Shakkar had often seen Quelgrum's men practicing with their armaments. He knew the damage these Technological weapons could do to wood and stone: more than even he, a full demon, could wreak upon such substances. To see frail, mortal flesh withstanding such an onslaught stunned him, and his mighty, taloned fists dropped to his side as the blue-robed human continued to approach, undeterred and still smiling.
The demon had always regarded humans as weak, if resourceful, creatures. No mortal, not even Grimm Afelnor, had ever bested him in physical combat. Nonetheless, this man seemed to be made of stone, and Shakkar felt the inner stirrings of naked fear, an emotion to which he was not accustomed.
He drew back his shovel-sized hand to strike, but the Revenant merely shook his head, as if in pity. A senseless, nameless terror subsumed Shakkar, and he found himself frozen in indecision. As if in a dream, the Revenant seemed to stroke the demon's chest with his balled fist, and Shakkar flew backwards to the dirt, propelled by incredible force. He scrambled to his feet, but, for the first time in his life, a mere mortal scared him. Shakkar staggered away from the smiling Revenant, his chest burning from the impact.
He steadied himself, charged forward and threw a mighty blow at the human's temple.
The blue-clad figure did not even attempt to avoid the grey fist as the strike landed. He grunted and absorbed the impact, his smile undiminished, flinging the demon away with the merest prod of his right index finger.
As he sprawled, supine and helpless, Shakkar saw the tiny, grey form of Thribble lying near the fallen Erik. He scrabbled forward as the vengeful mortal stalked him, leisurely and unhurried. To his relief, both the soldier and the minuscule demon seemed to be breathing freely, and Thribble sat up, shaking his fuzzy head.
'What is the matter, Shakkar?'
The demon seemed to be made of solid rubber, unaffected by his tumble.
'I cannot take him, Thribble,” Shakkar gasped, despite the shame he felt at such an admission. “He is too strong. I cannot touch him.'
As a shadow fell across him, the grey titan lashed out with a trunk-like arm, knocking his nemesis from his feet, but, otherwise, seeming not to affect him at all.
'They are afraid of magic, I believe,” Thribble hazarded.
'I do not have any magic, thanks to that forsworn bastard, Starmor,” Shakkar growled. “This mortal seems impermeable to even my physical strength.'
'Murar did say that…'
As the ominous shadow fell, Shakkar lashed out again, but the human hopped nimbly away. This time, the Revenant drew a long, heavy club from behind him and approached again.
'It's time to say goodnight, Realster,” he growled.
'…but I bit him, and he cried out!” Thribble squealed. “Don't hit him, Shakkar! Use your claws, your teeth!'
As the smiling mortal raised the club to its apex, Shakkar, still lying on his back, kicked out with his feet, their black claws extended. The weapon fell to the ground, and the Revenant gazed stupidly at a thin line of slashes in his garment, red fluid staining the blue silk.
In an instant, Shakkar was on his feet, grasping the human in his sabre-like talons. The panicking man struggled, but he could not escape the clinging, black claws.
'You… hurt me,” the Revenant whined, as if he could not believe what had happened.
Shakkar bared his sabre-like teeth.'The young mage and his companions, Revenant. Take me to them, now. Otherwise, you will die slowly, while I dine on your flesh.'
Shakkar dug his claws deeper into his enemy's body. “I prefer live meat, so you may not die for many hours.'
The Revenant appeared to be in shock, shaking his head, his eyes blank. “A Realster can't hurt a Revenant,” he mumbled. “So it is written.'
'Then it's written wrongly, pig-sweat,” Erik growled, rubbing his head and rising onto unsteady feet. “There are ordinary Realsters, and there are extraordinary Realsters. You picked on the wrong sort, my friend.'
The Sergeant picked up his helmet and seated it back on his head, taking his time fastening the chinstrap. Then he retrieved his weapon, ejected a small, black box from it and pushed in another from a pouch on his belt.
'I don't think our friend here is a whole lot of use, Seneschal Shakkar,” he said. “Just tear his freakin’ head off, and we'll see if we can't find someone a little more helpful.'
The Revenant squirmed in Shakkar's adamantine talons to no effect. “Kill me, monster,” he cried, “but don't consume me, please!'
Shakkar laughed long and loud, once more confident in his superiority. “Take us to Baron Grimm and his companions, or I shall savour your entrails while you live.'
'I'll… I'll take you,” the Revenant stammered. “Don't hurt me.'
'Sergeant Erik,” the demon boomed, “I order you to shoot anyone who opposes us. I will deal with anyone who does not fall.'
Shakkar pulled one hand from the hapless human's ribs, extending his obsidian claws to their full, gleaming length. “You may be sure of that.'
His other hand's talons ground into the wounded Revenant's midriff. “Do we understand each other, mortal?'
'Understood, Realster!” the man groaned. “I'll take you, I promise!'
Another robed man ran towards the demon, raising a heavy, wooden baton, and Shakkar did not hesitate. With one, smooth stroke, the assailant lost his head in a fine spray of blood.
'Sergeant Erik,” he said, “I think it only right to say that we are now at war.'
Erik grinned. “That's what I've trained for, Lord Seneschal. I must say, I prefer it to all this diplomatic stuff.'
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Chapter 21: Shakkar's Arrival
The sounds of merriment and revelry grew louder as the soldier, the demon and the wounded Revenant approached the town centre. Ready for trouble, Shakkar strained his ears for any sound of approach from behind them. The open streets gave way to narrow alleyways, increasing the possibility of sudden ambush.
Erik proceeded in a staccato sequence of movements, his black weapon at the ready, his head flicking from side to side like that of a snake scenting prey. At each street corner, the soldier pressed his back against the wall, waiting a few moments before leaping into the open in a crouch, the muzzle of his weapon weaving back and forth as Erik danced about, trying to surprise any lurking enemy.
So far, they had been lucky; no encroachments had been made upon them.
'The Brianstonians’ much-vaunted security cordon does not impress me,” Shakkar declared.
'A small perimeter is much easier to defend than a large one,” Erik said from the corner of his mouth. “I suspect the real fun lies closer to the town centre.'
'You'll be feeding our beloved Uncle by the day's end,” the captive Revenant hissed, his face contorted and his teeth bared, like those of a cornered hound.
Shakkar dug his claws deeper into the impudent mortal's abdomen, drawing an agonised groan from the man.
'Put all futile thoughts of defiance and courage behind you, human,” he growled. “I fancy we may be able to find our way now, without your encumbrance. The only reason you still live is you may prove valuable as a hostage. Do not try to be brave, or I may decide that you are not worth leaving alive. Your only function is to lead us to Baron Grimm and his companions.'
'And I will do so, devil, as I promised. However, I can't speak for the other members of the Council. The first checkpoint's coming up-we'll see how you fare then.'
'Any ideas, Lord Seneschal?” Erik asked. “You know my rifle's no good against these Revenant types.'
Shakkar scratched his leathery jaw with his free hand, producing a sound like a steel rasp on granite.
