Out of the Grave: A Dark Fantasy (The Shedim Rebellion Book 2)

by Burke Fitzpatrick

That night, they ate a feast that spanned hundreds of tables. It was a solemn meal with little talk and surprising in that most of the food was mutton from Gadara. Einin had hoped to try dwarven food, but the dwarves welcomed Marah of Narbor with food from the surface. After the meal, the tables were arranged into a circle, and leaders stepped forward, as varied in their appearances as their warriors. Einin struggled to tell the difference between nobles and commoners and wondered whether they all might be nobles.

  Twenty kings, wearing simple bands around their temples, gathered in the center of the circle. Dura pulled Einin to her, joined the circle, and Einin realized this was the council. She had expected a great hall and a hosting monarch, not an underground picnic. The suddenness seemed wrong after all the bowing and ritual greetings with the minor kings. The body heat produced by the council grew, and soon Einin felt sweat trickle through her hair.

  The council began in the dwarfish tongue, and Einin waited beside Dura for her cues. At one point, she presented Marah as she had done so many times before. They continued to talk until Einin was aware of a throbbing in her knees and feet. She shifted her weight, moved Marah from one hip to the other, and wondered why the council did not sit in chairs.

  Dura spoke in Nuna. Einin was surprised at how much she understood, and Annrin stood nearby for when she had questions.

  “It is true,” Dura said. “For thousands of years the accord between the nephalem has stood. The Gimirr guarded the Deep while the Talis guarded the heights. It has been that way since before my people, the Avani, became a power in the world. But the shedim have split the Avani and use the Roshan against Telessar. It is time to revisit the ancient accord.”

  “If that is what we are doing, where are the elves?”

  “Defending their home.”

  “You speak of the Roshan as though you stand apart from them.”

  “We do.”

  “You mean to say, your people betrayed us.”

  “I say what I mean, and any who know me know my word.” Dura stared down a king. “Many of the Avani kept their honor. Not all of our kingdoms joined the shedim.”

  “How can any help the black wings?”

  “I seek to right this wrong.”

  “Where was the help when Skogul fell? We righted our wrongs. Now you ask us to fight your battles. We have our own battles. We cannot abandon the Deep to stop the Roshan. The Tribes would destroy us.”

  Dura said, “The Tusken never made it to the surface, but Azmon is within striking distance of the White Gate.”

  “Telessar will hold.”

  Dura said, “That is what we said about the Five Nations and all of Sornum and Shinar. Azmon defeats us one by one. The shedim swallow continents bite by bite. If we unite, we can stop them.”

  “He is your student, is he not?”

  “He was.”

  “And a Reborn?”

  “What is your point?”

  “How did you allow this to happen?”

  “Later, we can discuss the best ways to train a Reborn. When the Roshan conquered Sornum, you did nothing. When their ships landed on Argoria, you did nothing. When I asked for help defending Shinar, you said the city would not fall. Now I am asking for help with Telessar, and you say the same things. This threat is greater than the Tribes. Moloch begins the Third War. He turned Rosh and Sornum against you and gives them forbidden runes. When do we oppose the Shedim Rebellion? Do we let them take both Gates and trap us in the middle?”

  Voices swelled with complaints until a king raised his hand. Silence and respect answered him. Einin had caught his name, King Azagar Dalir Thadius.

  “These are not excuses, mistress Dura. We do not shirk our oaths. The war for the Deep goes badly. We are on the front lines. We shield the surface from the Demon Tribes. If we help the elves, the Deep Ward will fall.”

  The assembly agreed in a chorus.

  Dura said, “Much has been asked of you, but I must ask for more. We cannot lose the White Gate.”

  King Thadius repeated, “If we march on the surface, the Deep Ward will fall.”

  “A small force from each king would make the difference.” Angry mutters began, and Einin heard many ask who would lead that force, but Dura shouted. “I ask you to unite the clans, under a warlord, and send an army to Telessar.”

  The dwarves yelled, and the twenty kings fought to control the room. The leader, Thadius—Einin thought of him as the leader because others deferred to him—silenced the hall by striking the butt of a hammer onto the stone floor, over and over, in a measured rhythm until silence fell.

  “In exchange,” Dura said, “I offer help with the Blood Quests and reclaiming Skogul, like the Kassiri of old. The Red Tower and Ironwall and Telessar will aid the Gimirr in their fight against the shedim.”

  “We will discuss this request in private. Mistress Dura, Marah of Narbor, her Keeper, and her honor guard will wait in their quarters while we deliberate.”

  They gathered in apartments cut out of rock, with limited creature comforts. The center of the room was devoted to a fire pit whose smoke vented through a hole in the ceiling. Einin was glad for the stone slab she sat on because the soles of her feet were bruised from standing in one place for so long.

  Einin asked, “What now?”

  “They deliberate.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “It’s best not to think about it. Dwarves take as long as they take.”

  “Like pain, huh?”

  “Less tolerable, I’m afraid.”

  As they waited, hours passed, and the twenty lords sent delegates to Dura to ask questions. Einin listened to complaints about trusting the seraphim, again. The dwarves did not trust anyone with wings, especially Archangel Ithuriel, who had given the elves the easier gate to guard. Dura assured them that the surface would once again help with the Demon Tribes, after the Roshan threat was dealt with. The last delegate left, and they were alone again.

  “Will the surface help them?”

  “Lord Nemuel and King Samos have both agreed to it, but that’s not what the dwarves want. They delay and bicker. They won’t send an army, not in time to help.”

  “So we go back empty-handed?”

  “Wait for it. Their real request is coming, but not before dinner.”

  After dinner, when they were preparing to sleep, a delegate knocked again.

  Dura said, “Enter.”

  “Mistress Dura.” The dwarf bowed, a strange gesture from a creature with more stomach than neck. “King Sian Dunbor Balrum of Dun Dunarum asks if the surface kingdoms will share the runes learned from Tyrus the Damned.”

  Dura said nothing, leaning back against the wall. Annrin and Einin watched her, waiting. She took her time answering, and the delegate respected the silence. He had the air of a person trained in patience.

  Dura asked, “Will Thadius declare the warlord?”

  “They will want to see the runes first. The Talis ask us to risk our borders. We will not march if the runes are not real.”

  Dura produced a scroll from her pack, thick with paper and wrapped in ribbon. “This is a sample of what we have learned.” She pulled the scroll back. “You vote on how long you want to review them first. I will not hand over the goods and waste time while you study. Tell him I want a deadline and a warlord and five thousand warriors.”

  “No one will like that number. They debate one thousand.”

  “They will have to do better if they want my secrets.” Dura untied the bundle and selected a scroll. She offered it to the delegate. “Have your etchers look at this matrix. They will know its value.”

  The dwarf left.

  “And now we sleep.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “They’ll argue for hours. No one will believe that scroll, but I brought Rorgen, who bears those runes. They’ll be forced to believe it, and we’ll see how many warriors t
hey offer us.”

  Dura sighed and made to lie down. Annrin helped ease her onto the stone slab. Einin made a nest for her and Marah on the floor. She feared Marah’s nightmares and the way the child rolled around in her sleep. She did not want her falling off the stone beds. No one spoke, exhausted by a long day after a long trip. The coals in the fire pit died down, simmering red, casting little light until they winked out.

  BURNING THE SKY

  I

  Klay sat against an oak and oiled his bow while Chobar destroyed a rotten tree stump. The bear tore at the ragged wood, hunting and grunting in the debris. The wood had aged to a rusty red color and flaked apart. Dark holes pocked the surface, and an army of angry ants boiled around Chobar’s claws. His large tongue lapped up mouthfuls of ants.

  “I can’t do this anymore,” Klay said. “If I have to listen to knights discuss their code of combat one more ti—”

  Chobar interrupted with snorts and a powerful sneeze. He backed away, scratched his snout, and rose on his back legs. Diving claws first at the stump, he shredded the wood.

  “We waste weeks watching the Roshan patrol their camps. And now I’m talking to my mount.”

  Chobar glared at Klay.

  “Companion; I meant companion. We should head back.”

  Chobar glanced at the path leading back to the knights. He growled low in his throat, a sound Klay associated with frustration. When Chobar lost his temper, he showed off his incisors.

  “The stump will be here when we get back.”

  Chobar sighed and lumbered over. Klay finished stringing his bow and slung it over a shoulder. They were solitary creatures, used to working in small teams with other rangers. The knights loved to talk and boast and make grand proclamations. They drove Klay deeper into Paltiel to be alone with his thoughts. He scratched Chobar’s ears, and Chobar leaned into him.

  “The smell bothers me the most.”

  They walked back to the camp. The knights would meet after supper, and being the most senior, Klay spoke for the rangers. If he dragged his feet a little more, he might arrive after the preambles.

  Klay left Chobar on his own, away from the horses, and joined a group of armed men sitting on stools around a campfire. These were the most senior of the Shinari knights, the leaders of the Hundred. As he picked a place to sit, he heard whispers about Tyrus. They usually didn’t talk about him in front of Klay, and he pretended not to notice.

  “He is often alone, near the tree line.”

  “You saw him fight. He’ll kill a dozen of us, maybe more.”

  Lior said, “No one wants his head more than me, but Nemuel gives him shelter, and we need Nemuel to liberate Shinar.”

  Klay watched the fire. The logs were fresh, and the crackling flames mesmerized him, bringing back memories of the last time they fought the bone beasts and the elves used their oils to burn the monsters. Klay lost himself in the sparks, orange light, and glowing coals. Meanwhile, knights debated battle plans, whether to engage the Roshan on the fields or wait for them in the woods. They had said the same things a dozen different ways, and Klay knew all the sides to the argument. He found the fire more interesting.

  Lior said, “We should harass the fortifications. We can outrun the beasts and keep them pinned inside their forts.”

  Voices agreed and disagreed in a clutter of yeas and nays.

  “Your father made the same mistake,” Klay said. “He charged the beasts. And those were the old ones who don’t run as fast.”

  The camp silenced. The crackling fire sounded louder, and Klay pulled away to see dozens of angry glares.

  “We cannot charge them,” he said. “Not with so few.”

  “What would a ranger know about cavalry, I mean real cavalry?”

  Klay bit back an angry retort. He had watched Shinar’s real cavalry fall to the bone lords, and Chobar was ten times smarter than their chargers, but he kept the thoughts to himself. None of these men understood what it meant to ride an intelligent animal. Horses could be broken. If a knight tried to break Chobar’s spirit, he’d become dinner.

  “He is right about numbers.” Lahar rescued him. “We need more horse to charge the beasts. Two or three knights per monster, and we’ll still lose half our force to them.”

  The knights liked it when Lahar said it; a chorus of ayes agreed. Klay went back to watching the flames.

  Lior said, “If we do nothing, they will build a city between us and Shinar.”

  Lahar said, “They already have.”

  “A city of wooden stakes, I mean one of stone. They will build a castle.”

  The smart play was to stay silent, but the endless planning bored Klay. He had run out of silence. “No, they won’t.” Klay shook his head. “The beasts don’t need to be protected. They will charge anyone who enters the plains. Besides, where would they get the stone?”

  Lior asked, “What?”

  “Shinar was built with Gadaran stone,” Klay said. “They use wooden palisades because there is nothing else to build with.”

  “And it doesn’t matter, brother,” Lahar said. “We lose knights killing monsters, and they’ll make more with our dead. We need to kill bone lords.”

  Again a chorus of men agreed.

  “That is their plan,” Lior said, “use their monsters to kill our finest while their lords stay safe behind walls.”

  “Well, it’s a good plan.”

  “Honorless dogs. They use constructs to fight in their place. The rules of war no longer apply if they have no skin in the game.”

  The chorus muttered while Klay fought to keep his eyes from rolling. The conversation turned, as it always did, to the code of combat. The knights would debate whether to suspend their code, and Klay had heard both sides argued a dozen different ways. They sought to justify killing by any means necessary. Lior pushed the idea on his men, Lahar stayed silent, and the most senior knights debated whether killing sorcerers in their sleep lacked honor.

  Klay stood to leave, another day wasted on chatter. The rangers had a simple code. They killed things that tried to kill them. The weapons and tactics used were not as important as the results. As he left, he heard Lior shouting. He was a shouter. Failing to persuade, he opted to bully.

  “We cannot pretend to have rules,” Lior shouted. “If they kill us from the safety of their tents, then they deserve to die in their beds!”

  Klay heard someone following him: Lahar.

  Lahar asked, “Tired?”

  “Arguing about how to fight is a waste of time.”

  “These are very old rules that date back to the Second War. The old timers have kept to the code for decades. They do not like change.”

  “Then they will die.”

  “To command those beasts, the lords must come into Paltiel, within range of the elven archers. Then we kill the masters like before.”

  Klay sighed. “We keep talking in circles.”

  “Nothing has changed.”

  “So we are resolved to do nothing?”

  Lahar did not like that. Klay understood their need to fill the empty hours with planning. Meetings felt like work, more productive than guarding trees, but everyone knew the truth. Months had passed, and they accomplished nothing.

  “I want to avenge Shinar,” Lahar said, “but without the elves, the Roshan could kill us all. We need Lord Nemuel to attack, or we need King Samos to send an army.”

  “So we do nothing.”

  “Yes.”

  “So be it. I’ll inform the men.”

  “Don’t make a bad situation worse.”

  Klay raised his hands. “I offer no insults. We prepare for Rosh; that is all. Shall we dig ditches? Who thought to bring shovels?”

  “I do not like your tone.”

  Klay studied the man. He was young, younger than Klay by five or six years, but he had a presence about him. He could say something silly l
ike that and give it weight. He might have been a great king if he were the older brother and his family still had a kingdom.

  Lahar said, “The stalemate will end.”

  “Of course it will, but on whose terms?”

  Klay made his way through the trees, past the knights and Gadarans. The rangers kept their bears south of the horses. The Ashen Elves had fortified their position with more sentinels, and Klay could not remember seeing so many standing in the open. Even last year, when they clashed with the Roshan, there had not been so many. Half of Telessar waited for an invasion.

  He found Tyrus alone, leaning against a tree near the edge of the forest. When Tyrus folded his arms across his chest, it made his forearms look thicker than Klay’s thighs.

  Klay asked, “Any changes?”

  Tyrus said nothing.

  Klay couldn’t tell if the man was blessed or cursed. No one wanted to talk to him, a blessing Klay craved, but that might take its toll on a former general. Could someone who had commanded armies adjust to being an outsider?

  Tyrus asked, “How are the men?”

  “Impatient.”

  “Desertions?”

  “None.”

  “Well, that’s unusual. I’d think those monsters would scare off a few.”

  They watched distant beasts with glowing red eyes, patrolling the camp walls. They were too far away to hear, but Klay knew from experience that they shook the ground when they ran.

  “The waiting is the worst part.”

  “Don’t tempt fate,” Tyrus said. “After the fighting starts, this might be our best memory. At least we are healthy and well fed.”

  Klay sometimes forgot how old Tyrus was. He had enough scars to appear worn, but his strength and stamina spoke to a youthfulness. He had an unnatural body that hurt Klay’s head if he thought about it too much. The Damned was almost three times his age.

  “How do you handle the waiting?”

  “Practice. So, what are the Shinari arguing about now?”

  “Honor and whether the beasts have changed the rules of combat.”

  “Constructs lack rules, that kind of thing?”