Akiri: Dragonbane

by Brian D. Anderson

  “Can you tell me more about the men who attacked the village?”

  She thought about it a moment, stirring the pot. “They walked with weird staggered steps, like they were drunk, lurching from foot to foot, almost falling but somehow staying upright. One of them, I remember, slashed his broken sword wildly, even though there was nothing in front of him to fight. It was the most eerie thing. He fought desperately, despite the fact he was alone. It was as though he thought he faced a ghost. Others just stood in the street moaning.” She closed her eyes, wiping the fresh tears from her face, her lips trembling.

  There was no point pressing her further in this fragile state. Akiri nodded, offering a reassuring smile. “Thank you, Julla. That was helpful.” She gave a weak nod. “Tell me about the monastery.”

  Julla cleared her throat, forcing back her sorrow. “Not much to tell, really. The monks keep mostly to themselves. They trade with the neighboring villages and take donations from the few pilgrims who go there in the spring. We don’t see much of them this time of year.”

  Akiri looked outside. The snow was steady, driven across the cave mouth by the wind. The mountain was brutal. They would have to wait out the worst of it here, and pray the storm spent its fury while they slept. He really didn’t want to trek for miles in the howling winds and freezing snows if it could be helped.

  Julla was clearly thinking along similar lines. “There is another small cave half a day from here, if the weather turns for the worse while we’re on the mountain.”

  Akiri stood. “Best we start out early, then.”

  She didn’t argue with him.

  He rummaged through the stores, looking for anything useful, but there was very little to be found. He gathered what lamp oil he could carry, along with a coil of thin but sturdy rope and a few other odds and ends.

  They ate, and then Julla put the children down to sleep.

  The pair sat by the fire, Akiri feeding it fresh timber.

  The howl of wolves carried on the wind. On a different night, he might have enjoyed their primal song, but tonight there was something in their call that was wrong; it was as though fear were driving them to flee the mountain and they were shouting a warning to the world. Akiri dismissed the thought as nothing more than his imagination running wild, and forced himself to be still. As strong as he was and as much death as he had seen, he was far from immune to the horrors of the supernatural; seeing the dead rise was enough to strike a note of fear in the bravest man’s heart. But unlike lesser men, he was not ruled by his fear. He accepted it; allowed it to sharpen his mind and fuel his determination. Cammaric had been such a man, too. He deserved better than the death he had received.

  As sleep claimed Akiri, he focused his mind on vengeance. Yes. Whoever had unleashed these foul creatures would learn of terror. And Akiri would laugh as he watched the light of life fade from their eyes.

  Akiri was up an hour before the sun broke through. Julla, it seemed, had not slept. She was already at the fire, preparing a meager breakfast of oats and dried berries. The children seemed to be in better spirits, though Akiri well knew that neither would have overcome the events of the day before with no mark. Yet what was to be gained by wallowing in horror or misery? The sooner Seyla could come to terms with what he had witnessed, the better the chances for his own survival.

  Outside the cave, the snow had ceased. Still, the drifts had banked up to above his knees, more than deep enough to hinder progress.

  Akiri led his horse with the two children on its back while Julla trudged along a path she seemed to be familiar with. The way to Soul’s Peak clung precariously to the mountainside, barely wide enough to accommodate a single traveler. By midday, the trail sloped sharply up, though the deep-lying snow thinned, making each step ever more dangerous as there was ice beneath the surface. Akiri watched the boy regularly, trying to gauge his state of mind. Seyla’s expression was blank, and when he spoke, his voice impassive. Tellingly, the boy didn’t look back the way they had come even once, in essence turning his back on his home. Akiri had no way of knowing if this was a healthy way of coping with grief or not, but he welcomed its expedience.

  For a time, it seemed as if the weather might hold. But the further they walked, the darker the sky above them became, until late afternoon it was black, the mother of all storms brooding and churning, eager to release its wrath. The heavens finally broke, and this time the snow fell in sheer white, the wind blasting their faces raw and threatening to bully them from the side of the mountain as they struggled to walk on. Every few steps against the sheer ferocity of the storm sent a chill deep into Akiri’s core. He couldn’t see through the endless surging snows and had no idea where he was placing his feet. His strides were reduced to tentative edging forward, head down, eyes weeping from the bite of the wind, the tears freezing on his cheeks.

  Akiri stumbled on. Time lost all meaning. Every breath was a battle. He reached back for the horse, laying a calming hand on its neck. The beast was incredible, sure-footed despite the treacherous conditions, and seemingly impervious to the cold. Of course, it was an illusion – left out in the bitter frost too long: the animal would suffer, its lungs would knot, and it would stumble. There’d be little to no warning, and the best use it would be to him after that would be in sating his hunger.

  He could barely see the edge of the path.

  The horse lost its footing as its iron shoes sparked and slipped against the ice. It jerked its head violently back, struggling to keep its balance. The sudden movement almost unseated the children from the saddle, but they clung on for dear life. Finally, Akiri had no option but to help them down so that they could walk beside the beast.

  They walked on, cold to the bone.

  They walked on, ice in their veins.

  They walked on, frost riming their hearts.

  They walked on, blind.

  They walked on until finally a dark smear in the cliff face gave way to a deeper system of caves. It wasn’t merely a welcome sight; it was salvation.

  Akiri took his cloak from his shoulders and wrapped it around the shivering children, and they huddled up inside. As before, there was more than sufficient kindling and dry wood stacked up against the back wall to get a fire started. He stoked the flames, stirring them into life, and told the children to warm themselves over the fire.

  Akiri moved to the cave mouth and watched the mountain as the wind continued to rise mercilessly. If the storm held, or gods forbid, worsened, they were done for. There was no way they could traverse the highest peaks in this; it would be suicide. He knew, too, that there was every chance the storm could last for days. This was why he hated winter. They could hole up and hope to wait it out, but unlike the last cave, there was less in the way of food here. Eventually it would run out, as would the firewood. And when that happened, it didn’t matter how strong they were. The choice would be dying quickly out on the mountain or slowly in the cave.

  The two children huddled closer together, attempting to draw every last ounce of heat from the fire. Beside them, Julla sang nonsense songs, trying to make them laugh.

  Akiri kept watch, leaning against the stone wall while he oiled his blade. The weapon did not need much in the way of care; it was a masterpiece of death, made to withstand time beyond measure. Tending to it was habit. It helped him center his soul. It helped him focus. It gave him something to obsess over, simply repetitive back and forth motions, working the oil across the flawless surface. As he worked on, the storm weakened. The difference was barely perceptible, but his sight was sharpened by the power in his merkesh, and he noticed the difference. It offered a glimmer of hope that they might walk away from this.

  The mountain trail would be worse than anything they had traversed thus far, but he was damned if he were dying up here. He’d dig a path with his bare hands if he had to, all the way to the monks. He wasn’t just seeking shelter; he was looking for wisdom. Monks were keepers of secrets. If anyone would know about the nature of the dead me
n that had attacked the village, they would. He needed to believe that. Once he knew Seyla was safe, he would see about avenging his friend. Slaying one of the creatures was nowhere near enough to balance the scales. That thing had been a mindless vessel, driven by a single overpowering purpose. But whose purpose? Who was really behind the slaughter of the village?

  Power lay in knowledge; to defeat a dead enemy, he needed to learn the truth behind their rising, and beyond that the meddler with forbidden magic staining his soul.

  As he settled down beside the fire, his belly satisfied for now by the stew Julla had warmed through, the memory of the dead thing’s grim face stole into his mind, screaming with its inhuman voice, its sightless eyes open and intent on Seyla. He remembered the hunger in its stare; the need.

  Akiri sheathed his blade and settled in under his blanket. With each hour that passed, his resolve grew stronger.

  He would honor his friend with the blood of his killer. Cammaric would have done the same; of that he was certain. Sword brothers knew a bond that few could understand. And theirs had been stronger than most. If it had been Akiri who was slain, Cammaric would have razed the mountain to the ground and assailed heaven itself to bring his killer to justice.

  The wise often said that vengeance was futile; that in the end, it would destroy those who sought it. Akiri sniffed and pulled the blanket tight. Clearly the wise had never fought and bled with those they named sword brother.

  THREE

  CHAPTER THR EE

  Akiri awoke suddenly in the pitch darkness, aware that it was not the time to rise. What had disturbed his slumber – the pain from his wounded shoulder? a noise? an intuition? He couldn’t put a name to it any better than he could shrug it off. Like it or not, he was awake. He lay for a moment listening, but caught nothing to justify his rousing – only the low rush of the dying wind blowing across the mouth of the cave and the steady breathing of Julla and the children.

  After a minute, he threw his blanket aside. As long as he was up, he might as well take a quick scout around, he reasoned. Just to be sure. Just in case. If nothing else, he could stretch his stiffened muscles and aching joints. Besides, they could always use more wood for the fire.

  A quarter moon provided a dim light, yet reflected by the snow it was enough to see by. Akiri picked his way down the path, careful not to dislodge any stones. He paused frequently, but heard nothing. Saw nothing. Smelled nothing. Probably it had been his throbbing shoulder that had awakened him, or perhaps residual adrenaline. Still, he was out now. If he were going to return with any kindling, he would have to leave the path. Rounding a bend, he found a leveling off that promised sure footing. A few yards away he could see a stand of scrub oak, from which he might break off a few branches.

  No sooner had he reached the stunted trees than his ears picked up a sound. Not the wind, not animals, but the crunching of boots on snow. Damn. It hadn’t been pain that had awakened him; it had been a warrior’s sixth sense. They’d been followed. The scent of death invaded his nostrils, telling him that their pursuers were not men but more of the foul creatures. From the sound of it, the number was few – though who knew how many followed behind?

  Akiri squeezed his body through the stand of trees, ducked behind a large boulder, and waited until the sounds had passed. But now he was cut off from the cave. Worse, the things were between him and the children and Julla. To get back to the cave meant getting through them. There was no way he could give them a wide enough birth to pass without giving his position away. And there was no way he could end things with a single blow, not for sure, and not without risking calling more creatures with the commotion.

  He glanced up to where Julla and the children were still fast asleep, oblivious to the danger approaching. The fading glow of the embers now seemed like a beacon, lighting the way for their enemies. It was only a matter of time before they were seen. He needed to draw the things away. Hopefully, the noise would rouse Julla, and she would have the presence of mind to get the children to safety.

  Akiri edged closer, pressing up against the bole of the tree ahead of him, watching before he crept forward to the next, crossing the ground between his hiding place and those things. Surprise was key. He’d left his knife with the woman, though it was scant protection against dead hunters. With luck she’d not be called upon to use it. His sword wasn’t the perfect weapon in a situation like this, but it beat trying to tear the things’ head off their shoulders with his bare hands.

  Before he could make his move, any chance of controlling the situation was snatched away.

  One of the things turned as the clouds parted. Moonlight flooded the whiteness of the mountainside, leaving Akiri with nowhere to hide. The thing opened its mouth, but no sound emerged. It could not alert the others; that was a blessing. Akiri closed the gap between them, the too-familiar reek of death clinging to the thing like sickly perfume. The thing paused, struggling to adapt to the sudden appearance of the warrior. That hesitation was enough for Akiri to swing his blade, sending it through the air in a vicious arc. He put every ounce of strength he had into the blow. In a single strike, he half-severed the head from the dead thing’s shoulders; only gristle and tendon kept it attached as it lolled forward to fall across its chest. The creature fell to its knees, but continued to move, reaching out for Akiri.

  He wasted no time in ending its existence with a second punishing blow that severed the last stubborn meat and left the dead man’s head rolling in the snow at his feet. He stepped over it and began to clamber back toward the shelter of the cave, trying to move fast but without drawing more attention to his climb. His focus was the woman and the children, and the cave offered the best hope of defense.

  However, it was impossible to climb silently. His boots crunched on the snow, compressing it. He was going to be heard. There was nothing he could do to avoid that. It was all about getting back to the cave as quickly as possible. He didn’t look back as he scrambled up the snowbank, and when he reached level ground, he slid his blade back into its sheath and ran.

  He knew more foes were behind him; he could hear their relentless, moaning pursuit. It was as though they had been dredged from the deepest part of his nightmare and dressed in rotten flesh.

  “Thank the gods,” the woman said as he reached the fire, which she had banked up with fresh timber. Their supply had grown perilously thin, but better to burn through it now than save it and die for want of a flaming brand to drive the things back. The children were still groggy with sleep, but Julla was ready, knife in her hand. He couldn’t help but admire her, even if he knew the things would have torn her apart in a matter of seconds. She had steel in her spine. No frightened flight across the mountain this time. She was ready to fight and die protecting the children, as it should be.

  “Don’t thank them yet,” he said.

  With his left hand, Akiri snatched up one of the wooden spars that lay half in the fire, and in one fluid motion drew his sword with the other. He was ready.

  He took up position in the cave mouth.

  The first of the creatures was almost upon him.

  He thrust the burning brand into its face, driving it back, then stepped into the space, giving himself more room to fight. The mouth of the cave was tight enough that they could only come at him two at a time, which made his location defensible. There were worse places to be attacked by the living dead. This way, at least, he could stop them getting inside… perhaps. He had not been able to see their exact number, and more could still be coming. If there were too many, even Akiri’s vast endurance would falter. And if that happened, the end would quickly follow.

  Of course, death might not be the end. These wretched beasts had once been living people. They could even have been local residents, for all he knew. The implications sent a shiver through him that had nothing to do with the cold.

  The foremost thing came toward him again, the flesh on its decomposing face now covered with fresh burns. Its shuffling gait was as unsettling a
s the blind way it lashed out with its rust-riddled blade. A second shape moved in close behind it. This one was more decayed than the first, its features barely recognizable as human – the rot had stolen away more than half of its flesh and sinew, leaving its jawbone and the row of gravestone pegs of teeth exposed.

  Akiri parried the strike, the echo of steel clashing against steel amplified by the strange acoustics of the cave to roll out over the mountain. As the blade slipped down the length of his sword, Akiri lunged forward, shoving the burning brand into its chest.

  The ragged strips of cloth that had once been a homespun jacket caught fire at first contact. The thing betrayed no sign of pain, looking down blindly at the fire taking hold in its gut. It was all the distraction Akiri needed to press his advantage. He slashed at it with his sword, the blade biting deep, and with a booted foot sent the creature stumbling back into its rot-riddled companion. Another slice severed the tendons in its hand. As the blade clattered to the ice-hard ground, the creature groped around desperately with its undamaged arm, trying to find purchase, but Akiri was too good. He scythed the burning torch across its face, shriveling what little hair still clung to the creature’s scalp, and then as it followed the fire with its eyes, cast the brand aside and gripped the hilt of his sword with both hands, bringing it down with as much force as he could muster in a single savage swing. The steel sang as it sliced through the thing’s neck. Metal caught bone as it bit deep, threatening to snag, but Akiri did not pull out of the blow, using the momentum to cleave the creature’s head clean from its shoulders.

  The thing sank to its knees, broken, as its head tumbled back down the mountainside. The body thrashed for a moment, caught between whatever passed for life and final death. Akiri kicked it full in its smoldering chest, sending it sprawling backward into the path of the next attacker.