Shoreseeker

by Brandon M. Lindsay

  Now, though, all of that changed. Two scouts had stumbled back into camp in the woods, nearly sick with fear, yet, at the same time, feverish with the desire to spill sheggam blood. Something was coming, they had said. Something so rife with shegasti that it was a tower of flame, and that made Dransig look like the ember of a blown-out candle wick.

  Jerem felt it now. It was impossible not to. He couldn’t see it with his mortal eyes, but the Eye, the one that could see beings infected with shegasti, sensed it more clearly than anything before.

  And, just as Dransig predicted, it was using the Runeway. Coming straight for them.

  All the Knights of the Eye stood arrayed behind Jerem, swords drawn and ready to fulfill their primary mission—to be the barrier between the world of men and the world of the sheggam.

  Like Andrin’s Wall. But hopefully, we’ll do a better job of it, Jerem thought, gritting his teeth. Nothing will get past us.

  Nothing.

  The land around them was featureless, save for the forest where they had camped a mere ten-minute walk away. Otherwise, the coarse, rocky grasses were flat for miles around. And of course, the Runeway itself was as flat as a knife blade. There would be no surprises here. Whatever was coming—Jerem wasn’t yet ready to admit it was a sheggam—would be in clear view before it came upon them.

  The first thing he saw was a wavering orange flame, hovering above the Runeway in relative darkness. Or at least that’s how it seemed. It was still far too distant to see clearly, but it seemed to be closing the distance at a remarkable speed. How is it moving so fast?

  Jerem suddenly realized just how little about the sheggam he, and the rest of the Knights, really knew.

  He kept his eyes pinned on that flame but turned his head slightly to address the Knights. “Anyone who breaks ranks is a traitor, no different from Dransig. And will get a sword in his back.” It was as much a reminder to himself as to the others.

  Of course, no one broke ranks. The Knights of the Eye weren’t cowards, and whatever fear they now felt would be overwhelmed by their willingness to kill. Such was the nature of their training and their lives as Knights—learning how to hate the sheggam, learning how to kill the sheggam.

  At the edges of his enhanced hearing, Jerem heard something strange—a rhythmic metallic clanging, punctuated by silence. It almost sounded like a horse galloping along the Runeway, but that was impossible. Horses steered clear of Knights; they would flee like mad at the merest scent of a sheggam. Besides, the number of hoof strikes was wrong.

  “Ready … steady …” Rigg murmured behind Jerem. “Here it comes.”

  Then a form resolved in the darkness: a six-legged monster, horse-like but twisted almost beyond recognition. Eyes burned like coals, and Jerem caught the glint of row upon row of fangs in its strange, circular mouth. Glossy black skin—or was it covered in scales?—rippled with each thunderous stride, metal clanging upon metal in a hypnotic rhythm.

  Even with his enhanced senses, he could see little of the massive, cloaked rider, as if shadows had deliberately gathered around its face. The staff it held was nearly the width of a streetlamp—and indeed, the orange flame Jerem had seen first came from what appeared to be a lamp at the end of the staff. When the horrid mount and its rider were but seconds away, it lifted its staff.

  The world went silent then, as if the creature before them had stolen all sound.

  The lamp erupted in light. Ropes of flame exploded from the lamp, lancing toward the Knights as fast as a snake strikes.

  Jerem threw himself to the side, rolling towards the edge of the Runeway, but it was more luck than anything else the saved him. One of the ropes of fire singed his cloak, and apoth only knew where his sword ended up, but he came to his feet as the screams of his men and the sounds of sizzling flesh filled his ears.

  It was over in an instant. A dozen corpses made, and the sheggam was already riding on. It had treated the Knights of the Eye with as much regard as a cloud of gnats.

  In a few moments, it was well beyond their reach, riding much faster than a man could run. Jerem hadn’t even had time to raise his sword against the sheggam. He doubted any of them had. They had barely even slowed it.

  He looked at the bodies around him, scorched and severed by sheggam magic. Emotion threatened to buckle his knees. Nearly a dozen dead, and for what?

  “Sir.” Rigg trotted up. He looked worried, but unharmed.

  Jerem breathed a sigh of relief that the man still lived. “What is …” He didn’t finish his question, but his attention was seized and dragged north. With the Eye, he sensed them.

  Hundreds, maybe thousands, of those towers of flames. A sheggam army.

  “Shores take me,” he whispered. A single sheggam had nearly wiped them out. What chance did they have against so many?

  “Sir,” Rigg asked, “what should we do?”

  He sighed as his gaze swept over the carnage. “The only thing we can,” he replied. “One defeat doesn’t change who we are. Gather the living, but leave the wounded behind. We will head north to make good on our oath. Or we’ll die trying.”

  Chapter 65: Piled High

  Asoldier’s body lay twisted at the base of the wall separating the districts of the city, not three paces from where Erianna crouched. A thin strip of skin was all that connected the head to the neck. Its eyes stared at her. Erianna did her best to ignore that damning stare as she peered around the corner of the gray stone building, but it wormed its way into her and made her shudder. It wasn’t as if she could’ve saved him. She’d be lucky to save herself, and extremely lucky to save Chad, too.

  Not true, the soldier’s eyes seemed to say. You could’ve prevented all this. You could’ve warned them.

  Gripping her knife tightly in her fist, she took a deep breath. Yesterday was gone. She had to think about now. Regret couldn’t change the past, but it could make you lose the future. Focus on what’s important, she thought, scolding herself. Focus, Erianna!

  Chad squatted behind her, the fingers of one of his hands hooked into her belt, heedless of her mail shirt, which she was sure was rubbing his knuckles raw. Still, he didn’t complain, and neither did she, not as long as she knew he was close. She glanced back at him. He, too, was taken in by the soldier’s eyes.

  “Hey,” she whispered. He glanced at her as if she’d startled him from a dream. “Are you ready to move?”

  Wide as his eyes were, he nodded without hesitation. She could sense a certain unexpected confidence in his expression. Young though he was, he had a look that said he was no stranger to death and blood. The thought almost broke Erianna’s heart. But perhaps it would be enough to save him.

  If anything can.

  Slowly they crept along the building’s edge, keeping to the shadows, with the high gray wall on their right. Erianna didn’t know Garoshmir enough to tell exactly what district lay on the other side of that wall, or even which one was on this side. Nearly a dozen columns of smoke rose into the sky, blotting out stars. Both moons still sat in the sky, but Erianna didn’t know enough about them either to gauge her position. Was she even heading west? She thought—no, hoped—she was, but it was so hard to tell in all the chaos and confusion.

  She gestured for Chad to stay behind her when they reached the edge of the building. Just beyond it, the road opened up into a vast square, surrounded by three- and four-story buildings. In the center was a large fountain, though it was cracked, water spraying out of it in uncertain spurts. But it was what surrounded the fountain that caught Erianna’s breath in her throat.

  Piles of bodies.

  She had no idea how many there were, thrown atop each other like trash. Two hundred, maybe more. Countless streaks of blood led to each pile. Within the piles, she caught sight of movement. Soft groans filled the air. These people were alive. Gravely wounded, dragged here, but alive.

  And there was nothing she could do about it.

  Over a dozen sheggam roamed between the piles, all of them clutching
weapons. They were waiting for something—for what, Erianna had no idea. She didn’t intend to wait around to find out. She hated that these people had to suffer, that they were so helpless, but she could tell by how much blood painted the cobbles that none of them were getting out of here alive.

  She spotted another street that fed into the square, just past one of the nearest piles. A single sheggam prowled there, carrying a long, heavy spear. Iron plate and boiled leather, spattered in blood, covered its broad chest and shoulders. A heavy bow and quiver hung over its back. Its eyes scanned the square, passing over where Erianna and Chad hid, but luckily, its gaze swept right past them. These sheggam weren’t like the others she had seen, those naked, frenzied beasts. These were still monsters, to be sure, but they had some measure of self-control. They even seemed to be in some loose formation.

  A pair of sheggam stepped out of that street, each dragging two or three limp forms in each hand. Some of the bodies were missing limbs, leaving heavy red trails. Those ones wouldn’t last long. The sheggam tossed the bodies one by one on the piles, eliciting pained moans. Then they turned back to the mouth of the street and waited.

  There was no point in waiting around here. There was no way to get through all these sheggam. Erianna and Chad would simply have to find another way around. She was about to turn and go when something else caught her eye—a flash of yellow. Erianna squinted to see it more clearly. Between the two of the farther piles stood a girl—no, a young woman. The flash of yellow Erianna had seen was the young woman’s dress, though the whole front of it was crusted in blood. She didn’t seem to be moving, at least not very fast, but it didn’t seem that she was injured either. That wouldn’t last long, not with so many sheggam nearby. Once they caught sight of her …

  At her side, Erianna heard Chad breathe in sharply. She hadn’t heard him move up next to her. Frowning, she turned to him. “What is it?”

  He pointed at the woman in the square. “I think that’s Nina’s aunt.”

  Chapter 66: The Smoker

  Ican save her,” Chad said. “I know I can.”

  Erianna was amazed at the boy’s sudden transformation. It was almost as if he believed he could do it. Which was, of course, utter madness.

  “No,” she whispered sharply. “You and I both know that’s not possible. I know you want to save her. I want to save her—save all of them.” Careful not to alert the sheggam, she made a small gesture at the piles of wounded people in the square. “But I’m too worried about getting ourselves out alive.”

  The boy broke his gaze away, huffing through his nose, tight-lipped. Moments before, he looked ready to pass out from fear, but now, he was certain he could do this. Erianna shook her head; she couldn’t understand what came over him all of a sudden. She firmly took his hand, and looked back around the corner.

  Three more sheggam had entered the square in the few moments she’d looked away. Her stomach sank. There may have been a chance to sneak through them all before—a tiny speck of a chance, but a chance, nonetheless. Now, it was hopeless. Every shadow was being watched by at least one pair of sheggam eyes. But for what? She still hadn’t figured that out.

  No. There was no way out. They would have to backtrack. They’d lose precious time, with no guarantees of finding a better way, but this way was lost beyond all doubt.

  She glanced to the young woman in the blood-smeared yellow dress—Nina’s aunt, which would make her Tharadis’s sister, or maybe sister-in-law. Strange; he hadn’t mentioned her. Had he not known she was in the city? The woman continued shuffling along aimlessly. She wouldn’t last moments; the way she was walking, she might run straight into one of the sheggam. Transfixed, Erianna watched. What was wrong with her? How was she so oblivious?

  One of the sheggam turned, sniffing the air. Its eyes fell on the woman. Instantly, the sheggam’s body tensed, lowering into a fighting crouch, the long-handled spiked mace drawn back, ready to strike. Yet it didn’t rush forward. It stepped nearer, slowly. The woman didn’t seem to notice it all, not even when its muzzle was mere inches away from her. She just continued her aimless shuffle.

  Erianna waited for the inevitable strike, heart pounding in her chest. Yet that strike never came. The sheggam’s eyes slid right off the woman, as if he no longer found her interesting. Then he turned back to watching one of the other streets.

  She was alive. Somehow, the woman was still alive.

  It seemed such a shame that even after all that, Erianna would have to leave her behind. Perhaps she would be fine on her own. Perhaps better off than anyone else. “Let’s get out of here, Chad,” she said, pulling him along.

  “No, I mean it. I really can save—”

  Erianna jerked to a halt as soon she had taken three steps back the way they had come.

  Up ahead, a wave of white mist rolled across the ground like surf on a beach. Unlike surf, Erianna quickly realized, it didn’t fall back. It just kept rolling toward them, its massive bulk spanning the width of the street. Slowly, yet relentlessly. Deeper back it was thicker—much thicker. Enough to swallow her where she stood.

  Not a surf at all. No, it was an avalanche.

  Erianna’s mind went back to the first time she had seen this mist—back in Twelve Towers, when the sheggam ambassador had given her mistress the gift of it. How it changed Shad, made her less human. Erianna’s stomach lurched as she realized why the sheggam hadn’t killed all those people—they had been waiting for this.

  They were going to grow their army.

  Instinctively, she took a step back as the leading edge of the mist spilled over her toes of her boots. Chad’s hand tightened in hers.

  Shrouded by the mists lumbered a massive wagon, covered in canvas, by the color of it. Strangely no axles creaked, no wheels clattered against the cobbles. And there were no horses in front of it. With each sway of its bulk, a heavy thud echoed against the walls.

  Soon its bulk parted the mist. Erianna saw that the canvas was not canvas, but flesh, loose, sagging flesh, the color of boiled meat. Two eyes the color of blood clots stared straight at her. Black hair, like the mane of a horse’s corpse, arced over the thing’s body. Flaps of skin flanked its spine like the gills of a fish. Mist vented out from under these flaps, adding to the avalanche.

  Erianna stared in horror. This thing—whatever it was—it was coming for them. There was no place to go. This was no mere sheggam. This was … It was …

  Chad stepped in front of her and pressed his fingers against the shadowed outer wall of the building. The shadow’s darkness somehow seemed to deepen, and then, as if the wall weren’t made of brick, his fingers sunk in. Then his arm, then the rest of him went into that shadow. Erianna glanced up to see that huge, bulky creature, so close now—how had it gotten so close?—as it opened its wide maw, exposing dozens of fangs, its twisting, blackened tongue. Something yanked her towards that inky shadow on the wall, and then she was submerged in darkness.

  Before she could pull another breath into her lungs, she fell to her knees, completely disoriented. The ground felt soft, almost spongy. Chad stood before her, still holding her hand. He was reaching over her shoulder, doing something to the wall she had just stepped through. “Where are we?” she asked, glancing about. This place was dark. Strange. The air tasted wrong. Her own voice sounded wrong.

  Chad stepped back. He hesitated before answering. “Underground.” He helped Erianna to her feet. “Come on. We can get Nina’s aunt from down here.”

  Chapter 67: Raining Bodies

  Despite all the madness Erianna had seen that made this day seem like an impossible nightmare, she still couldn’t swallow the notion that Chad had led her into some twisting network of tunnels beneath the streets of Garoshmir. It was all too strange, though some hopeful part of her thought maybe they really were underground and Erianna had just gone mad. With so much panic coursing through her, she wasn’t in a position to judge if she was mad or not. Maybe once they were out of there. Wherever there was.


  Chad led her by the hand as if this place were normal and the world Erianna knew was the strange one. He seemed confident, at ease—yet alert. He scanned each of the strange windows they passed, glancing into each smoky image. Erianna looked at one, a scene of carnage in the main room of someone’s home. She felt detached from the scene, as if she were viewing a painting of some past event. Yet she knew it was real, and that it was how the room looked now. She hated that feeling of detachment, even though she knew it was all that was keeping her from losing her mind completely.

  Chad stopped. “She’s not here. Where is she?” He looked up. “Can you … lift me up?” By the discomfort in his voice, it was like he was asking her to burp him and sing him a lullaby.

  After switching her knife to her left hand, she crouched down and helped him to her shoulder. He couldn’t have weighed less if he were made of sticks. At that height, his shaggy mop of hair nearly brushed the ceiling. He tilted his head back and studied the ceiling. Erianna couldn’t get a good look at it, holding him that way, but she could see something faintly in the ceiling as well. Almost like the images in the walls, though none of the details were clear.

  “Huh,” Chad said. He reached up and did something to the ceiling, touching it perhaps, but Erianna couldn’t see clearly from where she was.

  The ceiling darkened to pitch black, and then it started raining bodies.

  The first one crashed into Erianna’s shoulder, throwing her against the opposite wall. Her head and left shoulder slammed into it, jarring her teeth. She felt more than saw Chad slip off her and heard a brief cry that cut off when he smacked into the floor. Nearly a dozen bodies had fallen through the ceiling—Erianna’s mind was still struggling to process how—and now lay about in a loose pile, pitiful moans drifting up from between twisted limbs. One had clearly died, pulped head lying in a pool of dark blood. Others stirred.