Servant of a Dark God by John Brown

them out of bed, every one.
    Then he saw someone standing in the shadows at the edge of where the house had stood. The man moved aside a log, kicking up sparks. He reached into the hot coals and pulled something out.
    “Ha,” Barg called to him. “It’s good to see there’s more than one stout heart among us.”
    Foss stopped and began to growl.
    Then the man straightened up and turned, and Barg got a look at him in the firelight.
    He was taller than anyone Barg had ever seen, but his arms and legs were thicker than they should be. And his face—it was all wrong. He had a mouth that was dark, ragged, and huge. A mouth that seemed to crack his head in two.
    This was no man.
    A tuft of hair on the creature’s arm caught fire. The flame sputtered, flashed, and receded into red and yellow sparks that fell to the ground. Then Barg realized it wasn’t hair. It was grass. Patches all along its arm had burned, some of them still full of dull red sparks. A clump of smoldering grass fell from the creature’s arm to the ground.
    Barg saw what the creature held. It was Sparrow’s scorched leg, reduced to bone.
    The creature flung Sparrow’s leg aside and began to walk toward Barg. The ashes and coals of the smithy stood between them, but the creature did not walk around them. It walked straight into the blistering coals, over a tangle of charcoal logs, and through one of the remaining fires. The long ragged grass about its legs began to burn and smoke, but the creature did not waver or cry out.
    Gods, Barg thought. Keep your calm. Keep your calm.
    The thing’s mouth gaped like a cavern. Its eyes. Lords, where were its eyes? And then he saw them—two pits all askew.
    Filthy rot. Filthy, twisted rot. Regret himself had sent this thing.
    Barg set himself for a throw. Then he took two steps, yelled, and, with all his might, hurled the spear.
    The creature did not flinch or step aside, and the spear buried itself in the creature’s chest.
    “To arms!” Barg shouted and unsheathed his sword. “We’re attacked! To arms! To arms!”
    There would be others here shortly. And together they would dispatch this monster. All Barg had to do was keep his courage. Keep it like he’d done this morning and not run away.
    The creature strode on as if nothing had happened. It plucked the spear out of its chest like a man plucking staw from his tunic and flung it into the ashes.
    Foss surged forward to the edge of the coals, but Barg took a step backward, turned, and fled.
    Foss snarled and barked. Then he yelped.
    Barg heard the dog’s footfalls behind him. He turned and saw Foss, neck stretched out, galloping for his life. Foss caught Barg up and sped past.
    And behind, the creature loped after them, a thin line of fire burning up one of its sides.
    Barg realized he was running the wrong way, away from the the other houses and help. But to go back to the houses meant he would run back toward the beast.
    Then he saw the door to his house open, the firelight behind, and his wife standing silhouetted in the door.
    “No,” he yelled. “Go back!” But it was too late and he knew it. The creature would have seen her. Even if he were to change his direction now, the monster might not follow him.
    “Get the children!” he yelled as he ran into the yard.
    “Barg?” his wife said in alarm. Then her face twisted in horror and she backed into the house.
    Barg heard the creature chuff behind him.
    He turned around, holding his sword at the ready.
    It stood not ten paces away. The fire had risen and burned the creature’s shoulder and head.
    Courage. All he needed was a bit of courage.
    He saw movement in the village. He heard men shouting. But they were running the wrong way, running to the smith’s.
    “To me!” he cried. “To me!”
    The creature opened its mouth wide and drew in a hoarse breath. It turned its head toward the door of the house.
    “No, you won’t,” said Barg. “You filthy abomination, you’ll feel my steel first.”