by Rob Bayliss
The female came suddenly into his view. She carried a sword and seemed to be singling him out. She swung her sword at him. He caught it with his billhook in a shower of sparks. There was something about this female ….
She swung her sword again. Once more he parried, but swung a balled fist that caught the female on her jaw, splitting her lip and sending her sprawling. He leapt at her, lifting his weapon for a killer strike, but stopped suddenly. He sensed it, she was pregnant with an Arachane child. He was confused. No one escaped the pit. How could she be here when the nursery had burned?
Nurarna fell to the floor heavily. Her jaw ached where the creature had hit her. She began to black out; the world spun, but she had to stay conscious. The monster stood astride her, lifting the weapon to dispatch her. But it hesitated and instead leaned in closer to inspect her. Her hand sought the hilt of her sword and found it. She brought it up and stabbed the creature through its mouthparts, into its brain cavity. It slumped to the ground. She rolled away, gasping for air. She shook with fear at how close her end had come, fighting the urge to retch. Hands reached down to her and hauled her to her feet. She spat blood from her mouth and felt around inside with her tongue. Her teeth were intact. She heard a familiar voice that gradually became clear through the fog in her head, felt arms around her hugging her tightly.
“Nurarna? Are you well? The enemy is defeated. You came in the nick of time; thank you,” Kaziviere said. He shook his head slowly, looking into her eyes. “I thought it had you then, though. Do you know it is not yet dead? It is a shadowed immortal; see how already it tries to heal?”
Nurarna looked down at the shadow beast whilst wiping the blood from her split lip with the back of her hand. It was true, the foulness at her feet bled shadows that condensed and were knitting together its foul flesh.
“Good,” she said, “I want it conscious when I kill it. You two!” she said pointing at two warriors covered in green gore. “Help us get this abomination to the fire at the compound.”
Kaziviere, Nurarna and the others dragged the felled beast to the slave encampment. The gates had collapsed, but burned fiercely still. She instructed her followers to hold onto the creature’s arms. It was starting to come around; its fangs quivered and began to smack together. Nurarna grabbed a pitchfork and circled behind it. She lifted it, then thrust down with all her might. It passed through the creature’s abdomen, pinning it to the earth. It clicked and hissed at her in defiance. The pregnant bitch could torture it all it wanted. She could not kill an immortal.
Nurarna circled to face the creature. She lifted her short sword and held it in the air, addressing those that gathered around to watch.
“See this Immortal? This supposed god? Do not fear these vermin. We will be free from their terror. Hold this filth steady,” she said to the men who held its arms. She grasped one of the creature’s fangs and, bringing her sword to bear, sawed through it. The creature tried to rise and pull away, but it was held fast. Foul venom leached out of the fang as it came away, along with wisps of shadows that whipped and writhed in the air. She tossed the fang to one side and repeated the process with the other. Behind the fangs was what appeared to be some kind of mouth. She shoved the sword into it, making a hole, and worked the weapon from side to side to enlarge it. The creature clicked furiously and gave a high-pitched hissing sound.
“Oh, I hope it hurts, filth,” Nurarna exclaimed savagely. “Do not worry; death comes to all, even to you.” With that, she dropped the sword and plunged her hand into the space she had made. The creature shook and trembled as she reached her arm in, up to her shoulder. She grunted and felt around, before smiling in triumph as she brought out her hand. Her arm was slick with foul slimes and surrounded by wisps of shadows. In her grasp was a black beating heart. She held it above her head. Those who were gathered cheered. She tossed it into the fire and it burned fiercely as the flames greedily consumed the ancient flesh.
The held creature threw its head back as it shook. Those holding its arms found they held nothing as the Arachane’s body dissolved into shadows that dissipated into the breeze, as if it had never existed.
Kaziviere nodded in appreciation. He sidled up to Nurarna. “What shall we do now?” he asked.
Nurarna pointed to the city that was cloaked in sheets of rain. “See that city? Let’s burn it!”
Chapter 21
Tunaka paused in the retelling of the past. Both he and Kiri had sat down a short distance from home. Kiri put her arms around her father’s neck, and kissed his cheek.
“So Grandfather did protect you after all,” Kiri declared proudly.
“Yes, he did,” Tunaka said, smiling, one hand patting his daughter’s. “But only as a free man was he able to. Only by having ownership of his life was he able to willingly sacrifice it for those he loved.”
Kiri looked deep into her father’s eyes. “Maybe tomorrow, we can plant a tree in his memory, Ubaba?”
Tunaka put his arm around Kiri and hugged her. “Of course, my sweetling, that is a wonderful idea. We can plant it behind the house where it can give us shade from the strong afternoon sun. That way he can protect all of us still.” Tunaka paused and looked at his daughter with moist eyes. “He would have loved you, sweetling, I’m sure his soul looks down on us still. And that of my mother, who died when I was very young, and all those that have gone before: a long line of souls, all linked by love. Love is the most wholesome and powerful magic in the world Kiri, and the only truly eternal thing. Never forget that.”
“I won’t, Ubaba,” Kiri said, sighing in contentment and leaning against her father. “But the dark god’s magic was strong and he was surrounded by his Arachane children, how did you manage to overcome them all?”
Tunaka grinned. “Oh we did not have to fight them all, in the end. When we entered that terrible place, most of them had gone. You see they gave no thought to us, mere slaves. As far as they knew, we were captive in our compounds still, swapping our human masters for monstrous ones. In slaying the higher Arachane, the spawn were mere beasts of instinct. Of the swarm that had attacked us, only a mere handful escaped to the forests and none to the city. No, the dark god had his own plans and in his arrogance, we did not figure in his calculations.”
Kiri lifted her head from her father’s arm. “But where did the Arachane go, Ubaba, and how?”
“To know that, we must return to the Temple Plaza, where the dark god presented the new immortal king of Dofr’Arachane to the foulness ….”
***
The rain, thunder and lightning had ceased, but it was a night of madness. What was to be a sacred night of games and carnival celebration for the people of Dofr’Arachane became a carnivore’s night of fang and claw, of blood and horror and web-spun chaos.
The Arachane ran amok throughout the city, claiming it as theirs once more. Trip wires of silk were set down in the streets. These alerted them to movements and escape attempts. The spawn roamed the streets. They scratched at doors and windows, ever hungry, their fangs drooling venom. Many citizens were herded into the arena. Those who once cheered from the stalls now found themselves pitted against one another, or against the savage beasts in the cages below the sand. The dogel was once more the master of ceremonies, planning the different contests and taking revenge on those who had mocked him during his mortal life. Each soul’s passing fed the Dark Lord, while his children rutted and gorged in the stands. The Arachane were going to war and the Corpse Lord wanted their depraved appetites fully indulged. For some of the senile immortals it was like the days of their genesis, when they were clothed in the flesh of men. To his great disappointment, however, Dogel Serresel saw no sign of the slaver Glizaron.
Standing on the bloody sands, amid torn limbs and torsos, the Corpse Lord took Serresel’s oath of allegiance. In return he was granted the stewardship of the city, the Arachane and spawn that would remain in attendance, including those who were still beyond the city gates. His also were those mortals that might yet remai
n alive, within and without the walls of Dofr’Arachane.
Before the sun broke over the eastern horizon, the temple gates were flung open once more. A great sacrifice of men, women and infants was made before the Well of Souls, led by the Messiah of Shadows himself, to open the portal for the procession of Arachane. Thus it was that the Corpse Lord and his nightmare shadow children left Dofr’Arachane for the war against Taleel.
***
Before dawn, all was still beneath the walls of Dofr’Arachane. The screams of terror and pain had thankfully receded; all seemed quiet in the deathly city. A dull muffled thud softly reverberated at the base of the wall. Dust fell from the joints around a huge block of stonework. There was another soft thud, followed by a grinding of stone against stone. Slowly the block began to emerge out of the surrounding stonework. With a final grinding noise it fell away to fall face first into the sloped earth under the wall. A large warrior with a torch and scimitar crept carefully out of the hole. He wore mail, an eastern style helmet with a nasal guard and a curtain of mail hanging over his neck. He dropped the torch so that it remained inside and moved out, hugging the wall, looking left and right. Satisfied that it was safe, he put his hand in front of the hole and signalled to those within.
Two more warriors appeared. One carried a composite bow, while the other carried an axe. He and the first man to emerge took up position at opposite sides of the hole’s entrance, while the archer crept out into the dark. He nocked an arrow and drew his bow to his ear, peering down the length of the arrow into the half-light, watchful for any threat.
From out of the tunnel two human slave mules emerged. One threatened to stumble; both were laden with heavy bags and satchels over their backs and shoulders.
A threatening voice hissed behind them. “You drop any gold and I will pin you to the earth for the spiders. I will cut off your eyelids, so you cannot close your eyes to the terror as they eat you alive!”
Out came Glizaron, the slaver. He wore a brown cloak and had a cloth wrapped around his helm lest it reflect torchlight and alert enemies of their presence. Beneath his cloak, his armour was a coat of ringmail, the steel blackened and the leather weather-beaten. His right hand rested on the pommel of his scimitar. The only clue to his wealth and status was the ornate handle of his slavers’ whip, which he carried wound around his left hand. He tapped it on his thigh in impatience, looking behind him into the dark recess of the tunnel.
He licked his lips as a delicate foot emerged, shod in a soft green leather slipper. The elegant form of Saneesh stepped into the pre-dawn light. She wore a roughly spun cloak over her fine, figure-hugging silks. The cloak’s hood hid her jet-black hair, her fine olive features hidden by its shade and covered by the veil Glizaron had forced her to wear. Saneesh was only seventeen, yet worth more than all of the gold that the two slave mules struggled to carry. She had been tutored in the flesh temples of Dofr’Arachane by the pleasuring sisterhood, priestesses adept at prolonging climatic ecstasy. These skills included the fountain clasp, which Glizaron frequently had her perform for him. Her value was greater still because her maidenhead was still intact. He thanked the gods he had not indulged himself in her deflowering. He had been sorely tempted, especially when lost in his cups. But now she would command huge sums in the flesh markets of Joffrum, if she survived the long journey north. True, he had a fortune safe in the great bank of Acaross, but he had lost so much stock this day. He had drugged those in his house, including his harem of bed slaves, to keep the spiders occupied as he made good his escape from his villa. Those in his pens both within and without Dofr’Arachane had been lost already. He would have to establish himself in business all over again. Curse the Arachane … and curse that dog Serresel.
Behind Saneesh, drinking in her curves, emerged two more warriors, one with sword and shield and the other carrying a crossbow in his hands. Strapped to his back were three muskets with powder and shot. Such weapons were too noisy to use at present. To escape with their lives, utmost stealth was required.
The large warrior crept from the cover of the walls, looking up at the battlements to check for movement. Satisfied, he signalled for the others to join him, keeping low. Hugging the wall, they crept along the eastern edge of the city. They planned to cross the north road and main gate and head northwest to the wharfs, where the river widened. There were some shallow draught vessels in which they could sail north at speed, escaping this far-flung outpost. The thick clouds that had been circling the city had disappeared. The wind that had torn around the sky had died and a crescent moon looked down on the world. Under its faint silver glow, the webs and silk ropes could be seen draping around the north walls about the gate. The new masters of Dofr’Arachane were intent on keeping their livestock captive.
He looked on in displeasure as the slave mules struggled to keep a low profile whilst carrying such heavy loads. He hissed at Glizaron. “We would have been better served if they carried food, Glizaron. We cannot eat coin and we do not know how far this chaos has spread.”
Of all those in his retinue, only Bro’jek had access to Glizaron’s ear. He was not a bonded man as such; he sold his services to Glizaron, a status he constantly reminded his employer of. He had served the slaver for over ten years after the war with Taleel that never was, at the Straits of Tahlinjin. Acaross seemed content with the victory and Bro’jek’s legion had been disbanded as calls for a counter attack against Taleel went unheeded. But opportunities for the ruthless still presented themselves. There had been slaves aplenty after that conflict. Taleel had not only left dead sons on that shore. Bro’jek had captured many and sold them to galley captains at knockdown rates, until he had entered business with Glizaron as a lesser partner. There were rich profits to be made on the periphery of the realms of Acaross; a man could become a big fish in a small pond rather than risk being eaten, Glizaron had told him. He had not mentioned that he risked being eaten by demon nightmares, though.
“As you are constantly reminding me,” Glizarin replied bitterly, “if I cease paying you I will lose your services, you mercenary dog. Besides, when we get to civilisation we will need coin for bribes to get us to Joffrum.”
“Fair enough then,” Bro’jek replied, shrugging his shoulders, “If the worst happens we can eat the mules, I suppose.” He looked at the slaves, who would never raise their eyes to meet his. The whip had trained them well.
“I hope your little whore is as valuable as you say. You’ve tasted her wares, so you know I suppose. She will need feeding as well.”
“Not all her wares. She must remain intact if we are to have capital to re-establish our business. You can kill anyone who dares touch her. Now lead on, let us find a boat quickly.”
Bro’jek led the way around the north of the city, as the party moved stealthily in single file. They threaded their way around the silken drapes around the gate, using them as cover to cross the road, unseen by any inhuman eyes that might lurk above. Bringing up the rear, the swordsman hissed a warning. The whole party froze. Bro’jek carefully retraced his steps halfway back along the party. He crouched next to the bowman, who was looking back at his comrade bringing up the rear.
“What has he seen?”
“He says he heard movement on the webs above,” the archer replied in a whisper. His arrow was drawn back to his ear as he scanned the battlements for any sign of lurking sentinels above. “Though I cannot see anything up there.”
“We need to get to the wharf before dawn. Tell the fool to hurry along and stop wasting our time,” Bro’jek growled, turning to face the front and signalling for his colleagues to move on. He turned back to scan the battlements again and it was then that he saw it, a black shape moving slowly downwards. He waved his arms at the swordsman at the rear.
The man turned suddenly to look behind him, his shoulder and arm becoming snagged on the sticky web. Realising he was stuck, he tried frantically to pull away, becoming aware of the vibrations on the web as the monster drew near, attracted by his
struggles. “Help me!” the man urged on the verge of shouting. The panic in his voice could be plainly heard.
Bro’jek tapped the bowman, indicating the target for him to fire at. “Hurry,” he hissed, “before he makes too much noise and brings the whole nest down upon us.”
The archer nodded in understanding, bringing his sighted arrow down from the monster to rest upon the swordsman. The Arachane was descending at speed now as its prey’s struggles became more urgent. He saw the man’s chest expand to shout and scream out. There was a low twang as the arrow was released. With a soft thud the arrow pierced the man’s throat, reducing his imminent scream to a gargle as he drowned on his own blood. His body went into spasm, his eyes drawn wide as claws grabbed him, lifting him to the waiting jaws.
“Do not look back,” Bro’jek said, as he turned to lead the party on.
***
Kiri shook her head. “They left him to be eaten by those monsters? They were cruel men, Ubaba, to do that to one of their own.”
Tunaka nodded his head. “They were as monstrous as the beasts they escaped from. They thought to slip away, giving no thought to the rest of us outside. The slaver would have made his way north to resume his trade, as if all that happened in Dofr’Arachane was merely an inconvenience.”
“Would have, Ubaba? He didn’t get away then?”
Tunaka chuckled. “We had not been idle as that terrible night progressed. We had opened all the compounds, released all the slaves from outside the city walls … those who yet lived. We had raided the small fort that guarded the river emerging from the forests. The Arachane had been there before us though. We found husks and remains of men, but weapons as well. We were an army. We had Nurarna, and we watched and waited for the dawn.”
“You saw those cruel men and their slaves leave then, Ubaba?”
