The daemon-gripped raced up the slope. ‘Hold!’ Sumner called. ‘Hold until you can take a clean shot!’
Seanchae was the first to die. All of our attention was downslope.
The slavering man came from behind and bellowed, leaping. The bedevilled thing landed on the dvergar, driving his body to the ground with a sick, meaty impact and ripped at the dwarf’s face with what appeared to be clawed hands. Behind the daemon-gripped, two more figures appeared.
‘Behind us!’ I cried. The sound of Hellfire filled the night, and brimstone billowed. Sumner’s legionnaires were firing, yet dark things passed overhead in deadly arcs, leaping, like mountain lions pouncing from Illvatch heights onto unwary prey.
I had my six-gun in one hand and my silver longknife smoking painfully in the other. I fired as a dark shadow skulked past, moving terrifically fast. One of Sumner’s men began gurgling, black blood spilling from his throat.
Screams came now and not all of them were from the throats of daemon-gripped. Lina, turning, saw the black figure rising above Sapientia and moved only seconds before I did. ‘Down!’ she screamed, voice raw. Sapientia dropped and Lina fired, point-blank, into the daemon-gripped’s chest. She must’ve hit his spine, because the possessed man jerked away like a marionette being pulled by its puppet master.
Ringold bellowed a war cry in dvergar. More shadows moved, tackling men and rolling into whipping, ferocious balls of clawed hands and biting black mouths.
‘The horses!’ I cried, suddenly terrified. ‘On me! To the horses!’
Only Sumner and one of his men moved to join me. Another lay whining in the dark, saying, ‘Mater, mater, mater,’ over and over again. The daemon-gripped pulled back, dragging the injured legionnaire with them. The possessed’s numbers were greatly reduced, but I was unable to know by how many because I never had a proper count in the first place.
Lina pulled up Sapientia and we ran toward where the horses were hobbled.
As we approached, their screams came to us, high-pitched and human-like. We increased our pace.
Two daemon-gripped were moving through the horses, clawing and bellowing in infernal voices. Sumner opened fire, felling the nearest man, while the other scrabbled at two mounts in particular. A shadow ripped at Sumner, and he let out a fierce bellow, firing.
‘My mules!’ Sapientia screeched, desperate. ‘My gear!’
The mules bucked and hawed and I heard the outraged call of Bess, who wheeled about and raced toward where the daemon-gripped threatened her kin. Sapientia’s mules bolted, their saddlebags and burdens flopping madly as they raced off into the dark. Bess whipped around, and bucking, kicked the possessed man in the chest, sending him flying, his torso a ruined mess.
‘Ia-damn it,’ Sapientia said. ‘My mules and gear!’
I looked back at where we had camped. ‘First sortie, they find our strength and we find theirs. They’ll report back to the van. I fear we’re overmatched and now on the run.’
‘But all of my things,’ Sapientia said. ‘The silver—’
‘Nothing we can do about that. They’ll be after us now,’ I said. ‘Both the daemon-gripped and the van. We have to run.’
Sapientia continued to curse. Lina climbed up on her pony in a trice and I was on Bess. Sumner cradled his arm from the daemon-gripped’s attack and his remaining legionnaire helped him into the saddle and then quickly mounted himself.
‘Ride,’ I said. ‘Make for the Bitter Spring.’ I brought Bess around where I could find the reins of the dead men’s horses. ‘I will meet you there, if I can,’ I said.
‘What are you doing?’ Sapientia asked.
‘They have trackers just as we do. But they don’t know how many of us are mounted. We’ll have better luck if we split the party. I’ll ride straight for Grenthvar. They’ll follow me, and riderless horses.’ I pulled the horses away and kicked Bess into a trot – she had no issue and balked not at the gait. She can be cantankerous, but never when there’s a real threat. And she liked the daemon-gripped about as much as I did.
Lina kicked her horse and caught up with me. ‘The Hell are you doing, old one?’
‘Are you hard of hearing?’ I said.
‘No need to be a damned hero for the Rumans,’ she said.
‘It’s not the Rumans or Fisk I’m worried about,’ I said. I waved her away. ‘Go, they’ll need you and I can handle myself.’
‘When we meet again, there’ll be a reckoning,’ she said.
‘I’m sure there will be,’ I said, and kicked Bess into a reluctant gallop.
TWENTY-FOUR
Will Your Eyes Leak Again?
THE DAEMON-GRIPPED caught up with me the next hour, loping nearby and then leaping.
But this old soul had spent years on the Hardscrabble and faced many vaettir, who were at least as fearsome as possessed men. I shot the first damned man out of the air, putting a round in his eye even as he moved, as easy as Fisk might shoot out the beady eye of a sparrow on the wing.
A horse behind me whinnied violently, and turning I saw another daemon-gripped perched upon its saddle like the silhouette of a wild creature, hair in a crazy mess, long fingers ending in claws, clothes rippling in the wind and framed by starry sky. I could not see the man’s face, but I knew he was grinning.
I twisted and fired, the boom of Hellfire making Bess twitch. But the shadow had shot up, fast, rising in the air above me to fall like an arrow, hands extended. He hit me like a hammer’s blow, sending me over the neck of my mount. Bess bowled over, rolling, my gear lines ripping and all my belongings shooting away in sad arcs. Horizon and sky flashed to darkness then to sky once more as we rolled. Part of my mind pulled away from the agony being visited on my old body – the daemonic hands ripping at my face and shoulders, the man’s bloodied knees slamming into my gut and driving all wind from me. The taste of my own blood filling my mouth. But there was sadness filling me too, along with agony. Sad because the flashing glimpse of my gear arcing away was almost the totality of my worldly possessions. Sad too because there was so little of it to see go.
We stopped rolling, dust billowing up around us, making the darkness deeper. It didn’t matter. I felt lost, anyway.
The daemon-gripped man rose above me, blotting out the sky. His hands came down like rocks. I felt my nose give way and saw bright stars – numen of pain. His black mouth came close, blowing foetid air. A gobbling sound emanated from his throat.
I knew where to place my knife.
It entered under his chin, angled up through his mouth, through his soft palate and into his brain.
He twitched some before he keeled over.
I rose, leaking from all over. My nose was almost a ruin – I reset it and hoped I would not lose it. A dvergar looks exceptionally ridiculous without a nose.
A low groan came to me. I walked over to where Bess lay, neck broken. She looked up with one accusing eye as if saying, ‘You got me into this, Shoe.’
‘Aye, old girl,’ I said. ‘Yes I did.’
I drew my gun, placed the bore upon her eye, and fired. She’d been with me twelve years.
Of the decoy mounts, only two had sustained no injuries with the daemon-gripped attack. One was lame, and I put him down as well. The others had only suffered some nicks and scrapes and claw marks. I removed my saddle and harness from Bess’s cooling body and tacked out the smaller of the two.
When I mounted, I saw the figures watching me. Three impossibly tall silhouettes.
‘What is wrong with your face,’ Gynth said.
‘Broke my nose,’ I said.
‘No, not your nose,’ he said. ‘What is wrong with your eyes?’
‘Nothing,’ I said, wiping them clear. ‘Why the Hell didn’t you help me out?’
‘You handled it well, gynth,’ he said. ‘And who is to say we did not help?’ He lifted his hand. In it was a man’s severed head. Daemon-gripped.
‘Well, thanks,’ I said, turning my gaze to his companions.
Vaettir take a moment to comprehend. They’re fourteen feet tall from shoal grass to crown, they’re sharp where mankind and dvergar are soft, and they’re deadly as a sword blade and possibly as beautiful. But Gynth was plain in comparison to his two vaettir companions. The male was even taller, fifteen feet, and white as alabaster. His pate was devoid of hair, which gave him an air of statuary; or rather, he looked as though his father were a mountain and his mother the sky. He wore clothing that stank of mould, but at one time it had been very fine and it was of dvergar make, if I’m any judge of things. At his waist was a belt and on the belt a sword that no man could wield, it being eight feet long, at least. He watched me as a man might watch a flea. I had the ineffable sense that this vaettir judged me with the knowledge of thousands of dvergar, and knowledge of the world from before we trod these plains and made claim to them.
The female was the same height as Gynth, and had a bit more colour in her complexion than the male, which wasn’t saying much. Her face was as still as stone, yet it showed, if faintly, the barest hint of amusement, in the mouth, maybe, and the eyes. She was garbed in clothing very much like the male’s: intricately woven leather in pleasing patterns, but extremely old – the strands cracking without oil. Her hair wreathed her face in a white cloud shot with streaks of black, and she held a weapon that looked like a spear, but its head was as long as a standard issue Ruman gladius. Looking at her, I cringed, and imagined it in use.
‘Uh, who’re your friends?’ I asked.
‘Gynth,’ Gynth said.
‘I don’t remember them at the last Ilys family reunion,’ I said. Gynth looked at me blankly. ‘They have names?’
‘They did not say,’ Gynth said in dvergar. ‘In truth, they did not speak at all. But they listened, which is more important. I think of them as him and her.’ He walked over to where Bess lay, knelt, and put his hand on her neck. ‘I liked your wife. I am sorry.’
‘She’s not my …’ I stopped. ‘Me, too,’ I said. I was quiet for a moment, my throat raw. When I could speak, I said, ‘So, Gynth Two and Gynth Three.’
‘No,’ Gynth said. ‘They are both Gynth one. The eldest. But if this is a naming,’ he said, gesturing to the male. ‘He is Illva, and she is Ellva.’
‘What?’ I stopped. ‘Like the mountains?’
‘Where do you think they got their names?’ Gynth said.
‘Dvergar,’ I said.
‘And where did the dvergar get them?’ he said.
‘Godsdamn it, Gynth,’ I said. ‘Why do you have to talk like that?’
I stood before Ellva and bowed as deeply as I could and then moved in front of Illva and bowed again. They both gave me the barest inclination of the head.
‘So, where are the others?’ I asked Gynth.
‘The others?’ he said.
‘The other vaettir?’ I said.
‘There are no others,’ he said.
‘So, after all that, you just bring to the table two stretchers?’ I said.
‘I don’t understand this word “stretcher”. But Ellva and Illva are eldest. What need have you of anyone else?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘There’s a whole cavalry regiment halfway up our arse and an army on the way.’
‘That is a problem. The children, they are not numerous and care not for the events of man. Or dvergar.’
‘I understand what you’re saying, but they are only two vaettir. What help will they be?’ I answered.
‘I would recommend you cease speaking and wait to see,’ Gynth said.
‘I got you,’ I said. In all my years – a century and more – I never thought I would be told to shut up by a stretcher. But there it is. All the roads and choosing had led me to this point where a smart-mouthed vaettir was the future’s best hope. I sighed.
‘Will your eyes leak again?’ Gynth asked.
‘Now, you should cease speaking,’ I said. ‘We have to go.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I hear horses approaching. Should we not address them?’ Gynth said. His command of dvergar, now, was almost flawless. His common speech was quite good. The alacrity with which he learned both tongues was not only astounding, it was somewhat terrifying. I looked to Ellva and Illva. They had turned to stare at our backtrail.
‘How many follow?’ I asked.
‘I cannot say. More than a sheaf, more than a bundle,’ he said.
‘We’ve got to work on your numbers,’ I said. ‘We’ve spent too much time jawing and not enough riding.’
Illva and Ellva strode up to the crest of a rise. Their movements were markedly different from Gynth, Agrippina, or Berith – the red-maned and vicious vaettir that had harried the Cornelian. They seemed as if each step was a deliberate choice, a punctuation to a thought. To say they were graceful was to lessen grace. They were mindful. The distillation of vaettir, the apotheosis. I followed them to the ridge and looked out on the darkened shoal plain.
My dvergar darksight immediately picked out the distant riders. Three score, and riding full out. Around them, their dogs – daemon-gripped – bounded.
Illva and Ellva did not move and even Gynth looked a bit nervous at their stillness. I readied my carbine and checked the chamber.
At two hundred paces, the oncoming party saw us. A man raised himself in the saddle and bellowed, ‘Kaˉn! Kaˉn!’ and gestured where we stood. I had heard those words before.
I took aim and fired. The man pitched over. The daemon-gripped faltered, looking about. Some stilled their forward momentum, others barrelled onward.
Illva drew his massive sword. The steel flashed, collecting starlight on the blade. Ellva raised her spear.
And then they moved.
In all my days, I have never seen the like – vaettir passing like white shimmering light across the shoals. At once in the air, on the ground, whirling. It was as if a storm had gathered, and released itself – instead of lightning, sword blows; instead of thunder, lashing spear strikes. Once, vaettir had attacked our party on an auroch hunt, leaping back and forth on the backs of the shoal beasts. But their movements – at the time so deadly and fluid – were sluggish and glacial compared to Illva and Ellva.
They lanced through the oncoming Medierans like pickpockets in a stagnant crowd, nicking heads, leaving corpses in their wake.
There was Hellfire, and confusion. Then silence.
In moments, the Medierans were dead, snatched from saddles, lying in halves in the dirt.
The horses fell out of their gallop, to a walk, and then stillness, all unharmed.
A hoot came from a daemon-gripped throat. Illva vaulted into the air in a low, deadly arc, his sword extended, twisting in the air, and landing feet-first on a possessed, driving him into the ground. If there was an unbroken bone in the man’s body, he would have to have been made of stone.
Ellva raced forward, feet moving too fast to see with the naked eye – it was as if her lower form, her hips, her legs, had sublimed into mist and she herself was insubstantial. Except for the strange sword/spear she wielded. She passed another daemon-gripped – this one a woman – and as she passed, left the possessed gouting blood and split open like a gutted fish, split neatly down the centreline. She moved on to the next, lopping off a head. The remaining daemon-gripped turned, loping away. But in moments, the two ancient vaettir had run them down.
‘I see what you mean,’ I said to Gynth.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘They are eldest.’
The vaettir returned to where Gynth and I stood, watching. Ellva stood in front of me and, with the haft of her spear, drew a line in the dirt of the Hardscrabble.
‘They would cut a furrow,’ Gynth said.
I gathered up the herd of horses, one by one, looping hemp rope through their bridles.
‘Well, let’s go and talk to Fisk about it,’ I said.
TWENTY-FIVE
I Will Drown The World In Blood
FISK WAS DISPLEASED when we returned, three days later. But he managed to stow it long enough to take
in Illva and Ellva.
‘They would cut a furrow with you,’ Gynth said. ‘As you did here, with our gynth.’
‘And by gynth, I take it you mean Neruda and the dvergar,’ Fisk said to the vaettir.
‘Yes,’ Gynth said. ‘What else would I mean?’
Fisk frowned at that. Livia stood nearby, in the clearing in front of the praetorium tent. Legionnaires and dvergar alike gathered around the opening.
‘How many stretchers can they field?’ Fisk asked.
I cleared my throat. ‘Ah. Well. They only bring themselves,’ I said.
Fisk scowled. ‘You’re wasting my time.’ He turned to re-enter his command. Livia placed a hand on his arm, stopping him. ‘My love, listen to them. These are vaettir! And they are willing to make bargain. Would you ever have thought?’
‘No, I would not,’ he said. He stared at them both, eyes narrowed.
‘They cut down sixty horsemen in bare seconds,’ I said. ‘Just the two of them.’
Fisk cocked his eye at me. ‘And for that, I am to make treaty with them in the name of Rume. Just two stretchers?’
‘They are eldest,’ Gynth said.
I held up a hand in front of Gynth to silence him.
‘A moment?’ I said, approaching. Fisk nodded, Livia beckoned me inside.
Once inside the praetorium, I said, ‘I know it sounds crazy, but those two—’ I took off my hat and rubbed my head. ‘They move unlike anything in my ken. They’re beyond vaettir, Fisk. It’s like we’re stuck in mire and they move freely through it. Time slows for them.’
Fisk waved his hands, dismissing that. ‘How can they speak for all stretchers? And even if I made a bargain with them, how can I expect Tamberlaine to keep it?’ he said.
‘Tamberlaine would not need to know the details until the battle is won, my love,’ Livia said.
‘Fisk,’ I said. ‘Gynth led me to believe that the Illvatch and Eldvatch mountains were named after them. You understand? They are the mother and father of all the vaettir in Occidentalia, or so it appears.’
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