He saved our lives.
A once beautifully white gelding strode up to the group, now slick with blooms of red and clumping ash, mounted by a grizzled man who commanded their attention. On his chest plate was the visage of a Falcon with a swathe of dark blood cut diagonally through it.
“You lot are still alive?” The man pulled off his helm and strapped it to his horse. Walter recognized the man now, Field Marshal Jast.
“Just barely,” Baylan said.
“You killed the giant?” Jast said to Walter. “My men say you— you summoned the magic?” He peered intently into Walter’s eyes. His eyes were hard, like a man who had endured far too much.
“I did, we all did. We worked together to kill the Lord of Death. Yes, with magic,” Walter said flatly.
“A Lord of Death… let’s keep that name to ourselves. I owe you all my thanks. I’ll send a wagon to pick you up.” He nodded and rode off, stopping to tend to a wounded soldier. Juzo, where are you?
Walter scanned the battlefield, looking for any sign of him. There he was, squatting low in front of the Lord of Death’s body. The wind whipped, fluttering his white hair and long coat. He stood, holding the jet black blade to his side, seeming to dull the light around him. His hand was inhumanly white. Walter watched as he trailed beside the beast’s body, stopping at its chest. He raised his blade and plunged it through the monster’s chest. The blade flashed with a brilliant glow and Walter swore he saw the face of the Lord of Death behind the blade, almost as though it were inside of it. But that’s not possible. Everything is possible. Is shooting burning lightning from your hands possible? Times are changing.
“Juzo!” Walter waved. “Hey! Over here.” Juzo spared the blade a glance and quickly sheathed it.
Juzo sauntered over to the group, eyes cast down. It looked like he had fresh blood around his lips and in the corners. Is he drinking… everyone has blood on them right now, don’t be stupid.
“Hey,” Juzo said quietly.
“Hey buddy, come here,” Walter said with a wide grin, arms open for an embrace. Juzo paused, red eye meeting his. “Get over here!” Walter chuckled. Juzo’s face relaxed and he hugged Walter. He felt cold, too cold. He must be sick.
“You came back for me. Thank you,” Walter said, pushing himself back and clasping Juzo’s shoulders. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”
“Indeed we do. You’re not going to believe what I’ve seen…and what I’ve become,” Juzo said.
“We’ve all changed Juzo. You’re still you though. You’re still my friend. Let me introduce you to my new friends… this is Baylan and this is Grimbald.” Juzo sat and started chatting with Grimbald, who immediately started complimenting him on his swordsmanship.
“Yeah, it’s funny, I never trained the sword. It just seems to come naturally…”
A wide, flat wagon rolled up to the group. Three men sat at the back, one was missing an arm, and another a foot, and another had a gut wound that didn’t look promising. The man commanded the horses gestured to them. “What are you waiting for? C’mon and get in, haven’t got all day.” Juzo and Walter guided Nyset in first and then the others piled on.
It was a long ride back to Midgaard. It should have only taken a day, but given the state of affairs, it took two. The weather seemed to be on their side for once and the clouds were thick, giving the men a break from the brutal sun. Walter, Nyset, and Baylan slept almost the entire time, waking to relieve themselves and to occasionally eat field rations of dried lamb and apples. Grimbald and Juzo kept watch over them, making sure they were still well. Neither wanted to talk much, and were glad they seemed to feel the same.
A ray of light warmed Walter’s face, waking him. His eyes opened to the sight of the bright red Blood Gates, opening ahead of the army column. He groaned as his cheek bounced against the hard, wood floor of the wagon. He pushed himself up into a sitting posture. His abdomen pulsed with a faint pain, not quite fully healed.
“Have a nice coma, grandpa?” A refreshingly familiar voice said. Walter looked over his shoulder to see Juzo standing, grinning down at him. Walter wanted to punch him in the leg, but didn’t have the energy to spare.
“Man, using the Dragon and Phoenix power is… brutally exhausting.” Walter said, checking out the rest of the group. Nyset slept with her head on Baylan’s shoulder, who also slept.
“I was expecting some type of welcome home party. I guess that kind of stuff is just in books,” Grimbald said beside him. Shit I’m tired, didn’t even see him there.
Walter grunted, knowing Grimbald would understand. The guards lining The Wall’s rampart stared at them with prying eyes and postures that leaned over the edge. Juzo pulled up the collar of his jacket, which reached as high as his cheeks.
“You can’t be cold?” Walter asked.
“No, have just had a bit too much sun. Do you stay in the city now?”
“That’s a long story, but I managed to acquire a wizard’s tower. It’s our home now, your home, if you want it to be. We call it the Lair,” Walter said, bouncing his eyebrows.
“How original,” Juzo said with a yawn. “That is amazing, though. I’d love to stay with you and hear that story. I’m going to have to return to Breden soon.” He folded his arms. “My parents don’t know I’m alive…” He trailed off as they entered Midgaard and his jaw hung open.
“Not quite like Breden, eh?” Walter asked, catching the change in Juzo’s mouth. His teeth are like daggers.
A second later Juzo closed his mouth and his lips formed a line. “Not at all.”
Civilians, both poor and noble, poured from houses and shops, shouting for the names of loved ones. There was restlessness that inflicted the crowd on the brink of becoming chaos. People pushed against one another, trying to get closer to the marching column of Falcon soldiers. Some people cried with joy at a particular soldier’s return, and others sobbed as they identified the remains of a lover in a Death Cart, where the bodies of the dead were placed.
The wagon came to a stop and Walter woke Nyset and Baylan. They gathered themselves and wiped the sleep from their eyes.
“Home sweet home,” Walter said. They walked back to the Lair and trudged up the tower’s long, winding stairwell.
“I still can’t get over that King Ezra actually gave me this when I asked,” Walter said as he set foot on the central landing, adjoining the other main rooms.
“All I can think about now is sleeping for days,” Nyset said, dropping onto a couch upholstered from a creature with long white hair. The thickly cushioned couch swallowed her lithe form.
“Me too,” said Baylan. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Let’s chat tomorrow. I’m going to have to go to the Tower next. Is anyone interested in coming with me? When I first met you, Walt, Nyset… I wouldn’t have dared ask, but I think you— everyone here could handle themselves there.”
“Hm. Sound like fun to me,” Grimbald said, hanging Corpsemaker in a slot on a wall beside several spears. “I like traveling.”
“Ask me tomorrow,” Nyset said, closing her eyes.
Walter mouthed “She’ll come.” He waved his hand, “Of course, I’d love to join you Baylan,” Walter said, eyes drooping with a deep inhale.
“This way Juzo,” Walter said, pointing him to a coat rack. “It’s great to have you back buddy,” he said with an eye crinkling smile.
“It’s great to be back,” Juzo said, flashing a jagged, toothy smile.
* * *
To be continued in Book 3 of The Age of Dawn. Go here to be notified once it is released http://everetmartins.com/newsletter/
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Acknowledgments
First of all, I would like to thank you, reader. Without you I wouldn’t be writing. I truly appreciate every one of you. I would like to also thank my editor, Lynette Patterson, and my book cover illustrator and map creator, Promit. Thank you for all of your help.
About the Author
Everet Martins writes stories of the fantastic. His first foray into the published realm is Stormcaller. It has the type of visceral action and fun he had always dreamed fantasy could be.
Living in New Hampshire, Everet finds inspiration for his books within his exciting life. He has always loved getting lost in role-playing games and novels. In his youth, he was notorious for being found with his face lost behind the cover of a book. Fascinated by the written word and always wanting to try putting pen to page, he started writing short stories, and eventually a novel.
As a young boy he was exposed to the rigors of martial arts and continued to practice them throughout his adult life, dabbling in various styles. The love for physical fitness morphed into other bodily challenges such as strength training and long distance running.
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters , places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2015 Everet Martins.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/ use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
The Lord of Death (The Age of Dawn Book 2) Page 20
