The Grim Company (31 page)

‘I can’t do that.’

His old friend scowled. Blood ran down his arm from the bolt in his shoulder but he hardly seemed to care. ‘You gonna try and stop me?’

Kayne shrugged. ‘I reckon I will.’

The Wolf chuckled, a horrible grating sound devoid of humour. ‘Always the hero.’

‘I ain’t no hero and I never claimed to be. I’m an old man trying to do the right thing in what little time I got left. I ain’t letting you harm the girl.’

‘You’re half dead, Kayne.’

‘And you’ve only got one good arm. Hardly a duel for the ages.’

Jerek snorted. ‘Like in the sagas of the great Highlanders of old? I reckon we’re both too old for that shit.’

‘Aye.’ The sword quivered in his hands. His arms were shaking.

Brodar Kayne had lost count of the number of men he had killed over the years. The young and the old, good men and bad men both – the latter when he could, but the Shaman was a capricious master and it wasn’t for his champion to decide right from wrong. He had been the Sword of the North, a man feared and respected in equal measure.

The time was well past when he took pride in any of that, but facts were facts. He had never lost a fight, though others had possessed reputations to rival his own: Borun, his sword-brother; Mehmon, who had been as hard as the ice that covered his Reaching before he had grown old and soft. The Butcher of Beregund was said to be peerless on the field of battle, and if there was one Highlander he would have relished matching steel against it was that murderous, raping bastard.

They were hard men all, but he wouldn’t have backed any of them against the one staring him in the face just then. Jerek was as relentless as the Reaver himself, and as tough and brutal a fighter as Kayne had ever known.

He drew a deep breath and gasped at the pain in his stomach. Readied himself for a fight he was certain would be his last. The sword hilt felt slick in his fevered palms.

Jerek’s eyes narrowed. ‘Fuck this,’ he said. He lowered his axe. He turned to Sasha, who was struggling back to her feet. She had an angry red mark on the left side of her face. ‘You ain’t heard the last of this. For now, keep the fuck out of my way.’ That said, he stormed off into the night.

Kayne heaved a weary sigh and let his sword dip towards the ground.
That didn’t go too badly, all things considered
.

They walked over to Isaac. The manservant appeared to be unharmed. He had succeeded in lopping off the head of the stroller that had been attacking him and was scanning the area for more of the creatures. ‘I think I’ve read about these things,’ he said. ‘Sometimes, when enough wild magic is present, souls will cross over from the realm of the dead and return to their former bodies.’

Kayne glanced down at the headless corpse near Isaac’s feet. ‘Huh. They don’t seem very grateful for another crack at life, all things considered.’

There was another flash of lightning and the manservant jumped. He smiled sheepishly. ‘The spirits are consumed with hatred and rage. Their deaths were not happy ones.’

‘You seem to know a lot about it.’

‘I read a lot of books. It’s one of the perks of working at the depository.’

‘I ain’t never read a book in my life.’

‘But you’ve fought these creatures before?’

‘Aye. Them and worse. Strollers ain’t the worst of what plagues the Fangs. The demons that come down from the Devil’s Spine, they’re as tough as most abominations and a good deal smarter. And there’s been more of ’em as the years go by.’

‘Demons are little more than children’s tales in these parts.’

Kayne shrugged. ‘The witch doctors say the barrier between the realm of men and the realm of demons is weak up in the Spine, and getting weaker. They say the murder of the gods broke the world.’

For a moment Isaac’s dull face seemed to register a keen interest. ‘What does the Shaman say?’

‘Nothing. He don’t talk about the gods. He don’t talk about the past at all.’

Isaac was about to say something else when a loud gasp nearby drew their attention. Kayne turned, afraid he would find the Wolf making good on his promise to Sasha. Instead the girl was staring off at something across the village.

‘What is it, lass?’ he asked.

She pointed through the rain to a large building in the distance. ‘There’s a granary over there. I saw a light flickering inside. And… there was something else. It didn’t look human.’

‘One of these?’ Isaac asked, pointing at the motionless stroller Jerek had battered against a tree. The Wolf was nowhere to be seen.

Sasha shook her head. ‘Bigger. And it had too many arms.’

‘Can’t say I like the sound of that,’ Kayne muttered. His voice shook. The fever was getting worse and, with the adrenalin from the recent excitement wearing off, he was feeling as bad as before. His wound needed urgent attention. There was nothing else for it. ‘If there’s light, could be there’s villagers within. One of them might be a physician, or know where we can find supplies.’

‘What about the thing I saw? What happens if it attacks us?’

Brodar Kayne gripped his sword tighter and tried to disguise the weakness in his voice. ‘I ain’t dead yet.’

The granary was an old cylindrical structure set back near the fence that surrounded the village. It was built on a low platform accessible by a short set of wooden steps. A couple of holes set high in the structure emitted the faint glow of torchlight, but no one answered when they knocked on the door. On further investigation they found it was barred from behind and likely barricaded within.

‘Shit,’ said Brodar Kayne.

A twig snapped behind them. He whirled around, his sword in his hands and up to strike before his ears had barely registered the noise.

It was the Wolf. ‘Like that then, is it?’ he asked. He sounded almost hurt.

‘Where did you get to?’ Kayne asked.

‘For a walk. Needed to let off some steam.’

Kayne noticed Sasha and Isaac staring at him. ‘What?’ he said.

The girl had an astonished look on her face. ‘I’ve never seen you move like that before,’ she said.

‘Like what?’

‘Like…
that
. I thought you were hurt.’

‘Ain’t the first time I’ve been hurt, lass. I got a lifetime’s experience of not dying. My body’s learned to take care of itself without any help from my old brain. There’s no substitute for experience.’

‘You must teach me!’ Isaac said excitedly. ‘Oh, I’ve read a lot about swordplay, but to learn from a legend such as the Sword of the North… Now that would be a dream come true!’

‘If we manage to survive the night I might just do that,’ the old Highlander replied. ‘Now probably ain’t the time, though—’

‘Saw some nasty shit,’ Jerek cut in abruptly. They all looked at him. ‘Villagers choked to death. Some with entrails hanging out of their arses,’ he added darkly. ‘Just like that cow. Killed a couple more strollers, too.’

Brodar Kayne felt a shiver run up his spine. ‘That thing you saw, lass. Think it might be responsible?’

Sasha thought about it for a moment and nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘And it’s out there somewhere.’ Her hand went to the crossbow under her cloak.

Kayne rapped on the granary door again. ‘Let us in,’ he said as loudly but amicably as he could manage. ‘We’re friends.’

There was no response.

Jerek strolled up to the door and slammed a boot into it. It hardly budged. ‘Open the fucking door!’ he bellowed. When there was no answer, he reached behind him and unsheathed an axe.

Kayne was about to restrain him when suddenly he heard it: a susurration, as of a handful of snakes slithering over snow. The air smelled rotten, like a dozen corpses left to rot in the sun for a week. He knew that odour, had learned to read the signs when he served the Shaman as the protector of the High Fangs.

An abomination was approaching.

As one they turned. There it was, emerging from behind rain-swept trees like a nightmare made flesh. Its torso was humanoid in shape but supported on two thick tentacles instead of legs, and it spouted a dozen writhing tendrils in place of arms. They twisted and curled obscenely, probing as if tasting the air. A small and vaguely human head perched on top of the body, but it possessed no eyes or nose or ears – only an oversized mouth frozen in a death rictus.

One of the tendrils snaked out in their direction, paused for a second, and then retracted. Suddenly the lower tentacles pushed down hard on the muddy ground, raising the abomination high into the air so that it hovered above them. The head began to vibrate, faster and faster until it became a blur.

Jerek shifted and then his axe was hurtling towards the horror, end over end. It sank into the puffy grey flesh, splitting it open. From the sundered chest of the abomination poured a torrent of pus, as though a giant blister had burst. The stench made Kayne want to vomit. The head continued to vibrate, and then the abomination was writhing towards them on its hind limbs like some gigantic spider preparing to engulf its prey.

‘Get out of here!’ he yelled, pushing Isaac and Sasha away. Jerek had his other axe in his hand. The Wolf looked at him, nodded once, and then sprinted forwards, ducking under one flailing tendril to roll and come up just behind the abomination.

His old bones protesting with every movement, his abused flesh slick from fever and the relentless rain, Brodar Kayne lifted his greatsword and strolled to meet the horror.
Just need to hold it off long enough for the girl and Isaac to escape
, he thought grimly.

A tendril shot down, reaching for his head, but he leaned back at the last moment and it passed in front of him. Another darted towards his chest. He pivoted, felt it brush harmlessly against his leather. Foul mucus dripped from its length, which tapered to a hardened barb at the end.

Jerek was to the right of him, a dozen feet away. The Wolf was chopping away at two of the probing tendrils. He severed one. The other wrapped itself around his ankles and jerked upwards. Uttering a stream of curses, the Wolf was tugged from his feet and pulled along the mud as he tried desperately to line up another slash at the grappling appendage.

Isaac suddenly sprinted into view, a torch in one hand and his longsword in the other. ‘How do you like this?’ he shouted at the apparition, and hurled the torch at its lower tentacles.

Kayne watched the torch land and brush against the wormy flesh of the abomination’s leg-tentacles. He half expected it to catch fire and flare up like a pile of dry old kindling. Instead the flame flickered for a second and fizzled out. He looked across at Isaac.

‘What was that lad?’, he was about to ask, but a tendril swooped around and lashed the manservant across the chest, sending him flying. He struck the ground hard and didn’t get back up. Jerek was still struggling unsuccessfully nearby.

‘Shit,’ said the old barbarian again. He raised his sword and held it horizontally before him. ‘Come on then. Just you and me now.’

The eyeless head turned away from Jerek to face him. He gritted his teeth. That damned vibrating was giving him a headache.

Tendrils shot down, one from the left and then two from the right, grasping and probing. Kayne stepped back, ducked under one, leaped another, brought his sword around and was rewarded by the sight of a twitching appendage flying away into the night. His momentary satisfaction evaporated as another limb flailed down and raked his hide armour with its barbed claw. It sliced through the leather with ease, scoring a deep gouge in his chest. He felt blood well up from the wound. Something snapped inside him.

‘That the best you got?’ he snarled. He whirled around, ducked under one tendril and severed it. He switched his sword to his left hand, reached out and wrenched Jerek’s axe from the monster’s torso with his right. It came loose in a spray of vile fluid that coated him from head to foot, but he was beyond caring.

‘I’ve been half drowned,’ he said, bringing the weapons together with a clash. ‘Gutted like a fish.’
Clash
. ‘Got a fever that’s left me feeling worse than death.’
Clash
. ‘And to add to my woes, this fucking rain is making me piss like a horse.’
Clash
. He pointed both weapons at the abomination. ‘So – I ain’t in the mood to stand here and be buggered up the arse by the likes of you.’
Clash
.

He burst into motion, each weapon dancing independent of the other, swatting away and slicing at the snaking limbs that converged on him. He rolled away from one, dived under another, somehow keeping ahead of the torrent of spongy flesh. He was buffeted in the shoulder and back, one tendril locking around his leg before he hacked it away an instant later. His heart hammered in his chest and his breaths came in laboured gasps, but he didn’t dare stop moving for a second.

Before he knew it the attacks slowed and then stopped completely. He blinked rainwater and foul discharge from his eyes, in time to see Jerek free himself from the last remaining appendage. He looked mighty pissed off and was covered in filth, but he was otherwise unharmed.

The torso of the abomination loomed before him, now bereft of limbs save for the two tentacles supporting it from the ground. The head suddenly ceased quivering.

‘Had enough?’ he panted. He doubled over, his heart feeling like it would tear free of his chest.
Just need to catch my breath
.

‘Kayne,’ Jerek rasped. It sounded like a warning. With a mighty effort, he raised his head back up.

‘Shit.’

The severed tendrils were growing back with alarming speed, sprouting from the shoulders of the humanoid torso like unholy vines. Jerek shook his head and spat. He looked worried. ‘How the fuck do we kill this thing?’

Brodar Kayne didn’t have an answer. He was spent, his body pushed to breaking point and beyond.

‘Out of the way!’

The shout came from behind them.
The girl.
He tried to turn, to yell at her to flee, but the effort was too great. He saw Jerek grimace, dive to the side. A crossbow twanged, and suddenly the magical horror had a bolt lodged in the back of its mouth.

‘Run!’ Sasha screamed. Jerek took hold of him, pulled him away—