The End must have sensed his mood, for he declared “an unconventional force, to be sure. What it lacks in training and experience, it makes up in single-mindedness and fearlessness. These…people…” he indicated the thralls with a sweep of his arm, “would assault a lava flow with their bare hands and feet if I so commanded. Your Queen’s army will never be able to undermine their morale or break their focus. And, of course, I have an inexhaustible supply!”
Long nodded, afraid that going too long without some sort of response would anger the volatile sorcerer. It seemed adequate, as the End continued speaking.
“Nevertheless, the enemy will have advantages of its own that must needs be countered. Your task is to anticipate and explain these things to me, so that we are not caught off-guard.” The End smiled blithely and seemed to speculate on a bird that flew by. “I know you’ve wondered. It is for this purpose I have kept you alive.” Unexpectedly, he reached over and gave Long a hearty pat on the back. The incongruity of the act shook the old campaigner to his core.
*****
Vykers, In the Moors
Has there ever been anyone mortal who didn’t wax reflective when staring into a campfire? As much as he liked to pretend otherwise, Tarmun Vykers dreaded that moment when the evening’s small-talk died away and left nothing but silence and the eventual onslaught of memories, questions and other musings that proved his mortality, and thus his vulnerability. Some there were, he knew, who could block out all distractions, external and internal alike, and focus solely on a single breath, moment or idea. Vykers was not of their number; he was too impatient. But impatient for what, exactly? What was the rush? Where was he going except the grave – if he was lucky enough to actually receive one? And, just like that, his mind wandered down paths he’d sooner have avoided. Where had he come from, really? Why did it seem as though he lived at the mercy of forces outside his ken? Not long ago, he’d been living in a cave, stewing in his own filth, struggling to survive without hands or feet. Now, he lay next to a fire he shared with creatures unlike any he’d ever seen or heard of before, in possession of a sword whose nature defied belief, and equally possessed – that was the bare truth of it – by a Shaper he’d never seen in the flesh. Why? There was a plan here, somehow, if only he could see it. And who was the author of this plan?
Vykers didn’t believe or disbelieve in the gods; he simply had no use for them. He’d never said their names except when cursing. He’d built no temples in their names and never would. What were they to him, and what could he possibly be to them? He’d seen and caused far too much death to believe in either divine favor (for either side in a conflict) or divine providence. So who or what was guiding his destiny?
It couldn’t be the Queen. Yes, she’d orchestrated certain events and even manipulated Vykers to some degree. But she hadn’t created The End-of-All-Things. If the Reaper succeeded in defeating him, he would probably have enough subsequent momentum to topple the Queen, as well. She must have realized that, but had given him the reins to her army nonetheless. It made no sense.
And if he failed…
So, you’re human, after all…
Arune! Vykers groaned. Can’t you give me a night’s peace, just once?
She laughed. That was peace? You’re welcome to it –
No, no, you’re right. I’ve got too much time to think on this slog. I need to be fighting and killing. That’s what I do best.
It’s sunrise, Arune said, a propos of nothing.
Huh. Coulda fooled me.
We need to get up and moving soon or you’ll have that fight you were yearning for.
Well, they’re determined fuckers, if nothing else. How many of ‘em still behind us?
They’re losing men – or whatever they are – by the score. Those in charge don’t seem to care, though.
Somewhere out in the moors, the sound of something roaring interrupted their dialogue. Hard on its heels was the shouting of multiple voices and the noise of muffled explosions, followed by more roaring.
They’re closer than I thought.
Hard to tell in this soup.
Vykers stood. “Time to go, boys.”
The four agreed.
*****
It was slow going, of course, trying to pick a path through the puddles, ponds, bogs and larger bodies of water, trying to determine which floating clump of weeds was dense enough to support weight and which would sink when stepped on, trying to guess if the ground in front of oneself was actually solid or instead quicksand. But as hard as it was for Vykers and his crew, he knew it was taking its toll on those who pursued him. So far, he hadn’t lost anyone, while –
Something massive shot out of the water and across his path, taking Number 12 with it. A barrage of arcane energies followed in its wake, as the other three chimeras responded without thought in attempt to kill or at least injure the beast that had taken their brother. A searing sensation in his sternum told Vykers that Arune had joined the fray. Soon, the very water was on fire with the group’s efforts and great geysers of froth and mist shot into the air, but there remained no sign of their attacker or the missing chimera. After several minutes, Vykers yelled “Stop! Let the smoke clear! Let’s see what we’re shooting at!” In truth, he was also concerned the noise was helping his pursuers zero in on his location. He looked over at the chimeras. Was it his imagination, or was there not a hint, for the first time, of hurt and resentment in their eyes? He hoped not. That would make things immeasurably more difficult. Unable to sustain his companions’ gaze, he looked down at the water again; they followed suit.
It was still. And because the magical bombardment had burned away all the algae, it was also relatively clear. What it revealed was a deep blackness that stretched who knew how far down. Vykers was just about to turn away when bubbles began to rise and burst on the surface. The chimeras tensed. More bubbles, something was rising towards them and fast. Number 17 stepped forward, ready to renew hostilities. One of the others held out a hand, restraining him. In a rush of sound and spray, the lost chimera erupted from the water and landed in his brothers’ outstretched arms. Gently, gingerly, they laid him down on the moss, staring at him with looks of evident stupefaction.
“That was…exciting,” he managed. But there was something wrong.
“Er…Number 12…” Vykers began.
“Yes, Master?”
How to say this? “Your…eh…head…is on backwards.”
Number 12 sat up, got his bearings. “Why, so it is!” He said, amazement in his voice. “One moment…”
The Reaper was not squeamish. He may have had other weaknesses, but that was not among them. And yet, when Number 12’s head slowly rotated back into the proper position, making a slight grinding sound throughout, Vykers could not help shivering.
“How long have you been able to do that?” He asked the chimera.
“I don’t know,” the creature answered. “I never tried before.”
It was then Vykers realized Number 12 hadn’t been gasping for air when he reappeared, either.
“Can you breathe under water?”
“It appears I can.”
I don’t like this, Vykers told Arune.
They’re full of surprises, aren’t they?
And where we’re going, I can’t have any surprises. I need to know my troops’ capabilities and liabilities.
Why don’t you ask them?
The group all clearly heard the enemy drawing nearer.
No time for that now. We need to get outta here.
Aloud, Vykers said “Let’s go!” in his best no-bullshit voice. The Four complied, moving to scout the path ahead with no complaint. There was no trace of anything in their eyes or body language other than soldierly obedience.
*****
Much later, after they’d again increased the distance between themselves and their pursuers, they stopped to rest. As per habit, the chimeras sniffed out and obtained more than enough for everyone to eat, although Vykers wasn�
�t always sure what it was or even which end to put in his mouth. The chimeras, it seemed, would eat anything. Which reminded the Reaper of his earlier misgivings.
“What happened today?” He asked pointedly of Number 12.
The other chimera paused in their eating, exchanged glances and settled back, apparently ready to hear the story.
Number 12 swallowed whatever was in his mouth, inhaled and said “We were scouting the way forward. I sensed something coming moments before I was hit, but I couldn’t discern the direction. I tried to brace, myself, but…”
“The damned thing was fast,” Vykers concluded.
“Just so. I felt its teeth all along my left side as it pulled me down.” 12 ran a hand over his torso and, indeed, there were a number of seeping wounds Vykers hadn’t noticed before.
“Sorry I missed those,” he said.
“It’s of no importance. They are not overly painful. Anyway, the thing took me down into the depths without damaging me any further, which proved to be its fatal mistake. After some struggle, I was able to get my claws inside its gills and pull its innards out.”
The other chimera growled their approval.
I’ll have to remember that, if I’m ever attacked by a monstrous fish, Vykers thought. “I’m glad you survived,” he said. “This whole thing would have been much harder without you.”
Number 12 nodded humbly. His brothers seemed to agree.
“But I’m not real happy to be finding out just now that you can breathe underwater and…that thing with your head. I need to know what you boys are capable of before things get desperate.”
It was Number 3 who spoke up. “Sadly, this is a consequence of our creation, Master. We do not entirely know these things ourselves.”
“Are you alluding to trust, Master?” Number 17 asked, “Do you still question our loyalty?”
Careful, now, Arune whispered.
Vykers took his time in answering, finding, in the end, he had nothing to say, nothing that would make matters better or more clear. Instead, as was his wont, he swung around and moved off into the moors. It was an act of trust – of faith – to turn his back on the chimeras as he had done. He didn’t exhale until he heard their footsteps joining with his own.
And what footsteps. It seemed this particular expanse of bog had no solid ground to speak of; what passed for ground was soft, spongy, and –
The ground! Arune shouted.
“Down!” one of the chimera yelled.
The earth below the group’s feet shuddered and heaved as if it had a life of its own, as if –
Gods! Vykers had just enough time to unsheathe his sword and bring it round in a sweeping arc, severing two of the leg-like things that emerged from the still-growing hill beneath his feet. Again, Arune and the chimeras blasted away with mystic energies. With a thunderous quaking, the earth resolved into the gargantuan shape of…something. Something insectoid, but also vaguely amphibian. Vykers would think on it further when it was dead. Assuming he was able to defeat it.
The huge thing twisted around and revealed row upon row of pincers, inside of which was an even larger number of black, glistening teeth. Down its sides and back were countless limbs, making it quite clear that the two Vykers had managed to shear off would never be missed. If he wanted to hurt this thing, he’d have to do ten times as much damage. A head the size of a farmer’s wagon swooped down upon the chimeras, scrambling them into the surrounding water and temporarily blunting their attacks.
Damn it all, Arune, can’t you set that thing on fire or something? Vykers demanded.
Easy for you to say! Maybe you hadn’t noticed the monster’s water-logged?
Then blind it, for Mahnus’ sake! Vykers charged towards the head and took a vicious hack at it, but he was used to fighting humanoid creatures and this beast moved in unexpected ways, so he missed. There were advantages to being Tarmun Vykers, though, and one of those was that he never missed twice. In the same breath, he reversed his grip on his sword, continued to spin in the direction he’d gone and caught the thing under the jaw as he came back around. Vykers expected a roar of pain; instead, a loud shushing sound emanated from all along the monster’s body that was immediately followed by thick, yellow-green clouds of vapor spurting into the air all around. Instantly, Vykers felt his eyes, nose and throat begin to burn and also felt something raking across his chest, trailing fire as it went. He did hear a roar, then, but it did not come from the creature. Vykers ducked and rolled several feet to his right, hoping to buy time to clear his head. A sonic blast he hadn’t heard since Morden’s Cairn smashed through the air and, at last, the creature wailed. It was a much higher-pitched and plaintive sound than Vykers would ever have imagined possible from such a monstrosity. He might have laughed at it, then, had not it grasped him with its legs and pulled him into the muck and under. On the one hand, Vykers reflected, the water was clearing his vision somewhat; on the other, he was going to drown, if he wasn’t torn to pieces first. Submersion seemed to be the kill-tactic of everything in this accursed place. Frantically, Vykers wedged his sword between his body and the thing’s legs and began pressing outward, in attempt to loosen its grip.
Strange, to suddenly realize the sword was ecstatic. The more Vykers hacked, the more exhilaration poured from the sword and into his arms and chest, rejuvenating him. The monster, however, was decidedly not exhilarated, as the sword sliced through its armor like so much paper. Underwater, its cries of rage and distress sounded even more bizarre than above. The Reaper thrilled, desperate as he was for air, to ram his sword deep into the creature’s side once, twice and a final, third time. Something grabbed a hold of his jacket and pulled him away and up. All he could see was his sword, ablaze and pulsing with victory. His gaze lingered on it, even as he was pulled from the water and tossed unceremoniously onto a floating clump of weeds.
Tarmun…Tarmun…Tarmun! Arune called.
Vykers shook off his bemusement and sat up. A short distance away, he saw three of his companions standing over a fourth. Another chimera had fallen. Cautiously, he worked his way over to them. Number 4 was lying in two pieces about four feet apart. The remaining three barely glanced at Vykers as he came to stand near them.
“You will excuse us, Master, I hope. You know what we must do,” Number 3 said quietly.
What could he say? Vykers nodded and walked off, pretending to look for signs of the beast they’d killed. The noise of feeding set his nerves on edge, but he found ways to occupy himself until the chimeras had finished. Or essentially so.
“Master,” Number 3 said. “You are not…comfortable with us. Still.” He held up something that looked like beef liver. “If you would know us, trust us, you must eat.”
There were a million things he could have said. Instead, Vykers took the offering and bit into it. He did not balk, nor gag. Keeping his eyes on the three chimeras, he succeeded in eating the whole thing. When he was finished, he said, “Experience has taught me that I am alone in this world.” He looked in turn at each of the chimeras, stared into their eyes. “I expect to die alone, too.”
Again, something unspoken passed between the chimeras. At last, Number 3 said, “Then let us all die alone…together.”
Which made no fucking sense, but pleased Vykers immensely.
“Good,” he said.
*****
Shere, In the Moors
They’d not even met in battle, and already Tarmun Vykers had found and exploited a weakness in the End-of-All-Things’ designs. While Shere’s army of thralls worked perfectly in open terrain or against civilian populations, it foundered and suffered tremendous losses in the moors, where the ability to move forward without difficulty could not be taken for granted. Hundreds of thralls died in the first day, drowning in deceptively deep puddles, disappearing in the mire or borne away by stealthy predators heard more often than ever they were seen. With every mile, Shere’s Shapers and his handful of mercenaries protested, offered alternate plans or just plain cur
sed him when they thought he wasn’t listening. Or perhaps because he was. At all events, the general didn’t care: he was going to catch Vykers as ordered, or die trying, as ordered.
There were moments, tantalizing and torturous, when Shere and his men thought they’d heard something just ahead, or seen flashes of light through the murk, only to arrive at the approximate location and find more of the same featureless green-grey nothingness they’d left behind. At times, Shere wondered if he wasn’t already dead and these moors weren’t some sort of hellish afterlife. But, if that were the case, wouldn’t he have encountered a few of his former employers by now?
He wanted to resent Tarmun Vykers, to well and truly hate him for leading Shere and his army into this mess, but that was a dodge and he knew it. He’d followed of his own accord, against all reason and the strident protests of his advisors. In a rather perverse twist, the general found he actually admired Vykers’ actions and thinking on this matter. He –
Steel, Blood & Fire (Immortal Treachery Book 1) Page 34
