She slid the stone into her armour as a keepsake and turned to face the rest of the crew. ‘I trust everyone was sufficiently entertained? Good. It’s time to go.’ She gestured towards the front of the bay, where slaves waited on the gantries above and around the webway portal. At her signal the portal was activated, flashing with a familiar eerie aura, and the omnipresent hum increased in volume and resonance.
A warning klaxon sounded, and the last of those taking part in the initial raid hurriedly clambered aboard their vessels. Myrta watched impatiently as almost a dozen Sslyth glided onto the deck of her Raider, clutching their weapons and bobbing their wedge-shaped heads in excitement. They hissed among themselves, seemingly eager for what was to come. Besides Sleg, she didn’t trust them. Come to that, she didn’t trust Sleg either.
Despite that, she couldn’t deny that having the ophidian mercenaries nearby made her feel somewhat better. It wasn’t likely that someone would try to take vengeance for Kakaroth’s death, especially during a raid, but that didn’t mean it was impossible. Someone might have been fond of her, improbable as that was.
There was a sound like stone splitting, and the webway portal crackled with emerald energies. Lightning crossed the surface, and the flat plane of stone became like black glass. The surface turned cloudy, and a cold, alien wind raced through the bay. Distant thunder rumbled, echoing out from the deep places between the stars.
Myrta turned and signalled to the helmsman, who gave a shout. The ethersails unfolded with a hollow thump. The repulsor keelblade activated and the Raider rose from its berth as the anchoring clamps released, ready to enter the gateway.
She closed her eyes, enjoying the growing impatience of the nearby warriors. For a moment – just a moment – she wondered why she didn’t simply commandeer the Raider and slip away, deep into the webway. Sliscus wouldn’t search for her, of that she was certain. But where would she go? As a slave, she had purpose, at least. Without it, she was nothing. She extended her sword.
‘Forward,’ she said. The Raider slipped from its berth with a fervent moan and dived towards the portal. In its wake came the others, accompanied by Venoms and jetbikes. The first of many.
Sliscus was right. It would be a hunt to remember.
Chapter Ten
STORIES IN THE DARK
641.M41
Breath puffed out from between Dag’s teeth, forming a warm halo about his narrow skull. The Blood Claw stalked through the knee-high snows of the forest, following the path laid out before him. It was the easiest thing to do when you didn’t know what needed doing. He frowned, trying to recall where he had learned that saying. Vague faces and familiar voices slipped through his mental clutches like melting ice.
All he remembered of the boy he had been was the faintest impressions. Vague sensations of hard stone against soft flesh. Heat washing over unprotected skin. The taste of warm mead and the hum of insects. He held tightly to those memories, using them as a whetstone to sharpen himself into something new.
He couldn’t remember what he had been, and wasn’t yet certain of what he would become. He was a ghost of future glories. The thought fled as someone shoved him. Reverie broken, he glanced at Kadir. The tall warrior grinned. ‘Pay attention, or you’ll lose yourself in the forest.’
Dag showed his teeth. ‘If it gets me away from Halvar’s stink, it’s worth it.’
Halvar grunted discontentedly. ‘My stink, as you call it, is the only thing keeping the night-devils from swooping down on us.’ He lifted one of his many amulets and shook it. ‘You’re welcome.’
‘The only devil out here is the Jackalwolf,’ Ake snarled, shoving past Halvar. ‘And it’s already too late to escape him.’
Dag ignored his grumbling and searched the trail ahead. Through the swirling snows he could see Lukas forging the path they followed. It was hard to separate the reality of Lukas from the legend. The longest-surviving Blood Claw. The greatest of them, and the worst, with all that entailed. Dag couldn’t help but admire him.
Granted, there might be some bias there. When the kraken dragged him beneath the ice during the hunt in the Underfang it was Lukas who fished him out. He had been closer to death in that moment than he liked to think. And not a good death, or even an especially worthy one. Being crushed into paste by the rubbery coils of a beast was no sort of ending for his saga, short as it was. Luckily, Lukas had been there to tear him free.
He recalled those moments of… not panic, but as close as a warrior of the Rout could come. The crushing dark, the breath escaping his straining lungs, forced out of him by the kraken’s strength. And that snapping maw, large enough to devour him whole. The fact that something actually wanted to eat him had been eye-opening, to say the least. It had given him a whole new perspective on things. For a few moments, at least. Then, a slash of light and a brief glimpse of a grinning face as he struggled to the surface.
Dag watched Lukas, trying to see him clearly through the distortion effect of the doppelgangrel pelt he wore. Up close, the oily furs smelled worse than Halvar after a training bout, but Lukas didn’t seem to mind. He moved with a rough grace through the snow, face set in a half-grin.
‘I can’t tell what he’s thinking,’ Ake muttered. Dag glanced at his fellow Blood Claw. Ake’s scarred face was pulled tight in a puzzled frown.
‘I don’t think he knows either.’ Dag tapped the side of his head. ‘Too many thoughts. They get all tangled up.’
‘Something you’ll never have to worry about.’ Ake looked around, squinting against the icy wind. ‘We could be drinking mjod and telling lies. Instead, we’re stuck out here in the thrice-damned dark.’
‘You didn’t have to come, you know,’ Dag growled, annoyed now. ‘You could have stayed in the warm if it was so important to you.’
‘Are you calling me a coward?’ Ake demanded. Dag was fairly certain he wasn’t, but it didn’t matter. The kill-urge was closer to the surface in Ake than in Dag or the others. Few days went by without him using some pretext to throw a punch at one of his packmates.
Dag looked at him. He tried to think of a clever way to avoid what was coming next. Nothing came to mind. He sighed inwardly. ‘No?’ he tried.
‘That’s it! I’ve had enough of you, skull-face.’ Ake turned and crashed into him, bearing him backwards. The two Blood Claws slammed into a frost-covered tree, shaking the snow from its branches. The tree, already weakened by the storm, snapped in half, and they rolled through a hail of broken bark and splinters. Ake was shorter, but stronger. Dag tried to put some distance between them, but Ake was tenacious. At least he hadn’t gone for his weapons this time.
They traded blows for a few moments, but there was no joy in it. Ake was angry, and Dag wasn’t in the mood to fight. ‘Get off me,’ he roared, trying to break away. Ake slugged him and he pitched backwards, crashing against the ground.
Halvar dived at Ake, trying to catch his arms as he made to rise, but Ake’s blood was up and he wasn’t in the mood to go quietly. He turned, still kneeling, and drove a blow into Halvar’s midsection, doubling him over.
Einar didn’t bother with niceties. He booted Ake in the face before he could rise. As Ake flopped back, cursing, Einar snatched up a branch and broke it over his bare head. Even then, Ake refused to calm himself. He lunged awkwardly for Einar, hands groping for the other Blood Claw’s throat.
Kadir intervened then. He caught Ake by the throat and pivoted, tossing the angry warrior over his hip. Before Ake could rise, Kadir planted a boot on the back of his head and ground his face into the snow. Ake flailed, trying to get up. After a few moments, Kadir stepped back, and Ake popped up, spluttering. ‘You…’ he began, clumps of snow sliding from his flushed features.
Kadir dropped to his haunches. ‘Me. You can calm down, or we can keep feeding you snow. It’s your choice.’
Ake growled, but looked away. Kadir snorted and helped
Dag to his feet. ‘You shouldn’t have provoked him,’ he said.
‘Just as soon as someone tells me how to avoid doing that.’ Dag looked up and saw a string of ice-covered skulls hanging from a branch overhead. The bones clattered in the wind, looking for all the world like they were laughing.
Halvar cursed and made a gesture. ‘Death-markers. This is cursed ground.’ Dag’s fingers instinctively found the necklace of teeth he wore about his neck. All of them had been inscribed with warding sigils to keep Morkai from scenting his soul. Halvar wasn’t the only one who found comfort in such things.
‘So?’ Ake said derisively. ‘We are beyond death or curses.’
Halvar glared at him. ‘Morkai comes for us all. No warrior escapes him forever.’
‘Then why try to ward him off with your superstitious gestures?’ Ake laughed. He spread his arms and turned. ‘Come and get me, you two-headed bastard!’ He slammed his fists against his chest. ‘Here I am. Try to take me, if you dare!’
Dag shook his head and looked up at the skulls. There were others, nailed low on the trunks of almost every tree or hanging from branches. Many of the skulls were marked with runes – warnings, mostly.
Ake was still yelling at the storm, despite Halvar’s protestations. ‘I challenge you, Morkai. You hear me?’
Out in the dark, something answered him. The howl quavered through the trees, momentarily drowning out the rustling of the bones. Ake gaped for a moment before grinning in excitement. He threw his head back and howled in response. More howls joined the first, and there was a definite challenge in the sound.
‘Blackmanes,’ Einar said.
‘How can you tell?’ Dag asked. Einar shrugged.
‘They say Blackmanes serve Morkai,’ Halvar said, his hand dropping to the hilt of his blade. He shot a glare at Ake. ‘Perhaps he has decided to answer your challenge, fool.’
‘Good. Let them come. I am ready.’ Ake set himself and made to draw his chainblade.
‘I doubt that.’
Lukas’ voice echoed through the trees. Dag turned to see him watching them. The Trickster grinned and said, ‘Some of those Blackmanes get as big as a Rhino. They’ve got a bite like an ice-shark. Bigger head, you see.’ He gestured to his own head for emphasis. ‘Bigger jaw muscles. Their teeth can puncture ceramite if they’re in the right mood.’ He shrugged. ‘Or so I hear. Never been stupid enough to challenge one myself.’ He reached up and tapped a dangling skull with his wolf claw. ‘Maybe you know something I don’t, Ake.’
‘Maybe I do,’ Ake growled, lifting his chin pugnaciously.
Lukas’ smile widened. ‘Then by all means, show me.’ The howl sounded again, ricocheting through the trees. It seemed to echo from all around them. The storm made it impossible to tell which direction the sound was coming from, or how close its originators were. Dag turned. He thought he had spotted eyes as big as a storm shield, blazing in the dark. The wolves might already be on them. For a brief moment, he wished he had kept his helmet on. Sometimes his battle-plate’s autosenses came in handy.
The howls grew louder. Halvar had drawn his own blade, as had Kadir. ‘They probably think we’re a rival pack, intruding on their territory,’ Lukas said as he sank to his haunches. ‘They’ll be looking to drive us off.’
‘You don’t seem worried,’ Ake said.
‘Because I have a wisdom that comes only with experience. I know exactly what to do in this sort of situation.’ His grin was feral. ‘I’m going to run while they’re busy eating you.’ He rose and moved off through the trees.
Ake stared after him, momentarily nonplussed. Suddenly, Einar laughed. The heavy-set Blood Claw swatted Ake on the shoulder, nearly knocking him from his feet. Then he started after Lukas. Kadir chuckled. ‘He has the right idea. If you want to fight starving wolves to prove your own strength, go right ahead, Ake. But you’ll do it without me.’
Halvar sheathed his blade. ‘You called this doom down. Deal with it yourself.’ He turned away, glancing at Dag, who shrugged and followed after his fellow Blood Claws.
‘Cowards!’
Einar made a rude gesture over his shoulder. Dag and the others laughed.
‘We’re a pack,’ Ake shouted.
‘And the pack is leaving, brother,’ Kadir called out.
‘Cowards,’ Ake snarled again.
‘Is that the only word you know?’ Halvar shouted back.
After a few moments, Dag heard Ake hurrying after them, cursing the entire time.
The howls faded after a while. Whether they had left the Blackmanes’ territory or the beasts themselves had only been passing through, Lukas didn’t know. Nor did he care. So long as the wolves kept their distance, he was content to leave them be. The wolves had more right to these forests than they did.
And wonder of wonders, Ake kept his grumbling to himself, for which Lukas was thankful. The Blood Claw had more courage than brains. He glanced back at the young warrior and chuckled. ‘He’s a fierce one.’
‘Too fierce,’ Kadir said. He had been quiet for several days, rarely speaking save when spoken to. Lukas wasn’t worried. Kadir was a thinker, unlike the others. ‘Ake seems to be spoiling for a fight at the best of times.’
Lukas shrugged. ‘The kill-urge is strong in him.’
‘I feel it too. But not like him.’ Kadir shook his head and swiped snow from his shoulder-plates. ‘Where are you leading us, Trickster? You said you knew these lands.’
‘And I do. Don’t you trust me?’
‘No,’ Kadir said with a smile. ‘Where are we going?’
Lukas laughed, and pointed. ‘See for yourself. We’re here.’
The trees thinned, revealing what looked to be a tumbledown pile of stones. As they drew nearer, it revealed itself to be far larger than it had first appeared. It was half buried in snow and rimed with ice, a heavy, crude archway composed of a long slab balanced atop two others of similar size and mass.
‘What is this?’ Kadir asked.
‘It’s a barrow,’ Lukas said, ducking beneath the archway.
‘I can see that. I’m not blind.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Lukas said as he followed the tight curve of the passageway beyond. Though it was all but pitch black within, his enhanced senses would have shown him the way easily enough if his memory hadn’t. ‘Come in, if you’d like to get out of the weather. Make yourselves at home.’
‘I meant, why have you led us here?’ Kadir demanded, stooping beneath the archway. The smell of dry stone and earth greeted Lukas as he went deeper into the barrow. A half-turn led him into a wide, sloping chamber. The space was circular in design and built of solidly piled stone beneath its shroud of concealing soil. He stroked the wall. They had built it to last, those ancient folk. Even with the whole world against them, they had made sure their resting places would survive where other structures might not.
‘Are you sure you’re not blind?’ Lukas called out. He leapt up onto one of the flat slabs that occupied the centre of the chamber. They were laid out in curious fashion, at wrong angles to one another as if placed in some haste. Some were mostly sunk beneath the ground, while others rested atop it. All of them were marked with worn runes and pictographs.
Barrows, cairns and tombs of all types dotted the lowlands. All of them were marked with runes telling the history and deeds of those interred within. Great lords and heroes, for the most part. Though this one, with its markings scoured flat by time and wear, didn’t seem to identify the resting place of anyone Lukas had ever heard of.
‘Was this a king’s grave?’ Kadir asked.
Lukas laughed. ‘No, not a king, I think. Some Reaver lord, maybe. Or someone worse. There were runes of binding on the outer walls, before they cracked off from age and tectonic stress.’
Halvar cast a wary glance around as he entered, muttering beneath his breath. ‘Runes of bi
nding are not for the graves of men. Not good ones, at any rate.’
‘Whoever they were, they’re nothing but dust now,’ Lukas said. ‘And no worry to the likes of us.’ He reclined on a flat rock. ‘I have laired here before, the last time Goresson banished me. It’s dry enough. And the Jahtvians and the other local tribes have avoided it these past few decades, so there’s plenty of privacy.’ He placed his hands behind his head and lay flat on a slab.
Kadir lifted something from among the stones. ‘What’s this?’ Piles of crude jewellery, ceremonial weapons and armour lay scattered about in the dark, heaped up against the slabs.
‘Offerings,’ Lukas murmured, taking the beaded necklace from the Blood Claw. It was made from bits of gold and polished stones. Worth a chieftain’s ransom, to a mortal. He flicked it back onto a nearby pile and turned.
Kadir frowned. ‘Offerings? For whom?’
‘The dead,’ Ake said disapprovingly.
‘This place is cursed,’ Halvar began, but the others pelted him with loose stones and jewellery. ‘Well, it is,’ he insisted sullenly.
‘Not for us,’ Lukas said. ‘For us, it’s blessed. Move that stone.’ He pointed towards one of the slabs. Einar and Dag did as he ordered, and Ake hissed an oath as the ancient stone shifted and came up from its resting place with a groan.
‘Is that–’
‘Mjod,’ Dag whispered, peering around Kadir’s shoulder. ‘Kegs of it!’
‘Not quite the mjod you’re used to,’ Lukas said as the excited Blood Claws hauled the steel casks out of their hiding place. ‘My own recipe. Has a bit of a kick.’
Ake looked at him suspiciously. ‘What kind of kick?’
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