King of the Bastards by Brian Keene, Steven L. Shrewsbury Page B

Amazarak’s
lodge.”
    The scene now showed a pyramidal shaped building. It looked much
like the one they currently stood in, but it was larger and solid black. Dimly,
they saw a group of Kennebeck slaves behind the lodge. Each man’s skin was
covered in horrid blisters and they were hideously deformed—much worse than the
folk in the village. Then the image blurred.
    Javan shivered. “Listen. Do the rest of you hear it?”
    From Akibeel’s belly came the sound of supplication. Another
scene appeared. Amazarak stood at the mouth of another series of caves. He
looked enough like Akibeel to be his brother, Javan thought. He even wore a
wolfish headdress. Out of the caves bounded more of the red-furred creatures.
They ravaged female captives staked out spread eagle for them. Javan wondered
how any of the women survived such copulations. To be impregnated in such an
unspeakable manner was too horrifying to think about. The image then changed
again.
    “I do not understand,” Rogan muttered.
    “Nor do I,” Asenka agreed. “What is the meaning of all this?”
    “I believe the vision is moving forward in time,” Javan
explained. “Look there.”
    They saw that none of the women had survived the childbirth
process. They then saw an image of the monstrous offspring fully grown. Then
the vision faded, and the shaman’s stomach was flesh again.
    Akibeel said, “This is the product of Amazarak’s wickedness.”
    Rogan and the others realized that Akibeel was speaking with his
own voice, yet they could understand him as if he were still possessed.
Whomever—whatever—the Doorkeeper had been, its presence had now departed, but
it had left this gift of translation behind.
    “Wizardry,” Rogan said, spitting on the lodge’s floor.
    “Perhaps,” Javan said, “but it will make things easier, sire.”
    Akibeel sounded like he was in great pain as he continued. “This
race of giants is seen whenever we try to ascend the mountains. My people
cannot fight ones such as them.”
    “How many are there?”
    “Dozens. They are spread out and act as sentries. Our men fear
them, so it is pointless to go. A man of steel could slay them.”
    “So in addition to his magic and his demonic cohort and his army
of soulless Kennebeck men, Amazarak also has these half-human, half-ape
offspring? And if I slay these beasts and defeat Croatoan and kill that blasted
wizard and everything else that dwells upon the mountain, you will repair and
man my boat and get Javan and I home?”
    Despite his agony, Akibeel smiled and nodded. His servants
lowered him down and removed the barbs from his flesh. Then they coated the
wounds with salve and bound them.
    Rogan scratched his head. “There’s one thing I still don’t
understand. Why doesn’t this wizard or Croatoan just destroy you all and be
done with it?”
    Akibeel sipped cold water from a clay mug. “It seems that we
haven’t yet finished whatever dark purpose he has planned for us. I fear there
is a worse evil than this brewing above.”
    “With the turmoil in my homeland,” Rogan said, “I think we have
little time. Forging new weapons for your tribe would take too long, as would
teaching you the ways of iron and steel. However, I can perhaps use the pieces
we have to our advantage.”
    “How?”
    Rogan turned to his nephew. “Javan, gather all the swords and
lances we rescued from the shipwreck. These natives seem keen on using arrows.
By Wodan, I will give them arrowheads that will slay the Dark One himself.”
    “Right away, sire.”
    Akibeel ordered two of the braves to help the young man.
    Rogan stepped outside the lodge and took a breath. He then looked
down at the ring of Kennebeck folk, sitting with small drums on their laps. No
longer afraid of him, they smiled at the aging barbarian with snaggle-toothed
grins. Javan, Asenka, Zenata, and the others exited the lodge behind him.
    “Why the drums?” Rogan asked Akibeel as he emerged, limping. “In
the jungles, the