by Mike Shel
Belech reached into his saddlebag and retrieved a hammer and nails. He walked over to Eubrin’s mount and took the horse’s unshod hoof between his legs. Del handed him the freshly fashioned shoe, and the big man nailed it to the horse’s hoof.
“Del, you are a wonder,” said Gnaeus, smiling.
“Metal’s too soft now,” said Eubrin, nonplussed. “It won’t do her no good.”
Del smiled. “Check the horseshoe, Eubrin,” she said.
“Wonders, indeed,” said Eubrin as he rapped it with his knuckles. “Hard as it should be. Thank you. I’ll sing a special song for you tonight.”
Del smiled again, pleased with herself. They mounted their horses and continued the journey northeast.
The party ate lunch in their saddles, knowing they were close enough to their destination to avoid a fifth night in the wilderness if they made steady progress that day. Soon after swallowing his last bit of jerky, Gnaeus pointed to the east. “That’s no bloody bird,” he said with a frown.
This time Auric could clearly see what Gnaeus had spied that morning. “Manticore,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone.
“This far south?” Eubrin riposted. “I thought they nested in the cliff caves on the north coast, or in the foothills of the Wyskings.”
“Sometimes they roam farther from their lairs if game is scarce,” Auric said. “But this is about a hundred miles farther south than I’ve ever seen one.”
“Well, they’re solitary beasts,” said Gnaeus. “Surely the seven of us can manage one.”
A second silhouette appeared in the sky.
“Ah, shit.”
“A mated pair,” said Eubrin, answering Gnaeus’s curse. “That means they’re lairing close by. Doesn’t make a lot of sense.”
“No, not so far south,” responded Auric.
“Nowhere to hide,” said Lumari, already retrieving vials from her bandolier.
“No,” said Auric. “It’s only a matter of—”
At that moment both creatures wheeled around—the beasts had spied them.
They dismounted. Auric and Gnaeus retrieved their shortbows and quivers, Belech and Eubrin heavy crossbows. “We need to spread out,” said Auric, feeling a cold, calm resolve engulf his body. “Their tail barbs—they lack accuracy, but we’re more likely to be hit if we cluster together.” The seven of them fanned out, guiding their mounts with them, so that they presented a long arc to the approaching fliers. As the creatures drew closer, their features revealed themselves. They had the bodies of wiry lions and hairy, membranous wings like a bat. Their muscular tails ended in a cluster of ivory spikes, those very missiles used by the Royal Navy for their disciplinary scourges. But what was truly unsettling about the beasts were their faces: a strange mixture of leonine and human, expressions haughty and filled with malice, ragged manes framing them like wooly crowns.
When their targets came within range, Eubrin and Belech loosed bolts. Eubrin’s bolt tore through the membrane of a manticore’s wing and it jerked in midair, the injury nothing more than an annoyance to the beast. Belech’s missile flew true, homing in on an adversary’s breast, but at the last moment the manticore swerved, and the bolt went wide of its mark. The beasts swung their spiked tails now in unison, as though part of a delicately choreographed dance, then snapped them forward, launching a dozen of the ivory projectiles at the Syraeics as Auric and Gnaeus returned fire. Two of the spines struck the flank of Eubrin’s speckled mount, while another hit Sira’s horse near its muscled shoulder. The speckled horse reared, lost its footing, and fell to the ground, quickly righting itself with a frightened scream and fleeing at breakneck speed to the south. Sira’s mount reared and cried out as well, but Sira grabbed hold of its reins and began speaking into the horse’s ear, calming the creature.
One of the manticores loosed a furious howl when Auric’s arrow penetrated the meat of its foreleg. Gnaeus’s arrow tore the already-damaged membrane of the other’s wing further, forcing it to land awkwardly fifty feet away. The beast’s mate came down to the ground near it with only marginally better grace, and the two began approaching the Syraeics’ position, hateful scowls on their too-human faces.
Another of Belech’s bolts missed its target. Eubrin let out a curse as his next shot landed a few feet before what was clearly the male manticore. Both creatures launched another volley of spines, both directed at the still-cursing mercenary, who face was beet red as he cranked back the bow of his weapon and reached for another bolt. A cluster fell to earth where he stood, the force of one throwing him to the ground when it struck his shoulder. The second volley fell in a lethal arc toward his upper body. Auric nearly choked on the warning cry that crawled up his throat as the ivory missiles froze in mid-air, halted mere inches from their tender target. Auric turned and spied Del, holding out a shaking hand at the ivory spikes, arresting them in mid-flight, a grimace of effort on her face. She clenched the hand into a fist and twisted her wrist, emitting a loud grunt, and the missiles fell to the ground.
Eubrin laughed loud with relief, and in a second Sira was beside him, tending the wound.
“Hold, hu-mon,” said the creature with the arrow in its leg, its voice deep as a well, its mouth full of teeth like knives. “We would par-lee with you.”
“What could we possibly have to discuss?” asked Auric, another arrow nocked and aimed at the creature. But he held his shot.
“A proh-poh-zul, hu-mon.”
“Speak, beast.”
“I am no beast, hu-mon,” it growled back, a guttural rattle of saliva at the back of its throat. “You would do well to lis-sen.”
“Forgive him, manticore,” said Del, a flutter of red light dancing from finger to finger as she readied another sorcerous volley. “He forgets his manners when attacked.”
“We merely seek to feed ourself,” said the other beast in a deep but silky female voice, flapping her damaged wing with irritation. “But then, a stag must curse you when you sink your ar-rows into its flesh, huh?”
“Point taken,” answered Del.
“What do you want to say then, sir?” said Auric, judging his distance from the male manticore. If he loosed another shot, would he be able to draw his sword before it reached him or one of his companions?
“One,” grunted the manticore.
“One what?”
“You give us one and we let the rest of you run uh-way, live. This is gen-rous, would you not agree?”
“We have you outnumbered!” shouted Gnaeus, quivering with excitement, white knuckles clutching his rapier. “Both of you are already wounded.”
“Oh, this is no wound,” said the male with the arrow in its flesh. It grabbed the shaft in its teeth, tore the missile from it, and spat it out, its fanged smile now stained with its own blood.
“And why this generous offer?” asked Auric.
“We can-not eat you all now,” said the female, its deep voice almost seductive. “We eat one of you for our supper, we find and eat the rest of you uh-nother day. Your meat would spoil before we were ready to eat it. We like our meat fresh.”
“How much time do we have to consider your proposal?” queried Auric. He wished he knew the type of spell Del was preparing and what concoction Lumari must have ready for closer quarters. This encounter was so unlike the fight with the pirates and the scrum with the false patrol. He could make a better decision on how to act if only he had a clearer knowledge of his allies’ tactics. Eubrin was down, Sira wasn’t a fighter. Could he, Gnaeus, and Belech best two full-grown manticores with Lumari and Del in support? In his mind’s eye, he saw himself lopping off the head of one of the beasts with a single stroke of his sword. If only that were possible, he thought.
“We give you a little time,” the male responded, a great tongue licking the blood from its teeth. “A very little. It should not take long to de-cide which one we eat now.”
; “It’s really much more complicated than that,” said Gnaeus in a tone oddly conversational. “We know nothing of your dietary preferences. I myself, being quite athletic, might be too stringy for your tastes. If you prefer something sweet, well, Del or Sira would likely be your choice. Lumari seems a sour sort, probably tastes like she’s been basted in lemons. Sir Auric, on the other hand—”
Aided by its powerful muscles and uninjured wings, the male leapt into the air as Gnaeus spoke, and came down on the young swordsman just as he raised his sword to fend off the blow. Its mate bounded forward toward Belech and Del. Belech loosed a third bolt at the charging beast while Del began unleashing her spell and Lumari ran toward them, some doughy gray substance in her hands. Auric drew his sword from its scabbard as he rushed to Gnaeus, who struggled beneath the male, fitfully trying to repel its toothy maw with his rapier as its claws tore at his flesh. As Auric neared, both hands holding tight to the Djao weapon’s grip, he swung downward with all his strength, aiming at the beast’s exposed back. He felt a thrill run up his arms as the blade bit deep into the manticore’s body, hacking through so deeply that its great head sagged forward with a great gush of blood and gore.
His momentum carried him forward as he slammed into the dead beast’s flank with a shoulder, shoving the carcass off Gnaeus. He cried out for Sira’s aid. Sira was kneeling beside the injured man in seconds, hands sunk down in the terrible, bloody lacerations the manticore’s claws had wrought. Gnaeus was desperately pale, shaking, coughing, his own blood and that of the slain creature painting him from head to crotch. Sira’s face was like a candle-lit effigy of marble in a chapel, her prayers loud and filled with righteous power.
Auric picked himself up to rush to the aid of the rest of his companions. What he saw was Belech, Del and Lumari gathered around the motionless body of the female manticore. He sprinted over to them, gore-caked Djao blade still in hand.
“Are any of you hurt?” he called.
“No, bless these two brilliant women,” answered Belech with heavy breaths.
The doughy substance Lumari had held in her hand now covered half of the beast’s sickeningly human face, gumming up its eyes and the paw it had used to wipe the stuff away. Whatever spell Del had flung at the thing had scorched its fur with terrible burns. Two bolts from Belech’s crossbow were sunk deep in the monster’s breast.
“How’s Gnaeus?” asked Lumari, cleaning the remnants of her concoction from her hands with clear liquid from a tube.
“Badly injured, but Sira tends his wounds.” Auric was reminded of their lone hireling and looked where the manticore’s spines had felled him. “Eubrin? How fare you?”
A hand raised from the ground. The man lay in the coarse grass, the ivory spine removed from his shoulder, holding a bloodied cloth to the wound. He was a bit pale, but smiling. “I think I’ll survive a single prick. Thank you, Miss Del!” he said heartily. “I would have had more trouble with half a dozen of them in my face. And thank you, too, Miss Sira…I feel it healing already.”
Belech crouched down beside the mercenary, tending him while Sira focused on healing Gnaeus’s more serious injuries. Auric wiped the blood from his blade with a thick handful of the female manticore’s mane. He marveled at what he had just done: the Djao blade had bitten through the tough hide and armored back of a male manticore. With a good sword, one could hack through that mass of flesh, bone, and sinew with several powerful, well-aimed blows. He had done so with a single stroke. It was nothing short of miraculous. He looked at the ancient artifact in his hand with amazement.
What secret power do you hold? And is there a price?
22
The Fog
The morning arrived with mist shrouding the hills, lying low and ominous so that Auric could see no further than a hundred feet. Gnaeus’s grievous wounds from the encounter with the manticores forced the party to find a place to camp for the night so that he and Sira might both recover their strength. Another small cluster of inauspicious trees served as lodging, broad, ghoulish leaves sheltering them from the light rain that fell during a night redolent with unnerving nocturnal howls of unseen animals. Sleep was elusive, and when the sun finally made its presence known, struggling through the pall of fog on the land, there was a collective sigh of relief. The thick haze would have made navigation impossible were it not for Del’s casting of a spell to guide the way: a sparkling cluster of blue lights that glided in the air, floating slowly in the direction of St. Besh.
“Well, this is an ill-omened morning,” said Gnaeus, still groggy from the fitful sleep he had endured.
“Aye,” said Belech, riding Lugo, flanking Del on her black mount. “Pray Belu we find the priory soon.” The sorcerer led them, holding her clenched hand out before her as though the sorcerous lights she had conjured were tethered on an invisible leash.
“I don’t think we’re more than seven or eight miles from it,” Auric said, attempting a cheeriness he didn’t feel.
“Those creatures,” asked Gnaeus, “did they really believe we would hand over one of our number for dinner to save our skins?”
“Perhaps,” said Lumari, pensive. “Fell beasts like that can have no sense of humanity’s values. And besides, you heard them: they thought of us like skittish prey. By the way, ‘basted in lemons’?”
Gnaeus loosed a loud snicker. “They didn’t allow me to finish the menu. I was about to suggest that Sir Auric would probably taste gamey, and that in all honesty, Belech, out of the seven of us, would make the most substantial meal.”
Auric smiled as the others laughed, but his thoughts drifted back to his last expedition in the Barrowlands, the tenacious subject of his recurring nightmares. He remembered his impulses to murder Brenten, to abandon Lenda to their ravening undead pursuers, and the raw terror that made a lie of his most deeply held principles. He recalled that terrible instant when he was nearly prepared to sacrifice all he held dear—dignity, morality, loved ones. It went beyond a simple instinct to survive. It was an all-powerful mortal panic that swallowed him whole, so dreadful that he was willing to surrender everything if only it would spit him back out.
Unable to recover Eubrin’s wounded horse yesterday after the fight, the hireling rode with Lumari, sitting behind her on her tawny mount. At mid-morning, the fog still thick on the ground, the alchemist’s horse injured a leg stepping into a well-camouflaged hole, concealed by coarse Barrowlands grass. Sira, though still weary from healing Gnaeus the day before, set to aiding the animal so that they might continue their journey. As she channeled curative energy into the creature’s leg, an eerie glow appeared in the near distance, nodding slowly in the dense haze.
“Hail!” called a muffled voice, seeming more distant even than the gentle bob of light suggested.
“Hail!” replied Auric, still sitting in his saddle atop Glutton while Sira did her work. His hand went reflexively to his sword. “Who calls us?”
“Shurima Dowe and two companions, of the Syraeic League!”
“Hail, sister! Auric Manteo and companions here, also of the League!”
“May we approach, brother?” asked the woman calling herself Shurima. “We head for Serekirk and find ourselves lost in this gods-cursed fog.”
“Approach, Sister Shurima!” answered Auric, hand still hovering at his weapon’s hilt. “It’s a small wonder friends should find one another in this soup!”
“You know her?” asked Lumari in a stage whisper, wary as always.
“No. The name rings a bell, though.”
From the misty distance, the forms of three figures coalesced, seeming to float in the air. At last, a tall, sturdy woman in a chain shirt emerged, on foot, longsword sheathed at her side, a large lantern held before her. Her brown hair was pulled back haphazardly, wisps escaping in every direction. Her features were square and plain, her expression haggard. Flanking her were a man and woman, both clad in hooded cloaks, sho
rt swords belted at their waists. The man, thin with heavy-lidded eyes downcast, had a smooth black opal set in his forehead, marking him as a sorcerer. The woman, leather armor beneath her cloak, wore a bandolier, though its loops and pockets were empty. She bore a livid scar that stretched from a corner of her mouth down to her chin. All three appeared exhausted, pale and gaunt, dark circles under their eyes, as though they had gone days without sleep.
Auric introduced himself and his companions. Shurima did the same: the sorcerer’s name was Kelig; the woman, Yolen, an alchemist. Shurima was the obvious leader of the group, her cohorts both sullen and uncommunicative, taking this chance meeting as an opportunity to sit down on the damp ground.
“To where are you headed?” asked Shurima, placing her hands on her hips and tilting her head to left and right, her neck cracking.
“The White Priory of St. Besh,” Auric answered. “We intend on entering a Djao temple beneath it. Have you been there?”
“I know the place you speak of, but no, we haven’t been there,” she responded, a slight look of puzzlement on her face. “I thought the priory was a good fifty or sixty miles northwest of our location. We thought the League had all of its resources trained on our site, since Lictor Bele seems to have a bug up her ass about the place.”
“I don’t think I know a Lictor Bele,” said Auric.
“From where do you come?” inquired Gnaeus, sidling up to Auric on his gray mare. “You seem as though you’ve seen some action.”
“A site they’re calling Djem’ohd’caat—it’s a newly identified temple-tomb complex on the coast, situated behind a barrier island.”
“Djem’ohd’caat?” repeated Lumari from atop her steed.
“Yes. Our expedition was one of six who descended into its halls. A rare coordinated infiltration of a single site.”