The Ogre rode ahead to catch up to Braylar and Soffjian. Vendurro looked at me and shook his head. “Plague me, but there’s some sour whoresons in this company.”
“Don’t worry about it, Ven,” I replied. “I, for one, am always interested in what those weird little stones are doing.”
He laughed and hit me in the shoulder. “Come on, then. Let’s go see what these monkey men are doing on the wrong side of the world.”
With the remainder of the company a hundred yards behind us, Braylar and his retinue had dismounted and walked among the mournful columns. Most of us had crossbows in hand, though Soffjian had her ranseur and Azmorgon his massive inelegant chopper that looked like it could cleave a horse in twain.
Rudgi said, “There’s a clearing ahead. More of these columns on the other side. Though like I said, most have spikes sticking out of them, running up and down the length. That’s where we saw them.”
Braylar asked, “And you saw no men in armor? You are sure?”
“Sure as I could be, Cap. Like we talked about, I didn’t want to get in too close. Still some sun left this afternoon, and not enough good cover—didn’t want to give up our location. But I didn’t see any glinting on anything else. So, nobody in metal armor close, that’s for certain.”
“Very good,” Braylar said. “Take Dunkiss and circle around, further into the forest. Make sure it’s just us and the workers in the columns of woe, yes?”
“Columns of woe, eh?” She smiled. “Funny, Cap. Right funny.”
He sighed. “Just go.”
As Rudgi set off on foot, Braylar regarded his men and his sister. “I’d hoped to find only squirrels and thrushes in our path, but it seems we have more to contend with.”
“This is a priceless opportunity, not to be squandered,” Soffjian said. “You are something of a master squanderer, so I do hope you embrace this one.”
Vendurro asked, “What are they plaguing doing here, Cap?”
Braylar looked at the columns around us. “Besides harvesting the most bizarre trees in the world, you mean? I have no idea whatsoever. Like you, after seeing the ruins of the city, I imagined we were the only men tromping about on this side of the Godveil. Clearly, that was an erroneous assumption. But it is important we raise no alarms here. The forest has pushed us as close to the Godveil as we dare go.”
Mulldoos said, “Maybe it’s time to quit worrying about plaguing opportunities and head back through?”
Before Braylar could reply, Soffjian added, “That is the definition of squandering.”
Braylar glared at her and said, “It is too soon, Mulldoos. The Imperials could be camped just on the other side. And if they get our trail again, we will have the glorious and suicidal end that Azmorgon there seems to be clamoring for. No. We do not return yet.”
Azmorgon said, “So what’s the plan, Cap? Going to kill these climbers?”
Braylar shook his head. “They are not soldiers. I don’t kill unarmed men. Well, unless absolutely necessary. Or they have provoked me. Which is not the case here.”
Vendurro asked, “What is the play then, Cap? Capture a few? Question them?”
“And then kill them,” Azmorgon offered.
Mulldoos said, “Even for a plaguing Syldoon, you are a bloodthirsty bastard, you know that, Ogre.”
“Aye. Best remember that, little man.”
Braylar said, “Depending on who they are or where they come from, we might not even have a language in common. Putting one to the question could be fruitless.”
Soffjian pointed at me. “You are forgetting, Bray, that you have one here who speaks a myriad of languages, both alive and dead.”
I replied, “I read them well enough, and can write several, but speaking is something else altogether. I’m not sure how much of an asset I would be.”
But Braylar made up his mind. “When Rudgi returns and we confirm there is no immediate threat, we will approach them. Weapons in scabbards. We have no idea what kind of response we will get, but even the dullest lout in the world knows a weapon when he sees one, and this is one time we do not wish to terrify or subjugate.”
Azmorgon replied, “Got to speak my mind here, Cap, but thinking—”
“I know your mind already. We proceed as I say we proceed. If you have a problem with that, you can leave now and try your hand parting the Godveil on your own.”
Even the Ogre shut up after that.
The captain, his retinue, and a handful of Syldoon crossed the clearing and approached the spiked columns on the other side. As Rudgi reported, there were a few men at various heights, shirtless, skin like bronze, covered in sweat as they swung on leather harnesses, pulling strange, almost translucent spikes as long as their forearms out of the dense mossy trunks and slipping them in satchels around their waists. The men were working with some tools—chisels and small hammers—as the spikes were lodged in tightly.
None of them saw us approaching, and the horses’ hooves were muffled by the carpet of moss that littered the floor between the tree-columns. We were twenty paces away when the closest worker finally saw us. His eyes went wide, and he would have fallen twenty feet if not for the harness, as he lost his grip on the trunk and slipped before yelling something.
The other workers turned and saw us, and then they too started yelling to each other, eyes filled with terror as if they were seeing monsters rather than men with horses.
Mulldoos said, “Huh. Didn’t figure on that. Good thing we aren’t holding steel—they’d be shitting themselves just now. Might do it anyway.”
As Scorn pawed at the loamy earth, Braylar raised both hands to show he wasn’t armed. “Well met. I should begin by asking if you understand what I am saying, yes?”
The three men in harness continued shouting at each other, gesturing wildly, swinging on the trunks. One tried to climb higher before realizing he risked impaling himself if he did. Another seemed to be trying to move and hide on the other side of the column, for all the good it would do him.
The captain tried again in Anjurian, but had no better results. If anything, that only seemed to frighten them more, as they were nearly jabbering to each other.
Braylar turned to me. “Diplomacy will die an untimely death if we cannot communicate. Can you make out anything they are saying?”
As terrified as the men were, it would have been hard to understand them even if they were speaking fluent Syldoonian. “I can’t be sure with all the shouting, but they might be speaking some kind of Old Anjurian. Or some variation of it. Though I stress might. As I said, I—”
“Speak inadequately, yes, yes. I was listening. But poor fluency is better than none at all. Try to calm them down and see if you can make anything out. Otherwise, I might be tempted to let Azmorgon chop them down from there so my sweet sister can interrogate them. And no one wants that. Especially the tree men, yes?”
I nodded, removed my helm, and handed it to Vendurro. After taking a deep breath and running my hand through my damp hair to stall for time, I walked my horse forward slowly, arms outstretched, trying to frame different statements in my head in Old Anjurian, and finally settling on the simplest one. I looked at all three men in turn “Hello,” I said. “My name is Arkamondos.”
The climber closest to me stared, his large nose flaring, sinews cording and rippling on his lean body. While he still appeared mostly terrified, it was tinged in something else as well. Confusion. He had understood something. Or at least it looked as if he had.
I tried again. “We intend you no harm,” I said, haltingly, and then rephrased, as the first construction had been wrong. “What are your names?”
All three were silent now, no longer yammering, but not speaking either. “Your names?” I asked. “My name is Arkamondos. Arki. What are your names?”
The closest climber looked back at the others nervously. He whispered something, and another shook his head fast and said, “No!” and then something else I couldn’t understand. It wasn’t Old Anjuri
an, but it sounded like some derivative.
The third man pointed at the Syldoon behind us, arm waving, finger wagging, speaking quickly as he shook in his harness. Most of it was lost on me, but it sounded as if one word was “beast” or the equivalent.
I looked over my shoulder, and then back to the man who was pointing, listening as he said something else and then “beast” again, his eyes bulging, stubbly face almost a rictus of fear, the muscles in his thin ropy arms all standing out.
I rode back to the captain. “It’s not us they’re terrified of. Or not just us. They are afraid of the horses I think.”
Mulldoos barked out a laugh. Vendurro said, “The horses? What are they plaguing afraid of the horses for? It’s not like we’re riding rippers.”
Soffjian said, “Horses are not frightening. If you are familiar with them. But what if they’ve never seen them before?”
Everyone looked at her. Azmorgon said, “What are you plaguing going on about, witch? They’re men. What do you mean they ain’t seen horses?”
She regarded the belligerent giant. “You truly are a dull oaf, aren’t you? Men from our half of the Godveil know horses. We’ve ridden them for millennia. Even those who couldn’t earn enough in a lifetime to buy and care for a horse have seen others on them. But this side? We have no idea what’s familiar to them, or how long they have been here. But what if they have no horses here? What if they have never seen their like before? Perhaps they think we are beasts ourselves with four legs. Or they are creatures of myth, monstrous or alien to them? Who can say. But I suggest we dismount.”
Azmorgon said, “What you’re saying is you got no plaguing idea, do you?” He turned to Braylar. “Let me chop them down. Then we’ll have a nice little talk, up close and personal.”
Braylar replied, “We dismount.”
We all did as commanded, all of us watching the men in the columns as we did. When we set our feet on the ground, one gasped, and the three of them began talking quickly to each other.
Braylar said, “Now try it again, Arki. Tell them we are not horse monsters and mean them no harm. Find out who they are, and where their settlement is.”
I gave Vendurro my reins and walked forward, saying in inelegant Old Anjurian, “Please tell me your names and where you are from. We will not harm you.” I didn’t add, “unless you take too long to gather your courage and speak to us,” as that seemed less than productive.
The closest climber looked down. The two behind him nearly hissed, urging him to be silent from what I could tell. But he finally spoke to me. “We are farmers. Only farmers. Do not hurt us.”
I wondered if this was how Old Anjurian was meant to sound, or if the dialect had changed so much to muddy the words, but I was pretty sure I understood the gist of what he said, even if that was no kind of farming I’d ever seen and they weren’t holding radishes. Maybe the Old Anjurian word meant harvester.
“We will not hurt you,” I said. “Will you come down please, so we may talk more easily? We mean you no harm. I swear it.”
The lean leader looked back at the other two and they shook their heads in unison. Then one suddenly twisted around to look deeper into the column forest.
It took me a moment to make out the sound of hooves over the low keening sound the columns made, but then I saw a Syldoon weaving between them, riding hard for our position.
Whatever meager progress I made with the column climbers disappeared in an instant as they pointed at her and started yelling something at me again.
But Rudgi was no less frightened than they were—her face was pale, and her expression and demeanor sent a shiver up my spine.
Braylar saw it as well, and asked sharply, “What is it, Sergeant? Are we under attack?”
“Yes. No. I don’t—I can’t say, Cap. I can’t, I don’t—”
He stepped closer to her and drew Bloodsounder off his belt. “Report! What did you see?”
She stuttered, “Cap, it was—” and then she shook her head as if to clear it. “Two of them coming that I saw. Two. Two coming. Got to do something.”
He reached up and snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Master yourself, soldier! At once! What approaches? Be quick about it!”
She looked at him, blanched, swallowed hard, and tried again. “Can’t say. Huge. They were huge. Never seen anything so big.”
“Men?” Braylar asked, though from the tone he knew the answer already.
“No. No, Cap. I can’t say what they plaguing are, but not . . . they aren’t men.”
I heard the closest climber say in a heated whisper, “Overlords. The overlords come.” It was hard to tell if it was a threat or a warning.
I looked at Braylar and told him what I heard, finishing with, “Maybe we should go.”
The captain pulled his helm over his head and mounted his horse. “Whatever they are, there are only two of them. Still, it never hurts to be prepared.” He pointed at Vendurro. “Get the company here. Now.”
Vendurro mounted up and rode off as the remaining Syldoon climbed into their saddles as well. Braylar ordered, “Syldoon, ready crossbows and switch to sidearms if and when they close. These columns are too crowded to get off more than one good shot.”
Soffjian said, “And what would you have me do, oh puissant warrior?”
“Your range is no less than our own. And might even be more. Work your memorycraft on whoever—”
“Or whatever.”
“Whoever approaches. Take them down without killing them if possible.”
“If possible,” she said, holding her ranseur above her head with one hand, flexing the fingers of the other outstretched hand. “I make no promises.”
I mounted up, fumbling a bit with the crossbow as I spanned it, but a little less so than usual.
The men in the harnesses were all frantically trying to look behind them. I just finished dropping the devil’s claw on the stock when I heard something—it sounded like a faint drum beat. I realized with my gut churning that they were probably footfalls of some kind. And then I saw movement between columns fifty feet away.
A huge shape appeared and disappeared, weaving its way towards us. Whatever it was, it was half again as tall as any man save Azmorgon, maybe taller, and it was coming fast.
Braylar called out, “One shot, then draw weapons and spread out!”
The Jackals all raised their crossbows and I did the same.
My horse blasted air out its nose as it jerked its head side to side, and it was all I could do to keep in place as he stamped about.
I heard the nasty twang as three crossbows loosed around me, and then two more, and I looked up. And wished I hadn’t.
Seeing the ripper for the first time in Alespell was like watching a monster emerge out of a nightmare to walk among us. But this was so much worse.
The creature was at least ten feet tall, broad and densely muscled, body and limbs much larger proportionately than any human’s, its skin the color of ash. It wore some kind of thick, hardened leather armor affixed with irregular brass plates, moving faster now as it charged towards us, dodging between columns for cover, wielding some sort of gigantic spiked club. But more bizarre and awful than its monstrous size was the head. It had no eyes, with small spikes protruding from where they would have been as part of a crown of horns that wrapped around its head.
My bladder nearly set free as I recognized that head from temple ruins and the flail heads on Bloodsounder, and I almost dropped my crossbow.
One of the bolts struck the giant in the shoulder, with the other two sinking into the mossy columns behind it, and the creature bellowed so loud and fierce, I froze. Off to my right, Soffjian closed her eyes and splayed her fingers. The creature halted briefly, and I raised my crossbow, hoping she would fell it. But the giant slowed only for a moment, shook its horned head twice, and then came on again. My fingers were trembling as I took aim, and I squeezed the long steel trigger. The bolt skidded off a brass plate on its harness.
The creature bellowed again as it loped between the final columns and came on, and my horse started to turn away, and I desperately wanted to let it. My first instinct was to jerk on the reins when I felt the horse spook, but remembered Vendurro telling me that would only unnerve the beast more, so I reached forward and put my hand on its neck—it didn’t do much, as it probably sensed I was terrified, but at least it didn’t bolt.
The Syldoon had spread out, and there was a moment when the giant was unsure which of us to attack first. It raised the thick haft of its weapon above its head, and I saw that the spikes were the translucent things the climbers had been harvesting, and three protruded from either side at the end. While the giant had no eyes to see, it moved its head around until it fixed on me, being the closest. Then it charged at me.
I froze, knowing nothing I could do could possibly hurt this mammoth monster, that I was surely dead, when two more bolts struck it, one ricocheting off, the other embedded in its chest inside the leather armor, but only enough to make it more angry. It plucked the bolt out with one huge hand like a tiny thorn, roared, and then changed direction for the one who shot it.
That soldier made the mistake of trying to span his weapon with the devil’s claw rather than drawing his sword or riding away.
The creature took three massive strides around a column and swung its club. The blow hoisted the soldier out of the saddle and his body went flying, blood spraying from the three gaping holes in his chest from the spikes. They had punctured the lamellar as if it were wet parchment.
Chains of the Heretic Page 13