War Pigs Page 10

  The melee ended as battles always did, with the sudden thump of the last body and a frantic search for one more victim. Glancing about the field, Lut looked to where Dras stood, wrestling to free his sword from a body he had stabbed it through.

  "Another hill," he said for the fifth time that day. "Call it out!"

  "Living," said Dras, finally yanking Bloodtide from the corpse. More of the Roofed called their names, some of them paused before the bodies of their former brothers and sisters who had remained loyal to the fallen gods.

  A common sight in the ruined valley, Lut ignored it. "I need a runner," he called, his ax hung low as he strode to the true apex of the conquered knoll. "Who will run back to camp and report to Brac?"

  More than a few hands went up. Lut pointed to a youth who seemed less tired than the rest. "Your name?"

  "Aur, Ravager." In his late teens, the young warrior clutched to the shaft of a broken spear in one hand and a small wooden shield in the other. The head of the shattered weapon gleamed in the red light, its acute point accentuated by the long edges that ran down to its shoulders. Aur met his black gaze with Lut's. "I am the son of Cas, formerly of The Branched, now of the Roofed, trained by..."

  Lut held up a hand. "What do you call your spear?" he asked, nodding to the broken weapon.

  "Heartfinder, raidlord."

  "A good name. Now off to camp. Tell Brac that we've cleared the eastern slopes. If the western slopes have been secured, give him order to press the ram down the valley toward the gates. If you don't come back in a few hours, I'll assume fighting still continues in the west and we'll set camp. Send another messenger with casualty reports before sunrise."

  Aur folded his arm to his chest, his spear by his face as he bowed. Lut watched the youth run off into the darkness of the night. Dras joined him by his place on the sundered hillside, wiping some blood from his right eye.

  "Can you see?" Lut asked when his friend was near.

  "I better. Mei will scream at me in her dog tongue if I come back blind," Dras replied, the pad of an index finger pressed against his orbital cavity. He brought his hand away, blinking as tears trailed from the eye. "How far have we gone?"

  Lut looked behind them, back upon the hills they had claimed. Far off in the distance a speck of bright yellow fluttered atop a massive pole in the hot wind, the flag he and Dras had planted in the first spot they had taken. He faced forward. "Only Ata knows. We'll let everyone rest and follow the order I gave the boy."

  Dropping his sword in the dirt, Dras plopped down on the spot beside it, with little or no regard to how he was exposed. For his part, Lut did the same, keeping vigil as his best friend dozed.

  "Lut," Dras called a few minutes later, his voice small and weary.

  "Yes, Dras?"

  Dras slowly sat up with a wince. He stared out at the destruction they had caused. "I've been thinking about a Wagani world. I don't want it to be this."

  Lut rested Ravager's shaft on his plated shoulder, his cheek against the head’s cool flat. "I know."

  "The world that comes after... Wag cannot raise weapon against Wag. Not over Shur or Ata, at least. We must have something like what the humans and the dharva have. We must have civility."

  Such a word would have aroused the deepest anger in the soul of a Wag, but there on the burnt heath, Lut could not look upon the world and disagree. He felt the guilt in every broken body on every broken battlefield spilled and pooled on trampled soil. There were children who would never see their parents again, left with far less than he had had at their age.

  There would be no fathers to love them or mothers to lead.

  Too tired for tears, he ground the heels of his hands against the flesh of his bristled cheeks, letting his own evils burn until only a muted shame resided, a sense he could continue on with. He knew that in a few hours’ time the march would resume.

  A march for the next world.

  "You're a better champion than I have been, Dras," Lut said, quiet.

  Dras chuckled through his weariness. "I know. I just can't wait for everyone else to realize it."

  Near to dawn the collected army of the Roofed shouted in unison as their wooden ram crashed into the gates of the Azure Queen's stronghold. The forty warriors who held the tree trunk grunted as they marched together, some bleeding from the battles they had come from. Many crowded around them with shields held high, deflecting the arrows the Inners shot at them from the battlements.

  At the center of the mass, Lut and Dras readied for their charge once the gates broke, knelt beneath a thick canopy of layered hides. With only the sound of arrow hail to keep them company, they fiddled with the straps of their armor, restless as they watched the siege unfold before them between the gaps in their protection.

  "There are fewer archers than I expected," Dras said to Lut, his voice raised over the showering of arrows. Shifting his weight on his knees, he fought to rest Bloodtide across his thighs, allowing a small gap in the roof above them. As if warning him of his mistake, a shaft fell through the hole. Stuck in the soil between him and Lut, Dras looked up with a sheepish smile.

  Lut did not share his amusement. "They could be behind the gates, waiting for us to break in. They'll slam right into us."

  "How many can her cave hold?"

  "I care little about that."

  Dras raised the swollen brow above his irritated eye, confused. "What do you mean?"

  "It doesn't matter how many she can stuff into that cave," said Lut. "What matters is who is going to be in there with her."

  Loud enough that everyone around them heard their leader, a hush went through those gathered at the nucleus of the Roofed army. Some of them considered what lay ahead until Lut spoke again.

  "Whatever is waiting for us," he said, "remember what happened to The Burnt Maiden."

  The paltry reminder offered little solace to those who fought for Mystland's freedom.

  A great cracking interrupted the morning. As a red sun rose the gates of the palisade were pushed inward, yet the great cheer that followed muted when those same doors flew inward. The archers on the battlements ended their volleys as the wooden walls blasted from their post-holes, and a bright light blazed outward, blinding the world in white.

  Hiding behind the shields the Roofed had raised, Lut peeked beyond the edge of his protection. Beyond the witch light appeared a weird shape. Ten feet tall and arms even longer, branch-like fingers reached out, grasping for victims. The alien face of the being twisted in horrific glee as its eyes pulsed with red malice.

  The creature known as The Branched stomped through the gates, swinging its thorny limbs as it tore Wags to shreds. Awed by the ferocious power, Lut broke his terrified stare when he saw a body fly past where he stood, striking the ground with a thud. "Torches," he roared, pointing forward to signal the charge. "Torches and oil!"

  The Roofed surged forward with shields held high. Bodies piled upon the dreaded treant, who wriggled like a dog throws water from the fur. Armed with their weapons and torches, Lut and Dras shouldered their way through the masses between them and the creature, shoving others aside as they approached.

  Dras charged in for the treant's flank, chopping at the knee of its mud-stained leg. The blade bit deep into the wood. The beast turned as it fell to one knee and batted at Dras, who hugged the speeding limb to absorb the impact. He clung tight, the insides of his arms and legs ripped open.

  Lut leapt onto the wide back of The Branched. Dropping his ax, he clawed his way to the head, wrapping his legs around the treant’s left shoulder. Thorns ripped at flesh. Blood ran warm and wet as he clung to the creature's blockish head.

  Holding tight to his torch, Lut stabbed the flame into the creature’s open maw. Hard, sharp lips came down on his forearm, splitting the flesh. The glowing eyes of treant widened in pained panic as it tried to roar a second time, allowing Lut time to pull free his hand. The Branched fell to both knees, keeling over as swords, spears, and axes hacked at its head.
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br />   Rolling from the dead god's form, Lut and Dras laid on the reddened grass.

  "You whole?" Lut called.

  Dras flopped to his stomach, his face covered in ribbons of his own blood. Their gazes met, and cracking a smile, he offered a weak wave.

  Slowly the two stood, the insides of their arms and legs caked with gore. Dozens of Roofed warriors smothered the corpse of the creature, carving its wooden body to pieces as their leaders watched. Out of the fog of war someone appeared with their weapons, re-arming them for the next push.

  "One down," said Dras, wincing as he lifted Bloodtide up. "Seven to go."

  Lut glanced to the open gates. No enemy troops surged from behind the palisade, an ominous sign that caused him to squeeze the scratched handle of his ax. With a heavy sigh, he trudged forward, calling for the advance.

  Lut ducked beneath the wide slash of Strotos' sword, stumbling away from the pretender’s wrath. Off to the side, Dras hacked down one of The Five Brothers, a human warrior dressed in a set of red robes. Puddles of blood reflected flashes of magic and iron.

  The moment Lut ordered his troops through the narrow passage of the palisade, the remainders of Mystland's fallen divines attacked. The Five Brothers led the charge, their quintet a staggered line of robed figures with no weapons beyond their limbs. Fire, water, earth, wind, and a nebulous spirit attacked with the full power of their martial skills, deflecting blades with waves of their hands and shattering bones with simple touches.

  Strotos ran onto the scene after The Five Brothers had made their entrance, carving his way through his own troops with his sword. Armored in a strange cuirass of iron that formed to his body, ax and spear broke upon the solid plates.

  Only the Azure Queen remained unseen. The belief that their leader had wounded her so deeply that she refused the final battle bolstered the Roofed and their resolve against these foes. These beasts were of shadow, many Wags thought, and by Shur's sunlight they would be removed.

  The Roofed ground the opposition down.

  The Water Brother fell first, smothered by hordes, then Fire and Earth went next, their heads cleaved off in the bearing of heroic arms.

  For Dras' glory, he bested Strotos in single combat. Swords dazzled and sparked. After a struggle of blades and binds, Dras stabbed the plated warlord through the face. Thousands died in that small space, turned atop mounds of ripped bodies.

  Lut had slain his nineteenth foe for the day, and his ax caught in the body's cavity. With one foot on the split chest and his hands around the shaft, he pulled with fading strength when a blue flash appeared on the fields.

  The Azure Queen strode from her underground sanctum, a bright being whose power scorched and tore at Lut's troops with cold light. Her severed clavicle open and dry upon her ruined body, the glaring imperfection diminished the illusion of her glamour. She ravaged the Roofed with the last of her army—one last violent stroke for valiant Black Hoods before both sides ground to a standstill.

  One last fight remained, and the opponents were a surprising pair.

  Before the yawning mouth of her tunnel, Dras approached the spirit, bearing his sword close to his chest. "Halt, witch! I shall not let you flee this fight with your honor." He held Bloodtide, its blade a line of dark moonlight, and slowly approached. "I am Bloodtide and for your head, I challenge you."

  "Oh, stop it," she said, darting forward. "Lut won that sword. You’re just holding it."

  The two met, rage against iron. Around the burning glades they danced, caught in the ecstasy of battle. She batted Dras across the woods, knocking him from tree to thicket to tree, and yet every so often he would nick her flesh or cut into her wound. The mortal warrior fought against his supernatural enemy until his sword arm flagged, his feet shuffled, and his mouth hung open.

  The Azure Queen struck hard at exhausted Dras, a blow to the skull that downed him like a well-placed arrow. His body struck the muddy incline as his hand failed on Bloodtide's hilt, leaving the stained sword lost in the trampled grass.

  She fled the field.

  4

  Love Beneath the Moon

  In the lonely quiet of the tunnel to the Azure Queen's pond, Lut lost the last tears for his friend. Dras had died the moment she struck his pate, and after holding the body in his arms for too long, he released him to Mei, who wailed for her bestial lover.

  Armed with the gourd of poison she had brewed, Lut marched into darkness, ready to drive a final nail into his heart.

  Lut remembered lovemaking in the dewy grass, notes of a song hard to comprehend beyond what snatches his memory allowed. The weight of his weary body rattled his joints. The proud march of his youth had withered to a wounded shuffle.

  Sunlight blazed past the green-leafed trees, lighting a white flower meadow that seemed too perfect for rustic comfort. The grass glowed too green; the flowers fluttered too lightly. Lut looked to the old meadow where he had lived so many years in sweet bliss, aware now of how it looked without its halcyon glories.

  Laying upon her side in anguish, the Azure Queen bled into the flowers at the center of her fetid heath, her body streaked in cuts and an ax wound that had failed to knit itself. Her eyes flashed when Lut’s shadow stretched upon her.

  At the edge of her wood glistened her muddy gray pond.

  "Are you here to finish this, my little prince?" she asked. "Is this awful ballad to end?"

  "This was a terrible song," he conceded. "No real muddying, for all the mud, and bloody enough that it fits the world's current schemes."

  "Well…good for us."

  She shifted onto her back, staring at the dense canopy. Lut's eyes drew to her form, her curves and mounds, and even now, he found her wondrous. The world paused, a reunion of lovers but never beloved, spouses who refused to espouse each other. A slight tinge of lust and attraction remained, creating a strange aura of welcome they shared between themselves.

  Lut knelt down a few feet away from her. "This was inevitable. You abused the relationships between you and my kind, those who had to live with the cost of your decisions. You gambled faith for power. Power is nothing next to justice."

  "Oh, justice," she said. "Justice for the mob. Have you not seen them, Lut? They're savages, thanks to you. They take, slaughter, and rape. At least we gods gave you a place to make sure you would develop the way you needed to."

  "Develop?" He scoffed. "You created the idea that dignity was earned, not given."

  "It isn't."

  "Isn't it?" he cried, lunging toward her on all fours.

  She caught him in a roll, and they tumbled over each other on the moss, bodies reacquainted after the passing of those long years. At the end of their fall, she rested her head on Lut's chest. Sleep weighed his eyes.

  She lay in the crook of his arm, twirling a faded gold lock around her fingers. "Was it Tet?"

  "No, it wasn't Tet."

  "Then what was it?" she asked, her tone small. "You changed."

  "You could have told me your doubts. I would have improved."

  "You're mortal. What could you even begin to understand about me?"

  "I wanted to try," he said. "You told me the moment we met that I could earn a place beside you, a place where I could be of help."

  The Azure Queen rolled atop of her eternal champion, running her finger along his swollen and bloodied lip. Sometimes her lips met with his, sometimes they did not, but they played at what they once had, like ghosts who no longer haunted the world, but full and fleshed and alive.

  She whispered, "Not everyone can know that they are already part of the Absolute. It's too broad for them to think upon, requiring too much hand-holding for people who are so easily afraid."

  "Then give them reasons not to be," said Lut. "We put stock in old things like loyalty and forethought, and we do not shy from intelligence. You let so many die without them knowing that none of it was needed. You threw us away like we were nothing."

  "It did get out of hand too many times," she agreed, much to hi
s surprise. "But too many ideas result in too many problems. Some were not prepared to create the correct world."

  "What if the world never needed it?" Lut asked. "What happened to devotion, blessing, and harmony for the sake of harmony? It became about earthly treasure."

  "Ideas breed war, and war breeds need and opportunity." She crawled into his lap, where he cradled her in his arms. "Some of you only like glittery things."

  "Simplicity is a downfall." He grinned at the admission. "But we could have made this work. You could have talked to me, taught me, and in turn, I would have helped you."

  The Azure Queen scratched her nails into Lut's whiskered chin, a pleasurable thing that put him at ease. Her eyes heavy to sleep, her gaze went back to her pond.

  "We can fix this," he said, holding her stiff form in his arms. Mania took him, one last hook for a dream soon to be lost. He marched them toward her pond, a pool of gray grime he wished to experience one last time, for life and love and devotion. "You and I can disappear. I know ways out of this grove that they don't. We can take you to the seers and magicians in the south. We can live without Mystland, without the need to rule others."

  "Oh, my little prince," she whispered. "You're a fool."

  The moment the dingy water swallowed Lut's feet, he paused. The old rush of entropy, the cool wave that would take him, was small, feeble next to what it had been in the past. He lowered them down into the water.

  "I love you," he said in the pure quiet. He reached for his belt, untying the poison gourd Mei had made for this moment. "I want you to know."

  Tears formed at the edge of her golden eyes, scant but present. "You are mortal and meaningless. I make the motes dance."

  Those words were a bitter poison in Lut's heart. He urged himself to keep his voice steady. "You rest here. When you're healed, we'll talk again. All right, my goddess?"