He swung again, as the next foe struggled to maintain its balance on the treacherous ground, lashing out wildly with its own weapon before the blade clanged against the cave wall. Akiri moved in, using his sword like a spear to stab at the thing, more to keep it at bay than damage it, as he knew it could withstand no end of jabs and cuts.
Still it came toward him, merciless in its blind advance.
“Akiri.”
Julla was suddenly beside him, two burning brands in hand. She offered him one. He adjusted his grip on the blade and snatched it up. The torch he had cast aside to distract the first of the things sizzled the black ice back into water where it lay. Julla slashed out with the second torch, defending the space beside him.
The thing came at him again, but it had learned from the fate of its unnatural kin and kept itself beyond the reach of the flames so as not to suffer the same fate.
Almost too late, Akiri realized it was merely playing for time. The stench of death intensified, and he heard the slow, erratic crunch of snow as others came scrambling up the mountainside. Over the its shoulder he saw that some followed the path as it wound up towards them, while others followed the more direct route he had carved out in his flight. They slipped and stumbled; they fell; they rose only to fall again. They clawed at the ground for purchase, scrabbling about as their feet betrayed them, but still they came.
A single step forward would weaken his position, but indecision would mean he faced indefensible odds. There were no good choices. But it was always better to die with courage, blade in hand, than as a coward in retreat.
Akiri hurled the torch, and as the creature before him rocked back, shying away from the fire, he took two rapid steps forward. He slashed high and kicked low, sending the thing stumbling over the edge. He doubted that the fall would kill it – nothing short of decapitation would slow these terrible beasts – but it was one less adversary for the moment, at least.
Another of the creatures began to scramble over the edge, its fingers raw and ragged, bone showing through where the damaged flesh had peeled and torn away. The wounds would never heal themselves.
Akiri stepped forward, stamping on the ruined hands, but it didn’t release its grip. Another hand grabbed his ankle, its grasp so tight that he couldn’t shake it.
The creature tried to drag him over the edge, jerking and twisting violently. Akiri hacked at it, but even that threaten to overbalance him. He swung again.
The creature shifted the grip, reaching up to sink its bony fingers into Akiri’s calf, and drew down with all its might, toppling him. Akiri hit the ground hard, lashing out with his feet even as his fingers tried desperately to claw into the ice for purchase.
“I need you,” he called. Julla understood. She wrapped her arms around his waist, the extra weight enough to balance him. He pushed back into her. Two steps and he was safe from falling. The thing’s head rose above the line of rock, tilted at an unnatural angle, dead but not dying.
Julla tightened her hold on him.
Still in a seated position, Akiri focused on the landscape and the rising threats.
As the creature reared up, he kicked out, forcing it back. But the cursed thing refused to relinquish its hold on his leg, the boney digits digging in deeper, sending pain shooting through him. No matter how he tried to swing, the thing was too close, and it kept dragging him down. It wasn’t trying to climb anymore; now its entire focus was on hauling him over the edge to leave the cave undefended.
The dead foe braced its feet against the mountainside and began to drag him inch by inch toward the precipice. Akiri kicked with a feral yell. The meat yielded sickeningly against his foot, but its grip didn’t loosen. Another kick rocked the almost-severed skull back on the bile-slick ligaments, but it still refused to tear away. And with every kick, Akiri slid another couple of inches toward his death.
It was a fight he couldn’t win.
“Release me,” he shouted, needing all of his immense strength to scramble back another couple of steps from the edge. He held his sword out for Julla to take from his hand, but she refused.
“But if I let you go–”
“If you don’t, we both die,” he said bluntly.
This time she didn’t hesitate. Julla took the sword from his hand, gripped it in both of hers, and swung clumsily, though with all of her strength behind the blow. The blade sank into the creature’s shoulder, digging in deep, but as she struggled to wrench it free, it sliced through the last remaining tendons joining body and head.
The dead man’s grip relaxed enough for Akiri to kick himself free and scramble back to his feet. He took the sword from Julla, and in the echoing infinity between heartbeats, he set off to dispatch the next of the creatures.
But he knew that there were too many of them. His heart sank as they just kept coming in a rising tide of rotten flesh.
Three more were already cresting the ledge and moving relentlessly closer. The fire wasn’t enough to keep them back. Each brandished a miserable excuse for a sword. But miserable or not, it would carry out its lethal work. He rapidly decided that his original plan was best: hold them at the mouth of the cave, where their superior numbers counted for nothing. There he would make his stand. He would fight for as long as his strength held out. But eventually, even that must fail, as all flesh did in time.
And his time was running out. The mighty Akiri would fall, here on this lonely mountainside, torn to pieces by the cruel hands of the dead.
“Get back inside,” he cried over the baleful moans of the ever-increasing number of foes, aware that the woman was close behind him. Julla lashed out again and again with the burning brand in her hands, but the flame was failing and wouldn’t hold them back much longer. “You know what you have to do if I am killed. The children…” He didn’t finish the thought. She knew.
Akiri slipped inside the next attack, blocking the swing of two swords with his own, and rolled with it, slamming his elbow in the face of the closest attacker. Its head snapped back. He kicked out, sending it sprawling over the edge. There was nothing artful about his defense. He fought like a demon. Every hacking swing had one aim: to drive the dead back toward the edge. Every moment gained was a moment that could be used to save them. He needed to believe that. Akiri had faced a hundred men and triumphed. But a hundred dead men? That was a different kind of hell.
The muscles of his sword arm were already burning, the weapon heavier in his hand than it had been a few minutes ago. But for now adrenalin would fuel his body, keeping him alive. He would back himself against any number of living foes, even against the best the Dul’Buhar had to offer, but against an enemy that had already died once? An enemy that didn’t care for life, that didn’t tire?
He parried another wild swing, then another, taking the shivering impact of the blow along the steel of his blade again and again, holding them back. He took another strike, and a third successive one, the rusty blade grating down the steel of his sword into the cross brace. As he stepped back, struggling to disengage, another attack came in, and the blade gouged into his arm. The impact blazed through him. He wouldn’t be able to take an endless amount of punishment.
And when he did falter, then what? Would he join the ranks of the dead and turn on Julla and the children?
He spat an curse, redoubling his efforts.
He would not die here. This was not how his journey ended. But this was a lie he was telling himself. One intended to keep him fighting – even if it meant only a few moments of life. One more swing of his sword; one more vanquished foe to be counted.
But a roar outside on the slope gave him renewed hope.
The huge sound filled the air, shivering snow free from the rocks to tumble down the side of the mountain in a whispered rush, growing louder and louder until finally Akiri heard the beat of wings. The dead ignored the sound, focused entirely on trying to kill him. Akiri used that tunnel blindness to disable another of their number, cutting deep into the dead man’s shoulder and se
vering the tendons that controlled his grip, loosing the rusty blade from its hand. Before Akiri could deliver a fatal blow, Kyra swooped in close, banking in the air to adjust her trajectory, before she snatched up one of the undead warriors and lifted it high into the air.
Akiri did not hesitate – he threw himself into the attack with intense vigor, swinging his blade in a dizzying succession of cuts that hewed the heads from the five remaining in front of him. The sheer ferocity of his attack was born of desperation, but there was no stopping him. The dead did not stand a chance.
Kyra let the corpse fall from her talons. The body tumbled through the sky, one limb tearing away from its rotten torso and falling away beside the rest of the thing.
Akiri used the few precious seconds his onslaught had bought him to breathe deeply, savoring the bite of the icy air in his lungs.
Today was a good day to stay alive.
Two more of the figures emerged on the path. He was beginning to think there was no end to their number, but beyond them he was relieved to see that fewer than ten followed. Akiri knew his limitations as well as he knew his strengths. A man could do impossible things. A man could find the courage to stand on the mountain and challenge the gods themselves. He could strike down a hundred foes, filling the breach in a defensive wall to save a city that moments before had seemed doomed. The same man could stride across a battlefield, sowing the land with blood. He had seen these things with his own eyes; seen the courage people sang of in songs. But men were not gods, and even valor had bounds. But now, with Kyra at his side, he felt as close to immortal as he ever had. Every warrior had his time. Only a few lived to old age; most found death long before death came looking for them. And Akiri was certain his would come. If he was fortunate, it would be with sword in hand, fighting a worthy adversary. But it would not be here. Not now.
Kyra swooped down, putting herself between Akiri and two more godless warriors. The pair took a couple of paces back, but there was no thought in their movement, and they immediately continued their advance.
Akiri heard Kyra draw a huge breath into her lungs, her immense chest expanding until she was as intimidating as only a dragon could be, but even then she hesitated. Akiri felt her uncertainty as she sought to harness the power within her. When it came, she roared, expelling the air from her lungs in righteous fury. The impact of her mighty call ripped through the air, forcing the dead men to stumble back a step under the assault before again charging forward recklessly. She sucked in another enormous lungful of air. Akiri could feel her confidence building. This time the roar was accompanied by white-hot flames. In seconds, the foes were shrouded in dragon’s fire; their clothing burned down to cinders in a heartbeat. Their flesh charred and the subcutaneous fat rendered and ignited, turning them into pillars of flame.
And still for several more steps they refused to fall. But Akiri had seen Kyra do this once before. He understood the power she had unleashed. This was a fire that could not be easily extinguished; it would devour all it touched until there was nothing left. And so it was with the remainder of the creatures.
The dragon took to the air, unleashing her fury upon the dead until naught but breath came from her gaping maw. Three more times. It was enough.
Akiri leaned against the cave opening, willing the creatures to fall. He held his sword ready in case they did not. But none made it as far as the cave, their flesh boiling and their bones roasting until they were but charred stumps on the ground.
Such a death would have been the worst kind of agony for a mortal. But these cursed beasts merely walked on until their bodies no longer were capable of movement. And still they did not scream. Not a sound aside from their hollow moans issued from their mouths.
When it was over, Kyra returned to Akiri’s side and leaned her head against his thigh. He stroked her neck, his heart still pounding wildly from battle.
“Thank you,” was all he could manage to say, and then he staggered back inside the cave.
FOUR
CHAPTER FOUR
It had taken some time to convince Julla and the children that Kyra was a friend and not another creature come to feast upon their flesh. Julla gathered them to the far end of the cave, her face and clothes covered in soot from the fire brands. She had shown courage. And now she had to show even more as she comforted the children, whispering to them in a reassuring tone, keeping a loving smile from twisting into a mask of fear at the sight of a dragon standing guard at the mouth of the cave.
Akiri made no attempt to speak once he had explained Kyra’s presence. He was exhausted. Better to leave it to a mother. She would know what to say to ease their fears. His words might only compound them.
As Akiri settled near to where Kyra stood watch, the pain in his shoulder began to plague him. Once she had the children to sleep, Julla had done her best to clean and bind the wound, but there was little she could do without the right poultices and unguents. There was always the danger of infection, but if the monastery was as close as Julla said, the risk was negligible. Not that he had a choice in the matter.
Kyra’s presence comforted him. Her unblinking eyes would penetrate the storm and the dark. None would pass. Nothing would harm them. It was more than just the power and might of the dragon that eased his burden; her mere presence was a salve. Through the bond they shared, he felt her fear and concern – not for herself, but for the human she called friend. Though in truth, friend was not the right word. Friend was shallow and feeble compared to what Akiri shared with Kyra. They had bound their fates as one. And it was with this thought lingering in his mind that he finally slept.
He didn’t know how long he was asleep, no more than a couple of hours, but the utter darkness of the cloud-shrouded sky was gone when he opened his eyes, replaced by the dim light of sunrise. Akiri glanced up. The sky was overcast, threatening more snow to come. When it would fall, he was unsure. The subtle warnings of the wind and clouds were impossible to read. He could only hope it held off long enough for them to complete their trek.
Every bone in his body was weary, every joint seized. It hurt to move. Even his immense strength had found its limits in this unforgiving place. But he could not afford to weaken, even for a moment. The undead might not have returned in the night, but that didn’t mean they were gone. One thing was certain: there would always be more corpses. So the possibility of facing more foes remained. Kyra remained at the mouth of the cave, ever vigilant, watching the mountain for danger.
Akiri exited the cave and walked to the edge and stretched, looking out over the snow-covered peaks. The ragged white caps that once had appeared beautiful to him now looked like the great maw of some ancient beast, snarling at him with murderous intent. They taunted him, daring him to go on, to challenge their power. Akiri felt a surge of strength, and he steeled himself against the threat. Come on then, he thought. I am Akiri. I have drawn the blood of the gods. I have slain demons. You will not break me.
He heard Julla moving about inside the cave. The children were gathering for a meal. Their ability to put aside the reality of their situation was inspiring, but then children were resilient.
Kyra snorted and shook the snow from the ridges of her spine.
A potent image flashed through Akiri’s mind, both unfamiliar and deeply unsettling, as it was so pure and primal: a wild boar, guts on the tall grass beside it, carcass open, half eaten. Then, in an instant, the land became a blur. Lush thick forest gave way to villages that rushed by far below him, the people and their animals little more than specks on the ground. He felt a rising surge of pain burn through his body, and still he pushed himself on desperate to go faster and faster still. Desperation and fear gripped him. Waves of urgency crashed over him. Emotion was replaced by need. The need to fly. To answer the call. To reach Akiri.
Endless forests ended in valleys, and valleys rose into mountains as his panic escalated. The sight of smoldering ruins greeted him. It was then he understood what was happening. Kyra was opening herself to h
im, and in doing so, sharing her vulnerability and fear. She had heard his call, felt his need, and it had melded with her own, filling her mind. The knowledge of his danger had driven her to the point of exhaustion and beyond, and still she flew, drawing on reserves of strength she never knew she possessed. Kyra would not allow him to fight alone. She flew beyond exhaustion into the arms of collapse, falling twice from the sky, but rising again to reach him before it was too late. Such was their bond. It was stronger than any physical limitations.
But now she rested.
He could still sense the residual ache in her body, their bond lingering, but even so she had remained alert through the night, ever watchful, so that he could rest. That was how deep her love was for him: she would always put herself second, no matter her limitations. Kyra was growing, and growing fast, and would continue to do so for many years. Already she was more than twice the dragon she had been when they first met. More. She had become majestic.
The children’s reaction to her had changed; at first, they’d been more terrified of her than the unnatural enemy clawing its way up the mountain. There was little difference between the horrors outside the cave and the dragon protecting them. But that gradually changed as they saw the dragon’s affection for Akiri. The horse was the least disturbed of their ragtag group by Kyra’s unexpected arrival. He watched as they packed their belongings. Julla seemed to be taking it all in her stride, which impressed him. How many others would stand firm when confronted with undead warriors? How many others would keep their emotions in check, find the strength to console her daughter while their village burned, and still fight back?
She was a true woman of strength.
Before they departed, Akiri retrieved a fragrant cinnamon stick from his pack and gave it to Kyra. Where normally she devoured everything with large swallows, this she kept on her tongue for several minutes, savoring the flavor.
She looked up at Akiri. More? The word entered his mind, sounding almost like an eager child.
Akiri: Dragonbane Page 6
