Akiri nodded slowly. “I see.”
Julla laughed. “Come now. You can’t think there is anything to it?”
“The things that attacked your village came from somewhere,” Akiri pointed out. “And they followed us for some reason. They must want something.”
“What could anyone want from us?” asked Julla. “You have seen how we lived. We were at peace. What little we had we shared with one another. Life up here is harsh and unforgiving. Sometimes we were hungry and sometimes we were cold. But we always helped those who were in need. No one starved. There were enough skilled craftsmen to keep the houses in good repair and keep out the cold… for the most part.” Something changed in her then, as the memory of what she’d lost hit home again, harder than ever. “And now... it’s all gone.”
“I am sorry, truly,” said Akiri. “But despair will not serve you now. Not unless you wish to join those who died.”
“No. I want to live,” she said, as her eyes fell on the children. “I have duties still.
“Good. Then we can make it through this.”
It was as close as he could manage to an uplifting speech. He wasn’t one for rousing words. The Dul’Buhar had never needed them. They fought, and they won or they died. Their lives and their deaths were simple.
She pushed on. There was no denying that she felt the loss keenly. But she wasn’t about to stand still long enough for the grief to catch up with her. That much Akiri could see clearly.
After another hour, the sun crossed the sky, the trail became even wider, and the slope leveled out. The gray walls of the monastery rose up in the distance, seven towers jutting up behind them, and not a moment too soon. The pain in his shoulder was unbearable. He gritted his teeth against the fire inside and forced himself to walk on. He had come so close; he would not fail now. He had seen men die from infection, and it was a pitiful way to meet one’s end. Definitely not a death befitting a warrior.
As they approached, he saw two massive wooden doors set into a simple arch. The slate rooftops were dusted with snow, and ice clung to the parapets. What a monastery needed with such obvious defenses confounded him. Monks were men of peace, but this place had been built to withstand a siege. Between the wall and the narrow pass, a small force could hold off all the armies of Acharia almost indefinitely. The almost came down to human frailty. Eventually the flesh failed, but the old building would remain. He couldn’t imagine how they had managed to build the place, or what could they be defending so high in the mountains that could justify such a massive undertaking. Simply transporting the materials would have taken years.
A bell chimed, resounding across the mountainside.
They waited at the gate. Perhaps answers would be forthcoming; perhaps they wouldn’t. He would have to live with it either way. His duty to the woman and children ended at the door. He was looking forward to being on his way again, unencumbered to pursue vengeance for his sword brother. He would call on the monks’ mercy, and with luck they’d be inclined to help. That would be the pious thing to do. He didn’t entirely trust holy men, though. There was something about their blind faith that set his teeth on edge. But as of now, a beggar like him could hardly be fussy about whose hand of help he took.
The doors groaned desperately on their huge hinges. No doubt they hadn’t opened since the previous autumn. A moment later, a solitary monk, gray hood masking his features, peered out from behind the safety of the oak and then immediately withdrew back inside.
“Brother Mallorie?” Julla said, “Is that you, my friend?”
The bell still chimed sonorously, loud enough to drown out much of her words, but the man returned, this time with hood thrown back to reveal an olive-dark complexion and shaggy auburn hair. The monk was young, younger than most Akiri had encountered, but his world-weary scowl was as old as the mountain monastery itself.
“Julla? What brings you so far from home?” His eyes shifted to Akiri. He did not look happy to have a warrior turn up at his door. “And with children in tow? This isn’t the weather to be wandering the mountains.”
“We need your help,” she replied, ignoring the admonishment in his tone. “The village was attacked. My friend saved us, but is gravely injured.”
Brother Mallorie stiffened. “Attacked? By who?”
“Please,” she pressed. “We can explain, but for now, will you give us shelter? We’ve been on the road for days. We are tired and hungry, and Akiri’s wounds are grave. We need your help.”
“Yes. Yes. Of course, dear lady. Of course. Come in. Come in.” He ushered them inside.
Four more monks stood just within the doorway, and began to push the heavy door shut behind them. Akiri noted that rather than eyeing him – which he would have expected, given that he was a stranger, obviously a warrior, bearing weapons – the monk’s gaze lingered on Seyla.
Through the archway he saw a large parade ground. Akiri was confident that this place hadn’t originally been a cloister or temple. It was quite obviously military in origin – and in the center rose a towering statue of a naked woman brandishing a mighty sword over her head. The pose and the grim expression promised a sudden explosion of violence, the stance making it obvious the warrior woman was set to charge into battle at any moment. The craftsmanship was incredible. The mason who had carved her was truly a master.
Beyond lay the main building, beside which stood the bell tower. On either side, he marked two smaller buildings, each with colonnades and stone benches along the façade. Spaced evenly along the base of the wall were more statues, obviously representations of the gods, though these were far older than the piece dominating the courtyard. Several were badly broken and so weathered that the features had been lost to the elements.
Mallorie turned to face them, but before he could speak, a mighty roar called down from above as Kyra banked over the mountaintop, looking for a place to settle. Akiri groaned inwardly. As much as he loved her, he wished that she could read a situation and know when stealth was preferable to making a show of her presence.
The monks shrank back as she spiraled down and landed atop the ramparts, hissing and snarling as she did.
“Sweet Mishna of the Morning, save us,” cried Mallorie. “Is that… it can’t be…?”
Before Akiri could explain, Milla broke loose from Julla and ran up to the monk, wrapping her arms around his legs. “She won’t hurt you, Brother Mallorie. I promise. Dragons don’t eat people.” She looked over her shoulder. “That’s right, isn’t it, Akiri?”
“You have my word.” He smiled softly at the girl. “Kyra will not harm your people,” Akiri promised. “She’s only watching over us to see we are safe.” He summoned an image of displeasure and sent it through to the dragon, earning a wave of amused laughter in return. He shook his head, knowing she was having her fun. “She is my friend and companion. And enjoys making a display of her presence.”
“Your companion?” the monk said, trying to grasp the concept of man and beast being friends. “How can…” his words trailed off, unable to tear his eyes from Kyra.
She loosed another roar, and Akiri could have sworn smiled, before she leapt from the wall and settled gracefully on the parade ground. The sudden move caused the four monks charged with closing the door to flee toward the center building, but Mallorie held his ground.
A man with courage, Akiri thought. He stepped toward Kyra, a deep frown on his face. “That’s enough,” he muttered. He glanced over to Mallorie. “I don’t suppose you happen to have any cinnamon, do you?”
It took a moment for the monk to regain his composure. “I’m sure there must be some in the kitchen supplies.”
“Did you hear that, Kyra?” he said in an admonishing tone. “They have cinnamon. If you want some, you had better behave yourself and stop trying to frighten them. Or you’ll get none at all.”
The effect of his words was instantaneous. Kyra lowered her head and let out a snort of hot air, seemingly preening as she hunkered down submissively b
eside the statue of the warrior woman. She looked over to the monk then back to Akiri, waiting for her reward.
“Not now,” he said. “But I’ll get it. I promise.”
Kyra sent him a wave of irritation. When it came to cinnamon she was not patient. She spread her wings and with a powerful leap, took to the air.
Akiri turned to the monk. “My apologies. She can be a bit… intimidating at first.” Particularly when she’s showing off, he thought. “Now, I must ask, are you willing to offer us shelter?”
Mallorie watched Kyra’s ascent, fascinated. “Shelter?” he said vaguely, repeating the sound without necessarily knowing what the word was. Kyra had that effect on some men. Akiri watched her go. “Yes. Of course. You are welcome here. But please, you must tell me what happened?”
“The village was attacked,” Julla said.
Brother Mallorie gasped. “Attacked? Who would do such a thing?”
“The dead,” replied Akiri, not mincing words. No need to hide what happened. He watched the monk’s reaction carefully.
The monk froze, his gazed falling on Seyla. “Are you sure?” The reaction was peculiar.
“You don’t seem surprised,” said Akiri. “You wouldn’t know anything about it, would you?”
Mallorie shook his head. “No. No. Of course not. Please. Tell me everything. Be as exact as you can. Leave out no detail. Anything could be important.”
Akiri recounted the events, paying attention to Mallorie’s facial expressions and body language as he did so. The monk was afraid, certainly, but considering the horror he laid at the man’s door, strangely calm at the same time, as though resigned to the inevitability of what had befallen the village, which was quite intriguing.
“Akiri is injured,” Julla reminded the monk, when Akiri had finished. “Do you have a healer?”
Mallorie lifted his arm and waved over a monk who was still cowering inside the door of the main building. “We will tend to your wounds, of course. Brother, come,” he called to the man. “Can you be sure you dispatched them all? That you were not followed here?”
“They are dead,” Akiri said. “Or twice dead. Kyra and I saw to that. Though I cannot say there are no others.”
The second monk approached tentatively, unable to look at Julla. Akiri wondered if it was some sort of vow the man struggled with or just natural timidity. “Show her to the apothecary,” Mallorie told the other man.
Akiri waited until the monk led Julla and the children away before continuing. “There is something I would ask of you,” he said.
“Ask.”
“Will you allow them to remain here? They have lost everything and have nowhere else to turn.”
The monk’s smile looked forced. “They can stay until the thaw,” he replied. “But, I think it best they move on after that. This is no place for a woman and children.”
“I understand. A temporary sanctuary is all I ask.”
“You were kind to lead them here. They were our neighbors, in a sense. We can at least show the same kindness as a stranger.”
Akiri nodded his appreciation. “My next question is regarding what happened to the village. When I told you about the dead arisen, you seemed… unsurprised. What aren’t you telling me?”
Mallorie lowered his eyes. “Nothing. I’m sorry if it seemed that way. We are simple monks here. Such dark magic is unknown to us.” He seemed to notice the blood seeping through Akiri’s shirt for the first time and used it as an excuse to change the direction of the conversation. “Come. Let us see to your wounds and then show you where you’ll be sleeping.”
Akiri pulled a few coins from the pouch on his belt. “To pay for the woman and children while they are in your care. I owe the boy’s father that much, at least.”
Mallorie eyed the offering for a long moment and then allowed Akiri to pour them into his hand. “Our god is happy to accept your charitable donation.”
“I’m sure he is,” Akiri said.
FIVE
CH APTER FIVE
Foes. Danger. Coming. Close.
Akiri woke to the sound of Kyra’s warning inside his head.
He could feel her presence nearby, circling the monastery.
Something was wrong.
Though aching, the wound on his shoulder had been treated and cleaned, and he felt remarkably better for the poultice the monks had used to draw the poison out, as well as whatever foul-tasting concoction they’d had him drink. Already the angry redness from the infection had begun to fade. Ignoring the pain, he dressed and snatched up both sword and dagger, responding to the urgency in Kyra’s call. Broken images flashed across his mind. He couldn’t focus on them for more than a fraction of a second, but it was enough to know he had brought death to the monastery’s door. He rushed out of the room, racing down the darkened hallway, weapon in hand, crying, “Awake! Awake! We are under attack! Awake!” He heard another door open behind him.
“We are under attack,” he shouted again, not stopping to reassure the dazed men in their night shifts. He didn’t recall the way to the main door, only that it was down a couple of flights of stairs, so at every opportunity he headed down, running along a gallery that overlooked a main room of worship which might once have been a throne room or something of that ilk. There was plenty of wealth on display, but he didn’t have time to consider what that might mean given the frugality of the monks’ chosen lifestyle. He yelled again, “We are under attack!” as he ran through the refectory, and finally reached the main doors.
Once outside, he was hit by the freezing air.
Dawn was mere moments away, the rising sun close to cresting the mountains. It covered the ground in a warm red light, like a dusting of blood on the snow. It was enough for a normal man to make out dim silhouettes of foes rising. But Akiri was no normal man; his enhanced vision offered the kind of clarity that would have come with a full cloudless dawn.
He could see immediately what had driven Kyra into a frenzy. The huge oak gate was still barred, but several of the shuffling damned had somehow scaled the walls.
Akiri spat a curse.
Their bodies were battered and broken, but that didn’t slow them. He had no way of knowing if these were the corpses he’d consigned to the valley floor, which had climbed their way back up, driven by some unholy desire to find them; or if they were different, new dead risen to hunt them – which made matters infinitely worse.
The dead kept coming.
Kyra swooped down, talons raking into rotten flesh. He heard the rip of a body opening beneath her attack and the wet smack of a limb being torn free. She sank her talons into the dead man’s chest and rose into the air, only for his flesh to fail and the corpse to slide from the ends of her claws and fall, impaled upon the woman warrior’s stone sword. And even as she swept down again, hungry for a fresh kill, the dead continued their relentless march.
More and more of them began cresting the wall. First it was two, then three, then half a dozen, then every inch of the parapets seemed to be spawning corpses that continued to drop clumsily to the parade ground.
The bell broke the eerie morning silence, ringing out across the deathly quiet mountain to rouse the monks from their slumber. Little by little, warning cries came from within the buildings.
Akiri willed Kyra to breathe her fire, knowing that a good sheet of cleansing flame would buy them time, but she could not. He felt the frustration coming off her in waves and tried to calm her, but she was having none of it. Instead, she snatched another of the creatures from the yard, rising into the sky and casting it away almost carelessly. The corpse fell on the other side of the wall, only to rise up on broken bones and stubbornly claw its way back over. For every corpse she cast aside, another two appeared.
“You did this!” He heard the accusation hurled his way, but gave it no thought. They could worry about recriminations later. Now it was time to fight or die, or do both.
Akiri assessed the battle before him. Again it came down to one man and his
sword against an endless enemy, but this time he had Kyra and sturdy defenses to slow the dead.
He marked more than a dozen stumbling toward him, spread widely throughout the courtyard. They seemed to be moving closer together, as though guided by a singular purpose. Most carried either a sword or dagger. None of the weapons were cared for and betrayed rust and pits of age, marking them as fragile.
Fragile, but still lethal.
Akiri charged, covering the distance between himself and the first corpse, with uncanny speed.
The creature lashed out clumsily with its half-rotten weapon.
Akiri easily parried the strike, turning the rusty blade aside with a twist of the wrist even as he countered with a strike savage enough to hack the dead man’s sword arm clean away. It wasn’t about stopping it; a single blow wouldn’t slow the creature’s advance. But without a sword it was harmless.
Akiri turned his attention to another of the dead as it approached.
This one he dispatched with a rapid flurry of blows to drive it back on its heels, only to follow it with a massive strike that took the dead man’s sightless head from his rot-riddled shoulders.
Kyra continued to snatch up more and more of the undead things, casting them aside, bones broken, only for them to rise awkwardly again. Her rage at the lack of fire in her belly was palpable. He wanted to calm her but couldn’t, and the more frustrated she grew the less likely it was she’d be able to summon the fire she so desperately craved. It was a pity. This skirmish could be over in less than a minute were she able to find the power within herself, he thought.
He would just have to kill them one at a time.
As he rushed in on a fresh foe, Akiri realized where the creatures were converging: the building where Julla and the children were staying.
It was about them. It always had been. It wasn’t that he had brought the dead here, he had brought them here, and the dead had merely followed. Which one they were after he would have to worry about later, assuming they survived long enough to ask that particular question.
Akiri: Dragonbane Page 8
