Nyset and Baylan peered through the tent flap and then stepped away. Walter squatted beside Grimbald, examining a young man’s body. The neck had a large gash near the carotid artery.
“It looks— it looks like something was eating at this man’s neck,” Walter said, a hand held over his mouth.
“Same with this one,” Grimbald said, standing over a muscular woman’s body.
“Their unlucky day, but I think this might be our lucky day,” Walter said, walking to the back of the tent. On the table were six sets of armor, polished and arranged in perfect rows. There were only a few drops of dried blood on the pieces. He started strapping on the Falcon armor, tugging on straps and grinning at the feeling of its weight on his back. The armor was a hybrid of plate and leather. Plate covered the shoulders, back, and torso and thick leather laced it all together.
“Shit. Of course, there isn’t a set big enough for me,” Grimbald sighed.
“Look at the set on the end over there. It looks like it belonged to that big guy,” Walter nodded to a burly man whose guts had spilled from a deep, horizontal slash. “The shoulder pieces and bracers might fit, certainly not the chest or back plates, better than nothing…” Walter tucked two stabbing daggers into his belt.
“Great, the one guy who can’t heal himself with magics doesn’t get armor, just great,” Grimbald muttered.
Baylan entered the enormous tent and walked to the table with a scowl. “Stealing from the dead? I think I’ll pass.”
“This is war Baylan. The longer we stay alive, the more Death Spawn we can kill, and the more people we can save,” Walter said, cinching a strap on his thigh.
Baylan groaned and started putting on a set of armor after rubbing off the flecks of blood. “Your logic is sound,” he said quietly.
Nyset came in behind Baylan and started pulling on a smaller set of armor, presumably worn by one of the slain women. They finished putting on the armor in hurried silence, listening to the sounds of tightening straps and clinking steel.
* * *
Walter wet his lips as the din of war drew nearer and Marie slowed to trot. He looked at Grimbald, whose face was red from excessive scratching. Baylan seemed to be continually uncomfortable on his mare, constantly shifting in his saddle. Nyset pulled up on her shirt’s collar, repeatedly rubbing at the crease. Walter closed his eyes, focusing on the warmth of the sun on his face. This is another cusp, one where we live or die.
They rounded another sharp bend, opening to a flat trail that sloped down towards a wide expanse of scrubland. Walter exhaled a long held breath and his eyes bulged. There they were, a mass of men with red plumes and glittering armor interspersed with a horde of Death Spawn. If battles were won by the shinier side, they would have had this battle won without a problem. It was a damn shame they weren’t.
Men screamed in death and other’s roared in attack. Their numbers appeared to be roughly the same, which was good, but it meant the Death Spawn still had the upper hand. Faces of friends and falling Breden guards flashed across his mind, their eyes pleading for mercy. The group looked like ants against the lofty plateaus on either side of them.
At the back of the mass of Death Spawn was a golden chariot with four wheels, reflecting the sun with the green hints of emeralds. Walter could see there was a feminine form, hardly clothed, perched at the front and watching intently. What is that doing here?
“Those fucking bastard!” Grimbald roared.
“Let’s go! Stay strong! To me,” Walter said, kicking Marie’s haunches. She neighed and burst into a gallop.
“How are they going to know not to kill us?” Nyset yelled.
“Because we’re not Death Spawn,” Baylan said, his face a hard grimace.
Gray trees and brown boulders zipped past Walter’s peripheral vision. In the middle of the fray was an enormous creature, sweeping soldiers into the air like rag dolls. Arrows bounced off its armor and those that did make it through didn’t seem to faze it.
“What is that?” Walter shouted to Baylan.
“I don’t know!” Baylan said, robes billowing in the wind. They came to the end of the sloping path that intersected with the plains, edged with looming Cypress trees.
“Alright, let’s secure the horses” Walter said, dismounting and tying Marie to a tree. The others did the same and Walter rubbed the broken Breden hilt at his belt.
“Wiggles, come here boy,” Walter said, beckoning to the hound. The dog whined, wagged its tail, and cocked its head at Walter. Walter fished a piece of dried lamb from his pocket and squatted low, offering it to Wiggles. The dog bounded towards Walter and swallowed the meat in one bite. He secured Wiggles to a tree beside the horses with a short section of rope.
“Protect the horses,” Walter said, rubbing the dog’s ears.
“We’ll see you soon, Wiggles,” Nyset said gravely and giving him a pat.
“This is it guys. Nyset, Baylan this is probably going to be long, conserve your power. Remember the plan, and don’t die,” Walter said, forcing a smile. Nyset nodded, wiping sweat from her brow.
“Everyone ready?” A loud clang cut through the air and Walter’s head whipped over his shoulder, seeing a soldier block another spear thrust with his shield. He looked back at the animals, finding Wiggles gnawing at the rope. He’ll give up eventually.
Grimbald grunted, drawing Corpsemaker from the crisscrossing straps around his back, venous muscles flexing. Nyset’s fingers ran along the colored vials along her belt and Walter gazed into her doe eyes. He broke eye contact and nodded sharply. I can’t believe this is real. When does the nightmare end? Be strong, you must lead, they need you.
“Let’s go,” he said, breaking into a jog. Now would have been a good time to have that Cerumal armor, but I guess this will have to do.
The fighting wasn’t more than two hundred paces away. They were headed straight for the Death Spawn’s flank. He couldn’t take his eyes away from the towering beast in the center, whose weapons swung in wide arcs, tearing down two and three men at a time. Fucking bastard — One hundred paces.
Grimbald’s teeth were drawn into a feral grimace and Nyset conjured four flame discs that trailed behind the quartet. A stray arrow soared towards them with a hiss and a Phoenix shield materialized just in time to deflect it, and just as quickly, vanished.
“Nice, Baylan,” Walter snorted. His eyes focused on the three Cerumal that turned towards them. Fifty paces.
“Look out!” he snapped, ducking low to dodge a thrown spear. Its jagged edge nicked his bicep, healing with a thin jet of blue light. The Cerumal who threw the spear released an ear splitting shriek and charged towards the group. Walter whipped Stormcaller high over his head. Ten paces.
“Die bastard!” he screamed as Stormcaller tore through the beast, severing its body into three sections with a spray of blood and flaming tendrils.
“Let’s give em’ haircuts!” Grimbald roared beside him, dashing into the fray and chopping off the arm and then the head of another. He swung Corpsemaker with sickening precision and speed, chopping down legs and splitting horned helmets. Just a tavern boy, eh? No.
“Go back to the pit from whence you came!” Baylan’s voice boomed, causing some of the Cerumal to stagger with its force. Two charged at Baylan and a portal opened and closed, swallowing them into the ether. Another beast swung at him with an axe and it bounced off his shield, and then the creature’s hand betrayed him, axe turning to split its face. Shit, he never taught me that, what other tricks do you have wizard? Shit! Focus!
A Black Wynch clacked its talons, dropping into a crouch in front of Walter, dashing towards him, intending to gore him with the blade on the top of its helm. He dropped low and swept its wiry legs out from under it. Walter turned, cracking Stormcaller as Nyset’s disc soared over him, fizzling as it passed through the neck of the Black Wynch when it stood. He grinned at her and her flash of a smile was quickly replaced by a ferocious sneer. Her palms opened, releasing flaming lances into t
he chests of two Black Wyches that were at both of his flanks. Walter turned on his heels, rolling back as they fell beside him.
“Shit!” he gasped. His jaw dropped at the realization of how close they had been, now writhing and smoldering before him.
His hand held firmly to the swimming Dragon and his mind and body were filled with muscle vibrating strength. There are so many, too many. He wrapped Stormcaller around his fist and smashed it into the face of a Skin Flayer, raising its rune-lined blade over a Falcon soldier who lay defenseless. The creature’s face caved in on the side and its body fell onto its own blade. Incredible, feel stronger than I ever have, even with the Cerumal armor.
Walter reached out with his hand and the man took it, face pale. “What are these things?” he stammered, eyes darting. Walter picked up a battered sword and handed it to the soldier.
“Get up!” Walter said as he threw a fireball beside the man. It burst through the chest of a Cerumal with swords in both hands, screeching as it fell.
“You’re on our side?” the solider said weakly, sword tightly held in a two-handed grip and pointed at Walter.
Walter cracked Stormcaller through the legs of a Cerumal and Grimbald finished it off with an axe chop through the neck. “Haha!” Grimbald roared, swinging at another Cerumal, blood slashing across the air. It blocked his vicious blow with its shield and Grimbald kicked its knee, producing a loud pop.
“Why else would I have saved you?” Walter said, turning back to the soldier and wiping a glob of blood from his brow. He grunted as he ducked the swing of a broad sword. The Cerumal snarled, teeth jagged and bleeding, yellow eyes glowing. It struck again from overhead and Walter wrapped the coils of Stormcaller around his wrist and stretched them out to block the strike. The blade burned into two pieces, the longer section tumbling behind Walter. The Cerumal paused, looking down at the broken sword in its hand. Walter used the shortened version of the lash to crack burning lines through its torso in a series of ferocious strikes. The beast fell with a thump between chunks of smoking armor.
Walter breathed deeply, scanning for his next target and Stormcaller’s lashes waved by his side. His feet dug into the loose, dry dirt, securing his stance.
“He fights with us!” The solider screamed, attacking a Cerumal with a stabbing strike. A group of a dozen Falcon soldiers fighting near him rallied and cheered. One of them clapped a hand on Walter’s shoulder and said, “We’re sure glad you lot are on our side.” The man turned and loosed an arrow into the eye of Cerumal and then another into its chest. The group seemed to be fighting harder, taking more risks and attacking the Death Spawn with less fear. Partially reckless, but the Cerumal didn’t seem to expect it. Maybe we will survive after all.
Grimbald hacked, Nyset wove fire and air, and Baylan opened and closed portals, sometimes slicing through foes and other times teleporting them elsewhere. Grimbald had a few cuts and Baylan healed an arrow wound that thudded into his shoulder. The memory of the arrow passing through his father’s neck flashed across his mind in a blur. Walter swallowed hard as burning stomach acid bubbled into his throat.
He needed a close range weapon and he turned inward, mind reaching for the Dragon. A second passed, but it felt like minutes. It swam in his mind, raging in the calm wings of the Phoenix. The Dragon became a magnificent blade of fire that lapped at the air. The guard consisted of two Dragon heads that waved and snapped at nearby Death Spawn. Yes this will do nicely. He opened his eyes to see the blade in his hands.
“Whoa,” Baylan said behind him, eyes wide.
“What?
“Nice weapon,” he said. Baylan’s eyes narrowed and teeth clenched as his hair fluttered in the air from the blast of wind Nyset used to throw three Cerumal to the ground.
Walter gripped the blade in both hands and let Stormcaller vanish. He admired the blade a second longer, and then something compelled him to swing at Grimbald. No, he is my friend. He involuntarily raised his arms over his shoulder, staring at Grimbald as he swung Corpsemaker in vicious arcs. Stop. Dammit!! He fought to regain control of his body as his arms started moving slower than any other strike, but certainly moving towards Grimbald.
“No — Grimbald look out!”
“Huh?” Grimbald turned as the tip of the blade cut him across the rib cage. Grimbald bellowed in pain and Corpsemaker thudded into the ground beside him. He stared at Walter, eyes wide and stuttering. “Why? Why did you do that?”
Again, a quiet voice resonated in his mind. Walter surveyed the fray and his eyes found what he was looking for. Not ten paces away was a Black Wynch with its pyramid shaped helm directed towards him.
“Bastard!” Walter yelled, ineffectively trying force his arm to move. Telekinesis! He touched the Phoenix, forcing the Dragon fire blade from his hands and directing it towards the beast. Once free of his fingertips, it zoomed through the air, passing through a Cerumal’s chest and piercing through the Black Wynch’s enormous helmet. Walter imagined the blade returning to his hand, pulling at it with the Phoenix and clenching his fists. The blade lurched free from the Black Wynch’s helm and sizzled through the air, returning to his hands. Dark blood bubbled from the burning hole in its helm for a long moment before its lifeless body crashed into the ground.
“Grim, the Black Wynches, they can control your mind,” Walter said. Grimbald nodded sharply, hand clutching the thankfully superficial wound.
The volcano to the far south released a bone trembling boom, followed by a burst of magma from its apex. A thick cloud of ash rose high into air. Shit, it’s alive. I’ve never seen—
His thoughts were interrupted as something bashed into his wounded shoulder, sending him spinning and groaning in pain. Walter grunted, gathering himself and looking up to see a Falcon soldier running from the battle, heading towards the Tigerian Bluffs. Coward. More men screamed behind him and a few more ran around him, following the other. He turned as a stocky soldier slid across the ground with a gaping wound channel bisecting his once gleaming armor. Walter met the man’s tired eyes as a gurgle of blood spilled from the corner of his mouth with a rattling breath.
Walter forced himself to pull his eyes from the dying man. A towering form slammed a weapon that looked like a gigantic beast’s horn, splitting at the end, through another soldier’s chest. The creature was almost twice as tall as Walter. It swept a jagged blade in its other hand through another man like a scythe through wheat. The solider that was impaled upon its horn-like weapon shrieked as the beast set its visage upon Walter. Behind its horned helmet were two beady, gray eyes staring at him with a palpable hatred. Its armor was thick with triple overlapping plates around the shoulders, elbows and knees. Long chains hung loosely around its arms, attached at the handles of both of its weapons. A jet black cape, shredded at the ends, waved in the hot wind.
“Guys! What is this?” Walter yelled, shuffling back a few steps. Baylan was now behind him, Nyset to his right and Grimbald to his left. A soldier leaped into the air and wrapped an arm around the behemoth’s neck. The soldier pulled a dagger from his belt, and before he could use it, he was torn from its back and slammed into the ground by the creature, producing a cloud of dirt. His body twitched in front of Walter’s feet and blood trickled from his ear. The behemoth picked up its massive sword by grabbing the chain that tethered it to its wrist and jerked the blade back into its hand.
“It’s— it’s a Lord of Death,” Baylan said.
A spear dinged off of the Lord of Death’s armor and he bashed the attacking solider in the chest with the back of his horned mace. The blow flattened the soldier’s chest plate and blood sprayed from his mouth as he flew into the air.
Nyset’s lips quivered and she clenched her jaw. “We need to run, we can’t fight that. Live another day.”
“We fight!” Walter roared. I hope you’re wrong.
Grimbald’s grip tightened around Corpsemaker and he charged, blood streaming from its edge. Walter swore in that instant he saw the bastard’s mouth flash w
ith a smile behind its thick helm. Grimbald’s shoulders bulged as he swung with a strike that would have cut a normal man in half. The Lord of Death parried his attack with its waving blade and countered with the swing of its mace, horn side at Grimbald. Grimbald barley got Corpsemaker up in time to block the blow and it threw him onto his back with a groan.
The Lord of Death raised its sword to finish Grimbald. Wake up. The sensation of things moving too quickly fled and Walter dashed in front of his friend, Dragon blade smoldering in his hands. The Lord of Death’s blade collided with Walter’s and he screamed as he willed the Dragon to suffuse his body with strength. The power of its blow was incredible, trying to force him into the ground. Incredibly, its blade bounced from Walter’s and followed up with its mace. Walter ducked and slashed with the Dragon blade, tearing through armor at its knee and spilling bright red blood.
The Lord of Death fell onto his wounded knee with a bellow. Walter moved to strike again and it whipped its arm sideways, sending the torrent of chains that hung from it at Walter. He sliced through a few of the chain lengths, but one smashed into his face and sent him reeling. He opened his eyes and coughed on a clump of dirt in his throat. Jaw dislocated?
The Lord of Death was back on its feet and stomping towards Nyset and Baylan. Walter pushed himself from the ground as three of Nyset’s discs cut into its chest, burning armor and spilling more blood. Walter’s eyes watered as he pushed his jaw back into place with a moan. The Lord of Death raised both weapons overhead and swung at Nyset and Baylan. Baylan raised both of his hands into the air and its weapons froze mid-strike. Baylan struggled against an unseen weight and his body vibrated with the effort. Nyset screamed as she sent a volley of burning darts into its arms and then visibly slumped with exhaustion. Grimbald struck at the back of its leg and his axe clanged off its armor. Walter tried to run back to the fight, but found himself limping. He looked down at his leg to see a bone sticking through the side of his thigh and bursting with blue light. Fuck! A gout of flame erupted from Nyset’s hands, coating the Lord of Death’s legs.
The Lord of Death (The Age of Dawn Book 2) Page 18
