Grim Company 02 - Sword Of The North

by Luke Scull

  Kayne didn’t hesitate. He smashed one fiend in the face with his shield, knocked it back a few feet. He thrust his sword through the leathery flesh of the other, driving it deep into the demonkin’s chest. It flailed at him with taloned hands but he got his shield up just in time, heard wood split as the claws shredded it like parchment. He tossed the ruined shield aside, severed one probing arm with a mighty slash and then beheaded the fiend with the reverse stroke.

  He got his longsword back up just as the last of the demons pounced at him. The blade became tangled in its arms and they went into a clinch, Kayne desperately jerking his head from side to side to avoid those snapping jaws.

  There was a flicker of movement behind the demon and then its skull exploded in a shower of gore. Kayne thrust the body aside to see Orgrim standing there, pulverized demon brain flecking the steel head of his mighty hammer.

  ‘The hell you doing, Kayne?’ the big Easterman bellowed at him. ‘That bastard almost had you. That weren’t part of the plan.’

  Kayne lowered his sword, panting hard. The anger was still there, simmering. He tasted demon blood in his mouth and spat it out in disgust. Before he could reply, Taran’s terrified cry snatched his attention. The young Warden was on his knees, a demonkin bearing down on him, his spear hanging out of its back.

  Kayne found himself running before he could think. He reached the demon just as Taran’s shield was torn from his hands. He grasped the haft of the spear and drove it deeper into the fiend, giving it a vicious twist.

  ‘Scream,’ he whispered in cold fury.

  The demon made no sound. He forced the spear right through the fiend until the sharp metal head burst through its chest in a splatter of black gore. It twitched and went limp, but Kayne wasn’t done. He hurled the body to the ground.

  ‘Scream, you bastard!’ he hissed. ‘Scream like Dannard screamed.’ He stabbed the corpse in the head and chest, filling it with holes, heedless of the blood spraying over his legs. He slammed the point of the spear through the fiend’s lolling mouth, pushed it up through its brain, and then levered it with vicious force, trying to tear the head right off.

  ‘It’s dead, Kayne.’

  He looked up. Orgrim and Taran were watching him in astonishment. ‘Dead,’ he said numbly. He blinked away tears. He hadn’t realized he’d been crying.

  Borun suddenly appeared over the rise, his spirit eagle soaring far above him. The rangy young spirit-scout took in the carnage with wide eyes.

  ‘What’re you doing here?’ Orgrim barked. ‘You’re inside the Borderland. This ain’t no place for a boy.’

  ‘I thought you were in trouble,’ Borun protested.

  ‘You’re supposed to keep well away from the fighting. You’re a spirit-scout, not a Warden. You’re not even a man yet.’

  ‘I’m almost fourteen.’

  Despite everything, Kayne couldn’t help but smile. He liked Borun. The boy reminded him of Dannard.

  Orgrim shook his head ruefully. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s get back. The citadel awaits its newest Warden. Though I’ll leave out the part where he ignored my orders and sprinted off like a madman.’

  Kayne hesitated. He’d lost it completely, he knew. Could have got them all killed. ‘I let you down. I don’t reckon I’m fit to be a Warden.’

  ‘No man can be certain how he’ll react when he’s nose to nose with a demon,’ Orgrim replied levelly. ‘We used to send boys out into the Borderland. Kids no older than Borun. They all cracked. It takes a man who knows his mind to stand before a fiend and not shit his pants. You killed three demons and saved Taran’s life.’

  Taran stared at the corpses of the demonkin. They were already beginning to dissolve into puddles of black ooze. ‘I owe you, brother.’

  Kayne shrugged. ‘You’d have done the same for me.’

  They climbed back up the hill and headed west, back towards Watcher’s Keep, the great stronghold that guarded the East Reaching against the worst of what the Devil’s Spine spat out. On the way they stopped by the side of the Icemelt. Kayne was washing demon blood from his face when Borun crouched down beside him. The spirit-scout gazed wistfully across the river. ‘I’ll be a Warden one day. Just like you.’

  ‘Then you’d best prepare for years of shit food and a bed as hard as an anvil.’ Kayne grinned suddenly, remembering how he would tease Dannard when their mam was alive. ‘Better put some muscle on those scrawny arms too.’

  ‘I’m stronger than I look!’

  ‘Ha! I reckon there’s more meat on that girl you like.’

  Borun threw himself on Kayne, who was unbalanced from leaning over the river. The two of them tumbled in with an almighty splash. It was so cold they could hardly breathe, especially with them both laughing so hard. They wrestled and dunked each other under the water, just as he and Dannard had done when they were children. It didn’t dull the anger that burned inside him, the terrible rage that could ignite at a moment’s notice. But, for that afternoon at least, he could forget about everything and enjoy a friendship he thought would last forever.

  Into the Swamp

  ‘Brick’s doing my head in.’

  Kayne looked up as the Wolf stalked over. Even Jerek’s disgruntled scowl was a welcome distraction from the bitter memories that had been tossing around his skull for the last few hours. ‘What now?’

  Jerek spat and gestured towards the rough shrubbery where Brick had gone to take a piss. ‘Boy keeps going on about his uncle like the man’s some kind of hero. Got a mind to tell him this Glaston’s a yellow-bellied shit and be done with it.’

  Kayne raised a bushy eyebrow. ‘You mean you haven’t done that already?’

  Jerek kicked at a patch of dirt and frowned. ‘Boy idolizes his uncle. Ain’t that bad for a bandit’s get, got a decent head on his shoulders.’

  Kayne raised a hand to his mouth, half faking a yawn to hide his surprise. The list of folk Jerek liked or at least actively tolerated could be counted on one hand with fingers to spare. ‘He ain’t that bad’ was about as ringing an endorsement as any man ever got from the Wolf.

  Grunt ambled over and grunted. Kayne nodded in response and mumbled a perfunctory ‘all right’, not knowing what else to say. Grunt had been travelling alongside them for days now, but it was hard to make conversation with a mute and they had settled into a routine of a polite greeting followed by a long, uncomfortable silence. Jerek in particular was comically awkward around the big greenskin. He and Grunt reminded Kayne of two big mountain bears that had sized each other up and quietly decided to keep their distance.

  As Grunt approached, the Wolf sniffed pointedly and strode off to survey the narrow rise they were camped on one more time. Kayne had to admit that Grunt didn’t exactly smell fresh, but then he doubted any of them did just then.

  ‘How’s your sack?’ he asked, not knowing what else to say. Grunt looked momentarily aghast before understanding dawned in his amber eyes. He nodded as if to say everything’s in order, thanks for asking.

  The sack in question was tied to Jerek’s mount. Grunt had made that concession on the second day, when it was either that or be left behind. The sack must have weighed at least a hundred pounds, yet the mute had somehow kept pace with the horses’ slow trot for a good score of miles before flagging. In the end Brick had convinced Grunt that they weren’t going to ride off and leave him behind. Kayne was still curious about the sack’s contents, but he had given his word that no one would mess with it and that was that.

  They’d had no more trouble with hill-men or bandits or anything else except for an angry badger whose sett Grunt had accidentally disturbed. Despite his savage appearance it was clear the warrior was not at home in the wilderness. Brick had put an arrow through the animal from fifty yards and Jerek had skinned the beast and roasted it over a fire. Truth be told it had tasted like shit, but game was scarce and a man had to make do. They’d half expected Grunt to tear into the meat raw, maybe slobber everywhere for good measure, but the mute’s
snout had practically curled in distaste as he chewed.

  ‘We’re almost out of the Badlands,’ Kayne said. ‘Mal-Torrad next. The underground cities ain’t nothing but ruins now. There’s things living there that are best avoided, but they don’t bother you so long as you stick to the road.’

  Grunt’s eyes went wide. He opened his mouth and moaned, clearly distraught at something he’d just heard. Kayne glanced over to the bushes where Brick was taking his sweet time. ‘Not sure I understand you,’ he began sheepishly. He was fumbling for something else to say when Jerek’s sudden reappearance spared him further embarrassment.

  ‘Two-score riders,’ the Wolf snarled. ‘Coming from the south and east. An hour away, could be less.’

  Kayne hurried over to the shrubs and yelled for Brick. There was no response, so he shouted again.

  Brick finally emerged from the bushes, looking flustered as he tugged on his trousers. ‘What?’ he said reproachfully. ‘I can’t go when you keep yelling.’

  ‘Got us a host of bandits heading towards us,’ Kayne said. ‘Think your uncle betrayed us to Asander and sent word that we’re here?’

  Brick shook his head. ‘He’d never do that. My uncle hates Asander. They must have found our tracks and followed us north.’

  Grunt was watching them with a bewildered expression. Kayne looked from the big mute to the sack tied to Jerek’s stallion and gave the green-skinned warrior an apologetic shrug. ‘We’ve only got two horses. I figure now might be a good time to part ways, friend.’

  Grunt lifted his monstrous club thoughtfully. Kayne readied himself in case the mute decided to make a play for one of the mounts, but the big stranger just nodded and ambled over to Jerek’s horse to begin untying his sack.

  ‘Wait.’

  They turned to Brick. He looked mighty nervous all of a sudden. ‘I know somewhere we can hide,’ he said slowly, as if unsure whether what he was suggesting might in fact be worse than a band of murderous horsemen riding towards them. ‘There’s an old tower in the swampland near the coast. It’s only a few miles west of here. Bandits won’t venture near it.’

  ‘I’m guessing there’s a “but” coming here,’ said Kayne.

  ‘They say a wizard lives there. A necromancer.’

  ‘Ah.’

  Jerek snorted. Kayne swatted at a fly that had pitched on his face. All things considered, Brick’s revelation wasn’t the worst he’d been expecting. ‘A necromancer, you say? Ran into a few of those back in the day. The Shaman never had any truck with those that mess with the dead. What d’you reckon, Wolf?’

  Jerek shrugged. ‘I ain’t fussed. We’ve dealt with wizards before.’

  Kayne nodded. ‘Right, that settles it. We ride for this tower. Worst comes to the worst, we can hole up there and try to hold them off. Their horses won’t be no use to them in a swamp.’

  Brick’s freckled face went pale. ‘But the dead walk the swamp!’

  ‘Fuck the dead,’ Jerek spat. ‘We got forty man after us. Easier to dodge a stroller than a storm of arrows.’

  ‘Ain’t that the truth,’ Kayne muttered. He walked over to Grunt. ‘You can ride double with me. Or you can take your chances and continue north on your own. The bandits might let you be. Course, they might not.’

  The big mute made a hand signal to Brick, who responded with a gesture of his own. ‘He thinks the swamp is the better bet,’ the red-headed youngster said. ‘But he really hates wizards.’

  Kayne grinned and slapped Grunt on the back. ‘You and me both.’

  Grunt gestured at Brick again, a more complex series of movements the old Highlander could barely track.

  Brick’s lips pursed in concentration. ‘He says you mentioned some ruins.’

  ‘You mean Mal-Torrad?’

  ‘Yes. He says that last time he was there…’ Brick’s brow furrowed in puzzlement and he repeated the hand signs. Grunt nodded, a profound look of despair on his face.

  ‘What about Mal-Torrad?’ Kayne asked again.

  ‘He says the Mal-Torrad that he remembers wasn’t in ruins.’

  They rode hard and fast. It wasn’t far to the coast but Kayne’s mare was sweating and shaking by the time they reached the outskirts of the swamp. Riding at a mad gallop with a big green savage clinging to him wasn’t Kayne’s idea of a good time, not with the recent farce of their flight from Farrowgate still fresh in his mind. To make matters worse, even at the breakneck pace Jerek set the bandits were closing fast.

  ‘Place looks like a right shithole,’ the Wolf grunted as Kayne’s horse drew level with his. Both animals were breathing hard.

  ‘Do you think they’ll follow us into the swamp?’ Brick asked. He looked terrified, though it wasn’t clear if that was due to the bandits, the threat of undead horrors lurking in the swamp or just sharing a horse with Jerek.

  Kayne shrugged. ‘Only one way to find out.’

  The ground grew soggier as they proceeded deeper into the wetland. Soft mud quickly disappeared beneath stagnant water that stank worse than the streets of Dorminia on a hot day. The vegetation grew thicker, monstrous willows casting baleful shadows over the group in the light of the dying sun. Mangroves dipped their spiderlike roots into the rising water, forming a treacherous web that threatened to snare their unhappy horses. When the swamp reached knee height and thick patches of reeds began to block their way, they finally dismounted in order to clear a path. Buzzing insects swarmed around them. Every rustle of movement from the swamp had them glancing around nervously. All except for Jerek, who seemed preoccupied with the state of the boots he’d purchased back in Ashfall.

  ‘Twenty silver down the shitter,’ the Wolf declared bitterly. ‘Leather will be ruined now. Best pair of boots I had in years, these.’

  ‘I’ll buy you a new pair,’ Kayne said wearily. Something had bitten him on the ear; it was itching and starting to burn. The water rippled nearby and a cold reptilian head bobbed up for a moment before vanishing. ‘There’s snakes in this water. Hope they ain’t poisonous.’

  ‘There are giant snakes that can swallow a man whole down in the Sun Lands,’ Brick said, not particularly helpfully, if Kayne was being honest. ‘My uncle told me about them.’

  ‘Your uncle spouts a lot of shit,’ Jerek growled.

  Brick’s face went bright red but he said nothing.

  Jerek muttered something and swung an axe viciously at the thicket of reeds clawing at him. A good handful sprang right back up and slapped him across his bald head. Face twisting in rage, he proceeded to stamp them all into the swamp, raising a hell of a racket.

  ‘What’s wrong with him?’ Brick whispered as Jerek splashed around, uttering curses raw enough to make a sailor blush.

  Kayne frowned. ‘The Wolf sometimes lets his anger get the better of him. You get used to it.’

  ‘Motherfucking swamp.’ Jerek tore a handful of reeds out of the water with his bare hands and flung them away. Even his stallion shied back in the face of his rage.

  ‘I know it was you that spared me,’ Brick said quietly as they watched the Wolf take out his frustrations on the swamp. ‘He would have killed me.’

  ‘If Jerek really wanted you dead, you’d be dead. There ain’t much me or anyone else could do about it.’

  Suddenly, Grunt moaned and pointed a thick green finger at a cluster of trees up ahead. A large band of ragged figures had appeared in the distance. The shadows cast by the trees overhead obscured their faces, but their lurching walk was unmistakable.

  ‘Shit,’ Kayne muttered. ‘Strollers. Dozens of ’em.’

  ‘Strollers?’ Brick repeated, dread in his voice.

  ‘The walking dead, lad.’

  Kayne released his horse’s reins and reached over his shoulder to draw his greatsword. Grunt raised his club. His cat eyes seemed to burn orange beneath his brutish brow.

  ‘Getting sick of this shit,’ Jerek rasped, though if anything he looked fairly pleased at this latest development. He’d failed to get the better of t
he reeds and seemed eager to get stuck into a less stubborn foe.

  Kayne placed a comforting hand on Brick’s shoulder, noting the way the boy’s bow trembled in his grip. ‘Strollers can’t be stopped by arrows. Not unless one takes ’em right through the brain. I figure the poor light makes that a tough ask, even for you.’

  ‘What should I do?’ Brick asked, voice shaking slightly.

  ‘Stay behind me and make sure the horses don’t bolt. You ready, Grunt?’

  The big mute bared his tusks in reply. The gesture would’ve looked mighty impressive, except just then the water rippled ominously right in front of him and he jumped back, almost dropping his club.

  Another handful of corpses emerged from the swamp around them. Worm-eaten eyes stared hatefully from bloated faces the colour of old vomit, rancid water dripping down decomposing bodies teeming with parasites. Despite the fact they had them surrounded the strollers seemed strangely hesitant to attack. Never one to pass up an advantage, Kayne kicked out at the corpse of a middle-aged woman just in front of him. Her left breast had half rotted away, giving her a lopsided appearance. The corpse went down with a splash, taking another stroller with it.

  Grunt swung his huge club, a mighty sweep that snapped bones and lifted two of the corpses clean out of the swamp. Jerek was a whirlwind of steel, axes cleaving rotting limbs from bodies.

  ‘Watch out for the teeth!’ Kayne warned as a stroller lunged at Grunt, too close for the mute to bring his huge weapon to bear. The greenskin turned as the corpse reached towards him, bit down suddenly with his own tusks and ripped half the stroller’s head clean off. That won a grim nod from Jerek, though Grunt himself looked as if he wanted to heave, utter disgust on his bestial face.