Lies of Descent

by Troy Carrol Bucher

  It came from the other side of the outpost like an arrow and slammed into him again. Without Loral’s support, he would have fallen. He tried to block the attack, but he didn’t know what to do. The fog continued to thicken around him. He tried to push back. The nameless power punched through his feeble efforts and hit him a third time. Loral’s support wasn’t enough to hold him. He slipped from her grasp and fell to the floor, his head bouncing painfully on the wood. Above him, Loral screamed.

  Riam came up onto his hands and knees and spat blood. This would be a whole lot easier if I knew what I was doing. He reached deep down the link and pulled from the sword with everything he could, filling himself with energy. When the next attack came, he was ready for it and threw the power he’d gathered back against it.

  The two forces met somewhere above him and exploded. A blinding flash filled the room, burning the sight of Loral standing in open-mouthed terror into Riam’s eyes. The explosion bloomed outward, and the blast threw both of them across the room. Instinctively, Riam used the last of the energy in the sword to push back at the expanding ball of fire and debris.

  He felt the power surge back down the channel toward where it had come from, exploding on the other side of the outpost. Riam felt the other’s surprise and pain just before he was slammed against the wall.

  Chapter 13

  Ky’lem dodged a spear thrust to the stomach, barely escaping the agonizing wound warriors lingered with for days before dying. A warrior should not have to die a long painful death from a battle that accomplished nothing. He and his fellow tribesmen fought in the shadowy firelight to break through the troops who blocked their escape. He’d been wrong about the soldiers. These were not the weak men he’d fought on previous raids. One on one, they were no match for a Ti’yak warrior, that was a given, but working together, arrayed in a line two deep, they were a formidable adversary. They fought staggered, so that both ranks could bring their spears to bear at the same time if needed, but their tactics went beyond that.

  The front rank stabbed with their spears as one, thrusting twenty of the deadly weapons forward with the intent of punching holes through Ky’lem and his fellow tribesmen. The first rank pulled back and allowed the second rank to do the same as the first readied to thrust again. They were every bit as well drilled as the troops the gray demons used to defend the mountain passes. The tribesmen were repeatedly forced back.

  With the length of the spears, it was difficult to get close enough to strike, and if they did, it left them exposed and vulnerable to the next attack. There were not enough tribesmen to penetrate the line with a column or a wedge, or to overwhelm spearmen with numbers. To make things worse, the gray demon from the plains had arrived to direct their movements. With the demon commanding them, there was no way to slip by and escape.

  To his right, Pai’le brushed aside the spear of a tall soldier in the front rank and darted forward to strike with his sword. The enemy’s second rank was slower this time, either by chance or because they were getting tired, and it gave the big leader the opportunity to get close. Even then, he was nearly impaled by three different spears before he could leap back, grinning from ear to ear like a young boy, out of the enemy’s reach. Pai’le might have wounded his foe, but Ky’lem hadn’t seen the weapon bite. If it had, it didn’t bring the spearman down.

  The tribesman to his left tried the same tactic, imitating Pai’le, but the enemy was ready. A spear took the warrior in the throat, its silver tip glistening in the orange firelight where it protruded from the back of his neck. Small wings at the base of the spearhead kept the weapon from penetrating too far and getting trapped. Blood sprayed across Ky’lem when the long weapon was torn free. The warrior fell gagging and choking. It was Nal’tae.

  Nal’tae’s lone wife was one of the most beautiful women in the tribe, with long, dark hair that flowed like silk around perfect upturned breasts. Ky’lem smiled as he dodged a spear thrust. She’d need a new husband when the raid was over. He already had two wives, but he was permitted to take a third, as long as she was a widow.

  The thought of the woman, naked and writhing beneath him with his first and second wives to either side nearly made up for the trouble they were in. He hadn’t liked Nal’tae much. The man had always been too eager to side against him—as he had this time when Pai’le laid out the details for the raid. Taking the warrior’s wife seemed a fitting way to pay him back for years of opposition. Of course, if he took the spirit-walker’s offer, he wouldn’t be taking any new wives.

  Ky’lem dodged another thrust and cursed himself for letting his mind get distracted. He needed to find a way past the enemy.

  The plan had been to escape with the children through the damaged front of the stronghold once the soldiers were disorganized. After opening the lightly guarded rear gate and firing the enemy barracks, Ky’lem had followed Pai’le, along with over half of the warband, to the building that housed the children. They’d been able to snatch them easily enough, knocking them out by rubbing deathroot on their tongues. Four of their warriors had then carried the unconscious children, one over each shoulder, like sacks of linpana grain. They’d all but broken through the soldiers and escaped when reinforcements arrived, followed shortly after by the gray demon.

  Now, the children were scattered on the ground behind them like the dead, the four warriors carrying them needed to hold off the enemy. Even with their addition, they were still outnumbered. Pai’le’s plan had split them into too many pieces. Seven warriors had remained with the spirit-walker’s pachna to keep up the pretense of attacking from the rear, six were fighting on the walls, if they were still alive, and two groups of four had been sent to delay the gray demons. Those eight had obviously been less than successful, just as he’d told Pai’le they would be.

  Ky’lem had wanted to go after the gray men first, with all their forces, and kill them quickly. Pai’le had refused his advice and sent the youngest warriors. Those eight had known that few, if any, of them would survive, but they were young and eager to prove themselves. A young warrior returning from a raid with a gray demon’s skin would be raised above his peers. To Ky’lem, the plan took too many risks and wasted men they could have used to fight their way clear and escape with the children. As it stood, they’d be lucky to break free at all. He wished he had more of the spirit-walker’s soulfire. One or two thrown into the ranks in front of them would have scattered the enemy.

  Catching Pai’le’s attention, Ky’lem motioned behind them before backing away from the enemy line. Pai’le, and soon the rest of the warriors, followed suit, breaking off the attack. The enemy remained where they were, content to hold them inside the fort and wait for reinforcements. The two groups stood apart, watching each other for any sign of attack. Mangled and bleeding bodies from both sides lay between them, most of them tribesmen.

  “It’s no use,” Ky’lem told Pai’le. “We need to find another way out before reinforcements arrive and flank us.”

  Pai’le waved his heavy blade in the direction of the enemy. “We’d be long gone if it were not for that one.” The gray demon moved down the line, patting each of the soldiers on the back and speaking to them as he went. Those he spoke to stood up taller and squared their shoulders. “Faen take all the gray demons and their island. This should’ve worked.”

  Ky’lem wanted to tell Pai’le that he’d underestimated the enemy. He wanted to tell him that he shouldn’t have split the warband into so many pieces. But doing so would only start them arguing again, so he bit his tongue.

  “He escaped us on the plains, and he escaped the okulu’tan’s magic. He has the favor of the Dark Gods, that one.” Pai’le spat on ground.

  Ky’lem was growing more and more troubled with Pai’le. He wanted the man in gray to die, but right now the demon was not their first concern. Pai’le was wasting time worrying about the wrong thing. As the leader, he needed to decide what to do next to save the r
est of his tribesmen. Dead warriors could not return to fight another day.

  He tried to prod Pai’le into abandoning the children. “We can get around them, but not with the children. If we move to pick them up again, they’ll attack, and we don’t have enough warriors left to hold them off and skirt their flank. We’re in a stalemate that has but one outcome, and time is not on our side.”

  “You’re right, Ky’lem.” Pai’le nodded slowly to himself, as if coming to some profound decision. “Very well. The spirit-walker has failed us. We attack again, but this time we will hold nothing back. We will break through their line and kill this gray man or die with honor trying.”

  Ky’lem’s face flushed, the scars on his cheek going white beneath his face paint. It was the exact opposite of what he’d meant. Where is the brother I know? The man before me is blind to his ego, and he will sacrifice us all before changing his plan.

  Pai’le spoke loudly, so that the remaining tribesmen could hear him. “We will attack the enemy with all the strength we possess. We are Ti’yak warriors. None can stand before us,” he said boisterously. “These honorless men will know true fear in the moments before our swords tear the life from their flesh. We will leave their bodies upon the ground they defend, so that when they are found, their companions will know the horror of facing the Esharii.”

  The warriors around them cheered and yelled, readying to attack.

  “No!” Ky’lem shouted, but the cheers drowned out his plea.

  Ky’lem squeezed his sword hard enough he thought his hand would break. He wanted to swing the weapon at Pai’le, and if the warriors around him would not have hacked him down for doing so, he just might have done it. Pai’le was proof that the elders’ system for choosing a popular warrior to serve as warleader was foolish. They thought nothing of the future, only of their pride and the old days. This was why their tribe was weak—the elders promoted those who thought as Pai’le did, not the ones who used their heads instead of their hands. What good will come from impaling ourselves on our enemies’ spears with honor if the gray demons win?

  Pai’le stepped out in front of Ky’lem and the others and turned his back to the enemy. His gaze slid from warrior to warrior, meeting each of their eyes. Behind him, more than forty spears leveled in a precise line. Pai’le and Ky’lem’s eyes met, and Pai’le lifted his sword, preparing to give the command to attack. Ky’lem shook his head no, but his leader only grinned.

  There was no stopping it. Ky’lem took a deep breath and prepared himself to enter the great beyond with his fellow tribesmen. While this was not the best way, he was Esharii, and he would follow his warleader into death despite his misgivings. Ky’lem’s skin tingled and the hair on his arms stood out. The air around him felt charged with anticipation.

  Pai’le still hadn’t brought his sword down to give the command to attack when a bolt of lightning fractured its way across the sky and struck a building behind them. A flare like the sun lit up the enemy, and a clap of thunder tore through the outpost. The building exploded, and fighters on both sides were hurled from their feet.

  The spears in front of Ky’lem tangled. Several dropped to the ground. The location of the explosion blinded the enemy and not the Esharii. Even the gray man was disoriented, stumbling backward and holding his head. This had to be the efforts of the okulu’tan. He had not failed them. Now was the time to break free, but Pai’le had been facing the blast and was as blind as the enemy.

  Ky’lem raised his Arillian blade high, waving it at the spearmen. “Now! Kill them all!” he screamed and led the charge forward. He batted away a weak spear thrust but ignored the man behind it. Barreling through the first line of soldiers, he had only one target in mind. Behind him, the Esharii formed a short wedge with him at the tip.

  A soldier from the second rank stepped before him with no weapon in his hands.

  Ky’lem took part of the man’s arm and head off in a single swing.

  Another ran at him, wielding a broken spear like a club.

  He deflected the blow and kicked the man beneath the chin, knocking him to the ground and leaving his death to the warriors who followed.

  Only one soldier remained between him and the blind and disoriented gray demon—a stone-faced soldier with blond curls and a sword instead of a spear. Ky’lem grinned and launched himself at the swordsman. Nothing would stop him from taking the gray demon’s skin.

  * * *

  —

  The world was burning and green-and-black–faced Esharii were all around him. It was still night, but bursts of light exploded in Riam’s eyes, stabbing painfully at his mind. His head throbbed and his body hurt. For the second time today, he thought he might die. He tried to sit up but couldn’t move. He couldn’t even turn his head to get a better look at the tribesmen who moved around him, but he could see them out of the corners of his eyes and feel their rough hands pinning him down. He was being held flat on his back. The Esharii spoke in a harsh, guttural language that made no sense. They danced and laughed.

  Celebrating their victory, no doubt.

  Riam struggled to twist and turn his body, attempting to escape from their grasp, but it was useless. He was no match for the hard, unyielding hands that held him, and the more he resisted, the more their hands pressed and dug painfully into his legs and chest. One was holding his leg in an excruciating grip that made him suck in his breath whenever he pulled against it.

  An Esharii moved close. He could feel the man’s hot breath. Through his distorted vision, the tribesman’s mouth was the only thing he could see clearly. The lips moved.

  “Riam,” they said in a muffled voice.

  How do the Esharii know my name?

  “Can you hear me?”

  The tribesman’s mouth was oddly small, with thin, flat lips.

  “I’m gonna get you out.”

  “That’s good. It hurts,” he mumbled, “you’re a good Esharii.” He closed his eyes. That seemed to help. At least it made the pain behind his eyes lessen. He wanted to drift away. Sinking into the numbness of sleep would be so much better than this.

  A torturous pain shot up Riam’s leg as the Esharii that held him pressed harder. “Faen’s balls, stop!” he yelled. The pain brought the world into focus.

  Loral stood before him, her face outlined by stars that shimmered in the open sky. A cut ran along her neck, though not deep, and there was either a bruise or a large smudge that spanned the length of her face. It was hard to tell in the flickering light.

  Around them, most of Gairen’s quarters were missing. Well, not exactly missing. It was more like a giant club had smashed away the top of the building, scattering logs and rubble. On this side of the room, the remainder of the roof protruded upward from the wall like large fingers reaching up to the heavens. Riam lay under a pile of debris. To make matters worse, the building was on fire. By the amount of destruction, he didn’t have a clue how they were still alive or how Loral was walking.

  “I can barely move the piece on your leg. You’ll have to drag your foot out when I lift it.” Loral strained against the beam. “Now,” she groaned.

  Riam tried to pull his leg free. It scraped along the wood painfully. It moved about a hand’s length before it was wedged tight again. At least the weight no longer rested on the same spot. “You have to lift it higher.”

  “I’m lifting it as high as I can.” She struggled a moment longer before throwing her hands up. “It’s no use. I can’t move it any more than that.”

  “Get something to pry it up. Something long and sturdy. We need to get out of here and find Gairen.”

  She dug through the rubble. What was left of the roof creaked and sagged. Flames licked up along the broken logs. “You might want to hurry,” he told her.

  “I am.” She picked up a long, thin piece of wood. Twisting it in her hand, she stared at it, gauging it, before deciding it wasn’t r
ight and throwing it aside. She bent over again, shuffling through more pieces.

  He watched the heavy beams above him. “Just grab something.”

  “Everything is either too big or too small,” she said defensively.

  He worked at freeing himself from the jumble of broken wood around him. Painful splinters stabbed at his fingers, but he ignored them. They needed to get out before what was left of the roof fell on top of them. That would be something, surviving the explosion only to be crushed by a log. With a combination of pulling and pushing, he was able to worm his way out from under everything but the heavy beam on his leg.

  He put his hand down and felt cold metal—the sword. Riam felt along the back of the blade, careful not to slice himself, until he found the hilt. This time nothing happened when he held it. The weapon was cold and empty. Whatever power was in the sword before, it was gone now.

  Loral returned, proudly brandishing a piece of wood that was taller than she was. “I think this one will work.”

  “I found something, too.” Riam said, holding up the sword.

  Her smile vanished. “Are you insane? That thing almost killed us.”

  “It wasn’t the sword’s fault. I think it saved us.”

  “Yeah, I’m not ready to believe that.”

  The remains of the roof above them shifted and screeched.

  “We have something more important to worry about at the moment,” Riam said, eyeing the heavy timbers. “Hurry up.”

  Working together, they were able to raise the beam high enough for him to free his leg. They’d no sooner crossed the threshold of the broken doorway than the remnants of the roof came crashing down.

  Riam giggled softly—a low, almost manic sound.

  “How can you laugh at a time like this?” Loral asked.

  “I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are.”