Avenger, page 33
part #2 of Swords and Skulls Series
“And you, little too conniving for your own good, eh, Basineus?” grunted Vetra. “Watch your step, wise ass. If your antics don’t get your throat cut, my sword will.” He flourished his blade, stepping over a wide crack that oozed rank vapours from its dark depths. “I’ve forgotten that catty wench anyway. She wasn’t worth it. I was young, foolish. Some time in the irons did me good. Taught me how prisoners think. I won them over in the end. Now the ones that walk free are my allies.”
“So, all was not lost then,” said Basineus with a raspy sigh. “Well, here’s to better times, by Dergath!” He slapped his thigh. “Glad that’s all out in the open.”
“Look, if you think that fixes anything—quiet!” he warned, pulling Basineus down. “Sounds up ahead.” Both strained their eyes in the blue shadows. Flickers of darting motion caught the edge of their vision. The tramp of feet echoed in Vetra’s ear. “It’s those damned Karkassians again.”
“No...just good old Tas.”
The blond-haired leader came up, stumbling out of the shadow, his eyes wild with feverish intensity. He was out of breath and his pupils were dilated, like the amber trance-stare of a rabid wolf. His soiled leather was bloodstained. Blackened lips flecked with foam, peeled back to show bared teeth.
“You look horrible,” said Basineus.
“You’re not very pretty yourself,” snapped the ranger, hoisting his blood-dripping axe.
“What happened?” Vetra’s gaze dropped to the extra bottle at his belt.
The ranger’s head inclined. His hand flexed, reaching involuntarily for the glass vial at his waist. “I confiscated this from one of the scum of Grebu’s rabble. I took out dozens of them. But they killed the others of our group. All our bowmen are dead.” He grimaced, gripped his axe, dripping with fresh blood. “The scum followed me, but I lost them yet I fear they’re not far behind.”
“Then we’ve got to move!” gestured Vetra.
* * *
A cramped, narrow space in the canyon opened up, darkened with the sun angled low. Parallel walls of rock hemmed them in like lemmings. Vetra felt as if he scurried in an open crypt. There was no refreshing slant of sunshine to penetrate this shale-crumbled hell. The sun seemed muted by tribal magic, a place both hallowed and damned.
A cold sweat broke out on Vetra’s back when he saw what lay before him. The familiar waving of stalk-like tentacles shivered out from the crevices in the sheer rock faces to either side. Vetra gaped, refusing to accept what he saw. White slimy things had engulfed the wall, giving him and Basineus about eight feet of grace to walk unhindered. The feelers had the familiar cast of Grebu’s ghastly appendages exuding from shoulders and ribs. Could the wretched things pierce flesh? Vetra crabbed back in involuntary reaction. A chill familiarity struck him of their similarity to certain octopi-like creatures he had seen washed up on the western shores of Umbria. His sword fell loose in his grip.
“What are they?” quavered Basineus.
“Grebu’s creation,” said Tas, glowering. “I don’t doubt this is his birthplace—Or his experimental grounds,” he added.
“Experimental what—”
“Hush, silence!” hissed Tas. “Noise riles these creatures. It tells them there’s prey lurking about.”
The three slunk through the narrow defile like wary weasels. Careful not to let the things sense them, they edged by, ever fearful to dislodge a loose pebble. Basineus, the inattentive fool he was, slipped on a loose flake underfoot. Things reached out to touch him and latch onto his shin. Vetra stifled a curse; Tas cast him a dark look. Water dripped from the walls, but that was not what captured Vetra’s riveted gaze and held it like a vice. It was the weird, garnet-coloured globules growing from the ends of the sinister stalks. Putrid, thick liquid oozed with the yellow-brown oil from the stigma to the chalky stone underfoot. The feelers were alive with motion, writhing in synchrony like underwater anemones, ready to entangle a man with them. Vetra’s blood froze in his veins.
The cackle of familiarity echoed up the ravine, followed by wrenching screams, then the chopping of flesh, finally sheathed steel.
A corpse fell tumbling to smash head-first down on the stone before them, spilling brains and blood, its limbs shattered. Vetra recognized the bloody mass as one of Tas’s militia men.
“Sweet Dergath!” he hissed in despair.
Tas crept backward, his head craned upward, cursing at the enemy who lurked unseen above them.
“The cursed ghoul walks on the ledge,” Basineus muttered. “Is he a spider or a baboon?”
“I wouldn’t put it past him, both.”
The nearby plant tentacles came to life with the smack of the falling corpse and probed the shale for warm flesh. One quested the corpse’s twisted leg and dragged it. The mangled body jerked and left a foul blood trail.
The men lost all inhibitions and scrambled past the opposing walls of the white fleshy tendrils as the ghoulish feast progressed.
No sooner had they stepped beyond the swath of fiendish foliage than Kraddus came striding up, chuckling in triumph. His head was thrown back in wild mockery and a red grin shone on his face. “Ah, the wild maja!” he croaked with glee. He motioned at the writhing plants. “Do you not like them, Tas? ’Tis Grebu’s pride and joy. He grows his most malevolent creatures here in this gulch—or one of them. I for one, am partial to barbarous fiends.”
“Lovely,” snorted Vetra. “How about a garland to twist about your neck?”
“Draw your sword, you damn renegade!” cursed Tas, rounding in on Kraddus.
Kraddus danced back, baiting him. “They’re seedlings from a man-eating strain,” he remarked with a grunt. “A whimsical experiment of Grebu’s.”
“You sicken me, Kraddus,” growled Tas. “I ought to spit you like a pig.” He clenched his axe, shaking his head.
“It’s still not too late to join us, Tas. Show the king your loyalty. Kill these spies, show it as a token of your fealty, then the master will go easy on you. I’ll see to it.”
“I’d rather wash my stones in pigs’ blood,” spat Tas. “Prepare to die, swine. You swore an oath to us—to defend Lvendar’s interests.”
“Pacts are meant to be cast aside like a man sheds old clothes. You are getting old, Tas, barely able to do what you set out here to do. I’ll let the master know your decision.” The traitor backed away and made a signal of fist, thumb and finger. Men came creeping out of the shadows: from up the path past the tentacled area like spectres.
Tas flinched, whether from the men who gathered, or the mention of the word master. The fierce expression on his face echoed some animated struggle, which only amused Kraddus. “I’ll gut you like a fish, Kraddus, the dog you are.”
“Back, fool!” bawled Kraddus. “You condemn Grebu for his bestiality, but look at yourself! You’re no better than an animal. Are you not the fool who ate some experimental version of the bulb? Now you’re some type of monster. I can see it in your greenish face, you’ve been taking the bulb.”
“You lie!” Froth flecked from Tas’s lips. Vetra saw the leader’s fists clench into balls, his nails twitch, like the claws that depended from Kealasa’s hands.
The big tawny man gave a spitting howl. He flung himself forward to brain Kraddus with his axe, but five of his thugs hitched in with swords.
“Ah, ah, ah,” Kraddus chided, waving a dirty finger. “Back! Do you think I would be fool enough to let you lord over this outfit? While you were out gnawing on your bulbs, I gained control over the militia, the few that are left. I gained Grebu’s trust.”
“You dirty scum,” Tas swore under his breath.
Kraddus thumbed his blade in an offhand manner. “Which of you dies first?”
Vetra lunged, drawing his weapon to strike.
Kraddus signalled to his men and a dozen came out to surround him.
Vetra parried Kraddus’s arching blade and squared in close enough to smell the man’s rank hide. He ducked a stalk’s stigma which extended with a ruby-eye end. The thing’s poison swept by with mere inches to spare.
Kraddus laughed. “Mind Grebu’s pets, mercenary. Their sting can bring a man to tears.”
“Shut your gob, cretinous oaf,” Vetra snarled. He lashed out at the captain while Tas engaged foes at their back. Basineus was caught in the middle, slashing and cursing the oncoming native Galashadians, a surge of square-faces, dirty-blond hair and square steel caps.
“Ack!” A feeler raked at Vetra’s throat, leaving him with a red stinging mark. He hunched and tottered off-balance, shaking his head and the sting out of his neck.
Kraddus let loose a sneering laugh. “Smarts, doesn’t it?”
Tas’s axe fell with a squashing thunk. A Galashad warrior with stubbled jowl rolled at Vetra’s feet minus an arm. The writhing body tripped Vetra. Kraddus pounced, but Vetra rolled free, pulling his knees to his chest and uncoiled in a vicious kick, to fling boot heels first into Kraddus’s gut. The movement lifted the traitor in the air and hurled him backward toward the writhing wall of stalks.
Quick as adders, the ghastly roots latched on to Kraddus’s skin and whipped him sideways, transfixing the back of his head.
Kraddus’s mouth opened in a parody of a dismal scream. Another grabbed his shoulder and pierced through flesh. His white lips writhed in a bloodcurdling screech. Grunting and slashing he managed to cut some of the feelers that fanned out to grip him. But he was quickly consumed as more latched on to him, leech-like—in his mouth, down his throat. Other vine-feelers hooked into and tore at his flesh, hoisting him up like a grim, flapping puppet. On those string-tentacles he dangled like a hanged man, legs kicking.
Vetra grimaced, scrambling to his feet. He reacted in time to catch the vicious uppercut of a drawn blade. Kraddus’s body began to jerk, caught in an abysmal puppet-wrenching palsy. More of the ghoulish feelers hooked onto his legs, pulling his body into the damp crevice until only his boots could be seen, kicking spasmodically. His shrieks faded into a symphony of grotesque feeding sounds.
Vetra turned his head. What hideous mouths lurked beyond that dank stone, he care not imagine.
Basineus toiled at his sides, raining blows heavy enough to fell trees amongst the Galashadian guard. One croaked out a strangled howl. Tas cut into a white probing stalk, before it whipped around Basineus. With an appalling yank, the man Basineus was hewing was lifted up and pulled into the wall by the man-eating stalks. The cleft in the canyon wall was narrow, so his body was mutilated as it was forced through a hole smaller than his torso. Finally, only his boots showed, flailing.
Vetra paled, twitching, aghast at the sudden violence of the grisly attack.
Tas threw another man back into the rippling menace. A puzzled expression fled over his face as white, writhing vines gripped him in an obscene embrace. His muffled scream died in his throat as they tore apart his mouth.
Basineus struggled with his brawny contender, matching blade for blade. Feelers whistled inches from his ears. In a sudden vengeful motion, Vetra’s shadow loomed overhead and steel chopped the man’s shoulder clean to the bone and the man sank to his knees in a gruesome crunch. Five enemies remained. Crimson steel struck and slashed in the dimness and Basineus’s blade bit into the neck and spine of the attacker’s comrade.
Tas pulled Vetra and Basineus on up the ravine. Vetra was not averse to following the blood-drenched ranger this time, knowing that it meant death to remain.
Vetra scrambled up the stony defile, Basineus stumbling and cursing all the way, the dying cries of mangled men enveloped and eaten by the carnivorous plants. Booted feet echoed on stone.
“These catacombs,” Tas gasped between ragged breaths, “I explored when I was here not too long ago.” He shook out the blood from his hair like a dog as he ran. “There is only one way we can hope to double around the mountain from the top.” The ranger pointed up a rocky cliff face. “We can descend the canyon under cover of night, before the moon rises.” He wiped the sweat from his face and spat. “The canyon is impassable for many leagues. We must navigate the bridge and cross the contested border back to Lvendar.” He looked around with wary wolf’s eyes. “We mustn’t be seen, ’tis the haunt of fell beasts and the Karkassian cannibals.”
“What could be worse than Grebu and his ghouls?” Vetra muttered under his breath.
“Trolls, perhaps?” offered Basineus with a sarcastic sneer.
Tas snarled. “Come on!”
“What of the mission?” demanded Basineus.
“Sod the mission!” thundered Tas. “Everything is lost. Mission, honour, our life as free men while we wallow in this failure and Ragnum hears of our cock-up. We’re dead men.”
Vetra grumbled. “Let’s go. Grebu will be on to us soon. A spider free of the web he is, spinning a web of pain for us. He knows every square inch of his lair, I don’t doubt.”
Through a labyrinth of stony ways open to the sky, the three groped and stumbled their way. They passed at times through a tunnel of rock, and the air would grow damp and dim, but Tas, in the grip of some disquieting trance seemed impervious to all obstacles. He had the red, staring eyes of a werewolf, the strength of five men... Vetra grimaced, remembering how he had lifted a man by the throat in one hand and tossed him into the maja creepers as if he were no more than a sheaf of wheat.
* * *
It seemed like hours that they wandered through a maze of narrow, interconnected canyons. With his throat choked with dust, Vetra could only hear the clopping echo of boots and Basineus’s foul curses. Looking ahead, he saw Tas beating a swift pace, his eyes gleaming in the late afternoon light. Those eyes reflected a faraway, frenzied purpose, as if the man’s mind and thoughts were not his own.
Vetra frowned. More of the grisly red bumps had broken out on the man’s brow, adding to the cluster that had first appeared after the slaughter back at the ravine. Vetra’s mind roved elsewhere, and he trudged on after Tas while the sun dipped lower. The heat lessened, as did the light: three men facing the press of darkness on enemy lands.
The boulder-strewn trail continued down a narrow gorge of crumbling rock. Layers of shale rose in towering folds and to Vetra’s relief, not encrusted or flowered with any of those abominable feelers of Grebu’s creation.
“This maze is going to kill us,” Vetra grumbled to no one in particular.
Tas seemed not to hear. His wolfhound-sharp eyes trained on the shadows. Basineus stumbled on like a man sleepwalking.
At last, they came to a high, stout wooden door, brass-bound, caked with verdigris and set into the rock face. The portal was much scarred and timeworn; lock and hinges were rusted with disuse, as Vetra’s keen eyes noticed. Perhaps the secret escape tunnel to some ancient fort, or defensive palisade?
The path continued ahead, winding off into dim shadows. Tas halted, tugging at his chin.
His eyes lit with recognition at what he saw, and his ears perked up, as a hound’s would upon sensing some unseen foe. Either way, a smile of delight crossed Tas’s face and Vetra frowned, fearing the man had started to lose his senses.
“You investigate this door,” the ranger ordered. “I’ll ensure there are no enemies lurking about.”
“But that’s a foolish—” Vetra started, but the ranger was off before he could object, and Basineus could blink an eye. “There he goes again,” grunted Vetra. He threw up his hands. “What is it with these rangers?”
Basineus shrugged. “I’ve a feeling we’re going to run into trouble soon enough.” He hacked at the rusted lock that held the great portal shut. “Forget Tas. Brute force may be the only option. Hurry. There could be a well or water spring on the other side. My throat’s dry as sand.”
Vetra lent the butt end of his blade to the hewing, rather than ruining his blade, though he had a bad feeling about this place.
The ringing of steel on corroded iron echoed about the canyon. The stout balewood shivered. In a spray of sparks, the ancient lock splintered and they wrestled with the door, heaving and grunting. Finally it gave way with an abysmal groan. They edged down a narrow corridor, weapons in hand. A musty odour crept forth and stung their nostrils; there came the sound of shuffling further on. They crouched with instinctive wariness, staring in the sepia gloom. A tense expectancy hung in the air, as thick as drying blood.
Vetra caught his breath. Blurred shapes milled about a large open area exposed to the darkening sky. Straining his eyes, he grunted, lips parted. Human figures? Gaunt frames stooping with slow, mechanical movements. He lifted his gaze over the eccentric formations of rock. A slave colony of some kind? Curse Tas’s hide—had the man led them into a trap?
A sudden realization smote him when he saw the tall maja plants. Blinking in comprehension, he willed his eyes to adjust faster to the dimness.
The place was akin to some dry seabed, a bowl-shaped cavity, a natural pit for prisoners. Strange, curved pathways wove in and amongst the rubble and the fluted rock carved over time. Vetra moved forward, Basineus on his heels. Doomed figures hunched in the periphery with picks and hoes in hand, chipping shale to create more arable land? Others crouched, watering plants and planting seeds in what scant soil there was. Here was water at least—
A rustle of movement to the side had Vetra spinning on his heels. In the half cave to the right, he glimpsed a long, snake-like trunk, or some fiendish stalk, as it shot back into the gloom. He advanced to get a closer look.
In that long section of pumpkin-like vine was held a large shape—akin to some horrid chrysalis.
Vetra’s hand crossed blade in front of him. He gave back a short gasp of horror and disgust. Basineus stood frozen like a stone idol.
Vetra staggered back, muttering oaths. Closer inspection revealed the long stalked feeler trailing on the ground and twitching from time to time had swallowed a man whole...
The vine trembled; it was feeding on the corpse’s essence. The man was days dead, his grey skin and withered features seemed only vaguely human through the filmy circumference of the transparent green stalk. It had captured the unfortunate, or contained him, in its green, pulsing housing, like some mutated pupa. The stalk was slowly devouring the victim, which was curled in the foetal position, like a fly in a web.
