The Book Stacks

From “The Wyrd of War�? – by Bill Ward

It was the autumn of the world. On the hard earth of Toth, where the bones of twice ten thousand lay broken and scattered upon the plain, great hosts marched to war. From the north came proud armies beneath banners of rust red and red-gold and the stark white of wasteland snow. Assembled from fenland and mountain dale, city, town, and freehold, the able few of all tribes and nations stood within its ranks. They were the last of their kind upon the lands, the last to stand against the Animus – the living shadow at world’s end.

It had waxed strong, this unseen power, sweeping armies from the field and devouring whole kingdoms in its wars. It had spread across the lands, a blight, enslaving those it did not destroy. Now on this, the last day, the Animus brought forth its force of beasts and bestial men upon the parched earth of the ancient battle-plain, and there made war for the fate of all.

At the northern army’s leftmost point stood Vendic and his fate-bound brothers, eying the vile host that surged across the plain – a patchwork mass uncountable and chaotic, as inconsistent in its component parts as the hordings of a madman. It held no common step, no order of march, no signal banner. Among its many files and divisions jungle savages cavorted before the stately remnants of baronial armies, somber steppe horsemen canted side-by-side with stave-ribbed wolves, and baboons in leathern armor ambled soberly amongst mobs of blood-mad berserkers. Still stranger things moved within this vast and many-headed shadow, half-men and unmen, unnatural fusions of man, beast, and other, creatures warped and debased by the energies of the Animus.

The sky above the horde was filled with raucous birds, a million bits of dirty rag caught swirling in a maelstrom.

Perhaps it was the dark sorceries that now dominated Vendic and his comrades that allowed him to view the approaching host without fear. Or perhaps it was a still larger fate than that demanded by the necromantic charms he wore beneath his skin, a world-fate of supreme indifference, that provided the anchor for his own fatalism. No matter.

As if seized by a single impulse Vendic and his battle-brothers, the forty-nine men of the Wyrdkin, strode forward, leaving behind the defending line of spearmen and archers of the left flank. They would be the first to meet the enemy, the first to die. The first to test fate – to find their wyrd.

Unaccompanied by the bray of horn or the pounding of drums the onrushing horde charged.

From “LAIR OF THE CHERUFE: A Tale of the Barbarian Kabar of El Hazzar�? – by Angeline Hawkes

Kabar stared. Before them, salivating over his brother’s face, was a legendary Manticore. The massively muscled lion’s body crowned with the face of a man held its scaled tail and its ball of poisonous quills arched high. One launch of those darts and the Manticore could kill them all. Three rows of razor sharp teeth teasingly clenched Aeneas, toying with him like a cat does a mouse. Traken and Kabar froze.

The Manticore growled. Aeneas lay as still as he could, terror blanketing his face. Kabar’s mind raced. This was the temple guardian. Were there more? His eyes quickly moved around the edge of the clearing, finding nothing. He studied the Manticore in front of them, saw its patchy fur, yellowed teeth – age betrayed it.

Kabar turned his head slightly so he could see Traken’s face. With his eyes he indicated Traken should move toward the left side of the clearing. Traken nodded and, carefully lifting one foot from the tangled path, began moving toward the goal.

The Manticore watched Traken moving, and another growl rolled from its throat. Kabar remained frozen in place. The Manticore’s eyes shifted from Kabar to the slow moving Traken, and the beast gave Aeneas a slight shake. Aeneas whimpered and reached up with his hands to grab the beast’s head. The human face looked down and seemed to smile at Aeneas.

Kabar eyed the Manticore’s tail. He could tell the beast wasn’t sure at which man to aim its poisonous barbs. The creature was sizing up the two men, determining the larger threat. Kabar tried to catch his brother’s attention, but Aeneas was moving around too much and Kabar couldn’t make eye contact with him.

The Manticore dropped Aeneas, snapped its tail backward and loosed its barbs toward Traken. Traken dove to the ground, narrowly escaping the volley. Aeneas took the opportunity to roll to his feet, but the Manticore roared in frustration, and sunk its teeth into Aeneas’ upper arm. Aeneas shouted in pain.

Kabar reacted to his brother’s cry and leapt through the air, prepared to plunge his sword into the growling beast shaking Aeneas back and forth. He landed backward astride the beast’s body. Quickly twisting around, he clamped his powerful thighs tight to the Manticore’s sides. Down he plunged his sword, again and again, impaling the beast on the steel. The Manticore let Aeneas fly with a toss of its head and wildly thrashed, trying to free itself of the warrior on its back. Roaring in anguish the beast ran toward the temple, crashing against the wall in an attempt to knock Kabar loose. Kabar plunged the sword into the tough hide of the beast and clenched the steel in his fist.

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