“I speak for the gods on this matter. Let the Grakhul go.”
“The gods have no choice in this, Undying. They are abandoning this world. Other masters rise at last.”
Lowra-Plim tilted its head and slowly nodded. The shadow offered confirmation. Without words it spoke to the gods. They did not respond immediately.
“I am given mastery over all that the gods command. The wind is mine. The waters are mine. I can shatter the earth or raise mountains.”
The shadow smiled. “We cannot drown. We are not made of air, and we would survive the mountains as we have the cold.”
Lowra-Plim stood taller and tilted its head the other way. “Can you burn?”
“Can we…?” It hesitated, and Lowra-Plim would have smiled if it could have. The He-Kisshi were undying, true, but in most cases they could be hurt by the very elements the gods allowed them to control. Boiling water still burned, flames still ignited flesh. Knives cut and swords wounded, but when they were doing the bidding of the gods, the rules were not the quite the same. That was why Lowra-Plim could hold a raging ball of fire in its clawed hand and feel no pain, and suffer no wounds.
The fire needed no source. It was a gift of the gods. He opened his hand and the flames rose, twisting around themselves. The light it generated was not as bright as the sun, but it was bright enough to make a person squint and it was far more than capable of burning away the shadows.
Lowra-Plim threw the blaze at the shadow that had approached and watched as the tongues of flame licked across the entire form, even as it tried to flinch away. The shadows retreated from the brightness and were cast across the ground instead of standing in the air. Under those shadows a man stood, and his eyes flew wide, his mouth even wider as the flames ripped through his flesh and clothes alike.
All around the area the shadow forms scattered as the conflagration grew stronger still, until the darkness was pushed back. Rather than letting them escape, the He-Kisshi moved to the closest and touched it with burning hands. The creature shrieked with two voices, one human and the other something that had never been alive in the purest sense. Still, it burned and it died.
The shadow people ran. They did not reach for their wagons, but instead fled the area entirely, desperate to escape the flames. Three more fell victim to Lowra-Plim before they were gone.
The Undying were given many eyes and they followed the trails that the shadow people took.
Far away, but closer now, Dowru-Thist spoke in its brethren’s mind and rose over the top of the mountains. It dropped fast, and then corrected its course, heading for the runaway shadow things.
The Grakhul were injured and some were likely dying. Lowra-Plim looked for the one in charge and finally found her. It had not met her before, but only days earlier Dowru-Thist had talked with the woman. She was standing, she was shaken. She had been beaten down.
Myridia held her hand and looked at the broken fingers. She was not gifted with healing. It understood her pain, but couldn’t make itself worry too much. There were other matters to consider.
“Dowru-Thist hunts the last of the shadows. You are to move on. There is a river that will guide you most of the way to the Sessanoh.”
She looked at him with dazed eyes.
“The gods want you to save this world. You must do this thing. If you do not, all is lost. Your people will die.”
The woman nodded and stood as best she could. Her body was battered and her injuries were many.
“Go to the waters. Swim. The gods will help you mend. The time for distraction is done. The shadows will bother you no more.”
“What are they?”
“A demon’s playthings. They will be eliminated.”
She lowered her head and her face became a mask of sorrow.
Lowra-Plim reached out with one talon and grabbed the woman’s chin, forcing her to look into its face. “Enough. These are not your people. They are not for you. They are tainted by the enemies of your gods, and they will be destroyed. You are chosen to lead. Prove worthy. Go. Now.”
Without another word, the woman turned and moved toward the river, pausing only long enough to grab her sword and scabbard.
In the distance, perhaps half a mile away, a ball of flames dropped from the skies and scoured the earth, burning away a shadow and the flesh that hid beneath it. The screams were loud, and pleased Lowra-Plim’s ears. What made the gods happy made the Undying happy.
Beron
The tent stank of sweat and fear. There were too many men inside it and the heat was stifling, made worse by the brazier that held three hot pokers and a few pounds of hot coals.
The men before Beron struggled mightily, but they were held by too many for their desperation to matter. Each was bound at the wrists and ankles, their faces pressed toward the ground, their feet stripped of boots and coverings.
Around the left ankle of each man a thick metal cuff had been locked in place, and between those cuffs were short lengths of chain. The men could walk in a shuffle, but could most certainly not run.
The first of the men had sores all over his face, blistered flesh where something had been attached and either fallen away or finished whatever it was that needed doing.
Beron nodded to the man holding the runaway’s left ankle and lifted his hammer. The thick nail was placed against the man’s heel and he fought and bucked and begged the slaver to stop, but Beron shook his head.
“You took my prisoners and ran from me. You’ll not be running again for some time.”
By the time he was done speaking he’d raised his hammer, and as he finished he brought the head down on the nail held in his other hand. Three hard taps and the full length of metal was driven deep into flesh, chipping the bone.
Some men fainted dead away. This one was stronger and merely screamed. His entire body shook and the men holding him cursed as sweat broke out and made holding him harder.
Beron didn’t waste time savoring his victory. They would not escape again, that was the only part that mattered. The second nail went into his other foot and drew a thick stream of hot blood. He looked to one of his followers and nodded. The man came forward with a hot poker. Best not to let the runaway bleed to death. If the nails had caused him pain, cauterizing the wound was worse.
For almost fifteen minutes Beron spent his time hammering nails into the heels of foolish people. They thought to escape from slavers. Worse, they thought to escape from slavers to whom they owed money.
Each of them had secreted their gains in their clothes or in their boots. The money was gathered and given to Beron. He didn’t bother to count it. That would come later.
In the meantime, for the next day the nails would remain in their feet. Only after that time would Beron pull them out, just long enough for them to think they knew how much pain they could suffer.
When they had calmed down and recovered, at least in part, from what had been done to them, Beron crouched next to the one who had talked the most and made the most threats.
“Your name is Bump.” He did not ask. He did not need to. The man had identified himself when he spoke to his compatriots. Rather, they had given his name when he spoke his words of encouragement, back when he was in the same tent that had held the last group of victims.
Bump nodded his head. “Aye.”
“You are a leader among these men?”
“Not a good one, as you can see.”
“You are the answer to my prayers. You are a man who can see his faults.” Beron stared at the man, who managed a defiant look in his direction, albeit with only one eye.
“So, Bump. You are a leader and I will speak to you as such. Know this. I am being kind. I respect your skills. But I am also extremely angry over what you and your men did to me. You took my coin and lied about where the pale slaves came from.”
Bump said nothing, but his stare did not change in the least.
“So now I will tell you what I am offering you as a mercy. Behave. You will stay chained t
ogether. If you try to run, you will not get far. Do you understand?”
Bump nodded again, while a few of his men whimpered.
“Now understand this. If you try to run, any of you, I will burn out your eyes with hot pokers. Do you doubt me?”
Bump shook his head.
“Excellent. I will close the tent now. Do not be foolish; this time there will be guards posted outside and if they should fail me, they will join you. They understand that.”
Beron left the tent and gestured for Orton to take the brazier. There would be no accidental deaths or deliberate suicides. They would not freeze to death in the cold but they would certainly shiver and wish for heat.
Ahbra-Sede, who had returned after its retreat from the He-Kisshi, stood near the door and watched, waited, should any of the prisoners attempt to escape.
Demon, god, whatever he might be, Ariah was keeping his word. Even now Derhe-Sede hunted through the snow and headed for the next band of renegades. Soon enough, Ariah willing, he would have his revenge against Brogan McTyre and all the rest of his dogs.
They only had to be delivered alive. To that end, when he was rested and could enjoy himself properly, he planned to start the castrations in the morning.
In the meantime it was cold and the sun was setting, and there were guards to post and plans to make. If all went according to plan they’d be crossing under the mountains soon and heading for Mentath. There was a bounty to collect and a world to save.
Harper Ruttket
Harper and his companions rode at night out of necessity. The bounty on their heads was too high, and there were things out in the area looking for them. More of the pale demons with the iron masks, and possibly other, stranger creatures. He could not say. The hooded thing had been bad. It had been powerful. It had reminded him of the He-Kisshi, who were very likely even worse and also hunted for him and his.
They’d made it far enough south that the snow was gone and replaced by warmer weather, but there was no way of knowing how long that would last in light of the world ending.
Davers rode near him at all times, his eyes alert and his posture almost as relaxed as Harper’s. They had that much in common and little else. Davers was from Hollum, and from where they rode it looked like that particular city had been swallowed by the storms.
“Where are they, Harper?”
“Which they, Davers?”
“The ones we’re supposed to meet up with?”
“I don’t know, and that worries me. We should have run across them a long while back.” He frowned as he spoke. In truth worry was a bit of an understatement. The majority of the raiders who’d helped Brogan were in that group and they were supposed to be bringing backup. As he and a few others were currently avoiding Marked Men and soldiers from Mentath, pasty-skinned demons, the Undying, slavers, and whatever else might be hunting them down, he needed all the help he could get.
Davers said, “I don’t like the way this is going. I mean, all right, it’s the end of the world, but I’d still like a few things to go our way.”
“Well, we haven’t actually been sacrificed to the gods yet. That’s a plus, I suppose.”
Davers shook his head and forced a smile at the attempt at levity. A moment later he shook his head. “You smell that?”
The wind shifted as he spoke and his companion caught the odors.
Like a fool Harper took in a deep breath and immediately regretted it. Sometimes ignorance was preferable to knowledge. This was one of those cases. The stench of rotting flesh and roasting meat was closer than he wanted to think about. Mostly it was the rotting flesh. Mostly. The smell of cooking meat actually made his stomach rumble, despite the carrion odor. They had run out of supplies two days earlier and had failed at all attempts to find game to hunt.
What bothered him the most was where the stench was coming from. He was guessing, of course, but Harper suspected they were close to Edinrun. The lights he’d have expected to see were not there. The sky was cloudy enough that the city should have cast a proper glow from torches and fires. Instead there was a pall of smoke over the area. That didn’t bode well. That much smoke meant a great deal of burning. Judging by the carrion scent and the meat that mingled with it, he could guess what was burning.
They moved on cautiously, doing their best to make as little noise as possible. As they moved east the smell grew worse and the lights made themselves known. For all they could see, it seemed that Edinrun might well be on fire.
“This is a problem.” Harper shook his head.
“What’s the concern?”
“This is Edinrun, yes?”
Davers thought about that for a moment and then nodded. “Aye.”
“That’s where the lads were supposed to be coming from. Might be the reason we haven’t seen them is that they were stuck in the city when whatever happened took place.”
They continued on, silence growing into an uncomfortable dread.
When Davers spoke again, his voice was softer than usual. “You think the Mentath we saw before came this way?”
“We went south to avoid them, but it’s possible. We’re near the southern gates. If they approached the northern gates we’d have never seen them.”
“That wasn’t a big enough lot to take on the whole city, was it?”
Harper looked around and took in details. There wasn’t much to see. The gates were not yet in sight, and all they could make out of the city was the wall that surrounded it and the layer of smoke above it. There were markings on the wall, dark stains that he thought might be blood. A lot of marks, a lot of blood. Not far away from the wall were two massive stacks that he suspected were corpses. They were a good distance away and they were no longer burning. They were stacks that had already been burned, judging by the smoke, and here and there embers glowed in the mountainous heaps. Not dozens of corpses, nor even hundreds. Likely thousands. Enough to make his guts try to pull deeper into his chest. Mentath believed in burning the dead. They also didn’t leave their fallen enemies to rot on the battlefield, and that was one he knew from experience. Like as not they’d made a few bonfires and roasted the dead.
“We’ll not be visiting Edinrun,” he said eventually. “We move on. We go to the damned docks of Torema.”
“What about the rest of us?”
“Nothing to be done about it. There’s too big a price on us. They might be captured already. They might be dead – in which case we are well and truly fucked. I think the Marked Men are here and I think they’ve taken Edinrun. Whatever the case, there’s death and little else here right now.”
Davers looked at him and then looked away, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open. “I’ve been to Edinrun. It’s a vast city, Harper. Vast. With so many people.”
Harper looked at the distant fires. “I see two huge pyres, Davers. I’m guessing there’s more.”
Davers nodded and they signaled the rest to follow. No one argued. They were mercenaries, and they knew what death looked like. Harper suspected none of them were in a hurry to get reacquainted with it sooner than they had to.
Their circuit around the southern side of Edinrun was long, and along the way Harper counted thirty-seven additional funeral pyres.
He was grateful they traveled at night, as were the people who rode with him.
“What do you suppose happened?” Emmett was a capable fighter and loyal to a fault. As with so many of them he had offered his aid to Brogan.
Mearhan Slattery was the one who answered. Her voice was low and husky, her face was lost in shadows. “The gods happened. This is the Second Tribulation. They had the He-Kisshi bring madness to the city and if we’re wise we’ll be away from here as soon as possible. The Undying are nearby and coming closer.”
“Why?” Emmett looked at the girl and frowned. He almost always frowned.
“People, I don’t know who, could well be your lot, have interfered with the will of the gods and will now be punished for the efforts.”
“
What sort of punishment?” Emmett again.
Mearhan looked up at him and shook her head. “I don’t wish to be close enough to know the answer to that. If madness and floods are considered the least of the tribulations, then I want to be well away from whatever comes next.”
Harper nodded his head. “We should move faster then. The road is mostly clear.” To prove his point he urged his horse to a gallop. They moved quickly down the highway. Harper made certain to keep an eye on their surroundings, in case any of the madness had spread beyond the walls of Edinrun.
Tully
Looking down on Torema in the daylight, they’d seen the Kaer-ru islands in the distance. Now that they were in the city proper and night had come again, they saw only Torema.
The city was old. Surely older even than Hollum, and the streets wound into a serpentine maze that crept up hills and back down to flatter land with no consideration of where those streets might end. Everything smelled of the sea. There were other odors, to be sure, but most could only barely be found past the stench of fish at the docks and the constant wafting breeze that carried the ocean with it, along with the fog.
The slavers seemed relaxed enough. That was a good sign in Tully’s eyes.
They were, as a whole, rather solemn. They’d been riding for days and all they had to show for it were saddle sores and the memory of watching Niall Leraby get carried into the sky by a nightmare. That very same creature was likely to come back, at least for Tully and possibly for others. Temmi had hurt it. Stanna had actually killed it, cut its damned head clean off and then burned the head. That should have been enough, but Undying meant just that.
And it wanted her. There were plenty out there that wanted a piece of Tully. Mostly for imagined crimes, sometimes for real ones, but the Undying made the rest of them pale in comparison.
The name of the place where they stabled the horses was unknown, but the name of the inn next door was the Broken Bow. Tully had no idea who came up with the names of most taverns but they often seemed at a loss for cheerful titles in her experience. In this case the sign above the inn depicted a ship with a hole in the underbelly. She knew nothing of ships, but guessed that was something to do with the name.
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