The Axe and the Throne (23 page)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A thick crust of frost blanketing the fallen leaves made silent travel near impossible as they approached the Dogman village. Snow clung to the western side of the many slender guardians, some birch and the other a type of oak that grew oddly straight and tall. The trees would have formed a natural barrier had they been any closer together. Large webs, gilded in ice and absent spiders, hung ominously between the trees.

“Never attack Dogmen at night,” Titon's father had told him. “They are so weak and pathetic that you are more like to suffer casualties caused by your own men striking each other in the darkness than of a Dogman managing to fight back. And their demon-dogs can see in total darkness.”

Titon wondered how true those words were—any of them. This village did not appear as though it was built by weaklings or idiots. The construction of their homes was sound, and their efficient use of the land for crops impressed him. He had heard so many stories about the impotence of these people that he now feared it may have all been bluster; there was certainly no shortage of it among his people, he was learning.

He had with him just over twenty men, and while a few such as Decker may have justified counting as double, the potential existed for as many as forty men to be in this village, strong after a good night's rest and just now preparing to go outside for a hard day's work. By contrast his people had barely slept, kept up by the giddiness of the prospect of drawing their first Dogman blood.

“Remember, men,” whispered Titon, “Keep your range. Do not close on an armed Dogman when you can kill him from afar.”

“Yes,” said Decker. “Listen to my brother. I may not need your help killing these Dogmen, but I will need you all to help carry back the plunder, so try and stay alive.”

The men gave a hushed chuckle, putting Titon on edge with the unnecessary noise.
None of this feels right
, he thought.
I merely wish for it to be over
.

“We creep upon them until detected,” Titon further instructed. “Only then do we charge or make a sound. Do not enter a home without a partner to watch your back, and do not turn your back on an occupied home from which a man can spring and attack you.”

The group nodded in anxious approval, and they all began to creep forward. With a growing sickness in his gut, Titon wondered if perhaps it would have been a better tactic for the leaders to stay toward the rear so that he could more easily direct the assault and call out orders if need be, but it was too late for that.

They fanned out with crunching footsteps that would wake the dead, and surrounded the first several homes. Titon had predicted they would have been detected already. That they had not been made his nerves build to the point of trembling. The sound of a door being smashed released his tension, replaced by anger at his men for defying orders.

He had expected to hear the sound of husky war cries associated with battle, but what he heard was far different. His own men had remained silent, and the air was filled with the horrific shrieks of those they attacked. The men, women, and children all sounded equally hysterical as they screamed, not for help or to alert their fellow villagers, but with no justification other than to grate their attackers with such caustic noise that they might end their lives sooner. And indeed it seemed to be working.

One by one the shrieks heard from those in the nearer homes were silenced. Decker burst through the door of the home he and Titon were upon, finding within it a man, a woman, and a crone, all standing and in their undergarments with hands extended in front of them as if to fend off blows. The woman wasted no time taking to shrieking, and the man fell backward onto the bed they shared, cowering. Decker was upon them. He threw a small axe, which smashed the man in the head with the blunt end, and followed up with his large axe to cleave the Dogman near in half. Decker then went for the woman, who was about as attractive as her husband was brave, and took off her head. The older woman had managed to arm herself with a knife and, to her credit, moved toward Decker as if to stab him. Titon flung his axe. It embedded itself in the side of her head, killing her instantly.

Titon stared at the picture of gore before them. The younger woman's corpse spurted blood from the neck as it had fallen backwards against the wall. The man who had been sliced from the left of his neck to his right hip had organs, blood, and feces spilling out onto his bed. The old woman he himself had killed was crumpled on the floor, his axe still in her skull.

“Get your axe. We move,” said Decker.

Titon complied. As he pulled his axe from the feeble old woman, the only of the three to effect any form of offense, he wondered if indeed his father had spoke truly about these people. It was hard for Titon to imagine even his comatose mother putting up less of a fight than did the man of this home.

After stepping outside the safety of the wooden walls, Titon felt the twinges one had when fearful that at any moment a projectile may come and strike him. These Dogmen, now undoubtedly alerted to their presence, would have bows, though Titon had yet to see sign of any such threat. A well-placed arrow could spell the end for even a beast such as Decker. Titon's men ignored his rule of only breaking into homes with partners, as the bloodthirsty among them who had missed out on the first homes were eager to ensure they got their kills. It would be embarrassing for any of them to have to admit they had not managed to help in the battle, and Galatai did not lie about their headcounts. Members of their party darted off alone after the few men and women who chose to flee on foot rather than barricade themselves inside. Others chopped through doors that had been locked and fortified, sending splinters flying with blows from their axes.

Titon spotted a broad-shouldered Dogman who seemed to be putting up a fight. The man had a knife in one hand and a pitchfork in the other, and had already dodged or deflected a few poorly-thrown axes. The Dogman flung his knife, barely missing his attacker, a boy Titon recognized from the back as Arron. Titon lobbed an axe at the man from thirty paces away, hoping that he would not move much during the time it would take to arrive. The man moved left, then right again, and Titon's axe sliced into his shoulder causing him to drop his pitchfork and grasp at his wound. Arron was on the man at once with his heavy axe, a weapon that had proven surprisingly ineffective versus the length of the pitchfork, and finished him off with a blow that split his skull. Arron gave Titon a thankful nod.

The rest of the battle proceeded with little difference. The most difficult part was catching those villagers who fled their homes, but so few chose to do so that it was possible they may have managed to kill every inhabitant. Any that had escaped their grasp would likely die of exposure.

“The first of many victories, brother,” Decker said with conquest. Through the battle Decker had never left his side—a thing Titon found surprising. He'd expected Decker would want to brag of having killed as many men as possible.

Titon cleared his throat to ensure his words would not come out squeaky. “Are there any wounded?”

There came no replies.

“Are there any still hungry?” shouted Decker. The cries of affirmation that returned his question were overwhelming.

As he surveyed the men, Titon was surprised to find that none had wounds worse than small cuts or deep bites probably suffered upon engaging in carnal combat with the Dogmen women.

Never before having seen a person killed by a thrown axe, Titon had often wondered how destructive such an attack was. Now that he had his answer, his mind was not at ease. The sound of his axe cracking into the brittle skull of the old woman remained in his ears, and he was unable to replace it with thoughts of the throw that may have saved Arron from injury.

“Titon, over here,” yelled Decker with elation in his voice.

It was what they had come for. They'd broken into what must have been a very rich man's cellar. There was more food than Titon could recall ever having seen stored in a single location. This slaughter had not been without purpose. The survival of his people through the coming winter was now ensured.

“Four days of raiding and you have not yet taken a woman,” said Decker.

Both Titon and his brother had blood spattered upon their clothes and carried bags full of meats, cheeses, and vegetables. Their side entrance into the canyon landed them into the richest Dogmen farms imaginable—rich in provisions, at least. Titon had still not found any of the jewelry or gems he sought that would allow him to keep his promise to Red. There were not even many of the demon-dogs their parents had told them stories of, and the ones that they had come across did not seem to Titon much like demons. It was mainly goats and pigs, farms and farmers, and none particularly good at defending what they had. Only one of their crew had been slain so far, and that was due to infighting over a wheel of cheese.

“But neither have I. I believe only the most desperate among us have. These Dogmen bitches are far uglier than I could have imagined!” Decker barked with laughter to drive home his point.

Even Titon had to chuckle at the observation, though he did not believe it to be true—at least not the part about Decker having taken no women as of yet. Unlovely though they may have been, Titon had seen Decker exiting a home with the need to retie his trousers, something rarely required after standard combat.

“Do you enjoy this, brother? The killing?” Titon asked.

“Eh. It is little more than slaughtering livestock,” said Decker with a shrug. “The only difference is we eat their supplies and not their flesh.”

Titon had found killing Dogmen to be crude and unsavory work, but nonetheless, it was empowering knowing how easy it was to take from these men all they had. The harsh training their father had put Decker and him through seemed to have more purpose now that he saw the results of those who went without such preparation.

“That does not mean I would not enjoy killing, should I find a man worthy of my axe,” added Decker.

With these words still echoing, the brothers crested a hill, and saw in the distance a solitary woman standing outside a small home. As a hawk can see a mouse from beyond a mile, so can a man see a woman who is of proper form and proportion. All of the men stopped and took notice that the figure in the distance did not share the same hunched back, oversized hips, or any other of the traits that seemed to plague the women in this region. From the corner of his eye, Titon could see Decker give him a nod, the meaning of which was clear. Titon did not expect himself to have been so quick to action, but he found he was sprinting toward the woman, hoping her face was as comely as her silhouette. Toward his rear he could hear his brother yelling, “To the victor, the spoils!” along with the hoots of the other men.

As he closed upon her, she did not flee. Her mind appeared to be trapped elsewhere, and she did not even seem to notice him nor look in his direction.

Perhaps she is simple.
Not that it mattered. He would have his way with her just the same and think of Red all the while. It was the compromise he'd come up with to maintain an ideal of faith to her while still doing what was expected of him as a leader of men.

He was quite relieved to see she was indeed beautiful. She was perhaps of a mother's age but certainly had a maiden's figure. Her long brown hair was cared for every bit as well as Red's, and her face had the glow of youth. Her eyes, however, carried in them an incredible depth of sadness. Somehow he knew that look, and it turned his stomach.