by C S Vass
Two of his enemies found the courage to face him together. Swords struck like snakes towards his stomach, but rather than falling back, Benjiko smashed forward and sent a decapitated head flying through the wilderness. In his shock, the other had dropped his sword. Benjiko ended him quickly, and then spinning on his feet sent a windmill kick to sideswipe another attacking blade away from his head. The off-balance fighter stumbled before Benjiko’s sword hacked him in half.
Hot pain flared in the prince’s arm, and his sword fell from his hand. He felt blood, wet and sticky, pooling underneath his sleeve. Benjiko moved forward in time to avoid the follow-up blow and remove the thin knife from his arm. Tossing it aside, he instead held up his muscled hands that had swelled to nearly twice their normal size. Rushing forward he punched the enemy in the face so hard that it would have had the same effect had he struck him with a sledgehammer.
Picking up his sword he prepared to face off again.
On and on it went. He killed foe after foe. The enemies screamed and died at his feet while snow drank their blood. At last, there was only one left.
“It’s too late to run,” Benjiko snarled. “But if you come forth honorably, I can at least make is painless.”
The man smirked. “Of all the surprises that I might have found here today. A Star-blessed Wolf. Well, you certainly have handled your little secret cleverly, Prince Benjiko. We should have expected as much. But you see, you’re a poor imitation of the real thing.”
“What are you talking about?” Benjiko asked.
A curtain of moonlight fell between him and his opponent. He could see bright blue eyes staring at him from underneath a wide hood.
“You Star-blessed get a taste of power, sometimes even a surge when the stars align in just the right manner. But we who follow the true goddess, Ashanimara, we have this power absolute.”
Benjiko did not have time to think about what had just been said to him. Howling, his opponent threw himself onto the ground. Benjiko tried to run forward, but a deep, aching fear in the pit of his stomach rooted his feet to the spot.
What’s he doing?
His enemy’s body mutated and grew. Blobs of flesh exploded through the fabric of his clothes as fur cascaded across his naked skin. His face elongated into a fierce snout lined with sharp teeth connected by webs of saliva. His hands were now bigger than Benjiko’s face, each finger with a dagger of a nail glistening at its end in the light.
“The Wolf Goddess will not be disappointed!” the beast howled in its gargled, sub-human voice.
“Werewolf,” Benjiko muttered. Dread crept through him as he recalled Brett’s tales of nearly certain death at the hands of Ashanimara’s servants. He backpedalled while trying to gauge how best to attack his foe’s new form.
Snarling, the beast leapt at him and left a bloody gash across his chest. Benjiko’s heart pounded while his feet stumbled. He could feel the blood pounding in his temples like war drums. The werewolf was stronger and faster than him.
“Why does your goddess want me dead?” Benjiko asked in an effort to buy himself more time. Blood pooled at his feet as his wound continued to weep.
“Is it not enough that your sign is an affront to her?” the werewolf howled. “There is no Wolf in the sky, not one that matters anyway. There is only Ashanimara on earth.”
“Tell me the true reason!” Benjiko panted. The forest swam before him as his vision blurred. “I deserve to know.”
“Why don’t you ask your false god when you meet him!” the werewolf howled.
Benjiko fell to his knees. To his great shame, overcome by fear, he closed his eyes and prepared to die. He was lost in a disastrous chaos of shock and grief. This could not be how his story ended.
The beast roared, and Benjiko felt death leap at him with snapping jaws.
There was a hideous crunch. Benjiko’s stomach was transformed into an ocean of despair. Hot shame washed down his legs. Was he dead? He was still in terrible pain. He had heard that pain did not join you once you passed through the curtain of this realm. But then, how would anyone ever know?
“It’s all right. I’ve got you now, Benjiko.”
That voice. Benjiko opened his eyes and immediately emptied his stomach on the snowy forest ground. Before him the werwolf was splayed like a horrible crushed bug, its head turned into pulp by Logun’s war hammer.
“You’re injured,” the Shigata said. “We need to get you back to camp. Can you walk?”
Benjiko couldn’t even speak. Hands shaking, he touched his face hardly aware that he was alive.
Logun crouched by him, giving Benjiko the time he needed to collect himself. It was one of the characteristics in the man that Benjiko had come to appreciate. Brett would be fumbling over himself asking a waterfall of questions, each one coming before Benjiko could answer the last.
A hot bubble of guilt was swelling in Benjiko’s stomach. He had lost his cool completely. Fear had swallowed him whole. He was a powerful Star-blessed and heir to the entire West. The pride of a nation. But the prospect of death had shattered him. Now that fear was swept away by a wave of shame.
“Slow your breathing,” Logun said. “It’s all right. You’ve lost blood, but not enough to kill you. You’ll be okay.”
Benjiko could barely speak. “I—I…”
“Calm yourself. It’s okay. We’ll take care of it. I’ll treat your wounds and get you fresh clothes. Discretely.”
The thought of Brett seeing Benjiko in his current state sent another wave of dread washing over him. “Where’s Brett,” he managed.
“Back at camp. I insisted on coming for you alone. He agreed in case you came back. Don’t worry. He doesn’t need to see the extent of what happened.”
Benjiko sighed, tempted by the offer. “No,” he said at last. “Don’t be silly.”
Logun gave him a questioning look. “Very well,” the Shigata relented. “Let me see to those wounds. You’re lucky. There’s no danger of death so long as I get this wrapped up. Can you walk?”
Benjiko tested his legs. They were shaking, but he could stand. Logun wrapped his stomach wound with a cloth. “We’ll want to get you back to camp. You’ll feel fine once you’re by a fire and changed. Tell Brett about the attack if you wish, but I’d recommend ordering him to patrol the nearby woods when we get back so that he doesn’t see…well,”
Benjiko’s face flushed red. There was no point in acting with machismo. “I completely fell to pieces, Logun,” he said. “I can’t believe I reacted that way. I never would have thought…”
“Enough,” Logun said, putting his hand up. “You’re not the first person to feel fear when death comes. Not by a long shot. I’ve seen it in allies and enemies over and over. You’re in that rare minority that actually walks away afterwards. So your bones got rattled. Deal with it. Quite frankly I don’t care, and if we’re really going to do this thing, then we can’t have you going to pieces over some stupidity. Besides, by the looks of it you just killed ten men. No small feat, even for a Wolf.”
Benjiko nodded. “Fair enough,” he said. “Thank you, Logun.”
The two walked back slowly. Brett immediately ran towards them upon their entrance to the camp. Logun promptly informed him that there was an attack, and asked Brett to patrol the woods.
“The Prince is hurt!” Brett shouted, racing toward them.
“Please Brett,” Benjiko said, keeping his voice firm. “I’m all right. Logun will bandage me, and we can discuss what happened afterwards. Please, I need you right now. Survey the nearby woods and make sure that there’s no sign of anyone else.”
Frowning, Brett bowed his head and left without another word. The man would die for me in an instant, Benjiko realized. Turning to Logun, he knew that he could not trust the Shigata’s loyalty nearly so far. But all the same, while Logun might not die for him, he would certainly die fighting alongside him if need be. That was something.
The Shigata threw some more kindling on the fire and prodded i
t to life. A different type of heat immediately washed over Benjiko, bringing his spirits up.
“So you’re a Wolf,” Logun said as he began inspecting the slashes on Benjiko’s stomach. “Smart of you to leak out those rumors about being a Seducer. No one takes those fops seriously in battle. At least not the kind of battle with swords.”
“It was Nicolai’s idea,” Benjiko said. “He thought it might pay off someday. It will be good to reunite with him in Frost. He’s always thinking three steps ahead.”
“Sounds like a valuable ally,” Logun said. “Needless to say, your secret is safe with me. No need to have assassins coming after me in the night to be sure I keep my trap shut.”
Benjiko smiled, not missing the sarcasm in Logun’s voice. “I’d fear for the assassins if I decided that. No, Logun, you’ve proven yourself a valuable companion. A good friend.”
Logun blinked at Benjiko’s last statement, but did not raise his eyes. An awkward silence fell between them while the Shigata worked at wrapping Benjiko’s wounds and helped him change into new clothes. Then he spoke.
“I’m glad to hear you think so, Prince Benjiko. You see, I’ve been doing some thinking. I have a request.”
Benjiko observed the Shigata, wondering why he was suddenly so formal. “Go on then. What is it?”
Logun stopped what he was doing and met Benjiko’s eyes. “I’m not a lord or a diplomat, so I’m not going to preface this with any fancy speeches. I’m willing to help you go to Frost and take back the kingdom from your father or the temple or whoever else is causing this mayhem. In exchange, I want you to allow me to open up a Shigata stronghold in Iryllium.”
“Shigata… in Iryllium?” Benjiko scratched his head. That was the last thing in the world he had expected. “But your home is on Black Wolf.”
“Was on Black Wolf,” Logun said. “It was destroyed. Fighting your enemies if I recall correctly.”
“The Tarsurians are your enemies too,” Benjiko said. “Don’t forget that, Logun.”
“Your answer?”
“I… I don’t know. I think it’s a little early to be making such plans.”
“On the contrary, Prince Benjiko, now is exactly the time to be making such plans. Don’t worry. We’ll rebuild Unduyo as well. But I want a stronghold in the capital… as well as any other city that will have us. Once our presence in Iryllium has been formally declared, the other lords will warm up to the idea right away.”
Benjiko frowned. He could not say it, but the Shigata were the outcasts of society. Their reputation was that of ruthless killers. The lived amongst and slaughtered demons. Took money for blood. And those terrible rumors about the Seal of Love. If he allowed them in Iryllium, then the people might hold it against him. It could give the temple grounds to say that Benjiko was in bed with monsters.
But then again… if he refused then he could be scorning the one faction that might be the most useful in the war to come. The Shigata fighting alongside him could make the difference between victory and defeat. More than likely we’ll all be killed before any of this matters anyway, Benjiko thought bitterly.
“Your answer, Prince Benjiko?”
Benjiko sighed. There was nothing to be done. “Very well, Logun. When I’m king, I will allow the Shigata to have a stronghold in Iryllium. I will encourage the other lords to do the same, but I will not force them to. You will have to win over each in your own time.”
Logun smiled. Benjiko had not seen the Shigata do that very often. Maybe not ever. “Then we have a deal. Now let’s finish getting you cleaned up.” Eyes gleaming wickedly, the Shigata added, “If Captain Brett comes back and sees you still in this state, he might just piss himself.”
Chapter 6
Rain, mud, and shit. It had been a week since Godwin spoke with Zabiah and Shane, and a week of his life consumed by rain, mud, and shit. In the battle of the seasons, it seemed that winter was giving way to spring as the rain continued to fall and mingle into slushy fields of utter misery. Day and night Godwin shivered as he constantly attempted to keep his supplies dry, his socks from getting soaked, and his mind from going crazy with the endless, delirious rain, mud, and shit.
He was alone.
It wasn’t so much of a decision as it was something that happened to him. When the rain lightened enough for Godwin to consider leaving the Kirishelliwan camp, he thought of his journey with Robert. The pain and grief that he had caused the man. The constant danger. The constant hardship. Just… everything. He knew that saying goodbye would be difficult, too difficult. But it was clear that their paths had to diverge, and so he took his leave without saying a word.
Thus began his journey through the rain, the mud, and the shit.
Almost as soon as he had left the Kirishelliwan camp, when the skies had lightened and it seemed the storms were through, a powerful gust of icy wind blew through the trees and the clouds solidified once more. Godwin cursed as he pulled his sopping wet cloak tightly around himself. He still had the comfortable garments from Lord Rockhelm, but while that could take off the worst effects of the weather, he was still in for an utterly miserable journey.
His path led him through the dips and rises of the northern Chillway’s hills and into the flat and desolate lands that just days earlier were covered in snow. Though spring might have been on the way, the farther south he moved the colder it got as the Chillway’s throat began to squeeze him from multiple sides. The bare trees scratched menacingly at him with finger-like branches that reminded him eerily of the hamadryad hands that had so nearly pierced his neck. On top of that, he felt a cold growing in his sinuses that he knew would get worse before it got better.
By nightfall, Godwin’s attempts at creating campfires were swallowed by the muck that surrounded him. Normally he was more than capable of creating fires in the most adverse of circumstances, but for whatever reason it seemed that the forest itself was against him. Branches he swore were dry moistened instantly the moment he got them back to camp. Kindling was blown away by sudden gusts any time he saw a spark of flame. The only time he actually managed to create a small fire, the tarp he had constructed collapsed underneath a sudden burst of rain and extinguished it.
Frozen, unhappy, and painfully lonely, Godwin continued on.
It was on the seventh day since he departed the Kirishelliwan camp that he encountered trouble. Godwin knew immediately that he was witnessing a highway robbery, even when he could only see their silhouettes in the sunset light. A perverse sense of pleasure washed over him. His mood was fouler than anytime he could remember. There were only three men. They were bandits so scared that they actually used cloth to cover their faces so that nobody would report them to the local guards. Godwin had only ever seen such a thing used in childhood when playing robbers and royalty.
“Keep walking, silver eyes,” one of the thugs grumbled as Godwin approached. “This doesn’t concern you.” Their victim was a man of about the same age as Godwin. He donned blue fur robes and a medallion with the ‘J’ worn only by members of the Cult of Jericho.
Godwin eyed up the situation. All things considered, the Jericho man seemed fairly unalarmed.
“What’s going on?” Godwin asked. “Playing at robbers and royalty?”
“Back off, I said,” the robber replied. “This ain’t no game!”
“He’s got the silver eyes,” another warned. “We should go.”
Godwin smiled horrifically. “Not going to invite me to play?”
“What sign are you?” the first man demanded.
“Forsaken. Want to try your luck? Even you dipshits could probably come out on top against a Star-cursed.”
“Stop fucking around,” the man demanded even as his two allies shrunk away. “I said what sign!”
“Maybe I’m the Murderer,” Godwin said in a near-whisper. His breath turned visible in the rainy cold that surrounded them. “Why don’t you shake my hand and find out?”
That was enough to make the courage of his comrades f
lee. They stumbled off in a drunken sprint and disappeared instantly in the blackness of the woods.
“Not very courageous, your friends,” Godwin observed.
“Yeah, I’ll deal with them after I deal with you,” the man spat. “Murderer my arse!”
“My pleasure,” Godwin said as he started to draw his sword.
“No!”
The man from the Cult of Jericho had spoken. Stepping forward, he gently placed his bare hand over Godwin’s gloved one. “No,” he repeated. “It’s all right. Leave them be.”
Godwin looked at the man and was deeply puzzled. But the strange behavior didn’t end there. The Jericho worshipper took a small coin pouch out of his pocket and tossed it to the remaining bandit. “There. Share it with your friends. No more trouble if you swear you will.”
The bandit’s eyes narrowed with suspicion over the cloth that outlined his large nose. “Fuck off,” he shouted, and throwing the money into the mud at their feet, he ran into the wilderness.
Godwin blinked while the remaining man bent down and picked up his money from the mud and pocketed it. He gave Godwin an angry, perplexing look.
“Don’t tell me you were just buying some wares from them out here,” Godwin snapped.
“They were trying to rob me,” the man said. “What of it? They clearly needed it. They didn’t even know which end of the knife to hold.”
Godwin scoffed. “They were still human garbage. The fact that they were simply incompetent doesn’t change that.”
“Maybe,” the man said. “That’s not for me to decide. In any case, it doesn’t matter now. Thank you for looking out for me, however… crudely you may have done it. I’m Malcom of the Cult of Jericho.”
To Godwin’s surprise, Malcom offered his hand.
“Godwin of the Shigata. I guess you’re not worried I’m actually a Star-blessed Murderer.”
