David Farland - Lords of the Seventh Swarm

The skogs circled once, then veered, whining in grief.

Zeus waited for Herm to reappear, but the winged man did not come up. A soft gust of wind played over the trees, making their upper branches wave and bob. No sounds rose from the tangle.

Zeus called a dozen times, but got no answer. Zeus wondered if his brother had taken a worse wound from the skog than he’d imagined-a mortal wound? Perhaps he’d fallen through the first level of the canopy and broken a wing. Or maybe a sfuz had him. Heaven knew the devils could run along those tree limbs faster than any creature had a right to.

That was the problem on Ruin. Speed. Every predator on the planet moved faster than it had a right to.

At any rate, if Herm had fallen into a sfuz’s web, he’d probably already be dead.

Zeus laughed. For years Herm had wanted to try spearing a skog from a full dive, but his Guide had always held him in check, making sure he didn’t try anything too dangerous.

So of course Herm tried it this morning. It was a stupid way to die, but Zeus admired Herm’s courage.

Zeus turned to go tell Felph that Herm had killed himself, when he heard a halloo.

Herm poked his head from the purple canopy, raised his spear, skog impaled. “Had to go down to fetch dinner!”

Herm struggled onto a limb, then jumped up, flapped his wings, and laboriously climbed into the air, carrying the skog. When he landed on the merlon beside Zeus, Herm’s brow was covered in sweat. Purple leaves and bits of candy moss clung to him. His right arm bled profusely from a wicked gash that ran from wrist to elbow.

He tossed the spear to the stone roof, the bloody skog still twitching. The creature had a thick body, almost neckless, and a pudgy face with a jutting lower jaw that held two vicious tusks, each as long as a man’s hand. The purple-black feathers on its back were thin as hair. Unlike many avians that lived in the tangle’s canopy, skogs did not have hands at the apex of their wings-only a single vestigial claw, which the skog used for clinging to a tree while the creature burrowed for nectar. This particular specimen might have weighed fifteen kilos.

“Ah, that will make a fine dinner,” Zeus said, stepping over to look into the creature’s huge black eyes. He moved its head with his toe.

Herm laughed. He plopped down on a merlon and held his bleeding arm. “A real gentleman would rip off a piece of his clothing to make me a bandage but then a real gentleman would be dressed in some sort of clothes in the first place.”

Zeus leaned his head back and laughed. “If it’s a bandage you want, I’ll be happy to get you one.”

He lurched forward and ripped off a swath of Herm’s dirty tunic, so the winged man was now naked from the waist down. For a moment Zeus looked at his brother’s organ, then jested, “If one of us must hang, then let us both hang together.”

Herm laughed, looked at Zeus’s organ, and said, “You call that hanging, oh shriveled one?”

“It’s cold out here.”

“Not that cold.”

“Here now, let’s fix you up. The loss of blood must be making you delirious if you think you’re hanging any farther than me.” Zeus wrapped the rag around Herm’s wound, then tied both ends in a square knot-cinching it down harder than he needed, just to see Herm wince at the pain.

“There, that should save your life,” Zeus grinned.

“A fine knot,” Herm chuckled, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his arm. “I didn’t know you knew how to tie a knot.”

“I am better at untying them.” Zeus chuckled, rubbing his fingers together. “It builds dexterity-a trait one needs if one is to ever gain any degree of finesse at unfastening a woman’s … uh, fastenings.”

Herm climbed down from the merlon, leaned with his folded wings against the back of it, and shook his head. “Whew, I really am dizzy.”

“Do you need a blood infusion?” Zeus asked.

“No, ah, I think I’m dizzy from love.”

“Love?” Zeus asked. “You never speak of love. What, was one of those skogs more voluptuous than the others?”

“It’s no skog that has my eye-it’s the red-haired woman.”

“Maggot?” Zeus asked in mock surprise. “You have your heart set on a woman? On a Lord Protector’s wife?”

“Ah, yes,” Herm laughed, his green eyes flashing. “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice her, too.”

“Perhaps,” Zeus admitted, “but mine is a professional interest. As a sampler of women, I’d like a taste of the fair Maggot. She does have a nice face.”

“Hah,” Herm laughed. “She has a face? I hadn’t noticed. But those legs-I did not know the gods could make them so long. Do you think she has red hair all over?”

“Aye, she’s a fine-looking woman,” Zeus conceded.

Herm was eyeing Zeus’s crotch. To his consternation, Zeus realized that the memory of Maggie-or perhaps Herm’s description-was more arousing than he’d thought it would be.

Herm laughed, “So, the little wrinkled fellow has some life in him after all. And here I feared it had died.”

“Not dead. It was merely resting. After last night, it deserved a good rest,” Zeus groused.

“So you do want Maggie?” Herm asked. “I knew you would. Dangerous quarry, that one.”

“No more dangerous than your skogs,” Zeus said, and he saw from the veiled look in Herm’s eyes that the winged man really hadn’t been interested in Maggie. Indeed, Herm had only discussed the matter so he could arouse Zeus, forcing him to embarrass himself.

Herm had a devious mind, the trickster. Perhaps that is why Zeus liked him so much. Herm was better at the Great and Dreadful Game than Zeus. Herm resorted to craftiness when he wanted something, while Zeus tended to charge recklessly toward his goals, landing in more trouble than he’d like.

“Perhaps she is no more dangerous than my skogs, or perhaps she is. If you bed her, Gallen will kill you.”

“If he finds out. Besides, it would be worth it, wouldn’t it, to die between her legs?”

“You plan to bed her then?” Herm said.

Something in the tone of Herm’s voice hinted at more than minor curiosity. It hinted at a proposal in the shaping, an offer to play the Game. “I’ll poke her with my spear before you poke another skog with yours, oh mighty raptor.”

Herm lifted his arm, looked at the bandage. The tan strip of tunic had soaked through with blood, and the wound was deep. It would be weeks in healing. “I’ll be hunting skogs again before you know it, perfecting my technique.”

“Technique? What part do you want to perfect, the part where you crash into trees, or the part where you defend yourself by throwing your arm into a skog’s mouth?”

“Both.” Herm laughed.

Just then, a service droid roiled up the entrance ramp to the top of the citadel and swerved toward them. “Zeus!” it called. “Your father requests your presence. He and Gallen are going on a minor expedition into the tangle, and would like you to accompany them.”

Herm’s green eyes flickered with interest. “Will Maggie be coming?”

“No,” the droid answered.

“How long will they be away?” Herm asked.

“Three days,” the droid said, rolling toward them.

“Ah, the poor woman,” Herm whispered under his breath low enough so the droid’s sensors wouldn’t hear.

“Who shall warm her bed while Gallen is gone.”

“The Game is on?” Zeus mouthed.

“Three days, only,” Herm whispered. “Three points if you bed the Lord Protector’s wife-” he hesitated, then considered, “so long as you get her willingly.”

Three points. At the moment, Herm was ahead in The Game by two points. If Zeus could bed Maggie willingly, he’d take the lead, and as a reward, he’d get to hold the bottle that held the Wind of Dreams. “How many points if I take her by force?” Zeus hissed.