Servant of a Dark God

by John Brown

  The Skir Master regarded him, then nodded, and the dreadman let him up. Talen immediately put his hand to the cut on his face. He pressed his fingers to the cut to hold it closed and stop the bleeding, then walked to the clearest set of prints.

  “Here,” he said and pointed at a footprint. “And here.”

  The Skir Master squatted down and examined the prints. After some time, he said, “If it’s lore masters this creature wants, then a lore master is what it will get. I think I know what’s been let loose upon your lands.” He stood and turned to the Crab. “We’re going to need at least five sturdy ropes, no shorter than forty feet. Go.”

  “Yes, Great One,” the Crab said, then exited the chamber.

  The Skir Master turned to the lead dreadman. “This creature cannot be beat by force of arms alone. It was bred by lore, and lore alone can defeat it. If it’s rescuing the soul-eaters, then it will come for the clansman. If it’s merely collecting them, eliminating them, then it will still come because I will raise a bait it can’t resist. We need nooses and snares. You must hold the thing, if only for a moment. I want five of you here. Set the other four to watch. You will distract it. And I shall take it with the ravelers.”

  “What about Shegom?”

  “The skir will conceal herself elsewhere. I must catch the creature off guard. Shegom will only make it wary.”

  The lead dreadman bowed and led his men out of the cave.

  Talen looked over at Sugar. The expression on her face told him she was at as great a loss as he was. Legs had not moved, but still lay upon his belly.

  The Skir Master turned to Uncle Argoth. “You didn’t tell me about your nephew.”

  “He knows nothing,” said Argoth. “His father only recently tried to waken him. He is of no consequence.”

  The Skir Master looked down at Talen. “Remember, Clansman, one day more and I will have all of your secrets. Tell Leaf to bring me the sack.”

  “Yes, Great One. Thank you,” said Uncle Argoth.

  Moments later Uncle Argoth returned with the large dreadman that had cut Talen’s face. The man carefully placed a worn leather sack at the Skir Master’s feet. “Where do you want the Crab’s men?”

  “I want them hidden as much as possible. And where they can’t hide, they need to appear to be no threat.” Then the Skir Master opened the mouth of the sack and withdrew three items. The first was a thin silver case etched in a marvelous design. It was about a span long and half as wide. The remaining items were two gauntlets worked in silver and gold. They were not steel-plated gloves used for protection in battle. These were made of whitened leather. The sleeve of the glove extended past the wrist partway up the forearm. An unfamiliar looping design was painted there in red and blue. The hand of the glove was studded with gold. Sewn into the palm was a gold disk the size of a small coin. But Talen knew that wasn’t a coin. It had to be a weave of some type.

  The Skir Master put the gauntlets on and tied the sleeves tight to his forearms. Then he opened the case. Inside, secured by silken threads on a bed of blue velvet lay three gleaming spikes. Their lengths too had been etched with an unfamiliar design. He showed the spikes to Uncle Argoth.

  “Are they wild?” asked Uncle Argoth.

  “Indeed,” said the Skir Master.

  There were weaves that only a lore master could use. There were others, wild ones, like those worn by dreadmen, that operated of their own accord.

  “Hag’s teeth,” said Uncle Argoth.

  “Not the proper name,” said the Skir Master, “but yes. Does the Order know how to fashion these?”

  Argoth looked at the spikes as if he were a boy looking at an unclaimed walnut pie. “No, Great One.”

  “It will unravel the seams of soul and body and Fire of any living thing. It takes months to complete the very first step, requires the Fire from scores of lives. One of these is worth any number of fiefs. There are only three Glories with the knowledge of how to make them.”

  “We would not be able to stand against such,” said Argoth.

  “Of course not. That is why you run and hide.”

  “We are fools,” said Uncle Argoth.

  “Yes, but capable enough to attract the attention of someone with power. And since you’ve been targeted, I think it’s best we use you as part of the bait.”

  Talen sat with Uncle Argoth, Sugar, and Legs a dozen paces away from the mouth of the cave in the clearing. Before them burned a fire to make it look like they were doing nothing more than preparing a breakfast. A number of hours had passed since the Skir Master had found them. The sun had risen. Because of the steep slopes of this valley, the sunshine had not yet reached every corner of the valley floor. But morning had begun. A meadowlark sang in the scrub a few dozen yards away. The stream that cut through this vale burbled. Beyond the meadow a huge flock of sparrows squabbled in a single tree. And yet, as late as it was, there had been no sign of the monster.

  The Crab stood watch a few paces away, while the Skir Master waited by the mouth of the cave. The Crab had brought fifty men with him. They loitered in groups in various positions around the cave. To the casual observer, it might look like they stood in random places. But the Skir Master had ordered them so that only one approach to the cave lay wide open. He expected the monster to come that way. And when it reached them, the five dreadmen who stayed with the Skir Master would spring.

  He’d overhead some of the Fir-Noy talking. Twenty dreadmen had been in the Skir Master’s guard. The big one that was his guide made it twenty-one. But twelve of those had been lost at sea in a fire. And Uncle Argoth had come back, sniveling and cringing. He hadn’t been able to hear what had happened. He doubted even the Fir-Noy knew.

  The breeze shifted and blew the smoke toward Talen. He picked up the rock he was sitting on and moved out of its way, closer to Uncle Argoth. So much for the Creek Widow’s theory of him being bred to greatness. He’d cracked like an egg.

  And so much for the Creek Widow. He wondered what had happened to her.

  He wondered about Da. The Skir Master had said the monster had taken him. Talen tried to talk to Uncle Argoth. But the man totally ignored him. He ignored everyone and sat to the side, rocking on his haunches and muttered something unintelligible under his breath.

  “What do you think will become of us if the Skir Master kills it?” Talen asked.

  “I don’t think we have to worry about that,” said Legs. “Usually the bait is the first thing to go.”

  “True enough,” Talen said.

  They were silent for a time. Talen wondered where Nettle was at this moment. He hoped he was safe but wished, nevertheless, that he was here. Then Sugar spoke up. “Once he faces off with that creature, I say we slip away. Because if he takes it, he doesn’t know where the monster’s cave is, which means we can walk straight into that lair and retrieve whoever is still alive. And if he doesn’t destroy it, then I certainly don’t want to be anywhere close.”

  “The only clear path is up that hill,” Talen said. The outer dreadmen and Fir-Noy had positioned themselves everywhere else. Talen didn’t think running would work since the Fir-Noy had horses, but thinking about escape was better than thinking of being devoured by a monster or questioned by a Divine whose ship had burned underneath him.

  Uncle Argoth reached out and gripped Talen’s arm much too tightly.

  “Uncle?” Talen asked.

  “He knows,” said Uncle Argoth, his grip tightening even further. “He knows everything.”

  “What’s he talking about?” Sugar asked.

  Talen shrugged. He tried to pull away but his uncle would not let go.

  A dreadman broke the tree line on the other side of the meadow on the valley’s floor. He was tall and thin and fast, as fast as a horse at full gallop. He ran across the field and in moments he stood before the Skir Master. “Cos and Heel are dead, their backs broken.”

  “Shegom reports nothing,” said the Skir Master.

  “They’ve been dead
for at least an hour.”

  The Skir Master studied the hills about the valley. To this moment, he hadn’t yet withdrawn any of the hag’s teeth. He did so now, removing one of the silver spikes from its blue velvet bed and grasping it in his white, gold-studded glove. “Where are you?” he said under his breath.

  As if in answer Talen saw a stone above the mouth of the cave move. He looked closer.

  “Goh,” he said. It was as if a part of the hill had come alive.

  The Crab followed Talen’s gaze.

  Then the creature jumped, dropping down with a thud only paces behind the Skir Master. In the morning light its features were clearer than they had been that night in the yard. It was a grotesque giant. And while clumps of grass still clung to it here and there, he saw the underlying color was of dirt and blue stone. One shoulder was burned. Along the other, a patch of small white flowers grew.

  The Skir Master turned, but he was too late and the creature slapped the hand holding the tooth. The hand flew backward violently.

  The Crab cried out. He clutched at his throat, at the spike that stood out of his neck. Then the end of the spike curled like a worm. In a flash of silver it wriggled into the Crab’s neck.

  The Crab gasped and stumbled. He tripped toward Talen and the others. Talen tried to scramble back, but Uncle Argoth would not release him. Then the Crab twitched and toppled into the fire. Ash puffed up in a billow.

  Talen tried to pry Argoth’s fingers away, but could not. He choked on the ash that blew into his face.

  The Skir Master danced back with blinding speed, trying to pull another spike from his case, but the monster moved more quickly and swatted the case out of his hand. The case flew wide, disappearing into the brush a number of paces away.

  “The teeth,” said Uncle Argoth. He released Talen’s arm and scrambled to the bushes where the case had fallen.

  Leaf cried out, drew a black-bladed sword, and charged the monster. The speed of the dreadman was frightening.

  “Shegom!” the Skir Master yelled and dodged away from the monster.

  Another dreadman, who had been hiding only paces away from where the monster had first appeared, stood and flung his wide noose around the creature’s head. The dreadman yanked his noose tight about the monster’s neck. Another dreadman sprung from his hiding place in front of the cave and threw his noose. A third dreadman joined him, and the two of them pulled the creature back. It lurched into a small trap that had been dug for it.

  Yards away, a dozen Fir-Noy heaved on the rope that lined the trap and caught one of the monster’s legs. A Fir-Noy slapped the hind of one of the two horses harnessed to that line, and the animals surged forward.

  The monster spun. The power of the horses and soldiers would have pulled a normal man to the ground, but the monster was too quick, too strong. Instead of falling to the ground, it took a giant sideways step and then braced itself in a wide stance, the grass still clinging to its body shuddering at the impact.

  It reached down and grabbed the line around its foot.

  Another noose flew, but missed the monster.

  Leaf, the big dreadman with the scorched eye, rushed forward. The blade of his sword was as black as a crow-a spirit sword. In a blinding move he hacked into the creature’s side. Talen thought he’d cleaved the monster in two. But the monster did not seem to be affected by the blow.

  It ignored Leaf and yanked on the line holding its foot. The group of Fir-Noy on the other end stumbled backward into a heap. The two horses were also forced back and trod upon the men in the rear. Men cried out. The horses whinnied in confusion. One leapt forward again. The other skittered sideways. Then, as if the monster had pinched the thin stem of a weed, the line snapped.

  “The teeth!” the Skir Master roared. “The teeth!”

  “Here!” Uncle Argoth cried out and held the case up. “Master!”

  The Skir Master turned and dashed toward him.

  Leaf snatched his sword out of the creature’s side. He swung the flashing black blade again in the early light, but the creature ripped it out of Leaf’s hand and flung it away. It grabbed one of the lines connected to a noose about its neck. It twisted around violently, and the dreadman who had tied the other end of the rope about his waist cried out. He was yanked from his position and into the air.

  The monster twisted and yanked again. In midair, the dreadman lurched horribly in a new direction. This time there was no cry of pain. The monster swung him like a man swinging a stone at the end of a rope.

  The Skir Master snatched up the case from Uncle Argoth’s outstretched arm and held it above his head. “Here, son of Lamash!” he yelled, his face full of fury. “Here is your doom!”

  But the monster swung the dreadman around, the thick rope making a deep swoosh and hiss as it sped in its circle.

  The Skir Master saw it, but he was not fast enough, and the dreadman swinging from the end of the rope slammed into both the Skir Master and Uncle Argoth, sending the two men flying.

  The monster ignored the third line about its neck and charged after the Skir Master, dragging the dreadman attached to the line like a toy attached to a child’s string.

  A Fir-Noy standing just beyond Uncle Argoth shouted. He leveled his spear and charged in for a death blow. He struck deep, but the monster simply ran him over, then plucked out the spear.

  The Skir Master rose and began to search the ground about him frantically.

  There was a movement at Talen’s feet. He looked down at the Crab. The man’s tunic had begun to smolder; but that wasn’t what had caught Talen’s attention. Something moved at the man’s ear. A glint of silver, and the long hag’s tooth came wriggling through the skin at the man’s temple.

  Talen backed away.

  The tooth curled an end as if sniffing the air. Then it wriggled the rest of the way out of his head and dropped to the ash.

  Sugar pulled on Talen. “Lords!” she said. “Run!”

  He scrambled to his feet, stumbled backward. He turned, only to find a dozen Fir-Noy, weapons drawn, charging straight toward him. Sugar and Legs ran one way. Talen was not quick enough and had to dive the other way to avoid them.

  The men sped past and attacked the monster, but with one, two, three backhand swings the creature slew that many men. The remaining Fir-Noy hesitated.

  The monster took a step and closed the gap between itself and the Skir Master.

  The Skir Master turned and looked up at the beast.

  At that moment, Leaf, who had retrieved his sword, screamed his battle cry and charged the monster again. His sword cut into the monster’s neck.

  The creature grasped Leaf by the throat and lifted him up. Leaf yanked the sword out of the monster’s neck, then drove the blade deep into its chest. But it had no effect on the creature.

  What kind of nightmare was it that could withstand a black sword of the Kains?

  Then the monster twisted its grip and snapped Leaf’s massive neck like a twig. The big dreadman sagged in its hand.

  The Skir Master rose in fury. In a flash, he charged the monster’s back. But instead of striking it with a weapon, he punched into it with his fist, going in up to his elbow.

  The monster cast Leaf aside, the black sword still sticking out of its chest.

  “Where is it?” the Skir Master cried. “Where is your quickening!”

  The creature wrenched around, trying to get at the Skir Master, but the Divine was too quick.

  “Clansman!” shouted the Skir Master, feeling inside the monster.

  Uncle Argoth lay upon the ground, unmoving.

  No, thought Talen. He can’t be dead. Lords, no!

  Two more dreadmen closed on the creature. They carried spears and harried it, thrusting repeatedly at its head. Their movements were blinding fast. But it was useless, couldn’t they see that?

  The creature grabbed one of the spears and jabbed it into one of the dread-man’s faces. The other dreadman struck, but the monster swung the spear and and
gave the dreadman such a blow to the side that Talen was sure half his ribs had been staved in. The dreadman fell over backward.

  The Skir Master withdrew his arm and punched into the back of the monster a bit higher. His arm sunk almost up to the shoulder. “Yes!” he said.

  The monster reached behind its back. The Skir Master moved to one side, but then in a blinding flash the monster’s other elbow slammed into the Skir Master and sent him flying.

  The Skir Master landed with a grunt many yards away on a clump of scrub.

  The monster made a sound. A loud, horrible sigh. And turned toward the Skir Master.

  Men littered this small battlefield. Talen looked around and saw a number of the Fir-Noy running. Those that did remain hesitated. The only dreadman still alive of those that had stayed by the cave was the one the monster had been dragging behind him. He stood, holding his side. He’d cut the rope connecting him to the monster, but had left the portion of the rope he’d knotted about his waist.

  The Skir Master shook himself and rose, distaste and anger twisting his face. He held up something dark. Something he’d taken from deep within the monster. “You will not prevail,” he said.

  But the monster seemed not to be affected.

  The Skir Master stood his ground.

  A sudden gust of wind kicked up dirt and debris. A huge crack sounded from the far side of the meadow. Talen looked and saw tree limbs as thick as a man’s body tossed into the air, swirling in a violent wind. The wind sped across the meadow, flattening the scrub of the clearing as it came.

  The monster charged. One, two, three paces. It was almost upon the Divine.

  But the wind was faster. It sped past the monster. The Skir Master stretched his tattooed arms out wide. The wind whipped about him. Then, before the monster could take another step, the wind picked him up and carried him into the air like a leaf in a storm.

  The monster took two steps and sprang after him, leaping a dozen or more feet into the air.

  Talen thought he saw it catch the Skir Master’s leg, but the wind thrashed the bushes, casting debris into his eyes. Then a huge gust slammed into Talen, knocking him onto his back. Something struck his face, nearly blinding him, and Talen covered his eyes.