Nights of Villjamur - Mark Charan Newton [179]
He returned to check on Apium, who was now fading from consciousness. Brynd had noticed that the shell had been removed.
“You got it out?” he asked the cultist.
“No, it disintegrated while we tried to extract it. The remaining part’s still inside him. I’m sorry.”
Apium opened his eyes as if hearing this news. “Commander.” The word emerged as barely more than a breath.
“Hang in there. We’ll get you strapped on your horse and you’ll be all right.”
Blavat tugged at Brynd’s shoulder, hissed, “But he’s going to die. We’ll never get him back in time. He’ll die.”
Brynd stared into her eyes with a feral intensity that made it perfectly clear who was in charge.
“But the serious wounding is internal. It’s his lungs and—”
“I don’t give a fuck. I’m not leaving him here. Numb his pain.”
With that he returned to mount his horse, then rode around the remaining group giving orders for an immediate retreat to Villiren.
Apium coughed blood onto the horse’s neck, and when that happened you knew things weren’t looking good. The rhythm of the gallop was making him feel even sicker, and he had to keep stopping, holding the others up. Brynd was constantly looking round to check if his friend was all right. Truth be told, it was as if he was thieving every last breath just to stay alive, and Apium hadn’t a clue how many more hours he would last.
A piece of shell. Just a piece of fucking shell.
It was funny, in a strange way, now that Apium himself knew he was dying, how it seemed to trivialize these final moments. Another irony was that he didn’t feel inclined to tell them about the hole in his boot, or about the frostbite that must be destroying his left foot almost as quickly.
“You want to get up behind me?” Brynd asked at one point.
“No, I’m fine. Leave me behind if you need to.”
“Leave you with that lot? You must be joking.” Apium followed Brynd’s gaze off into the distance.
The black-shells had now gathered behind in enormous numbers, a huge line of them now clearly visible. If fifty had taken so much effort to kill, the thousands in pursuit would surely destroy them. Apium was desperate not to hold up the others.
The effect of Blavat’s relics consistently failed, and it felt as if he was inhaling knives.
They didn’t train soldiers for this shit.
It went on for hours, this stop-start nightmare chase through the dark. The creatures just kept on coming, and as the Jamur soldiers finally arrived at the ice sheets, the number of enemy had merely increased.
Everyone was beginning to fear that they would never make it to the longships in time, and Apium felt the burden of Brynd’s soft glances toward him.
“Blavat,” he wheezed, unexpectedly.
Surprised, the cultist woman steered her horse closer to his. “Yes, captain?”
“Those brenna devices,” he whispered.
“What about them?”
“They’re primed for our men to use them, aren’t they?”
“They’re ready to use, yes. What about it?”
Another deep breath that sliced through his insides.
Apium said, “They work in a chain reaction, yes? I think I might be of some use. In getting you lot away from here.”
“I can adjust them so as to work in unison, sure. You really fancy taking that lot on by yourself?”
Nothing in her tone to suggest she cared too much, but then why should she? Only Brynd was keeping him with them. “Yes. Now we’re on an ice sheet … once I let you all get far enough away, I can detonate the devices so as to cut them off. Once we’ve put water between you and them, you’re safe to get back to Villiren.”
“And you?”
“We all know about me. Now, line up those devices.” He painfully steered his horse toward Brynd.
Apium told him briefly of his intentions.
“That’s insanity. We’ll get you back.”
“Who’s the crazy one, Brynd? Who’s the one kidding himself?”
The look in Brynd’s eyes said everything that Apium already knew. He didn’t want to fail a friend,