The God in the Moon

by Richard A. Knaak

  Nermesa made a quick estimate and realized that his chance to capture her had utterly disappeared. He was forced farther and farther back from Khati.

  The first of the pair to reach the Aquilonian proved no match whatsoever, perishing from a stroke across the throat. The second was more competent, if wild. He survived mainly due to his rapid, wide swings.

  Others began converging on the hapless noble. Nermesa cut his foe deep in the sword arm, forcing the other away, then was nearly ridden down by a mounted bandit. As the rider neared again, Nermesa desperately slashed at the other’s leg.

  His blade cut true. Clutching the long gash across his thigh, the brigand cried out. At the same time, he accidentally pulled on the reins, bringing him back around to Nermesa,

  Aware that he could do nothing more here, Nermesa seized the opportunity afforded him by the rider’s instinctive action. He pulled the wounded brigand from the saddle, tossing him headfirst into the ground. Even before his adversary hit, the Aquilonian had jumped atop the beast.

  A Pict attempted to do to him what he had done to the bandit. Nermesa rewarded him with a solid kick to the face. With an audible crunch, his boot struck the warrior full in the nose. As the bleeding Pict stumbled around, Nermesa veered his stolen steed around and rode for the forest.

  Cries warned him that he was vigorously pursued. Daring to look back, he counted at least five men on horseback, with that many more on foot following.

  He also saw Khati. Curiously, her expression had relaxed. She watched the pursuit calmly, almost confidently. The “lion warrior” was proving himself no danger to the favored of Gullah.

  Nermesa entered the deeper forest. All sight of Khati and the horde vanished behind him. The sounds of pursuit, however, grew nearer. Nermesa urged his mount to greater speed, but the uneven ground and tightly bunched trees made it difficult going. Those giving chase seemed less bothered, perhaps having ridden through this region before.

  His horse stumbled. Nermesa managed to escape being thrown, but the near accident stole valuable time from him. He heard movement from his right.

  A sword slashed at him. Had the Aquilonian not instinctively ducked, his head would have been in the next instant bouncing against the trees. The bearded cutthroat who had almost decapitated him swore loudly, then jabbed at Nermesa’s side. Nermesa twisted, but this time was only partly successful in evading injury. The edge of the blade scraped along his thigh, leaving a thin, red trail.

  Ignoring the sting, Nermesa thrust at his foe, but trees came between the two mounted fighters. The knight watched for the bandit, but neither could reach the other.

  But if he had lost one adversary, Nermesa quickly gained two more. From his left rode in a heavyset giant wielding a twin-edged hand ax, which he promptly attempted to bury in the neck of Nermesa’s horse. Behind him came a more lanky bandit upon whose body several belts holding daggers hung. The smirking figure had two in his free hand and looked more than capable of tossing both simultaneously. He tried to maneuver around the ax wielder, but the latter, laughing with gusto, continued to make wide swings at Nermesa. The Aquilonian knew that, unless he did something quickly, sooner or later, by sheer luck alone, the huge brigand would land a fatal blow.

  Nermesa ducked under the giant’s guard. He jabbed twice, drawing blood both times, but his attacks only seemed to infuriate, not incapacitate, the bandit.

  A dagger flew by Nermesa’s ear, burying itself but a moment later in the tree next to him. The second cutthroat readied another toss, then had to pull out of the way as the path narrowed.

  Seizing the opportunity afforded by one less foe, Nermesa slowed his own mount. The ax wielder growled as his target fell behind. He twisted back, weapon raised.

  Bending low, Nermesa sliced through the strap holding the bandit’s saddle on.

  The saddle slipped to the side. With it went the giant.

  The brigand struck hard against a tree, bending around it as if suddenly spineless. The harsh sound of his collision shook even Nermesa. The tree shook violently, then stilled.

  His own mount suddenly shrieked. The animal staggered. A red streak, quickly diluted by the rain, coursed down the horse’s leg.

  A dagger stuck out of its shoulder. The Aquilonian did what he could, but the blade lay deep. The horse twisted in pain, turning Nermesa this way and that.

  The first of his pursuers suddenly reappeared, slashing at him from the other side. His seating precarious, Nermesa nonetheless met each attack with a counterattack, finally cutting through his adversary’s guard and catching him in the stomach.

  As the brigand toppled, Nermesa’s mount stumbled. Weakened by its wound, it lurched to the side, tossing the Aquilonian off.

  Nermesa collided with a tree as he fell, but fortunately the blow was glancing. He slid to the ground, momentarily stunned. His wounded horse continued on, oblivious to his predicament.

  Two other horses raced past, the dagger thrower and another brigand pursuing what they thought was Nermesa. The knight kept still, aware that he was too shaky at the moment to fight them. As they disappeared beyond him, he considered what to do. His foolish attempt to capture Khati had gone completely awry. All that remained for him was to find some way he still might warn the column that they were riding into disaster.

  Keeping an eye out for other pursuit, Nermesa headed back. If he could sneak around the Picts and bandits, he still had a chance, however remote. Yet, there was nothing else the knight could think of to do.

  The clatter of hooves warned him of the approach of a rider from behind him. Nermesa whirled . . . just as another dagger buried itself deep into the trunk nearest him.

  Swearing profusely, the brigand pulled another blade free.

  Nermesa charged him.

  The mounted bandit tossed the new dagger, but the Aquilonian deflected it with his sword. As the lanky figure reached for another, Nermesa came up and sliced him across the stomach.

  Life fluids pouring from the savage wound, the dagger thrower slumped. Nermesa grabbed for the horse’s reins, but the animal, spooked by the fighting, pulled out of his reach. The noble made another desperate try, managing to snag the reins with two fingers. He wrapped them tight and tugged.

  The horse slowed, acknowledging his mastery. Nermesa moved to sheathe his weapon—

  A monstrous shape dropped from the foliage above, unleashing a terrible roar as it landed before the Aquilonian.

  The bandit’s mount shrieked. Seeking to escape the hulking monstrosity, the animal whirled away. In doing so, it tore the reins from Nermesa’s tenuous grip, almost ripping his fingers off in the process.

  The all-too-familiar stench assailed the knight. A gigantic fist hammered him. Nermesa flew back several yards, landing between a pair of oaks. His other hand jerked, sending his sword flying to the side.

  Somewhere beyond, he heard the horse flee. Then, a shadow loomed over him. Blinking frantically to clear his vision, Nermesa stared up at his unearthly nemesis, the thing that had hunted him for both Khatak and Khati.

  “Mitra ...”

  It was covered in coarse, thick fur, brown overall but with streaks of silver around the head. Seen clearly for the first time, Nermesa gauged the giant to be almost twice as wide as he, with huge muscles. The hands were clawed and reasonably human, but the feet . . . the feet almost resembled hands themselves, and the toes bent much as fingers would.

  A simple loincloth was all the monstrous figure wore. There were numerous scars across the heaving torso, possibly the result of manic scratching by the victims of its bestial wrath.

  And the face . . .

  There was a man there . . . and yet, there was not. The brow was low and the eyes black and animalistic in their ferocity. The nose was broad and flat with huge, flaring nostrils. The mouth . . . the mouth was round, thick-jawed, and filled with yellowed teeth, including savage, scarred fangs and a huge, blood-colored tongue.

  It was the god of the Picts, He Who Lives in the Moon . .
.

  Gullah.

  Gullah roared, his cry both human and not. He lunged down, seizing the Aquilonian before Nermesa could recover from his astonishment.

  The god’s strength was incredible. Nermesa was lifted as if he weighed nothing. Huge arms pulled the knight into a crushing embrace. Gullah breathed into his face, the sickly-sweet smell of the giant’s carnivore breath by itself almost enough to kill Nermesa.

  The Aquilonian struggled to free himself, but Gullah had arms of iron. Nermesa’s bones were crushed together. The air was shoved out of his lungs.

  Gullah snorted. His face contorted into something even more hideous.

  With a sudden rage, he released Nermesa, who tumbled backward. The man-beast took a step away, again snorting as if somehow the human was more offensive in odor than he. Gullah swatted his own nose, seeking to rid himself of some smell.

  Coming to rest on the ground, Nermesa wondered at his amazing reprieve. Khatak’s god moved as if having been sprayed by a skunk or worse. Somehow, something about the noble drove the giant mad to the point of distraction.

  The sight served to wake Nermesa to the fact that this was no invulnerable deity. Gullah this might be, but it was a very mortal Gullah . . . which meant that it could bleed.

  Or so he hoped.

  Nermesa sought his weapon. The sword lay a few yards to his right. He would have to get to his feet, then hurry to it before his horrific foe recovered.

  With no other choice, Nermesa leapt for the sword. The instant he moved, Gullah roared angrily. Breathing heavily, the god bore down on the Aquilonian as Nermesa’s hand closed on the hilt.

  The furred demon spun him around. Nermesa managed to hold on to his sword, but the awkward angle prevented him from making any use of it.

  Once more, Gullah lifted the human, pulling Nermesa until the latter’s chest was nearly against the god’s nostrils. The yellowed fangs came menacingly close.

  But with a howl, the man-beast flung him back again. For a second time, Gullah reacted as if Nermesa radiated the most noxious odor possible.

  It was clear, though, that the thing would not abandon the hunt. Gullah kept back only enough to cleanse his nostrils of whatever offended them, his fearsome orbs remaining fixed on the knight.

  Nermesa touched his chest . . . and felt the soaked pouch the shaman, Tokanu, had given to him. Some herb, concoction, or other item within was anathema to the murderous creature. Thinking of the shaman’s head hanging among the other grotesque trophies, Nermesa realized that the elder Pict had so desired the downfall of his rival that he had sacrificed to the Aquilonian his own protection from Gullah. It had likely been the one reason that the defiant shaman had lived so long.

  But without the pouch, Tokanu had been easy prey for the man-beast, who had likely not been far behind the knight’s trail.

  And now, the tiny bag was all that had saved Nermesa, but for how long?

  Not daring to wait long enough to find out the answer to that, the bedraggled fighter steadied himself. Gullah growled, the hairy giant sizing up his would-be victim. In that moment, as their gazes met, Nermesa knew that here stood an intelligent being, not an unthinking animal. It momentarily unnerved the Aquilonian, for he again wondered if this was indeed the Pictish god. However, then he recalled the effect of the pouch. This might be some being who wore the form of Gullah, but he had to be flesh and blood.

  Nermesa lunged.

  Gullah—Nermesa knew not what else to call his ferocious foe—snarled, then leapt up. One hand seized hold of a thick branch and the man-beast swung up into the trees. Nermesa took a last stab, but the brutish figure vanished among the soaked foliage.

  But he had left his mark on Gullah. The blade’s tip was newly daubed with crimson. A small wound, but a telling one. Gullah was still a nightmarish thing, but was very much mortal, indeed.

  A harsh, cracking sound echoed from above.

  What seemed half the tree came crashing down on Nermesa. A branch as huge as himself nearly crushed him, the knight barely dodging at the last moment. Unfortunately, no sooner had he avoided that when he heard another crack above and a second collection of great branches rained down on him.

  This time, he could not avoid them all. One of the larger branches caught him a sharp blow in the side. With a pained grunt, the Aquilonian fell against another tree, his sword hanging limply.

  Only barely did he hear Gullah leaping down behind him.

  “No!” Gripping his weapon as best he could, Nermesa swung wildly. He encountered resistance.

  A thundering howl filled the region.

  But barely a moment later, a savage fist pummeled his back. Thrown forward by the blow, Nermesa stumbled through the forest. In his wake, he heard grunting and the shaking of foliage above. Aware that at any moment the trees might again come falling, the Aquilonian kept moving.

  In spite of his own precarious situation, Nermesa still worried about his comrades. The Picts and brigands had to already be where they could ambush the searching column. Time was running out.

  Ignoring his injuries and wounds, Nermesa turned in the direction of the upcoming battle. Perhaps he could lose Gullah somehow.

  There was no sound from above, but that did not mean that he was safe. Nermesa kept watch on the canopy, hoping that if his horrific adversary did follow, he would at least be able to glimpse the creature before it was too late.

  He came across the body of the huge, ax-wielding bandit. Nermesa thought of adding the heavy ax to his defenses, but found its weight imposing. Searching quickly through the corpse’s pouches, the Aquilonian found a small bit of dried meat. It was salty and tough, but it was sustenance. He took it with him, eating on the run.

  Where was Gullah? Had he returned to his mistress? Where they had found this man-beast was a question that burned in Nermesa’s mind. The wilderness was a place of remarkable and exotic creatures. Was Gullah one, or had he come from elsewhere?

  He doubted that he would ever discover the answers and, in truth, the secret of Khatak’s god was one that could wait, supposing that Gullah himself would permit that. All that mattered was the column.

  Nermesa heard the rustling of leaves. He flung himself to the right, hoping that his random decision would not lead him directly into Gullah’s clutches.

  Something round and very massive buried itself in the earth exactly where he had but the moment before stood.

  The rock was far greater than any Nermesa could have lifted even at his most fit. In truth, Nermesa doubted that two men could have hefted it. Certainly, they would have been unable to toss it with such incredible accuracy.

  He anxiously looked above, seeking the monstrous entity.

  Gullah’s arms wrapped around the startled knight from behind, squeezing the life from him.

  Nermesa groaned as his ribs threatened to cave in. He felt the hot breath on his neck.

  Some inner sense warned him of further catastrophe. Nermesa twisted his head forward. Gullah’s fangs, intent on his neck, instead scraped his shoulder. Nermesa gasped as they tore his skin.

  He frantically reached for the pouch. Gullah’s grip had caught him on an angle, which just enabled Nermesa to free the shaman’s token. Unable to do anything else, he tossed the pouch over his shoulder, the leather loop wrapping around his throat like a hangman’s noose.

  The pouch must have bounced against the giant’s face, for Gullah shrieked, releasing a gasping Nermesa a moment later.

  Summoning his strength, the Aquilonian whirled, bringing his sword around for a hard slash.

  He caught the furred behemoth across the chest, the sharp blade leaving a rich, deep valley over the center. The bestial maw opened in what in a human face might have been shock.

  Gullah stumbled back. He touched the bloody ravine, then sniffed his crimson fingers.

  Nermesa lunged.

  The blade bit deep just below the wide cut. The new pain stirred Gullah again. He angrily grabbed at the Aquilonian, only to cut his fingers
on the sword. Deep red tinged the widening black orbs.

  Howling, the man-beast reached to his left and tore a branch from the nearest tree. Swinging the makeshift club, he attempted to swat Nermesa. Gullah’s breath came in heavy pants as he lumbered forward. Despite both that and his wounds, however, his strength was still phenomenal. With his heavy weapon, the gargantuan figure batted away whatever lay in his path. One strike of the branch would shatter Nermesa’s skull.

  Nermesa felt his own strength waning. If he did not act fast, Gullah would surely catch him. The knight studied the swings, trying to estimate how long each took. He would have one opportunity and one only.

  But midway into another swing, the creature released the branch. Instead of a club or pike, it became a missile. Caught unaware, Nermesa left himself open.

  The branch struck him in the stomach. Nermesa doubled over.

  Gullah roared lustily and leapt.

  The Aquilonian attempted to retreat, instead slipping on the drenched ground. The demonic giant filled his wide-eyed view.

  Gripping the sword with both hands, Nermesa swung at the oncoming behemoth.

  The god of the Picts fell upon him.

  19

  KHATI’S EAGER EYES watched as the Picts and bandits took up their positions along the hilly forest path. The easterners would soon be passing over the river and from there would have no choice but to enter here, the place of their destruction. This victory would ensure her supremacy. There would be no doubt among the People that He Who Lives in the Moon favored her. She would be queen of the Picts, her kingdom expanding all the way through the so-called Territories and beyond.

  Even reaching, eventually, the home of the invaders, Tarantia.

  A hirsute brigand who acted as one of her officers rode up to report. Although he was of Aquilonian origins himself, when he spoke of those in the column, it was with as much venom as any Pict. “The soldiers’re comin’ along at just the same pace as before! They’ll arrive like we hoped!”

  “Do they suspect?”

  “Not a bit.” He laughed. “Like sheep to the slaughter!”