Wrath of the Greimere (Hell Cliffs Book 2)

by Case C. Capehart

  In that moment, Kimura flipped over the edge and onto the landing. With each hand she threw a shuriken. They hit their mark right in the men’s throats. She charged the middle one who barely lifted his sword in time. She drew her katana from the sheath on her back and swung downward, but she drew short to avoid hitting his blade and sending out the sound of clanging metal. With her left hand she jammed his sword hand backward at him and then cross-slashed his midsection. Her katana flourished at her side and darted back upward, catching the guard up through his jaw and up into his brain.

  “You’re so fast, my love,” Goji whispered, coming up next to her. “Desert snakes cannot compare. You were meant for this life, Kimura; you are Naga.”

  “I would be faster if my blade were not so heavy,” she said, lifting the steel sword of the dead guard. Her eyes widened. “Feel this, my love. It’s half the weight. Grass-Hair was right: the metal they sent our nobles in Greimere was shit iron. If I had a katana made from this…”

  “You will, my love,” Goji said. “Let’s get to the gate. Once the prison is opened for Grass-Hair, it will fall and you will have your pick of the treasure.”

  Kimura and Goji crept down through the halls inside the prison. In the open-air courtyard, she could hear the prisoners snoring in their cells and the boot falls of the guards. Most were asleep, as Grass-Hair suspected. The guards had no fear of infiltration.

  Kimura found the control room for the cumbersome front gate and along with Goji, slaughtered the men inside. Together they engaged the control mechanism and the iron hinges rumbled as the massive wooden barrier to the prison split and widened. A moment later Grass-Hair charged.

  The alarm sounded a few moments later when the war cries of the Urufen and Rathgar filled the morning air. Kimura and Goji strung a wire the Gimlets had developed across the doorway leading to the gate room and then hid. The wire decapitated the first two men through the door. The next man cut through it and then was immediately cut down by Goji’s katana. Kimura and her lover sliced through the unsuspecting and ill-armored men as they tried to retake the gate.

  For centuries the Rathgar, with their hulking bodies and dark, desaturated skin, represented the only Greimere anyone in Rellizbix knew. Rathgar males in leather and bone armor had been the familiar enemy since the dawn of recorded history. Grass-Hair, son of a Twileen whore and the Saban King, took control of the Greimere and expanded it. He united the Urufen, tribal meat-eaters who grew fur along their nape and collarbones, and restored their ability to become wolf-like beasts at will. He took the Lokai from their mushroom farms and harems and made warriors of them. He even gave the scurrying Gimlets a place among his army, a respect that had never been bestowed on the tiny scavengers.

  At the head of his army, always by his side, stood the Helcats. Kimura had been one of the original seven who formed within the Greimere prison with the intent to protect Grass-Hair. The all-female group of scarred, lethal bodyguards lost two in their first battle, picked up two in their next battle and added more since. Only the most lethal, dedicated women were given the chance to earn the paw tattooed upon their left shoulder.

  As the front gate opened, Grass-Hair and his Helcats led the charge across the open plain toward the prison. Riding atop Fenra, the original Urufen Helcat in her “Turned” form, the Greimere Warlord outpaced the rest. The forest green strip of hair along the center of his pale head bounced with each gallop. Behind him, the Helcat leader and Grass-hair’s closest friend, Helkree, closed in on him atop the other Urufen Helcat, Freya.

  The archers on the wall did not even have time to get to their posts and nock their arrows before they were inside and cutting through the guards.

  “Magda and Indie on the interior door!” Grass-Hair yelled, dismounting Fenra. “Bring it down!”

  The two Rathgar Helcats approached the wooden front door of the prison with heavy axes. Indie towered over everyone and her footfalls inside the prison entryway boomed like mini earthquakes. Since Raegith had taken the Citadel, the largest Helcat had spent her days with iron, lifting, pushing and transforming into a behemoth of muscle. In terms of raw strength, she surpassed even Brimgor. The first swing of her executioner’s axe rattled the hinges of the sturdy door and shook the surrounding walls. Kimura could hear men on the other side yell and frantically move about.

  “What are they saying?” she asked.

  Raegith gave her a devious smile. “They’re praying to the Fates… and shitting their pants. Take us to the top, Kimura. The archers die first. I want minimal casualties.”

  Kimura whistled as soon as she reached the open air. The other Naga remained in hiding since taking the towers even as the replacements burst in. On her signal, the concealed Naga rose and quickly retook the towers, turning confiscated bows on the Saban archers along the ramparts.

  Like a cat, Naoko leapt upon the first rampart and rained arrows upon the archers, taking down five before they realized they were flanked. The prison guards scrambled to prioritize the invaders, but they were all lined up and could not fire without hitting the man in front of them.

  Fenra and Freya jumped over Grass-Hair tearing into the closest archers. The other archers screamed in horror and dropped their bows to flee at the sight of the giant wolves tearing the faces off their comrades. With the eastern wall cleared of archers, the Greimere raiders below charged unimpeded through the prison gates.

  Kimura and Grass-Hair watched from the walls as the front door crashed down and Brimgor, the legendary Rathgar Agillean, came barreling through, a broad-axe in each hand. As his roar shook the walls, his swing caught the first man in front of him and sent his helmeted-head spinning off into the courtyard.

  The guards backed up; some turned and ran. Helkree took the second story; Hitomi, the most veteran Lokai Helcat, took the third. Urufen warriors raced along the walls with the kind of speed only a beast could manage. They cut with hand axes and iron claws, hobbling and maiming guards as they sped past, eager to reach the furthest side before their brethren.

  At the very end, several guards threw down their weapons and dropped to their knees, desperately pleading to be spared. Their foreign words fell on deaf ears as the Greimere raiders put every man wearing armor to the axe.

  “Helkree! Leave the cells locked and the prisoners unharmed… for now,” Grass-Hair commanded as the Urufen warriors reached the command room and killed the men inside. He turned to Kimura and Goji. “Look well, you two. You brought us this victory. You and your Naga saved the lives of countless Urufen and Rathgar and Lokai. No Rellizbix fire cannon could commit such a clean kill as you.”

  “You honor us, Warlord,” Goji said, bowing deep. “The victory is yours.”

  “For the Greimere!” Grass-Hair shouted, raising his fists to the sky as he leapt up on the rampart beside Naoko.

  All below, men and women raised their weapons and howled.

  “Grass-Hair! Grass-Hair! Grass-Hair!”

  Grass-Hair looked down into the courtyard from the top of the wall and then over to Naoko. He smiled.

  “You think I can make it?”

  Naoko’s face reflected shock as she looked down at the courtyard below and then up to Grass-Hair. “No! Please don’t. There are some stairs just right over...”

  Before anyone could grab him, Grass-Hair jumped off the rampart and down into the courtyard. Just before he landed, his feet erupted in the familiar blue flames of the Path, shaking the ground and cratering the stone below him.

  He rose up, ripped off his tunic and threw his fists out to his sides, summoning the flames all along his arms. Every Greimere inside the prison cried out in victory and slammed their weapons against the railings, walls or floor.

  Kimura watched and thought back to when Grass-Hair returned to the Greimere after five years spent in training with the zealots who lived in solitude high on their golden mountain in the south. Grass-Hair had forged himself into a formidable brawler while serving his sentence in the Pit, but he came back from his pil
grimage on an entirely different level. He never divulged how he came to engulfe his limbs in blue flames that allowed him to parry steel weapons and penetrate armor. Something had changed him in that place beyond the Greimere Mountains and it wasn’t just the flames or his blinding speed. He had left as a liberator of small villages, but returned a Warlord capable of uniting dozens of bickering clans under his banner.

  “They love him,” Goji said beside Kimura. “You love him.”

  “He gave me life, Goji. He gave us all a life and if we all perished tomorrow, here in these foreign lands it will be worth it.”

  She turned to him and placed her hands on his worried face. “You are my lover, Goji. You are father to my daughter, Makata; you are the reason I left the Helcats and you are the only one I give myself to. I love you, Goji of the Naga.”

  After kissing him hard, she looked back down to the courtyard. “But I will never stop loving him, either, for what he has done for me. You cannot ask me to.”

  “I wouldn’t,” Goji said, following her gaze. “He is the Grass-Haired Demon and Warlord of the Greimere… and he will bring us into the fertile lands of the North and give us the home we deserve.”

  Chapter 9

  “Bring me someone to fight!” Raegith yelled to his warriors. “And send word to Beretta and Izanami. Tell them we have the prison and the way is clear!”

  Greimere raiders released five Sabans from their cells and brought them down to the courtyard. By then, Indie had found a large, sturdy chair in the warden’s office and hauled it out for Raegith to sit in. As the Saban criminals lined up in front of him, he reveled in the shocked look on their faces.

  “Do you know what I am?” Raegith asked.

  “A fucking traitor!” The burly Saban stood as tall as Brimgor and nearly as wide. His shoulders bulged and his square jaw worked to the side as he looked Raegith over. He snorted mucus from his sinus, hocked and spit at Raegith’s feet.

  Magda went to hit him, but Raegith raised his hand to halt her. The Saban glowered with the eyes of a killer and did not quiver in fear like the others.

  “What’s your name, Saban?” Raegith asked.

  “I don’t give my name to fucking traitors.” The Saban spat again, angering several of his Helcats.

  “You’re courageous, I admire that.” Raegith leaned forward. “You’re also in here and you’re not wearing guard clothes. Perhaps you were in the army and are a traitor yourself. Or maybe you simply used those hulking arms to kill small children. Who can say? Your name?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Fine. I shall call you Garret,” Raegith said, cracking his neck to the side. The warriors began to stomp and clang their weapons against the rails. “I knew a Garret once, in the Army. He beat the shit out of my friend… raped her over and over. He called me a traitor as well, but that was long before I had done anything to deserve the title. You see, I used to be a loyal subject of Helfrick…”

  “King Helfrick,” the man interrupted.

  “We’ll get to that in a moment, you and I.” Raegith held up his hand for the man to silence and continued his speech. “Then Helfrick decided to send me into the Greimere… to die. But I did not die. A young boy, half Twileen and half Saban, deep in the lands of the barbarians with no friends and no battle experience… and by my fists and wit I survived and became one with the Greimere. When Helfrick sent his Regiments into our land I decided that the coward sitting on the throne in Thromdale, the coward who sent his own son to die in the south, no longer deserved these lands he lords over.”

  “Bullshit!” The Saban laughed and looked around at the others, as if expecting them to join him in his joke. When they did not, the smile left his face and he turned back to Raegith, pointing. “You didn’t fight your way to the top of anything, little boy. Look at you.”

  “Ah yes,” Raegith replied, swaying on his heels before the giant Saban. “I am quite small standing before you and the Rathgar. You’re not the first to size me up and find me lacking.”

  Raegith backed up, away from the chair and into the open area of the courtyard. As he emerged from the shadow of the high prison walls, the morning light fell across his bare torso. Scars graced his pale skin, stretched tight over lean muscle, reminders of his battles inside the Pit, against the Greimere guards, of the training he endured with the Junrei’sha and even the faded lines from 9th Regiment’s punishment for rescuing Onyx.

  “We have a tradition in the Greimere, one that I started.” Raegith motioned for Magda to push the Saban forward into the courtyard. “I’m a merciful guy, despite my Saban blood, but my people follow only the strong. They believe so strongly in this, they need constant confirmation of my worthiness. Therefore, to commemorate every victory, I allow challenges from the survivors. If the challenger defeats me, he goes free and likely deprives the army of leadership.”

  Raegith stepped to the side of the man, circling him. “No one has gone free yet, Garret. You want to be the first?”

  The Saban smiled and looked around. “You trying to intimidate me? I’m twice your size, runt, and this hell hole has been my home for a decade. We’re men, here, not mouthy bitches… but maybe I’ll get a pardon for killing a traitorous little shit claiming royal blood.”

  “Or maybe you’ll be beaten to death,” Raegith laughed, dancing on his toes and closing in on the big man.

  The Saban roared and flexed his giant muscles. He smiled as he came right for Raegith.

  Raegith grinned back as he strolled to meet the man, easily dipping under the man’s punch and slamming a right hook into his side.

  The hit seemed to barely tap the man, but sounded like a thunderclap.

  The big Saban stumbled forward and turned, wide-eyed with confusion at what had just happened. He suppressed a cough, peppering his face with tiny flecks of dark red.Shaking his head, he clenched his mouth shut and swallowed. As he took his first step, Raegith closed the distance. The Saban threw two punches, a quick jab and the follow-up cross. Raegith parried the jab and caught the cross at the man’s elbow, jamming his arm and pinning it to his chest. Like a lightning strike Raegith drove a straight punch between the man’s bulging pecs. The popping sound of his sternum could be heard up on the third floor.

  The man staggered backward, coughing up more blood and struggling to keep his feet.

  “Ten years in this prison, honing your fighting skills and developing this imposing physique,” Raegith said, kicking the man over to his back. “This was your shot, Garret, and all you could manage was to disappoint both of us.”

  Raegith looked in the eyes of the other four as he stood in the middle of the courtyard. “I am the first-born son of Helfrick Caelum and rightful heir to Rellizbix and I come to claim my throne for the Greimere. All who stand before me will burn.”

  …

  Raegith sat in his chair in the courtyard as the bonfire raged in front of him. Blood from the prisoners still caked his bare chest. None of them had given him any kind of challenge, even after he allowed the last three to arm themselves. Behind him Garret’s dying moans grew softer as he hung on the spike the Gimlets had erected for him. From the cells came the whimpers and pleas of prisoners contemplating their uncertain future.

  All around them, strange men and women danced and howled and fucked to the music created down in the courtyard. The Greimere finally had shelter, food and drink and they celebrated like maniacs.

  Raegith closed his eyes and tensed several times, letting a grunt escape his lips before sighing heavily and leaning back. He took a drink of wine while filling up another mug. Yumiko, one of his newest Helcats, raised her head from between his legs and wiped her mouth.

  “How was that, Grass-Hair?” she asked, taking the wine from him and drinking deep.

  “Refreshing,” Raegith said, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her up into his lap.

  Yumiko came from Shimada Village and was one of only two militia survivors from the battle at Gimlet City. Hitomi recommended her for t
he Helcats. After months of training and hazing, Helkree tattooed the paw on her shoulder. She had an unusually pale complexion for a Lokai, with short, black hair that painfully reminded Raegith of Onyx. When Raegith saw her playfully sparring with a mushroom scythe, she reminded him of the personification of Death from one of his books at Forsters Keep. This inspired him. Under Hitomi and Naoko’s guidance, Yumiko learned to use the scythe as her chosen weapon.

  Raegith laughed, thinking about men of the 9th Regiment in the Greimere when they saw her coming for them in battle: a black-robed figure with a reaper cutting down men; the white skull painted on her face staring out at them with black and red eyes from under her hood. He saw one soldier drop his sword and shield and fall to his knees in prayer just before she cleaved the head from his body. Her battle skill was almost insignificant compared to the trauma and confusion her presence on the field caused.

  Yumiko giggled and squirmed atop him when he gripped her ass, making him spill his wine.

  “Grass-Hair,” Helkree said, stepping into the courtyard with a familiar Gimlet.

  “Hel, you’re still wearing your armor,” Raegith said, lifting his head from Yumiko’s breast. “The prison is ours and the Urufen are howling. I think it’s time to get drunk, don’t you?”

  “I can’t get drunk off this weak piss,” she replied. “I’ll bide my time until we can brew something with teeth. We have a problem… again.”

  Raegith looked down at the timid creature in Helkree’s grip and shook his head. “Is this the infamous Ardyx? The Gimlet who has been vandalizing our convoys and anywhere we call home since leaving the Citadel?”

  “He’s marked up the walls everywhere with charcoal,” Helkree replied. “I don’t know where the hell he found it, but his crude drawings are all over the place and some of the warriors are getting pissed. He drew on cells they claimed.”

  “Give him a good whacking and then lock him up.” Raegith laughed and turned his attention back to Yumiko. “Why are you coming to me with this?”