Sons of Evil: Book 1 Book of Dread (20 page)

“Do we
wait until nightfall?” Adrianna asked. “Try to go around them?”

“Probably our best chance,”
said Darius, “although they may have mounted scouting parties on their flanks. Avoiding
the main body may not be enough.”

They wiled away the afternoon,
taking a bit of rest and a bit of food. When the sun started to settle in the
west, they set out again, hoping they would be able to spot any Dalusians
before they themselves were seen. The moon was nearly full, casting its pale
glow on the sallow fields and giving them ample light for travel.

They had hiked in silence for
three hours, counting themselves fortunate that they did not come upon the
Dalusian camp, when Darius’ warning about mounted scouting parties was proven
true. Unfortunately the sound of the horses’ hooves reached them too late; by
the time the companions were alerted to the riders approaching from the east,
they had already been spotted.

They waited, still and silent
as the riders approached, having agreed weeks ago what they would say if
challenged while traveling in Dalusia. Whether their story would be accepted
was another matter.

There were eight in the
mounted party, and just as the demons had done, they quickly encircled the
companions with their weapons held ready. The leader of the scouting party kept
his back to the moon and his hood and cloak close about him, such that his face
was in shadow while those he addressed were visible to him in the moonlight.

“State your names and your
business,” he said, “and be quick about it.” He sounded tired and worn, simply
passing another long patrol in a war that had gone on for years.

Silas spoke for the group and
introduced each by their first name. “We’re going north in search of better
land. Crops have been sickly this season, and the harvest not enough to support
all our families past this winter, if even until then.”

The man shook his head. “I
doubt you’ll find things much better anywhere in Dalusia.” He leaned forward
and studied them in silence for a time, then said, “You seem well-armed for
farmers.”

“These are dangerous times,”
Silas said evenly, never letting his gaze drift from the shadowed face of his
questioner.

“That they are,” the man
replied. “For everyone. I’m afraid I’ll have to ask for those weapons for now,
and your packs, and we’ll escort you to our camp. The Captain will want to know
what you’re doing here. If you’re true you’ll get a tent and a meal and be on
your way at sunrise. I assume that’s acceptable?”

Silas stepped forward and
handed the man his staff. “Doesn’t look like we have much of a choice.” As he turned
back to his companions he saw the question on Adrianna’s face: “Should I act
now?” He gave one quick shake of head indicating they’d see how this played
out. He didn’t want to attack these men, who didn’t feel like the enemy, and if
one escaped to rouse the camp…

Thirty minutes later they were
herded into the Dalusian war camp. Even though it was past midnight the camp
had not settled completely to rest, whispered conversations around small fires
and the occasional clink of a spoon in a cooking pot providing a steady, gentle
undercurrent of noise. The gathered force was large, their densely-packed tents
stretching beyond sight into the night. The leader of the scouting party gave
details about his “guests” to a sergeant of the camp guards, while their
weapons were turned over to two other guards for safekeeping. The leader of the
scouting party left without further comment, while the sergeant addressed the
travelers.

“I’ll need to see if the
Captain wants to talk to you now or in the morning. Wait here and keep silent. Give
us no trouble and we’ll give you none.” He made a few gestures, and guards took
up positions around them, then he turned and vanished in the sprawling camp.

The wait was a short one. Less
than twenty minutes after they had arrived at the camp they were escorted into
the Captain’s tent. He was busy working over some papers, his pen scratching
furiously. He finished his work, folded the paper, and gave it to an aide, who
left immediately, apparently knowing what he was to do with it. After he had
gone, the Captain took notice of the newcomers. He rubbed his face wearily and
sighed.

“I hope you’ll forgive my
inability to offer you much in the way of hospitality,” he said, indicating the
inside of his tent with a slow wave of his hand. Other than his chair, a small
desk, a cot, and a chest for a few belongings, the tent was empty. Apparently
it was larger than the other tents to allow several people to talk, rather than
to provide the Captain with excess comforts. “My name is Faine. You are?”

The travelers each introduced
themselves, and the Captain went on. “I’m told you’re looking for better land
to farm.”

“We are,” said Silas. “Though
your man told us we’d likely have little luck.”

Captain Faine nodded. “Unfortunately,
for all of us, he’s probably correct. Sort of late to be out traveling, isn’t
it?”

“The moon gives ample light,
and it’s cooler than the day. And time presses. We have little food and drink
and need to finish our journey as swiftly as we can.”

“Well said,” the Captain
replied, with a smile that could be interpreted many different ways. Something
caught his eye at the door of the tent, and he waved another man in.

The newcomer was carrying
Barlow’s sword and the Blood Book. “Other weapons and gear seemed fairly
ordinary,” the man reported. He offered both items to Faine.

The Captain took Gabriel and
unsheathed it. He studied the blade and the markings on it. “An excellent
weapon,” he commented. “Yours?” he asked Silas.

“It belongs to me,” Barlow
answered.

“Are you of the holy order?”

The question was a dangerous
one, especially of late, but Barlow would never answer it with anything other
than the truth. “I follow that path, as best I can.”

Captain Faine nodded and
re-sheathed the weapon. The group would have let out a silent sigh of relief,
but he was already reaching for the book. He hesitated when he first touched
it, recoiling just a bit, then picked it up. He turned it over, pulled at the
clasp, turned it over again, then laid it on the table, seeming relieved to
release his hold on it. “How does this open?”

“We wish we knew,” said Silas.
“It’s passed down through generations of my family, but whatever spell was used
to ward its opening has yet to be defeated.”

“Indeed,” the Captain said
with raised eyebrows. “And what does it contain?”

“I do not know.”

The Captain locked eyes with
Silas for a moment, seeing if he could cause the bigger man to look away, to
indicate he was hiding something. Getting nothing in return but Silas’s steady,
implacable gaze, he said, “In this, at least, you speak the truth.”

Silas remained quiet, refusing
to take the bait.

Captain Faine looked to his
own man and said, “Place these items with the rest of their gear.” Instead of
watching the man leave he watched his guests, seeing the signs of relief they
were trying to hide. He resumed his questioning by addressing Luke. “What
happened to your arm?”

“Arrow in the shoulder,” Luke
replied without missing a beat. “My brother caused a bit of an accident while
practicing his bowmanship.”

“I can only apologize so many
times,” Darius said, playing along.

“One more time wouldn’t hurt,
at least not as much as that arrow did.”

“Fine. I’m so sorry.”

“You two look of age to be of
service in the army,” Faine commented.

“I have a brief leave,” Darius
said, unsure whether such was granted in Dalusia, but needing a quick reply. “My
brother is only seventeen.”

“That’s well,” Faine said. “It
will give his shoulder some time to heal.”

Faine turned next to Adrianna,
but before he could address her an aide opened the flap of the tent. “Your
pardon, Captain, but there are reports of unusual activity to the north. Your
immediate presence is respectfully requested by the Sergeants of the Watch.”

“Very well. Guards, take our
visitors to their tents, and see they are given food and water.” Addressing the
travelers once more he said by way of farewell, “We’ll talk more in the
morning.”

“Thank you for your
hospitality,” Silas said with a nod of his head.

After they had left Faine took
another guard aside and said, “Make sure they are well-guarded, but treat them
well. I do not think they are spies, but they are not from Dalusia, and they
are lying about their reason for being here.”

“Yes, sir,” the guard said. He
knew the strangers had been lying as well. Dalusian boys now entered the army
at fourteen, a brutal necessity due to the length and losses of the war, his
own son, only fifteen, serving in the east. And the concept of leave was now
only a distant dream. He left to carry out his orders.

Captain Faine was right behind
him, eying the visitors from a distance one last time as they were led away,
wondering what secret they might be hiding, what mission they might be on—and
for whom. The sword and the book—especially the book—troubled him. He let out a
tired sigh and let it go mentally. It would have to wait until morning. He
signaled his readiness to the aide who had requested his presence on behalf of
the Watch Sergeants, then started off to find out what this latest in a
never-ending stream of problems might be.

The tents the companions were
given were standard fare for an army on the go, small structures capable of
sleeping two at most. A row of tents were lined up such that the guards could
easily keep watch over all of them, and three were now indicated for the
newcomers. The guard ordered them in and told them food and water would be
brought to them shortly. The companions whispered quick goodnights, not daring
anything else under the watchful eyes and listening ears of the guards, and
then divided up in the way that came most naturally to them—Darius and Luke,
Silas and Barlow, and Adrianna having a tent to herself. While they waited for
their food, Darius and Luke talked in hushed tones.

“Think we did okay?” Luke
asked.

“As well as we could hope,”
Darius replied. “That was a nice bit about me shooting you by accident. A
little brotherly bickering probably made it seem pretty genuine.”

“Thanks.”

Darius gave his brother a
smile and a nod, paused, then decided to go on. Luke deserved to hear
everything, whether good or bad. He wasn’t a little kid that needed constant
shielding from the cruel ways of the world. “Like I said, I think we did the
best we could, but men like Captain Faine do not get to positions of
responsibility, especially in times of war, by not being observant. He clearly
saw several things that might be amiss…and he asked the right questions. I
doubt he believes our story. Probably just needs to sort out the lies from the
truth.”

“Great. So where does that
leave us?”

“I wish I knew. I guess we’ll
find out tomorrow.”

The guard returned before they
could say more, and they dined in silence on small pieces of hard cheese and
harder bread, washing it down with a half-mug of warm water. They took hope
from the meal, meager though it was, and the tent. At least they weren’t being
treated as suspected spies, not yet anyway. When they had finished they settled
down and tried to get what sleep they could, their racing minds wondering what
the morning would bring.

The camp was brought fully
awake by the blare of horns, a sound that was repeated three times. As the last
notes died away, the camp was a chaos of shouts and people running to and fro.

Silas popped his head out of
the tent, but before he could even form a question a guard ordered him back
inside, doing so loudly so that the others could hear as well.

The sun was minutes from
rising when the first horn sounded, and now its first rays flicked dull red
over the Dalusian plains. The shouting in the camp had grown in intensity,
orders being barked out and responded to, the tumult mainly to the north. Soldiers
raced in that direction. In a few minutes the noise started to die down, at
least near the tents where the companions waited. A quick discussion took place
just outside the tents, orders given in a harsh whisper, and the reply in the
same shielded tone. Several pairs of feet pounded away, and then a guard
ordered the visitors out of their tents.

The man was years older than
Silas, perhaps even as old as Barlow. He twitched nervously, his eyes flicking
from the backs of his fellow soldiers racing north to the people he was
responsible to guard. He needed to steady himself before he spoke, barely able
to control his anxiety.

“Look,” he said, “everyone’s
been ordered up to the front. No one can be spared to watch you. I expect
you’ll be here when I return.”

They nodded compliance and the
man, after one last brief hesitation, tore off for the battle he was sure would
soon begin.

“Now what?” asked Luke,
voicing what everyone was thinking.

“We can’t leave without the
book and our weapons,” Barlow stated.

“I don’t think we should leave
at all,” said Darius. “Even if we found our things, the battle—if that’s what
it is—is north of here, the direction we want to go. And they’d pursue us on
horseback. We couldn’t hope to outrun them.”

“And those tasked with
watching us might be punished severely if we depart,” Silas added.

“Good points, all,"
Adrianna said, “but I think Captain Faine is on to us, suspects we aren’t
telling the whole truth. This might be our best chance to escape.”

“He’ll be sure we were lying
if we flee,” Darius countered.

“Either way, it’d be nice to
know where our things are, and what’s happening,” Adrianna said, reshaping the
discussion. “Maybe when we know more we can make a better decision.”

They started to search the
area, hoping to find their belongings collected together nearby. They had just
gotten started when a horn sounded from the north, a deep, rumbling note that
made their limbs tremble as a tremor from deep in the ground might. After the
horn blast faded, a great shout went up—the raised, mingled voices of two
armies ready to go to war.

Barlow craned his neck but
couldn't get a clear view over some of the larger tents. “They’re close,” he
commented.

“Let’s keep looking for our
weapons,” Darius said. “I’m not sure we need to go looking for the battle. It
may come to us.”

The gruesome music of battle
provided a backdrop to their search, the sounds of ringing metal, thundering
hooves, and the screams of the wounded and dying an oppressive weight that
hurried them in their task. Except for Adrianna they felt naked without their
weapons, especially with the fighting so near. And unlike regular prisoners of
war, who might hope the newly arrived army might deliver them, the companions
knew neither of the combatants would give them aid.

Silas was going from tent to
tent, peering inside. Most were the smaller variety to sleep in, although any
of these could easily have held their gear and therefore needed to be checked. The
occasional larger tent tended to hold supplies of one sort or another. It was
in the third of these larger tents that he found their belongings. The tent was
otherwise empty, except for the soldier—no more than a boy—who had been left to
guard the objects.

The young soldier gave such a
start when Silas pulled open the tent flap that he almost tumbled over
backwards. He recovered as best he could, the sword he held and the helm on his
head too big for him, such that he would look out of sorts even if he was
completely composed. His face relaxed for an instant, seeing what appeared to
be a friendly face, then tightened again almost instantly. He held the sword
out before him, struggling with its weight as he tried to point it at Silas. “You
can’t be in here. Move along.”

Silas stepped into the tent
with his arms spread wide and his palms open and visible. “I’ve just come for
our weapons. The battle is too near for us to remain unarmed.”

“No doubt,” the boy replied,
inching back as Silas slowly advanced. “But I’m to guard these things, not give
them up.”

Silas checked his own
progress, not wanting to close with the boy too quickly. He had little doubt he
could disarm him if it came to that, but the boy was scared and he was holding
a sword, which made him dangerous. He could see his staff, but reaching for it
would put him inside the reach of the boy’s sword arm. “What’s your name?”

“Don’t play games. I’ll not be
distracted.” Finding some courage, he came forward a half step, thrusting the
sword before him, although not too near to Silas. “I’ve got my orders. Get
out.”

Silas started to move to the
right, forcing the boy to counter, keeping the companions’ weapons and gear
between them. “Shouldn’t you be in the battle? I thought everyone was called
forward.”

“I have my orders!” the boy
shouted, his pride clearly wounded, as Silas had intended.

“We just want our weapons,
then we’ll go see what’s happening. You can come with us.”

The boy paused, unsure whether
he could trust Silas, unsure what to do. Before he could speak, Adrianna called
out Silas’ name.

“In here,” he replied,
maneuvering back to the open tent flap so the boy would move away from it. He
didn’t want any of the others to be struck while coming into the tent. And if
the boy suddenly felt surrounded, he might overcome his fear and lash out.

Adrianna only spared the boy a
quick glance when she peered into the tent. When she saw the weapons she gave
an audible sigh of relief. “Better take a look,” she said to Silas, then eyeing
the boy, added, “Both of you.”

Something in her tone—stern
but sincere—caused the young Dalusian to follow her and Silas outside. His
curiosity had overcome his fear that this might be some sort of trap.

The sounds reaching them had
already indicated that the battle had been joined, but now two pieces of new
information were revealed: the fighting had moved dangerously close to the
camp, and the Dalusians’ foes were not the armies of either Longvale or
Westphalia, but rather giants from the Far North. The giants’ heads and shoulders
were visible over the larger tents, their great arms rising and falling as they
swung their war clubs.

Silas turned to the young
soldier again, his tone more stern. “We need to take our weapons now. Those are
the enemy, not us.”

The boy,
gazing in silent awe at the rampaging giants, simply nodded.

Silas led the way into the
tent, and the companions resumed ownership of their chosen weapons. “What about
the book?” Luke asked.

“Leave it,” Darius said. “We
can’t hold it while we fight.”

“But what if one of those
little demons is about?” Luke protested.

“Stay and guard it then!”
Darius replied. “We don’t have time for this.”

Luke took his brother’s words
as a rebuke, but before he could answer back, Adrianna grabbed the pack with
the Blood Book in it. “I will keep it close,” she said. “I need to keep my
distance to help in this fight anyway.”

They went outside, and saw the
remnants of an uprooted tent go fluttering by. A pair of giants were moving in
their direction, flailing at anything in their path. Silas saw the young
soldier would soon be in grave danger. “Go back to your guard duty,” Silas told
him, hoping the giants would miss that particular tent.

The words snapped the boy out
of his stupor. “I can fight.”

“And you will if you must. But
let the fight come to you, rather than looking for it by standing here in the
open.”

“But, I—”

“I can’t fight and watch over
you. No more talk. Go!” This last was said with such command that the boy
flinched, then dropped his head and went back to the tent to guard the rest of
their gear.

“And should we let the fight
come to us as well?” Barlow asked. “This is not our battle.”

“It is now,” Adrianna said. “Look
out!”

One of the giants had spotted
them and charged forward, knocking everything in his path aside and creating a
wave of assorted projectiles before himself as he charged. He stood over
fourteen feet tall, and every inch of him seemed to be muscle. His brow was low
and his charge direct and reckless, as if nature took away intelligence and
cunning to make up for the excess size and strength it had provided him. He
wore simple clothes, some leather on the forearms and lower legs the only added
protection for battle. His club was rough-hewn and far larger than anything any
of the companions could lift.

The giant’s initial charge
scattered his new foes, and he pulled up, unsure who to chase. Darius answered
for him, hacking at one of the giant’s hamstrings from behind.

The giant roared in pain and
rage, wheeling about and swinging the club wildly. It missed Darius by several
feet, but did send a tent and a cooking pot flying.

Luke and Barlow struck next,
each at a different leg. Luke’s sword didn’t penetrate the leather bindings
over the giant’s ankle, but Gabriel managed to cut a deep gash just above the
back of the right knee.

The giant whirled around three
times, the club clearing an area about him. The move gave him space and time,
but disoriented him as well. As soon as he stopped Darius got in another blow,
and Adrianna sent a crackling ball of energy into his ribs. The higher blow was
completely unexpected, stealing the giant’s breath and throwing off his
balance.

Seeing the opening, Silas
rushed in, using his staff to create a fulcrum around which the giant’s own
weight and momentum pivoted, sending him crashing to the ground. Barlow was
quick to take advantage of the giant’s exposed neck, Gabriel biting deep.

The giant grabbed at his own
throat, all thought of fighting gone as his lifeblood flowed warm and swift
through his fingers. His eyes went glassy and he made one small gurgling
noise—Gabriel had taken his voice as well—then he fell still.

Even with the sounds of battle
still raging about them, the long slow exclamation—“Whoa”—was clear. The young
boy soldier had watched the fight from the tent’s opening, and the giant had
died less than ten feet away.

“Stay here,” Silas ordered.

The boy nodded, having no
intention of crossing this particular group of strangers.

The companions moved forward
and managed to break clear of the camp before another giant came at them, the
second giant they had spotted earlier having wandered off in another direction.
Once in the open, the spectacle of a fully joined battle was before them.

The giants were easily
outnumbered, but that didn’t mean they were outmatched. Members of at least
three tribes were present, distinguishable by their dress and skin color, and
that in itself was troubling. The tribes were not known to work together. The
hill giants, like the one the companions had fought, were the most numerous,
but beside them were pale white frost giants as well as gray-skinned stone
giants. While the former preferred clubs, many of the frost giants used great
dual-bladed axes, while the latter, true to their name, often hurled large
stones at their enemies. As gruesome as the damage the giants could deal out
with these weapons was, far more sickening to human observers was the way they
occasionally grabbed a foe by the arm or leg and used him as a weapon against
his fellows, a brutal attack that usually stopped when the limb the victim was
being held by became detached from the rest of the body. The stone giants in
particular seemed fond of this sort of attack when they had no rocks to toss. Both
male and female giants were present, the males larger but the females just as
deadly a foe.

The Dalusians utilized what
advantages they could. While badly outclassed in any one-on-one battle, they
used their superior numbers, their horses, and their ranged weapons to good
effect. Most arrows were no more than a nuisance to the thick-hided giants, but
many volleys were set ablaze before being launched, and these troubled the
giants to distraction. Mounted riders preferred passing behind the behemoths,
slashing with swords or tossing spears and then getting clear before the giants
could react, then wheeling about and repeating the process. If the Dalusians
had machines of war they were not visible, and now that the fight was joined
they would have been of little value; a catapult-tossed stone was more likely
to injure Dalusians than to score a clean strike on one of the giants. For the
most part, when a giant fell it was due to a swarm of warriors bringing it down
by working together, and then finishing the foe before it could rise again. The
hard part was to bring the great monsters down, and this was rarely done
without a large number of Dalusian casualties.