A horn bellowed from a spire, reverberating through his open mouth and down into his chest. A great cacophony joined in, blowing as loud as a volcano, sending waving tremors up and down Walter’s body. Baylan said something to Nyset, who said something to him, drowned in the booming horns all around.
A cloud of dust rose over the hill, smearing the sky in browns. “The beasts are here!” Grimbald roared, his hand wrapped tight around Corpsemaker on his back.
“They’re here too!” Nyset shouted, pointing at a second column that had appeared from the east. A plume of smoke rose from between a valley, drifting towards the villages. Their armor didn’t reflect the light, shadows darkening as they marched.
“I have to go to my men,” Grimbald said, dashing towards the spire’s archway.
They were organized, units fanning out into determined positions, forming long columns. They were well out of bow-shot, but what about magic? Armsmen stomped down the market square behind, climbing stairways and settling into positions on the battlements, bows at the ready.
The dark columns swept down the hills, no doubt ravaging anything and everything. Three pillars of smoke emerged from stone and timber houses, billowing out to the sea. The red flicker of fire burned on the horizon, spreading across the rooftops. Screams carried on the wind, faint like whispers, a brutal sound no one could dismiss as something more benign.
“We should be there. We need to help them,” Nyset said, crushing his arm in hers.
“No, we have to stay here, behind the bridge,” Walter said with a swallow. “We would only be slaughtered there, especially alone.”
She exhaled, tears welling in her eyes, then nodded with resolution. “I know, I know.”
A large party forded the river from the west, drifting towards the embankment before the wall. Walter could see the ladders on their boats, more than adequate for scaling the walls. They were circled in, surrounded by steep hills to the north beyond the practice yard. There would be no running, only bodies piled high. The question was mostly whether it would be theirs or the Death Spawn’s.
The defenders of the Tower could do nothing but watch from the walls as the houses beyond the bridge were engulfed in a cloud of smoke, speckled with tongues of fire. It was all happening too fast. A column of wizards in scarlet robes filled in between the armsmen, eyes glowing with the fire of the Dragon.
“The House of the Dragon,” Nyset said.
“Why isn’t Tamia with them?” Baylan said behind them. Walter started, almost pissing himself, forgetting Baylan was there.
“Baylan,” Walter breathed. “Shit.”
Armsmen spilled in around them, crouching low behind the battlements, armor clinking, bow strings twanging as they were tested. “Out of the way, apprentice,” an armsman said, shouldering him to the back of the parapet. He wasn’t about to argue with a man wearing Milvorian steel. Walter didn’t think it would be much longer before his secret was revealed, rubbing at Stormcaller under his sleeve. He knew it would only be a matter of time, as inevitable as the coming sunset.
The others pulled to the back as armsmen filled the gaps where they were standing. The grip the Death Spawn had on the village tightened, tiny shapes becoming more visible. The archer’s tower was now in flames. Nyset stood with her hand on her short sword, her blond hair swirling about her hollow cheeks.
Juzo was beside Baylan, looking balefully out at the black mass. “There are a lot of Death Spawn down there,” he grunted.
Baylan was looking down, scribbling notes with a stub of charcoal. In the face of impending death, he would be the one to be writing it all down during the event. “About twelve thousand, I would guess,” Baylan said musingly.
“Twelve thousand,” Walter repeated.
Something rose out of the swarming Death Spawn, lifting into the air, its unfolding wings spreading wide.
Juzo gasped. “That’s not a dragon, is it? I need to find a weapon,” he said patting his empty hips. He turned toward one of the armsmen, asking him for his spare sword.
“No… it’s a Shattered Wing. Walter, the thing we saw in the Denerian Cliffs months ago,” Nyset said.
“I remember it,” he said with a nod.
“Close enough to a dragon from the legends,” Nyset added.
It was terrifyingly fast, soaring over half of the bridge in less than a minute, its feathered wings flapping like crashing waves. It let out a gut wrenching scream, its incredible mouth yawning open. Smaller pairs of legs dangled from its long arms and tiny avian legs.
Bow strings snapped and arrows soared, falling short of the mark. A wizard beside Nyset hurled twin fireballs at it, one tearing through its back leg. The leg twisted through the air, black blood raining from its wound. A humanoid figure clung to the plummeting limb, body stretched out, purple robes flapping.
The Skin Flayer hanging from its leg let go, falling onto the bridge and deftly rolling. It unsheathed runed blades, shimmering with yellow dots. The Skin Flayer hacked its blades into a merchant, screaming, trying to make his way to the closed Tower gates. The beast kicked the merchant off his blades, blood spattering onto stone, sending him over the side of the bridge and splashing into the river below. The Skin Flayer’s eyes glowed, whirling his blades through other civilians running for the gates before they closed.
Walter looked up, and saw the Shattered Wing closer, twirling like a missile and weaving through gouts of fire and arrows.
“Nyset!” Walter shouted.
“I’m on it!” she said, her hair lifting into the air, eyes burning.
The flying Death Spawn folded its wings over its back, darting straight towards them, its sickled horns above its head leading the charge. Its eyeless face seemed to be focused on him. Walter caressed the Phoenix, its cool touch bringing his heart rate down a few beats. He fanned his fingers open, luminescent shield springing to life, wide enough to protect himself and Nyset.
Fire exploded from the air itself, blowing a hole from the side of the Shattered Wing, offal spilling from the open cavity like a gutted pig. The creature shrieked, falling uncontrollably, men ducking all around. Walter grabbed Nyset’s shoulder, dragging her, open mouthed, to the ground.
The Shattered Wing’s horn caught on one of the battlements with a boom, flipping it over the parapet and crashing into the square behind them. It rolled over and over, smashing through merchant’s carts and leaving a line of destruction in its wake.
“This isn’t a nightmare, is it? Is this really happening?” An armsman muttered beside him, echoing Walter’s thoughts.
“Shit!” Walter and Juzo breathed simultaneously, making eye contact, bits of stone dust hanging in the air. Something growled beside Walter and he turned as an armsman stabbed his spear through the face of a Cerumal, splashing blood across his shirt.
“Shit!” he yelled, the illusion of safety now fully dismissed. Walter looked down into the market square. A Black Wynch stumbled to its feet and a Cerumal was crawling out from under the dead Shattered Wing, its legs mangled in wrong directions.
A young boy in dirty clothes had a boulder in his hands. He lifted it overhead and walked to the Cerumal. The creature grabbed his neck, hand crushing it like an orange, boulder dropping onto the beast’s face and flattening it. The boy collapsed on top of the Cerumal’s lifeless body, blood dribbling out of his ruined neck.
“Hey!” Walter yelled, seeing the House of the Phoenix, blue robes finally pouring out a spire. “Hey!” Walter screamed, stabbing his finger at the brave lad. They finished the Black Wynch with a few well-placed portals, then Master Grozul tended to the boy. He looked up at Walter and shook his head with what he guessed was a frown under his beard.
He turned from the parapet’s edge, meeting Nyset’s eyes. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah,” she nodded, eyes sharp and peering over his shoulder.
“What is it?” he asked, turning around to see Juzo dragging the corpse of the Cerumal away and towards the archway.
Walt
er walked over, helping him with its legs. “Good idea, we should try to keep bodies off the wall.”
“Uh, yeah,” Juzo said, looking at him for a second, then stared back at the creature, licking his lips.
“Food?” Walter asked, grim recognition dawning.
Juzo nodded, swallowing. As soon as they were out of sight, his mouth latched onto the beast’s neck, greedily sucking down its warm blood. “I’m sorry,” Juzo said, taking a breath. He looked up at Walter, his mouth swathed in red, tongue circling his lips. “I think I’ll be needing my strength.”
“Right,” Walter said turning away, unable to watch. He felt like he had stumbled upon some hidden part of nature, tucked away because man couldn’t handle its violence.
Screaming and the clashing of steel rang out from the wall. He darted back through the archway, seeking the source. On the western side, the boats had reached the embankment and had started raising ladders. One made it to the top before it was kicked over, Death Spawn tumbling into the depths like rocks due to their heavy armor. Not the brightest lot. They had only sent four boats, a fraction of the thousands blackening the land. Why so few?
“They’re testing our defenses,” growled Burtz, Master of the House of Arms. Some of the armsmen shuffled nervously in front of him, rotating their shoulders and tightening straps.
“What do we do now?” Walter asked, unsure of his place in the man’s hard eyes. He hadn’t met him, only heard of his brutal sessions through Juzo and Grim. Truth of it was, he felt like he should have been training under him too.
“We wait, of course. We don’t leave such a defensible position,” Burtz said.
Grimbald marched up the stairs, his regal uniform replaced with gleaming armor of the Falcon, bright ruby straps securing the pieces to his sweating arms. Corpsemaker was hanging by his side, loose in his hands, the curving edge looking deadly sharp.
“There wasn’t any sense in trying to crush the life of the weapon when you didn’t need too,” Noah, his late Sid-Ho trainer reminded him. It had been a while since that voice was there to advise him.
“Grim, you and your men hold the main gates and defend it with your life. You might not have to do anything but suck each other’s cocks, but if they get through you’ll need to press them back.”
“Consider it held,” Grimbald said, bowing low to the Master of Arms.
“There’s no need for that now, not here. When you’re my apprentice, you bow. When you command your men, we’re equals. Got it?” said Burtz, hands resting on the mace and sword on his hips.
“Yes, sir. I mean—okay.” He nodded, awkwardly stepped backwards, almost tripping on the end of a spear as he turned around. Grimbald gave them a curt wave as he marched down the stairs adjacent to the wall, shouting commands to his soldiers.
“Juzo is feeding,” Walter whispered to Nyset and Baylan.
“Good. He’ll need to be strong now,” Baylan said, scribbling away.
Nyset slowly shook her head. “Why are they here? It doesn’t make sense. They can’t get through, can they Baylan?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think they can get through, but I don’t want to blind myself with my own confidence. It is a deadly blind spot for many,” he said, winking at Walter.
He thought he was doing better with that, but maybe not. It was a hard thing to change what you always were. You could always change for the better, evolve into a shinier version of yourself. The scars would always be there, but you could change.
* * *
Hours passed and the sun slid behind the hills, painting the sky in pinks and ambers. Walter stared out over the parapet with the others, hushed whispers spreading over the defenders as the fires raged. The few Death Spawn bold enough to make a run for the Milvorian gates were quickly picked off by raining fire, bolts and arrows. A line of bodies littered the bridge, some human, most Death Spawn, rotting in their own pools of piss and blood. The carrion birds had already moved in, picking at the remains. A mangy looking bird tore a long strip of skin from a face, then started choking on its own greed, squawking, flopping over and motionless.
The villages became a place of fire and shadow. Buildings became an endless network of fallen walls, crumbling roof lines, and stabbing crossbeams. It was a nightmare of broken cries, disembodied shapes flailing through the night. Some were lucky enough to end their misery by making it to the precipice before the water, leaping for a quick death.
The interspersed towers loomed into the dark, now gutted husks. Doors and windows screamed open and fire flicking out, blasting through and tickling at the twilight. Blackened beams tipped with fire jabbed at the flames and they stabbed back. Black ash drifted into the air, occluding the pinks of the dying sun. The village had a new set of towers, black smoke creeping over the hills, sucking up the light of fires, blotting out the hope of the stars.
Grimbald stared over the gates from down below, puffing on a pipe, his armor reflecting the bleeding sky. The Falcon soldiers were out of formation, their faces weary and leaning on spears, waiting for the nightmare to reach their door. Grimbald, sensing their foreboding, started going around to the men, laying his hands on their shoulders and giving encouraging handshakes.
Two blue-robed men were using blasts of air and fire to sweep away the remains of the Shattered Wing. Another had carried off the body of the first casualty behind the walls, the junior apprentice boy who had fell to the Cerumal’s hands. Walter hoped that would be the only casualty, but one could always have hopes, couldn’t they? Hope kept a man striving, made the path less difficult to bear. It we thought things would get better tomorrow, we could push through today’s battle.
The Arch Wizard finally came down from her spire, Tamia dutifully at her side. The torches were lit in the market square, along the main parapet, and the surrounding walls. All eyes were on her, face still beautiful even in shadow. She wasn’t wearing the silken robes she normally wore though, now she was dressed for war. Shining armor plates covered her shoulders, forearms, torso, and thighs, lined with thick, curved spikes. A scimitar with a gleaming white handle carved in the likeness of the Dragon sat on her hip. Would she actually get her hands dirty? That was yet to be seen.
The Arch Wizard strode to the middle of the square, Dragon fire illuminating her eyes. A waste of energy, Walter thought. A show of strength would be good for the men though, hopefully it was enough to wash away the stain of her earlier absence. Whispers spread through the defenders, dying down as it became clear she was preparing for a speech.
“You have done well with defending the Tower today. Do not fear, for our walls will not break.” She said, holding her hands behind her back, and starting to pace across the wide street. “You must know that what you fight today are not men, but Death Spawn from the legends.”
“No such thing!” an armsman shouted.
“Yes, they are real!” she shouted back. “The Seal of The Age of Dawn has broken. The demon god, Asebor, has returned. You may have heard about it as a child. We have withstood his scourge before and will not bend today.”
Soldiers and wizards exchanged uncertain glances, swallowing, some hands trembling and gripping weapons to make it stop. “We have crushed Asebor once before and we will do it again. You are the best trained women and men in all the realms, the most deadly with the Dragon and Phoenix.”
Some straightened up, fist clenching and nodding around Walter. “This is fucked,” an armsman said beside Walter.
“Listen,” he hissed back.
“Kill without mercy,” the Arch Wizard continued. “Do not give quarter to these beasts. There will be no prisoners. If you don’t… they will take everything that is dear to you! Your children, your lives, your souls all banished from the Shadow Realm. No rest, no peace.”
“No quarter!” Burtz bellowed, raising his spiked mace into the dark.
“No mercy!” screamed a woman, a curving sword of fire glowing in her hand.
“There is a good reason why I waited so long to
come to you. There was something I had to be sure of, something I had to think about. There is an apprentice who stands among you, one truly gifted,” she said, her eyes finding his, staring at him unwavering.
Walter didn’t like where this was going one bit. His stomach squirmed under her gaze, bile singing up to his throat, palms tingling with sweat. Nyset squeezed his hand. “Dragons. How could she know?” she whispered. The wizards and armsmen around him, turned to face him, eyes narrowing.
“This man, Walter Glade of Breden touches both of the god’s essences. Both the strength of the Phoenix and the Dragon reside in his soul. Do not fear, for he has the strength to slay the demon god. You have a hero of the ages in your presence, standing with you against the demons. Do not let him die.”
How had she found out? It had to have been Stormcaller on his arm. He was a fool to wear the bracer to her office. Tamia stood behind her. He expected her to be snarling at him, but she was oddly relaxed, her thin lips forming the start of a smile. She tilted her head to the side, nodding with satisfaction. There was something about her newly discovered expression he found deeply unsettling.
“A dual-wielder!” Master Grozul shouted, beard vibrating. “It makes sense,” Walter heard him mutter.
“I didn’t have anything to do with this,” Baylan said, shaking his head.
As he had suspected, it would only be a matter of time, though he hadn’t guessed it would quite go like this. Walter swallowed hard, and men inched away from him like be might explode into a fiery rage at any moment.
Bezda’s white sword hissed from its scabbard. “We will triumph once again!” she roared.
Everyone but Walter and his friends joined in her war cry, roaring and screaming. Walter nodded at the far too many sets of eyes on him, his cheeks flushing. How many would be conspiring to put a knife in his back now?
Chapter Eighteen
Broken Armor
The Silver Tower (The Age of Dawn Book 3) Page 22
