The Defiler by Steven Savile Read Free Book Online Page B

dominant in each of the inhabitants they saw. Their perversion was repulsive to look upon - and yet it was impossible to look away. They were everywhere, on street corners, in windows, gathered around stalls, walking. Sláine felt utterly exposed. The city was populated by monsters. Sláine and Ukko walked side by side, trying to take it all in.
    The crack of a whip startled Sláine. A slave driver hustled a group of beaten-down prisoners across the street towards the roar of the distant crowd. A familiar face stared hatefully at Sláine - a face he had never thought to see again: Cullen of the Wide Mouth. The wrongness of seeing his childhood nemesis here in these strange streets where he hadn't seen another human being was undeniable. Cullen was dead - killed by his own gae bolga after his jealousy had bettered the tenuous bonds of friendship the young men of the Red Branch shared. Cullen was dead and yet here he was, captive to these diabolic creatures. The slave driver lashed his prisoners on, steering them towards a wider street.
    "I can save him," Sláine breathed, unaware that he had actually given voice to the thought. It felt right. He started forwards.
    Ukko snagged ahold of his belt and pulled him up short. "Oh, no you don't, big man. Rein in those suicidal instincts."
    "I-"
    "I said no you don't. Remember what the crow-woman said. Things you see here aren't real."
    "She didn't say that," said Sláine, remembering full well what the Crone had said.
    "Might as well have. The street's empty, Sláine. There's nothing there except the ghosts inside your head. We need to find the Skinless Man, right? So let's just concentrate on doing that. This place feeds on your guilt, remember?"
    "I remember," said Sláine, grudgingly. "But-"
    "Why does there always have to be a 'but' with you? Huh? The Morrigan warned you that the city would manifest your guilt if you let it, and now you would go chasing after the ghost of some long-buried shame. Does that not strike you as, I don't know... erm... stupid?"
    "But-"
    "Crom's hairy gonads! Don't you ever just listen ? There's nothing there. The street is empty. I can't see anything, so whatever you are seeing, it isn't there. It's in your head. Which means it isn't real. Which means it is trouble."
    Ignoring the dwarf, Sláine set off after Cullen.
    The slave driver herded them on mercilessly, his whip biting into the bare backs of his prisoners, the lash drawing weals and blood. No matter how quickly Sláine ran the slaver kept his captives just out of reach. Cullen looked back imploringly at Sláine, blame in his hate-filled eyes. Sláine could hear Ukko grunting and huffing behind him as he struggled to keep up.
    The roars of the crowd grew nearer until, finally, they reached a mighty coliseum. The stone here was red with the blood of the fallen who had given their lives for the sport of the beasts of Purgadair. Through the ground-level arches Sláine could see the track, where charioteers lashed their teams into a frenzy, steel wheels eating the dirt of the arena as they raced for glory.
    Sláine stopped, frozen in horror at the sight of his mother, running for her life before the pounding hooves of the teams and the wicked steel barbs set into the wheels. She was fast but she couldn't possibly win. The crowd bayed for her blood. The charioteers yelled at their teams, goading them on faster and still faster, until they were bearing down on the terrified Macha, and still she ran, head back, tears streaming down her cheeks, arms pumping desperately.
    Sláine stumbled forwards a step, bumping into one of the hungry-eyed onlookers.
    Macha turned into the home straight, the chariots on her heels. Fear and determination burned in her face - until she saw her son, on the side of the track. There was a moment, the space between heartbeats, when they looked at each other and the track, Purgadair, the world, ceased to exist. It was only the two of them.
    Her lips moved. He could read their