The Sellsword ran. This section of the street afforded no exit, but doors availed themselves just another fifty feet ahead, if he could keep ahead of the monster. He raced for the closer door on his left. To the right, a door opened.
“I’ll take his eyes!” said a rugged, bearded man. Raising a flatbow, the man shot a bolt right into the face of the monster.
The bolt glanced off the thick snout, it might as well have been a fly striking armor. The monster’s bite slammed down on the screaming man. The top half of his body vanished down the monster’s expanding gullet while the legs remained, kicking between the teeth for a horrific moment frozen in time.
The Sellsword battered in the locked door beside him and crashed through atop the flimsy barricade just as the basilisk reached his position. He was still on the ground just a foot or two inside when the monster bashed its head into the broken opening. The wide snout could not fit through, but the wall and threshold buckled and would soon give way to its attack.
Moving back, the clawed foot reached inside the gap, scraping out the rug and shattered door bringing them to its waiting maw.
Rolling away from the carpet, the Sellsword narrowly avoided that tramping foot.
The monster moved a few feet down to glance inside the nearby window. Its breath steamed across the panes until it pushed against them breaking the glass.
There would be no weapons in this peasant’s house, so the Sellsword looked for another exit. He would have to find another weapon to stop the basilisk. A door to the rear opened to an alley that was thankfully far too narrow for the basilisk to fit. He could touch both walls with arms outstretched.
The Sellsword raced down the track, leaping over a handful of people hiding there from the monster. Reaching the end, he cautiously looked both directions and, sighting no danger, raced back to where his sword lay, covered in bile.
Stomach acids from the monster were corroding the blade, discoloring it a sickening brown along the edges and blood groove. He washed the grime away in a half-empty trough, lamenting the damage done. It would need sharpening before he could expect to penetrate the monster even between the thick scales. He hurried back toward The King’s Crown for his whetstones.
***
Trudging up the steps, the Sellsword paused to wonder after Nicene. Wind whipped his long hair into his face as he looked over the charnel scene before him.
“You’re alive!” cried Nicene, as she raced out the door and wrapped her arms around him.
“Aye! You as well.” He hugged her back.
She kissed him and he did not resist this time, but held her and returned the passionate embrace with enthusiasm and longing.
“You succeeded in slaying the basilisk?” she asked hopefully, catching her breath.
“No,” he lamented with a shake of his head.
Panic washed over her pale features. “What shall we do?”
“Let’s get in off the street. I must sharpen my blade and try again. That’s all there is to do.”
They went inside. The old man had the Sellsword’s tools, whetstone and oils out on the bar. The Sellsword gave him a nod of thanks and set about his work on the burnished blade.
“The beast is resilient. I cut a fork out of its tongue. I stuck this blade into its mouth and it was spat out. My thrusting sword is lodged to the hilt in its hindquarters. I was only able to penetrate on the fine line between the scales. I saw a dying man send a flatbow bolt to its face and it was shrugged off. Not to mention the kicking horses that slammed its face to no effect. We need something more.”
“Like what?” asked Nicene.
The old man shrugged.
“Is there anywhere we could get more Dragon Powder charges?”
Nicene clapped her hands in glee. “Haha! That would do the trick!”
The old man shook his head. “I thought we used them all in the assault.”
“This is a mining city. There must be more somewhere.”
“I’ll see what I can do,“ said the old man, putting a scarf around his neck as he prepared to go out and search.
The Sellsword took him by the shoulder. “Travel by way of narrow alleys where the monster cannot go.”
“I know my way around Aldreth better than you do,” snapped the old man. “I’ll be back before dark.”
The Sellsword worked and polished his blade. After a time, he would examine and it hold it up to the light, frown and keep sharpening it. He could not remove all the brown tarnish but he sorely tried.
Every now and again they would hear the basilisk out on the streets as it still hunted. It smashed in windows and doors, wanting to satisfy a ravenous hunger that could not be sated. While most folk could huddle together in crevices the monster could not reach to avoid being eaten, the livestock of the city could not and by afternoon, the Sellsword was sure there would not be a cow, ox, or horse left.
Nicene broke the silence asking, “Do you think he’ll make it?”
The Sellsword didn’t look up from polishing the sword. “If he’s half as salty as he likes to make out, the beast would spit him out at its first taste.”
“I’m not joking.”
“He knows his way around. If he keeps to the side streets he’ll be all right.”
“What about any other trouble makers?”
“People go mad when surrounded by chaos until it becomes the usual. This city has been delved into chaos long enough, he’ll be all right.”
“But there are still enemies out there.”
“Not many left I think,” he answered with a shrug. He wiped the blade down again then paused to admire his work. The sword gleamed across most of its length, but the brown corrosion remained here and there. Likely he could never get it all.
The old man came through the door, bleeding from a cut over his right eye.
“What happened?” gasped Nicene.
“Nothing. I hit my head going into a mine shaft when I jumped at nothing. I never even saw the basilisk, just heard it a lot. Varlak has certainly had his revenge all right on everyone and everything.”
“Did you find any?” pressured the Sellsword.
The old man grimaced. “Yeah, but only two. Trust me, I looked everywhere. The war certainly exhausted any more stores the town had. These were at the back of storage unit that hadn’t been used since O’4. I hope they still work.”
“They might not?”
“Can’t be sure. They do go bad, but then they either explode prematurely or simple fizzle out,” explained the old man. The Sellsword hefted the two charges. They looked older than the ones he had used a few nights before. “They operate similar enough, you just depress that button and the clockwork gears do the rest, but sometimes they stick and then you have to wait it out, because you can’t approach. It might suddenly go off. I’ve heard of men having to wait half a day sometimes. Usually though if one goes they all go. Don’t have a single one on the line too often.”
“You think they’ll work?”
“I can’t guarantee it, but I don’t want to be nearby when the button is pushed that’s for sure. I’d say you set the count for less than five seconds, that’s enough time to throw and get cover.”
The Sellsword nodded and set the timers on each. “Stay here,” he said to Nicene.
“I want to help.”
“I can do this alone.”
She fought the accusation. “You need someone watching your back.”
“I can do that,” volunteered the old man.
“You’re too slow, and you’ll,” he said, with a pause while staring into her eyes. “Be safer here.”
“You can’t do it alone.”
“Yes, I can.” He took the two Dragon Powder charges and gingerly held them as he went out the door. “Wish me luck.”
Nicene flung herself at him. He had to take care with the charges, swinging them away from the embrace.
“If these don’t work, I want you well away from the basilisk.”
She nodded.
He stalked out onto the street and listened. The wind had picked up and made hearing anything difficult. Deciding he would chance staying upwind of the beast, he turned and went up River Road.
The old man waved from the porch while Nicene held on to a wooden pillar, tears welling in her eyes.
***
Carnage was everywhere. Some were the remains of the previous night’s battle which had been catastrophic in its own right, but the damage done by the basilisk was unreal. Corpses were dashed along the cobbles, half eaten and regurgitated. There were great cracks in the stucco of buildings at every twenty paces and the Sellsword realized it was marks from the basilisk’s tail as it slammed against the walls while it ran.
The monster seemed to have covered every avenue at least once if not twice as the destruction was at every turn. He moved along at a cautious lope, his ears straining for any betraying sound of the beast’s presence.
Several times, voices cloistered within gaunt buildings urged him to get off the street, but he paid them little heed except to ask which way the monster had gone. No one could say, for it came and went so swiftly.
The Sellsword thought of climbing the smelter tower to get a bird’s eye view of the city, to determine where the basilisk was. Perhaps it was lying asleep in a gorged stupor somewhere?
He cut across a wide street, sticking close to the narrow ways that ran parallel. But too many of them ended with shacks built to accommodate the poor folk of Aldreth. That and the chaos of how the city was built added to the confusion. Many streets did not stay in line but twisted and snaked along. Three times he had to correct his path, always stepping over pools of blood and offal. The bridge over the canal was choked with wreckage. A pale dead arm stretched out of the murky water like a ghost calling for company.
At the wide city courtyard, he glanced toward the smelter and ladder that afforded a view. It was a long open space. Nearly two hundred yards. It had not seemed such a vast distance when there was no concern of a monster that could run faster than a horse.
Here there was little wreckage as the open space had not been afforded a spot anyone wished to fight, nor flee too. Only small bits of trash blown by the wind tumbled across its slate gray face.
The wind shifted direction and a wretched reptilian stink hit him. At least he knew he was downwind of the monster. He quickly made his way toward the smelter. The wind shifted again.
He checked his pace at nearly halfway to the smelter. This was the point of no return. He ran faster. Almost there.
The basilisk lumbered from around the side of the smelter. It had caught his scent. The broken shaft of a spear stuck out from its mottled hide, not far from where he had buried his short sword. A raspy hiss came from deep in its gullet. Its onyx black eyes glittered coldly, the dark gaze was penetrating, hypnotizing even. The wounded tongue flicked.
The Sellsword drew his weapon, the Dragon Powder charge. He pushed the button just as the monster charged. Its claws scraped noisily along the cobbles. Its mouth was agape in wicked anticipation.
The Sellsword cocked his corded right arm back to throw the device with all his strength down the gullet of the monster. His arm shot forward, loosing the charge. A prayer escaped his lips.
The wide leering mouth of the monster snapped shut and the charge hit it on the snout and bounced overhead. Still the basilisk charged.
A terrific explosion rocked from behind the monster and it checked itself to swing about at the terrible noise.
The Sellsword sprinted away. He made it to edge of the courtyard and ducked into an open doorway, breathing hard. Nothing. The monster had not pursued him. Slowly going to the threshold, he glanced warily out to the street. No sign of the basilisk. Venturing out to the courtyard, he saw the monster. It was lumbered lazily near the dry fountain. It might have been soaking up the weak sun as reptiles are wont to do elsewhere.
The only good the charge seemed to have done was confuse the monster long enough for him to avoid being eaten. It didn’t appear as if the explosion had hurt the creature at all.
He had one charge left. If he could get it into the monster’s mouth or even underneath the belly of the beast, he was sure the explosive charge would kill it. That the monster had bounced the first away had been just plain bad luck. It couldn’t know what a Dragon Powder charge was could it? No, it seemed just a bloodthirsty brute of a thing.
He had an idea. If he was in the right position, he could drop the charge down the monster’s throat or if that missed, at its feet. He would just need to be high enough to be away from the blast, but somewhere that the monster would try and reach him. Maybe up the ladder of the smokestack again. Moving around the far side of the courtyard, he crept as close to the towering edifice as possible.
He was still well over a hundred yards away, but the monster looked like it was sleeping beside the fountain. He would wake it once he reached the ladder. Nearing the smelter’s stack, he saw that the first charge had done damage to something other than the basilisk. A hole was punched into the smokestack and a section of the ladder hung free of its mooring He could climb it, but it would be riskier than he liked. Whenever possible he stacked all the odds he could in his favor. This wasn’t one of those times. He knew he ought to rethink the plan and find a different place to waylay the beast.
Glancing over his shoulder, the monster seemed like it was napping. He saw the steady rise of its ridged back denoting its breathing. That had been his mistake last time, trying to destroy a moving monster. This would be different. Maybe he could simply set the charge and toss it into the waiting lap of the monster as it slept. It was fast, but it couldn’t be fast enough to avoid the detonation in its resting face.
He set the charge and hurled it at the basilisk’s head. The charge hit the ground a few paces away and bounced along the ground, landing right beside the monster’s front paw upon which its massive head rested. Its great obsidian eye blinked open.
It looked at the charge lying there. It swung around to look, tongue flickering. It sighted the Sellsword who stamped, impatient for the detonation. Nothing.
Its great mouth opened with a rasping hiss and it rose, moving like the whirlwind.
The Sellsword cursed his luck and drew his blade, there was no time for anything else. If he attempted the half free-hanging ladder, it might fall and he still couldn’t climb high enough before the monster would pull him from the structure.
Waddling with a stunted gait, the basilisk swept closer.
With both hands on his sword, he prepared to drive the blade as deep as it might go into its gullet.
The mouth retched open so wide, he could see into the black abyss of its throat.
Sidestepping at the last possible moment he slammed the sword into its neck. It found purchase in flesh and the mighty moving force of the basilisk stole the blade from his hands. The beast careened end over end into the smelter’s smokestack. Dust flew blindingly in all directions.
The tail whipped and hit the Sellsword in the chest, flinging him some distance. His head struck the cobbles.
The Sellsword got to his knees and stumbled away toward the relative safety of the distant buildings.
The basilisk lay on its back, clawing at the air, furiously with its head and shoulders and forelegs inside the smokestack itself, having fully breached an opening through the thick walls. A few bricks fell from the upper portion striking the monster in the belly. His sword was lodged in the neck of the monster. Blood flowed from the wound, but not enough. It wasn’t even close to death.
He became aware, despite the ringing in his ears, of someone calling him. Movement flickered far in his peripheral and he went toward it like a ship seeking a port.
Blonde curls above a pale face and red dress came into sight. “Nicene?”
“You killed it?” She asked. “I heard the charge a few minutes ago and came to see.” She was dragging a bearded axe far too large for her to reasonably wield.
“What are you doing he
re?”
“I wanted to help and when I only heard one explosion I came to see.”
“It’s not nearly dead yet and I’ve lost my sword. You shouldn’t be here,” he snapped. She held out the axe and he took it. “Take cover. I don’t know how to kill it yet.”
“What about the other charge?”
He shook his head. “It was no good.”
An explosion blasted behind him at the fountain to emphasize his failure. Bits of debris rained down, pelting them.
“Well that was it. Delayed a good couple minutes.”
The basilisk scrambled up from its position at the edge of the smokestack. It glanced toward the smoking crater of the fountain and waddled over to investigate.
A tremendous groan caused both Nicene and the Sellsword to look up. The looming smokestack was tipping. A brick drop every other second from the gaping hole in the bottom making the smelter twitch and lean.
“I’ve an idea. Wait here!” He told her, as he ran, axe in hand, toward the smokestack.
“No, you can’t! It’s too dangerous!’ She cried after him.
The basilisk flicked its tongue about the smoky fountain trying to determine what had happened. Then its senses caught the man running. It jerked its head to the side and came on.
The Sellsword reached the smokestack and chopped at the bricks. A score fell with each stroke. The monster rumbled closer its great feet slapping the ground.
The smokestack pitched and, like a great tree, it was felled just as the monster was within a few paces of the Sellsword.
A ton of bricks crashed down on the basilisk, its wide distended mouth opened to swallow the Sellsword.
The Sellsword dove away as the ladder and scaffolding fell right beside him with a jarring crash. He clawed his way through a jumble of wreckage that rained down like the end of days. A cloud billowed up a volcano’s worth of dust and ash.
“Sellsword!” cried Nicene. “Where are you?”
She watched from the edge of the courtyard, but could see naught but blinding grey against the sun.
BRUTAL: An Epic Grimdark Fantasy Page 22