“We shall,” said Argoth. A sacrifice of Fire would help her in the world of the dead. But he knew it wouldn’t lighten the pain he felt in his chest.
After a few moments of silence, Hogan said, “So, what emptied those bones? Wizards?”
It had always been a wizard’s dream to collect the bones of slaughtered animals and deceased humans, to harvest Fire without cost. The soul has departed; so there shouldn’t be any power there to resist a harvest of what remained in the bones. Battlefields, slaughter pens, dinner plates heaped with the remains of a meal—they should all be rich with easy Fire. But they weren’t. The bones resisted them.
“Either someone has finally discovered how to persuade bones to release their treasure,” said Argoth. “Or there’s a new power abroad. Either way, it’s very powerful.”
“Perhaps it’s one of the old gods,” said Hogan. “Maybe some of them yet live here.”
The ancient stories told of gods inhabiting many places. In the beginning, the old gods were servants of the Creators. There were gods for fish and beasts and trees, each chosen from its own kind. Each was taught the lore by the Creators themselves so that they might guide and bless a certain small territory: a vale, a wood, or a group of hamlets.
But the old ones had proved unstable. One never knew if a god would end up being a curse or a blessing. And so the legends say the six Creators withdrew their presence from them. Regret, of course, did not. In time a new order arose, an order of human Divines who sought to battle the old ones and rule huge territories. Some said the new order began with a group of gods seeking the ways of the first parents; others said it had nothing to do with the old ones, but had been established by the Creators directly.
Whatever the origin, the new order began to hunt the old gods. There were many tales of the ancient battles. In the end, the Divines triumphed. They claimed total extermination, yet there were always rumors of old ones that had slipped through the cracks. Could this be one of the old gods who had survived? Cunning and powerful, gathering strength all these centuries.
“This changes everything,” said Hogan.
“It does,” said Argoth. “Of course, why Barg? That part makes no sense. He was the key to . . . nothing.”
“A mere butcher, a harvest master,” Hogan said. He shook his head and looked up at the stars.
“There’s someone else that changes the situation,” said Argoth. “Lord Shim has been making comments again, but these are not like the earlier ones. These cannot be mistaken. I believe he suspects me, but instead of forming a hunt, he’s asked for help. Perhaps this is the opportunity we’ve been looking for. A chance to come out of the shadows and stand in the sun. We do have the Book and Crown.”
“And who can read it?” asked Hogan. “No. We won’t risk that.”
Hogan was overly conservative. The Book and Crown of Hismayas held many things now lost to the world. It was said that Hismayas, the founder of their order, knew things not even the Glories of this world knew, things given him by the Creators themselves.
“We’ve discussed this before,” said Hogan. “Rushing to harvest only ruins the crop. The Order is not yet ripe.”
What would happen if they declared their powers openly and joined with Shim? Some would join. Perhaps many. They might defeat the Bone Faces. But many might also prefer to submit themselves to that rot rather than ally themselves with sleth. Bosser was one of those. He would fight against Argoth, and sooner or later, Mokad would find out; they would send an army to obliterate anyone having anything to do with the Order. The Nine Clans would join with them. But what if Shim were able to gather some to his side?
A guard yelled back at the tower door, a mastiff snarled and was cut off. There were grunts, the sound of something metal clanging violently into the wall.
Argoth turned and looked at the gate, but the shadows obscured everything.
Something dark sailed across the courtyard. It thudded to the ground not two paces from where Argoth stood. At first Argoth thought it was a pile of rags. He stepped closer. It was not a pile of rags; it was one of the mastiffs that had been guarding the tower door, lying in a broken heap.
A thundering crack sounded at the base of the tower. A dim light briefly shone where the door should be. Argoth thought he heard Droz’s roar, but almost as soon as it started, all fell silent again and the light vanished.
There was no moaning that would suggest someone had been injured. No movement. Nothing but moon shadows and the monstrous dog at his feet.
Argoth drew his sword and began to increase the flow of his Fire.
Hogan walked over to the dog and pushed at it with one toe. “She said she wasn’t part of a dark grove.”
“That is what she said.”
Purity had a past with the lore before she came to the Order, just as Argoth did. He had broken all ties with his former masters. Was it possible she had not? “Be ready for anything,” Argoth said.
A guard called down from the battlements. “Ho? What’s about?”
They ignored the guard.
Hogan took off his mantle and laid it over his saddle. Then he removed the Hog from its bindings. The blade of the weapon shone with a dull gleam in the moonlight.
Before Argoth had taken three steps, he stumbled across three bodies, all of them broken and lying in a heap like the dog. He found a dead guard a few paces farther, and another. When he reached the small wall, he saw the tower door hung ajar.
Someone or some thing with immense power had come through here. Oh, Purity, he thought. Secrets within secrets.
“Breach!” Argoth yelled up to the men on the battlements. “Breach!”
Across the courtyard and upon the battlements, the guards took up the alarm.
16
In Darkness
HOGAN PUSHED THE door open with the business end of the Hog.
Inside two lamps had fallen and spilled their burning oil onto the floor. The light of the flames revealed guards lying in broken heaps. Droz was among them. There was no blood, but the gruesome angle at which he lay told Argoth all he needed to know.
Shouts rose in the courtyard, but Argoth couldn’t wait for those men. Besides, they would probably meet the same fate as their comrades. A dreadman might have been able to cause such carnage. But how fast must the man have been moving to dispatch all these men with hardly a sound?
“Let’s try to take this one alive,” said Hogan. He picked up a lamp. “I’ll go first.”
They approached the pitch black chamber that led to the stair and found nothing.
In the chambers below, something crashed, then fell silent.
Hogan began his descent, Argoth close on his heels. Argoth wanted to run, but knew that doing so would extinguish his lamp. Nevertheless, they took the second stair three and four at a time, their flames guttering the whole way. At the bottom, Hogan’s lamp finally did blow out, but they hurried on. As they approached the door to the open chamber, Argoth expected to see a light, carried by whomever had broken in, but the cleansing room was dark as ink.
Purity spoke to someone inside. “What do you want?” she asked in terror.
Hogan turned and relit his lamp with Argoth’s flame, and then stepped through the doorway. He held his lamp aloft. The light showed the door to Purity’s cell lying on the stone floor. It had been wrenched completely out of its fittings. Inside the cell itself someone large hunkered over Purity while she struggled in his grasp.
The man seemed not to have heard their approach. Hogan changed his grip on the Hog and set down his lamp. But they needed more light. Argoth spotted a small pile of straw used for the cells lying in a heap to one side. He kicked a portion of it away, poured oil over it, then hurled his lamp down into the middle of it, cracking the lamp and spilling the oil.
The fire flared, illuminating the room and the back of the rough figure.
Hogan approached the cell, poised to swing the Hog. “Put her down,” he commanded.
The man supported
Purity with one arm and with the other fingered the King’s Collar around her neck. Her blanket had fallen to the floor to expose her injured and bandaged body. Purity pushed away from the man, but was too weak to free herself.
The huge man wore an odd cloak of grass, but then he turned, and Argoth saw it was not a man. It was nothing like anything Argoth had ever seen. The grass he’d thought was a cloak was part of the creature, some patches whole, some burned. It opened its too-wide mouth and took in a ragged breath.
“Purity,” demanded Hogan. “You said there was no dark grove.”
A terrible fear lit her eyes. “Run,” she said. “It’s full of souls.”
* * *
Hunger tried to devour Purity like he had all the others, but the thing at her neck fought him. It stunk of the men’s magic. There was the Mother’s magic, but hers was always fresh and clean. This, this was something else.
He felt along its weave to untangle it and failed, and then the word for what it was surfaced in the murky waters of his mind like a giant fish. It was a King’s Collar, something forged in the secret fires of the Kains that could prevent even a Divine from using magic. He marveled for a moment—how did he, Barg, a common butcher, know such things? He couldn’t, shouldn’t know such things, which meant that Barg wasn’t the only man he’d eaten.
He looked more closely at the collar. If such a thing could harness a Divine, it might be able to harness a Mother.
That thought made him hold very still. The Mother was sleeping and had shut him out. She didn’t know about this harness. Didn’t know about this bit of lore that might bind her.
Hope sprang in him, but he beat his thoughts back, took them deep inside so they wouldn’t wake her.
The Mother was going to eat his family. He knew that. No matter what he did, she would eat them. Perhaps in the end, she would eat him as well. But this collar, this might bind her up tight. After all, humans had beaten the Mothers before. She said so herself.
Humans with magic.
Hunger looked at the King’s Collar. He looked at the sleth woman. The Mother wanted him to bind them all and bring them to her. Why? To use them? Or because they posed a threat?
Because they posed a threat, he decided.
Hunger held very still again and listened, but the Mother was not in him. The Mother was strong. But perhaps this time, if he was quiet and planned carefully, the prey, with this slip of magic, might turn the tables and catch the predator.
Someone called out from behind him. He turned and saw two men—a Mokaddian with a sword and a Koramite with an axe. Stink rolled off both of them in waves.
Hunger recognized the Mokaddian but couldn’t put a name to him.
Then the Koramite charged and struck him with his axe.
The force of the blow knocked Hunger back a step. Such power surprised him. But it didn’t matter. Hunger was a man of dirt. What could an axe do to dirt? He caught the Koramite by the throat and held him up. He could snap him like he had the other men above.
But there would be secrets in these two slethy men as well. Plenty of secrets. Some of which might show him how to defeat the Mother. He should eat them and discover their secrets. They weren’t human. They were sleth. In fact, by all laws he should kill them. Eating them would not make him any more abominable than he already was. And it just might prevent the Mother from working her evil further.
Hunger tried to shuck the man, but he could not find a crack. It was like trying to use a spoon to peel the bark from a maple: all he could do was chip off small chunks.
He searched over the man’s body and finally snagged on the tiniest of gaps. He could feel the man’s soul inside. Could taste his fear.
Hunger tried to dig deeper, but the man resisted him. Hunger changed his attack and was resisted again. But this man wasn’t like the trees in his glade. Hunger knew he could crack him; he could feel it. He changed his attack again, and this time was able to pry the seam open to expose the man’s soul.
The Koramite struggled ferociously, but Hunger was stronger.
Something flashed, and Hunger suddenly lost his grip and dropped the Koramite to the floor.
Hunger turned. The Mokaddian had joined the fray. The flash had been his blade, cutting clean through the wrist of the arm Hunger had been holding the Koramite with. The Mokaddian swung his blade again at Hunger’s neck, but the Mother had built him solidly there, and the blade simply lodged in the rock she’d used for his bones.
Hunger drew back the stump of his arm and swatted the Mokaddian to the other side of the room. He looked down at his hand on the floor and then at his stump. The dirt in his forearm began to shift and form itself into a new ragged thing that looked not so much like a hand as it did the wild growth from a coppiced tree.
These two knew how to resist him. This meant he was going to have to kill them before he unraveled them. That was trickier than just taking them live. Trickier, but he could do it.
The Koramite backed up by the burning pile of straw. He held his useless axe ready. The Mokaddian knelt at the far wall, looking like he was trying to regain his senses.
Hunger would take the Koramite first.
Then he felt the Mother stirring, and all his attention turned back to the collar. He had to hide it quick, had to busy himself with some other task. Otherwise, she would know.
She would know. She would know!
She would command him to bring these men to her, and he would have to obey. Eventually, he would have to obey. But if she didn’t know, she couldn’t command.
Hunger turned and rushed back to Purity. He threw her over his shoulder like a sack of grain and ran for the exit. The Koramite tried to stop him, but Hunger flung the man aside. Then he was up the stairs and into the dark, back the way he’d come. He’d get out, and then he’d remove the collar before the Mother fully wakened. He’d cover it and all thought of the men. And when she fell asleep again, Hunger would come back for them and their secrets and use them to wield the collar.
* * *
Argoth watched Hogan bury the Hog deep in the creature’s leg, but it had no visible effect. The creature simply tossed Hogan to the side like he was so much straw. Then the creature rushed out of the cleansing room with Purity clutched to its chest and the Hog still buried in its leg.
Hogan struggled to his knees and winced, holding his arm close as if it were broken. “That thing just might have cracked my collar bone.”
“I’ve never—” said Argoth in amazement. The power of that creature. What was it?
“I felt someone there,” said Hogan. “Inside the beast.”
“Who?”
Hogan shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Men yelled above. There was a crash, something heavy tumbling down the upper stairway.
“They’re not going to be able stop it,” said Argoth.
Hogan’s face twisted in surprise. “Lumen,” he said.
“What?”
“Lumen’s soul.”
Lumen, the Divine who had overseen the Nine Clans. The Divine who had gone missing last year. Is this how he had disappeared, taken by this rough creature? Or was this an experiment gone awry?
Another crash sounded from above.
Argoth raced out of the room and up the stairs. Smoke from the straw fire in the room rolled up along the ceiling, choking him. So he ran up into the darkness, crouched low to keep under the smoke. Toward the top of the first flight of stairs he almost stepped on the Hog where it must have fallen from the creature’s leg. He called back to Hogan to pick it up, then burst into the first cellar and heard the clamor of many men above.
He ran up the next flight of stairs. On his way up, he found two guards lying on the stone steps. One was dead, splayed out in a horrible pose. The other lay on his back, moaning. Argoth sprang past the men to the main floor above.
He emerged into the back room and found that the battle had moved outside where men with torches and pikes struggled and shouted. The bulk of the men
surged to one side as if hit by a large wave.
He’d been able to hack off the thing’s hand. Of course, it had done as much good as chopping a worm in two. But he’d much rather face that thing in pieces. And if all they could do was dismember it, then that’s what they must do.
He charged outside. A number of the men shouted a warning and pointed at something on the wall.
Argoth turned. The thing climbed the wall like a dark, three-legged spider, shielding Purity against its chest like a mother might her newborn babe.
The half moon made silhouettes of a number of guards on the wall above. Many took aim and shot their arrows. Others threw spears.
Those would do nothing to the creature, but they could kill Purity. If this was her monster, that might dissolve its bindings. But they needed a bigger weapon.
At various points upon the wall stood seven ballista. The shafts from those machines could skewer a horse.
“The ballista!” he shouted up to the men. “Turn the ballista!”
The guards manning the one closest to the creature began to turn the war machine.
Hogan appeared at Argoth’s side with the Hog. “It’s hers, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know” asked Argoth.
“We’ll soon find out,” said Hogan.
The creature moved with such speed he knew the ballista men were only going to get one shot.
“Take it when it crests the top!” Argoth shouted.
More archers arrived and the thrumming of their bows made a chorus. He could hear the ballista men on the wall cranking their engine back. One five-foot, iron-headed dart from these machines could transfix several armored men. The only weapon more powerful would be one of the war wolves, casting a massive stone. But those would be ineffective against such a small, mobile target.
The creature neared the top.
“Lead it!” a man shouted.
The moon suddenly shone through a gap in the ragged clouds and lit up the wall. It was hideous how the thing moved, like an insect. Then it reached the top and raised itself up, its back bristling with arrows.
“Now!” Argoth shouted. “Shoot now!”
Servant: The Dark God Book 1 Page 18
