Sandilianus raised an eyebrow at this. “Whatever is going on down there, it’s spurred them to action.”

  Ahmed nodded and raised the spyglass again, confirming both the Elgie advance and the fact that the fighting below now was something of an entirely different nature. The first of the Elgie forces were even now reaching the periphery of the camp. Fire sparked in the darkness as they struck torches. He could see their faces, made even uglier in the flickering torchlight.

  They were going to use fire. Not even the mercy of a quick blade. He passed the glass back to Sandilianus. “It’s time. Get a good look.”

  Sandilianus considered the situation in the distance. “We strike from the east as well, hit that section in the rear. They will be caught between us and the Nihlosians. We’ll break them easily, and deal with the rest once we join forces.”

  If we join forces. “Recall the scouts. We must move at once.”

  Sadrik sat bolt upright, highly perturbed at having been awakened from a lovely dream. Maklin, on the other side of the tent, let out a single, trumpeting snore, then rolled over. Other than that, silence. What woke me, then? He rose to his feet quietly, listening.

  He heard the snap of a twig outside, near the tent opening. Orange light bloomed as a torch flared. Shadows danced across the inside of the tent, making it seem as if there were dozens of people outside. But that was impossible. Unless…

  Sadrik charged the tent flap and snatched it aside. A dirty, ragged man grinned at him in awkward surprise, the gaps in his smile more numerous than the teeth
. His torch was inches from the tent, and any number of others like him were running through the camp, setting tents ablaze.

  “You little shit!” Sadrik shouted. Flame from the torch poured down the gap-toothed man’s arm like water, spilling over him in a fountain of orange, yellow, and blue as he wailed in horror and jumped up and down.

  Maklin made a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a cough, and followed it with a disgusting hawking of phlegm. Sadrik didn’t know which was worse, the screaming human torch or the human bagpipes.

  The flaming man dropped to the dirt and tried to put out the flames by rolling, but Sadrik was in no mood for benevolence. The flames rolled over every inch of his body. The air filled with the scent of cooked meat as the man leapt to his feet and ran in circles, his cries just one voice amongst a sea of screams. He stumbled into another tent, setting it ablaze, and staggered out of view behind it, still screaming.

  Maklin hacked again and stood. He stretched and gave a huge yawn. “Flashy but stupid.”

  Sadrik glared over his shoulder at the old man. “What’s to stop me from setting you on fire, too?”

  Maklin struck a contemplative pose, rubbing at his chin as if deep in thought. “The fact that our mission is important, and it would likely fail if I had to kill you and confront Maranath and Ariano alone?” He flashed Sadrik a wicked grin.

  Sadrik smiled back. “Fair enough. Let’s sort this out.”

  Caelwen staggered as his helmet turned most of a blow meant to bash his head in. Out of reflex, he struck back with his sword and was rewarded with a scream of pain. He couldn’t see the result, even if his helmet hadn’t twisted and blocked his vision. It took several seconds for his sight to clear of jagged, black lines. He jerked his head to the side, righting his helmet, and thanked whatever gods were watching that his opponents were too stupid and cowardly to even recognize his lapse, much less capitalize on it.