by Sandell Wall
Hyper alert, the Ethari escort lined up the two chains of Legion captives along the bank, facing across the wide brook. Of the ten Ethari, nine spread out behind the prisoners. The tenth waded into the water.
Not even up to the soldier’s knees, the rapid current cut around his armored legs. Moisture glistened on his shell-like armor. Weapon drawn, the Ethari waded up and down the far bank, striking the trunks nearest the stream. A dull thwack, the sound of his barbed sword striking wood echoed through the swampy undergrowth.
Remus strained to detect any motion or noise on the opposite side of the creek. There was no movement that he could see, and the only sound was the droning of insects. To his immediate left and right his cellmates were braced and ready for whatever came at them, but the prisoners from the other cage looked terrified.
“Hey,” he called, trying to get the attention of the ten men on the other chain. No one noticed.
“HEY!” he tried again. A few of them looked at him. “Strike to kill. You hear me? Whatever is coming over the steam cannot be wounded. Strike to kill.”
All he got in response was dumbfounded looks.
Fools!
He was going to try again, but a splashing in the stream interrupted him. The Ethari soldier in the water was running back to them, high stepping through the current in his haste. Behind the soldier, the leafy thicket rustled.
Remus held his breath. A head poked out of the foliage. Pale and twisted, the face belonged to some sort of abomination. Features distorted by pain or insanity, whatever it was had once been human, but no longer. A bronze circlet was clamped around its head, angry red runes throbbing in the metal.
By all that’s holy—those are runes!
With dumb, animal curiosity, the thrall inspected the men on the opposite bank. Its head twitched as it jerked its gaze up and down their line. Dim perception and stunted intelligence finally registered their presence—it opened its mouth and screeched so loud that Remus flinched. Spittle flew from a tongueless maw. The other captives started to swear and pray. The monster lurched into the stream—intestines spilled out of its slashed open gut and floated on the water.
Mindless and dying, the grotesque wretch stumbled through the creek. When it was halfway across, it paused in the swirling water, as if unsure why it had entered the stream. Remus had no idea how the thing was still alive. It should collapse and perish. The thrall locked eyes with Remus. In disbelief, he watched with growing horror as awareness dawned in its eyes. There was consciousness behind those eyes. There was still a person in there.
The thing screamed again, pouring all of its fury, hate, and pain into the cry. At the same instant, the thicket behind it exploded. In a maddened frenzy, a swarm of thralls launched out of the bushes. They came hard and fast, always moving at top speed. Under different circumstances Remus might have laughed at the charging thralls. They fell flat on their faces, splashing into the brook as they tripped down the bank. But the thralls recovered so quickly that there was no time for amusement, only fear. His hand ached, clamped in a death grip around his sword. Clothed in tattered shreds, the thralls were a mixture of men and women. Runed circlets throbbed on every skull.
“Emperor preserve us...,” Ellion said, his voice trailing off.
“Shields up!” Grotius bellowed.
The thralls slammed into the prisoners, rigid hands hacking and clawing. They draped themselves over shields, trying to use their weight to knock the captives off balance, or wrench a shield away. Sword and axe plunged in and out of bloody wounds, but did nothing to slow the assault. One man slipped on the muddy bank and fell—two of the thralls were on him in an instant, tearing him to pieces in a flurry of skin, blood, and hair. Overwhelmed by the sight, one of the men in Remus’s line fell to his knees puking.
Remus did not wait for the attackers to hit his shield. When the first twisted creature lurched into range, he smashed his battered sword into its face. No blow struck in the forge had ever been as hard as that swing. To his shock, his target dropped stone dead in the mud, face cleaved in half.
“They can die!” he shouted.
To his right, Grotius stabbed his sword through another thrall’s neck, severing the spine. Decapitated, the thing fell to the ground and gnashed its teeth until the life drained out of it. Up and down the line his men aimed for killing blows. Once they conquered their fear, it was pathetically easy to slay the monsters as they charged full tilt straight into deadly blades.
Remus’s arm grew tired with the killing. Covered in gore, he smashed his sword down again and again, and still the enemy kept coming. At the far end of the line one of the men missed his strike, his axe glancing off a thrall’s face. Half its face missing, the thrall still darted inside the man's guard and disemboweled him with dagger like hands. Ellion took the thing’s head off with a hard swing to the back of the neck. And then there were no more enemies.
Blood pumping, Remus had to forcibly calm himself when the last thrall fell. A hazy red fog had descended over his vision, every fiber of his being screaming for the kill. Now, in the quiet after the skirmish, he divorced himself from the rage, shaking slightly from the aftereffects.
“You fight like a madman,” Grotius said.
Remus ignored the comment, focusing instead on a corpse at his feet. The runes inscribed on the circlet had not gone out when the wretch died. Remus knelt, driving the tip of his sword into the cooling flesh underneath the bronze band. With a flick of his wrist he gouged his sword into the skin, drawing blood, but also prying the metal crown from the head. He snatched the circlet from the ground and stuffed it under the cloth garment beneath his leather armor.
Grotius quirked an eyebrow at Remus.
“Not a word,” Remus said.
Grotius nodded.
Remus stared at the ugly scar left by the circlet on the dead thrall’s forehead. He had seen a scar like that before. The image of Pricker without his hat on flashed into Remus’s mind. The scar that circled Pricker’s skull could have come from one of these rune circlets.
I wonder what happened to Pricker. I didn’t see him at the fort, and there’s no way he died in the battle.
None of the Ethari were paying attention to Remus. They had been forced to help the other line of captives fight off the assault. Even with help, four of the ten had been slain. Normally unfazed, the Ethari seemed frustrated. Quick and ruthless, they unchained the dead captives. The bodies were left to rot. Soon, they were leading the captives back through the forest, running them at a brutal pace.
It took every last ounce of Remus’s strength to stay upright. The chain on his foot was not designed for long distance running. His leg wound reopened and bled harder with each step. He did not think he was going to make it, but to his surprise, as they ran through the twilight he breathed easier and felt his body fall into a steady rhythm. He still hurt, but he started to feel like he could run all night. Around him he sensed that his fellow captives had found a similar tempo, and they pushed the Ethari to run harder.
I’ll be damned. I guess all the running pays off.
When they neared the village, they slowed to a walk. Remus almost crumpled. No longer distracted by putting one foot in front of the next, his leg screamed in pain. He staggered between the quiet buildings, following the Ethari through the growing darkness. At the armory they were stripped of their armor and weapons. Remus removed his leather armor before they reached the door, hoping to hide the bronze circlet beneath his shirt. He jammed the thing into his pants to try and conceal the blazing runes. In the darkness they looked ten times brighter.
The excursion complete, they were led back to their cages. It was dark, but there was movement in the pens. Every captive stood pressed against the bars of their cells, watching Remus and his men return.
“Where’s the rest?” a man called out.
Remus turned and looked behind him, expecting to see the second group bringing up the rear. But there was nothing.
Free of the chains,
Remus and his men were deposited back into their prison.
“The emperor take this prison,” Remus said. “I would give anything for an hour of warmth and a soft bed.”
His men grunted, but did not respond. Most of them collapsed, more than happy to lie in the dirt if it meant getting to rest. Soon the second group limped up, only three men where there had been six. Secured in the cell next to Remus’s, the trio dropped to the ground sobbing.
“What happened?” Grotius asked through the bars.
“We couldn’t run fast enough,” one of the men managed to say through his blubbering. “They murdered us one by one until we could keep up.”
Grotius turned from the bars, sounding disgusted he said, “It makes no sense. Why equip us to fight and then slaughter us like pigs?”
“I have a guess,” Remus said, removing the glowing circlet from inside his clothing. In the near pitch-black darkness the red runes lit up the cell like a bonfire. Faces floated into view as the men moved close to inspect the mysterious circlet.
“What is it?” one man said.
“An evil thing,” another said, refusing to come nearer. “You shouldn't have taken it.”
“Why did you grab it?” Ellion said.
“Because I think these runes were controlling the people we killed,” Remus said.
He watched disbelief, horror, and revulsion flicker across the shadowy faces of the men surrounding him.
“Wicked and vile, I told you!” the man on the edge of the light said.
Grotius looked at Remus with suspicion. He knew what Remus had planned.
The man’s perceptive.
“You intend to test it,” Grotius said. It was not a question.
“Aye, with your help,” Remus said.
“What will that accomplish?”
“We’ll know what we’re dealing with. If I stumble across your rune-crazed arse out there in the forest, do you want me to try and save you, or chop your face in half?”
Comprehension dawned in Grotius’s eyes. “That’s why they kill us. If they leave us behind we become soldiers of the enemy.” He followed the thought to its logical conclusion, and his compreheniosn turned to fear. “By the emperor’s balls. That means the pitiful creatures we killed in the stream were innocent people!”
“Exactly.”
“No one’s going to volunteer to put that thing on their head,” Grotius said. “Especially now that we know what it turns people into.”
“He’s right,” Ellion said. “This is madness. Cover it before the guards come.”
“I didn’t ask for a volunteer,” Remus said.
Remus’s hand darted out, slipping the circlet onto the skull of one of the prisoners kneeling at his feet. The exhausted man was too tired to resist. Remus crouched, never taking his gaze from the man’s eyes as the light from the hungry runes flared brighter.
Chapter 22
AVENTINE TRUDGED ALONG IN silence behind Holmgrim. Neither of them had spoken yet this day, and it was past noon. She was feeling morose with nothing kind to say, and could sense that Holmgrim had his own private struggles. No sleep had come for her in the night, which did not help her foul temper. Holmgrim snored like a hibernating bear. Above, the sky was as grey as the rocky terrain they climbed over. The dreary day matched her mood.
“They will hunt us,” Holmgrim said, finally breaking the silence. “This trail will lead us out of the hills in several miles and we will be vulnerable again.”
“He speaks!” Aventine said, her tone acidic.
Holmgrim stopped in the middle of the trail and turned around. “If you have a problem with me, out with it. I spilled blood to save your life and have led you in safety through the night. If you’re not going to trust me just say so and I’ll make my own way. But enough with the attitude!”
Aventine glared into his angry eyes, but to her surprise her own anger fled rather than flared. “I’m sorry,” she said, looking down. “I’ve not been fair with you.”
His face softened. “Circumstances are dire, and we flee for our lives, but if we don’t trust each other, we’ll never survive.”
Aventine nodded. “I know,” she said quietly. “I’ve been thinking all morning about how to get out of this mess. I think we should make for Umgragon, the treasury district.”
“You were almost killed in Delgrath. Why risk it again?”
“Because that will be the one district that Lorent avoids. If Dranzen chases us, we will be on even footing.”
“If he does not already have the governor in his pocket.”
“I’ve traveled there several times with my father. Governor Wranger fancies himself above the petty squabbles of the noble houses. I cannot imagine he would ally himself with a house as lowly as Lome.”
“It’s a dangerous gamble.”
“We need help, and it’s close. There must be someone who is still loyal to the emperor.”
“Close? It’s fifty miles to the coast. Two days’ hard travel.”
“Close enough.”
“I walk all over these territories when making my rounds. Once we descend into the flatlands between here and the coast there will be nowhere to hide. We’ll have to move fast, and stay alert.”
Aventine nodded. “Let’s get on with it then.”
Destination in mind, their pace quickened. Holmgrim was no runner, but he hiked with implacable stamina and speed. Within the hour they crested the last rise and laid out before them were the flatlands. A long, winding road snaked out of the hills and disappeared into the hazy horizon. Barren fields flanked the dirt highway for as far as the eye could see. They waited for half an hour, concealed on the hilltop, watching the route for any signs of travel. While they waited the sun burned the cloud cover away, and the sky turned blue. Aventine’s icy demeanor thawed under the warmth of the sun.
“I don’t like it,” Holmgrim said. “I expected some activity, at least a few travelers. This road links Umgragon with the rest of the empire.”
“Whatever the reason, we better take advantage of it,” Aventine said.
“Aye, I guess we can’t go back.”
Aventine was happy to leave the stony trail behind. Her legs ached, having traversed from one rocky incline to the next for the past ten miles. Walking the dirt road, smooth and wide, felt like a leisurely stroll. But after two hours, she could not shake a feeling of unease.
Holmgrim’s right. Where are the people?
They walked well into the night. The sunset took her breath away: the sky looked like it was on fire. Aventine watched their shadows grow huge and then shrink to nothing as the burning orb winked out. Still Holmgrim pushed on. Huge and yellow over the fallow fields, the moon rose to light their way. Finally, three or four hours after sunset, he stopped.
“We should be about thirty-five miles from Umgragon,” Holmgrim said. “If we push hard, we can arrive the day after tomorrow. But to keep this pace, we need to rest.”
“You’ll get no complaint from me,” Aventine said. She had been swaying on her feet the last mile.
“Let’s get off the road,” he said. “We can’t hide, but in the darkness we won’t be visible from the highway as we sleep.”
Holmgrim led them to the center of one of the fields, well away from the dirt thoroughfare. For a second night they ate under the moon and stars, finishing off the meager scraps Holmgrim carried in his pack. Aventine was still hungry when the food was gone.
“There’s a small hamlet between us and Umgragon,” Holmgrim said. “I know the innkeeper. He’ll provision us, and we can trust him to be discreet.”
Aventine yawned. “I hope he has a deep larder. I could eat a bull.”
Holmgrim chuckled. “Just remember, what you eat, you carry.”
Aventine did not respond; she had already rolled onto her side and was half-asleep. Head resting on her pack, she slipped into an exhausted slumber. Not even Holmgrim’s snoring could keep her awake.
——
In the morning
they rose and set out without preamble. They had no food, so no time was wasted on breaking fast. Although, Aventine’s empty stomach would not have minded the delay. Over the hills behind them the sun rose into a clear sky. It was going to be a beautiful day. Despite her hunger, Aventine felt better than she had in days. The horrors of the forest were fading into memory, and she was certain they would find help in Umgragon.
Around midday the hamlet Holmgrim had spoken of materialized on the horizon. Miles away, it was hazy in the distance, but Aventine could see several wooden buildings clustered together beside the highway.
“Tickton,” Holmgrim said. “Waystation and watering hole for travelers. Marthis runs the inn. He’s an old friend and will give us a fair price on supplies. We served in the Legion together.”
Aventine’s stomach growled at the thought of food. She was out of water too, and her throat was parched. The cool morning air had been chased away by the sun, and for the last three hours they had hiked under its relentless and rising heat.
“It looks deserted,” she said as they got closer. There was no sign of movement in the ramshackle structures. No signs of life at all.
“Aye, it does,” Holmgrim said. “Let's hope they left something behind.”
Sun blasted and ancient, the weathered-looking inn was the biggest of the buildings. It was set off the road by several hundred paces. Between the inn and the road two long wooden buildings faced each other. Together, the three structures formed three sides of a courtyard that opened to the dusty highway.
“Those look like barracks,” Aventine said.
“They are,” Holmgrim said. “Farmhands live here during harvest season when they work these fields.”
Every first floor barrack window was boarded up, and the doors shut tight. But Aventine could see signs of occupation. The well was not covered. In fact, the bucket was swaying like someone had just been cranking on the winch. Movement in the second story windows proved that someone was here, and they were watching.