Savage

by James Alderdice

  The giant wailed and slammed his club about in all directions, unable to find his diminutive opponent.

  Retrieving his sword, Gathelaus slashed across the tendons on the giant’s calves and fell back as the struggling behemoth flailed and cried. He collapsed and moaned and when he was done, Gathelaus finished him across the throat.

  This place was playing with him.

  ***

  Adrift on a piece of ice no larger than a feasting table, Gathelaus shivered against the cold. A star-filled night loomed overhead. Great icebergs like traveling mountains traversed the sea beside him. The northern lights shimmered above like an emerald ribbon waving in the cosmic breeze.

  Ice clung to his brows and beard. Hoar frost covered his cloak and his bare palm stuck to his sword hilt.

  “Where am I?” he said aloud, as a cloud of breath wafted from him, like a lotus eater’s smoke.

  A sudden ripple rocked his ice sheet and he almost toppled into the dark waters. He stabbed his sword into the ice to gain a hold as the entire piece once again tipped.

  “What the devil?”

  Nothing was visible anywhere about, but something was playing with him. A small wave of water denoted something moving beneath the surface. Several somethings, as Gathelaus caught three murky humps circling chaotically about his ice sheet.

  “Show yourself,” he growled.

  Probing tentacles with grotesque suckers sprouted at the edge of the sheet and threatened to tip it over. Gathelaus jammed his dagger into the ice for purchase as he took his sword and slashed at the long grey stalks which slithered over the ice probing for his flesh.

  Cutting a full foot off one of the tendrils, the thing flailed, covering him in inky blood before vanishing silently back under the waters.

  Everything went still. The sea became as glass and the suspense tore at his nerves. Something was playing with him.

  A monstrous beast like a demon’s bastard love-child roared up from the depths. Water streamed from its great bulbous head and its enormous bulk sent waves pitching forth sending the small ice sheet askew. Gathelaus barely maintained his position on the slippery floe. Eyes like pot-bellied stoves on long stalks glowed red hate as a toothy maw unhinged, revealing a mouth big as a wagon with multiple rows of saber-like teeth. The thing’s tongue had been the probing tentacle, or at least one of three tongues, as the mouth opened and sent the trio of spiraling tendrils shooting at Gathelaus.

  Slashing his sword in a gleaming arc, he severed one of the tongues only to have another latch about his legs and squeeze.

  Its grip was like iron and the saliva acidic, each burned in their own way. Gathelaus roared in pain and slammed the blade down as hard as he could at the tongue which yanked him toward that horrific mouth. Free, the severed end of the tongue jostled and slipped back into the water like a retreating serpent. The monstrosity bellowed and jetted closer, creating a wake that sent the ice spinning away. Gathelaus fell, but not before hurling his sword down the gullet of the awful terror. He was tossed from the ice into the frozen sea.

  ***

  He stood in but an inch of limpid water.

  This place was playing with him.

  He retrieved his sword from the floor only a few paces from where he had become aware of the change yet again.

  Pale sunlight granted some illumination to the strange hallway he found himself in, but which direction to go? There were only two choices, to the left or right, but he had no idea from which direction he had come. There were no clues he could see, he could find no sign, and the inch-deep water hid even the scuff of his boots upon dust that he might have been able to track.

  As he wondered at which way to go, a pale form appeared at the far right, and though it moved slow and languidly he soon could tell that it was a woman, a beautiful woman he knew very well, but the trouble was that he knew her to be dead.

  “Nicene?”

  “It is I, lover. What took you so long?” she asked. She was as lovely as ever, with curling golden hair and a curvaceous bosom that teased from her nightly robe of white silk.

  “What do you mean? I have not seen your face for weeks and you are… gone.” He could not bring himself to say dead, while he stood speaking with her. Had everything been a terrible nightmare?

  This place was playing with him.

  She shook her head and kissed his cheek. Her lips felt real enough. “Gone? Weeks, you say? It’s only been a few hours. I was praying in the night, at the foot of the statue of Dyzan.”

  Gathelaus took in his surroundings. The water had vanished from the floor and he was surrounded by the familiar walls of the palace in Hellenaik. Folk moved about as they would preparing for the day. A pair of ladies in waiting passed by and curtsied. Guardsmen saluted as they made their patrols.

  “What happened when morning came?” he asked.

  “When morning came?” she looked puzzled. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “I remember the light of dawn, I came and saw you slain upon the temple floor. Vikarskeid had you murdered by a wizard, then he staged his coup.”

  She shook her head again. “Are you feeling well? None of that happened. It must have been a nightmare.”

  He reached out and grasped her about the waist and drew her in close. She was warm and her breast heaved in excitement. She smiled and the fire in her eyes lit his passions within, but something was amiss. Her kiss was as strong and passionate as any remembered, and he was taken away on the wings of her desire. He would remain here and live like nothing terrible had ever happened. All was at peace here. But despite the desire and longing, the storm was in his blood, and he could not deny what he knew had occurred.

  This place was playing with him.

  The ache of knowing he had held her dead in his arms was no nightmare, it was cold reality. He knew it as strong and hurtful as anything. She was gone and this was an imposter. An amazing doppelganger, perfect down to the smallest detail but a shadowy replica, nonetheless.

  He gripped her in his arms and squeezed.

  “You’re hurting me,” she stammered. “Gathelaus, please, let me go!”

  “Never, Nicene. You’re gone Nicene,” he said coldly, crushing her in his arms. “You’re gone.”

  She shrieked and the glow of the white marble walls of the palace in Hellenaik vanished and was replaced with the dank and dreary cavern. The frescoes and ivy decorating the palace walls were transformed to vile rot, furry mold, and twisted unwholesome vines. The bustling folk of the royal palace revealed themselves to be the desiccated skeletons strewn about the chamber floor or shackled to the wall in rusted chains.

  “It’s all a lie! Who are you?” he shouted, still crushing the shadowy being between his herculean arms.

  This place was no longer playing with him.

  The pale alabaster skin of beautiful Nicene cracked under his great tension and pressure. A hollow cocoon remained, and the life that moved within that grey, ashy chrysalis tried to worm away.

  Gathelaus squeezed harder and pressed his blade against what he thought might be the head.

  The being’s face was not unlike that of a worm or roach. It chittered in furious fear and pain but Gathelaus would not let it go.

  “Remove the illusions or you will surely die,” he grated through clenched teeth.

  The thing disagreed.

  Reality warped. Colors unknown to man flashed across Gathelaus’s vision like dark rainbows on fire. Thunder cracked and the sky ripped and boomed, dragons flew overhead blasting flames as hurricanes screamed and volcanoes exploded, but Gathelaus crushed his enemy asunder. Ash and rain, ice and lava splashed over Gathelaus covering him under mountains of pain, but still he would not let go his crushing grip. Blood dripped between his devastating fingers until the mass before him went limp.

  The utter chaos stopped. He blinked against the sudden stillness and ensuing silence.

  This place could no longer play with him.

  He breathed ragged and heavy in an empty, dar
k chamber. The unknown body before him fell apart like a salted slug. The door he had entered was but a few dozen paces behind, he could faintly see a crack of light breaking in.

  Ahead a dozen paces, a shaft of sunlight gleamed upon a squat pillar and stand upon which lay an ebon Pipe shaped like an inverted V. Holes curled down the ends of each Pipe in curious patterns that seemed unnatural for any human to play upon.

  He took the Pipe in hand, underwhelmed. For a sorcerous artifact of legend, it was rather light, and he felt no surge of power or such from its touch. Still, he knew it had been held here by the bizarre being for a reason, and there was no doubt at how badly the lich outside wanted it.

  Gathelaus trotted back to the doorway, reeling at the loss of Nicene again, but determined once more to overcome his enemies.

  6.

  A Cloven Skull

  Gathelaus reached the threshold of the black necropolis. The doorway was only open a few inches. It was far too narrow for him to even reach an arm through. He gripped the edge and strained for all he was worth and yet he could not force it open. If anything, he felt it almost imperceptibly shutting.

  The death’s head of Lucifugis peered in. “You succeeded? I knew you could!”

  “Help me open this,” grated Gathelaus.

  Lucifugis shook his head. “It cannot be done. The sorcery is too strong. It must shut for the day and remain closed for another year, until my power can again open it.”

  “I’m not going to wait that long,” growled Gathelaus still pushing against the door.

  Lucifugis looked as somber as a featureless skull could. The fire in his eyes dimmed slightly. “I am sorry, but you must give me the Pipe and accept your fate. I can do nothing more for you, but you can still deliver the Pipe to me.”

  Gathelaus grunted, still straining against the door. “Why don’t you find a way to help me?”

  “That is not possible.”

  Gathelaus ignored him, still trying to force the door.

  Lucifugis lunged and grasped Gathelaus’s shoulder, snarling, “Give me the Pipe or I’ll slay you where you stand! I must have it!”

  Gathelaus took the bony hand in his and twisted himself free. He glared at the lich.

  Lucifugis spoke, “You are doomed, but you can still deliver the Pipe to me.”

  Gathelaus shook his head. “You know something. I don’t have to die here. You know another way out.”

  “I do not.”

  Gathelaus doubted the lich, something was amiss, but he didn’t know what that was.

  Lucifugis snarled and reached in with his clawed hand. “Give me the Pipe!”

  Gathelaus drew his sword and slammed it against Lucifugis’s skull, cleaving it in twain. The lich dropped in front of the threshold and while a mere man would have bled all over the stoop, Lucifugis’s remains gave but reddish hued dust to be carried off in the wind.

  Intent on wasting no time, Gathelaus placed a small stone in the way of the door, it flexed and splintered to dust under the great pressure of the inexorable gate. Gathelaus roared his fury and stuck his sword into the crack, pushing until the tip of the blade snapped off.

  The door continued its glacial movement until it closed with a deafening thud, sealing the chamber off like a tomb. The ensuing hush brought a somber finality.

  He searched in vain for any hinges or other means to force the door open, but nothing availed him. It was time to look for another means of escape.

  Darkness filled the chamber, though in moments his eyes became accustomed to the gloom. Some light was still dispatched by the high windows above. These were more than twenty feet off the ground and looked no larger than portholes on a ship. Even if he could reach them, he could not worm his way through.

  The scene was uncomfortable, a tableau of death and dust. Whatever the guardian had been, it was but a smear of slime upon the flagstones now. Beyond the bones and such, Gathelaus took up a short Spatha to replace the broken sword he had carried for weeks. He saw no other weapons or tools worthwhile amongst the dead. They certainly had no food or water.

  He moved down the chamber, glancing here and there for any clue of another exit or avenue of intrigue, but there was nothing until he reached the end and the small pillar where the Pipe had been placed. Wondering, he put the Pipe back on its stand.

  Behind him, light grew as the massive door began to creak open. He fled back that way and wondered. It opened to the outside.

  Lucifugis the lich had a shattered skull but moved as if he might still have life within that shattered husk. He had spoken the truth, he could not be slain by usual means.

  Gathelaus picked up his blue cloaked collection of bones and tossed them a few paces inside the chamber, shaking them thoroughly until he was sure every bit of the jumble of bones had tumbled forth. Then, wondering, he raced to the pillar and took the Pipe in hand. The door began to close. He ran as swift as the wind and made it out the door, his chest scraping as he exited. He yanked the blue kaftan through the gap.

  Lucifugis called, just a few steps inside. His teeth clacked in his broken jaw. “No, you cannot leave me here! The door shall never open again. Let me out!”

  Gathelaus shook his head and allowed the door to firmly seal the lich inside with an ominous thud.

  Now he heard the scraping of clawed fingers on the door that Lucifugis had spoken of. Greed had made this happen and Gathelaus would remember that whether living or dead, men were treacherous in their lust for power.

  He glanced at the Pipe. It was unusual but he would not have guessed that it could hold so much power. He was not interested in such things himself as sorcery held no charm and was something to be avoided in general, but he thought it might be a worthwhile item to trade and sell, so he tucked it into his belt and proceeded northwest toward where he believed the city of Mankares must lie beyond the rust colored sunset.

  7.

  Friends in Low Places

  A week later, Gathelaus reached civilization. Covering his face with the blue kaftan cloak gained from Lucifugis, he strode through the open Elephant gates of Mankares like a pilgrim bound for the temple district. The guardsmen at the wall paid him no mind as he looked much the same as any other desert traveler and was beneath their notice entering the city, but they were very keen in inspecting everyone who was leaving the city. That could be trouble later, but he decided that shouldn’t be a problem, he was going by boat anyway.

  This method of entry into the city was not unlike when he had come inside and set about spying upon their defenses before his assault back when he’d been paid by the Baron’s son to reclaim the throne. Likely as not, the current Baron was the same man he had fought for those years ago, but the job had not been without difficulty. Though he helped install the new heir, it was not a compact that would grant him any friends now, whether with the defeated commoners and soldiers of Marence or even the heir himself. Baron Sethur was resentful that hired swords had won the war and deposed his father for him, so he did his best to deny that fact, and betrayed the mercenaries who had supported him. So Hawkwood had spoken correctly that Gathelaus would find no friends here. But Gathelaus wondered if he could find someone who might not be an enemy.

  Striding through the city, he spied a few posters detailing the amount of money Vikarskeid would pay for his head. This was worse than expected. He had hoped that it being an out of the way place, they should not care of Vjorn’s kingdom’s troubles—but Vikarskeid had taken no chances.

  Past the bazaar and outdoor markets, he ventured toward the docks to see what kind of ship might be secured to take him swiftly away.

  Trouble—the docks were maintained by a contingent of guardsmen who were inspecting everyone who even approached the fishing vessels. Why? He wondered. It could not possibly be on account of him, could it? Even if Hawkwood had spoken true, he had taken more than a week to get here and surely men would lose interest at the prospect, wouldn’t they? What or who were they looking for? The human mind is easily distracted a
nd bored and when no sign of trouble comes, it moves onto something new. What could be the reason?

  Gathelaus found a beggar and asked him, “Here now, what is the trouble in Mankares that they threaten good fishermen and their boats? Why the guardsmen?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “I asked you, didn’t I?”

  The beggar held his hand out for a coin.

  Gathelaus reluctantly dropped a copper into his hand.

  The beggar responded, “Someone has stolen from Queen Lyana and they wants it back, whatever it is.”

  “What is it?”

  “No one knows. So we who are innocent can’t even hide it can we? The predicament also effects trade and in doing anything for anyone else. If someone was found with whatever the mystery is, they would all be drawn and quartered for it. So no one does anyone any favors in this city anymore, I can tell that much. Hard enough to be a beggar these days without this fuss.”

  “Thank you, friend,” said Gathelaus, as he tossed the beggar another copper.

  “Don’t be too free with those, or you’ll be on the watch list, be careful pilgrim,” said the beggar as he faded into the crowd.

  No matter where you go in the world and what status the kingdom is in, there will always be those who despise and hate the rulers. Gathelaus decided he must find those people so that he could have allies in getting him on a ship and away from here. He went to the seediest districts in Mankares.

  Beyond the respectable storefronts and taverns were the fleshpots of Mankares, where the undesirable slaves and stolen articles were bartered openly. Whores plied their trade, shouting obscenities and laughing haughtily while displaying their sexual prowess with wanton abandon. Cutpurses skulked in dark alleys with curved daggers waiting for easy marks.