The Grey Bastards_A Novel

by Jonathan French

  “How many?” Jackal asked.

  Kul’huun held up a splayed hand.

  Jackal regarded his hoof. “Five split off. We are going to track them. And fast.”

  They pushed deeper into the village, going as quickly as the buildings allowed. The night was pregnant with foreboding sounds. A chorus of horse screams, agonized man cries, and ecstatic bellows sailed upon the moonlight, each an elusive chance to lend aid, spill blood, come too late, or be killed. They held to the centaur tracks, a north star of vengeance twinkling upon a sea of death. Kul’huun led them now, the bones that hung from his weapons clattering. They caught up to the centaurs near a large training corral, and found the five they hunted had joined with another group.

  Jackal counted eleven, all kill-drunk and wild.

  He signaled the charge.

  This time, the centaurs saw them coming and surged to welcome them. Jackal shot his bolt, wounding his target but failing to drop him. He allowed his stockbow to fall to the end of its tether and snatched a javelin from the harness, hurling it into the gut of another ’taur. There was just enough time to draw his sword before the crush.

  A spear came for his chest, but Jackal knocked it away with his blade, using the return swing to slash another centaur as he passed. Hearth whipped his head to either side, scattering the onrushing foes as they dodged away from his tusks. To the left, Kul’huun smote with his orcish scimitar, the heavy, cruel blade cleaving the arm from a screeching female. Four of the man-beasts reared before them, a wall of kicking hooves and striking spears. Jackal was forced to rein up and the charge stalled. Pressed and outnumbered, Jackal and Kul’huun waded in, standing in the saddle to fend off spear thrusts with their curved blades.

  The centaurs split up to deal with the half-orcs, and Jackal found himself fighting two, while Kul’huun engaged the other pair. They fought, trusting to their brothers behind to deal with the rest.

  The height and reach of the centaurs was greater, making it difficult to find an opening. Jackal managed to slice the head off one stabbing spear, but its wielder quickly whipped it around and struck him across the ribs with the splintered haft. Reeling in the saddle, Jackal slashed wildly to keep from being overwhelmed. Crazed though they were, the centaurs recoiled from the whirling steel. Angry and snarling, Jackal used the moment to fling his sword overhand, sending it cartwheeling into the skull of one of the horse-cocks, where it lodged with a woody thud. Hollering with rage, the remaining centaur lunged. Twisting in the saddle, Jackal grabbed the spear in both hands and pulled. The centaur clung to his weapon and was hauled forward, close enough for Hearth to viciously sweep the legs from under him. Jackal finished him off with a downward stab of the stolen spear.

  Nearby, Kul’huun, bloody from several small wounds, struck the head off his remaining foe.

  Behind them, a hog squealed in agony. Looking quickly, Jackal saw Dumb Door unseated, his barbarian writhing upon the ground with two spear shafts protruding from its body. A pair of ’taurs circled the fallen rider, preparing to lance him in the back. Jackal threw his stolen spear, sending it sinking into the haunch of one of the horse-cocks. It bucked in agony before an arrow put it down, shot by Slivers. The other ’taur was distracted long enough for Dumb Door to roll to his feet, slashing upward with his tulwar. Horse guts spilled to the ground as the man half wailed.

  Three ’taurs remained.

  Gripper battled one, while the other two had managed to get lassos around Oats, one about his wrist, the other his neck. Still astride Ugfuck, the hulking thrice strained against the ropes that pulled him in opposing directions.

  “T’huruuk!”

  Jackal turned at Kul’huun’s shout and the savage mongrel tossed him the orc scimitar. Catching the weapon, Jackal kicked Hearth toward his stricken friend. He sliced the rope binding Oats’s wrist, the sudden release in tension causing both the centaur and the half-orc to spill to the ground. Jackal split the skull of the fallen ’taur, but the other began to gallop away, dragging Oats by the neck.

  “Fuck,” Jackal hissed, and slung his stockbow around.

  Before he could get it loaded, Oats managed to get his feet under him, skidding for a moment before finding purchase. Grabbing the rope in both hands he pulled with a grunt, slowing the centaur until it was forced to stop.

  Jackal’s bolt hit the ’taur at the same moment as Ugfuck. Barreled off its feet, the horse-cock quickly lost hold of the rope and life.

  Slivers came to Gripper’s aid and together they dispatched the last ’taur. Jackal breathed a sigh of relief to see every one of his hoof alive. Dumb Door’s hog now lay silent and still, their only loss. The mute mongrel knelt briefly beside the animal and placed a farewell hand upon its snout.

  Jackal rode over to Oats, who was having a chore pulling his hog away from the mangled centaur. Dismounting, Jackal grabbed hold of Ugfuck’s other swine-yanker and helped haul the barbarian away from his victim.

  Oats rubbed at his throat.

  “You all right?” Jackal asked.

  “Good,” Oats grunted. “Be glad when this cursed night’s over.”

  “We all will.”

  The rest of the hoof was quickly salvaging what javelins they could. Kul’huun approached, Jackal’s sword in hand. He held the weapon out and Jackal took it, breathing a laugh as he returned the Fang’s scimitar.

  “There is no orcish word for gratitude,” Jackal mused.

  Kul’huun grinned. “No. There is not.”

  “Ohhh!” Oats teased Kul’huun. “Buy me a whore or I’ll tell the other Fangs on you.”

  “S’hak ruut ulu.”

  Oats snorted. “He just told me to go fuck myself.”

  “I heard,” Jackal said, grinning.

  The others had gathered, Dumb Door now riding double with Slivers.

  “What now?” Gripper asked, looking tired.

  Before Jackal could answer, the sound of hoofbeats snatched their attention. Gripper, Slivers, and Dumb Door trained their bows toward the sound while the rest mounted. Once astride Hearth, Jackal quickly loaded his thrum and pressed it tight to his shoulder. The hoofbeats were slow, heavy, approaching from the huts behind the corral.

  “Sounds like ours,” Oats said, a heartbeat after Jackal had come to the same conclusion.

  Red Nail and his group rode out from behind the huts. Most of them.

  Four mongrels on three hogs.

  Jackal kicked Hearth forward to meet them, his hoof following.

  “Looks like you found trouble,” Red Nail said, taking in the eleven slain centaurs.

  “You too,” Jackal replied.

  The old Tusker nodded. Stone Gut and the young Son were with him. Cairn rode behind Stone Gut, barely able to stay in the saddle. His face was waxy, his eyes open but blank. Stone Gut’s saddle and the haunches of his hog were soaked with blood. The fletching of a thrumbolt stuck out from low in Cairn’s side.

  “Pits panicked,” Red Nail explained. “Fucking useless Shard! Horse-cocks hit us and he misreads my signal, loosed a damn bolt right into Cairn. Then he turned tail. The ’taurs cracked us like an egg, killed that Cauldron brother.”

  “Rinds,” Slivers said.

  Red Nail nodded, a little ashamed he had not known the name.

  “We managed to win free,” Stone Gut said and pointed at the Son. “Duster kept his head.”

  They all gave the younger mongrel an approving nod, which he accepted with tremulous pride.

  “All my stands, we took downed riders to the hill,” Jackal said, looking to the others for confirmation.

  “Way it’s always been done,” Gripper agreed.

  Red Nail nodded once.

  “So that’s what we do,” Jackal decided. “The halflings might be able to help Cairn, and Dumb Door can aid in the defense there. The rest of us will ride back out together
. Any who object can stay at the hill or fucking ride alone.”

  Jackal directed this last statement at Stone Gut, but the Orc Stain merely scowled for a moment before dipping his chin in acceptance.

  “That will put us at eight,” Gripper said, breathing out heavily. “It’s certainly been worse.”

  “The ’taurs came late this time,” Jackal said, looking at the Betrayer Moon. “Dawn is not far off.”

  Even as he checked the sky, an Unyar horn blasted through the night. Four long peals, a pause, then the same four long peals.

  Oats’s brow furrowed. “Never heard that one.”

  “I have,” Red Nail said grimly. “Only once in seventeen stands at Strava. It means the hill and the tower are in danger of being overrun.”

  “Sounds like our signal to put heel to hog and get the fuck gone,” Slivers declared.

  “Nomad scum!” Stone Gut spat.

  “That’s right,” the frailing snapped back. “I come here to survive the Betrayer. What are the waddlers going to do to me if I run? I got no hoof that needs warning next time. If the ’taurs don’t massacre all those little black shits, they will welcome me back whenever I choose to come.”

  Silently, Dumb Door climbed down from behind Slivers and stared with disappointment at the smaller half-orc.

  “Slivers,” Gripper said. “You run and you’ll be alone.”

  The little mongrel shrugged. “Safer than riding directly to where the horse-cocks are heaviest.”

  Without further comment, Slivers turned his hog and, after a brief consideration of the shadowed huts, chose a direction. Stone Gut snarled low in his throat and raised his stockbow, taking aim at the retreating rider.

  Jackal jerked his own weapon up and pointed the bolt at the thrice.

  “He’s a free-rider,” Jackal warned. “Which word do you not understand? Now take your finger off that tickler, Stain, or I’ll change your name to Worm Food.”

  His expression curdling, Stone Gut did as instructed.

  “You done with that shit?” Red Nail demanded. “You don’t prove your worth by killing deserters. You do it by doing what needs to be fucking done! Now, let’s get to the hill.”

  “Ride,” Jackal told his hoof, and set off.

  They thundered through the deserted village, the silhouette of the tower beckoning them onward. Long before they cleared the huts, the sounds of centaur war cries filled the air. Slowing, they came around the corner of a large stable and got a look at the temple.

  “Oh shit,” Duster gasped.

  The base of the hill writhed with centaurs. Whooping and screaming, they assaulted the slope in droves. The tribesmen had clustered at the top of the hill, surrounding the tower and pouring volleys of arrows downward. Many were afoot, the bodies of their mounts littering the slope, and piled at the base. One company of mounted men, no more than thirty, valiantly strove to harass the horse-cocks with the hit-and-run tactics they had perfected, but were greatly outnumbered. Their horses were flagging, their quivers nearly spent. So far, they were preventing the centaurs from reaching the top, but the defenders would soon be overwhelmed.

  “That has to be a hundred centaurs,” Stone Gut said.

  “With as many more attacking the opposite slope, like as not,” Gripper added.

  “What do we do?” Duster asked, his eyes wide.

  Jackal looked at Oats, then Red Nail, Kul’huun, and Gripper. All four nodded.

  “Dumb Door,” Jackal said. “Take Cairn into one of the huts. Keep him safe.”

  The mute half-orc nodded and got off Gripper’s hog. He went and lifted Cairn gently as able from Duster’s saddle. The Skull Sower cried out weakly and seemed to pass out. Jackal hoped he had not just died. Hells, they were likely to join him very soon.

  “We’re going up that hill,” Jackal said, directing his words at the group while looking at Duster.

  Kul’huun drew his scimitar. Oats’s tulwar was already in his hand.

  “We are going up that hill,” Jackal repeated, freeing his borrowed blade. “Ride hard, hit harder, and don’t stop until we reach the summit.”

  “And if we reach the summit?” Stone Gut challenged. “Then what?”

  “We go right down the other side,” Jackal told him.

  “Where just as many horse-cocks will be waiting to greet us,” Stone Gut realized with grudging respect, cracking a smile. The thrice clapped Duster heartily on the back. “Fill your hand, Son of Perdition. We are going to follow this pretty outcast up the ass of one centaur and down the throat of another!”

  Duster gave a resigned nod and drew his tulwar.

  Jackal took point and the others fanned out in a tight wedge behind him. Oats was at his right, Kul’huun his left. The rumps of over a hundred jostling centaurs lay a little more than a thrumshot away. As he kicked Hearth forward, Jackal wondered which one would bring him down.

  The hog pounded beneath him, quickening his heart, kindling his guts until he wanted to scream, but Jackal kept his teeth clenched, not wanting to alert the enemy. If they were fortunate, the shock of the attack might carry them through. The base of Strava Hill was wide, forcing the ’taurs to spread thin. Jackal just needed to punch through their ranks to gain the slope. After that it was only a matter of reaching the top before they were overtaken or struck down by errant Unyar arrows.

  Gripping Hearth’s mane tighter, Jackal leaned forward and silently willed him to greater speed.

  So intent on their prey upon the hill, the centaurs never saw them coming.

  Swinging his blade viciously, Jackal took the hind legs out from the first one to come within reach, and kept swinging as Hearth burrowed bloodily through. Oats and Kul’huun hit with the force of a gale, widening the gap. Centaurs were crying out in pain and alarm as the hogs shattered their ranks. Another cry went up from the crest of the hill, this one thrown from the throats of the tribesmen, and the arrows began to fall with renewed vengeance. The aim of the Unyars was uncanny and Jackal rode safely through a maelstrom of shafts that felled only centaurs.

  The slope lay ahead, but the horse-cocks had begun to turn. Spears and roars of challenge rose ahead of the hoof’s charge. Jackal did scream now, a wordless, savage cry of defiance. Behind, his brothers added their voices to his, and seven became a horde. Jackal smashed into the bulwark of centaurs, his sword arm whirling. A woman’s face shrieked at him, teeth bared, and he split it with his blade. The coarse weight of a rope struck him in the eyes, the loop of the flung lasso failing to snare him. Spears struck with the fearsomeness of serpents, but he batted them aside and slew their wielders. He felt a great impact beneath his left arm that nearly spilled him from the saddle, but with a growl, he righted himself and continued to kill. Slicing one last centaur across the throat, Jackal won through and Hearth’s hooves struck the slope. Arrows fell in a whistling rain as they surged up the hillside, riding over the corpses of man, horse, and the awful pairing of the two.

  Above, the tower.

  Behind, the vindictive wails of the enemy.

  Oats drew even on Jackal’s right, his sword blade broken. To the left came Duster. The youth was smiling and looked over to catch Jackal’s eye, proud and triumphant. He was still smiling when the lasso fell over his head and jerked him savagely out of sight.

  An overwhelming rage took hold of Jackal. He would not lose a brother to these animals!

  Commanding Hearth to keep running, Jackal flung his legs up and flipped out of the saddle, his spine rolling along the hog’s rump. His boots struck the uneven ground and he spun, seeing Duster being dragged toward the oncoming horde of frothing centaurs. Jackal gave chase, bounding down the slope. He dove and slashed, parting the cord. Duster’s limp form came to a rough stop as Jackal rolled to his feet between the youngblood and the howling wave of ’taurs. Even charging uphill, their speed was ferocious. Spears
and hooves and whirling lassos surged closer. Many in the forefront suddenly reared, arrows appearing to sprout from their bodies. The shafts fell in a storm, but the centaurs merely rode over their fallen and kept coming. But they had been stalled enough. Jackal hoisted Duster across his shoulders and fled up the hill. His legs burning beneath the weight, he slogged up the grade, hoping the arrows of the Unyars could keep the ’taurs at bay long enough for him to reach the top. From the sound of the nearing screams at his back, it was a vain hope. But then his hoof was there, charging past him, back down the hill, the barbarians kicking up grit. Jackal kept running, hearing the sounds of his brethren meeting the centaurs.

  He gained the top and the Unyar archers parted to let him through. Zirko was there, his stout sword in hand, commanding the tribesmen with calm resolve. No other halflings were present.

  “Your arrival is once again timely, half-orc,” the little priest proclaimed.

  Ignoring him, Jackal lowered Duster to the ground and whistled for Hearth. He needed to join his hoof, if any still survived.

  Before he was in the saddle, Oats rode through the gap, followed by Kul’huun. The Fang had a gaping wound across his brow and a dripping puncture beneath his ribs, but his eyes had lost none of their untamed luster. There was a long delay and then Stone Gut rode up. His namesake was slick with blood, but none of it appeared to be his. Gripper was on the thrice’s heels, Red Nail behind him. The old Tusker looked dazed and slid from the saddle shaking his head.

  “You’re as crazy as a ’taur!” he accused Jackal, though there was a respectful awe in his voice. “Who goes back for a youngblood yanked off his hog?”

  Jackal swept the hoof with a look. “Didn’t expect you all to be as foolish as me. How were you not slaughtered?”

  “We had help,” Gripper replied as a dozen Unyar horsemen came through the line of archers, all that was left of the thirty harriers they had seen defending the base of the hill.

  Their wide, slant-eyed faces were smiling and all looked directly at Jackal. One of them said something, his words foreign and breathless.

  Ignoring the men, Jackal turned to find Oats.