Warrior on the Edge of Memory (The Tale of Azaran Book 1)

by Zackery Arbela

  Azaran stepped away as the body fell, glaring at the last remaining pirate. He was a young man, barely out of childhood, and was pale with fear. He raised a rusty cutlass in one hand. Azaran caught the sharp tang of piss emanating from him.

  "Take a swing, boy," he said, holding up his bare hands. "See what happens. Or run home to your mother."

  The boy swallowed. He dropped the sword and ran into the woods, not looking back.

  "Smart boy." Azaran looked around for a replacement weapon. One of those fellows was swinging an ax...he picked it up, frowning at the bad balance. Terrors of the Green Sea these pirates may have been, but there wasn't a one who had a decent weapon on him.

  Nineteen...eighteen... Tavarus and his men crashed out of the woods, weapons at the ready. They looked on with shock at the bodies scattered on the ground. "All this was you?" Tavarus asked.

  "It wasn't much of a challenge." Azaran hefted the ax on his back. "But there are plenty more inside. You'll get your share soon enough.”

  They turned to the cave mouth, a dark opening in the side of the mountain, torch light flickering inside. Shouts echoed down the passage and they heard the echoes of feet striking the ground.

  "They know we're here," Tavarus said.

  "Then let's give them a reason to fear us," Azaran replied. "To the bitter end, as you say."

  He led them into the cave. Not a one hesitated. There was no turning back. They would emerge victorious, or not emerge at all.

  Chapter Nine

  The second Wind Stone crackled in the air, raising hairs on the backs of necks, then dropped into the cauldron. By the point Nerazag was completely drenched in blood and gore. He wiped his hands on rag, then cleaned the knife as well. Beneath the filth he looked tired and his cutting arm moved with noticeable stiffness. "One more to go," he said.

  "Give us a moment." Enkilash leaned against a wall, catching his breath, the blood lust in him overcome for a moment by sheer physical exhaustion. He was getting old, and the thought was both disturbing and oddly comforting.

  "Morning is not far away," said Nerazag. "This must be completed before daybreak, or the infusion might not take full effect."

  "If I drop dead beforehand, it won't make much difference." Enkilash took a deep breath, inhaling a measure of the stench of gore and voided bowels that filled the cave. He cast an eye on the remaining slaves, who by this point looked on with numb expressions of horror. Given time, the human mind could acclimate itself to anything. "You know," he said, turning to Nerazag, "there's no need for you to come here, every year."

  "Again you ask this? Have you tired of having the winds at your beck and call?"

  "I meant, if you taught me how to perform...this..." Enkilash waves his hand around the blood-drenched room, the altar and cauldron, "you wouldn't have to make the trip every year."

  "And you would have no more use for me," Nerazag responded. "Or my Master."

  "Who is your master?" Enkilash asked. "You speak of him often, yet I have year to hear a name."

  "That is not for you to know."

  "What if I want to know?"

  "Learn to treasure your ignorance." Nerazag tossed the rag aside. "Now, bring me another. One more should be enough."

  "As you say." Enkilash signaled to Ugallar and together they grabbed one of the captives, an older fellow who did not resist, did not say a word as they dragged him by the arms and bent him over the altar, did not make a sound as Nerazag slashed his throat and drained his blood. By now the iron bowl was full almost to the brim, and the new blood caused it to flow over, rivulets dribbling down the sides and pooling on the floor.

  They hurled the body into the pool with the others. Nerazag picked up the remaining Wind Stone and held it high. The lightening shot from the pillars and the orb, holding it in midair. Nerazag stepped back, watching it intently as the lightening flared once, twice, then vanished.

  The Eye dropped into the bowl. A fountain of blood gushed up from the impact, rising up...then stopping, every red drop frozen in the air for a brief moment. All sound in the cave seemed to soften, as if suppressed.

  The blood dropped back slowly into the bowl, not a single drop spilling to the ground. Concentric circles rippled across the surface, appeared three at a time, followed by a pause. There came a humming sound that was not a sound, that seemed to bypass the ears and echo within the confines of their skulls.

  A blob of blood the size of a child's fist rose up from the cauldron, followed by another, then a dozen more. They stopped and coalesced perhaps ten feet above the bowl. More blobs rose from the cauldron, merge into a red sphere floating above the altar, pulsing like a beating heart.

  The last bit of blood left the bowl. Any who dared looked inside would have found it empty and dry as desert sand. Of the Eyes there was no trace. The sphere began to spin, blood occasional bulging out then snapping back, a few drops flying away, then halting in mid air and returning to the red mass. The humming grew louder, and now mingled with soft whispers, speaking just on the edge of consciousness, in words too soft to understand, slurred and twisted beyond the ability of a human tongue to utter. Those who dared to listen would catch glimpses of colors that were not colors, sounds that were not sounds, shapes that could not be shapes, of things and places the human mind could not make sense of. Only instants, momentary glimpses, and everyone in the cave, pirates, sorcerer and slave alike, knew instinctively that to look any closer was to court a shattered mind.

  The mass of spinning divided into thirds, with three spheres spinning above instead of one. A few stray drops fell away, disappearing into puffs of foul-smelling steam. Lightening crackled from the orb and pillars, striking all three red spheres, then shooting down into the pool, jumping from body to body and turning the water to a steam-less boil. The flesh melted away from the corpses, like wax hurled into a fire, flowing into the water and turning it to a reddish-yellow mass that looked like pus, the internal organs disintegrating as they slid free, the bones and skulls bobbing in the water even as then crumbled to fragments and sank down. A black mist rose from the water, whipped back and forth and following the lightening up to the spheres, merging with them.

  The humming stopped, the whispering faded away. The lightening remained, crackling from the orbs and pillars, tracing along the surfaces of the spheres. All three took on perfect round shapes. The red color faded, turning transparent. And then the spheres of blood were gone, replaced by three crystal orbs, glowing with their own unnatural light, spinning like small moons.

  "Almost done," Nerazag said. The orb would continue to spin in the air until the moment the sun appeared in the east outside the cave, at which point they would come back to earth.

  Enkilash squatted down, watching the orbs, as he did every year. Maybe next year, when Nerazag came again, he would put the man in chains, start cutting him apart until he revealed the secrets of rejuvenating the Wind Stones. After that he would be the first to bleed out on the altar. And Enkilash would take the Stones for himself and with them every part of this world where the sea touched the land. All of it would burn and bleed. A blood price paid by the world for all he had suffered...

  "What about the rest?" Ugallar spoke up, pointing at the remaining sacrifices. Eleven left out of a hundred.

  The girl Ugallar had tried to assault was among them, huddled against the wall, clutching her knees and rocking back and forth. Enkilash felt a momentary sense of generosity to his minion, a man who made up in brutality what he lacked in brains. "Take your pleasure with them, if you still have the need," he said. "When you're done, kill them all."

  Ugallar smiled. He walked to the girl and grabbed her by the hair, hurling her to the floor. "I'm going to take my time with you," he said with a laugh, looking at her tear-stained face. He started fumbling at his belt, while the girl curled up, pale and numb at what was to come and her inability to do anything to stop it.

  Enkilash wondered if he might join in, then disregarded it. Let Ugallar rut like the anim
al he was. But there was little harm in watching...he settled back, ready to enjoy the show...

  "My lord!" Footsteps echoed in the corridor. One of the guards stumbled in. Blood trickled from a cut on his forehead and his sword was missing.

  Enkilash rose to his feet. "What is this?"

  "My lord!" The guard pointed behind him. "We are under attack!"

  Azaran went twenty feet into the passage before he killed a man. One of the corsairs emerged out of the murk, the handful of guttering torches casting a long shadow across the wall as he stabbed at Azaran with a shout.

  Azaran knocked the thrust aside with the ax, and since the space was too narrow for a proper swing jabbed it forward, striking the man in the face with enough force to knock him down. A follow-up chop ended his life in mid-curse.

  He stepped past the body. Tavarus and his men followed after, moving in single file, aware of the arrow confines of the cave. It was a natural choke point - two men with spears and the guts to wield them could block the path of an army.

  Such an obstacle appeared some distance away, right where the passage started to widen. A mob of pirates rushed forward, spilling the space shoulder top shoulder, holding swords and short spears.

  "Who the hell are you?" one of them yelled.

  Azaran sensed the hesitation of the men behind him. The only way to clear the path was to attack it head on. It would be a nasty, close-in fight. "Give me a moment," he said over his shoulder, hefting the ax and shifting it back and forth. Just enough room to swing here, though he was starting to regret this choice of weapon.

  Ah well. Some choices couldn't be unmade. He strode forward, right into the wall of spears and swords. The first stroke sliced through a spear shaft and knocked several blades aside. The second crashed through bone and flesh.

  Tavarus and his men hung back, watching the killing with open mouths. "Bugger me backwards," one of them said. "Might as well have stayed in bed, the way he's going!"

  "Aye," Tavarus said, awe mingled with fear.

  Curses and shouts of pain echoed off the walls, cut off briefly as the ax swung. Azaran gasped one as a sword sliced along his slide, but the pain pushed itself to the back of his mind. Pain is an illusion. So whispered the voice from the past. Control your thoughts, and you will see through all illusions. Flesh must bow before the mind.

  The last pirate fell. Azaran touched the gash along his side, the blood already beginning to clot. More cut and scratches were on his arms and legs. "The path is clear."

  Tavarus stepped past the bodies. He looked at Azaran's wound without comment. "We're almost there," he said.

  "Then lets put an end to this." Azaran hefted the ax and strode deeper into the cave. The air was even murkier, but ahead they saw flashes of light, and the voices of men readying themselves for battle.

  "Form a line!"

  Ugallar snapped at the corsairs clustered in the chamber. Ten in all, less than half of the men who had come in with them. He pointed his sword at the corridor mouth, grabbing one of the men and shoving him hard towards it. "Any of you runs, I'll cut you down before your third step! Form a line, you bastards!"

  Enkilash picked up his sword, yanking it from the scabbard and tossing the latter aside. Combat, righteous combat.... He glanced back at Nerazag, who was still concentrating on the spinning Stones. "We're under attack," he said.

  "I am aware," Nerazag replied.

  "Then find something to fight with."

  "I am no warrior," Nerazag said, his voice betraying not the slightest hint of fear. "And I must tend to my work. If things fall out of alignment now, we all die."

  Enkilash turned away. "As you wish. If the enemy doesn't kill you, maybe I will."

  Nerazag made no reply. Enkilash strode towards the corridor mouth, intent on joining his men. No reason they alone should have the pleasures of violence, that he should be denied. A shout sounded, and the men started swinging their swords. Steel crashed on steel, he saw weapons striking in front of his men, through it was hard to tell who was holding them.

  An ax rose up before the pirates and dropped down hard, striking one fellow at the base of his neck. The blade bounced off a collar bone and the pirate went flying back, blood trickling from his wound. The line broke as another of the pirates fell, a sword whisking free from his belly.

  Azaran shoved his way through the remaining pirates, followed by Tavarus.

  "You," Enkilash whispered, looking at both men. He raised sword to the guard position. "Have at it them! Corsairs, rally to me!"

  The surviving pirates fell back, gathering around their leader. Azaran looked past them, to the spinning Stones above the corrupted pool. Then to Nerazag, standing by the devices, looking on him with shocked recognition. He knows me, Azaran realized.

  "I've come for your head, Enkilash!" Tavarus said.

  "Come and take it!" Enkilash shouted. "We'll march into Hell together!"

  Tavarus charged in with a yell, followed by his men. Azaran went with them, but he had no interest in the soon-to-be dead lord of Tereg. His gaze was fixed on the man in the back, the man who knew him. "Who am I?" he shouted, his words lost in the sounds of battle.

  Sword clashed on sword as Tavarus and Enkilash went at each other, both abandoning themselves to their fury. The remaining pirates fought like the cornered rats they were, even as the renegades attacked with a hate born from years of fear and servitude. Fresh blood flowed to join the gore already staining the ground.

  Azaran swung his ax, knocking aside a blow from one of the pirates, the force of the parry knocking the fellow on his backside. One of the runaways jumped in for the kill, stabbing down repeatedly, laughing as the Corsair was cut to bits.

  Then he fell, as Ugallar emerged from the melee, stabbing the runaway in the back, sending him down with the pirate just slain. "Die like a dog," he shouted, then turned to face Azaran. "I'll send you to join him, you son of a whore bitch..."

  Then he raised his sword, barely blocking a chop from Azaran's ax. He stumbled back, losing his footing on the blood-slick ground. Azaran skipped forward, reversing the weapon and jabbing the butt of the handle into his face."You talk too much," Azaran said.

  Ugallar fell, landing in front of the slaves huddled against the wall. He tried to rise, cursing incoherently. The young woman he was set to molest only minutes before scrambled forward, raising her arms and looping the chain connecting the manacles on her wrists over his head and around his neck. She dropped back, pulling arms close to her breast, teeth clenched from the effort. Ugallar grabbed at his throat, gagging as the chain deep deep into his flesh, choking off his windpipe.

  The woman glanced at Azaran, a mad, desperate joy on her face. Azaran lowered the ax. "Carry on," he said, stepping past Ugallar, leaving him to be strangled.

  He approached the altar. The air was foul with the stench of sulfur and blood. He raised the ax, pointing it at Nerazag. 'You!" he cried.

  Tavarus fell back, knocking aside a strike that would have removed his head had it landed. "You're getting slow," he growled, watching his foe. "You've lost a step."

  "Good enough to kill you!" Enkilash hurled himself forward, striking as fast as he could. Fury boiled in him, a joyful hate. Cut down his enemy, move to the next one. Cut his way free of this cave, head to the town and get reinforcements. Come back and slaughter every runaway and renegade on Tereg, until the island ran red with their blood.

  Or die here, sword in hand. Die as he lived...a killer, a warrior.

  He needed a drink. The thought ran through Enkilash's head as he blocked a strike from Tavarus, both men straining against each other. A drink, a cup of wine, once he killed this traitor. Kill him as he should done the last time they met...

  Tavarus whipped his head forward, striking Enkilash in the face with his forehead. Enkilash stumbled back, momentarily blinded by pain. Dazed himself, Tavarus forced himself forward, stabbing his sword into his enemy's gut, twisting the blade as it went in.

  Enkilash fell, howling in
pain, fury disappearing in shock. He gasped as Tavarus pulled the sword free from his belly.

  "Hellfire awaits!" Tavarus shouted, stabbing down again into the lord of Tereg's neck.

  Enkilash fell, the life flowing from his body. He looked up at his killer, even as his face faded from view, replaced by other faces. A woman, children...faces he never thought to see again. They look on him with pity, moved away as he reached for them. Wait, he tried to shout. I will join you...

  Murderer, they said in one voice, turning their backs. You have no place among us.

  They disappeared. Gray mist rose up and with it other voices...stern, cruel, unrelenting. Voices of judgment, reaching out, dragging him down screaming forever...

  Nerazag stepped away from the devices. "So," he said. "You live."

  Azaran said nothing, ax at the ready. He stared at that face tanned from the sun, that black beard wet with blood, and knew he was false. He could sense the face behind the face, the truth behind the illusion. This man knew him...and he knew this man. Where and how were unclear, but he recognized the fellow, no matter what form he wore.

  "Who are you?" he said. "How do I know you?"

  "Really, Azaran? it's not enough you betray the Master, you have to insult my intelligence as well?"

  Azaran's heart pounded in his ears. "How do I know you?" he repeated. "Show yourself...your real self!" And as he said it, he knew this to be the truth.

  "As you wish." The man concentrated for a moment. That Hadaraji face vanished, replaced by a bald, hairless head, pale skin, a torso marked with rune brands much like his own. "Is this how you wish to kill me, Azaran? Not enough that you felled your Banner brothers, you would slay me as well?" He reached into a pocket and pulled out a small black rod. He flicked his wrist and the rod grew in size, a yard-long length of metal shooting out from the tip, turning it into a staff. He gripped the middle, spinning it about slowly.