“Get the axes out, Arly. Go on foot. It’s too dark and nasty in there for the beasts. Cut us a path wide enough to run a wagon through if need be.” He pulled his leather gloves over his fingers. “Send our scouts in first. I don’t see any reason why we can’t sneak up on the old man.”
A dozen soldiers silently slid into the forest. Another dozen began hacking through the brush.
Crawley looked behind him. Nestled with their backs to the hills a hundred yards away, Ingrid waited with the citadel guardians. If she wants Finster so bad, she should send her own men in there.
Under torchlight, the soldiers began chopping through the woodland thickets. Saplings went down by the dozens. The laboring men were an hour into it when the torchlight vanished among leaves. Silence fell over the forest. A large object smashed through the branches. It landed with a thud at Crawley’s feet.
He leaned over his saddle and peered down. It was Arly. His face looked like it had been bashed in with a shovel. The neck was cut in a crude fashion. Another head crashed through the branches, followed by yet another. Crawley’s men’s eyes became bigger than saucers. Another head landed at their jumpy feet. It was mounted on the torch stick.
“Ryant!” Crawley called out. A burly man with wild hair and a beard, wearing a shirt of chain, stepped out of the ranks. “You’ve been promoted. Take a dozen men, stay close together, and get in there. If anything moves that’s not one of us, swing.”
***
Hunkered in the bush, Moth waited. A soldier crept among the trees. The man’s eyes zeroed in on Moth’s position. Sword in hand, the soldier hustled right toward him. Moth popped up. He jabbed the top of the shovel into the man’s throat. The man dropped like a blood-slick stone. A quick second stroke severed the head. He carried the dripping head along with the shovel slung over his shoulder. His keen eyes picked up every unnatural sound.
The soldiers’ breathing was loud. Their sweat gave them away. The soft scuffle of metal didn’t help their mission. They weren’t one with the land. They smelled of the vile city. Moth perched among the boulders, eyeballing a knot of men coming right at him as one. He greeted the first one by hurling the skull into the man’s face.
In the darkness, the fighters didn’t stand a chance against the savage giant. Moth smashed a scout in the head so hard the neck of the shovel snapped. His fist shattered a man’s jaw. His foot crushed one man’s chest. He snatched up one man and tossed him on top of two others. They chased, screamed, and stabbed. He filled his hands with their steel and killed, killed, and killed again. They fled with blood covering their frightened faces.
***
“It’s a demon.” Ryant carried a limping man with him. Only three of the twelve that had gone in came out again. The chopping of wood and brush had also fallen silent. “I swear it, Crawley! It strikes with the silence of a snake.”
Crawley unsheathed his sword. It was a well-crafted and heavy thing. The edge appeared sharp enough to split a hair. “It’s not a demon, Ryant. Those wounds come from mortal metal. Do you hear? Now, get over here!”
Ryant approached with his chin sunk into his chest.
Crawley split his skull. “The only thing in that forest is a man or two,” he said to the rest of the soldiers. “You can face them, or you can face me!”
“Is there a problem, Commander Crawley?” Ingrid stood on the other side of where he was talking. Her icy stare was fixed on the dark entrance to the forest. She was flanked by two of her guards.
“No, the men are just spooked is all. I believe that savage is in there. It’s not a problem, I assure you.”
“That doesn’t sound very reassuring.” She stood in the wind and rain with the expression of an irritated goddess. She rolled her fingers. “He’s in there. I can sense it. Not alone, either.”
“It must be the barbarian, then. A strange alliance. We caught him once. We will catch or kill him again even if I have to do it myself.”
“Make it quick, Crawley. I’d hate to get my hands dirty over a simple matter like this.”
“Certainly. Save your energy. I’ll take care of it.”
“I’m waiting,” she said with a puckered brow.
Crawley dismounted. It was either go into the forest or piss off a woman who could turn him into dust. He grabbed a torch from a soldier. “Get those axes, and follow me.” He led another large group of men down the path they’d cut out already. At the end, five men lay dead in their own blood and guts. “You two, get to work. I’ll keep an eye on things.” He peered into the blackness. There was little he could do with all of the chopping and the torches ruining his night vision. He waited for the barbarian to strike.
A large stone flew out of nowhere and crushed a man’s skull. A second man was yanked back by a vine. His desperate gurgles ended in the blackness.
“Stand your ground!” Crawley ordered. “Keep chopping!” He ducked. A stone whistled over his head and clacked into a tree. “Aw, the hell with this.” He made a sharp whistle and hollered back down the path. “Turn loose the wolves! Let them dine on barbarians tonight.”
Huge, slavering dogs, five in all, came flying down the channel. They were Crawley’s special breed, part wolf and part bloodhound. The last thing he wanted to do was put them in harm’s way, but in the end, that was what they were bred for. The wolfhounds flew right by him, barking and howling. They vanished into the forest. “Follow those dogs!”
CHAPTER 16
Finster sat up. The occasional rustle had caught his ear, but now he heard dogs. He rubbed the Founder’s Stone between his thumb and finger. “I don’t know what it takes to ignite you, but if you indeed have a purpose, now would be the time to reveal it.”
Something frigid hung in the air. Ingrid was close. Her power alone disturbed the natural order. A magus could sense such things. It’s only a matter of time now. The end of my journey. He considered burying the stone and lying about it, but by that point, she surely would have come across the area he’d retrieved it from. She knows. She wouldn’t be here if she didn’t. I suspect she wanted to me to escape all along. The clever witch bested me. Curse my lusty eyes.
In the darkness, he searched for answers to how to use the stone. He’d spent years trying to master it with no luck. He was only given a taste of what the stone offered. It was Constance who’d mentioned the stone to him, and her mentor to her, and so on. Once, she’d said, “Extraordinary things work in unconventional ways. Even the cursed can aid you.”
“I suppose I could swallow it. Perhaps it would eat me from the inside out. I’d hate to give Ingrid the satisfaction of getting it.”
The barking grew louder.
Finster scooted farther into his nook. Something rubbed against his thigh. He reached into his robes and retrieved the jade scarab. Why not? He spewed out a fierce incantation. The beetle’s wings unfolded, revealing a dark-green crystal within that was the power source of his insidious creation. He replaced the crystal with the Founder’s Stone. The wings closed tight. The beetle pulsed in his hand. For the kingdom, I suppose. He attached the beetle to his back. Its claws dug in. Finster’s back arched. His forehead creased. Unbridled pain coursed through him. He bit his tongue instead of screaming.
***
Moth brained the first two wolfhounds with a woodsman’s axe. He drew a yelp from the third when he gave it a swift kick in the ribs. The other two ravenous dogs latched onto his forearms. The one he’d kicked jumped on his chest and bit his neck. Moth bear-hugged it. He bit the beast back. At the same time, he crushed the crying dog. Its neck snapped. Wild-eyed, he fought to shake the dogs off of his arms. Their slavering jaws were locked. Moth butted skulls with the one on his axe arm until it fell away.
Crawley and his men emerged from the grim forest. Brow furrowed, Crawley said, “You killed my dogs! You animal! I’ll make you pay!”
Moth managed to cock the hatchet back and release a clumsy swing.
Crawley’s sharp steel sliced Moth’s hand off at the middle of the forearm. Blood spewed from the sharp bone and meaty stump. “I ought to carve you to pieces myself! I’ll let the dogs have their revenge first! They’ll devour you bit by bit!”
The dogs forced Moth back into a tree.
Crawley inched forward. “I’m going to enjoy watching you bleed to death. You live like a savage, and you’ll die like one too.” He spit on Moth.
In a wink, Moth struck Crawley in the neck with the sharp bone protruding from his stump. The man’s eyes popped. His mouth gurgled. Moth jabbed Crawley again and again. He gouged holes in the stunned man’s neck and eyes. The commander hit his knees. Blood oozed down his face and neck. He teetered and died, pumping the last of his life’s blood onto the forest floor.
Moth bashed the dog that was still on his arm into a tree until its skull cracked. He slung it off, grabbed the other wolf by the nape, and eyed it. The dog whimpered. It slunk off the moment he dropped it. He picked up the torch and stuck his stump in the flame. His jaws clenched. Flesh burned. The stump cauterized, and the blood flow stopped. Bathed in sweat, Moth swayed. He set his broad back against the tree. His bloody chest was heaving.
The soldiers who’d fled returned minutes later. They snaked through the brush. This time, they came with spears. Moth leaned down and scooped up Crawley’s sword. Ten soldiers had him surrounded.
Then something clanked through the forest that caught everyone’s attention. A manlike form waded into the ring of warriors. The figure had spears for legs and a spine. The head was a pair of axes. The arms were swords. It moved with unnatural bends but with a determined purpose. The animated warrior made from wood and steel attacked.
The soldiers, jabbing spears, hit the mark in glancing blows. The magic automaton mowed them down with devastating sword strokes. The blades pierced chests and gouged throats with uncanny precision. The axe-blade head of the metal stickman split a skull with a head butt. The blades twirled. Bowels were spilled. Limbs were lost. Necks were detached from shoulders. Droplets of blood kissed the leaves like rain. After minutes of battling side by side with Moth, every soldier who’d entered the willowwacks lay dead.
Finster strolled through the brush. The whites of his eyes had the glow of the moon. He eyed the handiwork of his creation. He said to Moth, “There is a reason they call me Master of the Inanimate.” With a wave of his hand, the steel soldier collapsed.
Finster’s eyes found Crawley. “Ah, a pity. I was so hoping to kill him myself. Well done, Moth. For a barbarian, that is.” With a twist of his fingers, the shackles fell away from his and Moth’s ankles.
Moth picked up his hand and walked away.
In a mystically enhanced voice, Finster said, “Ingrid, I’m coming for you.” The birds scattered from the trees. He followed Moth. With every step he took, his toes barely touched the ground.
CHAPTER 17
Outside of the forest, many horses remained. What was left of Crawley’s men had joined forces with the citadel guardians. Finster’s eyes narrowed. Ingrid and her troops galloped away. “What a pity. I thought Ingrid would remain to offer me some congratulations.” His eyes slid over to Moth. The barbarian was gashed up and bloody. The charred stump of an arm was ghastly. Finster’s stomach churned a little. “You really must have a larger grudge against her than I do.”
Moth stuck his hand in a saddlebag and his foot into the stirrup of a dapple-gray horse. One armed, he swung himself up into the saddle. The huge man was oversized for the beast.
“What? No more running today?” Finster mounted a horse. He sat tall in the saddle, shoulders back, like a proud general prepared to lead his troops into battle. He had control of the Founder’s Stone. Its boundless energy surged through him. Every arcane practice he’d ever mastered was enhanced. This must be how Ingrid feels. Invincible. I delight in it.
He pondered his future. He had mastered the stone. That had been his dream. But even with the artifact in his possession, Ingrid still had power that rivaled his. The eight rings combined to make a powerful artifact. Even though Finster had the stone, she was certainly a match for him—perhaps more so. He didn’t know. Perhaps I should warn the King of Mendes of her treachery. Most likely, the buffoon will take her word over mine. Men are so easily seduced by the ladies. I have the power. Hmmmm. Perhaps I should stay out of this altogether and just enjoy my abilities for now. For the sake of the order, I must finish this. I hate my conscience.
Moth urged his horse forward. Hooves splashed in the mud.
“Why don’t you take these horses and return to your lands?” Finster asked. “For the life of me, I don’t see what your stake in this is.”
The barbarian rode on, silent, his broad shoulders slightly sagging forward. He looked like he’d been regurgitated from the jaws of a devourer. The bite marks alone were more than enough to kill a man. He bled, but slowly. The fire in his eyes seemed to keep him going.
The horses moved through the night at a steady walk. There was no need to chase after Ingrid. She wasn’t going anywhere. She’d be waiting. Finster and Moth didn’t stop until later the next day. The Red Citadel loomed in the distance. Plumes of smoke snaked out of the granite building’s smokestacks. The smell of burning flesh hung in the air.
Finster’s fingertips tingled.
“I don’t know if you’ll be open to it, but I plan to enter the same as the way I left. I just don’t find it very likely that she’ll let us through the front door. What do you say, half-dead? Oh, never mind. You’ll probably have more to say in the grave. Looking forward to it.”
They returned to the cave they’d departed from before. Moth lumbered into the portal with a face devoid of expression. It led them right back to the study room of Constance the Chameleon. From there, they slunk into the empty hallways of the underground level and headed up the stairs. They made it into the great hallway that led to the throne room. The citadel guardians, spears in hand, waited. A score of them shielded the door. The metal masked men gave cold, unresponsive looks.
Finster stepped out into the middle of the hallway. He approached a few dozen yards from the stairs that led up to the throne-room door. “Citadel guardians, move aside. I would have words with Ingrid.”
The warriors lowered their spears.
Finster’s chin dipped. Power flickered in his eyes. “Peril comes to those that don’t heed nature’s warning.”
The guardians advanced down the steps.
Suddenly, the spears writhed in the guardians’ hands. The wooden shafts coiled up, and the spearheads bent back like snakes. The animated weapons struck out at the guardians, piercing flesh to the bone.
Moth crossed the distance between him and the guardians in gigantic strides. He met them on the steps. A full head taller and far thicker in sinew, he cut into the ranks. The first blow of his steel cut a man from the clavicle to the belly. The second strike sheared a masked head from its shoulders. The snake spears struck out at the men who held them. Chests were punctured.
Moth painted the stairs with guardian blood. The wild-eyed butcher split a metal mask right between the eyes. The heavy steel blade cut to the chin. He yanked it free and attacked again.
The guardians abandoned their spears. They whisked their swords out of their scabbards and circled Moth. In unison, they jabbed and cut at any piece of the wild-eyed barbarian they could find. Steel bit into the meat of Moth’s thigh. Moth gored the guardian’s chest.
Finster added another tactic. Fingers spread wide, he made a squeezing motion. The metal masks began crushing the skulls they protected. Finster’s clawed fingers clenched harder. The citadel guardians dropped their swords. Steel clattered on stone. Hands tore at masks. The guardians screamed.
Like a butcher in a meat shop, Moth executed them one after the other. Within seconds, all of the citizen guardians were dead. Sticky blood oozed down the steps leading up to the door.
Finster pulled his tattered
robes up above his ankles. He tiptoed up the stairs. His feet slipped on the blood. “I’m going to need some new sandals after this. These are ruined.” He stood directly in front of the door. The glowing eye waited at the top of the doors. He called up to it. “Did you see that, Ingrid? That was just a sample of my power. Child’s play. I suggest you surrender.” He tried the words that had once opened the doors. Nothing happened. “I see you changed the password. I probably would have done the same thing.”
The eye lowered. The pupil moved back and forth between Finster and Moth. It rose up to the top of the door and vanished. There was a long, awkward moment. The sound of dripping accompanied it.
“Humph. I don’t think she is going to let us in.” Finster rapped on the door. It made a hollow sound. “Ingrid, there is only one way in and one way out. How do you suppose you’ll marry Rolem the Grand if you’re hiding in there? Come out, or let me come in. Perhaps we can come to an arrangement.”
He looked at Moth. The man stared at the door, chin out, bleeding badly from many places. Puss festered from a bite mark on his shoulder.
“Those wounds don’t look so good. You might want to have that looked at once this is over. I used to make a wonderful concoction for it called—”
The sealed seam in the massive doors split. Silent as shadows, the doors swung inward.
Finster smiled. “How about that drink?”
CHAPTER 18
Ingrid the Insidious sat on her throne. She was alone, splendid as ever. “I see you brought a friend.” Her eyes glanced over Moth. “He suits you.”
“I honestly don’t know why he’s here, but clearly, he doesn’t like you. Ingrid, let’s be civilized about this. Plenty have died today. Look at the blood. You can’t get those stains out of marble. Think of your guests. Be wise. Surrender.”
With her elbows resting on the arms of the throne and ringed fingers locked together, she said, “Finster, stone or no stone, I don’t fear you. I, unlike many others, never did. You can’t kill me. You won’t kill me. There is too much compassion in your heart. Mine is absent of that.”
The Scarab's Curse (The Savage and the Sorcerer, Book 1) Page 6