“Mother-sister,” the satyr ventured after some time, “we must resume our journey. These here have flourished in our absence and will continue to do so. They shall grow powerful. But we must continue to spread the forest. That is the purpose of your blooming.”
Aoife bobbed her head in agreement. “Yet, much of this confuses me.”
“Say,” the satyr urged.
“How can I be your mother? You seem so much older, wiser than I.”
Toomt’-La grew still, somber. “It is true I am older. Thousands of years older. The End-of-All-Things destroyed my body, but I have been reborn through you, as have many of my brothers and sisters. As you are gradually being reborn through us.”
“What…what does that mean?”
“We shall see!” Toomt’-La said, pleasure evident in his expression. “There has never been one like you. Even your children-siblings cannot say how you will grow.” Aoife must have looked frightened, for the satyr reached out and placed a calming hand upon her shoulder. “But it will be…wonderful,” he assured her.
In truth, Aoife did not always understand her companion’s words. Not literally, anyway. But she understood their essence, and that was good enough. Toomt’-La had never led her astray. She would follow his lead in all things unless and until they encountered her brother. At that point, she suspected, emotions and her need for vengeance might get the best of her.
She took the satyr’s hand, and they strolled back into the second grove and from there, proceeded to walk in search of a third suitable nest.
*****
Vykers, On the Trail
“If I didn’t know better,” Vykers beamed, “I’d think Mahnus and Alheria are actually smiling on me. Look at this valley! Exactly what we wanted.”
Yeah, Arune intoned. It’s a wonderful place to kill yourself.
The warrior snorted, looked around. He and his companions stood at the western end of a small valley. Its northern slope was steep but not dauntingly so; its southern slope was almost cliff-like, impossible to scale in a panic and topped with outcroppings of broken rock. Perfect.
“Here’s the plan,” Vykers told his chimeras. “Nobody in his right mind would take an army into this valley. But our enemy is overconfident. And why not? Twenty thousand, give-or-take, against five? They’ll barge right in here after us, and we’ll spring the trap on ‘em.”
The trap? Arune asked.
“We still need a little luck, here, but once the bulk of their forces have entered, the Svarren will sniff ‘em out and come shrieking down that northern side. Arune says we’ll only get a few thousand, but, coming out of nowhere, those ugly bastards should offer an unwelcome scare. That’s when my Shaper friend starts blasting away at those outcroppings on the army’s left flank. We’ll have ‘em pinned between a rockslide and the Svarren. 17, your job is to fire up the eastern end of this valley, to the enemy’s back, if any of ‘em try moving that way. Most’ll want to run out our end, and that’s where you other three fellas and I come in.”
Much to Arune’s surprise, she was getting good at reading the chimeras’ expressions. “You…you want us to stop them?” Number 3 asked, dumbfounded. “Twenty-thousand soldiers?”
“Won’t happen like that. Their leader’ll figure they need to move up the northern slope to escape the rocks. That, and they have to deal with the Svarren. As I said, we need to, we’ll seal that eastern end. Some’ll try to come our way, too. Those, we cut to pieces.” He studied the sky. “Looks like rain. That’d be good, too. Nobody wants to be caught in a valley in a downpour. Like I said, Mahnus and Alheria must be on our side, for once.”
This is all conjecture, Arune protested. We could just as easily get butchered. In fact, that’s almost certain.
Well, Sunshine, Vykers responded wryly, you’re forgetting one thing: if this works, we might just put an end to the coming war before it even gets going. This End-of-All Things is gonna figure if he can’t take me and the chimeras down with twenty thousand men, how’s he gonna fare when I’ve got the Queen’s army at my back?
Arune snorted. That sounds grand. But now you’re the one forgetting something: this tyrant is mad. A normal person might respond as you say, but a madman?
Then I guess, Vykers concluded, it’s just a question of which of us is more mad.
That is the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard Arune wanted to say. But she knew it would make no difference. The Reaper was in his element.
*****
Vykers made a large campfire atop a hillock near the valley’s eastern entrance and sprawled leisurely in front of the flames, to Arune’s mounting distress.
“This smoke will bring them to us all the faster,” Vykers informed the chimeras. “And we wanna make sure they enter the trap, rather than wandering off to either side.”
Incredibly, he rolled onto his back and closed his eyes. “Wake me if you see anything, huh?” To Arune he said, Your Svarren still coming to the party?
They are.
He began snoring, lightly.
*****
Tarmun!
In an instant, he was on his feet with his sword in hand. The chimeras regarded him curiously. Dust clouds arose from the valley’s far end.
Don’t call me that, Vykers warned for the hundredth time.
It’s the only sure way to get your attention, Arune replied. And I’ve just discovered something you should know –
Vykers waited.
That army out there, it’s mostly slaves of some sort. Peasants.
And…?
They’ve been pressed into fighting, somehow. They’ve been…altered.
So? Vykers watched the dust clouds increase in size.
So? Arune cried. So? So, they’re being compelled to fight, Vykers. They may not even be aware of what’s happening!
Can you get to the point sometime in the near future? I’ve a battle to fight.
But you can’t! Those people, they’re innocent victims. If you kill them, you’ll be no better than the End-of-All-Things.
Never said I was better, Vykers said dismissively.
That shut Arune up. He hadn’t. Quite the contrary, the man hadn’t come by his reputation by building hospitals and orphanages.
Only way to free them, Shaper, is to free them, he said finally, in a way that left no room for doubt as to his meaning.
In life, she would have fought him tooth-and-nail on this point. Now, she found it disturbingly easy to relent. It’s Brouton’s Bind, she told herself in horror. I’ve got bloody Brouton’s Bind.
Where’s my Svarren? Vykers asked, interrupting her panic.
Arune reached out. A few miles north.
They won’t get here in time. That army won’t take thirty minutes to reach us. Vykers was silent a moment, thinking. What can you do to slow ‘em down a bit?
17 and I can throw some fire in their path. It won’t stop them for long, but it should be enough.
Do it, Vykers commanded. In seconds, he heard dialogue bouncing around his skull that he took to be communication between the Shaper and chimera. And then the familiar but never welcome burning coursed through his body, a first sign that his order had been executed. At the valley’s far end, huge gouts of flame leapt from the ground in the path of the advancing army, the second sign Vykers’ order had been carried out. Without warning, the burning sensation became an order of magnitude stronger, forcing the Reaper to growl, What in the infinite hells is going on?
Arune’s voice, fraught with tension and effort, responded, They’ve got Shapers, too. You didn’t think otherwise, did you? We’re struggling with them now.
Vykers stole a glance at 17, who stood rooted in his tracks, facial muscles twitching with strain and eyes fixed determinedly on a point about twelve inches in front of his forehead. Not Vykers’ kind of battle, to be sure, but he was glad he had those who could handle it.
The distant flames surged and died away, surged and died away. At last, with a great whoosh, they died altogethe
r, and the army continued forward.
They beat you?
Arune laughed weakly. Tactical retreat.
Uh-huh, Vykers replied dubiously.
Have to save some energy for the other chores you’ve assigned me…
Svarren?
Still coming.
“Well, shit!” Vykers said aloud. He eyed the chimeras and said, “I’m gonna go buy us some more time.” Without waiting for a reply, he added, “You stay here. I’ll probably be back in a few minutes.”
“Probably?” Number 3 questioned.
Vykers smirked. “Yeah, I’ll be back.” The warrior adjusted the angle of his sword hilt, tightened his belt a notch and, satisfied, strode down into the valley proper.
What in Mahnus’ name are you doing now? Arune demanded.
You just focus on getting those savages down here as fast as you can. I don’t mind impossible odds, but don’t mind improving them even less.
The Reaper walked confidently towards the approaching army and didn’t stop until he was just out of bowshot. Abruptly, the enemy stopped, at which sight Vykers broke into a crooked grin.
Well, well, well. They’re not so mindless after all. Or at least their commanders aren’t.
And what does that signify?
I’ll tell ya later. If it works.
“Hello, the army!” he yelled across to his adversaries.
From within the throng, a voice bellowed out in return, “Tarmun Vykers! We arrest you in the name of our Supreme Ruler, Grand Torzine, High Priest and Arch Sorcerer, End-of-All-Things, Last of Mortals and First of the New Gods, Anders Cestroenyn.”
Grand Torzine? The fuck is that? Vykers asked his Shaper.
Never heard of it; I’m pretty sure it’s made up.
“That’s quite a name.” The Reaper called out. “I knew a whore once who always said men with the biggest titles have the smallest pricks.” In Vykers’ experience, most armies would have been enraged by such taunting. This one, however, stood slack-jawed and drooling, awaiting its leaders’ commands.
“Tarmun Vykers!” the voice called out again. “You are under arrest. Submit and live or resist and die!”
The Reaper laughed. What else could he do? The whole situation was ridiculous. “Big man, you are, whoever you are!” he shouted back. “Hiding inside your fortress of flesh. Why don’t you come out here and arrest me yourself?”
The air around him grew so still, Vykers could hear the army’s individual fighters – if that’s what they were – breathing through their mouths and shuffling restlessly in place. After several minutes, someone within the enemy ranks issued a muffled “forward!” and the horde stumbled back into motion. A flash of motion in Vykers’ peripheral vision attracted his attention. Glancing up the northern slope, he caught a glimpse of Svarren bursting out of the tree line and making for the valley floor. The Reaper didn’t even wait to see the number of his unlikely allies, but jogged back towards the chimeras, chuckling to himself all the way.
“This’ll be interesting,” he said, to no one in particular. When he reached his companions, he turned to watch both the army and the Svarren advance. As the misshapen savages caught wind of the army, they went into a rabid frenzy and fairly threw themselves down the slope into its right flank.
Hit those outcroppings, Shaper, if you’ve got anything left to offer! Vykers thought urgently at Arune.
Great bolts of white light exploded from Vykers’ chest and lanced towards the cliff tops to his southeast. He winced for the briefest moment at the internal searing such shaping brought on, but was immediately gratified to see showers of rock cascading down onto the army below. And then he scowled. A normal army composed of normal men would have spooked at the sudden appearance of Svarren and the equally unexpected avalanche. This army – or the bulk of it, anyway – continued forward as if these twin perils were no more annoying than gnats.
“More rocks!” Vykers yelled, forgetting to issue this order internally. “And 17,” he added, “change of plans. Hit ‘em in the face with everything you’ve got. They’re not backing off like I thought they would, so we’re gonna have to push ‘em.”
The army drew nearer, within three hundred paces. Svarren could plainly be heard hissing, snarling and ululating as they fell upon their prey, while their opponents merely grunted or made strange keening sounds in reply. Vykers also heard more composed voices yelling within the force’s mass, along with the sound of war drums beating a steady rhythm and whips cracking to inspire continued movement. The army’s right and left flanks buckled inwards to some extent and bodies began to pile up on either side, but the majority of the enemy trudged forward unabated. Once more, an enormous wall of flame leapt up in its path, stalling the enemy’s advance at last.
Number 17’s face was a mask of tense concentration, and Vykers noticed the other three chimeras rocking or swaying from foot to foot in anticipation of the coming clash. Behind the wall of flame, the shrieking of Svarren and thrall reached a fever pitch, even as boulders and smaller rubble continued to rain down from the valley’s southern cliffs. The army’s forward edge stumbled onward, into and through the flames, while the strange keening of the thrall intensified.
Vykers felt rather than saw 17 collapse on his right, thoroughly drained from his efforts. Shortly thereafter, Arune withdrew, too, and became decidedly quiescent. The Reaper surveyed the enemy a final moment before engaging. His plan had worked – to some extent – but fully three-quarters of the enemy’s force remained on its feet and in motion, despite the mounds of wounded or dead. Vykers hefted his sword, passed it from hand-to-hand.
“Can you boys run and still carry him?” he asked Number 3 while pointing to the unconscious 17.
It was the first time he’d ever seen his strange comrades look relieved.
“We can!” 3 answered, a little too enthusiastically.
“Then let’s get the hell out of here!” Vykers commanded as he turned and ran, not bothering to wait for a response.
Eager though it was, the enemy’s army could not maneuver around its own casualties fast enough to pursue. Secretly, General Shere was grateful for that. He’d just lost an impossibly large portion of his army to…what, exactly? He wanted nothing more than to make camp and discuss the day’s debacle with his Shapers and his fellow officers. He did not possess the kind of troops necessary to chase his quarry down and, clearly, might alone was not going to get the job done, either. Somehow, some way, Shere would have to outsmart the Reaper. He wondered if he should just fall on his sword now and get it over with.
~ Eight~
Long, the End’s Host
“Care for a bit o’ firewater?” A voice asked behind him. Turning around, a bone-weary Long found himself sizing up the first truly human, sympathetic face he’d seen in…he didn’t know how long.
“Name’s Yendor. Yendor Plotz, though I’m s’posed to say ‘General Plotz.’ Them as have fought before’s automatically made general in the High So-and-So’s Host, don’tcha know.” He held out a water skin at arm’s length.
Long stared at it, in a near-stupor.
“It’s good stuff, honest.” Plotz said, then seemed to reconsider. “Well, it tastes awful,” he amended, “but it’s got more than enough kick to calm your nerves for hours. Try a pull.”
Slowly, Long extended his hand and took the proffered skin. He couldn’t afford one more enemy, and the man might prove helpful in the future, though Long couldn’t imagine how. Uncorking the brew, he sniffed it and nearly retched, causing the other man to laugh. Gauging the unhappy look on Long’s face, Plotz retrieved the skin and took a swig himself.
“See?” he asked Long, shivering from the apparently loathsome flavor. “Tastes just this side ‘o the grave, but – sweet Sister Mumfreckles! – what a kick!” Again, Plotz offered the skin to Long. Again, Long accepted it. He’d swallowed D’Kem’s strange elixir. How bad could this be?
Very, very bad, as it turned out. The stuff brawling its way down his
throat was by far the worst thing Long had ever tasted. And he would have thrown up, if he hadn’t temporarily lost control of his nervous system, sending him into shuddering spasms of disgust that occupied his every conscious thought. After several minutes, the sensation passed and Long felt an utterly unholy warmth spreading from his stomach into his limbs. “What in Alheria’s name is that shit?” he bellowed.
Steel, Blood & Fire (Immortal Treachery Book 1) Page 29