The big man’s teeth were clenched and his eyes narrowed in fury as he slammed his mass into the He-Kisshi. The first attacks had been fairly successful but his latest attempt may as well have been thrown at a stone pillar. The nightmare did not move. The arms of the thing reached out and grabbed at Scodd, hoisting him easily from the ground despite his weight and throwing him toward the fireplace and the blaze it held.
Niall stepped in and pushed, knocking his recent companion away from certain death.
Tully was no longer screaming, but instead was crouched low, her legs wide, her knees bent, her eyes locked on every motion their enemy made.
Outside lightning ripped across the skies and sent rumbling growls across the air. Inside the lodge, the storm crashed into every living being.
Doria bellowed out words that were not her own, spoken in a tongue that was utter gibberish to all of the listeners save one. The He-Kisshi made the same words, the same proclamations, in the same tongue. Niall could not tell if the words came from the woman, the creature or perhaps from the gods themselves. Whatever the case the guttural sounds were unsettling.
The young woman who had moments before been chuckling over making him uncomfortable with her body was now screaming at her brother, trying to get him up from where he lay on the ground, clutching at his ruined face.
Scodd was hauling himself back to his feet, glaring hatred at the cowled thing that had tossed him aside with ease.
Tully threw the contents from the pot boiling above the fire onto the cloaked nightmare and set it screeching in agony. Hot liquids, hot stew and the bits of meat and vegetables they had been planning to eat spilled down its front and side.
Niall followed her lead, reached for the small shovel for removing ashes from the fireplace. He quickly filled it with hot coals and hurled them into the face of the thing.
A trail of red flashing stars filled the air between monster and shovel, raining down across its face, its side and the ground. The monster screamed again and Doria continued her rant.
Scodd ran toward the family’s supplies and drew a short sword from its scabbard, hurling the cover away and charging toward the cloaked demon.
When it turned toward the man, Scodd carved away a part of its arm with a sweep of the blade and sent it staggering back.
“I’ll kill you!” Scodd roared as he moved forward, swinging the blade again. The second blow was just as solid but not quite as successful. Flesh was stabbed but the demon grabbed at Scodd with its other hand and sank long talons deep into his forearm, hooking meat and scraping bone.
The jovial man was gone, replaced by a killer. Rather than stop attacking because of his injury Scodd hurled himself at the thing harder, pummeling the hood of the creature with his free hand.
The third time his fist drove into the hood, the beast bit down, clamping its teeth into the man’s flesh. Having had the misfortune of seeing the rows of sharpened fangs, Niall couldn’t help cringing. Scodd let out a horrified squeal and tried to pull his hand away, but instead came back with a bleeding stump. Part of his hand was still there, but what remained had been crushed and torn, broken and shredded.
The hooded thing spat out lumps of meat and bone and dove forward, the vast, bloodied mouth snapping at Scodd’s face. There were more things than Niall had first realized about that face. There were appendages almost like fingers that came out and tried to pull the man’s head closer in.
Niall clasped his small iron shovel and rammed the blade into the furred back of the He-Kisshi, drawing blood and scraping skin away from what lay beneath.
The thing whipped around to face him and the whole of the body moved along. The “cloak” opened and revealed the same hellish shape he had seen before. One wing slapped around and struck him above the eye, sending him staggering back to land on his backside.
Tully buried a blade in the shoulder of that unholy shape, blood slopping free as it arched its back and screamed again. The mouth, so like a cowl, stretched wider than usual and it staggered toward the open door, running from them, both hands trying to unseat the dagger wedged deep into its unclean flesh.
The pelt of the damned thing smoldered and burned where coals had seared their way into the hide of the beast.
The great wings of the He-Kisshi flapped madly for a moment and then it was airborne, rising higher and higher into the air, its shape highlighted by more lightning strikes.
Doria finally stopped speaking her unsettling gibberish. Her eyes remained wide and horror-struck as she looked around the waterlogged room. Rains slashed through the doorway and soaked the ground, extinguishing the coals that still glowed on the floor.
Scodd was on the ground, holding what was left of his hand. Temmi was cooing to her brother, who softly sobbed as she pressed cloths to his ruined face to staunch the blood. Tully calmly stomped out the few blossoming flames that the rains missed.
Niall stared after the horrible beast and then moved to Scodd. The hand was a ruin, but his life could still be saved.
Outside there was one last scream of outrage as the He-Kisshi rode away on the wind.
Doria looked around slowly, but Niall doubted she saw anything at all.
“We are doomed,” she whispered. “The gods have no mercy. They will end the world unless we find a way to stop them.”
* * *
Bron McNar sat on his throne and brooded. He was not a man given to brooding. Brooding required a level of deep thought he was not usually fond of. He preferred action. There were those who claimed the crown was a burden. Bron did not agree. It was a privilege that came with many rewards. He had a wife who was lovely and two young children. He had more money than he would ever be able to spend and he had a country that looked to him favorably rather than wishing him dead.
Every three years there was a gathering of kings. During the last two there had been peace among the kingdoms – save for the inevitable arguments between families on the borderlands that happened no matter what state the kingdoms were in. Bron felt a part of that and even got along well enough with Mentath and King Parrish, the man in charge there now, who was as insane as his father had been before Bron put him down. If there was ever a man who should have hated him, Parrish was the one.
The world was mostly a good place. He believed that in his heart. There were monsters, to be sure. There were things that moved through night and day alike that would kill anything they could touch, but they were the reminders to be grateful and nothing else.
And then there was Brogan McTyre. Bron closed his eyes for a moment and relived the confrontation, felt again the shame and horror as each of those massive coins hit the floor not fifteen feet from where he was currently sitting. His shame was matched only by the fury he faced in the other man.
He would have done the same. He tried telling himself otherwise, but to have anyone come for his wife and children, why, the only possible answer could be blood.
He let them go. Five men he should have held for the Grakhul or the vile things that came seeking sacrifices. Bron was not completely certain there would be consequences but he suspected there was a good chance.
He was still brooding, elbows on knees and chin resting on heavy fists, when the seer came back to him. Mearhan Slattery was fairly young and pretty enough in her way. Heavy freckles, red hair and crooked teeth. Big blue eyes and a buxom shape. She had a sour look on her face, not because she was angry but because she would be bearing bad news. She was also feeling the burden of her own place in the world as surely as he was feeling the weight of his crown. Mearhan had confessed to feelings for the young man who’d fought against coming back. Laram his name was. He’d apparently twice before proposed marriage to her father and been denied.
He sat up straighter as she approached. There were places where protocols stopped people from speaking to their leaders. Bron did not abide that. Certain times of the day he sat on his throne and waited for people to talk to him. It was part of his duty as far as he was concerned and if someo
ne came from halfway across the country it seemed only proper to see them.
He wasn’t a fool, mind you. They had to come with empty hands. No weapons. Words, however, could be quite as cutting.
“King Bron.”
“What brings you back here, Mearhan Slattery?” He rose from his throne and looked around the room. His closest advisors, men he knew he could trust, were still close at hand, though not a one of them looked comfortable at that moment
She lowered her gaze for only a moment before looking back at him. “I bear a message for you, my liege.”
He had asked for possible solutions to the dilemma before him as a king before Brogan McTyre had come to him and offered himself for judgment. In all the chaos, he had forgotten that he’d spoken to the young woman and to his most often used scryer, Eida Minster. He supposed Eida would be upset about it but there was nothing to be done for that now. Eida was a proud old woman and well paid. She would survive any unintentional insult.
“Speak your piece, Mearhan, as I know you must.”
“The gods have spoken again and they are angry. You have released Brogan McTyre and the rest. They want them captured and brought before the mirrored lakes at Sessanoh.”
“Never heard of the place. Wouldn’t know where to find it.” He crossed his arms. One thing to be given a warning. Another entirely to be told what to do by gods to whom he owed no allegiance. “Perhaps they should speak to their Undying about how to handle the matter.”
Mearhan shook her head. “I’ve no say in this, my king. I only give you what I have been given. The gods say that the world will end if this thing is not done. They are ending it now.” Her voice shook. “They are destroying the world, King Bron.”
Tears started in her eyes and the king was reminded that under the burden she carried she was still only a slip of a girl, younger than he was when he took his crown and younger by far than he was when he married. “They are killing the world, my king. They have started already. Before the week is done the Undying will destroy Saramond for taking what belonged to the gods, what was sold to them by Brogan McTyre and his men.”
Bron shook his head, his brow knitting. The gods were not to his liking but that hardly mattered. Scryers did not lie. To do so was to risk the fury of the gods and there were stories aplenty of what happened when they tried to pervert the words they uttered to their own benefit.
The woman stepped back, her hands clutching at the area over her heart. Her man, Laram, whatever else happened his fate was the same as Brogan’s. “I know their reasons, but it does not matter to the gods. They will destroy everything if Brogan McTyre and his men are not captured, chained and brought to them. They showed me a sign that proves how unworthy the men are, my king.”
“What sign would that be?”
“You sent out an escort to bring Brogan McTyre and his men to your throne. They did not come back with him. That is because he and his men murdered them all and hid their bodies. I have been told where you will find those bodies now, my king.”
He had indeed sent out an escort. They’d not returned, but there were several roads and he’d assumed they had taken a different path. “Show me.”
“Have you a map?”
Bron shook his head. “We will take horse right now. Come and show me.”
It was very possible that she did not want to go, but that hardly mattered. When a king spoke he expected that he would be obeyed. That was the price for all a king did for his people.
Four hours and most of the daylight gone found Bron, Mearhan and a dozen of his soldiers standing around the spot where combat had occurred and not far from the spot where the bodies had been thrown.
The area was mountainous. The Brundage Highway was only a dirt road, but it was paved and well oiled, the ground strong enough to resist the rains and the run off after the winter alike. With winter not far away, Bron had made certain the road was coated with oils again in preparation and next year cobblestones were to line the way.
The cairns were a landmark to be sure. Three times the height of a large man and ten times that wide, fitting a road between them had been a challenge but it was the best way to mark the path in the distance. What secrets they held were something that none could answer, though many had speculated upon. Ultimately, they were landmarks and little else. Too far in one direction and you ran into part of the Broken Swords where the ground could be treacherous. Too far in the other direction and there was a cliff that fell a few hundred feet down to the Mentath River. Anything dropped there would be lost for certain, unless what fell was caught in the rocks below.
The rocks loved to eat. That was what his father had said when Bron was a lad.
Looking down he could clearly see several bodies a hundred or so feet below. They were dead. They wore his colors. It was enough.
“The gods claim Brogan McTyre and his followers did this?”
“Yes, my king.”
Behind him the head of his personal guards, Ulster Dunnaly, sat on his charger and watched. Ulster was not a giant. He did not need to be. He was one of the fiercest men Bron had ever known and had saved the king’s life on several occasions during various skirmishes.
“Ulster?”
“Aye, King Bron?” Ulster was one of only a dozen who he would have called brother.
“Gather fifty men. Take hounds and good trackers if you like, my friend. But whatever the case, I need you to hunt down the bastard Brogan McTyre, and either bring him to me or bring him to this damned mirrored lake.”
“I don’t know where–”
“Just make it so.” He looked to the scryer. “Mearhan here will go with you. She’ll make sure we keep the gods as pleased as we can.”
Mearhan slumped a bit in the saddle. Still, she nodded. A king must be obeyed or there would be consequences.
* * *
“This goes poorly, Brogan.” Harper rode his horse as if there was not a care in the world. Brogan knew better. There were cares aplenty. They had been forced to leave their homes and money or no, a man without a country to call his own was a man set to swimming in a sea of worries.
“I had noticed that, Harper.”
Laram looked around from ahead of them and showed his bruised and hammered features. He was scowling. Or maybe that was just the swelling in his lips.
“Mearhan was the one who told the king’s guards. Who told old Bron himself.”
“Mearhan?” Brogan frowned. “You mean old man Slattery’s daughter? The one you wanted to marry?”
“Aye. That very one.”
Harper shook his head. “Why would she do a fool thing like that then?”
“What choice? She’s a scryer.”
Harper shrugged. “Well then, don’t go taking it personally. She had a job to do.”
Laram nodded. Before they’d left the area he and the others had gone to where Laram had hidden away his gold. None of them were foolish enough to get caught on the road with that much wealth. Now all of them were once again riding with fortunes wrapped in cloaks, sewn into hidden pockets and stashed on their bodies where they could make room. Money enough to buy castles and keeps and not a bit of it mattered as they rode away from Stennis Brae for the last time.
“Where are we going?”
“Well away from Saramond.” Brogan looked to the east in the direction of Saramond. It was too far to see even a smudge on the horizon from their current distance. But he could see the banks of storms that rode like a cresting wave over the place where the slavers did their business. “By now I expect they’ve found the truth of the matter and we will not be welcomed with open arms.”
Harper nodded. “I imagine they’d gladly open throats for us, or bellies.”
“I should rather not consider that,” muttered Mosely.
“I’m sorry for this, lads. I mean that truly.” Brogan spoke softly but they all heard him.
Harper spat. “You can take your apologies to your grave, Brogan. We all knew what we were doing. I warned ea
ch and every man who rode with us after they agreed, just as soon as you weren’t there to cut my throat for it.”
Brogan cast an eye at each of the men aside from Harper and all of them nodded their agreement.
“We all of us knew the risks. It wasn’t just you I told to consider the consequences. I could do no less for hardworking mercenaries.” Harper stretched, his eyes roaming the far off horizon. “Besides which, the general consensus is you’d have returned the favor.”
Brogan shook his head. “I may not have been completely sane through this.”
“Few would be, you damned fool. Few people are ever sane when they lose as much as you have.”
There was silence between them before Brogan gestured. “South, I suppose.”
“Giddenland or Torema?” Harper’s eyes slid to look at him, half his mouth lifted in a smirk.
“They are the same place, Harper. Torema is in Giddenland.” Laram scratched at his chin as he spoke.
Harper’s smirk became a smile. “Spoken like a lad who has never been to Torema. There was never a finer city for spending a fortune on your dreams, my lad.” Harper spread his arms wide. “Torema is the place where you go if you want to forget your sorrows or buy a few fond memories. I’m for both, myself.”
Brogan nodded. “You can have anything you like in Torema, provided you have coin enough. Currently you could buy a new life there and still have enough left over for a house the size of a castle.”
Far to the east there was a sustained blast of lightning. It was bright enough to light up a portion of the horizon perhaps even a hundred miles wide. They were weeks away from that spot but the light was bright enough to make them squint and left even Harper unable to come up with something to say.
When it was done, they waited in silence and Brogan found himself counting as he’d been taught to do, to estimate how many leagues away the lightning might be. It was a vain effort as far as he could tell. The light show was far too distant.
“What was that?” Sallos’s voice broke.
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