The Silas Kane Scrolls (Authors and Dragons Origins Book 2) Read online

  He repeated this twice more before Coyn finally said, “Enough of that for now. Save it for when you’ve finished your task.” He waited for Silas to wipe the blood off his face before pointing toward the valley. “Long have the fell beasts of this vale vexed our lord and master.”

  “We’re still talking about rabbits, right?” Silas asked, receiving another slap from Coyn.

  “That’s what they want you to think, if you ever bothered to do such a thing. It was Twareg himself who came to me in a dream and told me. Once, this was a valley populated by imps and goblins that refused to take our lord as their own. Twareg was angered and the earth shook. And as punishment, he turned them into stupid woodland animals.”

  “But why do I need to...?”

  Coyn reached up, grabbed Silas by the ear, and dragged him down to his level. “If you’d stop prattling long enough for me to draw breath, I’d tell you. Silence! This is a holy place. Say another idiotic word and you could be struck down as well, although I doubt you’d rate high enough to be turned into a cockroach.”

  Silas shut his mouth, his eyes wide with fear.

  “Better. Despite our lord’s curse, these creatures continue to blaspheme his name. So we ... and by we, I mean you ... have been tasked with bringing them to justice. Slay each and every rabbit within sight. Take no prisoners. Give them no quarter. And, above all else, do not return until you have finished. Am I clear?”

  Silas nodded vigorously.

  “Then go and complete your task so that perhaps Twareg may despise you a bit less for your deeds ... but not much.”

  Silas shouldered his bow, made sure his quiver was full, and started down the steep path to the valley below.

  Before he’d gotten more than a few steps, Coyn called to him. “Oh, and Silas, what is best in life?”

  The young warrior spun back despite the precarious footing. “To worship Twareg!”

  “And?”

  “And nothing. There are no other pleasures in life. Everything else is a sin to beeeee...”

  Coyn smirked as Silas overbalanced and went tumbling end over end to the valley below, all while crying out his thanks to Twareg.

  Satisfied, the abbot nodded and turned away. “Stupid boy.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  So began the slaughter of rabbit hollow, for Silas’s wrath was a terrible thing to behold ... especially among creatures too weak to fight back, and far too stupid to know why they were being butchered.

  The young warrior worked tirelessly, stalking his prey through the high grass, lining up shot after shot, and then waiting for the survivors to stop running and resume munching on grass.

  “Die, sinner!” he screamed, loosing another arrow.

  Hours passed and the pile of rabbit corpses grew ever higher. Eventually, realizing this was going to continue for quite some time, I rose back up into the clouds to observe what was going on back at the dwarven encampment.

  Upon seeing the drunken debauchery taking place, I grew angry. It wasn’t so much what they were doing – for the enjoyment of drink and women were not forbidden amongst Twareg’s followers, even those as twisted as Coyn and his men. It was because they were hypocrites, enjoying their earthly revelries while their young charge was denied even the most basic of pleasures.

  I spied Coyn himself, cavorting naked with two infernling whores – his heavy gut hanging nearly to the ground . Ah, the cruel irony. Constantly beating into Silas the need to keep watch for demons, devils, and other hell-born creatures, lest they tempt him, yet there was his master, happily slapping his cock against two girls who resembled nothing less than a pair of lithe succubi.

  It wasn’t true. I knew that much. Infernlings were just as mortal as any of the other races of this world. It was said that in the distant past their ancestors consorted with demonic forces, leading to their appearance – many of them horned and possessing reddish skin – but they were no more predisposed to evil than anyone else, even if their appearance suggested otherwise.

  Wait. Their appearance!

  As I watched the drunken revelry below – Coyn and his followers eating, drinking, and fucking to their hearts’ content – a plan began to take shape in my mind.

  I had long since hoped to find some reason or cause to sway Silas away from the monsters who had raised him, a subtle nudge that would make him see these dwarves for the charlatans they were. Preferably something that wouldn’t require much in the way of direct interference.

  Indirect interference, however, was another matter entirely.

  The orgy below showed no sign of ending anytime soon, but I quickly realized that this was what I had been waiting for: a chance to free the boy who I had taken pity on so long ago.

  Surely, the sight of his masters – dwarves who claimed to follow the same path of suffering as he – engaging in acts of banal pleasure would give him cause to question his teachings. And if so, then the accursed shrine’s hold over him would be broken and he would be free.

  But first I had to convince Silas to return, but I realized that, too, was possible. All I had to do was use his master’s own words against him.

  Quick as the wind, I returned to the hollow to find the young warrior removing an arrow from yet another of the so-called blasphemous rabbits.

  “May Twareg shit upon you in death as you have shat upon the field of his love in life,” he proclaimed somewhat non-sensibly to the dead hare. He was an odd lad, but then, all humans tended to be a bit strange as far as I was concerned.

  Knowing that he absolutely would not stop until his task was complete, I rose higher into the heavens and called out to the infinite power that surrounded the distant mountain of Stormstrike.

  Though the night was clear, lightning flew from the heavens at my command, striking the earth and sending the furry denizens of the valley scurrying for the safety of their dens. Again and again, I called upon the storm until the only living being still standing on the field below was Silas.

  He looked to and fro, amazement etched upon his face. Then he scanned the floor of the small valley, noting no movement except the charred grass swaying in the breeze.

  “Slay each and every rabbit within sight,” he muttered to himself, echoing the words of the abbot. After a moment, he smiled, raised his hands in the air, and screamed out, “PRAISE TWAREG!”

  The first part of my plan had been a success. Now it was time for Silas to learn the truth about his so-called masters and finally throw off the yoke of oppression he’d worn his entire life.

  THE BEST LAID PLANS OF MICE AND DWARVES

  “That’s right, lass, tickle me asshole with your tail. Yeah, just like that.”

  If anything, the drunken revelry had gotten even more raucous in the time it took me to empty the field where Silas would have otherwise hunted rabbits until long past sunrise.

  As for the lad himself, he was quickly approaching the campsite, dragging a string of no less than two dozen dead rabbits behind him. I had to give him credit. He was nothing if not thorough.

  I floated unseen above it all, waiting to see what would happen and anticipating the heated argument sure to ensue as Silas realized his entire life had been nothing but a cruel lie. It was possible the epiphany would break the boy, but ultimately, it was better to rip off the bandage than to let this mockery continue. Once his eyes were opened and he recognized their deception for what it was, then the healing could begin. My plan was to assume the form of a mortal and befriend him. Surely he would be in need of some sane companionship come that point.

  Silas stopped just outside the light of the campfire. Already, I could see that he’d noticed things were amiss. How could he not? The sight of naked gyrating flesh – dwarven and infernling – entwined in a mass of writhing arms and legs was hard to miss. Grunts, moans, and laughter could be heard as the orgy reached a fever pitch.

  I turned to see Silas drop the quarry he’d spent hours hunting. He took a step forward, then another, his face unreadable. This was it, the mome
nt when the scales would be cast from his eyes and he would see his mentors for what they truly were. I fully expected curses, lamenting, perhaps even tears to come next.

  What I didn’t expect, was for him to draw his bow and cry out, “Die, foul demons! The power of Twareg compels you!”

  There came the thwip of the weapon being loosed and one of the infernling prostitutes fell dead atop Gutspear, with an arrow lodged deep in her back. So into his coupling was the dwarf that he didn’t immediately realize that the girl who’d been vigorously riding him was now little more than a twitching corpse.

  Though I had no corporeal body, I still felt the sensation of my eyes opening wide with surprise as Silas let two more arrows fly, felling the pair of whores who’d been engaged with Coyn.

  The abbot stood up in shock, covered in nothing but the infernlings’ blood. He looked around and saw Silas nocking yet another arrow. The dwarf angrily balled his fists and cried out, “What in the nine hells are you doing, you stupid boy?!”

  As it turned out, that was a particularly poor choice of words.

  The abbot and his earnest student locked eyes for several long seconds, until Silas finally said, “Fear not, master. I will release you from that demon’s thrall.”

  In the next moment, the Shrine of the Shattered Hammer was rendered leaderless as Coyn Copperbeard fell lifeless onto his bedroll, an arrow lodged deeply in his brain.

  Silas wasn’t finished, though. Having apparently come to the insane conclusion that what he’d been watching was some kind of demonic possession, he proceeded to begin saving all who had taken part.

  Some of the dwarves pled with him. Others drunkenly stumbled for their weapons. In the end, it was the whores who doomed them all. Scared and not knowing why they were being attacked, they screamed as if they were banshees from the pit, drowning out the entreaties of the dwarves until the lot of them were silenced for good.

  I watched this all in mute horror. I’d been warned to observe, nothing more. But in my arrogance, I’d interfered and now stood witness to a massacre of my own making.

  Gutspear was the only dwarf to last long enough to mount some semblance of a defense. He was a hardened warrior, a seasoned guard of the shrine and most likely more than a match for Silas. Had he chosen a spear or javelin, he might have made a difference, but he instead picked up his trusty war hammer and charged into battle ... allowing the young zealot more than enough time to fire his last two arrows.

  Both struck Gutspear true – one in his thigh, the other in his chest.

  “W-why?” the dwarf managed to sputter before his voice became too choked with blood.

  Silas had no answer for him. He merely smiled and then, when it was all over, he again raised his hands to the heavens and cried out, “Thank you, Twareg, for freeing my friends! May you stomp on their souls with your holy boots for all eternity!”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  If Silas felt any remorse for his actions, he didn’t show it. If anything, he continued to sing the praises of Twareg as he piled up the bodies of the whores, doused them with rum, and then set their corpses ablaze.

  “When you get to Hell, tell them Twareg sent you!”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. Was the boy crazed or truly this stupid? These girls were obviously not demons. But then, in a moment of horrific clarity, I realized the fault was my own. There was no obvious from Silas’s point of view. The boy hadn’t seen a woman since his own mother perished. True, there were dwarven females at the shrine, but since most humans found it nearly impossible to tell dwarves apart from their mates, it was understandable that there wasn’t much insight to be gleaned there.

  Silas’s ears had been polluted for decades by talk of demons and devils. I now realized my error, for what else would he have mistaken these women for?

  The pyre burning bright, Silas next attempted to tie the bodies of the dwarves together, much as he’d done with the rabbits, but they proved too heavy for one man to move alone. He sat down for a moment as if pondering this dilemma. I hoped that perhaps the time would allow him to consider what he’d done.

  I wasn’t entirely fearful for the boy’s soul. He’d acted out of ignorance, not malice, something the gods take into consideration. And, truth be told, he’d killed a group who my lord considered to be little more than heretical louses. But it was the principle of the thing.

  At last, he stood as if making up his mind. I could only watch and pray that he’d finally come to his senses.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  “What the ever-living fuck is this?” the guard cried as the heads of Coyn, Gutspear, Gorlim, and all the rest who’d been on the pilgrimage tumbled out of the sack and rolled across the threshold of the shrine.

  “Rejoice,” Silas said with a smile, “for they are free!”

  “They’re dead.”

  “True, but it’s a small price to pay for being delivered from the thrall of demons.”

  “A small price? You killed them!”

  “Their bodies were already tainted beyond repair. But now their spirits reside at the right heel of Twareg, so that he may rest his feet upon their backs whenever he is tired from a long day of smiting the unworthy.”

  More dwarves began to gather at the entrance of the shrine to listen to Silas’s tale. One by one, I saw fear begin to spread on their faces. Too late they realized what they’d done, that their weapon of faith had backfired into their own faces.

  Silas stepped forward, and immediately several of the dwarves backed away from him. Why wouldn’t they? Their best and brightest had been reduced to nothing more than a pile of heads lying on the ground. And their killer was standing there smiling as if expecting a pat on the back.

  Murmurs rose up among the assembled dwarves.

  “Why did he do it?”

  “It’s Twareg’s vengeance against us.”

  “Should we attack him?”

  “Are you crazy? He killed them all by himself!”

  I will admit to being curious as to what would happen next, as it was my meddling which had caused this. Still, it was hard to bring myself to feel too sorry for the dwarves of the shrine, even as they cowered from Silas. Coyn and his most ardent followers had been, after all, nothing but burrs in Twareg’s ass for years.

  Confusion reigned for several long minutes until one of the acolytes regained his senses enough to come up with a plan – simple yet brilliant – that would allow them time to discuss this new and disturbing predicament.

  “Thank you, Silas!” a dwarf by the unfortunate name of Porker Fangbottom cried out. “I am ... certain that Twareg thanks you for your actions. Why don’t you return to your stable so that we might ... err ... rejoice in the abbot having finally been granted the joy of eternal beatings by our lord?”

  The dull-witted warrior clapped his hands together in apparent joy. “Should I perform the ritual of bloody soul cleansing?”

  Porker shrugged. “Sure. Why not? In fact, whip yourself extra hard for the sins of those who have fallen.”

  This appeared to please Silas greatly. Without another word, he turned and walked off to the dirty horse pen he called home.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  While Silas was busy thinking of new and interesting ways to bloody himself in the name of Twareg, the rest of the shrine’s population locked themselves away so as to debate who should lead, what this meant for their future, and – most importantly – how to deal with the threat Silas had become. Some were adamant that he be killed. “Do it while he sleeps!” they shouted. “Lock the doors and burn the stable around him!”

  Others argued against that, citing the time and effort already invested into the boy, as if he were nothing more than a gold nugget dug out from beneath a mountain.

  Whatever the argument, both sides agreed on one thing: he could not be allowed to stay at the shrine. He’d become too dangerous.

  Back and forth they went as I hovered invisible in the room, waiting to see what they would decide. I still believed Silas to be
a victim and so was curious what my reaction would be if they concluded that his sentence should be death. I’d interfered where I should have stayed my hand and made a great fuckery of things in the process. Already, I could hear the rumble of divine thunder overhead, undetectable to all but the most devout of mortals. It told me that my master was aware. Twareg was not yet quite angry with me, but my actions had most certainly been noticed.

  And now he was watching. If Silas’s fate was to die would I allow it, or would I step in and whisk him away at the last moment?

  Fortunately, my resolve was not put to the test, for come the rise of the morning sun an agreement was reached among the dwarves.

  Porker Fangbottom, newly appointed abbot of the Shrine of the Shattered Hammer, approached the stable where Silas was already hard at work. Fresh new welts stood out on his back as he toiled to groom the ill-tempered ponies that he shared a residence with. Each time he was kicked or bitten, he would sing out his thanks to Twareg.

  “Enough of that,” the new abbot said. Though there was steel in his voice, I could see the nervousness in his eyes as he dropped a bundle of supplies at Silas’s feet. “Here. This is for you.”

  “Ah, yes, laundry!” Silas cried. “I will get to it at once. For it is written ‘though the unworthy cannot wash away their sins, dirt is another matter entirely.’”

  “No, you misunderstand me, Silas. This is for you. It’s yours.”

  The young man inclined his head. “Mine? But I own nothing except the rags I wear, and with good reason. For Twar...”

  “Yes, yes, Twareg despises you. We all know that,” Porker interrupted. “But that was before. Now, you have ... proven yourself. And, as such, it is time for you to be assigned a holy quest.”

  “A quest? Surely there are others here who are far more worthy of such an honor.”

  Porker shrugged. “True enough, but that just means you have to try even harder. This equipment will help you.”