The tip of his blade ended just before the heart of a stoutish man in the robes of an aristocrat. He quivered before Nermesa’s weapon.
“Please! I am unarmed! I am Lucian, once master of this house before those fiends took over!”
Nermesa frowned, uncertain as to whether or not to believe the man. Certainly he did not seem the sort with whom Khatak would consort, but he also looked too healthy and clean to have been a prisoner.
“Where are the stables?” he finally demanded instead, deciding that he had nothing to fear from this round figure so long as Nermesa was the one with the sword.
“Th-there!” stuttered the other noble, pointing to his left.
His voice, somewhat high-pitched, did not sound like that of the one with whom Khatak had been speaking earlier, but Nermesa could not be absolutely certain. He would have to take a chance. If his companion spoke the truth about himself, the bandit and his cohorts would certainly slay him for having aided Nermesa in his escape. There was only one choice, however questionable it might be.
“Do you want to escape with me?”
There was no hesitation from Lucian. “Yes! Please! Yes!”
“Quiet! Come with me, then!”
With the heavyset aristocrat plodding beside him, Nermesa headed for the stables. Behind them, the clamor in the house continued to escalate. Nermesa prayed that they would continue to think he was still inside, at least long enough for the two of them to saddle horses and ride off.
The stables, a flat-roofed, wooden structure, beckoned ahead. The building was dark, and the only sounds were some unsettled snorts from the horses. As they arrived at the entrance, Nermesa had Lucian stand back in case someone hid within. The estate owner was only too glad to comply.
Sword ready, the knight stepped inside. A horse greeted his entry with another snort. Nermesa gazed past the animals, trying to see any sign of danger in the gloom.
Again, the one horse snorted. It tried to come in his direction, but could not. Stepping closer, Nermesa smiled. It was his own mount. The animal had recognized his scent.
Confidence rising, Nermesa glanced back to the entrance, quietly calling, “It’s safe to come in—”
The pitchfork grazed him at the shoulder, only his chance turning saving Nermesa from being impaled from the back.
The round form of Lucian pulled back the tool for another strike.
“In here!” cried the treacherous noble, his expression vicious. “I’ve got the fool in the stables!”
He plunged the pitchfork at Nermesa.
Shoulder stinging, the knight backed up to his horse. Lucian’s strike hit the beam next to him, the sharp prongs burying themselves in the wood. The portly estate owner attempted to pull the makeshift weapon free, but his earlier momentum had driven the pitchfork in too far for him to remove it.
As Nermesa straightened, his betrayer let go and tried to run. The knight flung himself at Lucian, taking down the latter. All of the fat noble’s bravado vanished, replaced by the quivering fear that the knight had first witnessed.
“No! Please! I didn’t mean to!” Lucian’s lip quivered.
His pleas were lost on Nermesa. He dragged the heavyset man to his feet. “Enough! You’re going to lead me out of here—”
Lucian shook uncontrollably. He started to speak, but instead slumped back. His eyes rolled up. Startled, Nermesa repositioned his grip.
Only then did he feel the dagger hilt sticking out of the estate owner’s back.
Outside, someone cursed. And lights began congregating.
Nermesa tossed Lucian aside, then retreated back to his steed. He released the animal, but dared not take time to saddle it. Although Nermesa had ridden bareback in the past, he was not so skilled at it that he did not attempt the trick now without risk. Yet, the approaching lights and angry voices told him that he had no other choice.
Two figures—one wielding a torch—barged in just as he urged the stallion forward. The huge beast forced the startled men aside as it raced out. Nermesa took a slash at one, but his need to clutch the horse’s mane prevented him from doing any damage.
“To the gates!” someone called.
Nermesa hung low, trying to make himself less of a target for anyone who might have a bow. He steered the horse past another man with a torch and searched for the gates in question.
There! They were open, too, which could only mean that none of Khatak’s cohorts had yet reached them. If he could get beyond the walls, there would be no stopping his flight to Tarantia.
Shouts continued from behind him, but they were farther back now. Nermesa was but seconds from freedom. The arched entrance loomed before him.
And from it, a figure dropped down on the Aquilonian, sending both of them crashing to the ground. They rolled over and over several times, Nermesa’s attacker ending on top.
“Your head I will have!” Khatak growled. “Wanted to drag you back, to be flayed alive slowly for all Picts to see that I am the most favored! That Gullah watches over me!”
Nermesa managed to get a knee up into the brigand’s stomach. He pushed Khatak from him, then rolled away in search of his sword.
“Luck is not with you now!” mocked the half-breed. From somewhere, he produced his own sword, which he instantly used to nearly behead his quarry.
Still rolling, Nermesa landed on top of what had to be his weapon. He kicked wildly at Khatak, forcing the brigand back a step.
It was all Nermesa needed. He seized his sword and brought it up just as Khatak attacked again. The clang of their swords resounded throughout the darkened estate.
Unfortunately, it could not be long before some of Khatak’s comrades would join the struggle. In his present condition, Nermesa had no illusions as to his odds against two or more opponents. He had to get away.
A snort from beyond the gates made him realize that his horse had come to a halt outside. Unfortunately, Khatak stood between him and the stallion.
The brigand came at him. Khatak laughed as he slashed again and again and again. He knew that all he had to do was delay Nermesa until the others came . . . and judging by the calls, they were but seconds from arriving.
Nermesa’s gaze darted left and right, finally fixing on a set of stone steps leading up to a walkway on the wall surrounding the house grounds. Perhaps, if he could beat Khatak to the top . . .
He pretended to lunge at his adversary, and when Khatak moved to deflect his strike, Nermesa surprised him by instead racing off toward the stairway. The wild-haired half-breed cursed and gave pursuit.
Racing up two steps at a time, Nermesa reached the top. He spun around and kicked out, knowing that Khatak would be right behind him.
The bandit chieftain grunted as Nermesa’s boot caught him squarely in the chest. He tumbled back, barely keeping from plunging headfirst off the side.
Turning back to the wall, Nermesa bent over the edge, seeking some way down the outer side. The height was such that to jump would not kill him, but he likely risked a broken leg, maybe more.
Tromping feet warned him that his time was running out. From his right, two armed men—the lead one also bearing a lit torch—charged him. Another villain had raced up past a stunned Khatak and was only steps from the top.
Nermesa ran to meet the one on the steps, taking advantage of his higher position to come over the other’s guard. His blade sank through near the breastbone, and the brigand tumbled off the steps to the ground.
Beyond the dead man, Khatak began to rise. Nermesa had no time to worry about him, for the other pair were nearly upon the desperate noble’s position. He met the sword of the first, forcing his opponent back against the second cutthroat. Their collision only gave Nermesa a momentary respite, though, for the second man then slipped by his companion, coming at the Aquilonian in earnest.
Nermesa used the man’s aggressiveness against him, letting the bandit stumble forward on the narrow path. With his free hand, the knight caught part of his adversary’s garment a
nd pulled as hard as he could, flinging him off the walkway.
Flames filled Nermesa’s view, the heat alone almost scorching him. He backed away as his remaining foe swung wildly at him with the torch. Nermesa deflected the fiery staff, then barely dodged a thrust by the other’s sword. As he struggled against his foe, he heard more footsteps coming up behind him.
Dropping down, the Aquilonian kicked out, tangling the torch wielder’s feet. As the man fell toward him, Nermesa twisted, throwing him to the side. Dropping both his weapons, the brigand frantically sought to grab hold, but his fingers only grazed Nermesa.
The torch dropped on Nermesa. He quickly batted it away, then smothered a small fire starting on his sleeve.
A sharp pain in his arm made him cry out. He threw himself away from the direction of the pain. A moistness spread down his arm.
Glancing over his shoulder, Nermesa saw Khatak bearing down on him.
“The lion is strong in you,” complimented the half-breed. He beat his chest. “But He Who Lives in the Moon is within me!”
He slashed twice more at the wounded Aquilonian. Nermesa slid backward, seeking his sword. Khatak laughed, and in the gloom of night he looked more like a fearsome demon than a man.
Nermesa continued to search blindly as he sought to avoid Khatak’s relentless assault. He suddenly pulled back his fingers, their tips nearly burned by an unexpected encounter with the torch he had flung from him moments before.
Khatak used the distraction to try to cut a ravine in Nermesa’s chest. The edge of the blade ripped through the Aquilonian’s clothes and lined his torso with a stream of crimson, but the wound, however stinging, was very shallow.
Nermesa seized the hot torch and threw it at his opponent.
Although his aim was good, Khatak saw the fiery missile coming. He backed up and swung at the torch, batting it far over the estate grounds.
Nermesa leapt at him.
He collided hard with the brigand chieftain, almost sending both of them off the walkway. Khatak snarled. The half-breed thrust his head forward, trying to bite off Nermesa’s nose. Despite a slight height advantage on the Aquilonian’s part, Khatak’s animalistic nature made it difficult for Nermesa to match the bandit. The black-maned fighter began pushing him back.
“Your blood I will drink, its strength to add to my own . . .” Khatak uttered in all earnestness. “Your dried head will I carry wherever I go!”
He flung Nermesa hard against the wall, jarring the noble’s already-battered body. Nermesa fought to maintain his grip and avoid Khatak’s sword at the same time. Trapped between them, the edge was mere inches from the knight’s face.
Khatak again swung him against the wall. Nermesa momentarily bent over the edge.
Chuckling, the brigand pulled him back for a third toss.
Nermesa tensed.
Khatak flung him at the wall . . . and the Aquilonian threw his own momentum into the swing. Now, it was not only Nermesa who flew against the wall, but his adversary as well.
Caught off guard, Khatak not only collided with the wall, he toppled over it.
Nermesa released his grip . . . but Khatak did not. To his horror, Nermesa followed the villain over. The black ground outside the estate raced up to meet him . . .
The landing was jarring, nearly bone-breaking, but it did not kill the Aquilonian or even knock him unconscious. Stunned from the landing, Nermesa at first did not know why he had survived . . . until he looked down to discover the angry eyes of Khatak staring up at him.
Or rather . . . staring up at nothing.
Khatak’s head was bent at an impossible angle, and his arms were splayed to the sides. The crooked smile was forever branded on his face. He was the miracle that had preserved Nermesa, for the half-breed had cushioned his foe’s fall.
Unfortunately for Khatak, doing so had cost him his own life.
Gaping at the corpse, Nermesa almost expected Khatak suddenly to rise and take him with him into death. When that did not happen, Nermesa struggled to his feet, aware that there were others inside who would eagerly fulfill the dead brigand’s desires.
Through tearing eyes, he finally located his mount, which was chewing on some grass. Nermesa stumbled toward it even as voices rose near the gates.
Reaching the stallion, he climbed atop and, clutching its mane, urged it on. The horse instinctively headed toward home. Nermesa planted his head against its neck. His wounds and injuries began to tell, and he feared that he might lose his grip and slip off. The voices behind him grew faint, but Nermesa did not know whether that meant that he was farther from them or that the pounding in his head had just drowned out the sounds.
“Keep going . . .” he gasped to the steed. “Keep going. Home. Home . . .”
The horse snorted. Nermesa buried his face in the mane.
He passed out.
13
VIOLENT IMAGES ASSAILED Nermesa. He was hunted by silhouettes of men on horseback as he desperately tried to crawl toward his house. Thunder roared overhead, ever ending in a malevolent chuckle.
Despite every inch he managed, Nermesa never got closer to home. He peered frantically over his shoulder, to see that the sinister silhouettes had grown to monstrous proportion. A fat, full moon shone down on them, yet still Nermesa could make out no detail save huge yellow fangs.
Tearing his eyes from his horrific pursuers, he stared directly at the moon.
Khatak’s distorted visage stared back. Like the black creatures hunting the Aquilonian, the brigand chieftain had sharp fangs, which he gnashed at Nermesa.
Both the fangs and the monstrous hunters drew closer and closer. Nermesa tried to push himself to his feet, but his legs would not work.
His parents suddenly appeared on a balcony thrusting out of the front of the house. Nermesa tried to call to them, but he had no voice. He waved wildly, but although his father and mother seemed to be looking in his direction, they did not react.
Someone joined them on the balcony. Orena Lenaro put a comforting arm around each of Nermesa’s parents, then smiled at him. The house suddenly receded from the struggling knight, falling farther and farther out of reach.
Khatak’s thundering chuckle again assailed his ears. Shadows overlapped him, and when Nermesa looked up, it was to discover himself surrounded by his nightmarish pursuers.
The moon descended toward him, Khatak’s gigantic maw opening. The brigand chieftain roared, “I will drink your blood! I will drink your blood!”
The shadow men seized the Aquilonian by the limbs. They raised him high and threw him up to the moon.
Khatak’s mouth stretched wide.
Nermesa cried out—
And woke shaking in his own bed.
A startled house servant stood by the entrance, a small, silver tray with a goblet of water held precariously by her shaking hand.
“Stand aside!” called his mother’s voice. Callista all but bodily lifted the young woman out of the way as she rushed in to see what was happening to her son. Her eyes lit up, and relief spread quickly across her expression as she gazed down at him. “Praise Mitra! You’re awake!”
Nermesa started to move, but every nerve in his body chose that moment to scream. He fell back, gasping for air.
“Lie easy, my son,” his mother urged, coming to his side. Glancing back at the servant, she snapped, “Go summon your master! Now!”
As the other woman ran off to obey, Callista stroked Nermesa’s forehead. She murmured soothing sounds.
“How—” he at last managed.
“A guard from the watch had you brought here! He said that your horse rode up to the city gates with you clinging to its back. You kept mumbling, but they couldn’t understand you. Someone recognized your face, though.”
“A damned good thing that they did,” added Bolontes, entering the chamber. The severe look in his face shifted to one matching his wife’s when he saw Nermesa. “Thank the heavens that you’ve finally woken. How do you feel, son?”
“The fire’s receding.” Nermesa dared to try to sit up again. There was pain, but not so much as during the first moments. However, with the return of lucidity came memories of what had taken place. “Father! Khatak’s—”
“Dead, son. When news of you at the gates reached General Pallantides, he added it to the bandit’s escape and concluded that the pair of you had run into each other. With the king’s permission, Pallantides sent out a band of Black Dragons, who retraced your path.”
“Black Dragons . . . for me?” The elite unit was rarely used for any incident that did not directly involve King Conan’s safety.
“You and Khatak, of course.” Bolontes went on to tell Nermesa how the soldiers had ridden all the way back to the estate of one Lucian of Karaban, a disreputable figure of a noble whose House had fallen years before because of its support of Karaban’s treacherous count, Volmana. After Volmana’s death at the hands of the king, most of Lucian’s holdings had been taken save for a lowly estate near Tarantia that he had inherited afterward from a relative. Lucian was not the most competent of owners, but with the estate so secluded, no one had much bothered checking up on it.
“A mistake, clearly. The place was a smuggling front,” Nermesa’s father went on. “According to Pallantides, it was a shell of a building, nothing more.” The elder Klandes frowned. “When the Black Dragons got there, they found six bodies, but nothing else. One was Lucian’s, dead in the stables with a dagger in his back. Another was Khatak’s, his body broken in a fall.” He eyed his son. “Was that you? Was all that you?”
Nermesa nodded, his mind awhirl. The events had happened so fast that they were still a jumble to him, but to hear from his father that he had slain six men—no, Lucian had been killed by another, perhaps even Khatak—startled him. “All but the Karabanian. His friends slew him . . . by accident, I think.”
“And Khatak? What caused your paths to cross again?”
The young noble described the trap laid by the brigand and the treacherous soldiers. Bolontes shook his head at hearing of so much betrayal from Aquilonians for the cause of one bandit.
The God in the Moon Page 17