Thrall

by Steven Shrewsbury

  Noel didn’t disappoint, for after he split Mitre’s knee he pulled the axe out and buried the weapon in the chest of the creature. At first, Tammas thought Noel meant for Stillwell to suffer more, but this proved false. Mitre grabbed the blade on the curl as it sank into his abdomen and he tried to hold it close to him. Noel pulled the weighty metal weapon back, his whip flailed flesh contorting as he mutilated Stillwell’s hand.

  Mitre rose up on his good knee then dived at Noel. He grappled with him briefly, wrapping him in a limp bear hug. Stillwell bit at Noel’s stomach. Reaching down, Noel dug his fingers into the cheeks of the creature who’d stared down at him for so long from afar--looked down at him and had grinned every day--the man who took away his voice and dignity. With strong fingers and long, sharp nails developed on the assembly floor, Noel dug into that hideous face and ripped Mitre’s cheeks down off the skull.

  When Mitre howled and rolled to the floor, Noel grabbed up the sword and promptly vivisected the overlord of Syn, see-sawing the blade over and over.

  The Foundry of Syn became awash in blood. From the production line to the quality control offices, those who oppressed the slaves died, badly. Their blood painted the walls, floors, and mouths of the arisen workers. Many old scores were settled as sweating slaves rose up to find those who stabbed them in the back, and stabbed them in the front.

  Tammas wagered that none of them realized that Gorias also figured: After these hundreds of workers slew the Minorcs and Beholders, they ran out onto the surface of the Earth.

  *****

  Tolin had confidence in his men. They would stop outside the Foundry of Syn and behave as if they were there for the purchase of the weapons. Once the Foundry was unlocked and his men were inside in great numbers, they would start the assault. What were a few Minorcs against trained men? The gelded guards were accustomed to whipped masses of slavery, not real fighting men aware of their craft.

  When the first reports came that there was a terrible disturbance in the distance, indicating a huge movement of the rival army of barbarians, Tolin wasn’t that concerned. “Savage fools,” he cursed now as he looked back over the territory they just came from. The jogging barbarians came up fast. This was the spur of the Northern army that broke off and headed around Khabnur to the west.

  Captain Karter watched these barbarians stop, then assemble themselves into crude lines. As they did this, the hairy men took deep breaths and prepared.

  “There are a great many of them,” Karter said. “If I didn’t know better, I would think the barbarians are assuming a phalanx formation.”

  Tolin nodded, never wavering in his confidence. “We are spread out. Those maniacs will ram into our flank and do us damage. Curse them.” He shouted and gathered the attention of the cavalry around him. “Move the cavalry to the front of the columns! Get the pike-men ready and closer to our rear! Regular troops first followed by the greener ones. ”

  The army of Nosmada stopped dead. Hundreds of pike-man then archers peeled off and tried to get into position to take the brunt of the rear assault. Elite troopers in heavier armor marched in to support these lines.

  “Sir!” one of the troopers near the front of the force shouted, pointing to the northeast.

  Tolin didn’t follow his point. “Yes, we are very near the Foundry of Syn…”

  “No, sir, look!”

  While the city of Khabnur loomed in front of the military force, off to the right of the city stood a stationary, dark line. This long line snorted and breathed. Behind this dark, hairy line of animals came a rising shout growing louder.

  “Damned barbarians,” Tolin said. “Only they would make a cavalry out of mastodons.”

  Tubal directed most of the light infantry and green slingers to swing around to face this line. He then divided the pike-men and moved up the forces of the cavalry. “They will out number us still, General. The force in our rear is several thousand. Their force on the elephants can only be a couple hundred or a few more. Behind them, yes, perhaps over a thousand men. Rest assured, we have five hundred pike-men alone. This will be good exercise for us.”

  Tolin frowned. “I’d feel better with the new weapons.” He watched the force of pike-men divide between the two fronts. “The men are fighting with obsidian implements not much better than the barbarians.”

  “But we’re well trained…General!” Tubal pointed back at the foundry.

  Far south of the army near the foundry figures started to pop through the ground like gophers. A few, then dozens of small barbarians ran into the open. These boys waved short swords that gleamed in the sun. They paused as more bodies trickled up from an unseen opening.

  “My confidence wanes,” Tolin said in a droll voice. “Now we are attacked by children? Tell the archers to fix arrows, and the core of engineers and back up green infantry to charge when these babies hit our flanks. I will not be bullied by—”

  “General,” Captain Karter said and pointed at the outer wall of Khabnur. “With respect, sir.”

  Pouring out of the city came hundreds of rough, fighting men. Many looked like bar room toughs, others like well-oiled warriors. They were all armed with steel and stood in no formal ranks. Most wore light armor. Next came a back-up force of crudely dressed and sparely armed common folks of Khabnur.

  “Will they throw stones at us next?” Tolin said, causing many of his men to laugh. “They are drunken fools and have not the courage to attack us. At the first drop of warm blood on their faces, they will flee.”

  From the midst of the mercs emerged a great white stallion. The army of Nosmada collectively gasped and exchanged looks as the huge figure on horseback came into view.

  He who held reins through the mouth slot of his helmet was a giant of a man. In his hands, he gripped two gleaming swords. On his body was blue armor skinned from the hide of baby dragons.

  Down the lines of the army of Nosmada the cry went like wild fire; “LA GAUL!”

  The rabble roared toward the armies’ flank, head and center. Tolin reached back to his attendant and grabbed his helmet.

  “I have had enough of this legendary bastard,” he said. “This day, my revenge is completed.”

  Then, all hell broke loose.

  CHAPTER XIX

  All Hell Breaking Loose

  *

  The right leg of the Draco-Lich extended, grabbed one of the stone obelisks, and drew back to heave it forward.

  Gorias kicked the horse hard and darted for an avenue of rubble buildings. Just in time, he left the main boulevard as the granite effigy crashed down where he just stood firm.

  “Damned nag,” he cursed the horse of Maddox, alien to his manner of riding.

  “Come now, hero of the ages,” the Draco-Lich said with humor bubbling in its voice. “Approach and kill that which is already dead. What is one more dragon? Bring delight unto the kings of the earth once again. Climb on my back and ride me to your eternal reward.”

  “You’re no dragon,” Gorias called out, unsure if the creature could hear him or not. He then stopped, trying to hide behind a lone temple wall.

  Abruptly, the crumpled wall split in half and the horse reared up in the rain of dust. The Draco-Lich’s long neck extended and the face of the monster loomed near. The beast made no attempt to strike him as he nearly fell from the spooked horse.

  The Draco-Lich said, “You eat meat and kill things that are better than you are. The breath of virgins sours in your gullet, fool.”

  Gorias crossed his swords and struck out at the dragon. The monster pulled away, easily avoiding the blows. For a moment, the face of the Draco looked disgruntled, or angry. This unrefined emotion faded. Gorias surmised his lack of fear didn’t make the creature happy. Wyss lived for the taste of human terror on his tongue. Gorias wouldn’t feed his habit.

  The dragon’s wings unfolded, knocking down more walls of th
e ruined shrine. “You exterminate all dragons, create a holocaust of death, yet you cannot understand why your son turned out to be a murderer.” The Draco-Lich took to the air as it giggled. “You made your child what he is, La Gaul.”

  Talons of the Draco-Lich swept down rapid. Gorias dived off the horse. The dragon scooped up the animal and left him in the dust. When the Draco-Lich tried to strike at La Gaul with his other foot, Gorias slashed his swords in defense. Blades crunched into then bore through bone. Savagely he removed one of dragon’s toes.

  The creature threw back its head in startled pain, and Gorias said, “My son is dead.”

  Still in flight, the creature glowed aqua-blue and the human muscles of his frame glistened. The horse in its claws still writhed. The creature was shredded, bled, liquefied, sucked into the form of the Draco-Lich. The toe Gorias extracted returned before his eyes.

  Gorias looked at the extracted toe on the sandy street. The outline of the dragon digit washed out into a green light and the shape of two skinned humanoids fell apart. The two hugging corpses rolled apart, abandoning their former union then lying still as statues.

  Gorias darted away in-between stone pillars and inadvertently confronted three members of the Cult of the Dragon. Two wore green robes and one wore a more formal blue gown.

  The man in the blue robe spoke with authority. “You cannot escape the…”

  The priest’s words stopped, for his head separated from his shoulders. The criss-crossing swords sliced clear through the meat of the cleric’s throat. Gorias then impaled both of the retreating cultists in green, striking the powerful deathblow to each under the heart. The stab was fast and final. The cultists fell, hands clutching their wounds, blood flowing in-between their fingers as they hit the sand. Their cowls fell back and Gorias discovered they were both women. Never once did he look back as he passed them over.

  “Too many make the mistake of listening to you idiots,” he said, then shouted at the Draco, “They are helping you! You can’t absorb at will. These bastards have to cast spells to assist you. If I knew where your soul crystal shelter was I’d stomp it down.”

  The dragon passed overhead and spoke again from everywhere. “They are my fathers and mothers in this new flesh. I am their creation, as are your children. I am just a reflection of them, flesh and bone.” Gorias slumped and hid, resting as he listened to the Draco. “They created me from what they had, what they were, and I expanded on this with those nearby.” In its words lurked grotesque satisfaction at the homicidal act it performed in Oliverian.

  With great velocity, the dragon fell from the sky. Gorias dived and avoided the clutches of the beast once more. The dragon grabbed up the corpses of the fallen priests and started to add them unto himself. Parts of the dragon’s flesh that were spotty became clearer and thicker with the accumulation of three more bodies.

  He was well aware Wyss held no real magic in this dragon state. His mind raced. He couldn’t find and kill every cultist aiding the dragon. Then again, he had a plan.

  “You are insane,” he said, slipping down another narrow avenue of ruins, trying to work his way back to where the ordered sector remained. When he saw all that precise order, he thought of the outside of Larak and of Asmodeous thrashing around.

  “Long ago, when I lived before, being insane meant something.” The creature took to the air again, circled overhead. “Now, everyone is insane in this world. It should perish, a failed experiment, a bad trial of a lunatic beyond the realms of your understanding.”

  “But if you believe he is there…”

  “Why follow him, old hero?” the dragon said and roared with immense malice. “I chose the reflection I know better, like my own. I am god, I told you once before. I see excellent possibilities in my new form for great procreation. If it is all about love, I will give them a god of love, all right!” The dragon’s words stopped. “What is happening? How…oh I see!” The confusion left its pitch as it spotted the reason for its angst. “Kill my followers, will you now girl? What is your game? You are just meat for the beast, little feminine.”

  Gorias sprinted on as the dragon started to knock the obelisks over like blocks. From out of the shadows fell more cultists in green robes, but these folk were already dead. In their backs and in their fronts were arrows. Fleeing the path of the dragon was Kayla Rhan.

  “Damned girl,” he said and smiled, holstering his swords, frowning down at the meager leftovers of the horse. In the mess of gunk not taken into the Dragon lay his saddle and the broadsword. Gorias unsheathed this long blade and ran after the dragon and Kayla. He stopped and looked at the place where objects waved in the wind. The dragon didn’t destroy any of these pillars.

  “Kayla!” Gorias ran toward the series of pillars away from the rest of the ruins.

  Exhausted, she loped after him, turning to fire blindly at the Draco-Lich.

  The flying creature took the arrow deep and Gorias saw it wince. It pulled back as its two attackers darted in-between the columns.

  Gorias grabbed Kayla by the wrist, stopped running. “I’m not going to lecture you for following me, because I’m glad to see you.” She smiled at this, weakly, but he went on. “You gave me the distraction I needed to discover something about that thing.” He shouted up in the air, “Not as durable as your old flesh, is it? What am I saying? You were never a dragon, Wyss! You were hardly a man.”

  Her eyes flared. “What are you trying to do? Provoke it?”

  “Did you see it as it pursued you? It was tiring. Real dragons don’t tire that easy. It’s probably consuming its followers for energy now.”

  The unfathomable tenor of the Draco-Lich drawled out, “I cannot bring myself to hate you. I admire you. You are a pioneer. You all call me a killer and a murderer, yet who here has killed more humans? It is but a matter of time before you all kill yourselves on this planet, anyway. My program will help it along, fulfill your aspirations. You say I am evil or a devil, but I am just what lives inside each and every one of you.”

  “Mouthy bastard,” Gorias said as he waved at the hanging objects.

  Kayla asked, “What’s all of this stuff here?”

  “Short answer or the complicated one?”

  She shrugged as they changed positions again. “Both.”

  “In short, this is the Daemonolateria translated from the memory of Carlato Wyss. In the longer version? These are the inhabitants of Oliverian, well, their skin, anyway. These are being dried and will be pressed for future grimoires for wizards for generations to come. Ever wonder where those spell books on human flesh come from? Here you go.”

  She grimaced at an open mouth on one of the sheets of stygian text. Locked in a silent scream forever, the mouth was on the upper right hand corner of the page, sans teeth.

  The deep voice from the sky intoned, “You are a swift thinker. That is why I love you so. I cannot detest you nor judge you, but it is time you stopped living the lie you call life.”

  Gorias directed Kayla stay behind a column, then spotted something out of the corner of his eye. Stepping forward with caution, he saw the Draco-Lich at the end of the series of pillars. He swung around a pillar and practically cut a cultist in half.

  As this body fell, he shouted to the dragon, “So you’re the one who decides who lives and dies, eh?”

  The Draco-Lich stared him down. “And who else is to decide this? You? Who gave you the right, old man? I can smell an angelic being in these ruins, yet he will not lift a finger to help you. Why is he here? Why do you work so hard to appease one such as him?”

  “That’s my affair, ya maniac, just like making sure ya die again is,” Gorias said as the Draco-Lich’s neck lowered behind the pillars. “Your followers are dying off, Wyss. Soon, you’ll follow them. Don’t you care that the ones who love you fall dead so often for you?”

  Unconcerned, the dragon replied with a strong but amia
ble voice, “You think I made these men believe in dragons and worship a dark force? They come after the world with sacrificial knives, but they learned how to deal death from you, not me. I just taught them to stand up better.”

  “So I’m a murdering prick. What’s your point?”

  “You would do well to respect those who bring death on wings of scorpions, La Gaul. They are all coming to Earth and nothing you can do will stop it. Hades, I will not even bring the dark forces here. You and your kind will. You humans can will your own destruction. You can call up Belial, an angel fallen so far he craves dead babies for revenge on the creator.” The dragon held up a long piece of human flesh, baked, tanned, pressed into what looked like parchment. “Here is how you can call him up. I cannot quote a page number, but she was a housewife, gardener, mother of six…”

  Gorias stepped into the open and reared back with both hands. With all his strength, he threw the broadsword like an axe. The long blade twirled, end over end, and flew into the lower abdomen of the dragon. Since this creature wasn’t made of armored plates, the blade easily buried itself and disappeared from sight. The creature reared back its head and howled.

  Kayla fired arrows at the creature, over and over, as Gorias ran forward. He disengaged his twin swords from the crude pack on his back and hopped onto the edging of a pillar. He meant to jump on the folded wing of the Draco-Lich, but Wyss was too fast for him. His left hand descended fast and clutched Gorias in a fist. Kayla screamed, fearing him dead. However, Gorias had drawn his two swords near to himself, like a soldier at attention with arms at the ready. The grip tightened and the Draco-Lich growled in hurt. With one move, Gorias expanded his arms, pushing his swords out. The blades sliced through the muscle and bones, removing the fingers of the dragon.

  Gorias fell to the ground and rolled. He came up on his knees, gasping. Kayla saw blood on his stomach. “This chain mail isn’t good for holding back the wind,” he declared, missing his dragon-plated armor. He tried to rise up, but his left leg nearly collapsed.