Strongman (18 page)

“I told you. The Hssrda camp.”

“I know that. And?”

Reluctantly, Griff opened his eyes, focused. “They’re digging.”

“
What
?” Abruptly, the warm body surrounding him was gone. Fort shot upright and Griff followed more slowly, swearing.

“Actually, it was the slaves who were doing the work. At the base of a cliff.”

“Fuck!” Fort ran both hands through his hair. “You’re sure?”

Griff stiffened. “Yes,” he said curtly.

Fort squeezed his eyes shut and blew out a long breath. Then he hooked a hand under Griff’s arm and hauled them both to their feet. “Come on.” He clapped the tumbler on the shoulder, so that he stumbled.

Griff planted his feet, watching the nice flex of the big man’s ass as he strode toward the pool. “Come where?”

Fort turned, gray eyes as cool and piercing as if he’d never been buried to the balls in Griff’s body, his face contorted with ecstasy. “To the Hssrda camp.”

97

Denise Rossetti

Hssrda
—
Anatomy
:

The scaly
,
armored bodies of Hssrda are vulnerable at two points only
—
under the jaw and
in the armpit
.
Their sheer bulk and strength
,
together with natural armaments of talon
,
fang and
spur
,
make them almost impossible to kill
.

Excerpt from the Great Encyclopedia
,
compiled by Miriliel the Burnished
.

Griff followed Fort through the brush, placing his feet where the big man placed his, his heart thumping double time. The vranee were hobbled in the thickest stand of yool trees they could find, half a mile back. Fort had said the resinous smell would help conceal the presence of live meat from stray Hssrda.

Twister, he could hardly believe it! A scant hour ago, he’d been lying with his head on Fort’s chest, feeling gorgeously boneless and relaxed in every limb. Then he’d gone and opened his stupid, fucking mouth. His rough, tender lover had metamorphosed before his eyes into Fortitude McLaren, mercenary captain. Before he’d had time to open his mouth, the other man was barking orders. In an amazingly short space of time, they’d cleaned up, dressed and struck camp. As they led the loaded vranee out of the hidden valley, Griff had turned for a last look, imprinting it on his memory.

Lost in thought, he let out a startled oath when Fort spun around and grabbed a fistful of his shirt, slamming him up against a tree. He thrust his face into Griff’s until they were nose to nose. “You do as you’re told,” he growled. “Without question.

Instantly. Understand?”

Griff bared his teeth. “I’m not a complete idiot.”

“No, you’re not.” Fort released him and stepped back. “We’re almost within sentry range. No talking, no noise of any kind, from here on. Once I’ve seen enough of the camp, we’ll fade back. If we stay downwind, they’ll never know we were here.”

Fort paused, his level gaze calm and icy. “Do you know how to kill Hssrda?” He settled the crossbow on his shoulder, touched the hilt of his sword.

“The only one I’ve seen close up was SpurSergeant. It used to run the Fair until the Aetherii killed it.” Griff frowned. “It was armored all over.”

“Strike here.” Fort touched him lightly under the arm. “Or here.” He placed two fingers on the soft skin under the other man’s jaw, forcing his chin up.

Griff laid his hand over Fort’s. “What about the eyes?”

Fort smiled, breathtakingly grim. “Might slow it down.”

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“All right.” Griff swallowed. “I’m ready.” With some surprise, he realized he was.

In fact, he’d rather be here with Fort, approaching a Hssrda camp, than anywhere else without him. Excitement and determination stirred in his chest. “I won’t be a liability, I swear.”

“I know.” Without warning, Fort jerked him forward, sealing their lips together in a hard, close-mouthed kiss. Griff was still gasping when he turned away. “Come.”

It took them two hours of painstaking effort to work their way to the top of a gentle rise upwind of the Hssrda camp. Once they crouched, frozen in the undergrowth, as a Hssrda patrol passed by. Griff watched, his guts heaving. Hssrda moved on all fours, in an ungainly shamble that covered the ground with astonishing speed. The creature in the lead was huge, bigger even than SpurSergeant had been. A ClawCaptain perhaps? It was a mottled khaki, with a string of scales in violent acid green snaking over one hulking shoulder. Standing upright, it would have to be eight feet tall, its girth enormous, a thick tail slithering behind it. Three others lollopped along in the rear, carrying serrated halberds. In battle, they’d rear up, each a nightmare of talon and spur and slashing metal.

Fort waited a long time before he tapped Griff on the shoulder and moved off, as silent as a fellwolf and almost as terrifying as the Hssrda.

Now Griff lay flat on his stomach behind a rock, profoundly grateful they were upwind. Every now and then, a fitful gust brought them a stench so solid it was almost visible. Watched by Hssrda guards, a line of miserable, naked slaves disappeared into a dark hole in the base of a low bluff. At regular intervals, they passed buckets of soil from hand to hand, until the last man emptied them onto a huge mound of tailings.

Appalled, Griff glanced sideways at Fort. The big man’s face was bleak, his eyes grim and distant. How many times had he seen a scene like this? How many had he rescued, broken and bleeding? How many had he left behind?

Fort nudged Griff’s elbow and gestured with his chin. Four Hssrda with whips appeared at the top of the incline, chivvying a group of slaves carrying a huge roll of what looked like carpet. Griff narrowed his eyes. Traveler save him, it was canvas, an enormous piece of canvas. What the hell?

Driven by the whips, the slaves shifted half a dozen huge boulders, securing one edge under their weight. Others hammered in pegs, attached ropes. In the clear air, the two men could hear their grunts of effort, the whistle of the lash and the thin screams.

Another sibilant command and the canvas unrolled, tumbling down to cover the dark opening and a good portion of the ground in front of it. A section of the bucket brigade were detached to secure it to poles like a primitive marquee.

His brain racing, Griff stared. Colors swirled in a confusing pattern on the canvas, the same sewage brown as Hssrda scales, mixed with green streaks. Fuck, it was camouflage!

He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. The big man was wriggling backward.

He tapped Griff on the calf, jerked his head.
Let
’
s go
.

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The journey back was nearly as fraught as the one there. Fort took advantage of every vestige of cover, leading the other man through thickets and down streambeds, avoiding the paths and clearings. They had to outflank two sentries, the first not much taller than Griff, but twice as thick around. A TailSoldier, lowest of the low. Fortunately, it was too busy picking its brownish teeth with a long talon to be paying much attention. Its tail ended in a stump, still weeping green blood and pus.

Griff shivered. Higher caste Hssrda punished underlings by biting off their extremities. And swallowing. The flesh regrew eventually, but it was no wonder commanding Hssrda were so much bigger.

The second Hssrdan was more alert. It was certainly larger, crouching so still they were very nearly on top of it before Fort grabbed Griff’s arm and dragged him down into the bushes. It took them a precious hour to backtrack, the Shadow chasing the Sun, afternoon drawing in.

Fifty yards from the copse that hid the vranee, they paused to fill the water bottles, crouching by the stream. “Can I talk now?” whispered Griff.

“Quietly.” Fort pressed his shoulder. “You did well.”

Griff grinned. Then he sobered. “It’s camouflage.”

“I know.” Fort’s face was grim, his eyes hard as granite in winter. “That’s why Jan’s Aetherii scouts couldn’t find them. I’d like to know what bastard taught them that.” He rinsed his mouth and spat. “We have to get back right—”

One of the vranee whickered, a loud, panicky sound. Fort stared past Griff’s shoulder. “
Shit
!”

Griff followed his gaze. The ClawCaptain they’d seen earlier emerged from the trees, hauling one of their vranee, rearing and bucking. The ClawCaptain was assisted by one of its subordinates. Judging by the commotion in the copse, the other two were attempting to secure the second animal.

“If they get them, we’re fucking dead,” snarled Fort. He shot Griff a furious glance.

“C’mon! And Ruler, watch yourself!” Without pause, he launched himself down the slope, unslinging the crossbow as he went.

The first bolt took a Hssrdan in the throat. Well, fuck it, he hadn’t lost his touch.

One down. Fort tossed the bow aside and drew his sword, the metal ringing loudly. He and the second Hssrdan met in a flurry of talons and teeth and flying vranee hooves.

Vranee loathed Hssrda.

Peripherally, he was aware of Griff behind him, slightly to the left. Something whizzed over his shoulder, flickering like a lightning flash, and a blade sprouted out of the eye of his foe. The Hssrdan howled, dropping its halberd to wrap both taloned fists around the knife and rip it out. Green ichor dripped over its snout, the remaining eye gleaming yellow with pain and fury. The creature advanced like the wrath of the gods and when its companion came to fight on its blind side, Fort had little attention to spare for anything else.

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His sword flickering in a desperate, defensive arc, he feinted and circled, trying to catch a glimpse of the tumbler. He leaped, just in time to avoid the sweeping tail that almost knocked his feet out from under him. As he landed, he saw Griff backing cautiously, the ClawCaptain looming over him. The Hssrdan was clearly wary. As Fort watched, both the tumbler’s hands blurred, two knives slicing through the air in a vicious arc that ended when the Hssrda officer turned, taking the blades on its armored shoulder. The fanged snout opened on a roar of rage.

Fort’s big brown vran lashed out, a clawed hoof thudding into his half-blind opponent from behind. As the Hssdra lurched forward, Fort danced in close and thrust the point of his sword up under its jaw with all his strength. Releasing the sword, he grabbed the shaft of the creature’s halberd and jerked hard.

Clumsy in its fury, the vran swung around, cannoning into Fort’s side and making him stumble. The fourth Hssrdan’s weapon swept through the space he’d occupied, the serrated edge flashing wickedly in the soft afternoon light. He felt the breeze of its passage ruffle his hair.

Fort rolled aside, the surviving Hssrdan coming after him with incredible rapidity for its size. “Griff!” he roared, scrambling backward. “To me!” Why the fuck hadn’t he given the tumbler a sword?

Griff flicked him a glance. Then he threw himself into a soaring backward somersault, landing neatly at Fort’s shoulder. If Fort had had the breath to spare, he would have laughed at the expression on the ClawCaptain’s face. The slit-pupiled eyes opened wide and the lower jaw sagged.

“Only two now,” he gasped, managing to score his opponent’s snout with the stolen halberd.

The ClawCaptain recovered, lunging, and Griff swayed aside, light and easy on his feet. Fort opened his mouth to shout a warning, but he was too late. The powerful tail whipped up, catching the tumbler behind the knees and the Hssrdan’s huge taloned fist struck him behind the ear. Griff gave the strangest little grunt, surprise and pain mixed.

His eyes rolled up and he fell forward on his face in the dirt, motionless.

The ClawCaptain turned its head to stare down at Fort, its yellow eyes gleaming with unmistakable satisfaction.

In all the years of his mercenary career, Fort had never allowed himself to fight in anger. It was the best way to get yourself killed, in his opinion. But later, all he could recall was a red blur of murderous fury, his brain and his body working in a perfect harmony of destruction.

The ClawCaptain hissed an order and its subordinate abandoned Fort to reach for Griff’s limp body. He took his chance, spinning in a crouch that exploded into a precision thrust through the jaw and directly up into the creature’s skull, all his weight behind it. As the Hssrdan choked on metal, Fort leaped aside to tug his sword from its fallen companion. He spun to meet the ClawCaptain, a savage grin on his lips. He’d 101

Denise Rossetti

gone beyond caring about his life, but he couldn’t get close enough to skewer it. The creature kept him at bay with vicious blows of its tail.

In the end, he slowed enough to allow the Hssdran to enfold him in a hideous, bone-cracking embrace, slamming him up against a wall of reeking scales and iron muscle. With his left hand, Fort drew the long dagger he kept sheathed at his waist.

Black spots danced in his vision and his ribs creaked, but with the last of his strength, he drove the weapon into the soft flesh under the scaly arm, angling viciously for a vital organ, grinding and twisting.

Ruler, would the fucking thing never die! As the ClawCaptain roared, the carrion stink of its breath washed over him, warm and fetid in his face. It swayed, stiffened and fell backward like a forest giant.

He must have passed out for a moment, because when he came to, he was lying sprawled, shielding Griff with his body. In his head, he was calling the tumbler’s name, over and over, a frantic litany, but no sound emerged save for his gasping breath. His hands trembling, he fumbled for a pulse. It took him minutes of agony, but finally—

Blessed Lufra!—he felt a weak thread beneath his fingertips.

Supporting Griff’s head with the utmost care, he rolled him over, dreading what he was going to see. It had been a wicked blow. The tumbler’s face was so pale, his lips were colorless, every freckle showing stark on his skin. But there was no bleeding from ears or nose, no bruising around his eyes. Fort sagged and all the breath punched out of his lungs.
Holy Mother
,
thank you
,
thank you
.