Ulfilas, on the other side of the Nerthani from Krin, winced as he dusted himself off with one hand, while nursing a side wound with the other. Blood trickled between the fingers of his hand pressed to the injury.
A flash of movement from the southwest caught Garhet’s eye. Another blur quickly followed the first, though not nearly as fast. And then, the dwarf remembered the reason for the sudden appearance of the Cra'chuna after all these years.
“Krin!” Garhet turned his attention back to the boy, and shouted. “Run! Get out of here and don’t look back!”
Distracted by the sudden rush of noise so close to its head, the Nerthani whipped around, searching for the source. Garhet tightened his grip on the coarse back hairs in order to keep his positon, as it shook itself back and forth to toss off the unwanted passenger. The movement nearly threw from his perch,
A shrill cry echoed to Garhet’s left, followed by another. He turned to see the two remaining Cra'chuna barreling at full gallop through the village in their direction.
“Ulfilas!” Garhet pointed at the giant cats. “They’re coming!”
The giant rushed past the worm, grabbed Krin by the wrist, and pulled him in the opposite direction, away from the cats.
“We can't leave Garhet and Finleara!” Krin protested, squirming to get out of the giant's grasp. Ulfilas put an abrupt end to the resistance by scooping the boy onto his shoulder. Then he sprinted toward the other side of the village.
The Nerthani, tracking Ulfilas’ movements, wriggled its mass around to pursue; its tail lashing out at the nearby goblins. It then lowered its head, and dove straight toward a soft patch of earth. Just before it connected with the dirt, Garhet leapt from the beast’s head, tucked in his legs, and hit the ground in a roll. He came up in a full sprint, just as the worm plowed its body into the dirt, and began burrowing itself in Krin and Ulfilas’ direction.
The goblins were already in motion as the dwarf reached his fallen axe, and scooped it up in his right hand. He quickly sheathed Glalbrirer, then swung the axe two-handed, slicing into one of the approaching goblins. Before the first hit the ground, however, three more were on top of the dwarf. Snarling, the largest of the three pinned Garhet to the ground while his brothers raised their bone-swords to strike. In his peripheral vision, he could see the rest of the tribe racing past in pursuit of his comrades. Thankfully, the bounty hunter had very long legs and with the Crafter’s grace, the boy would be long gone before either the goblins or the frenzied worm goddess could catch up to them.
Garhet smiled at the thought. He could live with that. Of course, the giant had no idea how to get the boy to Madagus Keep afterwards, but the dwarf could hardly be blamed for that. He had done all he could. Paid his penance. Honored his vow. He could now die knowing he had done everything he could to see Krin safely returned to the Magi.
“Dahrk nagi,” growled the goblin holding him down. “Etu grahn binu!”
Dwarf scum, prepare to die.
But just as his quill-spined brothers swung their blades at his head, the female elf leapt forward, and slammed into the larger goblin who had been pinning Garhet to the ground. Suddenly free, the dwarf rolled toward his attackers, sweeping them off their feet just as their blades came down where he had been only a second before. He picked up his axe just in time to block another blow by a newcomer into the fray. Garhet struck the new foe with the butt of the axe handle, watched the goblin topple backwards over his companions, then turned to look for the elf. When he found her, she was pulling a blood-drenched bone dagger from her opponent’s eviscerated bowels.
Same ol’ Captain, he scowled. Why incapacitate when killing comes so naturally? She’ll never learn.
He had killed his share of goblins in the past. Only when there had really been little choice. But the girl had been a killer ever since Lord Calibus, the Magus Prime, had found her wandering aimlessly in the woods fifteen years before. She had been nary seven years old, and covered head to pig-tail in blood. Goblin blood. An entire village—much like this one—laid to waste merely a day’s march away with every last soul, but one, found slaughtered. The survivor spoke only a single word before he gave up the ghost: Grah-lachten. Dark elf. Of course, no one could believe that a child so young, so frail, could have done such a dreadful deed.
No one knew exactly how she had come to cross over into the Thanaheim. They had assumed others had followed her from Wyndter, and that the horrid elf party had been the architects of the devastation. They soon realized the girl bore the sole responsibility because as the girl matured, so did her thirst for killing—Goblins in particular. The more her thirst grew, the greater her skill. Soon, in order to redirect his adopted daughter’s desire for blood, the Magus Prime placed her under the charge of the Magi Guard. She had been a thorn in Garhet’s side ever since.
“Forget about me!” the dwarf shouted to Finleara. He pointed in the direction Ulfilas had fled. “Protect the boy! Protect Krin!” Scowling, she wiped the blade on her tunic, slung a fallen bow and quiver of arrows she had scavenged over her shoulder, and hesitated. Garhet was well aware of the flood of goblins—at least fifty in all—rushing toward him at that very moment, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the son of Kraen-Lil. “Go!”
Glancing between the approaching goblin mob and the dwarf, Finleara remained fixed to her position for a couple of heartbeats. She nodded slowly before turning away and running toward the tree line…toward Ulfilas and Krin.
Satisfied he had done all he could, Garhet gripped his axe handle with both hands, glowering at the army of goblins now surrounding him. In that brief instant of calm before the oncoming storm, the dwarf scanned the faces, searching for Tuhg’s malicious visage among the throng, but she was nowhere in sight. Disappointed, he huffed, wiped his sleeve across his nose, and growled.
“All right, you black-hearted lizard-monkeys,” he said, raising his axe. “Let me show ye how a real dwarf fights.” Not giving them a chance to react, the dwarf sprinted to the thickest portion of the group. When he was a mere sword’s length away, he leapt into the air with a fierce battle cry, then brought the axe down on the closest hunter-goblin, before disappearing in the writhing mob.
***
“Let me down!” Krin shouted, pounding on Ulfilas’ back as he was carried through the thickening patch of forest. “We’ve got to go back for Garhet!”
“I don’t think so.” The big man huffed as he ducked underneath a low hanging bough, and repositioned Krin on his shoulder. “The runt wanted me to get you out of there, and for once, I agree with him. You ain’t goin’ to do me any good if yer dead, after all.”
Ulfilas’ boots pounded heavily as he ran, the sound only slightly muffled by the dense piles of pine needles blanketing the ground, and the occasional drift of snow.
“But he needs our help!”
“He can take care of himself.” The big man paused briefly before adding, “Well, maybe not against an entire village of those accursed creatures, but still…he knows what he’s doing.” Another pause. “I think.”
“See? You know as well as I do…we can’t leave him back there.”
For the first time since plowing through the tree line surrounding the village, Ulfilas slowed to an easy jog. He glanced over his shoulder, past Krin’s backside, in the direction they had just come.
“No, we can't.” Concern crept into his voice.
“Come on, Ulfilas,” Krin pressed, sensing the giant might come around to his viewpoint on the matter. “What’ll it hurt? We sweep in, grab him, and run out again.”
The jog eased to a brisk walk, then Ulfilas halted altogether, and lowered Krin to the ground. For the first time since fleeing the village, Krin got his first real look at his gigantic, former-captor. His furs and armor were ripped to tattered rags with great big welts of crimson branding his chest, abdomen, and arms peeking through. A gaping slash ran down the left side of his blood covered face.
“What happened to you?” Krin asked.
“Long story,” Ulfilas said, self-consciously straightening his tattered tunic. “All right. Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re goin’ to stay here, and I’ll go after the runt. First sign of trouble, though, and you’re goin’ to…”
“Run!”
Krin and Ulfilas wheeled around at the voice to see the silver-haired elf woman running straight at them; waving them forward as she zipped through the forest, panic etched across her face. “Why have you stopped? Run now!”
She grabbed Krin by the arm as she raced past the two of them; pulling him with her. A second later, a great rumble erupted from the earth, and the Nerthani exploded into view just feet away from the gawking Ulfilas; its tubular beak already probing the air for fresh meat.
TWENTY-TWO
“Ye gods, preserve us!” Ulfilas shouted, jumping back while drawing his blade from its scabbard.
“Run!” came the female’s voice from a distance behind him.
He glanced over his shoulder at Krin and the girl, already shrinking away in the night, then back at the enormous worm before him. The creature’s head lowered, swaying left and right while attempting to locate its prey.
“No bounty is worth this.” Ulfilas turned and ran after his companions at full speed.
Against a creature as enormous as the worm goddess, Ulfilas doubted that any weapon could do much. He figured there was no shame in a healthy retreat.
A true warrior must know his own limitations. He could hear his father's voice even now. At the time, he thought the philosophy to be complete horsefeathers. Now, he understood precisely what the old man meant. He felt a twinge of remorse for the harsh words he had unleashed at him on his deathbed.
Pushing the morose thoughts away, he wove between the trees, putting as much distance as he could between himself and the giant worm. He hadn’t gotten as far as he would have liked when a great crash erupted from behind him. Without breaking his stride, he craned his head toward the noise only to find the Nerthani racing after him along the ground; its enormous body slithering through the dense vegetation. It knocked over ancient fir trees as it heaved itself forward at a speed Ulfilas wouldn’t have thought possible for something so cumbersome. One by one, the trees crashed down around the worm, like the splitting wake of some enormous breaching whale as it swam along the side of an unseen ship.
Worse still, the creature had already cut the distance between them in half. Imagining he could feel the worm’s breath burning across his neck, Ulfilas pushed himself faster through the trees. His arms and legs, already sore from their flight from the cats, groaned with protest; threatening to rebel against him altogether. Gritting his teeth, he fought against the pain, and pressed forward. Soon, the forms of Krin and the strange girl took shape once more in the mist, and he quickly found himself gaining on them. As he ran, he noticed that it was lighter up ahead, as if the forest would soon give way to open terrain. And just beyond, barely visible, was a cadre of horsemen, their swords gleaming in the blaze of a dozen torches. Since goblins apparently didn’t ride horses, he could only assume they were the cavalry. At least he hoped as much. The way his day was going, he certainly wouldn’t frown at Fortune smiling on him, just a little bit, for a change.
He allowed himself a guarded smile, and pushed himself even faster. Just a bit further, and he would be home free—
Ulfilas felt something sharp and wet clamp down around his calf. A second later, his head slammed into a jutting rock before being yanked into the air with a violent jerk. The warm trickle of blood soaked into his thick mane of hair and beard, then dripped onto the soil below in a slick pool.
“Krin!” he shouted, pulling his falx from its scabbard, and twisting his mass to get a better look at what had grabbed him. To his chagrin, the worm’s bird-like beak clasped tight to his leg; its serrated edges biting deep into his muscle.
“Ulf!” It was Krin. He sounded concerned, but yet so far away.
Did he just call me ‘Ulf’? He rolled his eyes at the thought.
However, at the moment, Ulfilas had more important things to worry about than nicknames. The long tubular stalk connecting the thing’s beak began retracting, drawing him closer to the worm’s gullet. Desperately, he swung his scythe-like blade at the stalk, but as if sensing his intent, the creature jerked him higher into the air, ruining his aim. The stalk retracted even further, each movement followed by a violent shake that prevented the warrior from using his falx against it.
“Ulf!” Krin shouted again. He sounded much closer now. Ulfilas twisted around, and looked down to see Krin, and the contingent of eight men on horseback riding up to him. The men, dressed from head to foot in unusual, gleaming armor, withdrew their own swords with oddly curved blades, and surrounded the giant worm. “This is the Magi Guard,” Krin said as he pulled up alongside the nearest horse. “They’re here to help!”
He looked down at the horsemen again, assessing what he could from their armor, weapons, and their crimson standards emblazoned with the odd emblem of a winged Babylonian-style lion, and became altogether uncertain they had actually be any help at all. Their helmets were shining domes of silver-like metal with tails of horse-hair cascading down from their onion-shaped tip.
Curtains of chain-mail hung down from the helmet’s rim, completely obscuring each of the rider’s faces, except for the slits cut into the links for their eyes. More chain-mail draped over their chests and shoulders, forming shirts that tied off at the waist with thick, black belts. They wore loose fitting linen pants, and soft leather knee-high boots with toes that curved up to the sky. Besides their curved blades, each man carried short, oddly-rounded bows with a quiver of long ashen arrows.
Persians! He had actually never seen any before, but recalled the stories about them he had heard. He shuddered. What are they doin’ here in Germania?
Though the Persians were known to be formidable warriors in their own right, Ulfilas’ skepticism intensified as he was dragged ever closer to the great worm’s immense mouth.
“Well, if they’re goin’ to help, they better do something now! I don’t have all day!”
But the men didn’t move. Instead, they sat deathly still on their steeds until the silver-haired girl arrived.
She certainly took her sweet time about it too.
He watched as the woman sidled up to the lead horseman, keeping her steady gaze fixed on the worm as it continued to pull Ulfilas closer to its mouth. Her bright, lavender eyes gleamed in the shadows like the face of a blood moon; and just as cold and indifferent. She made no move to assist him, nor did the riders.
Krin moved toward her. His voice seemed full of concern for Ulfilas. “What are you doing? That thing’s about to eat him!”
“And what is that to me?” she asked coolly. “He’s an outsider.”
“He’s my friend.” The boy paused, looking up at him. Ulfilas knew that ‘friend’ wasn’t exactly an honest assessment. He did kidnap young man after all, with the intention of taking him back to General Alexandrius for a bounty. Nor had had he been very pleasant about it either. Best to not get too close to the prisoners, less messy that way. But despite their rocky beginnings, he would like to think that there might be a chance in which, one day, Krin could use the word ‘friend’ without reservation as he had grown quite fond of the youth.
Krin quickly amended his last statement. “Sort of.”
“You are an outsider as well.”
Krin regarded her defiantly. “And you serve the Magi…who, for some reason still unknown to me, I’ve traveled a great distance to see. I take it they’re expecting me, and doubt seriously that they’ll thank you if you let anything happen to me.” He pointed up to the bounty hunter. “Or those I travel with.”
Ulfilas edged up behind Krin, folding his arms across his broad chest, and glared at the horsemen. “Boy makes all kinds of sense to me.”
The girl seemed to consider this for several long moments.
The worm had stopped reeling the big
man in—apparently distracted by the heated debate nearby. Ulfilas welcomed the momentary reprieve. He could already feel the creature’s sticky, saliva already soaking into his boots and pant legs.
Finally, with a sigh of resignation, the girl held out her hand to the rider by her side. Ulfilas watched as the soldier, without uttering a word, reached around his waist, and drew forward a curved, brass horn. It was loosely tied by a leather strap over his shoulder. He ducked out of the strap, and reverently handed her the horn.
The instant the brass slapped her hand, the worm let out an ear-splitting shriek. Then it yanked the stalk back into its mouth with one smooth motion, pulling Ulfilas, screaming for all he was worth, into it.
Everything went dark. His body doused in a wet, sticky goo that oozed over every inch of him. And for one horrible instant, just before consciousness left him, he realized the terrifying truth of his situation. He had just been eaten.
TWENTY-THREE
“Do something!” Krin screamed. Enraged, he lunged at Finleara, only to be brought up short by the threat of eight horsemen with eight arrows nocked and aimed straight at his head.
“I would be careful of any sudden moves.” Finleara’s voice was steady. Calm. Krin would even have called it frigid. She kept her gaze fixed on the Nerthani. “My men will not take kindly to threats against me.”
As if it had eyes, it seemed to Krin that the worm was staring right back at the elf girl. Even more disturbing, he was equally certain that if it had hands, it might be wringing them at that very moment.
Finleara didn’t move. Didn’t order the riders, the Magi Guard, to attack the beast...to do what they could to rescue Ulfilas. The inaction was maddening.
The Legend of the Winterking: The Crown of Nandur Page 17