Willing to Endure: A Dark Fantasy (The Shedim Rebellion Book 3)

by Burke Fitzpatrick

  “If you’d killed him,” Marah said, “I wouldn’t have been born.”

  “In the coming years, you’ll wish you hadn’t been born.”

  “You can’t mean that.”

  Dura wiped one of her eyes. “Forgive me.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive.”

  “One day, you’ll understand.” Dura collected herself. “My best wasn’t good enough.”

  They wandered the library for a little while, but Dura’s mood turned the marvel into a mausoleum. Marah’s worries blinded her to everything else. She kept thinking that when she returned to Telessar, she would be alone.

  The library doors opened, and a sentinel quickly strode to Dura. He moved like a breeze, making so few sounds that Marah started when he spoke.

  “Mistress Dura, Lord Nemuel sends word from the siege. The dwarven kilns have cooled.”

  “Blast it.” Dura’s words echoed up the spire. “How long?”

  “The workers retire in shifts. The wardens plan to finish the wall and follow the workers into the Deep. Nemuel says to hurry if you wish to speak to Warlord Blastrum.”

  IV

  Klay and Chobar traveled to Shinar with a strange feeling of unease. As they traveled, Klay kept expecting a war band of purims to attack, as they had for years, but nothing hunted them. Several times, Chobar stood and sniffed the air, which normally angered Klay, but he hung onto his saddle horn and waited for Chobar to scent something. He never did. When they left the plains to enter Paltiel Woods, they both awaited an ambush. The trip had been too easy.

  Klay took the shorter path through Paltiel, which only bears could manage, and he hoped to make good time to deliver news to Dura and Nemuel at once.

  On the far side of Paltiel, he noticed a change in the siege camps. The thick brown haze from the kilns had vanished. The odor of cooking bricks wasn’t as thick, and that brightened Klay’s day. He loathed the dwarven camps—everything smelled burnt, and a strong chemical scent akin to a tanner clung to the tents.

  Chobar stood to sniff the air, and Klay chided him until he went back to trotting on all fours. As they entered the camps, he noticed markings on the ground where tents used to be pitched. Klay counted fewer workers and exposed scaffolds.

  He found Lord Nemuel near the dwarven walls. Nemuel remained unchanged, a tall swordsman with wide shoulders, gray skin, and white hair. He glanced at Klay and Chobar and approached them.

  Klay bowed. “Lord Nemuel, where is everyone?”

  “Sir Klay.” Nemuel peered past him. “You brought Dura?”

  “I assumed she would beat me here. She left weeks before me.”

  “You did not escort her to Telessar?”

  “I took the southern route.”

  “What is taking her so long?”

  “She is old and not well.”

  “The league was her idea. Who will take over after her? Larz?”

  Klay shook his head and assumed they had similar thoughts. One of her best students, Larz Kedar possessed power like Dura but was odd. Quiet with a strange smile, Larz bothered Klay more than he cared to admit. The Order of the Red Tower would be strange without Dura. She had been a fixture in the kingdoms for generations.

  Klay asked, “What news?”

  “The dwarves abandon the siege. They lost three cities. Every demon spawn in the Deep attacks the Ward. They collapse tunnels to hold them back, but it is only a matter of time before they tunnel into the other cities.”

  “Buzzard’s guts. The timing couldn’t be worse. In the west, the Norsil and purims go to war. Whoever wins will come east. Ironwall will be under siege next.”

  “They will march around Gadara to invade Paltiel. We are surrounded. The Eastern Defense belongs to Azmon. The west will be ignored. If the Deep Ward fails, we will have armies beneath us as well.”

  As they talked, they scaled a series of ramps and scaffolds up the dwarven walls. The thick yellow bricks were stacked several deep with a filling of yellow clay. Each ramp led up a narrower terrace like a pyramid. They hiked up a hundred feet. From the ramparts, he studied the char marks on Jethlah’s Walls and the silent ruins of Shinar. In the early days, Roshan archers could be seen along the ramparts, but now the city looked abandoned.

  Klay asked, “What will you do?”

  “Pull back to Mount Teles,” Nemuel said. “The dwarves never delivered on their promises. None of their ballista can knock down the flyers. Without them, this wall is a waste of time. Azmon will fly over it. When the last of the dwarves leave, we will as well.”

  “Ghost towns fill the coast.” Klay cracked his knuckles. If the nephalem abandoned Shinar, Azmon’s army would burn the forest again. “The Roshan are digging up graves and flying the bodies here. They will have more beasts than before.”

  “We will deal with them when they march on Telessar.” Nemuel seemed to sense Klay’s frustration and spoke as though apologizing. “We can’t contain them, and we can’t break Jethlah’s Walls. Azmon must be waiting for the Ward to fail before he unleashes his beasts.”

  “We could destroy more of them here if we defend the walls.”

  “Even if they don’t fly over them, we won’t waste our strength defending bricks.”

  “Does Dura know?”

  “We sent birds. Last I heard, she was in Telessar.”

  “If Blastrum would leave behind a few hundred dwarves, we could hold the walls longer.”

  “You won’t convince him. The real fighting is in the Deep.”

  “Let me try.”

  “Wait for Dura. But, Klay, his people are dying. Would you stay here while Ironwall burned?”

  Klay reluctantly admitted he wouldn’t. Shinar looked like a stubborn set of ruins, devoid of life but refusing to crumble. It reminded him of the dead towns along the coast. Klay began the long climb down the walls, and Nemuel followed.

  Klay asked, “Do you think the Roshan left?”

  “There was a battle last month. We believe it was near King’s Rest. The beasts howled for some reason, and there were a great many of them. The emptiness is an illusion.”

  “Why would they howl?”

  “I’m more interested in the silence since. We haven’t seen anything in weeks.”

  “Maybe the bone lords will kill each other for us.”

  Klay wondered if providence would be so kind. They could use a good turn because all their luck of late was poor. He suspected the worst, and Nemuel’s stern expression confirmed it. Whatever had happened in Shinar did not bode well for them.

  The caravan left Paltiel Woods, and Marah’s world transformed from the soft shade of green leaves to the harsh glare of sunlight. The Shinari plains were starker than the plains surrounding Gadara, and sunlight glinted off the yellow clay. She missed the brown grasslands. A swirl of voices bubbled up around her like a rising tide, and she braced against them. Shinar teemed with anger and sadness, thousands of voices moaning at her.

  She withdrew from the window and folded into herself. She scrunched her face, pulled her knees to her chin, and buried her head. Too many voices competed for attention, and she feared she would need sorcery to silence them.

  Dura asked, “What is wrong?”

  “The voices are strong. It’s like being in the Underworld.”

  “You remember that?”

  Marah remembered a horrid place that she never wanted to visit again. “It smells like dwarves too.”

  “Well, that’s a hard smell to forget.”

  “This is a bad place.”

  “It used to be the cradle of civilization. The loss of Shinar will echo for generations.”

  A day later, they arrived in the camps. Marah noticed little of the trip or the fuss the dwarves made over her arrival. She constantly fought the invisible tide of voices. When she grew tired of shutting them out, she embraced them. She listened as they begged for help and shoute
d for blood. She lost herself in the noise. So many thoughts bounced in her head that she struggled to recognize her own.

  When she grew weary of the wailing, she clawed out of the abyss. She opened her eyes to a blaring sun and found the strength to fight back. Throughout the day, she fought against them or embraced them, managing the constant pressure of the teeming dead.

  A wet tongue yanked her into the world of the living. Chobar stood before her. Happy to have found a friend, she threw her arms around his massive neck and squeezed tightly. She couldn’t cover half of his throat, but he pulled her closer with one paw and grunted in her ears.

  “I missed you.”

  Chobar grunted again.

  A soft voice asked, “Klay, is it wise to keep a bear so close to the Reborn?”

  “Try to separate them,” Klay said. “I dare you.”

  Marah turned to the voice and found a tall figure, wide of shoulder but lean of waist. His dress seemed strange, a mixture of armor and sword and a sorcerer’s coat. He had ashen skin and white hair, but his features—what little of them she could decipher—were attractive, perfectly proportioned. She recognized an Ashen Elf, but he had an air of power about him unlike the others. The figure stepped forward and offered a slight bow.

  “Lady Marah of Narbor, I am Lord Nemuel of Telessar.”

  Edan’s mentor. He let Shinar fall. He let us all die.

  Marah forced the voices away. She offered an uncertain smile.

  Nemuel said, “The last time I saw you, you were only a few days old.”

  Marah never knew what to say to things like that. People talked about her claiming ceremony in the same way. They told her how close they’d stood to the stage when King Samos knighted her. They thought proximity made them more than strangers.

  She said, “A pleasure to meet you again, Lord Nemuel.”

  Nemuel turned to Dura. “You shouldn’t have come. The dwarves won’t be forestalled.”

  Dura said, “There’s a long list of things I need to stop doing.”

  “I fear you traveled all this way for nothing. We cannot contain the Roshan, and we have other battles to prepare for.”

  “We shall see,” Dura said. “After I speak to the dwarves, we need to discuss Marah’s education. She has learned all I can offer.”

  “I am not interested in training another Reborn.”

  “She will need guidance.”

  Nemuel knelt and checked Marah’s hands. “No calluses, which means she is a sorceress.” He stood. “I can teach her to use runes and steel, but if she knows your runes, then she knows most of mine.”

  “Most.”

  “We will not have this argument again. It is forbidden.”

  “Talk with King Salathiel.”

  “Our runes are for the faithful. There is nothing to discuss.” Dura tried to argue, but Nemuel spoke over her, “If Archangel Ithuriel wanted you to have them, he would answer your prayers. She has access to our vaults. She can find the information on her own.”

  “If she lived a dozen lifetimes, she might find it. She needs a mentor.”

  “As I said, we will not argue this again. She may teach herself from our collections. Peace, mistress, I have no power to alter the law.”

  Marah followed Dura and Nemuel to a large pavilion that smelled of dwarves. Chobar stayed nearby, keeping his head at her shoulder, and she absently tugged his ear to distract herself from the voices. Inside the pavilion, the dwarven odor grew stronger and reminded Marah of the garden terraces in Ironwall when they were tilled before the spring sowing season. She saw stout figures and smelled dark soil.

  V

  Klay sat at a table with the lords of the realm, and after studying everyone present, he realized he didn’t belong there. King Samos should have represented Ironwall. Klay shifted in his chair and studied the tabletop. For a field camp, the table was a beautiful piece with a small band for plates or papers and a center carved into the relief of a battle. Klay wondered if he should know the battle. The circle shape and the way the warriors marched around the inside of the circle made it hard to recognize.

  Across from him sat Lord Nemuel, Warlord Bodok Balrum Blastrum, Sir Rorgen of Ironwall, and Dura Galamor. Behind each of them stood additional powerful people like Lahar Baladan, Larz Kedar, war priests, and more Etched Men. Everyone chatted while Klay read the room. He thought he should be standing with Lahar and his lord, Broin, should be sitting at the table. King Samos and Broin prepared for another war in Ironwall.

  Warlord Blastrum seemed to read Klay’s mind. “Who speaks for King Samos?”

  The room quieted, and curious faces turned to Klay.

  He cleared his throat. “I do, Lord Blastrum.”

  “Why is he not here?”

  “There is war in the Lost Lands,” Klay said. “The barbarians and animal men both raised armies. Ironwall prepares to be attacked by the victors. The Hill Folk claim there is a new warlord, a man with more power than Kordel. They call him the Dark Walker.”

  The news sparked a half-dozen side conversations in the audience. Many speculated and questioned the Gadaran commitment to the siege of Shinar, but Klay had no assurances to offer. Samos said the troops could stay until he needed them.

  The conversations died down.

  Blastrum said, “We thank Dura Galamor, Keeper of the Reborn, for bringing young Marah of Narbor to the council. We are blessed to be in your presence, child.”

  The words meant more to the dwarves present. Gadarans and elves seemed to find the sentiment odd, and Klay wondered why the dwarves revered the Reborn. For her part, Marah acted older than her years. She stayed silent and still with her hands clasped behind her back. Her strange eyes tracked to the dwarf, and she offered a slight bow.

  Dura said, “We need to discuss the ballistae.”

  “There is nothing to discuss,” Blastrum said. “Jethlah made Shinar too big. Only an arrogant man would build a city larger than its water supply. Ducts to pipe in water? A kingdom shipping food to one city? What is the point of impenetrable walls if you cannot feed yourself?”

  Dura said, “You said the ballistae could knock down the flyers.”

  “We cannot launch bolts over the center of the city, where the flyers launch from. And when they were closer to the walls, the bone lords used runes to protect themselves. Taller walls and larger ballistae didn’t solve the problem.”

  Dura asked, “So what do we do?”

  “You need your own flying monsters. These are not problems for a dwarf.”

  Klay listened as elves and Gadarans debated how to augment the ballistae or replace them with spells. Most deferred to Nemuel and Dura, but they claimed similar problems countering the bone lords. A flock of flyers could launch toward Ironwall or Telessar, and the league could do little to counter them.

  Dura said, “We will need to continue working on the problem. It isn’t something we can solve today. Azmon invented air power. We need an answer.”

  “The time to act has expired,” Blastrum said. “Skogul stirs. The tusken march on the Deep Ward. Three of our cities have burned.”

  Lord Nemuel said, “The Roshan have grown stronger.”

  “Perhaps they have,” Blastrum said, “but our Council of Kings elected a High King, and we are called home. The demon tribes threaten the Ward, and they outnumber Azmon’s beasts.”

  Dura said, “We had an agreement. I provided runes in exchange for support.”

  “We built the wall, but now our cities need us.”

  “The agreement was to take back Shinar.”

  “What else can we do? The tunnels keep collapsing. We cannot break the gates or the walls. We cannot scale the walls. There is a reason the city was only conquered once.”

  Dura said, “Let us try, one last time, to crash the gates with runes. If we have your support—”

  “A waste of time.”

  “If we
have your support, and we succeed, we can send troops to the Ward.”

  “Our own cities are falling. This one is a diversion.”

  “Milord—”

  “We won’t waste time haggling. Petition Samos or Salathiel for more warriors. We return home. Enough of our wardens have been wasted on this folly.” Blastrum pounded the table for silence. “If the tribes claim the Deep Ward, they will have unlimited access to the surface. They will tunnel into Ironwall and Telessar. The real battle is below.”

  “What about the flyers?”

  “Sorcery will have to contain the flyers.”

  Lord Nemuel said, “We need to discuss other options. We cannot surrender the Shinari plains without a fight.”

  Blastrum said, “Our High King has called us home. The decision is made.”

  Dura said, “Lord Blastrum—”

  “With all due respect, Mistress Dura, I won’t discuss a three-dimensional battlefield with a surface dweller,” Blastrum said. “You don’t see the bigger picture. The lines on your maps don’t mean anything. If we lose the Deep Ward, we lose all the spaces between your precious little lines.”

  “No one doubts the importance of the Deep Ward; however, we must deal with the shedim armies in Argoria as well.”

  “The old accords are still in force. The surface belongs to the Avani and the Talis. The Gimirr will guard the Deep.” Blastrum stood. “I apologize, mistress, for any confusion. We are leaving. There is nothing to discuss. When I heard you were traveling to Shinar, I stayed to tell you myself, out of respect. In our opinion, the city cannot be won. Our wardens are needed elsewhere.”

  Dura said, “We had an agreement.”

  “We will finish the wall. Defending it falls to you.”

  Klay watched as the dwarven delegation left the tent. Half of the room emptied, and none of the others filled the vacated space. Klay appreciated the way Blastrum spoke as though his words were final. He had not seen such a respectful dismissal in a long time, and Dura could only scowl at the empty chairs.