Sword of the Tyrant

by Cebelius

"Aye, mostly," Isthil agreed.

  She chuckled and shook her head, muttering absently, "A blacksmith ..."

  Terry kept his now brittle smile plastered on, and let the conversation die.

  He felt a sense of conflict and recognized it as Shy's, but he had no real idea what she was thinking. Her ability to sense him had always been much stronger than the reverse. She didn't say anything more, and Terry put it from his mind as they approached the crumbling remains of what had once been a gate.

  A pair of tiger-kin stepped from behind the wall and advanced to stand just forward of the shadow of the arch. Both wore wool togas belted at the waist that left one shoulder bare. Both carried a bow with an arrow nocked. Both also had shortswords and daggers sheathed at their hips, and both were female.

  That said, the one on the left was a head taller and wiry while the one on the right was almost plump. Yet while she was thick around the middle, Terry could see evidence that there was quite a bit of muscle under that fat.

  Both females were staring unabashed at Mila, which he considered a little weird given there were two giants in the group. He doubted either woman had even noticed him yet, and that made him grin.

  The taller of the two tilted her head as her tail flickered behind her. "Mila? Mila Kolenko?"

  "The same," Mila said, smiling gently. "Hello Illya, Grete. I have missed you."

  The two guards lowered their bows, and Illya, the tall one, actually dropped the arrow.

  "What happened to you?" she asked at last. "This ... is magic? Some sort of trick?"

  From where he stood behind her horse, Terry couldn't see her expression, but he did notice her tail tip flickering lazily back and forth. He grinned, realizing that Mila might be reserved most of the time, but she wasn't above a bit of preening. Becoming a Rakshasa was obviously a really big deal, not just to her, but to all those like her.

  "Magic certainly, but not a trick," Mila said. "This is not an illusion. It is who I am."

  "How?" Illya asked.

  Grete hadn't moved since lowering her bow. She just stood there, looking starstruck.

  "Ah, well, perhaps that is a story best told once," Mila said, now obviously hedging. "How is everyone? No trouble?"

  That seemed to snap Illya and Grete somewhat out of their amazement, and Illya said, "No ... there is trouble. Why do you think the two of us are at the gate?"

  "What is happening?" Mila asked as she dismounted. Shy followed suit and glanced at Terry, who shrugged. The idea that they could simply show up, say hi, and take these people back down out of the mountains without a hitch was one he'd never seriously entertained anyway. The week they'd spent traveling unmolested had felt like a vacation. He'd known their luck would run out sooner rather than later.

  Prada's thoughts must have mirrored his because she said, "Such is life, eh Husband?"

  "Yeah, sure seems that way."

  "Well," Illya was saying, "the short version is that most of our men are gone, and those few who remain have to be kept in cages to keep them here. Did you not lose Yuri on the way in?"

  "No?"

  Mila's confusion was clear. "My brother is on a quest. He will return when his task is accomplished. What is happening to our men?"

  "They are being stolen," Grete said, speaking up for the first time, her voice bitter. "By an Eldritch horror."

  Illya nodded gravely, adding, "She has warned us that if we leave, she will kill all those she has taken, then come for the rest anyway. We have been trying to track her to her lair, but have had no luck. Dascha can tell you more."

  For the first time she glanced over the rest of Mila's party, then said simply, "You collect odd companions."

  The group was led into the crumbling fortress. Within the wall was a sizable bailey. One side was taken up by a corral; its posts still had a fresh-cut look to them. Mila and Shy handed off their horses to a young tiger-kin female who looked just as starstruck as the two at the gate.

  Mila recognized her by name and complimented the girl on how she'd grown, and sent her off practically glowing as her tail wove happily behind her.

  Prada set her burdens down just inside the gate, and after a brief conversation Mila assured Terry they would not be disturbed. There were several other tiger-kin in evidence, all female, carrying on with the daily affairs of life. They got stares, but no one came to investigate or ask questions. Terry thought about the likelihood of his kids remaining undisturbed, even with the casual eye of the guards on them, as he glanced around, noting all the loose goats, sheep, a few dogs, more than a few children ...

  "Hey La?"

  "Yeah Boss?"

  "I hate to ask, but will you stay here and look after these?"

  "Don't trust these guys?" she asked, glancing around.

  "Whether I do or not, I don't want to make them responsible if something happens. I do trust you. No rough stuff, just make sure no one touches anything."

  She grinned and nodded. "Sure Boss. I'll look after 'em for you."

  She shrank to his height and took a kiss in payment before he walked into the crumbling fortress proper, following Mila and Shy. Isthil called after him, "I'll stay out here. Those halls look a mite small, and it'd be annoyin' t' phase that long."

  Terry nodded and waved. Prada paced him, glancing over at him as she asked, "Do you want me to join you, or shall we stay separate for this?"

  "Separate, no sense weirding anyone out. I doubt we're in any danger here."

  "I am surprised no one has commented on you yet," she noted.

  He'd given it some thought, because it had seemed strange, and said, "I honestly think they just don't know. These people obviously dealt with the tauren but they don't seem like they've got much contact with the rest of the world. No formal schooling, none of that. So ..."

  She smirked. "Ignorance is bliss?"

  "For me anyway. I'm sure Mila will ruin it when she finally tells everyone what happened."

  Her smile twisted a bit and she raised an eyebrow. "It will not be Mila who ruins things, but reality as it stands. Do not blame her for what is not her fault."

  "Ouch. Didn't mean it that way, but yeah, you're right."

  Seemingly satisfied, Prada coiled an arm around his as she said, "I know. But you should know by now to watch your tongue. What you do, and what you say, truly matter."

  He nodded and nothing more was said as they were led through hallways that were at first lit by windows, and then by a taper held by the guard Illya. Grete had remained behind at the gate.

  There was evidence in the halls that seemed left over from whenever the tiger-kin had last lived here. Old plaster clung to the rough stone. There were no doors, but there was wooden furniture in many of the rooms they passed that was decrepit, but not entirely rotted away. Wherever the bulk of the tribe was sleeping, it wasn't here.

  They went deeper into the fortress, descended a stair that had to put them below ground. The air grew cooler and a bit damp.

  He wanted to ask why anyone would be down here, but figured if he waited he'd figure it out soon enough.

  When they finally saw light ahead beyond the flickering illumination provided by Illya's taper, it was the steady light of a lamp rather than the flickering of a fire.

  "Dascha," Illya said, her voice low and quiet.

  They were in a square stone room, no more than ten by ten, and Terry recognized it not because he had been here before, but because he had seen other, similar rooms in Koschei's castle.

  This is a dungeon, he thought, glancing around.

  Beyond the room they stood in was another corridor, and along that corridor were heavy doors that looked to have been recently constructed.

  In the room they stood in a tiger-kin woman sat on a wooden chair, one so recently put together that it still had sap stains. She wore a toga in a style similar to the one Illya wore, obviously older, though well-cared for. It had faded black geometric designs and tassels along the hem.

  The woman who wore it was also
older, though not ancient. The orange of her fur seemed to have lost some of its vibrancy, and the black had flecks of white here and there.

  Dascha looked up as her name was called, but before she could speak other voices, male voices, began crying out from the cells. Their voices were strident, but hoarse and weak.

  "Let us out!"

  "You can't keep us away from her forever!"

  "This isn't right! Let us go!"

  The old tiger-kin sighed, glancing back toward the cells before looking the group over curiously. Her blue eyes lingered on Mila, but settled on Terry Mack and Prada, flickering between the two before she glanced at Illya and said in a low, weary voice, "Thank you, Illya. This needs little explanation. Go back. You should not have to listen to ... them. They do not know what it is they say."

  The young guardswoman turned and left, taking the taper with her and leaving the rest of them in the light of the oil lamp sitting on a crude table that was just as freshly made as the chair.

  Mila lifted her staff and spoke the words of a spell, and the cries, complaints, and pleading from the cells was silenced as though the men making them simply vanished.

  "I would welcome you back to us, Mila Kolenko, but as you have heard, these are desperate times," Dascha said. "Before I explain our situation, tell me how you came to be in the company of a template ... templates?"

  "Just the one," Mila said, with a glance back at Terry. "The other is a doppelgänger. As for how ..."

  She sighed. "It is a long, long story, Dascha. As you can see, I have benefited greatly."

  "Where is your brother, Yuri?" the old woman asked.

  "He is on a quest elsewhere."

  "Good. It would be the cruelest of fates were he to come whole and successfully home, only to be stolen away by the craven Eldritch that plagues us now. A curse upon Vlad for sending us here, and curse him again for leaving us to face this horror without his aid."

  "Vlad will ... no longer trouble us," Mila said with another glance back at Terry.

  "Oh? Long story or not, I think I would make time to hear about that," Dascha said, her ears tilting forward a bit as her tail twitched for the first time.

  "Dascha, what happened here? Tell us what is going on with our men," Mila said as she knelt before the other woman, resting a hand on Dascha's knee.

  "It happened only a few days ago," Dascha said, resting her hand atop Mila's. "A song was sung in the dead of night. All of us heard it. Asleep or awake, it did not matter. Every male in the encampment was enchanted, and began to flee into the mountains. They scattered. At first we did not comprehend what was happening, and so only a few were caught and those we had to restrain to keep here."

  Dascha gestured toward the cells, then shook her head. "Every night since the first, she sings. Our men can speak only of their love for her, their desperate longing to be with her. Without Vlad, we had no one to combat whatever enthralls them. They neither eat, nor drink. Without intervention, they will die soon, and we can do nothing."

  "That will not happen," Mila declared. "I will break their chains. I swear it."

  "Best you do it soon," Dascha said quietly. "Now, if you can. Many of them will not last another day without water."

  Mila nodded, straightened, and turned to face Terry, Shy, and Prada as she said, "I know many spells designed to banish and cleanse, but I will need someone to hold them while I cast. Wards do not require touch. Dispelling existing enchantment does."

  "I should ... probably not be here for this," Prada said with a touch of something Terry didn't think he'd ever heard from her. Fear.

  "Go keep La company," he said, glancing first at her, then at Shy. "You too, unless you can help."

  "You believe you can hold one of us on your own?" Dascha said as Shy and Prada nodded, then walked into the darkness of the corridor.

  He grinned and nodded as he said, "Easily. You don't know me but I promise, when it comes to putting guys on the ground and keeping them there, you won't find a better man for the job."

  13

  Marion

  As it turned out, Twisted's arm did grow back. Asturial's theory on the matter was that her regeneration sapped the loup-garou's physical reserves. Her ability had been taxed to its limits by the fight with the undead horde, and beyond a certain point her body simply had nothing more with which to heal itself.

  After a few days of eating three times more than any of the rest of them — a binge fueled in large part by Asturial's discovery of an abandoned flock of sheep — Twisted had her arm back, though the fur on it was barely peach fuzz and seemed unaffected by her regeneration.

  She was very self-conscious about it, but Yuri assured her it didn't bother him, and none of the other women showed the least hint that they thought it strange.

  The map was helpful, but it did not show them the entrance to Svartheim as Yuri hoped. Instead, it revealed several villages and a spiderweb of trade routes. Putting this together with the scant knowledge he already had gave him a decent idea where to go looking. Asturial lifted the wagon and carried it out beyond the sight line of the city before coming back in low to find one of the roads that followed the foothills of the Kaldebrekka, turning inward at several points to give access to the villages that had sprung up in the valleys and passes.

  The mountains were skirted by a thick alpine wood, and after a frustrating day of waiting while Asturial combed through the passes searching for a small lumbering camp marked on the map, she shocked Yuri by announcing that she would return the bulk of her body to the earth so that they could follow the road which — having seen no use in at least a few years — had grown too faint to see from the air once it entered the trees.

  Though she kept her draconic shape, when she was done Asturial was just large enough to fill the traces of the wagon. She further shocked him when she told him to adjust the wagon's tackle to fit her.

  "You ... want to pull the wagon?" he'd asked, speaking carefully for fear of somehow insulting her.

  She'd given him an acerbic look and answered his question with one of her own. "Exactly how is pulling the damn thing any different than carrying it? Did you think me a beast of burden then?"

  "Certainly not."

  "Well?"

  "Ah ... thank you?"

  Asturial had showed her exceedingly impressive set of teeth. "You are welcome."

  She paused, then added almost as an afterthought, "Should we encounter any other dragons in future you will breathe not one word of this to them or I will roast you."

  It had taken most of another day to adjust the traces of the wagon to suit her, but at last she was satisfied and, once hitched, trotted along easily with the wagon in tow. Yuri rode in the seat, but the reins were packed away in the back. He had more common sense than to even think about trying to put reins on a dragon.

  It took them almost a week to find one of the villages on the map, and when they did the results were disappointing.

  It was no wonder Asturial did not see this place from the air.

  The devastation was obviously at least a year old, probably more.

  It was a small place, and sapling evergreens were beginning to grow up to fill the clearing. Some charred logs, the crumbling foundations of a few stone chimneys, and the round base of the forge were all that remained of the place. It looked as though most of the building materials had been either completely destroyed or stolen. Even the anvil had been removed.

  Yuri called a halt, as the day was getting on toward evening, and declared they would spend the night. There were several reasons for this, not least of which being a clear-running stream that ran along one edge of the clearing.

  Yuri also wanted to do a more thorough examination of the surrounds, and as the others prepared a camp he pulled Twisted aside.

  "I want you to see if you can smell anything out of place," he explained. "It is unlikely, but there is a chance a basement or the like survived whatever happened to this place. If so, we may be able to learn more."

/>   Over the course of the week, he'd noticed that her snow-white fur had dulled to gray, and there were several darker streaks in her ruff. She nodded thoughtfully and glanced around as she asked, "How far out do you want me to search?"

  "No more than a hundred feet past the tall trees surrounding this space in any direction," he said. "By the look of it, this settlement was small to begin with. I did not notice any evidence that there was even a wall protecting the outskirts."

  "Sure, Chief. Back in a little while."

  He grinned as she shifted into her lupine form and trotted away, her head sweeping close to the ground. She had taken to calling him that after Euryale had called him Chief Running-Mouth once in a fit of irritation. Even Laina had picked up the title, though Asturial seemed to take pride in using his proper name.

  With the waning light of day urging him on, Yuri began his own search. He was able to discern the outlines of most of the buildings to either side of the worn ruts that were all that remained of what had once been a well-used if not busy road.

  The grasses had long since filled everything in, and grew in higher weeds around the few logs that remained in place, all either burned to charred remnants or heavily rotted.

  Whatever destroyed Torp must have caught up this place as well.

  He wondered if some invader from the other side of the mountains had come through, but thought it unlikely. He didn't know much about this area, and even less about the lands on the far side of the Kaldebrekka, but few invaders would have so thoroughly destroyed a city as large as Torp without leaving more evidence of itself behind. Civilized armies tended to take control of such places, and even if they chose to raze it, another force would have moved in to occupy the city later.

  Yuri knew that the necromancer, powerful as he seemed to a small band of adventurers, would never have been able to withstand an army of any size. So whatever had happened to Torp had been on such a scale that no one had even attempted to reclaim the place.

  Not for the first time, he wished he'd had more of an opportunity at the carnival to talk with the tauren there and gather news of current events. He knew almost nothing of what had happened in or near the Steppes in the past few years.