Something smashed into him, like a giant hand slapping an insect. Pain wracked Dormael’s body, and for a moment he was floating. The overcast sky filled his vision, rain rushed over his body, splashed into his face. He thudded into something soft that squished as he tumbled over it, and slid to a halt in the grass.
Every rib in his body was sore, and as he dragged air through his throat, he could feel stabs of pain in his sides. His spear was gone, his head ringing with pain. He could taste mud in his mouth, and the coppery flavor of blood.
Move, you fool!
Dormael rolled to his side, grunting with the effort, and pushed himself back to his feet. He clawed for his magic, but it slipped through his fingers like water. Heart beating into his ears, Dormael tried to catch his breath.
His belt once again gave a sharp tug, and this time Dormael was forced to wrap his hands around the armlet. It jerked to the side, severing the lanyard that Dormael had sealed with his magic. The armlet tried to fly away into the storm, but Dormael clutched it to his chest. It took all his strength to keep his grip. The armlet drug him across the ground, the wet grass slapping at his face and stinging his skin.
Dormael roared in anger and rolled atop it, trying to keep it from pulling into the air. The vilth answered by doing just that—lifting the armlet, and Dormael’s body along with it. He was jerked upward and slammed down again, each time with a teeth-jarring impact that sent stabs of pain through his torso. Once, twice, three times and Dormael’s fingers were almost wrenched from the sinuous piece of jewelry, the slippery metal hard to grip in the driving rain.
On the fourth time landing on the hill, he pulled his Kai open again and filled himself with magic.
He formed a Splinter and sank it home, scattering the vilth’s power. The armlet ceased its struggles, and Dormael hugged it to his chest as he scrambled to his feet, stumbling as his sides gave a reflexive stab against his breathing. He threaded the armlet into his belt, again using magic to secure it. The armlet sang to him as he touched it, and Dormael realized that it had come alive during the struggle, though he’d been too focused to notice.
Not now, he thought. Why do you pick now to awaken, of all bloody times?!
“That belongs to me.” The voice was raspy, as if its owner had spent the last century breathing bone dust.
Dormael looked up to see the vilth standing nearby, curved blades in his hands. He showed no signs of fatigue, though a burn was etched over his skin—a result of Dormael’s lightning. The lines of scarring that ran over his body cut through the burn as if it wasn’t even there. Only the skin between the scars was damaged. If the pain affected him, Dormael couldn’t tell.
“It belongs to no one,” he replied, gulping air into his chest. “I’m not giving it up.”
“Give?” the man repeated, a wolfish grin splitting his pallid face. “No. But I will take it, when your body is cold and your power is mine to wield.”
Can he do that? Kill me and steal my magic? Dormael had never read anything like that, but the Conclave’s archive had little information on vilthinum. What they did know was mostly the product of scant experience, and rumor. The feeling of the vilth’s song—the warring energies, and the strange power holding them together—made more sense to him, now. Had he persisted through the years by stealing the gifts of wizards he’d killed?
“If you want to see that done,” Dormael said. “You’re going to have to try a little harder. You’re not used to fighting Warlocks, are you? Not used to fighting someone who can defend themselves.”
The man stared at him. His face was blank, but that’s all the answer Dormael needed.
“I have been here since before your parents whelped your pink, squalling little ass from their loins,” the necromancer said, bouncing one of his knives in his hand. “I will be here after you’re gone. Don’t worry, though—I’ll carry a piece of you with me. Perhaps I will make you strega, and allow you to kill for me in the days to come.”
“Or maybe I’ll leave your body to rot in the ground, tether your soul forever to this world,” Dormael said, affecting a smile. “Maybe I’ll piss down the hole before I close it up.”
The armlet warmed to his sentiments, and its song warbled through the ether. The necromancer heard it, and his eyes flashed down to the artifact. Dormael forced himself not to cringe away from it in sheer panic, Indalvian’s warning replaying through his mind. Its attention made everything uncertain, which was the last thing Dormael needed. The thought of it crawling up his side and snatching its tendrils around him made Dormael’s skin crawl, but he wasn’t going to let the necromancer see it.
“You have no idea what that thing is,” the vilth said.
“No?” Dormael replied. “Maybe I’ll slip it on and have a go at finding out.”
“Then you’re a fool.”
The vilth’s magic began to sing, and Dormael pulled on his own Kai to respond. He split his mind into three sections, readying attack, defense, and a Splinter all at once. It stretched his focus to its limit, but he silenced his doubts. The pallid man stared across the short distance, and Dormael met his eyes. The armlet hummed as the moment stretched out.
The vilth charged, and Dormael let loose with his power.
***
Allen clenched his teeth as his world upended in a tangle of steel and stinking limbs. He grunted as the air was knocked out of him, the ground slamming into his back. At first he thought one of the corpses had taken him from the side, but the thing tangled with him was misshapen, and larger than a normal man. He had seen smaller versions of these things in the tunnels beneath Ishamael, and his veins turned to ice at the recognition.
The moment of closeness was over after the first bounce, and Allen’s segmented armor creaked as the creature sprang away from him. Allen continued to tumble, sliding down the hill in the rain. When he came to a stop at the bottom, he scrambled to his feet, checking his body for any weapons he had left.
The monster was already bearing down on him, ripping up wet clods of dirt as it came. It howled as it ran, red eyes burning with strange light. Allen’s hand found the saber at his side—luckily he’d tucked it back into the sheath. He felt a momentary pang for his shield, which lay discarded at the top of the hill. The saber would have to do.
He whipped the blade free and took a high guard, ready to carve little monster-bits from the bastard once it got close enough. Allen tried not to think about the size of the thing as it rushed forward. He was more worried about how fast it was, and the dagger-like claws on its deformed hands.
Allen roared to meet the sound of the fiend’s battle cry, and they closed with a series of ferocious attacks. Allen swiped at it from overhead, raining down circular cuts to keep the beast at bay. It met these attacks with its claws, vibrating the saber’s hilt in Allen’s hands.
The monstrosity was fast, and immediately put Allen on his heels. It swiped a hand at his face, then one at his legs. He found himself in a constant dance of back-stepping, slipping out of range, and ripostes that met nothing but hard claws or empty air. The brute’s arms were too long, giving it a decisive reach advantage that even Allen’s saber couldn’t match. It moved like a striking snake, its claws coming closer and closer to his face.
He suffered a deep gash on his forearm during their second exchange, a superficial cut on his opposite arm during the sixth. The demon seemed to be everywhere—swiping deadly claws at his face, then reaching out to menace his legs, forcing him ever backward. Allen moved his saber in vicious arcs, trying for a hit on its wrists. The steely ping of his blade meeting the beast’s claws was his only reward.
Allen tried to circle around to his right, but the fiend menaced him from that direction, blocking his escape. He tried to do the same to the left, but again the creature was faster. It screamed in what Allen thought was triumph, herding him backwards and keeping his heels in the grass. Allen roared a challenge back at the aberration, but his anger only earned him another shallow cut as they disengaged.<
br />
His arms were stinging. As his wrists twisted with each arcing strike, the sword became more difficult to grasp. Every impact numbed his palms, threatening to bounce the weapon from his hands.
A dark form appeared behind the monstrosity, making Allen dance backward on instinct. A running carcass materialized out of the rainy haze, barreling in their direction—his direction. Allen rolled to the side, avoiding another swipe at his face, and came up out of range of the deformed mutant. He feinted to one side, then the other, trying to confuse the brute and keep it guessing. He knew the things had some mean type of intelligence—he’d learned that in the tunnels beneath Ishamael.
If he couldn’t beat it with physical prowess, there was nothing wrong with giving trickery a go.
He maneuvered the beast between himself and the running cadaver, which charged with mindless ferocity. The misshapen creature chanced another swipe at his face, but as it reached out, the animated body ran into it, tangling their limbs and sending them both to the ground. Forcing down the bile in his throat that came up in protest of his next thought, he threw himself among the struggling pile of dead limbs and murderous rage.
The corpse rose first, empty eyes locked to Allen’s face. Allen split open its skull with the saber, abandoning the unwieldy weapon as he slid by. He reached to the side with all the speed he could muster, pulling a short sword from the small of his back. With a roar, he landed atop the red-eyed freak before it could get to its feet.
It smelled horrible. The body had an odd softness to it, like a side of meat that had been left to rot in the sun for a few days. The sword entered the demon’s guts just under its breastbone, which opened its innards to the air. It screamed as the blade tore into it, the wound releasing an acrid, graveyard stench.
The aberration fought to rise as Allen bore his weight upon it, but it couldn’t. It was much stronger than him—he realized that right away—but the thing’s body was built in such a way that made in-close fighting more difficult. Its legs were short and stunted, the joints malformed. Allen bowled it over easily, as it didn’t have the leverage to keep him off.
Claws scraped against the armor on Allen’s back, making a metallic screech that cut into his ears. He clenched his teeth together and twisted the short sword, doing more damage to the fiend’s abdomen. It keened with what Allen thought was pain, but the wound did little to actually slow it down. Allen tried to twist the blade upward, to work it inside the brute’s ribcage, but some unseen obstruction in its guts caught his weapon and prevented it from moving for the kill.
The beast screamed and reached down with one of its hands to try and rip Allen free. More metallic scraping grated on his ears as the claws sought purchase on his armor, and Allen realized that its hands were too ill-formed to pry him off. The arms were longer than normal, which made its attempts to grapple him awkward, if no less deadly. Allen reached up with his off-hand and shoved his bleeding forearm into the creature’s neck, pinning its head to the grass.
“Say hello to your cousins when you meet them in the Void!” he hissed through his teeth, trying to wrench his sword free. It came out with a wet, meaty squelch, and Allen raised himself from the monster’s chest to chop into its neck and remove its ugly head. As soon as Allen rose, though, his enemy was able to grab him.
It clenched his right shoulder in a painful grip, and tore him from its body. He tumbled away into the grass, landing on his face with the sword pinned beneath his chest. Allen pushed himself to the side on pure instinct, rolling over the weapon and shooting from the ground with the blade in his hand. The creature landed in the spot he’d only just occupied, and lashed out with one of its claws.
Agony burned hot lines across Allen’s face, and he felt warmth mix with the rain dripping down his chin. His vision blurred as blood ran into his left eye, and he spun away from the attack. His face gave a sickening wiggle as he moved it, and spitting the blood out of his mouth made the wound sing with pain.
The brute gave him no respite, charging forward with its claws seeking his throat. Allen ducked his head and took one of the blows on his pauldron, which spun him to the side. Another swipe opened a gash on his right thigh, though he pulled it out just in time to avoid being crippled. His sword turned away another strike aimed at his vitals, and he received another draw cut on the forearm for his trouble.
Allen was unable to move quickly enough to avoid another charge, and the beast bowled into him, forcing him to his back. He kept hold of the sword, and managed to get his chin to his chest to bar the demon from wrapping its huge, dead hands around his throat. It tried anyway, catching the lower part of Allen’s jaw in its grip, and shoving his head down against the grass.
This is it. It’s going to rip me open and start eating me, or whatever these ugly bastards do.
The monstrosity raised its head to the rain and let out a victory howl, using its weight to keep Allen pinned. It rose, straightening the arm that clenched Allen’s bleeding face in a steel grasp. Panic gripped him as he saw its other hand rise, dagger-tipped fingers spread against the clouds above. His face hurt like it was aflame, and all he could taste in his mouth was blood.
I’m not going to die like this!
Feeling a surge of new energy, Allen rolled to his left, using the momentum to swing the sword at the arm that pinned him to the ground. He felt the blade bite deep into the monster’s limb, and the grip around his neck went slack. The mutant’s screams turned to a pained wail as the arm came free, spluttering into that gray, salty substance as it was severed from its body.
The thing fell atop him, and Allen wrapped his free arm around the back of its neck on reflex, holding it as close as a lover. It struggled against him, pushing against the ground as it tried to rise and shake him off. Allen held on with all his might, and kicked at the brute’s legs, trying to take it back to the ground and out of its element. Some instinctual part of him knew that if he met the beast on its feet again, it would kill him. Up close, though, his chances were much better.
He connected with one of his desperate kicks, knocking the leg aside for a brief moment. The hulking bastard fell atop him once again, and Allen used the moment to his advantage, wrapping his legs around the creature’s gory midsection. Rotten effluvia squelched between them, the open wound that Allen had given it worsening in the struggle. He bit back his disgust and clung to its body for all he was worth, trying to stay inside the range of its single, deadly claw.
With his sword-hand, he attacked over and over again. He stabbed into the freak’s ribcage, but the close range prevented him from sinking the blade deep enough to kill it—if stabbing its heart would even do the job. He chopped down at its hips when the opportunity presented itself, and once took a fruitless swipe at one of its legs. For what felt like an endless parade of seconds, he clung to the beast and chopped at it with desperation, heedless of how close the blade was coming to his own body.
Allen could feel his head going muddy from the loss of blood. Each time the bastard rose from the grass and fell atop him, the breath rushed out of his chest. As the struggle went on, he could feel the strength eking from his bleeding limbs. He knew that if he didn’t do something soon, even this tactic would prove futile.
The sword is too long for these close quarters.
With a snarl, he shoved the blade into the hole he’d made in the fiend’s abdomen. The wound only slowed it for a moment, but when the mutant gave a twitch of pain, Allen used the last of his energy to spring into motion. He opened his legs and let go of the brute’s torso, using all his strength to hold to its neck. It tried to fight free of him, slipping its legs beneath it once again, and when it drew its weight from him, Allen struck.
He pulled the sword free of the stinking gut wound, and rammed it into the creature’s left hip. He abandoned the weapon, leaving it lodged deep into the joint. The aberration screamed in pain, its leg suddenly useless, and struggled against the hold that Allen had on its neck. It pushed itself to its full height, and b
uffeted Allen to the side, breaking his hold. Allen tumbled away a short distance, too tired to arrest his own momentum.
His arms burned as he pushed himself to his knees. He looked over to see the monstrosity yank the sword free of its hip, but the leg would not support its weight. Allen would have rushed back to the attack, but he was so damned tired. A lassitude had crept into his body—probably the blood loss—and he spent a few moments just watching the bastard struggle to rise.
Its right arm was gone, severed above the elbow. Its right leg was useless, as Allen had ruined the hip joint. It struggled to move the limb anyway, its leg giving little spasms and kicks. Each time the thing pushed itself to its feet, though, it toppled back to the grass. Allen started to laugh, though he knew it was crazy.
“Maybe I’ll leave you like that,” he snickered. “Wobbling around like a fish. Look at yourself.”
The monster hissed at him, its eyes burning with hatred.
“That’s what you get for slicing up my face, you ugly fucker.” Even now he could feel a strange looseness to the skin. It hurt to speak. Then again, it hurt to do anything.
A stone flew overhead, hurtling through the air like it had been tossed by a giant. It landed some distance past the creature, splashing down and kicking up mud when it fell. If he got hit by one of those things on accident, after all of this, he would personally slap the gods when he met them.
Fucking wizards.
Allen glanced back up the hill, hoping to see D’Jenn, but he couldn’t find him. His heart gave a little kick, but he shoved his worries down. He couldn’t do anything about that yet—not until he took care of the monstrosity wriggling in the grass nearby. Pulling a long dagger from his boot, he looked back to the red-eyed fiend.
It was time to see this thing done.
The beast had begun to pull itself through the grass in the opposite direction, flailing around with its two remaining limbs. Allen sighed as he rose to his feet, nearly pitching back to the grass as a wave of nausea swept over him. He stumbled in the thing’s direction, taking deep breaths to try and keep his head.
The Seven Signs: Three Book Collection Page 118
