Decoy

by S. B. Sebrick

Picturing his last friend lying unmoving at the web-woman’s feet, dead eyes staring accusingly at him, Kaltor bolted around his incapacitated opponents toward the stairs. Honmour lay on his back with his head over the edge of the stairs, both his hands fully occupied with keeping the woman’s silver dagger from penetrating his ribs. Thin streams of red blood sailed from Honmour’s arms as he fought to keep her at bay.

  She hissed furiously, spraying pressurize black fluid into his face. Dozens of heavy boots sounded just outside, racing to the aid of their leader.

  They were out of time.

  Honmour’s motions slowed as her attack took effect, his body shaking uncontrollably from the misty secretions. With a howl of success she raised her dagger for a final strike.

  Even before Kaltor’s throwing blade could cross the stairwell, a rolling pin sailed into the back of the web-woman’s head with a bone-crunching crack. The dagger fell from her hands, just as Kaltor’s spinning blade sank into her cheek, an inch below her left eye.

  Before her lifeless corpse hit the ground, Tera emerged from her daughter’s bedroom, screaming savagely as she beat the woman’s head again and again. It took some effort to pull the makeshift weapon from her hands, but he grinned in relief as he heard the Perversions outside howl from a new kind of pain.

  "She’s dead," Kaltor assured her repeatedly. "We have to get your daughter out of here."

  That shocked Tera back to reality. In a heartbeat she rushed to her daughter’s side, kneeling beside her bed as she pulled something out from under a loose floor board. The coin purse jingled loudly as she tied it to her waist, whispering to her child, trying to wake her as gently as possible.

  Honmour sat up with his back against the wall, breathing hard. Varadour energy pulsed through his system, fighting off the poison’s effects. Kaltor reached forward and sent another wave of healing into him, just in case.

  "Looks like we finally found a woman who wanted you," Kaltor commented with a mischievous gleam in his eye. "Too bad we had to kill her."

  "We definitely need to work on your jokes," Honmour said giving him an incredulous look. He glanced toward the Perversion and shuddered. "Just give me my sword."

  With a chuckle of relief, Kaltor flipped one of the armored guards onto his side, getting a firm hold of Honmour’s sword and ripping it from the creature’s chest. The weapon was in so deep it took a few tries to pull it free. "How did you get the weapon through his armor?" he asked.

  "He was falling on it at the time," Honmour answered, rising to his feet shakily. "His body weight did most of the damage," Wiping the blade clean on the web-woman’s dress, he examined the blade carefully. "There might be enough venom here for another couple uses," he muttered. Tera appeared at her daughter’s doorway, her child wrapped tightly in her arms.

  "Let get moving," Kaltor advised. "Before they realize a web-woman is dead and send more Perversions," By the time they reached the bottom of the stairs, all the nearby creatures were dead, their blood coalescing into thick, black gelatin.

  The lookouts lay dead in the street, having fallen to their deaths when their leader succumbed to Tera’s rolling pin. The mother let loose a gut-wrenching shriek, turning her daughter’s face from one child-Perversion in particular. Kaltor recalled the other three beds in the house and gritted his teeth in frustration. They kept one of her children close after Perverting him, just in case.

  To the north, they could see the last of the Perversions under Marthena’s control. Over a hundred Perversions lay dead in the center of the marketplace. Not long ‘til they notice that, Kaltor thought. Further to the north, horns of alarm again rang out over the city, accompanied by the cries of a thousand voices. Got to keep moving.

  "Get to the horses," Kaltor ordered. "Honmour, grab the back pieces of two breastplates. Just in case," Another horn sounded, much closer. "Better make it four. Just like we were trained," Honmour nodded, scampering along the many corpses, slicing the armor free by breaking the metal clasps at the shoulders.

  "We’ll double back for him," Kaltor explained, pulling Tera into the alley behind the house. "Our horses are a few streets down."

  Two more look-outs lay in the streets, their scattered bows and arrows the only unbroken items on the ground. They hurried southward, an enemy horn echoing through the buildings only a handful of streets north of them. They rounded a corner and found their two horses, the patrolling Perversions from earlier lying dead in front of them.

  Lucky we killed her when we did, Kaltor thought. Otherwise these horses would be long gone.

  "You and your daughter ride together," he said, helping her swing into the tall mare’s saddle. He followed suit, leading them back up the alley. Honmour appeared another street ahead of them, carrying four back-portions of the enemy breastplates. He dropped the load at his feet and tossed his climbing rope to Kaltor, who started cutting it into two-foot lengths and tossing them back to his friend.

  Tera looked on with mild curiousity until the horn sounded again, accompanied by heavy hoof beats. Panic returned to her face, and she gripped her mount’s reins uncertainly. Just what we need, he thought sarcastically. Perversions on horseback.

  Kaltor glanced upward. They don’t have any lookouts, though. A plan started to take shape just as Honmour finished knotting the first piece of armor. He dismounted and tied the third one. "You first," he said to Tera.

  Stepping on her stirrups to reach her, Honmour swung the armor over her head and around her neck. The rope between the broken clasps acted like a necklace, but hung the protective metal over her back instead of in front. With a few hasty ties he tied a similar contraption to the horse’s saddle, suspending the metal over its hind quarters with a length of rope for each side. By now Kaltor had finished a similar protective design for their second horse and rider.

  "My rope is still in good condition," Kaltor explained. "I’ll grab some of the lookout’s weapons and watch you from the rooftops," Honmour nodded in agreement, mounted the second horse and hurried southward, Tera in tow.

  Kaltor reached the lookouts’ corpses, managing to swing a bow and loaded quiver over his shoulder just in time to lock eyes with about forty Perversions on horseback. Uh-oh, he thought. Time to go!

  They shouted the alarm, pointing his way emphatically, galloping in his direction. Through his skin vision, he saw a few hang back, pointing southward. Abyss’ fire! he swore silently. Not good enough. Have to cover Honmour and Tera, too.

  Even with his enhanced speed, the Perversions were slowly gaining on him. No time to climb a rope, he realized. Come on— Get to the roof!

  An arrow sailed over his shoulder, forcing him to run in a zigzag pattern, drawing on his power to watch for oncoming projectiles. One grazed the armor on his forearm. Another fell short, ricocheting into a wall. He caught a glimpse of the setting sun, dangerously close to silencing their only hope of stopping Melshek.

  Have to risk it, he decided.

  Drawing on as much Varadour energy as he dared without risking exposure, he threw his hooked rope upward, fastening into the edge of a stone gutter on the corner of a large hotel. With a grunt of exertion, he ran in a wide circle as he rounded the corner. Jerking hard on the rope, he threw himself ten feet into the air, climbing hand over hand. Hoofbeats thundered beneath him.

  His fingers caught hold of the gutter just as the Perversions rounded the corner. As he rolled to safety he felt three shafts graze his armor, two miss and a sixth slice his neck, narrowing avoiding his carotid artery.

  He tried to dispatch enough power to the wound to coagulate the blood, but he was already in motion, agitating the wound. In the distance he could see two groups of Perversions running along the north wall after faint, flickering figures.

  Good job, Stunts! he thought proudly. Honmour and I may have to learn your real names after this.

  A sea of buildings wreathed in the shadows of the setting sun hid Honmour and Tera from view. Anticipating their route through the city, he grabbe
d the hooked portion of his rope and pulled it up after him, first heading eastward for a clear view of their path from the north.

  His friends were small dots in the distance with four Perversions in pursuit when Kaltor reached the same building the lookouts had fallen from. A few arrows sailed past his head from the street below, and a few buildings behind him, two Perversions crested the rooftop.

  A test of speed, then, he decided, sprinting southward after Honmour. With one hand clasped to his neck he tried to stay the bleeding as he ran, but to no avail. Varadour power pushed his muscles and blood flow to extremes a normal human could not hope to maintain, forcing the bleeding to continue.

  Have to end this quickly. Don’t know how long I can go, losing blood like this.

  Honmour’s and Tera’s tiny figures grew larger as he gained on them, throwing himself into the air at each alley. In the street below him Perversion archers fired careful shots, trying to hit him as he jumped from one building to another, unable to dodge.

  His attackers behind him were also gaining, seeming to grow and shrink with every surge of tainted blood through their bodies. He passed through a garden, toppling plants and jerking cords as he went, anything to slow down his pursuers. In the distance he could feel one of the Stunts leading a pursuing force toward the nobles’ regiments.

  Kerslatch! he swore. Can’t risk using my Remnant powers!

  Another projectile passed dangerously close to his head as he leapt another street. I’ve had about enough of you, he decided, smashing his shoulder into a tall chimney as he passed.

  The large clay portion broke from the rooftop, sailing down to the street below, sending riders and horses alike scattering in all directions to avoid the impact. Two maintained pursuit, but pulled back. They watched the chimneys along the rooftops, calculating when it was safe for them to advance.

  Try this one, then! Kaltor thought vengefully, wrapping his rope and hook around the tip of another chimney, sprinting the length of the roof and jerking it free when the strong fibers pulled taught.

  This heavier stone behemoth groaned in warning as it toppled, releasing Kaltor’s rope from its top as it spun. The riders, expecting objects to fall further ahead of them, failed to avoid the large projectile in time. No more arrows sailed his way.

  Re-coiling his rope, he approached a large building, its roof too high to jump. Leaping into space he tossed the hooked rope into a gutter on his left as before, his muscles straining with his combined weight and momentum.

  Behind him he glimpsed six Perversions still closing the gap, leaping alleys and rooftops alike. How can they move like that? Not even Varadours can leap that far!

  When the Perversions reached the larger buildings, one of their comrades would throw the others across the expanse to the next structure. So that was how they were gaining on me. Kaltor looked ahead, counting the jumps ‘til he got close enough to help Honmour.

  They lose one soldier at each large jump because one always has to throw the others, he thought. If I time this right I might be able to make it, or at least cut down their numbers enough to have a fighting chance.

  Down below, four well-armored Perversions fired arrows Honmour’s way. With skin vision to warn him of the need to duck, the projectiles could not hit anything vital. The breastplates over the riders’ backs helped fulfill that purpose as well. Suddenly, Honmour pulled away, galloping westward across the city. In the distance, a group of refugees hurried toward the castle.

  Abyss take you, Honmour! Kaltor thought, realizing in a heartbeat the cause of his friend’s abandonment. You don’t even know if your parents are among them, and they aren’t even being attacked!

  Howling in frustration, two larger Perversions heeled their mounts even faster, turning after Honmour. The last two, maces in hand, tried to narrow the gap between them and Tera. Their metal armor, however, taxed their mounts, making pursuit more difficult. The alley narrowed for a few hundred yards, forcing the horses to run single file. Tera huddled protectively over her child, clinging onto the terrified horse as it sprinted toward the safety of the castle.

  Perversions leapt the alleys only two streets north of him. His chest shimmered in the setting sun from his bleeding neck wound. He didn’t have much time.

  Have to add this to the list of things not to tell Master Taneth, he thought. He swung his bow into his hands, notched an arrow, and ground to a halt. Taking quick aim, he sent a feathered shaft into the alleyway toward the lead Perversion, its armor glistening in the light of the setting sun.

  He did not aim for the Perversion.

  The arrow sank into the horse’s left foreleg, causing the animal to shriek in pain and tumble to the ground. The narrow alley forced the next Perversion to try and leap over his comrade. He failed miserably, and they both hit the ground hard, bones crunching between a thousand pounds of spinning horse flesh.

  That’s why I don’t like horses! he thought proudly.

  An animalistic howl tore Kaltor’s attention from the triumphant scene. Two Perversions sailed onto the rooftop, stone cracking beneath their weight. Just as a third leapt into the air, Kaltor released his bowstring.

  The last Perversion, wearing thick plate armor, took the arrow in the helm. It did not do any direct damage, but it disoriented him enough to ruin his trajectory as he jumped. With a cry of frustration he sank out of sight. A wave of dizziness toyed with Kaltor’s senses.

  My neck wound, he realized. How much blood have I lost? It mattered little how strong a Varadour’s powers were if he lacked enough blood pressure to carry it to the needed parts of the body.

  The other two Perversions grinned hungrily as their eyes followed the blood running down his chest and leg. They wore simple shirts and tunics, their daggers flashing in the light of the setting sun, agility their strongest weapon and protection.

  They rushed forward as Kaltor notched another arrow, firing it into the ground in between him and the attacker on the right, a bulky creature with no neck to speak of. The arrow ricocheted upward, forcing the Perversion to roll aside or be perforated.

  The left one, black veins on his forehead forming an odd ‘X’ shape, rushed him. Kaltor hurled the bow at his attacker. The Perversion beat the weapon aside and leapt forward, eyes so intent on Kaltor’s left hand reaching for his dagger that he failed to recognize the feint.

  Kaltor’s right hand yanked a dozen arrow shafts from his quiver, and he beat a tangle of sharpened arrowheads deeply into the X-veined Perversion’s face. The creature’s shock lasted long enough for Kaltor to knock him off balance and slash his forearm as he rolled aside.

  The stocky Perversion on the right was already there, forcing Kaltor to use his arrows like a club just to keep him a safe distance away. His vision blurred and his legs wobbled unsteadily.

  His final opponent glanced at his friend, already stumbling from Selene’s venom. He eyed the arrows and dagger angrily, all dripping in his comrade’s blood, unsure which one held the poison.

  A flash of air-born steel announced the X-veined Perversion’s last attempt at victory before succumbing to the venom. His dagger sliced Kaltor’s cheek open as he spun away from the last Perversion rushing him from the side. This creature caught the arrows by the shaft, grinning viciously as he snapped them in two, plunging his dagger forward with his other hand.

  Grunting at the assault, Kaltor parried the blade and stepped back, losing ground. Relying on his long reach and thick muscles, the Perversion toyed with him. First it tried to catch hold with one hand and impale him with the other. Then it backed up a bit, just waiting for him to pass out.

  Out of time, in more ways than one. He glanced toward the setting sun. He tried something a bit more desperate.

  He spit directly into the Perversion’s left eye.

  The attacker recoiled, wasting a valuable second blinking the unwanted juices from his eye as the Battleborn hurled broken arrow shafts into the creature’s face with a smooth, underhand throw.
It tried to wave aside the attack with one arm, momentarily blinded as it stabbed desperately with the other hand.

  Catching the last Perversion by the wrist, Kaltor jerked his foe off balance and threw all his body weight to the rooftop. Cold, rough stone ground into his back as he wrapped his legs around his victim’s chest and neck, holding his dagger arm fully extended, thumb upward. Throwing his hips upward, he locked the creature’s elbow tightly into a "bar," pushing it so hard that the joint snapped out of place with a satisfying crack.

  Even as his opponent gasped in agony, blinding pain shot through Kaltor’s leg. The Perversion stabbed again and again with one of Kaltor’s broken arrow shafts. It was the only part of the Battleborn the creature could reach. He dug viciously, trying to sever his opponent’s leg muscles completely.

  Kaltor’s right hand still tightly clasped around the Perversion’s dagger hand, he reclaimed his dagger with his left, sat up, and buried it in the creature’s chest. The thick muscled Perversion died in convulsing spasms, Selene’s venom forcing it to curl into the fetal position during its heart’s final moments of function.

  Varadour energy rushed through Kaltor’s leg, assessing the damage.

  Half the muscles in his upper leg were torn. Combat was not an option at the moment, but he could still walk, maybe. Pulling a wad of cloth from his belt, he wrapped the wound tight, relaxing a little bit as the herbs weaved into the cloth took effect.

  The bleeding in his neck finally ceased. Horns continued to sound to the north, accompanied by the faint screams of battle. Sounds like Dad’s men got involved after all, he thought, smiling triumphantly. The Stunts probably made it, then.

  Another pair of boots hit the roof hard, sending Kaltor scrambling to his feet, only to fall back onto his side as his battered leg buckled. "Sir!" one of the Stunts said, rushing to his side, "We’ve got to go, are you well enough to travel?"

  Grinning in relief at the welcome company, he nodded. "Help me with this leg and we can move."

  Their combined wills, each taking the broken muscles on one end of the leg, surged through the muscle fibers, growing them back together. The work was not perfect by any means, or even good. The shoddy craftsmanship would have to be cleaned later that evening before the body started growing muscles into a knot around the wound.

  Given the current situation, however, they were left with no other option. They were too far from the safety of the castle walls to risk hobbling down the open street.

  "Did Honmour make it?" Kaltor asked.

  "I believe so, sir," the Stunt replied. "I was almost to the wall when I saw him arrive and you fighting on the rooftops. I believe a large crowd has gathered behind the gate for the execution," Kaltor sighed, sitting up. I wish we could have found a way to prevent that, he thought mournfully.

  "Did any other refugees make it?" he asked. A sudden wave of dizziness forced him to lean forward, putting both hands on the ground for support. Almost ran out of blood there, he realized.

  The Stunt put his hand to Kaltor’s shoulder, sending a tentative wave of healing energy through his chest. "I saw a few small groups heading for the east gate as I passed. But there weren’t many. Perhaps more arrived at the main gate," he said hopefully.

  Grimacing against the pain, Kaltor rolled to his feet, putting his weight on the Stunt’s shoulder as he tested out the muscles in his leg. This is going to hurt a lot, he thought with a gulp. We just literally tied my muscles in a knot for this.

  "What’s your name?" Kaltor asked.

  The Stunt looked at him in surprise, suddenly looking very nervous as he recognized the rite of passage. He looked down at the ground and muttered sheepishly, "Talen."

  "Let’s get out of here, Talen," Kaltor said. "We’ve got to help Honmour postpone an execution."

  "As you wish, sir."

  After I kill him, of course, Kaltor thought vengefully.