Crusader

Chapter 28

“What in the blazes is that?” King Longwell cried out, half-laughing. “A rotted goat?”

Briyce Unger looked down at the festering corpse then back at Aron Longwell, who was still chortling. “Does that look like a goat to you, Longwell? Is your vision so poor and your wits so dulled from sitting your throne these last years, not feeling the song of blades in your bones, that you don’t know something unearthly when you see it?”

Aron Longwell stiffened. “You insult me, sir.”

Briyce Unger drew up short. “I suppose I did, at that. It was not my intention when I started, but I got there, sure enough. I apologize. But surely you must see that this is no man, no beast that we’ve ever seen.”

“I’ve seen one before,” Cyrus said, standing. He looked down the benches toward the center of the amphitheater as faces turned toward him. “One of them attacked us after the battle of Harrow’s Crossing. They’re fast, they’re mean, not too tough, but enough that it gave us a fight.”

“I’ve never seen such a thing,” Aron Longwell said with a shake of his head. “Ridiculous creature.”

“Sire,” Count Ranson spoke from next to him. “I told you of this when I returned. Lord Davidon brought the body of one of these things back to us at the crossing, but I scarcely believed it was real. I have heard reports of similar creatures, sporadic, herds being culled, disappearances throughout the Kingdom, and a few indescribable … things … found responsible.”

“I still do not believe it to be real,” King Longwell. “That could be some other sort of creature, a farm animal, dressed up to look like something …” He stared at it, as though trying to discern its nature, “… something else entirely. This is a distraction, meant to muddy the issues before us at a time when we should be addressing grievances.”

Briyce Unger let out a bellowing sigh that turned into a grunt. “Once you’re quite finished reporting your grievances, then will you be willing to listen to me about these creatures?”

“I disbelieve that this threat you name even exists.” King Longwell shook his hand in the direction of the corpse. “You are playing at something, Briyce Unger, but I know not what.”

Unger’s eyes narrowed and the man seemed to grow another foot as he swelled with anger, dark clouds gathering across his countenance. “You and I have known each other for a great amount of time, Aron Longwell, and you know full well that I am not one to move about treacherously. If I want something, I go straight at it until I get it or I’m too badly beaten to go onward. I am telling you that something is devouring my Kingdom whole. A pestilence-a scourge of these things, is sweeping down out of the mountains of the north, taking whole villages and leaving only the survivors who can outrun their grasp before they move again. If you choose not to believe me, that’s your prerogative, but understand this-they are coming, and I doubt seriously that once they’ve run across all the lands of Syloreas they’ll simply stop at your borders, bow to your greatness, and hold their line.”

“I am of a mind to listen to King Briyce,” said Milos Tiernan. “At least insofar as maneuvering goes, he shows little of the taste for it that you and I have, King Aron.” Tiernan raised a goblet at Longwell, who seethed. “Perhaps there might be something to his claim; I have my doubts that he would wait until this late stage in his life to develop a knack for treachery.”

“I think I might have heard an echo of an ‘old man’ joke in there somewhere,” Briyce Unger said, voice dripping with irony, “and yet I don’t care. What will it take to convince you that we need action?”

“There have been reports from the northern reaches of my Kingdom as well,” Tiernan said shrewdly, “strange news, strange occurrences, odd creatures blamed, but not in such numbers as you claim. I would like to send an observer to see these things with his own eyes and report back to me with the veracity of your assertions.” Milos Tiernan finished, taking another sip from the goblet that was held by one of his courtiers. “If what you say is true, there should be no shortage of places where they could witness your Kingdom under siege from these creatures.”

“Aye,” Unger said, “no shortage. We can do that, arrange for someone to come north with us, see some of the carnage these things leave. But we’ll need to hurry.”

“What is the great hurry, Unger?” Aron Longwell sneered with disdain. “Afraid that your mystery creatures will vanish by the time his observer gets there?”

“No, you great dolt,” Unger said, bitterness dripping from his words, “I’m afraid that by the time they see the truth of my words, we return and your man motivates your slow-spinning arse into action that my Kingdom will be naught but ashes and blood.” He drew himself up again. “Every Sylorean, we men of the north, know battle in our souls, quest for it in our lives, but this scourge that sweeps across our lands spares not women nor children, and is unmerciful in every way.” He looked around. “I see in these things the death of all I hold dear, of my lands, of my people …” he seemed to grind out the last words, “… even of the rest of Luukessia. And I don’t mean to have it happen while I’m lying about. Give me your observers and I’ll take them north, I’ll show them the right of it, and we’ll come back-but when we do, I want your word that you’ll move your armies to action, because if you don’t-if you don’t mean to do anything-then I’ll be leading all my armies in a last charge. Something, anything to stem the tide of these creatures,” he spat onto the grey skinned rotting body at his feet, “and try to save my people.”