Soddam drew his axe. It looked like a toy in comparison to the dogman’s weapon. “Fight or run?” Soddam said to Sugar.
If they were quick, they might be able to make it around the house and down to the dock.
“Run,” Sugar said.
“I think you’re right,” Soddam said. “Go!”
Sugar ran, but realized a few strides later that Soddam hadn’t followed. Instead, he charged the dogman. Sugar knew Soddam was mature in the lore, and he was big, but the dogman was bigger. Soddam flew at the dogman, a blur of fury, and struck with his axe.
The dogman countered and stepped back, clearly surprised.
Soddam twisted and struck again.
The dogman blocked his attack.
Soddam slashed him with a knife. The dogman snarled and took the initiative. He swung the bladed end of the poleax at Soddam and knocked his axe back. Then he swung the butt of the staff around, landing a glancing blow that knocked Soddam to the ground.
Sugar rushed forward with her knife, but the dogman swatted her away, and she crashed painfully into the cobbles. The dogman turned back to Soddam who was getting up.
The dogman licked his lips. “Sliced thin, your heart will be succulent,” he said with an odd accent. He swung, blinding fast. Soddam ducked under the blow and charged into the dogman, lifting him off his feet for a stride, but the dogman twisted and hurled Soddam to the ground.
Sugar rushed the dogman again. He straight-armed her, took her by the throat, and threw her on top of Soddam. He raised his poleax high for a blow that would skewer them both, and then a sword protruded from his chest. His eyes went wide.
The sword tip disappeared. The dogman turned.
Argoth stepped back, his face grim.
The dogman swung his poleax, weakened.
Argoth stepped to the side and, with one blow, hacked the dogman’s head off. It landed heavily and rolled a bit. A moment later the body toppled to the ground.
Relief washed over Sugar. She rolled off Soddam and got to her feet.
“Where are the others?” Argoth asked.
“Scattered from here to breakfast,” Soddam said, hauling himself up and feeling his battered head.
Argoth’s small fist of men were all with him, watching the street. “We need to get to the cover of the trees,” Argoth said.
“Follow me,” Sugar said.
Soddam fetched Lamborn, and they all ran past the sail maker’s workshop. Behind them maulers barked and scattered dogmen howled. Battle horns sounded up by the fortress and down at the docks.
“Look up,” Soddam said.
Sugar looked. Two kitemen soared like vultures above, tracking their progress.
Kitemen rode the winds, but were also said to be kept aloft many times by smaller skir. They were sometimes used as messengers. More often they were used as scouts, giving Mokad’s Divines eyes in the sky so they could see exactly what the enemy was doing over a huge area. She didn’t know how they communicated with the ground, but had heard they had special methods using hand mirrors, pennants, and specific aerial maneuvers. These flew in a harness attached to huge triangular linen sails. The sails were painted with the eye of Mokad.
They would have been a wonder to behold if they weren’t directing the whole Mokaddian army to Sugar’s exact position.
Sugar led Argoth and the others through the streets to one of the town’s lesser-used gates. The guards saw her and moved to bar the way, but then they saw the rest of the crew round the corner, and the guards scattered. A few moments later, Sugar and the others were through the gate and running along the outlying streets. And then they left the streets behind and ran across a field to the shelter of the woods.
Mokad would send out mounted men. In no time, this whole area would be crawling with troops. But Sugar had lived among the Fir-Noy her whole life. She’d been to Blue Towers many times for her father’s smithing work, and she knew about Sharp’s Cave.
They entered the woods and ran another quarter of a mile. One of the kitemen dropped lower to see better through the canopy of trees. He skimmed low enough she could hear the flapping of his sail and see his face. But even though it was autumn and a number of the trees had lost their top leaves, there was still enough cover that they were able to give him the slip when they entered the cave.
The cave itself was a rather simple affair.There were some dangerous holes and a few blind ends, and parents forbid their children from exploring it, but the youth explored it all the same. It ran for half a mile, branching about two-thirds the way in. Argoth had seafire soaked torches, but they didn’t need them, for they’d stumbled upon a boy and two girls who were obviously not there to listen to the bats. The men tied them up and gagged them. Then they stole their lamps and continued their journey over the wet rocks deeper into the cave.
As they went, Sugar prayed the ancestors that Urban and Ke and the others had escaped.
* * *
Berosus felt after the captain of his dreadmen, then waited patiently for Ke to rouse. His hammer of dreadmen guard soon arrived and formed a perimeter around the barn and drive. Not long after, Ke opened his eyes. He was none too happy. Shouts rose in the distance about them in the town. The chase for the attackers was still in progress.
“You and I are going to chat,” said Berosus. “I’ll give you credit. This was a breathtaking strike. And you yourself are a surprise. An equal to any of my dreadmen in might. In fact, I’m sure you surpass a good many of them.”
“Shim will hound the Divines that hold your chain,” said Ke. “When they’re dead, you’ll be free. And I’ll try my best at that time to forgive you and not run you through with a sword.”
“Divines?” Berosus asked. He smiled. “My dear boy, I don’t think you understand who I am.”
Uncertainty shown in Ke’s eyes. “Your honors tell me nothing.”
“Of course, not,” said Berosus. “It would not do to walk into a nest of sleth and proclaim that the chief Guardian of Mokad was among them.”
Ke expression changed from alarm to fear.
“Yes, now I think you finally see your situation.”
Ke renewed his struggle against his bonds.
“I need some information,” said Berosus. “And you’re going to provide it. Do not chastise yourself when you give in. Resistance is not something you or anyone else is capable of.” He pulled back the sleeve of his right arm. In the palm of his right hand the symbol of the eye of Mokad glowed red. He placed his hand upon Ke’s forehead. The boy’s resistance was strong, but this was not a power to be withstood. He tore open the boy’s doors and pushed into his mind.
“Tell me what happened in the battle in the Mother’s cave. Tell me who the real power of the Grove is.”
Anguish wracked Ke’s face, and he resisted, but even this bull could not hold out for long. Not with the hooks of the Sublime already deep within him. Berosus asked questions about the history of the Grove here; he asked about the current war plans. And Ke answered.
When he’d retrieved all the information he wanted, Berosus sat back on his heels satisfied but somewhat disappointed. These sleth had not killed Lumen or Rubaloth. Nor had they really killed the Sublime Mother who had been behind everything. They’d had a stroke of luck, that was all. That Mother’s own thrall had failed, and her creation had turned on her. The dark killing mists at Redthorn and Fishing were also not of their making. All of which meant that there was nothing in this Grove to fear.
He had been looking forward to a true struggle, but that was not to be. Which meant there was no need to wait. Tomorrow he would destroy Shim and his army.He motioned to the captain of his dreadmen.
The man approached. “Holy One,” he said.
“Take the gloryhorn to the harvesters. Tell them to begin today.”
He wouldn’t have the fight he’d been hoping for, but
the weather was still holding—it was still going to be a magnificent harvest.
* * *
Sugar’s body lay hidden next to Soddam who crouched behind an outcropping of rocks on a hill with a good view of Blue Towers. They had traveled through the cave without incident and joined up with Shim’s escort. Urban and the survivors in his group had also joined them. Only Ke’s group was missing.
“What do you see?” Argoth asked.
Sugar had soulwalked to an open bluff that looked across the river. She had a clear view of the surrounding area. “I don’t see Ke’s fist anywhere.”
“Come on, boy,” Argoth said. “Show yourself.”
But they’d already waited as long as they could; Mokad’s forces were starting patrols on this side of the river. Down below, two packs of dogmen debarked from a boat.
“We need to move,” Urban said.
Argoth sighed heavily. “Come back, Sugar.”
But one of the immense blue urgom was flying up the river toward her. She dove under the cover of some rocks. The mountain-sized creature blocked out the sun, filled the sky. Other smaller things flew about it, but even these were large. She quailed at the creature’s sheer size, and made herself as small as possible. The air filled with the clicks and tones it made.
The front edge of the wind passed over her position throwing debris in her face and hair. Moments later the massive skir followed, and for four long breaths all she could see was its belly and the creatures that accompanied it. Then it passed by, heading up the river. The tail end of its wind tossed the tops of the trees, and then was gone.
Lords, how were they ever going to fight that? And the Mokaddians had two more like it still out over the bay.
She prepared to move back up the slope to her body when a man walked out into a field across the river close to the fortress. He held a horn in his hand. Sugar should have ignored him, but there was something about him, about that horn. The man brought the horn to his lips and blew.
The note sailed out clean and clear, and the part of the tattoo that was in the wrist of her soul moved. The skenning tightened around her arms. She startled and looked down at her wrist and the tattoo there. The man blew the horn again. Again her tattoo moved. This time joy filled her. It was like when she heard the horns announcing feast day. Or the fiddles striking up before a dance. She wanted to run to the sound. But the skenning moved again, covering the tattoo, and the desire subsided. The horn sounded again, but this time it was only a sound in the distance. She shook her head, and not for the first time wondered what they were doing sending her, a girl with no experience, out as a spy. She knew nothing and wished Withers was back with her body, giving her instruction.
A flock of orange skir that undulated flat and thin like huge leeches flew out over the field where the man stood. The blue urgom dove at them and chased them away. And then, from the trees at the edge of the wood, a man appeared.
No, not a man—the soul of a man. He walked out onto the field. Others appeared in the trees. On the rooftops of the houses on the streets below, another handful of souls appeared. The man in the field blew the horn again. The souls on the field began to run to him. Those on the rooftops leaped toward him from house to house. They were like children running to a juggler.
The orange skir evaded the blue urgom and dived toward those souls out on the field. But a number of men in spiked armor rushed out from the fortress. She recognized them from the description Withers had given her. They were Walkers, those that soulwalked for the Divines.
The Walkers rushed out onto the field brandishing their weapons at the orange skir. One of the creatures dove at a soul, but a Walker fought it off. Then the big blue urgom was there, and from a clump of hair a long whip struck out at one of the orange skir and knocked it to the ground. The blue urgom struck another orange skir.
More souls filtered out of the trees and from the streets, running to the Walkers. All her life Sugar had been told that the ancestors came for the souls of their fallen dead to protect them and escort them to safety. She did not see any ancestors.
Howlers bayed in the distance. The blue behemoth chased orange skir. One darted down and caught a soul and carried it away. The rest of the souls began to panic and ran to the field with the hornsman and the Walkers. A few souls held back by a house, but a Walker approached them with his spear and moved them along like a cowherd prods reluctant cows to join back with the herd.
More of the flock of orange skir tried to dart down and take a soul, but then the whole flock startled and fled, scattering like pigeons before a hawk. A moment later Sugar felt something behind her. She turned and scanned the field, the cliff’s edge, and the sea beyond. Suddenly, a large skir rose up over the precipice. It was followed by three others. They were not the beautiful blue of the urgom or the frightful sickly orange of the long flat skir. These were golden with bellies of hair that was long and dark.
They cruised over the field and hovered above the souls being herded into one big group. The souls of the fallen stood looking into the sky. The Walkers backed away.
The first golden skir snaked down a whip-like arm, snatching a soul and nestling it in the hairs of its belly. It whipped down another arm and took another soul. And then another arm and another until it seemed it was grabbing the souls with a dozen arms, nestling them in the long hairs of its belly.
The souls of the fallen did not run, did not move. The horn sounded yet again, and the other golden skir joined the first, their whip-arms plucking up the dead like a farmer picked pods of peas.They worked methodically. Two of the souls yelled in alarm and tried to flee, but it was too late. One skir snaked out a whip-like arm and wrapped it around the man’s leg before he could get away and lifted him aloft. Moments later another skir grabbed the second man’s soul by the waist.
Sugar was petrified. This couldn’t be right. Surely, this isn’t how it would end. All the stories of the life after death talked about the ancestors coming to gather their seed, protecting them. Her mind raced to make sense of what she was seeing.
Why weren’t the souls running? Her only guess was the horn. Somehow it had pacified them. Or maybe the Walkers had said something to them.
The skir picked up the last few souls and buried them in their grasping hairs. The souls hung from the bellies of the skir, wrapped in the long dark brown hairs, row upon terrible row like insects in a spider’s web. The sight revolted her. Then the skir rose and flew away toward the sea. A lone soul of a woman stood upon a rooftop watching the spectacle in shock. As one of the skir flew over, it snatched her up, trailing her along behind in its whip-like arm.
The skir flew out past the fortress, down to the shore, and out to a large Mokaddian death ship. One descended to the deck while the rest hovered above. Sugar couldn’t see clearly at such a distance, but she saw enough.
The Walkers hadn’t been sent by the ancestors. They were servants of Mokad. Servants of a Devourer. This wasn’t a reunion—it was a harvest! The souls of the dead were being taken to the ships, to be killed or transported to some terrible slaughter pen that was kept somewhere else. All those people going, not to the loving arms of their beloved dead, but to their end. To nothingness. To the bellies of their masters.
She thought about her mother and Da, their deaths. Had they been snatched up like this?
“Holy Six,” she prayed, unable to finish the thought.
“Sugar,” Argoth said. “We need to go.”
Across the river, the horn sounded again. She felt it tug at her wrist again. Felt something stir inside her. The skenning was protecting her, but she could still feel the horn calling.
A pack of howlers bayed close by, startling her. Sugar raced back to her body. She removed the skenning as fast as she could and slipped back into the comfort and security of her flesh. The horn pealed in the distance, calling to her, beckoning her, enticing her, compelling her to co
me. But she closed herself up tight in her flesh and shut out the sound.
38
Urban’s Warning
SUGAR AND THE OTHERS retreated in haste from the precipice that looked over the river and followed a wooded road to the south. Shim’s escort of two hammers rode horses. Some of Argoth’s men rode doubled-up with them, but Sugar and Urban’s crew ran, leading the wounded Lamborn along on a mule. All of them watched the sky for Mokad’s kitemen.
She could not get the horror of the souls coming to that field out of her mind. She could not unhear their cries. She could not unsee them wrapped in the living hairs on the bellies of the creatures that collected them.
A few miles later, Shim halted the group to let a handful of his men scout the road ahead. While they were waiting, Argoth asked her to report.
She told them what she’d seen in exact detail. “I think the horn calls to them,” she said. She held up her wrist and pointed at the tattoo. “There’s something here. I felt it leap to the call of that horn. Had I not been wearing the skenning, I believe I too would have gone to the field.”
The men about her looked at their own wrists.
Shim spat. “Skir masters. Their kitemen and winds—it’s all show. Their real pupose is to help with the slaughter.”
Argoth said, “We saw the Skir Master out on his ship with his priests and skirmen.”
“You know him by sight?”
“Aye,” Argoth said and motioned at his men. “We all marked him.”
“We’re not done,” Shim said. He turned to his men. “I want you to think about what you accomplished today. You killed two Divines, at the very least. We will kill more. A couple more Kains, a Skir Master. Five or six men. That’s all that stands between us and victory.”
Urban and Soddam glanced at each other, and Sugar thought they did not share Shim’s assessment.
Shim continued. “I don’t know where the ancestors were today, but it’s clear it’s time for the living to help the dead.”
Curse: The Dark God Book 2 Page 36
