Death's Chosen (First Cohort Book 3)

by M. R. Anthony

  “Give it to us and you can go,” said a second creature, advancing to join the first.

  I didn’t know exactly what it was asking for. I guessed it was either mistaken, or it knew we’d taken something from the stone coffin a few miles away. Whatever the truth of it, I wasn’t going to give them anything. If we had something that was important enough for them to want, it was definitely something I’d do everything possible to keep.

  “Aren’t you even going to tell them to piss off?” asked Sinnar with humour.

  “Deeds, not words, Lieutenant,” I admonished him. We were friends enough to understand. “Let’s find a way out,” I finished, hoping we weren’t going to find ourselves trapped here with these creatures. I set myself and Weevil at the back, with Ploster and Sinnar to the front. In the middle, Beamer and Tinker limped along together as we continued. We didn’t get far before I heard the sound of sharp nails rasping across stone. There was something about the noise which told me that the creatures were coming for us, and this time there’d be no attempt at negotiation.

  9

  They dashed along the corridor, their eyes fixed on us and their claws scraping on the walls and the floor. They were much faster than I’d expected and the closest one leapt at me with its nails extended. I stepped back and chopped at it with my sword, quickly discovering how stupid I’d been to think I could use a six-foot weapon in a corridor this size when there was another man standing next to me. The blade itself felt alive in my hands, but when it struck against the creature’s flesh, it was like hitting solid stone. The power of my blow knocked it away, yet left no injury on it that I could see. To my right, two more of them came at Weevil. His own sword was a much more appropriate size for the confines of the passage and the runes flared along its length as he cut the arm away from the first and then managed to drive his fist into the face of the other.

  “Best drop that piece of shit you’re carrying, Captain,” he said.

  He’d bought me a fraction of a second and I dropped the two-handed sword to the ground with a clank. I slid my own from its scabbard, just in time to fend off an attack. The creature’s filthy nails screeched over my breastplate.

  “Keep going,” urged Sinnar from behind. “You need to keep walking.”

  I understood what he meant – we didn’t know how many of them were in the passage, so we needed to continue in the hope that we’d stumble across a way out. It was either that, or stand and fight in one place and try to kill them all. Standing still would have made the fighting easier, but sometimes you have to make a judgement. A small part of my brain informed me that it had no idea how we’d be able to get up a ladder if we found one while we were being attacked.

  Step by step we continued along the passage. Our opponents were fast and their claws were sharp. Fortunately for us, they weighed little and their attacks against armoured infantry were not as effective as they would have been against more lightly-armoured troops. Time and again I was able to knock an attacker away with my elbow or my foot. Even with my usual sword, there wasn’t quite enough room, so I had to rely on my skills as a brawler as much as my skills with a blade. I drove my metal-clad knuckles into the face of one of the creatures. I felt its jaw shatter and saw it spew many sharp teeth onto the ground. It hissed and was lost in the pack of its fellows who came after. Another one came in low and Weevil took the top of its skull away with a cross-swing of his sword.

  As soon as it became obvious that there were few more than a dozen, I called for a stop, so that we could deal with them without having to watch our footing. They didn’t cease attacking, even when it was clear that our skill and equipment left them outmatched. I killed the last one with a hard thrust, which lanced into its chest and out of the other side. It struggled as I kicked it off the blade and then Weevil crunched his heel three times onto its face, each stamp cracking its head against the stone. It stopped moving.

  “I don’t much like these,” he said. Before he turned to leave, he gave it a kick. He wasn’t usually prone to petulance and I wondered what it was that had angered him so.

  “These swords not much use, Captain?” asked Sinnar. He dangled his own carelessly in one hand.

  “There’s something about them. I don’t know what it is and I’m damned if I’m going to risk anyone’s life by playing around with it to find out.”

  Sinnar let his two-handed sword clatter to the floor. “I had high hopes for it.” He shrugged, almost to himself. I saw his hand unconsciously touch the hilt of his existing sword.

  We continued on our way for several hours, passing through many rooms. The catacombs covered many miles and it seemed strange to think that this labyrinth of rooms and passages might have lain undiscovered for thousands of years. To what ends do we go to look after the dead? I asked myself.

  As we progressed, heading always to the east or the north, we listened carefully for the sounds of whispering that indicated we were pursued. We heard nothing, but I refused to let us drop our guard and we kept our swords in our hands. Even Beamer and Tinker managed to keep their daggers ready, in spite of their shared burden. We came across two more shafts in the ceiling, one of which had the remnants of a ladder at the bottom. I climbed up a few rungs, only to find that the wood had perished higher up. There was also a shaft leading downwards, which we found in the middle of one chamber. This shaft had an iron ladder with a thick coating of rust on it, but which seemed solid enough when I reached out to shake it. When I looked into the hole, I felt an unexpected shiver run up my spine as my mind tried to grasp the possibilities of what might be down there.

  “On another day, in another time,” I said.

  “Yeah. We’d probably get killed by whatever’s at the bottom,” said Sinnar. He didn’t sound worried at the possibility.

  “Maybe we’ll come back, Lieutenant,” I said.

  “We’re saving up a lot of promises for our future,” he said. “I hope we get the chance to keep them. I feel we’ll owe ourselves something, at least.”

  Not for us the settled life of a farmer or a blacksmith. If we ever saw our duty through to its end, it seemed likely we’d end up dying anyway, at the bottom of a hole dug thousands of years ago by an unknown race.

  “I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m going to get married. And put my feet up.”

  We stared at Tinker and Sinnar aimed a mock cuff at the man’s head. We often talked fondly about the pleasures we’d like once the fighting stopped. None of us believed even our own words, but it gave us comfort to say them.

  In the momentary lull before we continued our journey to the north, we heard a sound. It came from the south, the way we’d come. It wasn’t too faint and we all heard it – a deep scraping sound as if something heavy had come into contact with the stone. We listened in silence and the sound came again. Whatever it was, it sounded as if it were dragging itself along the tunnels in desperation to make best speed.

  “I don’t know what’s coming, but we probably shouldn’t wait around to find out,” said Ploster. I could tell that he was tired from the constant effort required to maintain his light. He didn’t relish the idea of a confrontation in which he’d have to extend himself further.

  “Let’s go,” I said. In truth, I was tempted to wait and see what came. We were in a large room that was ideal for us to spread out and make use of our numbers. On the other hand, I didn’t know what or how many enemies approached. There was always a chance that it would make a wrong turn as it followed us. Even as I had the thought, I knew that whatever it was that pursued, it wouldn’t lose our tracks.

  We ran north, with Tinker doing his best to push himself as much as he could. The pain from his injury would be remote, yet the snapped bone in his leg wouldn’t support his full weight. He hopped and limped while Beamer half-dragged him along. We might have made better speed if I’d asked Sinnar to carry him, but I wanted us all ready to fight at a moment’s notice. The scraping noises were closer now, echoing along the passageway in a way that
fooled our ears and made it difficult to judge the exact distance.

  Ploster kept his light a little way ahead of us so that we could watch our footing. Without warning, I felt waves of pressure roll around me and the light started to dim, as if the weight of the darkness was too much for it to bear. Ploster grunted with effort and the light reasserted itself again, though only briefly this time before the blackness began to crush it once more. I didn’t need to ask him what it was – I could feel the magic of the creature which pursued us. There was something filthy about it – an impression I rarely got even from the death sorcerers’ magic.

  “Quickly,” I urged, as if I could somehow exhort us to a greater speed.

  We burst into another chamber, twenty yards square and with four pillars to support the ceiling. We frantically looked for an exit in the dying light of Ploster’s sorcery. There were exits going in all directions and then I saw it.

  “Another shaft,” I said, already pushing Beamer and Tinker towards it. Something else caught my eye – a dull redness of rusted iron against the greyness of the walls. We came closer and I dared to hope that the ladder I’d seen would bear our weight.

  “Up!” I urged. “Lieutenant, stay with me.”

  I turned to face the way we’d come. I heard someone – Weevil – pulling at the metal rungs of the ladder. “It’s good,” he whispered. I heard the sounds of someone begin the climb, the hard soles of their boots striking hard on the rungs as they made haste upwards.

  “There’s no time,” said Ploster. He looked exhausted, but I knew he had depths of strength that could push him on when lesser men would fail.

  One of the support pillars partially blocked our line of sight. Around it, I caught a hint of something emerging into the room. Ploster’s light was so dim that we struggled to make out the details at first. The Cohort’s sorcerer didn’t wait. I felt him plumb the depths of his reserves and he threw a burst of energy at the creature. It flinched and stumbled back a pace. Without giving it a chance to recover, I ran at it, Sinnar at my side and Ploster sending his light to follow.

  Our opponent was over ten feet tall and broad with it. Long arms jutted out from the sides of a broad chest and its legs were thick like the trunks of a tree. It had no skin, and we could see its muscles and the tendons which tied them to the bones. Its face was more bone than flesh and it had no eyes. The creature turned its heavy skull towards us and I saw our deaths within the infinite darkness of its sockets. Whatever this creature was, I knew it had died thousands of years before, yet lost none of its power in the transition from life to death.

  As we came to within ten feet of the creature, I felt its magic buffet me and the tattoos on my skin flared into a bright blue. The runes on my sword glowed and sparkled. They ran along the length of the blade with a great hunger to test themselves against our foe. My body felt heavier than normal, as if the aura which surrounded the creature sapped my strength. I grimaced in anger at the loss of control and my inner strength fought back against the ancient magic.

  I knew Sinnar was a man with his own wells of energy. He surged past me, with his sword raised to strike. He showed no signs of fatigue from the magic and he thundered a blow at the creature. It moved to one side, surprising Sinnar with its speed. His blow was a glancing one and skittered away from the monster’s hip, leaving a trail of white sparks in its wake. The creature swung at Sinnar in a blow that would have crushed him at once. The Lieutenant, for all his bulk, had a surprising finesse. He twisted aside and the creature’s fist only hit him on the arm. Sinnar was spun around by the force of the strike and stumbled away with his sword up.

  Before I could engage, Ploster unleashed mageflame onto our foe. I saw faint tendrils of smoke rise from its body, but other than that small sign it was unaffected by the sorcerer’s magic. I knew Ploster well – he’d been trying hard with his attack, yet had managed little by it. With a conscious effort, I reached inside and called upon the battle madness. Events slowed and I forced them to slow again. The creature kicked at me. I sidestepped easily and crashed my sword against its knee. The swords we wielded were imbued with great power, but I wasn’t surprised that I was hardly able to make a nick in the ligaments I struck. I whirled around and executed a two-handed thrust into our enemy’s ribs. The point went less than an inch into the muscle tissue between the bones. I knew we were outclassed.

  Sinnar was back. He moved like he cared little for the blow he’d received. His eyes were both distant and focused at once – as if the man within had retreated to make room for a primal beast to take control of his body. I had seen him like this before – in the town of Gold, when all had seemed lost. He’d fought like a demon and had slain so many of the Duke’s men that I was sure they hated to patrol in case he found them. With a roar, he slashed at the creature twice, his blade producing sparks and a sound which echoed around the chamber. Another punch came for him and to my astonishment he knocked it aside with his arms and then lunged again, his sword tip piercing into the creature’s groin.

  The empty sockets roved across us. I have heard men who say that when you feel the hatred of your enemy it is nothing more than your imagination filling your mind with its own wanderings when death looms close. I know this to be false – I have fought against men and sorcerers alike where their hatred of me has been so palpable that I have almost felt it like a second foe, driving their actions and pushing them on in their attempts to kill me. In this chamber, the hatred rolled off the creature like a flood, as if it despised us not only for our defiance, but for our very existence. Rather than leaving me cowed, I took strength from it, for its hatred was a weakness that we had instilled in it.

  Beamer appeared and Weevil to his side. I’d hoped they’d have escaped up the shaft by now, but they’d evidently decided there was too much of a risk to me and Sinnar if they didn’t assist. We never left each other behind. We four attempted to surround it. In the faltering light of Ploster’s magic, we feinted and thrust, our blades and tattoos alight and leaving light-trace blurs across our vision as we desperately tried to inflict a serious injury upon the creature. Ploster was spent – I could feel him try and fail to stagger our foe with more of his magic.

  “The light, Jon. We need the light,” I gasped out to him. He took the message and I got no further indication that he tried to cast anything else.

  The creature refused to be confined and it surged towards us, using its bulk and strength to scatter us. Weevil was sent flying and I saw his body collide with a pillar. He slumped into a heap. To my relief I saw him move as he struggled to rise again.

  A shape limped into view – it was Tinker. “Get away,” I shouted at him. It was to no avail and he joined with us. He wasn’t keen to throw his life away needlessly, so he hung back and waited to see if he’d get an opportunity to land a blow of his own.

  The aura around the creature intensified. I felt it in my mind and I saw the result from the brightness of our protective wards. I knew that if we’d been living men, this magic would have sucked the life from our bodies and left only the empty husks behind. Over my years I’d seen so many beings which had such power over the living that I was now certain the balance between life and death was wrong – it seemed like the extinction of life was inevitable and it was all a matter of time. The thought made me furious – we of the Cohort were unliving, but we retained every ounce of our humanity. The creature here had nothing other than a determination to destroy what it found, for reasons that would be entirely alien to us even if we knew them.

  Sinnar took another punch, this time to the side of his helmet. It knocked his head to one side, yet he did nothing more than laugh and struck back. I was worried that in his rage he’d allow himself to be overcome by injuries that he might not recover from. I charged forward and was able to knock aside a second attack that would have hit Sinnar again.

  “This is not your time to die, Harry,” I said to him, my voice as calm as I could make it. He hesitated for a second and I was relieved to
see him step back and adopt a defensive stance. There were times when the madness could turn a battle and there were times when it would only get you killed.

  Our opponent showed no signs of slowing. Our blows whittled away at its stamina, but too slowly for us to overcome it. We were expert soldiers and most of us had exceptional skills with our swords. Against a creature of this size which possessed such a great fortitude, it was only a matter of time until we’d succumb. It sent a battering ram punch towards me. I stepped aside at the last moment, my own speed a match for its own. As part of my mind operated my body, a separate part evaluated the battle and tried to work out what we could do to escape. It wants the circlet, said the voice in my head.

  “Corporal Ploster, it wants the circlet,” I said to him. My tone clearly conveyed the message that we were not going to hand it over. If we had, I’m sure our deaths would have come all the sooner.

  Ploster was standing behind me and to one side. When I saw the creature’s head swivel to face the sorcerer, I guessed that he’d drawn the circlet out from wherever he’d concealed it. A pale blue glow spread outwards, filling much of the chamber and casting dancing shadows at diagonals across the floor and walls. At once, the creature rushed forward, its feet thumping across the floor. It barged me and Sinnar easily from its path and I saw it take a swing with one mighty arm at something. Then, there was a flash of blue light. It was so intense and so pure that I felt sure it would have ruined my eyes. The light didn’t vanish immediately, instead it faded rapidly over the course of a few seconds. I heard something fizzing and bubbling and an odour reached my nostrils – an acrid, pungent odour that I never wished to experience again. I heard a peculiar screech, something high-pitched like a rat with its body smashed in a trap, only much louder. I saw a shape come towards me and I set my sword blade forward. The tip went in deeply and I was knocked aside, with the sword nearly torn from my grasp. Then the creature was gone and the last of the light faded, leaving us in total darkness apart from a faint blue glow a few feet away.