The Ramshuk (Heirs of Legacy Book 3)

by Paul Lauritsen

  Before the vertag could do any more damage, Garnuk snatched a spear from a Sentinel standing beside him. Then, faster than the eye could follow, Garnuk drew back his arm and cast the spear, running after it the moment he had released the shaft.

  The spear struck Norgen’s shield with a heavy thud, staggering the enraged warrior but doing no damage. On Norgen’s other side, Tarq stepped forward with his axe and struck at the Black Hawk leader, who parried just in time. But then, Garnuk was upon Norgen, lowering his horned head and smashing into Norgen’s shield with tremendous force.

  The Black Hawk was thrown from his feet with a roar, his mangled shield clinging to an arm that was now broken in three places. Garnuk, Carh, Koah, and Tarq ran after him, surrounding him before he had even hit the ground. When Norgen landed, his axe fell from his hand and went skittering across the floor, forcing Carh’s warriors to jump to avoid it.

  Norgen tried to rise, to continue the fight, but Garnuk’s sword pricked his throat, forcing him back down on the ground.

  “It’s over,” the Exile said firmly. “You have lost.”

  The Black Hawk leader gave a rumbling chuckle, deep in his throat. “I may lie defeated, but you have achieved no victory here today, traitor.”

  With a final burst of strength, Norgen swiped Garnuk’s sword to the side with his shield, springing to his feet and leaping at Garnuk, his good arm outstretched. But then Koah’s spear flashed past Garnuk’s shoulder, impaling the Black Hawk leader as he landed, a full meter of the shaft protruding from his muscled back before he stopped moving and hung limp.

  Koah grunted with the strain, then released the spear, letting the weapon and its victim fall to the ground heavily. “The spirits are judging him even now,” he said, glaring at the downed vertag. “He will suffer for many years yet.”

  Garnuk nodded wearily, suddenly overcome by exhaustion. He stumbled, reeled backwards, and thankfully ended up sitting on the hearth. Tarq and Koah were immediately at his side, the battle forgotten.

  “General! What is wrong?”

  Garnuk waved a clawed hand tiredly. “Nothing, Tarq. I’m fine. Just exhausted.”

  “Aye, the chief too,” Koah observed worriedly. “He took many wounds.”

  “Is he all right?”

  “The others are attending to him now,” Koah said, shrugging. “Most of those wounds are just scratches to him.”

  “Good,” Garnuk muttered. He did not need the death of the Banuk chief on his conscience. He gazed past Tarq and Koah, to the bodies of the fallen Black Hawks. They were twisted and mangled, their limbs at awkward angles, their mouths gaping, their eyes wide and sightless. None still held weapons, and all had suffered multiple mortal wounds. Nine Black Hawks, defeated. Garnuk had not thought such a feat to be possible. But he’d had help from Carh and the others, some of whom had paid a steep price. The original two guards. The three who Norgen had slain. A dozen other still forms scattered about the council chamber.

  Nine Black Hawks, Garnuk thought to himself again, smiling grimly. Worry gnawed at the back of his mind, but he could not fathom why. After all, the battle was over.

  He looked up as Carh staggered over to the hearth and sat beside Garnuk with a sigh. The Banuk chief’s wounds had been roughly bandaged, and one of his attendants carried his club for him. “This was good work, Garnuk,” he observed, looking around the hall. “We paid a price, but the deed is done. The Black Hawks have been dealt with.”

  “I don’t understand how they got in here without us knowing,” Koah muttered. “We have spies everywhere in the Fells, and the chief would have known if they entered Banta Kodu.”

  “I did know,” Carh admitted. “But they did not come at my invitation, and I was worried about what might happen if I betrayed them once they were here.”

  Garnuk sat up straighter and swore. “This is not all of them,” he said suddenly, looking around at his companions.

  “Not all of them?” Koah repeated. “What do you mean?”

  Garnuk shoved to his feet and started pacing around the chamber, shoving aside any who got in the way of his search. He knelt beside each of the fallen, inspecting their faces.

  “General?” Tarq asked, taking a hesitant step closer.

  The Exile swore as he examined the last corpse and got to his feet, turning quickly. “He’s not here.”

  “Who?” Koah demanded.

  “Hunon,” Garnuk replied, scratching at his horns, noticing that there was now a hairline crack in the left one. “He did not take part in this battle.”

  “Hunon?” Carh asked, frowning. “Who is he? Why is he so important? Norgen was their leader.”

  “Aye, but Hunon was always the brains of the operation,” Tarq explained. “It was Hunon who originally betrayed Garnuk at Dun Carryl, all those years ago.”

  “And now he is missing,” Garnuk added.

  “He may never have been in Banta Kodu,” Carh said with an uncertain shrug. “I do not know how many Black Hawks passed through the wall.”

  “I would wager all of them,” Garnuk muttered. “Which is more than nine.” He swore and made for the front door of the council chamber. “Hunon is not missing!” he said over his shoulder. “He is hidden, somewhere in Banta Kodu. He will have the rest with him. We must ferret them all out before they can cause any more mischief, or escape back to Dun Carryl with the location of the Banuk tribe.”

  “The city is sealed,” Carh reminded Garnuk, struggling to his feet as he endeavored to follow the Exile. “There will be no escape for them.”

  “Some of the Sentinels helped them get in,” Garnuk reminded the chief. “It’s entirely possible that they have vertaga amongst your people that will help them get out as well.” The Exile strode out into the entrance hall, then shoved through the outer doors of the stronghold.

  He squinted in the bright morning light, holding up a hand to shield his eyes. Then, Garnuk realized he had stepped into a war zone.

  Across the city he could see soldiers fighting. Mostly common soldiers and guards, but there were Sentinels battling each other as well. Small battles had broken out at the gates, along the outer wall, by the tunnel that led to the sea, and in dozens of seemingly random places. Garnuk heard a cacophony of screeches and hunting cries, and looked up to see hawks circling among the upper levels, occasionally pecking at the eyes of the combatants. As Garnuk watched, a hawk swooped down on a Sentinel dueling two guards on an upper level. The Sentinel recoiled, stepped back into empty space, and fell to the ground far below with an ugly thud.

  Garnuk gaped in astonishment, utterly bewildered. Surely these were not all Black Hawks! Most of these vertaga were Banuks, neighbors fighting against each other. As he stood there, the ring of metal on metal and the howls of the wounded washing over him, the Exile heard hurried footsteps within the stronghold. Then, the others were standing beside him, stunned at the sight that greeted them.

  Carh, supported by Koah and another soldier, swore explosively. “What has happened out here? Have they all taken leave of their senses?”

  “It would seem,” Garnuk said slowly, still stunned, “That the elders and Hunon seized this opportunity to inflame many against me. And against you.”

  Carh growled fiercely and looked back into the stronghold for his club. “I’ll beat some sense into the lot of them,” he muttered. “We must restore order. Even now the remaining Black Hawks could be escaping.”

  “No,” Tarq said, shaking his head as he surveyed the chaos. “All gates remain sealed. But we must send more warriors to hold them or they will not remain so for long.”

  “Send everyone,” Garnuk urged. “All of our warriors in Shadow Squadron.”

  “And all of my stronghold guards,” Carh said grimly. “This fight, I have never seen anything like it.”

  Garnuk stepped forward for a better view of the gates, squinting into the distance. As he did, something hissed past his head and screeched on the stone steps of the stronghold. He looked around, bewildered
, and his eyes lit upon an arrow.

  “Archers!” he shouted. “Back inside!”

  The group of vertaga standing in the entrance to the stronghold quickly retreated, two more arrows sticking in the front door as they did. Garnuk slammed it shut and leaned against the carved door frame, panting for breath. “Is there another way out?” he asked Carh.

  The Banuk chief glanced at Koah and nodded sharply. “The need is great. Take as many reinforcements as you can muster.” Koah saluted and started off, but Garnuk called him back.

  “Wait!” he said quickly, ignoring Carh’s glare. “Clear the upper levels first, once you get out there. That will lessen the risk of arrows.”

  “But still send some warriors to the gates,” Carh added. “Those we must hold. If even one enemy gets away . . . and finds his way to Dun Carryl . . .”

  “Then the Banuk are no longer hidden,” Garnuk muttered. “And the Ramshuk may well come after you, once he is finished with the Sthan.”

  “Assuming the Sthan don’t finish him,” Carh growled. “I’m starting to wonder why I ever let you through my gates, Exile. You have caused my people a great deal of trouble.”

  “Less than the Usurper would have,” Garnuk countered. “That I can promise you.”

  “He may yet make his mischief,” Carh observed gloomily. He sagged against Koah, then with an enormous effort straightened and staggered to the nearest wall. “Go,” he said to the Sentinel, waving his hand weakly. “Do what must be done.”

  Koah hesitated, then nodded and ran from the hall, shouting for the others to follow him. Guards and warriors from Shadow Squadron hastened after the retreating figure, but Tarq remained behind.

  “Go with them Tarq, they need every sword that we have,” Garnuk commanded.

  Tarq shook his head defiantly. “Someone has to make sure the two of you survive this. You are our leaders, and without you everything will fall apart.”

  “He has a point,” Carh muttered. “Although things seem to be falling apart anyway.”

  “You mean spinning out of control,” Garnuk replied, stumbling away from the door. “Come on. We might as well find a place to rest while we wait.”

  “Somewhere with a view of outside?” Tarq suggested, looking around curiously.

  “If we go up to your level, there are a few rooms there which overlook the city,” Carh said, straightening slightly. “We can watch from there and still be close to Shadow Squadron’s command center in case we are needed.”

  Tarq nodded, then ran back into the council chamber. He returned with Carh’s club hanging loosely from one hand. “A fine weapon,” he observed as he draped the chief’s left arm around his shoulders to support him.

  “Give me that,” Carh snapped, grabbing for his war club.

  “You’re in no condition to wield it,” Tarq pointed out diplomatically.

  “Just hand it over. Don’t you know that it’s an insult to borrow a vertag’s weapon without asking first?”

  Tarq held out the club. “Here you are, then.”

  Carh gripped the handle of the club with his left hand. Tarq released his own grip and the weapon dropped abruptly, cracking against the stone floor, one of the steel spikes screeching in protest. Garnuk winced at the noise.

  The Banuk chief tried to lift his club, or at least drag it behind him, but he had no strength. His proud shoulders slumped and he glanced at Tarq hopefully. “I don’t suppose you would mind carrying this for me?”

  Tarq rolled his eyes and scooped up the club effortlessly, chuckling to himself. “Come, great chief. Let us go to our headquarters and see how the battle progresses.

  The three vertaga stumbled and shambled through the stronghold as fast as they could. Fortunately, there were few people out and about to see their chief in his debilitated state. Garnuk was not in much better shape, but he played the part of escort and guard, keeping his weapons ready and constantly watching for new threats to emerge.

  They reached the level of Shadow Squadron without incident though, save for the half dozen times that Carh lurched or stumbled worse than usual and nearly brought down Tarq. The captain bore the Banuk chief stoically, maintaining an air of polite concern and helpfulness.

  When at last they arrived at the rooms that Carh had spoken of, Garnuk forced the door open and stepped inside. The space was mostly bare, save for a few ancient chairs, an equally ancient table, and some random debris here and there. The floor was coated with dust and the ceiling festooned with spider webs.

  The Exile went to the lone, wide window, which was hidden by moldering curtains, his boots raising small clouds of dust with each step he took. Grimacing with distaste, Garnuk pulled the hangings aside. The fabric disintegrated in his hands, crumbling to nothing and joining the dust already accumulated on the floor.

  With the window uncovered, Garnuk peered out into the city, searching. There were still battles being fought everywhere and on every level. The hunters’ birds still circled in the air, screeching and attacking and generally adding noise and confusion to the scene. Garnuk could not clearly discern any Black Hawks from this distance, or any Banuk elders, but he knew that they were out there, somewhere. Maybe not fighting themselves, but directing the battles across Banta Kodu.

  Tarq set Carh’s club down and dragged a chair, and then the Banuk chief, over to the window where Garnuk stood. With a groan, the captain deposited his burden, then straightened. He took a moment to retrieve Carh’s club and lean it against the chair, then stepped up to the window as well.

  “The battle goes on,” he observed. “Have you seen Koah and the others out there?”

  “Not yet,” Garnuk sighed, taking a step back. He looked around the room, located another chair that appeared to be sturdy enough, and dragged it back to where Carh sat. The Exile sank into his own chair and gazed out over the city, watching the battle progress. Tarq remained standing, leaning against the window frame.

  Time passed. Garnuk and Carh each dozed off multiple times, exhausted by their own battle with the Black Hawks. Tarq left every so often to check in with Shadow Squadron’s command center and wander the lower passages in search of news. Not much was known at this point, other than the fact that the city was still sealed. Nobody was getting in or out. Whenever Garnuk’s limbs began to stiffen, he would get up and pace around the room, gazing out the window, then returning to his seat with an impatient sigh.

  After several hours, the three warriors finally noticed a change in the situation. Battles still raged across the city, but there was a growing radius of peace expanding outwards from the stronghold. The upper levels were under control, save for the shrieking birds, and Carh’s soldiers seemed to be gaining the upper hand in many battles. The streets were choked not with dueling warriors but with reinforcements marching towards the outer parts of the city, crushing the rebels between them and the Sentinels who still guarded the gates of Banta Kodu.

  But calm did not return easily. Throughout the rest of the day, small skirmishes popped up throughout Banta Kodu, often well behind the front lines, disturbing the delicate balance. At one stage, a handful of archers managed to regain an upper platform, and twenty of Carh’s warriors fell before they were dislodged from their position. Fires broke out at strategic points, forcing the warriors to split their attention between protecting their people and subjugating the opposition.

  The longer the battle went on, the more impressed Garnuk was with whoever had planned the revolt. Everything was carefully calculated to sow confusion, distrust, and chaos. Any time now, the final assault would come, a mad charge for the gate, a final bid for freedom. But the gates were well-defended now, too strong for anyone to break through. When the moment came and the rebels tried to escape, it would be their end. And, hopefully, the end of the Black Hawks.

  Chapter 27:

  Deception

  When night came, Garnuk, Carh, and Tarq all slept in the small upper room they had occupied for most of the day. The battle was still dragging on, all ov
er the city. Every time it seemed the insurgents had been repelled, violence exploded in another location.

  It was a weary and frustrated Koah that reported to Garnuk and Carh in the early hours the day after. He saluted the two leaders briefly, then got right down to business.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” he said, shaking his head disgustedly. “Friends turning against friends, squads turning against each other . . . the Sentinels, stronghold guards, even common warriors . . . all compromised. There is nobody outside of this room that we can trust right now.”

  “What of the Black Hawks and the elders?” Garnuk rumbled, leaning forward. “Have they been found?”

  “No. But our soldiers are more focused on trying to secure the city at the moment.”

  “How many have turned?” Carh asked, gazing out the window. Plumes of smoke were rising from ruined buildings across Banta Kodu, filtering out through the gaps in the dome far above.

  “Roughly half of all trained warriors,” Koah reported. “The elders have a great deal of influence it would seem. And their efforts are incredibly coordinated.”

  “Hunon,” Garnuk muttered. “It has to be him. There is only one vertag in the world with such cunning and intelligence. He bested me once, but I will be the survivor of this battle.”

  “Assuming he doesn’t escape,” Carh added. “The outer gates are still sealed?”

  “Yes, despite repeated attacks at both the main entrance and the sea tunnel,” Koah reported. “I’ve garrisoned both of them with a number of Sentinels I trust and a few members of the Shadow Squadron.”

  “They’re not trying to leave,” Garnuk interrupted, looking up suddenly.

  “What?” Carh demanded.

  “They’re not trying to leave,” Garnuk repeated. “The attacks are a diversion, meant to make us believe they are looking for a way out. What they really want though is to draw our attention to those two points, draw it away from other areas of interest.” He stood and paced back and forth in front of the window. “It also spreads our admittedly limited forces thinner if we have to watch the whole city. That’s why we keep having these flare ups. Hunon is playing a delicate and very calculated game. Not one detail in this puzzle is without reason.”