Ascending Shadows (The Age of Dawn Book 6)

by Everet Martins

  The following evening, the cold fell with a bitterness she’d never known. She wondered if snow would come if it were to rain, wondered what it would feel like. She had heard that the mad folk who lived near the Mountains of Misery would even put the stuff in their drinks to make them extra cold, as if living in an icy tundra wasn’t enough.

  The Tigerians did something different tonight. They ordered them to harvest wood that had fallen from the tree they would camp under. The towering tree marked the apex of their upward climb, the ridge they’d been following sloping down beyond it. Then they built them a fire started with some type of metallic striker. Rather than pressed together in a line of bodies like they usually did, they fanned their line out around the fire so they could all feel its warmth.

  The fire burned in bright reds with the occasional sputtering blues and greens at the bottom, consuming something different in the wood, Senka reckoned. She stared at it, cupping out her hands and rubbing them together. The stars fell behind them in a glorious twinkling. She caught sight of the occasional falling star streaking across the world, then gone in an instant. “Burning bright today, gone tomorrow,” she whispered.

  “What’s that?” the nameless man beside her asked.

  “Nothing.” She slowly shook her head.

  She saw no one had gone to sleep yet, some were even smiling. They were bathed in shadows, showing the deep hollows of their cheeks, the lines running up their wilting lips. She saw Isa across the fire looking at her. It made her heart flutter at seeing him. She’d spent so much time stuck in her head, lost in her pain that she’d ignored the world. That was dangerous, potentially deadly. Such mindlessness would’ve earned her father’s scorn.

  Isa raised his chained arms up to his chest, giving her a small wave.

  She waved back and felt her mouth forming into a smile. It was something she hadn’t done for a while, she realized. Those muscles felt so foreign.

  “Got a fire,” Juzo said over the quiet. He sat a few men to the right of Isa, the men around him giving him as much space as they could comfortably manage. Clearly, they must have witnessed him biting Corin. His red eye dimly glowed, a fraction of its usual brightness. “Might as well have a fireside chat.”

  That got a few mutters of agreement, but no one made an effort at conversation.

  “Everyone enjoying the journey?” Juzo grinned, keeping his voice low.

  “Wonderful, really,” Scab said, his face cast in shadow. A gasp escaped her lips. How had she missed him? She’d lost her edge, dulled in the throes of Angel’s Moss. She was no better than a Fang Cress addict of the west.

  “Scab,” Senka breathed. The men all shot him angry stares, likely wanted to throttle him. It seemed like the man couldn’t be killed, always finding a way to squirm out of any situation. Maybe he had a hidden power, but Scab didn’t seem like a man who was very good at keeping secrets.

  “Senjak, you’re back?” Scab waved his chains, making them rattle. The blade attached to his arm had been removed, and it was now just a metallic nub at the end of his arm. It was notched as if other tools could be put in the same place. She wondered how he lost the hand.

  She peered around, saw others regarding him with drawn brows. She cleared her throat, finding her sandals more interesting than conversation. She started scratching the dirt with her fingers, covertly feeling under her bracers for her needles. Gone. Tatlat was thorough. She couldn’t remember being searched, maybe it happened in her sleep. All she could remember was thrashing nights filled with nightmares, bodies pressed against her. They would be mostly useless without poison anyway.

  “And look how the dice have turned. Looking forward to being sold as a slave?” Juzo draped his long arms over his knees, staring at Scab.

  Scab scratched his neck, the dry skin swirling down like snow. “I won’t be sold. I have many friends in the city who will come to my aid.” He raised his nose with an overt show of pomp.

  “Like your old friends, the Whisperers? Tell me again why I shouldn’t bash your skull in the fire?” Isa growled. “My mind seems to always need some… refreshing. No drink, no meat makes a man want to kill something.”

  “Because, my dear Tower killer, without me all hope of escape is lost. I can help you.” He gestured with his shining nub.

  Isa scoffed.

  “Besides,” Scab continued. “If you wanted to kill me, you would’ve done it already. You know you can’t.” Scab shrugged, nodded his head at the pack of Tigerians camped about twenty paces away. “Know they don’t tolerate trouble well. Chop you up… eat you maybe, leave you for wolves if they’re feeling generous.”

  Greyson softly laughed. “You’re going to help us? Really? Your prized possession even? By the way, I’m quite sure they can hear us so you really might want to lower your voice—”

  “Oh yes, my dear boy. I’ve had a change of heart. Slavery must be abolished!” He raised his finger into the air, then used his hand to cover his mouth, stifling laughter. Scab dropped his arm and twisted around. “Wait. Did you hear that?”

  Everyone went silent. Now what? Senka’s heart thumped with alarm as she scanned the darkness for threats.

  “What is it?” Juzo whispered.

  “Listen closely.” Scab raised one leg, a grin spreading up his face as he let out a rumbling fart.

  Laughter sprung from Juzo and the chained men. It wasn’t a joyous laugh, but the desperate laugh of the walking dead. Isa closed his eyes and shook his head. Greyson stared into the fire. Senka groaned with disgust as the stink of shit filled the air.

  “Quiet!” Tatlat barked from his campfire, his voice laced with violence. His armor reflected the light of the flames, shining mirror bright.

  “I’ve got a question for our court jester.” Senka cleared her throat, looking up.

  “Love it when she shows her teeth! Don’t you, Isa?” Scab leaned in toward him, and the men between them tried their best to cower back but didn’t get very far.

  “Let’s see your tongue work when I’m out of these chains,” Isa said. “Boldness gone with the sweat on the earth, I’d gather.”

  Senka looked at him over the lapping flames. “Why did you betray Captain Derwood? The flesh business no longer working well for the both of you?”

  Scab twirled the end of a soiled mustache, a clumpy black mix of dirt and dried blood. “He was a loose end who had to be cut eventually. Found Lady Fortune smiling down on me when he washed up upon the shores of Tigeria.” Scab peered up at the sky. The moon hung above them, an orb of silvery fire.

  “Loose end?” Senka asked.

  “Yes, a loose end. A saying in the west…” Scab waved his hand.

  “I know the meaning,” Senka hissed. “Go on.”

  “Well,” Scab leaned towards the fire, casting his face in a flickering demon’s mask. His eyes were swollen, a cheek puffed up, and tens of cuts on his face. The Whisperers didn’t go easy on him. She couldn’t believe he was here and alive, though he didn’t put up much of an effort at fighting back. Maybe the Whisperers could be benevolent. “I owed someone a favor, someone who once saved my life. And all debts must be paid, as we’ve seen. Why I’m here. Why they’ll try to sell me.”

  “Because of me, isn’t that right?” Greyson scowled.

  “Maybe.” Scab frowned. “Okay, I’m a bad liar, a horrible liar, really. It was because of you.”

  “I knew it. You bastard. Who did it? Who sold me? Who set it up? I demand to know! There will be justice.”

  “That I cannot say. Sworn to secrecy, a man of my word.” Scab twisted his lips. “Because, well, I don’t know. Have any enemies? I’m sure your father has no shortage.”

  “Do not speak of my father!” Greyson hissed. “You— you sniveling, cowardly, good for nothing bastard.” His arms were quivering, the veins in his neck bulging. “I will not be a slave!”

  “Shh.” Scab put a finger to his lips. “Too late. You’re going to make them angry.”

  “Whatever your f
eud, it won’t help us now,” Senka said, shifting her gaze between them.

  Isa sighed. “We need to work together, so can you two please put your grievances aside until we’ve managed to free ourselves?”

  “Fucking bastard,” Greyson muttered, glaring at the fire. “When my father hears of this…”

  “When my father hears of this,” Scab repeated in a wheedling imitation of Greyson’s voice. “All I ever hear out of you. You’ll always be in his shadow,” Scab said with a touch of scorn. “Like every boy sired by a father.”

  Isa looked at Greyson, his eyes narrowed, then back at the group. “Assuming no one wants to be sold as a slave?”

  Nods of agreement went around the fire.

  “Then we have to fight,” Senka said, meeting Isa’s eyes, pale blue in the fire.

  “How big is this Ashrath?” Juzo asked.

  “Midgaard big. Maybe bigger. Much bigger actually,” Scab huffed. “We’re close, maybe another day’s march. Don’t care much for needless fighting myself. Fighting is for the unrefined, uncouth, and uneducated.”

  Isa raised an eyebrow at him. Juzo snickered. A few of the men had already laid down to sleep, not bothering to pay attention.

  Senka couldn’t stand that she’d have to ally with this scoundrel again. She never liked him since she’d first met him in Zoria. Now she felt nothing but hate for him. “Then we should attack before we enter the city. It would be impossible there.”

  “Mhm.” Isa nodded. “Doubt anyone would lift a hand to help us.”

  “Help you?” Scab laughed. “More’n likely try to take ownership of you, eat you, or sell you in the market.”

  Senka felt the blood drain from her face. “Did you say eat?”

  “My dear Senkik, you’re forgetting that in Tigeria you are a sub-species. They have just as much reluctance eating you as you do a rabbit. Some men in Ashrath are beaten for months to soften up their flesh before being roasted upon their spits. You have much to learn.” He shook his head. “No, I will not be doing any fighting.”

  “If your supposed friends in Ashrath aren’t there, what are you going to do?” Senka asked.

  “I—” he tapped his chin with his nub. “Hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Or maybe what if they’re just as helpful as your Tigerian friends?” Senka inched closer to the fire.

  “Hadn’t thought of that either.” Scab gave a considerate nod.

  “You can’t think we’re foolish enough to think you’d help us after enslaving us?” Juzo said, grimacing at him like prey. “Starting to get hungry… maybe you’ll change your mind?”

  Scab’s jaw fell open. “Maybe I will change my mind.”

  Juzo continued. “Or maybe I’ll just have a bite of you, make you like me and under my control.”

  “Consider my mind changed.” Scab nervously smiled.

  “Hm.” Juzo rubbed his chin. “If there were any volunteers, if we got desperate I mean… anyone wanting to be like me might have a better chance if—”

  “No,” Isa cut in. “Not going to happen.”

  “Have you forgotten about Shipton already?” Senka regarded him. All those lives laid to ruin, how could he be so careless?

  Juzo’s mouth opened and closed, then he dropped his head between his knees. “Sorry. You’re right,” she heard him whisper.

  “Any word of this to Tatlat…” Isa dragged a finger across his throat, and Scab gave a quick nod.

  “My lips are sealed.” Scab plucked at the dust on his shirt. “Look, I’m a survivor just trying to survive. If we must fight, then so be it… chaos and all that other such nonsense.”

  Isa blew out his lips. “Huddle in close and stay quiet, damn it. They’ve got the weapons, got the strength, they’re mounted, but we’ve got the numbers. Though we’ve got weapons too.” He raised his wrist to show his chains. “Choking will take too long, especially with their Tougeres.”

  “That’s it,” Senka breathed. “We have to take their mounts, use them against them.”

  “Won’t work,” Scab said flatly. “They spend years training, working with the one they ride. Their loyalty is practically unbreakable. Like mine.”

  “Unlike yours, you mean,” Senka said under her breath.

  “Maybe if I had some blood, I could break the chains. Would need a more than a bit though. Any volunteers?”

  “Are you insane?” Isa glared at him. “Think they wouldn’t notice you sucking on someone’s throat?”

  Juzo groaned. “Then what?” The men around him shifted farther away. Juzo was a lot like her, she realized, except his vice was blood. There was a difference though. She didn’t need Angel’s Moss to survive. He needed blood.

  “There’s a difference,” she said to herself.

  “Not going to work, fighting won’t,” said one of the pairs of reed thin men chained near Isa. The two men were always pressed tight together, neither saying a word as long as Senka could remember. Maybe they were lovers, Senka guessed.

  “Not going to work with that attitude,” Juzo said, his face as haggard as a man ten years his senior. Did his curse make him age faster?

  “No,” the man shook his head, his long face dusted with a salt and pepper beard. “Look at us, all of us. We’re in no condition to fight.” He weakly gestured. “If one of us falls, falters, we drag you all down. Won’t work.” He sucked his teeth and spat into the fire. “If you think that’ll work, you’re living in a land of unicorns. A place far outside this forsaken world.”

  “He’s right.” Senka hated to admit it. A few men were already snoring, not even able to stay awake long enough to discuss the matter. It was pathetic. She couldn’t help but feel scorn for the weak of heart and spirit.

  There was a disturbance at the Tigerian camp. Tatlat and few of his men rose up with drawn weapons.

  “What is it?” Senka stood, scanning about. She saw they were marching for them. “They’re coming.”

  “Told you to keep your voices down,” Greyson hissed then bit his lower lip. He drew his knees into his chest, made himself small.

  Everyone went quiet, pretending they didn’t see them approaching. Move along, no killing being planned here, Senka thought. Tatlat was the first to approach the group, his face hard as chiseled stone despite the fur. Three of his men formed a line behind him, blades glimmering in their paws.

  He placed a gilded hand on her shoulder, and she saw that his gauntlet was worked with ornate details, all swirling lines. She realized then that she was the only one standing. Tatlat pressed her down to sit with a surprising gentleness.

  “You think I no hear?” Tatlat pointed at his long ears. “I hear. Cause no more troubles. Extra.” He shook a waterskin, making its contents slosh, pointed at it. Senka felt her eyes tracking it, envious of all that life-giving liquid.

  A few men gulped at the sight, some feeling at their throats split from dehydration. What would they do to them if their assault had failed? Senka hadn’t considered that. Couldn’t be worse than what Corin did to them, forcing them to enslave others lest they be whipped. “Hear you.” Tatlat pointed at the reedy man with the graying beard.

  The accosted man pointed at his own chest, his eyes wide with fright. “Me? But I’ve hardly said a word up until now!” His lover wrapped his arms around him in a protective hug. “Tell them it’s nothing, Scab! Tower killer? Please. Someone?”

  Scab stared into the fire, uncaring, unseeing.

  Senka started to open her mouth, but Isa’s hissing stopped her. She met his eyes, and he imperceptibly shook his head. He was right, she knew. They couldn’t die, had a mission to complete. It could have been any of them. Now was the time for self-preservation. He seemed like a nice enough man, but she felt no loyalty to him. Not like the honor she owed the Arch Wizard, not like her loyalty to Isa for helping her avenge her clan.

  Tatlat said something in his squawking tongue, and his men ripped the thin man up to stand, tearing his clutching partner free. A Whisperer held each of
his limp arms, propping him up. He was already dead, already gave up, not a shred of strength left in his veins.

  “Jori!” his partner screamed. “No, no. Take me! Please!” He started to rise, and a Tigerian blade was leveled at his throat.

  The man beside her sniffled, averting his eyes. Most of the rest did the same, mirroring Scab. A few watched with gaping horror. Greyson shivered and started rocking, muttering incoherently.

  “This if you fight.” Tatlat drew his blade with a ring, and in one continuous motion, slashed Jori across the gut, blood streaking into the dark. Jori let out a choking gurgle and sagged against his captor’s arms, dropping him with a thud.

  Jori’s organs flopped from his abdomen, and he madly tried to stuff them back in, hands slick with blood. “Not like this, not like this, not like this,” he frantically screeched.

  Senka watched the Tigerians watching Jori, saw them grinning at the man’s suffering. “Make it stop,” she whispered. “Mercy.” A blade across the throat, just like she would’ve done to a cow.

  No mercy came. Jori fumbled at his guts for a few horrible minutes while he bled to death. Anyone daring to help had blades directed at them, the threat of being disemboweled too great to ignore.

  “Kill me!” his partner demanded, but they would not give him death. A Tigerian held him there, jerked his head back, made him watch. Death was merely tossing dice. When would her number come? Jori could’ve been any one of them.

  Once Jori lay there unmoving, a Tigerian hefted him over his shoulders. Tatlat and his men stalked back to their campsite, ducking into tents like gutting a man was just another day’s work. The Tigerian carrying Jori’s corpse bound his ankles with a rope and tossed the other end over a low-hanging tree branch. Senka watched as his partner uncontrollably sobbed, his sorrow piercing through all of them. She saw the Tigerian pulling the other end of the rope, hoisting Jori’s body upside down to bleed out.