The Children of the White Lions: Volume 02 - Prophecy (5 page)

When nobody stepped forward, the demon captain spun around and headed back to his army, leaving the mongrel’s corpse lying in the road.

Rhohn glanced over at his friend.

“Now, Silas.”

His fellow Dust Man quickly sheathed his sword, ripped a nearby torch from the ground, and jogged forward. Two sets of men rushed to lift a pair of tables and stretched-hide doors from the barrier, creating a small opening through which Silas squeezed.

The sudden activity drew the demon’s attention back to the fortifications. Halting his return to the mongrels, the spawn twisted around and watched Silas sprint down the road. He eyed the Dust Man much as Rhohn might an ant scurrying about the ground.

Ten paces past the fortifications, Silas leaped over a shallow ditch and continued ten more before stopping in the road. He lowered the burning head of his torch to the second trench and, with a soft whoosh, flames spread outward along the channel dug clear across the road, from one earthen building to another. Silas ran back toward the barrier, leapt over the first ditch, paused long enough to light the trench, and then sprinted through the opening in the wall. The villagers quickly replaced the stacks of ruined chairs and tables, sealing the gap in moments.

Rhohn muttered mockingly, “That ought to stop them…”

During his first night in Ebel, Silas had noticed the torches in the village burned longer and brighter than was typical. When he asked why, one of the villagers showed the soldiers a pit full of a sticky, black substance oozing from the ground. The man explained the people of Ebel had dipped their torches into the muck for generations. When Silas had suggested they dig trenches and fill them with sludge, Rhohn had agreed, indifferent to the plan. It at least gave the villagers something to do while they waited to die.

Silas returned to Rhohn’s side, jammed the butt of his the torch back into the dirt, and asked, “Do you think it will slow them down?”

“Not at all.”

The flames were only three feet tall. Glancing at the powerful rear legs of the mongrels, Rhohn expected they could easily clear the fire. Or, if the demon cared to, simply wait until it burned out.

The demon-man eyed the flames a moment longer before turning and marching back to the mongrel lines. A premature cheer arose from the men of the village, apparently thinking they had gained a small measure of victory. Rhohn remained quiet, letting the cheer go on longer than it deserved. He supposed the villagers deserved one last happy moment.

Rhohn turned to study the northern and southern roads into Ebel, ensuring the men there had lit the trenches covering those narrow ways. From what they could tell, the mongrel force lay solely to the west, yet he could not discount an attack from the flanks. Although, with the overwhelming numbers the Sudashians had, he doubted the demon-man would bother. There was no need for subtlety or strategy today. One, mad charge should take care of them.

Rhohn looked west again to find the demon standing at the head of the mongrel ranks, staring at Ebel. The spawn of the Nine Hells turned his horned head and said something to the beast beside him. Immediately, the mongrel tilted its head back and howled, the haunting cry setting the hair on the back of Rhohn’s neck on end and filling the evening air.

Rhohn tensed, squeezing the hilt of his drawn sword, and shouted, “Ready yourselves!”

The men lifted their makeshift weapons in silence. Rhohn took in a few quick, steadying breaths, and wondered how many mongrels he could kill. He hoped at least one.

The howl rose in pitch, echoing about the three hills of Ebel.

Rhohn bit down hard and crouched into a defensive position, glaring at the Sudashian mongrels.

The mongrel’s howl continued a moment longer before abruptly cutting off.

Without looking over, Rhohn whispered, “Kill as many as you can, Silas.”

“That was the plan,” muttered Silas.

Rhohn nodded.

“That’s a good plan.”

Fate, apparently, disagreed.

The demon and mongrels did not move. They stood still and silent, glaring down the street at the Borderlands men. After several anxious, much-too-quiet moments, Rhohn relaxed and rose from his crouch. Something was not right here. Silas felt it, too.

“Rhohn?”

A scowl on his face, Rhohn muttered, “I know.”

He turned his gaze to the earthen buildings lining the northern and southern sides of the street, scanning every shadow, studying. Suddenly, a cry of alarm rang out to his right.

“Corporal!”

He swiveled his head to stare north and spotted one of the villagers pointing behind them to the east. Rhohn spun quickly, dirt crunching under his boot heels, and caught a flicker of movement dash past an open doorway. Its hunched shape marked the obvious: it was not a man of Ebel. Rhohn pressed his lips together.

“Hells!”

Glancing back west, Rhohn saw the wall of mongrels still in place, still unmoving. The demon-man’s eyes were locked on Rhohn, watching, waiting.

“How did it get into the town?” asked Silas.

Rhohn shook his head.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“What do we do?”

Chewing on his lip and thinking, Rhohn muttered, “Give me a moment…”

“Why aren’t they just—”

“Blast it, Silas! Give me a moment!”

His friend shut his mouth and frowned, glaring at Rhohn.

He stared back to the demon, wondering what the monster was doing. The spawn could send a quarter of his force and kill every man here in mere moments. Yet he had not.

“Why?”

He did not mean for the word to slip from his lips, but it did. Silas chose to answer him.

“He’s playing with us,” muttered the footman.

Rhohn glanced over.

“Pardon?”

“You know how lions play with their prey once they are assured the kill?” asked Silas. He nodded at the horned monster. “He’s the lion. We’re his prey.”

“Why would he do that?”

Silas raised his eyebrows.

“Are you asking me to explain what a demon of the Nine Hells is thinking?”

Rhohn shook his head and stared west, back to the spawn and his small army.

“Sorry. Foolish question.”

After a moment, he swiveled his head back to the building where he had seen the mongrel. The men of Ebel were murmuring worriedly now, staring back and forth between the massive, visible force to the west and the hidden unknown to the east. Rhohn needed to do something before full panic set in.

Keeping his voice low, Silas asked, “Do you want me to go back there?”

“Alone?” asked Rhohn. “You have no idea how many are inside.”

Silas nodded to the line of men and muttered, “You need to do something. They’re going to break.”

Rhohn glared at the building, his frown deepening. He wished the mongrels had simply attacked already. Sighing, he looked to the line of men and called softly, “Jebedeh!”

A skinny man holding a shovel turned around. Rhohn waved a hand.

“Come here.”

Jebedeh immediately hurried to where Rhohn and Silas stood. With wide eyes, the man said, “Yes, Corporal?”

Rhohn stared hard at the man and said, “Stand here.” He pointed to his own boots. “Right
here
, do you understand?”

Jebedeh nodded emphatically.

“Yes, Corporal.”

Rhohn leaned closer to the man and whispered, “The moment—the
absolute moment
—any of them—” he nodded at the mongrels and demon “—move, I want you to scream as if someone jammed a dagger in your gut. Am I clear?”

The man was clearly terrified, yet managed to respond with another, almost confident, “Yes, Corporal.”

Rhohn nodded once, saying firmly, “Good.” Looking to Silas, he ordered, “You’re with me.” Without a moment’s hesitation, he began to stride toward the darkened entryway of the occupied building. Silas hurried beside him.

Like every other building in Ebel, the single story structure was made from piled earth and dried mud, reinforced with beams of weak bulboa wood. It was thirty feet, wall to wall, with a single doorway and three small, uneven holes for windows. The actual stretched-hide door was gone, a part of the makeshift barrier in the street.

“How should we handle this?” muttered Silas.

Rhohn had no idea. This situation had not been covered during his Dust Man training.

“First, we see what we are dealing with.”

Silas stared at his face, frowning.

“You don’t know what to do, do you?”

Rhohn pressed his lips together and shook his head.

“I’m accepting suggestions if you have any.”

Silas remained quiet, his sword and shield held at the ready. Rhohn frowned.

“Wondrous…”

When they were twenty paces from the building, Rhohn held up his right hand to indicate they should halt. Due to his burns, Rhohn used his left hand to hold his sword and did not carry a shield. It was hard to grip the handle with only two fingers and a thumb.

“Stay here.”

Silas looked over, surprised.

“Are you going in?”

Rhohn shook his head.

“Not yet. I just want to see what we’re dealing with here.”

Silas eyed the darkened doorway and whispered, “Be wary.”

Nodding, Rhohn crept toward the two windows on the left, thinking he could get a glimpse of what awaited them inside the house. He kept his steps slow and measured, constantly glancing between the windows and open doorway. Sweat dripped from his brow, running into his eyes.

He stopped an arm’s length from the earthen wall and peered through the windows. A deep, disappointed frown spread over his lips. He could barely see anything. The gloom of dusk had laden the building’s interior with dark, murky shadows. Frustrated, he backpedaled, quietly and quickly, retreating to where Silas waited.

“It’s too dark. I can’t see a thing in there.”

Silas murmured, “Shall I charge in there blind and start swinging?”

A quick look over told Rhohn that Silas was only half-jesting.

“Stay here while I get a torch.”

Silas nodded.

“I suppose that is a better idea.”

Rhohn turned, took a step back to the fortifications, and stopped. Staring at Silas, he muttered, “Don’t do anything brainless, Silas. Wait for me.”

With his gaze locked on the dark doorway, Silas nodded.

“Of course.”

Rhohn turned and trotted back to the line of men, sliding his thin-bladed sword into his scabbard as he hurried. Stopping beside Jebedeh, he ripped a torch from the ground and stared past the flaming trenches down the road. The Sudashians had still not moved. The demon’s red eyes were fixed on Rhohn, a wicked grin on his face.

Glancing at his impromptu deputy, Rhohn asked, “Anything?”

“No, Corporal,” replied Jebedeh. The man did not take his eyes off the mongrels. “Rest assured, I will scream when something happens.”

Rhohn did not doubt it.

“I’ll be right back.”

The man nodded.

“Hurry.”

Rhohn turned from the mongrels, faced east, and froze. The area in front of the building was empty. Silas was gone.

He turned quickly back to the line of men, about to ask if anyone had seen what happened, but he found the villagers wholly focused on the threat to the west. None were looking back to the occupied building. He shut his opened mouth, afraid to provoke a panic if they knew one of their two true soldiers had vanished. A scowl on his face, he hurried back to the building, switching the torch to his maimed hand, and drawing his blade.

Upon reaching where he had left Silas, he lowered the torch to illuminate the ground and studied the area, but the hard-packed dirt was impervious to any sort of tracks.

“Blast it, Silas…you didn’t—”

He cut off as he lifted his eyes to the darkened doorway. His heart lodged in his throat as he spotted two glowing, yellow eyes staring at him from the shadows inside, flickering with the reflected light from his torch. As he gaped, something arched from the darkened doorway and landed on the ground with a dull metal clang. A Dust Man’s blade skidded across the dirt, coming to rest a half-dozen paces from Rhohn.

A boiling hot anger surged through Rhohn and he charged the doorway, raising sword and torch as he ran. The glowing eyes shifted quickly, disappearing into the gloom. Rhohn was in the midst of crossing the threshold when he realized what a foolish thing he was doing. He skidded to a stop in an instant, but it was too late. He was already inside.

Something struck him hard in the back, shoving him to the ground. He dropped the torch and sword as he crashed hard to the dirt, arms and legs splayed out. An instant later, something large and heavy leapt on his back—sending breath from his lungs—and grabbed his wrists, pinning them to the ground. The musty odor of dog washed over him as a breath a thick, wet voice growled softly into his good ear.

“Do
not
move, smooth-face!”

Rhohn ignored the directive and tried to toss his attacker off, but the beast held tight.

“Hold still!” barked the mongrel. “Or end up like him!”

Rhohn ceased his struggle for a moment and scanned the room. His dropped torch was a few paces away, still alight and illuminating the empty interior. Like the door, the furniture was part of the wall outside.

Silas lay against the back wall, slumped over and unmoving, his eyes wide open and frozen in stunned terror. The front of his tabard was stained dark with blood and his throat a mushy, pulpy mess of mangled flesh.

Rhohn’s fury surged, thrice as intense as before. He began to thrash about again.

“Get off me!”

The mongrel was incredibly strong, however, and held tight. Rhohn was not going anywhere.

“Stop struggling!” growled the mongrel. “We don’t have much time!”

Through his rage, Rhohn realized the mongrel was speaking Argot, the common tongue. He did not know they could do so. The wet, warm breath on his neck returned.

“If you listen to me, you will live through the day!”

Rhohn arrested his struggling for a moment, unsure he heard the beast correctly. He tried to twist his head around to see the mongrel, but could not see much more than the animal’s fur-covered forearms and disturbingly man-like hands.