Forest of Demons (15 page)

There was nothing to say. That woman wasn’t Aryan’s concern. He had a job to do.

Aryan’s men were joined by Kemp’s and Darius’s Hands. The latter two would take a place on the Discovery ship, leaving the old crew free to return to The City.

The journey to the northern coastline, where the ship was expected to dock, would take two days and one night. Although this was Aryan’s first escort, the route was so firmly mapped that there was little risk of attack or exposure.

Wild animals steered clear of the fifteen warriors as the men trudged through the icy landscape, their gigantic bodies pressing a fresh path through the wilderness.

The Hands kept to their own groups for the first few hours, but it wasn’t long before they began to mingle, trading rotation stories. Kemp fell into step beside Aryan, and Darius joined them a moment later. Both warriors were older than him with more experience under their belts. Both Hands had been on discovery several times before, and had fought and pillaged for The City. Aryan both longed for and dreaded his opportunity to do the same.

“Have you heard the news?” Darius asked.

“Aye,” Kemp said.

“What news?” Aryan asked.

“The new fleet.” Darius sniffed. “Conquest, they’re calling it. Six ships almost ready to sail.”

Marduk’s words about change suddenly made sense. So this was what was coming. A new fleet made up of six ships would require twelve Hands. It would mean that the reserves would need to be promoted to run The City in place of the Hands chosen to sail.

It was a big change, and conquest . . . conquest was new concept.

“Do you know the destination?” Aryan asked.

Darius shook his head. “But I do know this: Those ships could carry all twenty-five Hands.”

“And there are rumors of them building more,” Kemp added.

Aryan’s mind swam with possibilities yet drew no firm conclusions, but then it wasn’t his place to think too hard. The Divine thought for them, protected them, and nurtured them. Whatever the reasons for the new fleet, he was sure they would all be enlightened soon enough.

They continued in silence, each lost in thought.

Bojan popped his head through the flaps of their blanket tent. Aryan was settling into his furs for the night, snug inside the lattice framed structure. Even though the sun still shone, they kept to their sleep patterns. In order to escort the crew and shipment back to the City, they were required to be rested.

“Seriously Chief, are you a woman?”

Aryan laughed. “No, but I do like my sleep.”

“Even when there’s red brew on offer?”

“Really?” Aryan pulled back the furs, sliding his boots back on, rejuvenated at the possibility of the invigorating beverage. “And to whom do we owe our gratitude for that?”

Bojan winked. “Not having a life-mate gives me plenty of time to spend in my own personal brewery.”

“And what does Emille think about that?”

Bojan grabbed his own crotch. “Emille can suck my cock! He shouldn’t charge so much for the stuff.”

Aryan chuckled. “He can afford to; no one else gets it quite right. He has a secret ingredient, you know.”

Bojan tapped his nose. “And now, so do I.”

“How? He told you?”

“Only after I spent my last shard getting him drunk at the Respite Tap.”

Emille was a hard nut to crack, and the only seasoned warrior that had been allocated a civilian role. His premises provided controlled respite for all active warriors—brew, food, and games. It was a place to trade rotation stories, a place to unwind, and the only place you could find decent red brew. Aryan finished lacing his boots and waved Bojan away. “Go on, get out. I’m coming. I have to try this red brew now, just to tell you that you got it wrong.”

“You’ll be eating your words soon enough, Chief.” Bojan retreated, and after adjusting his furs Aryan followed, hunching to avoid hitting the top of the large tent. He stepped out into the cave they had camped in. It was a regular stop for escorts, stocked with supplies hidden within the natural recesses of the rock.

The other warriors had gathered around a fire. Although they didn’t feel the chill too much, a fire had a comforting glow and provided the illumination required for the card games that had sprung up.

Bojan was sitting with Earl, Fen, and Darius. They were swigging brew from tin mugs and laughing about something. Aryan joined them, and Bojan passed him a mug of red brew.

He brought it to his lips for the moment of truth. He tilted and swallowed. Flavor exploded on his tongue. He took another sip, sending this one straight to his stomach, which fizzed with warmth. The next went straight to his head where it turned on every light, casting out the shadows.

“Good?” Bojan asked, head tilted, expression smug.

“Good.” Aryan held out his mug for more. Bojan refilled the mug from one of the skins he was carrying, and Aryan sat on the rocky ground beside them. Red brew was a luxury. It titillated the senses and made the world seem brighter, and now that Bojan had the recipe, Aryan had a feeling they would be indulging more often.

“Hear your boy is out in the Forging,” Darius said.

He was the biggest of the warriors, his pale-blue eyes rimmed with darkness. His hair was beaded and pulled back at the nape of his neck so it rattled when he shook his head. Aryan had heard about him. They said he could cleave a musk ox in two with one blow; they also said that he had wrestled a
giwulf
, torn its jaw clean in two with his bare hands. Darius was a legend, and he was speaking to Aryan.

Aryan hid his awe, nodding coolly.

“You must be worried,” Darius said.

Was this a test of his faith? “No. I trust in The Divine.”

Darius dropped his gaze to the fire. “You do, do you? You believe perfection is divine?”

“Of course.” The air was suddenly thinner.

“Of course,” Darius echoed hollowly. “I had a child once, a beautiful little girl. They took her away because she was born tainted; a mark as small as an apple pip on her right cheek, a blemish that did nothing to detract from her tiny perfection. To me,
she
was divine.”

There was a dead silence, filled only by the crackling of the fire. Aryan looked around to see that conversation had died.

Earl cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for your loss, Darius. I cannot imagine what you must have felt.”

“No, no you cannot.”

Aryan kept his peace. What he had to say would not be welcome. He could empathize with Darius, of course. The loss of a child was no small thing, but the law was clear. It had kept their bloodlines clean, their people strong and healthy, and promoted peace. Imperfection was the mark of evil. Imperfection bred more imperfection, which weakened the whole race. But he wouldn’t say these words to Darius.

Darius was watching him carefully, reading him. Aryan averted his gaze, uncomfortable under the scrutiny, but in the next instance, he experienced a rush of annoyance. Why should he hold his peace when his words echoed the teachings of The Divine?

“Say it,” Darius said softly. “I can see it in your eyes. You believe they were right. That my little girl was imperfect.”

Earl pressed his heel down on Aryans foot in warning.

Aryan ignored him, lifting his chin. “I am sorry for your loss, but The Divine’s teachings, the laws, have kept us safe, alive, and strong for a century.”

Darius’s body tensed. For a brief moment Aryan was certain that the older man would strike him. Instead he relaxed, leaning back.

“Of course it has.”

Aryan could tell Darius didn’t believe his words, and this confused him. He didn’t understand the animosity emanating off the man. His daughter had become one with the eternal flame. One day he would see her again; she wasn’t lost to him forever, so surely that knowledge should bring him some peace?

He held the larger warrior’s gaze, determined not to show weakness. Darius’s lips twisted; he snorted in amusement before releasing Aryan’s gaze in favor of the flickering flames.

A gust of icy wind flew into the cave, brushing them with snow. It swirled around, and the fire dipped and flared.

Darius frowned. “Unusual for a storm this time of year. Best buckle down for it though.” He slapped his thighs and stood up, stretching his huge frame.

Warriors began to move toward their tents. Aryan drained his mug and stood, ready for some sleep, when a harder gust whipped against their faces, drowning the fire with ice and snow. Aryan moved to the mouth of the cave staring in shock at the snowstorm that defied all seasonal rules.

“Vidar, bring in the sledge!” Darius yelled.

“Ratimir, Zal!” Kemp shouted “Supplies, now!”

The warriors ran out of the cave and were swallowed by the blizzard. The remaining warriors waited. Blizzards at this time of year were rare; they all exchanged worried glances. The wind howled and screamed. A cold tongue of unease licked its way up Aryan’s spine.

They waited. The men did not return.

“Something’s not right!” Kemp shouted over the wind.

“This storm is unnatural!” Darius said.

“Maybe they got disorientated. It’s thick out there,” Aryan said.

No one looked convinced.

“I’m going out to help, maybe—”

Something flew through the air and slammed into the wall behind Aryan.

Kemp’s eyes grew round.

“Frack! Frack!” Earl backed away, his face drained of color.

Aryan turned to the wall and exhaled sharply. An arm, a bloody, torn arm lay against the rock. A warrior’s arm.

The cave erupted into action. Weapons were drawn, guns cocked, swords hefted, and all three Hands, or what was left of them, moved toward the entrance of the cave.

The howling and screaming grew louder; this time it was clear it wasn’t just the wind.

Aryan yelled over the storm. “What is it, giwulves?” Giant wolves he could handle with ease, but his gut told him that something else waited for them within the storm.

Darius shook his head, beads rattling in agitation. “No, this is something else. I can feel it.”

“What?”

There was no time for answers. Earl, Cadoc, Bojan, and Fen flanked him, moving into formation as they exited into the blinding blizzard.

Ice and snow pricked Aryan’s eyes and face; it was almost impossible to see anything but dark shapes. The world was a muffled whistle. Aryan took a moment to gain his bearings, to tune his senses to this ferocious environment.

Movement to his left, Earl’s surprised yell, and the clang of a sword against something hard had him whipping his head round, momentarily distracted.

A shape rushed at him, tall with impossibly long arms. He raised his sword just in time, slashing at the apparition. The contact jarred through him, making his teeth sing and his sword arm vibrate with pain.

The creature screeched, an inhuman sound that pierced his ears and twisted his gut, numbing his limbs and rooting his feet to the spot.

“Ice wraiths! Take out the heads. Don’t let them scream!” Darius yelled.

The wraith lunged at him again, its head whipping forward, mouth opening, clinking shards of ice winking in his face. A black, slimy tongue writhed on a bed of crimson and flaps of skin, visible as they climbed down its throat, began to vibrate. It was going to scream!

Aryan brought his sword up in an arch, then swung it down with all his might, cleaving the wraith’s head in two and turning the budding scream into a tiny puff of rank-smelling air.

He swung round to assist Cadoc, who lay frozen on the ground, arms raised, as a wraith bore down on him. Aryan brought his sword round in an arc parallel to the ground, taking the creature’s head clean off.

Cadoc’s teeth were clenched, his eyes wide as he struggled to regain control of his limbs. Aryan realized what had happened. The wraith’s scream was a weapon. It paralyzed so it could consume its prey. Aryan grabbed Cadoc by his furs and began to drag him toward the cave. He needed to get him to safety, and the cave was the only cover they had.

They were almost there when Cadoc’s vocal cords unfroze, and he let out a warrior’s roar.

Aryan dropped him. “Welcome back.”

Cadoc rolled to his feet, his expression murderous. “I’m going to frackin’ kill those bastards!” He raised his machete, unleashed another roar, and barreled back out into the blizzard.

Aryan shrugged, raised his sword, and did the same.

The arm belonged to Vidar. They never found the rest of him. Ratimir and Zal were wounded but alive. Aryan was still vibrating with adrenaline. Ice wraiths! Who would have believed them to be real? He’d heard tales, of course; what child hadn’t? Da had lulled him to sleep with horrific battle stories, most of them involving ice wraiths. Legend spoke of an ancient time when the land was overrun by such creatures, abominations of nature that fed off the land, ancient creatures with only one goal, sustenance. Sitting by the freshly built fire, surrounded by warriors who were too agitated to sleep, Aryan cast his mind back to those tales.

Darius’s monolith frame cast distorted shadows against the rock walls. His broad, angled face was set as if carved from stone, and if not for the dancing fire in his eyes, Aryan could have mistaken him for a statue. He was so still that when his rumbling voice filled the cave it jolted Aryan from his meandering thoughts.

“The wraiths . . . they’re a portent.” Darius spoke reflectively, but every warrior was compelled out of his own thoughts by his words. “They’ve slept for almost a century, but rise now as a portent. My Da always said that the wraiths were the hungry souls of fallen warriors, souls compelled to purge the world of an ancient abomination. They’ve slept for almost a century, so why rise now?” His hooded gaze remained fixed on the undulating flames.

Aryan moistened his lips. “You think that something else has arisen?”

Darius sighed, a bone-weary sound. “I don’t know. What I do know is that escorts will need to be doubled. Next time, they’ll attack in force.”

“Then we must speak to Marduk. He will speak to The Voice, and we will be blessed by The Divine.” Aryan’s words gave him comfort. The tension that had held his muscles hostage abated. Earl, Cadoc, Bojan, and Fen looked somewhat reassured, but the others seemed unaffected by his declaration.