Heirs of the Fallen: Book 02 - Crown of the Setting Sun

by James A. West

  Zera thought about that for a heartbeat, then set off. Soon, they were jogging along, crisscrossing the barren city on what seemed to Leitos a haphazard path. He did not question her. He did not have the breath, for one, and for another it was apparent that she wanted to escape the Mahk’lar as much as he did. Still, he could not help but wonder if wandering about, instead of simply climbing over the nearest city wall, was the best choice.

  Large as the city was, they kept on for an hour or more, and still there seemed to be no indication that they were getting closer to escaping. Zera paused at a building that had burned hot enough to powder its brick structure. Around its foundation grew a stand of tall, stiff, bushy weeds yellowed and dried from the summer heat.

  “Here we are,” she said, as if she had been looking for those weeds in particular. She used her dagger to cut through several woody stems, and pulled her skein of cord from her satchel. Dividing the weeds in half, she tied each bunch together, then secured one cord around Leitos’s waist, and the end of the other around her own.

  She moved off, the trailing foliage obscuring her tracks. Leitos could not help but think it was a pointless endeavor, given that they had left a trail throughout the city, but amended his judgment when the city wall abruptly materialized out of the night. Understanding dawned. They were about to escape onto the road to Zuladah, and she was still trying to confuse Sandros and Pathil.

  Not for the first time, Leitos felt inept for the task with which Adham had charged him. He had completely forgotten about the two Hunters. If left to his own devices, he would have simply run. Such an oversight would surely have meant his capture. He berated himself, but also committed the lesson to memory.

  Zera angled toward a sprawling break in the wall, and a din of growls rose up. Zera slid to a halt. Leitos careened into her and bounced off.

  “Cut yourself free,” she said, low but insistent. In place of the dagger she had been using, now her sword came to hand. “Defend yourself, Leitos, for we face Alon’mahk’lar.”

  As monstrous figures closed in, Leitos stabbed his fist into the satchel tangled about his shoulders, slicing his fingers on the small knife he had stored away. Hissing, he pulled the weapon free and slashed the cord tied about his waist. He backed away as one of the creatures came closer than the others, an enemy so hideous that the sight of it threatened to unravel his mind.

  The Alon’mahk’lar had the shape of a dog, and a cluster of bulbous eyes, glowing an ugly amber, sprouted from its broad, knotted forehead. Spines of bone stretched in a ridge from its thick neck to its lashing, club-like tail. Powerful limbs propelled it, legs that had more joints than they should, each knobby and dense with rippling muscle and cords of taut sinew. A rough, splotchy maroon hide covered it.

  Zera flung Leitos aside as if he were no more substantial than an empty sack. At the same time, she flitted sideways as the creature sprang. Its mouth, a reeking cavern filled with back-curving fangs, snapped closed around the empty space where she had just been, spraying slaver. Her sword flashed, parting the side of the creature’s neck. Spinning, Zera whirled her sword in a tight circle. The blade rose high, arced down, parting the beast’s spine with a crunching shriek. The creature howled as it tumbled into the sand, forelegs clawing for purchase, its hindquarters convulsing amid the spill of bloody intestines.

  Zera wheeled, letting the beast writhe in the throes of death, and faced the rest of the Alon’mahk’lar. Where they hesitated, she attacked.

  Leitos stood frozen in place, jaw hanging loose as Zera flew into their midst. Her blade hewed bone, savaged flesh. Teeth and fangs slammed together on empty air and pained howls. The smell of blood curdled Leitos’s insides. The agonized cries of dying abominations washed over him, brought back the day Adham had sacrificed himself. The same clamor had risen up then, the same scents—

  Leitos to fell to his knees on the sandy street, retching. He raised a shaky hand to swipe away the burning drool from his lips, but the hand never reached them. While Zera was engaged, another Alon’mahk’lar had circled around, seeking easier meat. Leitos moaned, an unconscious plea for mercy that he knew would never be granted.

  The Alon’mahk’lar crept forward, a giant spider mingled with a scorpion. It rattled when it moved, a chitinous sound that set his teeth on edge. It advanced on ten legs, the swaying knees of which rose above its horned and plated back. Each leg ended at a single claw that scored deep grooves in the sandstone cobbles.

  Leitos lurched to his feet, the knife in his blood-slicked hand poised to stab. Spindly legs clattering, the Alon’mahk’lar darted half the distance between them. Nearer it came, gaining two paces for each one he backed away. Nearer … nearer … nearer, until he heard a hissing whisper issue from its masticating jaws. Leitos’s thoughts ground to a halt, as words in the human tongue reached his ears.

  … hold little one … hold … hold still … lie down … down ... sleep … rest child rest … submit … sweet flesh … feast … feed … devour bleed … bleed … oh sweet sleep …

  The sibilant chant crept over his pebbled skin, sank beneath, wormed through him, froze his muscles and bones. He wanted to lie down, to offer himself up—

  No! a voice shouted within him, pleading, futilely resisting … fading … fading.

  … still the heart… sleep child sleep … no pain … sweet blood … savor the meat … devour the soul … sweet nectar … sleep … slumber … rest … sweet perishing … sweet death … be still be … be quiet …

  Leitos sank to his knees, eyes watering as that singsong whispering pierced his mind. The knife fell from his numb fingers. The lullaby filled him, a soft, comforting, eager muttering.

  …sleep … yes … rest … yes yes … lie down … yes yes yes … slumber … rest … peace … sleepslumbersleepslumberdie …”

  Caught now in a placid dream, Leitos watched motionlessly as the creature’s jaws slid within a foot of his nose. Thick, pale foam spilled from its mouth. Sleep, he thought dazedly, rest.…

  He slumped to one side, his body as limp as dewy grass. He no longer saw the beast before him, but rather a vision of a green field dotted with flowers. So beautiful, he thought drowsily. The sunlight was golden warmth on his face, so peaceful….

  Sleep … forever … slumber … evermore….

  A blow shattered the vision. For a moment he was trapped between the world he knew and the one he had seen. A thousand silvery-hot spikes lanced through his eyes, his skull, his very being. Even as the last syllables of that dread voice rolled over and through him, he found himself wallowing on the ground, choking on a mouthful of gritty dust.

  “Get up!” Zera ordered. She stood over the Alon’mahk’lar. It whispered no longer, and lay in pieces, oozing black blood. Somewhere nearby, hidden within the night’s oppressive murk, monstrous voices spewed condemnation.

  Gagging on the dust coating his tongue, Leitos caught up his knife and scrambled unsteadily to his feet. Muddled, he stood in place, muscles shaking with the need to escape, but unable to choose a route.

  Fingers clamped around the back of his neck and shoved him forward. In a shambling imitation of running, Leitos threw one foot in front of the other. Somewhere behind him, Zera bellowed in fury. Leitos ran on, gaining speed.

  You cannot leave her!

  With every step, his self-loathing grew, and finally he slowed, unsure how he could help, except to serve as a distraction to the beasts that harried Zera.

  Suddenly she flew out of the night, hair wild, green eyes flashing. And she was grinning. A merciless smirk that had nothing to do with humor, only lethal joy. “Keep on!” she ordered, and he obeyed.

  Chapter 16

  With the Alon’mahk’lar hard on their heels, Leitos and Zera fled. The dead city flashed by, and the break in the warding wall fell far behind. Alon’mahk’lar spilled from decrepit buildings, drawn like hounds to the hunt. Zera guided them through alleys, buildings, and down streets, keeping them one step ahead of their enemies.


  Zera ducked into a doorway without warning. Leitos kept on a half dozen paces, skidded to a halt, and raced back through the opening. Zera caught him as he flew past and dragged him down, her hand clamped over his lips. “Hold,” she breathed.

  The demonic baying filled the night, coming closer. Leitos struggled not to jerk out of her grasp, the need to flee warring with her instruction.

  “Their blood is hot for the hunt,” she whispered, sounding too excited by half. “That will make them careless. They will trample our scent amid their own and lose the trail. Watch. Wait.”

  As the last word passed her lips, a pack of Alon’mahk’lar surged past the open doorway, a heaving swarm of misshapen flesh, grunting and squealing to each other in their accursed tongue. Another pack trailed the first, then another. Just as Zera had predicted, not one beast slowed, or so much as glanced their way.

  When the sounds of the pursuit moved off, Zera said, “Now we sneak.”

  Leitos shook away the mesmerizing effect of her stare, and glanced down the lightless corridor. They were trapped, as far as he could tell, and he said so.

  “The buildings in old cities press together like boils on a leper’s backside,” she answered.

  Despite his reservations, Leitos followed her deeper into the building, one hand on her shoulder, the other clutching his knife. His cut fingers stung, a dull throbbing he easily ignored. Besides the soft grating noise of his footsteps, the only other sounds came from the searching Alon’mahk’lar, which seemed to have finally realized their prey had evaded them.

  How long can that last … how long before they double back and pick up the scent? Despite Zera’s reassurance, he knew that once the enemy found their tracks, the building would become a snare, allowing the Alon’mahk’lar to stalk them at leisure.

  Zera led them to a narrow stairwell, and took it up to the next level. Leitos came after, halting behind her on a landing. She exposed the firemoss globe, letting its light shine over their surroundings. Fire had gutted the structure, and the charred floorboards had burned through in many places, dry-rotted in others.

  Zera hugged the wall, testing the floor with each step before resting her full weight upon the boards. Leitos was careful to step where she had, cringing every time a board creaked and sagged. He easily imagined himself crashing through and plummeting to the lower level. He swallowed dryly and forced himself to continue.

  They kept on until they reached another stairwell, this one of wooden risers. Char and dust coated the thick treads, and Zera went more cautiously than before. Leitos came after, sweating profusely. The burned sections crumbled underfoot, raising puffs of ash that tickled the nose.

  A bit farther, Leitos detected the clean scent of the night’s breeze. Zera tucked away the firemoss orb, and a rectangle of dark sky scattered with twinkling stars materialized before them. Zera rushed through the doorway, as did Leitos.

  The building’s flat rooftop was a mass of cracks and gaping holes. One misstep would mean certain death. A door that might have once guarded the doorway lay a few feet away. In the shadowed streets below, groups of Alon’mahk’lar called to one another, or sniffed along the ground in erratic patterns. The individual bands were converging.

  Zera guided them to the southern edge of the roof. At once, Leitos understood what she had meant about boils on a leper.

  Flat rooftops marched off in every direction, some higher and some lower, all pressed tightly together, save where streets and alleys divided them into islands. And while the paths below might be wide enough for a large wagon to pass unhindered, the buildings’ upper levels overhung the thoroughfares, narrowing the gaps between buildings.

  Leitos was contemplating ways to bridge the distance, when Zera said, “We must jump.”

  “It is ten feet across,” Leitos balked. He peered over the edge. “And four times that to the alley.” He wanted to tell her it was too far, but in seeing that mischievous grin of hers, the disturbing, eager gleam in her eyes, he screwed up his courage and nodded.

  Zera paced out a route mostly free of cracks or holes. Without a word, she swept forward and made an effortless leap, more graceful in the air than on the ground. She flew across empty space, landed on an outstretched foot, and tucked into a roll. After a single revolution, she was again on her feet. She waved him on.

  That was not so hard, Leitos thought, his confidence swelling. Following in her footsteps, he trotted forward and jumped lightly. Where Zera soared, Leitos plummeted as if he had stones tied to his ankles. Instead of getting closer to the opposite roof, it seemed to recede. A scream lodged in his throat, and he clawed for the edge. He caught the lip, but at the same instant his chest and face slammed into the side of the building. His breath burst from his lungs in a whooshing grunt. His fingers scraped over rough mudbrick in a vain attempt to stop his fall. Friction seemed to hold him in place, a teasing hope. Then he was falling back, and the yawning gulf drew him down and away. Above, the sharp edge of the roof slanted horizontally across the night sky. Both began a sickening, weightless slide, as his body pivoted.

  A hand flashed out, catching the strap of his satchel. The band of leather was twined under his arm and looped around his neck, and he jerked to a wrenching halt. Stitching popped with an ominous ripping sound, as the leather pulled tight against his throat. His flailing hands found that feeble tether and clung tight.

  Zera gazed down, her loosened hair hanging around grim features. She reared back, hauling him up and over the edge. They both ended up sprawled on the roof.

  “Next time,” Zera said wryly, “at least make a little effort. We are not stepping across cracked paving stones.”

  Leitos stared up at the stars, heart pounding. There will be no next time. Even as he thought it, he knew that was not the truth—unless he wanted to become the feast for the Alon’mahk’lar.

  “You made it look so easy,” he muttered, after he caught his breath.

  “For me, it was easy,” Zera said, sitting up and wrapping her forearms around her cocked knees. “I have done this many times.” She cast him a sour look. “I did not think I had to explain the differences between a Hunter and a former slave.”

  Disgusted with himself, Leitos sat up. “I am an idiot. It would serve you better to leave me here. Find another to save.”

  Zera thought about that a moment, then rose to her feet. As she strode away, she pulled her hair back and retied the leather thong to keep it in place.

  Leitos blinked in confusion. “Where are you going?”

  “Away,” Zera said over her shoulder, not slowing. By now she was nearing the far side of the roof. In less than two heartbeats, she would be gone, bounding across to another rooftop.

  “But—” Leitos began, scrambling to his feet.

  Zera stormed back. “But nothing, boy. There is no place for weakness and self-pity in this world. You die or you survive. Life under the rule of the Faceless One is struggle and pain and sorrow. If you are favored by the gods, you may enjoy a rare and fleeting moment of joy. Lying down, surrendering, leads to death. Slow or fast it may come, but it is death all the same. Decide, here and now, if you want to fight and live, or quit and perish. Decide, Leitos, because there are many others who would chance all the remaining moments of their lives for the opportunity you have been given.”

  “I will go with you,” Leitos muttered, his face hot with shame.

  “Convince me,” Zera commanded. “Prove to me that I should squander any more of my precious time helping you.”

  How can I? Leitos thought, fighting the urge to cringe away from her authority, much the same as he had cowered before the slavemasters the whole of his life. Since fleeing the mines, he had made many vows to himself and the ghost of his grandfather. Those promises had sustained him, pressed him forward, but only because of the guilt he had felt at not holding to his oaths. Not once had he moved forward without the goads of fear and remorse to drive him. He had not grown strong, as Adham had urged, and certainly he had not g
rown cruel enough to stand and fight against the Alon’mahk’lar, let alone the Faceless One. Ever had he run like a timid mouse, scurrying from cover to cover, shadow to shadow, telling himself that he was planning, making ready, when in truth all he had been doing was delaying taking upon his shoulders the mantle of his own survival. To continue that path meant he would never avenge his people, never gain freedom, never grow into the man his grandfather had believed he could become.

  While he sensed no single act could convince Zera to aid him further, Leitos understood well enough that he must step onto the road of his choosing, and tread that path until it lead to success or failure. In the end, it meant he could never halt. Perhaps he would fail—in all truth, the chance of his triumph was and had always been slim—but he must press on. As Zera had said, to lie down and quit was to die. And going forward, at this moment, meant only one thing.

  Leitos set off, striding out, chin tucked low. He hopped a yawning hole in the roof, flashed over a gaping crack. Every step his speed increased, and the distance to the next gulf narrowed. His heart hammered not from exertion, but from willing his fragile spirit to overcome the curse of dread and subservience forced upon all slaves.

  Arms and legs slashing the cool night air, he fought against intangible chains, sought to break bonds stronger than iron. He might die in the next breath … or he might survive. And was that not the thing he feared most—living, struggling onward into a misty future filled with unknown troubles?

  The gap loomed, a black gulf that plunged as deep as his doubts. Leitos raised his head, the wind of his passage sweeping back the hair from his brow. It filled his ears with a rush, and below that came the distant cries of the hunting Alon’mahk’lar. He leaped, pushing off with all his strength; he soared, cumbersome but aloft.

  When he landed, his weight folded his outstretched leg, and he fell in a sliding, bouncing tumble. There came no flash of revelation in the leap, no inner voice commended his triumph, there was not even time to contemplate what he had done.