by Beck, Greig
The huge beast roared again, took a thundering step forward and drew his trunk-thick arm back, preparing to fling the deadly missile at the approaching figures. It would be a flying battering ram, and carry enough force to shatter anything it struck.
Samson increased his pace and raised his rifle to his shoulder. His face was an expressionless mask. He fired a single round.
*
Beside Brunig, Durok’s battle roar was cutoff as his head snapped back. The giant Lygon seemed to stare skyward for a moment, a trickle of blood running down from under his helmet, below a tiny hole in the fire-hardened iron. The uranium tipped round had easily passed through steel and bone, and now continued to sizzle in his brain. Durok’s knees bent, the club fell from his hand, and, like a colossal tree coming down, he fell backwards, dead.
The small group of Man-Kind continued their rapid advance, still holding the tiny black sticks before them. There were more popping sounds, followed by the clank of metal-on-metal, and more of Brunig’s Lygon warriors fell. Brunig felt confusion, frustration, and something else in the pit of his stomach – something he had never felt before – fear.
He moved a fraction, just as a searing pain needled his shoulder. He reached up his large hand, and felt the tiny hole in his armor, the surrounding iron hot to touch. Blood spurted from either side of his shoulder. Whatever had struck him had punched a hole clean through his body – armor, flesh and bone.
A soft mewling whine escaped his lips. Confusion wracked him with indecision. These were not the soft-bodied creatures he had expected. They were nothing like the two Man-kinds they had captured only hours before. These were different; they were larger, and showed no fear. These must be the true warrior class of the Ancients.
Brunig backed up – he must escape and warn his clan – bring back more warriors and war beasts. He turned and lifted his axe, intending to throw the enormous weapon and then flee. But as he lifted his arm, there came a small puff of smoke from the lead Man-Kind, followed by a whooshing sound that grew louder in his ears.
His arm never finished its arc as his world turned white-hot and his body exploded in a plume of fire and huge gobbets of burning flesh.
That quickly, Brunig ceased to exist.
*
Marion Briggs stood over one of the dying creatures and turned her head slowly, surveying the landscape. Armaments were field appropriate, all enemy down, no casualties or even a single scrape to her team. A good day’s work.
She looked down at the giant beast at her feet, which was watching her with a single large green eye. She put her boot on its thick neck and drew her revolver, pointing it at the centre of the orb.
‘Welcome from hell, pussy.’ She pulled the trigger.
Chapter 17
Strong but Easily Manipulated
Bergborr crouched down, examining the ground. He exhaled with relief. The climb down the cliffs had been costly – six Lygon had fallen, the path crumbling under their broad and clumsy feet. Several Panterran were plucked from the cliffs by flying daemons that simply plucked them from the rock like ripe fruit and either spirited them away or dropped their bodies thousands of feet to the ground.
He hated them all, but for now he needed them. He could feel Orcalion watching him, knowing that the Wolfen were natural trackers, and it would be Bergborr that could find the fleeing offspring of Grimvaldr or the Man-Kind.
Bergborr snorted softly. He had no reason to leave the Lygons or Panterrans until he knew what they were up against. The Dark Lands were a place of myth and legend, frightening tales of monstrous beasts, sucking bogs, and strangling vines, all of which he could never overcome alone. Best to use the brute strength of the Lygons as his shield, and have the sly Panterrans keep the brutes in check.
He would put up with the Panterran Orcalion’s arrogance a little while longer. He looked to the soil again. The tracks and spoor were faint, but unmistakable – the pair weren’t far ahead of them. The Lygons wanted to rest, but there would be time for that later.
Orcalion glided up next to him, and placed one small clawed hand on his shoulder. ‘An expensive climb Wolfen; we lost many brother warriors, and we have only just set foot in this most dangerous place. Let us hope we have something to show for it, hmm? Do you have them yet?’
Bergborr turned to look at the disgusting creature, and after a moment nodded. ‘Of course, but they’re moving fast, and we should to, or you will lose them… and it will be you that has to explain that to Queen Mogahrr.’
Orcalion smiled, extending and then digging his claws into the Wolfen’s shoulder. ‘The Lygons need to rest. They are a disagreeable force, and not one to be pushed too hard, even by me, or you, last of the brave Wolfen warriors.’
Bergborr stood, shrugging off the small hand, while trying to conceal the disgust he felt for the small devious creature. ‘Tell, your brother warriors, we need to move away from the base of the cliffs, lest we suffer a rock slide that may dent even their thick skulls.’
Orcalion briefly looked up, then smiled and nodded. ‘Very good, clever Wolfen, you are thinking more like a Panterran every day.’
He turned away to mingle with his own kin, before moving in amongst the Lygon. The huge creatures bent closer to listen, and after a few glances up at the steep cliffs the huge beasts straightened, and gathered their weapons.
Strong, but easily manipulated, Bergborr thought with interest and satisfaction.
*
Sorenson dropped to the ground from the trees to examine the spoor of the Man-Kind. He had already found the spot where they had made the jungle, and he had obliterated as much as he could. Still, he knew that Bergborr would be able to track them as he did.
He could tell by the impressions that the Man-Kind still carried the Valkeryn Prince. He prayed to Odin that the young Wolfen’s injuries were not mortal. He leapt back into the trees and continued on.
*
Bergborr pushed, slid or wriggled his way through the dense jungle. The green vines, branches and fronds were thick and tough, and many times he had to slow down to drag in deep breaths of the humid air. Around him, the Panterran navigated the tangled vines and thick undergrowth with ease, but the lumbering Lygon brutes had to hack and slash every grinding step of their way. Many had pulled free their heavy armor and discarded it, trusting their own muscles and thick hides to protect them.
He had been following the tracks of the Man-Kind. There were none for Grimson, but he could tell by the depth of the human’s tracks that he carried something heavy. Even though the man-creature staggered and fell as he travelled, they were making better time than he, since they weren’t dragging a small army of dumb brutes with them. He couldn’t help crushing his eyes shut for a moment and showing his teeth: every time he thought of the Man-Kind, he was torn by a rage that threatened to consume him. It was Eilif’s fault – she had strangled his heart. Still, he would give her another chance, and probably another after that. She would love him eventually, and she would come with him, freely. What choice did she have? They were the only ones left.
If she still refused him? He punched a dangling vine out of his way. Then he would kill her. His sáál could never survive the insult to his honor.
Bergborr stopped and frowned. He backed up, and then walked in a circle. He looked at the tracks, confused For a moment it seemed like there was another amongst them – a Wolfen. A very large Wolfen.
In an instant Orcalion was beside him – the small creature was always watching him closely. His eyes moved from Bergborr’s face, to the ground, and then back.
‘The trail is not so clear after all, wise warrior?’ The slit of a mouth hung open in a grin.
Bergborr continued to pace, and then crouched down to look at the ground. He moved aside some twigs and leaf litter and examined the last few footprints. ‘The mankind and the youn
g prince continued on, but…’ he stood up, and raised his head, looking up at the green canopy high above him. Dots of light showed through the dense foliage like stars in a black night. For the most part the upper canopy was high overhead, but lower at mid-height, secondary branches, some with limbs a body-length across, intertwined and overlapped, creating an overhead highway.
He frowned and shook his head. Ghosts perhaps, he whispered. He continued to circle, spiraling outwards, his eyes moving from the ground to the branches overhead.
Orcalion snagged his sleeve again, in a fashion that was becoming irritating to the Wolfen.
‘Perhaps they know of our pursuit. Perhaps they seek to evade us.’
Bergborr rubbed his cheek, and tilted his head. ‘Maybe. It’s getting dark; we need to push on as far as we can, before making camp. I think we should try and find dry wood to burn as we travel.’
Orcalion sneered. ‘We do not need fire. The dark does not worry the Panterran or the Lygon. You have been pampered too long in the brightly lit halls of a rich castle keep, Valkeryn betrayer.’
Bergborr walked away, lest the urge to behead the revolting animal overtook his sense of self-preservation.
The night fell quickly, and beneath the canopy where there was an absence of starlight or moonlight, the darkness was complete… as Bergborr expected. It even tested the Panterran’s extraordinary night vision. Behind them, Lygons grumbled at their fatigue and hunger, and their blundering ability to
stumble into stinging plants or sharp objects in the blackness. Once again Bergborr felt the small creature glide up beside him.
‘We must find a place to eat and sleep – somewhere defendable that will give us the space to be close together. It would be best in these dangerous lands if we are not to be strung out or hidden from each other behind thick foliage. Wouldn’t want people getting attacked… or deciding to wander off.’ The last bit of information was delivered with his peculiar wheezing laugh, and he turned to order several of the Lygon to spread out and find a suitable camping ground.
Bergborr turned and pressed on, keeping one eye on the branches overhead.
*
The huge Lygon warriors struggled through the thick foliage on either side of the animal trail the main group had been following for hours. Fifty feet apart, they searched for a suitable campsite in the rapidly diminishing light.
Drun, out at the farthest point, had been feeling the heat for some time. As the sun went down, the humidity settled over them like a warm wet blanket. He grumbled his displeasure, almost as loud as his stomach grumbled for food. Lygon were built for enormous bursts of strength over short periods of time, not for day-long wrestles with tough vines and creepers.
He cursed the Panterran. He needed to eat something, and sleep, or he might make a meal of the annoying little Orcalion. The thought hung in his mind – who would know? If they killed all the Panterran, they could then tear the last Wolfen to shreds. Who would know?
He was now far ahead of the main group, moving ponderously through the dark jungle. Even with his dark-adapted eyes, he could see little more than shapes and shadows. He couldn’t even hear his brother warriors any more, though they were no more than fifty paces apart – the sounds of the jungle at night were even louder than during the day. Several times he heard large beasts moving through the dark – not his brothers, but other things, heavier. He froze until he had determined they were far enough away not to cause him problems.
Drun pushed aside a thick veil of fronds, breaking free of their tangle and into a clearing. Oddly, or perhaps conveniently, it was free of plants, nothing but a room-sized expanse of roughly-churned dark soil. It looked as though someone had been digging. He was tempted to hide and wait, in the chance that the digger was some sort of small foraging animal that might return to search for more roots or tubers. It might make a tasty morsel he wouldn’t have to share.
He wrinkled his nose at the odors – the smell was appalling, even for a creature like him who smelt of meat and death and strong urine. He stood at the edge of the clearing, his senses screaming at him. He took a step, and halted, his huge head turning, trying to detect danger. There was nothing but soil with a few smooth stones churned to the surface.
He walked quickly out to its centre, standing with his legs braced, and his teeth bared, daring anything to come forward. There was still nothing. The ground under his feet was firm, but not hard-packed as he expected from the freshly-turned soil. He bent and flicked at one of the stones. It lifted from the soil, and exposed itself as a jawbone with a set of teeth. He looked around quickly; all the other shards were the same – bones. A killing field, then.
He stood and snorted in derision. It would not concern the Lygon warriors. If anything tried to attack even their small force, they’d feel a wrath and fury like nothing they had ever seen. It would turn into a killing field – theirs. He snorted again. There wasn’t much in this land that the mighty Lygon needed to fear, he thought and kicked at some of the bone fragments.
Drun was satisfied that he had found a suitable site – he’d bring in his brothers. As he went to turn back to the jungle, he felt the earth slide under his feet. It was if something was moving beneath the soil. He stepped back and noticed that the dark earth was swollen in places. The more he watched the more swellings seemed to appear.
His senses screamed. He bared his teeth. His skin crawled and the fur lumped around his shoulders and along his spine as his body ramped up to fight. Drun reached for his belt, and lifted free the enormous axe. A soft, sticky sound brought his head around in time to see a pair of red eyes, peering up from the soil – no pupils, just fist-sized orbs that watched him for a second or two, before closing with the same mucousy noise he had heard before. Then they were pulled back beneath the ground.
The same sound was repeated from a different direction, and once again another pair of blood red eyes briefly examined him before pulling back beneath the earth. Drun started to pant, wishing he hadn’t walked as far out into the centre of the clearing. Things seemed to lengthen, stretch and then coil underneath his huge feet. He backed up, swinging his axe, looking for something to strike.
Red eyes were opening stickily all around him now, some higher than the others, their owners still invisible in the darkness. They squelched closed, dropped, and then once again he felt the sliding sensation under his feet, as they seemed to move a little closer.
Drun had had enough and spun, preparing to bolt from the clearing, when he was confronted with a sight that froze the breath in his throat. A pair of the unblinking red eyes regarded him dispassionately, so close to him he could see the creature clearly now – a trunk-like segmented body. A massive worm with a triangular head, staring into his face.
The thing swayed slightly, and then beneath the eyes Drun saw a circular hole open, displaying hundreds of needle sharp teeth, all pointed inwards – a mouth designed for gripping and holding. Drun roared and swung his axe, but the thing sprang back under the soil, and the mighty weapon cut through nothing but humid air.
The strength of his swing pulled him off balance, and he stumbled to one knee. Immediately one of the worms shot from the dark earth and fixed onto his leg. A searing pain shot up his body as he felt the sharp teeth cutting into his fur and tough flesh. He swung backward with the axe, but like before, the creature managed to disappear, taking with it most of his calf muscle.
Drun roared again, in frustration, pain, and fear. His bellow was also a call to his brother warriors. Supporting himself on his hands he tried to get to his feet, but more worms shot from the soil and fixed themselves to an arm, his flanks, and a shoulder.
The soil boiled beneath Drun now. He felt more sliding movement, more serated teeth latching onto his body, and then more of his flesh was ripped away. His blood spurted, covering the black sand, and he could see the earth surrounding him rise and f
all like water as more of the creatures became excited by the scent of his life pouring out. Drun mewled in terror as he tried to drag himself to the edge of the clearing. Red eyes broke the soil’s surface and cut through the dark earth towards him as another of the worms homed in, finally launching itself onto his already wounded leg, sawing until the limb parted at the knee. Drun weakly flung his axe back at it, but the worm and its prize disappeared under the soil.
Worms rose from the earth like weird plants, attaching themselves to his body. Soon the huge Lygon was dragged backwards, to the centre of the clearing, and then slowly pulled beneath its surface. Drun could feel the teeth burrowing into him, taking his body away from him, piece by piece.
As the soil reached his shoulders, his mind turned back to his previous brave comments – there was nothing on the land they needed to fear. It seemed, just like the legends of old, it was what was below the land that demanded respect.
His final roars turned to screams of futility, and as his vision dimmed, he saw his brother warriors appear at the edge of the clearing. With them, the small Panterran who was staring at him without care, and keeping his brother Lygon back with a raised arm. He must have bewitched them, for none made a move to help him.
Drun reached out one last time, his tortured arm immediately grabbed by a worm and dragged below. As the soil closed over his face, shutting off his screams, he saw the Panterran forcing them back, and lastly there was the sight of the dark Wolfen warrior, smiling.