Bloodwalk - James P. Davis [134]
On that horizon, rising from the grass, pulling themselves from the ground, were the shapes of massive beasts. So far away, Dreslya could not make out much detail in the strange creatures, save that they bore manes of jagged spines and stood on six legs as they swiveled their ponderous bulks to face the circle.
The bearer of Lesani's voice spoke then in the Shaaran tongue, one which Dreslya had not used often in her life, but knew well enough to understand.
"We bring the teeth of your forebears," she said to the silent pack. Dreslya reached beside her to lift a bundle of large thorns tied with leather thongs. Each was the size of a large dagger and razor sharp.
"We call you from their womb and their grave," Dreslya said, acting on blind instinct, unsure if the voice she heard was her own. The fierce Ghedia raised handfuls of dirt and grass.
"We ask that you honor us with your power. Aid us in defending our ancestral lands and we will ask of you no more."
The strange beasts bristled their spiky manes and tossed their heads, posturing and pawing at the ground with trunklike forelegs ending in long claws. A note of alarm passed through Dreslya, and the Ghedia's eyes widened in sudden fear. The beasts lowered their heads in a predatory crouch, looking like giant lions as they whipped their spined tails across the grass. The storm rose behind them, thundering and scorching the ground with lightning.
Dreslya's sense of alarm faded as the creatures turned to face the storm and shook their bodies violently, producing a reedy hissing sound not unlike seeds in a thin gourd. The ground rumbled as they charged, moving away from the pair and into the darkness.
Lesani sighed and slumped forward, exhausted. Dreslya blinked several times, adjusting her eyes to the darkness of the hovel, disoriented and weak from the strange, but somehow familiar spell. The Ghedia had passed out and Dreslya tried to stand, but the ground still shook, vibrating beneath them as thunder rumbled outside.
The image of the Shaar remained in her mind, dreamlike and indistinct.
"I remember all of this," she whispered, and though she did not know their true names, those beasts charging the horizon with whipping tails and spiny manes, she knew what the tribes knew, heard the name they were called out of fear and respect.
The word rested on her tongue, foreign and savage in the Shaaran language and no less so in its translation to Common.
"Battlebriar," she said out loud and shivered, instinctively drawing her dagger. She touched Lesani's unconscious face, then leaned back to rest and listen.
* * * * *
Makeshift barricades were erected near the center of town out of debris and anything that wasn't nailed or mortared down. Archers climbed onto rooftops, exposed to the diving malebranche, but gaining vantage points from which to fire into the endless ranks of ravenous undead that threw themselves at any and all opponents. Quivers of arrows were blessed by the surviving oracles, and the hunter's missiles sizzled into the writhing horde. The carrion stench of the steaming bathor wafted to those who waited their turns to face what were rumored to be the dead citizens of Logfell.
At first, Talmen had scowled in anger as the mounted hunters charged the rear of the advancing Gargauthans, but Morgynn's creations kept the defenders well occupied. They dragged down prized steeds into the mud while wizard-priests hurled spells of fire and lightning. The malebranche took their share of the Savrathan warriors, plucking them from their mounts and slinging their bodies into the barricades at the front of the assault.
Though far too many of the skilled riders still circled the field with their deadly Shaaran bows, Talmen had to admit he'd underestimated Morgynn. Still close to the treeline,