A Blade of Black Steel

by Alex Marshall

  Tough as the Thaoan riders had been when they were all the heroes had to contend with, Digs had led Purna almost on top of the Crimson foot soldiers before he’d realized just how far ahead of their own infantry they’d run, only a handful of fellow Cobalts following their bad example. Horses still wheeled all around, making it blasted hard to orient themselves, and now a hedge of pikes and long hammers was only a few yards off. Sadly, this dismal turn of Diggelby’s non-strategy should’ve been expected—if she’d been able to catch her breath long enough to pontificate, she would’ve remarked on the predictability of the pickle he had gotten them into.

  But just when you think you’ve seen everything, a giant hell gerbil shows up to broaden your horizons. At least the appearance of the gargantuan gross-out distracted the Imperial front line and calmed Diggelby’s happy ass down, the pasha stopping in his tracks and gawping at the fiend that came plowing through the cavalry. Apparently all it took to put his ego in check was a monster as big as a barn. This hesitation on his part was the main difference between her and Digs (well, other than her superior style and his superior breeding); he seemed to be perfectly happy ducking death at the hands of boring old Imperial soldiers, but it took something special to excite Purna these days, and enemies didn’t come much more extraordinary than a colossal predator crushing and ripping its way through Crimson and Cobalt alike. She got that tight, pukey feeling in her throat, her heart accelerating from a brisk march to a sweat-glazing war dance, and, holstering her loaded pistol, she hooked Digs’s elbow and yanked him after her, toward their new target. The big bruiser had just taken off a horse’s head and sent both carcass and rider flying, so clearly a straightforward offense wouldn’t work; they had to find a way to jack the beast… but with all the surrounding Crimson infantry and riders either staring slack-jawed at the thing or outright retreating, they didn’t have to worry about being poked in the back as they circled around it. Hopefully.

  There was a dread moment when she thought it had spied their approach, leveling its icky grey face in their direction, but then a nearby Cobalt rider came charging in, issuing a trilling challenge from a distinctive horn, one Purna recognized with a sinking feeling in her tum… except no, now she saw General Ji-hyeon lying on the ground between two horses a short distance off. Captain Fennec knelt over her and, focusing back on the charging Cobalt rider, Purna saw a flash of black horn in a white coif, and her ill sensation became positively plaguey—it wasn’t Ji-hyeon who rode out to meet the monster, but Choi, the handsome wildborn badass who had helped Purna craft the horn as a gift for their general. Choi trilled the horned wolf trophy again as she came in fast.

  Refusing to look away from what would almost certainly be a dreadful end to one of the select few people Purna considered a personal inspiration, she started running again, no longer trying to flank the monster but going straight for the fallen general and the two nervously stamping horses. Purna’s careful feet carried her over frozen bodies and far fresher specimens, the field clearing out around the beast in a hurry, and she saw Choi veer her horse away, obviously meaning to lead the devil king on a chase, but the monster was already braced to pounce, and the wildborn had ridden too close…

  Just as it began to launch itself at the tempting rider, however, a fallen Cobalt piker who had been lying beside one of its muddied claws abruptly sat up, thrusting her spear into the monster’s leg. It squealed fit to wake the dead gods of old, or at least make them turn over in their dreams, and instead of leaping at Choi the monster snatched up the piker in a front paw and reared back on its hind legs, somehow finding its balance despite its prodigious girth and comparatively spindly limbs. It took several toddling steps backward, the spear jutting from its elbow no longer than one of its spines, and stared down at the woman crushed in its claw, her screams louder than the buzzing that filled the air. Then, in a decidedly human movement, it rubbed the captured soldier against its leathery, spineless belly and, like some traveling conjurer charming the peasantry with sleight of hand, made the Cobalt piker disappear from its paw. The monster’s long muzzle curled up in an unmistakable grin and, realizing what had happened, Purna looked away in horror—there was a pulsing bubble on its bald belly, where the unfortunate woman had been shoved into a slit or pouch and now impotently squirmed against the suffocating skin that trapped her.

  Purna liked to think it took a lot to creep her out, but that did it. Killing this thing no longer seemed like an honor or an adventure, but a necessary step to ensure she could one day, someday, fall asleep again. Maybe. That wasn’t going to happen so long as there was any chance this thing was still alive and out there in the world. Nope nope nope.

  She skidded across the ice to where Captain Fennec was tending their bloody-faced general, giving her water or spirits from a calabash flask. Ji-hyeon’s owlbat fluttered down to land on Fennec’s thigh, the pale little creature seeming about as feeble as its mistress—a devilish matter, no doubt, for Purna had seen the animal a dozen times over and could have sworn its furry plumage had always been a rich onyx. She glanced back, mostly to make sure the Thaoan infantry hadn’t decided to sneak up behind them after all. While they hadn’t, she saw Digs trotting after her, bless his bug-stung heart, though he wasn’t in quite the same hurry she was. And ahead of them, the fell giant had dropped back on all fours, and was tracking Choi with its long snout as the wildborn steered her horse to the north. That was the only direction to lead it, really, with the Gate at its back, the Cobalt infantry scattering back toward camp to its left, and General Ji-hyeon between it and the retreating Thaoans on its right. It wasn’t taking the bait, though, a lone noisy rider less intriguing than the clanking, frantic mass of Crimson soldiers, and its black eyes seemed to settle on the injured general and her wards.

  “Guard Ji-hyeon with your life, Digs,” Purna called behind her as she scrambled onto the back of one of the nervous horses that flanked the fallen general and her kneeling captain.

  “That’s my horse,” said Fennec, sounding more confused than angry by the development as he looked up to see Purna settling into the saddle and Digs jogging up.

  “Well I can’t very well steal the general’s,” said Purna, wiggling around to get comfortable on the thin Usban saddle and frowning down at the stirrups, which dangled out of reach of her short legs. Oh well, no time for corrections, and people rode bareback all the time. Kicking the big bay as hard as she dared, she gave a hearty “Hya!” which sounded right, and sure enough, the horse jumped forward so fast she almost fell off its rump.

  In the mountain kingdom of Ugrakar, almost everyone walked wherever they needed to go, and those who rode favored dire yaks, the sure-footed beasts far nimbler on the sheer terrain than any Raniputri pony or Azgarothian mustang. The only people who learned to ride horses were of the Tapai families, the big beasts increasingly fashionable as an obvious status symbol; the roads to your palace must be wide and level to accommodate a horse, and while the merchant guilds had appealed the decision numerous times, the royal family remained firm that only the noblesse were permitted to ride them.

  Purna had only been on a horse a time or two, and never under such intense conditions, but she had cruised around on enough yaks in her day to consider herself something of an expert rider. It thus came as something of a surprise when the horse abruptly lurched to the right, wanting no part of the great buzzing hell beast that reared up before them, and she went flying out of the saddle. She wasn’t surprised for very long, however, since her world went bright white as she landed face-first in the snow, and that was it for Purna.

  One question needled Sullen as he and Zosia raced up behind the hulking devil king: was this entirely his fault, or only partially? He’d never know if the monster would’ve still managed to worm its way out of the First Dark if he’d shoved Hoartrap into the Gate before it could emerge, but considering the end of its tail was still tethered to the sorcerer it seemed plausible it had been relying on that connection to cross over. And now the
biggest, freakiest horror he’d seen since the Faceless Mistress was tearing its way through the middle of the battlefield, attacking anyone it could lay its jaws or paws to, while Zosia’s devil dog raced enthusiastically after it, looking a bit like an ermine chasing a ghost bear. The Gate-spawned opossum monster had slowed its pace to a faltering scuttle—Sullen never would have thought something that huge could be described as scuttling, but that was the only word for it—and as he and Zosia crunched their way across the torn-up earth in its wake they saw why it had altered its gait. Ever since it had first reared up on its hind legs, it had started grabbing live soldiers and tucking them away into some hidden pocket or mouth on its underside. From their vantage point it was impossible to see where exactly the unlucky folk were being stuffed, but all the same it was pretty fucking dreadful to behold… and it probably never would’ve come to pass if Sullen hadn’t decided to save Zosia and Hoartrap instead of pushing them through the Gate.

  “Having second thoughts?” Glancing over at the woman trotting beside him, Sullen couldn’t tell if she’d shouted or whispered, the buzzing of the beast louder than ever.

  “Uh… nah.” Sullen hoped his embarrassment didn’t show, tightening his fists around the shaft of his spear and sun-knife. “We good.”

  “I meant about ambushing the devil queen.” Zosia’s smirk made him feel more the fool than his own mouth had. On top of that, how’d she known it was female, a devil queen and not a devil king? Before he could ponder the matter further, she said, “You know anything about bringing down something this big?”

  “I… nah,” Sullen said after a moment’s hesitation, because little baby songs about Cormorant the Oath-breaker hunting hairless mastodons before the Coming of the Iced Earth were just that, and less than no help in the face of the enormous reality they fast approached.

  “Let’s start with one of her hind legs, trip her up, and once that drops her backend low enough for us to reach we’ll stick something pointy in the ass or crotch, whatever we get a shot at.” That was actually exactly what Cormorant had done to fell the elephantine blind guardian of the Forest of Stars, but Zosia seemed to mistake Sullen’s surprised expression for reluctance. “Not nice, I know, but a lot of blood flows through there, and a lot of pain, too, and pain’s what we need to bring, and blood’s what we need to spill. With me?”

  Sullen stared up at the lumbering backside of the beast, a waterfall of thick spines crashing down around the tree-trunk rise of its tail; whatever unspeakable part of the devil she wanted them to strike lay hidden behind that fat white root. It had stopped lashing the fifty-foot appendage, at least, having used most of its length to wrap Hoartrap up in tight, furry coils. It balanced the warlock over its back like a scorpion’s stinger as it advanced ever more slowly toward the retreating Thaoan infantry, arching its back so that its pendulous pink gut wouldn’t drag on the corpse-riddled field.

  Sullen was no coward, but he was no fool, either, and he didn’t have a high opinion of Zosia’s scheme—poking this thing in the butt seemed way more likely to bring its full wrath down on them than to do it any substantial injury. It was just… so… big, and between its epic stature and that numbing drone it emitted all he could think of was the Faceless Mistress, and he wondered if this might be another god, one long forgotten by mortals, if they had ever believed in such a fiend at all. And that was what scared Sullen—fighting an animal, however huge and dangerous, that was easy, and a necessary evil if it was causing mischief, but attacking a god seemed bad form, even if it was one you didn’t worship.

  “Deceiver wept,” whispered Zosia, stopping in her tracks, and before Sullen could try to parse that queer turn of phrase he saw what had brought her up short, and found he suddenly understood the expression perfectly. He skidded to a stop, too, despite being almost close enough to strike it.

  “Old Black wept, too.”

  The monster had danced all over the field in spastic dashes, foraying deep into the retreating Thaoan infantry only to dart back in the other direction, double-fisting the fleeing Cobalt soldiers into its belly, but now it stopped in the widening strip of vacated earth between the two armies. It began shuddering in place as it stretched farther up on the tips of all four paws, the pale pink surface of its dangling stomach bulging all over. There were people in there, writhing and pushing against the thin membrane, and other shapes that were almost human but weren’t. At first Sullen thought the devil queen was carrying her brood in some kind of stomach pocket, that the hapless soldiers she had been stuffing in there were food for her young, but now he realized it was much worse than that. As he stared agape at the sick-making mass, a human face pressed into the edge of the rubbery, translucent flesh, and as its mouth widened in a scream its face ruptured, lengthened, the rest of its silhouette changing along with its skull. Throughout the gut-pouch, lashing tails and snapping snouts replaced scrabbling hands and mutely wailing mouths, the buzzing so loud Sullen felt it behind his eyes and vibrating through his taint…

  “Move, boy,” said Zosia, slapping Sullen’s biceps as if to remind him he wasn’t dreaming. It only half worked, his eyes still stuck on the roiling stew of remade flesh that bubbled away inside its pouch. “That left back leg, while it’s up on tiptoes. Now!”

  She darted forward, quick even with her slight limp, but Sullen couldn’t move, his limbs locked up, his chest tight. It was going to put him in its pouch, he knew it, and he was going to melt away into the beast his clan had always told him he was—blood of devils or blood of shamans, it scarcely mattered, because soon he was going to be something else entirely, they all were, for who could hope to stand against a god? That’s what it was, it had to be, to sow such chaos, transforming people into monsters… it wasn’t even that they were all going to die that froze Sullen; it was that they might live on, remade in this devil queen’s image. He never should have left the Savannahs, he never even should’ve stayed on the frozen field with Grandfather after the Jackal People maimed him, he should have been a good Horned Wolf and gone home with his mother, and then none of this would have happened, never never never—

  A bark brought Sullen out of his dark reverie, and he saw Zosia’s dog back in front of him, wagging its tail, and as he met the devil’s black eyes he took a step back, for there was something coldly intelligent in their depths that was every bit as intimidating as the new god behind it. It glanced over its flank to where its mistress had almost reached the devil queen’s leg, and Sullen sucked in a breath of the bracing morning air. A god had told him to kill a woman, and now this woman moved to kill another god… and at her beck and call was a creature that looked something like a dog and something like a devil but what Sullen was beginning to think was every bit as dangerous as any other power he’d met, from the Faceless Mistress to this marsupial devil queen. Maybe there was something to the ancient lore after all, maybe mortals were but characters in the songs of the Old Watchers, pushed this way and that by the caprice of the gods. If that were true, the worst mistake a person could make would be to bore them with indecision, especially by sitting out such a fight. Yes, all he needed was to start moving, to charge at the towering horror that was popping professional soldiers into its vile pocket like a child gathering teaberries in his skirt…

  Ji-hyeon. She was out there on the field somewhere, on the other side of this devil god or god of devils or whatever the hells it was. Her name jabbed him in the arse like a thorn, and then he was moving so fast he was halfway to the oblivious devil queen before Zosia had finished settling in for her strike, the woman standing beside its splayed claw and sizing up its enormous leg like a seasoned woodsman surveying a knot-riddled oak. She tensed her shoulder but didn’t swing yet, looking back at Sullen with a mad grin on her face. The canopy of oozing, writhing flesh stretched thin just beyond her, the creature itself still shuddering in place, oblivious to the mortals rushing up behind it, and Sullen committed himself to something he never thought possible outside of the songs: he attacked a god, wit
h a devil loping at his heel and a hero of legend fighting beside him.

  He should have been excited, but it was all he could do not to throw up.

  Ji-hyeon wiped blood and sick off her chin as she leaned against Purna’s friend, Dangleberry or Dingleby or something. They were surrounded by the enemy. Fennec was trying to talk sense to the mounted Thaoan officer and the dozen Crimson infantry who had dared to go against the receding tide of their regiment, taking advantage of the gargantuan devil’s sudden interest in the Cobalt infantry to dash forward and capture the enemy general. Another peril to having such a distinctive style as the one Ji-hyeon had borrowed: even the lowest enemy grunt knows what you look like. Still, she wouldn’t have expected any of them to risk attracting the monster’s attention by breaking from the Crimson mob, even for such a prize as her—her second dad must have put quite the price on her head. Easy enough to offer a king’s ransom, when you’ll turn around and flip your hostage for the price of an empress, and apparently there was nothing like greed to make even the craven bold.

  Well, as soon as she got her strength back Ji-hyeon would teach them such rewards are easier imagined than earned. Whether it was the return of her weak devil to the crook of her arm or whatever sour, malty dram Fennec had poured down her throat, she was feeling stronger by the breath. Her head still ached and the buzzing in her ears made it hard to hear what harsh words Fennec and the Thaoan woman were exchanging, but she’d wiped the blood from her eyes, and realizing it had not welled out from inside her face but run down from a cut on her scalp came as a huge relief. If only they hadn’t been captured by Imperial soldiers while an enormous monster decimated the wrong fucking army and cut them off from any hope of rescue, Ji-hyeon would have been feeling peachy.