Ascending Shadows (The Age of Dawn Book 6)

by Everet Martins

  Devyn cleared his throat, breaking a long stretch of silence. “You clean, dry enough now, princess?” He grinned at Greyson, his mouth tiny behind a shroud of hair.

  Greyson put his shirt back on with a heavy sigh, his unmarred body looking like it was constructed of dough and air. “If only you knew. When my family finds me, this scoundrel will pay dearly. Just have to wait, wait, wait, and wait.” With each ‘wait,’ he rubbed his arms, now a bright red.

  “Going to rub yourself raw—” Isa cut off when he saw a face peering at them, a face he wanted to smash into meat.

  “And which scoundrel are you referring to?” Scab was hanging onto the bars at the back corner near the emaciated pair, his face pressed between them. The men leaped up and cowered at the other side of the wagon after seeing him. Scab was oddly walking. Had his mount fallen sick? He snickered and blew out his mustaches. “So skittish. Why are you so skittish? I’ve done you no great wrong. I’m merely a merchant, just like one who sells sugar and spices. Does the sugar get mad at the man for trying to make a profit? Does it fear him?” He shrugged, threw his arms up, and went on before anyone could answer. “Maybe it does. Maybe it doesn’t. Who’s to say? Who will know? Ah, so many questions with no answers. So the scoundrel is? Well, certainly not me.” He pointed at his chest. “Then who might it be?” He dropped his voice low. “Corin can be a bit of a drag if he hasn’t had enough sleep, you know how these things go. Hired help can be worse than children.”

  Glances were passed around the group, mouths all firmly closed. Devyn started to open his maw then closed it, the rest with downcast eyes. Isa blinked at Scab, met his watery eyes, briefly weighing the risks of making a move. Scab smiled, maybe reading his thoughts. There was a high chance of failure, and that would mean his death, likely Senka’s too.

  He mentally shrugged. They were already dead by his estimate.

  Swift as a cobra and in one motion, he lunged at the bars, his arm darting out and snatching the end of Scab’s mustache. Scab pulled away, but not fast enough. Isa’s grip was true, the twisted knots of hair making it easy to hold. His manacles rattled against the bars, pinging as Scab tried to free himself.

  “Let go!” Scab whimpered, one arm flailing and trying to signal for help, the other trying to draw his sword-arm up, the arm banging against the side of the cart as he lacked the space to move.

  “You want me to let go, do you? Then shut your mouth.” Isa snarled in his face, tempted to bite a hunk of his nose off. But he was so clean now and was starting to like not being crusted in blood.

  “What are you doing?” Greyson barked. “You idiot! You’re going to get us all whipped! Stop! Stop this instant!”

  The pair of broken men shrimped their way along the floor as far from Isa as they could manage, cowering together.

  Devyn stood, his jaw hanging open and eyes bulging, his hand grasped tight around a bar.

  Greyson started shrieking in a piercing, high-pitched tone.

  “Silence him!” Isa glared daggers at Devyn, prompting him into motion.

  “Hope you have a good fucking plan, white one,” Devyn growled, a hand clamping over Greyson’s mouth and muffling his screams.

  Isa knew he didn’t have time. Corin would be here in seconds. “The key,” Isa hissed.

  “Right. The key. You’ll have to let me go to—” Scab winced as Isa jerked on his mustache, blood welling out from where he tore a section of skin free. Corin ventured into the corner of his vision, his dark eyes watching the scene without a shred of emotion. Maybe he’d help them. Maybe he was under Scab’s thumb too. He drew a sword, its mirrored finish blinding as it reflected the sun. Hope was lost when he reined his horse beside the cart, raising it to stab at Isa.

  He released Scab and fell to the back of the wagon with a thud, the shining blade hissing air over his head. Corin flashed a demon’s smile, teeth sharpened to points like Juzo’s, sweat trailing glistening beads down his jaw. He dismounted and drew his other sword with a murderous ring. He grinned with swelling pleasure at the prospect of killing.

  Horns blared from the hilltops, echoing like thunder between the crags. Scab’s eyes whirled back, trying to look. He cried out as he attempted to twist his head around. “Corin! Help me with this damned coat. Stuck in the wheel!” Scab was dragged down and started shuffling into a squat as the fabric was pulled taut around his neck.

  Corin let out a wolfish growl, shifting his gaze from Isa to Scab. He carefully sawed through Scab’s coat, freeing him. “Thank you, my good man, a double ration of rum for you tonight,” Scab muttered, brushing off cut strands of fabric that had fluttered over his cheeks. “Almost had an incident there, didn’t we?” The bottom half of his coat on one side was reduced to a third of its regular length like a belly dancer’s half-shirt, showing the dark mane of hair over his belly. “Now what was all that commotion? Why must men ruin nature with noise?” Scab turned to face a hilltop and planted a hand on his hip, jabbing the tip of his sword-arm into the cracked soil.

  Figures flared out along the hilltops. Tigerian riders on Tougeres, pairs of white flags flapping from the sides of their saddles. The flags bore the images of shields with hissing snakes in the middle. Not the symbol of someone who might be friendly, Isa thought.

  Corin turned to face them, holding his swords out to his sides. Isa saw at least three daggers behind his belt. If only he could find a way to grab one without being noticed. “They never come. Always watch,” Isa said, mocking Devyn, who was still clutching Greyson’s mouth.

  “Stay quiet,” Devyn said as he removed his hand. Greyson nodded, pale as milk.

  “What’s this?” Scab gave a flourishing bow. He cupped his hands around his mouth to project his voice. “Came to trade, did you? Didn’t think you dealt in flesh.” His voice trilled up the spalling walls. A long moment passed while the Whisperers stared down. A vortex of air tunneled down the path, kicking up dirt and tossing bits of desiccated plant matter into the air. Scab sniffed and shuffled his feet, staring up. Corin re-gripped his swords, working his shoulders around in tight circles.

  A Tougere growled and fluttered its ears. Another impatiently pawed at the ground as if waiting to charge. A Tigerian wearing ornamented golden armor gave a series of growls and barks that sounded like an order in Isa’s ears.

  “They’re not here to trade,” Isa said with a note of panic in his voice. “They’re about to attack.”

  “Nonsense,” Scab threw over his shoulder, then shouted up to the riders, “I’ve paid you well. Has it not been enough? Perhaps we need to renegotiate?”

  “Did you no think we find you?” The golden armored Tigerian said in rough common. “You no pay us for fifty-five sun cycles. Now you pay.” The Tigerian’s face looked like it had been dipped in white paint, slowly spreading from his nose and up to the back of his head where it faded to black. Maybe they aged like dogs, Isa thought, going gray at the muzzle first.

  Scab shook his head and gave a sigh. He kicked a stone, sent it skittering into a pile of shingle. “I told you, been on the road for a while now. Once we’ve made it to Ashrath, and I sell this lot… I’ll be able to pay you. What don’t you understand about that?” Scab lowered his voice for Corin. “Do you see what I have to deal with? A veritable sea of idiots.”

  Corin let out a growl, not unlike a Tigerian.

  “Too long,” the Tigerian said.

  Scab held his palm up. “Tatlat, please. Be reasonable.”

  Tatlat raised his golden arm in a casual wave, as if parting ways with an old friend you’d see tomorrow. His Tougere, dappled in a set of its own golden armor, turned and they faded away from the hilltop. At least half of his riders followed after him, then the other half left too.

  “Maybe he can be reasoned with,” Scab said. “See? You need to have faith in others.” Scab slapped Corin’s back, sounding like he struck something made of wood. Scab started marching off towards the front of the wagon line.

  “Boss, look,” Corin said f
latly, his position unchanged.

  Half of the Tigerians that had departed crested the hilltops, this time with something between the front of their mounted Tougeres’ paws. They were rolling something to the edge. “Boulders,” Isa breathed. “But why?” His mind felt numb, all sense of understanding coming slow as mud after going days without food.

  “Scab!” Corin pointed at the cliff side with a sword.

  “Shit!” Devyn shuffled to the back of the cart. Greyson whimpered, joining him. The emaciated men sat in the same spot, motionless without a care in all the realms.

  “No. Run!” Scab shouted.

  “Run! How?” Greyson shouted back. “Let us out! You bastard, let us out!”

  The Tougeres gave the rocks a mighty push, some bigger than themselves. The first boulder came, bouncing down the sheer face with terrifying speed, rocks flying, air thundering. Then the rest followed. The first crashed into the rearmost wagon, metal, wood, and men screaming in a screeching cacophony of sound. Two were aimed at their cart, and they started rolling in slow motion, throwing bits of stone into the air, dust trailing behind. One struck a jagged edge protruding from the earth like a knife, sending it careening off course. The second fell straight for them. Isa drew in a slow breath, trying to decide which way to move to minimize the damage. It pounded over the last of any potential obstructions, thrashing through pebbles and shrubs doing nothing to slow its descent.

  “To the sides!” he yelled. “Sides!” He threw himself at the back wall, managed to sink his fingers under Greyson’s shirt to drag him along. The broken men lumbered to the other end, pressing themselves flat against the bars. “Devyn!” Isa screamed.

  The man stood still as a statue in the middle of the cart, jaw slack, legs fixed. Isa started for him, saw it was too late, and pressed himself back against Greyson. A second before the boulder struck, there was a distinct absence of sound. Then the world became screaming thunder, colors spinning, body floating. Something smashed him in the back, expelled the air from his lungs, making him choke. Everything spun around and around, his wounds ripping open as if they had never started healing at all. Men screamed. A series of cracks tore at his eardrums all around him.

  The carts finally settled, gently rolling back and forth like a rocking chair. He opened his eyes with a gasp. Some time had gone missing, and he thought he must’ve fainted for a bit. A cloud of blinding dust filled the air. Isa brought his hand up and saw it was streaming blood. Not his, he thought. Greyson was hugging Isa’s side, his head pressed against his shoulder, madly crying.

  “Make it stop, make it stop!” Greyson screamed in his arm. Violent tremors passed through the man’s body.

  “Off me.” Isa shrugged him off. He muttered something else that may have not been words. He rose up on legs that felt like they had turned to limp noodles, and tried to right the wobbling world by slapping the side of his head, smearing blood on half his face. A pool of wet was forming on the top of his trousers along his backside. He spat grit from his mouth, waved dust away from his eyes. There were no new injuries from what he could tell. For once, fortune had bestowed him with her favor.

  He took a few staggering steps towards the middle of the wagon, his foot crunching against stones. It was a strange sensation to feel something other than warped boards under his feet. The dust fell away then, showing the wagon had been split into two ragged halves. Shattered boards and twisted bands of metal stood out from the edges of the other half. Four sets of eyes blinked up at him as if waking from a nap, pressed against the back wall of the other half of the wagon. The broken men were still broken, their heads trickling out with blood.

  Everything was broken.

  Isa stepped out, parted clawing strips of metal with his arms. He held his hand up to shield the brightness of the sun, far brighter than he remembered. Freedom. He was free once more. He smiled at the sun’s heat beating down on him in waves. Blood trickled down his legs, curled over his ankles and between his toes. A wagon wheel propped against a dried shrub toppled over and separated into three pieces.

  He coughed and fought to master his rebelling throat while he traced the path of the boulder with his eyes. Bits of wood were strewn behind its wreckage, resting in a furrow alongside the road. A vast swathe of red circled the ground a few paces away.

  He knew what it was, but he had to see it to be sure. Isa’s nose twitched at the familiar smell of death. It didn’t matter how often he inhaled that horrific odor, he never grew used to it despite his trade. Devyn had been crushed flat, bones turned to pebbles, blood pressed from his body like a squeezed lemon. A smattering of shredded beard followed the boulder like it had been dragged apart with it. One arm was left untouched from the shoulder down, so full and dimensional compared with the smashed streak of red and bones.

  “Why didn’t you move?” Isa asked, his eyes swimming as he stared at Devyn’s remains.

  Greyson stumbled out of the shattered wagon, his face scrunched up. “No. What’s that? That’s not him, is it?” He shuffled over to Isa’s side with a sniff. “That’s not Devyn. It can’t be.” He said it as if merely saying it would make it so. He shook his head. “That’s just some animal who got in the way, right, Isa?”

  Isa started. “He was a good man. I’m afraid—”

  A harmony of roars bellowed from the hilltop on the other side. Isa whipped around, wiped a strand of swaying saliva from his mouth. “No,” he breathed. Six Tigerian riders leaped from the wall, blades shining in their fuzzy hands. Isa marveled at the Tougere’s ability to absorb the impact of the long drop without a second’s hesitation. They charged down the hill, their bounding gaits thudding like sledgehammers. They hit rocks as big as his head, tossing them aside like sticks. The Tigerian riders wielded short swords with a broad flat, which likely gave them a lot of chopping strength.

  Corin bellowed and charged like a bull, long swords brandished in each hand. He beat his chest with his fist. “Come get me, you fuckers!” Corin had the look of a man who knew how to fight. Isa could only hope his bravado matched his skill. From his experience, the two rarely aligned. By the Dragon, he hoped he was wrong. He needed a weapon. He scanned the wreckage but didn’t see anything safe enough to hold, all ragged splinters and sharp edges.

  A white figure with flowing gray hair dashed up behind Corin, fingers reaching. His eye glowed with a baleful red.

  Isa raised his hand and was about to shout a warning until his mind discerned it was Juzo. His arm slipped like a noose around Corin’s neck, dragging him down like a wolf to sheep. Isa got his legs moving, running to help them.

  “What are you—?” Isa skidded to a stop, the gravel digging at his bare feet. Juzo’s head darted at Corin’s neck, teeth sinking into his flesh and tearing a bloody chunk free. Juzo’s face was a savage mask of scarlet as his mouth slipped in, lips wrapping around the gaping flesh. Corin fell with a gurgle while Juzo greedily drank, swords falling by his sides.

  Isa reached them. “What are you doing? We need to fight!” He yelled, not hiding the note of panic welling up in his guts. “Think I’ll be needing you.”

  Juzo jerked his head up. “Hold them off,” he said between breaths, going in for more blood.

  “Hold them off?” Isa laughed. “Can’t do anything with these damned chains…” He gave them a tug and his hands surprisingly spread apart to their full width, the chains hanging loose from each manacle. He narrowed his eyes and saw that a link had been broken, and the other chain-link had slipped out between the gap. A furious smile crawled its way across his face. He bent down and snatched one of Corin’s swords in one hand and a dagger in the other, the pounding paws far too near.

  The first rider was upon them, charging straight for them. Both of their feline heads bobbed in the same rhythm, yellow cat’s eyes glowing in the light. Isa ran to meet them, trying to give Juzo the time and space he needed. It had better be worth it. He stole a glance back, saw all the carts were in ruins, chained men spilling out of them.

&n
bsp; The pain in his back became a background note in a torrent of hot anger. They might’ve hurt Senka, maybe killed her for all he knew. They’d murdered Devyn, a man he almost called a friend, a man who’d never get vengeance at all for their squabbling about Scab’s debts. How many more lives were cut short for the mere exchange of glittering gems? It seemed greed and profit drove the world.

  Isa hurled the dagger, his aim true, but the Tigerian swatted it away with a deft swing of his sword. Isa switched to a two-handed grip, felt the sweat forming from his palms against the sword’s leather wrapped hilt. The weight was perfect, the edge honed to deadly perfection. The Tougere leaped, its paws raised for a vicious swipe, the claws promising only pain. Isa bladed his body, shuffle stepped to its side at the last instant. He ducked under a broad paw and heard it whoosh over his head. He bobbed up, arms raised over his shoulder and chopped down. The sword bit into the Tougere’s neck with a loud pop. The beast screamed unlike anything he’d heard before. He might have even pitied it had it not been trying to kill him. Blood filled the air. It sprayed over his face, over the Tigerian’s, and coated his arms gripping the reins.

  The Tougere stumbled then collapsed, the sword squelching free and almost tearing it from his grip. The Tigerian rolled over his dying mount’s partially severed head, his lips drawn up into a furious growl. There was no hesitation. It was upon him, raining down a series of clumsy strikes. Isa wanted to see how they fought, had a few more seconds before he’d have to deal with more riders. This one was certainly untrained, but would they all be?

  The Tigerian raised its sword high, eyes filled with hate. Isa lunged, piercing it through the chest, kicking it off the blade with a grunt. The Tigerian’s hand uncurled, the blade falling free to the earth with a thump. It let out a gasping breath as it fell face first onto rock with a bone shattering crack. The next rider was there, faster than he’d anticipated.

  Isa sprinted, his teeth bared and dropped low, hacking through its leg at the knee. It tried to run on the ruined stump for a few paces before hurling its rider from its back.