The day had started for most of Scab’s men like any other, as if the mourners were ghosts. Men cursed as they squirmed out from under wet blankets, grumbled at damp clothing and tried to dry wet armor. Men scratched themselves, found spots to piss, and sucked out the last drops from empty wineskins. One man extracted a chicken bone from under his coat, and slurped on the few strands of remaining skin.
A few mourners chuckled at a joke. A couple men laughed far too loud because they all knew there would be more grisly work ahead and laughs had to be taken when they could. Walter looked at Grimbald, his head down as he shoveled another clod of earth over Juzo’s fading form. Walter wanted to dig, would have if not for his damned hand.
Scab strode up beside Grimbald, grinning without a care. Walter was a little annoyed by that smile, and a little jealous of it if he were honest. If he was known as a madman, he wouldn’t have to go through the empty rituals and empty words. Maybe that was Scab’s ploy all along. There was a right way of doing things and there was no avoiding it.
Walter cleared his throat. “An accident you’re in mars your skin, maybe breaks a bone or two. At worse, crushes you and permanently maims your body. An accident you caused… changes you. There’s no blood anyone can see, but you’ll always be bleeding on the inside. Certain things in life are inescapable,” Walter said into the mist. That got a few mutters of agreement. Grimbald looked at him, pausing to wipe beads of water from his brow.
“What did a man have to do to be remembered? For his name to be sung beside campfires? Kill an army single-handedly? Save a man from certain death? No. He had to be loyal to the end, I think.”
Grimbald grunted in agreement. Scab raised an eyebrow at him, opened his mouth to speak then closed it.
“Juzo Pulling and I grew up together in Breden, fought together. He was like a brother to me. He had a tough time of it over the last year. Went through horrors that would break the hardest of men. I’ve lost count of the number of times he’s saved my life. Never complained, not much anyway. He always knew what to say to—to make me laugh.” Walter choked out the last words. He gathered his breath.
“Saved my life at least three times,” Grimbald added, face hard as iron.
“Something changed in him though, broke off from the path.” Walter’s voice croaked and became a whisper. He cleared his throat and pushed on. “He didn’t die the way he ought to have. Should’ve had a hero’s death. Juzo loved a good fight as much as any of us. He should’ve died in his sleep fifty years from now, but he fell by my hands. An accident. Dying in your sleep was better than a hole burned through your skull. By someone you might have called your friend.”
Grimbald shook his head. “You saved my life, Walt. For that, I can never repay you.”
Walter nodded and knelt beside the hole. “A life for a life.” You had to make choices and unseen consequences could play out forever.
“Songs. Forget about them. You did what you had to do, Walter. He had what was coming to him,” Scab said quietly.
Walter glared at Scab. Maybe he did have it coming. He’d made some mistakes, but shouldn’t everyone get a second chance? Juzo was denied that. He grabbed a fistful of dirt and spread it over Juzo’s form. “Be at peace.”
“Peace,” Grimbald muttered, heaving another clod of earth into the hole.
“Peace,” Scab echoed, sprinkling dirt over Juzo. “We’re all going to be in there eventually.” Scab grinned, expecting that to lift everyone’s spirits. “Aren’t we?” He shrugged and turned away, moving onto another grave.
“So long, old friend.” Walter stared down into the grave while Grimbald tirelessly worked. He kept one hand on its edge, as if that would somehow connect him to his friend. “Can’t believe this happened like this.”
The other mourners shuffled away, people Juzo must have met at some point.
“Good words,” Grimbald said, leaning on the shovel.
Walter sniffed. “Not sure how many more times I can do this.”
Grimbald grunted. “Won’t be the last, I reckon.”
“Yeah,” Walter murmured. “Not the last. I’ll dig for your Pa. As long as it takes.”
Walter peered through the jagged trees to the south, wondering what state they’d find Breden in. It had to be better than this.
* * *
Nyset peered out over the battlements, one boot wedged into a slit. The wind tugged a coil of hair around her jaw, rigid with tension. The dark mass that had been seen cresting the horizon fifteen minutes ago came into view. It was a small horde of Death Spawn, enough to test their defenses she guessed. She was surprised to see so many. How had their numbers grown so quickly?
Archers on either side of her bristled. One man spat and another tested his bowstring over and over, twanging in her ears. One of her apprentice’s nervy fingers unfurled a blue string from her robes. The wind scoured the land, lifting a curtain of sand into the air. All they could do now was wait. She bit her lip, stopping before drawing blood.
Claw grinned at her from the other end of the battlements, arms crossed over his bony chest. Isa wove between the men and women, fixing gear and tightening buckles. Someone coughed, echoing down into the walls between the Middle and the Dirt Ring of Helm’s Reach.
“What do we do now, Mistress?” Senka said from behind.
Nyset knew the question was coming. Had been expecting it and dreading it at the same time. She swallowed and looked over her shoulder, meeting Senka’s eyes. “We wait.”
* * *
To be continued in Book 5 of The Age of Dawn. Go here to be notified once it is released http://everetmartins.com/newsletter/
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Acknowledgments
First of all, I would like to thank you, reader. Without you I wouldn’t be writing. I truly appreciate every one of you. I would like to also thank my editor, Lynette Patterson, and my book cover illustrator and map creator, Promit. Thank you for all of your help.
About the Author
Everet Martins writes stories of the fantastic. His first foray into the published realm is Stormcaller - Book #1 of The Age of Dawn Series. It has the type of visceral action and fun he had always dreamed fantasy could be.
Living in New Hampshire, Everet finds inspiration for his books within his exciting life. He has always loved getting lost in role-playing games and novels. In his youth, he was notorious for being found with his face lost behind the cover of a book. Fascinated by the written word and always wanting to try putting pen to page, he started writing short stories, and eventually a novel.
As a young boy he was exposed to the rigors of martial arts and continued to practice them throughout his adult life, dabbling in various styles. The love for physical fitness morphed into other bodily challenges such as strength training and long distance running.
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters , places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 Everet Martins.
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The Shadow Realm (The Age of Dawn Book 4) Page 26
