Giahem's Talons

by Katharine Wibell

  Amid the chaos, Apex roared. The unearthly ring of that primeval sound caused Alcove to shudder. Yet that same sound reenergized Lluava. Moving even faster, she heard the ambassador speak.

  “How?”

  Unsure what he meant, Lluava replied, “We are assisted by a great archer.”

  “Arrows shouldn’t be able to reach us,” muttered Alcove, still not fully aware.

  Gesturing with her paw at a large, scorched divot in the earth, Lluava noted, “Arrows shouldn’t be able to do that, either.”

  A bolt of lightning crashed behind them. Once again, the electrical energy caused Lluava’s fur to rise. She turned to Talos. “The storm’s worsening. Do you see the others?”

  Squinting hard, Talos said, “There is a group of Raiders over there, but I cannot be sure whether Apex or Ammit is the cause.”

  Hesitating, Lluava wondered if she should search for their other companions. She had dragged them into this fray. How could she abandon them in the den of the enemy?

  Talos, always levelheaded, said, “The best we can do is head for the exit. I know they would do the same.”

  Following the young soldier, Lluava found it oddly fortunate that so few Raiders were attempting to attack them. Yet fortune did not stay with them; enrobed in mud and sodden furs, a Berserker stood in their path.

  Lluava growled.

  “How do you want to do this?” Talos inquired as he raised his sword.

  Alcove spoke in a voice far more like the one Lluava remembered. “Do not worry about the likes of him. With this rain, he would not have been able to smoke his horn.”

  The giant man approached. Lluava could now discern that the whites of his eyes were unblemished. “He’s not drugged,” Lluava said gleefully. “Kill him.”

  Talos was first to run toward the Berserker. Lluava would have followed, but a series of thin projectiles bit into the enemy’s exposed arms and neck. As the Berserker’s throat began to bleed, Yamir appeared and shouted, “That’s the last of my quills! I don’t dare shift here to collect more.”

  The unexpected injuries distracted the brute just long enough to allow Talos within striking range. His sword struck the giant’s with a mighty clang. Yamir hastily searched for any discarded weapon he could find among the dead until Talos was able to toss him his dagger. Leaving the pair to finish off the brute, Lluava skirted around the fight. She had her mission and was determined to complete it.

  Another group of Raiders cut her travel short. Snarling, the tigress lashed out. In the bedlam, Lluava had hoped the enemy’s nerves were failing, but the marauders did not disband. She felt Alcove tighten his grip.

  “They won’t risk killing you,” she said.

  “With Níᵭingr in control, I cannot swear to that,” he countered.

  Before a move could be made by either party, Apex and Ammit rejoined them. The Outlander was clearly exhausted from the prolonged battle. The wolverine, still energized under his god’s protection, was ready for more.

  Together, Lluava and Apex let loose mighty roars. Behind them, Talos and Yamir arrived. Thankfully, they were no worse for their own struggles. With comrades on each side of her, she prepared to meet the enemy.

  A wolf howled.

  Derrick? Lluava wondered. No. This came from deep inside the camp. Several other howls rose up from the same direction. Could Derrick’s men have found a way inside? Not many had survived the fight by Cronus’s wall. Talos gave her the same questioning look, while Yamir asked aloud, “Wolves?”

  From atop her shoulders, Alcove’s voice rang out. A chill colder than the storms of the tundra seemed to overtake him. “No!”

  Suddenly the sound of men beating on shields arose. The Raiders around them scattered in sheer panic.

  “What is that?” Yamir questioned as he and the others turned about.

  A row of Berserkers approached, then stopped as if awaiting a signal. Wolf cloaks and headdresses covered bare chests. Their painted shields were aligned before them, and they bit and tore at the tops with their teeth like rabid animals. Spitting out blood and splinters, they beat their weapons against those same shields like strange war drums.

  Finally, one of the men lifted up his head and let loose a howl. As he did, his skin color began to change until he was entirely blue-black, while his muscles grew visibly bulkier. When he turned toward Lluava and her friends, she saw that the man’s eyes, including the whites, had turned completely black. This inhuman apparition dropped his shield and lifted a horrific-looking axe.

  Alcove’s breaths had become shallow. His voice wavered, as did his pulse. “Úlfhéðinn. We are undone.”

  Another figure howled, then another. Each one in turn transformed into the same unnatural, blackened form. Their grizzled beards and hair were all that marked them as human.

  These were not Berserkers. These were something new. These were Thad’s “blue monsters.” In her peripheral vision, Lluava noticed that the Berserkers were withdrawing. Slowly, she took a wary step backward. Her friends also edged toward the wooden palisade. Positioning himself as a buffer for the small band, Apex raised his bronze hackles menacingly.

  One by one, the line of strange beings began to drop their shields and ready their weapons. Suddenly, the line split, allowing a new figure to approach. It was the sea-ravaged man from Yena’s black-water visions—the true leader of the Raiders’ army, the man from Lluava’s nightmares.

  “Beasts, creatures, abominations, pets of Mandrun’s heirs, you are nothing,” the leader said slowly, in a manner calculated to make sure the Theriomorphs understood every accented word. Lightning flickered; thunder boomed. The man continued. “We have studied you, learned your anatomy. You no longer hold any mystery.”

  The Úlfhéðinn—growling, howling, and foaming at the mouth like maddened beasts—made false lunges toward the slowly retreating group. Their leader continued, “Your reign over this land has come to its inevitable end.”

  He lifted a jug, and a putrid, rotting odor permeated the air. Drinking deeply, the leader smashed the ceramic vessel on the ground.

  Lluava’s friends retreated quickly, yet she could not take her eyes off this nightmarish man or the dark, pulsing veins of his neck as the blackness spread through his body. When he cried out, even his tongue was now blue-black.

  The line of Úlfhéðinn emitted their inhuman sounds once more, then charged. The monsters from the vision had been unleashed.

  Chapter 26

  Conspiracy Theory

  Lluava did not need the presence inside her to tell her what to do next. Before the Úlfhéðinn had taken their second steps, she was running away as fast as her burdened dual form would allow. Alcove gripped her fur with all the strength he could muster. The spear tips of fear burrowing deep in Lluava’s soul would not allow her to stay to combat those monstrous beings. If the Berserkers themselves had backed off in terror, what sort of horrific abilities did these blue-black men possess?

  “Faster!” urged Alcove, and Lluava drove her paws as hard as she could against the slick mud. The storm had not lessened. In fact, the rain was coming down harder.

  Beside her, Yamir’s gangly legs seemed to blur as he struggled for speed, but his pace had begun to slow. Not far away, a panicked stag with velvet antlers bounded ahead of them, the whites of its eyes flashing like the lightning around them. As they neared the collapsed section of the stockade wall, Ammit’s scimitar bit into one of the few Raiders who refused to back away from their positions. As Ammit’s victim fell, the other Raiders began to flee. What terrified them more, the bedraggled tigress racing toward them, or the line of Úlfhéðinn on the animal’s heels?

  “Go!” shouted Lluava, as Alcove scrambled off her back and clambered over the angled logs. In the same moment, she glanced back at the terrifying sight so quickly approaching. The gap between the Úlfhéðinn and Apex, who was no longer under Ullr’s control, was far smaller than she would have liked. This was partly due to Apex’s own rider. Yamir, now nestled i
n the wolverine’s hackles, brandished the javelin of an unfortunate Raider.

  Turning to look at the charging creatures behind them, Yamir threw his weapon at the nearest brute. That was when the Úlfhéðnar did the impossible: he caught the spear in mid-flight. He swiftly sent it back in his opponent’s direction.

  There was nothing Lluava could do. She had only moments to escape the encampment before the enemy swarm would arrive. The spear hurtled toward its mark, promising certain death.

  Then the world lit up with a new explosion. The entire projectile—shaft and tip—was consumed by the scorching eruption, which flung several Úlfhéðinn into the air. Aquila had saved them again!

  Their victory was short lived. Lluava had barely climbed over the leaning logs before Apex leaped next to her, Yamir still clinging to his back. As Alcove reclaimed his position on the back of the tigress, dark-fleshed monstrosities arrived at the wall.

  Like the Berserkers, the Úlfhéðinn, despite their injuries from the explosion, still charged forward. Pain appeared to be irrelevant to them; relentless and driven, they focused only upon the horrific destruction of their enemy.

  They growled, snarled, roared, and foamed at the mouth like beasts possessed with the Rage. While some clambered through the opening, others rammed their large bodies against the wall. The line of tethered logs began to ripple. They were breaking through!

  Lluava and her comrades ran. Just as she began to pick up speed, Alcove’s body lurched. The metal chain had slipped from his grasp, and its heavy weight was dragging in the mud and tangling in the underbrush. Straining just to hold on, the weakened man was unable to pull up the chain. The tigress struggled to keep up with the others.

  Were the Úlfhéðinn gaining on her, or was it just her imagination? She did not dare look back. Apex slowed his pace to match hers.

  “Can you grab it?” the wolverine asked Yamir.

  The young clansman leaned over at a precarious angle, groping for the dragging chain. Apex moved closer; Lluava’s shoulders rubbed against his as their riders worked to reel in the iron weight. Once out of the mud, the burden of the dragging chain lessened. Both wolverine and tigress, with their harried riders, resumed their speed.

  The hidden tunnel having been sealed behind them, the fleeing party now had to reach Cronus’s gates. The safety of the castle walls loomed up through the downpour, but the band of tiring rescuers was still too far away. Would they reach the safe radius of the castle’s own archers? And if they did, would arrows and spears even slow down the Úlfhéðinn? If even one of the creatures made it inside the gate, the safety of their own stronghold would be at risk.

  “What in the seven hells?” Yamir cried out as he stared over his shoulder.

  Lluava glanced back and saw that half of the Úlfhéðinn were running on all fours. Their mud-encrusted, wolf-hide garments gave the impression of bestial creatures resurrected from the underworld to claim unprepared souls. Worst of all, they were closing in.

  “Apex!” she cried. “They can’t be allowed inside! Do you understand? They cannot be allowed to enter the city!”

  Lluava sensed a change in the giant wolverine as he realized what had to be done. She was glad she would not have to fight the Úlfhéðinn alone. In order for her friends to reach the gates, she and Apex must surrender themselves to their gods. They would willingly forfeit their lives to prevent the enraged monstrosities from breaching Cronus.

  Two loud crashes occurred, one natural, the other not. Aquila must still be watching, but how many shots did he have left? His finite number of arrows should be diminishing. Did the decreasing number of fired projectiles mean that he realized it and was saving each shot in order to inflict maximum damage?

  “I’ll help you fight,” Yamir said grimly.

  “No,” Lluava countered. “I need you to assist the ambassador. Get him inside the gates.”

  Alcove remained silent. What could he say? Apologize for the inconvenience? Thank them for their aid? Lluava realized he was grateful.

  Ammit had entered the perimeter of protection. Above him on the wall, archers were positioned at every parapet. The Outlander stopped and gestured toward the sky.

  Above, a massive flock of birds had taken wing. Theriomorphs? No. These were very much actual birds, carrion eaters all. Had they come expecting a banquet?

  No—they were flying in a specific formation. Their unnatural movements were led by a single avian. One raven, larger than those around him, cawed out commands. Like a swarm of locusts blackening the sky, the flock spread out overhead, then dove at those on the ground.

  The raven’s good eye looked at Lluava as he flew past. Onyx was commanding his own aerial army to combat the enemy! If told of this strange event at a different time or place, neither she nor her companions would have believed it. Wild animals were taking a stand against the Raiders from across the ocean!

  Lluava felt the puffs of air as thousands of wingbeats passed. Rushing at the line of Úlfhéðinn, the birds used Thoth’s iconic form of attack and targeted the eyes of the enemy. Unflinching, the savage monsters pushed forward, not even bothering to strike at the winged projectiles. Still, the mass of birds managed to slow the marauders’ approach.

  Realizing she had hesitated, Lluava loped toward the capital’s opened gates. Behind her, arrows plummeted earthward. Though aimed at the enemy, they had inadvertently hit many of the winged helpers. The cries of birds, the shouts of men, and the rumbles of thunder created a cacophony in the cloud-choked sky.

  Lluava felt her burden slip. In an instant, the chain dropped and snagged on the ground. Alcove was wrenched from her back. The muddy puddles hindered her ability to stop, and she skidded off in the opposite direction. Motionless, the man lay crumpled on his side, entangled in chain and mud, as the wall of doom approached.

  Struggling to her feet, she attempted to reach the ambassador before the wave of arrows, avians, and Úlfhéðinn collided with him. She was close. So close. Suddenly, a lone Úlfhéðnar appeared before her.

  On all fours, the behemoth leapt at her as a lion leaps upon an unsuspecting buffalo. Bowling her over, the man’s giant fist beat against Lluava’s unprotected face. His other hand reached for the large blade strapped on his back.

  Kicking him with her rear paws, the tigress drove her gilded foreclaws into the man’s underbelly, gutting him on top of herself. For three long moments, the Úlfhéðnar continued his assault as blood dripped from his open mouth. But before his sword was fully raised, her attacker collapsed. The weapon fell from his hand, nicking the top of Lluava’s ear.

  Writhing beneath the large corpse, she fought her way out from under it. Úlfhéðinn surrounded her, blocking her line of sight to Alcove. Another explosion blasted the earth next to her. The shock wave flung her into the air and left a large divot in the mud.

  Sounds rang dully in her ears. Flecks of dirt stung her eyes and distorted her vision. She was aware of people moving around her, felt hands helping her rise onto her four limbs. Her body was wracked with pain. She shifted. Arms looped under hers, and she was helped from the field of battle.

  A deafening groan escaped her. Someone held a small vial to her lips. She drank the offensive liquid without hesitation. Her body felt as if it were on fire as the Idun took effect. She was inside Cronus. But where was Alcove?

  Another figure offered water to help rinse out her eyes. The cold liquid stung briefly before relief set in. Blinking out soiled tears, Lluava saw that the others in her party had returned as well. Ammit was overseeing the removal of Alcove’s chain. Rosalyn and Talos were tending to the ambassador’s still form.

  Yamir approached her. “That was a close one,” the young clansman said. His left arm oozed blood.

  “You all right?” Lluava asked as, together, she and her coppery-skinned friend approached the group around Alcove.

  “Could have been worse,” he acknowledged with a shrug. “Better than him, that’s for sure. He’s got a nasty bump on his head. Out co
ld.”

  Once they were within earshot, Rosalyn confirmed Yamir’s assessment. “The ambassador might have a concussion. I will not know for sure until he wakes. He is unconscious now.”

  “But he will wake?” Lluava wanted to make sure. The memory of Varren strapped on the stretcher filled her with foreboding.

  “I believe so,” answered Rosalyn. “Let’s just hope your burns heal as well.”

  Lluava finally took note of herself. She had several patches of seared flesh, although due to the dose of Idun, the pain was rapidly lessening.

  From beyond the wall, a dark form flew down. Onyx perched on Rosalyn’s shoulder. The black-haired woman smiled at the raven and scratched its throat. The bird muttered contentedly.

  Gazing past Lluava, Rosalyn said, “Look—it seems Apex bears news.”

  When the huntsman strode up, he spoke to those who had ventured into the Raiders’ camp. “The poison has been released. Let’s hope that it works and kills many.”

  “Poison?” Rosalyn looked aghast. Talos bent over and said something in her ear. Glancing about once more, Rosalyn said, “I will excuse myself now.”

  “What then?” Talos grimly asked Apex, after Rosalyn and Onyx had gone.

  “Then…” Apex began. He gave Lluava a long, if not questioning, look. “We go out and slay any who are left alive.”

  “Do not worry about tomorrow,” Ammit joined the conversation, now that Alcove’s shackles had been removed and the ambassador taken to the hospital. “Fortune has smiled on us this night. Food has been prepared in the castle. Go and enjoy your well-deserved meal.”

  Ammit went ahead while the others waited for Aquila to come down from the parapet. Yamir looked at the rest of the party. “Do any of you know what in the seven hells went on with those birds out there? Onyx was one of them, right?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” said Lluava.

  Talos shook his blond locks. “I have no explanation. But I will be praying my thanks tonight.”

  “And what about your arrows?” Yamir asked the approaching nomad.