Behemoth (Lost Civilizations: 5)

by Vaughn Heppner

  ***

  Sheba whipped her head around, staring intently into the forest depths. The prey had become quiet. She crouched and began creeping through the forest, her spotted body brushing against leaves. Soon the prey muttered: a low sound. There were many human smells here, many of these two-legs. Yet Sheba had the sense that the other two-legs were gone, that this one was alone.

  Sheba peered through a cluster of leaves, her long tail flicking back and forth. The two-legs sat on a fallen log and wrapped a leather cord around a stone hatchet. He was a bull, healthy looking, although he had a mangled face and a twisted, scarred mouth. The bull two-legs had one white eye and one good eye. It would be best to approach him from the blind side.

  Sheba froze then, outraged. The bull wore a leopard-claw necklace around his neck. A roar bubbled up in Sheba and her claws extended. Her mistress clamped down hard on that. It flattened Sheba’s ears. Oh, to sink her fangs into red flesh, to rend, destroy and devour.

  Then Sheba relaxed, controlled by her mistress. She began circling the bull, to come at him from his blind side.

  ***

  Nyla gasped, blinking, and she massaged her forehead. She had a terrible headache, making her eyesight blotchy. She swallowed, holding back by sheer will the need to vomit. It had always been difficult to unite with her beast.

  Nyla drew twin, curved daggers, which she thought of as her claws. She crept in silence like Sheba, one foot at a time, making certain to advance soundlessly toward the bull—toward the half-blind savage with his leopard-claw necklace and stone hatchet.

  Nyla froze, and she cocked her head. She heard nothing. Sheba, however…her beast heard more two-legs tramping through the forest. Rovians returned to camp.

  Sheba circled the half-blind Rovian. Sheba would attack from one side. Nyla would attack from the other side, both of them flanking the savage from different directions.

  Sheba snarled then, catching the command even as Nyla formed it in her mind. Nyla leaped, crashing through brush. She burst into the clearing as Sheba bounded toward the startled savage. He didn’t scream, nor did he freeze in terror. This one had courage. He hurled the stone hatchet at Sheba, and he snatched the spear jabbed into the ground. Nyla flinched, just as Sheba flinched as the hatchet hit her in the face. It broke Sheba’s rhythm long enough for the two-legs to bring his spear level. This one had guts and was fast, half-animal in his reactions.

  Nyla snarled.

  The savage flicked his half-blind glance over his shoulder. The white eye was horribly ugly, like egg white. Only then was Nyla aware of his war cry. His mouth was wide as he bellowed, a noise to give him courage, she supposed. She ran, straining to reach him first and jab a dagger into his back. He dropped to a crouch and switched his hold on the spear. He spun, using the wooden shaft as a club to knock her down.

  Sheba coiled her muscles and sprang. It was a beautiful leap, a great, graceful bound and it took her the rest of the distance. The savage was fast, but not that fast. Sheba’s claws raked his back, hurling him face-first onto the dirt.

  Time flowed back into human speed for Nyla. That was unfortunate, because this one rebounded and fought. He didn’t know when to quit. He held a flint dagger, and he gashed her forearm. Nyla slashed, opening his cheek. Yet still he raged and came at her. From behind, Sheba hit him hard against the head, dazing him. Sheba slammed his head again so blood flew like sweat off his face.

  In that short interim, even as she bled, Nyla jammed a capture hood over him, lashing it tight. Then she bound his wrists behind his back. He started struggling.

  Nyla pricked him, and she snarled in his ear, “I’ll give you pain, my pretty, unless you do exactly as I say.”

  He tried to twist away from her. Nyla kicked him savagely in the side, and then she slashed off his breechcloth and laid cold steel against his privates.

  “One quick cut, savage,” she whispered into his ear.

  He quit struggling.

  “Yes,” she crooned. “That’s better. Now get up and do exactly as I say.”

  Sheba snarled. It made the savage flinch even as he scrambled upright. Nyla knew the big cat was nervous about the Rovians marching through the woods. The others drew near. Had they heard this fight?

  “Move,” Nyla whispered, “and you may live to tell about today. Otherwise….”

  “I understand,” the savage said hoarsely.

  Although blood dripped from her forearm and although she panted, Nyla grinned, believing the savage did indeed understand.

  -9-

  Rovians carried animal-skin sacks bulging with coins, gems and pendants, and they wore iron knives, scimitars, bucklers and bronze-studded corselets. Despite all that, the warriors slunk quietly through the forest. They grinned at one another, their eyes bright, in good spirits due to the accumulated treasure. Eber’s rusted short sword had been the awe of the clan, a symbol of his victory against a man of iron. Now each of them boasted a gleaming sword, some with two or three! Perhaps their grins were for the maidens who would coo with delight upon receiving a gold coin from them or a sapphire ring. Two warriors walked together, eagerly recounting their kills.

  They moved in a loose formation, spread out, picking their way through the forest. Several slunk with care, armed with their black bows, and with flint-tipped arrows notched on the strings.

  Lod followed close behind, brooding. Keros walked nearby.

  A warrior paused, sniffing the air. Despite their cheer and newfound wealth, the others were alert. They paused, glancing around.

  Lod’s grip tightened around the haft of a reaver dart, one he’d picked up from one of the dead. He liked its heft. It wasn’t as long as a spear. The dart was three feet of iron with a barbed, harpoon-like head. In the past, Lod had cast darts from chariots. At close range, he could hurl a dart like this through a shield and certainly through armor.

  Lod strode beside the sniffing Rovian. “What is it?”

  The small warrior swiveled his head, his dark eyes flat. “Myrrh,” he said, almost too quietly to hear.

  Lod sniffed again, but any scent of perfume was too faint for him to catch.

  The warrior’s nostrils flared. His name was Iram, and he wore a black band around his forehead. He was the smallest of the band, and his ribs showed, making him the skinniest. “I smell leopard, too,” he whispered.

  Lod recalled the woman and her leopard entering the forest. He peered into the leafy gloom. Hyenas weren’t forest creatures, but plains animals. The hyenas had blundered through the forest. A leopard wouldn’t blunder. A beastmaster controlling a leopard would be at home here. Lod had heard stories how leopards liked to climb trees and drop onto their prey from above. His head jerked up as he scanned branches. A tree squirrel watched him. A woodpecker hammered a trunk. He didn’t see any leopards. If he did—Lod hefted his iron dart.

  Iram raised his brown hand, closed it into a fist and lowered it, giving the ‘be alert’ signal. The band resumed moving, but now every Rovian strung his bow, notching it with an arrow. They crept through the forest, listening, watching and sniffing like hounds. Like Lod, they glanced up into the trees.

  A few minutes later, Keros dropped to one knee and pointed at a blade of grass. It had a spot of blood on the tip. His keen eyes narrowed as he studied the underbrush. Keros rose and crouched beside moist earth. He pointed at a paw-print.

  “A leopard made this,” Keros whispered.

  The others grew uneasy, looking up into the trees again.

  A warrior farther back whistled like a meadowlark. Everyone waited, expectantly peering ahead. The warrior trilled again.

  Iram shook his head. “Eber doesn’t answer, and he should. We’re close enough.”

  Eber had gone ahead of everyone else into camp.

  Keros found more blood, a line of droplets. He touched the redness, pinched it, seeming to gauge its stickiness. He crawled over old leaves, grass and found more tracks. Keros squatted, studying them. The warriors crouched around him, w
aiting as they watched the forest.

  “Boots,” Keros said shortly. “I see boots, paw prints and Eber’s sandals.” He pointed at tracks as if they made sense. “See how the other two force Eber to move?”

  The forest warriors murmured as their good cheer vanished.

  Lod faced the direction they had come. Ut he’d tricked. Dagon would be more cunning.

  Distantly, they heard an echoing roar behind them. It didn’t sound like a leopard or lion, but something much bigger, something vast.

  “I remember the Chamber of Beasts,” Keros whispered to Lod. “Enchanted cave bears sounded like that.”

  The Rovian warriors paled, looking ready to bolt in terror.

  “We must hold a council of war,” Keros said quickly. “We must decide what to do.”

  Lod glanced at the frightened warriors. Then he nodded. “Yes, it is time to talk.”

  ***

  Lod, Keros and the six Rovians sat in a circle several miles away. Each warrior had carefully laid out his newfound wealth—gems, pendants, coins and scimitars—perhaps to remind himself of his new status as a warrior of means.

  “I would trade half this to win back Eber,” Iram said.

  Several Rovians nodded.

  “Dagon doesn’t accept ransoms,” Lod said.

  “Do you know what Dagon seeks?” asked Keros. “Why he is in the Rovian Forest?”

  “I told you before,” said Lod. “He seeks to capture the Behemoth of the Sea of Nur.”

  The warriors stirred, muttering.

  “The Behemoth is Elohim’s creature,” Iram said. “It is sacrilege to disturb it.”

  “Those of Shamgar hate Elohim,” Keros said.

  “It seems to me,” said Lod, “that Elohim has thrown us together so we may help each other stop those of Shamgar.”

  “I agree,” said Keros. “We must ambush them along the way, picking off stranglers.”

  “As they pick us off?” asked Iram. “I do not want to disappear as Eber has. It is time to go home and spread the ill news, and to raise all the clans.”

  The other Rovians muttered agreement.

  His blue eyes flashing, Lod opened his mouth to berate them as cowards.

  Keros spoke first, “Let us wait a day.” He shook his head at Lod and said to the others, “Let us sleep on it. We are tired now from a hard fight and many miles of trekking. Tired men often make poor decisions.”

  “We should leave now,” said Iram. “The way they took Eber…. I think that is a warning. We’re in terrible danger.”

  “A day,” said Keros. “We will trek farther away tonight and post guards.” He pointed at the loot. “We must not let the ownership of treasure unman us.”

  Lod studied the mountain warrior. Keros seemed to understand the Rovians. Lod grunted agreement.

  Iram thought about it. The others watched him. Finally, small, thin Iram nodded. “We will decide tomorrow.”

  -10-

  Nyla witnessed Dagon’s breaking of the forest warrior’s spirit. It was something worthy of a son of Gog.

  She snatched a few hours sleep afterward and then answered Dagon’s predawn summons to his tent. The other beastmasters came, including Chemosh. A drugged Ut joined them, his wounded shoulder heavily bandaged. Ehud, the reaver captain, walked into the tent.

  Dagon sat in his wooden throne, the forest warrior leashed beside him, huddled in a quivering heap. The lamps flickered, and Nyla found the tent oppressively hot. In the packed confines, Dagon’s animal odor was stronger even than Ut’s reek of decay. How could Dagon stand all that hair? What a strange being he was, with his brutish countenance and immense size and fierce will. It was a palpable force. He was like a beast god, a demon in the flesh, and they were his thralls. Nyla hoped Dagon never called her to his bed. He had eyed her once last night a bit too closely. He hadn’t bedded any of the captives last night, being too busy with the forest warrior. He must be burning with lust, his appetite for rutting un-satiated.

  “Seven Rovians together with Lod and one other came to free the woman,” Dagon said in his harsh voice. “From this handful of savages, my grandson and his reavers fled.”

  Ut stared off in a daze. Ehud the reaver captain wore a wrathful look.

  “Beastmaster?” said Dagon.

  Chemosh inclined his head.

  Nyla watched with secret amazement. Among them, only Chemosh seemed immune to Dagon’s persona. Others avoided the Nephilim’s gaze or they bowed with servile haste. Chemosh kept his poise, his rugged assurance. He didn’t wear his skull necklace, however. Nyla had heard that Dagon had forbidden it in his presence. Was that a sign of fear? That seemed impossible. Could Dagon fear Chemosh? Could Chemosh’s necromancy make up the difference in their generations? Among those of the blood, the father was always more powerful than the son. Maybe Chemosh had strengthened himself in some necromantic fashion. Or did Chemosh dare trust in his own size, his own great strength? No doubt, Chemosh could crush any of the rest of them with ease. But he would be a fool to grapple hand-to-hand with Dagon?

  Dagon dabbed his weepy eye with a cloth. With his low forehead, brutish features and immense size he seemed like a beast and Chemosh an indomitable beast-tamer.

  “Is the cave bear ready?” asked Dagon.

  Nyla noticed Chemosh’s minute hesitation. It was subtle thing, and she wondered about that. Their god had twisted the cave bear deep in the Chamber of Beasts in his Temple in Shamgar. Many proclaimed it as their god’s masterpiece of animal enlargement. The beast was an engine of destruction, and their god had given it to Chemosh as a gift for services rendered. Nyla wondered if Gog had second thoughts concerning his gift-giving. Might an ambitious half-Nephilim who was a master of skull magic and armed with the greatest fighting beast on Earth aspire to godhood? Chemosh could not be that foolish. Besides, his minute hesitation told Nyla there must be danger in wielding the great beast. Did Dagon notice the fractional hesitation?

  “He is ready, Lord,” said Chemosh.

  “You’re certain of this?” asked Dagon.

  Chemosh with his forked beard and heavy assurance allowed a small smile to twitch his lips.

  Dagon dabbed his eye once more. For all his brutishness, he showed no annoyance, if indeed he felt any. “Excellent. You and the bear shall have the privilege of driving this handful into the netters.” Dagon turned to Ehud. The captain of the reavers was another of his sons, a vicious fighter and armored in silver mail. “Do you suppose it is too much to ask my soldiers to net a Seraph?”

  “Consider him captured, Lord,” Ehud said.

  “Nyla.”

  “Lord?” she said, suppressing the queasiness of being in the spotlight of Dagon’s gaze.

  “You brought me the forest warrior. You succeeded, and indeed formerly had a reputation of always accomplishing your tasks. Take your leopard and make certain that Lod is captured.”

  “Thank you, Lord,” she said.

  Chemosh glanced at her.

  Did the half-Nephilim feel that Dagon had slighted him by giving her this explicit task? No. Nyla couldn’t believe that. For Chemosh still wore his superior smile. What did he know that she didn’t? She wondered about his question yesterday. Could Lod block spells? If he could, Lod couldn’t block the giant cave bear. Nothing alive could defeat it. She doubted Dagon could survive a fight against the imbued cave bear. No wonder Chemosh seemed so smug. Whom did he need to fear with the cave bear in his control?

  Dagon clapped his huge hands, making the assembled people startle in surprise, except for Chemosh. The beastmaster grinned openly.

  Dagon said, “I’m weary of dallying in these forests. I am eager to be about the mighty task of capturing our prize from the shores of Nur. Go, prepare, and return with Lod in shackles and kill whatever savages you happen to find.”

  ***

  The Rovian warriors woke late, several of them sore from the fight yesterday. After a meal of jerky and hardtack, they resumed the war council. All wished to leave imme
diately. Keros argued for staying, for laying traps.

  Lod had been thinking about the Rovians last night. As a good sword takes time to forge with many hammer blows, so a warband needed time to make it tough and indomitable. Yesterday the warriors had slaughtered hyenas, wounded a beastmaster and butchered reavers. With experience, they could surely do even more.

  They sat in a glade, with the giant trees around them. How far was it until they reached the Sea of Nur? Lod barely listened to the debate. Most of the warriors eyed their loot. They had never owned so much, had probably as young warriors dreamed of the day they won treasure. They would proudly wear their spoils as Eber had his leopard-claw necklace. The warriors and others of their clans would believe that it advertised their valor, their skill and that they had been in a battle and defeated a dangerous foe. The warriors wanted to go home with their spoils and show off.

  “Lod?” asked Keros. “What do you—?”

  A dreadful sound interrupted Keros. A beast roared. It thundered with awful power. A tree crashed nearby, a young one perhaps. Wood splintered with an explosive cracking sound.

  “They’ve found us!” screamed Iram.

  “This way!” shouted Keros, grabbing his sword.

  As they scrambled to get away, the primitive warriors grabbed their newly-won swords, knives and bags of treasure.

  Lod leaped up. A warrior smashed against him from behind. The smaller warrior fell back, but scrambled onto his feet again. Lod ran in the same direction as the others. Behind them, the beast crashed through the forest. Lod charged through thickets and trampled old leaves. Around him, most of the Rovians scattered like deer, although skinny Iram clambered up a tree.

  Behind them, the crashing sounds neared with dreadful speed. The thud of paws beating the ground indicated a monster of unbelievable weight. It felt as if doom itself gave chase, as if an avalanche pursued them.

  Lod felt an eerie sensation then. It made his heart pound. Magic, spells, incantations, some form of sorcery twisted the air. He gagged as if breathing something putrid.