The Eye of Charon

by Richard A. Knaak

  Nermesa had a choice of seeking food or continuing the chase. Choosing the former would mean rummaging around in the woods with the possibility of not even finding anything immediately edible. Still, how long could he continue before weakness made him careless?

  Aware that he was likely making a potentially fatal mistake, Nermesa took up the chase. He assuaged himself by swearing that if he saw anything worth eating, then he would immediately halt his pursuit.

  As if to mock his decision, a fog began to rise. Despite there being still two or three hours of daylight, over the next few miles, visibility faded to just a few yards. Forced to slow his pace, Nermesa eyed the mist like an enemy. It made any possible change in the Corinthian’s route more difficult to sense.

  Another precious hour passed without any noticeable change to the fog or any sign of the other rider. Nermesa began to think more about food. At this point, even hunting for berries in the mist was likely to be more rewarding.

  With an exasperated sigh, the Aquilonian turned off the trail. Dismounting, he led the horse toward an area that looked promising. Sure enough, a few minutes later, a bush with black berries materialized out of the fog as if by magic. Nermesa immediately went about the task of plucking a few to taste. They were sweet and reminded him of some similar berries he had eaten back home.

  It was not the most elegant meal, but Nermesa devoured as many as he felt safe doing. His head gradually throbbed less, and he felt some of his hunger subside.

  While he had eaten the fruit, the horse had munched on some grass nearby. Now, though, the animal sniffed the air as if smelling something better. On a hunch, the weary officer let his mount lead.

  For his patience, Nermesa was rewarded by another stream. Letting the horse drink, the Aquilonian took up a position just a little upstream and, setting down his sword, splashed his face. Only then did he also drink.

  As he wiped his mouth off, he heard the horse suddenly snort. Every muscle immediately taut, Nermesa seized his weapon and the horse’s reins. He quickly shushed the horse, then paused to listen.

  The clink of metal made his eyes narrow. When he heard it again, Nermesa focused on the direction from which it had come. Quietly tying the horse’s reins to an oak, he slowly moved on.

  The fog thickened, and in it Nermesa now and then saw shapes that seemed not of the mortal world. One he dared touch with the tip of his sword, only to find it a twisted tree. Cursing himself for his overwrought imagination, the Aquilonian moved on toward where he thought the sound had originated.

  Again, came the clinking of metal. Nermesa kept his sword hand steady. The ground became treacherous, and he struggled not to slip as he suddenly descended a hillside.

  Near the bottom, his foot caught on something. Despite Nermesa’s best efforts, he tumbled to his knees. His hands pressed against metal as the Aquilonian fought to keep from falling forward. Nermesa smelled a foul odor.

  A slack-mouthed, nearly fleshless face stared up at him.

  With a startled gasp, Nermesa pulled back. He looked down and discovered that his knees pressed against the armor of the corpse. The knight leapt up, gaze still held by the horrific sight at his feet.

  Only the armor truly kept any shape resembling what had once been a man. The legs and hands had been torn away, apparently by large, scavenging animals. The helmet hung lopsided on the skull, which still seemed to be caught in its death scream. Dried stains indicated where a sword had burrowed through a joint in the armor, slaying the man.

  By the armor and insignia, Nermesa immediately recognized him as a Nemedian soldier.

  How long the man had been dead, Nermesa could not say. Weeks, even months. Long enough for nature to feed on the bounty caused by his slaying.

  But just as Nermesa began to wonder what the corpse was doing out in so empty a place, he heard again the clink. This time it came from much closer and to his right. Stepping over the skeleton, Nermesa peered into the fog—

  And suddenly realized that he stood in the midst of a horrific scene of carnage.

  There were hints of bodies wherever the mist gave glimpses of his surroundings. They lay sprawled in all manner of poses, as if indifferently tossed by some specter of death.

  Nermesa’s brow furrowed deeply. Some specter of death . . . or perhaps the brigands who had captured their caravans.

  Covering his mouth and nose, he walked among the dead, seeing ghoulish bodies in both armor and civilian garb. Some of the latter were certainly merchants, their torn, bloodstained robes still revealing marks of wealth. Others wore more common clothes and had, no doubt, been drivers or servants.

  All had been brutally slain.

  At last, Nermesa located the source of the clinking. A guard’s remains had become entangled in a small bush—likely when he had been tossed down—and part of one ruined gauntlet hung so that when the wind blew, the bony fingers could no longer prevent some parts of the glove from swinging into one another.

  Nermesa gently moved the skeleton’s hand so that the clinking stopped. Only then did he notice that the armor was not Nemedian but rather from Corinthia. Turning to survey those twisted forms nearest, the captain saw that not only were there more Corinthians, but also some armor that could have originated in Ophir or maybe Koth.

  He shuddered. Small wonder little trace had been found of the caravans taken in the south. The villains had carried off the bodies, then brought them to this place for disposal like so much garbage. Nermesa could imagine only one reason for the effort, and that was to keep the various kingdoms involved wary and nervous. Mystery always increased tensions.

  Somehow, there was more to the attacks than mere profit.

  With a sense of foreboding, he continued his search. Sure enough, there were some Aquilonian bodies, but, they, too, were older, nearly stripped of flesh. Had they been from his own caravan, they would have been nearly whole. It gave Nermesa some hope that Paulo and the rest had survived their struggle.

  He knelt by one of the Aquilonian bodies, trying to find anything to help him in his mission. However, as he touched the body, his gaze fell upon several long, savage scratches across not only the armor but the bones as well. In fact, something had taken special interest in gnawing on the body, which explained why one arm and one leg were missing.

  Nermesa suddenly recalled the clinking to which he had put an end.

  The Black Dragon straightened, peering into the fog around him. He had earlier registered the notion of scavengers only peripherally, his greatest concerns that of discovering the truth about the monstrous scene before him. However, such a grisly larder as this would surely catch the attention of a more huge creature. Certainly the scratches and bites gave indication of a beast at least as large as a hound . . .

  Nermesa started back. Best he return to the horse and leave this foul place only a memory. It was not that he feared an animal, but only a fool stayed to fight a predator in its own lair, especially a lair so shrouded.

  As he stepped quickly over the bodies, he prayed to Mitra to watch over the dead men’s souls. Such barbaric treatment he had not seen even out west among the Picts. At least they had some respect for the enemy dead, even if they showed it by hanging the heads of their foes atop stakes. Of course, the witch, Khati, had been less respectful, but then she had been in league with her half brother, the savage bandit, Khatak, whose evil had known no bounds.

  Far ahead, a shriek filled the silent wood, the shriek of a horse.

  Nermesa’s horse.

  He started running toward it, now unmindful of what lay at his feet save to keep from tripping against them. The horse was his life; without it he was alone in the middle of hostile country.

  But as he started up the slope, something passed through the fog above, then vanished. Nermesa hesitated. What he had seen looked almost as large as a bear . . . but had not moved like one.

  The Aquilonian backed up.

  A roar echoed throughout the area, one seeming to come from everywhere. Nermesa ret
reated back into the makeshift graveyard.

  He heard movement to his right. The Black Dragon turned—

  And a huge creature with two massive, saberlike teeth and crimson, feline eyes fell upon him.

  5

  IT WAS THE dead that saved Nermesa at that moment, in particular, a skull against which his hand struck. As the horrific cat lunged for his throat, the desperate Aquilonian seized the object and swung it at his foe. The skull caught the beast hard in the temple. Startled, the cat slipped off Nermesa’s armored torso, giving its intended meal the chance to pull free.

  Coming up on one knee, Bolontes’ son thrust at the fearsome carnivore. A cat it was, but larger than any lion or tiger he had seen in the zoo in Tarantia. Moreover, never had he come across one with such massive incisors. They looked easily capable of puncturing a breastplate, and only luck had kept Nermesa from becoming a fresh addition to the cat’s larder.

  Savage feline orbs sized up the Aquilonian. The animal stood almost to Nermesa’s shoulder and likely weighed four or five times as much as the soldier. That it hesitated at all was probably due to the fact that most of its prey did not fight back; the men left here were already dead. It had no doubt steered clear of the brigands themselves, there being too many for even its tastes. Besides, why fight for food when it was brought to you?

  Perhaps it even thought of Nermesa as one of those who had thrown the bodies into the depression. That confusion would not save the captain long, for even had he been one of the killers, he was only a single human. Such odds were greatly in the cat’s favor.

  The animal tensed. Nermesa immediately understood what that meant. Even as the cat leapt again, he threw himself far to the side. The huge creature slashed at him; fortunately, the long, wicked claws only glanced off the back of Nermesa’s breastplate.

  The Aquilonian also tried to attack as he jumped, but his blade missed completely. He rolled to a kneeling position even as the cat came around to attack again.

  Positioning himself much like a pikeman meeting cavalry, Nermesa held the sword on an upward angle toward the beast.

  Unable to stop its momentum, the cat fell on the blade. Nermesa had hoped that he would impale his foe, but while the wound was a deep one, it missed both the heart and lungs.

  Nevertheless, it did greatly slow the saber-toothed giant. The cat fell to the side, panting. Pulling his sword free, the Aquilonian jumped atop the injured animal.

  Feeling the weight atop him, the cat grew animated again. It twisted, trying to claw off Nermesa’s face. Because of its wound, the cat’s reach was not as great as it once would have been, but the long claws tore off the armor protecting the human’s right leg and left several red but shallow trails in the skin.

  Gritting his teeth, Nermesa pointed his sword point down and plunged it into the beast’s neck.

  The cat hissed in utter anguish. It writhed madly now. In its convulsions, it tossed the Aquilonian off. Nermesa went crashing into several ruined corpses in Corinthian gear.

  Spitting and hissing, the savage feline tried to dislodge the sword by rolling over it. When that only succeeded in driving the weapon deeper, it stood awkwardly, then shook as if wet.

  The sword at last came free, but the exertions proved too much for the badly wounded animal. Even as it turned to a half-stunned Nermesa, its front leg on the side of the gaping chest wound gave out. The cat tried once more to stand, but to no avail. Its other front leg gave in . . . then, with an almost pitiful sigh, the saber-toothed feline fell on its side and grew still.

  Gasping for air, Nermesa kept one eye on the cat as he crawled toward his sword. Each second, he expected the beast suddenly to rear to life and decapitate him with one slash of the claws. Yet the great feline did not move even when the soldier grabbed his blade.

  Unfortunately, from somewhere in the distance came another roar.

  Nermesa’s eyes rounded as he contemplated his chances against what was surely the dead cat’s mate. Turning in the opposite direction of the new call, he staggered among the dead, seeking a path out. Nermesa had some hope that his own scent would mix enough with that of the corpses to slow the other creature, but knew that the animal would eventually still be able to tell fresh meat from rotting cadavers.

  He thanked Mitra when the last of the ruined skeletons gave way to empty woods again. In the fog, each shadowed form Nermesa saw seemed to take on the shape of the beast he was certain was about to pounce on him. That they all proved to be trees, bushes, or rocky growths did nothing to calm the beaten officer.

  Where he headed, Nermesa had no idea. He just kept moving, trying to put as much distance as he could between himself and certain, horrific doom.

  The second cat howled again, but whether the sound came from nearer or farther away, the Aquilonian could not guess. Rather than give himself any excuse to slow, Nermesa moved as if he were only a step ahead.

  Daylight began to recede, plunging him into a world where he could not even see his own hand. Using the sword as a blind man did his staff, Nermesa wended his way through the awkward terrain. It had been some time now since the last call by the dead beast’s mate, but still Nermesa pushed himself on as best as his screaming muscles allowed.

  But somewhere along the way, his strength gave out. He paused against a tree, keeping the sword out in front of him. Deciding that perhaps he could spare a few moments more, Nermesa slid down to a sitting position.

  He fell asleep almost immediately.

  NERMESA WAS BACK among the dead, only this time there were hundreds upon hundreds of corpses strewn about in the most grisly of manners. There were so many dead that in some places they lay piled, one on top of the other, for several layers.

  The Aquilonian tried his best to find a way out of the grisly pit, but not only did stacks of bodies block his path, but his boots seemed all but glued to the muddy ground. Each step was a struggle of titanic proportions.

  Then howls filled the air from every direction. Burning, feline eyes appeared in the mist above the pit, hundreds of pairs of inhuman orbs.

  In desperation, Nermesa shoved aside a pile of bodies. He crawled over what remained and finally saw an opening far ahead.

  But then something snagged his foot. He tugged at it to no avail, finally looking down to see on what he had caught himself.

  The skeletal hand of a rotting Nemedian cavalryman was wrapped tightly around his ankle.

  Nermesa sliced at the gruesome limb. Pieces of bone went flying. However, no sooner had he freed himself than another hand seized his leg at the same point.

  Horrified, the Aquilonian slashed again and, when the hand shattered, immediately threw himself off the pile. He landed in a small, clear spot, where the Black Dragon quickly went into a fighting stance.

  The mounds of dead began to shake. A decaying hand wielding a rusting ax burst from one. A skeletal limb brandishing a sword thrust out from another. In seconds, ghastly figures started tearing themselves free from all around Nermesa.

  Without hesitation, he swung at one before it even fully emerged. The ghoul shattered like so much dry kindling, but almost instantly another started to rise from behind its ruined form. Nermesa slashed that one, but the process merely repeated itself.

  Again the howling filled the air, this time coming from the knight’s back. He whirled. Three more monstrous warriors shambled toward him. Although their faces were as fleshless as those of the ones he had destroyed, they were not the countenances of men but savage cats with saberlike incisors. One after another, the three opened their empty maws and howled at him.

  “Keep away!” Nermesa shouted, swinging furiously. The Aquilonian decapitated one, but the headless fiend continued on. He tried to back away, only at the last moment realizing that the undead were converging on him from that direction, too. In fact, he was completely surrounded, with the horrific throngs multiplying tenfold with each breath he took.

  With a roar of his own, Nermesa hacked and cut at everything within reach. He bat
tled blade against blade, blade against claw. His foes fell before him as if nothing . . .

  Despite that, their numbers continued to swell. They closed the circle tighter. It became harder to swing the sword. The ghoulish cat faces leered hungrily. They filled Nermesa’s view—

  NERMESA WOKE WITH a cry, leaping to his feet and thrusting wildly at adversaries who were not there. He swung blindly for nearly a minute before finally coming to his senses. Then, using the sword for a crutch, he fought for breath.

  It was day again, although how far into it, the bedraggled officer could not yet hazard a guess. Certainly well into the morning, at least. A mist still covered the land, but not quite as thick as that through which he had plunged in the dark. He listened for some sign of the other cat, but heard nothing.

  His stomach rumbled, and the pounding in his head reminded him that he again had to search for food and water. The berries and the small bit of rations he had found in the saddlebag of the one horse had been his only food in more than a day. While he could survive on that for at least another day or two, the lack of sustenance would continue to have a debilitating effect on his mind and skills.

  On unsteady legs, the Aquilonian began traversing the woods in search of anything edible. Twice he came upon berries, but past knowledge quickly identified them as unfit for human consumption. Despite lingering desires to take a chance with them, both times Nermesa moved on.

  A rabbit crossed his path at one point. Nermesa lunged at the small animal, only to have it easily evade his laughable efforts. The Black Dragon cursed the escaping animal as he would have a foe in battle, then realized his foolishness.

  He did at last come across a pool of water, and although it looked a little brackish, Nermesa dared drink. Feeling a bit relieved, Bolontes’ son studied the vicinity. It appeared that Mitra finally smiled down at him, for near the pool Nermesa spotted a bush with edible berries. Not caring what might happen if he ate too many, the starving knight devoured all he could find, even a few that were not yet quite ripe.