by A J Dalton
The priest of Shakri closed his eyes for a second and green bioenergy flared up from his hand. He channelled across to the torch, which burst into life and set shadows dancing frenziedly around them.
‘Is fire not a destructive element?’ Kate asked curiously. ‘It consumes the wood. How is it you can command it, Nostracles?’
‘All living things consume something, require nourishment. Trees and flowers need water, air and light, just as fire needs substance to feed off.’
‘Surely you’re not saying fire is alive!’ she scoffed.
Nostracles gave a small smile and shrugged.
‘Are you?’ the Scourge pressed with curiosity.
‘It is much debated amongst the priests of Shakri. On the one hand, you have those who believe that the divine spark of life is a holy fire of sorts. And you must know as Guardians that there are elemental creatures made entirely of flame – fire imps, fire demons, fire sprites, and so on. Added to that, there are creatures that thrive on the element – dragons, fire drakes, salamanders and what have you. Such priests say they have divined whole worlds within conflagrations, life in all its complexity played out with roaring intensity. Some say that the fire merely offers us a window onto other worlds, whereas some maintain those worlds exist in the fire and that the life seen there is short compared to our lives but all the more heated, passionate and glorious for all that. Then, in the other camp, you have priests who are adamant fire cannot be alive, for if it were then mortals would have the power of Shakri Herself when they bring fire into being. It is blasphemy to suggest such a thing!’
The eyes of Kate and the Scourge were drawn towards the torch and they stared fixedly at it. They rode like that for some minutes before Nostracles chose to break the spell by speaking and making them start slightly.
‘And do either of you see anything?’
‘Erm… I… no, I don’t think so,’ the Scourge murmured. ‘I… what were we talking about?’
‘Nothing really,’ Kate blinked. ‘Nostracles lit the torch is all. Do either of you know how long Worm Pass is? Given it’s sheltered, wouldn’t it be better to stop at the end of it to get some rest, rather than braving the elements straight away and not knowing when we’ll next be able to stop?’
‘Makes sense, but I suspect the end of the pass’ll be guarded. I doubt we’ll get much chance of a stop and lie down. Besides, the animee won’t be stopping and I’m loathe to let him get too far ahead of us if we can help it.’
‘All living creatures need to sleep, Scourge,’ Nostracles argued. ‘If they try to fight it, they only make things worse for themselves and start making mistakes.’
‘Look, there’s a hoof print! And part of a shoe print! It doesn’t look like they’re far ahead,’ the Scourge said, apparently not listening to Nostracles, until he added, ‘and I’m not sure you’re entirely right about the sleep thing either. I know a soldier who was hit in the head and he swore he never slept again afterwards. I’ve gone days straight without sleep.’
Nostracles sighed and shook his head slightly. ‘It is only the undead who do not sleep, as you should know. There are good reasons why Shakri has us experience tiredness and the need for sleep. Fighting sleep is fighting the nature of creation and the will of the goddess.’
‘Then I’m all for fighting it!’ the Scourge shot back. ‘Now be quiet, before you give us away to any who may be ahead of us.’
They moved on along the pass for some hours, the acoustics of the place constantly playing tricks on them and making them cast around. At one moment, the jingle of the harnesses and tread of the horses sounded dead, flat and nearby, at another they echoed and rang from a great distance. Kate was sure she could hear breathing just behind her, but there was never anyone there when she looked. The hairs on the back of her neck rose and told her something was watching them and creeping along behind them.
Night fell above Worm Pass and they were plunged into a darkness so absolute that it was as if they floated in an infinite void. Kate’s horse seemed as intent on staying within the sphere of the torch’s light as Kate was herself. Who knew what would become of them when they passed beyond this realm of fire and light? What loneliness, cold and horror awaited them out there? She looked at the blackness askance and thought it writhed when not observed directly. She caught movement at the corner of her eyes, but it disguised itself as the smoke from the torch so there was nothing she could point out to the others.
She rubbed at her eyes. She knew she was long past tired and that her imagination was getting carried away with little more than itself to feed on. She tried to think of something else and Saltar’s face was conjured up before her. It was impassive, but bore the lines and wrinkles of someone long used to suppressing pain and concern. It was a face of hard strength, a strength she found reassuring. Ultimately, it was a caring face, the face of someone she cared for in turn. She could not believe that such a face belonged to an emotionless animee. Surely she was not wrong in that? But the word of Shakri was not one that could be dismissed lightly. What was wrong here? That was what she needed to find out, and that need was what drove her on… that, and her burgeoning love for Saltar.
They came round a bend in the pass and a ferocious, icy blast attacked them head on. Nostracles could not avoid a surprised yelp and held his hand up to shield his eyes from the wind-driven snow and grit. Kate moved her horse so that it was more directly behind Nostracles’s own and she was spared the worst of the onslaught.
‘We’re obviously coming to the end of the pass!’ the Scourge shouted. ‘Be on your guard!’
‘The snow’s getting deeper, the tracks will have been covered over,’ Kate called forwards, but the Scourge’s lack of reaction made her wonder if her words had carried.
The walls of the pass opened out and they found themselves at the top of a valley that ran off into the dark. The moon was blade thin, but afforded them more light than they’d had within the pass. A hundred yards away down the slope was a crude hut of sorts. It was little more than three stone walls, with one side open and a flat roof of mud and branches. There was a low fire in front of the open side and armed soldiers crouched around it. There appeared to be a few others asleep on the floor of the hut. The soldiers had already spotted the Scourge’s party and were lackadaisically beginning to muster themselves.
‘I make eight of them. You?’ the Scourge asked Kate. ‘I wish Young Strap was awake and ready with his bow.’
‘I fear I cannot be of much help against such men,’ Nostracles apologised.
‘Yes, eight of them. We either bluff our way through or rush them,’ Kate decided. ‘They’ve got horses back there that look heavier than ours and better suited to this snow. I doubt we can outrun them.’
‘Wait! There’s something else out here!’ the Scourge warned as grey corpses began to shamble into the light. His horse pawed at the ground, used to fighting such creatures. Nostracles’s mount, however, reared in fright and the priest fell to the ground. The snow cushioned the fall, but he was winded and failed to rise.
‘Scourge, what do we do?’ Kate demanded, beginning to draw her sword.
The soldiers down by the fire suddenly burst into action, shouting for their sleeping fellows to awake and arm themselves.
‘That’s torn it! You shouldn’t have called me by name. There must be a necromancer down there who overheard you through these Shakri-cursed animees. Yah!’ screamed the King’s Scourge and slapped Young Strap’s mount on the rump so it went barrelling down the slope and through the scrambling soldiers.
Then he twisted round in his saddle and jammed the torch full in the face of the nearest zombie’s face. It made no noise and did not slow, but its clothes and skin caught light.
‘Old and dry,’ Kate observed. ‘Stop playing with your new friend, Scourge! We need to get down there amongst them to take out the necromancer,’ and with a battle-cry she spurred forwards, a crossbow now in her other hand, meaning that she had to steer her horse with just h
er knees.
‘Kate, no!’ he yelled as zombies began to close on Nostracles, but the wind was already whistling in her ears and she couldn’t hear him.
‘At them, dray!’ he urged, and his horse started lashing out at the animees around them. There were so many! Dozens. The Scourge knew his group couldn’t hope to prevail. It would just be a matter of time before he was completely surrounded, dragged from his saddle and swarmed under. For every one felled by a flying hoof or flashing blade, another two would take its place. And the one that had gone down would continue to drag itself forward towards the floundering priest.
The Scourge knew he would have to throw himself from the saddle in a few more moments if he was to prevent the crawling corpses currently below his reach from getting to the priest. Damn it! This was not how it was meant to happen. And crazy old Kate had gone and hurled herself into the enemy and was no doubt seconds from being overwhelmed.
Nostracles screamed as a zombie sank its teeth into his bare calf, bit a chunk off and swallowed it. At least he’s got his breath back, the Scourge thought grimly, as his leapt from his saddle, to chop the head of the offending zombie in half. At virtually the same instant, green light exploded all around them and blinded the King’s Guardian.
‘Shakri’s fecundity!’ the Scourge swore, reeling back and slipping on the melted snow.
There was the acrid smell of carbonised flesh in the air, and he hoped it wasn’t his.
‘There’s no need to blaspheme! You’ll be fine in a minute. Arggh! Behind you!’
The Scourge twisted round on his knees, driving his sword in a hard, horizontal sweep. It met resistance and he pushed it on until it came free. His eyesight cleared and he found he’d cut an animee clean in half through the stomach. It clawed towards him, so he cut a handful of its finger off, which wiggled around like worms and even started burrowing into the ground.
The blast of holy power had cleared a radius of ten feet around them and left lumps of sizzling flesh and crackling across the ground. It smelt like pork and the Scourge spat as his mouth watered. All too soon, they were surrounded by the shuffling dead again.
‘Nostracles, you’ve got plenty more where that came from, right?’
‘Err… using the amulet drains me of much of my own natural energy. It takes time for me to recover.’
‘Time’s not a luxury we have right now. Can’t you pray harder or something?’
‘That’s not how it works really. I can give you what I’ve got left, but you’ll have to do everything from thereon in. There’s a good chance I’ll lose consciousness.’
‘Here, use my flask of water. Try and get it on their exposed skin. Once you’ve used that up, you’ll have no choice but to employ the amulet again to channel what strength you’ve got left.’
‘Thanks. Oh! I hate to tell you this but the water’s frozen solid!’
‘By the random bastards of Wim, that’s all we need! Look out!’
***
Kate dug her heels into the sides of her steed and it plunged forwards recklessly. She slashed to left and right and then spied the one she’d been looking for. An unwashed woman in long, flowing robes stood with her arms out dramatically over her head, chanting in the daemon-tongue. The Guardian lifted her crossbow and without hesitation let loose the bolt. It flew on a true line and skewered the necromancer through the throat. The woman’s eyes rolled back in her head but she did not fall. There was no blood to be seen either. The female necromancer’s hands found the bolt and wrenched it out. Then she tried to speak but only managed a whistling rush of air through the tear in her throat. She clamped hands to the rent at the front and back of her neck and started chanting again.
The necromancer was already dead! How could that be? There had to be another necromancer controlling this one.
A hand grabbed Kate’s leg and pulled her off her horse. She rolled as she hit the ground and came to her feet. Her assailant had anticipated her move, however, had crouched and was already sweeping her legs out from under her with a low kick. Shit! She fell on her back and a wickedly sharp dirk was slammed into her shoulder up to the hilt. She screamed and her hand and arm spasmed so that she dropped her sword. She couldn’t move – the blade seemed to have gone all the way through and pinned her to the ground.
I’m dead, I’m dead. The shadowed figure of the soldier who had toppled her laughed.
‘I’ll kill you, have our necromancer bring you back from the dead and then shag you up the arse!’
Kate breathed through her teeth because of the pain of her shoulder, but managed a reply: ‘Why not shag me now, while I’m alive, kill me and then shag me again when I’m dead? Fighting always makes me wet and I’ve never had an Accritanian.’
‘You filthy, Memnosian whore!’ the soldier accused her and started undoing his belt buckle.
‘Have done with it and kill her, Pelvar! That’s an order! They’re still fighting up a ways.’
‘Yes, sergeant!’
‘Quickly, Pelvar!’ Kate moaned.
The soldier looked off into the dark for a moment, to make sure his comrades were moving away and then went back to fumbling with his trews. He lowered himself on top of her and she could smell sour beer and sweat on him.
‘Give me your tongue!’ she begged huskily.
‘I’ll give you more than that!’ he promised her and jammed his tongue into her waiting mouth.
She clamped her jaws down as hard as she could on his tongue, biting most of the way through it and then shaking her head viciously until it tore away completely. Blood sprayed everywhere and then spattered into her face as he gurgled at her. She spat his tongue back up at him and then kneed him in the groin as he reared up to try and escape her. Whimpering, he rolled off her clutching at his vitals and then began to vomit with the pain and shock. Inevitably, he choked himself and after thrashing around for some moments stopped moving. His mouth hung open, never to utter another threat, curse or prayer. His bowels loosened in death and Kate turned her face away from the stench.
She felt faint. Blood had turned the snow around her the same colour as a night rose. And her mind wandered as if she had inhaled the hallucinogenic spores of that bloom. With her good arm, she reached across to her impaled shoulder and tugged experimentally on the dirk. She felt the blade grating against bone and had to grind her teeth together to endure the torture of the blade doing further damage to her flesh as she withdrew it.
Then the dead soldier began to move.
***
Nostracles fed energy into the flask until the ice inside melted. Not a second too soon, he was splashing holy water around them. A large animee who’d presumably been a blacksmith when alive, judging by the leather apron he wore, came straight for the priest. Nostracles sloshed water on the large, reaching hands and watched with wide eyes as the animee’s flesh dissolved into a dripping slurry. The water ate up the corpse’s arms like an acid and then gnawed into the blacksmith’s chest. The creature was lost in clouds of steam and, from what Nostracles could tell, was reduced to nothing but a mess in the snow.
A child came at him and he hesitated. Such a sweet and innocent face. The Scourge came round Nostracles and chopped down savagely with his sword into the boy’s neck and diagonally down into its torso. The boy looked up at the Scourge uncomprehendingly and Nostracles felt a pain in his heart.
‘What has become of us that we do this to children?’
‘No, priest! This was once a child but is no more. It wears the body of a child but is nothing more than the perverted magic of a necromancer. Always remember that, or your next hesitation might be your last.’
The Scourge put his foot against the small animee’s chest and kicked it off his sword. The boy flew back on the snow and slid through the puddle that had been the blacksmith. The boy began to melt.
‘Help me!’ it pleaded in a clear voice.
‘Fresh one. It can talk, so must have its lungs still,’ the Scourge grunted.
Nostracles
couldn’t help shedding a tear. He turned away from the terrible sight.
‘Look, Scourge! Are those living soldiers who now come for us?’
‘Yes, you can see their warm breath in the frigid air.’
‘I cannot help you with them, I’m afraid. There are a goodly number of them. How much chance do we have?’
‘Where’s your faith, priest?’ the Scourge asked with wry bitterness. ‘Surely you do not fear the goddess will abandon you like she did your temple-master? Never mind! You keep the animees back and I’ll see what I can do against Accritania’s finest. How much water do you have left?’
‘Less than half. I fear I have been somewhat too liberal with it.’
‘Can’t you bless the snow or something? Or make it rain and bless the weather?’
‘Sorry.’
The Scourge sighed and took up a handful of snow with his free hand as the first soldier approached warily. The Scourge threw the snow at the man, hoping to distract him, and then speared forwards with his blade. The grizzled soldier didn’t even blink and turned the thrust aside with ease. There was no riposte. The man had sense enough to wait until his comrades could join him and outnumber the Guardian. It would only be a matter of time before they outmanoeuvred him or wore him down. They had him at their mercy.
‘I’m all out of tricks. Ideas, priest? Any chance of some divine intervention right about now?’
‘Help!’
The Scourge risked a glance backwards, to see Nostracles beset by three animees at once. One of them had a hand at the priest’s throat and was beginning to throttle him. The flask had dropped to the floor and spilled out the last of its contents. Maybe it was instinct, maybe he heard a whisper of movement or maybe some benevolent spirit was watching out for him, but the Scourge knew to throw himself to the right at the very instant the soldier in front of him came rushing in. He felt the wind of the man’s sword as it whisked as hairsbreadth from his face. The Scourge’s own weapon came up and disembowelled the man, who, try as he might, could not get the yards of his slippery intestines back inside his stomach. As he died, the soldier levelled an unnatural look at the Scourge and hissed: ‘The more you kill, the better. You may not realise it, but you are a better servant to me than all my necromancers and my priests. A better servant than your King Voltar, even.’