“Well, I’m very well-known actually!” he replied, a hint of defensiveness in his tone.
Sir Golan, who had seemed unable to move, came to life and raised his sword, slashing the Beastman in the abdomen. The Feran leaped backwards, giving a scream of pain mixed with anger.
The warrior, perhaps seeing himself now outnumbered, staggered off into the fog and disappeared.
Against his better judgment, Henry Riff was not afraid. Of course, he had every reason to be. The two-headed giant who shared the cavern with him moved about tending to the fire and lumbering around the enclosed space. Henry, for his part, remained as perfectly still as possible on the off chance the creature had poor eyesight and simply hadn’t noticed him. At the same time, music filled Henry’s ears although he had no idea where it was coming from. The giant, the head that appeared awake at least, was definitely not singing. The other head, a female with tangled red hair like a nest that had fallen from a tree, looked as if she were sleeping.
At some point, the giant took notice of Henry who was covered in drying mud and dirt. The creature poured water from an animal bladder onto a piece of torn cloth and crouched beside him, wiping the fabric roughly over his hair and face. Henry nearly fell over under the strain but tried not to resist. Even so, it occurred to him that this giant was simply cleaning his food for a later snack. The thought of being eaten frightened him, but he was not entirely surprised that he would end up this way. On the top ten list of ways he thought he’d die, Henry had predicted being someone’s dinner as number five.
Now relatively bathed, Henry waited to see what was on the menu. Much to his relief, the giant brought him a length of bone covered in meat and motioned for him to eat it. Henry gladly gnawed at the leg, having not eaten in at least a day. The food was a bit gamy and tasted, as far as Henry could tell, a bit like what a horse would taste like. He decided not to consider this too deeply, preferring ignorance and a full belly.
Meanwhile, the music ebbed and flowed. Sometimes someone was singing and sometimes simply humming. Other times, Henry was sure there were words, but he couldn’t understand them. The melodies were simple but pleasing, and Henry felt strangely at ease while listening.
The rest of the cavern was cluttered with skins and furs and bits of bone. Cooking pottery sat around the central fire as well as crude utensils. As a whole, the place reminded Henry of his apartment back in Regalis.
Among the mess of miscellanea, one object caught Henry’s eye. Atop a pile of stones, almost like an altar, something like a crystal lantern glowed with a dim yellow light. Henry wondered if the giant had made it but decided against it. The shape and construction were unlike anything else in the cavern. Henry tried taking a closer look, but as he drew nearer, the giant flung a jawbone from across the cave, striking Henry in the head.
“Ouch!” Henry yelped and went back to his original spot.
Neither Henry nor the giant spoke the same language, but they were beginning to understand each other.
After stumbling through the battlefield with Lord Maycare, Jessica Doric felt a deep relief at seeing the two robots, Benson and Squire, and the green knight. Squire had a large dent where the Feran warrior had bashed him in the head, but Benson, who seemed largely intact, helped him stand. With the Beastman gone, Sir Golan got to his feet by himself.
“Are you hurt?” Doric asked the knight.
“I’m alright,” he replied, but unconvincingly.
Hands on his hips, Maycare puffed out his chest. “Well, at least we’re all back together again!”
“What about Henry?” Doric said incredulously.
With a quizzical look, Maycare glanced to either side of where Doric was standing.
“You mean he hasn’t been with us this whole time?” he asked.
Doric waved her hands wildly. “Have you seen him recently?”
“Well, no, come to think of it,” Maycare said.
“You’re the worst!” Doric shouted.
“That seems a bit unfair, Jess. I mean, Henry’s usually hanging around. I guess I just assumed...”
“We need to find him,” she replied. “He’s out there somewhere all alone!”
“Of course,” Maycare nodded gravely. “We’ll start looking for him immediately.”
“We’ve been looking for him!”
Dumbfounded, Maycare shrugged. “I thought we were looking for Benson.”
“Thank you,” the butlerbot said.
Sir Golan, steadying himself, sheathed his sword. “I’m going after that Feran, Horngore.”
“Why ever for?” Benson asked. “It seems lucky you weren’t killed.”
“He murdered the Pellion Herd Father, a friend of mine,” Sir Golan replied. “It’s only right that I avenge his death.”
Squire tottered across the muddy ground toward his master. His left eye was blinking randomly.
“I’m not sure that’s the best course of action, sir,” the robot said.
“Why?” Sir Golan asked.
“You swore you’d protect these people,” the robot went on “and now that we’re reunited, perhaps you should honor your pledge.”
“If I don’t go after Horngore now, he may not pay for killing Batuhan.”
“The Herd Father is already dead,” Squire replied and motioned at the group standing in the rain, “but they’re still living. Would you risk that to satisfy your vengeance?”
“Actually, revenge feels pretty sweet,” Maycare remarked.
Doric slapped him across the arm.
“No, you’re right,” Sir Golan said. “Keeping my word is more important. I may cross paths with Horngore again someday, but only fate can decide that.”
“You’re taking a robot’s advice?” Benson asked.
“Certainly,” Sir Golan replied. “Squire’s always been my trustworthy adviser.”
“Interesting,” the butlerbot said and gazed over at Maycare.
“What?” Maycare asked.
“Nothing,” Benson replied.
Long before becoming a Herd Father himself, Qadan listened as a yearling to the stories of Batuhan, the leader he would one day replace. Batuhan was the legend who walked among them. He was the great warrior who had killed a giant single-handedly and frightened off her mutated cubs. All of the Pellions, even those from other herds, revered him and sought his counsel and wisdom.
Qadan, too, looked in awe at the hero. He trained to become a warrior himself, and he emulated the Herd Father as much as he could, or at least the ideals that he projected as the head of their tribe. Perhaps it was his own growing abilities that made Qadan begin to question Batuhan’s. With an eye of a warrior, he could recognize the failings of the now much older veteran. Batuhan spent more time in a tent drinking wine than out on the steppes fighting their enemies. While Qadan and the younger warriors patrolled the prairie, Batuhan grew fat with the stories of his own greatness. He sought to reap the rewards of his youth, satisfied that he had earned the right to justify his luxurious life as Herd Father.
It made Qadan sick.
Now Batuhan was dead and Qadan was the new Herd Father, leading his people into war against the Ferans.
In the heavy rain, Qadan wrapped his fingers tightly around the shaft of his spear. Metal plates adorned his shoulders and torso while stiff leather hung from his horse-like body.
The battle had been chaotic. Many from both sides lay motionless in the grass and mud. Qadan found himself alone, but this did not concern him. He was ready for whatever emerged from the fog.
Up ahead, a Feran with dark fur lumbered clumsily between the corpses. With one hand, he held his wound and with the other, a mace. Qadan recognized the weapon.
“You!” he shouted at the Beastman who turned, reluctantly, to face him.
“What do you want?” he replied.
“You’re the one they call Horngore?”
“You have the honor of my presence, yes!” the Feran said.
Qadan came closer but kept his di
stance. “You killed the Herd Father of my tribe.”
“Probably.”
“I am the new Herd Father,” Qadan said.
“Congratulations.”
“My people have lived on these plains for centuries, yet you thought you could drive us away?”
“I don’t give a damn how long you’ve have been here!” the Feran warrior spat. “We’re here now and we plan on staying.”
Holding the mace in both hands, Horngore twirled it like a pinwheel, the electrical arcs forming a circle of dancing light.
Qadan, unimpressed, charged with his spear leading the way. The Feran pivoted, allowing the Pellion to gallop by. Qadan made a wide circle, dodging between the bodies like an agile colt as his armor clanked together with each stride. Lining up for another assault, he aimed the tip of the spear at the center of Horngore’s chest.
With a shout, Qadan bounded forward but again the Feran sidestepped. This time, with a great upward motion, Horngore swung his mace, the head meeting the spear along its shaft, smashing it to splinters. Qadan’s front legs bent beneath him, sending him rolling head over tail across the muddy grass. When the Pellion regained his footing, he was holding nothing more than a shattered length of wood. Between him and Horngore, the rest of the spear was stuck into the ground.
The two warriors moved simultaneously, both dashing toward the spear: one to arm himself and the other to deny it.
With two extra legs, Qadan reached the spear first, but only just in time to parry a blow from Horngore’s mace.
“The last Herd Father died by my hands,” the Feran snarled. “Now it’s your turn!”
Horngore made two quick swings, but Qadan blocked each of them. The Centauri warrior also noticed blood pouring from his opponent’s wound.
“Somebody’s gotten to you before me!” Qadan said, gasping for air.
“Your green knight friend took a crack at me,” Horngore replied, eyeing the gash as well. “When I’ve healed properly, I’ll pay him another visit!”
The Feran lifted the heavy mace once more but, perhaps feeling the weight after losing too much blood, hesitated and left an opening for the Pellion. Qadan thrust his shortened spear, lodging the tip into Horngore’s chest. Gathering power in his rear haunches, he launched forward, driving the spear through to the other side.
The Feran warrior, his mouth gaping, drew in a long breath, exhaling a long, tortured groan. The mace still in Horngore’s right hand fell dully to the ground, the energy sapped away into the wet earth.
Qadan pulled the spear out, letting the dead Feran topple face-first.
Snatching a hatchet from a dead Pellion, Qadan hacked at his prize until the head came loose. Jamming in the spear, he hoisted his trophy high above, the rain and blood mixing in the air before dripping across his flank. With his victory on full display, he trotted triumphantly back in the direction of his people’s camp.
The storm broke with the coming of the dawn, the morning light falling through the clouds in a glow of orange and red. Sir Golan and the rest of the party trudged out of the mud and into a wide expanse of grass untouched by the battle from the night before. The stench of decay became less noticeable, the merciful wind having shifted.
While Doric and Maycare, along with their butlerbot, remained several paces behind, the green knight and Squire took the lead. Although Sir Golan’s robot remained damaged, he tried his best to keep up.
“Sorry to slow you down, Sir,” Squire said.
“Not at all,” Sir Golan replied. “The others are far slower than you.”
“I meant to thank you for saving us last night. That Feran warrior was a brute. He surely would’ve smashed me to bits if you hadn’t intervened.”
“I only wish I could have finished him.”
“You’re limping slightly,” Squire noted. “Are you injured?”
Instinctively, Sir Golan quickened his stride. “I’m fine.”
“Sure?”
“That electrical mace of his...” the knight said. “It may have done some nerve damage.”
The robot nodded, at which point his left eye dropped out of its socket, swinging loosely by a wire.
“Good grief!” Sir Golan said.
“What? Oh, sorry about that,” Squire replied, popping the eye back in. “I’ll be glad when we find this Henry fellow so we can return to civilization. We could both use some repair.”
The steppes, a landscape of gently swaying green, stretched into infinity with only low hills breaking the monotony. In the distance, a speck appeared atop one of the hills, only to disappear again.
“What was that?” Sir Golan asked.
“I don’t know,” Squire replied.
Straining his eyes, the green knight peered at where the thing had been, only to see something much larger appear. It too, however, vanished shortly thereafter.
“There!” Squire said, pointing. By this time, the others had caught up with the knight and his robot.
“What’s going on?” Doric asked. She had tied her hair back to get the wet strands out of her eyes.
Far off, the smaller speck reappeared, exhibiting the vaguely gangling limbs of a human.
“Is that Henry?” Doric asked.
The person seemed to sink into the grass, while something else appeared immediately after. Massive, the second thing rose up and then back down again.
“Did that thing have two heads?” Benson the butlerbot asked.
“Well, that can’t be good,” Maycare remarked.
Sir Golan pulled Rippana from its scabbard. “Come on!”
Henry wasn’t sure how long he had spent in the cavern with the two-headed giant, but he knew it was too long. His friends would probably be missing him by now. Professor Doric would wonder if he was alright and Lord Maycare would comfort her. His broad shoulders were ideal for comforting, Henry thought, whose own shoulders were narrow and bony. He imagined Doric, her eyes soaked with tears, resting her head against Maycare’s chest...
Henry needed to get the hell out of there.
The giant, however, would have nothing of it. Every time Henry edged toward the only exit, the creature would roar and throw various dead animal parts at him.
How many skulls and femurs can one giant have? Henry asked himself.
The constant singing, while pleasant, never stopped and started grating on Henry’s nerves. He couldn’t understand the words and the melodies were on a continual loop. He began questioning his sanity.
What kind of music does Maycare play for Jessica? Henry wondered. I bet it’s the kind that lulls you into falling in love with him.
Eventually, the giant’s mouth widened into a gaping yawn. The two-headed behemoth stretched out over a pile of furs and fell asleep. Within a few minutes, a nasal trumpeting echoed off the cavern walls and Henry knew this was his chance.
Cautiously, Henry started making his way toward the entrance. Henry glanced at him for a moment, taking his eyes off where he was going just long enough for his foot to catch the shell of a dead turtle on the cluttered floor. Henry caught himself by grabbing the closest thing he could find which, in this case, was a wooden frame holding up a cooking pot over the central fire. The frame and the pot toppled over, spilling the contents onto the flames and producing a loud hissing noise with plumes of smoke and cinders. One of the cinders landed on the giant’s bed, catching it on fire.
Henry swore, scrambling back to his feet.
The giant’s eyes opened, followed by his mouth from which a roar erupted as he frantically patted at the burning bedding around his legs.
Henry rushed past and out into the blinding daylight. Stunned at first, he shielded his eyes while stumbling forward. Henry quickly crested a hill and ran down the other side. This cycle repeated again and again until Henry felt like a bobber rising and falling on the waves of a green ocean.
Henry didn’t need to turn around to know the giant was close behind. Even with the music still playing in his ears, Henry could hear the stomp
ing of heavy feet pursuing him. If the creature wasn’t going to eat him before, he would certainly be hungry enough now after chasing him across the countryside.
Just about the time his eyes were finally adjusting to the daylight, Henry spotted the armor of Sir Golan glinting in the sun. Henry changed direction, aiming toward the knight. Getting closer, he made out the other figures in the party, including Doric and Maycare. Henry was pleased the two were not embracing in their grief about his supposed demise. Instead, they stared at him with dumbfounded amazement.
The two-headed creature continued to chase Henry, directly into the path of Sir Golan. While the others scattered out of the way, the giant swung his massive arms at the knight who proved too nimble and simply dodged. With a quick thrust, Sir Golan sliced at the giant’s belly, causing a nasty wound which started gushing blood. With a shout of pain, the creature curled his hand against the cut.
“Stop!” Henry heard himself shout.
Sir Golan halted his next attack. “What is it?”
“Just wait,” Henry replied.
The giant, not hesitating, turned and stumbled back in the direction of the cavern, leaving a trail of blood behind him.
“He’s getting away!” Maycare yelled.
“Let him go,” Henry said.
Doric approached her assistant and put her hand on his shoulder. “Are you alright, Henry?”
“I’m fine,” Henry replied, “but there’s something I need to tell you.”
“What is it?” she asked.
“I think I found what’s causing the music...”
Henry led the others back to the cavern. Although they protested, Henry insisted that he go in alone.
“Be careful,” Doric said.
Compared to the light of day, the cavern interior seemed pitch-black, even with the central fire still burning. It occurred to Henry that he might be putting himself in terrible danger, but somehow he felt that the giant was never a threat, at least not to him.
His eyes slowly adjusting, he heard a low breathing. The music, which had been faint where Henry first reunited with Doric and the rest of the party, was now as loud as ever.
“Hello?” he said, but no one answered.
The smell of wet cinders and spilled soup hung in the air. On the pile of furs and skins, the giant lay on his back, his chest slowly heaving. Henry stepped in a pool of liquid at the foot of the bed, which he assumed was not soup.
The Robots of Andromeda (Imperium Chronicles Book 3) Page 13
