The old black god screeched again, but this only momentarily gave them pause before continuing the ruckus. Gathelaus found a stalactite and broke it so that it resembled a club, he then took to beating it against the gallery’s walls. A strange dirging drone of their contemptuous music made the old black god wheel above in fury. It randomly landed and scratched furiously against the flung stones and futilely chased after Gathelaus who would pause every now and again in his own drumming course to knock aside an ancient pot or kettle of offering that was left behind from days of yore.
The monster raged and wheeled in a circular pattern, barely seen above. As they found remnants of oil lamps or torches cast aside, they lit these, stealing back from the penetrating darkness. The far end of the gallery revealed even more of the dark rites that had been committed there. Altars of stone lay before cruel carvings of the old black god and smashed bones littered the ground.
Gathelaus gave pause in his revelry as Cuauhtémoc revealed himself.
“You have only prolonged your demise, foreigner! The old black god will yet destroy you.”
Gathelaus snorted in reply. “You’ll die first, wizard!”
“You destroyed my amulet, but I am not without yet more arcane power,” snarled Cuauhtémoc. “I serve the gods of old and they knew the wisdom that dwelt in the darkness before the light seared into creation. I have keys to open those doors too.”
Gathelaus spit and charged in with his sword held high for a killing stroke. Should the blade have connected with flesh, Gathelaus would have surely cut the sorcerer in twain from breastbone to groin, but the old black god intervened.
Kama-Zotz’s black claws grasped hold of Gathelaus and he was borne into fetid darkness. Lifted away and up into the gloom, Gathelaus saw the torchlights shrink to the size of stars below. If the god dropped him, he would die.
A burning line of the bat god’s spittle fell across his arm. He couldn’t see anything, but he sensed Kama-Zotz’s next move. The gory jaws of the blind bat reached down to snap off Gathelaus’s head. It didn’t matter how high up he was into the vault of the gallery—dead is dead—so he twisted about and thrust the point of his sword up to the old black god’s head and felt the tip of the blade stab into flesh as putrid hot blood splashed down.
Kama-Zotz shrieked and spiraled into a curious dive toward the ground. Gathelaus wondered if this was the end. But he had not cut the old black god’s head, he had but sheared a section of the wing and neck. Just as the monster reached the ground it pulled itself up and landed on its feet, tossing Gathelaus away like carrion. He was bruised and bloody, but not broken.
Staggering to his feet, Gathelaus rose to finish the job. But the monster had also recovered itself and rushed across the floor of the arena like a rat, with its wings tucked in as forelegs.
Remembering that it was still blind, Gathelaus dodged aside and cut a great gash across its right ear. Weeping blood filled the ear canal and the old black god rolled over to clear the pooling member.
Gathelaus chased after it, stabbing as he went to land a mortal blow on the god. He heard men shouting and even heard the cries of Cuauhtémoc, but all else was lost in a red rage as he went about in his fierce intent.
Kama-Zotz stopped and rolled upright, roaring in a deep bass. Despite the chaos of noise all about him, he knew where his closest foe stood. Rushing forward, he bowled over Gathelaus. Only the chain shirt saved him from those claws tearing his chest wide open.
Massive claws as big as daggers raked the ground as Gathelaus flung himself away. He had lost his sword, and in the darkness, he could not perceive it, though he knew it had to be but a few paces away. The flailing of the monster would not allow him time to find it. He needed another weapon.
Backing away slowly he tried his best to be silent, but as his foot crunched a rotted skull, Kama-Zotz swung its head toward him and champed his teeth together then roared his sounding locator again.
Gathelaus ran toward the edge of the arena, hoping he would come across anything that could be used to bludgeon the terrible monster.
The old black god was gaining on him. Gathelaus tripped. A stalactite sprouted from the ground before him. It was only about two feet high and he had missed the jutting spike in the gloom.
He struggled to get up, but Kama-Zotz was already upon him. It screeched and reared up, then came down with its mouth wide open. Gathelaus rolled and kicked with both feet as its head came down, sending the old black god’s face into the stone wall beside them. Dazed, it shook its head. Gathelaus stood and grasped the whiskered face of the old black god and slammed it down on the pointed stalactite. The sharp stone pierced the bottom of its jaw and stabbed up into its brain. The monster rattled once and threw itself back, splashing blood on the sand. It gave one last wretched screech, extended its wings to their full great width and then, with an awful croak, it fell back dead.
“Impossible,” cried Cuauhtémoc. “No one can slay a god but another god!” He stared at the fallen old black god and then back to Gathelaus. “I was warned. I didn’t believe it possible. It’s not possible.”
Gathelaus gave him no more time to question. He rushed at the sorcerer king and grappled with him. Getting Cuauhtémoc in a headlock, he squeezed and broke his neck. Tossing the body aside, Gathelaus hunted for his sword. He found it midway out into the massive arena. It took him a few moments, he was still breathing very hard from his exertions against the monster and his heart beat like a drum. The others were silent. They stood upon the ring in awe.
“If I had not seen it with my own eyes, I would not have believed,” said Mixamaxtla. “The old black god, slain by a man.”
“Are you sure he is a man?” asked Ptemauc.
Lem and the other Alux nodded in agreement.
The Coming Wave
When they returned to the surface there was a great celebration. They burned the wooden effigies of the gods and feasted as they had not in years. The Alux watched the perimeters in gratitude and then they slept the sleep of the righteous.
Gathelaus and Coco were reunited in an impassioned kiss and embrace. What had been days felt like years.
“When do I get my stone back?” she asked.
“I honestly thought I would have it to return to you already.”
“I have a root for that,” she said with a mischievous smile. His face balked at that. “But in waiting for you I have become quite adapt at learning the languages here.”
“Good.”
“But I still want what is mine.”
“I understand. I’ll get it to you soon.”
She smiled and held him all the tighter. “I meant you.”
As the sun was edging a ray of light across the morning horizon, Xoloc worked at rousing everyone.
“What’s the matter?” asked Gathelaus.
“Men are coming. A great army,” answered Ptemauc. “Itzcoatl’s forces. Many thousands.”
Gathelaus sprang up from his bedroll and wiped the sleep from his eyes. “Niels. How near is your ship?”
“In a small lagoon, I think a few leagues from here. If we had horses we could make it in a few hours, but with these folk,” he shook his head, doubtfully. “I’d think all day. What did they say? Are they worried about something?”
Gathelaus had forgotten that his Vjornish men couldn’t understand the Tultecacans. “The king’s forces are coming. They resent me slaying the gods of this land,” he said, betraying some mirth to the situation despite the grimness.
“We best get moving,” Mixamaxtla said to those still rising. “We eat on the march.”
“You’re with us?” Gathelaus asked.
The big man nodded. “We have nowhere else to go. I should like to see the rest of the world from which my blood brother hails.”
Ptemauc said, “I believe they know our relative position. They may have seers among them who have divined our camp.”
“If that’s the case, might they try and ambush us before we can reach the ship?”
> Xoloc shook his head.
Ptemauc added, “We do not see that. But there are thousands of men. We should hurry. They hunger for blood.”
Gathelaus translated for his Vjornish men. “He wants to stamp out anything that is in opposition to their traditional system.”
“Fanatics, eh?” asked Niels.
Gathelaus shook his head. “A blood thirstier folk I know not of. We need to travel as fast as we can lest we all end up as sacrifices to their dark gods.”
The party rose and hurried down the narrow road toward the coast.
By midday, they could hear their pursuers. The droning chant and drums of King Itzcoatl’s army raced as swiftly as they could to overtake the escaped gladiators. That they had stormed and taken the city of the Sorcerer was not even relevant. The perceived insult on their way of life was enough that Itzcoatl wanted the Northman Gathelaus dead at all costs and all those who stood with him.
Black smoke rose in a sinewy line ahead of them.
“Tell me that’s not where we are going,” asked Gathelaus.
Niels grimly answered, “It looks like it to me.”
“Is that your ship?” asked Mixamaxtla.
“It might be, unless another found ours and they put up a good fight.”
Mixamaxtla gritted his teeth and looked back. Dust from the tread of Itzcoatl’s army rose above the tree line. They couldn’t see the army yet, but they could hear them well enough.
“We better pick up the pace. If we don’t have a ship, we’ll have to come up with something else awful fast.”
“I don’t look forward to being caught between that army and the deep blue sea,” said Niels. “But it looks like that’s what we are in for.”
The tang of the sea filled the air as well as the reek of burning pitch, flesh, and hair.
“I don’t think our men would have tried to raise such a signal if they could help it. They were supposed to be hiding in the mangroves,” Niels said.
They rounded through the last section of the tree line and met a thin strip of white sandy beach. The lagoon had two ships. The burning husk of the skiff already half submerged in the shallow green waters and the Kraken, Hawkwood’s ship.
“Do my eyes betray me? Or is it really you, Gathelaus? Still alive, I see,” shouted Hawkwood from the upper deck.
“I’m here, dog. Come and cross steel if you dare,” Gathelaus answered.
“I’m tempted.”
“Come on then,” challenged Gathelaus. “I thought you said he was dead,” he whispered to Niels.
Niels kept his voice low, saying, “I thought he was. He was surrounded by headhunters. Hundreds of them. But this means that Tang Shook, Vartaz, and Malik are dead.”
“We’re going to know what that feels like if we don’t take his ship and get out of here,” murmured Gathelaus.
Hawkwood pulled at his red beard. “I accepted quite a bounty for your head. Care to give it to me?”
“You’ll never be closer to taking my head back to Vikarskeid than you will be right now.”
Hawkwood scrutinized the party catching up to Gathelaus. “How many are you?”
“Does it matter? You’ve already burned my ship and killed what crew was left to her. These folk I have with me are friends, but they’ll not shoot you in the back if you can cut me down.”
Hawkwood scanned the trees and shadows beyond. “Whichever way it goes, I’d like there to be a song at the least.”
“Galen here is a fine singer. He could write a tune celebrating your triumph… or defeat.”
Galen’s brows raised in surprise at the remark.
Hawkwood snorted. “So sure you can beat me, eh?”
“You’re the one stalling, off in your cutter. I stand here on the beach, waiting,” said Gathelaus, gesturing with arms wide open.
“How do I know you don’t have folk hiding in the trees with bows?” challenged Hawkwood.
“I don’t. But if you want a fair fight, how about you let us come to your ship and you and I cross steel on the main deck. You still outnumber us.”
“And if I win?”
“You can take my head back to Vikarskeid, but if I win, your ship and your men become mine,” called Gathelaus.
Hawkwood looked back at his own crew. “What do you think about that lads? Should I fight him and bring a decayed head to Vikarskeid? Or might you serve him if I fall?”
There was a laugh from most of his crew. Hawkwood’s skill with a blade was legendary, but so was Gathelaus’s. This battle could go either way.
“Come aboard then,” answered Hawkwood.
Niels found their longboat in the mangroves and half the folk piled aboard and went out to the Kraken. Then he returned to fetch the other half.
Gathelaus’s party was only a third the size of Hawkwood’s but he knew his were formidable. The remaining gladiators, especially Mixamaxtla, would be worth any three of Hawkwood’s sea dogs. The two crews separated to holding the aft and fore of the ship while the two commanders circled each other.
“Men have said this battle should have happened for a long time now,” Hawkwood remarked.
“None have spoken of it to me.”
“Ha!” snapped Hawkwood. “I’m not a green sprout to get riled by your words and act foolishly.”
“Certainly not, you look as if you have aged ten years since last I saw you in Hellainik.”
“All men pay a price for their actions,” said Hawkwood, as he lunged forward.
Their blades sang out, slicing through the air and slamming together with a clatter and bone rattling force. Apart and back again just as swiftly, like snakes entwined. Each cut and parry were well matched and though the footwork had them crossing over the deck, each man was an expert with the blade and met his foe with such precision that none watching could tell who might have the upper hand yet.
“Captain!” cried one of Hawkwood’s lookouts. Others shouted him down, but the man would not stop. “Captain! We are under siege!”
Knowing full well what the lookout had cried, Gathelaus backed off, letting Hawkwood have a breather to answer his crewman.
“What?”
“The beach swarms with savages,” answered the lookout.
There on the beach gathered the vanguard of Itzcoatl’s army. Thousands of men.
“Not yours?” questioned Hawkwood.
Gathelaus shook his head.
“And I suppose you knew they were coming?”
“I did.”
“So this was a ploy to get aboard my ship and escape them?”
“Of course. There are too many. Even for me.”
Hawkwood grinned. “And now if we don’t make haste, they’ll slay us all?”
“Likely. And that’s if we can escape. They’ll devour the survivors.”
Hawkwood scrutinized Gathelaus for meaning, then he saw the canoes carried forth by slaves. These were dropped in the water and two score of warriors could fit into a single outrigger.
“You can’t outrun those, at least not until we are upon the rolling sea. We have to fight from an advantageous position.”
“My ship,” gritted Hawkwood.
“You burned mine,” growled Gathelaus
Hawkwood grunted. “And now we’ll need every single sword we have won’t we? I already fought a quarter less than these and lost a third of my crew to make it here. I know the odds.”
Gathelaus grunted and signaled his men to ready themselves along the gunwales. “Watch for their spears and arrows. If they get a foothold aboard we are done. Show no mercy!”
“Damn you Gathelaus. You knew I’d accept your challenge to fight, buying time where I would be forced to defend you.”
“And I you.”
“Clever bastard.”
“Easy, time enough for flattering talk after we escape or slay this horde. Best have your men draw the sails before they are shredded in the assault.”
Hawkwood cursed and signaled his men. “You don’t leave a man much choic
e do you?”
“Not if I can help it.”
The Bloody Bay
Hawkwood swaggered but his face said he could guess which way the winds would blow if he did not heed the words of Gathelaus. “I will stand or fall with you. Far better to die fighting the heathen dogs at your side than to taste your blade and then be eaten by those devils. If I should fall and you be the last man, set my ship aflame so they will not sup upon me. Swear it.” He held a broad hand out.
Gathelaus grimly nodded and took the hand in the brotherhood of warriors fated to die by overwhelming numbers. “I so swear. But I’ll likely drown in blood before it comes to that.”
“Then it is a good day to die,” growled Hawkwood. “To arms my dogs! We stand with Gathelaus and his few against a horde of flesh eating demons. Who knows where we may fall, but it will not be into their gullets!”
His pirates nocked arrows and readied their boarding cutlasses to fend off the attackers who swarmed toward the cutter from all sides. The sea was calm as death and the dugout canoes would have no hinderance from the waters of the lagoon at encircling the larger ship.
Shouts filled the air almost as thick as the arrows and never before had the men been so glad to have thick oaken gunwales upon the side of the ship. Projectiles shredded the hanging sails and pin cushioned the sides.
It wasn’t until the canoes were beside the Kraken that the archers relaxed. Men clung to the sides and had their brains dashed and hands severed as they strove to board the cutter. In moments, the canoes were so tightly packed about the cutter that men could conceivably walk from the sandy shore to the cutter without getting wet. Gathelaus guessed that his thirty odd men were likely surrounded by more than a thousand Tultecacan warriors and more were coming.
“Let them taste northern steel!” he cried, swinging his mighty blade in swaths across the gunwales as the lean red bodies attempted to clamber over the rails.
Hawkwood, splattered with blood, beat back the gnashing horde. “I’ve never faced such odds!” he shouted at Gathelaus.
“Take heart, there are more!” answered Gathelaus, pointing at the beach where a new legion formed up.
FIERCE: A Heroic Fantasy Adventure (BRUTAL TRILOGY Book 2) Page 30