“And we go with them!”
Muskigo swung at him and saw the glint in Babrak’s hand an instant too late. A small blade not unlike the one the stable boy had wielded slid out while Babrak rose. He rammed it once, and then again into Muskigo’s rib cage. Any other man would have been sent to his knees, but Muskigo drew on his black fist training, channeling energy to his fists in attack, and legs in defense.
Babrak skewered him again, but Muskigo squeezed the grip of his own blade tight. He stabbed down with two hands, the top, curved portion of the scythe crashed through Babrak’s upper chest and shoulder. Both afhems buckled to their knees, pierced by the other.
“Stop this madness,” a soft, but stern voice spoke above.
As Muskigo flopped over alongside Babrak, each refusing to release their weapon, he saw the speaker standing atop the rocks. Her figure was lean but had the grace of a warrior. Her skin was black as the night sky. But her eyes… Muskigo could never forget those.
“Sand mouse?”
XXVII
The Immortal
It felt like home. Cold. Harsh. Unforgiving. A place without life.
They’d left the ship as far north as it could reach, and now, before Kazimir, there was nothing but white. Not even the Pikebacks, the massive mountain range that ran east and west across the Northern reaches of Pantego, showed stone. What few trees survived this high up groaned and creaked under a heavy wind that whistled like the gentle whispers of the dead.
Kazimir pulled his hood forward. The entirety of his face was shrouded in shadow, as was Sigrid’s. Heavy cloaks covered their bodies, and their hands were gloved. However, unlike the rest of their companions, it wasn’t for warmth. Even as a thin ray of light broke through the clouds, the protection provided by their clothing would allow them to last until the clouds swallowed up the daylight once more.
The Motherland was kind to the upyr, never allowing the sun to fully break through the clouds for more than minutes at a time. It was said to be her blessing upon them for putting an end to the Culling, for stopping the mindless undead from ravaging the land, for slaying Mamon the Mad Mystic, who’d raised the dead and brought ruin to Kazimir’s home and everyone in it.
Kazimir took a breath, though he had no need for it. His lungs had stopped inflating centuries ago when his heart had stopped beating. Now, the only thing keeping him alive was the fear of mankind and the lifeblood pulsing through their veins. He did, however, enjoy the feeling of the cold, crisp air against the back of his throat, in his chest. He closed his eyes but didn’t see darkness. Instead, he saw the crimson-stained landscape that was Elsewhere. But there was something different. He'd been seeing it for days. He kept telling himself he'd have to circle back around to it later. It troubled him greatly, but he couldn’t afford to lose focus. Not now. Not with the old gods threatening to feud once more.
Kazimir heard Whitney and the others behind him, snow crunching beneath their boots. He could hear the beating wings of the wyvern which, without the Glintish boy, followed Whitney around like a pet. It’d kept its distance since Gentry left, like an angry teenager. He knew it should be terrified, not bitter.
Mortals… their eyes were always open, but they didn’t see. Like infants, they were, seeing only that which was splayed out before them in the natural realms. They’d need to see far more than that if any of them were to survive.
If the Sanguine Lords were willing to enact a blood pact upon Nesilia, that meant they were all preparing a return—all the gods, even Iam, and none was more vile than he.
With the Covenstan Depths at his back, Kazimir could see the many pillars, walls, and ruins that once made up the great city of Vidkaru. This, where they stood, had long ago been the seat of kings, the most powerful to ever live, kings that made Liam the Conqueror look like Liam the Meek. Compared to the god-kings-and-queens, those mere men would be like insects.
Now, all of Pantego faced a threat far greater than any Culling. This wasn’t some necromancer or sorcerer at work. It wasn’t just the dead they’d have to worry about now.
“This is it?” Whitney asked, brow furrowed as he scanned the ruins.
The thief always knew the exact wrong time to speak. It was a skill.
Kazimir looked to the gray sky. “As I said, Svay Sobor iz Nohzi is not something you will see with your naked eye.”
“It’s a shame. I left all my eye clothing back on the ship.”
“Why can’t we just kill him?” Sigrid groaned.
“I’ve considered it many times,” Kazimir said. He pointed. “There, through the pass. Come.”
He led the group down a snow-laden escarpment. The Lightmancer slid a short distance before Whitney reached out and steadied her. Only the dwarf managed to make it to the bottom without looking foolish.
“I’ll help you,” Whitney offered.
“I’m not a child.” Lucindur swatted.
“No, but if you slip and break that instrument of yours, we’re doomed.”
Lucindur muttered under her breath before accepting his proffered hand.
Such weakness in mortality. Like babies thrust into the deep, hopeful to survive by sheer luck. Kazimir thought.
He ignored the rest and scanned the landscape. Not long ago, in the shallow valley between the Pikebacks and the hillocks which acted like a dike around the Covenstan Depths, Kazimir and Sigrid caught a contingent of soldiers prodding around in vain efforts to find the Dom Nohzi and the Citadel. Not everyone knew how to call upon the Sanguine Lords, and it was obvious that with Yuri Darkings no longer on their Royal Council, that knowledge had escaped them all.
More fools. All they need do was ask and then prepare to face the consequence of rejection.
Crossing the valley plane where their feet now fell would have been littered with corpses if the snows hadn’t piled up. But now, they were waist-deep in the stuff, trudging forward, stepping over what would only feel like rocks and roots, not skulls and bones. The dwarf barely kept his head above the powder, but he’d have been used to such things.
Kazimir kept moving briskly and forcing them to keep pace. Just as it had been in Elsewhere, something was off here, too. To anyone else, it would have only been another stark landscape, quiet and unassuming. But to Kazimir, who’d spent generations in this valley, he could hear the subtle sound of footsteps echoing off the mountain pass; small rocks clattering across the snowy rock face; miniature avalanches slowly cascading down.
He hadn’t even realized he’d stopped until the dwarf spoke up.
“What are ye doing?” Tum Tum asked. “Legs froze?”
“We are being watched,” Kazimir said.
“Your Lords more upset with you than you thought, huh?” Whitney said.
“Not by them.” Kazimir shifted, just one foot back, then the other forward. His hands fell to a pair of small throwing daggers on a bandolier across his chest. In a swift and sure movement, he crossed his arms, then threw the blades. One thud sounded after another, and two winged beasts dropped.
“Grimaurs, again?” Whitney asked.
“Where there’s one…” before Kazimir could complete his sentence, a loud screech sounded above, and a shadow moved over the party. Another grimaur dove down, and this time, Sigrid dispatched it with a bolt through its throat.
“With all the Glassmen up this way lately… it must have attracted scavengers,” Kazimir said.
“Are you sure that’s all it is?” Lucindur asked.
Kazimir made a noncommittal grunt and waved them on.
The pass narrowed up ahead, and they climbed single-file for some time before Whitney started complaining. He’d broken some kind of record, Kazimir was sure.
“I hope there’s a fire when we get there,” the thief said.
“And mead,” Tum Tum said. “Hot mead.”
“There will be hard wood and blood,” Kazimir said. “Do not expect the comforts of your southern homes.”
“Aye, ye arrogant prig,” Tum Tum spat. “I
be from the Dragon’s Tail themselves.”
“And you’ve lived a human lifespan near the sea, serving ale to sailors and wenches. You’ve forgotten what the Far North is like.”
“Say it to me face,” Tum Tum shouted.
Kazimir only saw him for a second longer until his attention was drawn to the road ahead. The dwarf continued muttering curses, but he too soon fell silent.
The soft sound of flesh tearing, beaks clacking, wings flapping, and angry grunts echoed from a group of grimaurs. Blood flew into the air, and the snow around them was stained red.
“Weapons ready,” Kazimir whispered.
The dwarf pulled his warhammer.
Movement from behind them drew Kazimir’s eye. Down the mountainside, goblins in the dozens flooded the pass. It disturbed the feasting grimaurs, and the bird-beasts looked up and back, spotting the party. The lead one shook its head, sending a spray of blood and gore, then flapped its wings, slowly at first, making a beeline for Kazimir.
“Starting already, are we?” the Lightmacer asked, pulling a short sword they’d pilfered from the pirate ship from a scabbard on her side. Kazimir eyed her suspiciously, wondering if she knew how to use it.
“Now they are working together?” Whitney said. “Never even seen grimaurs flying outdoors, and now this?”
“That buried witch is already workin hard, I suspect,” the dwarf added.
As the next of the grimaurs swooped in, Kazimir launched a dagger, and it sliced through the beast’s chest and into its heart, then landed in a puff of snow. At the same time, Aquira swooped down from her higher position and scorched the lead grimaur, causing their formation to spread.
“These creatures are not unheard of here,” Kazimir said, fending off a goblin who’d made it down. “If they are with her, these are her scouts. Expendable. Weak. Follow me. Keep them off your back. The entrance is not far off.”
When they reached the spot where the grimaurs had been eating, they saw the remains of a Glass soldier.
Kazimir swore. Meddling mortals.
Just before he and Sigrid had been summoned to Panping by Whitney and the Lightmancer, they’d been hunting Glassmen who were desperately trying to locate the Citadel—dispatched to bring the Dom Nohzi to justice for murdering their queen, who deserved death more than most who earn the wrong end of a blood pact. It appeared they’d gotten closer than Kazimir would have liked to admit.
A grunt interrupted Kazimir’s musings as the dwarf swatted up at one grimaur with his hammer and missed, but at least he drove it back. Aquira raced by and dug her talons into its back, tearing it farther away,
Whitney engaged with two goblins at the mouth of the pass, and the Glintish woman did her best to help. Goblins leaped at her weapon, unafraid of her weak strikes. They grabbed the blade and struggled to pry it free.
A volley of small dart-like arrows suddenly filled the sky above. Kazimir rolled away from one, and another caught his cloak. On a thin ridge to the east of the pass, a line of goblins, faces masked with bone and feathers, had squeezed out of a fissure in the rock and had their blow-guns ready for another salvo. Further proof that these weak beings born of darkness now had a master to guide them. Groups were rarely so organized.
“Don’t let the darts touch you!” Kazimir shouted. “They will poison your mortal blood, same as the grimaur talons.”
Two more grimaurs dropped to the ground dead, though Kazimir couldn’t see what had killed them. He turned, looking for Sigrid, but she had already begun taking glee in chopping through goblins to the north.
Something slammed into Kazimir’s side. He spun, ready to strike but found the dwarf climbing to his feet.
“Aye, watch it!” the dwarf screamed as he rose and returned to the battle.
In quick succession, three thrums sounded, and the same number of the flying creatures rained down from above. In life, Sigrid had become a near-expert with ranged weapons, now, in the afterlife, she’d become a master of the crossbow. The Lords had given Kazimir’s kind unique eyesight, the ability to track and anticipate movement as if the world around them had been slowed to a crawl.
“Lucy!” The cry came from across the field to the north. Then again, “Lucy!”
Kazimir left his post and tore through the snow to Whitney.
“I can’t find Lucindur,” Whitney said.
It was good to see the thief wasn’t totally unaware of his surroundings. He dodged a dart, then one of his fists connected with a goblin’s mouth. Whitney pulled his hand away quickly, its sharp teeth drawing blood from more than one knuckle.
Aquira zoomed by, and carved a fiery circle around them, so they had clearance.
“There!” Kazimir shouted. He threw a dagger, and it found the eye of a grimaur, which had been flapping its wings wildly. Just visible above the snow line was a dark hand slapping at the beast until it fell dead.
Kazimir and Whitney reached the scene, pulled the grimaur off, and located a tattered Lucindur.
“Lucy!” Whitney yelped. He fell to his knees and lightly slapped her face. She moaned and squeezed her eyelids, but she was alive.
“She’s still breathing,” Kazimir said, yanking his knife from the grimaur’s eye. “Take her. Those talons scratched her deep, and she will not be able to move without treatment.”
“And where do we get her that?”
“Just take her,” Kazimir demanded.
“My salfio...” she whispered.
“Shog!” Whitney rolled her slightly to check and breathed a big sigh of relief to find that the snow had softly cradled it beneath her. He then dug his arms in and heaved her up onto his shoulder. She didn’t weigh much, but he was glad Elsewhere had made him more than the scrawny man he'd once been.
“This way,” Kazimir said.
He turned ahead, toward Sigrid who picked grimaurs out of the sky with remarkable ease. Aquira flew a line in front of them, scorching the earth and any goblins who dared get too bold.
As Kazimir ran toward the opening at the top of a steady climb, he noticed Tum Tum off on his own, pummeling goblins. “Everyone, to me. Now!” Kazimir ordered. “Dwarf!”
From this vantage, he could see the battle as it truly was. Lost in the thick fog were hundreds of grimaurs and double that of the goblins, though many didn’t attack. However, if they chose to, the mortals would be dead in minutes. Aquira zipped overhead and immolated them with lines of fire, but the swirling haze and smoke made aiming difficult.
When they reached the clearing, Kazimir shouted the Breklian words of entry and a glamour shimmered to reveal the Citadel in all its splendor. Two tall upyr statues made an archway, hands grasping in the middle. A thin line of stone came down in the center in the form of a rivulet of blood.
As soon as the last of them passed under the archway, Kazimir spoke the words again, and the glamour returned. A few of the beasts filtered through and met their immediate deaths, but Kazimir knew, by and large, the creatures were too stupid to pass through en masse. They’d be afraid, having seen things disappear, that it would be destruction waiting for them.
To be fair… it was.
The sounds of the grimaurs and goblins still pressed on beyond the veil, but soon, it became silent again.
Sigrid stood at their rear, keeping an eye on the hellish creatures, panting like starved wolves. Aquira perched on Tum Tum’s shoulder, her breaths rattling, exhausted.
“Ye done good, bird,” Tum Tum said. “I got ye.”
Kazimir approached a set of tall doors. They were stone and cold. On each side, flush against the mountain, a pair of towers rose into the sky like daggers, tapering into sharp points.
A head poked through the glamour, a curious goblin. Then it disappeared. When it returned, it brought friends with it.
“Hurry up,” Whitney said.
Kazimir spoke the words of entry, sliced his hand, and placed the bloody palm against the doors. Symbols carved into the wood—an ancient version of Breklian that pre-dated even Kaz
imir—lit up red like life-fluid flowing downward. Rock ground against rock and the doors opened slowly.
“Everyone in,” Kazimir said. He spun and loosed three knives from his bandolier at once, taking out a cluster of goblins. They slid dead to Whitney’s feet, who stared, dumbstruck. Kazimir heard the ping of the goblin darts against the Citadel. He grabbed Whitney by the back of the shirt and yanked him inside.
Once everyone was in, Kazimir and Sigrid followed. The doors slammed shut and utter darkness surrounded them.
“What do we do? What do we do?” Whitney said. He was frantic over the Lightmancer’s condition.
“What happened?” the dwarf asked.
“Grimaur got her across the chest,” Whitney answered. “She’s completely paralyzed.”
The dwarf swore. “There a torch? Anything?”
“No,” Kazimir said without compassion. “This place was not designed for mortals—even mountain-dwellers such as yourself. The darkness is magical. Just stick close.”
“Kazimir,” Whitney said, “She’s going to die if we don’t do something.”
“Apart from giving her my own blood, there’s nothing I can do.”
“Then do it!” Whitney shouted. “The plan doesn’t work without her.”
“That would begin a process I am sure neither you nor she would desire. She will survive until we get to the main hall. There, we will be able to treat her. The Lords may not be mortal, but they’ve been alive long enough to know how to cure any and all ailments.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” Whitney asked.
Kazimir’s gifts allowed him to see everything, even in the darkness, including Whitney lurching forward, and his foot hovered over a near-bottomless pit.
“Stop,” Kazimir said. “You don’t understand the dangers within.”
Whitney shrugged off his hand. “We have to go.”
“Whit… boy, I think it’s time we listen to him,” the dwarf said. “We’re in his realm now.”
The thief stopped.
The Nesilia's War Trilogy: (Buried Goddess Saga Box Set: Books 4-6) Page 94
