Heirs of the Fallen: Book 03 - Shadow and Steel

  Contents

  Shadow and Steel

  Also by James A. West

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Lady of Regret Sneak Peak

  About Author

  SHADOW AND STEEL

  Copyright © 2013 by James A. West

  First edition: April 2013

  Published by: James A. West

  Cover art by: Darko Tomic

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.

  Produced in the United States of America

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.

  Also by James A. West:

  Heirs of the Fallen:

  Book One: The God King

  Book Two: Crown of the Setting Sun

  Book Three: Shadow and Steel

  (The battle continues August 2013)

  Songs of the Scorpion:

  Book One: Reaper of Sorrows

  Book Two: Lady of Regret coming in June 2013 - be sure to check out the sneak peek at the end of Shadow and Steel

  Short Stories:

  Night’s Hunt

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to my fantastic editors.

  To my readers, I cannot thank you enough.

  To Julie: Your support knows no bounds, and I am eternally grateful.

  Chapter 1

  His toes slipped an inch, then two. The cliff’s rough face scraped over his bare chest. Leitos clawed his way onto a ledge no wider than his palm. Rock crumbled. He grasped wildly at empty handfuls of night. A shout climbed up his throat—

  —and became a grunt when the fingers of one hand caught the edge of a shallow crack. The jolting halt wrenched his shoulder, and he bit back a groan. He quickly reached up with his free hand and secured a firmer hold. A hundred feet below, barely seen for the darkness, the Sea of Sha’uul crashed over boulders draped with seaweed. The wind sang a haunting song as it passed over the island the Brothers of the Crimson Shield called Witch’s Mole.

  Leitos turned his attention to climbing the cliff. The wan moonlight of the Sleeping Widow showed him many knobs and outcrops dotting the face of the sandstone cliff.

  Picking a likely route, he swung his feet to a narrow lip, and then inched his fingers along the crack until he stood upright. He gulped a few deep breaths, willed his heart to beat slower, then stabbed his toes into a shallow fracture. Secure as he could hope to be, he reached overhead, and let his fingers seek like blind worms until they crawled over a stony ridge. He gave the lip a little of his weight, then more. It held. Repeating those movements, he resumed his ascent.

  He had climbed another twenty paces when Ulmek’s gruff voice called, “There’s the weanling!” Leitos could picture the Brother’s swarthy skin clinging to the sharp bones of his face, his long dark hair held back in a rope-like braid. Not given to smiles, the second in command of the Brothers no doubt smiled now at the opportunity to heap failure upon Leitos, an escaped slave who had inadvertently brought destruction upon the Brothers’ last sanctuary. Where the rest of the Brotherhood had forgiven Leitos, Ulmek held his grudges.

  Keeping his face and chest plastered against the rock, Leitos searched the curving rim of the cliff. Fifty feet above and off to one side, a torch moved down a line of shadowed figures, pausing at each man to make smaller flames….

  Fire arrows!

  As soon as he thought it, the first arrow whooshed across the dark gulf, struck the cliff, and exploded in a hail of sparks. The smell of singed hair flared Leitos’s nostrils as the tiny embers fell over his head, bare arms, and shoulders. He bit back the discomfort, letting it fuel his determination.

  More fire arrows followed. All struck near Leitos, but none close enough to prove a true threat. Dark as the night was, that could change if he moved. The longer he stayed put, the more the Brothers derided him. The strain of dangling from the cliff began to cramp his fingers and toes, and his legs and arms trembled. Still the arrows fell, effectively keeping him in place. Doubts, like seeking adders, rose up to poison his will.

  Fight until there is no breath in your breast, or blood in your veins, Leitos’s father said within his mind. You are a child of the north, and that is our way.

  “I will,” Leitos answered through gritted teeth, and renewed his ascent, doggedly ignoring the barrage of flaming arrows, and praying to the Silent God of All that no errant breeze fouled the Brothers’ aim.

  Picking his way up, he soon discovered a hollow just large enough to provide him with shelter and a place to rest. Leitos wedged himself in by cramming his chest against his knees.

  “End this farce,” Ulmek called. “Say the word, and I’ll toss you a rope.”

  “Never!” Leitos shouted.

  Derisive hoots and laughter answered his defiance. Another arrow arced through the darkness, and burst a foot above Leitos’s shelter.

  “Mind your aim,” Ba’Sel cautioned. Unlike Ulmek, the sable-skinned Brother was a kind and gentle man. Although they never said it within his hearing, some Brothers grumbled that Ba’Sel had grown too soft to continue leading the Brotherhood. Leitos understood their concerns, but for the last year his entire focus had been on training for this moment. And besides, he owed Ba’Sel his allegiance for taking him in, when any other would have cast him out.

  After a final volley of arrows struck the cliff a pace higher than the last, the Brothers vanished. Leitos waited a little longer, then uncurled his legs and let them dangle below his precarious seat. Careful to make no sudden movements, he felt around and found a few suitable wind-carved pocks in the stone above his hollow, and used them to make his way to the rim.

  As he stood up on solid ground, a promise Ba’Sel had made earlier came to him. “If you ascend this cliff, there are few obstacles built by the hands of men or gods that will bar your way.” He still had a long night ahead of him, but Leitos could not suppress a wave of joy brought by his latest accomplishment.

  Under the cover of darkness, Leitos crept inland, relishing the feel of dew-kissed grass caressing his raw feet and scraped knees. After a few paces, he threw himself facedown, and pressed his lips to the ground.

  Chapter 2

  Leitos hunkered in the damp grass, motionless and silent. Other initiates in years past might have blundered headlong after their prizes, but he had decided to wait, hoping the Bro
thers would lower their guard.

  Clad in only a breechclout, he shivered in the cool night air. Thirst assailed him, and his belly rumbled with hunger, but he ignored these discomforts. It was easy, after spending all but one of his eighteen years clawing ore from the earth, and suffering the ceaseless abuses of demon-born slavemasters.

  Despite knowing the Brothers would do him no intentional harm—except maybe Ulmek—Leitos nevertheless felt uneasy, stalked.

  Near and far, brush, trees, and deep shadows concealed six Brothers and their treasures. Somehow, he needed to avoid being seen, and to steal those treasures before dawn. Previous tests taken over the last few days had proven his ability with dagger and sword, staff and bow, even his hands and feet. Other trials—swimming around the island for an entire day, only to drag himself out of the sea at dusk to run back and forth across Witch’s Mole until dawn—had confirmed his endurance. This final test required stealth and cunning, patience and discernment, an altogether different set of skills.

  Unable to go on resisting the press of time, Leitos finally took to his belly and crawled inland, making for the first of many places he would investigate. He soon reached a broad thicket with a grassy area at its heart. It was a perfect hiding place for a Brother.

  Leitos slid under the prickly foliage, and wriggled through moldy leaves until almost reaching the thicket’s center. Careful not to make a sound, he got to his knees and looked around. His breath caught when he saw a shadow creeping through the moonlight, not twenty feet away.

  Clad in close-fitting robes colored after the sands of Geldain, and wearing a sword strapped to his back, the Brother strode a few feet and halted, head turning toward Leitos. It was Sumahn. Only a handful of years older than Leitos, It was Sumahn who had found Adham wandering in the Mountains of Fire, some many days after the old man had risen up against the slavemasters in order to free Leitos.

  Hoping he resembled a bush, Leitos did not move.

  After a time, Sumahn set out again, pausing every few feet to peer about. Leitos relaxed when the warrior moved beside a tree, and tugged aside his robes to make water.

  Leitos dropped down and slithered to the grassy spot where he had first seen Sumahn break cover. He was about to crawl into the open, when a contented sigh froze him. Next, he heard the rustle of the man’s clothes. A heartbeat later, he detected the soft crunch of leather-soled boots approaching.

  If caught, Leitos would have to wait another turning of the moon before he could try again. I cannot wait that long.

  The Brother came closer, and Leitos tensed to slip back into the tangled hedge. Sumahn stopped with a curse, and bent over.

  Leitos could not see what was happening, but by the tearing sounds, he guessed that a thorny creeper had caught the hem of the Brother’s robes.

  Leitos frantically searched the trampled grass for the telltale flutter of cloth marking the treasure. When he first learned of that aid, he had believed it would make the hunt easy. Now he knew better. In the darkness, any fluttering leaf or blade of grass could deceive the eye.

  He turned his attention back to Sumahn, who was still struggling to get loose. A louder rip, another curse, and then Sumahn began to straighten.

  Thinking quickly, Leitos patted the ground, found a pebble, and flicked it back the way he had come. The stone rattled through the brush. Breath burning in his chest, Leitos watched and hoped.

  Sumahn’s lips parted around a sly grin. Ducking low, the Brother spun and moved off, doubtless intending to double back and sneak up on his quarry.

  Safe for now, Leitos cast about. Where is it? The Brothers did not intend for the test to be impossible, just difficult. It crossed his mind that the rules might have changed unannounced, but then his gaze fell upon the hilt of dagger, its blade thrust into the dirt. From the hilt hung a scrap of dark fabric that lifted and fluttered on a breath of wind, curling like an enticing finger.

  Leitos wormed closer and grasped the hilt.

  “There you are!” Sumahn cried.

  Leitos rolled over, an unformed oath lodged in his throat.

  Sumahn was nowhere in sight.

  “Might as well come out,” Sumahn said, sounding bored and a long way off.

  He is cunning, Leitos thought, angry that he had almost been fooled into giving away his position.

  Leitos snatched the dagger, and escaped through a break in the foliage. Once clear, he ran in a crouch up and over a small rise, slowing only when he reached a dense copse of trees, whose limbs all grew in one direction, trained so by the steady westerly winds that blew off the sea.

  Busy congratulating himself, he almost ran headlong into the second Brother—Daris.

  Leitos went stock-still, and studied his next opponent. Of an age with Sumahn, Daris counted it a point of pride when the other Brothers named him the trickster of the two. None questioned the pair’s courage and strength, but both Ulmek and Ba’Sel considered them reckless.

  Clouds passed over the moon, and shadows frolicked over Witch’s Mole. Daris snorted, scratched his jaw with loose fingers, then slumped farther over.

  Sleeping. Leitos could not believe his plan to wait out the Brothers had worked so well. Moving only his eyes, Leitos searched until he saw a small box tied with a ribbon resting next to the Brother’s outstretched legs.

  After tucking Sumahn’s dagger into his breechclout, Leitos dropped to all fours and snuck forward. His chest demanded more air than he dared give it, and a faint sheen of sweat sprang from his brow. As he reached for the box, Daris mumbled in his sleep.

  Leitos’s hand hovered. His heart told him to take the treasure and run. His mind spoke of caution. His mind won.

  Ever so gently, Leitos settled his fingers around the wooden box, its length and width no larger than his palm, and covered with engravings. Daris stirred again, causing Leitos to flinch, a bare rippling of tensed muscles. He bit back a shout when he found Daris staring straight at him—No … he’s sleeping with his eyes open.

  Leitos slowly brought the box to his chest, and Daris’s tricksome nature made itself plain when something rattled inside. Daris’s hand flew to the hilt of his sword, clutched it briefly, then fell away. Murmuring, the Brother rolled to his side, unconsciously swatting a midge from his ear.

  After a few moments, Leitos untied the cloth ribbon and carefully dumped out a trio of mismatched glass beads. He left Daris to his slumber, and crept downslope.

  Zera, Leitos thought, with a touch of melancholy, would have been proud. In a very real sense, she had begun his training a year before, which had put him into Ba’Sel’s hands. Of course, her intention had not been to train him, but to trick him into leading her to the Brothers of the Crimson Shield. His love for her had blinded him to her true purpose. While none of the Brothers held that mistake against him—except for Ulmek—it troubled Leitos that he had failed to see through Zera’s ploy. If he had heeded his father’s advice to trust no one save the Brothers, the warriors would likely still reside in their last sanctuary on the mainland of Geldain.

  Leitos shoved that to the back of his mind and pressed on through the night, scouring Witch’s Mole and finding two more Brothers sleeping near their treasures. He took a silver pendant hung on broken tree branch by Ke’uld, a Brother who shared ancestry with Ba’Sel—a black-skinned people once of southern Geldain. Soon after that, he found Halan curled up like a baby in a nest of grass. Securing his golden torque proved easiest of all. The snores of the bluff-featured man not only led Leitos to him, but masked his flight.

  Two left, Leitos thought, taking a moment to hide his winnings in a rocky hole at the base of a tree—a place he had chosen days before. After coming across three sleeping Brothers, Leitos forced himself not to grow complacent. It would not surprise him to learn that Daris, Ke’uld, and Halan had all been told to feign sleep, just to put him off his guard.

  After arranging a handful of grass over the hole’s opening, Leitos looked to the thin gray line brightening the horizon. In less
than two hours, the sun would burst over the turquoise waters of the Sea of Sha’uul, ending the test. I must hurry, he thought, at the same time knowing he must use more caution than ever.

  Chapter 3

  Leitos trotted down a narrow path of hard-packed dirt. Scraggly trees and thick brush provided concealment. He took a short rest when he came to a scatter of boulders rising on either side of the trail. He was within a mile of the southern shore of Witch’s Mole. It seemed odd that the last two Brothers would be in the same area, but the only other suitable place they could hide was at the very extent of the testing grounds, back to the north, atop the highest point of Witch’s Mole, where he had buried Zera. No one would—

  Leitos stiffened. So far, he had not crossed the paths of Ba’Sel and Ulmek. Only one of those two men would violate Zera’s grave.

  Cursing, Leitos wheeled and ran back, growing angrier with every step. All thoughts of becoming a Brother of the Crimson Shield and of taking his vengeance on the Faceless One flew out of his mind.

  He soon crested a grassy knoll and stopped dead when he saw a familiar silhouette perched atop the cairn marking Zera’s grave.

  “Come,” Ulmek called, “and take your treasure.”

  When Leitos did not move, Ulmek slid off the cairn, and began walking in his direction, thumping the butt of a staff against the ground.

  Leitos waited, grinding his teeth.

  Ulmek halted just out of arm’s reach, the hollows of his eyes like black pits. “I trust you’ve already taken my Brothers’ prizes?”

  “All but yours and Ba’Sel’s.” What he had accomplished did not matter. What did … well, at this moment, he was not sure, other than that Ulmek must pay for defiling Zera’s grave.

  “Do you wish to have mine?” Ulmek held out a leather cord hung with a teardrop-shaped amulet—a stone of protection. The making of that protective device involved collecting the blood of those like Leitos and his father, whose ancestors had been washed in the Powers of Creation. The Faceless One then imbued certain ores with that blood, creating a ward against possession by the demonic spirits of Mahk’lar.