by Andy Remic
Suddenly, from the shadows there came movement and the men and women readied themselves; the cocooned bodies were moving, thrashing in a sudden frenzy of activity, the roots which emerged from their mouths whipping and snapping about like so many snapped tendons – and they rose, a hundred of them rose, and Narnok’s arm came back with his huge battle axe, readying the throw that would surely split Bazaroth in half – as Faltor Gan’s dagger appeared in his fist, tip touching Narnok’s throat and drawing blood.
Narnok gave a sharp gasp of pain, and halted, axe above him, his eye widening.
“You betray us?” he growled.
“Sorry, Narnok of the Iron Wolves. This has been a long time in planning.”
“What, this meeting?”
“The invasion, you oaf,” smiled Faltor Gan.
The monsters created by the elf rats shuffled forward, their limbs moving woodenly as if controlled by another; and the men and women formed a circle of bristling steel, back to back, as Narnok stood with Faltor Gan’s blade at his throat. And it was going to explode. Explode real fast–
Trista whirled, but the blow dropped her with a groan. She slapped against the floor, cheek on marble, head spinning, tasting blood and a chip of tooth, stunned. She rolled onto her side, looking up through stars, and saw Randaman grinning down at her and patting the flat of his sword.
“Sorry, sweet lips, but it had to be done.”
“What are you doing, you crazy fucker?” shrieked Veila, her own sword turning on Randaman but a fist-thick sheath of tentacles vomited from his mouth, writhing and moving until they became the length of an arm – and from Faltor Gan, also, came a retching sound as he disgorged a sheath of tentacles and the two Red Thumbs stepped back from the shocked members of their own group, away from the Iron Wolves and the armed prisoners – to form a protective shield before Bazaroth aea Quazaquiel.
The wizened old sorcerer got to his feet, slowly, and seemingly with great pain. Then his eyes fixed on those before him, as more and more shambling creatures came from the shadows: from the deep halls of the Keep, from the dungeons, from the bedrooms, from the corridors, from the kitchens, each one infused with roots from Bazaroth’s very own body. The creatures, possessed humans of the Keep, surrounded the intruders; there were three hundred now, and more were shambling through the high arches and into the hall of Zanne Keep.
“Once, you made slaves of us,” said Bazaroth, his voice deep and melodious, and edged with a hissing sound like whispering leaves. “You killed us. You enslaved us. And you drove the remains from Vagandrak – into a place of poison that warped us into what you see before you today.”
Narnok helped Trista to her feet, and held her, and they glanced about helplessly.
“Now, you will know fear, and then you will know peace. For you shall all become slaves; slaves to the elf rat hordes.”
And with a cacophony of screams and the thrashing sounds of vomited root tentacles, with a rush of hundreds of bodies, the circle charged in…
Narnok’s axe lifted, thudding into one skull, then a reverse sweep sent it into a second, slicing tentacles from the face and cutting the head clean in two before the swarm was over him, engulfed him, and both he and Trista went down hard under the crush of many attackers.
GHOSTS
Why, asked Kiki, and released a breath. Why could you possibly want me to merge with the salt plains?
Your magick. It is in your blood. From you, I must feed.
I won’t go without a fight.
You have already lost.
Really?
Kiki plunged down into herself, and tendrils of energy scattered outwards, searching, questing, and she felt the raw energy of the salt plains spread out around her for hundreds of leagues, beaten by the wind and charged by the sun for millions of years. And she felt the pulse of magick through her veins, and revelled in the sudden glory of the Equiem. It was like somebody had opened a door in the air from a vicious, violent storm, and stepped into sunshine. And Kiki stepped through, arms wide open, accepting the raw mana of the Shamathe; of the land; of the Equiem.
Her eyes flicked open, and she lifted from the salt and she saw the face before her open with an “O” of shock. Kiki leapt, arms outstretched as if diving from a high place into a pool of molten gold, and was sucked suddenly into the slow-spinning maelstrom of the face. It became a thrashing image, and Dek and Zastarte found one another’s eyes, and their faces were grim with knowledge of impending death. The giant face was rolling, spinning, no longer a face but a twister of white streaked through with coloured images; as if Kiki and the salt demon had somehow become merged, were one, entwined in some symbiotic form of skin and bone and blood, and the very essence of the crystalline mineral. They spun and flowed and were a merged thing. A creature at war with itself.
Suddenly, the winds dropped. The whole storm literally fell to the salt earth. Above, stars glittered in a deep eternal sky.
Dek and Zastarte breathed fresh air, and slowly clambered from their sucking imprisonment, struggling at first, but managing to pull themselves free, crawling on all fours like dogs. Or wolves.
Dek scouted around, locating his long sword, and both men stood and stared at the large, immobile globe of white that hung, static in the air.
“She’s still in there,” said Zastarte, in awe.
Dek nodded.
“Is there anything we can do?”
Dek stepped forward, and tentatively touched the surface, yelping and withdrawing his finger with great eagerness.
“Cold?”
“No.” He sucked his finger. “Hotter than the lowest boiling level of the Chaos Halls.”
“So we wait.”
Dek swished his sword from side to side, and glanced around. But the rolling salt plains were deserted. He looked back at the vast slope of the embedded vessel; the upended ship. In the tunnel, the horses stood, motionless, ears flat against their skulls.
Dek ground his teeth, and waited.
You have immense power.
Kiki looked around the smooth white walls inside the globe. She smiled. Yes. Surprised, motherfucker?
I did not want it to come to this.
But you were willing to kill, and willing to feed.
All life must take other life to survive. It is the nature of things. It is the nature of the Equiem. And you are born of that power, that energy. You draw on it in ignorance, and revel in its fruits; but you did not plant the seeds. I have been here from the beginning. I helped to plant the seeds.
Kiki considered this. You have changed your position, have you not?
Yes.
What’s your name, demon?
My name is Shaheesh, of the Salt. And I am no demon. I am… how would you understand it? I am the life pulse that beats through the salt flats and the rolling mineral dunes. This is my land. My gateway. I am a guardian, if you will.
Guarding against what?
If Orlana the Changer had succeeded in bringing her army past the walls and gates of Desekra Fortress, you and the people of Vagandrak would have discovered, much to your regret. However, as we fought, as we coupled, I have seen into the deepest reaches of your mind. I am willing to let you go.
That’s fucking noble of you. Kiki could not keep the sneer from her tone.
I could crush you, Kiki, if I so wished. You do not understand what I am capable of. Shaheesh seemed to pause, in consideration. I will let you go because of the elf rats. Because of your mission. Because of your selflessness. As I said, I am a guardian. I am not evil. But I must feed, on occasion. Feed from your kind. From our kind.
Kiki laughed, but it was a cold laugh. You have three seconds to release me, or I’m going to rip a hole through the centre of you so big, I could ride a war charger through in full plate mail.
As you wish.
Kiki landed on her knees in the salt, coughing, and the globe surrounding her fluttered down, drifting apart in a gentle, cool breeze. The dawn was breaking, a cold blue horizon beckon
ing.
“Kiki!” Dek ran forward, scooped her up, hugged her hard.
“Good morning, Dek.” Her boots thudded the salt. There, at her feet, were her short swords and she lifted them, and ran them home into sheaths. “Zastarte. Saddle the horses. We need to leave here… quickly.”
“What happened in there?” asked Dek, eyes wide.
“Let’s just say we had a little woman to woman chat.”
“Was she a demon?”
Kiki frowned, then shook her head. “You know, Dek, I have a horrible feeling she was one of the old gods. The Equiem. Here, from the beginning of time. And guarding against something so terrible, and powerful, we’re all better off in our happy little ignorant bubbles.”
“Grak’s Balls! A goddess? I hope you were polite.”
Kiki gave a little cough, and took the reins of her mount, kicking herself up into the saddle. The beast snorted, stamping. It seemed far from happy. “Let’s just say I could have been a little more like a lady.”
They rode across the salt plains hard and fast, with increasing urgency, pushing their mounts and angling north and east, eager to be free of the rolling, hard-packed landscape. It was bleak, barren, a thoroughly sterile and lifeless land. Kiki and Dek hated it. Zastarte, for all his claims of hedonism and city sex, loved its bleakness.
During a short stop, where the lathered horses had muzzle-bags of oats, Kiki said, “We are only a short way from Junglan. Then we cut east past the Crystal Sea, then on to Skell Forest. Maybe we could reinforce there? I bet there’s still some of our old battalion stationed.”
“Sounds like a good idea to me,” said Dek.
“Unless the elf rats got there first,” said Zastarte, and his ominous words were met by contemplative silence.
Eventually, a distant horizon of rocks met their vision, and the salt flats gradually petered out into rocky foothills. A savage side-wind, which had been haunting them with wind chill and salt blast, was suddenly cut, and they slowed their pace, taking deep breaths, feeling at once more relaxed to be away from the threat the Salt Plains offered, yet increasingly frustrated by the pace at which they were crossing the land.
Zastarte, specifically, had withdrawn into long sullen silences, no doubt contemplating Trista’s fate, and wondering not just if he’d ever see her again, but even if she lived. He tortured himself with the several and severe ironies of the situation. He’d known her for years, and yet only now decided he was deeply, madly in love with her. And him, Prince Zastarte, who’d said so often and loud how the only woman who could ever ensnare him was one with enough wealth to buy a city. Him, Zastarte, terror of mothers and daughters alike. In fact, the man who liked to see them burn.
He shook his head, silent conversations trickling through his mind.
What would he say to Trista when they next met?
And if, if he plucked up the courage to proclaim his undying love to this notorious man-hater, would she simply laugh in his face? Or run a dagger through his eye? He gritted his teeth. It was a risk he was willing to take. One he had to take.
They camped that night in a small copse of trees, a wooded hollow where they were protected from the harsh howl of the wind. The snow was more hard packed here, and had fallen lightly, making progress swift. But by Dek’s reckoning, they were still a good half day from Junglan.
They arose with the dawn, to find weak winter sunlight penetrating the sky. The sun was a runny fried egg, pale yellow and unappetising – but better than nothing. Kiki lifted her face to it for a while, whilst Dek and Zastarte packed up their temporary camp; then she stuffed her pack with the few possessions she’d bothered to remove, and folded her thick blanket carefully. Her breath streamed like white smoke, and she shivered, turning to watch Dek scrub his pan and tie it to his own pack. He was a stickler for keeping his pan clean; or at least, what Dek considered “clean”. She didn’t consider a scrub down with a handful of old leaves or a fist of snow really adequate. But then, in this harsh environment, after all the soldiers had been through, she no longer had the energy to complain.
They set off across rolling hills, then dropped into deep lost valleys where shadows piled on shadows, and chilled them. As they climbed the slope out of the third valley, after scouting a small collection of cottages and farmhouses, all deserted, they were pleased to find themselves back in the weak yellow sunshine. They followed a frozen mud road, and as they breached the rise they saw Junglan nestled far below at the base of a steep valley, the slopes rich with pine, ash and sycamores, and a scattering of holly bushes.
They dismounted, and moved to a stand of trees so as not to be silhouetted. After hobbling mounts, Kiki crouched, and watched. From this distance she could pick out tiny homes and the battlements of defensive walls to east and west. The north and south of the city were protected by near-thousand feet cliff walls: vertical jagged stone, grey and impenetrable. She supposed attackers could descend on ropes – damn long ropes – but it would hardly be a charge. No, Junglan was well protected from attack. But then, so had Zanne been.
“Can you see any movement?” Dek crouched beside her, chewing on a chunk of black bread, his eyes fixed on the distant city beyond the steep slope of snow-peppered forest. He tore a piece free and handed it to her. She took it in silence, chewed in thought.
“No,” she said, eventually.
“Me neither. Those walls should be manned. Come on.”
“Where to?”
“We should go and investigate.”
“You think?”
He moved in close, swift, his arm around her waist, pulling her in to him. He kissed her, and she was taken by the suddenness of the gesture. When they separated, she was laughing.
“What was that for?”
“Nothing. Get your shit together. We’re going in.”
“Listen to Mr Independent-I’m-In-Charge Boss Man all of a sudden.”
He winked. “That’s what love does to you.” And then he was gone, and Kiki paled, and she remembered what she needed to tell him, remembered what she had to tell him; about the change. The Beginning. And the End. Shit. Shit.
Dek led the way, bristling with energy, hopeful there would be a tavern, a hot bath and a frothing ale waiting for them in Junglan. The roadway was better kept here, and edged with large cubes of stone. It had to be, for it was damn steep, despite its worming, S-formation switchbacks that carried a traveller down the steep slopes. From the corner of her eye Kiki noted several guard towers above the road at strategic positions; they were squat, brooding looking things, and currently unmanned. They had to be, for no challenges were issued. And anybody who’d ever travelled with Dek, with his tattoos, his scars and his bad attitude, knew he was a man who always brought questions from bureaucrats in authority. It’s just the way it was.
On the steep descent towards the western city gates, they heard it. A distant moaning, like the wind. And then a scream. They glanced at one another, and Kiki bit her lip. “Oh no,” she said.
“Could just be another young dandy getting robbed at knifepoint,” said Dek, glancing at Zastarte.
“Or some big bruiser with horse shit for brains getting his nose broken for the tenth much-deserved time.”
Dek gave a grin, all teeth, and they continued down the steep slope.
They came to the final guard tower, before the city gates themselves. It was built from large black stones, finely crafted by a master stonemason. Around the tower the trees had been cleared, but where they did begin, the Iron Wolves noted the bark had started to turn black, from the base of each trunk, creeping up. Each tree had developed symptoms to different degrees, each one at least half way up the main trunk, but some reaching the thickest lower branches. Here, not only was the bark a mottled, matt black and run through with fine red veins, the branches themselves had started to deform and twist, as if under the influence of a terrible disease. Many of the leaves, also, had turned matt black, interlaced with tiny red veins so fine they were like threads, or the spun web
of a tiny spider.
“There’s been a struggle.” Dek nodded with his head towards the black maw of the doorway.
The whole door, in fact, had been torn free. Kiki drew her short sword and advanced with slow footsteps, ears pricking, eyes alert. To the left, deep in the trees, she saw where the huge, iron studded oak door had landed, flattening ferns. At the guard tower, she also saw the door had been torn free of hinges and bolts, which dangled against broken stone. She licked her lips.
“Something extremely powerful did this,” and the hackles lifted on the back of her neck. Inside the tower, something shifted…
They came for her, a seething mass of tendrils like writhing snakes, and her right-hand sword came up fast in an outward arc, knocking half the tendrils aside and away from her face as, simultaneously, her left hand drew the blade on her right hip, and cut into yet more of the tendrils with sounds of chopping flesh. Some were hacked free and lay on the stone step of the guard tower, wriggling, like dying, severed worms.
It came for her, from the shadows: an elf rat, broad shouldered and hunched, with eyes like blood-red berries and snarling teeth like thorns in a twisted round maw. Both hands were held out, palms vertical, and from the core of each palm writhed the thick, snake-like tendrils. Kiki stumbled back and Dek ran in, long sword slashing down. He cut free several tendrils, but others slammed into his chest with pile-driver force, punching him back off his feet in rapid acceleration, face contorting in pain, sword clattering from his hand. Zastarte, also, darted in, rapier flickering with incredible speed, and chopping free yet more of the advancing tendrils. But more grew back, flowing from the creature, grasping for him. He ducked left, sword slashing right. A wriggling white worm hit the ground, but there was no blood.
“Wolves, to me!” yelled Kiki, backing away towards the road. Dek rolled to his feet, drawing twin knives, and he and Zastarte flanked Kiki. The elf rat stumbled towards them, leaving the sanctuary of the tower, giving them more room to fight. Kiki leapt in, both blades cutting and slashing, whilst Dek and Zastarte separated, coming in from different angles, dodging the elf rat’s quests, cutting several free before Kiki managed to get in close enough to drive her sword down through the creature’s clavicle. It gave a sudden high screech, left arm dropping to its side, the tendrils flopping suddenly to earth like an entwined rope made of thin snakes. Dek leapt in, plunging a long knife into the creature’s neck, and Kiki’s blade stabbed out, spearing through the creature’s open mouth, snapping teeth before cutting through into the brain.
