Gods Of Blood And Fire (Book 1) (35 page)

Siro walked down to the cell where they had put the Half Elf, the master had worked his magic for several days on Kian. He told Siro he had done all that he could without driving their subject completely insane. The necromancer had performed a few more procedures on the subject as well. Everything had gone accordingly, all they could do now was wait.

He put the plate of half-cooked meat through the slot in the cell door. Siro could just make out the form lying on the cot in the dark cell. The little man couldn’t wait to see what the effects of their combined work had achieved. This was the first time his master had allowed Siro to work with him, the little wizard was very proud of that fact.

“Siro, come up here quickly.” The master called, he would have to wait a bit longer to see the outcome of their undertaking. Siro went up the stone stairs of the tower as quickly as he could.

The master stood in his receiving hall. “You called, Master?”

“Yes, we have guests coming through the woods. That woodsman I told you to kill months ago is leading those foolish friends of Kian’s towards the tower.”

“I told you they would try to find him, Master, and I haven’t had the time to kill the woodsmen yet.”

“You always have some kind of excuse, don’t you?” Siro just shrugged his shoulders. “I want you to go stop them, if you can find the time.”

“I have just the thing, Master, never fear.”

“Just go … and Siro?”

“Yes, Master?”

“Why would you think I ever fear?”

***

There was little underbrush in the forest, it was mostly made up of great trees. A few bushes poked up here and there, but it was not hard to walk through. Shadows play tricks on the eyes where the sun came through the trees, giving false impressions of movement. All four of the people walking slowly through the forest carried their weapon at the ready. Strange noises and commotions echoed occasionally through the silent wood. Something still lived here.

“I haven’t even heard a bird and the air is so heavy you could choke on it,” K’xarr said.

“Aye, the deeper we go the stranger the forest itself will get,” Ansel replied.

Endra scanned the woods, expecting a monster or ghost to jump from behind every tree. “Ansel, how long will it take before we see the tower?”

“Well, lady, it will take five or six days to journey there if we are lucky, the walking is easy and it’s summer. It would much harder to travel through it in the winter.”

“I do not believe I’m going to like staying in this place for that many days, it makes me uneasy.”

K’xarr smirked at Endra. “ Wait until it gets dark, we are going to have to sleep in this tomb of a forest.” The woman swallowed hard and gripped her sword tighter. Cromwell was a little ahead of them. His long legs made him walk a little faster than the others.

“K’xarr, come here, look at this,” the Toran said waving his friend over. He pointed to a large depression in the ground.

K’xarr looked at the imprint. “What the hell is it?”

Ansel looked down. K’xarr could see he looked very concerned about whatever made the track.

“Well, woodsman, what is it?”

Endra had walked up behind them and peered over K’xarr’s shoulder. “It’s a dragon track.”

Ansel nodded his head in agreement. “It’s a forest dragon, not a great wyrm by any means but it could sure ruin our day. The track is not fresh, thank God, because there are not enough of us to fight one off.

“Speak for yourself old man, if a dragon stands between us and the tower I will handle it,” Cromwell said, as he slung his big two-handed sword up on his shoulder.

Ansel looked up at the Toran. “I bet you could at that my friend. You might be just big enough to fill its belly while the rest of us get away.”

They made camp while there was still light. Ansel built a large fire, but as night began to fall the light of the flames seemed to be swallowed by the darkness. They ate in silence, all peering out into the black woods waiting for they knew not what. After they finished eating everyone stood around the fire, no one wanting to be the first to fall asleep.

“We should stand watch two at a time. Ansel and I will take the first watch and Cromwell and Endra the second.”

As K’xarr finished an inhuman howl broke the silence of the night. All their heads turned to the north. They heard the sound of movement out in the wood. Then something shambled into the small ring of firelight, all four of the warriors drew their weapons and stood ready. Skeletons, dozens of them, walking nightmares coming right for them with their bony arms outstretched.

Ansel was the first to attack, his huge mace smashing a moss-covered skeleton to dust. “Fight them, damn your eyes.”

His yell startled the others from the terror that gripped them, none of them had ever witnessed the horror of the undead.

Swords crashed into bone. The dead of the Adorn had arisen.

Wave after wave came on, the warriors defeated them easily at first, but they were beginning to tire and still the inhuman things came on. The sheer numbers of the dead threatened to be their undoing.

They fought on, sword arms aching, sweat dripping into their eyes. Their hands began to cramp, it would not be long before they couldn’t even hold their swords. Yet into the night they fought on.

After what seemed like hours, the tide of undead stopped, Cromwell shattering the last one. The camp was surrounding by a huge ring of bones. The entire group was bending over grabbing their knees trying to catch their breath.

“What the hell caused that? What evil can make the dead walk?” K’xarr asked, gasping.

“It’s the wizard, he knows we are here, he is using the dead, I fear the attack was just to weaken us for what he sends next.”

K’xarr looked at Ansel. “What comes next?”

“I don’t know, but be ready and pass the waterskin here, my throat is bone dry.”

Endra looked at the older man as she brushed her sweat-soaked hair back. “Not funny, woodsman.”

Only an hour had passed when a horn sounded again in the distance. It was only minutes before the first of the creatures jumped into their midst.

“Look out,” Endra screamed. The thing was not tall but it was quick, its greenish leathery skin was covered with dark spots that looked like canker sores and it smelled like carrion. It reached out for her with filthy claws. Cromwell split its skull as another leaped on his back. A long black tongue came out of its mouth and wrapped around the Toran’s throat.

Endra shoved her sword through its ugly face and the vile thing slid down off Cromwell’s back. It flopped once and lay still.

More entered the camp. The creatures were darting here and there, lashing out with tongues and claws. K’xarr flipped one of them over his shoulder into the fire. “Burn, you nasty fiend.” He looked up in time to cry out, “Endra, watch your head.”

She ducked as K’xarr’s blade crunched down through the neck of a creature behind her, splattering the woman with its dark green gore.

The horn sounded again and the creatures fled into the night.

“May the Gods of the night have mercy on us.” Endra said, wiping the thick greenish blood from her face.

Ansel squatted down to catch his breath. “There are no Gods in the Adorn, save old death himself.” The horn sounded again.

For three nights the attacks had come and for three nights the four warriors had beaten them back. Now they had begun to relish the daylight of the eerie forest. Endra had never believed she would see the creatures out of the old stories her grandmother had told.

She grew more afraid with each passing night but even the dead would not keep her from Kian. Endra longed for someone to talk to about him. Someone she could share her worry with. All she had was Ansel, who she hardly knew, and K’xarr and Cromwell. Those two would not be the ones she would pick to listen to the fears she had for the Half-Elven swordsman. She would just have to keep them to herself for now. The Toran drew her mind back to matters at hand.

“I smell smoke,” Cromwell said sniffing the air. K’xarr stopped. “I do too.” The Camiran slowly drew his sword and walked forward.

They hadn’t gone far when they came upon a camp. There was a smoldering fire with an iron pot sitting on it and a great deal of feces all around the area. “Scavs.” All three of the former Harsh Coast residents said at once.

“I don’t believe they live in this wood,” Ansel said. Cromwell kicked the pot off the fire and a filthy stew, whose main ingredient was a human foot spilled on the forest floor. “They are everywhere, just like a plague. I have killed hundreds of them in the mountains of Tora.”

Endra tried not to look at the foot. “Aye, we even ran across them in Sorrack, a vile race of creatures. Even the frozen wastes of my homeland didn’t keep them away.”

K’xarr spit on the ground. “I’m sure they planned to come back and finish their meal. Let’s find a place to hide and wait. I don’t want them following us making any kind of trouble.”

Everyone agreed so they took cover lying behind a small rise close enough they could watch the camp. Within an hour three of the dog-headed creatures came walking back into their camp. The armor they wore was not made by Scavs, it was of much better quality as were the weapons they carried. “Oh Gods, they stink,” Endra whispered. “I can smell them from here.”

Cromwell jumped up and charged the little group of dog men. He was upon them before they could draw their weapons. He cut one in half at the waist and kicked another to the ground. He turned for the third but K’xarr had already gotten there and killed it.

Both warriors looked at the creature Cromwell had kicked. It was laying on its back, trying to slowly crawl away. “Please no kill me I surrender,” it said through its slavering jaws. They reminded K’xarr of his people’s war dogs except for their all-too-human eyes. “I would no kill me, my masters will avenge me death.”

Cromwell kicked it in the face, breaking off one of the exposed canines that jutted out of the bottom of its mouth. It shook its head and whimpered.

Ansel and Endra join the two warriors standing next to the Scav.

“Gods, they are so ugly,” Endra said.

“K’xarr, what’s that emblem on its armor.” Ansel pointed to the design on the creature’s breast plate. It was a black circle with an upside-down five-pointed star. Arranged along the lines that made up the star were thirteen skulls.

“What’s that symbol?” K’xarr asked, threating the thing with his sword.

“It is the mark of my masters, the circle, they will kill you if you hurt me human.”

Ansel rubbed his chin. “You serve the Circle of Thirteen?”

The thing smiled, making its face look hellish. “Yes, old man, as all will serve one day.”

Cromwell’s sword swooped down and caved its thick skull in splattering everyone with blood.

“What the hell, Cromwell?” K’xarr yelled.

“I didn’t like the way it was looking at us.”

“We were questioning it, you stupid oaf, no one said kill it yet.” K’xarr emphasized his displeasure by poking the Toran in the chest.

Cromwell grabbed his finger and squeezed. “They eat human flesh, K’xarr, why are you even talking to it?”

K’xarr jerked his hand back. “That fucking hurt, you shit bucket.”

Cromwell gave him a friendly push back. “You know, I don’t like to be poked.” Ansel looked at Endra curiously. “This happens from time to time,” she said.

“Well, let’s hope that thing was lying. I don’t want to deal with anyone or anything that serves the Circle of Thirteen.”

“They’re just a bunch of wizards, aren’t they?” K’xarr said, rubbing his finger.

Ansel took a deep breath. “A bunch of wizards powerful enough to defy the Church and alter the fates of Kingdoms.”

Endra stepped between them. “Can we talk about this later? We need to get moving.”

K’xarr looked at his finger then at Cromwell. “You’re right, Endra, this Circle of Thirteen is nothing to us. We’re here to get Kian and that’s it.”

Cromwell spit on the Scavs’ bodies and they headed north.

Siro could not believe it, for five nights they fought off the dead and the ghouls he had summoned with the Horn of Nillus. He had even sent some of his special people to attack them. They had destroyed them as well. If the ghosts of the wood would heed his summons, things would have been very different, but they never did, the old ghosts were just too strong.

Now he had to tell the master he had failed. The Half Elf’s friends were only hours away and he had nothing else to try. He walked up the stone stairs to the master’s private quarters with his head hanging, nearly in tears. He feebly knocked on the door.

“Master, it is Siro.” The mage stepped out of his room, pulling on the black leather mask that hid his scared face. Siro could smell the salves he used on the scars.

“Let me guess, Siro, you have failed to stop the party coming to rescue our guest?”

“Yes, Master. They slew everything I sent at them. I don’t understand it.”

The Dark One patted the necromancer on the shoulder. “Well, Siro, at least we know your still as incompetent as ever.” The wizard started down the hall. “There must be more to them than I thought. You traveled with these men, what can you tell me about them?”