Servant: The Dark God Book One (Volume 1) (46 page)

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

44

The Monster’s Lair

THE SKIR MASTER had been very hard to break, but Hunger had killed him, just as the Mother had commanded. Killed him and reached through the doors of his binding to ravage the enemy whom the Skir Master served until she broke the binding that connected her to her servant.

Now he needed to eat. The battle with the enemy’s Skir Master had required a tremendous amount of Fire. And while he felt no physical pain, his body had sustained a large amount of damage. It would require Fire and Soul to repair itself completely. He watched the Fir-Noy soldiers flee. His desire to chase and consume them was immense, but he dared not. If he distracted himself, he might lose his opportunity while it was in his grasp.

The Mother had commanded him to gather in all of this Grove of sleth, all those who stank. She’d commanded him to find the young male. Hunger had carried Ke and Matiga back to the mother. All that was left was Argoth. Well, there were two others Larther had known about, but one had been lost for a very long time. The other, the rumored half-beast named Harnock was elusive. Unstable. In all the years Larther had been part of the Grove, he’d never once seen him, which meant that all those that lived on this side of the mountains had been accounted for. Argoth was the last.

As for the young male—he was here as well. Hunger could smell the Mother’s magic on him.

He could feel the Mother’s anticipation. And his own anticipation joined with hers. When he delivered these two, his task would be fulfilled. And she would be bound to let his family go. In the back of his mind he feared she would not keep that promise, but he pushed those fears aside. She kept her word; hadn’t she already proven that?

* * *

Sugar ran with Legs toward an outcropping of rock on the hill, hoping she and Legs could find a place to hide before the monster noticed them. When she reached the rocks, she turned and saw the monster swat Talen aside as if he were nothing more than a grass doll and towered over Argoth.

Zu Argoth knelt in the grass, rocking back and forth, oblivious.

The monster bent over and picked up Zu Argoth, cradling him in one of its massive arms, and then it turned and looked directly at her.

“Down,” she said to Legs, pushing him behind the rock. “Down!”

She prayed that it hadn’t seen her, or that if it had, it would be more attracted to the small cluster of Fir-Noy soldiers making their way up along the road into the vale.

She waited, listened. Legs clutched at her hand. And then she heard the pounding, thump, thump, thump coming up the slope. She shrunk down deeper into the rocks. The thumping came closer, and then she heard the creature spring onto the rocks behind her.

She glanced back. The horrible thing was already reaching out. With one arm it cradled Zu Argoth. With the other, it tore Legs from her grasp.

“Sugar,” he cried, panic on his face.

She clutched at him.

But the monster pushed her away, and then it was loping up the hill.

She bolted after him.

“Sugar!” he yelled.

But the creature’s strides were immense, and it pulled away, racing up the steep slope. Sugar chased after them, but the creature was too far away, increased the distance between her and it with every stride. And then it crested the crown of the hill and disappeared over the side.

“Brother!” she yelled.

Her lungs were burning.

“Brother!”

She doubled over, resting her hands on her knees. He was gone. Gone!

“Lords,” she cried. “No. Please, no.” She labored another rod up the hill then slumped to her knees, panting, her mind racing. There was no way she could catch it. No way she herself could defeat it. But she did know where its lair lay. She could lead an army there.

No. That would do nothing.

It had already fought a small army. It couldn’t be killed. Not by dreadmen, or Skir Masters, or whirlwinds.

She turned and looked back downhill. The bodies of men lay scattered in the grass and scrub. The Crab smoldered in the coals of the fire, sending up a smoke that thinned in the breeze. Talen was on his hands and knees. He grabbed something and stood, clutching his ribs on one side as if injured.

“Hoy!” She called out. “Talen!”

Talen turned, spotted her, and held up something that flashed silver in the morning light. It was the case that held the hag’s teeth.

Across the meadow the morning winds stirred the tree tops. She spotted the Skir Master lying at the edge by a cluster of massive elms.

She knew where the cave was. Below was the weapon capable of killing this beast. All that was needed was for someone to finish what the Skir Master had started.

“I’m coming, brother,” she said, “I’m coming,” and ran back down the slope.

Talen met her at the base of the hill. He said, “I saw it take Legs.”

“We can get him back. We can get your brother and sister back. We can get them all back.”

He held the case up, showing its contents. The shining silver spikes were the length of two spans, etched all over in arcane designs with tips sharp as needles.

“We’re going after the others,” Sugar said.

“Of course, we are,” said Talen.

“We’re going to the cave,” she said.

“Right,” Talen nodded, “although it does seem preposterous.”

At that moment, a Fir-Noy slowly rose from his hiding place. He spotted Sugar, looked at Talen, and then ran for the horses as the far end of the meadow.

Talen said, “He’s got great form. I believe he’d win a prize at the races.”

She said, “You suppose he thinks we want him for breakfast?”

“Breakfast?” Talen asked. “I’ve sworn off Fir-Noy. Much too bitter for my taste.”

They watched him go. Watched him catch a horse and ride off.

“He’s going to alert the countryside,” Talen said.

“Which means we don’t have much time.”

Talen said, “I can’t find the third tooth. It crawled out of the Crab and headed for the bushes.”

Sugar was horrified and quickly scanned the ground around her, fearful of where it might be.

Talen said, “We’re going to need the gauntlets to handle them.”

She remembered the speed of the monster and imagined trying to wield these things. “How are we going to do this?”

He smiled a tired smile. “I have no idea. I doubt the Creek Widow foresaw us facing these kinds of ‘limitations,’ but we will do the best we can.”

“You were holding your side; are you okay?”

Talen tried to move his arm and winced. “It’s nothing, probably only a minor shoulder break from the monster’s love tap. It will heal wrong, and I’ll be deformed for the rest of my life, but such is the life of a fearsome sleth like myself.”

Sugar smiled. “So we make sure we rescue your sister. The lore can heal as well, remember?”

“Sure,” he said.

“Hand the teeth to me,” she said. “You’re in no condition to slash and throw. It looks like I’m going to be the one that will have to tangle with the monster. Do you think it will scare as easily as that last Fir-Noy did?”

“Not quite,” he said and handed her the case. “And while you may be the one to deliver the blow, you’ll not tangle with it alone. Nor will we make it back to the cave looking like two Koramite youths. I’m bigger than you are. Not as big as the Skir Master’s dreadmen, but big enough to wear some of their armor and fool people from a distance.”

She nodded and motioned at a big dreadman close by. “I’ll strip him. You get the horse.”

The big man was hard to roll, but she finally got him on his side and out of his shining cuirass. She gathered up his helm, his black sword, and its scabbard.

While she worked, Talen went back into the refuge and returned with the Tailor and the leather sack from which the Skir Master had withdrawn the Hag’s Teeth and gauntlets. Sugar buckled the dreadman’s armor on Talen and then attached the bright yellow cloak of the Lions of Mokad. When it was time to mount the Tailor, Talen reached up to the saddle, and sucked in at the pain.

“Come on,” she said. “I’ll give you a leg up.”

“I don’t think that will work,” he said. “Because once I’m on, how am I going to pull you up? We need a rock to stand on.”

They found a rock, and when Talen was firmly mounted in the saddle and she behind him on the horse blanket, she asked, “Where do you want me to hold on?”

“The hips,” he said. “I don’t think anything is broken there.”

They rode over to the Skir Master. He lay on his side as if asleep. She dismounted and knelt next to him and noticed that his limbs lay in odd positions. A few flies already buzzed about his face. Sugar picked up his hand to untie the sleeves of the white, gold-studded gauntlet and found the arm bent like a reed. It was shattered from the fall, almost gelatinous. She removed the first gauntlet then began to work on the other. When both were tucked firmly in her belt, Talen urged the horse to another rock and she mounted up again. She tried to be careful, but Talen grunted slightly from the pain when she grabbed his shoulder to balance herself.

“We’ll need torches,” she said.

“I know a place not too far out of the way.”

He covered her hand that held his right hip and gave it a squeeze. “We’ll get him back,” he said. “We have more weapons than just the teeth and the gauntlets.”

It was a brave sentiment. She just wished that it were true.

“We have the Victor’s crown. That, the Widow’s codex, and a few other things that look precious were in the Skir Master’s sack.”

“Good thinking,” she said, “let’s just hope we find the others before we find the monster.”

* * *

Sugar knew there was no sense trying to gallop the whole way. No horse, not even one that was multiplied could do it. So they trotted, but this proved too painful for Talen. In the end, they stole a small wagon and Sugar drove it while Talen held his side and grunted at every jolt.

They had to cross through three villages, clusters of less than a dozen homes. It was at these times that Sugar gave the Tailor a flick of the reins and urged him into a gallop. They fooled nobody, but she could see from their faces that she and Talen perplexed them, and that was enough to keep them from raising a hue and cry. When they rode up to the old Koramite chandler and Sugar saw toddlers digging in the dirt in the yard, she had second thoughts, but Talen called out before she could say anything.

“We’ve heard news,” the chandler said looking at Talen’s armor.

Talen waited.

“I trust your da,” the chandler finally said. He had only three torches, but he agreed to make more and set his daughter to warming the resin and his skinny wife to cutting lengths of rope while the grandchildren looked on in silence.

When they’d finished another three, Sugar said, “We need to go.”

“These won’t last long,” said the chandler. “It takes a good day or two for the resin to properly saturate the rope. These will burn too quickly.”

“We can’t wait for more,” said Sugar.

“But what if the cave is a mile long?” asked Talen.

“Then a few more torches won’t matter, will they?”

Six was not enough, but he could see she was right. He fed the Tailor the last bit of oats, then they climbed in the wagon and bid the chandler farewell.

After the last village, Sugar turned into the woods and followed the trail she’d taken the day before until the way narrowed and would not allow the wagon to pass. From there they rode doubled-up, passing the spot where she’d seen the grayfans, then it was up the hill. A few dozen yards from the cave, she stopped, and dismounted. Talen dismounted uphill of the horse. He was breathing hard and clutched his cuirass. “Get this thing off of me,” he said.

She unclasped the buckles of the cuirass and let it drop to the ground.

Talen untied one of the saddle bags and pulled out something wrapped in red cloth.

“The crown,” she said.

He unwrapped it. “It doesn’t look like much, does it?”

It didn’t look like anything at all. A square disk woven of golden wires. She touched the metal square with one finger. “It doesn’t feel like much either.”

“And yet the Creek Widow practically knelt on the ground and prayed to it.”

He wrapped it back up and gave it to Sugar who placed it the small leather sack that looped over her shoulder. They took the Tailor’s reins and tied him to a tree. Then she unbundled the torches and gave them to Talen to carry in his good arm.

“Shouldn’t we just let him go?” asked Talen.

“We’re coming back,” she said. “We might need him to carry the others.”

“Of course,” Talen said, but his tone said he didn’t think that was likely.

The chandler had given them a flint striker to light the torches. She took it and worked it to shoot a thin spray of sparks onto a torch Talen held. A number of sparks landed on the wet rope and glowed. She blew on them. They glowed brighter, and then a small flame spurted up. Soon the whole torch head was burning.

She put the striker into a sack and looped it over her shoulder, then pulled the white gauntlets on and fastened them. They were too big for her, but would have to do. Then she withdrew one of the gleaming teeth from the case. The etching flashed in the light.

“Can you feel its power?” he asked.

“It’s alive,” she said. “Thinking. I can feel it through my hand.”

“What does silver think?”

“This isn’t just silver, remember? It’s a weave.”

“Indeed,” he said. A weave, just like him.

“Well,” she said. “I suppose it’s time.”

“The quicker, the better.”

They stepped around the cold stream and entered the cave with Sugar in the lead. Talen walked behind, holding the torch out to the side to minimize the shadows he cast before her.

The breeze fanned the flames on the torch. “It’s going to make them burn fast,” said Talen.

“Then we’ll have to walk quickly,” said Sugar.

She passed the spot where she’d crouched earlier. The torchlight revealed walls wet with water and slime. She tried her best to keep from stepping barefoot in the water; the cave was cool and the last thing she needed was to chill herself to the point where she could barely move.