Achelous’s two curved blades flashed around in a swirling arc, clanging against the two weapons of the nearest mercenaries. Within five seconds, the two considerably lesser-skilled warriors lay dead in pools of their own blood. With the other mercenaries and priests occupied by the giant creatures still lashing out from the cavern’s shadows, only Captain Zaidu maintained sense enough to deal with the real threat.
Bringing an ancient horn up to his lips, the captain gave a great blow and garnered his troops’ attention. They turned to stare at the one-on-one battle.
The foreigner, keeping the prince behind him, whirled his swords, fending off Zaidu’s sudden sword thrust.
“Traitor!” the captain spat. “I took you in. Fed you. Gave you purpose. And this is how you repay your commander?”
The foreigner’s only response was to press the attack with a backhanded swing that nearly took Zaidu’s head from his shoulders. Sereb-Meloch knew the move would be Achelous’s mistake. With comprehension suddenly dawning on the captain’s men, nearly twenty of them rushed to the aid of their commander. Five more held back, readying their bows and awaiting a clear shot. Before their comrades reached the fray, a swarm of arrows cut through the air and slammed full force into the foreigner. The bronze-tipped projectiles punctured the man’s leathery skin with ease and burrowed deeply into his arms, chest and neck.
Plucking the darts out with simple jerks of his wrists, Achelous continued his offensive against the captain and his now, fully committed men.
Sereb-Meloch watched in amazement as Achelous’s neck wound spurted out a geyser of blood that stained the pristine snow crimson. A shame, he thought. The man’s intellect and courage would have made valuable assets. Instead, the man would bleed out in minutes. Sooner if the battle continued with the same ferocity.
But despite the extreme loss of blood, Achelous continued to fight with a nearly incomprehensible strength. Of the twenty mercenaries that had joined the fray, thirteen now lay dead or dying in the snow. Two more had suffered extensive, but not life-threatening injuries.
But that was nothing compared to the onslaught the foreigner continued to endure. The high priest’s men hacked at the man, inflicting mortal wound after mortal wound. One swipe sliced cleanly through Achelous’s throat, clear to the spine if Sereb-Meloch wasn’t mistaken, yet still the man fought with the might of the hero-gods of old.
The thought unnerved Sereb-Meloch more than he wanted to admit. Can it be possible? Could it be that the gods, knowing what he intended to do, sent a champion to stop him from awakening the Mother? The very thought was preposterous, but how else could he explain it? A man who could control both light and sound, blasting a giant wound into the side of the mountain? A man who could endure blade and arrow alike without so much as slowing down? It was as if Marduk himself had descended from the heavens to thwart Sereb-Meloch.
Then why had the man—if that is what he truly was—helped to unleash Her children from their subterranean prison? Why had he used his magic to assist in the high priest’s acquisition of the next vital piece of the plan?
A muffled grunt of pain drew Sereb-Meloch from his musings. He looked up to see the prince, secured once more by two more seedy-looking mercenaries. The foreigner was on his knees now, Zaidu’s three-foot-long blade plunged deeply in the man’s chest. Achelous’s eyes widened, confusion and pain reflecting across his dark irises. A stream of blood spewed from his mouth as he heaved for breath.
They had done it. The mercenary captain had finally quelled the traitor’s sedition. A wave of relief cascaded over the high priest. Mortal after all. Not a god. Not a champion. Simply a lone fool who sought to undo everything I have worked for. But that thought unnerved him as well. After all, where there was one, there could be more… How many other traitors were lurking within his ranks? He’d have to be more vigilant. For now, however, he would savor this new victory and watch the warrior-mage die.
As if sensing his master’s unspoken thoughts, Zaidu stepped closer to his fallen foe, looking down into the man’s pain-filled eyes. Without a word, the captain spat in the traitor’s face, drew an ivory-handled dagger from his sash, and swept it across the man’s throat. Whatever blood remaining in the man’s body after the direct blow to his heart, poured freely from the smiling laceration. Satisfied Achelous was no more, Zaidu shoved the dead man to the ground with the palm of his hand and turned to face the high priest. With a glow of satisfaction about him, he gave a slight bow toward Sereb-Meloch, then turned his attention to the two creatures still preying on those stupid enough to get too close to the cavern’s mouth.
The monsters roared from the shadows, yearning for the sacrifice that would draw them from the prison they’d called home for the better part of two millennia. Their chitinous claws lashed out from the shadows, desperately searching for their prey.
“The boy!” Sereb-Meloch shouted. “Get him to the altar now. There can be no more delays!”
Before his men could comply, a great shriek arose from inside the cave, followed immediately by the sounds of thrashing and even more howls of rage and desperation. From the sound of it, the creatures, Namtar and Tiamba, were locked in mortal combat. If Sereb-Meloch didn’t act, they’d tear themselves apart.
Nervous, he turned toward the altar where the mercenaries secured Belshazzar’s bonds once more. Satisfied all was ready, the high priest strode toward the open gates with arms outstretched. The headband glowed even brighter—practically blinding to those who looked directly at it—as he recited the arcane chant, exactly as he’d practiced it for the past eleven months.
“Acheno, le Baranaga! Acheno terana, Namtar eb Tiamba! Thret nasi, belagon Tiamat neastar trumpo! Eb learenok gonno, Belshazzar Erraga!”
Hear me, Great Ones! Hear my words, Namtar and Tiamba! Come forward, O’ Children of Tiamat and feast. Behold the sacrifice, Prince Belshazzar of Babylon!
He smiled when the sounds from inside the cave ceased immediately. The months of studying the ancient language—words not uttered in over two millennia—had paid off. And now, he had gained the great creatures’ attention and hopefully, their cooperation.
Sereb-Meloch stepped back, his eyes never leaving the dark cavern. Something shuffled from within. They’re coming! The high priest stepped past the stone altar and gave a quick glance at the doomed prince. He would have the ultimate revenge against his old nemesis, the boy’s grandfather, and claim his prizes with one swift blow. The joy of that revelation warmed his chilled insides, as he continued backing away from the cave.
A low growl echoed from the shadows, followed immediately by a giant, insect-like leg. Followed by another and another. Soon, a great mass of shiny black armor slunk from the cave’s entrance, shrouded by the cloudy night’s sky. The creature’s form was truly monstrous. Six enormous spindly legs supporting the weight of a giant’s torso. The torso was human in nature, but covered from claw to head in a hard-shell carapace. Two more limbs, attached at the creature’s shoulders, folded twice—once upwards and then down, so that the blade-like structures assisted in balancing the creature while walking. Those gruesome features, however, were not what sent a wave of dread down the spines of all present. That honor was left to the creature’s nineteen-foot-long tail, which curved to a point behind its back and dripped with lethal venom.
Girtablilu.
Scorpion Men.
That’s what the legends had called them. Children of the enormous goddess Tiamat, from whose body all of creation had sprung. Feared and revered for ages untold, the Girtablilu were said to be as cunning as they were vicious. But they could also be of assistance to certain brave mortals not afraid to harness their power…as revealed by the tales of Gilgamesh. It was Sereb-Meloch’s hope that he would be counted just as worthy as the immortality-seeking adventurer. All that remained to ensure their loyalty was the awaiting sacrifice.
A sacrifice of royal blood.
Amid gasps, everyone in the high priest’s entourage moved back. Though many had been privy to the object of Sereb-Meloch’s current expedition, few had actually believed the legends to be true. Now, as they watched the second scorpion-creature lumber from the cave, their skepticism disintegrated along with their false bravado.
The scorpion brothers scuttled toward the altar.
It was finally time. The sacrifice would be accepted, and their loyalty would be assured.
“Wow,” came a voice from somewhere behind Sereb-Meloch. “As an old friend of mine would have taken great pleasure in saying, those are some big-ass bugs.” Sereb-Meloch, Zaidu and nearly half the mercenary’s men wheeled around at this new interruption, paralyzed with confusion and fear.
Standing, his sword resting casually on his broad shoulder, the foreigner Achelous looked back at them. The wound on his throat was completely gone; only the drying blood remained. He smiled mischievously. “Yeah, I know,” he said. “What’s it gonna take to kill this guy, right?”