Birth of a Mortal God (2 page)

Asteroth felt a knot in his throat and swallowed hard.

“I know you both have been longing to take the Rite of Blood, and must have often thought me a vindictive old hur’thlu. But I assure you, I had my reasons for withholding you from the Rite. Our present situation has changed things.”

He held up his hand as he saw their faces light up. “Traditionally, you two are still seen as children. And as such, would not be allowed to be sent into combat with the other men. But you are only considered thus due to my interference. Therefore, I will exempt you two from said rule and allow you to go. We are going to show these humans that we are not to be taken lightly. They will run back to their homes and tell their children and kings of the nightmarish creatures known as Tribe Ur’ak!”

The brothers as well as the Chieftain’s personal guard roared at his declaration.

Their father smiled, and years fell from his wrinkled face. “My sons, here is what I’ll have you do.”

Five hundred and
forty yog’murgarr determinedly marched their way across the plane of grass. Each armed with an axe and all clothed in pelts, all but two.

“I’m telling you, they will flee. You show me a human that will stand and fight after they’ve stared Arack dead in the eye, and I’ll show you a hur’thlu that inspires awe,” insisted Asteroth.

G’nar laughed. “You named it?”

“Of course, it is a magnificent example of manhood,” he replied with genuine pride.

“By the gods, I think you’re serious.”

“Of course I’m serious. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You—nevermind.” He was quiet for a moment. “I envy you, you know,” G’nar said, his tone now serious.

“Don’t feel bad, any man would,” he replied as he placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder.

G’nar slapped away his hand. “Not because of that, you dolt! I envy you because you are going to experience the glory of battle, while all I’m going to do is watch you experience it.”

“Can’t be helped, the shang’gomagarr can’t move at our pace, and Father needs to know if they should employ the Art to hasten themselves.”

“I know, but why me?” he asked dissatisfied.

“Perhaps Father wants a detailed report? But I’m sure no one would blame you if you killed a few humans on your way back to him.”

“Which is exactly why Father didn’t give me an axe,” answered G’nar dryly.

“Oh, dear brother, don’t you know? Humans are tiny things. You’ll be able to kill them barehanded. Which is why I don’t mind this little thing they gave me,” said Asteroth, waving his axe around like a toy.

“They gave you the largest one our smiths had! It’s those claws of yours that seem to dwarf anything in them.”

Asteroth held the weapon near G’nar as if to measure it. “Well, what do you know? You’re right.”

G’nar searched for landmarks then said, “We should be reaching the border soon.”

“I just hope our border brothers left some humans for us,” said Asteroth as they began climbing their last hill.

They were still laughing when they crested it and beheld the battlefield below. It struck Asteroth like a physical blow, and he clenched his jaw as he watched the final moments of the battle. Over a thousand infantry men stood in columns at the base of a gigantic wooden structure, housing hundreds of archers. The infantrymen were all well equipped and carried large rectangular shields that protected all but their heads.

G’nar placed a restraining hand on his brother’s shoulder, as they watched their border brothers struggle to penetrate the virtual wall of shields. The human warriors did not even attempt to fight honourably; they just hid behind their shields while their archers bore down death from above.

“You should report to Father,” said Asteroth as the last of their border defence fell.

“Don’t be rash. Wait for us,” said G’nar before running back down the hill with impressive agility.

Asteroth studied the wooden structure; it was a platform raised by four poles, which were in turn attached to flat timbers connected to wooden wheels. “A war machine of basic design, but effective,” he said to himself before turning his gaze back to the columns of infantry. After a moment, he found the man he was looking for and smiled maliciously. “Now, let’s show these cowards how the Ur’akgarr wage war.”

“Wait for shang’gomagarr,” said N’rak as he pushed his way toward the youngster.

Asteroth turned and knew he should handle the matter carefully, for N’rak held a lot of sway over the warriors present. “You’ve been warleader before, yes?”

N’rak nodded, and it almost seemed that the loose black bear head nodded with him.

“And all field decisions are the warleader’s to make, correct?”

Again he only nodded.

“And who did the Chief appoint warleader?”

“Asteroth.”

“Then it is my decision if we should wait, is it not?”

He hesitated. “Yes.”

“Good, because I need you all to follow my instructions exactly, can you do that?”

The warriors looked to N’rak as the yog’mur studied his warleader’s face. “We’ll follow.”

“Excellent, here is what I want you to do,” he said before explaining his strategy.

N’rak listened patiently for him to finish, then said, “Good plan.”

“I know,” smirked Asteroth before ripping a nearby boulder from the ground. “Remember, wait for my signal.”

“Kar’ta,” said the group as one.

Without another word, he flapped his wings and was in the air.

James stared at
the beastmen on top of the hill. “What are they waiting for? They’ve been standing there for only Annak knows how long, when are they going to charge?”

“I don’t think even the Old Man of Time can answer that,” came an unexpected answer.

James turned at the sudden reply and found himself facing a man wearing a plate mail; crystal blue eyes the only thing visible beneath it. “Captain Reave, sir! I didn’t mean any—”

“At ease, James. Despite my reputation, I won’t devour you alive if you relax a little.”

“Um, yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

“This is odd behaviour for beastmen, however. They are more the rip-out-your-entrails-and-eat-it-later type, as opposed to the composed guards we see now.”

“Should we attack them then?”

Captain Reave laughed. “Boy, the Black Griffins are renowned because we think before we fight. Charging a bunch of beastmen is not thinking; it’s suicide. Their skin is as tough as any leather armour you’ll find, and they possess the raw strength to crush a man’s skull with their bare hands. No, I think we’ll just stay put. By the nine hells, I’ll make camp here if I have to.”

“I wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing they’re out there watching us,” said James as he turned back to the hill.

“Sleep? Do you sometimes get the feeling you’re forgetting something important?” mused Reave as he stared at the receding red horizon.

“Captain, should we light torches?” asked one of the lieutenants; a man with a scraggy blond beard.

“Vendrious’s blood, the light! They’re bloody night-eyed!” he said suddenly before hearing a bone-chilling crash, followed by the screams of his men. He turned and found that the platform of the archer tower was gone. Those he had stationed on it lying either dead or screaming on the ground.

He rushed over and kneeled by one of the survivors, calling for a surgeon. “Matt, what the hell happened?”

The man choked on blood as he whispered, “A gigantic boulder, from the sky. It came out of nowhere.”

He turned to the surgeon as Matt lost consciousness, but the physician only shook his head. Cursing Nekt for their sudden change in fortune, he called for torches to be lit, when the surrounding men suddenly called to him in panic. They all pointed at something, and as he turned to see what it was, his world went dark.

James tried to
blink away the darkness. He wasn’t sure if he was trapped in some kind of nightmare, or if Henensu had sent one of his servants to reap souls from the world of the living. All he knew was that he was scared, more scared than he had ever been in his entire life.

News of the captain’s death had quickly spread through the ranks, and when the chaos and confusion had been at its peak, the beastmen struck. The sudden attack had kept everyone’s attention, and it was only after the sun had set that some tried to light torches. That was when it struck again. The red demon fell from the sky like divine punishment, killing any man who bore a torch.

It seemed to be unmatched in skill, cutting through them as if they were a bunch of children wielding toys. No one seemed to be able to even land a single blow, despite its enormous size.

James took a deep breath before crawling out from underneath the supply wagon. With each inch he moved, he cursed Nekt, figuring that he had nothing more to fear from the goddess of fortune and mishap.

He had waited until the sounds of fighting had ceased and then had waited some more, hoping that the beastmen would think them all dead and moved on. He only prayed that Xenusê took pity on him and that the officers’ mounts were still tied off.

He kept crawling for what seemed like hours, and just when he was about to lose hope, he pushed his arm into fresh horse faeces. A sensation that would normally bring disgust filled him with so much delight that he almost exclaimed. His heart pounded with excitement as he crawled onward, then he heard something. He stopped, held still, and soiled himself, hoping the smell would aid him in appearing to be just another corpse, or so he told himself.

Then he heard it again, this time a little louder. “Get up, you jackass.”

He had to stop himself from jumping to his feet and running toward the blessedly familiar voice. Instead, he slowly resumed his crawling.

“James? Is that you?” whispered the voice.

“Yes, where are you?”

“Look to your right.”

He did as instructed and saw a small group of men standing back to back a few feet from him. “Have you all gone mad? Get down!”

“The horses are gone, James. Unless you intend to crawl your way out of here, you can get up.”

“But the beastmen-”

“Damn it, boy! They can see you,” said the lieutenant before dragging him to the group.

“Gods, James, you reek,” commented one of the men.

He blushed. “I crawled through some horse shit, all right?”

“Do you got a flint?” asked another.

“Yeah, why?”

“Because I want to eat it. What in the nine hells do you think it is for? We want to light a torch.”

“No! You’ll draw that demon to us.”

“Vendrious’s blood, boy! Give me your flint or I’ll gut you right here,” answered the man.

“The only ones blind in this darkness are us, James. There are now eleven of us. If we work together, some of us might live to tell others about this day,” said the lieutenant gently.

He handed over the flint, and one of the men quickly set it to a blade, setting a torch ablaze with the sparks. The sudden introduction of light stung their eyes, and as their sight adapted, they saw they were surrounded.

“Do you think we are the only ones left?” asked one of the men to no one in particular.

“Yes, you are all that remain,” replied a deep voice from the surrounding darkness.

The group tensed at the sound, and James heard his heart pound against his ears. “You speak Zinoxian like a native, are you from Zinox?”

There was a moment of silence before the voice replied, “It’s no business of yours, human, for soon you’ll be dead.”

“Who are you?”

“I am Asteroth. I am your death,” said the voice when James heard screams at his back.

He spun around just in time to see the red demon decapitate three of his comrades with a single blow. Its axe tore through their tower shields like a scythe through wheat. Two more of the group fell before he could even draw his sword. The display of skill turned the remaining five veterans into cowards as they fled in terror, only to be cut down by the surrounding beastmen.

James stared at the demon that called himself Asteroth with terror and disbelief. He could scarcely believe that it single handily ruined one of the best mercenary companies in the kingdom. He remembered the old wet-nurse tale of the Black god and began laughing hysterically.

“What is so funny, human?”

“I’m laughing at the absurdity of all of this! Even if I do somehow manage to survive, no one will believe me. Nine hells, I can’t even believe it, and I’m staring at you. Who would believe that Asteroth, Leader of the Living, crushed the Black Griffins? They would think me mad.”

“You seem familiar with my name, how so?” he asked, confused.

“What? You don’t know?”

“Answer me, human!” roared Asteroth as he moved forward in a menacing fashion.

James stumbled backward. “All right, all right, calm down. I only know the wet-nurse tale.”

“Tell me.”

“Well, there is apparently this prophecy—”

“Stop!” shouted a familiar voice.

Asteroth turned and saw the Chieftain and his foster brother approach, with the rest of the shang’gomagarr in tow. “Father, what do you know of this?”

“Enough that I don’t want you hearing it from some human,” said the old yog’mur as he placed a hand on his foster son’s shoulder.

“Have you been keeping something from me, about my origins?” asked Asteroth, his voice betraying his anger.

“I have and I have not. It is complicated, but I will tell you what I know. However, first we have to deal with this human,” he said pointing to the cowering boy.

James found it bizarre that Asteroth spoke Zinoxian to the old beastman while it replied in its strange guttural language. From what he could tell, his situation was about to get worse, and he used what time he had to beg Nekt to pardon his previous impudence, promising a lifetime of devotion if he were to survive.

“We should let him go,” said G’nar suddenly.

Everyone turned at the strange remark, and he continued, “If we kill everyone, there would be no one to tell the humans what happened here. Let this one go, and no human would dare come here again.”

“He makes a good point,” said Asteroth as he turned to his father.

“But he will also tell his people about you, my son. Humans are well-known for their curiosity. We have no way of knowing how they’ll react,” countered their father and chieftain.