Behemoth (Lost Civilizations: 5) Read online

  ***

  Jehu of the Bloodspillers was huge. He had giants in his lineage and possessed great strength. For years, he had been a man-trapper, bringing slaves to Shamgar’s bazaars. Jehu had a gift at tracking prey. He had keen eyesight and instincts that no one could teach. Jehu also practiced a single spell, learned long ago on the Isle of Poseidonis. The spell sharpened his hearing, although it taxed his spirit.

  Jehu cocked his square head, listening in the forest dark. As one of the blood, he now bled his spirit. It caused him to wince with tiredness, to breath heavier. Then, with his gift, he filtered out the rustling of thousands of leaves caused by the wind and the creak of branches. He heard soft footfalls, the crinkle of a leaf, the sounds caused by a foot.

  Jehu motioned to his companions and set out in a lumbering trot down a deer path. In his left hand—a massive hand with hair sprouting from the knuckles—he gripped a heavy stabbing spear. Many brass rings bound the ashen shaft. The spear had heft, and backed by Jehu’s mass it had punched through many a shield.

  Ox-like Jehu grinned, envisioning his success. The captain of the reavers had sent him a written message, brought him by one of Ut’s hyenas. Catch Lod and win Dagon’s praise.

  Jehu left the forest path and barreled through thorny thickets, ignoring the barbs that scratched his skin and hissed against his armored jerkin. Because of his giant heritage, he had tough, leathery flesh.

  “Keep up,” Jehu growled at the others straggling behind.

  Jehu’s grin turned nasty as one of the hyena-handlers cursed in pain. A thorn had hurt the puny human, the weakling.

  Jehu increased his gait, thinking of himself as a wooly rhinoceros, an unstoppable force. This was why he had joined the expedition. Slave hunting used to have its charms. He had raped the women and broken the men. Yet over the years, he had come to realize that slave hunting didn’t test his mettle. It didn’t win him glory. He decided that he wanted glory.

  He cocked his square head to the right. The quarry had turned again. Jehu used his gift again. It made him grunt. Then he heard the harsh breathing of a man who had run for a long time. Jehu maintained his swift pace, his dark eyes bright with anticipation. He ducked a low branch and tightened his grip of the stabbing spear.

  Jehu the Hunter of Men: that had a good ring to it. Jehu Iron Arm: he liked that better. Jehu Seraph Killer: he liked that best of all. According to what he had heard, this Lod had actually slain an Enforcer before, a half-Nephilim. Jehu shook his head. That one of the cattle could kill a child of the bene elohim seemed quite preposterous. This Lod was a Seraph, granted. Seraphs were strange individuals, but still merely human—cattle. In any case, to defeat Lod in battle would imply that he, Jehu Iron Arm, was a better warrior than a least one half-Nephilim. He, Jehu, was of the fifth generation. O, what glory it would be to have bested, in a sense, a grandson of a god. He must find Lod. He must be the one to hurl the human down at Dagon’s feet.

  “Hurry!” Jehu snarled at those behind him. “Keep up.”

  Perhaps after defeating Lod, shackling him, he would rape the woman with Lod. Watching the rape of their woman tore at some men, made them gnash their teeth and then weep in anguish. Jehu chuckled at the thought. He liked hearing tough men cry. It was a powerful feeling of domination. Yes, he would make Lod weep for him.

  Then Jehu’s hunting instincts warned him. He stopped and crouched behind a moss-encrusted boulder. The fools behind him blundered like cretins. He held up his stabbing spear, and then realized that in the gloom they might not see it.

  “Quiet!” he rumbled.

  Two panting hyena-handlers staggered near. They had four whining beasts, squat cave hyenas with weird eyes and bone-crushing jaws.

  Jehu cuffed one, making the other beasts shrink away from him.

  The two hyena-handlers glanced at each other, but wisely remained silent. They would tell Ut what Jehu had done to the beasts.

  Jehu didn’t care—although he might care later. Now he was hunting. He had a bull neck, and although he wasn’t as tall as Dagon or as thick as Chemosh, he was broad-shouldered and heavily muscled. He had practiced with weapons every day for over twenty years. He would crush Lod like a wooly rhinoceros trampling dandelions. Jehu grinned in the darkness, brushing the blackened iron of his spear against his lips. He would press the iron against the woman’s breasts later as he mounted her. That is when Lod would begin weeping. The thought made Jehu shiver with anticipation.

  A hyena whined, breaking into Jehu’s thoughts. He scowled, and he wondered if he should slap the handler, slap him many times across the face and make him whimper for mercy. In his long life, Jehu had discovered that the anticipation of a thing often brought greater delight than the actual action. Therefore, he savored moments like this. Now the foul hyena whined and interrupted his enjoyment. He thought about slapping the handler, but he’d have to invent a better reason for doing so. The handler, although a mere man, belonged to Ut of Cave Hyenas. Jehu was more than a little afraid of Ut, a beastmaster of the fourth generation and a son of terrible Chemosh the Shaman. Fear of Ut stole more of Jehu’s delight. He would like to shove his spear into the handler’s belly for that. He would like to do it slowly as the man whimpered out his life.

  “Be alert,” rumbled Jehu. “The prey is near.”

  “Should we unleash our beasts?” whispered the nearest handler.

  Jehu debated bleeding his spirit one more time. It would be useful to hear where Lod was hiding. Then he grinned. The Seraph had grown careless and made too much noise stepping on a branch. That was too bad for Lod. Ah, it was about to happen. Jehu brushed the iron of his spear against his lips. Then he bent toward the puny handler.

  “Yes,” Jehu whispered. “Unleash your beasts.”

  ***

  Twilight had deepened into darkness. Seeing less clearly, Lod stepped on an old fallen branch. It splintered like a rotted tooth, crumbling under his booted foot. Lod muttered, turning, facing the distant shouts and animal cries. The old forest blocked out most of the starlight. Drifting clouds hid the moon. Great clots of darkness made the night dangerous. Distant torches flickered ominously. The forest throttled Lod’s senses, made him tense. The slow creak of a great branch, the close air with its musty odors and the murk brought on feelings of claustrophobia. That feeling coiled in his muscles.

  Lod had only meant to glance back, but now his nape hairs stirred. Years as bait in the canals had heightened his sense of hidden dangers. Something lurked just out of sight. It was big and deadly. It wanted him and knew he was here.

  He hoped Tamar was safe.

  Lod shifted his spear. The weapon was iron-tipped and well-crafted. The shaft had good throwing balance. Lod shifted the spear, setting it over his shoulder, ready to cast it with fury.

  As Lod waited, coiled with tension, the clouds continued sliding across the night sky. They unveiled the full moon. Silvery rays transformed the forest into an eerie place. Huge trees rose all around him. A clump of shiny, reflective leaves shimmered with moonlight, seeming like ripples in a lake. On the forest floor, huge boulders crouched like great sloths. The mossy backs of the boulders resembled fur.

  Lod’s head twitched. From nearby, something crinkled an old dead leaf. There! A squat shape raced out of the darkness. It had strange yellow eyes, and it yipped with a wicked laugh.

  Lod hurled the spear. A hyena crashed upon the loam, transfixed. More appeared, howling vengeance. Lod snatched a net off his shoulder. It was one Tamar had used to catch giant rats in the canals of Shamgar. He shook the net out with a single jerk and whirled it. In the moonlight, in flight, the net looked like a spider-web, a gossamer thing blown by the wind. A hyena tumbled to the ground, entangled, howling weirdly—the howl resembled hysterical human laughter. Then a beast streaked up from Lod’s left. It snarled, leaping, its powerful jaws snapping for Lod’s throat. Saliva struck Lod’s cheek as he clouted the big hyena with his fist. The jaws clicked onto empty air, but the hot, furry body collide
d against him. Both he and the beast tumbled to the ground. Lod’s head hit the dirt hard, barely missing a rock. Another hyena lunged. Lod tripped it by grabbing its foot.

  Hyenas, they use hyenas on me. Lod roared, taken back in his mind to the canals of Shamgar and the giant rats. His bitter life as bait had driven home this truth: you don’t defend yourself from beasts. You attack them.

  Lod’s iron fingers gripped a beast’s throat, the one that had slammed against him. He surged to his feet as his fingers tightened into furry flesh, crushing the windpipe. The beast made a strangled whine. Lod laughed madly. He bunched his muscles and hurled the choking hyena at the one scrambling upright, the one he had tripped. Forged steel sang from its sheathe then. Lod lunged, stabbing a hyena in the neck. He hacked, crunching the second one’s skull.

  “Impressive.” The words came from a voice unseen.

  Metal clicked—a slot on a lantern. Light flooded out, illuminating the darkness.

  Lod whirled around, crouching, his sword at the ready. A huge warrior stood in the lantern-light. The man had a trident tattoo on his forehead. He was incredibly blocky and wore an iron-studded jerkin. For a weapon, the warrior held a heavy stabbing spear. Those hands—the fighter had giants blood in him. He was a great ox of a man, and he was head and shoulders taller, and by his bulk was perhaps twice Lod’s weight.

  “Have you come to die?” snarled Lod.

  Two other men slunk near. They wore leather tunics. Whips, leashes and folded nets hung from the hooks on their wide black belts. The farther one held the lantern.

  That man cried, “You killed Ut’s beasts!”

  “Ut will forgive you when we bring in Lod,” rumbled the huge warrior. “Now unlimber your nets.”

  Lod’s own net lay on the ground where a hyena whined and struggled, biting the weave and thereby entangling its snout.

  Lod had only survived as a boy because he’d learned to think and act as a single process. He was outnumbered. They had nets, and he faced one of the blood. Lod knelt and scraped his fingers across the forest soil, grabbing a fistful of dirt.

  The huge warrior with the trident tattoo gave an ugly laugh. He looked over his shoulder at the handlers. “Ready?” he asked. The warrior likely believed that he held all the advantages, that he would start the fight at his pleasure.

  Lod roared, springing at the huge warrior, flinging dirt at the wide face. He couldn’t wait for them to attack. It would mean his death. Attack, surprise and then make them fear you.

  The huge warrior backpedaled, clawing at his dirt-stained eyes and roaring curses. Lod ignored him for the moment. Instead, he leaped at the startled hyena-handlers as they fumbled with their nets. The farther one had set down his lantern. Lod slashed furiously, and one handler screamed as blood and bone sprayed from his ruined face. The second one flung the net, even though it wasn’t ready. Lod ducked, he was intimately familiar with the danger of nets. A lead pellet attached to the edge of the net struck his forehead. Otherwise, the net harmlessly sailed past. With a bound, Lod rammed the sword into the handler’s stomach. Then he shoved the man from him. Lod now felt rather than saw behind him. He yanked out his blade, half-turned and slashed.

  Forged steel sparked against a brass ring that bound the shaft of the huge warrior’s stabbing spear. The big man had attacked Lod from behind. The jolt of the sword-blow ran up Lod’s arm. He barely moved the stabbing spear aside, but he shifted it just enough. The razor-sharp head of the spear grazed his skin instead of sinking into his chest. The big man had put his weight behind the blow. Lod’s parrying of the spear meant the warrior now pushed the spear into air. That caused the big man to stumble. He stumbled against Lod and then went down onto one knee. Lod staggered backward until his back thumped against a tree.

  “You’re fast, little man,” spat the big warrior, rising. “But speed isn’t going to save you from Jehu Iron Arm.”

  Lod lips curled. He pushed off the tree, and the two began to circle like wolves. For all his bulk, ox-like Jehu moved nimbly on his feet.

  Lod heard horns blare in the distance and hunters shouting. The others surely heard the clangor of battle and came to capture him. He didn’t have time to fence. He had to win now, right now.

  “When I’ve bound you, little man, I’m going to catch your woman. Then I’ll use her. I’ll make you watch—”

  Lod sprang as huge Jehu boasted. This one had giant’s blood, he was likely of the fourth or fifth generation. Jehu would be stronger than a man. But then he, Lod, was also stronger than a normal man. Few of the blood ever realized that until too late.

  Jehu thrust the stabbing spear. He must have slain many men with the attack. Lod didn’t simply parry. The jolt to his arm before told him that Jehu had immense strength. Jehu would now thrust with all his power and size. Lod therefore swung his sword hard and crashed the blade against the short spear. The blow almost numbed his arm, but Lod knocked the spear out of his path. Jehu’s eyes widened with surprise. The huge warrior opened his mouth to speak. The huge warrior probably wished to make a pronouncement. His kind usually did. Lod lowered his shoulder. His powerful thighs uncoiled, and he struck Jehu in the midriff. The big man grunted. His breath reeked of garlic. Lod, inside the big man’s guard and having put him off-balance for a critical second, thrust his sword. Lod thrust into Jehu’s groin, pushing with all his might. Steel grated against bone as Lod slammed the sword up to the hilt into Jehu’s body.

  Jehu shrieked.

  Lod yanked out the blade as Jehu draped over him. Jehu was heavy. The weight almost caused Lod to crumple. The iron studs, the buttons that dotted the leather armor, pressed against the skin of Lod’s back. Lod yanked the blade out of the half-cloven pelvic bone and twisted out from under the big man, letting Jehu thump onto the forest floor.

  The huge man shrieked again, a wretched, high-pitched sound. Jehu clutched his groin, sobbing, beginning to howl with agony. Lod raised his sword, and with a savage thrust, he killed the huge man.

  Almost immediately, horns blared and men shouted in glee. It came from behind Lod, in the direction he’d sent Tamar. Rage tore through him. Had the reavers tricked him? Lod shook his head. He refused to let Gog’s minions catch Tamar. Gathering his weapons, he set off in a trot toward the sounds.

  -2-

  Tamar stood trembling on a heavy branch as she panted, resting her back against the main trunk. They’d run her out and chased her up a tree. She’d climbed high up in the mocair-tree, a vast giant of the forest. The trees ruled this realm. They towered above lesser trees and soaked up the sunlight, causing the smaller ones to grow softer, weaker wood.

  Tamar squeezed her eyes closed wanting this journey, this awful, wretched journey to end. Too much had happened since leaving Shamgar—all of it bad. She trembled as fear billowed outward from her stomach and spread to her thighs. She wanted to sink down on this branch and weep for Keros. The plans they had made had nothing to do with how the world really worked. After everything they had gone through together in Shamgar, Keros was likely dead.

  Tamar took a deep breath and almost choked on the stink of the tar-soaked torches below. Why did the hunters of Shamgar have to hold those torches directly under the tree? The stench of tar drifted high up here to her great height and lodged in the back of her throat. Her throat convulsed and she almost gagged on the stench, barely swallowing her gag-reflex in time.

  “Come down, girl!” shouted a man.

  Despite her trembling, Tamar stubbornly shook her head, even though she was certain they couldn’t actually see her.

  “Weeping won’t help you,” she whispered, as she wiped her eyes. Crying had never helped in the canals. She had to use her wits. She had to remain courageous. That’s right. None of the hunters had his hands on her yet. There were no ropes binding her arms. She was free—free but trapped high up in a mocair-tree.

  Tamar forced her eyes open and peered down at the evil congregation of torches far below. Beasts and men looked up, but she didn’t
think any of them saw her. She had climbed high, being agile and light. It was dark up here. The torchlight didn’t reach this high, only that terrible stink of tar. She mustn’t let them know with certainty that she was here. She must make them doubt their foul beasts.

  The taste of burning torches almost made her gag again. Tamar shuddered. The weirdly laughing hyenas unnerved her. Torchlight shined eerily in one beast’s eyes. Then a handler ran forward and clicked a leash onto a cave hyena’s collar, dragging the beast away from the tree.

  “Come down, girl!” The shouter wore red armor and had a red helmet. He had an evil sort of beard that came to a point.

  She should have stayed with Lod. No. She should have remained in Shamgar, or she should have convinced Keros to take her to the Mountains of Shur.

  “Girl!” shouted the red-armored warrior. “Come down now!”

  Tamar grimaced. She would never come down. She would never let them catch her.

  “Get her,” said a squat man wearing a long, mammoth-fur coat. He peered up. He wore a mask where his nose should have been.

  He had crazier eyes than Lod. Even from high up in the mocair-tree, Tamar could see that. The man’s huge beard was matted. It was filthy, and his forehead…it had splotches of snowy white skin.

  He’s a leper, she realized. Keros had once been a leper. Then Elohim had healed Keros, had made him whole again.

  That one staring up into the tree—

  Can he see me?

  The urge to close her eyes nearly became overpowering. Tamar forced her eyes wider, however, and watched as two barefoot men began to climb. They scrambled up into the tree. They were stocky, these two. From one, torchlight glinted off a bare curved dagger stuck through a sash around his torso. These two wore baggy trousers and silk shirts. They climbed beyond the first branches and they were at least twenty feet off the ground now. She couldn’t believe their speed. They were like giant monkeys.

  Tamar knew they were reavers, pirates who normally sailed in galleys, preying on sea merchants. Ships had sails and ropes, which pirates climbed.