From Cold Ashes Risen (The War Eternal Book 3)

by Rob J. Hayes

  Smoke drifted from the doors, bent and buckled from the force. Through my dark sight I could see men crouching on the other side, bows raised, waiting for targets. I doubted arrows would do them much good. "Go." I said to my Cursed and watched for a moment as they surged into motion and charged in through the doors. Some went down under the hail of arrows, but most ignored their wounds and the screams started once more. I turned to Hardt. "I'd give it a minute or two. They should leave you be, but you don't want to get caught up in that."

  I turned back towards the balcony so far above. "What about you?" Hardt waited nearby, not daring to get too close with the storm striking all around me.

  "I told you. I'm going up there. Ready?"

  Ssserakis laughed. He will pay for your arm.

  I crouched, my wings unfurling and spreading out high above me. "And everything else." I leapt upwards, my wings beating hard. Once. Twice. It was not true flight. Even with wings so large, I could not have sustained the lift, but it hurled me upwards. Even so, the balcony was high above us. It was a start at least. We gave up on the attempt at flight and my wings drove into the stone of the palace wall, shattering windows and gouging rock. I had only one arm, and that was carrying the lantern, so I relied entirely upon my wings as they thrust into the palace facade and dragged us upwards. No, it was not anything approaching flight. I was more like a giant black spider, crawling its way up the side of the building, leaving scarred, crumbling stone in my wake. I imagine the noise of it was quite terrifying to those inside the palace, though they may have been more focused on the screaming from my Cursed slaughtering their way from floor to floor.

  It's fair to say they were expecting me by the time I reached the balcony. With a last push of my wings, I gained the lip and stepped down just as a plume of fire shattered the double windows and engulfed me. Ssserakis shielded me with my wings, but barely in time. I felt the heat of the flames and the searing kiss of them on my face. My chin still bears the scars of that fire, mottled flesh between chin and neck, pitted and annoyingly smooth from where it melted. I often find myself rubbing at that scar, the feel of it strangely both horrifying and compulsive. I screamed at the touch of it, and Ssserakis screamed with me, its shadowy body taking the brunt of the heat.

  The flames continued and my wings curled tighter around me, so tight I could barely move. I knew Pyromancy well, had always felt the attunement stronger than any other school, and I knew the Sourcerer could keep up the attack for a long time.

  I cannot hold out against fire, Eskara. Forever Ssserakis' weakness, fire is the enemy of ice and darkness both.

  Cold rage built inside of me. I couldn't let it end like this, couldn't let them beat me so easily. Not after all I had survived, all I had been through. The very thought of it made me angry. The Emperor winning was more than I could stomach. I stopped caring. They could burn my body to ash, but I would take them all with me! I let my Arcstorm rage with me.

  A plume of flame is easy for a Pyromancer to maintain, simple magic but effective. It also has a limited range. The Sourcerer needs to be quite close to their target. It is difficult to remain close with a lightning storm raging around you. I'm not sure if the Pyromancer was struck at all, only that they backed off, the flames subsiding as they beat their retreat. My anger and my Arcstorm were linked in a way I have never quite understood. They feed off each other, growing stronger and stronger until neither can be sustained, and then fade for a time, leaving me numb and raw. Drawing on my Source and turning my mind towards the atrocities directed toward me, my anger and my storm grew until none could stand within twenty paces for fear of being struck.

  I stepped off the balcony and into the throne room, the centre of an Arcstorm, my eyes flashing, and shadowy wings poised behind me, ready to strike. Before me stood half the royal guard, thirty soldiers all wearing gold armour with runes glowing pink in the gloom. Armour designed to absorb magic. Two Sourcerers, one to my right, the Pyromancer readying another attack, the other a mystery, and standing next to the throne. Opposite her, stood Prena, eyes hard and damning and locked on me. And beyond them all, cowering on his throne, the Emperor of Terrelan.

  "Aras!" I screamed the name.

  "She's a nightmare. Kill her!" The Emperor all but screeched in his fearful hysteria. I could taste the terror on him.

  Soldiers started forward just as the door to the throne room burst open, my Cursed piling through it. The Pyromancer turned and sprayed flames in their direction, but they were dead things, shrugging off injury and pain. They swarmed the man and carried him down, fists and weapons rising and falling, screams turning to sickening thuds. Others ignored the Sourcerer entirely and rushed on towards the royal guard. The throne room erupted into a chaotic battle where only I understood the rules. Or so I thought.

  "Stop!" The Sourcerer standing beside the throne was a Necromancer and his order carried a weight my Cursed could not ignore. Even as more of them forced their way through the throne room doors, the royal guard advanced upon them, swords cutting them down in a one-sided massacre. Two of the soldiers turned my way, braving the Arcstorm, their enchanted armour absorbing the lightning strikes.

  They attacked as one, too well-trained to come at me one at a time. I had seen their like before, had fought against them before. Long ago, up on the tallest tower of Fort Vernan, at the Fall of Orran. Terrelan royal guard with their enchanted armour and weapons, leaping through portals and charging toward Josef and I. I had fought them then and defeated many, but I had Sources then, magic at my command.

  Now you have something even better.

  They thought me weak and slow from weeks or months of torture and malnourishment. They did not count on the fear lending me so much strength. I ducked and dodged sideways from the first of the soldiers, meeting the second head on. I think he assumed his armour would protect him from my wings, but they were not formed from Photomancy and there was no magic at play. My right wing slammed into the man, knocking him to his back and skewering him through the neck and waist where his armour was thinnest. The second soldier was on me in a moment and would have cut me down if not for Ssserakis' reactions. My horror blocked the strike with my other wing and wrapped it around the man, crushing him so fast he barely had time to scream.

  Brace yourself.

  I crouched down low and Ssserakis threw my wings forward, sending the bodies of both soldiers crashing into the ranks of their comrades. It did little to phase them. With the Necromancer subverting my will, the Cursed could do nothing but stand still while the royal guard tore them to shreds. The throne room floor grew wet with blood as more and more of my minions died, even as others forced their way through the palace doors, only to fall into the same trap as the others. The Necromancer needed to die.

  We but need to get close. I leapt, shadowy wings beating hard as they drove me up and forwards towards the throne. Aras Terrelan let out a screech and the fear sent a jolt of pleasure through me even as the Necromancer flicked a hand my way. An invisible forced smashed into me, driving me sideways to crash against the far wall of the throne room. Wood splintered beneath the impact and the air was forced from my lungs. I would have been dead, but for my shadow absorbing much of the impact.

  I cannot sustain your shadow for much longer, Eskara. There was strain in my horror's voice. Even with all the fear it had gorged upon and even with the fear of an entire city nearby as legions of the Cursed slaughtered everyone they could find. Even then, we were burning through Ssserakis' power too fast.

  My Arcstorm had retreated back inside when the kinetic wave hit me, so I struggled back to my feet, my wings giving me stability. The lantern was still in my right hand, the flame long since gone out, but the glass still miraculously intact. I reached out and drew on my Source, sending bolts of lightning ripping through the air, snaking their way towards the Necromancer by the throne. Again, the Emperor let out a shriek of warning and the Sourcerer waved another hand my way, the lightning veering sideways to strike the wall behind
the throne, scoring smoking black marks along its finery.

  A Necromancer, an Arcmancer, and a Kinemancer all rolled into one. I was running out of ideas; I knew exactly how powerful a defence those combination of magics could weave. Stop trying to use brute force. We have other tools at our disposal.

  "What?"

  Fear. Make her fear us!

  "Kill her!" the Emperor screamed again, pointing at me. Neither Prena, nor the Sourcerer moved, and the royal guard were too busy cutting down my Cursed. I could feel their numbers dwindling. Out in the city, the dead were already beyond counting, but here in the palace there were few of them left, and too many being sent back to death.

  Ssserakis was right. I didn't need to kill this Sourcerer. I only needed her attention, to distract her from holding back my Cursed. I took a step forwards, letting my shadow pool around me. It rose and flickered like black flames. My wings crouched over my shoulders like a hawk waiting to swoop in and strike. My face was gaunt and ghoulish, my eyes flashed, and I focused my unwavering gaze on the Sourcerer. She glanced my way, but only for a moment, and flicked her hand again. I expected the blow this time and braced against it, one wing held up protectively, the other digging into the floor of the throne room, giving me the support I needed. Another step. And another. The Sourcerer glanced my way again and this time her eyes lingered on me, noticing my focused intent. I knew I had her right then. She tried a couple more times to throw me back with Kinemancy, but each time I dug in and resisted the blow, shrugging it off only to continue my slow pace toward her. The room grew darker, for us at least, I don't think anyone noticed. I could see the sweat standing out on her face, young but lined from stress, hair a slick severe bun tied above her head. I was maybe ten paces away when she broke, turning her attention from the Cursed and hurling her full power at me. It was useless. I absorbed the Arcmancy, letting it fuel the Arcstorm inside and used it to erect a shield around me. Kinemancy may be a kinetic wave, but it is still magic, and my Arcshield deflected her attacks.

  My slow pacing continued and the Sourcerer grew more and more frantic, her fear of me giving the darkness a tangible quality. That's the odd truth about that ability of Ssserakis', the darkness does not really exist except in the mind of the person under its sway. Outside of that unnatural darkness, my Cursed surged back into motion and the royal guard suddenly found themselves in the middle of a fight they had not been prepared for.

  By the time I reached the foot of the throne, the Sourcerer was a babbling mess, her sobbing barely audible over the sounds of the fighting. She was no threat to me anymore. I'm pretty sure she'd wet herself. Aras Terrelan wasn't far off either. He pushed himself into his throne yet had nowhere else to retreat to. Only Prena stood between us now, hand on sword hilt, but not yet drawn.

  "Kill her!" Again, the shriek from the Emperor. We both ignored him.

  She doesn't fear us. Doesn't fear death.

  "Stand aside." My words were quiet, pitched for menace rather than command. Despite all Prena had done, despite her standing by and watching while I was tortured, I found I didn't wish her dead. Neither did I wish her a long life. I found quite simply that I just didn't care. If she got in my way, I would kill her. If she stood aside, I would leave her and be thankful if I never heard the name Prena Neralis ever again.

  I was within striking distance and could remember well the feeling of Prena stabbing me once before, but I would not show fear to her. Especially not when I was so close to my quarry. How long did we stare at each other? I don't know for sure, only that when that contest of will was over, I was not the one to turn away.

  "Prena, what are you doing?" Aras Terrelan hissed as his bodyguard turned and walked away. "First Blade Neralis, I order you to get back here and defend me!"

  Prena ignored the Emperor, moving to the side of the room. The Sourcerer was curled into a ball next to the throne, rocking back and forth between sobs. The royal guard were up to their necks with my Cursed, desperately trying to survive even as the numbers of the dead swelled with every death.

  "There's no one left to save you, Aras. Die with some dignity." He tried; I'll give him that. The Emperor of Terrelan wiped fearful tears from his eyes, straightened his jacket, and launched himself at me, a dagger flashing from his shirt sleeve. I turned aside, letting him stumble past me, his momentum carrying him. Tamura had taught me well how to flow like water, and even emaciated and weary, my body remembered the lessons. I kicked Aras Terrelan in the back on the knee, forcing him down, and whipped the noose from around my waist with my one hand, looping it over his head. Then, with a knee placed on his back, and my hand on the rope, I strangled the life from the Terrelan Emperor.

  Revenge. I've heard people say it's never as satisfying as you think it will be. What a load of shit. If it's not satisfying, then you're doing it wrong.

  It takes a while to strangle a man to death in such a way and I will admit I was sweating from the exertion by the time I felt the Emperor's life snuffed out. But I wasn't done with him yet. One death would never be enough for that monster. For all the pain he had put me through, for all the pain he had caused to Hardt, for all the pain he had caused to countless others. One death was not enough for him! Necromancy can do many things. I shoved Aras Terrelan's soul back into his body, not quite like I had with the Cursed. I gave him no orders and did not take his will from him, only brought him back at the moment of death.

  As I loosened the noose around his neck the Emperor gasped for air, hands clawing the noose up and over his head. On his hands and knees, he coughed and gasped. Not enough! I kicked the man on to his back and knelt on his chest, plucking the lantern from the floor and dashing it against the steps. Shards of glass. I had wielded a shard just like them long ago. Back then I had tried to kill Prig. Failed. Some lessons I only needed to learn once. I plucked one of the shards from the floor, ignoring the pain as it bit into my flesh, and stabbed down into Aras Terrelan's chest over and over again. I do not know how many times I stabbed him. Enough that I couldn't tell which blood was mine and which was his. Enough that his feeble attempts to stop me faltered completely. Enough that his soul once again fled his body.

  Not enough!

  Again, I forced the Emperor back inside his dead shell of a corpse. I took his will from him that time, a puppet of flesh bound to me and my orders. I took his will, but I left him his wit. A passenger in his own body, forced to watch through dead eyes. Never again to act on his own thoughts, only to my whims. That was the final torture I laid upon the Emperor of Terrelan. The man had killed my king, destroyed my country. He ordered me into the Pit, and even when I escaped, he sent his most trusted executioner to hunt me down. He had tortured me for months. He had broken me. Squeezed all his precious screams from me. And yet there I stood, alive; and there he knelt, dead.

  Chapter 30

  Hardt forced his way into the throne room, wary eyes on the Cursed, but they ignored him. They ignored Prena too as she slunk away. The Sourcerer finally gave up her sobbing and I took her pouch of Spiceweed, forcing some into her mouth and then scooping up her Sources.

  "It's done?" Hardt asked as he approached, eyes on me not the man standing at my side.

  I nodded. "He's dead."

  "Doesn't look dead." Hardt towered over us both and glared down at the Emperor.

  "He's dead. But he's still in there." I let a savage grin slip onto my face. "Dance." And Emperor Aras Terrelan, or at least the shell of him, began a lurching parody of a dance. The rest of my Cursed in the throne room joined in. Having killed the last of the royal guard, there was now nothing for them to do.

  "Stop this, Eska."

  I nodded. "Stop." And they did. Obeying my orders instantly. There they waited.

  "The city," Hardt said. His eyes kept darting to where the Emperor's corpse waited, his hands curling into fists. Even half starved, much of his muscle lost, Hardt could have crushed the man.

  "You can hit him if you like."

  Hardt tore his eyes fr
om the Emperor and gave me a disgusted look, turning and moving toward the balcony. It overlooked Juntorrow and from that balcony I could see it was a city in its death throes. Fires spread unchecked. Screams drifted up on the night air. Lursa watched over it all, as red as the streets below her gaze. I had done this to the city. It was not my intention, but that does not excuse the act. Juntorrow was dying, its people were dying, and I had killed it. I had killed them. Even from high up and far away, staring out from the palace balcony, I could see packs of my Cursed tearing down the streets, looking for more death to sow.

  Kill them all and spread your curse. Ssserakis echoed my order to that first of the Cursed. These are the consequences of what they did to us.

  "No. These are the consequences of my mistake." I tried to tell myself the people deserved it. They hated me, begged for my corpse. They wanted to see me dead, to parade my body. I tried to tell myself they deserved it. But the lies rang hollow even in my own head. Not even Ssserakis tried to convince me it was justice. It was vengeance, and I found I did not have the stomach for it.

  "Can't you stop it?" Hardt asked.

  I tried. But I was too far away. The Cursed could no longer hear my orders, could no longer feel my will. They were a disease, spreading and acting upon that single order I had given. I shook my head. "Not from here."

  When I turned from the balcony, I found the Emperor standing close. Bereft of any orders he had followed me and waited. That, too, sickened me. "Fetch the noose," I said. "Tie it to the balcony, put your head through it, and throw yourself off." Aras Terrelan turned to do my bidding.

  As I limped through the throne room I found more of my Cursed, many of them wearing the clothing of the nobility, waiting. I think I recognised the princess among the crowd. It is not an idle boast when I say I ended the Terrelan imperial line. "Die." My order cleansed the Cursed from the throne room and all but the Emperor collapsed, their souls finally freed from their bodies.