Valkia the Bloody

by Sarah Cawkwell

  It was difficult. They had several eager warriors ready to fight, but the narrow passageway was going to prove hard to deal with. Things the size of trolls – and these monsters were huge from what Valkia could see of them – were not easily startled and whilst they might initially retreat from the fire, they would swiftly overcome such fear.

  I could help you, you know.

  The tone of the cold, dry voice in her mind was sardonic and amused. All you need do is call on my power and you could deal with this problem immediately.

  Valkia shook the shield and glowered down at the daemon’s head, a thing so still and without animation that she genuinely wondered if the voice she kept hearing was nothing more than her imagination. When the eyes flared open, a rush of green, malevolent light bathed her face briefly.

  The expressions on the faces of her fellow warriors suggested that her mind was perfectly sound. She stared down into Locephax’s evil eyes and spoke in a strained whisper.

  ‘Do not think to trick me, daemon. My people are not so weak that we cannot handle this problem. I will not succumb to your fiendish whisperings. So still your tongue before I rip it from your foul mouth.’

  I am merely offering assistance, Locephax retorted lazily. On the one hand, I could let you walk through that passage and die at the hands of the trolls. On the other... my master lies in wait for you in the far north. And I would hate for you to miss that meeting.

  The dead lips drew upwards in a smirk. So, I can help you, Valkia. All you need do is ask.

  ‘It will not happen,’ she retorted. ‘Cease your prattling and leave me be.’

  A pity.

  The words in her mind faded and Valkia became aware that her companions were giving her strange looks. It seemed that only she could hear the voice of the daemon and that the one-sided conversation had startled them. She drew her features into a scowl and the staring stopped immediately.

  ‘We press on,’ she said and pushed the moment of temptation away. She would not be tricked by Locephax again.

  Valkia and Hepsus pushed through the rocks first and within a few short seconds, the trolls had spied them. With heavy tread, they lumbered up the mountain path, grinning viciously with mouths filled with rancid, yellow teeth. Some dragged rotting clubs while others clutched massive, corroded blades, though it was more than obvious that the creatures could pull them limb from limb with sheer strength alone. Even Hepsus, the most stalwart of warriors, tensed slightly at the sight of the massive trolls coming their way.

  ‘Trust me, Hepsus,’ she said softly and shifted her arm so that the shield was in front of her. She steadied herself, her soft leather boots planted firmly on the rock. Her face was a grim picture of determination.

  ‘I have always trusted you, Valkia,’ came the snapped reply. ‘It’s that thing on your arm that gives me doubts.’

  She glanced up at her Warspeaker. ‘I have refused its offer of help,’ she reassured him. ‘This fight is ours.’ She stepped forward to join with the other shield users who had formed as big a line as they could manage on the mountain path.

  ‘Step!’

  They inched forward towards the enemy and had taken barely four steps before a searing flash of pain pierced through Valkia’s head. She let out a brief cry and unleashed a torrent of expletives. Driven by some compulsion she could never satisfactorily explain, she forged in front of the other warriors and held her shield up high.

  One moment she was standing, the shield raised slightly aloft and pressed forward. The next, she felt a thrill of delicious power course through her veins. She threw back her head and screamed in fury; partly at the trolls, but also at the daemonic head that had taken control of her senses. The horror of being used as a conduit for the one thing she despised more than any other left her feeling as though she needed to vomit. Eventually her scream dwindled, her eyes bulging and her mouth giving silent voice to her combined feelings of disgust, agony and ecstasy.

  Much better. I find that such a noise is unnecessary. Now watch and learn the meaning of true power.

  The head of Locephax came to terrible animated life. The eyes flared open, the unnatural green daemon-light seeping from it like a poisonous mist. The face drew into an expression that mimicked Valkia’s own and the silent scream that the warrior woman emitted erupted from the daemon’s maw. It was amplified and distorted and Hepsus clamped his hands over his ears. The sense of absolute terror that ran through him was something unlike anything he had ever known before.

  Every instinct in his body told him to turn and run. And he was standing behind the shield, which was the only protection from this dark magic. He hardly dared imagine how he would have reacted had he been on the receiving end.

  The trolls stumbled to a halt, crashing together in a tangle of festering limbs, their shabby forms seemingly frozen to the spot and their eyes fixed on the daemon’s hypnotic gaze. They were simple creatures, barely more than a bundle of nerves and thoughts that worked together to create the basic need for survival. Kill, eat, and sleep when needed. Such was the cycle of a troll’s life. They had little requirement for sophisticated thought and as such, they fell prey to Locephax’s hypnotic suggestion instantly.

  The scream stopped abruptly and a voice emerged from the daemon’s mouth.

  ‘Die,’ was all it said, but the voice curdled the air with its menace. It said the word with such implicit urgency and underlying cruelty that three of the trolls immediately flung themselves from the narrow mountain path. A fourth paused briefly. It had been behind the three who had just flung themselves to their doom and had not received the full brunt of the daemon’s will. A repeat of the one-word command, however, and the troll joined its brethren, crashing down the mountainside and slicing itself open on the snow-covered rocks on the way.

  The majority of those that remained had already turned on their brethren in a furious rage and begun battling, tearing one another limb from limb. For long moments the mountain pass resounded with the noise of trolls grunting and screaming. Valkia and her army moved back as far as the daemonic shield allowed before it snapped she would go out of range. She could feel Locephax drawing power from her own body as she used his ability but she held firm.

  She could not keep control of it indefinitely though and eventually she lowered the shield. The green eyes closed and the last of the power drained from Valkia. She staggered, almost falling off the cliff herself, but Hepsus caught her before she fell.

  ‘Valkia!’

  ‘Hepsus.’ Her voice sounded weak and drained. Two of the repellent creatures remained standing, their weapons readied for the attack. All around them was carnage of the kind that usually only appeared in nightmares. Limbs were ripped from bodies and more than one of the trolls had been picked to the bone by the flesh worms.

  Valkia swayed slightly and then tore the shield from her arm. She dropped it as though it were on fire. Although Locephax had once more fallen silent, as inanimate and rigid as it had been before the bond to the shield had been forged, the expression on its face had altered

  It looked satisfied.

  Hepsus continued to support the unsteady Valkia who bent over double, retching violently. Locephax had used her to perform the sort of sorcerous act that she had always found so abhorrent. It was a violation of her mind and spirit that made her feel desperate to bathe in a river of blood to clean off the feelings it had left her with and to prove to her beloved god that she had not betrayed him. Magic was the tool of the weak.

  And the tool of the hopeless. Admit it, Valkia. Without me, the trolls would have slaughtered you and your army of fools like they were children. I would say that if nothing else, you should at least be pleased I evened the odds.

  ‘Do not speak to me, daemon. Never speak to me!’

  A simple thank-you would be more than sufficient. Nonetheless...

  Whatever it was that kept life in the head of Locephax drained from the face and it was once again nothing more than a gruesome ornament mounted on t
he front of Valkia’s shield. She stared at it for long moments, loathe to admit that Locephax was possibly right and even more reluctant to take it up once again. But neither would she leave such an object here.

  She leaned down and took the shield back up, strapping it to her arm again. ‘Schwarzvolf,’ she said, and Hepsus noted the steel that had returned to her tone. ‘Recover anything of use from the dead.’

  Valkia shifted the shield back into its comfortable position and gave it a brief glance. ‘We move on.’

  ELEVEN

  The Edge of Oblivion

  After that, the slaughter of the remaining trolls was almost laughably simple. Not that the defeat of such massive creatures, easily seven feet tall apiece was simple, but they were outnumbered as the rest of Valkia’s warriors squeezed through the rocks. At the sound of the daemon’s scream, those who had been farthest back had moved still further, desperate to get away from the terrible noise, but not goaded into hurling themselves to their death.

  Hepsus had taken the lead and Valkia brought up the rear. She was feeling slightly light-headed although not weak, as though she had downed slightly too much alcohol. The shield had fallen silent to her relief. Whilst she had relished the moment of power, it had nonetheless left her a little shaken. Ultimately, Locephax was her enemy and to allow him to channel power through her like a conduit had been a difficult decision to make.

  She remembered words her father had spoken once many years back. The ends justify the means. She had a specific goal in mind and she would use any tools or weapons to achieve that goal, no matter the cost. It was something she would have to consider more carefully later. Right now, the pressing need was to slaughter the remaining monsters.

  The twenty warriors who formed the advance guard had pushed the massive creatures down the mountain path, backing them up against the mountain itself and had already engaged. Glossy, black flies filled the air around the creatures, their tiny bodies creeping into clothes and nipping at exposed skin. The bites left itching, red welts that infuriated the tribesmen as they swatted at the insects.

  Just as Garvin had described, one of the trolls was already making retching noises. Seconds later, a plume of bilious liquid spewed forth from its mouth, splattering against the three closest warriors. Having heeded Valkia’s suggestion, they were all saved the fate of the unfortunate scout by being covered from head to foot. The white, wriggling creatures that were borne in the troll vomit were easily brushed to the ground and crushed underfoot.

  Angered that its preliminary defence was ineffective, one of the two trolls rushed forward to confront the group, its club swinging steadily. It grunted and snorted furiously at the Schwarzvolf warriors who lunged towards it. Its rotted flesh was alive with parasites and already split with running sores and open wounds. The blades of the Schwarzvolf punctured it again and again, but the beast did not seem to feel the damage as it swung ponderously at its assailants.

  Whilst they were thus engaged with the first of the trolls, the second wave of warriors was battling the other. One lucky strike by a young woman armed with a short sword opened the troll across its distended midriff, evidently a weak point given the way it opened up. Milky, sizzling pus sprayed from the wound, pitting the nearby rock-face and rapidly corroding the offending weapon.

  ‘Flesh-eating worms and acidic ichor? This just gets better by the moment,’ said Hepsus as he ducked to avoid another blow from the swinging club. He bellowed a warning to the others, but not before one of them had discovered first-hand the effects of the pestilent fluid. A trail of the gooey substance had splattered across his shirt sleeve when the wound had been opened and already the material had been eaten away. He dropped to the ground, rolling in the dust in an effort to wash the muck away, but in so doing, brought his body into contact with the few surviving fleshworms still writhing on the floor.

  His screams were agonising and Valkia chewed at her lip in an effort to block out the sound. There was nothing that could be done for him any longer and she brought her spear down between his shoulders as he twisted and contorted on the ground. It was a mercy stroke.

  Her senses regained, she hefted the weight of Slaupnir in her hand. It had been wrought from the same exotic metal that her dagger had been fashioned from and she worked on it diligently, keeping the edge razor-sharp. It was likely one of the few things that could finish the trolls.

  Squaring her shoulders, she lunged towards the first of the two monsters, the blade of the weapon aimed at its chest. Hepsus screamed a warning to the others to stand clear to avoid the inevitable spray of ichor. The length of the spear’s haft meant that Valkia had enough distance between herself and the creature as the spearhead pierced through the troll’s festering flesh, breaking yellow bones and rupturing organs. Its bubbling shriek of rage increased in volume until Valkia, crackling with bloodlust, heaved on the spear and lifted it from its feet. Muscles bulged like knotted ropes beneath her skin, dwarfing some of the male warriors of the tribe. With a cry of rage, she bodily picked the troll up, still impaled on the end of her spear and flung it from her. Its limp form struck a jutting rock and it crashed to the valley below.

  The tip of the spear was coated with the disgusting pus of the creature and Valkia used this to her advantage as she thrust it at the other one. Its flesh parted like parchment and Slaupnir drove through its filthy guts and pinned it to the slab of black rock at its back. The troll hooted in anger, its arms flailing and its considerable bulk pressing back toward Valkia, but she held it fast.

  ‘Finish it,’ she said. Her voice sounded strained. ‘It is weakened. Finish it. Hepsus...’

  The Warspeaker had already led the charge towards the monster which was scrabbling with the haft of the weapon fixing it in place. Nothing in its minuscule mind had prepared it for the concept of defeat against tiny humans and it fell to its knees beneath a flurry of blades. Hepsus’s own blade was the last to strike, finding a weak point just below the ear. It pierced through the troll’s skull and into its brain. It died instantly, crashing to the floor.

  The echoes of battle resounded around the mountain pass until finally it silenced. Valkia was leaning heavily on Slaupnir, her eyes unfocused and her limbs shaking with the exertion of the past few minutes. She had just achieved an impossible feat. There was no way that she could have lifted that troll by herself unless she had been granted a blessing. Unconsciously, the rest of the warriors kept a distance from her.

  ‘Send back for the others,’ she said in a voice that sounded on the edge of exhaustion. ‘We move on.’

  They travelled several more miles before nightfall. The light of the moons was hidden behind the bank of perpetual cloud that continued to churn above them, but there was a thickening of the gloom. The winter chill of the mountains had given way as they descended from the peaks, but now it returned with a vengeance, though some warriors complained of feverish heat while still more claimed to feel a pleasant noon day sun. The wind drove at them from every direction, whimsically rushing at them from the north, redolent with the scent of ashes, before billowing in from the south carrying the scent of fresh snow.

  Broken obelisks dotted the plain ahead, some sharp and new, as though they had been carved mere moments before, while others were worn smooth by the passage of aeons. Many were surrounded by obscene trophies, desiccated bodies, bestial heads and bowls of foul-smelling slime scattered around their base. Those stained with blood and adorned with skulls Valkia raised her spear to in salute.

  Valkia called a halt to the march, sensing that even she needed rest. Her body was still suffering the after-effects of so much adrenaline and the strange strength that had graced her felt as though it had left, taking all her reserves with it. They set up several lean-to style shelters against the wild weather and huddled together in small groups for the additional warmth. Out in the gloom, beyond the fires of the Schwarzvolf, things gibbered and screeched. Men lay with weapons held close and slept uneasily, plagued by nameless fears that woke them
with a start. Those few that dared the darkness to relieve themselves did not return, and warriors took to digging holes with their bare hands, scooping fists of dry dust out with their hands for makeshift latrines.

  Curled beneath the thick woollen blankets that were the only protection between her and the elements, Valkia slept fitfully. The daemon voice of Locephax whispered constantly to her, promising her everything her heart desired. She had felt, for the first time, what it truly meant to be blessed by the gods she so desperately sought. Locephax’s whispers were words of carefully constructed temptation, luring her, appealing to her innate lust for power.

  What you felt today was a fraction of what you could become if you give yourself over to me and my master, Valkia. Beautiful, strong Valkia! How I would treasure you! You would be the crowning jewel in my harem. Nobody else could boast such a prize.

  The daemon filled her waking hours with words such as these and projected lustful, arousing thoughts into her dreams. She would wake, sweating in spite of the freezing temperatures and fight the memory of the dream down. The voice promised her repeatedly that in time she would give in to her desires. She insisted, equally repeatedly, that she would not.

  The army marched on for several more days. Each morning took longer in coming around as the nights seemed to extend forever and each feeble dawn found a few more warriors missing from the camp. Bitter cold and hardship was something that the Schwarzvolf were long used to, but it did not make it any easier when they were expected to march on meagre rations. Tempers began to fray and some among the host became sick, their bodies stippled with pustules and their flesh pale. The easy mood they had known at the beginning of the campaign was replaced by an air of hostility amongst brothers-in-arms. Squabbles and bickering broke out regularly and more than once Hepsus had to step in to stop the warriors from actually killing one another.