by JANRAE FRANK
"Pray. Pray to White Lady." Konrad smiled beatifically and allowed himself to be led to where the others were already kneeling in a circle on the floor. "Pray good."
"Yes, Konrad, pray to the White Lady." Clovis seated Konrad beside Willard, who with the death of their father was technically Kyser of Angrim.
Prince Sewell flinched away, moving to another place in the circle. A faint shake of Clovis' head gave the only indication that his older brother's actions distressed him. Sewell could not cope with the close presence of a mind-torn.
Tancred and Willard put their arms around Konrad and let him kneel between them for the prayers.
Clovis stepped to the center, lifting his arms to the heavens. "Hail Lady of the Light, succor your children, strengthen your warriors, for by your sign will they conquer and this land be cleansed of the evil which besets it."
Thorben kicked his way through the circle, seized Clovis by the throat, and shook him. "Cease your sacrilege. I won't stand for it."
Clovis struggled to pry Thorben's fingers loose.
Willard came to his feet, eyes burning with outrage. "Release him, Thorben. As your Kyser, I command it."
"You're no Kyser of mine, apostate." Thorben released Clovis with a shove and struck Willard in the chest, staggering him.
On the far side of the room, Bonifaz and Detlef exhorted the believers in the old god to attack Clovis' myn, but none of them moved. Bonifaz grabbed a mon and tried unsuccessfully to drag him to his feet. No matter how much Clovis had tried to explain the situation, it became abundantly clear that they had disregarded his words.
The door slammed open.
Four guardsmyn and two pikemyn led by an officer entered warily.
"We're going to get hell now," Clovis muttered under his breath.
Thorben backed away from Willard as his sons went silent.
Captain Godofredo ran his finger across his thick mustache and then pulled at the long ends. "Carajo! Sounded like you meat-pies were fighting. Lady Maruska won't like that."
Clovis rubbed his throat. "There was no fighting. A disagreement got loud."
Godofredo unhooked his baton from his belt, using it to nudge Clovis' chin up and over. "And those bruises on your neck were made by loud voices."
A tentative smile flickered hopefully across Konrad's lips, an uncertain light in his eyes. Konrad pointed at Thorben. "He did it. I'm a good boy."
The captain sauntered closer to Thorben. "Lady Maruska doesn't want the meat damaged."
Thorben glared at him. "You locked us in with apostates. I demand to be moved."
"Hasn't Clovis explained it to you?" Godofredo chuckled, contempt heavy in his blunt features. "You're here because you're a meat pie." He punctuated his words with a tap of his baton against Thorben's chest. "You're here because Lady Maruska wants well-fed, meaty nobles as hosts for her eggs."
Thorben grabbed the baton, twisting and jerking in his attempts to wrest it from the captain. Two soldiers seized him, whipped his arms behind his back and bound his wrists together. Beyond them, the other pair of soldiers barred Bonifaz and Detlef from aiding their father by crossing pikes in their path.
Godofredo nodded. "Full bind on all three. Lady Maruska is bringing Sergei to sort their mental issues and Ignacio with the branding irons."
The soldiers bound their wrists and ankles together, and then the wrists to their ankles, forcing them to rest on their knees with their chests thrust up.
Konrad pointed at a rag doll shoved through Godofredo's belt. "Is that for me? I've been a good boy."
Until Konrad mentioned the doll, Clovis had not noticed it. A tiny smile touched his lips. He had not expected Godofredo to make good on his promise from weeks ago.
"Yes, it's for you." Godofredo pulled the doll from his belt and tossed it to Konrad, who clutched it to his chest.
"Reynhard, you've come home." Konrad went to his cot, rambling happily to the doll.
"I don't know how you talked me into getting that for him," Godofredo spoke softly to Clovis. "Don't ask for any more favors. You're all just meat pies."
"Afraid you might still be human?"
Godofredo flinched, made a fending off gesture and crossed the room.
Clovis gestured at Tancred. "I can hear Maruska in the halls. Sit with Konrad. You know how he gets."
"I'll do it. I handle him better." Willard crossed the room and settled on the edge of Konrad's cot. He mussed Konrad's hair gently, which earned him a guileless smile. Tapping the doll, Willard asked, "Who's this?"
"Reynhard. He's come to save me."
Willard's eyes traced the swirls in the wood-paneled wall, unable to handle the fact that Konrad had decided the doll was his dead brother.
Maruska swept into the room, and all eyes turned to her, either in terror or awe. Her high and shapely breasts were cradled in a silk-lined halter of chainmail, while a delicate belt of similar links encircled her generous hips, holding in place a lush length of viridian silk covering her sex. Backswept ivory horns restrained the heavy fall of her ebony hair. The burnt orange hue of her skin and long, leathery tail only emphasized her inhumanity. Rising from the base of her spine, her tail was lined with flexible, eight inch spikes and tipped with a wickedly large barb which glistened with venom. The tight apple curves of her bare rump taunted and teased, daring to be touched.
She was accompanied by Sergei Wraithsbane, a short, ill-favored mon with four rows of heavy frown lines etched into his forehead. His brow ridge jutted over his small, deep set eyes, and a thick nose humped and hooked above his thin sneering lips.
The myn abandoned the prayer circle, retreating to the farthest corners of the chamber and leaving Clovis standing alone. Clovis stood firm, despite the tightening in his gut. He could hear Konrad whimpering and Willard murmuring reassurances.
"These three?" Sergei stood before the bound myn, his words getting a nod from Maruska. "Do we wait on Ignacio? Or shall I start?"
Maruska nodded to Godofredo, who directed his soldiers to strip the three myn to the waist. "You may start."
Konrad clutched his doll tighter, rocking back and forth. "I'm a good boy. I'm a good boy."
Sergei ran his fingers over Thorben's chest. "Very healthy, Maruska. A good choice." Then he grinned, displaying his long fangs.
Thorben recoiled, only to have the hands of the soldiers behind him come down hard on his shoulders. "God save me. Please, God. My Father who art in Heaven...."
Sergei snagged Thorben's hair, twisted his head around and sank his fangs into the duke's neck. Thorben shrieked.
Konrad rocked faster, screaming out "Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiii'm a goood boy! A goooood boy," at the top of his lungs. Willard locked Konrad against his chest, pressing the mon's face into his shoulder. "They're not going to hurt you, Konrad. Listen to me. If you're quiet, they won't hurt you."
"I'm a good boy," Konrad whimpered softly.
"I know."
Thorben's noises ceased as the intelligence faded from his blue eyes. Sergei licked the wound closed, straightened and turned to Maruska. "He was violent to the core. Fought back. I had to rip him up more than I intended. At least he's docile now."
Clovis took a chance, crossing the room to kneel between Bonifaz and Detlef. "If you relax and don't fight him, he'll only put the control command in."
"What are you doing, Clovis?" Maruska demanded.
"Counseling them to cooperate."
"You've had plenty of time for that already." Maruska crooked her finger at him. "Come here. You're always irritating me."
Clovis obeyed.
Sergei wiped his mouth off and moved to Bonifaz, who voluntarily offered his neck. Bonifaz grunted when Sergei's fangs went in. Despite some suffering noises in the back of his throat, Bonifaz did not scream.
Konrad peeked over Willard's shoulder when Sergei did Detlef. "Were they bad?"
"They misbehaved. They'll be good now."
"They don't hurt good boys. I'm a good boy."
"
Yes, you are."
Ignacio arrived, followed by two assistant carrying a large brazier of hot coals with a branding iron thrust into the middle. The branding went smoothly with a minimum of fuss.
Maruska watched the branding and then returned her attention to Clovis. "You're still a troublemaker." She waved her barb at him peevishly.
Clovis opened his shirt. "Sting me then, if it pleases you."
Maruska glared for several moments, and then flounced from the room with her entourage.
Clovis waved at his people. "Let us finish our prayers. They will be sending up breakfast soon."
And so the faithful gathered and prayed.
* * * *
Small flurries of snow swirled and danced along the streets of Eyndohen Town, piling high in the doorways of empty houses and abandoned shops. Horst Abendroth drew his bearskin cloak tighter around his broad shoulders, chilled by more than the icy weather. He pulled at his makeshift leather armor, grinning darkly at the thought of how the armor the heroes found in the story books always fit. Horst had been a blacksmith before the fall of Stolzingen: they had not been able to scavenge anything that could fit his massive thews, barrel chest and stocky form. Instead the females in their band of refugees had improvised by combining pieces of several cuirasses to make a single cuirass for Horst, binding it all together with cord.
The uneasy peace of the dead lay over the town where their people had taken refuge for the winter. They had had no choice of location – the women and children simply could not travel any further in the deepening snow. Smoke rose from the bonfire that blazed in the courtyard of Eyndohen's Liege-Lord's estate. Fearing the necromancers who marched with the Minnorian forces, Horst had made a point of beheading and burning the bodies they discovered in various buildings. It was a thankless and ultimately futile task, as they would never have the energy to find all of the dead. But they could not help but try.
Horst wore a knapsack and carried an empty burlap sack thrust through his belt so as not to interfere with his weapons. His companion, Alons Von Geffen went likewise. They were the only two – in a band of survivors, which had grown to slightly more than fifty – with any training and experience in arms. The other males had all been tradesmyn, shopkeepers and farmers.
"As I remember, the apothecary was on Eisenstrasse. Get what Birthe wants for the children's sniffles first."
Alons nodded, deferring – as always – to Horst's wishes. That had puzzled Horst from the moment he first met Alons, clearly a noblemon in his fine chain. Birthe, Horst's wife, had wheedled the information from their priest, Franz, that Alons was actually Lord Von Geffen; the only noble to escape the fall of Nubyrlon. That made Alons’ humble manner all the more mystifying to Horst. Alons gave out nothing about himself beyond the fact that the White Lady had chosen him as her paladin and he had lost the token of her favor, which troubled him to the bottom of his heart; except that he refused to tell Horst just what that token had been.
Lion, three hundred pounds of brindle mastiff the size of a small donkey, walked beside Horst. The two bitches, Daisy and Saucy, were back with the others at the estate. Horst had stumbled upon them – or rather the mastiffs had stumbled upon him – when a ghoul managed to sneak into their camp last summer and steal one of the children. Horst and Alons had given chase and overtaken the creature just as the dogs finished it off. The dogs were as delighted to find them as they were to find the dogs. They no longer needed to fear another incident like that happening with the mastiffs in camp.
The journey to the apothecary took them farther than they had previously explored in the dead town. Horst's nerves itched, and he watched Lion closely for any sign that the dog might have detected trouble. The apothecary stood half a block from Meinhardtstrasse, the main street that ran north-south through Eyndohen: north to the gates of the estate and south to the highway.
They found the door hanging half off its hinges. Horst exchanged glances with Alons, nodded and squeezed through, stumbling as Lion tried to get inside at the same time. The door cracked and fell. Snow lay heavy in the opening. Lion bounded around sniffing everything. Other than the door, the apothecary was eerily undamaged. Horst ignored the long tables in the center and went around the counters to the shelves built into the walls. Pulling Birthe's list from his pouch, Horst scanned it before handing the list to Alons. They unshouldered their knapsacks and began filling them.
Alons reached for the sack at his belt, and Horst shook his head. "Nein, Alons. Let's see what other shops are around."
As they emerged from the apothecary, Lion's hackles rose and he darted two shops farther down Eisenstrasse, stopping where a low stone wall encircled a tiny garden. Horst went after him.
"Nein, Horst! Come back. That's the sound he makes when he smells a ghoul."
Horst slowed, yet continued on. "Best I see for myself."
He overtook Lion and knelt in the snow to examine what the dog had found: a huge three-toed footprint. "You're right, Alons: ghouls." Lion crouched beside him, growling softly. He patted the dog and stroked his head. "Ja. My sentiments."
Alons Von Geffen trotted over and knelt beside him, his eyes narrowing. "It's fresh. We've likely got only a few days before they find us."
Horst nodded. "My thoughts." He placed his hand on the low stone wall at his left and rose to glance along the rows of abandoned shops between them and Meinhardtstrasse. A flurry of snow brushed against his strong features, causing him to shelter his eyes with his hand as he studied the roof tops. Ghouls possessed wings, but were not flyers; they could hover a few inches to a few feet off the ground due to what Father Franz called limited levitation: the wings gave them direction and balance. "Come along. Let's get back."
A blue hand reached out of the snow beneath Horst's feet and seized his leg. Only his stout leather leggings prevented it from tearing him open. Lion lunged for the arm, clamped down and worried it, rumbling far back in his throat. Horst drew his sword, driving it into the snow between his feet. The hand released him as ichorous blood spread through the white.
"Ambush! Run!"
"No place to run." Alons pointed at the roofs, where the ghouls rose from behind clusters of chimneys and the attic windows they crawled out of. "They're all around us."
The ghouls moved with the lethargy of the newly wakened. A few fluttered to the snow at either ends of the block. Most rubbed their eyes and blinked indecisively.
"Lion, heel!" Horst grasped Lion's collar. "Alons, the group at Meinhardtstrasse is smaller. Come on."
Jogging toward the corner, Horst heard Alons shout, "Ware!"
Lion jerked from Horst's grip, lunging at a ghoul, which had gotten bolder. Ghoul blood dripped from Alons' sword: he had slashed the creature deeply in three places. True to his training, Lion ripped the ghoul's belly open, dropping a mouthful of intestines in the snow. Horst swung two-handed, biting into the ghoul's side. The creature went down shrieking.
An equine cry of rage turned their attention to the northwest corner of Meinhardtstrasse. Two horses charged between the demons and galloped toward them. Horst blinked and corrected himself; it was a blue brindle wynderjyn – the unicorn-horse hybrids ridden by the Sharani paladins of the White Lady – and a black unicorn with a glittering silver mane: creatures he had only seen in drawings.
A fine shield hung from the saddle of the wynderjyn. Alons snatched it off and slid his arm through the straps before bounding into the saddle with a glad cry. "Abby, I knew you'd find me. I knew you were still alive."
"Your missing token? Abby?"
"Ja. My Abby. Mount. They'll get us out of here."
The unicorn prodded Horst and he climbed onto it, settling his feet in the stirrups.
"Let's get out of here!" Alons galloped toward a break between two demons with Horst at his heels and Lion running all out beside them.
Their sudden movement stirred the ghouls from the remnants of their initial lethargy. The creatures lurched from the roofs and hurled themselves from thei
r attic nests, hooting and ululating at the sight of fleeing prey.
At the corner of Meinhardtstrasse, three clusters of demons hooted and screeched: a cluster of five yellow-manes – the large older males – in the center, four mane-less adolescent males on the right hand corner and three females on the left. The latter groups were allowed to scavenge from what remained after the yellow-manes had eaten their fill of whatever they had pulled down.
Horst searched for reins and found none. He flicked a glance at Alons as the unicorn's stride lengthened. "No reins!"
"He knows what he's doing."
One moment they were charging toward the knot of yellow-manes, and the next, they had swerved sharply into the three females. Alons, riding to Horst's left, cut down the nearest one. Their swerve confused the yellow-manes, buying Alons and Horst a few seconds to dash past and make the turn onto Meinhardtstrasse. The yellow-manes leaped after them, swiftly reducing the equines' lead. Abby struggled to keep pace with the unicorn, and Horst could sense his mount holding back, reluctant to outdistance her. Running beside them, Lion's eyes were wide and his tongue flapped like a flag beside his jowls.
Alons glanced back. The five yellow-manes were nearly upon them, and beyond those came the rest of the pack. There must have been thirty or more of them – more than enough to overwhelm their entire encampment. Then the yellow-manes reached them: two setting upon Alons and three going for Horst, drawn by the delicious purity of the unicorn.
Claws slid off his flawless chainmail as Alons struck a ghoul in the neck hard enough to break bone. The creature went down in the snow and did not move. The other attacked from Alons' left only to get stunned by a shield in its face. Alons veered into a ghoul attacking Horst's open left. His companion screamed as Alons drove his sword into the ghoul's back, gave it a twist, ensuring a smooth release, and popped it out. As the creature fell, Alons saw that Horst's arm hung useless, bleeding from shoulder to wrist.
To the right of Horst, two yellow-manes crowded each other to reach him. The unicorn and rider turned at bay. Claws shredded Horst's makeshift armor and tore his side open. Lion accounted for one of the ghouls, biting a chunk from its belly and spitting out a mouthful of entrails. Rage carried Horst through the pain long enough to hack through the remaining yellow-mane's shoulder.
