Akiri had no intention of losing his head, so he used it instead, neutralizing his foe with ruthless efficiency, his strike severing the corpse’s wrist completely. The rusty sword clattered to the floor, but even this did nothing to halt its advance. It was intent on the boy. The dead man reached out with its handless arm and loosed a heart-rending scream. It wasn’t pain behind that shriek of sound. It felt nothing, and he doubted piercing its heart would stop it.
But Akiri was not without experience when it came to fighting the supernatural, and most importantly, surviving.
The flames encroached, rippling across the ceiling, threatening to close off any hope of escape.
It came down to precision as much as power in the end, but Akiri knew a single blow could end the beast – he rocked back on his heels and spun, arm outstretched, turning the weapon into a lethal scythe, and took the thing’s head clean from its shoulders. The blade barely met resistance as it pared through the dead man’s rotted flesh and broke through the bone.
It swayed on its feet but did not fall.
For one sickening moment, Akiri imagined he might have to dice the creature into manageable pieces as it somehow took two more labored steps. He planted his palm on its ruined torso and pushed, toppling it to the floor. He stood over it, staring down. He half-expected it to rise again, flapping about and slapping at the floor blindly, but it didn’t. Whatever fell magic had powered the thing, the connection to it had been severed along with its head.
Again he was struck by the lack of blood. For all the damage he had done to the beast, there wasn’t a single arterial spray to be seen anywhere.
This had to be what had killed Cammaric.
But it couldn’t have been acting alone. Cammaric’s wounds promised the kind of frenzied assault this one creature couldn’t have been capable of. But more of them, half a dozen closed in around him, trying to get at his wife and daughter – Akiri could well imagine even such slow-moving opponents being too much for even a skilled warrior like Cammaric.
The flames tore through the timber frame. The whole place was going to come down around him.
The boy still stood in the doorway, shock and horror burned onto his young face. He’d seen that look before, on the faces of the damned, in the eyes of the lost. If the boy had just done as he’d been told and stayed outside… bearing witness to something so unutterably terrible could break a young mind.
He heard an inhuman groan, and for one heart-stopping moment thought the dead man was rising again, but a sudden wrenching crash above him and the burning-bright shower of dust and embers brought the air to life around him.
“Akiri!”
The warning came too late; a support beam fell, cannoning off his shoulder. His knees buckled, but he didn’t fall. He could barely see, and each breath was an agony.
Akiri gave a final look in the direction of his friend, wishing it could have ended any other way than this, and then pushed himself up and sprinted toward the boy. With his sword still in one hand, Akiri snatched Seyla up with the other, and ran with him like a bundle of rags under his arm. He abandoned the dead. The best thing he could do for them was keep their son safe.
A massive beam tore free of the ceiling and fell across his path. Flames raged on all sides. He was caged in. He couldn’t go forward, couldn’t go back. He felt his skin blister.
A thunderous tremor shook the house. The whole place was tearing itself apart, all integrity gone. He needed to think.
“Don’t move,” he told the boy, setting him down.
“What are you going to do?”
“Get us out of here.”
A huge wall of fire stood between him and the window, but he could see chinks of snow-covered ground through the outside wall where the fire had eaten through the wood.
The glass would have been better, but it was out of reach, so the wall would have to do…
Steeling himself, Akiri gritted his teeth and ran at the wall, slamming his shoulder into the weakened timbers. They sagged beneath the impact but didn’t splinter. He ran back into the flames, turned, and ran at the wall again, weakening it. The third time, the timbers tore, and splinters dug into his shoulder and arm. The fourth, the wall collapsed under the shuddering impact and he sprawled out across the snow, the blessed kiss of the cold on his face enough to mask the pain. He looked back to Seyla. The boy stood in the hole in the wall, flames raging around him, unmoving.
Akiri held out his hand, urging the boy to take it.
But Seyla stood absolutely still, paralyzed.
Akiri scrambled to his feet and rushed back into the house, grabbing the boy by the arm and hauling him out.
His lungs burned.
His eyes burned.
His skin burned.
But he was alive. And in his world, that was all one could hope for.
Akiri led them back toward the village, listening for the faintest groan or susurrus of unnatural movement, anything to suggest more of the creatures were out there. But he heard none.
At that moment, he would have given anything to see Kyra come rising up the mountainside. After what he’d just witnessed, her presence would be a comfort. He reached out to her with his mind, catching distant glimmers of emotion, all of them fixated on her prey as she hunted. Their connection was stronger now than it had ever been, but great distances were still challenging, and in the heat of the hunt he had no way of knowing if she heard him. He was all too aware that his message wasn’t that different to the one Cammaric had left for him. He could only hope that this time, it wouldn’t languish for months unanswered.
TWO
CHAPTER TWO
It was hours before the flames began to die down.
The devastation was complete. The village had been purged from the mountainside. There wasn’t a single structure untouched by the fire. Akiri told the boy to wait by his horse so that he could check for survivors, but Seyla was unresponsive. He stared out into the middle distance, seeing nothing.
It didn’t take long to verify there was no one left alive. Home after ruined home revealed the charred remains of its inhabitants. Again, that unwanted pang of guilt; it could have been different if he had arrived sooner. He could have saved these people. An hour was all he would have needed. The time he had wasted telling Seyla stories of his father’s exploits instead of pushing himself to breach the pass and climb the last stretch of the journey had made the difference.
He returned to where the boy was still sitting in silence. The likelihood was that the ordeal had broken his mind, at least for now. It would heal or it wouldn’t. The problem facing Akiri was purely practical: questioning a traumatized adult was difficult enough. He lacked the tender nature to coax answers from a child who had just witnessed his world ripped apart in the most gruesome fashion. Nevertheless, he had to try.
He sat beside the boy, offering no words. The silence wasn’t companionable. It was freighted. Awkward. Finally, he said, “Do you have any idea who might have done this?”
Seyla was either unwilling or unable to respond.
Akiri didn’t want to push him too hard. Instead, he set about making camp. He considered abandoning the shelter of the village, itself beyond saving, but thought it unlikely the attackers would return, making it the safest place for them on the mountain.
He used broken timbers to fashion a makeshift lean-to shelter against the side of one of the husks of a home. The stones around it still harbored the warmth of the fire that had gutted it. Satisfied it would keep the worst of the storm at bay, he set about bedding down, preparing a bedroll for Seyla. The memory of his friend plagued him. That was no way for a Dul’Buhar to die.
Akiri knew little of such creatures, but could not believe they simply manifested from nothing. The dead did not rise of their own accord. And no sickness brought them back. Only the darkest of magic could cause their resurrection. Anger grew deep inside. He needed to push it aside for now, to focus his mind. Someone had done this to his friend. There woul
d be a reckoning for that. Perhaps not today, nor tomorrow, but Akiri was not a forgiving soul, and his memory was long.
He made a small fire, and they bedded down for the night. As he lay beside him, he heard Seyla’s quiet sobs.
He didn’t move to comfort the boy; this was a good sign, he told himself. It meant he was grieving. Grief was natural. The boy was strong, like his father. He would make it through this pain and come out the other side forged into a man through heartbreak. The creaking timbers and crackling of the last buildings still smoldering in the near distance were underscored by the sickly sweet stench of charred meat.
Gerfar, the settlement, had been standing in one form or another for more than four hundred years, though had only ever been sparsely populated. It had started as a mining camp in the wake of a silver find nearby. But the once rich veins of precious ore had long since been mined out. Now it was a place where people came to forget the turmoil of the world. The memories of battle were inconsequential against the backdrop of the mountains. Here they were surrounded by nature at her most fearsome, and her most spectacular. This was the world they had fought for, and grown weary fighting to preserve: a place with no memory, where a warrior could find peace after a life filled with violence.
Now it was lost forever; wiped from the face of the land in a single day.
Like it or not, he’d need to find somewhere for the boy sooner rather than later. The storm had subsided, but the snows were sure to return in force. The bitter cold was a test for even his indomitable will; how the boy would cope, he had no way of knowing. He wasn’t about to get him killed out on the mountain, though. He owed Cammaric better than that. The little he knew of the area suggested it was a dying place, with most of the old mining villages long abandoned.
He closed his eyes, thinking to sleep for a while, and was still thinking the same when he saw the sun already cresting the horizon. Dozens of thin trails of smoke still twisted into the clear blue sky from the dead village. To the east, the sky was filled with clouds, the wind bullying them their way.
Seyla was curled tightly inside his blanket.
He touched the boy’s shoulder. “It’s time to get up.”
“I’m awake,” he replied, weakly, eyes still closed.
The faint crunch of boots on snow had Akiri on his feet, sword in hand, before the strangers emerged from the trees.
Seyla rose and rubbed his eyes.
“Whatever happens, lad, you stay behind me,” said Akiri. “Understood?”
He listened carefully. Two people – at least, he hoped they were still people, and not whatever came next – trudged through the snow, struggling with uneven steps as the mountain threatened to beat them.
“Show yourself!” shouted Akiri.
At first, there was no reply, and then a middle-aged woman wrapped in furs stepped from the cover of the trees. She was accompanied by a child of a similar age to the boy.
“Do you know them?”
Seyla nodded.
The woman saw them, and recognizing Seyla, began waving her arms. “Is that you?”
Akiri spoke before Seyla could reply. “How many are with you?” He didn’t sheath his blade.
The woman waited until she stood close enough she didn’t have to shout to answer. “Thank the gods... We saw the smoke and feared the worst.” Her eyes fell on Akiri. “Who are you? Where is Cammaric?”
Akiri glanced down at the boy. “I am Akiri. Now, it is your turn to answer my questions. Who else is with you?”
The woman stiffened. “Akiri? I’ve heard your name. Was this your doing?” She pulled the child behind her.
“Hardly, woman. When I arrived, the village was already in flames. I would have saved any who needed help, but they were beyond my saving. So I repeat – who else is with you? Who made it out of the village alive?”
The force behind his tone caused her to shrink inwards, diminished against its intensity. The child clung to her coat, looking up at the warrior with tear-filled eyes.
“There is no one else.” She let that sink in before continuing. “My daughter and I were on our way back from gathering deadfall for the fire when we saw the flames and realized the village was being attacked. So we ran into the forest and hid.”
“And that saved your life,” he said.
“Are you saying there is no one left?”
He nodded, though he suspected she had intuited the outcome already. “What is your name?”
She looked over his shoulder at the remains of her home. “I am Julla. This is my daughter Milla.” She wrapped her arms around the child. “Mishna preserve and protect us. I can’t believe they are all gone…”
“You can mourn the dead later,” said Akiri. “I need you to tell me everything you saw.”
It took a moment for her to regain a measure of composure. “Nothing. Flames. At first I thought that maybe someone’s house had caught fire. Then Milla spied men with swords wandering the street. We ran.”
“Did you see them yourself?”
Julla nodded. “I did. But only for a few seconds. They were…unnatural. I don’t know how else to describe them. They didn’t move like normal men.”
Akiri didn’t doubt her. More of the risen dead, then. “Do you have a husband?”
“No. He died just before the last winter fell. It’s just the two of us now.”
Akiri regarded her for an extended moment, and then said, “You can’t stay here. Is there anywhere you can go?”
Julla was stroking Milla’s hair in an effort to comfort her. “There’s a monastery atop Soul’s Peak. We trade with them often. They’re good people. I’m sure they would help us.”
“How far?”
“Two days,” she replied. “There are shelters along the way. I can take us there.”
Akiri looked again at the approaching clouds, at the woman and her daughter, and the boy he had sworn to protect. “Then we should get moving.”
They gathered their belongings. He had enough supplies to last the four of them if the monastery was as close as Julla said, but not much further. He had been expecting to pass the worst of the winter here.
He lifted the children onto his mount, and they started off. Julla knelt on the outskirts of the village and offered a prayer to Mishna.
“The gods cannot help us,” said Akiri, bitterly.
Julla scowled over her shoulder. “Do you seek to anger them?”
Akiri sniffed. “It’s not like they notice the likes of us, woman. Either they are already angry, or they simply don’t give a damn what happens to the mortals who offer their prayers. Either way, it’s all the same.”
Julla bowed her head and finished her prayer, no doubt adding a line begging Mishna to ignore him.
The mountain path was heavy going as it wound its way up the trail toward the higher peaks. It took them beside Seyla’s house, but the boy didn’t so much as give the place a passing glance.
By midday, the snow began to fall again; lightly at first, but the darkening sky threatened far worse to come. Thankfully, after glancing above and taking in the portends, Julla told him she knew of a cave they could reach before nightfall.
Julla walked beside the horse, talking to the children. She was good with them, and even managed to coax a few words from Seyla. All he would say was that he had been waiting for “Uncle Akiri” when the village was attacked. By the time the sun was low in the sky, the snow was coming down thick and fast.
They reached the cave just as Akiri was growing concerned that they would be forced to weather the elements with nothing more than a blanket. The space was large enough to easily accommodate several dozen people, and there was even room enough for his mount. The cave was well supplied in case of emergency, but that was mountain life. There was no telling if a storm would close in, leaving you trapped on the mountainside, so everyone who sheltered in the caves made sure they were stocked with seasoned wood for fires and various dried goods to offer a meal. From the tool marks scoring into th
e wall, it was obvious that this was once a much smaller cave that had been hollowed out.
“Miners used to shelter here against storms,” she explained. “As it’s almost halfway between the village and the monastery, it makes sense to keep it stocked for emergencies like this.”
Soon he had a warm fire going, and Julla was preparing a broth from the cave’s stores.
The children played a dice game at the rear of the cave, though neither seemed to be enjoying it.
Akiri joined Julla by the fire. Keeping her voice low, she asked, “Are you really the boy’s uncle?”
Akiri shook his head. “Cammaric was my friend. We were sword brothers, not blood brothers. I haven’t seen Seyla since the days after he was born.” He noticed her eyes drift to Seyla, a worried look further creasing the lines on her face. “Cammaric was as kin to me. And I will see his son to safety.”
“Ah.” It was all that needed to be said to confirm that she understood the situation. “If the monks agree to help us, I will care for him. With your permission, of course. Please don’t be offended, but you don’t strike me as the fatherly type.”
Akiri nodded. He didn’t doubt for a second the boy would be better off with the woman, but couldn’t imagine being raised amongst monks being any sort of life. They’d probably have him praying most hours of the day and thinking that physical pleasures would send him to the otherworld, cursed and burned. But at least he would be safe – and that was all Akiri could hope for.
Akiri: Dragonbane Page 4
