Akiri: Dragonbane

by Brian D. Anderson

  Akiri thought he heard footsteps, but they did not draw near. “And what is this small thing you want?”

  “Were you aware that the spirit of a dragon possesses great power? Even one so young as yours. With the right knowledge, her soul can be transformed into the most potent of weapons. For you, such power is worthless. I, on the other hand…”

  Realization struck Akiri like a hammer. He turned to Rena. “We have to go. Now!”

  Akiri was thinking to keep Yarrow talking, when it was Yarrow who was buying time. He bolted from the chamber as fast as his legs could carry him. Fly! Take the boy and fly! You are in danger! But there was no reply from Kyra. He reached out again and again, repeating the warning, but she was not there. Panic gripped him.

  When he reached the cages where the prisoners had been held, he slid to a halt. The corpses within were pressing against the bars, their decayed hands flailing wildly at Akiri. The cage at the far end had been left open. Akiri spat a curse as three undead staggered out. A moment later Rena caught up, breathing heavily.

  There was no time for precision. Akiri hacked with the abandon of a wild beast, slicing through rotten flesh and bone repeatedly. The pain in his shoulder was gone; the injuries suffered ignored. In seconds, he had reduced his attackers to a pile of macabre hunks of undead meat; their head still attached, but their bodies in pieces.

  Akiri kicked them to the side even as they continued to writhe and moan. He glanced over to Rena who was staring in wide-eyed shock at seeing such fury unleashed.

  He ran once again, Rena close behind, struggling to keep pace with his desperate flight. They entered the room leading to the catacombs. The grate had been left open. Inside was a short ladder that led to the top of a long flight of stairs. Beyond was another passageway. When they reached the end, they saw an iron door, and holding it ajar was the prisoner to whom Rena had given the keys.

  The man let out a sigh of relief. “Another minute and I was leaving,” he said, ushering them through.

  “Why did you wait for us?” asked Rena, breathlessly.

  “This door locks when closed,” he told her. “And there was no way to keep it open. You did save my life, after all.”

  The stomping and scraping of feet and a cacophony of fell cries echoed off the stone walls. They were coming, and this time in force. Beyond where they stood, stairs descended deeper into the catacombs. The door looked strong, but the hinges were rusted and the stone cracked where they were set into the wall. It would hold for a time, but eventually, the creatures would break through.

  Akiri snatched a torch from a sconce and shut the door behind them. “What is your name?” he asked the prisoner.

  “Khamet,” the man replied.

  “Do you know the way out?”

  “Yes,” Khamet answered, running his hand along the stone. “My grandfather once brought me here as a child.”

  Akiri handed him the torch. “Then lead on.”

  They didn’t waste breath on more words, moving at a quick walk down the stairs and into another series of tunnels and corridors.

  “What are your names,” asked Khamet.

  “I am Akiri. This is Rena.”

  “Akiri? Of Acharia?”

  “The same. You know who I am?”

  Khamet shook his head. “No. Not really. But men came to my village two winters ago looking for you. They said they represented King Zemel of Acharia. I only remember because they offered quite a large reward for information about you.” He glanced over his shoulder and grinned. “Don’t worry. I don’t care about gold. All I want is to be away from this place.”

  Normally, this news would have been of particular concern. But at the moment all he could think about was Kyra and Seyla. He guessed they were out beyond the keep’s walls by now. Still they walked on, moisture from the marsh dripping through the cracks in the stonework.

  “Is it much further?” asked Rena.

  “We’re almost there,” said Khamet. “Almost home.” The words issued like a prayer.

  “Where is home?” asked Akiri.

  “Not far. South. Just beyond the marshland.”

  The nearest village, if Akiri remembered his geography, was snuggled into the valley on the other side of some low hills. He had spent time looking over maps just before starting out to see Cammaric. He knew there to be several settlements in the vicinity, though his study of the area had been brief and mostly centered on the lands to the north.

  “Is it safe there?” asked Rena.

  “Safer than it is here,” Khamet replied.

  They walked on, each new footstep splashing through run-off water that seeped through the walls. It wasn’t deep, but from the look of the fissures in the stone, it was clear that the catacombs would likely collapse at some point. As long as it isn’t today, Akiri thought.

  He heard a distant boom from behind. The creatures had breached the door.

  “We must hurry,” urged Khamet.

  They pressed their pace, the water spilling down the wall now up to their shins. Khamet stumbled several times, weakened from his captivity. They passed through another rotted wooden door. This one bore no lock. Akiri spotted a jagged hunk of loose rock in the wall. From ground to ceiling the passage looked as if it was on the verge of caving in. As he pulled the stone free, several more came loose, and for a split second he thought that the ceiling and walls would come down on top of them. But the passage held. He wedged the chunk between the floor and the door, kicking it in tightly with his boot. It would slow them only for a moment. But when each moment was precious, it was worth gaining.

  Soon the water was up to their thighs. Akiri feared the tunnel might be flooded before they reached the end. But after a few more minutes, he saw stairs ascending ahead. The moans and cries were growing louder.

  “This is it,” said Khamet. “That will lead us out beyond the walls.”

  Rena breathed a sigh of relief as the dim glow of dawn penetrated the darkness, causing the slime covered stairs to shimmer. Slime be damned, it was a welcome sight. But the feeling was banished as they took the first few steps up. The opening was covered by a steel grate, held closed by a thick lock.

  Akiri pushed past Khamet and pressed his shoulder hard up against the barrier. But not even his massive strength was enough. Rena and Khamet joined him in his effort, but with no better result.

  “This wasn’t here before,” said Khamet.

  Akiri examined the door. Like the one Khamet had held open, it was designed to lock when closed. “Do you have the key?”

  “I gave them to one of the others,” he replied, fear creeping steadily into his tone. “He was ahead of me and unlocked the first door. I didn’t think to take them back. Sweet Mishna, save me. I’ve killed us all.”

  Akiri gripped his shoulder. “Calm yourself. You were brave to remain. You are not at fault.” He looked at Rena. “Can you pick the lock?”

  Rena was only barely managing to contain her mounting terror. The call of the undead was growing louder by the second. “I can try.” She dropped her sword and retrieved the knife.

  Akiri started back down the stairs.

  “Where are you going?” called Rena.

  “To buy more time,” he shouted back. At least that was what he hoped he was doing. In all likelihood, he was running headlong to his death.

  With as much speed as he could muster, he made his way back to the wooden door. The creatures were near. They would be on him in moments. He took hold of a lip of broken rock from the wall and pulled. It took three hard tugs before it broke free. More loose stones and small debris fell from the ceiling. Using the piece in his hand, he began battering away at the wall. After the second strike, water poured heavily from the newly formed cracks. Akiri groaned inwardly. This was probably a bad idea.

  A deep thud told him that the dead had reached the door. The wedge was holding. But once enough weight was pressed upon it, it would shatter. He continued his assault. More cracks forced and more water streamed
forth, now from both the walls and the ceiling. The cries of the undead raked at his ears. Even through the door he could smell their foulness. A gap appeared as more bodies pressed in forcing the wedge back. Boney fingers reached inside, wriggling like the worms that ate at their rotten flesh.

  Again he struck.

  The water was rising as more fissures opened above him, showering him with what he assumed was the stagnant water of the moat. Entire arms were now shoved through, groping and clawing.

  Akiri centered his mind and focused his strength. He swung his arm, grunting heavily from the effort. The rock shattered from the impact, sending a wave of pain through his shoulder. He searched for another. But it was too late. The door split in the center then burst open entirely. A wave of derelict flesh fell clumsily through, the weight and momentum causing the first few to be crushed down into the rising water.

  Akiri stepped back, drawing his blade. There wasn’t much room to swing; certainly not enough to take their heads. He bared his teeth in a vicious smile. Nothing mattered. Not anymore. Nothing apart from meeting his end with courage and honor. It was as it should be for a warrior.

  The deafening snap of stone breaking apart startled him from his battle lust. Less than a foot in front of him the ceiling opened up, allowing a flood of water to enter from the moat above. Before he could react, the wall where he had been hammering away buckled.

  Akiri turned to run, but a wave of water crashed into his back, thrusting him down the corridor. He reached out for something to hold on to, but his hands only scraped along the walls as the might of the current rendered his strength useless. He struggled to surface, hoping to take in a gulp of air, but the water kept pressing him down.

  A strange thought flashed through his mind: I would have preferred the sword. He did not want to drown like a rat.

  He reached for the wall once again. This time the tips of his fingers found purchase between a crack in the stone. If felt as if it might rip his hand clean off, but he held fast. His other hand still clutched his blade. Even under such dire circumstances, he was not about to drop his father’s sword. After two attempts, he managed to return it to its sheath, and with both hands free, he pulled himself to the surface.

  Only a small gap remained between the water and the ceiling. More of the tunnel must have given way for it to flood so rapidly, he thought. He took two deep breaths, then released his hold.

  After several more yards, the current began to slow. All light was now gone. He was still some distance from the stairs. Of course, unless the door was unlocked, making it that far was inconsequential. But that was a problem he’d face soon enough.

  The sinews in his arms and legs burned as he pulled himself blindly through the water. There was no way for him to know if he was close, and soon his lungs were burning as badly as his extremities. But he refused to give in. Shoving all pain aside, he kicked and scrambled, hoping to feel the stairs each time he extended his arm. Seconds felt like minutes. He was strong. Stronger than most men. He could win a battle with fatigue. But even Akiri of the Dul’Buhar must breathe. His lungs would surrender long before his muscles.

  The pain multiplied immeasurably with each stroke until he knew he could no longer hold in the air. The lip of a stair jammed into his finger. Akiri kicked the floor as hard as he could, releasing his breath as he ascended, arm raised and reaching out desperately for the surface.

  A handful of steely fingers wrapped around his ankle. He didn’t need to see to know that it was one of Yarrow’s creations. It had him. And it would not let go. Water entered his lungs, and a pain he had never experience stabbed into his chest and shot its way through his skull. He had seen men drown. This wouldn’t last. Death would come quickly.

  The world was fading as the feeling of acceptance drifted through him. At least the pain was gone. In the cloud of his last moments, he thought he felt himself being lifted up. Then, in a rush, the agony returned. Water spewed from his mouth, and his entire body convulsed repeatedly. All strength had left him. He was helpless.

  “Close the damn gate!”

  He heard Rena’s voice. The world was reasserting itself. He sputtered and coughed in another violent fit. Feeling was returning to his limbs. He opened his eyes just as Khamet was slamming the gate shut. An undead hand, severed at the wrist, was still clinging to his ankle. He kicked it off, though it took several tries. His legs felt as if they were made from wet string.

  Rena knelt over him, allowing him to regain his strength for a few minutes before helping him into a seated position.

  “Thank you,” wheezed Akiri.

  “Don’t thank me,” said Rena, hiding a smile. “I wanted to leave you, but Khamet insisted we stay. Now, if you’ve finished resting, we should go.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The walk down the hillside wasn’t steep, a fact for which Akiri was thankful. His legs were still weak, and he had stumbled twice before they had rounded the fortress wall. They could see the path the other prisoners had taken. Khamet told them that it would lead them from the marsh and into the hills beyond.

  Kyra entered his mind, filling him with a tremendous sense of relief. He felt her relief as well. She had clearly been as worried about him as he had been about her. She conveyed what had happened. Apparently, surprising a dragon was more challenging than Yarrow had anticipated. The images she sent were somewhat disjointed: flashes of the undead dropping from the high walls; Seyla secured in Kyra’s talons, well above the danger; then a combination of colors and emotions. Akiri focused, attempting to make out what she was trying to tell him. He guessed she brought Seyla to safety and then dispatched those sent to capture her.

  He saw Seyla running across the marsh towards them. Kyra flew low, watching the boy run, keeping him safe.

  “Is that a…” Khamet gasped, stumbling back and falling flat onto his rear. He stared at Kyra as she beat her wings slowly, rising then drifting on the hot thermals, lifting higher then swooping lower, staying almost directly above Seyla.

  “Yes,” replied Akiri, offering his hand. “A dragon. Her name is Kyra. There is nothing to fear, I promise.”

  “You travel with a dragon?” He took Akiri’s hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. “Is it dangerous?”

  “No more than I am,” he replied. “So long as you don’t pose a threat, she will not harm you.”

  Khamet simply stared in slack-jawed amazement.

  Rena was also keeping a close eye on Kyra. Their last encounter had been tense, to say the least.

  Seyla ran up and fell in to step beside him. “Who are they?” he asked.

  “These are my friends,” Akiri replied. “Rena and Khamet.”

  “I wouldn’t say friends,” quipped Rena. “So Akiri, you’re a nursemaid now?”

  Akiri frowned, not enjoying the jab, even though from her expression it was in good humor. “This is Seyla, son of Cammaric.”

  “I’m surprised you brought a child on such a dangerous journey,” she remarked.

  “There was no choice,” he said. “We can discuss it later.” He didn’t want to bring up the details of the murder of Seyla’s family, not when the boy seemed to be accepting his situation. That his mind was off what had happened was good for the time being.

  Rena did not press the issue.

  The marsh went on for several miles more before giving way to solid ground. Akiri made out a dozen or so people ahead of them, still running, even though the running was more like stumbling, the stumbling more like falling, as they fled. Again and again, they looked back over their shoulders in abject fear, that fear driving them to move faster, desperate to put as much distance between them and the fortress as they could.

  To his left, more mountains rose in the distance. They were a grim presence looming over him. It was almost as if they had never left them behind. He wondered if he would ever return to the monastery. A part of him still believed it would be in the boy’s best interest if he were left with the monks, kept safe, give
n an education. There were worse fates. But not while Yarrow still lived.

  They walked on, closing the distance to the others. “Tell me,” Akiri said after a while, “How did they capture you?”

  The dragon had flown so high she was little more than a speck against the heavy clouds that promised more snow destined for the mountains.

  “They came for us a couple of weeks back. It wasn’t the first time. We had no idea what they wanted; we never knew. We didn’t need to. What we did know was that if we fought, they took more.”

  “Why didn’t you leave?” asked Rena.

  “Some tried. But then we’d see their bodies return, made into those…things.”

  “You seem to me a man of courage,” said Akiri. “Did you not try to fight? Or at least flee.”

  “I wanted to, believe me. But my wife was too afraid. She refused to leave. And I wouldn’t go without her and my daughter.” He lowered his eyes. “That’s how I ended up there. They tried to take them.”

  “But you saw to it that they took you instead.” Rena finished his sentence.

  Khamet nodded.

  “So, what killed the others? The ones in the cages with you? You said you were there for two weeks. Those men looked as if they’d been held for months.”

  “There was a shadow.” Khamet shuddered at the memory. “There was no way to know when it would come. But when it did, we were left weakened… drained, as if it were stealing our life away, bit by bit. The more frail among us didn’t last.” He pointed to the men who were now only a short distance ahead. “You see them? Most of them were as strong as any man you could hope to meet. Now look at them.” A tear fell from his filth-covered cheek. “Look at me.”

  “Your strength will return,” Akiri said.