Return to Canifis

A fitting place for a winged-ghoul to live, he noted. And me with two stumps instead of hands, completely unarmed. Strange that I don’t feel afraid.

“I can hear her,” Jerrod whispered. “She in the eastern end of the building.”

“Then we must spread out,” Sulla ordered, and he turned to the dwarf. “Go forward to draw her out, then we can come in to support you.”

The dwarf faced Sulla in the darkness, but he couldn’t make out his expression.

No doubt it is an ugly one, though.

“I will go,” he replied grimly, “if Jerrod comes with me. We can both see in the dark better than the rest of you.”

For a moment Jerrod didn’t reply. Then, when he did, Sulla knew he had made the change into his wolf form.

“Very well,” he growled.

Then they were gone, merging into the shadows ahead, impossible for Sulla to see with his single functioning eye.

“We should go forward, to close the gap,” Behemoth advised. Without waiting for an answer, the big man followed, and was swallowed by the shadows.

Dividing us nicely. Idiot!

He started forward himself, aware of Mergil and Turine beside him. His foot banged a crate, loud in the darkness, and his heart jumped. He felt the sweat erupt on his brow.

Scared of a jiggling crate! How Kara-Meir would laugh.

The fear had him now. He was afraid of the dark. He wore no armour and he carried no weapon, and not for the first time that vulnerability haunted him without mercy.

Yet I had to come in with them. To make sure it goes right.

He took another deep breath when the Mad Axe screamed from ahead of them. He heard Jerrod howl, and then something inhuman gave a loud wail, sapping his will and making him stagger. His legs were close to buckling when he heard Jerrod roar.

Turine ran forward, followed by Mergil. The poisoner flicked the thick cover off his lantern and the shadows gave way to a sickly light.

Behemoth lay on the ground, unmoving. Sulla saw his face covered in blood and then, as Mergil moved and the light swayed, the face vanished in shadow. Now the lantern swung upward, to illuminate the combat.

Jerrod was fastened upon the thing’s back, crushing her wings to her sides with his powerful arms, his jaws biting at her shoulder and head, ripping and tearing. As she staggered, Sulla caught sight of her for the first time, the shining orange eyes and her wide nose above the long mouth tipped with fangs.

She leapt backward and Jerrod’s grip broke.

Quickly she turned and scraped her talons across his face.

“Your runes, Turine! Now!” Sulla shouted as the Mad Axe charged in. The dwarf screamed in his native tongue and his axe arced forward. In the light Sulla saw the Wyrd’s right hand fly clear of her wrist, black blood spraying the yellow sawdust at her feet.

Turine held out her hand as the Wyrd screamed. Sulla felt the air at his side compact as the sound of a dense and invisible object flew past him. The Wyrd doubled over suddenly as the magic wind slammed into her stomach, forcing her to her knees.

“Snare her!” Mergil shouted as the lantern moved and the scene was briefly lost in shadow. It returned when Mergil placed it on the floor, and Sulla saw that Behemoth had moved his arm.

So he’s alive then. That’s a shame. He’s the most troublesome of them all.

Perhaps I can stamp on his throat and crush the life out of him.

Before he could move, Mergil entered the fray, hefting his green fogged bottle. The Mad Axe thrust his weapon forward again, and Sulla saw that he meant to distract their target while the poisoner readied himself.

But then Turine stepped sideways. The light was blocked off, and when it returned Behemoth was standing.

The Wyrd can’t win now. Not with Jerrod at her back and these three before her.

He dared a smile.

But then his smile vanished.

The hulking form of Behemoth seized Mergil by the throat. Turine screamed in anger, shouting at him to move, but instead Mergil’s body went limp and he dropped the bottle at the Mad Axe’s feet.

It broke and the green fog spread out. The Mad Axe gave a gasp as his weapon fell from his hands. He staggered and then dropped to his knees before collapsing face down into the sawdust.

Then Behemoth turned to face him. Behind, Jerrod leapt once more upon the Wyrd and Sulla saw them fall to the ground.

“Oh no. Oh no.” Turine whimpered as Sulla looked back to Behemoth again. His eyes were glassy and featureless, glowing with a faint blue pallor. His head shook slowly from side to side, his flesh unnaturally pale. The wound on his forehead had stopped bleeding, and a vicious black scab covered it.

He’s one of them now.

“Behemoth?” Turine whispered. “Can you hear me?”

“He’s dead you stup-”

Sulla didn’t have time to finish as Behemoth lurched forward with surprising speed, his arms outstretched, his golden teeth bared in a bestial frenzy. He heard Turine scream as she was pushed aside and then the lantern was kicked over and the darkness returned.

Sulla ran.

He heard Turine scream again, and he turned once to see the two pale blue orbs that had once been Behemoth’s eyes, close behind.

It’s after me!

He staggered over a crate and crashed to his knees.

Hands grabbed his neck and squeezed.

Sulla pushed backward, forcing his attacker off his feet for the briefest moment before falling down on top of him. He heard something break under his back, a dull wet sound and a crunch of bone.

Not mine. I’m unhurt. But is it enough?

He leapt up and away from Behemoth. All was darkness, and there was no sign of motion.

He grinned madly.

“I’m Sulla. Sulla! I brought Falador to her knees! Do you think one of your horde is going to be-”

Two blue orbs shot open at his feet. He heard the figure snarl.

He bolted again, but now he was closer to the perforated wall of the building. Now dull daylight gave him a chance to see.

The thing came on, limping now. Sulla could see a nail protruding from the back of Behemoth’s head, and a splinter of wood dug into its calf.

Think. Slow it down. Then kill it… again.

He reached the wall as it drew near, its eyes fixed on him. Its mouth was bloody now, its tongue bitten off at the end. Sulla dodged to one side and threw his weight into three crates that stood one atop the other. They shook violently, tottered, and then collapsed onto his pursuer.

But still it pushed upward through the wreckage, now with a dozen sharp splinters protruding from its front. Still it came on.

He ran again, reaching the door. Then outside, to the horses. Desperation drove him on, his heart pounding as he mounted his steed in a clumsy sprawl, so hastily as to nearly fall from the saddle the very second he had gained it, his arms about the beast’s neck. The animal gave a neigh of fear, for Behemoth was out now, in the open, staggering forward.

Right into my path.

Sulla knew this was his only chance.

He balanced himself precariously, his feet in the stirrups, the rein in his mouth, his handless wrists upon his horse’s neck.