“Remember, Clansman, one day more, and I will have all of your secrets. Tell Leaf to bring me the sack.”
“Yes, Great One. Thank you,” said Uncle Argoth.
Moments later Uncle Argoth returned with the large dreadman that had cut Talen’s face. The man carefully placed a worn, leather sack at the Skir Master’s feet. “Where do you want The Crab’s men?” he asked.
“I want them hidden as much as possible. And where it’s not, they need to appear to be no threat.” Then the Skir Master opened the mouth of the sack and withdrew three items. The first was a thin silver case etched in a marvelous design. It was about a span long and half as wide. The remaining items were two gauntlets worked in silver and gold. They were not steel-plated gloves used for protection in battle. These were made of whitened leather. The sleeve of the glove extended past the wrist partway up the forearm. An unfamiliar looping design was painted there in red and blue. The hand of the glove was studded with gold. Sewn into the palm was a gold disc the size of a small coin. But Talen knew that wasn’t a coin. It had to be a weave of some type.
The Skir Master put the gauntlets on and tied the sleeves tight to his forearms. Then he opened the case. Inside, secured by silken threads on a bed of blue velvet lay three gleaming spikes. Their lengths too had been etched with an unfamiliar design. The Skir Master held the open case for Uncle Argoth to see.
“Are they wild?” asked Uncle Argoth.
“Indeed,” said the Skir Master.
There were weaves that only a lore master could use. There were others, wild ones, like those worn by dreadmen, that operated of their own accord.
“Are they Hag’s Teeth?” said Uncle Argoth.
“Not the proper name,” said the Skir Master, “but yes. Does the Order know how to fashion these?”
Argoth looked at the spikes as if he were a boy looking at an unclaimed walnut pie. “No, Great One.”
“It will unravel the seams of soul and body and fire of any living thing. It takes months to complete the very first step, requires the Fire from scores of lives. One of these is worth any number of fiefs. There are only three Glories with the knowledge of how to make them.”
“We would not be able to stand against such,” said Argoth.
“Of course not. That is why you run and hide.”
“We are fools,” said Uncle Argoth.
“Yes, but capable enough to attract the attention of someone with power. And since you’ve been targeted, I think it’s best we use you as part of the bait.”
* * *
Talen sat with Uncle Argoth, Sugar, and Legs a dozen paces away from the mouth of the cave in the clearing. Four pieces of bait sitting by a fire to make it look like they were doing nothing more than preparing a breakfast. A number of hours had passed since the Skir Master had found them. The sun had risen. Because of the steep slopes of this valley, the sunshine had not yet reached every corner of the valley floor, but morning had begun. A meadowlark sang in the scrub a few dozen yards away. The stream that cut through this vale burbled. Beyond the meadow a huge flock of black birds squabbled in a single tree. And yet, as late as it was, there had been no sign of the monster.
The Crab stood watch a few paces away; the Skir Master waited by the mouth of the cave. The Crab had brought fifty men with him who loitered in groups in various positions around the cave. To the casual observer, it might look like they stood in random places. But the Skir Master had ordered them so that one approach to the cave lay wide open. He expected the monster to come that way. And when it reached them, five dreadmen, positioned by the Skir Master, would spring.
Talen had overhead some of the Fir-Noy talking. Twenty dreadmen had been in the Skir Master’s guard. The big one that was his Eye, made it twenty-one. But twelve of those had been lost at sea in a fire. And Uncle Argoth had come back, sniveling and cringing. He hadn’t been able to hear what had happened. He doubted even the Fir-Noy knew.
The breeze shifted and blew the smoke toward Talen. He picked up the rock he was sitting on and moved out of its way, closer to Uncle Argoth. So much for the Creek Widow’s theory of him being bred to greatness. A lot of good it would do them all now.
And so much for the Creek Widow. He wondered what had happened to her.
He wondered about Da. The Skir Master had said the monster had taken him. Talen had tried to talk to Uncle Argoth, but the man totally ignored him. He ignored everyone and sat to the side, rocking on his haunches and muttered something unintelligible under his breath.
“What do you think will become of us if the Skir Master kills it?” Talen asked.
“I don’t think we have to worry about that,” said Legs. “Usually the bait is the first thing to go.”
“True enough,” Talen said.
They were silent for a time. Talen wondered where Nettle was at this moment. He hoped he was safe, but at the same time wished that he was here. Then Sugar spoke up. “Once he faces off with that creature, I say we slip away. Because if he kills the thing, then that means its lair will be unguarded, which means we can walk straight in and retrieve whoever is still alive. And if he loses his battle, then I certainly don’t want to be here.”
Talen didn’t think it would work since the Fir-Noy had horses, but thinking about escape was better than thinking of being devoured by a monster or questioned by a Divine whose ship had burned underneath him. “The only clear path is up that hill,” Talen said. The outer dreadmen and Fir-Noy had positioned themselves everywhere else.
Uncle Argoth reached out and gripped Talen’s arm much too tightly.
“Uncle?” Talen asked.
“He knows,” said Uncle Argoth, his grip tightening even further. “He knows everything.”
“What’s he talking about?” Sugar asked.
Talen shrugged. He tried to pull away, but his uncle would not let go.
A dreadman in a full run broke the tree line on the other side of the meadow on the valley’s floor. He was tall and thin and as fast as a horse at full gallop. It was a sight to see him cross the field and come to stand before the Skir Master. “Cos and Heel are dead, their backs broken.”
“Shegom reports nothing,” said the Skir Master.
“They’ve been dead for at least an hour.”
The Skir Master studied the hills about the valley. To this moment, he hadn’t yet withdrawn any of the Hag’s Teeth. He did so now, removing one of the silver spikes from its blue velvet bed and grasping it in his white, gold-studded glove. “Where are you?” he said under his breath.
As if in answer, Talen saw a stone above the mouth of the cave move. He looked closer. It was as if a part of the hill had come alive. “Goh,” he said.
The Crab followed Talen’s gaze.
Then the creature jumped, dropping down with a thud only paces behind the Skir Master. In the morning light its features were clearer than they had been that night in the yard. It was a grotesque giant. And while clumps of grass still clung to it here and there, he saw the underlying color was of dirt and blue stone. One shoulder was burned. Along the other, a patch of small white flowers grew.
The Skir Master whirled to meet it, but the creature slapped the hand holding the tooth. The hand flew backwards with a violence. The spike flew free in a silver flash that sailed toward Talen and the others by the fire. Then The Crab cried out. He clutched at his throat, pulling on the spike that stood out of his neck. But the spike would not move. Then the end of the spike curled like a worm, and in a flash of silver it wriggled into The Crab’s neck.
The Crab gasped and stumbled. He tripped toward Talen and the others. Talen tried to scramble back, but Uncle Argoth pulled him to the side. Then The Crab twitched and toppled to his knees. He writhed and fell sideways into the fire, sending up a billow of ash.
Talen choked on the ash and tried to pry Argoth’s fingers away, but could not.
The Skir Master danced back with blinding speed, trying to pull another spike from his case, but the monster moved more qui
ckly and swatted the case out of his hand. The case flew wide and disappeared into the brush a number of paces away from Talen and Uncle Argoth.
“The teeth!” Uncle Argoth exclaimed. He released Talen’s arm and scrambled to the bushes where the case had fallen.
“Shegom!” the Skir Master yelled.
The monster lunged at him, but he dodged out of beast’s grasp.
“Shegom!” the Skir Master yelled again.
Another dreadman who had been hiding only paces away from where the monster had first appeared rose and flung his wide noose around the creature’s head. He yanked back, pulling the noose tight about the creature’s neck. Another dreadman sprang from his hiding place in front of the cave and threw a second noose. A third dreadman joined him, and the two of them pulled the creature back. It lurched back inside a small trap which had been dug.
Yards away, a dozen Fir-Noy heaved on the rope that lined the trap and caught one of the monster’s legs. A Fir-Noy slapped the hind of one of the two horses harnessed to that line. The horses surged forward.
The monster spun. The power of the horses and soldiers would have pulled a normal man to the ground, but the monster was too quick, too strong. Instead of falling to the ground, it took a giant sideways step and then braced itself in a wide stance, the grass on its body shuddering at the impact.
It reached down and grabbed the line around its foot.
Another noose flew, but missed the monster.
Leaf, the dreadman with the scorched eye, cried out, drew a black-bladed sword, and charged the monster with frightening speed. In a blinding move he hacked into the creature’s side with the crow-black sword. Such a blow should have cleaved the monster in two, but the beast ignored Leaf and yanked on the line holding its foot.
The Fir-Noy on the other end stumbled forward, half-a-dozen of them falling into a heap. The two horses harnessed to that line were forced back and trod upon the men in the rear. The animals cried out. One leapt forward again. The other skittered sideways. Then, as if the monster had pinched the thin stem of a weed, the line snapped.
“The teeth!” the Skir Master roared. “The teeth!”
“Here!” Uncle Argoth cried out from the bushes and held the case up. “Master!”
The Skir Master turned and ran for Uncle Argoth.
Behind him, Leaf snatched his sword out of the creature’s side and swung the flashing black blade again in the early light, but this time the creature caught the blade. It struck Leaf, knocking him to the ground. Then it wrenched the sword out of his hand and flung it away.
The dreadmen holding the lines about the monster’s neck, pulled. The creature rocked back a step, then grabbed one of the lines. It twisted around violently, and the dreadman who had anchored the other end of the rope around his waist cried out and was carried aloft.
The monster twisted and yanked again. The dreadman lurched horribly in midair and folded backwards without a cry, his spine broken. The Monster carried through in an arc and swung the man around his head like a large stone at the end of a rope.
The Skir Master snatched up the case from Uncle Argoth’s outstretched arm and held it above his head. “Here, son of Lamash!” he yelled, his face full of fury. “Here is your doom!”
But the monster swung the dreadman around, the thick rope making a deep swoosh and hiss as it sped in its circle.
The Skir Master saw it, but he was not fast enough, and the Monster slammed the dreadman into both the Skir Master and Uncle Argoth, sending the two men flying.
The monster ignored the third line about its neck and charged after the Skir Master, dragging the dreadman, who’d wrapped the rope around his hands, like a toy attached to a child’s string.
A Fir-Noy standing just beyond Uncle Argoth shouted. He leveled his spear and charged in for a death blow. He struck deep, but the Monster simply ran him over.
The Skir Master rose, searching the ground about him frantically.
Back by Talen, The Crab groaned. Talen looked down at the man and his smoldering tunic and saw a glint of silver by his ear. A moment later the long hag’s tooth came wriggling through the skin at the man’s temple.
Talen backed away in horror.
The tooth curled an end as if sniffing the air. Then it wriggled the rest of the way out of The Crab’s head and dropped to the ash.
Sugar pulled on Talen. “Lords!” she said. “Run!”
He scrambled to his feet, stumbled backward, and turned, only to find a dozen Fir-Noy, weapons drawn, charging straight toward him. Sugar grabbed Legs and they all dove to one side, and the men ran past to attack the monster.
The creature turned and with three swings of its terrible fist slew that many men. The remaining Fir-Noy hesitated.
The monster took a step and closed the gap between itself and the Skir Master.
The Skir Master turned and looked up at the beast.
At that moment, Leaf, who had retrieved his sword, screamed a battle cry and charged the monster once again. He was fast and powerful. The monster turned, but not quickly enough. Leaf swung with all his might, and the sword cut into the monster’s neck.
The creature grasped Leaf by the throat and lifted him up. Leaf yanked the sword free and drove the blade deep into the creature’s chest. But it had no effect.
What kind of nightmare was it that could withstand a black sword of the Kains?
Then the monster twisted its grip and snapped Leaf’s massive neck like a twig.
The Skir Master yelled in fury and charged the monster’s back. But instead of striking it with a weapon, he punched into it with his fist, sinking his arm up to his elbow.
The monster cast Leaf aside, the black sword still sticking out of its chest.
“Where is it?” the Skir Master cried. “Where is your quickening!”
The creature wrenched around, trying to get at the Skir Master, but the Divine was too quick.
“Clansman!” shouted the Skir Master, feeling inside the monster. “The Ravelers!”
Uncle Argoth lay upon the ground, unmoving.
Was he dead?
Two more dreadmen closed on the creature. They carried spears and harried it, thrusting repeatedly at its head. Their movements were blinding fast, but their blows had no effect. Nothing seemed to phase this creature.
The monster snatched one of the spears and jabbed it into one of the dreadman’s faces. The other dreadman struck, but the monster swung the spear and gave the dreadman such a blow to the side that Talen was sure half his ribs had been staved in. The dreadman fell over backward.
The Skir Master withdrew his arm and punched into the back of the monster a bit higher. His arm sunk almost up to the shoulder. “Yes!” he said.
The monster twisted round violently, slamming the Skir Master with its elbow, knocking him into the air. The Skir Master landed with a grunt a number of yards away amidst some scrub.
The monster made a sound—a loud, horrible sigh—and turned toward the Skir Master.
Men littered this small battlefield. Most of the surviving Fir-Noy were fleeing to the slopes of the vale. The dreadmen were either dead or lying incapacitated.
The Skir Master shook himself and stood, disgust and anger twisting his face. He held up something dark. Something he’d taken from deep within the monster. “You will not prevail,” he said.
But the monster strode forward.
The Skir Master stood his ground.
At the far side of the meadow, a huge crack sounded. A tree limb as thick as a man’s body was tossed into the air, and then a wind screamed across the meadow, flattening the scrub of the clearing as it came, kicking up a cloud of dust and debris.
The monster charged.
But the wind was faster. The Skir Master stretched his tattooed arms out wide into the wind, and was carried aloft like a leaf in a storm.
The monster took two enormous strides and sprang after him, leaping a dozen or more feet into the air.
Talen thought he saw it catc
h the Skir Master’s leg, but the wind thrashed the bushes, casting debris into his eyes. Then a huge gust slammed into Talen, knocking him onto his back. Something struck his face, nearly blinding him, and Talen rolled over, shutting his eyes.
The wind howled about him, plucking at his clothes, and then as quickly as it had come, it was gone.
He lay there a moment, stunned.
And then he remembered Sugar’s words—they did not want to be here when this battle ended.
Talen climbed to his knees and brushed his face, careful of the cut the dreadman had given him. When he opened his eyes, he found dirt, leaves, and sticks still fluttering about the meadow. His hand pained him, and he looked down and saw a thin twig sticking straight out of the flesh between his first and second finger. He plucked it out and cast it aside.
Beside him Sugar and Legs were brushing themselves off.
He looked up. At first he saw nothing, and then, hundreds of yards above him, he saw the Skir Master and monster. He watched them sail upwards into the morning sky until they were nothing more than black dots.
“Let’s go!” Sugar said.
Uncle Argoth shouted in pain.
Talen turned and saw him huddled on his knees, the case of hag’s teeth lying in the grass beside him.
“Uncle,” Talen said. “Uncle.”
“No,” Argoth said. “No, no, no.” Then he winced as if someone had struck him and cried out in extreme agony.
Talen drew back, expecting a hag’s tooth to wriggle its way out of him.
Arogth jerked, and then the terror fled his face and he sagged and let out a great sob. “He’s gone. Lord, no,” he said and began to weep like a child.
“Talen,” said Sugar from behind. “Get the horse.”
“You’re going to be all right,” said Talen to Uncle Argoth. “We’re all going to be all right.” But it was a lie.
“By all . . .” Sugar said in dismay.
The fear in her voice made Talen turn. He followed her gaze into the sky and saw the Skir Master plummeting from the heavens. Down he fell in a slow turn, one leg in front of the other as if he were taking a lazy step.
He landed with a large, sickening thud at the edge of the clearing.
Servant: The Dark God Book 1 Page 48
