Putting that to one side, it had not taken long to find out where ‘Wist’ was hiding. N’tini had been sheltering him. Delightful. It had been a long time since that one had caused the Church problems, but it would be satisfying to settle a debt. He had thought the old fool would have been dead by now.
Armed with this information, it had been easy to guide Kerk towards the correct path. An intervention would be required. Both parts of the Church would participate, but Kerk would lead. The leader of the Lothrians was so much better at stirring the populace with his zeal. And getting blood on his hands was so unnecessary.
Unfortunately, Kerk had gotten the bit between his teeth this time. Half of the city’s guard had to accompany the gathering that had set out for N’tini’s farm, which lay on the far east of the city. At least the guard would be earning its pay for a change: deserting the gates because of a sandstorm had been the latest in a series of delinquencies. Patrolling the walls and staring out into the empty desert night was not what he considered a good use of the city’s funds.
How could he use tonight’s events to the best advantage of the Church? Perhaps it would be worthwhile re-enacting the procession to N’tini’s farm next year? He would have to take the lead in future, of course. They would need to rename N’tini’s farm, although there might not be much of it left after Kerk was finished.
Shouts and cries pierced the still air in his sanctum. This was puzzling; Kerk and his mob had passed here a few hours ago, and would not return before dawn. He rose from his chair and strode through the doors of his upper office. Collecting his two personal guards as he went, he walked swiftly to the main hall. The noise from outside increased as he moved. A battle was taking place, but who would dare attack so deep into the city: an uprising perhaps?
As he passed up the stairs at the back of the altar, the cries grew louder and more insistent. The enormous crash that came next could mean only one thing. They were fighting in his church. This could not be allowed.
He moved into the enormous main hall to find it drenched in blood and chaos. The massive doors lay ajar, and the people who had fled here to find sanctuary were cowering behind the few remaining guards. Facing them were a handful of blood-soaked Lyrats. Fighting in pairs, these barbarians were cutting their way mercilessly through whatever stood in their path.
He sent his guards to help in the fight. They were the best-trained and most loyal men in the city. They threw themselves into the fight in a desperate attempt to drive the intruders out, but the foe they faced today had spent years in the desert, fighting every day to keep alive. The first guard managed a few parries before his arm was severed from his body. He collapsed screaming, as his heart continued to pump his lifeblood over the Nave. His killer ignored the cries of the dying man and moved on.
Another Lyrat cleaved the head from the last remaining guard and then started upon the people hiding behind overturned pews. With only their bare hands to protect them, the butchery began in earnest.
Preserve me, Conti thought. His initial shock at seeing the violent scene had evaporated. He had to flee. He spun to run back the way he had come, but he turned too quickly and slipped. Hitting the tiled floor hard, it took him a second to push himself back up to his knees.
A Lyrat’s katana cut diagonally through the back of Conti’s head, spewing blood, bone and brain matter across the lectern. The Lyrat’s purge of the city was truly under-way. The sounds of dying in the Church joined the cries that filled the night air.
--*--
Wist gasped as he was dumped on to the horse’s back. A stuffed pad serving as the saddle was his only protection from the impact. He grunted as one of the Lyrats landed in front of him. Alongside him, Aviti, who was used to riding, boosted gracefully into the seat behind her Lyrat companion. The dark chestnut mare that he sat upon contrasted markedly with its blonde counterpart, but both seemed equally able to blend in with the desert.
‘Hold fast. We must ride most of the night,’ said Wist’s rider. He wondered if this had meant the other Lyrats or the city folk were close.
‘What do I call you?’ Wist asked.
‘I am Tyla,’ replied the Lyrat with the uneven face. ‘That is Faric.’
‘Where are we going?’ Aviti asked Faric.
Faric glanced back at Aviti. ‘Out to the Great Desert, we ride east and a little north. There is a passage down the Rift.’
Small motes of light appeared over the brow of the hill, accompanied by shouts of indignation. Faric grasped the bridle and kicked his horse to motion, followed a heartbeat later by Tyla. Wist clung to Tyla’s back.
The speed at which they travelled terrified Wist. It was only a matter of time before one of the horses either stumbled or ran straight into something in this darkness. Wist could just make out a few trees on the horizon and the shapes of hills in the distance. The moon was low tonight and gave little light, the jarring motion of the horse meant he could make out nothing else in the sky.
He attempted to look back at the farm, but they had left it far behind. The act of turning while travelling at high-speed induced nausea and he was forced to close his eyes until the sensation passed.
After a while, Wist sensed that their pace had slowed. He gripped the Lyrat tightly and opened his eyes.
‘Why have you slowed down?’ Wist asked, his voice unsteady. Focused on their goal, neither of the Lyrats had spoken since their departure.
‘Travelling at night is a risk, even for a Lyrat.’
Wist thought that Tyla might have smiled as he spoke, but he had no way of knowing. ‘I have excellent night vision, as do all the Lyrats. We spend most of the day asleep, away from the Sun’s punishment. The night is our time. Even our horses are bred to cope with life at night’
How could Tyla make riding seem so effortless, especially when he had to cope with a dead weight clutching onto his waist? Wist tried to relax his posture to make the Lyrat’s task a little easier. How anyone could enjoy riding was a mystery to him. His arms ached and the inside of his thighs burned. Worse than his physical discomfiture was the guilt that pressed down on him. Aviti had been forced to run and leave her life behind, because she had chosen to help him. He knew that he had been powerless to prevent N’tini’s death, but he had simply watched him go. And he did not want to contemplate Cairn’s fate.
He thought of N’tini’s final words again. Wist had watched while the old farmer had died and had failed to pass on his warning. Whenever he had tried to speak to Aviti, his determination had failed him.
A little in front of them, and off to one side, Aviti rode with Faric. Wist wanted to talk to her now and offer some comfort, but he was also glad of the distance. What could he say that would help with the loss of her entire family? She had been cut adrift to wander the desert with only strangers for company.
The face of N’tini returned to Wist time and again, as he stared out into the blackness of the desert, wearing the slack, expressionless mask of the dead. He had sat motionless at N’tini’s bedside the day the farmer had died, staring at that face while he had waited for someone to return. Glimpses of past horrors had played at the edges of his memory then. It had all been too familiar, the sense of helplessness, but was it from his last time in Mashesh or from some lurking terror that lay deeper in his memories?
Wist was able to glance up as the desert skitted by without overbalancing. The moon had risen higher into the clear night sky and now provided a little more light. Stars blinked at him overhead. As they shone their feeble light down on them, he felt their loneliness and detachment.
Faric held his hand up and slowed his mount to a halt. Tyla pulled up alongside him.
‘We have covered sufficient distance for the time being,’ Faric declared. ‘We shall give the horses a few moments to breathe. You are not used to riding - stretch your legs. The next section of the journey will be -,’ Faric paused to consider his words, ‘difficult.’
With a graceful flick of his legs, Tyla slid down the horse�
��s shoulder and landed softly on the ground. He reached a hand up to help Wist dismount.
‘Do not wander far,’ warned Faric. ‘You do not have our eyes for the dark.’
Using the horse to steady himself, Wist stretched his stiff muscles. He noticed that they had been riding on a rough trail. Had they always been on it or had they recently joined it? The trail ended about a dozen paces further on, at a rough wooden gate and a fence. Beyond the gate, he could make out rough mounds of earth.
‘What is that?’ he asked, pointing towards the gate.
‘Burial grounds,’ said Faric, while checking over the horse for any damage taken during the gallop. Tyla performed the same task on his charge.
‘Potter’s Field,’ said Aviti. ‘It is where the outcasts and strangers are buried, those with no family or ties. This marks the edge of the city. I have been here only once before, years ago, when I was a young girl. We came as a dare, my friend and I. I never got as far as the gate; I was so scared. I ran all the way home. Silly, really.’
Wist shifted in the darkness. This was the first time Aviti had spoken to him since N’tini’s death. He wanted to talk, but there was nothing for him to say. He wanted to apologise, but he wasn’t sure why.
‘Maybe I should just stay here. As this shall certainly be my end,’ said Aviti, though she spoke more to herself now.
Wist turned away from her to look over at the graveyard. It was too painful to see her suffering. As he gazed out over the unmarked graves, a shadow shifted in the distance.
‘Something’s out there,’ he said. ‘At least - I think I saw something move out there - past the cemetery.’ Suddenly unsure of himself, he wished he had not spoken, or waited until he was sure. The Lyrats stood up beside their mounts.
‘Krowen,’ said Faric. ‘Five or six of them, moving for us.’
Wist started to mount the horse, but Faric put his hand on his shoulder to stop him. ‘We shall face them here, Wist,’ he said. There is nowhere to run and they lie in our path. There can be no peaceful resolution to this. Stay with the girl and the horses.’
‘I can fight,’ said Aviti, her grief desperate for an outlet.
‘These are Krowen, girl. The five of them shall sorely test Tyla and I,’ said Faric, his voice holding no fear.
Tyla slipped a slender dagger from his belt and passed it to Aviti. It was marginally longer than the length of the desert girl’s palm. One side of the blade was plain, but the other had two symmetrically opposite, undulating lines carved gracefully into its length, meeting about an inch from the tip. The handle of the blade fit into her palm.
‘Stay with Wist. Defend yourself should the need arise’. Tyla span and paced over to join Faric, who had made his way to a small rise. The elegance of his movement, his balletic poise and grace seemed discordant with this harsh, lifeless place. He drew out another small dagger from his belt, smaller than the one he had passed to Aviti, and held it lightly in his left hand. Faric did likewise and held an identical dagger in the opposite hand. The pair stood motionless, waiting for their foes to approach.
The Krowen dropped any pretence of stealth, and charged. The figures that approached were taller than Wist had first thought: over seven feet tall with shoulders twice as broad as his. The first of the Krowen smashed through the small fence surrounding the burial ground. It was apparent to him that the Krowen were not human.
‘What are they?’ Wist shouted to the Lyrats. They were concentrating fully on their prey and neither responded.
‘I have heard tales of them,’ said Aviti. ‘They are corrupted desert dwellers. An evil cross breeding between men and snakes or lizards; nightmares come to life.’ Her trembling voice betrayed the fear she felt.
‘Give me your staff,’ Wist demanded. Aviti pulled the weapon from her back and handed it to him without comment or complaint; she seemed content to hold on to Tyla’s blade. Despite having no idea how to use the staff, it felt oddly comfortable in his hand and the promise he’d made to Cairn was at the front of his mind. He could not let Aviti die here.
All of the Krowen were through the barrier and now he could make out two of the monstrous forms clearly. One had the face of a lizard, its entire body covered in scaled thorns. Behind it dragged a spiked tail almost as long as its erect form. Two small nostrils marked the middle of its repulsive face; small, unfeeling black eyes glinted in the starlight.
Faric launched his blade with Tyla’s only a breath behind it. Faric’s weapon found its mark, burying itself in the protruding eye of a lacertilian monstrosity. The force of the blow swept it from its feet and it landed on the desert floor, its body quivering spasmodically as its life seeped away.
Tyla’s dagger missed its target. Glancing off an eye ridge, the blade removed a large lump of flesh from around the corpulent head of his target. The dark bobbled surface of its skin, which was marked with bright splashes, was now awash with blood. It barked in pain and anger, thrashing its head from side to side as if to shake the pain from itself.
The last three of the monsters to emerge from the darkness were vastly different. These had much larger heads and protruding jaws lined with small vicious teeth. The sight of these crocodile and human hybrids made Wist want to disgorge the contents of his stomach.
Tyla and Faric had drawn their swords as the daggers had flown, one Lyrat a mirror image of the other. They stood poised and ready. As the first creature bore down upon them, the Lyrats began their intricate dance. Gone was the symmetry of their fighting stance, replaced with complex, complimentary movements. When Tyla attacked, Faric would cover. When Faric rolled, Tyla glided aside. Soon the spiked body of the first monster was covered in deep gashes, its brute strength no match for the finesse it faced. Faric rose from a roll and sliced the throat of the beast, killing it where it stood.
Before the Lyrats had time to reset themselves, the Krowen that Tyla had injured, but failed to put down, rushed in. Wist watched the spectacle as a cascade of conflicting emotions poured down on him. The Lyrats’ elegant and agile movements were awe-inspiring, but the blood and gore that oozed from the Krowens’ corpses repulsed him. He clutched at the staff as he watched events unfold, fear making him weak.
The two Lyrats made even shorter work of their second foe. As they avoided the initial charge, Faric cut cleanly through a scaled leg, leaving the screaming beast thrashing on the ground. Tyla darted forward and drove the tip of his sword through the eye he had earlier missed.
The execution of the helpless creature was more than Wist could endure. He turned his sight to the remaining two Krowen. The short legs and massive bodies on these part-crocodile, part-human mongrels hampered their progress. Their awkward, shambling gait made them look comical as they stumbled forwards.
As Tyla and Faric ran to cover the ground to the last Krowen, Wist saw the black shape that moved directly for him; a darkness so dense that nothing could escape from it. As he gazed into the abyss, a black wave of fear hit him.
Aviti let the dagger slip from her hands, landing flat at her feet.
The blackness that rose in Wist felt alive, it sought out his weaknesses and pressed on them, and it began to leach the life from his body. Echoes of his journey through the desert to Mashesh reflected through the cracks in his mind.
Aviti fell to her knees.
Wist tried to pull the staff up in a desperate bid to save Aviti. He had promised to protect her, but his strength failed him again. He tried to shout to Tyla, but the Lyrats were too distant to help. And then his knees folded beside the desert girl as the darkness reached out to claim them.
Aviti screamed.
The concussive force that was unleashed lifted Wist from his feet and threw him back. He landed in a maelstrom of dust and sand. The ringing in his ears, and pain in his chest, were all he could sense. Wist howled in pain. Opening his eyes, he pulled himself to his feet with the aid of the staff, which he still gripped fiercely. His eyes struggled to readjust themselves to the night’s partial light. Meanw
hile, the Lyrats dispatched their prone foes.
Wist scanned the ground for Aviti and spotted her unmoving form lying where it had fallen. There was no sign of the black mass that had threatened them, but its effects, its cold malignance lingered. Ignoring the fear, he ran to her, leaving the staff as he went. Dropping down beside her in the sand, Wist could see that she was unconscious but alive. Desperately he tried to rouse her, but she remained unresponsive.
What the hell had that thing done to her?
‘Help me, damn you,’ Wist yelled into the night. ‘Help me!’
‘Please don’t die, please don’t die,’ he repeated as he waited for aid. Aviti’s frailty pierced his heart. As he looked up, Tyla arrived beside him and knelt. Faric passed by, going to retrieve the horses.
‘Do something!’ he pleaded.
After searching her with his eyes, Tyla touched Aviti’s forehead delicately with the tips of his fingers and then lifted her eyelids. ‘She will live,’ he said.
‘What happened to her?’ Wist said. ‘What did that bloody thing do?’
‘I cannot be certain,’ said Tyla. ‘Now is not the time for questions. We must move from here.’
‘How the hell do we manage that then?’ Wist’s anger rose as he spoke. ‘She can’t very well get on a damn horse!’
‘Then do you suggest that we leave her?’ asked Faric, who had returned with the horses. His voice held no hint of emotion. Was this question meant to shame Wist? Was it to be considered as an option?
‘No! We bloody well will not leave her. How could you ask something like that?’ Wist cursed at them under his breath.
‘Very well, Wist,’ said Tyla. ‘She shall be borne by my horse and I shall run. Ride with Faric. Quickly now.’
Faric had already mounted and was holding the second mare’s reins. As Wist was pulled up into the saddle, he wondered if it had been a test. Would they really have left Aviti to die in the desert sands? Were they simply being practical? Perhaps they knew that she would never recover. He looked across at Aviti. Tyla had lifted her limp body and placed her across his horse’s back.
The Redemption of Wist Boxed Set: Books 1 - 3: The complete collection Page 5
