City of the Gods - Starybogow

by Rospond, Brandon; Kostka, Jan; Werner, CL

  Wulf glared at the knight. “I hear only gibberish and the ravings of a murderer.”

  “I am familiar with the Sorbish tongue,” von Auerbach persisted. “I tell you they are performing one of their obscene rites. Rites that demand human sacrifice! You call me murderer, but what will you be if you do nothing to stop this abomination Horjan intends?”

  The knight's words pierced Wulf like daggers, stinging the Freischoffe's sense of justice. It was one thing to use untoward tactics to overcome a savage, but to abandon innocents to the caprices of pagan captors was something his own sense of honor wouldn't allow. Reluctantly, he nodded to von Auerbach. “A truce then, until these fiends have been stopped. Make no mistake, it is a reprieve not a pardon. The justice of Vehm will not be denied. I am your executioner, not your friend.”

  Von Auerbach returned Wulf's nod. “For the moment, it is enough that you are my ally.”

  *****

  The Wendish temple was situated in a vast natural cavern cut from the rock beneath Starybogow eons past by primordial forces. The enormity was illuminated by masses of moss that clung to stalagmites and stalactites, creating an eerie confusion of greenish light and deep shadows. At some time in the past, the builders of the ancient vaults had broken into the cavern, but if any use had been made of their discovery, no trace now remained. Instead there were only the geologic formations left by nature and the malevolent constructions raised by Horjan's followers.

  So certain were the Wends of the security of their hidden temple that they'd posted no guards to patrol the entrances to the cavern. Wulf and von Auerbach were able to slip inside unopposed, the sounds of their advance muffled by the Sorbish chants of the assembled pagans. The two Germans secreted themselves behind a cluster of stalagmites that afforded them a view of the volkhv and his raiders.

  Wulf felt his gaze drawn inexorably to Horjan. The shaman was a small man with a thin build, but he exuded a presence, a sense of sinister power far beyond his physicality. The volkhv wore a heavy wolfskin cloak, his face locked within a mask crafted from a wolf's skull. His arms, bare and pale, were notched with ritualistic scars and inked with arcane tattoos. As he stamped his bare feet against the stony floor, he raised his voice in a feral ululation, howling to his devotees.

  The pagan Wends were numerous, perhaps as many as a hundred. While the bulk of them were young, robust men of the sort to carry out the fierce raids and massacres their volkhv demanded, there were some women and children among them. The Wends were gathered together in a wide space that had been cleared of stalagmites and columns, the floor smoothed and etched with crude pictoglyphs and strange runes. Torches set into primitive stands fashioned from bone and horn lent the gathering illumination greater than that afforded by the glowing fungi.

  The Wends faced toward a tall wooden idol, a figure that made Wulf shudder to gaze upon. Simple in design and carved in an even simpler manner, the statue had about it an air of unnatural hostility, a smoldering wrath that seemed ready to burst from its wooden shell. The idol was crafted in the semblance of a man, but above its shoulders there rose not a single head but three, each the bestial and horned visage of a goat.

  “Triglav,” von Auerbach whispered, giving name to the Wendish god. “Horjan has evoked the old ways to draw followers to him. The more horrific the rites, the more completely he rips them away from civilization and into barbarism.” The knight pointed to the space between the goat-headed idol and the Wends. Arrayed in a ring were several stout posts. Lashed to each of these with cords of sinew and hide were captives the raiders had seized. Men and women, Pole and German, the prisoners moaned through the ropes that gagged them, squirmed in the cords that bound them.

  “What will they do to them?” Wulf asked, though he already knew the answer. These were sacrifices, offerings to their pagan gods. While he watched, Horjan dipped a bone ladle into a big stone pot resting at the idol's base. Even from their hiding place the two Germans could smell the stench of the pasty ooze the volkhv lifted from the pot. Holding the ladle well away from his body, Horjan approached the first of his captives. Shrieking a litany in the Sorbish tongue, he cast the contents of the ladle into the face of the bound Pole.

  “He says he has marked them for the dog of Triglav,” von Auerbach said. There was both anxiety and disgust in the knight's voice as he spoke.

  “I see no dog,” Wulf objected, looking about the cavern. Then he saw Horjan turn toward a black patch of floor. The volkhv splashed another spoonful of the smelly paste onto the ground. Wulf was shocked when the stuff disappeared, then chided himself when he realized that the shaman had simply dumped the filth into a hole.

  Relief faded fast, however. Sounds began to issue from that hole. Grisly scraping noises, like a dead horse being dragged across stone. Mixed into it was a sullen growl, deep and hungry. Wulf had hunted in forests across Westphalia and Silesia, Bavaria and Styria. The growl he heard now was unlike that of any beast he'd encountered before. All he knew for certain was that the thing must be huge to produce such a tremendous vocalization.

  Horjan backed away from the hole, hastily waving a set of armored Wends to move closer to him, axes ready in their hands. The pagan throng fell silent, quieted by a mixture of awed adulation and primitive dread. Even the moans of the captives faded away as raw terror muted their pain.

  “Bukavac,” von Auerbach hissed, once more giving name to the supernatural horrors of Horjan's temple.

  Roused by the paste the volkhv had flung into the pit, the bukavac crawled up from its hole. As Wulf had expected, the creature was huge, bigger than a wisent bull. Its broad body tapered away into a long tail topped by a knobby cudgel of bone. Six powerful legs projected from the monster's sides, each foot ending in sickle-like claws. Its head projected forward on a stumpy neck, the face elongated into a weasel-like snout, the lips curled back by the confusion of fangs projecting from its jaws. The eyes were enormous ovals that bulged from the brute's skull, utterly white and lifeless. Vicious horns projected rearward from the monster's head, stabbing back to defend its neck and shoulders. The bukavac's body was dingy gray in color, covered in a slimy skin that recalled to Wulf the cold flesh of frogs and salamanders.

  The monster swung its horned head around, its blind eyes unmoving but the nostrils atop its snout flaring and snorting in agitation. Perhaps it was some enchantment that clung to the stone pot, but the bukavac made no move toward the idol. Instead it scurried toward the nearest of the posts and the German woman lashed to it. The brute sniffed at her, indifferent to her renewed moans of horror. All it cared about was the stink of Horjan's unguent clinging to her. Rearing back on two sets of legs, the monster lashed out with one of its foreclaws. There was a ghastly crunching sound as it snapped the sacrifice's neck.

  Fury boiled up within him as Wulf saw the bukavac claim its victim, a fury that swelled when the Wends cheered the monster's savagery. “We can't let this happen,” the avenger swore. He looked aside to where von Auerbach had been only a moment before. The Teutonic Knight was gone.

  Wulf didn't have long to ponder von Auerbach's disappearance. From the floor of the cavern, the knight's war cry rang out. “Gott mit uns!” Sword in hand, the warrior rushed straight toward the hideous bukavac.

  The monster swung around at von Auerbach's cry, wisps of glowing red mist seeping from its victim's body and into the grisly claws on its forelegs. The bukavac raised its horned head, snuffling at the air, a grunt of agitation rumbling in its throat. Swinging its head from side to side, the creature's milky eyes failed to find the Teutonic Knight as he fearlessly lunged at the monster. Von Auerbach's steel ripped across the brute's flank, splitting the fleshy hide and drawing a stream of blackish treacle from its veins.

  Wailing in agony, the bukavac reared back, lashing out blindly with its claws. Von Auerbach easily dodged the sightless strikes, stabbing his blade again into the monster's flesh.

  The Wends shouted in alarm and shock, horrified by von Auerbach's defilement of the ce
remony and his profane assault upon 'the dog of Triglav'. Some of them took up axes and swords, enraged by the Christian knight's intrusion but wary of closing upon him while he was near the blind bukavac. Others started running toward the cavern's exits, convinced that von Auerbach was but the vanguard of an entire company of Teutonic Knights.

  Horjan was more deliberate in his response. The volkhv dashed back to the pot lying at the idol's base. Again he dipped the ladle into the smelly ooze and then rushed toward von Auerbach, flinging a great dollop of the muck onto the knight's armor. With even more haste, Horjan withdrew, laughing in triumph and calling out to his followers in scolding tones.

  Von Auerbach had the better of the bukavac when the beast was blind, but with Horjan's muck splashed across his body, the monster no longer needed to see the knight to find him. One of the great claws slashed down upon his shoulder, ripping through the cloak and shredding the mail beneath. Another claw licked around, raking across his thigh and pulling away the steel plate fastened there. A third claw intercepted his sword as he strove to stab the bukavac once again, the monster's hideous strength swatting aside the blow as though von Auerbach were an insect.

  Though he was himself sworn to see von Auerbach dead, Wulf found it impossible to leave the knight's destruction to a crawling monster and its pagan masters. The Freischoffe knew there was nothing to be gained by simply rushing down and joining von Auerbach's fight against the bukavac. Wulf preferred to strike at the one who had called up the beast. With the attention of every Wend in the cavern now focused upon the struggle between man and monster, Wulf knew he had a rare opportunity to fall upon the volkhv before anyone was even aware of his presence.

  The vicious shouts of the onlooking Wends and the fearsome growls of the bukavac muffled whatever noise Wulf made as he came around the column and hastened toward the idol. His knife was stabbing up through the chin of a pagan warrior before the man could do more than gape in wonder at the avenger's sudden appearance. The second of Horjan's bodyguards put up a little more fight. Swinging around, the armored raider was bringing his axe up for a cleaving stroke when Wulf thrust the point of his sword deep into the man's side. The Wend collapsed to his knees, coughing a great gout of blood into his beard. He struggled to rise, but his legs gave way beneath him and his axe slipped from numbed fingers.

  As Wulf turned away from the dying bodyguards, he saw the grisly volkhv gesturing at him with arcane passes of his clawed fingers. He could see Horjan's eyes glaring at him from the depths of his wolf-skull mask, eyes filled with such hatred and malignance as he'd never believed possible. Though the volkhv appeared defenseless, Wulf felt a strange lethargy coming upon him. The sword in his hand felt impossibly heavy, every muscle in his body was crying out to him to drop the blade.

  The steel sword clattered to the floor. For an instant there was a gleam of sadistic triumph blazing in Horjan's eyes, and he let pride in his magic replace vigilance. It was all the time Wulf needed.

  The avenger had discarded the sword with less reluctance than Horjan suspected. The blade had no part in Wulf's plans. It was a different weapon he sought to use against the volkhv, a weapon of the sorcerer's own crafting. Even as the sword clattered to the ground, Wulf was sprinting to the base of the idol. Crouching at the feet of Triglav, he wrapped his arms around the stone pot and lifted it. Bellowing with almost superhuman effort, he swung the heavy pot toward Horjan.

  Horjan's scream of horror echoed through the cavern as the unguent within the pot splashed across him, inundating the sorcerer from head to toe in the reeking slime. The overpowering stench brought the bukavac's head snapping around. The monster sniffed at the air, its nostrils flaring. With a hungry bellow, the brute turned away from the faltering von Auerbach and scrambled across the floor toward the volkhv.

  Wulf retreated before the monster's advance. Horjan hesitated, weaving his hands before his body in arcane passes. The sorcerer was too agitated by the bukavac's charge to focus upon his magic. Realizing that he couldn't concentrate on his spell, the volkhv tried to flee behind the shelter of Triglav's idol. Uttering a fearsome snarl, the bukavac sprang at him, bearing Horjan to the ground. The sickening crunch of broken ribs and crushed limbs echoed through the cavern. Then the monster's claws were raking across the shrieking shaman, ripping the life from him in gory strands of crimson mist.

  Sight of the volkhv's brutal demise sent the rest of the pagans fleeing from their secret temple. Crying out in fear, the Wends ran to the tunnels, scattering into the black underworld beneath Starybogow's ruined streets. In a matter of heartbeats, the only pagan raiders left in the cavern were those Wulf had slain and the sorcerer withering in the bukavac's claws.

  Wulf circled around the feeding monster, hurrying toward the wounded knight. Somehow, despite the wounds inflicted on him, von Auerbach remained on his feet. The knight was limping toward the surviving captives, his boots slipping in the blood spilling down his legs with each step he took. When the Freischoffe reached him, the knight turned a pallid face to him, a face that already seemed more than half dead.

  “Help me free them,” von Auerbach begged Wulf.

  For an instant, Wulf felt pity for the Teutonic Knight, then hate flared up in his heart once more. “I'll not help you in your penance,” he snarled. “Burn for your crimes.”

  The knight stared at him, a terrible sadness in his gaze. “You would leave the innocent to perish? Is my sin so unholy that others must suffer for it?” Von Auerbach tried to take one final step, then slumped down to his knees as strength deserted him. He looked up at Wulf. “Shall I confess my sin to you? I was in love with a girl beneath my station. When she found herself with my child, rather than shame me she took her own life. I was the one who discovered her body. I was the one who took the crime upon myself, claimed she died by my hand and not her own, that she might lie in hallowed ground and her soul find its way into God's keeping.”

  The avenger shook his head, trying to fight back the chill provoked by von Auerbach's words, by the conviction in his voice. As Freischoffe, Wulf had hunted down dozens of men condemned by the Vehmic Court. Never had he questioned the justice meted out by the judges. Never had he wondered if the men he was told to execute might be innocent of their crimes.

  The bestial roar of the bukavac gave Wulf no time to settle his mind. Horjan's shattered body dripped from the monster's fangs, torn flesh and broken bones protruding from the bloodied wolfskin cloak. A shake of the creature's horned head scattered the volkhv's remains across the floor. Raising its hideous face, the bukavac snuffled at the air, drawing down the stink of the oozy unguent still clinging to von Auerbach. A hungry growl rumbled through the beast as it turned towards the knight and the sacrifices left for it by the Wends.

  “Save them,” von Auerbach enjoined Wulf. With an effort born of desperation the knight staggered to his feet. Blood gushed from his mangled body. Resolutely he raised his sword and put himself between the bukavac and the captives. “Save them,” he told Wulf. “It's already too late for me.”

  Wulf nodded and hastened to the posts. Playing his knife across the straps and cords, he freed the captives. While he worked he could hear the sounds of conflict, the angry howls of the bukavac as von Auerbach's sword slashed its skin, the pained cries of the knight as the beast's claws ripped into his body. Only when the last of the intended sacrifices was cut loose and sent hurrying toward the nearest tunnel did Wulf turn back to witness the knight's fate.

  Von Auerbach's sword was slick with the monster's foul blood. The bukavac's skin was gashed and gouged in a dozen places, one of its milky eyes split by the knight's blade. The violence inflicted upon it had caused the brute to rear back on its hindmost legs, the others slashing about blindly as it tried to fend off the German's attacks. Dodging to and fro, von Auerbach managed to avoid the gruesome claws and continue to thrust at the monster's body.

  Focused upon the bukavac's claws, the knight failed to notice a new peril. Wulf cried out a warning to von Aue
rbach as he saw the monster's tail writhing from side to side. The warning was given too late. The tail darted forward with the speed of a striking scorpion. The club-like knob slammed into von Auerbach's breast, crumpling the mail and shattering the ribs beneath. The blow hurled him backward a dozen feet. Snarling, the bukavac sprang after its adversary, pouncing on him with the ferocity of a lion.

  The avenger had no way of knowing if the Teutonic Knight had found penance under the ruins of Starybogow, but it was certain that von Auerbach had found a death more ghastly than any commanded by the Vehmic Court. The knight's head was caught in the bukavac's vicious jaws, the monster's powerful muscles causing its teeth to pierce the steel helm and the skull within. A twist, a contortion of its mouth, and the man's head cracked open like an egg.

  Wulf circled around the feasting monster, moving past the residue of Horjan's mutilated corpse. The avenger slipped behind the tall wooden idol of Triglav. The pagan god stood upon a broad base, but the feet of the statue were slender and tapered to a narrow point as they sank to the pedestal. Behind the idol was the firm support of a natural column. Positioning himself in the slim gap between idol and column, Wulf set his back against Triglav's legs and put his feet upon the column.

  It was a Herculean task Wulf set himself. Straining every muscle in his body, he pushed against the column, using himself as a lever against the idol. When he would relent, the hunter thought of von Auerbach and the honor he'd shown making his last stand. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the idol began to creak and groan.

  The bukavac looked up from von Auerbach's body, startled by the noise as Triglav's legs cracked. The blind beast didn't see the goat-headed idol as it snapped from its base and came crashing down upon it. Like some immense insect flattened beneath the heel of a god, the bukavac was smashed under the tremendous mass as Triglav fell upon it.