Belly of the Beast

by Warren Thomas

  No.

  Nizar started, even as the zombies fell to their knees. Who had said that? Could it be...?

  Yes, it is I, Dakar said into his mind. I have a trap already set for Tane Kyleson and his companions. You are to continue harassing them toward my trap.

  “But I can capture them tonight, while they sleep,” Nizar said.

  Perhaps. But it is too important to chance. And it is My will that you do as I say.

  That final statement had the sound of a command.

  “Your will is my command, Divine Master,” Nizar said, dropping to his knees. Cold moisture immediately saturated his knees and lower legs. He fought the feelings of discomfort, now knowing for sure that Dakar could read his mind from afar. “Do You wish for me to just keep pace with Tane Kyleson?”

  No, Dakar said, sounding satisfied. I want you to attack tonight as planned, just give them an opening to escape southward. And then hounded them day in and day out. Give them no rest. I await them at a river to your south.

  “As you command, Divine Master,” Nizar said, bowing his head.

  The faint feel of Dakar in the back of his mind faded without another word. Nizar waited another moment, to be sure, and then lifted his head to regard the assembled zombies. They were staring back at him, blank-eyed as usual. Nizar smiled at them, a glint in his dark eyes.

  Dakar had sounded pleased with him. So even if he didn’t personally capture the swordsmith, Nizar was confident he would benefit handsomely by Tane Kyleson’s capture.

  “You heard our Divine Master,” Nizar said. “In one hour we move out. That will allow us to attack them before they bed down. And we will not give them a moment’s rest after that.”

  Chapter 51

  Quinn paused, listening. The forest sounded wrong. Or more precisely, it “felt” different. It already sounded wrong, subdued, as if all the animals were hesitant to make themselves known. But now everything seemed more tense. The animals felt the danger more keenly than humans, or even the elves, and appeared to have gone to ground.

  “Not a bad idea,” Quinn muttered, unable to determine if the threat he felt was real or the product of nerves.

  Before he could turn toward camp, he heard a distant rustling of leaves. Sliding off the faint game trail, he eased through the undergrowth toward the sound. Within minutes he saw movement. A small group of men crossed a clearing, with the faint light of the cloudy night just allowing Quinn to make out who and what they were.

  Zombies.

  Sweet Mother of us all, he thought, watching the shuffling gait of the men and women. They’re heading south, toward our camp.

  Then he caught sight of a man walking differently than the others as he crossed the clearing. His confident stride and gray robes marked him as a free-minded priest. Then Quinn noted the turban and veil of grey cloth.

  Impossible! He’s the one who attacked us that first night. There’s no way he could’ve followed us. I personally covered our trail.

  Impossible or not, the priest and his zombies looked to have a destination in mind. Quinn was confident he knew where they were headed, so eased away through the night shadows. Once he was far enough away not to be heard by human ears, he found a game trail and took off at the ground-eating trot elves were known for.

  ~**~**~

  Tane finished picking the sticks and stones out of the pile of leaves that was to be his bed and turned at Raven’s return. She held six small tubers and an armload of pecans.

  “Ah, dinner,” Armin said, rising to his feet to greet her. “And finally something beside nuts and berries.”

  They all gathered together in a circle as she dumped their dinner on the ground. Raven quickly divided everything up, setting Quinn’s portion aside as well. Then she added the extra tuber to Quinn’s portion.

  “He deserves more,” she said. “He’s running twice as hard, twice as long as the rest of us.”

  No one disagreed. In truth, Tane was feeling a bit guilty. He was more than willing, as were the others, to share in the work. But Quinn insisted, and his superior woodcraft and physical endurance was impossible to argue with. No one, not even the Vikon ahorse, could come close to doing the job Quinn was doing.

  After rubbing off the remaining dirt, Tane took his belt knife and cut off a mouth-sized chunk from the tuber. It was cold, crisp, with good flavor. It was good fare, that he’d eaten raw all his life, and would give him the strength for another day. The Gods only knew when they’d have anything as nourishing again.

  “Joelle, can you use your magic to see if any zombies are close?” Raven said, eyeing her tuber distastefully. “I just need enough time to get a fire started and burn it down to hot coals. We can then bake the tubers.”

  Joelle considered a moment.

  “No. They are enchanted by a God who is hiding them from magical probing,” she said. “Like your sword hides you from magic.” Raven looked crestfallen. For a second Tane thought she was going to add her own tuber to Quinn’s dinner. Joelle continued, “But I may be able to do something almost as good.”

  She held her own potato in both hands and began a low chant. Tane felt the fine hairs of his arms and nape rise with the staticlike feel of magic. Raven made a sign against evil, watching the witch with wary interest. After a long moment Joelle’s hands began to glow faintly.

  In less than a dozen heartbeats, Joelle’s eyes suddenly widened and she tossed the potato to the ground. She began blowing on her hands and rubbing them together.

  “It’s hot!” Raven cried, after hesitantly poking the potato with one finger.

  “It’s cooked,” Joelle amended.

  Joelle plucked the steaming potato from the damp leaves and traded it for Tane’s. Tane thanked her and quickly cut it open, and was surprised to see a plume of steam burst out. All the while, Joelle was busy “cooking” the next potato. The second one she offered to Raven.

  Raven’s eyes went wide and her body tensed. Tane saw a dozen emotions war across her face, finally settling into that of hunger. Handing her raw potato over, she accepted the cooked one with an embarrassed smile.

  “Thank you,” Raven said.

  Before Tane could turn back to his meal, the sound of a twig breaking came to him. By the time he lifted his eyes to the dark forest both Vikon and Raven were on their feet with swords presented. The next instant saw Quinn burst out of the gloom.

  “Quinn! How dare you scare us like that!” Raven cried.

  “No time to explain,” Quinn gasped out. It was the most exhausted they had seen him so far. All eyes turned back north, peering intently into the night forest he had emerged from. “The priest that attacked us outside of Kestsax in closing on us with zombies.”

  “Grab your food,” Joelle said as they all turned south to leave. “We can eat as we go. We need the energy more than ever now.”

  “Here,” Tane said, pushing his cooked potato into Quinn’s hands.

  Raven tossed Tane one of Quinn’s raw potatoes, then took one for herself. She also gave her cooked potato to Quinn, who was still looking around for the fire.

  “Armin, take the point,” Tane said. “Raven, bring up the rear.”

  “No, I should be rear guard,” Quinn said.

  “No,” Tane said. “I want you to tell me everything you saw. Then after you rest up, it might be prudent if you scouted out our route, to ensure we don’t stumble into more zombies in our haste.”

  Seeing that Quinn was bowing to his logic, Tane nodded to Armin. The Vikon warrior turned without question and slipped into the night shadows. Tane, Quinn, and Joelle followed after a dozen heartbeats. Raven waited another dozen heartbeats and followed.

  Chapter 52

  Cold air burned in Tane’s lungs, and stabbing pain lanced through his rib cage with every step. Tane’s legs felt leaden, as did his arms. It took a supreme effort to hold onto his sword.

  “I can’t go much further,” Tane gasped.

  He could hear the zombies pursuing them now. They made a
God-awful racket. The sun was just rising behind the oppressive cloud cover, giving him just enough light to make out movement. They were closing on them from the rear and both side.

  “You don’t have to,” Joelle said, just as breathless. “We’ve reached the river.”

  Armin had just started down a game trail dropping into the river’s flood plain. The way was so steep he was forced to scramble down in a three point gait. The dense undergrowth forced him to duck under much of it, and bull his way through other spots. Very quickly the Vikon warrior disappeared into the brush. Tane considered sheathing Bearclaw, since it would be easier and faster moving on all fours, but the zombies were too close.

  Despite Joelle’s words, the thought of the swim across the river didn’t make Tane feel any safer. Indeed, it did just the opposite. He could see no way he could swim twenty feet in his condition, much less swim across a river in near freezing conditions. He grew up on a river, and well knew how quickly cold water sapped a man’s strength and will to survive.

  Glancing back, he saw Raven pause long enough to slash a zombie, and then gut stab another. Battle joy flashed across her flushed face. She quickly sprinted toward him when seven other zombies closed on her. Like himself and Joelle, Raven looked to be at the end of her endurance.

  A brief flash of gray robes to Raven’s rear stiffened Tane’s resolve. He couldn’t surrender to the likes of Dakar’s priests. They would turn him into a zombie, and Kamain’s will would not come to pass. He was Kamain’s sword in the world. His sword against evil.

  Then he saw several zombies break cover to Raven’s far left. All looked just as exhausted as he felt. Zombies might be tenacious, but they didn’t possess superhuman endurance or traits. They still had a chance.

  “Watch to your left, Raven!” Tane called, and headed for the game trail.

  As he reached the spot that Armin had vanished from sight, Tane wondered how Quinn was faring, and where exactly his friend was. He prayed he was waiting for them at the river.

  ~**~**~

  Nizar felt the pull of Tane’s presence intensely. The early morning gloom and mist was blocking his view, but the enchantment the swordsmith carried kept them magically tethered. Also, even a city born and bred man like himself couldn’t possibly mistake the sounds of flight directly in front of him, and so close.

  “Dakar be praised!” Nizar said, catching a glimpse of the black-haired harlot. She stopped long enough to dispatch a pair of his zombies, then darted into the darkness. “After her! Take her alive! I want her for the altar!”

  Such approval of him flowed from Dakar’s mental link. Nizar slowed his pace to bask in it a moment. He hardly felt his own exhaustion, or any of the countless cuts and scratches covering his face, neck and hands. He didn’t even care that he lost his veil and turban hours ago, and that his nose, mouth and hair was exposed for the world to behold. Nothing mattered but pleasing his Divine Master.

  A group of zombies to his left answered his call, veering off to intercept the harlot. He would drag the swordsmith and his comrades down one by one. Tane Kyleson would be given to Dakar, while the other four would make a fine feast of souls. He would personally wield the knife that joyous night.

  Wanting to see when the harlot was finally dragged down, he pushed himself to his limits and ran wildly through the forests. More zombies to his right were closing in on her as well.

  First the harlot, then the witch, he thought, ducking under a low branch. The sound of water in the near distance came to him on the frigid, pre-dawn air. Until that moment he hadn’t realized they had reached the river where Dakar’s host waited in ambush. At last, victory!

  ~**~**~

  “Bastard!” Raven cried, slashing a zombie’s throat. Turning to run, she shouted, “Ashtar! Ashtar! Ashtar!”

  Three more zombies appeared to her right, all wielding cudgels. Something was wrong, though. It took a moment, but the realization shocked her to the core. These were not the zombies pursuing them. They were fresh, and waiting for them in cover.

  “Trap!” she cried. “Ambush!”

  Too late. The others had already committed themselves to the river and were out of sight. Suddenly, she was too pressed to care or worry. The cudgel wielding trio was upon her.

  She opened the old man’s belly with Tasheba, then slashed the woman to his right across the face. The zombie woman wasn’t fazed by the grievous wound, and brought her cudgel down on Raven’s left knee before the Tyrian warrior could recover.

  “Aiii! Bitch!” Raven cried, falling back.

  Her left leg wouldn’t hold much weight. She backed up against a large pine and prepared to die. When the zombie woman made a clumsy attempt at her head, Raven slashed away the tendons behind her right knee and shoved her away. The third zombie jumped over his crippled companion, swinging his cudgel with all his strength.

  Ducking beneath the blow, Raven fleshed Tasheba in his throat, and with a flick of the wrist cut open the jugular and windpipe. A sound to her rear alerted her to more zombies. Ducking saved her skull from being crushed. Instead, the zombie left himself open to her sword.

  Suddenly, her pain and exhaustion left her. Raven felt her belly tingle with the ecstasy of battle. Every sense was alert, ready. The knee was stronger now, the pain muted by battle fever. The zombies all seemed to be moving in slow motion, giving her plenty of time to see their attacks and counter them.

  “Ashtar! Ashtar! Ashtar!”

  Never had she known such joy in battle. Finally, she was fighting the good fight. She wasn’t striking down some wretched sailor or soldier of Brajar, in an unsatisfactory attempt to punish his king for humiliating her so terribly. And she wasn’t killing some hapless bravo, hired to guard some merchant’s hoarded wealth, just because she was bored and needed something “dangerous” to amuse her. She was fighting for her Goddess, for all the people of the world.

  “Look at me, Ashtar! Killing Your enemies!” she cried to the heavens, exultant. “Ashtar, I love you!”

  Tasheba flashing in the dim light, Raven charged a trio of zombies emerging from the darkness. One of them managed to put up a respectable fight before she dispatched him. But a dozen more zombies replaced him, thrilling her beyond description.

  What glory I’ll know! she thought, eyes flashing emerald fire. I’ll go before Ashtar, my head high, covered in the blood of my...Her...no, Our! enemies!

  The thought made her giddy. Such an honor, and no less than she deserved. But...what about Tane? And Quinn, and the Vikon?

  “Shining Gods, they’ll never make it without me,” she growled. What glory could she rightly expect if she failed her friends? “Tane’s dream says we all have to make it. Damn him!”

  Suddenly, all the zombies surrounding her stopped in their tracks. What was wrong? Was it a trap? Were they going to try and take her alive? The thought terrified her. Raven spun around, glaring at them with wild eyes through tousled hair. The zombie at her feet had come out of his zombie trance, clutching at his entrails as he sobbed the last of his life away.

  “Shining Gods!” Raven gasped, throat tight and eyes burning. Dakar was a monster. She hated the way the zombies came to their senses when given a mortal wound. Their suffering and anguish probably fed some sinister power of Dakar. And she hated how their death and suffering made her feel dirty, like a murderer, when it wasn’t her fault. “Ashtar, I beg you to tend their souls.”

  Pounding feet behind her brought Raven around. A priest of Dakar ran up, black eyes afire in victory. Her hate flared up at the sight of him, then...

  “I know you!” Raven cried. “From the tavern and... Gods!”

  He said, “Remember, harlot!”

  For the first time, she remembered all that had happened that night in the tavern. Horror at what she had done erupted within her. Snarling, she tightened her grip on Tasheba and prepared to launch herself upon the leering cleric.

  “Don’t move!” Nizar command.

  Raven gasped, her body frozen in plac
e and violently trembling. Tasheba suddenly burned in her grasp. The sword had never done that before.

  He’s using God Magic to bewitch me! she thought, wild-eyed. Tasheba was fighting the priest’s magic, but some of it was still making it past the sword’s protection. The enchantment was never intended to thwart God Magic. Ashtar! Save me!

  “Give me the sword,” Nizar said, holding out his hand.

  Raven straightened before him and took a step forward, Tasheba held out. She couldn’t believe what she was doing. Tasheba was supposed to protect her from magical attack, and if that wasn’t an attack she didn’t know what was.

  “No!” she growled, gaining a small measure of self-control. Her muscles burned with effort, but she gritted her teeth and held on. “I will not surrender to the likes of you.”

  “Give it to me, harlot,” Nizar snapped, thrusting out his open hand.

  His magic rushed over her, drowning her in arcane power. She wanted to obey. She needed to obey, but knew she must not. But he was too strong.

  Her feet moved toward the priest of their own volition, despite her frantic attempt to halt them. Visions of her recently escaped slavery leapt into Raven’s mind. Her mindless obedience to her former masters and trainers mocked her as she stepped closer and closer. He had the same self-satisfied smile the men and women who twisted and perverted her innermost self had worn, day in and day out.

  Ashtar, don’t let this happen to me again! she cried silently, now unable to voice her thoughts. The priest reached out and grasped Tasheba, his black eyes bright in victory. My Goddess, I love you! Please don’t desert me!

  Raven felt tears roll down her cheeks as he pulled Tasheba from her grasp. He regarded her a moment with terrible eyes, obviously well-pleased with himself. It sickened her to see Tasheba in his grasp, now his sword.