Angelslayer: The Winnowing War (12 page)

The Galagleans shouted a heavy volley as Agapenor walked forward and dropped into the fighter's pit. It was hollowed-out barren earth, the floor and walls rock-hard clay scored well with blood. Agapenor unlatched his axe belt and tossed it to one of his men. Daath and Galagleans crowded about the pit, peering over each other's shoulders.

All Agapenor wanted of this night was a few drafts of ale and then home to his good woman; now he was sucked into some Daathan grappling match. He really just wanted to grab one of these blue-skinned bastards and crack his head open. The Daath had their day all right, but Agapenor could still break any one of them in half.

He reached behind his back, pulled out his backup dagger, tossed it to Cindos, then took a wide stance and waited, clenching and reclenching his fists.

Agapenor had been born big and it was said in the village where he lived that he nearly killed his mother coming out of her. By seven, he could lift tree posts barehanded, and by twelve he could wrestle cattle to the ground. By twenty, no man could mark time in an arena with the axeman. He was older now, a veteran, but far from being past his prime.

Still, even Agapenor was unprepared for this—a roar. He wrinkled his brow.

The Daath had all gathered closely about one side of the pit, and now they began to stomp their boots on the wooden floor, shouting, beating their fists against their breastplates.

“Here you are, Galaglean!” the captain cried. “My chosen champion!”

The Daath were wrestling with something—unstrapping leather cords. They threw it into the pit. It was a beast—a red-haired aberration of nature almost six and a half feet tall. More if it had been able to stand upright, but it was bent over. One arm dragged along the ground, a huge arm, while the second arm was the size of a boy's. This was an Etlantian Failure, one of the pitiful bastard children of the giants. It seemed he was part animal with the thick, bristled red hair on him. Agapenor had heard of such things in far places—seen them, as well—birth creatures of giants who had mated with animals.

“What in God's name be that?” screamed Cindos.

It had probably been trapped and caged, prodded and driven mad by the Daath for the sole purpose of winning tavern brawls. It staggered into the pit with crazed eyes.

“Its mother was a red ape,” the captain shouted at Agapenor, “and its father a brainless giant, so you both have something in common, Galaglean!”

It roared, exposing canine teeth—a flesh eater—and slammed its big arm against the dirt wall causing a slight quake. Pebbles bounced off its huge, hairy shoulders. The monster had nearly brought down the wall with one blow, but Agapenor knew the worst of it would be the teeth—avoiding the teeth. They were razor sharp and stained with fresh blood. The Daath had probably just fed him a rat for effect.

There was cheering and laughter, but Agapenor was feeling some genuine concern. The face of the creature looked as if it might almost have been normal, but one side was melted, a sad-looking effect, as if it were permanently weeping.

It suddenly moaned out with a mockingly human voice, “Moooom!”

That startled Agapenor, the near human voice, but nothing bothered him more than those teeth. They were shearing teeth, like a shark's, staggered and uneven, bigger on the lower jaw than on the upper.

Agapenor noticed Cindos standing with dread in his eyes, and he guessed the dread was more for his wagered coin than for Agapenor's peril.

Agapenor circled wide. The beast tipped its head to the side and watched Agapenor through narrowed, little black eyes that were suspiciously intelligent.

“Tear off its head, Captain!” Cindos screamed. “It is just a simple ape, that is all, so tear off its head!”

There were screams and jeers, but Agapenor continued to circle, uncertain of his next move. He could be the one getting his head torn off—who knew what this thing was capable of?

The grotesque creature then screamed and leapt forward, using the knuckles of its one big arm to pivot off the wall. Agapenor ducked, rolled on his shoulder, and was quickly on his feet behind the creature, where he brought both his hands together and slammed his elbows into the ape's back—a hollow, heavy thud, all his weight into it. That would have brought down a human right there.

The creature reared, enraged, and its huge arm swung out of nowhere to catch Agapenor in the side of the head, slamming him against the dirt wall. Agapenor slumped a moment, stunned. God's blood—that was a hard blow. This bastard was strong. The beast then pivoted and struck with the little arm, the fist belting Agapenor with several quick jabs to the jaw, each knocking the Galaglean's head back.

About the pit, cheering erupted. The bar was going insane. Taverns loved a good fight. Fun for all.

Agapenor tried to clear space between him and the long arm only to find himself backed against the wall with nowhere to turn. The giant's hand reached across and wrapped about Agapenor's neck, sucking him into a hug as though they might be best of friends. The little hand dug into Agapenor's shoulder with sharp nails that drew blood. But what worried Agapenor—those teeth were about to go for his neck, and there was little time to get out of this. The grotesque creature was quite calm, taking its time choosing its bite. The grip about Agapenor's ribs was at any moment going to snap his bones like twigs. The little hand now curled over Agapenor's skull and yanked his head back, exposing a nice shank of neck. The beast was going to take a bite out of him as if he were a bread roll.

Agapenor screamed and brought both his fists up and back hard, slamming them against either side of the creature's head into the temples. The beast's head was bald and the skin surprisingly soft. The first blow seemed to have little effect other than to confuse it a bit. Agapenor's second double-fisted blow seemed to irritate the monster, but that was followed rapidly by a third, delivered so hard it would have cracked any human's head in half like a walnut. That had an effect. The creature reeled, stunned.

Agapenor was able to pull free. He turned to deliver several rapid side kicks to the beast's breadbasket—if it had a breadbasket. Those kicks should have brought the thing to its knees, but nothing, no effect. Agapenor paused and stepped back. The monster was holding both the big hand and the little hand over its ears, swaying, moaning.

“Maaaaa!” it suddenly cried, like a child who had been bullied.

This was pitiful. Godless. Agapenor had nothing against mutations; it wasn't their fault they were godless evil. He took hold of one edge of the pit and pulled himself out. Then he searched out the Daathan captain.

“Maaaaaa!”

The Daath was laughing so hard he was holding his gut.

Agapenor threw several men aside. Before the Daath could realize what was happening, he was grabbed by the front of his burnished silver breastplate, lifted into the air, and heaved headlong into the pit.

“I wrestle men, not grotesques, you silver prick!” Agapenor screamed.

The tavern had gone completely insane. Fights were breaking out, chairs were being smashed, windows knocked out. The bartender ducked beneath his table for cover. The tavern would likely not be standing in the morning. In the pit, the Daathan captain scrambled madly for the edge but a thick-fingered red hand seized him by his black hair, jerking him back in. His men were forced to leap into the pit, weapons drawn.

Agapenor snagged Cindos by the shoulder. “Get us out of here!” he shouted.

Cindos took precious seconds to snag all the coin he could from the table and then ducked out with the other Galagleans. The tavern was in such turmoil no one noticed the six big axemen spill out of the door and run.

Soon they were trudging uncertainly down a back-end Daathan street. The spires of the great castle behind them pierced the moon like some alien temple. The city always left Agapenor uneasy, as though it belonged somewhere else, not a part of the Earth he knew.

“We should go find us another tavern,” Cindos said, stuffing coins in his belt pouches. “One without Daath crawling through it.”

“We are in their city, Cindos. They are going to be hard to avoid. Besides, what we should do is get some sleep. The barge pulls off the west dock before sunup. You keep drinking like this; you are going to puke when we get out to sea.”

“It is being sober that makes me puke. All I need is to keep drinking until I pass out and I will be upright and fit to sail come dawn.”

Agapenor drew up, motioning the others. They had rounded a street corner and suddenly, blocking their path, were four mounted Daathan warriors. And they were not typical Daathan warriors. Agapenor caught a glimpse of a plain silver armband on one. Shadow Warriors—possibly the warlord's personal guard. Their horses alone were worth more than Agapenor could ever hope to make in ten lifetimes.

Their helms were capped in white horsehair. This wasn't about a tavern brawl. It smelled of trouble—bad trouble.

“Which of you is Agapenor, the axeman?”

Agapenor regarded them with suspicion. “That would be me,” he growled.

One of them urged his horse forward and offered a scroll. Agapenor had no choice but to take it, though he would rather pull a tooth. Once he had the scroll in his hand, the four Daath turned in motion and the hooves of their horses clip-clopped away. Agapenor narrowed his brow. His men gathered about. The scroll was expensive papyrus, and the silver-wax seal bore the imprint of none other than Eryian, the Eagle of Argolis.

“What be this, Agapenor?” Cindos pressed.

“It is a scroll—sent of their warlord. That is the signet of Eryian himself.”

“God's blood, what should he want with you?”

“One way to find out,” Agapenor muttered, cracking the seal with his thumb.

Cindos pressed closer. “Well?”

“Trouble,” Agapenor said. “This is bad trouble.”

“What does it read?”

“Cindos, you idiot, you know I cannot read Daathan.” “Then how do you know it is trouble?”

“What? You think he had invited me to the king's ball? It smells of trouble; that's how I know—my mother did not raise me ignorant. I know what this intends.”

Agapenor looked up, searching a moment, then started quickly across the street.

“You there!” he shouted. “Boy! Hold where you be!”

A Daathan youth froze in his tracks, turning to see six huge Galaglean axemen coming for him. His impulse was to run. He glanced in either direction, but it was no use; they had him surrounded. He stared with panicked eyes, and pressed back against the brick of the alley. When Agapenor reached him, he held the scroll opened before his face.

“Read this to me,” he said.

The boy's voice caught on the first word, but he took a breath and started over.

“Agapenor … son of … son of Bauron … shall present himself in the agora of the city upon the morrow at dawn to Captain Rhywder of the Shadow Walkers. He is to be … to be …” The boy squinted. “Could you, ah … hold it still, please?”

“Motherless whores,” Agapenor muttered. “What are they getting me into?” He steadied the scroll, pushing it nearly into the boy's face.

“… to be fully fitted out and ready to ride,” the boy finished.

“Ah, God's love of frogs.” Agapenor moaned. He crumpled the scroll and stuffed it into his tunic. “Give the lad some coin.”

He strode away, leaving it to Cindos to reluctantly give up a single bronze coin.

“But what's it mean, Agapenor?” Cindos said, hurrying to catch up.

“Means I should have stayed away from this city like I promised my mother when I was ten and two. She understood. ‘Never trust them Daath, Gapey,' she told me, ‘you stay away from them black hairs.' Ah, my mother, she were a God-lovin' woman.”

B
efore sunrise, when Lamachus was still cutting wood, Aeson rode up at full gallop and circled his horse, anxious. Lamachus straightened up, one hand on his blessed aching back. “What would be the matter with you, boy?”

“The east field! That same heifer broke through again! And this time she took the entire herd with her!”

“You told me that fence was bound!”

“It was. I tied it, roped it, everything I could think of, but somehow she broke through again! She is possessed! Perhaps of that spirit we birthed yesterday!”

Lamachus waited for no more. “I see you are as addle-headed today as you were the day before,” he muttered, walking for the stockade. Moments later his big stallion burst out and leapt the fence. Lamachus spurred it into a hard gallop toward the east field where the baron's herds were kept. They were almost more important to him than his own stock.

“I will take the north hillock and the highway!” Aeson cried.

Aeson watched him ride off and smiled, although guilt tugged at him. There was a good, heavy day's work down there. Aeson had scattered those cows from there to the sea.