Giahem's Talons

by Katharine Wibell

  “Stop!” Lluava cried out as she spurred her horse into a gallop as well. Behind her, shouts were heard, including Regin’s urgent command, “Not you, Your Majesty!”

  All Lluava could do was keep her eyes on the escaping captive. The blanket blew off and nearly collided with her, but she veered away just in time. The nomad was an expert horseman and used his strong legs to steered his mount exactly where he wanted to go. To stay in pursuit, Lluava had to tug reins and dig her heels in. Pine branches slapped at her, and several times she was nearly knocked off her horse. The nomad was heading straight toward a heavier stand of trees and would use them as cover.

  She had to reach him. If he escaped, the Obsidian Guard would hunt him down. If she did not bring him back herself, he would die.

  Up ahead, Lluava watched the nomad’s horse rear as it tried to spin around. From the thicket emerged several dozen figures wearing horned helmets and heavy furs. A band of Raiders charged the pair of them, crossbows raised and ready to shoot.

  Chapter 10

  Oldest of Enemies

  Hurriedly turning her own steed, Lluava shouted, “This way!”

  She steered her mount to the left while the nomad spurred his to the right. Damn him, she thought angrily and altered her own course. Heavy, square-headed quarrels from the Raiders’ crossbows streaked through the air and threatened to cut her mission short.

  As the bulkily clad men raced after them, so did a half dozen or more Shadows. Some of the Obsidian Guard had indeed followed the escaping captive. Now the opposing sides met with a clatter of weapons and the cries of enraged men.

  Lluava did not stop to assist them. She had to herd the prisoner back to the others. But at what risk? In doing so, would she lead the enemy to Varren? How many marauders were hiding in the woods? Who outnumbered whom? Certainly, the Raiders would be no match for the Guard.

  Onyx cawed angrily from above. What use was that bird if it alerted the Raiders to her whereabouts? Before she could shout at the raven, Onyx dove down in a blur of black feathers—straight for the nomad’s eyes. Instinctively, the man raised his arms to protect his face, thereby throwing himself off balance. His mount slowed.

  Now was her chance. Lluava leaped from her horse and pulled the nomad from his. There was a moment when bodies, horses, and hooves collided with the ground. She found herself struggling to control the thrashing prisoner.

  “By the Twelve, stop or you’ll kill us both!”

  The nomad stopped resisting. “You know nothing of the Twelve, savage.”

  Lluava ignored the insult. “If you want to hate savages,” she said disdainfully, “then hate the Raiders who attacked us. They are the true enemy. For everyone, including your people.”

  Jerking the man to his feet, Lluava did not care that the Claws grazed his reddening flesh. The cold would soon turn him white, possibly even blue. Maybe it would be better to let him freeze.

  “Come on,” Lluava said. She pulled him forward while scanning for their horses. One stood nearby; the other was out of sight. Just as the nomad began to follow her, a piercing scream caused the pair to freeze in their tracks.

  “Vor’s kingdom!” the nomad exclaimed after the horse’s scream died. Lluava recognized the bastard name for the goddess Nott. Did his gods mirror her own pantheon? Of all the gods to call upon, the goddess of death was the last she would have expected.

  She knew the nomadic tribes viewed harming a horse without due cause as a sin. Their steeds provided transportation, means of protection, and above all, survival.

  “Keep moving,” Lluava ordered. The pair headed toward the remaining steed, which was now trotting skittishly in circles.

  Before they could reach the horse, a large, dark object hurtled into Lluava and knocked her down. She gasped and shoved a horse’s severed head off her chest. Beside her, the nomad stood stock-still. His eyes widened at the figure approaching them. The man, who wore an enormous horned helmet, towered over them. From his gore-splattered face, bloodshot eyes glowered. With a terrible, guttural roar, the Raider lifted a battle-axe far heavier than a normal man could wield.

  “Run!” Lluava coughed out as she struggled to her feet. The nomad continued to stare in horror at the formidable giant. The odor of tainted smoke wafted in the air. “Run!” Lluava’s voice was louder now. She yanked the captive hard and shouted, “RUN!”

  This time, the nomad did not hesitate. He darted ahead of her on his strong legs as they desperately tried to evade the behemoth charging after them. They had no choice but to head back toward the main fray. If they were to survive, they needed the Shadows alongside them.

  Black bodysuits whipped around the more cumbersome fur-laden marauders. Many Raiders were clearly in pain, while others lay as corpses on the ground. One or two Shadows had been killed, but their superior agility and skill had prevented a worse outcome. It was hard to tell one Shadow from another, but Lluava thought she recognized Jigo.

  “Behind us!” Lluava alerted the Guard of their arrival and the monstrous assailant on their heels. She did not look around when she heard the sputtering coughs of several Raiders hacked down by the giant’s axe. His drug-induced rage caused an uncontrollable urge to kill, and anyone who got in the way of his objective was at risk, friend or foe. The nomad glanced back. Whatever he saw caused him to blanch.

  A Guard moved in front of Lluava and shouted, “Duck!”

  She barely had time to comply with Regin’s order when a set of four throwing suns whirled over her head and embedded themselves in the behemoth. Stumbling, Lluava continued forward, for she knew the monster behind her would not be stopped by injuries such as those.

  Regin stood his ground.

  Although it was a heroic move, Lluava knew it meant certain death for him. The head Shadow had never dealt with such an enemy. With a growl, Lluava knocked Regin aside and shifted into white tigress form.

  Several of the Guard had moved to attack the behemoth while others kept warily away, for their sai would be of no advantage. Regin’s throwing suns were embedded in the brute’s chest and left arm, but the Raider took no notice of his injuries.

  Lluava knew that since he had smoked his drug, only decapitation, the destruction of his heart, or bleeding out would kill the monster.

  “Aim for his head!” she roared as she lunged toward the lumbering beast. Her gilded foreclaws caught the fur cloak that covered his arm and dug in deeply to tear at his flesh. She had to knock his helmet off, for neither throwing sun nor naginata could penetrate its metal. Trying to bat at the large horns that branched to either side, she lost her grip as the giant jolted sideways.

  On the ground, Lluava felt the bloodshot eyes bore into her. The brute swung his axe upward just as a Shadow’s chigiriki shredded a large section of flesh and bone at the behemoth’s jawline.

  She scrambled to her feet as the sickening thunk of the axe cleaved the poor Shadow in two, splattering blood and entrails. The giant turned back to Lluava. The roots of several remaining teeth were exposed in his ruined face. “Theri,” he sputtered.

  Hearing that name caused the thing inside her to stir. Should she let the goddess out? Would she be able to tell friend from foe? Or would she be no different from this monster, who focused solely on slaughter and annihilation?

  She crouched, anticipating attack, snarling ferociously. Feinting a strike, Lluava swiped at the axe. Several more throwing suns clattered against the metal helmet, leaving small dents. The last one slashed the man’s throat.

  With no time to rejoice, Lluava leaped out of the way of the swinging blade. Though the giant’s death was imminent, he would try to take others with him to his hell. The behemoth blundered forward, his axe dealing damage with every strike.

  With a roar, Lluava threw her full body weight at the Raider, hoping to knock him down. Somehow the man held his ground. He dropped the axe and moved to grab her. At the same time, Lluava stood up on her rear legs and bit into the spewing neck. Her canines crunched on bone. The villai
n’s body finally went limp.

  Suddenly, the enormous corpse fell on top of her, and pain shot into her underbelly. Lluava cried out, “Get him off me!”

  The taste of blood in her mouth and the piercing sensation in her gut acted as a trigger. Her sight began to waver. No, she thought. Not now. The time is not right.

  Other figures approached. Fortunately, they were Shadows, who commenced to free Lluava from her fleshy prison. Once on her feet, she scanned the carnage. The entire party of Raiders had been slain, along with seven Shadows. Several other Obsidian Guard were injured as well; one was Jigo. His shoulder bore a deep cut where the giant’s axe had caught him.

  “How badly are you hurt?” he asked her brusquely.

  Examining her body, Lluava realized that the throwing sun embedded in the behemoth must also have dug into her striped torso. “Not terribly,” she muttered, trying to hide her fury at what had just occurred. A few stitches were nothing, all things considered.

  The real problem was that now her ward would no longer be under her protection. She only wanted him to be shown a little mercy. Hoping the head Shadow would be just, Lluava cautioned the others, “The prisoner will not be harmed without Regin’s direct command.”

  The nomad stood nearby. He held a small knife in his bound hands but dropped it as the Guards moved toward him. Plodding up to the captive, Lluava sniffed the fear emanating from his body. Her whiskers and nostrils flared.

  “What was that demon?” the nomad asked her as he was led away.

  “That was a Berserker. They are the enemy.”

  She watched as the nomad, deep in the horror of his own thoughts, followed the Guard in silence.

  Jigo seemed to appear out of nowhere. He nodded toward the head Shadow. “You know that Regin will sentence the nomad to die because of his escape attempt.”

  “Yes,” Lluava admitted dejectedly, “but it should be done mercifully and not in a moment of rage.”

  Jigo inclined his head subtly as Regin approached. The leader of the Obsidian Guard ordered, “Take the prisoner back to the others, and set up camp. Holly will be in charge until I return.” He looked at Lluava intently. Eyes flashing, he chose several of the Guard. “You will come with me. We must make sure there are no more Raiders.” Without another word, the small band of Shadows dispersed to ensure their king’s safety.

  The trek took the better part of an hour. Everyone was cautious, and some of the injured struggled to keep pace. Their tracks were all too visible in the snow. Lluava hoped they would not be followed. Since Berserkers traveled in trios, two others must be nearby.

  Her tail twitched agitatedly the entire time, an instinctual reflex she could not control. That the Raiders were this far south did not bode well for their caravan. For all they knew, they were in the middle of enemy territory. What did this mean for Cronus and Yena? Could the Raiders have finally breached the walls of the capital? That wouldn’t be the worst thing, would it? If the Raiders slew Yena and her Outlanders, there would be one fewer enemy and one fewer army for Varren to face. But what about Apex? What of Talos and Rosalyn? Had they been killed? Would they be killed?

  Varren and Holly greeted the weary survivors on their return. It was evident from the expression on their faces that the two had been informed of everything. Had they heard the skirmish? Had the Shadows alerted them about the enemy?

  The injured were treated with what limited medical supplies they had. Lluava was handed a blanket under which to shift, and a new set of black clothes. Though they were a size too large, she did not mind, for this new issue was made of Endun, the Theriomorph material that changed with them. Had Holly brought them for her on purpose? While someone stitched up Jigo’s shoulder, another Shadow handed Lluava a clean cloth and a bowl of water. Stifling a cry of pain, she dabbed the cuts on her torso, three in all.

  Varren spoke with each of the wounded. Lluava knew he could not show favoritism, but she noticed the worried looks he cast her way.

  “I’ve been through worse,” she said as she lifted her shirt to expose a long, dull scar. “Remember?”

  “All too well,” he added. “That is one debt I hope to be able to repay.”

  Suddenly, Lluava felt sick. “As do I,” she replied. Her thoughts returned once again to Apex.

  The nomad was tied to the trunk of a tree to await judgment. But first, the dead had to be dealt with. It was customary for the Shadows to burn their dead, but with the enemy afoot, they would have to be left where they fell. None of the Obsidian Guard would put their king at undue risk.

  Next, the conversation shifted to the prisoner. Lluava stepped forward and began, “If I may—”

  Themis interrupted her. “Whatever you wish to say, take note: you have no authority at this council.”

  “I know,” Lluava remarked as courteously as she could. “All I ask is that whatever means of death you decide for the nomad, let it be quick and without unnecessary pain.”

  “You choose to extend the prisoner mercy?” Varren questioned. Lluava could clearly tell he was proud of her. “Even though he would not have done the same for you?”

  “Yes.”

  “He is the enemy of us all,” reminded Themis. “He would kill anyone who lives within Elysia’s borders.”

  “But,” Lluava brazenly interjected, “if I, as a Theriomorph, the nomad’s sworn enemy, older than the Mandrun line’s rule—”

  “Remarks like that—” Themis began in a calm voice tinged with poison. Several Shadows’ eyes flashed in warning and disdain.

  Lluava continued unabashed, “Wish mercy on him—”

  “Your advisory role has been stripped,” reminded Holly sternly.

  Raising her voice, Lluava finished, “Then why shouldn’t you?” She did not flinch under the angered eyes of those insulted by her insubordinate behavior. She added, “That is all.”

  Stepping away, she left the others to deliberate. Knowing Varren, she hoped the plea for mercy would appeal to him. Since they were now in Elysia, he would make the final decision. The prisoner’s attempt to flee had resulted in many deaths and a number of injuries. The nomad would have to die.

  Lluava walked over to the captive and sat down on a fallen tree trunk nearby. The man still seemed shaken.

  “I told you,” she began when the captive looked in her direction, “that I was not a monster.” Pausing, she thought about the past year and amended, “Well, I am not the only one.”

  “In my religion,” the nomad began, giving Lluava a start, “the gods never meant their ability to be given to your ancestors. The gift was condemned, although it was too late to take it back. The Messenger came down from the heavens with a command from the First. The command was that it was the duty of humans to slay anyone with the god’s gift.

  “You and your race were wrongly created by the gods. But that thing—" the nomad’s eyes momentarily glazed over. “That monster was not made by the gods. That thing is an abomination. That thing is a sacrilege.”

  Lluava regarded her distorted reflection in the Claws. “I don’t know how that thing came to be. I do know where he comes from, and there are more.”

  “They will destroy everything?” questioned the nomad.

  “Yes.”

  Looking over at the men who were deciding his fate, the prisoner admitted, “My father called me Aquila, after my family’s totem. It means eagle.”

  “In my religion,” Lluava said thoughtfully, “the bow you possessed was forged for the king of our gods, Giahem. His dual form is the eagle. The weapon is fitting for you.”

  In the following silence, Lluava brooded. Could she have been wrong about Aquila? She had to have been. His death would be proof. There were no such things as signs; no greater power spoke to her in riddled dreams. She was not Yena, who had the gift of foresight and prophecy. All Lluava had done was prolong the inevitable. The nomad was going to die. Now more deaths were on her hands and his.

  Shaking his blond-streaked auburn hair to clear his
sight, Aquila stated solemnly, “Their decision has been made.”

  He was right. The group of men was heading in their direction. Varren’s grave features did not indicate whether Lluava’s plea had had any effect.

  “I, King Varren Mandrun, true ruler of Elysia, order the prisoner bound before me to die by a shot to the neck with a poisoned dart. The venom it possesses will send the prisoner quickly into the realm of the afterlife.”

  Holly stepped up with blowdart in hand.

  At least it will be painless, thought Lluava as she stepped away. She did not wish to see any more lives taken.

  A horn trumpeted solemnly, followed by the steady thrum of war drums.

  “Raiders,” Holly pronounced. The execution was forgotten. “Everyone protect our king!”

  “Gather your weapons,” ordered Varren simultaneously. “The war is upon us.”

  Lluava moved to Varren’s side. She might not be his military partner, but as an Elysian soldier, she would guard Varren until her last breath was drawn.

  “They have to be a mile away,” said Byron as he cocked his head to listen to the odious sound.

  “They may be,” noted Jigo. “But look there.”

  Two enormous figures had appeared on the far side of the camp. Each stood close to eight feet tall. One held a massive spiked mace; the other, a gigantic maul. Berserkers had found their camp. Death was sure to follow.

  Chapter 11

  Unbound

  God save me!” Thad cried out. The look of terror on his face would have affected even the most stoic heart. Behind the Berserkers, a new army of Raiders awaited. Like hunters releasing their hounds, they stood behind the pair of approaching monstrosities.

  Next to the king, Holly gave a nod, and the Obsidian Guard charged. Once again, the skill and prowess of the swift-moving Shadows brought down many a Raider with relative ease. The Berserkers were a different story. The Guard swarmed the giants like ants to invasive locusts. Even so, both Berserkers forced their way forward, step by giant step.