Dwellers of the Deep (Harbinger of Doom Volume 4)

by Thater, Glenn

  The men pulled back, out of range of the deadly sword and razored tail, breathing hard, some dripping blood, some broken and battered, some soon to be dead from their wounds. No one spoke a word, not even the dying. They stood a silent ring of steel about the Brigandir — shoulder to shoulder, winded and wounded, the hope of men.

  And then Lord Angle Theta strode forward, his face stolid and chiseled. The ranks of men parted for him. His boot steps were loud and ominous amongst the silent throng. He gripped a massive falchion sword in his left hand; a polished round shield in his right. Both inscribed and etched with runic symbols at once beautiful and fearful to behold. A second sword was sheathed at his waist beside a massive war hammer that hung from a broad belt that brimmed with pockets and pouches. Here and there about his person was strapped a dagger, each ancient and ornate as his sword. Encased was he in blue-enameled plate armor, magnificently ornate, forged of exotic alloys in bygone days with skills long lost to the world. The golden coat-of-arms embossed on his breastplate shined proud and bold, a noble standard that bespoke depths of strength untold and a grand history that stretched back unto the Age of Heroes. A midnight blue cape hung about his broad shoulders and fluttered in the breeze. Around his neck hung his misshapen ankh, that ancient relic of eldritch powers unfathomed by any but Theta. Theta’s piercing blue eyes locked on the golden orbs of the Brigandir. They promised naught but pain and death.

  The Brigandir broke the silence. “Comes now the coward at last. Send your dupes to fight and die in your stead whilst you cower behind and take my measure,” it said, its breathing labored, some of the strength lost from its voice. “Oh, what a great hero you are, Thetan. How you find so many fools to follow you despite your black heart and cowardly ways has ever been your greatest skill. Know well that I have been prepared for ages beyond count for our meeting. My skills cannot be matched by you or any other. I lust to lay your black soul before the lord’s feet. But first, I will devour your heart and—”

  “—Cease your babbling, creature,” boomed Theta, “and come now forth and meet your doom.”

  The Brigandir’s eyes narrowed and flared with hatred. It strode toward Theta, the deck smoking beneath his feet. Fiery footprints and warped floorboards marked its trail.

  The barbed tail arced up and sped down, aimed for Theta's head. His shield met it with a crash and sparks showered the deck. A black stain marred the shield's surface where the tail had touched it.

  The tail flitted about and soared this way and that, feinting and bobbing. It searched for an opening in Theta’s defenses. It struck again and again, but Theta’s shieldwork was swift and sure and deftly deflected each strike — high or low, this side or that. Sparks showered the deck with each grating impact and the shield smoked and sizzled, dented and blackened across its once-polished face. For all his skill, Theta could not close with the Brigandir. He could not face him sword to sword without exposing his flank and back to the tail’s relentless strikes.

  The Brigandir snapped its tail at Theta’s feet as it sought an opening beyond his shield’s range. When the tail arced in, a curved blade extended from the shield’s rim and Theta slammed its edge to the deck. The blade pinned the Brigandir’s tail beneath it and part of the blade sunk deep in the deck boards. The Brigandir howled and strained to pull its appendage free, but it was held fast, its movement sorely hampered.

  Theta wrenched his arm free of the shield and bounded forward. His falchion in his left hand, his scimitar now in his right, his expression stoic and determined. The Brigandir’s great black blade hummed and crackled, alight with the fires of Nifleheim.

  The great swords were a blur of movement. They sliced through the air faster than the eye could follow, humming all the while, each with its own tone — a signature sound that belonged to no other. The yellow and orange flames that danced and shimmered along the Brigandir’s blade made it all the harder to track its lightning movements. Parry, riposte, slash and thrust, the blademasters battled, no quarter asked or offered while the soldiers and seamen watched in awe and fear. No human arm held the strength to strike those blows and no normal blade could withstand them without shattering. Artol, Seran, Kelbor, and others stood close by, waiting for an opening to jump back into the fray, but the blades of those titans permitted one another no respite.

  When the Brigandir reeled from a blow barely parried, Theta spun about and slashed its pinned tail. Where other men’s blades had bounced off ineffectually, Theta’s cut severed clean through, the tail cut asunder. The Brigandir howled in agony and rage and staggered back. The severed portion of the tail writhed about and offered little sign that life was leaving it. It repeatedly crashed to the deck, and slammed into any man who drew too close, even as green ichor sprayed from its wound. That foul fluid smoked and sizzled when it hit the wooden deck boards. It ate through the wood like a powerful acid, leaving gaping holes to the underdeck behind.

  Theta pressed his attack and pounded back the Brigandir’s defenses with hammering blow after hammering blow, a punishing, brutal onslaught that would have cleaved through a brigade of Lomion's finest. Theta showed no mercy and offered not a moment’s respite, but the Brigandir withstood it all. It parried, counterattacked, and sidestepped every cut, thrust, and chop. It never grew tired; its blows never weakened; its defenses and its resolve never faltered. Its courage never wavered. But Theta had the patience of the gods. He bided his time, waiting for an opening to appear in the beast’s defenses, studying its every movement, its every breath. Until at last, he spied a fleeting gap in the demon’s defenses. That was all he needed. Theta's falchion slipped under the Brigandir’s guard, bit deep into its chest and slashed through its thick hide. Green ichor spurted through the air and spattered several nearby men, their clothing left singed and smoking where the merest droplets fell. The Brigandir fell straight back as a chopped tree and disappeared in a surge of dense black smoke when it struck the deck.

  When the Brigandir fell, the men cheered and surged toward Theta, but halted when they realized he still stood at his guard.

  “It’s still alive,” shouted Theta. “Stand ready.” Theta stalked about, his swords held before him.

  “Where is the bugger?” said Ob. “I saw it fall. It should be just there,” he said, pointing to the deck.

  “It didn’t fall,” said Theta. “It disappeared.”

  “Disappeared?” said Ob, his words slurred a bit from drink. “Are you kidding me? What do you mean, disappeared? Being a stinking, giant, winged, demon thing what breathes fire, bleeds acid, and that steel can’t slice into ain’t enough? Now it goes invisible too?”

  “This is all too much,” said Tanch, wringing his hands, his eyes half closed. “Dear Odin, just take me now.”

  “I’ve fought all kinds of men,” sputtered Ob, his teeth clenched. “I’ve fought stinking lugron. I’ve fought beasties in the woods and in the jungles — bears, lions, boars, and more. I’ve fought giants way up in the mountains. I fought a troll once down some cave. I’ve tackled worse than that over in the Dead Fens and deep in the White Wood. But you, Theta, you could find a stinking dragon in your drawers! Can’t we go anywhere without some thing out of a fairy story coming at us, calling you out, and screaming for blood and souls? It’s gotta be a stinking joke! Odin is looking down and laughing at us. Did you pee one of his temples or play naughty with some priestess? Why is the stinking universe out to get you, Theta? What the hell did you do!?”

  “Shut up, gnome,” said Theta.

  “Every stinking unnatural thing there is has got the come hither for you, Theta. Is there some monster bait stuck up your behind or something? When is it going to end?” he shrieked.

  “Stand back to back, men,” Theta shouted. “Don’t let it get behind you.”

  “How can we stop it, it’s stinking invisible,” screamed Ob.

  A gut-wrenching scream marked the Brigandir’s reappearance some yards away. Ob spun toward it. The Brigandir had stabbed a seaman from behind. T
he creature’s black sword pierced clear through the man and protruded out from the center of his chest. The Brigandir slid the blade free and vanished from sight, disappearing before Ob’s eyes.

  The men scattered, some shouting in panic.

  “Stay together, you fools,” shouted Ob. “Shoulder to shoulder, and back to back like Theta said. It’s our only chance.”

  Ob felt a blast of heat pour over him and the soldier beside him grunted and flopped to the deck, screaming, burning from the inside out. Ob turned in time to see the Brigandir remove its hand from where it touched the bare flesh of the man’s neck. In a brief moment, too quick for Ob to react, the Brigandir vanished again. Ob’s axe cleaved through the spot where it had stood, but parted only empty air. A shriveled, desiccated corpse that moments ago was a living man lay at Ob’s feet. Ob couldn’t even tell who it was.

  “How did it get by us?” said Kelbor.

  “It’s got wings, you fool,” said Ob.

  “We would have heard it fly over us,” said Dolan.

  Another scream. This time from far across the deck. Another man died, skewered by the Brigandir's tail. Theta sheathed his scimitar and grasped his ankh in his right hand. He turned to the right and the Brigandir appeared in the distance, behind a soldier that crouched alone by the mast. Before any could react, the man was dead, the Brigandir’s sword through his heart.

  “Can you track him with that?” said Ob, referring to Theta’s ankh.

  “Aye, but it’s too fast,” said Theta. “It flits about the deck like a bird.”

  A minute passed and another man died in much the same manner as the last. Those who happened to be gazing in the right direction saw the Brigandir appear for a brief moment, slay the man with a single movement, and disappear just as quickly. The seamen began to panic. More than a few scurried up the rigging, hoping the monster could not follow. Others fled below deck. The fear on the soldiers’ faces showed they too were close to breaking.

  From somewhere, the Brigandir's voice called out, “Give me Thetan! Give me his head, or give me him bound and trussed or I’ll slay you all, one by one.”

  “Show yourself,” shouted Ob. “Cowardly scum.”

  Some time passed, and then a man fell from high in the rigging, screaming all the way down. He crashed to the deck with a sickening sound.

  “There’s nowhere for you to hide,” boomed the Brigandir, still unseen.

  Some moments later, another man fell screaming from on-high. This one hit the warped floorboards damaged by the Brigandir’s passage, and the man crashed through to the deck below.

  “Give me Thetan,” boomed the Brigandir from somewhere. “Or slay you all, I will.”

  The sense of panic across the deck became palpable. “We have to give him to it,” shouted one seaman, fear and anguish filled his face. “It’s our only chance.”

  “It’s him or us, lads,” said another seaman.

  A third sailor rushed toward Theta, cutlass in hand, shouting some war cry, mad with desperation and fear. The first two followed him.

  Theta’s falchion cut the first man completely in half in a single swing. His arm barely seemed to move, so quickly did he regain his former posture. Theta’s face betrayed little emotion — neither shock, nor fear, nor regret. If anything, he looked sterner, harder, more stolid and resolute. Dolan’s arrow took the second man in the throat, and dropped him to his knees. Blood poured from his mouth and neck. He didn’t fall over, but he died there, on his knees. The third man sought to stop his charge and fell to his rump just in front of Theta. The blubbering sailor crumpled beneath Theta’s withering, unforgiving gaze. Tears in his eyes, he dropped his cutlass, and mumbled something indecipherable, presumably begging for his life. Kelbor stepped forward, grabbed the man by the collar, and dragged him away from Theta.

  “Slaayde,” shouted Ob. “We need to work together, not turn on one another.” Slaayde nodded from where he stood, supported and surrounded by his bodyguards, but he didn’t have the energy to shout orders to his men. He leaned heavily on Guj, his face still deathly pale.

  Several men ran to one of the longboats. As they tried to launch it, the Brigandir appeared in the boat and stabbed one, and then slashed another. It grabbed a third man — the one Kelbor had just pulled away from Theta. It lifted him into the air, and tossed him over the side — into the churning, cold waters of the Azure Sea.

  Bowmen fired at it, but most missed their target. The Brigandir winced and roared when two arrows bounced off its hide, a light sea spray pelting it from some tall wave. A wayward arrow dented the Bull’s armor as he dashed toward the Brigandir, battle hammer in hand. Then the Brigandir was gone again. Several arrows flew through where it had just stood, but hit nothing.

  “Give me Thetan,” shouted the Brigandir for the third time, now from a different part of the deck, its voice brimming with anger. “Or I will slay you all.” A soldier wailed in agony on the bridge deck as he burned from the Brigandir’s merciless touch.

  One sailor ran to the gunwale and dived into the cold sea. Another followed, then other, and another, so desperate were they to escape the horrific death promised by the Brigandir. Slaayde’s officers shouted for them to stop, but two more followed them over. Only one of the bunch carried anything that would float. Slaayde ordered the men to get below deck. Most dashed for the nearest door. The soldiers and knights remained and clustered tightly together in small groups. Theta stood in a tight circle, back to back with Ob, Artol, Glimador, Tanch, and Dolan.

  “It’s not just invisible,” said Ob. “It’s moving around too fast, too quiet. We should hear its steps or its flapping wings.”

  “It changes form somehow,” said Artol.

  “A flying bug,” said Theta. “Not invisible — just too small to notice.”

  “That would explain it,” said Ob. “Stinking magic. It’s a shape changer.”

  “Wizard,” said Theta to Tanch. “Can you reveal the beast or keep it from changing form?”

  “No,” said Tanch. “I don’t know. I can’t think of any magic that could do that. I’m not that kind of wizard.”

  “That bugger could punch holes in the hull and drop us to the bottom,” whispered Ob. “Why don’t he do it, I ask you?”

  “Don’t give him any ideas,” said Artol. “I’ve no interest in swimming with the fishes. Besides, there’s no land to swim to and the water's cold as death.”

  “Maybe he don’t like the water either,” said Dolan.

  Theta and Ob turned to each other. “That’s it,” said Ob.

  “It’s the water,” said Theta.

  “What?" said Artol.

  “The bugger is afraid of the water,” whispered Ob. “When he was in the longboat and we hit him with arrows, he roared in pain at the same time as some spray from a wave doused him. Them arrows bounced off, same as all the rest. They didn’t hurt him. So it must have been the water what done it. Maybe it burns him or something. Who knows, with demons?”

  “If you’re right, we’ve got him,” said Artol.

  “Get some buckets,” said Theta.

  The Brigandir appeared again, crashed into the knot of men surrounding Slaayde, and sent them sprawling. Tug kept his feet and sprang to attack. Old Fogey smashed into the Brigandir's sword and knocked it back against the beast’s chest, forcing it to backpedal. It staggered and nearly fell, unbalanced from the loss of its tail. A second swing of Old Fogey caught the Brigandir full in the chest, sent it flying across the deck, and nearly smashed him through the wall of the captain’s den. Men surged toward the Brigandir from all directions, but before they engaged it, it disappeared again.

  “A count of sixty, no more,” said Theta. “Then it reappears. It can’t hold its insect form.”

  “It stays in demon form for no less than a ten count,” said Glimador.

  “Then we’ve got to keep him on deck and douse him good and proper,” said Ob. The men rushed to seal every door that led inside. Theta called out whenever the Br
igandir was due to appear, and appear it did. The men bunched up close to one another, and it could no longer get behind them. Quickly as they could, the men filled and passed around buckets of seawater. The Brigandir caught on to the buckets quick enough and appeared before Theta in a rage, ready to make its stand.

  Theta parried its strike and buckets of water flew wild at it from all directions. One bucket’s contents grazed it and crackling steam erupted from its hide and evoked a deafening roar. Then it disappeared again. One minute later it reappeared and charged Theta. Theta sidestepped and it barreled into Artol as water doused them all from all sides. Artol careened backward and crashed to the deck. The Brigandir fell, but rolled to its feet in a but a moment, smoking and charred across much of its body. Theta’s mighty slash cleaved almost fully through the Brigandir’s sword arm and it staggered backward. Ob and Glimador doused its face and chest with full buckets of water and it collapsed, its flesh melting and dissolving.

  “Aargh!” roared the Brigandir. “There will be no escape for you, traitor,” it spat as the flesh of its face sagged and sloughed off, its gray skull exposed to the air. “Others will come for you—”

  “No need,” said Theta as he pulled the great war hammer from his belt. “I will come for them. I will destroy you all, unto the last, unto the end of time.” Theta's hammer crashed down on the Brigandir’s skull and smashed it to pulp, ending whatever life remained in it.

  Where it died, the deck boards sagged and charred and near collapsed to the deck below. The men poured many more buckets of water on it, just to be sure, until Bertha appeared with a shovel and handed it to Tug who tossed what solid bits remained over the side into the cleansing sea. They washed down the deck and mopped it until no trace remained. They even tossed the mop and the shovel over the side. Until that work was done, the whole company stood there, watching.