by Sandell Wall
The Legion soldiers were being massacred. Aventine could see Brax flit in and out of perception—a wraith that snatched the life from everything he touched. Blood sprayed into the air from a punctured throat, and before the dying man hit the ground, Brax killed three more. The barbarians ignored the Legion and focused all of their efforts on stopping the two glowing juggernauts tearing through their midst.
Fully powered, nothing could stand before her. She thrust her spear through the first man to challenge her. His chest exploded. For an instant all she could see was fire and blood. When she yanked the weapon out, daylight shone through the burning cavity.
Enemies surrounded her on every side. She spun, lashing out with her spear in a deadly circle. The burning point decimated whatever it touched, melting leather, metal, and flesh. She kept spinning, dead and dying men in her wake.
A huge barbarian timed her spin, leapt inside of it, and brought his maul crashing down onto her armored head. The weapon shattered into a thousand pieces. Aventine did not even feel it. Her attacker died with awe in his eyes.
She was a whirlwind of destruction. Brax circled her as she stalked through the horde. Together they were cleaving bloody ruin through the enemy ranks.
By the emperor, the power is intoxicating!
Aventine had thought they were hopelessly outnumbered, but the two of them had battled the enemy to a standstill. When Sir Lorent and Sir Trent joined the fight, this would become a rout.
She turned to check on the praetors, and paused in confusion, unable to make sense of what she saw. The warriors of Lorent and Cinder were gone. All that was left in the clearing were Sir Lorent’s casters, and he was standing between them and the fight. The praetor made eye contact with her and smiled a wicked smile. It was the smile of victory, of delayed satisfaction finally realized.
No!
“Brax!” Aventine shouted.
But as she tried to shout a warning, Sir Lorent chopped his hand down and the casters let the runestones fail. The weight of her armor crashed into her, and her indomitable power disappeared into darkness as the runes were extinguished.
Aventine tried to find Brax, but before she could locate him a massive blow crashed into her chest and knocked her flat. A giant foot crushed her head into the mud. Her neck twisted violently to the side. Mud oozed into her helmet, filling her mouth and one of her eyes. With her good eye she saw Brax, stripped of his speed but still untouchable, trying to fight his way to her. His sword was a blur, and he screamed with rage as he was swarmed by enemies. He was not going to reach her.
“Stay alive!” Brax shouted, and then he grasped the pommel of his sword and vanished.
If the barbarians were alarmed by his disappearance, they did not show it. A body hit the mud in front of Aventine, the lifeless eyes of Centurion Durost a hand’s breadth from her face.
Before horror could overwhelm her, the world went black.
Chapter 15
REMUS SHOULD HAVE BEEN TERRIFIED. He was chained to a column of gibbering fools and being marched through a forest of nightmares towards a dire fate. Savage barbarians stalked the shadows, eyeing him like they wanted to tear his spine out. But instead of being afraid, he was exhilarated. A tiny voice inside screamed at him to cower and grovel, but his fascination overrode the fear.
They had been running for hours. Frost crusted his face and his feet were numb. Icy talons of cold dug deep into his body, warning of suffering to come if he did not find heat. The metal clasp around his foot felt like it scraped bone with each step. His throat was raw from yelling out the cadence.
Twilight outside the forest meant darkness within; the trees blocked the light of the dying day. Visibility dwindled to almost nothing, slowing their pace to a crawl. Hyper alert, the four dark soldiers jogged alongside the captives. The barbarians ranged ahead and behind, scouting the forest.
The man who had challenged Fire Hair led the column. The other armored soldiers followed his direction. Remus had started thinking of the leader as Dour Face. Never smiling, never frowning, the man had a face that could have been carved from stone. He radiated calm intelligence and competence, but seemed to be completely devoid of emotion. Pale grey skin gave the man a sickly appearance.
In front of them, Fire Hair materialized from the shadows. He signaled for the column to halt. Dour Face held up a fist and stopped to confer with the hulking barbarian. Fire Hair spoke in low tones and pointed to a nearby tree. Its trunk was mangled. Remus could barely see in the failing light, but it looked like some giant creature had sharpened its claws on the massive tree. Deep rents in the wood reached at least twice as high as Remus was tall. Whatever Fire Hair was saying, Dour Face listened intently.
The hair on Remus’s neck stood on end, some sixth sense suddenly screaming at him to run for his life. He peered into the trees surrounding them. No longer scouting the woods, the barbarians had returned to the group. Instead of glaring at the captives, they faced outwards into the forest, hands resting on their weapons.
Dour Face turned and beckoned for his three soldiers to join him at the front of the column. For a few heartbeats, the captives were unobserved. Seeing his opportunity, the prisoner at the end of the chain jerked himself free. The man had worked his shoe off and now slipped his bloody foot through the metal loop on his ankle. Remus felt the chain vibrate as the man made his escape. The instant he was free, the prisoner plunged into the forest, heading back the way they had come. His ragged foot left bloody footprints on the cold ground.
Remus winced. He looked to see how their captors would respond. To his surprise, they made no motion to follow the fleeing prisoner. No one moved. Dour Face and Fire Hair waited in tense silence, bodies rigid and eyes fastened on the section of forest the prisoner had disappeared into.
Several heartbeats later a terrified scream split the silence. The scream did not stop. It grew and changed in pitch, morphing from a shout of surprised terror into a soul-rending wail of horror. Remus could hear the man crying out, pleading for help, mercy, and then finally death. Haltingly, fading to almost nothing, and then surging back as some new pain or awfulness was inflicted, the anguished voice weakened, until all that was left was the echo.
Eyes wide, the prisoners closed in on one another, forming their own protective circle.
“What the hells was that?” one of them shouted.
“We’re gonna die, we’re gonna die,” another repeated over and over, fresh urine streaming down his leg.
Remus ignored the cowering prisoners, focusing on their captors instead. Dour Face and Fire Hair exploded into motion. Fire Hair barked orders, moving to stand in the center of the clearing. Dour Face and his soldiers strung bows and aimed wicked arrows into the shadows. The barbarian warriors hacked branches from trees, piling them at Fire Hair’s feet. Fire Hair tore brush from the hard ground and worked with stone and flint to ignite the beginnings of a fire.
Soon enough, the barbarians had a small fire blazing in the center of the clearing. But they did not stop there. Fire Hair and his warriors continued to build the fire until it stood as tall as a man and cast back the darkness of the forest for a hundred paces in every direction. They only stopped when they ran out of wood. To get more they would need to fell a tree.
Terrified, the huddle of prisoners moved as close to the fire as they could without being consumed. Their captors ignored them completely.
It’s not like any of us will run after that.
Satisfied with the fire, Fire Hair spoke an order to one of his men. The warrior nodded and went to retrieve something from the large pack they carried. The barbarians traveled light, taking turns carrying a communal satchel. Out of that satchel came a black bundle that looked like animal hide. The man placed it in Fire Hair’s hands.
Fire Hair unwound the bundle to reveal a long cloak of knobby black leather. In one smooth motion he swept the cloak up and over his shoulders, letting it fall to cover his body. The rubbery-looking material covered him completely. He look
ed like a gargantuan bat. Odd patterns of muted colors covered the surface of the cloak: swirls and spots of blue, green, and red. Remus could not tear his gaze from the garment; the colors drew his focus like a magnet.
Clad in the strange cloak, Fire Hair gestured to one of his men. His man approached, and with obvious reverence drew a long blade from a dark leather sheath. Fire Hair wrapped a hand around the offered hilt. Second to Fire Hair’s axe, it was the only other metal weapon Remus had seen the barbarians wield. His blacksmith instincts were repulsed by the thing. It was hideous. A giant sword, its edges were jagged and barbed, like the teeth of a saw, not the forged edge of a blade.
That’s the ugliest blade I’ve ever seen!
Jagged great sword in hand, the firelight reflected in his eyes, Fire Hair looked like a berserker stepped out of legend. Remus met the man’s gaze, trying to be defiant. But he could not hold it. His pitiful defiance melted in the face of the indomitable warrior.
Fire Hair grounded the point of the blade in the dirt, his hands resting on the cross-guard. He stared into the trees, facing the direction of the screams. And he waited.
Nothing happened. The forest was quiet, the only sound the crackling of green wood in the heart of the fire. Their captors had become silent guardians, standing like sentinels against whatever horror roamed the night. No one spoke, and soon the exhausted prisoners succumbed one by one to their weariness. Remus tried to stay awake, to stand witness to whatever was out there in the shadows, but the heat of the fire called to him, lulling his battered body to sleep. The last thing he saw before closing his eyes was Dour Face watching him thoughtfully.
——
Remus’s eyes snapped open. He came awake instantly. Something was wrong. Adrenaline coursed through his body as he tried to identify why he had awoken. The prisoners were still asleep, a few of them snoring quietly. Fire Hair still stood unmoving before the fire. The fire itself had burned down, no longer a roaring blaze.
He slowly raised his head from the ground and looked around the clearing. Fire Hair’s warriors were on the edges of the camp, weapons drawn and staring into the darkness. He caught Dour Face’s eye, and the dark soldier slowly moved one finger to his lips in the unmistakable command for silence.
A cold shiver shot down Remus’s spine. He could feel the thing before he heard it. He rolled over to stare into the shadows in front of Fire Hair. On the very edge of the diminished firelight he could see a patch of darkness that seemed to move. Whatever it was, it was huge. He could hear a wet snuffling sound.
To his astonishment, beautiful and complex patterns of light flared from the blackness. Brilliant spirals of pink, green, and blue seemed to leap out of nothing, dancing above the forest floor like spirits out of a children’s tale. The intricacy of the patterns took his breath away. Entranced, Remus wanted nothing more than to move closer and discover the source of this wonder. In fact, he could think of nothing else. He cursed the chains that held him back. The warriors standing around the clearing did not acknowledge the lights. Remus wondered if anyone else could see them.
Frustrated and confused, Remus felt a great sadness taking hold of him. He must go towards the lights—they were too alluring to ignore. And then the creature opened its eyes. Stunned, his perspective shifted, and he realized that the lights had been coming from the creature’s hide, created somehow on or under its skin. He could see now its grotesque head. Huge black eyes were set above a mouth that could easily gulp down a man. The monster’s wide jaw and flat skull made it look like it was grinning, and as its smile widened, he could see a maw full of needlelike teeth.
The beast approached to within a hundred paces of the fire and stopped. It moved low to the ground, its bulk supported by four squat legs. The way it waggled as it moved, and its long, squashed tail, reminded Remus of a salamander. It was hard to guess its true size in the darkness, but it looked at least fifteen feet long.
Remus felt a cold knot in the pit of his stomach. What did such a creature have to fear from men? Huge muscles bulged along the length of its leathery body. It watched them, unblinking. Obviously unsure what to make of these interlopers into its domain, the monstrous beast reared up on its hind legs, propped up by its tail, and towered over the camp. It opened a mouth full of teeth covered in blood and let out a scream that shook the forest. The screech made Remus wince. Harsh and alien, he would not have believed the sound came from an animal had he not seen it with his own eyes.
The prisoners next to Remus jerked awake with a start, whimpering in terror as soon as they saw the monster.
Fire Hair did not move, did not react in any way. The creature dropped back down to all fours and slithered forward a few paces, screaming another challenge. Still Fire Hair did nothing. Remus held his breath as the barbarian stared down the monster. The thing sniffed the air, like it could not decide if they were prey or threat. And then, without warning, it disappeared.
Impossible!
Remus’s mind tried to rebel against what he had just witnessed, but when the forest shifted and shimmered where the animal had been, he realized it was still there, almost perfectly camouflaged.
Whatever marvel of nature allowed the creature to disguise itself could not handle the complexity of the firelight dancing across its hide. Once he knew what to look for, Remus could track the monster, but he suspected that in the shadows of the forest it would be completely invisible. Moving faster than he would have thought it capable, the animal darted away into the trees, disappearing from sight as soon as it left the circle of light cast by the fire.
For a long while after the monster vanished into the darkness, no one moved. Beside Remus the other prisoners quaked in silence. He could smell the pungent aroma of voided bowels.
Some poor fool soiled himself.
He glanced to his left to find the culprit and saw one of the prisoners squirming to get out of their ruined breeches. Pathetic in his fear, the man could barely work his hands. The metal clasp on his ankle prevented him from getting the garment completely off, and he started to sob quietly, clothes wrapped around his ankles and covered in his own filth.
Dour Face noticed the struggling prisoner. With his unchanging calm, unconcerned manner, Dour Face stepped to the prisoner’s side and placed a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder. The prisoner looked up, unbelieving gratitude shining through on his terrified face.
Key in hand, Dour Face knelt to unlock the prisoner. When he was free, the man stood and started to clean himself. Dour Face watched, unconcerned. But when the man bent over to free his legs of the dirty garment, Dour Face slammed his wicked dagger through the back of the man’s neck. Lightning quick, the strike snatched the life from the man without inflicting pain. Even in his revulsion, Remus recognized the mercy in the act.
Blood gurgled from the remains of the man’s throat. Gravity pulled the corpse down and off of the blade. Dour Face knelt next to the body and wiped his barbed dagger in the tundra-like grass, cleaning the blood off of it before putting it away. Still kneeling, the dark soldier looked up and made eye contact with Remus. Disturbed, Remus got the impression the soldier was curious what his response would be. He steeled himself and met the soldier’s gaze. Dour Face nodded as if he was satisfied. And then Remus understood.
We’re prisoners for a reason. They must need us. They’re expending a lot of effort to keep us alive. But they only want the strongest. The weaklings get culled.
The other prisoners were not so perceptive.
“Eaten by a monster or stabbed in the back, either way we die!” one man said.
“They’re probably taking us back to their filthy huts to cook us and eat our guts. My da says these tree-loving heathens eat people!” another man said, wild eyes glancing anywhere but at the barbarians, too scared to be caught looking.
“Shut your holes!” Remus said. “They’re not going to eat us. They captured us because they need us. Think!”
“The runt’s right,” a hard-edged voice spoke from the
prisoner farthest from the fire. This was the first time he had heard the prisoner speak, but Remus had been aware of the man since standing in line to join the Legion. At the time, he had been struck by how bored the man looked. But that boredom disappeared when the physical tests started. The man had torn through the exercises with ease, making everyone but Pricker look like children in comparison. Wiry where Remus was muscled, and easily twenty years older, the man had a face of hard angles clenched in a perpetual scowl. And the eyes. The eyes were cruel.
The man responded to Remus’s gaze with a slight nod of his head. “Name’s Omen.” Speaking to the rest of the prisoners, he continued, “The grey ones want us alive, that much is obvious. We’ll know why soon enough. But no screwing about until we do. I get the impression we’re more valuable as a unit.”
Omen gestured with a lazy hand towards Remus. “So listen to him. He’s done us right this far.”
The rest of the prisoners looked at Remus, a mixture of terror, pleading, and hope in their eyes.
By all the gods, they expect me to keep them alive!
Remus felt his stomach churn, and he quashed the need to vomit. Omen was watching him, and despite the man’s words, he sensed there was no friendship there. Only a brief, self-serving alliance.
“Just follow my lead and don’t annoy our captors,” Remus said. “As long as we’re alive, we have a chance.”
Mute nods were the only answer.
Dour Face interrupted the discussion by gesturing for them to get on their feet. The first faint light of morning filtered through the treetops. Remus no longer teetered on the precipice of complete exhaustion, but his body still felt like he had been run over by a bull. He shivered as they moved away from the fire.
“Cold’s always worse when you’ve been warm,” muttered one of the prisoners.
The comment earned a glare from Dour Face, who put a finger to his lips and commanded silence. Silent and numb, the chain of prisoners formed up on the edge of the camp as their escort prepared to leave. Fire Hair had stowed his mysterious cloak and sword and was standing at the edge of the clearing, ready to lead the group forward.