Heirs of the Fallen: Book 03 - Shadow and Steel Page 20

  Adu’lin had laid his plans carefully, never doubting success. Yet now, the most powerful of his forces lay in ashes. How can this be?

  The intense eruption of strange fire lingered behind his eyes. He had never seen the like, and he feared what else he did not know. Who were these Brothers of the Crimson Shield, that they could conceive such deadly weaponry? Was it some power forgotten long years, something from before the Upheaval?

  Another thought overrode all the others, and infused him with dread. Do they have the means to destroy the Faceless One?

  It seemed inconceivable, impossible … but what if it were true, what if the Faceless One was not invulnerable, as all his loyal subjects believed?

  Adu’lin backed into the midst of the newly possessed Kelrens, and looked around at their faces with far less confidence than he had ever felt. For the most part, many hours must pass before the demonic spirits within their shells of human skin could fully reform themselves into living flesh.

  But he did not have hours.

  The Yatoans and the few Brothers who were still human would come for him. Doubtless, they already plotted his capture … or even his death, for what reason did they have to keep him alive?

  Adu’lin’s gaze rose above the city, to the mountains beyond the city wall. If he had any hope, it waited within the Throat of Balaam. The Faceless One will protect me, he thought, refusing to heed the doubts of his master’s supremacy.

  “Go,” Adu’lin commanded the sea-wolves. “Destroy them.” He meant to project an air of strength, but the words came out as a whisper. Despite that, his newest creations obeyed.

  Moments later, they burst from the building and spread out upon the street, racing toward their foes.

  Adu’lin did not linger. He took the stairs down to the street, fled to the city wall by way of quiet alleys, and abandoned Armala. Never slowing to catch his breath, he made for his last refuge, and the birthplace of his transformation. Every step of the way his fear grew, reducing him to that which he loathed most in the world: A frightened man.

  Chapter 41

  Leitos and the rest of the company whirled at the shouts of the Kelrens charging up the street. The slavers looked much the same as they had when they attacked Witch’s Mole, swarthy skin branded head to foot, loose breeches fluttering with each step, weapons waving above their heads like a steel hedge.

  But they were not the same.

  Their flat expressions told him that, even if he could not see the dull, silvery glints of their demon-possessed eyes in the light of day.

  Sumahn and Daris, along with the Yatoans armed with bows, began firing arrows, thinning the enemy ranks, but not slowing them a whit.

  “We cannot fight so many,” Damoc called.

  Adham squinted. “I do not see Adu’lin among them.”

  “Nor do I,” Ulmek agreed, cutting his eyes toward the elder. “You said he would flee. Where?”

  Damoc thought but a moment, and in that time the Kelrens had halved the distance. In heartbeats, they would be upon them. “He will go to his master. There is nowhere else he can find safety.”

  “Then we will follow him, and destroy the Throat of Balaam.”

  “What of the wounded?”

  Ulmek took in the downed Yatoans. “Gather them, and follow me.”

  While a handful of Yatoans kept up a steady barrage of arrows, the others hoisted the worst of the wounded onto their shoulders, and aided the rest in trailing Ulmek.

  The Yatoan archers came behind, slowing the Kelrens with coordinated volleys. In that way, the withdrawing company moved toward the southern edge of Armala, while at the same time forcing the demon-possessed sea-wolves to rethink their brazen attack.

  At each turn, Ulmek gauged the pursuit of the enemy, until finally gaining enough ground to lose sight of them. After ducking down another alley, he bustled everyone into a building overgrown with climbing vines and thick moss.

  Almost before Leitos could pull the last hobbling Yatoan into the musty gloom, Ulmek pressed the door shut, then barred it with a timber near to hand. If it came to it, neither the door nor the wooden bar, both rotted, would thwart the sea-wolves for long. Knowing that silence was their best defense, all remained quiet.

  Ulmek joined Damoc at a shuttered window, and peered through a crack in the wood planks. “They missed us,” he said in a satisfied voice.

  “Your trick will not fool them long,” Damoc said, facing his people.

  Most of slumped against walls, or were stretched out on the floor. In the darkness, it was hard to judge their wounds, but Leitos could smell blood, and hear the labored breathing of those in severe pain.

  “My brothers and I will give them a trail to follow,” Ulmek promised. “That will keep you safe.”

  “What of Adu’lin?” Leitos asked.

  Ulmek gave him a hard smile. “The trail we leave will, by necessity, lead to Adu’lin and the Throat of Balaam.”

  Belina stepped forward, showing that she meant to join them. Nola moved beside her, just as resolute.

  Ulmek studied them. “You will remain behind to protect your people. If this is the day of destruction for the Brothers of the Crimson Shield, then we will make it a day for songs of remembrance. It will be up to you to sing those songs.”

  “My daughters and I will join you,” Damoc said firmly.

  “You will remain with your people,” Ulmek insisted.

  Damoc shook his head. “I will not allow another to bring justice upon Adu’lin, or to destroy the Throat.”

  Ulmek seemed about to protest, then shrugged. “So be it.”

  They divided the limited weaponry amongst the two bands. Those who would pursue Adu’lin each carried a dagger, sword, bow, and a quiver with a dozen arrows. Afterward, Damoc instructed his people to wait until dark before leaving the city.

  “Fauthian archers may still lie in wait,” he warned. “Avoid them if you can. Destroy them if you must.”

  Grim nods met his words.

  Leitos sensed among the Yatoans an air of grieving, as if they knew in their hearts that the two bands would never see each other again. He silently promised them that the end they feared would not come. But in the still of his mind, he knew that promise was a frail hope.

  “Come,” Ulmek said, leading his band through the crumbling building and out a rear door. “They Kelrens may have discovered by now that they no longer follow us,” he advised. “If so, they will have spread out to search. If we are not careful, they may surround us before we can escape.”

  “And if they do?” Nola asked, the strain beginning to crack some of her fierce confidence.

  “We fight free, and then make for the wall,” Ulmek said. He set off, sword in hand, casting about for any sign of ambush.

  Adham shot Leitos a sidelong look. “Until our last breath, and our last drop of blood.” Leitos nodded, and his father added, “For the sake of gods good and wise, be careful, my son.” Before Leitos could answer, Adham ran after Ulmek.

  Leitos made to follow, but Belina turned him with a touch. “Heed him,” she admonished. Not waiting for his reply she, Nola, and Damoc, raced after Adham and Ulmek.

  “If she has anything to do with it,” Daris quipped, “I foresee children in your future.”

  Leitos’s face reddened at the thought, and he spun away to chase after the others. Sumahn and Daris, chuckling amongst themselves, took up the rear.

  The small company made it all the way to the wall without seeing the sea-wolves, or any lingering Fauthian archers. The ramparts were empty, and the broad gates stood closed and barred. A postern, set in one gate, hung ajar, creaking in the breeze.

  “We were to draw our enemies away from the city,” Damoc reminded everyone. “Having failed that, we must attract their attention—”

  Sudden shouts cut him off.

  Leitos looked back the way they had come, as a Kelren foursome sprinted up the street, sounding the chase with urgent cries. More demon-possessed sea-wolves joined them
, spilling from buildings and alleys and cross streets.

  “I think that accounts for all of them,” Ulmek said dryly. “Come. We must keep them after us, but we cannot allow them to get too close.”

  They squeezed one at a time through the postern. Daris, the last through, slammed the narrow door and jammed a rock under the bottom edge to wedge it shut. “Won’t hold but a moment,” he laughed crazily. “Run!”

  Chapter 42

  By the time they climbed the mountain and reached the glowing entrance to the Throat of Balaam, even Sumahn and Daris had abandoned their banter in favor of filling their lungs with enough breath to keep the blistering pace through the stifling green forest. Far behind them, the possessed Kelrens crashed heedlessly through the forest, bawling obscenities in a demonic tongue.

  Damoc dropped to one knee, and his daughters joined his side. “A moment,” the elder gasped.

  Leitos moved between Sumahn and Daris to watch their back trail. The sea-wolves had come closer, but were still lost to sight.

  “There is no time for rest,” Ulmek warned, his granite features sheened with sweat. “You must take cover, while my Brothers and I go after Adu’lin. Once the sea-wolves follow, seal us all in.”

  Sumahn traded glances with Daris, then peered hard at Ulmek. “Are you mad?”

  Ulmek threw up his hands in exasperation. “That we have lived so long has been a gift. We will repay that gift with our lives, here, this day. In doing so, we grant the Yatoans a chance, slim as it may be, to build again the lives stolen from them. For those who come with me into the Faceless One’s lair, this is our last fight.”

  “I did not come here to die,” Leitos said. “Nor did I come for Adu’lin, but to defeat the Faceless One.”

  Belina gave him a stricken look, but for once did not say a word about him needing to stay alive for the fate of the world.

  Ulmek smiled wanly. “Then you are a fool, little brother. A brave fool, but a fool nonetheless.” He took a deep breath and stood tall. “Be that as it may, I am honored to have you at my side. The rest of you must—”

  “Where my son goes, I go,” Adham interrupted. The look in his eye brooked no argument.

  “Very well,” Ulmek allowed, and glance back to Damoc. “You can seal the Throat, yes?”

  Damoc stood with Nola’s help. “I cannot seal the Throat of Balaam with you in it, not unless there is no chance that you will return. Give the rest of us your arrows,” he said, eyes running over Sumahn and Daris, Belina and Nola. “My daughters and I will lead the sea-wolves into the Throat after you, thinning their ranks as we go. Sumahn and Daris will wait until they are sure the last of them have entered, and attack from the rear. Between us, we will crush them.”

  “This is a dangerous game you play,” Ulmek said, having to raise his voice over the shouts of the closing Kelrens. “Even the smallest failure will mean the Throat of Balaam remains open, and your people will have gained nothing for your loss.”

  “Such is the price we all accepted when we vowed to break the hold of the Fauthians,” Damoc said. “Besides, even if we fail, there are those among my people who will destroy the Throat—without Adu’lin and his forces to hinder them, theirs will be an easier task than ours.”

  There was nothing left to say after that.

  With a sense of unreality, Leitos handed over his arrows without looking at anyone, especially Belina. In his mind, he was already racing headlong through the blue radiance, on his way to meet the Faceless One. How he would strike down the Bane of Creation from his obsidian throne was a matter for which he had no plan.

  “Are you ready?” Ulmek asked intently, and Leitos realized it was not the first time he had spoken.

  With that same sense of apartness, he nodded. Ulmek did not bother questioning Adham, who had strode deeper into the brightness of the corridor.

  Without a word of farewell or a backward glance, the trio set out at a trot, passing under the grim face carved into the cliff above the archway.

  As before, Leitos could not gauge how far they had traveled by any landmark, only by the length of time. Ulmek and Adham stayed at his side, keeping their thoughts trapped behind tight lips.

  Sooner than he expected, they came to a part of the corridor that was brighter, blindingly so.

  “We are near the veil,” Leitos said, his tongue as dry as a bit of old leather. They gave him curious looks, but kept silent. Leitos wondered if they felt the same oddness of being that he did.

  Soon after, they halted before the barrier of solid light. When before he had come to the veil, it had looked a curtain of made from frosty mist. Now it roiled like blue-white vapor, as if it possessed a mind, and was aware of those who had come to destroy its maker.

  “We must pass through,” Leitos said, suddenly uneasy. Beyond this point, a tyrannical entity sat upon a ebon throne, the Faceless One, who wielded the powers of fallen gods, and who had ruled the world with iron control for near on two hundred years. Who am I to face such power?

  Instead of finding an answer for that question, Leitos’s mind went blank, and his feet carried him through the veil.

  Chapter 43

  They came in a braying rush, the corridor wide enough for four men to run abreast.

  Belina took an involuntary step backward, caught herself, and drew the fletching of an arrow to her cheek. The bowstring rolled off her fingertips. The string snapped, speeding the shaft into the teeming horde of once-men. Where that arrow went, or if it struck true, she could not tell. She did not wait to find out, before firing another arrow, and another.

  To either side, her father and sister mirrored her actions. Arrow after arrow flashed into their foes. A Kelren stumbled and went down. Those at his back trampled him without pause.

  More arrows flew. More sea-wolves fell. But as a whole, the attackers closed swiftly. After another volley brought down two more Kelrens, Damoc raised his voice above that of the bellowing slavers. “Fall back!”

  They wheeled and ran deeper into the harsh blue light of the Throat of Balaam.

  After a hundred paces, Damoc ordered a halt, and he and his daughters whirled. The Kelrens had narrowed the distance. More arrows thinned their numbers, but not enough. There was no telling if Sumahn and Daris were faring any better behind the sea-wolves.

  As Belina’s fingers darted for another feathered shaft, she hazarded a quick glance at the quiver hanging at her hip. It was already woefully bare. At best, it held a dozen arrows.

  She fired and reached for another shaft, praying not for herself, but for Leitos. He was the world’s hope. Her visions had told her so since the first. He was the world’s hope, and she was his shield. Unless it had all been a lie, a cruel fancy born of her imagination….

  They are too close!

  She nocked another arrow, drew, fired at a sea-wolf’s nose. The arrowhead struck lower, smashing through his bared teeth. She reached for another arrow, her movements jerky with panic, and then the Kelrens were on them, swords flashing. They howled with the throats of neither men nor wolves, but creatures loosed from the Thousand Hells. All they sought was the blood of the living.

  Nola leaped back with a pained shriek, blood splashed across her face, her eyes wide with horror. A fist, wrapped hard around a sword hilt, crashed into Belina’s temple. She tumbled backward, and landed on her rump. Dazed, fumbling for her sword, she heard Damoc bellow. Heedless of the danger, he jumped between his daughters and the horde, slamming his bow into one monstrous face after another.

  Then Sumahn and Daris were there, slashing through the Kelrens. Where they walked, death followed.

  But there were so many foes.

  Belina struggled to her feet, head spinning. She swung her blade, chopping off a reaching hand. More groping fingers sought her, the tips of swords and daggers stabbed and slashed all around. Inhuman faces leered, pressed forward.

  So many.

  Too many.

  Chapter 44

  The veil wrapped around him as i
t had before, caressing him, pressing in like jellied ice. And as before, his skin tingled. But this time, whatever protected him from the strange, prickling pressure building inside him shattered like an eggshell, allowing that cold ooze to pour into his muscles. It sank deep, past his bones, until filling his marrow. Fire and frost warred for dominance within him, and Leitos’s mouth stretched around a scream—

  He fell through the barrier, his knees striking the floor of the Faceless One’s domain. Shaken but still upright, Adham and Ulmek stepped through, then rushed to help Leitos up.

  “What is this place?” Ulmek breathed, the hollows of his face ghastly against bleached white skin.

  Leitos hastily dragged his gaze from Ulmek. The man’s ghostly appearance stirred the hair on the nape of his neck.

  “It is the enemy’s throne room.” Leitos’s voice sounded strange to his ears, heavier, thicker. Groggy, his bones feeling cracked by the icy cold filling them, he looked across the lightless plane. Gone were the lurid flames of before. In their place, shadows danced. But of his enemy, Leitos found him seated upon his obsidian throne.

  “We should not have come here,” Ulmek said, all strength gone from his voice. Fear and dismay swept through the trio like a windborne sickness. All three retreated a step back the way they had come, then another step.

  Leitos was first to gather himself. He caught hold of Adham and Ulmek. “We cannot turn back.” The peculiar timbre to his voice sank into the ears of his companions, and they turned toward him.

  “Gods good and wise,” Adham blurted, lurching away. Ulmek jerked back as well, his sword waving uncertainly between him and Leitos.

  When Leitos looked at them, his breath caught in his throat. Both were pale as specters, not just Ulmek. Gossamer strands of light rose from their skin, making undulating auras. The Faceless One had known they were coming, and had laid a trap of some sort. “What’s happened to you?”