Angelslayer: The Winnowing War

by K. Michael Wright

  “Father!” Aeson screamed.

  All Aeson made out were gray shapes, shades, hands with groping fingers, open mouths moaning, some screaming, some of them women. They slammed into Lamachus, one after the other, like blows from a hammer, jerking him from one side to the other. How many there were, Aeson could not count, but they dove in and they did not come out.

  “Father!”

  Silence.

  Lamachus was on his horse, barely gripping the reins, head hanging. For a moment, Aeson thought he was just going to fall, drop off. Aeson started forward to help, but paused because Lamachus slowly looked up, his manner strange, jerky. Aeson gasped. Lamachus had no eyes. They were gone, just holes there, covered by a kind of damp mesh and behind them a glow, like greenish coals burning.

  Aeson backed his horse away. He was terrified, but still he raised his right hand, spread his fingers in the sign of the word. “Elyon’s light before us!” he shouted. “Elyon’s Light protect us!”

  He was there; Loch was there at the fence. How he could appear out of nowhere on his enormous white stallion astonished Adrea. She had the ring tucked away in the folds of her tunic. After the dreams, knowing how many were going to die of the Seraphon, of her son, she wanted no more dreams. If she died, maybe, it was for the better. She knew if the Seraphon lived to reach manhood, many, many would die. Countless would die. The entire world would twist in an agony of death. How could the death of so many be asked? How could Elyon bless such dreams?

  “It is time,” Loch said.

  “I am ready.” She pulled Thunderbolt, equipped for travel, from the barn. All that was left was to cinch down the haversacks and bedroll.

  She paused, seeing her mother in the doorway. It was early, and Camilla had not needed to make breakfast since Lamachus and Aeson had both left when it was still dark, so Adrea had held to the faint hope her mother would take the opportunity to sleep later than usual. But she was there now, and she knew. Sshe glanced from Adrea to Loch and back again. Adrea walked to her slowly, gave her a hug, and as she did, whispered in her mother’s ear.

  “Elyon’s Light, dear mother, but I must leave now. I will not come back. Perhaps … perhaps you can tell them good-bye for me.”

  Camilla said nothing, but one or two tears fell as she watched her daughter turn and walk back to Thunderbolt. Loch backed his mount far enough to leap the fence. He rode to Adrea’s side and dismounted to help her tie things down. He glanced at her mother only briefly, but Adrea could tell he had nothing to say. What could he say?

  “The others?” he asked Adrea quietly.

  “Left early to cut timber,” answered Adrea.

  “Just as well, Adrea, it would not be easy leaving them if they here watching.”

  He took the leather straps of her bedroll from her hands. “Let me do this.” He cinched it down. “Know that I am so sorry.”

  “This has to be. We both understand what has to be.”

  “So why do I feel such shame? I feel like a damned thief.”

  “This is my choice, Loch. My choice to follow. Anywhere you go, I will be with you—you are no thief; you are my husband.”

  She looked past him, a sharp chill cutting through her at what she saw. Loch turned to see what had shocked her. It was a figure, galloping from the east across the fields, hair streaming, moving fast.

  It was her father. The big man was coming at a thunderous gallop. It was too fast to be natural. There was something very strange—the horse looked to be almost flying.

  “Go!” shouted Camilla. “Run, go! Before he can get here, Adrea.”

  Loch stared at the figure, alarmed. “Something is not right,” he said.

  “He looks angry,” said Adrea. “Mother is right; we should just leave. Certainly we can outrun him?”

  Loch shook his head. “I do not think so.”

  “What do you mean? He has nothing but that old warhorse; he could not possibly keep up with …” She lost her words. Loch was right. He was moving like the wind, closing on them impossibly fast.

  “I do not think that is your father, Adrea. It may look like him, but it is not.”

  “Where is Aeson?” Adrea asked. “I do not see Aeson.”

  “Mount up and be ready to run,” he ordered. “I will make a stand to intercept him. It may be I will have to kill him, Adrea, but know that it is not your father. I fear your father is already dead, or would be soon no matter what happens.”

  Unexpectedly, once Lamachus had cleared the fence line and was on the road to the house, he pulled up on the reins and came at them slowly, the horse’s breath steaming from the hard run.

  Lamachus reached the edge of the cottage and brought the horse to a stop. He sat staring at the two of them calmly.

  “What is this?” Lamachus said harshly, but his voice was strange, as if it were ten voices, all washed out and whispery. “I thought as much as this,” he said. His head moved unnaturally, turning to Adrea. She gasped. His eyes! “This is your lover, is it not?” the voices said.

  It was not Adrea’s father, Loch knew that. Perhaps she understood, perhaps the ring had given her knowledge to know the power of the Uttuku, but Loch knew enough to even see them, inside the man; gray wraiths were writhing in him. It was painful, such possession, both for the body of the possessed and the Uttuku, but these were strong, first-and second-born dead—ancients. They could hold this body a long time without the flesh withering. He could see them clear enough to notice that as they moved inside they were speaking with each other, voices neither Adrea nor her mother would hear. The language was ancient, pre-Etlantian.

  “Stay back,” Loch commanded. He began to clear distance between himself and Adrea. “Whatever you do, both of you stay clear.”

  He knew that if they guessed who she was, what she bore, the Uttuku would go for Adrea, but they were being influenced by the emotions of their host, Lamachus, his suspicions for so long now confirmed—it affected even the Uttuku, and as Loch hoped, their rage for now focused on him as the first target.

  “You are correct,” Loch said, to provoke the rage even further. “We are lovers, the two of us. You have been deceived, old man.”

  The Uttuku could not help but absorb Lamachus’s rage. The glow of their eyes became intense. He had stirred confusion in them. It was going to be one of his few advantages. He let the moist mesh of the empty eyes focus on him and stared back defiant, as if he could care less.

  “Yes—it is me you want. To get to her, you must first come through me.”

  The eyes studied him without passion, the face frozen, no emotion. The spirits within were arguing with one another until finally they focused. All had now turned on Loch.

  “Ohhh,” said the voices. “We intend to, scion of Daath.”

  Taking Loch completely off guard, Lamachus suddenly drew a short sword from his belt and flung it. Loch had not even seen the blade. He was thinking of the big axe hanging against the horse’s flank. The Uttuku moved swiftly. Loch barely had time to step clear. He twisted, the blade passing over his shoulder close enough to cut into the leather of his tunic above the breastplate. That was too close—he had never seen anyone move so fast. He realized this was not going to be an easy kill.

  Adrea screamed.

  “Stay back, Adrea!” shouted Loch, seeing her lift the reins. “Just stay back!” The voices all chuckled at once.

  Loch drew both his swords and took a stance. Lamachus dropped from the horse and without ceremony advanced. He had the big axe in one hand, angled to the side, and as a warrior he apparently carried still a buckler as well, for it was in his other hand, its face spiked with a lance tip, its edges sharp as a sword. He was not moving like the old man he was, but instead he moved with a powerful stride. There was no guessing the Uttukus’ strength. He closed quickly, and when the axeman engaged, he wielded both weapons with deadly skill. Loch threw each blow aside, blocking everything that was thrown at him, but as quick as Loch was, as fast as he moved, he was not going to be
able to dodge such blows for long.

  The buckler sliced across his cheek. Loch spun in the dirt and as his long sword blocked the axe, he passed close enough to cut through Lamachus’s leather tunic, leaving a gash in his side below the ribs deep enough to spill a line of rich blood.

  Adrea watched in horror, unable to do anything. Camilla stood frozen in the doorway of the cabin.

  The hilt of Loch’s sword slammed into the stocky haft of the axe as it came down in an overhead blow, and Loch planted a side kick hard enough to stagger the big man. Loch then took his opportunity and drove in hard, both swords spinning, but the Uttuku countered deftly. They were able to anticipate his every move, moves Loch had perfected through years of training. Still, he was able for the moment to keep the Uttuku on defense, even driving them back, nearly off balance. That he managed this infuriated them, which was good—their anger was also Loch’s weapon—the more they lost their temper, the more mistakes they were going to make. He needed only one.

  “Slow for ancients,” Loch taunted.

  They were enraged and he was able to continue pressing them, continually driving them back. Even though they were countering every skilled blow, at least they were not able to turn the fight and attack. They snarled and hissed. Loch could see they were on the verge of losing focus, but somehow were able to move as one, continuing to fight with amazing fury. Still, all he needed was one slip, one slight opening. If he saw it, his instinct would take the death thrust and the Uttuku would be forced to leave the body. They needed the soul and heartbeat of the human they held prisoner. They could not wield a dead body. Loch managed another cut, this one slicing deep into the thick muscle of Lamachus’s arm.

  They became livid that he was able to score another wound. They screamed through tight teeth, infuriated. They had enough, they were ancients, they had lived centuries, and this was but a Daath before them. He could see them focus, taking in their rage, and finally they turned the fight, attacking with incredible power and speed.

  Loch was suddenly being forced to use every ounce of skill and knowledge he possessed just to ward off their aim. The axe sliced through the air with a heavy whistling sound, the shield just as deadly, sideways, then upward, ever unpredictable. Each blow they chose was a deathblow if not blocked. When the fight had first begun, Loch had felt certain he could take them. Now he was simply staying alive. Even then, he continued to search for any opening, the slightest pause, anything.

  Adrea slipped the ring over her finger, tried to learn from it some way of helping. She was watching the battle helplessly—the blades slicing, clanging, moving so fast it seemed impossible. She had never imagined men could fight with such speed and power, and watching she was amazed Loch was even able to keep blocking. But he did; he spun, ducked, twisted, and moved at times in such unexpected directions that the creature that was once her father would be thrown off its pace, but always it found him, drove him farther back, never slowing. There were moments when Loch, with the aid of the silvery Daathan cloak whipping, actually seemed to vanish. It was the legendary move of a Shadow Walker, and it seemed fantastic, but whatever was in Lamachus was able to outguess him, turn each time in the direction Loch dodged.

  She saw movement from behind them, coming from the field Lamachus had ridden out of. It was another horse—Aeson’s! It was coming at a gallop, but sadly, it was riderless..

  Lamachus continued driving Loch back, the numbing hiss of the buckler followed by the heavy hum of the axe. Loch parried, blocked, back stepped, parried again, but even Adrea could see it would only be a matter of time. As good as he was, Loch could not possibly outmatch the strength and speed of this creature.

  “Lamachus!” Loch shouted. She guessed he was trying to reach through to her father, past the creatures possessing him. “Lamachus, fight them! I do not want to kill you!”

  “Oh, but we sooo want to kill you,” the Uttuku all hissed back, chuckling, unaffected.

  Adrea pulled a dagger from a sheath in her saddle. She readied it, but she had never thrown a dagger in her life. She tried to aim, but they were moving too fast, spinning one way, then another. If she were to throw this dagger it could as easily hit Loch as Lamachus.

  She hardly noticed the riderless horse had now reached the fence and was coming toward the cabin at a steady trot. Then she saw a hand—Aeson, he was stealth riding! He was sideways, hanging from the horse’s neck, out of Lamachus’s line of sight.

  Lamachus was momentarily distracted by the approaching horse and Loch took advantage of the slight pause. He spun low beneath the axe and his short sword stabbed into Lamachus’s leg, a deep thrust near the groin. Blood sprayed outward. The axeman only snarled and turned on Loch with renewed fury, one heavy blow after another. Loch could barely hold him off and Adrea guessed the creature was using the last of its power, all it had, everything it possessed now focusing on killing Loch. She knew something about the kind of cut Loch had made; that it was fatal, and that the creature was running out of blood and life. His heavy axe was relentless, furious, coming downward, sideways, oblique, too swift to follow. Still, each blow was blocked by one of Loch’s swords.

  The horse came up behind them. The creature was focused solely, utterly on killing Loch; the Uttuku did not even see the figure leap atop the horse, and from there onto Lamachus’s back, wrapping one arm about his thick neck to hang on. Lamachus tried to heave him off while still attacking Loch, but Aeson drove a dagger deep into the muscled neck, hard, burying it almost to the hilt. Finally, something had taken effect.

  As Lamachus’s body staggered, Loch stepped forward and drove a swift death thrust, into the heart and out, his blade like the flicker of a serpent’s tongue.

  It was over. The Uttuku swarmed out of Lamachus’s chest. At first they frantically searched for a mark, another body; but it was not Loch, he was Daath and pure; nor was it Adrea; nor could they take Camilla, she was a Water Bearer, her heart too pure. Without a mark, they screamed and flew skyward, soaring, vanishing with screeches and cries.

  Lamachus’s body dropped to its knees. The buckler and axe fell away. His head sagged and he fell backward, into Aeson’s arms.

  Loch stood, for the moment too exhausted to even move.

  Adrea rushed past them to reach Aeson, but when she got to him, she saw that though he held his father in his arms, his head was limp, his eyes sagged. Aeson was barely alive. She then saw the wound in him. Whatever had cut him had pierced through to his back where fresh blood trickled down his side. He was soaked in his own blood, coated in it. He had ridden up to them already dead, with life barely in him for his one last move, a move she had seen him practice so many times in the fields, leaping from the side to the back of his horse and bragging how he would some day be a good scout, the best.

  Aeson couldn’t lift his head, but he was able to move his eyes. They turned in his head, looking to Adrea.

  “I … I saved you,” Aeson whispered. “You and him, did I not?”

  She wrapped her arms about his neck. “You did, Aeson! You saved us.”

  “Scout in me … after … after all …”

  “Much more, much more in you than anyone could ever ask.”

  He half-smiled at her, and then he collapsed. Lamachus rolled to lay facedown beside his son. Aeson’s body stilled, his face staring blankly upward at the sky.

  Adrea cried out, tears streaming as she reached forward and pulled his lids closed.

  Their mother reached them, crouching at her son’s side. Camilla cried out and pulled Aeson’s body into her lap, stroking his hair. Adrea backed away, horrified.

  “Go!” Camilla said. “He has given you time with the last of his blood. What if there are more of them? Go with your man, Adrea. Run, both of you.”

  Loch led Thunderbolt and helped Adrea into the saddle, then mounted the white stallion.

  “My sorrow, good woman,” he said, turning the horse.

  Adrea and Loch then turned and set off at a gallop, leaping the fencing
. Camilla watched them until they were out of sight.

  Passing through the trees of the East of the Land, Adrea and Loch drew up when they reached the center of a circle of ancient standing stones. It seemed a place he knew well, a place he felt safe enough to pause. He curled a fist against his thigh.

  “We should keep riding,” she said, “keep moving, should we not?” “Yes.”

  “Then why do you wait?”

  He didn’t answer right away. He searched the trees. “I am not certain of my path. Perhaps it is better I draw them off, leave you. This is a place of power, this circle of stone. Creatures such as the Uttuku cannot even cross into it, and here you are also hidden, eyes cannot see you. If I head west, they will follow me.”

  “And then what? What do I do, wait here forever?” He glanced at her.

  “I know things, Loch; I have learned quickly, the ring has taught me just as you said. They are hunting us—not just Uttuku, but others, riders, assassins. Loch, I can see the near future. What you suggest, it will fail and you will die for nothing.”

  “Do you see any path that will not fail? The ship is due north and west. It is not far, your horse is easily as fast as mine—we could reach it. There are brief covers of wood, but we will have no choice but to cross at least two open fields.”

  “All I see is that we die. I am sorry, my love. I see these futures like shadows, images. I see choice, but all of them end in the same way. We die. Not long from now.”

  “There are many futures, and there is a path! This cannot end here! It will not.”

  “Can you command time? All I see, all the ring tells me, is that they will kill us and they will kill the child in me. I see nothing else, Loch.”

  “I do. I see light. We will follow it, take my path.” He met her eyes. “I do not believe it is over, Adrea. I will find a way through. Now, we ride forward and when we reach the edge of the sacred trees, we must cross the field just beyond it. There is a patchwork of woods and farms. Just beyond them, an inland river is where the ship waits. In the open field, you stay close. I will ride hard and unpredictable—just stay with me.”