by Rob Bayliss
Kaziviere scratched his stubble in contemplation. “I would say we are very close, less than five miles maybe? Let us use this storm to good effect and move at speed. Then we can scout the layout of the fields while it is still light and plan our raid for food and water.”
Nurarna laughed. “Your problem, Rendroc, is that you complain about getting wet without actually feeling the rain. I would get naked and dance in it, but you would probably complain about that, too!”
Kaziviere tried to keep a straight face, but he knew that after what Nurarna had been through every opportunity for light heartedness to forget the horror should be seized. “Any excuse with you is it not? You were naked when I first met you, if you remember? You are right though, Nurarna, but I suppose that at least this rain is warm. When you have been pissed on by incessant cold rain in the foothills of the Hailthorn Mountains, the novelty tends to wear off!”
Nurarna scowled at Kaziviere. “Trust me to get saddled with a celibate priest as a companion … and me, with a body made for sin.” She sighed. “No matter. If we cannot dance and love in the rain, at least we can run. You can look at my arse and dream of Tamzine. I hope she is worth your self denial.”
With that she sprang away, gazelle-like, to jog through the rain eastwards. Kaziviere shook his head and chuckled before following, although he repeated his word of power to ward off evil just in case.
They covered the remaining miles quickly as the rain became increasingly heavier. The light dimmed, almost as twilight, although it was mid afternoon. The upper branches above them rattled as the wind grew stronger the closer they came to the fields around Dofr’Arachane. Lightning flashed across the skies and thunder shook the earth itself. Kaziviere ran a few paces behind Nurarna. The forest began to open as they approached a low ridge overlooking the great ditch that served as a barrier between the fields and the forbidding forest. Up ahead, Nurarna skidded to a halt on the muddy track and ducked behind a tree, her face betraying her fright as she signalled to Kaziviere to take cover.
He crept up to where she sat. She was looking at the ground, shaking her head, on the verge of tears.
“Nurarna, what is wrong?” In answer she simply pointed behind her towards the field. He followed her indication and looked out from the forest. “By the Fire!” he hissed.
Black clouds, full of angry thunder and lightning rapidly circled around the city of Dofr’Arachane, as if caught in a maelstrom in the clearing of the city, while rain fell in grey sheets, turning the fields to mud. The lightning forked down from the unnatural storm onto the city and surrounding land, causing buildings and trees to explode in flames wherever it struck. Smoke could be seen rising from within the city walls and wails and screams from inside could even be made out from this distance. Kaziviere’s eyes moved from the skies to look across the fields.
The foulness was everywhere, sweeping out of the forests like a black plague swarming over the fields. Looking south, the trees were festooned with webs draping from the canopy leading down on to the fields. Down these aerial walkways the eight-legged horrors scuttled. They had overcome the slave encampment that he and Nurarna had bypassed in their escape; survivors were running for the city to hide behind its walls. The overseers had fled, leaving the inmates to their fate as the foulness swarmed over the fences and palisades to gorge themselves on those confined.
“Acaross scum,” Kaziviere said as he watched in horror. “They are not even letting the slaves out of the compound to have a chance to escape; they are leaving them to these inbred vermin.”
Nurarna looked over the ridge, horrified. They watched as the foulness embarked on an orgy of death across the fields, chasing down the slaves. Overseers on horses galloped to the city, blowing horns to raise the alarm, abandoning their charges. However, their warning blasts were lost in the crashing thunder that rent the blackened sky. The foulness moved this way and that, running down and pouncing on any they could find, spreading out through the fields but relentlessly drawing closer to the city. They were mixture of the horrors, from the ones that yet carried a relic of their lost humanity, to those who were now little more than spiders of a monstrous size. All were grotesque, the children born from the fevered nightmares of their insane god. They were in a rush to claim their ancestral home of Dofr’Arachane. True, some ate their prey immediately, but it had the effect of spreading terror, halting any meaningful resistance to the swarm’s advance.
Below the ridge, two miles from the forest edge they could see another slave compound. The inmates were trapped inside, their overseers and guards having fled for the city. Slowly, inexorably, the tide of foulness was drawing near to it.
Nurarna heard the rasp of steel being drawn behind her. She turned to see Kaziviere standing with his scimitar in his hand, a look of hatred in his eyes.
“Draw your sword, Nurarna,” he said coldly, “I won’t sit up here and watch this.”
“But what can we hope to achieve, Rendroc?” she asked, rivulets of tears streaking her face.
“More than we can here, that is certain,” Kaziviere answered fiercely. He opened the water gourd and thirstily gulped half of what remained before continuing. “What options do we have? Do we slink back into the forest to starve, to be prey for these vermin, or other beasts? There are people down there, your people, abandoned to a similar fate to those poor souls we found in the forest. I swear to bring death to these parasitic shadows. For too long they have dwelt, half alive, in our world. Death lays claim to them and will be denied no more. They were begotten by darkness, let us send them back to its womb, or die in the attempt. Here, drink this, you will need it. Sword play is thirsty work,” he said, handing the gourd to Nurarna.
Without awaiting a reply, Kaziviere began to descend down the slope, making broad sweeps with his scimitar to loosen the muscles of his shoulders and sword-arm. Nurarna watched him for a moment as she gulped down the remaining contents of the gourd, before drawing her short sword and looking at the blade. What did she have to lose? Without Kaziviere she was fated to carry this inhuman child inside her until the end. She hurried down the slope after her companion.
They made good progress down the rocky slope, despite the wet stones as the rain fell incessantly. They moved fast, knowing the black swarms of horror were drawing near. Reaching the bottom, they jogged towards the palisades of the slave compound, wet earth sucking at their feet. Moving between the deserted guardhouses and overseer’s quarters, they were alerted to the presence of the foulness by the cries of those trapped inside. Peering around the corner of one of the outbuildings, they saw them: two eight-legged horrors that had moved ahead of the swarm, driven by their primal desires for man flesh.
The palisade proved no obstruction to the monsters. Their claws sought and found toeholds to haul their foul bulk up onto the wooden fence, spinning lines of silk to make it easier for those who followed them. Once they dropped inside, they could slay to their black hearts’ content.
“Rendroc, this is madness. We should flee while we can,” Nurarna whispered, as her courage failed her.
“Watch my back,” he said, ignoring her plea. His eyes had a faraway look; once more he was an Imperial soldier, a commander of men. “The others cannot be far behind these scouts; we need to free the slaves quickly. Get the gate open if you can.”
He strode out into the open, his scimitar swinging as he loosened his wrist for the sword work to come. As yet the horrors had not noticed him, in their drooling eagerness for the meat inside the palisade. They deftly balanced their bodies on the sharpened stakes of the fence.
“Shadow filth, come taste my blade!” he shouted at them.
Both creatures turned to face Kaziviere, staring at him with the large impassive discs of their soulless forward-looking eyes. Only the bubbling and smacking of their venom dripping fangs gave away their intent. One of the cattle, a bull no less, came to them of his own volition. A willing sacrifice, like in the tales told of the old times. They both dropped down to the flo
or, rain dripping off their black bodies, and advanced for the kill.
Kaziviere breathed slowly and purposely to remain calm. He had fought beasts on the sands before. His legs tensed, waiting to spring. One of the horrors launched itself at him, standing on its rear legs as its head moved towards him, fangs bared. One bite and the bull would be paralysed and helpless. It brought its head down at speed, fangs seeking the body of its prey.
But this was no fast reptilian raptor. Kaziviere jumped to the side, his scimitar flashing down. He smashed through the carapace that covered the foul creature’s thorax, almost cutting it in two. It thrashed about in death throes, legs drawing up into its body. One leg caught Kaziviere’s scimitar, pulling it from his grasp. The Taleeli saw a black blur in the corner of his eye and somersaulted away.
The other monster missed him by inches, as Kaziviere scrambled to his feet. Already the beast turned, lifting its fangs from the mud and preparing to attack the bull. It showed spirit, but it had lost its long claw now. The Arachane prepared to spring again, fangs drooling in anticipation of the sweet, adrenalin-flavoured flesh.
It screamed in pain, as from behind, Nurarna hacked at its soft exposed abdomen in a fierce frenzy. Her sword arm was green with the foul juice her blade had released from the monster. Again and again she hacked at it, while its foul innards slopped out to splash in the mud. It tried to crawl weakly away, dragging its insides behind.
“Darkness take you!” Kaziviere shouted, as he brought his recovered scimitar down on the creature’s head, splitting it clean in half. He mouthed his gratitude to his companion and raced to the gate, his hands grasping the wet draw bar and hauling it across. Those inside had watched the combat and eagerly pushed open the gate. They were a mixture of men and women, adults and children. The people looked around fearfully, looking for an escape, threatening to stampede in all directions.
Nurarna held up her arms, gore-splattered sword in the air, and stood in front of them, blocking their path.
“If you wish to live, you will need to stand and fight. Run and you will die at the hands of these monsters. They will chase you down and eat you alive.”
One of the slaves shook his head and pointed towards the city. “We should make for the city, they have high walls there.”
“You’ll never make it across the plain,” Nurarna said, shaking her head. “You will be caught before you get halfway. We saw from the ridge up there at the forest edge, that the destination of the foulness is the city.”
“How can we fight? We are not warriors,” the man said, urging his fellows to follow him. “Our only hope lays behind the city walls.”
Many nodded in agreement, keen for protection from the approaching swarm.
Kaziviere stepped alongside Nurarna and raised his voice, speaking haltingly in the tongue of Acaross. “You think the Acaross scum will let you in? They will not. They will watch you die outside their walls, laying wagers on how long each of you survives. The foulness are gods to these scum. You think they will show mercy to slaves?”
Nurarna shook with anger. “They left you here as a sacrifice to placate their gods. They did not even open the gates of your compound. We saw the foulness overwhelm another slave camp, slaughtering all within. We came back to save our fellow slaves. Did we waste our time?”
The slave appealed to his fellows. “We are not soldiers or warriors. How can we fight?”
Kaziviere stood tall, his back straight. He was a commander, addressing fearful troopers before a battle. “A pitchfork can be a spear. A scythe can be a falx. I was captured and forced to fight on the gladiatorial sands. I became a slave of Dofr‘Arachane. I earned the name Gutspiller in that accursed arena, but before that I was Kaziviere, a commander in the armies of the Taleeli Empire. I have trained farm hands and villagers, people like you, and turned them into blood-soaked bastards. Warriors who would make these so-called men of Acaross shit themselves in fear. Fuck the people of Dofr’Arachane and fuck the monsters they worship. You want to be slaves? Then run away and die, or cower in your compound. You want to be free men? You wish to live? Then grab a weapon and fight. Who will stand beside me as a brother warrior?”
A boy of fifteen pushed past the one who had spoken. His smiling face masked the pain he had borne in his short life, betrayed by the welts of the whip that scarred his dark skin. “I will fight alongside you, Kaziviere the Gutspiller.”
The man who had spoken was the boy’s father. He tried and failed to grab him. “Tunaka, no! You are my son. How can I protect you if you do this?”
“You could never protect me, Father,” Tunaka replied, with sadness in his eyes. “I was born a slave, a son of a slave. That life ends now. If I die, I will die a free man. Yet this gladiator gives hope that my death might not be today.”
“Good man!” Kaziviere said with a fierce smile, slapping the youth on the shoulder as he took his place beside him. “Who else wants to stand with me as free folk and send these arachane vermin back to the darkness where they belong?”
There was a cheer as those who were once slaves rushed to the outhouses that contained their tools and to the overseer’s quarters, seeking weapons of any kind.
Chapter 20
Kiri’s eyes grew wide in disbelief. She stopped in her tracks and dropped the rake she carried to the ground, despite the fact their home was now in full view a short distance away. “That was you, Ubaba? You were the first to stand with the Kaziviere the Gutspiller?”
Tunaka didn’t answer his daughter immediately, as his thoughts took him back through the years: the joy of the birth of his beloved Kiri, the love he had kindled with her mother, and further back still, the fight of their lives against the Arachane and the bitter losses they had endured. His eyes welled up with tears, causing rivulets make tracks down his dust-covered cheeks.
“Ubaba, what is wrong? Why are you crying?” Kiri asked, looking up at her father in grave concern. Her hand sought his.
Tunaka came back to the present. He worked his own fields for the betterment of his own family. The sun was warm on his back and his daughter was at his side, growing up free from fear. He knelt down to be at Kiri’s level. Without hesitation, she put her arms around his neck in an embrace that he gratefully returned.
“It is nothing to worry about, my sweetling,” he said, wiping his tears away. “I was lost in the past and remembering my father, your grandfather. We all paid a heavy price for our freedom that day, but it was worth it.” He kissed his daughter’s forehead, a smile returning to his face. She had been born free. She would never feel the kiss of the overseer’s whip.
She drew back, looking at her father in concern. “I don’t like to see you unhappy, Ubaba.”
His smile turned into a grin at the seriousness of the expression she gave him. “I’m not unhappy, Kiri, truly I’m not. I carry the memories of those lost ones dear to me in my heart. Sometimes tears can be a good thing, sweetling; they wash the soul clean.”
Her serious face softened as she returned his grin.
“Now then, sweetling, where had I got to?” he asked, wondering if she had really been paying attention to his story.
“You had stood beside the Gutspiller and Nurarna …” she began.
“Ah yes, so we…”
“Wait, Ubaba,” she interrupted, “What about the cruel man, Kaziviere’s old master? Dogel Serresel and the dark god? What had happened in the city when they emerged from the temple of shadows?”
Tunaka’s smile grew broad in recognition of his daughter’s attentiveness to his tale. “Of course, sweetling, you are a clever girl. That is a better place to continue the history of our liberation.”
He ruffled her hair as he stood up straight and picked up her dropped rake, handing it to her. He stooped and picked up his tools and they slowly continued their journey home. He coughed to clear his throat and continued with his tale.
***
Dogel Serresel tightly shut his eyes, his hands covering his face. He willed that the sc
ene that had greeted him upon emerging from the temple was not real, but he could not stop his ears from betraying the truth. He heard the screaming of the panic-filled populace and the discharge of musket fire. He heard the sound of the rain hitting the stone paving of the temple plaza and the boom of thunder as lightning crackled across the sky. Yet all the time there was the other sound, the voice that commanded the storm. It was cruel and mocking, hate filled and terrible. The Corpse Lord’s laughter was like the grinding of glass, like broken nails scraping across slate. Through the cage of his fingers the dogel looked fearfully, slowly opening his eyes to the horror.
He looked down the avenue that ran to the main gate from the elevated temple plaza. Through the rain that formed sheets he could see the silken walkways that draped over the battlements and led down into the city. Down these silver ladders the foulness advanced, along the walls and into the city.
Without the professional garrison troops and their officers - who had been sent north for the war against the Taleelis - any defence was hopelessly disorganised. The forces available were the personal retinues of guildsmen, merchants and magistrars, more used to intimidating debtors, ordinary city folk or each other. There was no proper command structure. They owed their loyalty to their patrons alone and mistrusted each other after the endless internecine conflicts within and between the guilds.
Some guildsmen, fleeing the temple and the wrath of their god, took their waiting retinues and fled to protect their own homes or attempt an escape from the city altogether.
“Well?” the Corpse Lord said mockingly, “are you going to cower or command your city? Behold, I give you all! Revenge against those who belittled you, and the Arachane are now within your walls, as you wanted. There is now a vacuum at the apex of governance of this city. The chief magistrar and priest disappointed me. Arise now, off your knees and grasp the reins of lordship, or have I misjudged you in the granting of my gift of immortality?”