Giahem's Talons

by Katharine Wibell

  Lluava thought of the blue-black skin of the Úlfhéðinn that had pursued her earlier.

  Alcove finished by saying, “In fact, the potion is so powerful that the average Úlfhéðnar risks dying if he takes it more than ten times.”

  “The man who leads the Úlfhéðinn. His neck veins remained dark. Is that because of the potion?”

  “General Ivar Níᵭingr. He is the only Úlfhéðnar to have drunk the potion almost twice the survivable number of times, yet he still shows no ill effects other than his veins. They are stained that color.”

  “Outside of Níᵭ…whatever…and his veins, is there any way to detect the difference between your monsters and the Berserkers when they’re not under the influence of the potion? You all dress in furs…” Lluava’s mind was working rapidly, “but the monsters seem to wear a particular type of cloak.”

  “Again, very good. The Úlfhéðinn don cloaks of wolf hides. They believe that they gain some of their violent and bestial nature through their close identity with those animals. The cloaks are awarded to them at their initiation.”

  “I see they have stripped you of yours.”

  “I was honored by the Emperor with an Úlfhéðinn cloak. However, Níᵭingr did not deem me worthy.”

  There was a bad feeling building inside of Lluava. The information was coming too easily. “Why are you telling me all of this?” She wanted to add willingly, but that was understood. “Why are you betraying your own men with such little disregard.”

  “You chose to rescue me for some purpose,” acknowledged Alcove. “I assume it would be better for me not to stand in your way. Furthermore, as I see it, we both desire the same outcome, at least for the moment.

  “In my empire, we have certain rules that should not be broken. Níᵭingr did so as soon as he chained me. This action proves that he has renounced the authority of the emperor; he must be stopped at all cost. As the royal ambassador, I must be present during all dealings with representatives from other kingdoms. I am here to make sure the correct protocol is observed when new lands are conquered. Níᵭingr holds higher authority over the military, that is true. But when dealing with politics, I am his superior.

  “Only once in our history has a military figure so blatantly flouted the emperor’s wishes: your very own Landon Mandrun. Of course, his reasoning is now very clear. He desired unquestionable power of his own. He set himself up as the ruler of this foreign land. My hope is that this and nothing more is also Níᵭingr’s intent. Yet, if someone in his position disregarded the authority of those of higher rank, what would happen if he chose to return home? If he has utterly dismissed my authority, what of our emperor’s? He holds the entire army of Úlfhéðinn under his control and thus the Berserkers as well. Níᵭingr is a dangerous man. A very dangerous man. He must be stopped.”

  “And if he is killed, what then?” Lluava asked skeptically.

  “Sweyn Surtur, Níᵭingr’s second, could possibly lead the army.” Alcove paused before continuing. “But without a leader, there would be chaos. Both the Úlfhéðinn and the Berserkers know only how to follow orders. That has been their training since the beginning. Without someone in command, they would be uncontrollable.”

  “You have only two military officers? Isn’t that poorly planned?”

  “There has never been a need for more with Níᵭingr in command. Most believe that he is unstoppable. I pray that most are wrong.”

  “And who would be the next leader? The one the army would turn to if there were no commanders? You?” Though Lluava knew the answer, she waited for Alcove’s response.

  He looked at her complacently for an extended time. Was he considering her question, or the reason behind her inquiry? Maybe he did not have an answer.

  Before Lluava could speculate further, Alcove simply stated, “Yes.”

  Whether her instincts were right or she had received a message from the gods, somehow she had known this was the case. Nevertheless, she needed to know more about Alcove’s own intentions. “What would you do if you became their leader? Destroy our people? Slaughter more innocent lives?”

  “End this fight.”

  “Why? Why not finish what you started?”

  “Because we were wrong about this place. We were wrong about your kind, Theri.”

  It was always unnerving to hear a Raider refer to her using the goddess’s name, yet she looked past that. Alcove seemed to understand her confusion. His wan smile held more power behind it than Lluava had thought possible.

  “When sent out on scouting missions, the ambassador must determine the value of the natives to our empire’s cause. On rare occasions, we have concluded that the native population is better served as an ally and not as a forced member of our society. I had deemed this to be the case with Elysia.”

  The blood on Lluava’s skin had begun to dry. The thickest clumps flaked off when she moved. Remembering the first time she had observed Alcove and the slaughter he had caused, she replied, “You came to Elysia intending to wipe out my race. Clearly, I cannot condone that.”

  “Nor would I, if I were one of you. Fortunately, your race has proven itself much more worthy. You are far more human-like than we originally thought. Far less bestial. Far more intelligent. From my point of view, far more intriguing.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  “You did.”

  Once again, everything pointed back to her. Though Lluava wanted to know more about that, her mission was to gain information about the Raiders and find a way to stop the war. In his weakened state, Alcove needed to rest—but not before she confirmed what she wanted to believe. “You would end this bloodshed if you were to regain control? Is that what you are telling me?”

  “I promise you that I will cease this attack on your city and return to our ships.”

  “And sail home?”

  “And sail home.”

  That was what she had hoped to hear. This was the reason they had risked so much to rescue him. He had confirmed her hopes. Now, all she had to do was—

  “That matters little now.”

  Alcove’s attention was drawn to the speaker behind Lluava. Ruire Thoth, purple turban still wrapped around his short red hair, stood in the doorway. Lluava blinked several times, for she had been all but certain he was dead. “The Lady Selene’s plan has indeed worked. We have already observed a number of Ocean Men clawing at their throats, gasping as they stumbled away from their encampment before they fell. In turn, I have sent our fighting men to slay any who have survived.”

  “So quickly?” The flutter of excitement inside Lluava was immediately stifled.

  Alcove’s threat was almost casual. “If you do not call them back, your fighting men are as good as dead.”

  “They have already left.”

  Lluava caught her breath as Alcove continued, “Níᵭingr is very intelligent. Your humans did not contaminate the water. He knew foul play when he saw it. Ivar discovered the poison before the plan unfolded.”

  “Lies!” spat Thoth.

  Lluava reluctantly stood up for the ambassador. “If Alcove is lying, how did he know we were going to poison the water? None of us told him that.”

  Thoth glared down his sharp nose. “Then why did those Raiders emerge from their camp and display clear symptoms of poisoning?”

  “You do not know Ivar Níᵭingr,” Alcove spoke out, exasperated. “In order to win a war, he would willingly sacrifice a few of his own men. Any Raiders who died were used only to deceive you. He has set a trap. And you, my friend, have just fallen victim to it.”

  Lluava knew that Alcove, in this moment, told the truth. Hurriedly, she asked the ruire, “How many of our fighting men did you send?”

  “All of them.”

  Chapter 29

  Flame in the Storm

  How can that be?” Lluava cried out. “You couldn’t have known that the poison had had any effect until recently. And we have just returned.”

  Testily, Thoth countered, �
��Did you think we would loll about during your mission? I was gathering the Warrior Caste before you even left. The clans joined us as well. As soon as we had confirmation that the poison was working, I readied our troops to attack. The enemy could not be allowed to escape.” He glared down at Alcove. “Not a single one.”

  “And what about those who came back with me? Yamir, Talos, Aquila?”

  “Gone as well.” Thoth’s sharp features became rigid. “They encountered Ammit and me by the entry gates to the castle. When they heard what was happening, the stag and the porcupine headed off with Ammit to follow the army. The nomad returned to his post on the wall.”

  “And Rosalyn?”

  “Returned to her home, I would assume.”

  How could her friends have left so soon? Yet with Talos’s determination to protect his growing family and Yamir’s hatred of the Raiders, could she have expected anything less? Aquila’s rationale was not as clear, but all three were willing to battle once more. This time, however, they were heading straight into a trap.

  The presence inside Lluava stirred angrily as if some wild thing were clawing its way out. She felt wave after wave of an unexplainable intensity rock her like the storm-tossed fishing boats of her seaside village.

  “The ambassador is telling the truth,” she said, vouching for Alcove. Somehow, as with the Raiders’ plans, she was certain of it. “If the army does not turn back, our troops will be slaughtered. New Rhadamanthus will be defenseless.”

  The young woman recognized an emotion in Thoth’s eyes for the first time—present, perhaps, due to her assertion or to his own warning instinct. The ruire was afraid.

  With no time to confer with the high priestess, he made a decision. “The Twelve have not abandoned us. They have given us the Incarn of the gods of war. You and Apex must call the army back. Head to the gate; I will find Ullr’s Incarn.”

  Lluava left quickly and focused on conserving her waning energy. Dawn was only hours away; there would be no rest this night. She hoped the goddess would endow her with the strength and power she would need to succeed.

  As she jogged down the hall, she saw Rosalyn approaching, a pair of unlit lamps in her hands.

  “I was about to look for you in your quarters,” Rosalyn said shakily. “Talos has left again—with the others. Even though I asked him not to.”

  “I know. I’m going after them.”

  “Something…something’s not right about this.”

  Lluava placed a hand on Rosalyn’s slim shoulder. “That’s why I’m going to bring them back.”

  Rosalyn spoke in a whisper. “Lluava, while you were away, I went to the tower to see if I could spot Talos. The window faces due south, so the angle was wrong, but I thought I saw movement in the distance. I cannot be certain what I observed, for that was when the storm broke, and the rain blurred everything.”

  Was Rosalyn suggesting that more Raiders were coming? Before Lluava could reply, her friend asked, “What if it is Varren?”

  Varren. Could he have arrived so soon?

  Raising the lamps, Rosalyn added, “I was hoping to find you, to tell you that I am going to the tower. If I am able to determine what I saw, I will light these as a signal: one if it is Raiders, two if it is Varren. Lluava, bring Talos back, bring the others back, and maybe—just maybe—bring our king back as well.”

  Lluava’s concern was obvious. “The storm is still raging out there. With all the wind and rain, what if you can’t light them? Worse, what if you’re caught?”

  “I have to try.”

  ***

  Before leaving the city, Lluava saw Thoth waiting at the gate to bid them farewell. Unable to hide her anger at the ruire for risking her friends and their last hopes on a poorly thought out endeavor, she brandished the Claws and remarked, “Clearly, you do not have a head for warfare. Next time you think about commanding an army, think again.”

  Even though this man had recently risked his life for hers, she had an aversion to him. Maybe the goddess was influencing her. Maybe it was his cold demeanor, or her own recurring hot temper. Maybe it was an aftereffect of battling and slaying a fellow Incarn.

  With impassive face and expressionless voice, Thoth presented a pair of items to the duo. “With respect, Incarns of Theri and Ullr, these will enable you to signal the army to retreat. Give five consecutive blasts within earshot, and the troops will return to the city without question.”

  The ruire handed Lluava and Apex two small silver whistles. Though simple in appearance, the pair recognized them as something more. When blown, the resulting high-pitched trill could be heard only by Theriomorphs. The sound, though grievous to their own ears, would allow them to signal their army before the Raiders attacked.

  “Thank you,” Lluava said sincerely, though she was not ashamed of her prior statements. Thoth bowed briskly in response.

  Rain continued to pour down and mingle with the blood of Lluava’s saturated attire. Red lines formed and dripped over her exposed arms like vermilion stripes. Apex, already drenched and obviously agitated, grunted, “Let’s go.”

  The gates swung open, and the pair of Incarn headed toward the Raiders’ encampment. Well before reaching the warped wooden palisade, they encountered fresh corpses. Dead Raiders. Everywhere. With skin the color of gangrene and eyes protruding from their sockets. Hands of the stricken still clutched throats that had gasped for breath as they died. This poison was meant to inflict pain, suffering, and revenge. Selene’s choice of venom was as foul as the woman herself. Yet Lluava still struggled with the question of whether or not Suada’s Incarn had deserved to die.

  As they proceeded, they encountered more and more corpses, until they found themselves treading carefully over the bodies. Why sacrifice so many of their own men? Lluava could not fathom the reason. Was Alcove wrong? Perhaps the enemy had indeed been poisoned.

  Apex, taking the lead, kept the pace steady and cautious but far too slow. The rain continued to assault the drenched earth, and deep puddles impeded their progress.

  As they approached the wooden wall, Apex whispered, “There are no Berserkers among them.”

  Looking about, Lluava saw that he was right. All the dead on the front lines were of the smaller variety, those who had not been raised as warriors. The pawns, the trash, as Alcove seemed to think. If the Berserkers were not dead, where were they? And where were their monstrous wolf-men?

  Approaching the gaping hole in the wall, Lluava could see some of the Outlanders and clansmen prodding the dead with their weapons, ensuring that none would rise up in a deceptive strike. That was smart. What wasn’t right was the fact that the worst of the enemy were nowhere to be seen.

  The whole area looked abandoned. Barracks and buildings appeared empty. Tents bent under the weight of pooling water. Clothes and supplies were unguarded. The half-finished shells of their siege weapons listed sideways in the mud.

  Joining the ranks, Lluava spied Talos and Yamir talking with several Outlanders. She hurried toward them. “You must go back,” she implored as they turned to her.

  An extremely tall and gangly Outlander sniffed. “Not you as well. Can’t you see that they are all dead?”

  Ignoring him, Talos broke in. “Lluava, there are no Berserker corpses. Not even one.”

  “I know,” she said. “It’s a—”

  The jarring shrill of Apex’s whistle caused everyone to cover their ears. There was little reprieve in this action, and they could clearly hear the five sharp blasts. Their heads throbbed from the noise as the tall Outlander noted, “That’s the call to retreat.”

  “Yes,” Lluava acknowledged, as the Outlanders obeyed the signal. The clansmen followed suit.

  “Gods! I hate that sound,” exclaimed Yamir as he rubbed his temples.

  “That sound might be our salvation. Let’s move!” ordered Lluava as she joined the retreating troops.

  The warriors of Leucrocotta headed back to the capital without question, just as Thoth had said they would, thou
gh it was clear they had no idea why their mission had been called off.

  Rounding the side of the deserted compound, however, the army halted.

  Ahead of them, the Berserker Legion had combined with the Úlfhéðinn to form a massive wedge that was now attempting to force the capital’s gates. The sound of battering rams splintering sections of reinforced wood was heard over the thunder and wind of the storm.

  Arrows, like black rain, were shot from the top of the wall—though to little avail, Lluava knew. Exasperated, she cried, “Why isn’t Aquila shooting at them? They’re going to break down the gates!”

  “He can’t,” said Apex. “The Talons’ blasts are too large. They could destroy the gates or the wall itself. You saw the power behind his shots.”

  “We have to stop them before they break through!” Lluava stated determinedly. Lacking defenders, once the walls were breached the high priestess and the ruire would be forced to capitulate.

  Yamir scowled. “They would make mincemeat of us. You know how strong they are. Our army would stand no chance.”

  “Where is Ammit?” Talos questioned, peering around.

  Standing next to Apex, the swarthy man’s wide mouth was contorted in a grimace. He must have understood what needed to be done.

  All around, expressions changed from shock to determination.

  Ammit shouted, “In whatever form you will, attack!”

  The Outlander warriors and the clans charged. Lluava and her companions did the same.

  She and Apex shifted as they raced toward the rear line of Berserkers on the leftmost flank. Sinking her fangs into flesh, Lluava realized how fortunate they were. The continuing rain had prevented the Berserkers from smoking their drug, which would lessen the initial losses of their allies. However, the Berserkers were trained warriors, and they were still a formidable enemy.

  The giant brutes deftly swung their weapons with their full might. Harbingers of death, they laid low many who attempted to oppose them. The tall Outlander, now in his dual form of a giraffe, slammed his long neck into one of the enemy, knocking him to the ground, only to have his own neck severed moments later.