BRUTAL: An Epic Grimdark Fantasy

by James Alderdice

  The Sellsword smirked and cocked his head. “You could have just ended up in a lot of pain and not dead.”

  The hedge wizard paused like he hadn’t thought of that, then dismissed the idea with a wave of his hands, “No, the gods were looking out for me. That’s why you were there of all people.”

  “I have more material reasons for being here than you do, though I guess you would claim that it was no accident.”

  “It is no accident. You are a vessel of the gods will and a means to bring about great things.”

  The Sellsword rolled his eyes. “I told you, I don’t believe in fate. Men make their own way in the world, gods be damned.”

  “Don’t say that.” Y’damantos took on an especially solemn bearing as he said, “Don’t forget, Gods move the world, but who moves the gods? Great men do by their righteous actions.”

  The Sellsword turned his back on the hedge wizard and started walking away, “That’s the same thing you said at Ravenna, and we lost!”

  “With every blessing comes a curse and sometimes pain is for your greater good. There are mysteries even I don’t know.”

  “That I believe,” said the Sellsword over his shoulder.

  “Wait, I have more I need to tell you,” cried the hedge wizard, running to catch up. The Sellsword kept walking and Y’damantos turned to him as they walked. “Think me mad all you like, I’ll not deny it, but what I see is real and the dark goddess is here, seeking passage into our world. Her slaves do work night and day to bring this to pass. That is the true reason you are here.”

  “You’re wrong. I came to clean this trash heap of a bunch of killers.”

  Y’damantos quit walking beside him, but stood planted in the street and shouted, “Maybe there are more than you thought there were!”

  The Sellsword spun about facing the hedge wizard, though he was still walking backward and away from Y’damantos. “Maybe, the city is full of them.” He waved goodbye and turned back around to continue on his path.

  ***

  The Sellsword made his way to Varlak’s keep in a hurry. A block away, just behind the closest buildings and homes, the vanguard of Anaias gathered. They wore a curious array of armor, shorn from every lost empire the Sellsword could think of. This time, they welcomed him into their ranks. A bloodbath likes company.

  There were archers with flatbows and longbows, all of them armed with dozens of arrows jutting from their quivers. Men with bristling steel pikes and sharp bearded axes, all of them in burnished mail and old cuirasses dented with age and use. Some few had good weapons, these were the most dangerous, professional rogues from all over the territories who had converged here to ply their bloody trade.

  Anaias said, “Glad you could finally make it. What kept you?”

  “I came as soon as I received word.”

  Anaias snorted. “That runner was back to me on the double. You should have been too.” Uriel gave a weaselly face behind his back.

  “I came as fast as I am paid for.”

  “Mercenary,” joked Anaias to Uriel. “Listen,” he countered angrily to the Sellsword. “I never bought a man who wasn’t for sale. Remember that and do as you’re told.”

  Twilight filtered blue and yellow, coagulating like a bruise over the city. “What are we waiting for then?” asked the Sellsword.

  “You’ll see soon enough. My own special surprise.”

  The long-bearded man called Odacer rode up in a wagon. He and few other brutish men hefted several very heavy trunks from out of the back of the wagon.

  “Sellsword,” rasped Anaias. “You’re big and strong, give them a hand. This is going to open a lot of doors for us.”

  “I thought that was what the ram was for.”

  Anaias laughed hoarsely. “That’s what I want that old cretin to think, so we can get the drop on him with these.” He threw back the lid of a trunk. Inside, encased in wood chips were a dozen metallic cylinders about as wide as the Sellsword’s forearm and half as long. They looked a plain iron color except one end had a twist with copper gears and a button. “The clockwork’s function is to give you time to set the fuse and get some cover.”

  “What are they?”

  “Hehehe. These are what destroyed my keep on . . . accident,” he said with a glance toward Uriel.

  “Dragon Powder?”

  “That’s right. This was to be my special help with the mining operation. Varlak would transmute the mountain. I was to help crack it open to better get the newfound ore, but this has so many more possibilities if you use your imagination.”

  “Where is it from? I was astounded that it destroyed your keep.”

  “I made it in my study. I was working on an elixir to extend life and this formula proved useless until I accidentally dropped less than a teaspoon’s worth and it turned my work table into kindling. I knew I had something special. We’ve been using it the mines for a few years now. I never let Varlak know the exact formula and its one of the reasons the old goat turned on me.”

  “He turned on you?”

  “Of course, he did,” said Anaias, indignantly. “He broke our bargain, our sacred contract as members of the secret brotherhood. I curse him a thousand lifetimes over. That’s why I won’t rest until he is dead.”

  The Sellsword nodded, while the other lieutenants of Ananias grunted their approval.

  “Let’s do this,” said the wizard, signaling his men into position.

  23. The Attack

  They brought up the battering ram first. The courier kid was right, it was big. It was wheeled and had thin steel roof over the top of it. It looked to the Sellsword like it would stop arrows, but not much else.

  Odacer, who seemed to be Anaias’s second, shouted, “Get in there you lot, we all push and get it up to that gate!”

  The gate was shut and the rusted orange portcullis was down. On the battlements, men with bows loosed intermittently. Some few shot flaming arrows, then all of them were flaming. Dozens skated through the night air like a kaleidoscope of falling stars.

  “You think they’re wise to the Dragon Powder?” asked one of the men holding three of the charges. “What if they hit one of the charges?”

  “Then we’ll be visiting the undying lands together won’t we?” snarled a comrade in arms also holding a pair of charges.

  “Doesn’t matter,” said Anaias. “We’ll get that gate open and ram them up his arse! Now go!”

  “I’m gonna need more men to push it,” said Odacer. “I’ve lost three already.”

  Anaias looked at the Sellsword, “You’re a big lad, get in there.”

  The Sellsword grudgingly took a place toward the rear of the ram and heaved it along.

  The ram wheeled out into the open courtyard and was attacked with the rain of arrows and stones from slings. The Sellsword was grateful that Varlak did not have ballista machines in his keep.

  The flames belching from the top of Varlak’s tower grew in scale; whether it was an intimidation move or something was cooking the Sellsword wasn’t sure. A continual patter of arrows striking the roof of the ram sounded like a hail storm. A couple of men fell from the ram, struck by pure bad luck. The man directly in front of the Sellsword let go of his section, and quickly kissed a rabbit’s foot, then he was pushing again, muttering prayers to some old god or other.

  The gate loomed closer with every footstep and then they were there. The ram touched the wall and shook the portcullis bending the wrought iron, but was not even close to breaking it. It would take a lot more.

  A cry of, “Now!” from somewhere up on the battlements had the Sellsword skipping backward to the rear of the ram.

  Molten lead splashed down at the front of the ram, coating some men who had a look of utter horror covering their faces for just a moment before falling dead. The front of the ram smoked and the roof caved in for the first six feet. Sections of the ram started to burn from the incredible heat.

  A man behind the Sellsword, shouted his own version of ‘Now�
��, as he stepped in front of the Sellsword with a charge of Dragon Powder and threw it at the gate. Though he had set a timer, the moment it touched the still molten pools of lead it exploded.

  The Sellsword was knocked off his feet by a sheet of flame and deafening sound. Bits of stone, steel and wood pelted him as it flew in all directions. The thrower was not so lucky as the Sellsword, half of his body was shredded by shrapnel from the explosion.

  Yet another man of Anaias’s came forward and tossed his charge at the door. It didn’t go off for five seconds. Long enough for the Sellsword to plug his ears and dive for cover. The explosion knocked the burning ram back a few feet, wrenched the portcullis from its mooring and slammed a massive hole into the center of the iron bound gate.

  Odacer ran forward now and just as Varlak’s men peered through the big hole, he tossed a charge through the gap and another explosion took it down from the other side. Half of the ram was gone and out of the way and there was no trace of a gate any longer.

  The archers of Anaias moved forward openly now and took aim at the men on the battlements. His men at arms, at least fifty of them, charged the gap.

  Odacer moved forward with another charge and threw it high to the battlements. There was an explosion, but just before it went off he was struck by an arrow through the neck. He clawed vainly at his throat and fell back dead.

  Multiple men were felled by arrows as they ran toward the gate, but many more made it inside, the Sellsword among them.

  They charged into the ruined hall and passed by the jumbled, rent bodies of the initial guardsmen unfortunate enough to be present for the first Dragon Powder that made it through the breach. Some were still alive, but delirious and blind with half of their clothing and armor torn from their ragged bodies by the explosion. Small fires burned here and there.

  These men were mercifully slain as the invaders charges inside to deal with the rest. Most stayed along the main corridor, but the Sellsword knew that Varlak would be up near his balcony to oversee the battle. He raced up the curved steps.

  The Sellsword recognized Styrling as he rounded up the stairs. They slammed their long swords together, but the Sellsword thrust into his foes belly with his shorter blade. Styrling fell from the top of the stair and bounced down, his head cracking like a pomegranate on the cold steps.

  A dull roar was all the Sellsword heard as the tramp of doom and the two forces clashed together in the great hall. Varlak’s men gave ground and retreated further into the keep with each passing moment. The dead were trampled as Anaias’s men chased down Varlak’s retreating forces, stabbing them in the back.

  A pitched battle erupted in the final interior courtyard, and Varlak’s men were gutted to a man. The Sellsword knew the layout of the fortress and searched side rooms to see what might be hiding within. He burst into a large room he suspected might house some of Varlak’s precious documents, but was surprised and forced to drop his weapon.

  The bulk of Anaias’s other men were on the ground floor and as they slew the last few guardsmen of Varlak in the courtyard, they were shocked when the old wizard showed himself above them on a balcony.

  “Welcome to my home,” said Varlak, with a cackle. “You think me a wizened old fool, eh? Well, you fools fell into my trap!” He slammed a lever that suddenly brought all the doors leading to courtyard slamming down, trapping at least twenty-five of Anaias’s men. They still retained their weapons, but they could not possibly climb out of the square box they were now trapped in.

  They shouted insults at Varlak, but he just laughed at them. “Now Captain,” he called in return.

  The paladins of Captain Bearcoat came marching into the upper decks on either side of Varlak. They were armed with flatbows. They looked down on Anaias’s men with utter disdain and hatred. “This is finally over,” said Varlak with grim satisfaction.

  Bearcoat giggled and said, “I do hereby pronounce you men guilty of insurrection. And the judgment is death! Fire when ready.”

  The men trapped below shouted and wheeled to face their attackers with swords in their hands, but there was nothing they could do but catch the swift bolts with their teeth. In a matter of moments all twenty-five odd killers belonging to Anaias were dead.

  ***

  The Sellsword had his hands bound behind his back as the multitude of paladins kicked him and forced him to his knees before Varlak. “What to do with you now, eh?” taunted the wizard. “Throw him into the dungeon!”

  24. The Capture

  The Sellsword expected to be given to the four crocodile-sized basilisks he knew were housed deep below in the grim antechambers beneath Varlak’s keep, but that fate never came. He was housed in isolation and had nothing to do but plot and watch the dim sunlight slink across the floor of his cell for two days. He was given no food and had only green algae water that leaked down the wall to drink. Falling asleep the second night, he was surprised to awaken with Varlak standing outside his cell door.

  “I need to know where the rest of them are hiding. Where is Anaias?”

  “You didn’t kill him yet?”

  Varlak tsked through his teeth. “The Whisperer has fled, though I am sure he is still in the city. He can’t have many men left to him. I’ve won. My keep is already rebuilt, my gate remade whole and I have the only armed men in the city to speak of. I am now Duke of the city.”

  “What would the Marquis say about that?”

  “I’ll deal with him soon enough. He is no longer needed. The only thing left is my pleasure. The first task, where is Anaias? And then another task especially for you.”

  “I don’t know where he is, I’ve been rotting here for two days.”

  Varlak snorted. “I’m sure you know his holes. He has gone underground, yes? Unfortunately, the common folk don’t trust Bearcoat’s paladins with such information and they have not been able to root him out yet.”

  “I have nothing to tell you.”

  Varlak sneered. “I was afraid you would be difficult. I have ways of motivating men. I will motivate you too. Take him out of there, but keep him shackled in every limb, and bring him to my chambers.” He ordered his guardsmen.

  The Sellsword was weak and physically dragged to the private audience chambers of Varlak. Inside a wide circular room was a variety of torture equipment, a throne and, curiously, a large poster bed.

  “I have my spies too and I have come to understand that you became quite close with the Duchess Nicene, yes?” The Sellsword said nothing but Varlak thought he had found a nerve. “She is a very beautiful woman who was wasted on the Duke. Wasted with you. That will all change. Fool that you are, you traded her salvation to me for the price of that old goat who runs a useless bar in Lowtown.”

  The Sellsword acted surprised at this revelation.

  “Ah-ha. I have struck a nerve. I will do it again. I will make it so much worse for you. I will have my revenge taken out on you until I can do what I truly want to Anaias. Think of yourself as an appetizer.”

  Varlak arranged a few items on the top of his table, including a tray of beakers in a variety of colors, a small black pot and a smoking vial of something. He played with pouring a variety of substances into the pot without speaking for some time until finally he said, “Now, you’ll know. I’m going to make you watch every moment of my glorious triumph. Your pain and insult will give me great pleasure.” He produced the black velvet bag and withdrew the three golden hairs.

  “Recognize these?”

  “No!” shouted the Sellsword.

  Varlak laughed as he dropped them into the cauldron, all the while muttering incantations that were old when the world was young. It was the language of the gods when they first breathed life into men and as such had the power alone to compel men if coupled with their very soul.

  “I think you know what I am going to do now. I am going to bring her here. It doesn’t matter where she is hiding, she will be forced to come to me and obey my every desire. I have wanted her for so long and binding her
soul with this mandrake root will possess her of such driven lust for me, she will not be able to contain herself. I will be given a night of such passion as no man has ever known! And because I know you care for her, I am going to make you watch as she becomes my personal love slave. My insatiable whore!” He laughed a long time and the Sellsword hung his head sullenly.

  Finally, he spoke. “Kill me first. Do not make me watch. Kill me.”

  “Hahaha, no, dog! You’ve insulted me and cost me time, money and men. You will pay for your part in Anaias’s schemes. No, you will pay most dearly of any man besides Anaias himself.”

  Mist swirled about the wizard from the tiny cauldron and he spoke to it as if it were a person. “Come to me, come to me, awaken thy desires and come to me. Lust will be your only goal. Your carnal affection for me will be overpowering. Nothing will stand in your way, come to me, come to me,” he whispered to the tendrils of mist that wrapped around him like a ghostly lover.

  They waited for perhaps ten minutes.

  “You will force me to watch?” asked the Sellsword.

  “Yes, I will twist the knife in you, figuratively with your heart first, I will deal anguish to your soul before I deal anguish to your body.”

  “Maybe you should have the gate open so she can walk right in then.”

  Varlak considered that. “Still think someone can save you? Ha! No one can. You’re doomed. Anaias is the only one left and he can’t have more than ten men left to him. I am as strong as I ever was. I have all of Captain Bearcoat’s men posted to my keep and all is rebuilt from the destruction Anaias caused.”

  “If you have nothing to fear then, you will kill me and open your gates.”

  “I already told you, I am going to force you to watch!”

  The Sellsword gave him a piercing glare.

  “You think you are so clever, but you’re a fool. You can’t anger me enough to kill you, oh no. You are going to watch this carnal debauchery as I revel in it!” He opened his massive door and hollered down at his guards in the hallway below. “Throw open the gate and let my soon to be love slave walk right in!”