Scion of Two Pantheons

by Ted Striker

  “Sounds like quite a city,” said Bryan.

  “It was the second largest city in the Federation of Man. Things changed when the Federation became the Empire. I will not be welcome there; I can tell you that for nothing.” At Bryan’s questioning look, he elaborated. “The Empire of Man grew out of a group of city-states that united in their rejection of those persons and races that the Emperor and his sycophants deemed to be, ah, unnatural, as they like to say. Unauthorized witches and wizards are burned; Elves, Dwarves, and others— “Here he bowed in a uniquely centaur way to indicate himself – “are killed by other means, or driven out of the Federation’s territory, at the very least.” He turned and spat into the woods. “Of course, Dwarfish weapons are still among the best made, Elfish medicines are by far the best, and other races produce excellent goods of one kind or another. Of course, Men do not reject the fine products of other races, just the people. The bazaars inside the city became restricted to Human use, and we ‘undesirables’ were forced outside the walls to a trade zone where the Human merchants buy our goods to resell inside the city at a considerable profit.”

  “Nasty politics,” commented Bryan. “How far away is this place?”

  The centaur considered for a moment. “Fifteen days hard march with you and Jwilla afoot will get us there, provided we rest little and the Gods smile on us.”

  Chapter 9

  The hall was a great marble oval with a sloping floor that descended to a perfectly circular pool at its center. There was a matching circular opening in the ceiling above, through which the full moon shone in all its silvery glory, but the dark surface of the water did not reflect it. On a low golden-railed platform to one side, a tall shapely woman wearing a simple black tunic gazed intently down into the Stygian depths. The moonlight, rejected by the dark pool, played and glinted in her long silvery hair and gleamed on her bare arms and legs.

  A dark-complexioned man entered at the other end of the stadium-like building and walked quietly to the opposite side of the pool, where he watched her work for a while, glancing only occasionally into the water. “So you can’t find him,” he said finally. “We knew where he was on the Other Side. We should have killed him then.”

  “If by ‘him’ you mean the boy, yes, we should have killed him there,” agreed the woman. “Once we knew that he was key to whatever the Defender has planned, eliminating him was the logical move. Except that you decided to torture the boy instead of simply taking him off the board. Then what happened?” She tapped her full lower lip with a slim sarcastic finger. “Oh, I remember. The Defender arrived and we lost them both, not to mention losing eight fighters sent to the Other Side at incredible cost.”

  “My minions have suffered for their failure.”

  “Your minions suffer no matter what,” snapped the woman. “My minions, on the other hand, have been well rewarded. They were the ones who discovered that Perkunas needed that boy for his plan. They infiltrated the exact organizations they needed to in order to track him. They made it possible for us to approach him. We were the ones who had the upper hand then, Agron. Take the boy away from Perkunas and foil his plan, whatever it was. What were you thinking?”

  “I saw a chance to end Perkunas once and for all.”

  “Nonsense! You simply wanted to kill the boy right in front of the Defender’s nose, to show that you are the cleverer of the two, the one who could take everything away from the Golden-haired God of Thunder. And because you decided to change the plan, we lost both them and our advantage.”

  Agron growled wordlessly, murder in his dark eyes.

  The woman turned back to the pool, ignoring her companion’s barely suppressed rage. He had learned not to try to take his tantrums out on her. “Luckily, thanks to my spies, we know that he will be crossing the Veil soon, if he has not already done so. That is why I am re-tuning the Mirror to this side. Here, its power is considerably greater. You lost Perkunas and his protege, but I believe that I can locate the disturbance of their crossing. No matter how Perkunas may try to disguise himself, as much power as the Defender possesses cannot be completely hidden.”

  Agron clenched his fists so hard the knuckles crackled. “He has been keeping company with that vermin Centaur and the Elf priestess. Find them and we will find the Defender and destroy him once and for all!”

  “Perhaps it will not be so easy to destroy him as you wish to believe,” countered the woman. “Perkunas has always had a gift for turning the tables or making an escape just when his enemies thought they had him fairly trapped. Wouldn’t you say that was your experience?”

  Chapter 10

  “We need to get started,” said Jwilla the next morning.

  Bryan looked around at the idyllic setting. “Too bad,” he said. “I like this place.”

  Jwilla glanced around. “The Forest is all like this,” she said. “Beautiful and inviting.”

  “Until it kills you. Are you accustomed to the wilderness?” asked Tamoth. He was repacking one of the trunks he and Jwilla had cached before going to the other side of the Dark Curtain.

  Bryan thought for a moment. “When I was a kid, I ran away from the orphanage I was in. I’d read so many books about the wilderness, dreamed about getting out there, being on my own. When I finally did get into the forest, I almost died. So much of what I had read was useless crap, it almost got me killed.”

  “And now you’re in the Great Forest of Karst,” said Tamoth. “A much more dangerous Forest than any you might find Over There. Does it bother you?”

  “No. A fellow showed up when I was out there, an old backwoodsman. He showed me how to get along in the woods, how to live off the land. Later, I got into the Army. They’re big on surviving. I learned a bit.”

  “Well, this isn’t your wimpy regrown Earth forest,” said Jwilla. “Tamoth wasn’t boasting. There are real dangers here. Stay close to us, and don’t draw that sword unless I tell you.”

  Bryan touched the hilt of the Soul Sword. He had insisted that they let him carry it instead of packing it away. Jwilla had given in only after a childish tantrum on his part and Tamoth’s intervention. Bryan felt a little ashamed of himself for the tantrum, but he couldn’t bear the thought of being parted from the sword for some reason.

  They packed up and got moving. Tamoth and Jwilla had cached four large chests. Bryan helped strap two of them onto the Centaur’s back. They buried the other two and covered the area with bushes. Jwilla was very serious about hiding the signs of their passage.

  That left two backpacks full of the rest of the gear that Jwilla judged would be needed for the journey, about forty pounds apiece, Bryan guessed. He cinched his shoulder straps tight and used a length of rope as a belt when he found that the pack had none. At Jwilla’s raised eyebrow, he explained. “The belt keeps the weight centered and helps to take some of the strain off your shoulders. A real hip belt would take almost ninety per cent of the weight off. This rope is maybe putting half of the weight onto my hips, but it will do until I can make a better belt. Hip belts mean carrying heavier packs with less fatigue.” He started off, stumping his newly carved walking stick onto the turf with every stride.

  After perhaps ten miles of walking and watching Bryan, Jwilla called a stop for a mid-afternoon meal. When they broke camp, they both carried improved packs with leather hip belts that Bryan had made from leather strips in their supplies. He had fastened both her belt and his own to the leather packs so that the thick belts took almost all the weight that a hip belt was supposed to. “It does help,” she remarked grudgingly after a few more miles. “Padding would make it better.”

  “Yes,” agreed Bryan. He could feel the chafing of the stiff leather through his pants, but it beat the damage his back and shoulders would get if he carried without a belt. They hiked on until the shadows began to lengthen.

  Jwilla led them through a copse of trees to a small clearing near a hidden stream. “We’ll camp here,” she said. “There is a brook over there, down that slope,
if you want to wash up and get some water. Remember, these aren’t your backyard woods.”

  “Mom!” said Bryan, “you really care!”

  She tossed the water bottles and a bucket at his feet and turned on her heel. Tamoth smothered a grin and turned to busy himself with his pack.

  Bryan took the containers down the incline following a faint game trail, and found the stream of cold, clear water burbling merrily along in its path. He scanned the surrounding trees carefully before filling all the containers, then stripped off his clothes and rinsed the sweat and dirt out of them before he hung each piece from a separate tree limb to drip dry while he scrubbed himself off using sand. The water was refreshing if frigid, and Bryan’s bath was quick. His clothing was still dripping when he got back to the drying tree, and he decided to carry it instead of wearing the cold wet stuff. He pulled on the metal-studded leather vest that served as light armor and was reaching for the wet clothing when he saw the wolf on the other side of the stream.

  It was enormous. Bryan had seen wolves in zoos and on TV documentaries and he knew that wolves could get up to 180 pounds in rare cases. This specimen probably weighed at least 500. It was the size of a small horse, with glossy black fur and teeth the size of steak knives. Its grey-blue eyes were on a level with Bryan’s own as it stood across the stream and studied him with intelligent interest. Bryan’s eyes flicked to where that damned black sword laid, and he saw that if the wolf decided to leap across the twelve feet or so of water to attack him, he probably wouldn’t be able to get the sword out and up in time. He heard a low rumble as of distant thunder. The giant wolf had understood Bryan’s glance, and was growling softly. Intelligent, all right.

  “Relax,” he said conversationally. “If you don’t try to eat me, I won’t try to skewer you.”

  The wolf snorted, a little derisively, Bryan thought. Well, if the giant wolf doubted his ability to skewer it, it was certainly entitled to its opinion. Bryan finished shrugging into his vest and stepped over to pick up the sword by the sheath. The low rumbling growl returned with a little more force. Slowly, still holding the sword, Bryan straightened. “Caution is good,” he said with a grin, “but I just got this sword, and I’m not leaving it behind.” He pulled his shirt and breeches from the tree limb he’d hung them on, draped them over his shoulder. He could feel the cold rivulets of water from the wet clothes run down his neck inside the armor, but he didn’t react. The wolf was still growling. The leather armor was going to be about as much protection against those enormous teeth as a sheet of wet paper, he thought. At least the sword was in his hand. And the animal hadn’t moved, although the growling continued.

  “So you’re not here to eat me,” he finally said to the wolf. “And I don’t plan to attack you. What’s next, then? Curious? Never smelled someone like me? Here, get a good whiff.” Casually, not slowly but not too fast, Bryan took a step into the water and extended his empty hand.

  The wolf looked at him. It cocked its head to one side, considering. The growling stopped.

  “You’re not afraid of me, are you?” Bryan raised his eyebrows and cocked his own head in imitation of the wolf. “You’ve got to be the apex predator around these parts. All I’m offering is a little sniff.”

  {Bryan!}Mebd’s contralto voice sounded alarm. {What are you doing? The Laignach are vicious! Ye could lose that arm!}

  Bryan continued to hold out the hand. “Didn’t you tell me to follow my instincts?” he asked. “This feels right.”

  The wolf cocked his – her –? head the other way. Bryan could see the question all over the Wolf’s face.

  “Sorry,” said Bryan. “A private conversation. Listen, I’m just trying to be the friendly new kid on the block. If you don’t want to smell my hand, that’s okay, too.” He started to withdraw his offered hand and the wolf took two long steps that carried it halfway across the brook. It extended its giant head and lightly brushed its cold black nose across Bryan’s hand. Then it turned and stepped back to its own side of the stream. In profile now, it turned and looked at Bryan again. Its jaws parted in a wolfish grin to better show off its steak knife teeth as its long tongue lolled out. Then, with a meaningful Snap! it closed them again and bounded back into the brush without disturbing even a leaf.

  “Laignach?” he asked Mebd, now that his heart rate was returning to normal.

  {One of the families of wolf people.}This time the mental voice was Perkunas. { The Wyrg are fierce warriors, once respected, very territorial. They must have expanded their range if they are so far south. They have little love for Men; it is surprising that this one allowed you to go in peace.}

  Mebd chimed in, {Aye. They fought for others betimes, as mercenaries who could be bought, not by gold , it is rumored, but by the flesh of children. Sometimes they would accept young girls as payment. Those who hired them were desperate enough to pay the gruesome toll or uncaring enough to be as bad or worse than the Laignach themselves. They are vicious, my son. Don’t ever do that again!}

  “Didn’t you think that this kind of advice would be more helpful before I had a close encounter of the furry kind?” asked Bryan with more than a little sarcasm. “But we got through it anyway, even if it proves I’m crazy. I felt that this Warg, or whatever, wasn’t a danger to me just now. My guess was right, even if I made it based on too little information. Blame yourselves; I have no other reference to this world besides the two of you. Maybe if you help me to understand this place a little better, I’ll have more of a fighting chance.”

  Chapter 11

  The next morning dawned clear, and by the time they started, golden shafts were lancing through the dew-laden leaves. Bryan walked stiffly for the first mile or two. Once he’d warmed up, he stopped to stretch his sore muscles while Jwilla and Tamoth walked on. That was when he heard the outraged screams. They were faint, a fair distance off, although the forest could muffle and distort sounds. There was anger as much as pain in the cries, and Bryan knew exactly what was happening. He had heard this kind of scream before. He dropped his pack and turned off the trail toward the sound, following it as quickly as he could without giving up caution.

  Jwilla noticed that Bryan hadn’t caught up. “Tamoth!” she called sharply. “Bryan fell behind!” They ran back up the trail and the Elf swore as she caught sight of his pack. “First he tells us how he meets a Wyrg, then he runs off into the woods! Damned idiot!”

  “He dropped his pack here so we would know where he left the trail. Look at the stones,” said Tamoth practically, pointing out the group of three rocks, one stacked on the other with the third to the side. “The lone rock shows that he went that way. He wants us to follow him. Also, he has the Soul Sword.”

  Jwilla shivered. “That brings me little comfort,” she said. “Hsst! Did you hear that? Curse him for playing the hero!” She dropped her pack and readied her spear. “Tamoth, you stay to the side, there, and behind. I’ll follow Bryan, you trail me.”

  Between the sounds and the faint trail he’d found, Bryan went right to the spot. The men had their captive tied head down over a fallen tree trunk, her arms outstretched, her legs spread at an uncomfortable angle. One fellow had just finished, and another was getting ready for his turn.

  Bryan stared at the scene from a vantage point on a nearby limestone bluff, his mouth compressed into a tight line. He was not going to let this continue, but if he simply charged down there, he’d be slaughtered, which wouldn’t help anyone. He needed something else. . . maybe a distraction?

  Jwilla eased up next to him. “You have a talent for finding trouble.”

  “I heard screaming,” retorted Bryan. “I couldn’t ignore that.” He gestured toward the camp.

  “Yes, you could, easily,” whispered Jwilla. “You have a mission to fulfill. And do you know what she is? She’s a Wyrg!”

  “A Wyrg,” repeated Bryan. “How do you know?”

  Mebd said, {Very likely the same wolf warrior you met. That would explain why she is so far out of the La
ignach range. She’s outcast.}

  “A Wyrg,” answered Jwilla. “A werewolf. And I know because of those tattoos on her neck. I’ve seen them before.”

  “So she’s a werewolf. I’m still not going to let this continue!”

  “She doesn’t deserve to live!” retorted Jwilla vehemently. “The Wyrg are vicious mercenaries. Once they were hired to take a city called Pleyae. They killed almost everyone in the city, men, women, children, animals. Three people escaped.” Jwilla paused. “I was one of them. My older brother and my baby sister were the other two. My mother died to help us get away. Sometimes I still dream about the screams we could hear coming from the city as we hid from the Wolves.” Bryan could see Jwilla reliving that night of terror and hatred. Then she shook herself and looked down at the camp. “No, perhaps she doesn’t deserve what these men are doing, she merely deserves to die. Let Tamoth put two arrows into her. We can probably outrun the soldiers.”

  Bryan opened his mouth, then closed it before he let harsh words escape. “How can you even think that?” he asked when he had assembled a logical set of thoughts. “Do you think she was there at your city?”

  “I don’t understand you,” said Jwilla. “You were an accomplished killer in your world, respected in your profession. How could you take so many lives, yet still be so squeamish? We end her suffering and indignity, and move on. It is a perfectly reasonable plan.”

  Bryan opened his mouth to answer, but instead yawned hugely. He suddenly felt enormously sleepy. “Damn!” he said. “Where’d that come from?”

  Jwilla yawned, too. She looked alarmed and tried to stand, then she collapsed. Bryan reached for her, while fighting his own slide down the long black slope into unconsciousness. He felt as if he was diving into molasses. He managed to get his hands in front of him and could see them plowing through last winter’s leaves as he fell in slow motion. A moment later, he wondered how he had gotten on the ground. He rolled over and looked up through the growing darkness to see a bearded face looking down at him. “Sonofabitch!” he slurred. “I hate all this passing out shit!” Then he sank into the blackness.