"I’m not picking that up," I said, annoyed, but then, I wouldn’t have to. The flask sank, leaving a solitary black hole in the earth. The land around this gap soon fell like dominoes inward, revealing a pit with a bed of spikes.
"Holy shit!" I gasped, unsure whether to admire Kat’s foresight, or to worry over who wanted us in that deadfall.
Pleased with himself, a thin smile curled on the samurai’s lips. That smile was promptly removed, for while the crumbling dirt and leaves settled in the trap, we found ourselves caught in another. At our flanks, the swarthy air between trunks, those shadowy nothings, suddenly sprang into life, leaping outward and at us with a hundred oily hands; it was an ambush.
I went stiff with fright, but Kat remained typically calm to it. The tops of these tar-colored monsters bobbled around my knees, and they were monsters, ghouls with gaping mouths hanging foul over their chests and gills squirting juice at the neck. All of them had hooked blades in their grips, but their yellow teeth looked sharper. They were piggish around the face, simple behind the eye, greedy with their fingers, and we were surrounded. "What do you want!?" I cried from my horse. "What are you?!"
A guttural cheer went round the group, and their jagged nails began smearing and groping. One creature pressed its bloated black lips against our horse’s coat and proceeded to lick it up and down like a living lollipop. "What do we do Kat? Talk to me!"
Kat’s mind was busy now; he was a mathematician, calculating numbers and odds of survival. Usually odds did not matter — the numbers were irrelevant. If Kat had his sword and concentration, then nothing could stop him. Unfortunately, this was not about himself, but about protecting me, and judging by Kat’s grim body language, our odds were not favorable.
The slurry-mouthed thing that ran its lips over the horse stopped suddenly at the stallion’s supple neck. I witnessed this monster turn a sly glint back at his fellows before tearing its teeth into our horse’s throat. The horse squealed and cried until its vocal chords were torn out, until it could moan no more. The dead animal remained in a stupefied stance as the others joined to gorge on its warm gushing blood, all of them fighting for a space to drink. Their hands reached into the horse's wound and yanked out innards, then threw the slimy strands back to eager claws. The horse wobbled from side to side, and as its legs were ready to buckle, I discovered why my companion was called Kat.
The samurai first leapt to his feet, balancing like a tightrope walker on the saddle. Then — too swift for any eye here — he back-flipped over both the collapsing horse and me. I swear I heard the distinct ring of steel in my ear seconds before he landed on the path behind us, gripping his katana in a crouched and smoldering stance. Eighty or more beady-eyed monsters were focused only on the athletic samurai warrior. They watched him stand, raising the katana overhead with a daring, action-hungry smile; that sword was dripping with a congealed, dark blood — their blood.
Towering over me stood four of these mutants, waxwork-like with caught, constipated expressions. There followed an astonished hiss all around as, one by one, each of the four heads dropped from their shoulders, and their decapitated bodies collapsed soon after. I opened my mouth but only a petrified wheeze came out as I caught one deformed head in my lap.
Creatures roared and spat but did not attack. Instead, they parted to reveal another of their kind: a beefy giant, wide and powerful. In his muscle-bound arms, he held a muddy battleaxe, and he chewed a piece of horseflesh like bubble gum between his teeth. The surrounding lot respectfully lowered their heads for this giant, who wasted no time singling out members of his mob. Determined to please, a selected eight of these monsters charged toward my companion.
Coming at Kat four at a time, they died four at a time. The samurai was simply a smudge of armor and steel, and when his human whirlwind was over, those chosen eight lay in bits by his feet.
The substantial creature raised his axe and screamed at the insult. The rest joined the choir, and when the giant's thundering war cry ended, his beady yellow eye slits settled again on the samurai. Unperturbed, Kat armed his second sword and slashed at the air like spinning propellers.
The creatures were not impressed by the display, and without order, every one charged for Kat’s blood. I grimaced away, expecting to hear his gut-wrenching last scream. Hectic grunts and clangs of battering metal followed, but there was no scream from Kat.
I opened my eyes and saw him alive still, face in deep concentration as he fought them off, deflecting curved blades and removing limbs within reach. He was awe-inspiring, but the numbers were too great, and it was only a matter of time before he was overwhelmed. When that moment arrived, a brilliant flash of heat separated man from monsters. It burned a rich red, holding that wall of evil at bay and forming a protective shield before Kat. It was a paranormal light that no blade or body could penetrate, and with it, a high-pitched sound came from inside, an itch at all our brains. The monsters covered their ears and wailed like hysterical monkeys in zoo cages. I, meanwhile, made myself small against the dead horse while Kat refilled his lungs. An older man’s voice soon replaced the uncomfortable sound, booming out from that force field and giving order to the creatures. That order was to back away from Kat, and they did so with a cowardly, childlike fear.
The claret-colored light flickered its last, the wind settled, and the owner of the voice now appeared between Kat and the horde. Old and rake thin, his crooked body was wrapped in a stained, patchy cloak. The eyes seemed to be sucked into his head, and around them, the skin stretched like a rubber mask. Hair fell greasily to the shoulders and his beard was long and straggly, separating into two hairy points at the chin. Theatrical in his stance, but at the same time disturbing, there was no warmth about this man. He was a living frost, a winter with no sign of spring, and he had everyone’s complete attention.
The monsters remained in a spineless, worshipping manner toward this unknown. He reminded me briefly of Sir Isaac Newton, in that he lingered, as if he had all the time in the world for us. "Lost your way?” he asked now, voice dull and drawn out as he surveyed Kat. "Come," he said to me, "join your friend, young one."
Looking to the samurai for guidance, what I got was a disagreeable shake of the head. "He is a wizard," said Kat.
"And you," replied the old man, wielding no obvious weapon, "are a samurai."
The wizard’s grin was like the Grinch who once stole Christmas. He lovingly combed a hand down his beard, and then was gone again in a wicked flash of red. No one had time to be startled, for the wizard reappeared in a blink of time, two paces before Kat.
"Scarfell is the name," he said, "and these are my bogs, sliced and diced by your feet."
The wizard resumed stroking his beard, enjoying the curl through his spindly fingers. Kat meanwhile remained on a knife’s edge; stone-faced and irritated. He was not a man for stalemates, and thus informed the wizard and his animals how things were going to be. "Those who attack," he grunted, "will fall."
Scarfell reflected respect back to Kat, but the hog-faced creature gripping that battleaxe was not one to be threatened. He left the meek crowd with glowering intent, grinding his teeth for the samurai. "Now now, Grutas!" said Scarfell, raising a composed hand. "What did you expect, my large friend? After all, this is the Kat we are dealing with here."
Grutas spat then tossed his axe petulantly to the mud.
"Pick up that weapon," said Scarfell, thinly. "Pick it up…now."