Azmorgon rode past the giant, looking small for the first time, his chopper in both hands. But the giant started pivoting, and he had to veer off delivering a blow.
As the giant turned, Mulldoos came at it from the other side, slashing at its legs before riding past as well. The giant spun but didn’t even try to deliver a blow, knowing it was too late, and then it moved around another column, bearing a shallow gash—it seemed its hide was nearly as thick as its armor.
The giant charged at Braylar, club raised high, and two more Syldoon rode between to protect their captain, one wielding a sword and shield, another a mace and shield.
The eyeless giant couldn’t have seen them, shouldn’t have been able to see anything, but it moved and reacted as if it knew exactly where everyone was. It took one quick stride and brought the club down in a vicious arc, striking one Syldoon at an angle across the collarbone.
I heard it snap, and saw the spikes bite down deep, again puncturing armor.
The horse reared, hooves flailing at the monster in front of it. The giant struck the horse with a backhanded blow across the head that felled it. The soldier was ripped out of the saddle as the giant pulled the club and finally freed the spikes again.
The other Syldoon rode forward, striking the giant in the arm with his mace. As the rider tried to move off, the giant spun with surprising speed, grabbed the soldier by the back of the head, hoisted him out of the saddle as if he were a child, and swung him against the nearest column. I heard the man’s neck or back break as the body hit the mossy bark and dropped to the loamy earth.
Braylar charged from the other side, the twin flail heads striking the giant in the ribs as he passed.
Again, the creature knew that assailant was too quick, and turned to face another, blood oozing from another small wound, but showing no signs of slowing.
As soon as the captain was clear, several more crossbow bolts struck the giant, two sticking, the rest flying off in different directions.
The giant roared, clearly furious at having no foe close enough to destroy.
I saw a blur of red next to me as Soffjian rode at the monster’s back, ranseur cocked near her shoulder.
She called out something, and the massive creature turned to face her, but she had no intention of closing—she threw her weapon and veered off before it could strike at her.
The ranseur hit the giant in the throat, and while it seemed to strike deeper than the bolts, it reached up, pulled the polearm free and tossed it away, bellowing in fury and pain.
Two more bolts struck it in the back, one ricocheting off a brass plate, another puncturing the hardened leather, but not biting deep. The giant sprang off to its right, using the columns for protection as it closed on another soldier who hadn’t had the time or sense to ride away from it. The giant swung its spiked club, and the Syldoon instinctively tried to block the blow with his shield, which erupted into broken wood and a shattered steel rim. The giant brought the haft up, reversed direction, and caught the wounded Syldoon in the side of the helm.
The spikes didn’t penetrate the steel, but they didn’t need to—the force of the blow dented the helm in half a foot and caved in the soldier’s skull. The Jackal was dead before he hit the ground.
I realized I was rooted to the spot, paralyzed, and cursed myself, sheathing my sword, putting the buckler back on my belt, and drawing the crossbow again.
Another Syldoon rode past, slashing one of the giant’s thick exposed legs, and he got clear just as the spiked club swooshed behind him.
More quarrels were loosed, one striking the creature, one splintering against a brass plate, and one also hitting one of the Syldoon who was riding past the giant. The soldier changed direction for a moment, ducked, and tried to ride away from the creature, having missed the chance to strike at it, but the eyeless giant was too quick. He only caught the soldier with a glancing blow in the side, but even that crumpled him in the saddle. The Jackal rode past, hunched across his horse’s neck, and disappeared into the purple columns.
Mulldoos and another soldier screamed together as they rode at the giant, and he spun to face them, bleeding from a dozen wounds, bolts sticking out everywhere, but the attack was a feint, and they raced off to the right and left.
But Azmorgon came in fast from the giant’s rear and brought the long blade of his chopper across the creature’s lower back as he passed. The blows would have severed any man in two, but the giant didn’t go down. The huge club arced out, but Azmorgon ducked and rode clear.
The giant tried to take another step and then screamed in pain, reaching back to feel the newest wound. Its hand came back covered in blood, and another step caused it to grimace as it wobbled slightly.
The Syldoon around it used that opportunity to unload their crossbows, a handful of bolts striking the giant in various spots. Even though they didn’t all stick, and the ones that did might not have struck deep, the massive creature bore wounds everywhere, with the one delivered by Azmorgon being the worst. It staggered, shuffled sideways, reached out to break its fall on a column, and then dropped to its knees.
Braylar called out, “Loose! Loose, you whoresons!”
Five more bolts struck, and the giant toppled over, dropping its flat club on the earth next to it.
Braylar ordered everyone to hold. With the sounds of battle over, there was only the low keening from the columns and the moans from those who were wounded but still somehow miraculously survived being struck by the eyeless creature.
The captain dismounted, and several others around did as well, though I noticed most of the company behind us stayed on their horses.
I climbed down too, shaking, breathing fast though I’d done next to nothing. The captain, his sister, Mulldoos, and Azmorgon all slowly approached the giant, and I did as well.
Braylar raised his hand and everyone stopped several feet away. We all stared at the massive body sprawled and bloody in the moss leavings. Even dead or dying, it inspired awe and terror. Its skin looked as thick as the rooters we had seen on the Green Sea—while it hadn’t deflected all bolts and blades, the skin was nearly armor on its own, and kept penetration to a minimum. It was covered in some bizarre asymmetrical design that I mistook for a tattoo of some kind, but looking closer, I saw that it was some scarring or carving in the skin itself.
The plates on the hardened leather were odd as well, each slightly different in size, not affixed in a regular pattern, and engraved with some asymmetrical line pattern that echoed what was carved into the giant’s pale hide.
The giant had what looked to be two black manes winding between the spikes on its head and down its back, disappearing into the armor.
Soffjian had reclaimed her ranseur. “Should we make sure he isn’t napping?” she asked with a crooked smile.
Braylar nodded. “An excellent suggestion. We’ve already lost too many today. No need to take anything for granted.”
Soffjian took a step closer, and stabbed the giant in leg with her ranseur. The creature stirred, one huge arm flailing once, before growing weak and dropping to the moss again.
Mulldoos said, “Plague this!” He took three awkward but quick strides, and then the falchion came down on the back of the giant’s neck. The creature convulsed once and started to shift slightly, but even though Mulldoos was damaged, he was also incensed. Three more blows and the falchion finally crunched deep enough into its spine to kill the hulking thing.
Braylar looked around quickly before sighting Rudgi. “You said two, yes?”
She nodded, eyes still fixed on the dead giant. “Aye, Cap.”
He shouted, “Be ready, Jackals. There is another. Reload and—”
Vendurro called out, though flat and sad sounding. “No need, Cap.”
Braylar looked at the younger lieutenant as he rode up and dismounted, waiting. Vendurro pulled off his helm, looked at the captain and said, “Came in from the side when you were fighting this one. Tore into the troops right quick, took out ten
, maybe more, before we felled the plaguing thing.”
Then Vendurro looked at the one Mulldoos had just hacked into, and his eyes darted over to Bloodsounder and back to the dead giant. Then in an almost reverent whisper, he said, “Plague me. Did we just . . . did we just get attacked by gods, Cap?”
Mulldoos was wiping off his falchion. “Think gods bleed, boy? Or get killed at all by the likes of men?” He glanced down at the huge creature. “Monster, maybe, demon even, but this ain’t no plaguing god, no matter how many horns it’s got sticking out of its plaguing head. Might be it’s a Deserter, might be it’s not. But whatever it is, it ain’t a plaguing god, that’s for damned sure.”
We all stared down at the huge body. I had no idea what the others were feeling, but I was still stunned. The ripper we set loose in Alespell was a terror, to be certain, but it still was just an animal. A large, vicious, incredibly fast animal with no fear of men, but an animal just the same.
But this . . . this was something else altogether. The leather armor was elaborately tooled and showed amazing craftsmanship; the flat haft of the spiked weapon wasn’t simple, but adorned with slight but intricate carvings along its length. This creature was the most terrifying thing I’d ever seen, but it was no animal, and even “monster” seemed insufficient. Mulldoos did have a point—no matter how easily the giant ripped through the soldiers or how tough it was, it could be killed, and was no god.
But what was it?
Rudgi demystified things, though, as she walked around and stopped near its legs that were bigger around than most trees. “Gods. Can you imagine the size of the cock on this thing? He’d plaguing kill a rooter if he fucked it.” She looked around and stopped at Soffjian. “Come on, you can’t tell me you aren’t the least bit curious. How big do you reckon it is?”
Mulldoos gave Rudgi a cold pale stare. “The thing makes Azmorgon look like a dwarf, managed to see us plenty fine without any plaguing eyes, must weigh more than a laden wagon, and killed near on ten men all by its lonesome, and you’re worried about its cock?”
Rudgi shrugged. “Legitimate question, isn’t it? I mean, every male something or other has a cock. Most natural thing in the world, really. Even monsters or demons or gods. In fact, you all seem more fixated on your packages than us most of the time, so it sort of comes as a shock you all didn’t make the observation first.”
Mulldoos shook his head, Soffjian chuckled, and Azmorgon said, “A dwarf? What’s that make you, little man? A plaguing possum?”
Mulldoos started to respond but Braylar cut him off. “We need to move. We have no idea what alarm was raised, or how many more of them are out there. If nothing else, we need to clear this forest before nightfall so if we are attacked again we can use our crossbows to good effect. Make sure the wounded are tended to and get them back in the saddle. Now.”
Soffjian glanced around at some of the other crumpled and bloodied bodies. “And what of your dead, brother?”
She asked this with no inflection, almost casually, but watched him very carefully as he directed his response to Vendurro. “We don’t have time to bury them. Throw them across their horses. They come with us.”
Azmorgon said, “Better if we just leave them.” Then added a belated “Cap” as if that made the sentiment better.
Mulldoos spit against a column. “Those are our plaguing brothers, you whopping big horsecunt.”
“Our plaguing dead brothers. And they’ll only be slowing us down. Look, if it makes you feel any better, if you somehow outlive me, you can dump my body in a gorge or leave it for the crows. Couldn’t give a toss either way, because I’ll be a plaguing corpse.”
“No worries, Ogre. I’ll be sure to piss on your dead face.”
Azmorgon’s big bushy eyebrows drew closer together, and there was murder beneath them for a brief moment, but it disappeared as he smiled. “Like I said, do what you plaguing want, Mushrooms. Pretty sure I’ll be the last man standing, but either way, the truth is the truth. Better to leave them. Say a few pretty words if it makes you sleep better.”
Braylar said, “The Jackals do not desert our own. Alive or dead. Not now, not ever.” He turned away and slipped Bloodsounder on his belt. “They ride with us until we have a chance to bury or burn them in honor. And I think we have overstayed our welcome here on this side of the Godveil. Mount up, you whoresons. We have some riding to do.” The Syldoon started back towards their horses. Soffjian continued looking down at the behemoth we had finally felled. The victory was a costly one. We certainly couldn’t survive too many more victories like that.
I glanced back at the columns where we’d first sighted the climbers. They were long gone, having fled sometime during the melee. Turning back to Soffjian, I said, “Perhaps some places are better left unexplored.”
She gave a quick nod and then said, “Perhaps so, Arki.”
There was sadness there, though it was impossible to tell if it was more for the lost opportunity or the lost lives.
We headed north to clear the columns and were forced further east by the bend in the broad sluggish Silt Hood (assuming Rudgi was right). As the forest receded and disappeared behind us, the ground to the east grew hillier. Scouts scoured the countryside ahead of us, as those closest to the river looked for a place to ford it.
It didn’t seem to matter which side of the Godveil we were on—we were harried and cut down, and attrition was taking its toll.
Vendurro was riding alongside me and his mind was obviously occupied, as there was no idle chatter at all. Which was sort of disconcerting. Sort of like a bird without a beak. I sensed he wanted to be left to his thoughts, despite being only a few feet away, so I was reluctant to say anything. But as it turned out, I didn’t have to sit in silence for more than a mile before he said, “Queerest thing, ain’t it?”
“What’s that?” I replied. “There’s a lot of queer things happening.”
“Well, that’s just it. Thanks to you and a bunch of crumbly parchment, we parted the plaguing Godveil. Or just Veil, if there’s not gods hereabouts. Whatever we end up calling it. Point is, we led a small army through. Never been done before, right?”
“Not that I know of.”
“So there’s that,” Vendurro said. “And on this side, we see a dead city, and the strangest greenery that ever grew anywhere, only it ain’t green, but purplish, and covered in even stranger spikes, with a bunch of skinny pricks climbing up and down like trained monkeys, plucking those spikes out like some kind of rare fruit. So yeah, as if just being on this side weren’t off-putting enough, there’s the plaguing scenery.
“And then, just in case those two things didn’t make a man mighty uneasy all by their lonesome, well . . .” he started speaking faster, “a couple of Deserters mosey on up and lay into us, shredding us like we were only so many straw dummies in a training yard. Only we managed to kill a couple, so they ain’t gods. We don’t think. Don’t rightly know. Maybe they’re priests to the gods, maybe monsters or demons like Mull says. But who plaguing knows? All we got for certain is they ain’t men, and likely something a lot more than men. So we’re a long way from home, in a place we got no place being in, confronting things way beyond our understanding. And dying way too plaguing fast.”
Vendurro shivered and cast a quick look behind to make sure the other soldiers hadn’t overheard. “I know I shouldn’t be talking like this. Ain’t very . . . lieutenanty.”
It hit me then that getting promoted when you hadn’t been expecting it, might not have even wanted it, would have been challenging enough even under ideal conditions. And these were not ideal conditions. I said, “It’s a natural reaction, Ven. These are incredibly . . . unnatural circumstances. And I guarantee every man in this company is wrestling with the same thoughts you are.”
“Maybe, maybe not. But officers ain’t supposed to let on they wrestle with the same things as the rank and file.” Then more quietly, sounding young again, he added, “Hewspear never did. Model officer right the
re, if there ever was one.”
I looked behind briefly as well before saying, “Well, be that as it may, he’d be thinking the same thing as you just now. And you didn’t reveal it to anybody but me, and you know I’m not talking to the rank and file. Most of them want to punch me in the face.”
Vendurro laughed, chuckled really. “You’re giving yourself too much credit. More like all of them.”
I did laugh, but it was stopped short when I heard a gut-wrenching scream from somewhere behind us, a shriek truly, something that didn’t sound like a response to pain, but fueled by the most irresistible terrors imaginable. The last time I’d heard a scream like that, Soffjian was driving a man mad as we fought the Hornmen in Alespell.
My first thought was that we were under attack by Deserters again, or something worse if possible. But there was no enemy to be seen.
Braylar, Mulldoos, Azmorgon, and Soffjian raced down the line, and Vendurro and I followed close behind. It didn’t take long to discover the source of the scream.
Several Syldoon had gathered around something, and Braylar ordered them out of the way as he dismounted.
A soldier was lying in the stones and scrub, one foot still in the stirrup.
Braylar shouted, “What happened? Who is this?”
Benk said, “Name’s Guntro, Cap. His, not mine.”
“I know who you are, you ass. I say again, what happened?”
“Nothing,” Benk said, sounding surly and stupid. “That is, nothing I could see. He wasn’t acting peculiar like at all. Just quiet. But we all been quiet. Then all of the sudden, starts hollering like his bones was on fire or his skin were melting something fierce, then clutched his head like he been hit with an invisible bolt.”
Braylar glanced at Soffjian as Benk continued, “That was it. Fell out of the saddle. Is he dead? Not looking real alive, is he?”
Vendurro had dismounted and was kneeling next to Guntro, checking for any signs of life. He looked at the captain and shook his head.
Chains of the Heretic Page 14
