A March of Woe (Overthrown Book 3)

by Aaron Bunce

  “I don’t know how we survived. The Chapterhouse, and…and then the tunnels. It felt like death was waiting for us in every shadow, around every corner. And then I opened my eyes, and there you were,” Tanea said pulling away, her face bloodied and battered, and eyes muddled by tears and dirt.

  She searched his face, and then suddenly, flinched.

  “What…what happened to you?” she gasped.

  Julian shrunk away, turning to hide the scarred side of his face, and the strange green eye he couldn’t begin to explain. How would he tell her? Would she believe him, or trust him knowing the truth of it all?

  “It has been a long road back,” he grunted, running a gloved-hand over his head, the cold, starchy wind biting against his bald scalp.

  Tanea’s hand found his chin, and she turned his head back to her. His instinct was to pull away, to hide and cower in the darkness, but she wouldn’t let him. He met her gaze, no visible hint of fear showing in her large, hazel eyes.

  “You can tell me, when you’re ready,” she said, and led him over to the rest of the group.

  “Julian, this is El’bryliz. He saved my life, and has been working to keep me safe ever since,” Tanea said, gesturing to the dark-haired young man in magnificent red and gold armor.

  “Then I am in your debt,” he said, and clasped the young man’s arm. He smiled and nodded, but winced, pulling his hand back to his body, a bloody bandage covering the mangled appendage.

  Banner, Tristan, and Asofel moved out of the shadowy plants and embraced him. Tristan sagged between them, his face drawn and skin horribly pale. The remaining clerics hovered behind Tanea, clustering tightly together. They were a wounded, broken people, now without direction, or a home.

  “You need a healer and rest. All of you do, or you’ll drop where you stand,” Julian said, easing his normally cocky friend down to the sand.

  “Healers a plenty, to be sure. Then again, I’m not sure anyone has the strength to do much nowsabouts,” Tristan wheezed, breathlessly. He clutched his side and chest, where blood had soaked through his clothes and dried several times.

  “First we will find shelter,” Julian said, pushing off the ground and turning back towards the water. “Does anyone know where we are…” he started to ask, just as the wind turned.

  The snowy gloom blowing in off the water broke apart, exposing a wide expanse of dark, choppy water. A towering castle, perched atop a rocky peninsula, appeared, its multitude of windows and battlements glowing warmly. The wind shifted once again, the fog and snow rolling back in, the distant fortress disappearing into the storm.

  “I know where we are! This is Lake Mynus. Castle Astralen is not far. My parents summered with the Thatchers when I was but a boy,” he yelled, relief flooding into him. He turned and hoisted Tristan off the ground, and then Gaston.

  They huddled together and made their way down the rolling sand, sharing strength and warmth as they followed the water’s edge. Julian fought the fatigue, struggling under Tristan and Gaston’s weight. He would fight for the next step, and then the next, refusing to give in. The moon flitted in and out of the murky clouds, bathing the sand in silver light one moment, and pitching it into darkness the next.

  Julian watched the ground, picking his way to the best footings and noticed a print in the sand. Then he saw another, until the moon appeared again, revealing a host of tracks.

  Pera moved for the first time in a long while, the Nym sluggish but slowly recovering its strength. A spear streaked through the air in a flash, landing with a hollow thud in the sand at his feet.

  “Who are you?” someone shouted, threateningly.

  Julian stepped back, pushing everyone behind him, Nightbreaker sliding free of its scabbard. The blade shone white in the darkness, drinking in the scant rays of silvery moonlight.

  “We are just travelers, making our way to the castle. We were ambushed on the road. My friends need a healer, and shelter from the storm. We aren’t seeking any trouble, just warmth and safety,” Julian shouted back, his eyes scanning the dark, rolling beach. First, one shadow appeared, barely perceptible between the scraggly plants, and then another.

  How many of them are there?

  “You are a long ways off the road. Why are you following us?” the man asked next.

  “Like I said, we were attacked on the road. We took to the beach hoping to lose the brigands,” Julian lied, “my friends are hurt. Please, we only want to pass in peace.”

  “Why do you lie! We know who sent you. We can feel their taint about you,” someone else shouted, their voice strong but definitely feminine.

  Their taint? Julian wondered, and then Pera moved, contracting around the words. Can they feel you? Is that possible? The Nym considered the question, but didn’t respond.

  A throaty growl cut the air before Pera could respond, a low, nimble form slipping from the bushes and stopping a dozen paces away. It was a wolf – an abnormally large and powerful wolf. Julian held Nightbreaker out before him, his grip tightening around the handle. Pera shifted sluggishly, weaving a simple, defensive spell.

  “No one sent us! We don’t want any trouble,” he stammered, the wolf snarling and taking a threatening step forward. Julian faltered back a step, just as an angry hiss cut the air to his right, the sand spraying violently as a massive, black form landed. The drakin moved past him, its feathers lying flat, glossy, armored scales gleaming. The beast squared off with the large wolf, teeth bared in a threatening display.

  The wolf snarled in response, but didn’t retreat.

  Pera shifted again, its presence finally pushing forth into his mind. Found…him. Julian felt the Nym’s joy at this idea, the emotion flooding into him as if it was his own. A heartbeat later, the Nymradic gained strength, a name filling his mind.

  Poe.

  “Poe?” Julian asked, echoing the Nymradic.

  The wolf abruptly went silent, the curling lip and dagger fangs disappearing. It watched him for a moment, its head turned as if curious.

  Then the wolf melted into the dark night, a small man striding forward where the animal just stood. Julian could feel Pera’s connection to the small figure now. This was the one the Nym had tied its final thread to, casting them leagues beyond count in an instant.

  The small man ran forward, and before Julian could react, reached out and grasped his free hand. Pera’s joy doubled, the connection between the Nymradic and the small, hairy-faced man sparking inside him. Julian, Pera, and Poe felt as one in that moment, the Nym’s dark energy a single point uniting them all.

  “Pera!” the small man yelped, and threw his arms around him.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Finding Strength

  Dennah screamed, her voice already hoarse. He could hear Folkvar and Tadd, too, but couldn’t rationalize what they were saying. He tried to block all of it out, to focus and cast himself deep inside, to that strange world between worlds he visited in his dreams – the place the Crow’s power helped him build.

  DaeGeroth spoke. He could feel the Nymradic before him, its immense power flowing through the ice and over skin. It took a monumental effort, but Roman managed to block it all out. The vision beyond his eyelids darkened, before the spirit realm and its host of living, pulsing colors came into focus. He stepped out into the forest glen, the trees swaying noiselessly.

  “Tusk!” he shouted into the ether, his voice echoing strangely. The dog knew what he needed, and despite his fear associated with the task, understood what was at stake. But Roman also knew that he was out of time. He could feel the dog out there somewhere, a minuscule soul moving through a vast and unending space, and fought off a stab of panic.

  Then Roman felt something else, a colossal spirit gliding effortlessly through the heavens below him. Tusk felt it, too, and circled, trying to get its attention. The colossal being turned lazily away from Tusk, Roman now directly in its path.

  “That a boy! You still got it. Bring ‘em right to me. Just like those elk,” he wh
ispered, dropping to his knees and scooping the snow aside, paddling it doglike through his legs.

  He dug away handful after handful, until the snow was gone, his hand passing momentarily into something not wet, but impossibly cold. Roman took a deep breath, focused, and thrust his head down. Inside him, he felt the knot pull open, the cold rushing into his body.

  Darkness swept over his head and neck as he forced his way into the spirit world, a landscape of strange vegetation and giant mountains appearing. He pushed forward, forcing his mind into that strange realm for the first time since he found Tusk in the tunnels under Fort Falksgraad – for the first time since building the glen to protect himself from unwanted guests.

  A massive, glowing shape appeared in the forest before him, Tusk’s small form moving behind it. The spirit noticed him, its ancient mind brushing against his, its thoughts moving like a mountain of slowly shifting ice. He pushed his will forward, the spirit recoiling from the sudden barrage of need and desperation. He risked scaring it off, but there was no time to earn its trust, no time to truly know if it was a threat or convince it that he wasn’t. Hells, he didn’t have any time!

  Pain snapped Roman back, the glowing colors and shadowy landscape starting to evaporate around him. He felt fingers curl around his chin. The Nym’s touch burned into his skin, but he fought to regain his focus and keep from toppling back out of the spirit world. The landscape clarified around him again, the powerful spirit parting the trees before him, the sight taking his breath away. He needed just another moment, maybe two.

  Pain seared into his skull and jaw, DaeGeroth’s fingers digging into his flesh, the Nymradic’s vampiric draw pulling on his life force. A wave of life rushed up inside, flowing towards the wretched creature’s hand like a tidal wave. Roman’s eyes peeled open, despite his every attempt to squeeze them shut, the glowing, fantastic world dissolving into freezing snow.

  DaeGeroth’s face materialized before him, his mouth turned up in a horrible smile, his eyes – the same simmering, green eyes as the Crow – locked onto him hungrily.

  “Oh…so much…strength,” the Nymradic moaned, his entire body shaking as he pulled away.

  “I could build an army with the strength coursing inside your body…or tear down a kingdom. But I won’t…you have more value to me than that. I will claim your strength as my own and make you a tool in my rise to power. All will bend like shoots of grass before the storm of our might,” DaeGeroth said, the ice abruptly melting away from Roman’s chest.

  “No!” he growled defiantly, pushing his thoughts back into the glen, his plea echoing emptily. He felt empty inside. Cold and empty.

  “You can’t hide from this. The pain is what will make you strong, burn away your weakness. It will forge you anew. Let me make you perfect, in my image,” the Nym said, pulling himself close, his abdomen splitting apart, the sharp, black sting appearing. “A moment of agony and an eternity of purpose.”

  Roman felt something deep inside, beyond the knot. It wasn’t a gentle flutter, like with Tusk, which felt like a cold nose brushing against him. He told a silent prayer as the Nym wrapped his arms around him, and opened himself to it.

  “I will be a god,” DaeGeroth whispered, his body going tense.

  “Never!” Roman hissed, as a massive presence pushed through the knot. It moved tentatively, but he wrapped his will around it and pulled with all of his might. The spirit filled him wholly and then burst forth, the black mist erupting violently from his body and knocking DaeGeroth back.

  The ice cracked but held, his entire body alight in the spirit’s confused thoughts, its anger, and ultimately, fear. The last of the mist flowed from his body, the substantial cloud pooling and then disappearing into the snow. The spectral trail appeared, a green thread of dancing, pulsing fireflies connecting him to the disembodied spirit. DaeGeroth lifted himself off the ground, his eyes blazing with a simmering green light.

  Roman tried to move, to push back and gain himself distance and time, but the encrustment of ice was too strong. The spirit drifted aimlessly, without body or purpose, its thoughts banging around in his head like the beating of a gigantic drum.

  It wanted to know why, where, and who it was. It felt their connection keenly, and forced its confusion into him. Roman watched the Nym storm towards him, and focused on the spectral trail, opening his mind to the ancient being. There, they linked, their needs and desires merging as one.

  “So I will just consume you then!” DaeGeroth hissed, his hands diving in, long fingers slithering like hungry serpents.

  The ground behind the Nymradic erupted into the air, frozen dirt, rock, and snow exploding in a forceful shower. DaeGeroth careened into Roman, the impact shattering the ice and sending them both tumbling backwards.

  Roman rolled and staggered to a knee, thrusting his hand out and grasping the spectral trail, squeezing every bit of concentration and willpower into the connection, fighting to give it form. The spirit wasn’t like Tusk. It was ancient, so far removed from its old life that it had no form. His thoughts locked onto a memory, the image of a creature forming in his mind.

  “Kill the girl and old man!” DaeGeroth howled.

  A gnarl ran forward, streaking towards Dennah and Tadd, until a hooked arm appeared suddenly from the newly formed hole in the ground, dropping violently and skewering the howling beast. The appendage pulled back, dragging the gnarl into the hole, where it went abruptly silent.

  Roman felt life and vitality flooding into the spectral connection, the spirit’s body knitting together from his desire, giving the creature shape and form. The small animal, strangely spider-like, had lived outside his window for a season when he was little, and before Tusk, was the closest he had ever come to owning a pet. He called it the treehopper, after spending an afternoon watching it jump great distances between tree limbs, stalking and catching grasshoppers. He considered it the noblest and mightiest of the small beasts.

  Another segmented appendage appeared from the hole, and then another, the hooks digging into the snow for leverage, followed by a wide, flat head. The spirit was covered in bristly hair, shifting in color from gray-green to a bright, glimmering blue. It had a dozen large, dark eyes, set above two large pincers. A cluster of small arms sat just beneath its head, still clutching tightly to the gnarl’s body.

  The spirit lifted its bulk out of the hole, a dozen segmented legs churning through the snow. It coiled and jumped without warning, catching another gnarl unaware. Easily as tall as two grown men and longer than a wagon and horse team, the ancient spirit swung around, tossing the dead gnarl’s body into the group of clustered townsfolk and knocking them to the ground.

  It turned its head, the clusters of large, almost gentle eyes locking onto Roman. Enemies…danger! the beast’s thoughts rang out in his mind. It understood the threat, and leapt, landing amidst the gnarls, arms grasping for the scattering creatures.

  Roman took advantage of the chaos and ran for his friends. Arrin and Devlin burst out of the snow suddenly, diving like spearing fish for his legs. He jumped, diving forward into a roll, narrowly missing the brothers.

  I need a weapon…a bow, a blade. Something! But Alina had taken his sword, and his bow and empty quiver were still at Marna’s tavern. Both were effectively out of reach.

  Behind him, the giant treehopper leapt into a tree, toppling it under its weight, and sending it crashing into a house. The gnarls scattered, galloping like wolves into the trees, while the remainder of the townsfolk scurried for nearby buildings. The giant beast smashed another tree to the ground and turned, trampling everything within reach, causing chaos. But it was Roman’s chaos, and it would be their avenue of escape.

  Devlin erupted from the snow, emerging in a splash of white, and slammed into the ground at Roman’s feet. He dodged to the side, barely avoiding the young man’s grasping arms. He jumped sideways as a spike of ice exploded out of the ground, tearing through his trousers and nicking his leg. Devlin ran headlong into the attack, t
he icy spike catching him squarely in the face. Blood and bits of gore spattered the snow behind him, his head speared in place, while his body dangled limply.

  Roman sidestepped, jumped, and danced around as more of the impaling ice shot forth. They cut him off from Dennah and the others, forming a wall of skewering spikes. He turned and found DaeGeroth standing a dozen paces away, his hands weaving strange shapes in the air, the gnarls now swarming in from the trees and massing behind him.

  Roman snapped a single glance at Devlin’s bloody, lifeless body. He’d always been a horrible bully, an uncaring, selfish brother, but he didn’t deserve such a fate. Arrin appeared between Roman and DaeGeroth, his gaunt face showing no indication he noticed, or cared about his brother’s death.

  “Take the horses and run!” he yelled at Dennah and turned back, just as the snow came alive at his feet.

  “You can’t fight me forever, Roman,” DaeGeroth yelled, the swarm of gnarls behind him continuing to grow. He counted easily fifty…no sixty of the beasts, and more were streaming out of the trees. Arrin murmured something unintelligible, while Alina strode up next to her father, her pale eyes shining.

  “Is this your vision for my people? Are we all destined to become mindless slaves in your world?” he asked, pointing at Devlin’s body. The spirit lumbered up behind him, rumbling deeply with every breath.

  “Mindless? No, they will not be mindless. They will know my mind, and bask in the perfect world I will build,” DaeGeroth responded, his body changing. His form was elongating and swelling before his eyes. He wasn’t just large anymore. He was becoming a giant.

  “I wouldn’t consider any world perfect, let alone one containing burned out barns filled with piles of dead townsfolk,” Dennah said, loudly, stepping up beside Roman. “Sorry I took so long, about skewered myself on that ice. I had to go around,” she said, offering him a sword, before pulling one from the scabbard on her hip.