The Way Into Darkness: Book Three of The Great Way

by Harry Connolly

  Lowtower clapped his hands together in delight and moved toward it, but Tejohn caught his arm. “Do you think it’s poisoned?” Lowtower asked.

  Tejohn shrugged, then went back to his mat and rested his feet above him on the wall, an old trick he’d learned in his campaigning days to ease sore feet and legs. Lowtower looked at the food longingly, then lay back down and tried to sleep.

  The trial itself happened around midday and was nothing to be proud of. Tejohn was bound at the wrists and ankles so that he was forced to shuffle into the hall. His shirt was torn from his body and the magistrate--a thin, dark-haired man who looked as if he’d just swallowed a sourcake whole--told him he would receive a lash for every lie he told.

  Before the first question was ever asked, the room filled with men and women in long robes. Several wore leather cuirasses with green trim atop their long garments, but what that might mean was lost on Tejohn. Redegg and Bluepetal were nowhere to be seen, but the meaning of that was also lost on him. The assembly stared at him with all the warm regard of a row of stone sculptures.

  Fire and Fury, he should have slipped out of Twofin lands without the scholar or provisions when he’d had the chance.

  Commander Remly Snowfall, his helm decorated with the largest, most ridiculous comb Tejohn had ever seen, walked a slow circuit of the room. Two dozen of his men stood within that circuit, their shields held high and their spear points aimed at their prisoner.

  Tejohn was not lashed when he told them his name, that he had arrived with a caravan, that he had struck down the tyr and his two closest bodyguards, and that he’d ordered the tyr’s heirs taken from their rooms.

  He did receive a lash when he told them that he was bound for Tempest Pass, that he hoped to get a spell from Ghoron Italga to turn the tide of war against the grunts, that he had no interest in sitting on the Twofin chair, that the current heirs were safely hidden away in a place he could not name, that Iskol Twofin had planned to flood the lowland, that the tyr’s brother was a hollowed-out scholar, that the tyr’s brother had used his magic to make terrible creatures in his lab, that the proof was just below them if they were willing to take a look for themselves.

  When the time came for him to make his own argument, he was permitted to call as a witness anyone already in the room. Commander Lowtower was not there, nor was the bureaucrat Findwater, nor were any of the guards present at the time Tejohn killed the tyr. Every time he asked for one of them to be summoned, he was given a lash.

  I’m sorry, Laoni. I tried to save you. I tried to save all of us.

  The door to the great hall opened just as Tejohn had to concede that he had no witnesses to call. When he tried to look back to see who had entered, he received another lash. Part of him thought he should build his anger, take out his frustration and rage on the man with the whip--or against any of them, really--but he didn’t have his old fury anymore. What he actually felt was an overwhelming sadness. Where once he might have fantasized about ramming his fist into his tormentor’s face, all he could think about now was that he would never again see his wife and children.

  No. No, he was not going to give in. They were going to sentence him to death, but he doubted it would be carried out right away. Sunrise was the traditional time, and he was sure they would make a show of it. When the trial ended, he would request a last meal. Somehow, he would find a way to escape.

  It had to be possible. He simply wouldn’t accept that this was going to be his end.

  Whoever had entered the room summoned the magistrate from his tall stool. Irritated, the little man climbed down and bustled the long length of the hall. He spent some time in low conversation. Whatever they were saying, the magistrate didn’t like it. Tejohn strained to make out the words, but it was pointless. He resigned himself to standing still while blood ran down his back.

  When the magistrate made his way back to his high stool, he looked pale and miserable. Had someone else been killed while Tejohn was awaiting this farce of a trial?

  The magistrate climbed back onto his stool. He was slumped over and appeared to have aged ten years in moments.

  “Iskol Twofin was my friend. We were boys together, scaling cliffs and hunting among the peaks. He was with me when I found my first deposit of copper, even though I was still a child and far too young to claim it. When his elder brother died, he took his place on the Twofin chair and at the head of the Twofin army. A generation ago, he called to his people to defend the walls against Bendertuk rebels, and I was one of many who answered. I stood beside him and bent my bow at his command.

  “No enemy but one has ever breached the Twofin wall and lived. No enemy but one. The Holy Sons whispered Iskol Twofin’s name with dread, and Bendertuks did not dare to meet with him face to face a second time. And now he’s dead.

  “Tyr Tejohn Treygar, you have been found guilty...” His voice trailed off. It took visible effort for him to continue. “Of...” The stone-faced men and women around him broke out of their trance and turned around to stare up at him, confused and concerned.

  When the magistrate spoke next, the words came out of him in a rush. “Tyr Tejohn Treygar, you have been found guilty of destroying Twofin property. One oak-hafted spear. Your sentence--”

  A roar erupted from the assembly as people leaped off the benches. They couldn’t have moved more suddenly if they’d been pulled by ropes. Their voices were angry, but their palms were open and their body posture leaning back. They were more surprised than anything else, but that might change quickly.

  “Hear me!” the magistrate called. He had to shout it several times before the room became quiet enough for him to speak. “This court has passed judgement. If any man, woman, or child does harm to the accused, they and their families will dangle from the western cliff! Extra-judicial violence will not be tolerated.”

  The uproar returned, but this time, several of the serious-looking people by the benches shook their fists. Tejohn stared up at the magistrate. The man’s eyes bulged as he shouted, as did the veins in his neck.

  A high-pitched scream cut through the din. Forgetting for a moment the consequences of turning around, Tejohn spun toward the great hall entrance. Luckily, the crooked-backed old man did not lash him, because he turned toward the sound, too.

  There was another scream, then a third overlapping one. Those weren’t sounds of outrage; they were screams of terror. The big double doors to the hall stood wide open, and everyone near them had turned their attention toward the courtyard.

  Tejohn craned his neck to see what was going on outside. It wasn’t very far from the door of the holdfast to the wall, but all he could see from this angle was a barracks on the far side of the yard. A dozen soldiers came into view, charging toward the wall as they screamed, but even from this angle, Tejohn could see they couldn’t hold a decent line.

  A boy of about fourteen leaped into doorway and shouted, “The gate has been breached! We are under--”

  A flash of pale purple passed in front of the doorway. The boy vanished as though by magic.

  Fire and Fury, there was a grunt inside Twofin lands.

  “Commander Snowfall!” the magistrate called. Snowfall stood gaping at the empty doorway, seemingly deaf to the screams around him. “Remly!” The cadaverous man turned his attention toward the man. “You are high commander now! You must rally our spears!”

  Remly’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as though he was trying to swallow but his mouth was bone dry. “Spears,” he said, his voice hoarse, “on me.” He started toward the doors, but with less urgency than duty and honor would suggest.

  He’d left no one behind to guard “the accused.” Tejohn shuffled after them, doing his best to avoid being knocked over in the milling crowd. Someone should have ordered the citizens to make way for the spears, but it wasn’t Tejohn’s place to do it.

  Citizens in the courtyard surged into the building, making it impossible for the soldiers to advance. Tejohn should have followed them back into the b
uilding. This was his chance to find a knife or something to cut his bonds, then raid the kitchens and set out for the northern gates, Tempest Pass, and the spell he had sworn to find for Lar Italga.

  But that wasn’t what he was doing. Instead, he bent his knees and pushed forward, bracing himself as well as he could with his narrow stance. Then the crowds passed him and he was alone, stutter-stepping after the soldiers.

  “Form up in front of the hall,” Commander Snowfall said. The spears who had been guarding Tejohn shuffled down the steps and formed a ragged line.

  Out in the middle of the courtyard, the grunt hunched low over a bloody wreck. Fire and Fury, but the creature was big. It had dragged the corpse of the boy into the open and was now feasting on him in full view of the yard. Tejohn was glad the creature’s back was to him.

  To the right, soldiers milled uncertainly near the broken gate. They held the longest spears Tejohn had ever seen. They were absurdly long. Atop the wall, several archers were still stringing their bows, while others awaited an order to shoot.

  To the left, more spears stood at the ready to attack the grunt, but they were clumped together erratically, and ordinary townsfolk were mingled among them. Some of the citizens held hammers or cleavers, while others just stood there gawping, as though the only protection they needed was to have others standing a little closer to the beast. Beyond them were the carts of the caravan and the little market town the walls had been built to protect.

  Tejohn could see no evidence of the charge he’d witnessed through the doorway.

  An arrow struck the dirt near the grunt and it shifted position. Tejohn saw the body at its feet more clearly as the beast tore a long strip of muscle from the boy’s leg. Its mouth, throat, and forearms were red with blood.

  Monument sustain us all, that thing is huge. When he’d seen the grunts in Peradain, they’d looked as big as bears, if not larger. Had they grown over the months since they’d arrived or was the thing’s size magnified by Tejohn’s fear?

  “F-form up,” Remly said again, his voice almost at a whisper. Tejohn was close enough to hear him, but the soldiers near him didn’t seem to.

  He couldn’t stand another moment. “Fire take you,” Tejohn snapped at the commander. “Organize your archers to shoot in volleys and get those spears in a line! You need to block the northern end of the courtyard before the grunt gets into the town. Your spears have a better chance if they have room to maneuver.”

  Snowfall opened his mouth but no sound came out. He gave Tejohn a murderous look but didn’t rebuke him.

  “What are you waiting for?” Tejohn shouted.

  The commander flinched and glanced at the grunt. It had turned to look at them, drawn by the sound of Tejohn’s voice, and Snowfall trembled under its gaze.

  Someone came up behind Tejohn and began to tug at the rope around his wrists. Who ever it was, he ignored them. “You’re afraid,” he said to Snowfall. “You are a Fire-taken coward who thinks commanding an army during wartime is a comfortable political appointment.”

  The rope binding his hands was severed, and he loosened the knots and rubbed his wrists. “He has always been this way.” It was Redegg behind him, a tiny belt knife in his hand. The old man bent to cut the rope binding his ankles. “The old tyr valued loyalty over competence. You can make your escape in the confusion now.”

  “I know,” Tejohn said, then he walked across the top of the wooden stairs and slapped Remly Snowfall on the side of the head very, very hard.

  His helmet rang like a muted gong and he collapsed like a stack of children’s wooden blocks. Tejohn immediately began to unsling the man’s shield from his back.

  “Shall I help, my tyr?” Redegg said.

  “Sword belt.”

  The merchant worked on the buckle while Tejohn slid the man’s knife into his belt. The open cuts on his back should have been more painful than they were. He knew they were bleeding, but he had found his anger again and there was no time for shallow injuries at the moment.

  Tejohn hefted the shield while Redegg hung the sword belt on his hip. It was the biggest shield he’d ever held--a rectangle that came up to his bottom rib if he rested it on the ground. The wood was thick and the edge was rimmed with bronze. What’s more, it was notched and scratched heavily; someone had fought with it.

  The old merchant strapped the belt on him faster than Tejohn would have thought possible. The fellow had the hands of a pickpocket. If only he could find a spear.

  “ARCHERS!” he shouted, startling everyone. He started down the steps, slipping Snowfall’s helmet on. It was too wide; why did no one have a normal-sized head? “Form up for a volley on my command!” To his satisfaction, they began to do it. Perhaps there was a value to those ridiculous combs after all.

  “Spears!” he shouted at the men and woman milling around the northern end of the yard. “Form a picket line! You can not let this thing into the town, among your families. It will tear your children apart.” What was the town called, again? “Your mothers, your sisters, your aged fathers, little toddlers splashing in the mud. All of them will die screaming if you do not hold this line! Pack in! Pack in! Shield to shield!”

  They did as he ordered, although some hesitated to leave their place in front of the door of the great hall. Redegg slammed those doors shut and threw the bar, for all the good that would do against a creature strong enough to batter open the heavy southern gates.

  “If you are not a soldier,” Tejohn called, “clear the yard! Give your defenders room to maneuver!”

  Ordinary citizens began to move back toward the caravans, and those that would not move were dragged away.

  There were still soldiers by the broken gate, some facing outward in case a second grunt came through, some guarding the first group’s back. “You! Form a double line beneath the archers’ position. Quick now!”

  In the center of the yard, the grunt shoved its snout under the bloody bared rib cage of its victim. Still, it looked up often as the soldiers organized.

  It doesn’t fear us. That’s why it fed directly in the middle of the yard. It was taunting them.

  A tiny, ruthless part of him urged him to slip away. These poorly trained spears would be the perfect distraction, and I have more important tasks ahead.

  No. Song would know what he did today, and he was not going to shame himself in front of the gods. Besides, he needed this pass to be in human hands when he returned. He needed it.

  The grunt kicked the little corpse away from it, finished with that meal. It started scanning the courtyard for more victims, and Tejohn knew that if the creature’s hunger was slaked, it would start biting as many people as it could to spread its curse. There was no more time to muster the troops.

  “VOLLEY!”

  The grunt reacted to his call faster than the archers did. At the moment he shouted that word, the creature bounded to the side, leaping out of the path of the sheet of arrows. Only two archers, who were so slow their arrows did not loose with the others, came close--one stuck lightly into the creature’s hip and the other struck the ground between its feet.

  It roared, and everyone in the courtyard fell back a step, even Tejohn. The Fire-taken thing had understood him. Could it speak the Peradaini language, or had it understood that one word the way a dog understood “fetch” or “stay”?

  “Form up!” Tejohn shouted. The line of spears between the grunt and the town stretched all the way across the courtyard--a ten-year-old child couldn’t have slipped through--but many were still stepping backward. “Form up and ready for a pincer! Archers, loose in a sheet when I call ‘another’!”

  The grunt turned toward Tejohn, and the terrible way it looked at him made him long for a spear. Glancing at the archers, he could see that they were only now readying their next shot. “Bend! Another!”

  A second volley of arrows flew from the top of the wall, and this time the grunt did not have a chance to dodge them. It howled in agony, its back and left side bristling with ar
rows.

  At least he knew the beast could not speak Peradaini. “Loose another when I say go! Spears! Stamp advance, with a pincer!”

  The grunt turned toward the archers and roared at them. A small, shameful part of Tejohn was grateful that the creature had turned its attention elsewhere, but that only made him shout his next order all the louder: “Points! Shock line!”

  The creature bounded toward the wall. The spears managed to brace their weapons against the ground but it did them no good. Just like Third Splashtown. I should have remembered that a shock line was a failed tactic. The grunt reached them in two great leaps. With a sweep of one claw, it batted six spearpoints aside, then lunged in to grab hold of a man.

  It lifted him, screaming, and hurled him at the other spears who were bringing their weapons to bear. Then it leaped in among them, bowling them over with its tremendous size and speed. The line was broken and men fled in every direction. The archers on the walls fell out of ranks as well, sprinting along the top of the wall to the towers on either side. One or two tried to get off a last shot, but it was no use.

  The grunt lifted up another soldier and swung him like a club at his fellows, and that impact of armored body against armored body made a sickening noise. “Stamp--” Tejohn began to yell, but his voice was drowned out by a chorus of war cries.

  Three young men broke from the advancing stamp line and charged, screaming, toward the grunt’s back. The fellow in the middle had the lead on the others, and they made good speed for all their heavy shields, spears and cuirasses.

  “Form up!” Tejohn shouted at them. Never give an order you know will not be followed. But he did it anyway, as futile as it was, because he wasn’t ready to give up on anything, ever. “Form up!”

  The youths kept charging as if they couldn’t hear him. The grunt knocked down a pair of men and raked their backs with its claws, then it lifted one and threw it at the would-be heroes.

  The body bowled over two of the men, scattering them and their spears. The third man rushed forward and hurled his spear; the grunt sidestepped it easily, then charged out into the middle of the yard again toward its new enemies.