by J. Thorn
“My lord.” The tallest of the Rangers bowed before Gaston.
“You have news?”
“Yes.”
“What about?”
“Morlan sent us to track the Valk. And, well...”
Gaston sighed and folded his arms across his chest but did not speak. The Ranger looked at his man on the left who nodded, so he continued.
“They eat flesh.”
“Yes, yes. I know this. Surely you will bring more than this to Morlan.”
“It’s their numbers.”
“What of them?” Gaston asked.
“They seem to be increasing. At an ever—faster rate. We’ve counted hundreds so far, and we’d had fewer than a dozen sightings in the past two years.”
He scoffed. The flesh eaters would not get in his way. They were nothing but a fungus to be starved and then eliminated.
“Where are you headed?”
The Ranger’s face twisted as if he expected Gaston to respond quite differently to his observation of the Valk. The warrior put his shoulders back and put both hands on his hips.
“To Morlan, at Greensboro.”
“We are coming with you.”
“I don’t think—”
“I didn’t ask you to think.” Gaston stepped forward and looked up into the man’s face. “I said we’re coming with you.”
GASTON STOOD IN THE moonlight, his gaze focused on the old highway that cut through the trees. He’d felt the presence of travelers but hadn’t seen them emerge from the darkness until almost an hour later. The clumsy clods would be attracting all kinds of thieves, not to mention Valk. Several Rangers stood at his side, two of which had done nothing but yawn.
“We can handle them.”
“No.” Gaston held up one hand in the darkness. “If the Valk are as great of number as you say, they should swarm to these fools like a pack of wild dogs.”
Three figures walked down the middle of the road, none speaking but slapping their boots on the asphalt like fools nonetheless. They either had no interest in the camp or hadn’t seen it and Gaston thought it was the latter of the two. He watched as they walked within 50 yards of where he stood, not bothering to look up. They continued down the road for another quarter mile and were almost out of sight when the first scream rang out.
The whisper of swords being unsheathed brought a breathy word from Gaston. “Stop.”
More screams from the highway as the Rangers stood silently.
“I want to see how many Valk have descended on these pathetic travelers.”
“They will turn on us, will they not?”
Gaston hadn’t thought of that possibility. The creatures preferred the dead flesh of warriors over any other, and he had been traveling with mostly priests. Until now. The hair on the back of his neck came up.
The death cries had ended, and before he could speak again, Gaston saw them stepping from the blackened forest. Several at first and then dozens upon dozens, just as the Ranger had said. The creatures with white faces and black eyes scampered down the highway toward the kill. They kept coming until Gaston estimated that this group of Valk outnumbered his by at least twenty to one.
If there were this many here, so far from the battlefield, just how many of them were there across all the lands between here and Eliz? The ranger’s estimate of hundreds could be but a small part of the true figure. There could be thousands.
“Pack up the camp. We must find Morlan.”
Chapter 16
Aldus stopped at the crossroads and glanced in all directions. He raised his hand for the others behind him to stop and two dozen, sweating, tired Cygoa warriors came to a halt. Some of them slumped to the ground and reached for water skins, while others watched the bushes and trees around them, cautiously.
The road had been empty, stripped of valuable materials generations ago. Most of the structures had been strangled by wild ivy which appeared to be devouring the buildings with thousands of green teeth. It had been a challenge to keep the men focused, alert. Soldiering was nothing but a life—threatening moment in a sea of boredom, and he feared his men would drown in it if they became complacent.
“Are you sure we're going the right way?” Aldus said, turning to the tall thin man next to him.
The scout had long, greasy, lank hair and beard that reached almost to his waist. He was much older than the rest of the war band, much older than Aldus himself, and he had been his father's scout before Aldus had taken over ruling the clan. He'd never totally trusted the elder, but the man proven an adequate scout for his father and Aldus knew the man feared what would happen to him if Aldus was to disfavor him.
“Tis the way. Straight ahead another ten miles or so to Greensboro. Thought I wouldn’t recognize this place? Well, I do.” The scout gazed into the distance along the road, appearing thoughtful. “Travelled this road many a time in my youth, back when we had these lands, though things are overgrown and changed a little here and there. Most of it is pretty clear still, to me.”
“You’ve been to Greensboro how many times?” asked Aldus
The old man scratched his head. “Least a dozen, I'd say. We used to trade there. There's an old rail storage yard before that, not far ahead, Maybe a mile. You'll see if it isn't there. He pointed. “See that pylon sticking up from the trees?”
“Pylon?”
“A tall metal thing. Most of them fell down over the centuries. That one’s always been there, stuck in concrete it is. Will be long after we're gone as well, I reckon. Anyways, that’s just before the rail station.”
“Okay, five minutes.” Aldus shouted to the rest of the men. “And then we move on.” He looked up to the sky. The sun was another hour from setting, but they would need to find somewhere to camp up. They certainly wouldn't make Greensboro today.
Aldus turned back to the scout. “This railyard. There any buildings there?”
“Some,” said the old man. “Or there was. In disrepair, but there was a roof on one of them at least, if I recall correctly. Though, this was the best part of thirty years ago. Could be collapsed by now.”
“Then that's where we can camp for the night,” said Aldus.
The scout shrugged. “Good as place as any. Easier to guard than the open road.”
Twenty minutes later, after giving his men a well needed break, they arrived at the entrance to the rail yard. The scout hadn't been wrong, in fact, Aldus thought he’d been far too accurate. Several ruined buildings surrounded a large yard and the gates were already open. The night sky had finally begun to darken when they arrived, and the group stood peering into the wide gravel yard with cautious expressions.
“Set up camp. In the yard. We need a roaring fire in the middle in five minutes.” Aldus would have liked it if they could close the gate, but the old thing was falling apart and wouldn’t provide much protection anyway, and most of the fence around the rail yard was rusted and broken, so it wasn't like they would be able to seal themselves in.
IT WAS NEARLY MIDNIGHT when he heard the first movement in the trees. Aldus got to his feet, trying to ignore the snoring of the old scout and walked away from the fire. He didn't want to go to near the edge of the yard, where the light was dim, but he walked halfway, where he stood, staring into the trees beyond.
“You heard it too?” said a voice from nearby.
Aldus glanced to his right where one of his warriors — a man named Lynal — stood watching the tree line. “Thought it was just me.”
“How many times have you heard it?” Aldus asked.
“A couple.”
“You didn't think to alert anybody?”
“It wasn’t a lot of noise.” Lynal kicked at a twig at his feet, his eyes focused on the tops of his boots. “Sounded like a fox or something.”
Aldus glanced back towards the fire, and then across the yard where most of his warriors lay sleeping. He was just considering waking more of them and sending them out with torches when the mass of shadows swept out of the trees and
towards them.
They moved almost silently, and so fast that a dozen of them were halfway across the yard before Aldus drew his ax and bellowed at the top of his voice, but even as he swept his ax towards the first attacker, he knew that this fight would not go well. His men woke with a startle, grabbing weapons and jumping to their feet, but the number of enemies rushing out from the bushes in all directions must have been three times the number of men in his warband, and there were more coming.
Then all attempts at subterfuge had been abandoned, and the dark shapes screamed as they rushed forward. He took the first with his ax, a mighty swing that sent it reeling under the feet of two others. A second and third fell just as quickly to his blows, but then he was back—treading as a dozen of the dark, pale—skinned warriors lunged at him with spears.
Aldus opened his mouth to call for a retreat, but that was as far as he got. There was a sharp pain in his throat and the muscles constricted. He found himself spitting blood and had just enough time to glance down and see the shaft of an arrow protruding just below his chin, before the enemy spears pierced him.
As Aldus fell, he heard screams behind him, and with his vision swimming he tried to look back. His men were still fighting to the last, but they were being swarmed by these dark warriors. Who were they? These were not the T’Yun. They wore armor of painted black, like none he'd ever seen or ever would see again, and it was the shadow of one of those warriors that was his last vision as the enemy leaned over him with a sharp knife.
Chapter 17
Solomon stood on the walkway and stared out into the forest, doing his best to cut through the evening haze that had settled on the land. The air stank of unwashed men and spoiled meat, neither of which concerned the Elk warriors as they had been focused on defending the camp from the impending threat. The tree line stood barely fifty yards from the edge of the city and would have been even closer had the clans not been busy the last few days cutting trees for wood.
With the sun descending in the low, western sky, the animals had fallen silent. No bird song or cricket chatter, no squirrels darting through the underbrush while trying to outrun the arrows fired from hungry Elk.
Solomon felt the mist gnawing at his joints. When the air became heavy with moisture, so did his steps. He’d thought that by now, he’d be kicking back around a fire with a young lass and a flask, but he seemed to be lacking both. He thought of Jonah and the near—constant warfare the clan had encountered. Solomon couldn’t see an end to that anytime soon.
Another hundred yards, he thought. Maybe more. That was what was needed to make it easier to protect the new settlement. He was glad that the clans hadn’t spread too far out into the ruins, yet, and had mostly stuck to a few blocks of buildings in the south. The sheer scale of the work involved to erect the wall defenses was staggering, but with there being a large number of clan folk still alive from Wytheville, there were folks who knew about building wall defenses.
Leta, that was her name. The old hag had mobilized them before Jonah had even asked her to do it. Solomon remembered Jonah mentioning something many moons before about her husband’s work on the old Wytheville fortress, but he had forgotten about it. To her credit, she’d kept on the fringes of the clan but seemed to have a way of grabbing Jonah’s attention. And holding it. As long as what she did helped the Elk, Solomon was willing to tolerate the witch.
A noise startled him from behind, and he turned to see Declan climbing the ladder to the platform. The boy seemed to be recovering somewhat from their previous battle with the Cygoa, but they’d all carry injuries and scars to the grave. Yes, he was young and would heal faster, but Solomon had to remind himself that he was also human. This was no time to test Declan’s physical strength. He reached down and helped the lad up onto his feet, nodded, and went back to watching the forest.
“How are things?”
“Tiring.” Declan leaned on the palisade.
Seeing him up close, Solomon had to admit that the boy looked exhausted. He chuckled at Declan’s word choice.
“You know, I preferred being in charge of a small group of scouts. Sorting out twenty foraging parties and making sure they all know where they are going and where not to go is driving me nuts.”
Solomon pointed to a handful of soldiers wielding axes at the tree line. “You could stand on a wall and watch people chop down trees if you want.”
Declan grinned. “Ah, no thanks.”
“And your camp? Things are as Jonah wants them?”
The boy shrugged and Solomon clasped a meaty hand on Declan’s shoulder. “If only people would do what you damn well tell ’’em too, eh?”
“Yes, Sol. If only it were that easy.” Declan stared off into the distance, towards the ruins of the city. “Men are talking about the place. Some want to leave tomorrow and others are dreading it. I don’t know what to say to them all.”
“Neither do I.” Solomon took his hand from Declan’s shoulder and looked at his feet. “Tis the weight of the crown on Jonah’s head. Those are things he’ll need to address.”
The two lapsed into silence and continued watching the trees. Solomon wondered where Jonah was, and realized that he hadn’t seen his leader in two days. So many people to command, so much to oversee. Declan probably wasn’t the only one pulling his hair out.
He sighed, and was about to start another conversation, just for something to cut through the silence, when he saw the first movement. It was far closer than it should have been, much closer than the tree line that he had been focusing on, and for a moment he wondered if it was just the wind picking up, but then he saw it again. A wash of shadow flicker through the grass below.
“What’s that?” Solomon whispered, crouched low, and pointed to the long grass fifty yards away. The movement came from beyond where the wall protected, and he could see that the grass grew right up to the building whose walls protected that stretch of the perimeter.
“I don’t see anything.” The young man had crouched instinctively, mirroring Solomon,
“Wait.” Solomon heard nothing for a moment, but then movement again.
“I saw it this time. Who is it? Why are they going that way? There’s just the building there. No way in for a hundred yards until the next street.”
The sound of splitting wood broke the silence, and Solomon was moving, sliding down the ladder without taking any of the rungs. He hit the ground and ran, stumbling for a moment from the impact. Ahead of him, three figures struggled in the shadows near an open doorway, and as he drew his hammer, Solomon could see that two of the figures had been slashing at the third, who struggled, falling backward.
“Sound the alarm!” Solomon bellowed as he rushed into the fray, screams coming from deep within his barreled chest and startling the two men who now stood over the prone third.
Valk, both of them, dressed in armor that was not made of metal but of furs. Despite their attempt at subterfuge, he could clearly see as the emerging moonlight lit one of their faces——pale skin, dark clothing.
The smell hit him as he barreled into the first Valk, knocking the man from his feet as Solomon swung his hammer at the second. There was an audible crack as the hammer struck the Valk full in the chest, and Solomon felt, more than saw, the man’s rib cage collapse. The enemy made a stifled choke before falling backward with the impact.
The war horn started as a low rumble and then developed into a full, rounded pitch. Solomon listened, realizing that the sustainment of the horn came from youthful lungs, most likely Declan’s from the palisade. He smiled, knowing that the boy, if he survived, would do well as an Elk warrior.
Then the first Valk was up on his feet again, slamming Solomon with a kick to the shoulder that knocked him over, but though Solomon was no young man, he was still fast, and he rolled as he hit the ground, coming back up and raising the hammer for a swing. An arrow appeared through the Valk’s neck, the feathers on one side, and the bloodied head poking out from the other. The Valk gargled, stumbl
ed backward, and dropped to his knees grasping at his throat but refusing to just die.
Solomon tuned quickly and saw Ghafir standing in the middle of the street twenty yards away, loading a second arrow, but he had no time to thank the man. From inside the building he heard more movement, and shadows moved in the darkness at the back of the building.
More of them, he thought. How many?
He heard the sound of boots hitting the ground, approaching from all directions as the noise of the horn blew again from the palisade. And for a moment, he thought that the Valk would come out from the building in one charge, many of them spewing out into the street. But then the horn stopped.
“They’re fleeing,” called Declan.
Ghafir rushed past Solomon, running for the ladder. Before Solomon could enter the smashed—open door of the building, and as he stepped into the now empty room beyond the door, he heard the twang of a bow being loosed. A distant cry suggested that the arrow had flown true.
Inside the building he was faced with a mostly open ground floor, the walls crumbling and cracked. Beyond that, there was a kitchen and a stinking bathroom, but no windows or other obvious way in from outside.
But they had come through here, he thought.
Valk, his mind suggested. Underground.
Solomon ran through the darkened rooms, both expecting to find more Valk, and at the same time, hoping to avoid their stench. They seemed to rise out of the ground like insects, colonies hidden beneath the earth’s surface where thousands more lay in wait.
Of course, he thought, and turned back to the main room. There, in one corner was a door that should open to the kitchen, but it didn’t Instead it opened into a stairway that led down.
Behind him, he heard the sound of other warriors searching, and called out. “Bring a torch in here.”
