The Mad Song and Other Tales of Sword & Sorcery

The Mad Song

& other Tales of Sword & Sorcery

David J. West

The Mad Song and other Tales of Sword & Sorcery

This collection Copyright © 2015 by David J. West

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof, in any form.

Cover illustration and design by Carter Reid

Lost Realms Press logo by David J. West

Smashwords edition published by Lost Realms Press

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Contents

All is Hell That Ends Well

Xibalba of the Dark

The Mad Song

The Dogs of War

Storming the Gates of Troy

The Serpents Root

Why Crows Steal Shiny Things

Ninety Nine Deaths of the Monkey God

The Problem with Magick

Whispers of the Goddess

The Hand of Fate

Curse the Child

I Once Heard the Pipes of Pan

Fistful of Tengu

Assassins Song

Hel Awaits

The Dragon Skald

The Sons of Dis

Sailing To Valhalla

Walking Through Walls

The Queen in Shadow

About The Author

All is Hell that Ends Well

Queer sorcery this, said Callus Durro, amidst a rain of frogs. He and three other soldiers leapt aboard a tiny sloop while covering their newly shorn heads from the batrachian rain. Disguised as pacifist Mulvani priests, their flowing white cloaks concealed weapons, armor and crimson intent. Hope t’aint because the gods are angered I’m impersonating a priest!

They are, said barrel-chested Shuntz.

Remember, piss on the gods an’ they piss on you, said Callus, as he raised a false banner of truce.

Piss on the gods, growled Shuntz.

Don’t be bitter an’ fat.

Piss on you too, Callus.

Scar-faced and predatory, Callus gave a disarming grin at the woman holding the rudder. Feel naked without me hair. How about you, Mathers?

She snorted at their shared loss but her gaze returned to the harbor and their looming target.

The black sails of the Kathulian Armada barricaded the red horizon. A hundred and fifty thousand crusaders ships rocked in the harbor of Tolburn, a city-state renowned for its million deities. They had come to impose either the worship of their one true goddess, Cybele, or the sword. And it was no secret the Kathulians preferred preaching the sword.

A frog smacked Callus in the forehead. Astarte’s tits! He stood up, rocking their fragile craft. Frogs continued to fall, bounce once on the dock and hop away.

Careful, Mathers can’t swim, said Ratail, adjusting the sword belt beneath his cloak.

I hardly need your consideration, said Mathers.

How’s about some appreciation, when it’s all over? Ratail said, biting his lower lip.

Appreciate this! She drew an arrow faster than anyone could follow. Callus and Shuntz laughed. Ratail muttered an apology as Mathers slowly eased off her draw.

The architect of this operation, Duke Larkspur, stood upon the dock, shielded by a dozen attendants with umbrellas. He stroked his trim goatee studying his four shipboard agents. I need you to act like priests, at least until you get aboard Admiral Al-Kythain’s flagship. His retinue must believe you are indeed Mulvani priests come to surrender the city.

Callus replied, Yes, Your Dukalship! You know, I ‘spected a lotta awful things durin’ a siege, but a rain of frogs? Now it seems the Katty demons could’ve come up with somethin’ little more frightful. This’ just irritatin’.

Like cracks in the ice, rumor spreads that the Katty’s, as you legionnaires call them, are not responsible for the frogs. Though they do take it as a good omen, the legs are considered a delicacy.

Behind Larkspur the mass of creatures seethed over each other, their croaking contending with the constant dull thud of their bodies hitting the ground.

It will not be a hindrance, shouted Mathers, above the raining din.

Manoran’s hammer! snarled Callus, swiping at another frog.

It is in reality a good omen. If the Kathulians think it reads well for them, they will be taken by your―'surrender'. Larkspur cracked a wicked smile.

Very funny, Your Dukalship.

Larkspur ignored Callus.

No one is laughing, said the Inquisitor, standing beside Larkspur. "You’re sure they’ll believe these persons are ambassadors capitulating?"

If Callus Durro can keep in character until he gets aboard, yes. My plan is so dishonorable to the closed zealot mind, that it is unthinkable. But if the head of the snake is cut, the Armada will wither away for at least another season.

Damn frogs! Callus shouted, his voice carrying over the waters like thunder.

Durro! Must I display my vulgar side with you? Al-Kythain’s men may hear, then where would we be?

Eh?

I had hoped you could be professional enough that it would not come to this. Bring them out! Legionnaires opened a doorway to the citadel and brought forth a bound woman with babe in arms. Each legionary held blades ready to plunge into soft innocent flesh.

Callus shot up, dagger in hand, rocking the boat. That’s your death warrant!

No. It’s theirs if you fail your task! Sit!

Staring cold fire, Callus crouched.

The other three companions looked to Larkspur then Callus and back.

Larkspur shook his head, continuing, What I ask is hard and cold as winter steel, but essential. Do as I have instructed and you will save your family and the city. Fail and all perish by the Kathulians fanatical hands.

Callus sunk his dagger into the bench, digging a furrow into the hard wood. His face a mask of volcanic fury. T’ain’t right.

You all know what to do. When the time comes. Everyone but Callus nodded. Swift bloody violence is the only answer to the question before us.

We won’t fail you Duke, said Mathers, as the others murmured ascent.

Callus dug his furrow deeper. Not a mark on them or when I return―. He pointed his dagger at Larkspur.

Just do the only thing you’re good at Durro. Go and slay.

Ratail and Shuntz dipped their oars and took the sloop out into the harbor while Mathers manned the rudder.

Callus seethed, his blue eyes flaming toward Larkspur and then his wife. I’ll be back Tristanna!

I know, she called.

Spearing a frog with his cane, the Inquisitor said, We’re outnumbered more than ten to one. If this fails and only enrages Al-Kythain, you’ll be held accountable.

Your confidence is noted, cut Larkspur. But I always have a plan.

The Inquisitor bristled and flung the crucified frog away. Such as?

Mandrake! cried Larkspur.

An elderly wizard in black robes crept from the same dark doorway the legionnaires had retrieved Tristanna and Callus’s son. His turquoise eyes washed over the woman and babe. These will be sufficient.

Prepare the summoning!

***

The day before in Blackwater prison...

Warden, I’m looking for a man named Callus Durro, late of The Legion.

My Duke, everyone knows of him. Murdered General Ontias on campaign in Tiburon. He is an executioners nightmare.

That’s him.

It’s said he can’t be killed.

Rumor.

The warden led Larkspur through dank passages and up a winding stair to the east tower. Men whisper his virtue grants an invincibility.

Virtuous executioners nightmare? Do you hear yourself?

Begging your pardon but I have seen the miracles myself, the goddess of luck has surely kissed him. Three ropes snapped during scheduled hangings. Two winds come up when he was to be shot. Not a an arrow would touch him. All in the last month.

Why not the ax?

After the rope and wind, no headsman would volunteer for such a duty. All feared the ax might split and strike them. Blackwater will be grateful when he is gone. Some say the god of the Jebusites is with him.

Damned luck, that’s all. Is he a Jebusite?

Don’t know his lineage. But, he’s still alive.

Larkspur frowned. What sense does that make? So are we.

Fair enough. Certainly more have tried to kill him than we.

Speak for yourself, Warden.

He has been in harm’s way more than any man.

Perhaps, but to say he is divinely protected? Bah! What god would let his champion languish in prison?

A ’champion of chains’? Maybe he’s doing penance?

He’s just lucky.

The warden shrugged. If you doubt his divine providence, may I ask why you should want him. Your roster has not gone unspoken of, even in these gloom ridden walls.

My roster? What have you heard?

That you want the most infamous warriors in The Legion―Shuntz of Vinsconza, that woman archer Mathers and the butcher of Belazzar, Ratail; and now Callus Durro. What devil would make those four his hand?

I would.

The warden stopped at a wall of bars and pointed. He lies there, asleep. Callus Durro, prisoner forty two.

Wake him. I have need of soldiers with talents such as his.

The warden directed a guard, who flung a full bucket upon the sleeping man.

Up you bastard!

Oy! I’ll thank you to apologize for that! growled Callus.

Durro, what makes you think threatening me, carries any weight? His Lordship wishes to see you.

What? Say again?

The guard stepped forward to repeat himself. It was a mistake.

Callus launched across the cell as if by trebuchet. His brawny arm slid through the bars and clasped over the guards throat in a choking heartbeat. Slamming the guards teeth against the bars, Callus’s grip tightened. Apologize.

The guard collapsed from either asphyxiation or the pummeling.

Clapping, Larkspur said, Now there’s a man I can use.

I doubt that your Dukalship. He seems to have a weak constitution.

I mean you, Callus Durro.

Afraid I’ve been unjustly detained. Repayment for savin’ the Republic from a sorcerous tyrant. He grinned broadly. Might be awhile til I can legally fulfil my dispensation.

Has word not spread to this hellhole that we are at war with Kathul?

It has, but eve’ this dungeon is preferable to bein’ a eunuch.

You still owe the Republic seven years.

Grinning, Callus said, What do good deeds get you? I had one night home with my wife and I was put here. The Republic owes me for killing the man who would make himself a god.

Your word against the Legion. But that is past. Do you understand what will happen if the Kathulian zealots take the city?

Here t’is, some kind of pardon then?

Yes.

What you need me for? Man the walls? Fight to the last? Death before dishonor and all that?

This task is much more perilous.

Callus spit. No thanks.

A pardon and your weight in gold?

For suicide?

Listen well, dog. You’ve been here for ten months and your bitch has given birth. I will personally see that your pup is catapulted at Al-Kythain’s flagship myself if you are not part of my special delegation, understood?

I’m a father?

As if one of your virility wasn’t leaving bastards laying about like notes in a song.

I do nothin’ til I see Tristanna and the child.

Your solemn word to obey my plan to the letter and I’ll arrange a brief visit.

That’s not enough. I can leave Tolburn with them. No repercussions from The Legion.

Larkspur smirked, "Agreed, if you’re successful. You’ll need a haircut and a boat."

***

Callus, you’re not right in the head, but nor am I, and that is why I like you, said Mathers.

I’ll take that better after we kill some Katty’s, said Callus, through clenched teeth.

With pleasure.

The sloop creaked under their exceptional weight of arms and armor. Have to admit, I feel ridiculous in these white robes, said Ratail. Not my color.

You mean yellow? said Shuntz.

Don’t even think about, commanded Mathers, halting Rattail’s lunge for Shuntz. We don’t want to be mistaken for anything but a surrendering, cowering pack of priests until its too late. Remember you’ll sink like a stone if you fall overboard.

Thank you very much for that reminder, as if I don’t know what a suit of armor will do in the sea, said Ratail. Why even bother?

Al-Kythain’s sailors won’t be expecting it, they won’t have such armor, we’ll cut them down like grain.

Gods above and below, I gotta kill something, said Callus. He had whittled a hole through the oaken bench with his dagger.

Save it for ten more minutes, urged Mathers. Soon as we are all aboard, you let it out.

Callus gave a devilish grin.

***

The sloop reached the side of the ornate flag-ship. The Kathulians let down a rope ladder since they were expecting naught but surrendering ambassadors, after all what fool could face their might? They cheered, believing they had won without lifting a sword, and why shouldn’t they? They had blockaded the city for weeks and outnumbered her Legion by more than ten to one. Surrender was the only sane and reasonable option.

But Callus Durro wasn’t reasonable. He drew his broadsword and crying aloud sliced through the sloops mast in one stroke. It fell like a guillotine against the galleon. He shot up the cut pylon like a thrown javelin.

What in the nine hells is he doing? cried Shuntz.

A Kathulian looked over the side as the mast slapped the gunwale, before he could scream, Callus’s blade split him to the teeth.

I wasn’t ready! screamed Mathers.

Crazy bastard! said Ratail, taking hold of the rope ladder.

Kathulian sailors reacted too late to the steel clad juggernaut. A pair of archers loosed, but their shafts splintered against Callus’s heavy breastplate beneath the white cloak. Reaping across a field ready for harvest, Callus tore through the Kathulian ranks, screaming, This is for Tristanna!

Rising over the side like a shadow, Ratail tossed jars of flame wax. Fire erupted across the stern and poop deck. Mathers was next, her rapid arrows drinking life from other archers across the galleon. Drawing his blades, Shuntz joined the steel throng as sailors boiled out of every hatch.

A mountain of a mustachioed captain, stepped forward to battle Callus. He swung a great sword. Come to me! he cried in a thick Kathulian accent.

Callus snarled and stormed toward him. Some fools tried to bar his way. He slashed them down like hogs at market.

The giant swept his sword wide as Callus leapt. Swinging right then hard left, Callus punched his dagger into the giants heart and severed his sword arm in one fell move.

Who could have made such a strike? said Mathers. She watched the giant slowly fall as Callus moved on to the next opponent and the next after that.

Kathulians tried to surround Callus but close quarters and blinding smoke are an implacable foe. Callus swiftly violated his enemies with steel, they were crippled and bloodied while being confused at his shouting Tristanna! at them.

Mathers warned Ratail, Don’t get too close to Callus!

Why do anymore then? The ships afire, let Callus kill them all. Let’s away now!

Piercing another Kathulian, Mathers said, We have to be sure Al-Kythain and the others are dead. We must fulfill the compact with Larkspur. All of it! Ratail and Shuntz nodded, leaping into the carnage.

Callus, dashed for the command cabin where Al-Kythain almost certainly awaited their faux-surrender. He struck the gilded door with his shoulder, splintering the witch-wood.

A quartet of purple clad priests surrounded the elderly Al-Kythain, slumped in his chair. The priests had bulbous bald heads and pointed white beards. They stared at Callus with deep-set eyes, impassive as if he were no more than a buzzing fly. Tattoos of eldritch lore were spiraled across their faces and exposed hands like the tentacles of deep ones. To Callus’s wary eye the ink seemed to twist and weave across their pale skin, writhing as if alive.

You’re no priests.

Whoever said we were? they chimed simultaneous though their lips never moved. Though the ink beneath their skin certainly did.

A plague on all sorcerer’s!

Callus charged, as one of the sorcerer’s swirled his arms about, audibly flapping his sleeves. The second muttered unintelligibly. The third ruptured a vial of blue smoke, choking the richly decorated cabin while the fourth stepped back hidden in the shrouding chaos.

Swinging wildly, Callus’s steel flashed through the image of the first sorcerer, yet severed naught but empty space. Was he an apparition? Undeterred by the metaphysical conundrum, Callus swung the blade through another. He, too, was unfazed.

Blue smoke flooded the whole of the cabin, concealing Al-Kythain in a protective aura.

The sorcerer’s voices penetrated Callus’s mind. You simple beast. Can you even comprehend your ignorance?

Slashing at robed shadows, Callus stepped back as something warped through the mist, a vortex curved and opened.

Through the seeming doorway stepped an image of horrifying desire, Cybele! jealous goddess of Kathul. Beautiful and deadly as the finest sword, she was taller than Callus by half. Her azure skin accented by both a golden girdle and long hair dark as a crows wing.

Cybele looked upon Callus and her scorn beat down on him like the invincible sun. Raising her four arms, each one in turn bearing a whip, crook, flail and curved scimitar. A whirlwind of death flew at the astonished legionnaire. Callus did the only thing he knew, he fought back.

Every stroke parried and every lunge batted aside, but Callus would never give up. The dagger in his left hand was knocked away, lost in the gloom. Did she laugh like a banshee? The goddess was toying with him, but to retreat meant death.

Cybele’s whip lashed out, catching his corded throat and only the mail coif saved his wind pipe from being instantly crushed. His blade arced, cutting the whip. The angered goddess just as quickly reached into her girdle for another weapon.

Mathers appeared at the cabin door shouting, Are they dead? Impatient for an answer through the mist, she merged two arrows with two visible sorcerer’s.

They remained as undisturbed at her aggressions as they had moments before with Callus’s blade.

Cybele swept Callus with her flail and slammed her scimitar at his head. He dodged aside at the last heartbeat, losing a third of his ear.

The flail bashed Callus, pulping an eye, but his fist shot out grasping three of the half dozen cords. He pulled. The weapon came surprisingly easy, as if gargantuan Cybele had no more strength than an old man?

A smile split Callus’s ruined face, he knew the secret.

He rolled swift and hard, taking the legs out from under two of the illusory old men. Their concentration broken, the facade failed and Cybele, goddess of Kathul, vanished revealing the four sorcerer’s.

Mathers rapidly pierced two with her bow.

Taking one sorcerer by the ears, Callus drove his brain into the unforgiving deck. Retrieving his sword, he cut down the second to lay forever beside his magical brother.

Sure that each of the four were dead as a harlots dreams, Callus and Mathers watched in horror as the tattoo ink wormed from the sorcerer’s bodies and hid itself in the deck joints.

Bloody hell!

Your foot! shouted Mathers.

A creeping finger of tar-like ink pooled on Callus’s left foot. He snatched a lantern from a sconce and spewed burning oil at the ink. The foul thing recoiled and hid in the deck joints once again.

Glad the ship is burning, said Mathers.

His bodyguard slain, Al-Kythain waited upon his throne-like chair grunting stanza’s from the Book of Cybele. Sword in hand, Callus strode to Al-Kythain. The admiral tore open his fine silken shirt and coat exposing his chest saying, Cybele welcomes me. I am ready to die for my beliefs, are you?

No, Callus shook his head, but I am willing to kill for them.

***

The flames swiftly engulfed Al-Kythain’s galleon and though the closest ships in the Armada tried to assist, there would be no putting out the blaze. Kathulian sailors loosed arrows at the escaping sloop, but the updraft of heat from the burning vessel threw off their aim.

The rain of frogs had ceased but dark clouds swirled overhead as if the gods did wish for a tournament of creeds.

Callus held what was left of his shredded cloak to his severed ear and ruined eye. Ratail and Shuntz rowed swift as they could to be away from the Kathulians missiles. Mathers held the rudder. If I hadn’t done it, I’d never have believed four could cripple an armada.

And Larkspur said he had another card yet to play, said Ratail.

What card? asked Callus, as he took off each gauntlet and greaves.

Look up. That’s a divine wind Larkspur is calling down. A storm of the gods to ruin the Armada now that the Katty sorcerers can’t protect against it, said Ratail.

The charcoal clouds were coalescing and spiraling over the citadel. Lightning danced in the dark funnel. Both Ratail and Shuntz stopped rowing.

Not yet, said Mathers, Let’s get to the docks.

What? asked Callus, loosening a strap on his breastplate.

Only one more thing Larkspur said we’d to do to be free of his hold on us, snarled Ratail.

No stray dogs, added Shuntz.

Both men let go of their oars and gripped their blades.

Not yet you fools! The storm! cried Mathers. Get us to shore!

He’s just one man and a wounded and half-blind one at that, said Ratail.

Hur, hur, laughed Shuntz. Who is bitter now, Durro?

Callus’s sword lay at his feet. His dagger lost. His left eye punched in and his ear chopped. Blood loss was slowing him down and he was at the mercy of his enemies. But he never gives up. Let me stand an’ take it like a man, he said. Clean, right here in the heart. He pulled the clasp on his breastplate letting it fall away.

Have it your way.

No you fools! snarled Mathers, nocking an arrow. It was too late. Callus heaved hard to the right, gripping the side of the sloop as he went over, capsizing the boat.

Like anchors, armored Shuntz and Ratail sank into the deep. Agile Mathers grasped the edge of the sloop like Callus, though each felt the pull of their mail in the dark water.

I might’ve more weight on, but you’re the one bleeding! Devilfish will be coming for you now that the storm simulates twilight.

Callus gave a pained laugh casting off whatever plate armor remained. With one hand grasping the overturned craft, he tore off half his chain shirt. Something moved in the water beside him. A pale grey arm felt along the side of craft before latching onto Callus’s free limb. The parrot like beak of the Devilfish champed at the would be prey. But Callus never gives up. He sent his fist with the chain shirt wrapped about it into the maw of the tentacled beast. A fury of whipping limbs, churned dark water white. Callus struck the Devilfish and pulled his fist free, leaving the mail as a choking gift. Kicking against the Devilfish he scrambled up the hull.

Mathers gasped, Callus! I never meant to betray you. It was Larkspur. He wanted your child for a spell. Let me help you. Please!

You still there?

Callus, please?

He glanced toward the citadel and funneling darkness that wove its way toward the parapet. It was not lost on his one good eye that more Devilfish were coming. You’re good Mathers. Too good, I can’t turn my back on you.

You’ll spare me?

He extended a hand and pulled her up onto the boat. Work with me.

They griped the edge and arced back. Together they flipped the boat back, letting it right itself in the water.

Good thing you cut the mast down.

I plan ahead too.

***

They reached the dock and went up the ladder. The door to the citadel hung open. Overhead the black eye of the