Free King of the Bastards by Brian Keene, Steven L. Shrewsbury

such as that? No
wonder his champions, Takala and Eyota, want to leave and won’t even show up to
face me. Will Amazarak summon the dead to accost us with every step we take
towards his god? How do we know that this shaman didn’t pull that trick to gain
our compliance?”
    Javan interpreted for Akibeel again and said, “He knows your
doubts, but begs you not to worry.”
    Rogan eyed the strange women from the forest. “Why?”
    “Because he will fight with you. He will stand by your
insides
.”
    “He will what? You have not translated correctly, boy. You meant
to say that he will stand at my side.”
    Javan shook his head. “No, sire. Begging your pardon, but Akibeel
distinctly said
insides
—I am sure of it.”
    The women drew closer. The tallest faced Rogan and spoke to him
in a language he knew.
    “We will fight beside you as well, if you will lead us. Do not
discount Akibeel’s powers, for they are great.”
    “Who the hell are you women?”
    It was then that Rogan noticed all of them had only one breast.
Their right breasts were missing. In their place stretched knotted scar tissue.
    “I am Asenka,” the tall woman said. “That name means
grace
.
This is my sister, Zenata.” She touched the shoulder of a younger female
warrior. “Her name means
gift of God
.”
    “I am Rogan. That means
bloody bastard with a hard on
.
This is Javan, which means
servant of a bloody bastard with a stiff cock
.”
    Javan stifled a grin.
    Asenka’s nostrils flared. “You will help us, oh man of Keltos?”
    “First, how is it that you understand my speech, sister?” Rogan
asked, sword inserted in the sand like a cane.
    “We are all that remains of an ancient tribe that trekked across
this land centuries ago. You have seen our skill with bows. That is why—”
    “That’s why your right tit is cut off,” Rogan interrupted. “So
you can shoot better. I’ve been around what there is of this world, and have
seen the practice before, when I was a teen. Singed at birth or puberty, are
you not?”
    Asenka nodded in surprise.
    “Well, at least you’re on our side.”
    Asenka smiled. Her purple eyes nearly looked like coal.
    Speaking in hurried whispers, Akibeel pawed at Javan’s elbow.
    Rogan frowned. “What is the old monkey chattering about now?”
    “He says we should leave the beach now, before Amazarak sends
more foes to test our strength.”
    Javan and Rogan agreed to let the thin red men of the forest
gather up the weapons scavenged from the bireme, since they could not carry the
load themselves. In quick order, they collected up the weapons, pieces of
armor, and other useful items. The Kennebeck shaman summoned two-wheel wagons
pulled by other tribesmen.
    “First they call forth women warriors,” Rogan said. “Now wagons.
What else do they have hidden in yonder woods? Catapults? Perhaps a hundred
fine horses?”
    “Akibeel says that is all, sire.”
    Rogan stroked his graying beard. “Tell them to return and watch a
few days after high tide. There are apt to be more weapons and armor drifting
in on the bodies of the dead. Scavenge what they can. We will have need of it.”
    Javan and the women warriors followed the old shaman into the
forest. Rogan looked back to the waves, caught his breath, and thought of his
eldest son. Even now, Rohain, his flesh and blood whom he’d taught to hunt,
fish, and kill, was probably in chains. And his survival, and the survival of
their kingdom, depended on Rogan helping these strange folk slay their wizard
and his evil pagan deity—one of the Thirteen themselves. Rogan felt something
he had not experienced in many years.
    Fear. Just a twinge, but there all the same.
    Javan stopped at the tree line and looked back at his brooding
uncle.
    “Sire? We must be off. Is everything all right?”
    Rogan frowned and looked to the sky.
    “Just thinking, boy. Just thinking.”

DAWN ALMOST BROKE upon them by the time they drew
near the village. The forest was lit with the