by Rypel, T. C.
The maddened creature coiled and sprang off after Gonji’s sprinting party again, slithering into a course that would intersect theirs before they could cross the cavern. But Gonji yelled for men to grab mounts and bring pole-arms, then led his small band into the training facilities that sprouted in the middle of the cavern. They reached the quintains and jousting posts, just as the worm caught up to them and reared for a strike. Now the men were darting behind the practice mechanisms for cover.
Gonji leapt out and slashed right and left with his katana, drawing the creature’s attention. Then he darted and twisted through the practice field, setting the man-forms spinning and squeaking, the others following his lead. The worm hesitated in its confusion over the cacophony. All at once, it sprang downward, catching a quintain and tearing it to shreds. It moved forward into the practice devices and was slowed, becoming entangled in the wood and burlap and rope of the twisting training aids.
By now Dobroczy and Nagy arrived aboard two harnessed but barebacked horses, another pair in tow. Gonji and Gerhard bolted under the karumi-jutsu scaffold and leapt astride the skittish mounts. Gonji grabbing a bow and quiver tossed to him by a man on foot. Monetto ascended the scaffold with a lance, balancing lightly and awaiting the creature’s approach.
The archers reformed and sent another volley into the worm’s slimy rings. It clawed at the irritants ineffectually. The pistoliers charged forward again and blasted a torrent of lead balls through it broadside, so that it spun unnaturally, screaming and crashing down onto the quintains.
Gonji and Gerhard galloped in circles about it, firing war arrows into it. The creature bled darkly now from a hundred wounds.
“Pour it on!” Gonji roared, riding ever nearer the beast in his battle-frenzy.
Now pikemen appeared on the grounds, spears tearing into the bewildered worm-thing as it snaked its rending talons about in futility, the sounds of its tormentors coming from all directions at once. Defensive posturing was something new to the predator from far below the earth’s crust, its natural prey placid and inoffensive.
Sklarz and Foristek began to work in on foot with halberds, slicing through the gelatinous rings with razored steel. But they moved too close—Sklarz became ensnared on a tattered quintain, and the monster heard his scream beneath it. Half Sklarz’s head was torn off by the twisting slash of the beaked head. Foristek went mad at the sight, screaming his friend’s name and burying his halberd a foot deep, penetrating to the worm’s vital organs. It lurched high into the air over their heads, men scrambling to avoid its descent. Elongating into a blood-freezing strike like the spurting of a severed artery, it launched itself full length in the direction the wound had come from, landing atop the big farmer and knocking him senseless. Then it lifted him into the air with some difficulty in its mortal agonies, its beak shredding Foristek’s torso, before the anguished gazes of his screaming sword-brothers.
“Sado-war-a-aaaa!” Gonji’s war cry rent the cavern, echoing as he leaped off the horse and bounded atop the monster’s back, screaming with berserker frenzy. He had both his swords out now, slashing repeatedly at the worm’s back and neck. It lurched, but he stabbed both blades into its soft flesh and held on as it dropped Pete’s lifeless corpse in its maddened efforts to dislodge Gonji. Its catlike mewling shrilled as it rolled and at last threw the samurai off, nearby steeds neighing and tossing their riders in fear of its violent movement.
Then it loomed above Gonji, leaking its vital fluids, unsure of his position as he froze beneath it, only the Sagami in his grasp now, the seppuku sword lost in its flesh. It leaned near the agility scaffold, and Monetto’s lance gored its ear slit, its most sensitive organ. It slashed sidewise, but the lithe biller had already dived off the scaffold.
Its other tentacle raked under its belly, and the keen flash of the Sagami’s arc sliced off its taloned end, fluid spouting at once.
“Mind his venom!” someone cried, but Gonji had dashed off with the momentum of his sword cut.
When he looked up, it was to see a fresh blast of pistol fire from close range send ragged chunks of gray-green flesh tearing toward the cavern ceiling. Then the monster worm emitted a final piercing whine and fell like a downed tree, skewered on a splintered jousting post.
They pulled themselves up slowly, mouths gaping and panting. Horsemen dismounted. It was a long time before they would stop circling the thing, staring at their hard-won prize. Longer still before their last war whoops had died and they had stopped embracing and pounding one another’s backs in the pressure-release of victory.
But at that point some of them could only collapse in tearful exhaustion. And the bodies of the dead lay all about them, reminding them of the price they had had to pay.
Gonji withdrew the seppuku sword from the dead thing, cleansing his blades on a dead man’s cloak, his eyes still red and glazed over. He peered closely at an armor-piercing arrow that had driven through its lower jaw and continued on, straight up through the upper, splitting the base of its beak. He couldn’t recall having seen the shot.
Gerhard and Wilf came up beside him. “My parting shot,” Karl related, “just before it almost fell on me. Not bad, eh?” Gerhard grinned shakily, his chest heaving. It was the first time Gonji had ever heard him express pride in a bowshot. “Do you know what this means?” the archer said, his tone suddenly changing.
Gonji began to shake his head, his mind a maelstrom of his own thoughts, motives, suspicions.
“That the prophetess was right about Mord wanting to see us all in our graves,” Nick Nagy snarled, removing his soaked tunic and scowling.
“Worse,” Gerhard corrected. “It means that there’s a traitor among us.”
They were stunned by the assertion. Gonji’s eyes narrowed, focusing on something that twisted his lips.
“Why, Karl?” Monetto asked.
Gerhard shrugged. “The catacombs, eh? I don’t believe he stumbled on them, whatever his powers. And that...thing didn’t simply blunder up here. Even Tralayn never spoke of any such creature ever appearing before.” He unstrung his bow with assistance from another man.
They mulled it over, others commenting or offering opinions, while Gonji continued to stare off toward the castle tunnel.
“Well, that’s just my hunch,” Gerhard concluded at last to those who disagreed.
“Sit down, all of you,” Gonji said gravely. “Let’s rest and...reason this out.” They complied, food and beverages being passed around from their stores, accepted wearily.
“It can’t be,” Wilf said, wagging his head as he sipped his wine. “Klann would’ve sent a whole army through here to wipe us out, neh?”
“Unless your father is right,” Gonji countered, “and Tralayn is right.... Suppose Klann is being straightforward with us, as your father insists, but that Mord is working at cross-purposes to him, as we all heard Tralayn say a thousand times. So Mord employs a traitor—” He spat the word, revulsion for its connotation bringing a bitter taste to his tongue. “—as Karl suggests. Someone hateful enough—insane enough—well-paid enough?—to brook murder and savagery and the decimation of his neighbors—”
“Or her neighbors,” Paille reminded.
Heads were shaking.
“Who has opposed all our efforts?” Gonji asked. “Vehemently opposed them from the start?”
“Himmel—that covers a lot of non-combatants, for starters,” Gerhard advanced.
“Maybe it’s just the opposite,” Nagy observed, scratching his head. “Maybe it’s somebody who’s been too militant. That’s what Mord would want, ain’t it? Somebody to start trouble so that he could crush us?”
They all looked to him, grim and thoughtful.
“Phlegor?”
“He was arrested.”
“That could have been a ruse.”
“What for? What else could he do now that he’s gone, expected not to return?”
“Wait,” Gonji commanded, giving them pause. “I remember now—Jocko, good old Joc
ko, in Zarnesti, telling me something about this army of Klann’s having too many bosses. He would say that orders would come from the king, then separate orders would come from Mord, always for the mercenaries. It was in response to such orders that we committed the outrage at the monastery.... Great Kami—Mord’s purpose may even be inimical to that of Klann himself!”
“What are you talking about?”
Gonji stood, eyebrows knitting. “Add it up, gentlemen: what Jocko told me—the mystery crop spoilage—the poisoning of Klann—this-this—filthy worm from the depths.... And there’s another thing. I recall Tralayn speaking of mana, the force drawn from the living so that the sorcerer can work his devices. Tralayn said there was always a price to pay for black sorcery. These mercenaries who ride with Klann—I can tell you that they seem more devoid of humanity than any bandits I’ve ever known. Could Mord be draining them through this ‘faith chant’ they offer for him? And the children of the Akryllonians—I’ve never seen such pathetic-looking—damn you, Mord!”
He ran toward the castle tunnel, the others jumping to their feet and following, apprehensive.
“If the militia training plans are known, then certainly there are more effective ways to quell us,” Gonji spoke, inflamed by the revelation of it all. “He wanted Rorka destroyed because he fears Rorka’s Church connections. That’s why they were in flight, the 3rd Free Company—” He drew a ragged, wrathful breath. “—when I encountered them.”
Gonji’s eyes bulged with fury now. His friends had never seen him so hostile, not even in the Zarnesti fray.
“He wants the city destroyed, and he has his spies report our every move,” the samurai continued, simmering now. “He must know everything about us—as if that will do him any good....” His voice had shrunk to a boiling whisper.
“You’re staying,” Wilf said behind him, eyes shining with renewed hope.
Gonji turned to him, trembling with pre-volcanic emotion, at the moment unconcerned with his unseemly Western display.
“Hai, Wilfred-san,” he rasped, gripping the young smith’s hand, “there is evil to uproot in this good place. And a castle to be taken.”
Wilf s jaw set with trembling determination as they stared into each other’s eyes. Then the entire band looked into the castle tunnel.
“Fire that tunnel,” Gonji ordered coldly. “Collapse it. It can only be harmful to us now. All our planning has been compromised by a traitor—may the Great Kami allow me to live to face him.”
“Her—?” Karl reminded again.
“Him or her, the time will come,” Gonji said with finality. “I don’t like having been a plaything. I don’t like being regarded as a fool whose efforts are futile. And you bushi will prove Mord wrong. He thinks we’re playing at being knights, that Rorka was his only worry. We may yet provide him with a surprise or two.” He waxed reflective as they moved back to the center of the cavern to view the creature’s carcass again. Wilf eased up beside Gonji.
“He went down kind of easy, when you think about it,” Wilf thought aloud. “I mean, in spite of—”
“Hai,” Gonji agreed, “that’s what I thought, too. He wasn’t meant to crush the militia, just to inspire us to rebel in full force, in panic.... All-recht...Mord may get more than he bargains for.”
* * * *
The tunnel to the surface had been cleared, and the runner sent to check on Vedun confirmed that nothing unusual had occurred during the day. Their agreement over the truth of their situation was enhanced.
It was about that time that Paille came dashing madly from the alcove that housed his precious diorama. He was hurling imprecations at the downed worm-thing, his dagger held on high. When he reached the carcass, he began to slash at its tentacles.
In the alcove they found the reason for the artist’s sudden choleric outburst: his painstakingly constructed miniature of the city had been crushed. Shaking their heads in collective frustration, they were about to depart when Monetto tapped Gonji on the shoulder, sucking in a breath.
The tiny figures of crushed militiamen had begun to writhe hypnotically of their own accord, as if in the throes of death.
“Burn it,” Gonji directed, his voice now devoid of emotion, his control reestablished.
Tora could not be found, many horses still scattered throughout the tunnels; so Gonji had another steed, a gray roncin mare, saddled and readied for him. He left orders for them to report back to the city and begin the careful removal of weapons, armor, and other useful equipment to the surface.
“Tell your father what’s happened, Wilf,” Gonji said. “Tell him that if anyone can stop Mord now without bloodshed, it will have to be him. He may be the only person who can gain Klann’s confidence. Move the horses back slowly—find Tora for me, and take care of him, dozo—”
Wilf nodded indulgently, but interrupted him: “Where are you going?”
Gonji seated his swords in his obi and pondered his words before replying. His thin smile was humorless. “Let’s just say that I’m off to meet with a legend.” He chuckled at Wilf’s puzzled frown and clapped him on the shoulder. “If I succeed, you’ll know soon enough. If not...it isn’t going to matter.”
They were drawn to a group huddled around the dead giant worm.
“Send that vile thing up in flames already, will—?”
Gerhard held up an armor-piercer arrow, its tip strangely discolored. “Look at that stuff, eh? From where Paille slashed it open. The worm’s venom—it impregnates anything it touches. Do you think—?”
“Is that my quiver?” Gonji asked.
“Ja.” Gerhard smiled and cocked an eyebrow speculatively. “Might be worth a try, neh?”
Gonji cast him a sly glance and nodded. “Finish the job. I’ve got to move.”
Soon Gonji was astride the roncin, swords sashed at his waist, his three-man longbow lashed to the saddle, the quiver of poisoned arrows tied behind him. Several bushi trailing behind him grimly, he walked the horse to the mouth of the southern valley’s exit tunnel. Then he turned the mare back toward them suddenly, the last rays of the setting sun filtering through the tunnel’s concealing foliage, bathing Gonji in its red glow.
The samurai scanned his warriors’ haunted faces. Faces radiating fear that threatened to engulf all hope. Gonji snarled and spat beside the horse’s withers.
“Hey!” he growled. “Who are you? Babes crying out for their mothers to kiss their scratches? Or the warriors who have fought nobly beside me? Fire up your will and hone your weapons!” He pointed back out the exit tunnel. “They threaten your city, your families, with their cowardly brutes and their idiot giants. Their flying filth and their...their worms—worms! And still you are unconquered. For you—all of you—are the Dragon. And the Dragon shall have his hour!
“Sayonara,” he shouted, bowing sharply and spurring the horse out into the valley.
The militiamen watched him go, their fears and hopes mingling wordlessly. Then they shuffled heavily back into the cavern to begin the difficult work ahead. Each man absorbed by his own thoughts. The prayers of the group an open book to all.
THE END
of Book Two of The Deathwind Trilogy
THE DEATHWIND TRILOGY CHARACTER INDEX
Alain Paille, an artist and poet; Vedun’s antic genius
Aldo Monetto, a biller; friend of Karl Gerhard
Anna Vargo, wife of Flavio’s counselor Milorad
Anton, the Gray Knight, last retainer of Baron Rorka
Anton Torok, a lorimer
Baron Ernst Christophe Rorka, deposed baron of the province
Ben-Draba, King Klann’s Field Commander
Boris Kamarovsky, a wood craftsman; friend of Strom Gundersen
Captain Sianno, a Llorm officer under King Klann
Danko, a tanner
Eduardo, young leader of a band of street urchins
Esteban, second-in-command of King Klann’s 3rd Free Company
Father Dobret, itinerant priest; confidant of Simon Sar
donis
Flavio, Council Elder of Vedun
Francisco Navarez, Captain of the 3rd Free Company
Galioto, a farmer and dairy stockman
Garth Gundersen, chief blacksmith of Vedun
General Gorkin, King Klann’s castellan
Genya, servant at Castle Lenska; beloved of Wilfred Gundersen
Giacomo Battaglia (Jocko), cook for the 3rd Free Company
Giselle, beloved of Janos Agardy
Gola the Butcher, a mercenary
Gonji Sabatake-no-Sadowara, an itinerant samurai on a quest through Europe
Goodwin, an English merchant
Gornick, a farmer
Greta, betrothed of Jiri Szabo
Gutschmidt, owner of the Provender Inn
Hawkes, an English mercenary with the 3rd Free Company
Helena, a young deaf-mute in Vedun
Hildegarde, a Nordic warrior-woman; a former bandit
Ignace Obradek, a blind wagoner
Ivar, Llorm lieutenant under Captain Julian Kel’Tekeli
Jacob Neriah, a traveling merchant
Jana Torok, daughter of Anton
Janos Agardy, a clubfooted militiaman; a romantic poet
Jiri Szabo, a young militiaman; betrothed of Greta
Julian Kel’Tekeli, captain of free companions in the occupying army in Vedun
Karl Gerhard, a brilliant archer, fletcher and hunter; friend of Aldo Monetto
Klann the Invincible, mysterious enchanted king who has invaded Vedun
Klaus, an oafish militiaman
Kovacs, a lorimer; father of Lottie
Lady Gorkin, wife of the castellan
Lady Thorvald, a mistress of the king
Lancaster, an English merchant; companion of Goodwin
Lorenz Gundersen, eldest son of Garth; Vedun’s Chancellor of the Exchequer
Lottie Kovacs, a castle servant; lover of Richard
Luba, a vicious mercenary
Lydia Benedetto, wife of councilor Michael
Mark Benedetto, young brother of Michael
Michael Benedetto, protégé of Council Elder Flavio
Miklos Zarek, a fisherman