Gog (Lost Civilizations: 4) (21 page)

“Elohim!” roared Lod. The spear spun in those clawed hands. The butt-end smashed against the half-Nephilim’s face. Vidar staggered, slipped his arm free of his shield and grabbed his blade two-handed. Lod reversed his spear and drove the bent head through the half-Nephilim’s throat.

“Vidar’s down!”

“Gog help us!”

“At them, boys!” roared Lod. “Don’t leave anyone standing!”

The bloody melee turned into dreadful slaughter. The pirates showed no mercy, and Vidar’s attendants didn’t ask for any. Sparks flew between clashing blades. Fighting men howled, and dead men survived long enough to slay their killers. Keros flanked Lod, protecting the Seraph as he slew the last of Gog’s retainers.

Then it was over. A few warriors groaned, but only three were standing.

Lod leaned on his spear, panting. Tamar peered into the darkness. Keros’s hands were numb.

“Where’s Gog?” whispered Keros.

“Listen,” said Tamar. “Do you hear that?”

Keros cocked his head. In the distance, feet tramped and weapons rattled.

“More enemies,” she said.

“I don’t see Gog,” said the Seraph. “Where is Gog?”

“We must flee,” said Tamar. “All else is madness.”

Chapter Twenty-three

Escape

“When the booty’s won it’s time to run.”

-- A saying of Shurite Raiders

“Bessus,” Keros groaned, slowing as they fled up Gog’s secret stairs. “I led him to his death.”

“That isn’t the way of it, lad,” said Lod, pushing him. “You freed him from a degraded life. That’s worth dying for.”

“What about the pirates?” Tamar asked. “Do you think they’re glad that they followed you?”

“Better to fight on your feet than your knees, girl, but better to fight on your knees than remain a slave.”

“Maybe it’s better to stay alive,” Tamar said.

Lod shook his head. “Not under Shamgar conditions.”

The Seraph led them into the Oracle Room, where there towered the hundred-foot idols of Dagon, Anak, Moloch the Hammer and others. Most of the night-duty priests had been slain or crippled for life. None was here to ask needless questions.

In the outer chambers, they found priestly robes. They donned them, walked out the Temple entrance, and hurried down the broad steps. A canal barge was docked at the wharf. Several sailors diced the night away.

“Any word of what happened?” asked one.

“Victory,” said Lod. “Pass the word.”

“Aye, aye, Priest,” said the sailor.

“Look,” whispered Tamar. She pointed at her rat boat, taken there earlier by the night watch that had checked up on her rat story.

“Won’t the sailors think it strange that priests ride in a rat boat?” asked Keros.

“Let them think what they want,” said Lod.

They climbed aboard, and Lod shoved off. Tamar rowed them into the canal.

Sitting at the prow, Lod grinned fiercely. He held out his hand, the big, rough, deformed and heavily callused hand. Keros took it, and they solemnly shook.

“Now what will you do?” asked Keros.

Lod peered over the oily waters. “I want you to join me, lad.”

“Me?”

Lod nodded grimly. “I’d hoped more of the pirates had made it out of the dungeon….”

“More of them?” said Keros. “
None
of them made it!”

“That will make my task more difficult,” said Lod. “But that can’t be helped.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Lad, Gog’s death doesn’t mean the end of it. Defenders will take his place, no doubt trying to carry through his plans. They mean to conquer the entire Suttung Sea region.”

“How do you know that?” Keros asked.

“I am granted… visions.”

Keros shifted uneasily. Lod frightened him. He was… the Seraph was unlike anyone he had ever known.

“An expedition will be sent to the Sea of Nur,” said Lod.

“Your visions told you that?”

“Elohim told me, lad, or He told me enough so I know where I have to go next.”

“The Sea of Nur?” said Keros.

Lod nodded.

“For what purpose?”

“There is a beast,” said Lod.

“Like those in the dens?” Keros asked.

“No, lad, nothing so small and puny.”

“Puny?”

“Whoever rules in Shamgar will want a behemoth,” Lod said.

Keros wasn’t certain why, but his stomach knotted painfully. He didn’t like the sound of any of this. “How can you stop them from getting this creature?”

“I’ll know once I’m there,” said Lod.

Keros glanced at Tamar. She listened as she rowed. Her arms and body swayed back and forth. She was beautiful.

“To get to the Sea of Nur, you’ll have to go through the swamps,” she said.

“That’s right,” said Lod, watching her.

“Rat boat would probably be as good a way as any to get through the swamps,” she said.

“It might be,” agreed Lod.

“Would you like to hire me?” asked Tamar.

“If the price is right,” said Lod.

Keros peered into Tamar’s eyes as he said, “Yes, I’ll go with you.”

“Excellent!” said Lod. “I think first we had better take a different canal. I see some galleys headed our way.”

With sure strength, Tamar guided the rat boat toward a side canal.

Keros gazed at the stars. A heady feeling filled him. What he had done tonight, surely that equaled some of Grandfather and One-Eye’s exploits. He had slipped into the dungeon of Gog the Oracle, and freed Lod. Good men had died because of it, and he would mourn them when he had the chance. Keros nodded, and whispered up toward the heavens, “Thank you, Elohim.” He glanced at Tamar, a smile creeping onto his face. “Thank you very much indeed.”

***

Deep in the dungeon, in the dread lair, Gog wept. He hadn’t been slain. As Vidar had charged, the mighty First Born had crawled away to safety. He had drawn out the spear thrown by that hateful Seraph. Gog wept because his eye, his lone orb had been destroyed beyond healing. Gog wept at his loss, at the irreplaceable harm done him. In all his long centuries, he had never taken so grievous a wound. All that remained was his mystical sight. Otherwise, he was blind. O, but he would make the world pay. They would all pay horribly.

“Lod!” he raved. “I will find you and that Shurite, Keros, and slay you both by inches. Wherever you go, however far you flee, I will have you dragged back to Shamgar to taste my wrath. This I swear.” Then Gog the Oracle, the First Born of Magog, bound himself with dreadful oaths.

The End, Book #4

The epic adventure continues with

Behemoth

(Lost Civilizations: 5)

Read on for an exciting excerpt from the next book in Lost Civilizations.

Nyla the Knife

Look at the Behemoth, which I made along with you and which feeds on grass like an ox. What strength he has in his loins, what power in the muscles of his belly! His tail sways like a cedar; the sinews of his thighs are close-knit. His bones are like tubes of bronze, his limbs like rods of iron…. Can anyone capture him by the eyes, or trap him and pierce his nose?

-- Job 40:15-18, 24

-1-

Nyla the Knife hunted in the deepest swamp. She stalked a renegade from the Order of Gog, a killer who had gained a conscience and fled the service of his god.

She used a rat-boat, a slender vessel, sliding between damp fronds and among vast cypress trees. The giant trees ruled this nightmare world of oozing quicksand, poisonous loop-vines and black fungus ferns. Too many whiffs of the fungus spores turned one’s lungs into a thick soup, causing the victim to drown to death as he or she tried to breathe. Almost as bad, every murky pond here contained blood-sucking leeches, flesh-burrowing ticks or swarms of hungry mosquitoes.

After several days of traveling through the noisome swamp, the incessant insect drones were driving Nyla mad. She was also weary of the giant floating crocodiles that resembled logs and the vicious saw-birds ready to swoop to the attack. There were pythons, too, and treacherous tribesmen with their deadly blow-darts always lurking nearby.

Nyla hated the deep swamp and she’d grown weary of the need for constant vigilance. She did not intend to turn back, however. She had spent too many days and nights hunting her quarry. But more importantly, Gog had personally commissioned her quest. In his present mood, she dared not disappoint Shamgar’s subterranean-dwelling god.

Standing upright in the rat-boat, Nyla gripped a pole of tem wood, using it to push her craft. She wore oiled leathers from her neck to ankles, with two curved daggers at her hips. A strangling cord also dangled from her pterodactyl-skin belt. She wore her hair pulled tightly back, exposing her exotic beauty. She had intense dark eyes, black eye-shadow and black-tattooed lips. The blood of the high surged in Nyla, granting her greater than normal strength, exquisite dexterity and a honed ability with Sheba, her trained she-leopard.

The spotted beast crouched at the prow of the boat. Sheba wore a jeweled collar, was heavier than a large warrior and was a manslayer many times over. The leopard’s tail swished and her ears were perked with interest. Sheba listened, she sniffed the languid air and she peered into the damp foliage, searching for man-sign.

Nyla had undergone a nefarious rite several years ago. Because of it and a gifted ability due to her blood, she could often hear, see and smell through her leopard’s senses. It was one of the secrets to Nyla’s deadliness as an assassin. Within the sinister Order of Gog, she held Knife Rank, and the number and difficulty of her kills was great.

Today she might well face her most dangerous prey. His name was Thag, a brutish galley captain. He was a hardened reaver, a slaver and a cutthroat, and he was notoriously skilled with the blade. Thag had angered Gog, and instead of submitting to punishment, the ox-like pirate captain had taken to his galley and attempted to fight his way out of Shamgar and up the delta to the sea. An Enforcer had been waiting with barges and slayers. The fight had been bloody, and Thag had cut his way free with several companions, jumping into a punt and poling deeper into the swamp. That had been eight days ago.

Nyla pushed her pole of tem wood into a mucky bottom. She shoved the rat-boat past a clump of fungus ferns. She held her breath, and with a mental command, she bade Sheba to do likewise.

Nyla knew an assassin of the Order of Gog who dared to collect fungus spores. Later, the assassin sprinkled the spores onto a victim’s food. The death was always messy and prolonged, which sometimes was the required method of passing. It depended on the paymaster’s wishes. The trouble with the spores was uncertainty. Some victims survived lung-rot, thereby becoming a blight upon an assassin’s record.

For eight days, Nyla had trailed through this murky underworld of giant reptiles and monstrous swamp trees. Luckily for her, Thag and his diminishing number of companions had lost their punt two days ago. Three severed heads were packed in salt, lying in the bottom of her rat-boat. Nyla preserved the heads for Gog’s inspection. The god had promised her their weight in gold.

Nyla now glanced at her beast. Sheba’s tail-tip swished, and then it froze. The leopard’s upper lip curled back to reveal her fangs.

Nyla also froze, as her stomach seethed. She scanned the leafy gloom. Ah. That
asm
thicket over there…one of its fronds moved the tiniest fraction.

With a creak of wood, Nyla knelt near the leopard. She deftly unhooked the leash as the rat-boat bumped against a mucky shore.

It’s time for an ambush
.

Without glancing back, Sheba sprang into the heavy undergrowth, silently disappearing from sight.

With the smallest lap of water, Nyla pushed off the bank. She didn’t head directly for the asm thicket, but readied to move past it, as if she hadn’t seen the betraying frond quiver.

There was a subtle smell of sweat in the air, the fragrance of one who ingested much pork, as Thag and his crew were known to do. But it could be a Nebo savage, a well-fed cannibal.

Nyla’s back prickled as she sensed a gaze of deadly intent. The ability to feel another’s gaze was one of her secrets. She’d devoted an entire year to training with an ancient slave-hunter, refining a sense that every person possessed to some degree or another. The cagey slaver had been gifted in sensing such things. He’d also taught her patience, and luring tricks. It had been an instructive year, well worth the effort.

Nyla hunched her shoulders and coughed like a leopard. It was a strange sound coming from a human throat. It was the signal for Sheba to get ready.

Now Nyla poled harder than before, and she moved closer to the thicket. She did not move like a hunter, but like a traveler. The luring trick this time was simple. Someone trapped in the deep swamp would surely desire a rat-boat. Traversing the swamp on foot was a tribesman’s art, not something a trespasser like Thag or his men would be good at.

The sense of hostility grew, making it harder for Nyla to look straight ahead. Then the feeling of hostility no longer came from the asm thicket. Now the sense emanated from a patch of tall reeds that grew beside the foul water.

The knowledge that this someone changed locations made Nyla’s stomach churn with excitement and with fear. She was about to glance away from the reeds, to entice the last little bit. That’s when Thag surprised her. The pirate captain rose from the reeds and stepped in front of a poisonous frond, which meant the frond guarded his back from Sheba. Nyla grimaced. She was glad it was Thag, but she’d wanted him to rush her, to use all his concentration so Sheba could launch a swift attack from behind. As an assassin, Nyla cared nothing about a fair fight, but for achieving her objective in the safest manner possible.

“I’ve decided to make this easy on both of us,” Thag growled in his heavy captain’s voice. “Jump off your boat and wade away, and I’ll grant you your life.”

The pirate captain was a big man, with powerful sloping shoulders and a shaggy head of hair like the bovine beasts from which he’d taken his name. His ripped red tunic was belted with leather, and angry insect bites dotted his neck and arms. He looked exhausted and had bloodshot eyes.

“You have offended Gog,” Nyla said.

Using his forearm, Thag wiped grime from his forehead. “I piss on Gog and his sensitivities.” Thag grinned wearily. He was missing a front upper tooth. “I’m sure my words surprise you. But I’m finished with Gog and I’m finished with his city of arse-lickers. You’re one of his slinking killers, I know. But you’ve lost the element of surprise. Be a wise girl and leave me the boat. Otherwise, I’m going to kill you.”

“You have become a stench in Gog’s nostrils,” Nyla said.

Thag scowled, and with the sound of sliding steel, he drew his short sword. It looked small in his big hand, and it looked very sharp. It was said that Thag had slain eleven men in duels and likely thrice that while swarming onto merchant ships.

“Don’t you wonder why one like me who stood high in Gog’s esteem have decided to leave him?” asked Thag. He searched her eyes, and Thag’s fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword. “Gog has gone insane. He rages at the world and lashes out at those who do him the greatest service.”

“You are adding further blasphemy to your crimes,” said Nyla.

Thag stared at her with his bloodshot eyes. He was big, he was strong and he was vicious, but he had been on the run for days. He snarled as he switched the short sword to his left hand. Then he reached into his tunic, pulling out a hurling knife by the tip. “I can plant this in your heart! Then you’ll be dead, floating face-first in the slime. Or you can jump off your boat and live. I’m not warning you again.”

Nyla calculated swiftly. Gog had given her precise instructions concerning Thag. Even more troubling, Shamgar’s god
did
seem to be given over to greater rages than usual. It would be unwise to fail him. That blocking frond behind Thag—

Nyla jumped off the rat-boat, splashing into the slime and wading away from Thag. She turned sideways in order to present the smallest target possible. Then she held her pole of tem wood between them, using it as a shield, slender as it was.

“You’re wise to fear me,” said Thag.

Nyla kept her eyes on the knife. His repeated offers of life surprised her. She didn’t understand that, and things she failed to understand made her cautious. It was another of her secrets, perhaps her most useful. Was another of his men sneaking around behind her?

“Seek out the Nebo tribes,” Thag said. “Tell them you’re Gog’s minion. One of them should be greedy enough to guide you home.”

Nyla gave him a slow nod. If only he would move away from the poisonous frond.

“And tell Gog I died,” Thag said, “and was eaten by a crocodile. It will save us both unneeded trouble.”

“Yes,” Nyla said.

The big man took a step toward the rat-boat. Then he shouted, and his burly arm snapped forward. The knife flew at her, speeding the short distance.

Nyla had no time to shift, but she blocked with the pole, deflecting the knife just enough. The razor-sharp blade cut a hairline scratch across her cheek instead of embedding in her throat. Then the knife disappeared behind her,
plunking
into the water.

Thag shouted a war cry as he splashed into the slime. Maybe he intended to wade past the boat and cut her. Maybe he just wanted to scare her away. A snarling Sheba never gave him the opportunity.

Thag twisted around, and he shouted, stabbing his sword at the leopard. With her claws extended, Sheba jumped from a nearby tree. The graceful beast sailed through the air and over the poisonous frond. The leopard twisted as the sword cut her side. Then she thudded against Thag’s shoulders, raking open his flesh. Her weight knocked the pirate captain off his feet, and together the two splashed into the murky waters beside the rat-boat.

Nyla was already wading forward. “Move,” she said, hip-checking Sheba. The leopard bounded out of the water, hissing, and shaking her front paws, obviously trying to dry them.

Nyla whipped the strangling cord from her belt and threaded it around Thag’s meaty throat. Bubbles rose from his mouth and he desperately pried at the cord. In seconds, he began to thrash. Nyla rode him, noting how the blood from his shoulders stained the waters and her leathers. He attempted several wrestling moves, but she held all the advantages now. Soon, Thag slumped unconscious in the water.

The pirate captain was big, but in Nyla was the blood of the high. As such things went she was of the fifth generation. Being fifth generation meant her celestial heritage was badly diluted. But she still had abilities and strength not granted to those of lesser origin.

She dragged Thag onto shore and bound him tightly. Blood seeped from his wounds. Those would likely rot if he stayed out here, but unluckily for him he wouldn’t stay. Gog wished to receive Thag alive. Flesh-tenders would seal the pirate’s wounds and ensure he came fit and lively into Gog’s merciless care.

As Nyla hoisted Thag into the rat-boat, the wet leopard slunk back and forth on shore, snarling and lashing her tail, and licking at the blood dripping from her cut side. From in the boat, Thag groaned, and his eyelids flickered. Nyla watched impassively. The pirate captain glanced right and left, and seemed to understand where he lay. He struggled, and soon discovered the uselessness of that. He twisted his head and spied her then.

“Untie me,” he said in a raspy voice.

After the sting of the strangling cord, few could talk afterward. Most were dead.

“Gog’s wishes trump your own,” Nyla said.

Thag struggled harder, rocking the rat-boat. Sweat began to ooze from him. His wounds bled more freely. Finally, he panted. He seemed like a beast then, trapped and afraid.

“You don’t understand,” he rasped.

“Make me understand,” Nyla said. She planned on building up his hopes until he was ready to ransom himself. Thag’s greatest haul had been a moon-barge of Dishon, and the rubies, opals and emeralds pried from the vessel’s inner chamber. None of those treasures had been on Thag’s galley or hidden in his former fortress in Shamgar. It was likely he’d buried the gems for safekeeping. Nyla planned to work on his fears until he told her the whereabouts of his stolen treasure. She would collect, and then she would hand him over to Shamgar’s god. Only a fool trusted an assassin of the Order of Gog to turn against her paymaster. Fortunately, the prospect of imminent death or frightful torture made fools of most people—even hardened reavers like Thag.