The Two That Came To Ilarnek

Chapter 15

With the passing of Bokrug, from the Small Square, Freyja and the members of the Brethren of Lobon took to the elevated paths of Ilarnek. They tried their best to keep up with the pursuer and the pursued. Many of the paths were now broken and they had to take detours, and sometimes descend to the lower streets, but the sounds of destruction were not difficult to follow, so ever they moved in the  general direction of the terrible god.
    As Freyja and the Brethren crossed near to the place Bokrug had just quitted, moments before, slithering his way through the lower streets, several figures broke from the shadows cast by the columns lining the upper pathway. The silent figured barred the way of Freyja and her cohorts. There were twelve of them, robed in the green of the Acolytes of Bokrug, and as they stood in the pathway they drew wicked, curving jambiya blades with hilts of polished karkadan horn.
    The robed Acolytes charged the Brethren recklessly, driven by the desperate abandon of fanaticism. One of the Brethren went down with an agonized shriek, his entrails spilling to the stone pavement, but his attacker followed him to Hell, his head sheared from his neck by Freyja’s deft sword-stroke. As Freyja turned from dealing the deathblow another Acolyte sprang upon her, his long jambiya raking her sword-arm. Freyja’s fist caught the man full in the throat, crushing his trachea, and he crumbled at her feet, choking on his own blood.
     Freyja’s sword sang a song of death as it hacked at limbs and heads, but the Acolytes seemed heedless of their own safety, and they opened slight wounds upon her with their blades in their fury and zeal, before Freyja inevitably felled them. The Brethren, fought hard, and although outnumbered by their zealous foes, the battle was soon over.
    “These slaves of Bokrug do not seem accustomed to battle,” said Freyja in a matter of fact tone.
    “They do not train for battle as do the clerics of the Brethren. Their way is of the knife in the dark,” replied Balloc, “but nevertheless, I count them courageous in their zealotry, to so throw away their lives for the glory of that water-demon.” Freyja shrugged and nodded, then surveyed the city around them. Save for the sounds of Bokrug’s rampage, the city was quiet and still.
    “The silence is eerie,” remarked Freyja.
    “It is no surprise. No doubt many fled the city, and others are cowering in their homes and cellars. The king has likely barred himself in his citadel with his men,” said Balloc, his eyes turned in the general direction of the king’s estate.
    Only two of the Brethren lay slain, and Freyja and the remaining Brethren had only superficial wounds. They took only enough time to bind the worst of their wounds, with cloth torn from the robes of the fallen, and took up their pursuit once again.  The light of the gibbous moon shone down from an azure sky casting shadows which they passed warily, prepared for another attack.

    Grimm and Marus wound themselves through the streets of the city and at length began making their way back toward the promontory that overlooked Thune, the sound of calamity hounding them every inch of the way. They passed through a street to find themselves in a small three-sided court when they turned to see Bokrug approach from the very way they had come. A quick appraisal told them there was no way out, they were like cornered rats before a python.
    Bokrug looked upon them from the shadowy street, seeming to savor his certain victory. His great bulk smashed one side of the narrow space, and Grimm looked above him to see the teetering columns of one of the raised pathways shiver above the foul god, when he spied Freyja and the Brethren arrive, on the upper paths just in time to look down upon the reptilian beast at his impending moment of his triumph over his two mortal foes.
   The mind of Bokrug and his withering nimbus of fear reached out to the two men. Grimm felt Bokrug’s thoughts battering at the margins of his mind. Grimm sensed that it was him that Bokrug hunted, and him alone.
    “Marus, it is me the demon seeks, I can feel his thought bent upon me. I will go to him, perhaps he will leave you in peace,” offered Grimm, not wishing another to die needlessly.
    “No, friend Grimm, don’t you understand? It is not you the monster seeks, he cares little for mortals, to his kind we are as ants are to us. It is not you that he seeks, but the idol that you carry. I have a trick yet to play. Do not follow!” and with that Marus strode quickly forward, straight towards the monstrous deity. Marus pulled the amulet from his tunic and spoke a strident prayer of evocation, to Lobon, as he walked directly before the face of the ominous Bokrug.
    The eyes of the water-lizard seemed instantly mazed, and he didn’t move to destroy the tiny human, to Grimm’s great surprise. A strange halo of light suddenly flared from Marus, and then in the space between Marus and Bokrug seemed to shimmer and burst forth with a bright light. In the center of that light stood a youth, lithe, perfectly formed, and utterly without blemish. The youth stood in silence, a crown of ivy upon his golden curling locks, a spear held above his head, as if to ward the way into the court. Bokrug was utterly still, the icy power of his fear-aura was suddenly broken and Grimm shouted to Freyja: “The broken columns, topple them onto the beast!”
    Neither Freyja nor the Brethren hesitated, throwing their weight upon the cracked and crumbling pillars. Long moments seemed to pass as they strained their bodies against the stone, but then they fell and with a sickening wet sound they smashed into the rugose body of the lizard-god.
    The youth, that was the avatar of Lobon, shimmered and was gone. In the moment the heavy columns bore down on Bokrug, the demon’s body exploded into a dense sickly green fog, the scent of methane, sulfur, and decay permeated the atmosphere. For a brief moment Grimm felt a deep sense of relief, but then as he gazed upon the billowing green cloud that was Bokrug, his sense of respite died. He sensed the fear-aura building again and as the moonlight illuminated the green cloud, he saw crimson lightning play over its undulating surface. Deep in the foggy mass he saw the shape of Bokrug coagulating, taking shape once more. Gods are not so easily slain, if indeed they may be slain at all.
    Grimm steeled himself, they had bought themselves a few moments time, if nothing else. He thought about the idol and upon Marus’s words, then looking up at Freyja: “Freyja, go to the promontory, ready a trebuchet. Make haste!”
    Grimm grabbed Marus’s arm and pulled him up the street they had entered, passing close to the greasy condensing green cloud, and so out of the cul-de-sac.
    “Marus, do you know the way to the promontory?” Grimm asked.
    “Yes...yes I think I can get us there,” replied Marus, mastering his nerves, and off they ran, like hunted hares.