Sisters of the Blade

by Shawn E. Crapo

  He would see that pointy-eared worm hang from a tree.

  Randar’s hands were tied to a post behind him and he was seated on the floor. At the next post over, Lorcan was tied in the same fashion. A strange little man stood at the window watching the battle outside. They seemed to be in some sort of longhouse where this man made his war plans.

  “I don’t suppose those gates are still standing,” Randar said out loud.

  The man turned halfway, raising a brow. “Quiet,” he said. “Once my people chase away your king you will stand trial. Behave and we may let you go.”

  He turned all the way around then, scowling at Lorcan. “You, however, will suffer for your crimes.”

  “Crimes?” Lorcan echoed him. “I committed no crime. It was you who held me captive. You are guilty, not I.”

  The man shook his head, turning back to the battle.

  “Who is he?” Randar whispered to his comrade.

  “Bertram,” Lorcan replied. “Chieftain of these louts.”

  “Bertram,” Randar called out. “Let me assure you, if you let us go now, the king will be merciful.”

  Randar had no plans on leaving quietly, however. Once he managed to wriggle free of his restraints, he would put a dagger in this Bertram’s back, if he could find one. He might just have to crack the man’s neck or strangle him to death.

  “I care not what your king does,” Bertram replied. “He will be dead anyway.”

  Lorcan laughed. “Do you really think you can stand against the king’s army?”

  “He is not my king,” Bertram laughed. “Daegoth is my king, and he will return.”

  Randar grinned at Lorcan. Not because of what Bertram had said, but because his hands were now free. He had struck up a conversation to mask the noise of untying the ropes. He held his hands out to show Lorcan, who smiled in response.

  Randar slowly stood, going to Lorcan to silently untie his bonds. Just then, Bertram turned around, frozen as he saw Randar standing there.

  “Guards!” Bertram shouted, drawing a short sword from his belt.

  Randar rushed over to the nearby table, where his own dagger had been laid. He snatched it up, turning to face Bertram.

  “Guards!” Bertram shouted again, beginning to tremble.

  “They’re not coming,” Randar said. “They’re busy dying.”

  Much to Randar’s surprise, Bertram charged him. Randar held fast, dodging the swipe of Bertram’s blade. The man was surprisingly quick, and Randar barely made it out of the way. But he struck back, swiping at the air as the little man ducked out of the way.

  “Cut me loose,” Lorcan shouted.

  “I’m a bit busy at the moment,” Randar said.

  Bertram smiled for some reason then, backing away and sheathing his sword. Randar cocked his head curiously.

  “Cut me loose!” Lorcan shouted again, this time more desperately.

  Randar turned to him, curious as to why the new captain was so frightened. There, standing in the shadows, was a creature the likes of which Randar had never seen. It stood almost as high as the ceiling, was skeletal in appearance, with long sharp claws that it flexed and relaxed as its heavy breath was drawn in and out.

  “Randar,” Bertram said, heading for the door. “Meet the Bodach for the first and last time.”

  As Bertram fled the building, Randar began to back away after him. Lorcan’s eyes widened as he stared at him, shocked that Randar would abandon him.

  “What are you doing?” Lorcan demanded. “Cut me loose.”

  “I’m sorry, my friend,” Randar said as the Bodach took a few steps toward the horrified captain. “There is nothing I can do. I will tell the king of your noble death.”

  With that he fled through the door to join the battle. The creature would likely follow, but Randar would be far away by then. Behind him, he could hear Lorcan’s screams as he was ripped apart, and the growls and hisses of his killer.

  What a horrible death, Randar mused. But better you than me.

  Wulfgar smashed his way through the soldiers storming the wooden steps near the gates. His axe sailed left and right, knocking them away or splitting them in two. Behind him, Ronja finished off the survivors, keeping one hand on his back to let him know that she was there.

  As he reached the bottom, he could see Thorgrymm and Greta battling against T’kar. Skulgrid was nowhere to be found, and Wulfgar began to worry that he had fallen in battle. But there was no time for that, he realized. There were enemies to kill, and people to get to safety.

  It was then that he saw Bertram emerging from the longhouse, dagger in hand, dodging attacks from the enemies that spotted him. He had to help the poor man. Bertram was no warrior.

  “Ronja,” he called behind him. “Bertram is in trouble. We’re going that way toward the longhouse.”

  “Behind you,” she called back. “Lead the way.”

  There was a deafening crash as the longhouse’s front wall was suddenly bashed outward. Wood exploded out, sending splinters everywhere. The Bodach crashed through, leaping into the air and landing in the fray below. The creature drew shouts and screams of horror from the enemies, but the creature ignored them. Wulfgar realized the Bodach had its eyes on the rocky Fomorians that had smashed the gates.

  They worked their way over to Bertram, who was now backed up against the scaffolding. Though the small man was no soldier himself, he seemed to be holding his own. But Wulfgar smashed through his attackers, allowing Ronja to round him and stand in front of Bertram as he finished off the others.

  “We need to flee,” Bertram said. “We must get the men to safety through the tunnels.”

  “We are not giving up,” Wulfgar shouted back.

  “It’s too late,” Bertram said. “We did not prepare. If the enemy defeats us here, they will go through the tunnels and attack our settlement.”

  Wulfgar realized Bertram was right. Women and children were on the other side of the tunnels, eagerly awaiting their return. They had to be protected. The only way to do that was to retreat. Dearg was not here to lead them. They weren’t ready for this battle.

  “Ronja,” he shouted. “Find Menelith and begin pulling the others away. We’re retreating.”

  “Yes, Jarl,” she replied.

  Wulfgar turned back to the battle just in time to see the Bodach rip apart a giant that had caught its attention. The giant was smashed to rocky, bloody pieces, ripped apart by the Bodach’s powerful claws.

  He was glad the creature was on their side.

  “Retreat!” he shouted. “Fall back into the caves!”

  Randar picked up a fallen sword as he spied his king battling two Northmen. He assumed the large man was a Jarl or king of some sort, and the woman was his shieldmaiden. That would be his target.

  He crept along behind the backs of the fighting men, occasionally stabbing an enemy through the back, until he was within range of the scuffle. T’kar eyed him briefly, smiling crookedly as Randar met his gaze.

  With one quick jab, he skewered the woman through the back, drawing out his blade as the Northman turned in horror.

  “No!” the man shouted.

  T’kar charged him just as Randar jumped back to allow the shieldmaiden to fall to the ground. The king’s twin blades slashed across the man’s broad chest, laying open the flesh like a leather sack. Randar took a step forward, slashing at the man’s throat. His blade cut cleanly, opening the Northman’s throat.

  As he grabbed his gaping wound, T’kar finished him off with a double slash of his kopesh blades. The large man fell to his knees, spewing blood everywhere as his eyes went dull. He fell forward with a heavy thump, and T’kar laughed out loud.

  “Randar!” he shouted happily. “I’m glad to see you are well. Where is Lorcan?”

  “Dead,” Randar replied. “Not worth the trouble.”

  “Ah well,” T’kar said. “No worries. Worry about chasing these ants down. They are fleeing.”

  “What of the giants?”
r />   “Grongor will take care of that creature. I’m not concerned.”

  Grongor’s Fomorians fought fiercely, sweeping their mighty claws from side to side, knocking the enemies into the air. They pushed through the crowds of Riverfolk and Northman, making their way toward the archers that were lined up near the center of the fortress.

  But the appearance of the new creature put an end to their advance. Grongor had never seen anything like it in real life, but he knew right away what the creature was; the legendary Bodach of the mountains. Why this creature was here, and fighting for the enemy no less, the wizard could not guess.

  “What is that?” Malthor asked as he made his way toward him.

  “Bodach,” Grongor answered. “We may have to combine our magic to defeat it.”

  An enemy soldier was thrown their way, and Grongor sidestepped to avoid being rammed. Malthor finished off the soldier with his dagger, laughing out loud and growling with delight.

  Grongor pulled him along, heading toward the bridge that ran across the gates. T’kar was in there somewhere, he knew, but above the melee, he could cast better spells and make short work of the Bodach before it destroyed his giants.

  “Raise the dead, my friend,” Grongor said as they mounted the wooden stairs. “These here on the steps. They’ll guard us as we work.”

  Malthor stopped, raising his hands into air and chanting his dark spells. A black mist swirled around the bodies of the dead, pulling them into standing positions as it penetrated their soulless husks. Soon, all of the dead soldiers were on their feet, making a wall of the dead to guard the two as they did their work.

  “Nice work,” Grongor grinned. “Now, watch this.”

  The wizard gathered a destruction spell in his mind, drawing the dark magic of the earth into himself. His hands began to glow a fiery red, and his fingers curled as he hurled a massive fireball at the Bodach.

  The creature was struck, and knocked back several yards. The Fomorians charged it, smashing against it with the club-like fists. The Bodach was seemingly unaffected, but was unable to regain its footing as the Fomorians closed in.

  “Do it again,” Malthor hissed. “You almost have him.”

  Grongor gathered a more powerful spell in his mind, organizing the runic symbols in his mind into a lightning spell that should burst the creature into a million pieces. But before he could release it, the Bodach suddenly threw off its attackers. Its claws ripped into the rocky flesh in a fit of rage.

  “It’s berserking!” Malthor shouted.

  Grongor lost his concentration watching the Bodach tear his giants apart. The creature had regained its strength somehow, and then some, and was now destroying its attackers. Rocky flesh was thrown all around it as it tore into them. Its howls and screeches of rage were deafening.

  “Damn it!” Grongor cursed.

  “Grongor!” Malthor shouted.

  He turned, seeing a group of warriors tearing through the dead on the stairs. There was a Northman and what appeared to be a ranger, both of them low-ranking, but fierce in their attacks. Grongor turned his attention to them, gathering another spell to blast them off the stairs. But the ranger drew back his bow and released an arrow.

  It streaked in, catching Malthor in the shoulder. The necromancer gasped, clutching his wound and backing against the short wall. Without thinking, Grongor pushed him over the wall, moving him to safety. He knew the necromancer would be angry, but unharmed.

  He stepped forward, blasting the dead out of the way to get to his enemies. The two attackers neared the top just as his spell was finished. He blasted the Northman with a lightning bolt, sending him sprawling backwards down the stairs. The ranger, however, was quicker.

  Another arrow streaked in, catching Grongor right in the gut. He gulped, feeling the intense pain as the projectile pierced his diaphragm. He fell back, gasping for breath as the smiling ranger drew his blade and stood over him.

  “Just do it,” Grongor gasped. “Finish it.”

  The ranger complied.

  Menelith mounted a fallen shack, sending arrows into the enemy as the allies fled behind him. Everyone headed for the tunnels, desperate to escape into the mountains. The rangers and Alvar guarded their escape, waving them through. Ahead, Ronja and Skulgrid flanked the men, protecting their escape as well.

  “Menelith!” Ronja shouted. “Keep them at bay!”

  Menelith nodded, watching as the two men stopped and turned, ready to face the enemy when they arrived. The massive crowd, led by T’kar himself was closing in, and in the distance, the Bodach was nowhere to be seen. Thankfully, neither were the giants.

  Wulfgar and the other Northman blocked the faster enemies, allowing more time for the allies to escape. Menelith looked back as he knocked another arrow, happy to see that the bulk of his friends had already entered the tunnels.

  “How will we block off the escape route?” he shouted to Wulfgar as he neared.

  “We’ll think of something,” the Northman replied. “Just keep at them with your arrows.”

  The Bodach fell to its knees, reeling in agony as the Fomorian’s sharp claws dug into its throat. It was the most powerful creature the Bodach had ever faced; even more so than the human, Dearg. Try as it might, the Bodach could not break free of the giant’s grasp.

  It stared up into the giant’s eyes, seeing the emptiness there. There was no soul in the giant’s body, only the dark energy of the ancient and evil being that had spawned it. But the Bodach did not despair. It could see that the humans were escaping. It had protected them from the wrath of the giants.

  Except for this one.

  But as the Bodach’s consciousness faded, it realized one thing; it would die a hero, not a monster. That was a good way to die.

  “Goodbye, my friends,” it choked out. “I will see you in the afterlife.”

  With one last feat of strength, the Bodach balled up its fist and slammed it into the giant’s gut. The claws that wrapped around its neck dug into the Bodach’s skin, ripping its throat out. But the giant staggered away, and the Bodach was able to watch it slowly succumb to having its midsection destroyed.

  It fell into two pieces just as the Bodach departed.

  As the rest of the allies entered the tunnels, Menelith and his rangers fired their last volley of arrows. He could see T’kar by now. The king was desperately trying to reach them and stop their escape. A feat that he may accomplish unless there was a way to block the tunnels.

  “What do we do?” a ranger asked. “How can we help the men escape?”

  “We’ll need to block the tunnels somehow,” Menelith replied. “For now, just get in there and to safety. I’ll be right behind you.”

  The young ranger disappeared into the darkness. Menelith fired one last arrow and turned to enter the cave. He followed his men, hoping that someone had come up with a plan on the other side. But, the rangers ahead had stopped and were creeping slowly around what looked to be a lone figure in the center of the tunnel.

  He was a large man, even larger than Thorgrymm had been. There was something familiar about him, and something strange at the same time. He wasn’t really there, it seemed. As he approached, he saw the kind eyes and wide smile of a Northman he had met once.

  “Menelith,” the man spoke with a wide smile. “Go now. Be safe. I close tunnel.”

  Menelith smiled. “Thank you, Fleek,” he said. “I am happy the gods have allowed you to help. We owe you a great debt.”

  “Go now,” Fleek said again. “Rocks fall.”

  With that, the large man swung his hammer at the walls, shaking the entire tunnel. Menelith dashed forward, running as fast as he could to escape the collapse. The sound of Fleek’s hammer bashing the rocks faded, replaced by the loud rumbling of the tunnel collapsing.

  Menelith broke through to the other side just as a cloud of dust blew past him. The others were there, pulling him away as the rocks on the outside began to crumble. The whole ground shook, and a barrage of boulders collap
sed into the tunnel, blocking the entrance for good.

  “What happened?” Wulfgar asked, his arm around the young Ronja.

  Menelith shook his head, unsure as to whether what he had seen was really there. But the others had seen him, too.

  “An old friend helped us out,” Menelith said. “A friend of yours from beyond.”

  “I knew I saw him,” Ronja said, smiling. “The Valkyries have allowed Fleek to help us escape. They are watching. Always.”

  “Whatever the case,” Wulfgar said. “We have to prepare. T’kar will find a way around, much like he did before. The highlands are safe for now, but they won’t be for long.”

  “I will gather the chieftains,” Skulgrid said. “They know me. I can persuade them to help make the plains safe for now.”

  Wulfgar nodded. Menelith looked back at the collapsed tunnel one last time, then to his own men. It was time, he realized, to speak with Allora. He would leave the humans here to assist the allies, and take the Alvar rangers with him. There, they would ask Tenegal and his Lady to provide their assistance in the war.

  He knew that his brother would be eager to help.

  Chapter Thirty Six

  Fools and cowards,” T’kar hissed as he mounted a lone horse.

  “Indeed, sire,” Randar agreed, holding the beast still as the king pulled himself atop it.

  “When we return to the fortress, I will make plans to send another raiding party to the highlands. Captain Jarka was not successful, but I know someone who may be.”

  “Who is that, sire? Lorcan is dead.”

  “Yes, yes,” T’kar grumbled. “Good work leaving him to die. I liked him. He was as brutal as any man I had ever met. Everyone but you, Randar.”

  “Me?”

  T’kar laughed out loud. “Of course, Randar. Though I will not send you to possibly die, you will plan out the attack with our new captain once I decide who that is.”

  “Very well.”

  Randar mounted another horse, looking around the ruined wooden fortress as his allies gathered every resource they could before returning home. T’kar had ordered every single scrap of weaponry to be taken home, and a small garrison left to keep watch over the river and the collapsed tunnels. The fortress was well-built, he realized, and there was no reason to let it go to waste.