Wrath of the Greimere

by Case C. Capehart

  “It’s got to be a trick.” Sergeant Pledius stopped and leaned against a tree as he drank from his canteen. “The thing already had us figured out beforehand and it’s been concealing this knowledge.”

  “Perhaps, but to what end?” Nero looked through the trees toward the village and then back at the sergeant. “It appears to still be worried, as it hides when I enter, but… it’s like the creature is endearing itself to me with each visit. I think it’s trying to survive; like a prisoner siding with his captives to avoid torment.”

  “Don’t give it anything it can use, Nero.” Sergeant Pledius stowed his canteen and started back toward the village. “If it’s going to start talking to you, I want to know why it’s here. I want all of its information on the Greimere; everything in its brain. If we need to start with torment and then walk it back, that’s fine.”

  “I doubt that will be necessary...”

  “Don’t even finish that thought, Corporal.” Sergeant Pledius cut into his statement with a hard tone. “This isn’t a pet. It’s not even a wild animal you can afford sympathy. This creature may not be our main enemy, but these lands sure did not birth it and I have my suspicions something more sinister follows it. The minute you start to think differently, you open yourself to weakness. Don’t lose sight of why we’re here, Nero.”

  Chapter 3

  Nero saluted the Lieutenant as soon as he entered the medical bay. Sergeant Pledius followed and shut the door behind him. “Report, Corporal. Why did you call us both here?”

  “He’s speaking common Rellizbix now.” Nero motioned the two of them closer to the far end of the building and continued in a hushed tone. “He does not quite have all the nuances of our language and some of the things he mentions don’t translate, but he’s divulging information.”

  The lieutenant and sergeant exchanged glances before Pledius spoke up. “What information?”

  “Come talk to him yourself.” Nero opened the door and ushered the two into the room.

  Braap sat on an intricate chair that he had fashioned from bits and pieces that were in the room. The bone and salvage armor had disappeared and in its place were makeshift pants, a tunic and a bucket hat. As soon as they entered, Braap stood and saluted, causing Sergeant Pledius to cast an annoyed look at Nero.

  “He picked that up himself, Sergeant. He’s been opening peep holes in the walls faster than I can close them.”

  “And he hasn’t escaped?” the lieutenant asked, examining the creature.

  “Braap not escape from here,” the creature replied in the Rellizbix tongue. “Braap a man of Duransk now. Braap civilized; wear nice clothes; pay respect to officer. Braap enjoy this place very much; safe here. Braap repay civilized people with telling. Braap telling very much.”

  Lieutenant Stratton chuckled and took a step closer. “Braap, you say? What are you, Braap?”

  Braap replied with a sound that was unintelligible.

  “That’s one of the hiccups, sir.” Nero stepped forward. “Whatever he’s called in the Greimere, it’s not in our vocabulary. I thought perhaps ‘goblin’ might be an appropriate word. He kind of resembles one, doesn’t he?”

  “Corporal, can we get on with this?” The sergeant crossed his arms and the look on his face dampened Nero’s confidence. “I’m not impressed with these tricks.”

  “Braap, this man is my sergeant — similar to your ‘boss’ that you used to follow.” Nero took up a stool across from Braap, very close to the creature. “He is the one who let me talk to you and the one who gives out the rolls. I want you to tell me about Grass Hair again.”

  “Braap a man of Duransk now, yes?” The creature became visibly worried after hearing Sergeant Pledius’s barked words and Nero worried that he might clam up.

  “Yes, Braap is civilized now; even my bosses see that.” Nero looked up at the lieutenant, who obliged him with a smile and a nod. “Tell us how you got here, Braap?”

  “Braap follow boss, boss follow the Flaming Lady, the Flaming Lady follow Grass Hair. All of Greimere follow Grass Hair, all who are smart. Grass Hair is strongest warrior and says he will destroy Rellizbix and give to Greimere.”

  “Grass Hair? He’s talking about the Greimere Emperor, isn’t he?” Lieutenant Stratton leaned in, a look of excitement on his angular face. “This is good. We know practically nothing about the new Emperor, except that he is unlike any that have come before him. Braap, tell us about Grass Hair. Why do you call him this?”

  Braap straightened up and smiled, clearly happy with the attention. “All Greimere call Grass Hair this; the name he goes by in Greimere. Not know what his Rellizbix name is.”

  All three of them traded glances at this. Nero spoke up. “Braap, what do you mean his Rellizbix name? What we call him?”

  “Braap not know what Grass Hair is called before Grass Hair came to Greimere. Grass Hair have different name in Rellizbix, Braap thinks. Lieutenant know him? Lieutenant have same hair color, but Grass Hair not as tall. Grass Hair look more like Corporal.”

  “What the hell is he getting at?” Sergeant Pledius took a step forward, frightening Braap a bit. “What nonsense is this?”

  “The Greimere Emperor is not a Rathgar, Braap?” Lieutenant Stratton became locked in on the creature, ignoring Sergeant Pledius. “Braap, you need to speak very carefully now. We need to understand completely. Did the Emperor, Grass Hair, come from Rellizbix? Is he a Saban, like the Corporal and the Sergeant?”

  “This is bullshit, sir.”

  “Grass Hair skin like Saban, but not Saban.” Braap edged away from Sergeant Pledius and closer to the lieutenant. “Grass Hair very thin, bigger eyes… pointed ears.”

  “Fates,” Nero muttered. “I hadn’t gotten this far with him. He’s… he’s never seen a Twileen before, but did he..?”

  Lieutenant Stratton stood and turned slowly toward Sergeant Pledius, his face sullen. “Sergeant, what we have heard here cannot leave this room. I will not make grand speculations, but there have been rumors from the universities; Sages with extreme wisdom who have made calculations hidden from the Counsel… some of whom have hypothesized that this new Greimere Emperor has unnatural insight into our lands.”

  “You cannot be serious.” Sergeant Pledius looked as if someone had kicked him in the gut and he was forbidden from retaliating. “One of us? A Twileen, at that? How?”

  Lieutenant Stratton shook his head and looked away from the Saban. “Does it matter how? If a disgruntled Hunter, someone with intimate knowledge of our lands and military protocol has managed to take command of the Greimere Horde, it is no wonder General Tiberius fell. Command must be notified immediately.”

  Nero’s head spun. He had lucked into such priority knowledge, but at the same time he wished he did not know. Among the dozens of thoughts that assailed him, one rose above the others. “Braap, are you part of a scouting crew? Is Grass Hair on his way to Rellizbix?”

  Braap looked at all three of them and seemed confused by the statement.

  “Is Grass Hair coming here, Braap?” Lieutenant asked. “Is he coming to Rellizbix?”

  The goblin scratched his chin and then frowned. “Grass Hair already here.”

  Chapter 4

  “Get everyone assembled for a briefing. The entire company must understand the need for discretion as we brace for an incoming attack.” Lieutenant Stratton took on a commanding tone as the three soldiers left Braap’s cell and conversed in the med bay. “Can we spare another runner to take word to Ft. Augustus?”

  Shouting outside drew their attention and in the next instant men barged into the bay.

  Sergeant Pledius’s face glowed red as he barked. “This is a closed meeting.”

  “It’s Markum, Sergeant. He’s in bad shape.” Nero caught sight of Private Markum and took a step back.

  More blood than one man could produce caked his ragged clothes and half of his face had swollen into a single, throbbing bulb of flesh. Crackled, blackened skin surrounded his mouth and his mo
ans gargled through toothless gums. The men carrying him, pulled him onto the medical table and started ripping the clothes from him as Corporal Denning, the corpsman, followed them through the door, his bag in hand.

  “I need three men to stay and hold him. Everyone else needs to leave.” The corpsman took notice of Lieutenant Stratton and paused. “Excuse me, sir. I strongly advise...”

  As an enlisted soldier, Denning could not make demands of an officer, but the Mage waived him off as he began proper decorum.

  “Carry on, soldier.” Lieutenant Stratton made eye contact with the first soldier into the room and nodded toward the door. “I need a report; outside.”

  The private spoke up as soon as they were outside the bay. “Sir, we were on patrol when we found him crawling through the woods. Someone got a hold of him, burned his tongue right out’ve his mouth.”

  “Markum was part of the team sent north to Augustus.” Sergeant Pledius gripped the hilt of his sword and moved his gaze past the buildings and out to the surrounding forest.

  Nero watched as the private looked from Sergeant Pledius to the Lieutenant and then to him. Realization slowly revealed itself in the boy’s face. “Oh, mother of fucks. Bandits don’t do this, right?”

  Sergeant Pledius whirled on the private and extended every finger of his right hand half an inch from the boy’s nose. “Lock it up, private. You will keep this shit under your hat until I say otherwise, understood?”

  The private gave enough of a nod to signal his acceptance without touching his nose to the sergeant’s fingers. Sergeant Pledius pulled his hand away. “With as few words as absolutely necessary, find everyone in the company and have them fall in. Go.”

  …

  Nero watched the sun dip into the forest line from the scout tower. Below, his quick-reaction force idled quietly, speaking in hushed tones of what might come that night. Every few minutes Nero would cast a worried glance to the north, drawing puzzled looks from the private on regular tower duty.

  “Is that where you think the attack is coming from?”

  Nero broke out of his stare and looked at the young soldier, who deployed with the unit straight out of Induction Training. “If I knew where or when an attack was coming, Private, I wouldn’t be hanging out here with you.”

  The soldier’s mouth twisted up and his brow lowered. “You’re not worried about the treewalker, are you? Have you fucked her yet or what?”

  Nero glowered at the soldier. “I didn’t come up here to relieve you, soldier. Get back to watching the tree line and shut the fuck up, before I drop you over the edge of this tower.”

  “Oh, real tough talk with those stripes on your shoulder,” the private replied. “I outweigh you at least twenty pounds and I’m from the Plains...”

  A quick cry peaked above the subdued tones of the settling town. Nero threw up a silencing hand towards the private, who obeyed despite his half-finished retort. The sound hung in the air for such a brief instant that Nero could not be sure it truly happened.

  “I think I heard it, too,” whispered the private.

  “Just outside the town, I think.” Nero jerked forward and pointed his finger. “There, just past that building. Something fast, but small… the Med Bay!”

  “I didn’t see it.” The private’s quivering hands shook the side of the tower as Nero whirled past him. “It’s the Greimere, isn’t it? Shit, why did they have to come here first?”

  “Lock it up, Private. You’re on tower guard; focus on this duty alone until you’re relieved. That is all you do.” Nero grabbed the handle of the Pulley Drop and swung out from the tower, letting the counterweight control his descent. “Fourth Squad, on me.”

  Nero hesitated at the front of the Med Bay, unsure of what he saw before him. The front door swayed open and the soldier posted there lie motionless on the ground, dozens of tiny chunks torn from his armor and flesh. Bloody, hollow sockets beheld missing eyes. Something had obliterated his throat. The man’s sword remained unsheathed, but the distressed ground below him suggested a struggle.

  “Eyes outward, fan at the doorway!” Nero gathered himself and commanded his squad. As his men spread out and covered the door, Nero pulled his sword and turned back to the Med Bay. If Braap had done this; the responsibility lay with him. “Varrick, you and I are going in.”

  Nero and Varrick entered the bay. On the table, Markum’s body looked as if it had exploded. His chest had split in half and red splatters covered the inside of the room. Nero could not ignore what looked like tiny animal tracks funneling toward the door.

  “Where are his guts?” Varrick ventured close to the body and peered inside the husk of Markum’s torso. “There’s enough blood about, but there should be more innards, right Corporal? I don’t see anything?”

  “Varrick, the pantry door. Let’s get this done quickly.” Nero paused outside the door to Braap’s cell. Strangely, the lock remained engaged.

  Varrick unlocked the door and, on a three count, wrenched it open and readied his sword. Nero charged in and looked about. Braap huddled in the corner, coaxing an unwilling fire to life atop his exhaustively constructed house.

  As soon as the goblin noticed the two soldiers, he backed up against the wall and pointed. “Door! Door! Shut door fast! Gotamas come!”

  “What happened here, Braap!” Nero ignored the goblin’s pleas and pointed his sword at the frightened creature. “What are you playing at? My man is dead outside!”

  “Gotamas got him! Braap heard them! Build fire for light! Corporal need light quick! Keep Gotamas away!”

  The goblin streamed words together too quickly for Nero to make any sense of them. “Gotamas” wasn’t anything he had ever heard of.

  “What the fuck is that?” Varrick asked. Nero remembered that no one outside a handful of soldiers knew of the goblin, but he had more pressing concerns than explaining.

  “Who is Gotamas? Dammit, Braap, are the Greimere attacking?” Nero neared the goblin, who unexpectedly scrambled to his dying fire.

  “Gotamas is… don’t know Rellizbix word. It creature in Greimere. Only at night; hates light. It grabs us. Makes us still and puts babies in us. Babies grow inside still goblins, eating and eating until… boom!” Braap touched his tiny hands to his chest and then threw them outward, gesturing the sort of explosion Nero imagined when he first saw Markum’s hollow chest. “Babies come out of dead goblin at night and hunt more goblins. Gotamas babies in Saban on table go boom. Gotamas hunting now.”

  Braap waved frantically at Nero and howled. “Why you not burn Saban with Gotamas inside? Why you keep him in here with Braap?”

  “Fates, Corporal… is he saying there were things inside Markum?” Varrick cast about and backed toward the door. “What the fuck is out there, man? Fighting Rathgar is one thing, but fucking corpse monsters are different.”

  “Varrick, secure some torches, enough for the squad. Then take two men and get to Sergeant Pledius as quickly as you can. Tell him what Braap said and to get the entire town lit up. Duransk has been infiltrated.”

  Chapter 5

  Nero yearned for daylight as a baby yearned for its mother’s breast. The town of Duransk likely felt the same. Throughout the night, torches burned on every porch. The mayor enlisted several townsfolk to assemble and ignite a great pyre at the square. Dozens of families gathered for safety. Lieutenant Stratton stayed with them at the square, his presence lending a sense of security to the people, despite his admitted inability to protect them any more than the soldiers.

  “Were one of my colleagues from the Flame Sect here, they could do so much more,” the lieutenant admitted when Nero asked if he needed any assistance. “I had considered raising bulb lilies to draw in the surrounding fireflies, but that manner of incandescence pales to a simple fire. I just hope the goblin is trustworthy and that he is not leading us astray.”

  “He seemed just as terrified as any one here.” Nero stared off at nothing and sighed.

  “Still worried about t
he Woodsman and his charge?” the Mage asked, startling him. “Sergeant Pledius tells me that you are educated. What knowledge do you have of the tribes, Corporal?”

  Nero slowly stiffened to attention until the lieutenant chuckled and waved him down. “I admire you Sabans for your diligence of protocol, but for a moment, please consider me a Faeir and not your commanding officer. I would enjoy a conversation.”

  “Sir, my aunt taught higher education at Port Rialea, where I’m from. She tutored me, but I never attended her school or anything; too much work on the farm for that. I read Master Phillick’s The Cyprus’s Calling, but that’s all I know of Twileens. And Chev’El isn’t his charge; he has adopted her through Fallen Oak tradition. It took a lot of work.”

  “So, you know more about them than you let on.” Lieutenant Stratton chuckled again and leaned back against the stone wall behind him. “The Faeir and Twileen cultures are naturally conflicting. Where we actively seek out every ounce of knowledge we can acquire, reading countless tomes, the Twileens abandon all formal education. There is no lack of intelligence, mind you, but they apply it in different ways. I have spent decades studying the philosophies of great Faeir minds and still have been stumped by Master Bards who have not stepped foot inside a college. How can this be, I often wonder? How can a people thrive so well while abandoning technology and recklessly indulging in creative, albeit impractical, pursuits?”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but you’re starting to lose me,” Nero replied.

  Lieutenant Stratton closed his large, dark eyes and nodded with a smile. “I apologize. I am getting ahead of myself. The point I attempt to make is that the Twileens are a hardy people who survive despite logic. The Sabans are a strong race, but they embrace the fruits of their partnership with the Faeir. The Twileens are physically less imposing than the Sabans and therefore have the greater need for our assistance, yet they refuse our magic and our knowledge, choosing instead to maintain antiquated lifestyles.”