by Mark Eller
“It’s starting to fucking snow,” Tem complained as a few thick flakes drifted down.
In the dark forest, slow footsteps sounded. The invasive stench wafted up around them, stronger, more insistent than before. Horses and arvids began snorting and blowing and pulling insistently at their tethers.
A flutter of wings. A rustle of cloth against wood, and then a wavy form took shape, half hidden in shadows, deformed by poor light and the thickening snowfall.
“Chaaaanger,” a voice whispered hollowly as the figure drew closer. “Brooother. Kiiiller.”
Mathew drew his knives while around him his remaining men all drew their swords. “I have no brother.”
“Death.” The figure crouched lower, shifted, merged, and then moved forward, a four footed, fang toothed shape larger than any hellhound Mathew had ever seen crawl out of the hellhole. As it stepped forward, the ordig followed.
“Who are you?”
Ignoring Mathew’s demand, the beast looked briefly toward the ordig. “The woman.”
With a clatter of stick-like limbs, the ordig lurched forward, appearing awkward but moving with enough speed to belie the belief. Pustules and boils marred its thick skin. Deep set back eyes showing the silent scream of a shredded soul peered from between folds which resembled diseased bark.
With a screech of pure terror, an arvid broke free, and then another. Cursing, Tem leaped for the escaping beasts, but he was too late. Mouth foaming, a panicked horse threw itself into its mate, bit down, and was answered by a scream. Both horses kicked out, lunged, and then their tethers broke and they were gone, almost running Tem down in their escape. Stumbling away from the danger, he backed into an arvid and was promptly stuck down before it, too, broke away.
Pandemonium over, only one riding beast remained.
Mathew didn’t move, did not even look toward the beasts. Their loss was near disaster, but not nearly so serious a one as taking his eyes off the ordig and the beast would have been. Following his lead, Glace and Tesh remained still, attention focused, swords in their hands. His blade still sheathed, Ergoth looked around with slow incomprehension.
“Gods damned idiots,” Fox muttered. Mathew wasn’t sure if she meant only Ergoth and Tem, or if she included himself and the others in her assessment. Bending quickly, she grabbed the unlit end of a branch burning on the fire while Glace slowly sheathed his sword and fingered a small stone free from his belt.
“Hellkind,” he whispered to Mathew.
“No shit,” Mathew answered just before lunging toward the ordig. Quick as a mule skinner’s whip, four of its thorn covered arms reached out for him. Mathew dodged, ducked, rolled, and struck out with his blades. His right hand blade slid off the ordig’s thick hide like it was made of solid stone, but the tip of his left blade struck a pustule, sank in, and the ordig released an agonized moan moments before one of its arms caught Mathew across his back.
Mathew hissed agony when the thin limb cut through his clothes and deep into his flesh. Acid ate him; fire consumed him, a sensation so intense he had no choice but to fall to his knees while Tesh lunged to shove a wide bladed sword deep into the ordig’s center.
Leaking a thin clear fluid which stank of rotting flesh, the ordig released a rumbling cough, staggered, and then grabbed Tesh in three of its arms. A quick wrench jerked those arms in different directions, dividing Tesh into three uneven pieces.
Still gasping with blinding pain, Mathew straightened while his unnatural flesh writhed and bubbled as it sought to heal his gods’s cursed wound. For a moment he thought the battle was lost. For a moment his senses reeled and his knees began to fold, but his curse proved stronger than the ordig’s damage. He strengthened, straightened, and then a well placed swing of a stone hard arm cracked along side of his head, throwing him to the ground.
“Mathew!” Glace called out, but it wasn’t Glace who thrust herself into reach of the ordig’s arms. Fox, seeming more shadow than real, slid past the flailing limbs with a preternatural grace which belied her merely human origins. With a flaming torch held in one small hand, a glow surrounded Fox; sparkling lights that flickered and burned with an otherworldly intensity. Her seemingly insubstantial shade thrust the burning torch toward the ordig like it was a god’s blessed sword meant to cleave it in two. Mewling fear, the ordig stumbled away from the flames. Broken pustules leaked faint pink and green fluids as it backed away from the small Ilian thief. A flailing arm caught at the sword still thrust deep into its chest, pulled it free, and dropped it to the ground.
“HAH!” Fox shouted out, appearing solid once more. “Think you’re so tough! Think you’re a match for MY god!”
Crying out again, the ordig abruptly turned and shambled off into the dark.
Shaking his head to clear it of pain, Mathew slowly rose to his feet and swayed dizzily for a moment before dropping back to one knee. Within moments, Glace was beside him, helping him to his feet, though less than half his attention was devoted to Mathew. Mostly, he kept his eyes turned toward the still watching beast while Fox glared defiantly after the retreating ordig, the burning branch still held in her hand. Its flames were now small; a flicker of fire buried amid gray ash and red coal, and this was strange because Mathew was willing to swear only moments before the stick had held a raging inferno. The sparkling lights surrounding Fox faded and then died.
“Mathew,” Glace whispered once Mathew rose again. “You better find your knives because we’re going to need them.”
“Where’s Crabber?” Mathew demanded when he saw only Tem and Ergoth remained.
Glace spat. “Gone. He ran.”
“Not very impressive,” the beast noted wryly, and with those words it flickered again, became a dark man standing more than six feet tall. Naked, he wore a series of thick twisting scars encircling his arms and legs. His cock hung unnaturally long, a thick sausage that wrapped four times around his right leg before stopping just below his knee.
Catching Fox’s fascinated stare, the dark man grinned. “Later darling. I know you’ll be dying for what I have.”
“You wish!” Fox snapped back with a quick jerk of her head. The gem Mathew had placed around her neck bounced wildly with the motion. “I’d rather be taken by the wolf than touched by you.”
She backed slowly from them, moving closer to where Antou’s still fresh blood soaked into the ground. Her fingers loosened, opened, and the smoldering stick she held fell to steam in the snow for a moment before extinguishing.
“You called me brother,” Mathew said, drawing the dark man’s attention back to him. “I have no brother.”
“Brothers in skin,” the man said. “Brothers in blood, just as Glace and I are brothers through intent.”
Tem and Ergoth moved closer to Mathew and Glace, more interested, it seemed, on obtaining their protection than they were on joining in the defense.
“I have no brother,” Mathew insisted once again.
“You owe me a life, Mathew Changer, just as I owe you a death. The decision lies before you, shall I kill you while wearing a form impervious to all things mortal, or will you meet me in personal combat, fang to fang, claw to claw?”
“I’ll meet you in Hell,” Mathew cursed just before flinging one of his reserve knives. The knife thrummed through the air to strike in the center of the dark man’s body with a solid thunk. It hung there for a moment, sharp steel and a leather wrapped handle pressed up against dark flesh, and then it fell, its point blunted, its purpose useless.
“So be it,” the man whispered. “As you die, so will the cattle you lead.” He took two purposeful steps forward before Glace’s voice stopped him.
“You are the Master.”
‘Ahhhhh. So you do know me.”
“You create changers like Cass from the lesser creatures of Hell. You warp their flesh and usurp their purpose. Only the gods and half a dozen devils are stronger. Cass told me stories of you, like she told me many other fictions of Hell, but they weren’t fictions were
they? Her stories were truth.”
“My bright star,” the Master mourned. “My sweet killer, my Cassandra. I loved her beyond all of my creations. I labored over her change more than any other. Each piece of the invading code had to be in its exact placement before I was satisfied, no matter how loudly she screamed during the process. She was fated to be my mate. She was intended to bear my offspring, but she ran from her duties for this world, and then she chose you. She abandoned me for you, but I did not care. I was patient. In time she would have returned. A need to mate with her own kind was burned into her flesh, buried deep in her bones, only she did not return, did she? She died with Mathew Changer’s knife dividing her heart. All my work undone. All my desires wasted, and for this the wolf will die, but you, young thief, you will not die. Because she loved you beyond all reason I will take you to my bosom. I will create of you my greatest masterpiece. When I am finished you will bear my children and be glad.
“Yes,” Glace promised. Releasing his hold on Mathew, he rubbed at his mouth and then moved closer to the Master. “I will be glad. Willingly will I come to you and bear your children, but in recompense I ask you to spare the lives of my companions.”
“The Changer must die.”
“Glace!” Mathew shouted, but Glace paid him no mind. Mathew tried to follow Glace, reached for a knife so he could skewer the traitorous bastard, but his legs still felt too weak, and the last of his knives was gone.
“Of course he must die, but there are others. Tem and Ergoth, Crabber and the Fox.” As he spoke, Glace inched closer to the Master. His hand fumbled momentary at the buckle of his sword belt, released its catch, and the still sheathed sword fell.
“Your Crabber still breathes,” the Master’s voice whispered, almost too low to be heard. “He but sleeps with a small lump decorating his head. I have no interest in your Tem or your Ergoth, but the Fox must meet my master. Zorce has an interest in rumors he has heard of her. It is said she is touched by a foreign god. On this night, I have seen the rumor’s proof.
“Zorce’s will must be obeyed,” Glace agreed as he took his last step toward the Master, “just as your will is now mine.”
Body trembling, Glace stood still while the Master’s fell hand cupped his cheek. The Master’s eyes blazed deep red and yellow. “Do you have any idea what I will do to you? Do you not care?”
“I know,” Glace answered. “I care, but I will cease caring once you begin changing the workings of my mind. I see no reason to delay the inevitable.”
“Holy Trelsar,” Tem muttered from close behind Mathew. “You’re in the soup now, boss.”
The hand gently cupping the back of Glace’s cheek stiffened, released its grip, and quickly shifted to grasp the thick hair at the back of Glace’s head. “So be it. First you, and then the cur will die.”
With a savage snarl, the Master jerked Glace’s head closer. Mathew had only a bare glimpse of the Master’s mouth opening, saw only the briefest hint of a long scaled tongue before it thrust itself into Glace’s mouth, and then their lips mashed together with a violence that split skin and made drops of blood fly.
Within his flesh, Mathew felt his god’s cursed healing finally fight off the ordig’s fell ichors. His head began to clear. His legs began to strengthen. Reaching back, he grasped Ergoth with an insistent hand, hauled the man forward, and then wrenched a dangling sword from the man’s loose grip. He was not such a fool as to believe he could defeat the Master in any sort of fair fight. This moment of distraction would be the only real chance he could get.
Shoving Ergoth from him, he sprinted at the pair, at the hellborn Master and at Glace, the traitorous bastard who was giving up his will and soul for the promise of a shadow life.
But he was too late. His moment was gone. With a violent heave of his arms, the Master shoved Glace away. Glace sailed seven feet through the air before striking the ground in an awkward rolling, gagging heap.
Ignoring his one time friend, Mathew raised his sword, swung, and missed because the Master was reeling back too quickly; his reflexes were too fast—
— only they were not reflexes. Coughing, voice rising in a thin screech which threatened to burst eardrums, The Master continued staggering backwards until he struck the rotted carcass of a tree. Raising his head to the sky, he clawed at his mouth with useless hands because his fingers were now worthlessly curled and gnarled. His mouth stretched wide, and wider yet, while his scream grew in volume.
“Zorce!” He screeched. “Dark Father!”
But then his mouth was no longer capable of making words, was no longer capable of screaming because his face was splitting apart, was falling away and then his body dissolved and then there was nothing left but a puddle of thick dank goo.
Stunned, Mathew allowed his sword holding hand to fall. The sword’s point touched snow, sank in, and rested against frozen ground while Mathew studied the slowly dissolving puddle that had once been the Master. Shaking his head, he looked toward Glace to see the young thief kneeling on one knee. Head bowed, Glace shuddered and shook and coughed out thick wads of blood, staining the snow before him crimson red.
Releasing the sword, Mathew walked over to Glace, kneeled down, and wrapped a concerned arm around his shoulder. After a few moments, Glace’s coughing slowed and then stopped. Using a weakly shaking wrist, Glace wiped across his mouth in an attempt at cleaning himself, managing only to spread a red smear across his cheeks.
“S-sorry,” he finally stuttered. “S-sorry Mathew. I had to do it...had to pretend. It was the crystal.”
“The crystal?” Mathew prompted.
“Stole it off a mark,” Glace continued, his voice sounding stronger. “Years ago. Cass wouldn’t— wouldn’t touch it, made me promise to throw it away, only I kept it because it was the first thing we ever stole together. Figured— figured if she was scared of it, there might be a reason.”
“But how did you know to put it in your mouth?”
“Cass told me stories. Loved her, so I listened.”
Crunching footsteps approached. Mathew looked up to see Tem and Ergoth approaching, and from behind them came Crabber, a hand held to the side of his bloody head.”
“Where’s my woman?” Mathew demanded of them. “Where’s Fox?”
Ergoth frowned. “Took the last arvid and left during all the excitement.”
“Chase her down,” Mathew ordered. “Bring her back.”
Tem’s gesture included several directions. “Don’t know which way she went.”
At those words, Glace lifted his head to study the older man. “We are surrounded by snow. I’m only a city boy, but even I know following an arvid in snow should be simple.”
“Don’t know nothing about that,” Tem admitted. “Just know her beast left no prints behind. Got no idea how we can find her.”
Mathew cursed. “It’s impossible to track a shadow, but I’ve a solution.” Reaching inside his front shirt pocket he fished out an amulet. “Use this. It resonates with the gem I gave her. Now go or I’ll kill you where you stand. Bring her to Grace when you find her. I don’t know what they are, but she has secrets, and they belong to me. ”
Nodding like they were imbeciles born, the two men gathered their belongings and headed down the dark road, not seeming to mind that it was now deep night or that the woods around them were dead and dying or even that their lives had only recently been spared from a fell creature. Idiots, both of them. Fools.
Crabber remained behind, making no attempt to follow. He studied Mathew with steady eyes. “Do you really expect them to bring her back?” he finally asked.
“No,” Mathew admitted, “but they might keep her attention occupied. I expect you to bring her back. After all, you’re the one who claims to have so much experience surviving the wild. Follow them. Set a trap, and get me Fox.”
Crabber shook his head slowly. “I don’t work for you no more. This here,” he gestured about the clearing with a wave of his hand, “this here is about the e
nd of it. You got few goods, no men but for Glace, and you’ve given up everything you had going for you in Yyles. I need to find somebody new to follow, somebody with his eye more toward profit and less toward a foreign woman.”
“I’ve more money put away than you can dream of.” Mathew said curtly. “Five hundred goes to you if you bring her to me in Grace.”
“Well now, that’s different,” Crabber admitted. “Gives me incentive, it does. I’ll think about it and maybe head out in the morning when there’s a bit o’ light to see by. Then again, I might head off on my somewhere else. Depends on where the trail takes me.”
He moved away while Mathew helped Glace stand. A new feeling slithered through Mathew, a feeling he had not quite experienced before. It was strong, stronger even than the unease and rage the dying forest shoved into him, stronger than the wolf nature the curse ring had forced on him.
Was this, he wondered while supporting Glace, what it felt like to know he truly had a friend?
Chapter 4-- A Casualty of Cats
Argo sat, happy and full, with his feet propped up and his eyelids drooping. The smell of roasted chicken, stewed potatoes, and wine still lingered in the air. With each passing second his eyes fell lower and lower, until he found himself softly adrift in an ocean of black. This year’s harvest had been good, and he had been fortunate enough to not fall into Dern’s crazy scheme. They had bellyached about it, called him a selfish old man, but like Caleb, he could smell Kerrad’s lie from a mile away. Now those who had fallen for the scheme were bellyaching about being hungry even if not enough time had passed for their little bit of food to run out. Soon, and maybe not at all. Not if Dern’s newest scheme proved itself. For his part, Argo doubted it would bear fruit. After all, who would pay money for salt. The damn stuff lay just about everywhere in the ground, just waiting to be dug up. Another fool’s quest, Argo figured.
