Servant: The Dark God Book 1 (45 page)

Uncle Argoth reached out and gripped Talen’s arm much too tightly.

“Uncle?” Talen asked.

“He knows,” said Uncle Argoth, his grip tightening even further. “He knows everything.”

“What’s he talking about?” Sugar asked.

Talen shrugged. He tried to pull away, but his uncle would not let go.

A dreadman in a full run broke the tree line on the other side of the meadow on the valley’s floor. He was tall and thin and as fast as a horse at full gallop. It was a sight to see him cross the field and come to stand before the Skir Master. “Cos and Heel are dead, their backs broken.”

“Shegom reports nothing,” said the Skir Master.

“They’ve been dead for at least an hour.”

The Skir Master studied the hills about the valley. To this moment, he hadn’t yet withdrawn any of the Hag’s Teeth. He did so now, removing one of the silver spikes from its blue velvet bed and grasping it in his white, gold-studded glove. “Where are you?” he said under his breath.

As if in answer, Talen saw a stone above the mouth of the cave move. He looked closer. It was as if a part of the hill had come alive. “Goh,” he said.

The Crab followed Talen’s gaze.

Then the creature jumped, dropping down with a thud only paces behind the Skir Master. In the morning light its features were clearer than they had been that night in the yard. It was a grotesque giant. And while clumps of grass still clung to it here and there, he saw the underlying color was of dirt and blue stone. One shoulder was burned. Along the other, a patch of small white flowers grew.

The Skir Master whirled to meet it, but the creature slapped the hand holding the tooth. The hand flew backwards with a violence. The spike flew free in a silver flash that sailed toward Talen and the others by the fire. Then The Crab cried out. He clutched at his throat, pulling on the spike that stood out of his neck. But the spike would not move. Then the end of the spike curled like a worm, and in a flash of silver it wriggled into The Crab’s neck.

The Crab gasped and stumbled. He tripped toward Talen and the others. Talen tried to scramble back, but Uncle Argoth pulled him to the side. Then The Crab twitched and toppled to his knees. He writhed and fell sideways into the fire, sending up a billow of ash.

Talen choked on the ash and tried to pry Argoth’s fingers away, but could not.

The Skir Master danced back with blinding speed, trying to pull another spike from his case, but the monster moved more quickly and swatted the case out of his hand. The case flew wide and disappeared into the brush a number of paces away from Talen and Uncle Argoth.

“The teeth!” Uncle Argoth exclaimed. He released Talen’s arm and scrambled to the bushes where the case had fallen.

“Shegom!” the Skir Master yelled.

The monster lunged at him, but he dodged out of beast’s grasp.

“Shegom!” the Skir Master yelled again.

Another dreadman who had been hiding only paces away from where the monster had first appeared rose and flung his wide noose around the creature’s head. He yanked back, pulling the noose tight about the creature’s neck. Another dreadman sprang from his hiding place in front of the cave and threw a second noose. A third dreadman joined him, and the two of them pulled the creature back. It lurched back inside a small trap which had been dug.

Yards away, a dozen Fir-Noy heaved on the rope that lined the trap and caught one of the monster’s legs. A Fir-Noy slapped the hind of one of the two horses harnessed to that line. The horses surged forward.

The monster spun. The power of the horses and soldiers would have pulled a normal man to the ground, but the monster was too quick, too strong. Instead of falling to the ground, it took a giant sideways step and then braced itself in a wide stance, the grass on its body shuddering at the impact.

It reached down and grabbed the line around its foot.

Another noose flew, but missed the monster.

Leaf, the dreadman with the scorched eye, cried out, drew a black-bladed sword, and charged the monster with frightening speed. In a blinding move he hacked into the creature’s side with the crow-black sword. Such a blow should have cleaved the monster in two, but the beast ignored Leaf and yanked on the line holding its foot.

The Fir-Noy on the other end stumbled forward, half-a-dozen of them falling into a heap. The two horses harnessed to that line were forced back and trod upon the men in the rear. The animals cried out. One leapt forward again. The other skittered sideways. Then, as if the monster had pinched the thin stem of a weed, the line snapped.

“The teeth!” the Skir Master roared. “The teeth!”

“Here!” Uncle Argoth cried out from the bushes and held the case up. “Master!”

The Skir Master turned and ran for Uncle Argoth.

Behind him, Leaf snatched his sword out of the creature’s side and swung the flashing black blade again in the early light, but this time the creature caught the blade. It struck Leaf, knocking him to the ground. Then it wrenched the sword out of his hand and flung it away.

The dreadmen holding the lines about the monster’s neck, pulled. The creature rocked back a step, then grabbed one of the lines. It twisted around violently, and the dreadman who had anchored the other end of the rope around his waist cried out and was carried aloft.

The monster twisted and yanked again. The dreadman lurched horribly in midair and folded backwards without a cry, his spine broken. The Monster carried through in an arc and swung the man around his head like a large stone at the end of a rope.

The Skir Master snatched up the case from Uncle Argoth’s outstretched arm and held it above his head. “Here, son of Lamash!” he yelled, his face full of fury. “Here is your doom!”

But the monster swung the dreadman around, the thick rope making a deep swoosh and hiss as it sped in its circle.

The Skir Master saw it, but he was not fast enough, and the Monster slammed the dreadman into both the Skir Master and Uncle Argoth, sending the two men flying.

The monster ignored the third line about its neck and charged after the Skir Master, dragging the dreadman, who’d wrapped the rope around his hands, like a toy attached to a child’s string.

A Fir-Noy standing just beyond Uncle Argoth shouted. He leveled his spear and charged in for a death blow. He struck deep, but the Monster simply ran him over.

The Skir Master rose, searching the ground about him frantically.

Back by Talen, The Crab groaned. Talen looked down at the man and his smoldering tunic and saw a glint of silver by his ear. A moment later the long hag’s tooth came wriggling through the skin at the man’s temple.

Talen backed away in horror.

The tooth curled an end as if sniffing the air. Then it wriggled the rest of the way out of The Crab’s head and dropped to the ash.

Sugar pulled on Talen. “Lords!” she said. “Run!”

He scrambled to his feet, stumbled backward, and turned, only to find a dozen Fir-Noy, weapons drawn, charging straight toward him. Sugar grabbed Legs and they all dove to one side, and the men ran past to attack the monster.

The creature turned and with three swings of its terrible fist slew that many men. The remaining Fir-Noy hesitated.

The monster took a step and closed the gap between itself and the Skir Master.

The Skir Master turned and looked up at the beast.

At that moment, Leaf, who had retrieved his sword, screamed a battle cry and charged the monster once again. He was fast and powerful. The monster turned, but not quickly enough. Leaf swung with all his might, and the sword cut into the monster’s neck.

The creature grasped Leaf by the throat and lifted him up. Leaf yanked the sword free and drove the blade deep into the creature’s chest. But it had no effect.

What kind of nightmare was it that could withstand a black sword of the Kains?

Then the monster twisted its grip and snapped Leaf’s massive neck like a twig.

The Skir Master yelled in fury and charged the monster’s back. But instead of striking it with a weapon, he punched into it with his fist, sinking his arm up to his elbow.

The monster cast Leaf aside, the black sword still sticking out of its chest.

“Where is it?” the Skir Master cried. “Where is your quickening!”

The creature wrenched around, trying to get at the Skir Master, but the Divine was too quick.

“Clansman!” shouted the Skir Master, feeling inside the monster. “The Ravelers!”

Uncle Argoth lay upon the ground, unmoving.

Was he dead?

Two more dreadmen closed on the creature. They carried spears and harried it, thrusting repeatedly at its head. Their movements were blinding fast, but their blows had no effect. Nothing seemed to phase this creature.

The monster snatched one of the spears and jabbed it into one of the dreadman’s faces. The other dreadman struck, but the monster swung the spear and gave the dreadman such a blow to the side that Talen was sure half his ribs had been staved in. The dreadman fell over backward.

The Skir Master withdrew his arm and punched into the back of the monster a bit higher. His arm sunk almost up to the shoulder. “Yes!” he said.

The monster twisted round violently, slamming the Skir Master with its elbow, knocking him into the air. The Skir Master landed with a grunt a number of yards away amidst some scrub.

The monster made a sound—a loud, horrible sigh—and turned toward the Skir Master.

Men littered this small battlefield. Most of the surviving Fir-Noy were fleeing to the slopes of the vale. The dreadmen were either dead or lying incapacitated.

The Skir Master shook himself and stood, disgust and anger twisting his face. He held up something dark. Something he’d taken from deep within the monster. “You will not prevail,” he said.

But the monster strode forward.

The Skir Master stood his ground.

At the far side of the meadow, a huge crack sounded. A tree limb as thick as a man’s body was tossed into the air, and then a wind screamed across the meadow, flattening the scrub of the clearing as it came, kicking up a cloud of dust and debris.

The monster charged.

But the wind was faster. The Skir Master stretched his tattooed arms out wide into the wind, and was carried aloft like a leaf in a storm.

The monster took two enormous strides and sprang after him, leaping a dozen or more feet into the air.

Talen thought he saw it catch the Skir Master’s leg, but the wind thrashed the bushes, casting debris into his eyes. Then a huge gust slammed into Talen, knocking him onto his back. Something struck his face, nearly blinding him, and Talen rolled over, shutting his eyes.

The wind howled about him, plucking at his clothes, and then as quickly as it had come, it was gone.

He lay there a moment, stunned.

And then he remembered Sugar’s words—they did not want to be here when this battle ended.

Talen climbed to his knees and brushed his face, careful of the cut the dreadman had given him. When he opened his eyes, he found dirt, leaves, and sticks still fluttering about the meadow. His hand pained him, and he looked down and saw a thin twig sticking straight out of the flesh between his first and second finger. He plucked it out and cast it aside.

Beside him Sugar and Legs were brushing themselves off.

He looked up. At first he saw nothing, and then, hundreds of yards above him, he saw the Skir Master and monster. He watched them sail upwards into the morning sky until they were nothing more than black dots.

“Let’s go!” Sugar said.

Uncle Argoth shouted in pain.

Talen turned and saw him huddled on his knees, the case of hag’s teeth lying in the grass beside him.

“Uncle,” Talen said. “Uncle.”

“No,” Argoth said. “No, no, no.” Then he winced as if someone had struck him and cried out in extreme agony.

Talen drew back, expecting a hag’s tooth to wriggle its way out of him.

Arogth jerked, and then the terror fled his face and he sagged and let out a great sob. “He’s gone. Lord, no,” he said and began to weep like a child.

“Talen,” said Sugar from behind. “Get the horse.”

“You’re going to be all right,” said Talen to Uncle Argoth. “We’re all going to be all right.” But it was a lie.

“By all . . .” Sugar said in dismay.

The fear in her voice made Talen turn. He followed her gaze into the sky and saw the Skir Master plummeting from the heavens. Down he fell in a slow turn, one leg in front of the other as if he were taking a lazy step.

He landed with a large, sickening thud at the edge of the clearing.

A small group of Fir-Noy soldiers who had not fled shouted and pointed toward the sky.

Talen looked up. Another figure, larger and darker than the Skir Master fell from the heavens. It slammed to the earth only a few dozen paces from the Skir Master.

The Skir Master did not rise. But a few moments later the monster did, towering and fearsome.

It was impossible.

The Fir-Noy cast their weapons and what armor they could from them and fled.

“Run,” Talen shouted to Sugar. “Run!”

He turned to Uncle Argoth who lay upon the ground huddled in on himself. “Uncle!” he shouted. “Get up! Uncle!” He ran to him and shook him. “Uncle!”

Uncle Argoth turned and looked up at Talen, grief wracking his face.

“Get up,” said Talen. “We need to leave.”

“Talen,” he said and touched Talen’s face. “He’s gone. He’s gone.”

Talen grabbed Argoth’s arm and tried to haul him up.

Talen glanced back. The monster raced toward them with giant strides.

Talen stood and tried to haul Argoth up, but there was no way they could outrun it, no way he could get to the Tailor and ride, even if the horse was fast enough.

“The monster’s not done with us,” Uncle Argoth said.

The creature crashed through the brush behind them. It stood not more than two paces away. Great hunks of dirt were missing here and there from its body, exposing bones of rock and some other substance. And yet the skin, if that’s what you could call it, moved like hundreds of worms to cover the rents.

The thing snorted and shook its head, and then it reached out and took a step forward.