The Shadow Realm (The Age of Dawn Book 4)

by Everet Martins

  Grimbald screamed and tore down the stairs. He held his axes to the side, drawing long scars in the walls as he went, a warning for anyone bold enough to tread near him.

  Walter followed, fingering the tails of the Dragon, brushing his mind against the cool feathers of the Phoenix. “Juzo,” he whispered. “Why?”

  Screaming came from the barroom before Walter got there. The clanging of steel on steel rang out. Grimbald swung with both axes, chopping the arms free from a wiry man’s shoulders. A sword clattered against a chair. Blood streaked the air, spilling onto a table and chairs. Grimbald wore a butcher’s grin, seeming to find joy in the dark work.

  “You need to take their heads.” Walter said, nodding at the man crawling on his knees and face. Grim’s axe chopped into the wood, severing the man’s head with the pity one would pay a bothersome insect.

  Grimbald turned towards the door and smashed his axes together, welcoming them all to taste his edges. His breath hissed through his nose. He sat there waiting like an unsprung bear trap.

  Glowing eyes and hissing throats sprinted up the path, lunging for the front door. Walter caught the sight of Juzo standing behind them all. He met his eye for an instant. Juzo shot him a fevered stare. Walter nodded, accepting that it had come to this. If Juzo wouldn’t let the surrogates go, Walter would have to do it for him.

  “Stop!” Walter raised his hand in a warning they ignored. He gave them a chance to turn and run. One chance was all he had time for. “Stay there,” he barked at Grimbald.

  Grimbald inched back towards the wall and banged his axes together with a piercing clang. Veins thick as ropes spiraled around his forearms, twitching as he adjusted his grip.

  Walter closed his eyes and let the Dragon fill him up from fingers to toes. Its chaos whirled like a tidal wave in his body, every muscle flexing and convulsing with boiling rage. Fire crackled and roared before the landing, filling the air with licking flames. Two Blood Eaters stumbled through it, screaming as their flesh cooked. Walter opened and closed his fist, making a portal horizontally split the air. It severed the two in half at the torso and sending their ruined bodies squelching into the barroom. A severed arm burned and mindlessly crawled at him.

  Walter pushed with his hands and a volley of eight fireballs tore through the roaring wall. He heard their screams of surprise, smelled their burning flesh on the air. It was a smell one never grew accustomed too.

  Shapes flitted past the curtains in the corners of Walter’s eyes. The windows shattered with arms and legs bursting through, sending shards tinkling to the floor. Grimbald leaped to one side of the room. He swung with both axes at a fat man worming his way through the window, stuck on his own bulging belly. They chopped into his chest with the cracking of bones. Blood splashed onto the floor as Grimbald freed his axes. One came down on the writhing man, taking his head.

  Walter slashed with his stump at the burning entryway and a lash of fire cut through the doorway in a great arc. New shrieks and cries cut the air. The air inside filled with black smoke from a few other burning bodies who had crossed the gauntlet of flames. He blasted them with a spiral of air, tossing them, rolling out. The groaning of strained wood rained down from above. He must have damaged a support beam. He reckoned he’d have to be more careful.

  Grimbald screamed with every fatal slice of his axes. He ran from window to window cutting them down as they tried to squeeze in. The widows were too small for even the scrawniest man, their efforts futile. His screaming became seconds of sickened howling followed by uncontrollable sobbing. He hacked through the bodies of men and women he likely once knew. People that had cared for him, familiar faces all. No form of cruelty would pass without sprouting its wicked bloom.

  They were meat to be put the flame, nothing more now. Walter let the wall of fire dissipate and strode through the front door. The fading flames sent warm air lapping under his cloak. The charred wooden landing cracked under his boot, splinters lanced his shin, dropping his leg into the gravel below. He stared around, searching for Juzo.

  The square was empty now except for the mangled bodies littering the ground. A leg hewed at the knee burned with tongues of Dragon fire. A small boy’s head had been torn apart by a fireball, split down the middle. A bare foot twitched, a singed boot lying beside it. An abdomen had been split in a diagonal from hip to shoulder, offal charred and strewn about a bale of hay. A bearded man in overalls lay quivering on the ground, hands held over his crotch. Blood spat from the wound.

  Walter jerked his leg free and snorted a breath through his nose. He staggered over to the man in overalls, eyes red as the river of blood in the Shadow Realm. The man hissed at him with a feral rage. Walter tilted his palm towards its face and splayed his fingers. “You’re not going to like the world that comes next.” A cone of fire roared from his hand, vaporizing the flesh from the man’s head and blackening the bone. A tuft of hair smoldered on the side of his ear with a curling tendril of smoke. The Dragon pushed him onward, legs pumping with strength.

  “Juzo!” he roared. “Look at what you’ve done! All this blood. All of it is on your hands.”

  “Why?” Grimbald screamed from inside, axe thudding into wood. “Why? Why?”

  Walter stumbled around to the side of the Hissing Gooseberry. There were at least ten Blood Eater’s there. A few slammed bloody fists into the walls. One was trying to ram his head through it. The rest were clawing over each other trying to get through the narrow windows, like roaches fleeing at the sight of torchlight.

  They were lambs for the slaughter and once again, he’d have to play the part of the butcher. One day the karmic scales would have to balance. How would he pay for all this pain? Had he already paid?

  “Burn!” he roared. Fire sprouted up from the ground in waves, crashing over the Blood Eater’s with volcanic heat. They screamed and writhed, tearing off clothing as if that would stop the melting of their flesh and cooking bones. He saw an eyeball push from a socket and pop in the roaring heat. Their screaming ripped at his mind, raked his heart, tore at his skin. He had to stop it, couldn’t take it any longer.

  He narrowed his eyes, willed the fire to burn hotter and brighter. He poured more of the Dragon’s rage into it. It flared with a burst of light as bright as the sun. It filled his vision with a flash of white, putting everything else in a single shade of gray. The screaming cut off in an instant. He heard a clattering like breaking porcelain.

  He rubbed his stinging eye, waiting for the after image of that flash to fade. He opened his eye and waited for the colors of the world to return. He braced himself for a sword cut, biting teeth and ripping claws. He saw what remained of the Blood Eaters as the colors of the world returned. All that remained was a pile of rib cages, thigh bones, arms and skulls tangled with bits of flesh that managed to escape the conflagration. They were black as coal as if they had been pulled from a smith’s forge.

  “Shit, Walt.” Grumbled stared at him through the ruined wall. Most of the boards had been torched away. His Dragon fire left just the supporting columns in place. One them cracked and split, coughing out charred dust.

  Grimbald grunted, hacking through another body wriggling through the window on the other side. They were just like Death Spawn, mindless to the bitter end. Why was Juzo so different? He answered his own question: he had killed his master.

  “Juzo! Where are you? Come out, you coward!” How could he do this? All these people, their lives cut short because of his selfish act.

  Grimbald brought his axe up and dragged it through the neck of the Blood Eater in the window. Its head sagged from its ruined neck, spurting out with jets of blood. He brought his axe up to make the final chop. “Damn you, damn you, damn—” Grimbald cried out as something crashed into his back, sending an axe spinning across the floor.

  Juzo was on him and drove a heel into his upper back, hair whipping behind his head. Grimbald tried to get up, his hand clutching one axe, but Juzo stomped on his back again. “Stay down, you big ba
stard!” Grimbald groaned. Juzo walked on Grimbald’s head as he strode towards Walter, sword rasping from its scabbard.

  “You can’t take them from me, Walter!” He pointed at him with his sword, striding between the charred beams of the tavern’s wall.

  Walter backed away, hands up. “This ends today, Juzo. Why are you doing this?”

  “It’s for us, for everyone. For the realm. I’m building an army to save us.” He stepped down from the tavern’s floor into the weeds spotting the grounds. He kept the blade leveled at Walter, using the point to guide him back.

  “You’ve strayed from the path, Juzo. This—this isn’t what we need. You killed Grimbald’s father. Do you understand that?” he breathed.

  “Who? The fat bastard upstairs? He didn’t have much time in him anyway.” His voice was laced in ice. Walter knew the feeling, like nothing mattered. Walter had carved a path in himself that was dark and narrow so no one could follow. He knew how it felt to want nothing more than to watch the world burn. They had to rise above that.

  “Juzo, who are you? Did something happen?”

  Juzo took a lunging step at Walter. Walter held his ground, the point of his sword drawing a bead of blood from his breast. “Do it. Send me back,” Walter said flatly. He stared into Juzo’s eye and a corner twitched.

  Something caught Walter’s eye. Grimbald screamed from behind Juzo, his arms spread in a bear hug, eyes locked on him. He fell on Juzo, his mammoth arms wrapping him up in a crushing embrace. Grim sprung up with Juzo writhing in his arms. His great sword dangled between two fingers, then slipped into the ground.

  “Let me go or you’ll pay for this!” he screeched.

  “Juzo. Enough.” Walter reached a pleading hand for him. Walter kicked away his sword.

  Grimbald’s forearms gleamed with sweat and slabs of muscle shifted as they struggled to contain him.

  “No. No! You can’t take them. Without them—” He fought to take a breath. He exhaled and Grim’s arms cinched down tighter to consume the extra lung space. “I’m nothing.” He squirmed with fury, legs thrashing and trying to connect with Grimbald.

  “That’s not true,” Grimbald hissed in his ear. The corners of his eyes welled with tears. “Stop, please stop.” Grimbald grunted and strained against Juzo. The tendons in Juzo’s neck stood taut.

  The remaining Blood Eaters rounded the corners of the wall, stalking towards them, at least ten paces away. They were covered in dark blood congealing with dirt and bits of grass. Walter counted seven, enough to be a problem.

  “Call them off, Juzo.”

  “Fuck—” Something popped and Juzo gasped. “You,” he whispered.

  “Juzo.” Grimbald planted his legs to get a better footing. “These were. My. Friends.” He struggled and sobbed.

  “There’s no way out of this, Juzo. Call them off, damn it!” Walter roared in his face.

  “No,” Juzo breathed. Juzo jerked an arm free and slammed an elbow into Grimbald’s face. Grimbald grunted and Juzo struck again. Blood sprayed out of Grimbald’s nose on the second strike.

  The Blood Eater’s launched into a sprint, like shrieking animals. Arms raised and mouths parted.

  “Juzo!” Walter barked. They moved faster, blurring ghosts. Walter exhaled and a pair of horizontal portals sprung to life, intersecting in their paths. Most were hewed at the hips, others at the chest, a child at the neck. Some limbs fell through the portal, opening in the practice yard of the Silver Tower. Their shrieking faded with their severed bodies. Torsos tumbled and an arm flopped into a bucket, painting the dirt in red sheets. A pair of disembodied legs staggered under the portal before collapsing. The butcher wasn’t properly compensated for his dark work. He turned back to Grim.

  Walter gasped. Juzo was at Grimbald’s flank. One hand held his sword and pressed the point between Grimbald’s armor plates. The other held Grimbald’s wrist, arm outstretched and using it to lever him into the blade. “Juzo—enough!” Walter roared, patience evaporating like water in Dragon fire.

  “No.” He drew out the word, his voice wavering. “Walk away, Walter. Leave him here and… and we can forget everything.”

  “Juzo.” Walter swallowed. “Let him go. He’s done nothing to you. He’s your friend. Don’t forget who you are—”

  “No!” Juzo snarled and rammed the blade up to the crosspiece under Grim’s armor.

  It all happened so slow. He saw the blade travel inch by inch under his armor and between his ribs. A gleaming jewel of Juzo’s saliva dropped out the corner of his mouth.

  Grimbald screamed and arched his back, falling as Juzo withdrew the bloody steel. Blood jumped from Grimbald’s side and he pressed his hand into the wound.

  “Juzo!” Walter screamed. Time lurched into full speed.

  Juzo’s blade rose up, flashing in the sun. His lips twisted with hate. “They’re mine!”

  Walter had a second to decide. “Don’t make me do this!” he screamed. That single second held a lifetime of consequences. Walter focused the Dragon through his eye, aiming for Juzo’s shoulder. The beam of crackling fire tore through the air. Juzo saw it and started to duck.

  Walter reached and grasped the empty air, but it was too late. No. The beam of flames struck him in the side of the head, lancing a fiery hole through his skull. Juzo’s eye met his for a moment that would forever plague Walter’s days. Juzo’s eye twitched, filled with tears, and in that moment, Walter felt all of his crippling misery. His eye rolled back in his head, sword thumping on the grass. Juzo’s legs failed him, crumbling onto his back and snapping through weeds. His hair fanned out over the dirt and blood oozed out the side of his head.

  Walter fell onto knees that felt broken. “What… what have I done?” The Dragon slipped from his mind, his arms and legs going limp. He dropped onto his hands and wretched. His stomach twisting and jerking acid up his throat. He couldn’t look. Something touched his back and he flinched, his head whipping to see Grimbald.

  “Walter,” Grimbald croaked. “I’m… I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  Walter stared into the weeds. One had jagged leaves with a red flower in the middle. In the center of the petals was a curving section bright as the sun, dusted with orange pollen. A thread of blood crossed over a weed with spade shaped leaves.

  “Walt. Can—” Grimbald moaned. “Can you heal me? I know it’s not—”

  “Right, right, right.” Walter swallowed, belched and rose onto his knees. “Come closer.”

  Grimbald slithered over to him on his knees. It felt like a dream. Blood pulsed with every beat of his heart down the side of his armor. Walter’s hand lifted to Grimbald’s side. It felt like someone else’s arm. His hand hummed, glowing with the healing light of the Phoenix. Walter watched as his skin knitted back together like living sutures.

  “Thank you,” Grimbald gasped.

  Walter mechanically dragged out more of the Phoenix, re-filling Grimbald’s body with the blood he’d lost. “Better?”

  Grimbald nodded and lowered himself onto his back, his breath shallow. He stared up at the sky.

  Walter stood on wobbly legs, eyes hooded. He forced himself to walk over to his dead friend. Forced himself to face the consequences. Juzo’s arms and legs lay spread-eagled, head tilted to the side and exposing Walter’s sin. He nodded and his lips curled into a frown.

  He placed a trembling hand on Juzo’s chest. It was cold as wood. He leaned forward, placing his ear on his chest. All was quiet in there, dead as mud. He didn’t know how long he sat there with his head on his chest. Hours, maybe.

  Grimbald guided him up by the arm, leading him back to the mounts. He complied, allowing him to help, craving the touch of the living. Without Grimbald, he might have stayed there until he starved to death. Before he mounted, he met Grimbald’s eye and wrapped him up in a hug. He pressed his face into his armor, smearing it in blood.

  Grimbald shuddered in surprise, then wrapped an arm around him. “Alright.” He cleared his throat after a moment.
“Let’s make camp. We’ll take care of… everything when the sun rises.”

  Walter nodded. He pushed away from Grimbald with tears glistening on his cheeks. He wanted to bury Juzo now, but felt like he wouldn’t have been able to. He was sure Grim felt the same about his father, about everyone. The price of using the Dragon and the Phoenix had to be paid with sleep. If he didn’t rest willfully, they would seize it from him. They had to rest, had to get their minds right. Sleep was the great redeemer.

  He feared he might have taken his own life if he didn’t get away, to die with honor like the King’s Warmaster. That wouldn’t do though. He still had Nyset and Grim. Still had others he could help. People he could save.

  Asebor lived and would taste his fire. The Shadow god will come to know pain as its only ally.

  He swayed on his mount, gripping the pommel with what little strength remained. The afternoon sun crested the horizon, beating its heat into the ground. They walked into the shadowed path, returning to Scab and his men. No tales of glory would be sung about Walter the Giant Slayer today.

  * * *

  Earth wasn’t thrown into holes only for Juzo and the villagers, but also for some of Scab’s men. A few Blood Eaters had infiltrated their ranks yesterday. Scab said it took close to twenty men to kill one of them. A handful of other wounded mercenaries perished in the night.

  Small groups of men hunched with sorrow in the misting rain, staring into graves. Some seemed wracked by self-pity rather than sadness, likely wondering how debts would be paid. It was a look that served just as well at a funeral. Scab’s second and new third threaded between the groups, doling out empty, consoling babble. They were all aiming for that sorry tone. There was no sign of Scab. Funerals were apparently not worth his time.