“Great Khan,” said Ganson, “I am very sorry. Sometimes I become incredibly excited, and I say what seems to be wisdom, but perhaps is not. But on this matter, I would not come to you only with a rumor that came out of a mouth I did not know. Good scouts have sighted and met with the enemy, and have even exchanged fire with them. These scouts, I trust.”
“You trust them?” said Vito.
“Khan,” said Ganson, nodding.
Words, thought Vito, only words. A dogman could talk about trust and loyalty all day long and you could still end up with a knife in your back. Then again, Ganson was, all things considered, a good leashman with a decent head on his shoulders. Not much for conversation, but he was no idiot. Vito considered that Ganson might be, in fact, too good for a dogman; too smart, intuition too keen. Vito did not fear his strength in a duel, for the pup was too young to be any real challenge. Still, someone like him, especially with noble blood clogging up his veins, could pose a problem later on. Perhaps something should be done about him before it became fashionable to grumble over dwindling food and water…
“Okay,” said Vito. “Ganson, I want you and the blood brothers to take some others and range out. You pick up the trail of these attackers, find them, and...”
“Khan?”
Vito thought for a while. “I’m going to need you to use that big head of yours, Ganson. The important thing is information. We don’t know what we’re up against. Mines today, maybe zeppelins full of bombs tomorrow. We need to know more, so you’re going to range out and kill some of these guys, but mostly I want you to bring back their leader. We need the most important-looking person you can find, understand? Take a dozen dogmen, some jeeps, and enough humans to keep the jeeps running. Follow these idiots as long as you have to and as far as you have to. But bring me back some meat. You hear?”
Ganson bowed and left with the two pariah blood brothers. Vito knew that the most likely scenario was that they would get hungry, begin fighting among themselves, then come back wounded and talking about how they fought a thousand warriors of Pontius. Then again, Bloodnose and Frigidskin were excellent trackers; there was a chance that they might come back with someone that the dogs in the camp could pass some time by torturing to death.
Chapter Fourteen
The Baptism
Wodan stood naked in the near-freezing pool at the bottom of the valley. He lowered himself in, rubbed his limbs for warmth, then opened his eyes and saw dirt and clouds of filth streaming off his body. He pushed his fingers through his hair, then rose. Freezing water streamed from his long hair and his breath rolled out in a torrent of mist. He looked to the stars above and felt them speaking into his blood. He did not fully understand what was happening to him, but the part of him that felt lost and confused was dying more and more every day.
He regarded his reflection staring back at him in the rippling mirror. He was deathly pale from riding in his suit and helmet every day, but that was only a small change. His pants were tailored for a shorter person, and his shirt no longer fit. Stranger still, something stared back at him from behind his own eyes. He coughed, then spat into the water, dissolving the mirror.
“You think you’ve beaten me already?” he said aloud.
The ripples subsided and the other glared back at him.
“This far, and no further,” he said, massaging his neck. “Remember the deal.”
But even his face seemed different, the features more pronounced. Perhaps the thing inside of him did not make compromises.
Chapter Fifteen
The Indifference of Angels
For many days, perhaps even weeks, the envoys from Pontius had been locked up in a San Ktari dungeon. They were divided into groups in several large rooms, given plenty of soft mats to lie on, served dishes of rice and fish with great politeness, and were told that they only waited for the word of the Emperor, or one of his ministers, for an audience. They were not told that they were captives, but they knew that their cushy chambers were in the same building as the dungeon because they could often hear the cries of prisoners rising up to them from the torture chambers. Fortunata had plenty of time to develop her “I told you so” look for King Zachariah.
Fortunata was locked up with Zach, several soldiers of Hargis, the luckless envoys who had returned from Greeley without any reinforcements, and a single Smith who never left his mat. They were not allowed to communicate with Miss Oliver or Virgil or any of the others. The only person they ever saw was a tiny serving girl who raised a latch near the foot of the door, passed them their noon or nightly meal, and giggled uncomfortably whenever Zach tried to press her for information.
Zach paced back and forth as he recalled their arrival at the great nation of San Ktari. He could immediately tell that flesh demons and dogmen must not have been a problem in the east, because even the city-states that surrounded San Ktari were unified into small nations. They had seen several villages without walls; Zach suggested that this did not necessarily mean that demons were unknown to them, but that perhaps demonic rites of sacrifice were acceptable and commonplace. Instead of stopping by one of the smaller nations, they had continued on.
The cities of San Ktari had amazed them. Not only were the buildings taller than in the west, but some of them appeared to be new. Several cities even had smokestacks jutting out from fat gray factories where hard-faced men moved about like ants. The presence of the military was overwhelming; even small villages had troops of men with red armor, black rifles, and red headbands marching about. Each soldier seemed similar to the other, each human an interchangeable part in one great, living thing that turned like clockwork. One of the larger cities was patrolled by a swarm of airships, which was a complete surprise to the westerners. The envoys had been forced onto the ground by the small, fast, roughshod crafts of steel and hastily escorted to another city, perhaps the capital, on several large flatbed diesel-burning trucks.
At their destination, they saw militant propaganda everywhere. Many buildings were covered in posters that depicted warriors armed with weapons from many eras, their exploits highlighted by alien script written in splashes of red and black. Sometimes the propaganda-art depicted godlike human beings with large eyes that were undeniably of a different race from the people of San Ktari. Zach wondered why such staunch nationalists did not glorify their own racial features, but his captors never gave him anything more than a polite smile or head nod. When he asked how they dealt with flesh demons in the expansion of their empire, he received similar polite dismissals. It was a complete mystery.
They were never questioned. Their polite captors showed absolutely no curiosity about them or their homeland or their business. After many days of eating and sleeping, Zach took to staring at Fortunata, but none could say whether it was because of lust, or anger, or resentment at his failed plan. A few soldiers of Hargis removed their badges of rank and sat around her, but she paid them no mind. The other soldiers of Hargis sat near their king and glared at Fortunata’s new circle.
One day, Zach spoke. He spoke quietly, but his voice seemed jarring and violent after so many days of stillness. “I wonder if they’re going to feed us to demons to protect one of their villages, or if they just want to see how long it takes us to break and attack one another.”
“They won’t have to wait much longer,” said one old soldier, his eyes on a disheveled comrade across the room.
Almost immediately, the door to their chamber opened with a high-pitched shriek. The men whirled about, crouching and staring. A short warrior in a red uniform eyed them fearfully, glanced behind himself, then walked away. They heard another heavy lock thrown open farther down the hall.
Zach ran into the hall and nearly charged into a tall, strange looking man in a dark brown uniform. He had black hair similar to the other people of Ktari, but his eyes were freezing gray. Fortunata entered the hall, then stepped back, for the man was incredibly handsome.
“You the king from the outer rim?” said Matthias the En
gel.
“Zachariah, King of Hargis, if that’s what you mean.”
“Outer rim?” grumbled a Hargis soldier.
“Is it time to see your Emperor?” said Zach.
“Of course not,” said Matthias. “It’s time to get out of here before the Emperor ever hears about you. If you value your lives, that is.”
Further down the hall, the other soldiers of Hargis staggered from open cells. Judge Rosebudd walked uneasily, his old legs no longer used to movement. Edwar and Fortunata ran to one another and embraced. Virgil smacked his hand on Edwar’s back, then strode up to Zach, smiling awkwardly.
Matthias gestured and they followed. They saw other guards, many of them armored, on their knees with hands held before them, their faces nearly touching the ground. Matthias did not acknowledge them as he strode past. They came to a gray courtyard surrounded by barbed wire and concrete walls. Near the gate they saw many heavy trucks bearing the deflated zeppelins.
Matthias turned and regarded Zach, then said, “I’ve ordered them to take you far from here. I’ve left a map with one of the drivers. It will show you where to fly to avoid any interruption during your return to the outer rim.”
“I see...” said Zach, unsure of himself.
“Is Wodan still alive?”
“You know Wodan? As far as I know, he might still be alive, but-”
“He probably is, then,” said Matthias, smiling. “Listen. I’m doing this because I know you’re associated with that town of Wodan’s. When you see him, tell him that Matthias... well, just tell him that sometimes even gods can get their hands dirty.”
Zach realized that the strange character must be bucking authority by setting them free. “I understand, and I thank you. But, listen. If you know Wodan, then... won’t you help him? Pontius faces destruction, and Wodan’s doing everything he can to save it. If you could just give us-”
“I don’t care about any of that stuff,” said Matthias, turning to leave. “Just give Wodan that message, will you?”
* * *
The sun set in a burst of radiant yellow by the time the zeppelins were airborne. Their supplies were gone, save for a pittance of water given with a smile by one of the Ktari soldier escorts. The soldiers were manic with the joy of freedom, but within an hour of being airborne most of them passed out wherever they could while Edwar and Fortunata carried on like animals belowdecks.
Miss Oliver stood with Zach on the prow of their flagship, and said, “Where to now, king of the ‘outer rim’?”
“Pontius,” said Zach.
“Without reinforcements?”
“It’s too late,” said Zach, smiling strangely.
“That sounds good to me,” said Virgil, approaching suddenly. “I’m ready to go home. I used to think that Pontius was a complete mess that needed to be changed from top to bottom. After seeing the rest of the world, Pontius is looking a whole lot better.”
“That’s something, at least,” said Zach. “Pontius’s greatest citizens have spent their time on vacation rather than planning for the city’s defense, the city’s had no airpower for the past few weeks, many of us don’t like or even trust one another any longer… but at least we’ve convinced one man to fight for the survival of his homeland.”
“You do us little justice, king,” said Miss Oliver. “Pontius has been in the business of killing for a long, long time. I’m sure we’ll be able to think of something.”
Zach laughed harshly. “Let’s just hope that Wodan did his job.”
Chapter Sixteen
Population Zero
The thing that terrified the boys most of all was that even as they entered the foglands, they saw the lights of scouts who had drawn ahead of them. After shooting and being shot at by distant fighters in the hills with nothing to show for it but exhaustion and lost ammunition, and with the terrible realization that the route to Pontius was no longer safe, they cut east and headed toward the dead city of the Ancients. They had used up most of their explosives while blowing up the bridges and mining the passes, so they were able to pack several bikes into the truck in order to conserve fuel, and they drove without sleep for days and nights through a wind-tortured, lifeless red land until they reached the massive necropolis, where they planned to lay low until the invaders were no longer on top of them.
The edge of the city came upon them suddenly. There were no structures at all, but they knew they had arrived because sand and grit suddenly gave way to ground that was smooth and slick, like an aged mirror that reflected sunlight in a bright haze for miles around.
Finally they came to an island of towers that reached impossibly high, far higher than any of the buildings Wodan had ever seen. It was the ruins of a commercial district built in an era before the fall, when mankind dreamed of wealth and progress. The great, towering hulls seemed to be of the same brown and red stone as the land itself, and Wodan wondered if perhaps they were fossilized remnants that withstood the leveling of the rest of the city only because the wasteland wanted to recast these great blasphemies into its own stark image. The boys gaped in awe as they rode through the avenues, and the echo of their engines called out, hollow and foreboding. Only Sylas seemed to enjoy the sight of that cursed, dead place, while Cedrik shivered despite the heat of the truck’s cab.
“Many long time ago,” Justinas said quietly, “the men who were Smiths before there were Smiths, they took from this place many things. Now it is empty, only ghosts remain.”
They stopped in a flat valley between lonely towers. Looking about, Wodan said, “Dogmen are superstitious creatures. Maybe they’ll leave us alone here, then we can come up behind them and…”
“What, attack from behind?” said Chris, laughing. “Our job’s done, man.”
Wodan was frustrated, for he knew that Chris was right. They had done what they could, and still the invaders advanced.
While they were tired and wanted only to sleep, their fear drove them on and they examined the buildings while the last of the day’s light was still available. Strangely enough, many of the buildings were very literally empty save for long crossed beams made almost entirely of rust; floorless, the behemoths stretched upwards without end. They saw some kind of winged vermin fluttering about in the shafts of light from hundreds of open windows. Wodan howled in one such building and Jake cursed, startled. The reverberations from Wodan’s cry and the undertone of Jake’s curse echoed for a long time, a summons to mass in some cathedral of the damned.
In other buildings, they found floors of stone similar to the outer walls, complete with stairs of rusted steel. All of the boys carried hand-held radios and remained in constant communication. Chris and Sylas, on a dare, investigated the lower depths of one ruin and found a complex network of waterways and square streams, and the boys set to boiling bucketfuls of the grimy water to replace their own. They decided to station themselves in two great buildings across from one another. One of the ruined buildings had a ramp leading down to a basement, and there they stowed the truck and bikes.
“Now let’s mine this bitch up,” said Chris, “and not come out for about a week.”
Justinas hauled out the remainder of their mines; not a lot, but enough to mine up the lower floors of their hideouts. “We’ll have to be sure to stay together while we place them,” said Wodan. “I don’t want to end up as another notch on Jon’s kill-count.”
“That wouldn’t count as a kill,” Chris said quickly. “I’m not giving Jon any easy points from an accident.”
“Woah!” Jon shouted, staring into the back of the truck. “The fuck is that thing?”
“A machinegun!” said Justinas, smiling maniacally. “Good for killing dogm-”
“I know what it’s good for!” hollered Jon. “Whyn’t you tell me ’bout this earlier?”
“Now I know I have spoken of fine points of machinegun,” said Justinas.
“No! No, you didn’t.”
“Well perhaps I did not, my friend. But we have not had real c
hance to use it, earlier. And hope you will, I’m sure, that we may not need use it.”
Jon hauled the heavy machinegun from the truck, then swiveled away when Chris moved to take it. “Forget that sniper bullshit,” said Jon. “That shit’s for psycho freaks with God complexes. This here’s a real man’s weapon, Chris, so hands off. But... hell, why didn’t they give us any more of these?”
“Most likely,” said Wodan, “the Smiths were expecting all of this equipment to eventually fall into the hands of the invaders. They wanted to look like they were helping us, but…”
Jake scowled at him, but Sylas said, “You know, you’re probably right. I bet they even made us some kind of tax write-off!”
“Well, whatever,” said Jon. “I’ll be glad give this bad boy to any dog who wants it. One bullet at a time, baby.”
They took a long time hiding the mines around their two hideouts and, straining through the fog of exhaustion, each of them carefully memorized the deadly locations.
When night fell, manic exhaustion chose where they would stay: Wodan became delirious with laugher and Jake soon caught it as well. Sylas, withdrawn and unwilling to deal with a lot of giggling, drifted through the killzone of mines in order to sleep in the second building. Justinas began to laugh, though he understood little of what Wodan said about anything. Cedrik shook his head at them and, as he left to join Sylas, Chris rose and said, “I’m gonna keep an eye on Cedrik and make sure Sylas’s maidenhead remains intact,” and slapped Cedrik’s ass as he ran to the second building.
[Demonworld #4] Shepherd of Wolves Page 13