by Dylan Doose
The sounds of the blood feast ceased.
Theron froze, unsure if he had been seen.
The silence was broken by the clopping of hooves in mud, sloppy and soaked. Slowly it walked right below him, the thick trunk of the tree hiding the beast from his sight and him from the beast’s.
“Ver es belek,” the swine said, his voice a deep, wet wheeze. Romarian words. Blood and guts.
The hooves clopped thrice more, and the beast was past him.
Theron released his breath slowly, silently.
The beast went left. Theron eased right. When he reached cover, he peered out to set his sight—for the first time—on his prey. Theron could not see its face, but he did not need to. He had seen such beasts before. He knew what they looked like. But even this partial view made him feel a bit of pride that his certainty of what creature he stalked had been correct.
It had the haunches of a boar, a monstrous boar. Above the waist it was hairless, hunchbacked, and heaped with sores and infection, similar to the skin of the Rata Plaga. A side effect of the black sorceries that formed them.
It had long, muscled arms, like a caricature of a man’s—long enough to reach the ground with the slightest forward lean, so the beast could move quickly on all fours. In one disfigured, three-fingered hand the pig-man held a long purple rope of glistening organ. Theron leaned out and his gaze followed the trail back to a mound of bodies that had previously been blocked from view by the hill and trees. This was, without a doubt, the source of the smell.
The mound was a twisted jumble. Where one body ended, the next began. They had all been hacked and mutilated, not by this beast, this saprophytic creature. Killed by men, not this swine. They were scalped and the bodies were stacked and stripped naked. As far as Theron could tell, each of the corpses’ stomachs had been ripped open, and the guts partially consumed. Streaks of blood ran from many directions toward the pile as if they had all been dragged there, though he could not say if it had been done by beast or men, or what manner of beasts such men would be.
In the deepest recess of the gulley was a thin, shallow river of blood that the swine walked through.
“Ver es belek. Ver es belek,” the fiend said in a singsong tune. It tilted back its head, its bloody snout and tusks visible. It pulled hard on the intestines and there was a squelching sound that came from the mound of the dead. It put the purple rope of intestinal flesh to its filthy lips and began slurping and chewing as it mumbled its tune.
“Ver es belek. Ver es belek.” He belched, and the sound echoed through the woods. “Ahhhh, thank you, as always, Dog Eater, for the meal,” the beast said to no one, for he was alone.
Theron’s Romarian was not perfect, and the guttural depth of the creature’s voice made it even harder to understand, so he could not be certain of the meaning of the words, but he caught the general gist.
“You have fattened me with all your slaughter. On your trail, there has always been enough blood and guts for old Chops.” The swine lifted its arms and stretched out both bloodied three-fingered hands. “Ahhhhhh, where are you now? Where have you gone to prepare my dinner? To Brasov? Is tonight truly the night?”
Theron translated the words a second time in his mind, just to be certain he had them correct. And when he was certain, a slither of unease crawled up his spine.
It put its hands back to the ground, and snorted at the air. “Oh? Is there a man in the woods?” The swine whirled round with unexpected speed, but Theron was behind the cover of the tree’s thick trunk and remained invisible.
“A hungry man? Looking for food in the woods?” The hooves drew closer, clopping in the mud and grass, clicking on roots. The thing made its way back toward Theron, sniffing the air, then snuffling at the ground. “Did you think I could not smell your reek? Eh, filthy man? I know you’re here.”
Theron clenched the short sword. The beast was more than twice his weight, and he knew from experience it would be quicker than it appeared, its strength remarkable. But it would die. Just as every beast that had ever faced Theron Ward before it had died. If there was a time Theron had held any sympathy for the beasts at the end of his blade, that time was no more. Not after Chayse; not after the life and love he lost.
Theron drew a deep breath, taking in the cool air, the energy of the forest, the forces that elevated the hunter. The swine likely heard it, but that did not matter.
He exhaled hot air, and with it any fear of death or injury. The pain in his head ceased, and even if just for a short while, he was centered.
“Come out from behind that tree, little man. I just ate breakfast, but I’ll suck the marrow from your bones for dessert.”
This was his destiny. Here in the woods, in the mud and the dirt, unwatched and under the banner of no man, cutting evil from this world, one demon’s heart at a time.
He was no mercenary.
He was Theron Ward, killer of monsters. And he stepped out from behind the tree.
* * *
The crusader, little more than a boy, didn’t know the name of the town that lay beyond the low, crumbling wall. He didn’t know the objective; he didn’t know how many enemy soldiers were on the other side.
What he did know was that he refused to die in his first real fight.
Not after all that marching. Not after leaving her would he die in this fight.
He listened to the war cries of the men in front of him and listened to the cries of the men on the other side of the wall. When the blades began to clash and the screams of agony and death began…it was the strangest thing… The fear left him, the clamor of battle and blood pulled him, and in his heart, he was cold.
* * *
Chapter Four
A Pig’s Prophesy
“Ver es belek,” Theron whispered, loud enough for the swine to hear, but so faint it may have just been the wind mingling with anxiety. “Ver es belek,” Theron whispered once again, and as he did, he heard hooves charging through the woods. Ken and Aldous.
The swine turned to face the sound of the charging horses. Ken was in the lead. He rode through the woods, barreling down on the pig-man. He did not hold the reins at all; his left arm—the one with the iron fist to replace the hand he had lost in the battle at Dentin—was extended laterally for balance. The other hand he used to take one of three short javelins from a strap on his horse’s side and raise it, waiting to get close enough for a throw.
Just behind Ken to his left rode Aldous, his black hair and red-caped cloak billowing behind him. His staff—the catalyst for his magic—was fastened upright at his horse’s side. The mare’s blinders spared it the fear of the ball of flame hovering above the catalyst, flickering and sparking like a candle that refused to go out against the wind. The wizard drew Chayse’s sword, the one Theron had given to him for all he had done to win that impossible fight at Dentin Keep. Aldous ran the blade through the flame, and as he twirled it in his hand it remained ignited.
The swine had no liking for fire. It squealed in mixed terror and rage, then whirled around again. Theron was close enough to see the yellow-stained whites of the pig-man’s eyes.
To the swine’s right was the hill, to the left was more dense woodland, and to his rear were Ken and Aldous. To his front was Theron. The beast went left, into the wood, sprinting on all fours, smashing through low branches. Ken leapt from his steed and pursued it.
Still mounted, Aldous turned left, keeping parallel to it, and Theron did the same but from its other side. Although he was on foot, he was keeping up, for the terrain slowed Aldous’s horse and the hulking pig-man in the thicker-branched areas.
Ken’s javelin found its mark beneath the right shoulder blade of the beast. The swine screamed as it lost balance and fell, rolling across the ground and into a tree trunk, driving the head of the javelin deeper and snapping off its shaft. Pine needles fell from the tree as it shook from impact. Aldous came in now, leaning over the right side of the saddle, left hand holding tight to the reins, right hand
wielding the burning blade.
He swung for the beast’s thick neck. It rallied just in time and brought up a massive arm to shield itself. Aldous hacked into the muscle. The pig-man screamed again, planted its hoofed feet, and drove forward, barreling over Aldous and his steed. The horse reared and Aldous fell, the pig-man nearly upon him.
“I will not lose another,” Theron snarled, and threw himself on the thing’s back. He stabbed his sister’s second sword through muscle and into organ below. Blood shot out over Theron. The smell and taste of it was a hideous blend of copper and something that was only comparable to the cursed filth he had choked on in the Emerald Witch’s spawning pool. It stung his nose and heated his lips.
Even wounded, the creature again lunged for Aldous. The wizard scrambled back with a squeak, but Theron felt a measure of pride as the boy sprang to his feet and reached for his staff.
Theron roared as he pumped the sword hilt like it was a lever and the blade ripped out of the swine’s side. It stumbled right. Theron took a step back and circled. Ken leveled another javelin.
A beast in its death throes was at its most dangerous, so they watched it intently as it flailed its arms side to side. With an unexpected lunge it lurched forward, and Theron narrowly ducked out of the way of a swing that would have cracked his neck.
“Ver es belek,” the beast murmured. “Ver es belek.” Thick, dark blood oozed from its mouth.
“Ken, my sword,” Theron said, planting Chayse’s short sword in the ground.
Ken put his javelin back in its sling on his back and unharnessed Theron’s claymore. He tossed it and Theron caught the handle in midair, pulled it from the scabbard in an upward arc, and tossed the scabbard to the earth. He listened to his sword sing as it bent the air. It sang with joy, for it was always hungry, always thirsty for the befouled, cursed blood of beasts.
Theron shifted his blade, taking it in both hands and widening his stance as he prepared to take off the beast’s head.
“Varj,” said the beast, and it raised its bloody, burned arm and opened its hand. “Varj,” it said again.
“Is it speaking or merely grunting?” Ken asked, for he could not speak Romarian.
“Speaking,” Theron said, slowly walking forward. Before him the swine dragged itself backward. It breathed heavily, its mouth open, human offal and guts clinging to its teeth.
“Varj,” it said once more, then wheezed, expelling a clump of what looked like undigested flesh, hair, and bone from its mouth.
“What does it say?” asked Aldous.
“He is pleading, wait. As if there is something he can do for us,” Theron said, smiling at it, implying that if it did indeed wish to live it had better give a reason as to why it was still worthy of life.
“There is. You are hunters…and I know the whereabouts of something you will wish to hunt. Romaria’s deadliest beast. A demon…some call him a god.”
“What do you think you are bargaining for?” Theron said in Romarian. “Look down.” The beast looked and with a shaking hand grabbed a section of its own black intestines. “Look what we have done to you. You are dead.”
“I have survived worse,” said the swine and, moaning in pain, lifted a glistening loop to its mouth and took a bite. “Ahhhhh, ver es belek.”
Theron had seen much in his life, and although he had read about it, he had been yet to witness self-ingestion. He was speechless for an instant and then he recovered and said, “Speak in the common tongue. I want my companions to help me decide if you are false.”
The swine snorted as he took another bite of his guts. Aldous retched.
The beast chewed and swallowed. “This is Romaria. I will speak Romarian.”
Theron took a final step forward and raised his blade.
“Vait!” the swine said in common. “Vait, I vill talk in your tongue.”
“I’ve seen many creatures turn to cannibalism. Never seen the likes of this, though,” Ken said. “Talk quickly, monster. Looking at you is making me sicker by the second.”
“Dammar. Do you know the name?” the swine asked.
“I do,” Theron said. “Dammar is the name of one of the old gods, the god of destruction, the god of madness, the god of blood. The entity, and the myth, that is worshipped by those of Romaria who refuse to acknowledge the Luminescent.”
“Are you going to tell us where we can find this myth, in exchange for your miserable life?” Ken asked.
“Ha! Arrogant men you are. Arrogant and ignorant. Dammar was not always the god of destruction or the god of madness. It is true that he has always loved blood, though.” The swine stared down at the oozing loops it clutched in its claws. Slowly, it raised the bowel to its teeth and tore away a chunk. There was pain in its eyes as it chewed, and Theron was struck by the realization that it was not doing this vile thing by choice. It was addiction, intoxication, a need that could not be suppressed. The same way a drunk handed a flagon of wine is not strong enough to choose not to drink it.
“Before the priests of the Enlightened came,” the swine continued, “long before the Patriarch who rules Brasov arrived, Dammar was the god of transformation. But he was defeated by a man, much like you three.” The pig-man spat a wad of guts and blood onto the ground for theatrics. “Dammar was banished, and now he has returned.
“This war, it is between those two…the Patriarch, the vindicator of the Luminescent, and Dammar, the old god of these lands, the spirit of the wood, the cycle of life and change.” The swine paused and groaned in agony, peering balefully at the wound that split open its gut. “I hear whispers from the dead—” The swine stopped and its eyes bulged. It began coughing violently and rolled onto all fours, retching and spitting up the chewed pieces of its bowel.
“Kill him, Theron. This is unsettling,” Aldous said from behind. “It would be a mercy.”
“What whispers? What do the dead say?” Theron asked, lowering the point of his blade to the bulging jugular of the swine.
“They say… Urgghhh… They say… Ahhhhhh…” The swine’s limbs began to tremble.
Then came a cry, a familiar voice, the bard’s voice, from a distance.
“Theron!” The word was a panic-laced howl.
Yegarov. Theron turned back for but a second. It was long enough for the swine to create distance between its jugular and the tip of Theron’s sword. The muscles of its limbs bunched and clenched and it sprang away, innards spilling out. Spines as long as spears sprouted from its back, and it screamed and swung its head side to side as Theron stepped forward, the thing’s tusks keeping the hunter at bay. The edges of the massive wound in its belly drew closer and healed around the ripped-out intestine, leaving it to dangle from the pig-man’s belly like an umbilical cord.
“I told you you should have killed it,” Aldous said, atop his horse once more.
“No need to rub it in,” Theron answered as he bent at the knees and braced for the beast to charge. It would attack. It could have run. It should have run, but its nature, its compulsion, was to attack.
“The war ends tonight, a clash of gods as white stone burns to black! I see it. I see the river of blood, and you, all of you, drown in it.” The words came out like thunder as the swine paced side to side on all fours, gauging the distance, planning its final stand. “Ver es belek!”
Theron stood firm as it charged. He would move at the very last instant.
Even injured, the thing was swift.
Theron went in for the kill.
The swine did not. It bounded to Theron’s left, toward Aldous and Kendrick.
Theron swung around in pursuit. Aldous’s horse reared up and hurled the wizard from the saddle once more. The flaming sword fell from his hand yet again, the fire extinguishing this time as Aldous hit the ground and lost contact with his spell.
Ken sank another javelin into the beast’s neck, but it was not enough to fell it. The swine lowered its head and gored Aldous’s horse low in the belly with both tusks, then flexed its neck and p
ulled its head back.
“Damn you!” Theron roared over the sound of the horse’s screams as it twitched, impaled upright on the massive tusks. The beast opened its mouth and caught the crimson mess that emptied from the mare. As it did, its muscles pulsed and grew.
The horse fell free and, the poor thing still alive, writhed on the ground. Behind it Aldous was back on his feet, scooping up his sword and staff.
Ken pulled his axe free from his belt. “We need to finish it off.”
“Agreed. Suggestions?” Theron asked.
“Fire and sword,” Ken said. “I’ll take out the legs.”
“Ready, Aldous?” Theron asked the wizard.
Aldous nodded, his staff back in his hands, his sword in its sheath.
Ken ran straight for it. Theron cut to the right. Aldous stayed where he was, to the left. The beast did as it had before and again went for Aldous.
With a yell, he cast a wall of fire before the swine, stopping it dead in its tracks. It turned to face Ken as it skidded and bumbled to avoid the towering flames. Kendrick slid beneath its legs and under its grasping arms, then swung his axe into the back of the swine’s left ankle, mincing tendon and splitting bone.
The swine went down squealing.
Theron leapt into the air, his claymore raised high.
A glint of flame was visible for an instant, coming from Aldous, and then the boy wizard bolstered Theron’s claymore with fire.
He swung down hard. The swine’s neck was thick, remarkably thick, but his blade was sharp and blazing with magic fire. So the head came off and rolled across the ground, the severed stumps cauterized by the flame.
