by Mark Tufo
“There is an unsettling aspect here, even more so than what is happening,” Bailey said.
“Is not his back being stripped of meat not unsettling enough?” Mathieu asked, water threatening to fall from his eyes.
“Our time here is measured in days...possibly we have a week and a half, but certainly no longer than that. They will know this as well, those that defected would have told them everything they needed to know. Why would they need to force our hand?”
“Perhaps they are low on provisions themselves,” Lana offered.
“Having an army out in the field is never an easy prospect, but the weather has been temperate and they do not appear to be suffering or malnourished in any way. They have most likely dined well on the inhabitants of this city that had decided to seek asylum elsewhere.”
“I do not understand, Bailey,” Lana said. “If not to force us into a rescue attempt, then what?”
“Who loses the most from Michael’s capture?” Bailey asked.
“Azile,” Mathieu answered. “This is a ploy to expose Azile. She will do all in her power to save him.”
“Now the question becomes, do we tell her of this development?” Bailey asked.
“You cannot be serious, Bailey,” Lana exclaimed. “How can we not? If she finds out we withheld this information she will tear these walls down. It is her protection alone that keeps that mage from entering.”
“That is part of the point I am making. They obviously feel that they are at such an advantageous point that they can force the Red Witch onto the battlefield. If she is lost, so is this war. Michael is a formidable soldier, but a soldier nonetheless. Azile is the Queen—we cannot lose her. Everything else must be sacrificed to ensure that.”
“We cannot leave him out there,” Mathieu entreated.
“That, I did not say. I will assemble a team,” Bailey said.
Chapter 18
MIKE JOURNAL ENTRY 16
* * *
WHEN I AWOKE, I wished it had been into the realm of the deceased. That hope was quickly dashed against the shards of pain I was feeling. I was once again hanging in the familiar spit position. I could not feel my extremities, in the normal sense of the word. Everything felt as if razor blades had been dragged across my nerve endings. My back was magma-scorched flesh, my mouth had tumbleweeds rolling about it. My neck screamed in agony from trying to hold my head on. Tears would have fallen freely if I had any moisture within me to spare.
“Ah, you are awake,” Lunos said. He had been to the side of me. “Are you thirsty?” He had a large container of water, which he made sure I saw him spit into. “Ganlin tells me that I must allow you to drink, otherwise, you will die of dehydration before our plan is complete.” I drank; I drank greedily. I ignored the viscous clot as it slid down my throat. I ignored the indignation—I just drank. That was all that mattered.
“I loathe you.” Lunos pulled the container away before I could finish it.
“More,” I said hoarsely.
He threw the rest of the contents, along with the container, into my face. I tried to lap as much of it as I could before it fell to the ground. I even drank of the blood that flowed from my now broken nose. It did little to satisfy the unquenchable thirst I felt. I could already feel myself flagging from the exertion of that one drink. My eyes were involuntarily rolling up.
“It won’t be long now,” Lunos said, keeping me from passing out.
“Long?” My voice sounded like hot sand blowing past a Sahara dune.
“Even though you could not be bothered to identify yourself, they will have to assume that it is you. I expect a rescue attempt will happen sometime this night. I bet you would like to talk to them now. Perhaps warn them of their folly? Do you think the Warrior or the Princess will lead the charge? Maybe both. Wouldn’t that be something? Victory is so close; it is a tangible thing, I believe. If I concentrate hard enough I can taste it, I can hold it, I can mold it into whatever I want.”
“Hope...” I coughed, “you choke on it.”
Lunos stopped his little fantasy. “What happened today is merely the beginning, Old One. With only a modicum of effort, we can keep you alive indefinitely. How many beatings do you think it will take before your mind finally releases its grasp on sanity? Ganlin is under the impression that could be in as little as two weeks. But he does not know you as well as I do. It could be months, and no matter what happens to Denarth or the Red Witch, you are now my play thing to do with as I will. You will be the payback for all of the harms your kind have perpetrated on my kind.”
“Your kind?” I grinned, it was a bloody, ragged thing. “Your ‘kind’ wants nothing to do with you!” I screamed out when he raked his claws against my back. I’d like to say it was worth it. I’d be lying. At least he left after that and I didn’t have to hear his pompous ass talk anymore. Time dragged eternal whenever I’d been in some form of purgatory. This, in its own way, was equally as bad. Every second that ticked off was an intolerable moment bursting with agony. I was thinking that Ganlin’s timeline might actually be a little optimistic. I didn’t think I could take another beating as severe as the one I’d gone through. I lifted my head just enough to see my hands. I could feel nothing of them past my forearms. They were a bloated purple replete with splotches of black. I was thinking a little blood poisoning would actually be a good thing. Let the necrosis travel to my heart. It would be better for all involved if I went quickly; my friends, Azile, the babies...they would all be spared.
Chapter 19
DENARTH
* * *
“HE IS BEING brought out again!” the guard shouted from atop the wall.
“We ready?” Bailey asked her men. She was leading the spearhead; Talbotons were to force their way through with superior firepower while the Denarthians would secure the prisoner and bring him back within the walls. It was a quick, simple, and Bailey hoped—effective plan.
“I told you before Lana, your place is here with your people,” Mathieu said, doing his best to keep her as safe as possible.
“I know where my place is,” she said and left it at that.
He had no time and little chance to sway her anyway.
“Open the gate,” Bailey said. By the time the horses crossed the threshold they were at a full sprint.
“No, you fools,” Michael mouthed as he watched from his perfect vantage point.
The line of riders fanned out as they approached. The crackle of rifles sounded like firecrackers from their distance. At first, the werewolves did nothing, letting the soldiers draw nearer.
“If they cannot rescue the prisoner, Lunos, they may attempt to end his suffering,” Ganlin said as they watched everything unfold from a safe vantage point on a small knoll.
“If we move him too soon, they may halt their advance.”
“Look at them, they are committed; they could not pass a message of retreat if they wanted to.”
“I do not care for the Old One’s safety. If he is to die then that is the way of it.”
“He cannot die, Lunos. He is far too important. I need the Red Witch, and without him being held hostage and clouding her judgment, she is far too dangerous.”
“I AM FAR TOO DANGEROUS!” Lunos roared, spittle flying into the air.
Ganlin realized he could not afford to get into a heated argument with the werewolf leader, especially in the heat of battle. He tried a different tact, one of appeasement. “If I can remove her from the field of battle, your ascension to power becomes significantly easier.”
“Ascension? Do you not see what I see? I am already resting comfortably on the top. All I need to do is push the rest of these insignificant beings from what is rightfully mine.” Lunos raised his arm to signify his werewolves to engage.
Dust clouds rose from each side, as the combatants raced to meet each other. Werewolves were falling as Bailey’s men laid heavy fire into them, but it would not be enough. The werewolves redoubled their efforts, spurred on by bloodlust and the
promise of fresh meat.
“Lunos,” Ganlin prodded, he was watching Bailey’s men split at the union of their wedge. The soldiers of Denarth gleamed in the sun, their heavy armor and swords flashing in the light as they swarmed into the newly vacated area. They were less than three hundred yards from Michael, but five hundred werewolves now stood between them and their prize.
“Humans are stupid and weak. They are hopelessly outnumbered yet they will sacrifice themselves. For what?” Lunos asked.
“Honor,” Ganlin said.
“Well, we would not want to deny them that!” Lunos was smiling.
Scores of werewolves lay dead or dying from the conflict before they were able to exact some revenge. Horses screamed and men prayed as the first of the tainted ones struck the advancing line. The horses were somewhat protected by light armor but it could not withstand the ferocious strikes from the werewolves. Internal organs spilled out onto the battlefield as the large animals were cleaved nearly in half. Men were sent hurtling into the air, oftentimes batted away and shattered as they struck other enemies. At a hundred yards, the rescue had completely stalled. It was now a fight for survival as the werewolves began to encircle their aggressors.
“Oh God...no,” Michael cried as he watched. “Help them!” He was rewarded with a backhand that rattled his teeth and threatened to make him black out again. He could clearly hear the cries of horror as the men were being penned up and slaughtered.
Another line of horses broke free from the fort; one no one had noticed at first, as the contingency plan came into effect.
“We are lost here!” Bailey cried. “Back to Denarth!” She blew a whistle, a shrill sound broke over the fighting throngs. Mathieu had dismounted and transformed into his alter ego. He ripped into a pair of werewolves that had zeroed in on Lana who had her back to them as she fought desperately to her side. Her sword was bathed in blood as she cut through the enemy; a fierce look of determination set in her features.
“NO!” she yelled when she heard the sound for retreat. Her eyes locked with Michael’s for the briefest of seconds.
“GO!” she heard him say as clearly as if he had whispered it in her ear.
A loud bark and cry for help pulled her gaze away and to the side where she saw Mathieu; his leg was grievously injured yet he was holding two werewolves away both by the throat. They swiped and snapped at him, their powerful claws ripping into his chest.
“AAAAAH!” Lana wheeled her battle horse and charged straight into the first werewolf, knocking him free. The horse did as it was trained to, stomping the fallen combatant out of existence. She turned in her saddle and drove the point of her blade into the throat of the other. He coughed, choked, and fell away. Mathieu fell into her horse. Blood leaked from his body in a dozen different places.
“Turn, Mathieu, TURN! My mount cannot bear the weight of you this way!”
It was more a reflexive action on his part, as his life flowed, along with the crimson fluid, to the ground. She gritted her teeth, found a strength she did not know she had, and pulled him up. Her mount spun back towards the city walls.
“RIDE DENARTHIANS, RIDE FOR YOUR LIVES!” she screamed. What was left of the rescue group turned and began to flee, the werewolves were close on their retreat, dragging down riders and horses alike. Screams dominated as throats were ripped through, spines snapped, limbs torn free.
The retreat would have been short-lived had not the rescuers themselves been rescued. A band of soldiers held their line, sending withering fire downrange into the throng of enemies and slowing their pursuit. When Bailey and Lana brought them in even closer, this gunfire was doubled as those on the wall joined in, obliterating everything that came within a hundred yards of the walls.
Lunos was so entirely engrossed by his anger that his intended targets had got away, that he would not sound the retreat. His werewolves lost in battle were left to wither and die on the farthest edges of the branches of his tree of war.
When the dust settled and the gates of Denarth were once again closed, over three hundred werewolves had died, along with thirty Talbotons and twenty-two Denarthians. Michael was whipped for every rescuer that had failed in their quest; he’d passed out somewhere between thirty-nine and forty. Of the injured that made it back into Denarth, none was graver than Mathieu. He had been rushed to the aid station, where the doctor made the determination that his leg could not be saved. Michael’s screams of pain had very much mirrored Mathieu's in that moment.
Chapter 20
MIKE JOURNAL ENTRY 17
* * *
PAIN WAS THE only sensation I knew; maybe the only one I had ever known. It was burning through everything that I was, it was a brush fire consuming everything in its path. I vaguely remember a failed rescue attempt, but it could have just as easily been a mirage my feverish mind had cobbled together in the pursuit of hope away from the all-encompassing misery I now found myself in. When I awoke later that night, I found myself prostrate on the ground, my arms raised above my head and tied to a stake—the same with my legs. I was covered in piss and shit, if I had to hazard a guess I’d say most of it was of my own doing. The slight breeze that blew, instead of cooling my back, ignited the pain receptors like blown-on coals. Ants crawled all over my body like I was a super-highway; occasionally they would stop to take a bite. I didn’t think anything would be able to usurp the distress of my flayed back. I was wrong.
“Fire ants.” I didn’t bother to turn and look at who said the words, I knew it was Ganlin. “I thought it unwise to untie you from the spit. Lunos had the idea to put you atop one of their colonies. I could find no reason to dissuade him.”
“Compassion?” I labored to say.
“There is no compassion in war, Michael. We’ll save that for the aftermath, perhaps. It has been four days since Denarth sent out a rescue party. They have not done so again, even though our beatings of you have become more, what’s the proper word? Barbaric? Yes, barbaric will do. I am amazed you are still somehow alive. Even with my elixir, the cumulative effects of your injuries...well, should be enough. I thought by now we would have received word the Red Witch was coming. It does not bode well for you if she does not. It may be that she is not concerned enough about your well-being to bother; perhaps she is to focused on her young ones now. Your suffering will not soon end if she does not show.”
“Go talk to someone that gives a shit.” That took nearly everything I had to give to utter.
“Robert’s Land makes an acceptable wine.” He made an exaggerated slurp. “Not the best I have had, but adequate. Denarth will fall soon, within the week. They are starving in there. They may have actually given themselves more time with all the deaths you caused. Once I have the child, the world will be witness to some great and powerful things.”
“And Lunos?” Not that I cared, but I needed something, anything that I could possibly use. At no point in my life had I been more vulnerable and I was not even going to be afforded the opportunity to die. Ganlin was quite literally beating me to within an inch of my life and then throwing down a rope, his elixir, which pulled me back from the edge.
“Oh, he will most likely rue the day he ever met me.”
“What can the kid do?”
“The babe? Nothing on his own. He is merely a portal. But someone with the appropriate knowledge and power, one like myself, can walk through that portal and obtain just about anything I need.”
I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. Did he mean he could go get a pack of hot dogs? Some comic books? Bazookas? I decided I truly didn’t give a shit after the fiftieth ant bite. My skin was starting to ache as it was stretched nearly to capacity from the welts.
“It was the Shaolin Monks that learned of the Veil Piercers. It became their job in life to seek them out and protect them throughout the ages. It is believed that vampirism was brought through this channel some ten thousand years ago. I do not much believe in coincidence, nor fate. It is, however, strange that you, the
last of your kind, would be in the same geographical location as the last Piercer. I wonder if I am somehow meant to send you back from whence you came.”
I grunted as my chest became the new hotspot of fire ant activity.
“I have read theories of those who possess strong ties to the destiny of mankind. It is thought they have an innate, yet unconscious ability to draw others to them who are...facilitators. They may aid the chosen one in mass destruction or serve to elevate them towards higher learning and understanding. Which type do you think, Michael, has won more wars throughout the ages? Is mankind any more virtuous than it was when our distant ancestors were drawing pictures on cave walls?”
He droned on for hours—I’d stopped listening after the first bite on my junk. I once played a hockey game in high school where I’d forgotten to put my cup back into my equipment bag. Even then I knew it wasn’t the best idea to go out on that ice without one but we were playing Framingham, the reigning state champs. We needed all hands on deck. I wasn’t the best skater out there but I was fast, and if they could hand out awards for hip checks, I’d be in the running. Anyway, we were already down three to one when they got a two on one breakaway. I raced back to our end and dove, yeah, flat out dove to get between that blistering slap shot and our sieve-like goalie. You’re only going to need one guess to figure out where that puck flew like a heat seeking missile. The entire male population in that arena winced; I folded in on that impact like a used napkin. Vomited on the ice three times before the coaches could get me back into the locker room. It was four days before the swelling went down. For a while, I thought I was going to be able to work the circus freak circuit. What I’m getting at, is that the bite from that ant was significantly worse owing to its location. If I’d had anything left inside of me to yield, I would have. I could not move. Even rocking back and forth only seemed to agitate them more.