Heirs of the Fallen: Book 03 - Shadow and Steel

by James A. West

  “Your bow,” Adham said gruffly, handing the weapon and a quiver of arrows over to Leitos. “An Izutarian without a bow is but half a man.” Usually he smiled when he said this, but not now.

  Leitos took the short, double-curved weapon that Adham had helped him fashion when they first came to Witch’s Mole. While the Brothers had seen to all aspects of his training, Ba’Sel had noted Adham’s unmatched skill with a bow, and left it to him to train Leitos in its use.

  “Is all in readiness?” Ba’Sel asked, once the Brothers had gathered round. Grim nods met his question. “Very well,” he said, and set out.

  One by one, some few holding torches aloft, the Brothers merged into a growing line. As they marched, the Brothers each took a turn coming abreast of Leitos. With approving grins, they gripped his shoulder, or thumped him on the back, each in their own way voicing their approval and acceptance of him into their ranks. Ulmek came last, and Leitos fought to conceal his surprise.

  “I still do not trust your judgment, Izutarian,” he rasped near Leitos’s ear. “But then, I could say the same of Sumahn and Daris, and most of the rest of these motherless goats. You are one of us now, a Brother of the Crimson Shield, and I will guard your life with my own.”

  Astonishment stuck Leitos’s tongue to the roof of his mouth. Ulmek noticed his surprise, and his smile widened, a brief flicker of wry amusement, then he strode ahead to join Ba’Sel.

  Soon the way grew brighter, the scent of the sea filled the passage, and the Brothers crept from gloom into the dappled sunlight falling through the boughs of scrubby trees.

  Leitos took a knee beside Ba’Sel, and was joined by Ulmek and Adham, Halan and Ke’uld. Leitos glanced around, feeling that something was out-of-place. He saw nothing obvious, and counted it as nervousness.

  “The way looks clear,” Halan whispered, his rumbly voice matching his blocky frame. Sweat glistened on the dark stubble sprouting from his head. He looked a brutal man, but was known to be the most tenderhearted of the Brothers.

  “That’s what worries me,” Ke’uld said, black eyes roving. Wiry and dark, he could have been kin to Ba’Sel. He tugged at the pointed tuft of tight black curls adorning his chin. “Even with so many sea-wolves locked in the passageways, there should be scores of sea-wolves crawling over Witch’s Mole. Yet I see nothing of them. Where are they?”

  Ulmek looked to the sun, nearing the highest point of its daily journey. “Give it a little time, and you will have all the sea-wolves you could want gnawing at your heels.”

  “They’ll find I’m not so tasty when I poke a blade in their festering gobs,” Ke’uld warned.

  Ba’Sel caught the Brother’s arm. “We will not fight this day, unless forced to it.”

  “Just so,” Ke’uld said with a sour expression.

  Leitos listened with half an ear as he studied the scrub- and rock-covered hillside that led down to a cove a quarter mile away. With the heat of the day upon them, the waves beating themselves to a pristine froth along the shore looked inviting enough that he could almost forget their enemies were fanning out over the island. Beyond the cove’s inward curving points, the turquoise Sea of Sha’uul waited, empty of Kelren ships. In the far distance, the hazed bulk of the closest island to Witch’s Mole rose out of the sea like a great, bushy dome. The Brothers called it Giant’s Head.

  “We need a scout,” Ba’Sel said, favoring Leitos with a pointed look.

  “Of course,” Leitos said.

  “Sneaking is best,” Ulmek advised.

  Adham touched his son’s arm. “Have a care,” he said, speaking aloud the concern written across the Brothers’ faces.

  Leitos could not find the words to express his gratitude. So, with a last nod, he set out down the hill, ghosting through the trees over several hundred paces. He scanned around, at once searching for enemies, and picking out a concealed route. All was still, but a tingle of unease troubled him.

  After clearing the dense copse, a sense of nakedness fell on him. He darted to the nearest outcrop of boulders and lost himself amid their scant shade, and the tufts of tall grass growing at their feet.

  Sheltered again, the feeling of eyes tracking him diminished, but the same disquiet he had felt when escaping the east passage came again. He paused, listening to the nearby boom of incoming waves. A cricket chirred nearby, then fell quiet. He tugged at his snug robes, suddenly feeling constricted. Not a breath of wind disturbed trees or grass.

  Before anyone decided he had frozen in fear, Leitos shook off his worry, and scurried farther down the slope.

  Coming to a thicket that stretched across half the hillside, he dropped to his knees and crawled under a wall of twisted branches covered with waxy leaves and thorns. A pace deeper in waited a neatly trimmed passage.

  Leitos got off his belly and nocked an arrow. For a dozen paces, he crept along the living tunnel. Other than the Brothers’ footprints, the only sign that anything else had recently passed by were trails left by snakes, and the tracks of birds and mice.

  He entered a large clearing roofed by interlaced branches, below which waited the four overturned longboats they had used them to escape Geldain a year ago. Dust, dried leaves, and bird droppings covered the hulls.

  Leitos circled the boats. All lay quiet and stuffy under the thicket, the ground free of any sign that Kelrens had been there. He paused to listen, an arrow half-drawn. After a moment, a songbird lighted in the branches overhead. Another joined it, and they began chattering. Ba’Sel and Adham had taught him that birds across any land were fair spies….

  Leitos stiffened. There had been no birds when they emerged from the sanctuary, where there should have been many sheltering from the day’s heat in the tree boughs. Something had driven them away—

  Before the thought was finished, Leitos was running back the way he had come.

  Chapter 5

  Leitos burst out of the thicket and dropped behind the nearest boulder. Far up the hillside, lost among the trees, his Brothers remained invisible. Dark clouds gathered over Witch’s Mole. Leitos began to relax. The coming storm might have driven most of the birds to cover—

  An inhuman howl cut off the thought. A heartbeat later, a screaming horde of warriors, men and women alike wearing only baggy black or white breeches, exploded from all available cover between him and his Brothers. A hail of arrows fired by hidden archers flew over their heads and streaked into the trees where the Brothers waited.

  Leitos cried a belated warning, and then loosed an arrow just ahead of the lead Kelren. The barbed head tore through the man’s bowels, and he fell in a tumbling roll.

  All at once the Brothers surged from the trees, bucklers held at shoulder height to deflect falling arrows, as they sprinted toward Leitos. Every third man returned arrow for arrow, but they were far outnumbered. Even as he watched, the number of Kelrens tripled.

  Leitos took aim at another target. Waving a pitted sword overhead, the howling woman outdistanced her companions. Embracing a sense of cold dispassion, Leitos fired. The arrow flew true and sank deep into the pit of her arm. Her cry cut off, but she ran a few more steps before toppling.

  Leitos fired at another slaver. The sea-wolf fell, an arrow jutting from his neck. Before Leitos could target more enemies, the horde fell upon the Brothers of the Crimson Shield. Leitos sprinted up the hill to join them.

  In the time it took for him to halve the distance to the battle, the Brothers had abandoned bows for swords, and presented a phalanx of whirling blades. Wave after wave, the Kelrens bled and died upon that blurring wall of razor-edged steel. Eager war cries became screams of agony.

  Adham, Ba’Sel, and Ulmek formed the center of that line, fighting as Leitos had never imagined men could fight. Sea-wolves fell before them, throats torn out, limbs shortened to gushing stumps, entrails spilling. The Brothers advanced in lockstep, trampling the dead and wounded underfoot.

  Just before Leitos reached the Brothers, a pair of changeling wolves circled the battle and atta
cked from behind. Where the Brothers fought with terrible beauty, the wolves ravaged mindlessly. Blood flew from their rending jaws. Teeth as long as a man’s fingers, and claws even longer, slashed like daggers.

  Caught in the haze of battle, the Brothers closed ranks when their fellows fell, unaware of the threat at their backs.

  Close enough now to smell the sharp odor of blood, Leitos ran faster, his sword replacing his bow. “Father!” he cried. “Behind you!”

  The furious storm of battle crushed his voice before it reached a single ear. And still the Kelrens came, eroding the line of defending Brothers. Dust rose into swirling clouds, obscuring sight of the slaughter.

  And then Leitos stumbled into the fray. All blurred around him, friend and foe becoming one. His sword slashed at branded skin, knowing it belonged to Kelrens.

  “Now!” Ulmek yelled, sounding near.

  Leitos heard breaking pottery, and then a flash of indigo light exploded before his eyes.

  Nectar of Judgment! Terrible understanding filled him, even as a blast of heat and smoke knocked him sprawling. Within heartbeats, flames were sweeping through a line of screaming Kelrens, allowing the Brothers a chance to retreat.

  Chaos capered and spread, separating enemies into smaller pockets. Leitos fought his way toward the longboats. Around him, hoarse shouts, the clangor of steel, the inferno’s whooshing crackle, all blended into a maddening roar.

  From that madness emerged a changeling wolf, its spiny pelt smoking and charred. It spotted Leitos, growled low in its throat, and came near not on paws, but humanlike hands, the clutching fingers tipped with black talons. As it closed, its scorched hackles rose.

  “Yours is the blood of Valara,” the wolf growled. Silvery threads of drool dripped from its teeth. Its huge chest blasted breaths that smelled of burned meat. “I’ve glutted upon your bloodline before. Kneel before me, and your death will be quick.”

  “And what reward would your master grant for killing a prize he would rather have delivered alive?” Leitos shouted.

  The changeling’s baleful yellow eyes narrowed. “The Faceless One commands less than he knows.”

  Done banding words with a demon-born, Leitos attacked. The wolf reared, and Leitos ducked raking talons, even as he slashed his sword across the changeling’s belly. The wolf screamed and bounded away.

  Leitos spun and came on, drawing his dagger. Belly awash in blood, the wolf turned back, jaws snapping. Leitos crouched low, allowing talons to whicker past his face, the tip of one dragging a bloody scratch down his cheek. He wrenched his head sideways and thrust his dagger deep into the wolf’s chest, then leaped away.

  When the wolf turned and sprang again, Leitos dropped to his knees, and drove his sword deep between the changeling’s ribs. The wolf’s roar became a whimpery yelp, and the creature landed heavily, struggling to face Leitos.

  “You have won nothing,” the demon-born rumbled through the froth of blood coating its muzzle. “You and all your weak kind will die—the age of men is finished.”

  Leitos’s sword whirled and fell, slicing the wolf’s thick neck to the bone, and the beast crumpled.

  Before Leitos could get his bearings, Ulmek sprinted out of the smoke, caught hold of Leitos, and hauled him along. Only a few Brothers ran with him.

  “My father?” Leitos cried, struggling to look over his shoulder.

  “Run!” Ulmek growled.

  With Leitos between them, Ulmek and the other grim-faced Brothers raced down the hill, angling toward the thicket and the longboats. The sea-wolves came together and gave chase.

  Moments later, Leitos crashed headlong into the thorny wall of bramble. Numb with worry, he felt nothing, and he smashed his way through to the passage.

  When he came to the first longboat, he heaved it over. The rest of the Brothers tossed the oars inside. Haversacks followed, landing in a haphazard pile. Ulmek moved to the bow, and the rest took up positions around the sides. Behind them, howling Kelrens drew nearer.

  “When we reach the sea,” Ulmek said Leitos, “you and Halan use your bows to hold them off. The rest of us will row until we are clear of the shore.”

  “Where are the others?” Leitos demanded. Of forty Brothers, only eight remained.

  “Some are dead,” Ulmek said, looking back the way they had come. By the sound of it, Kelrens were using their swords to clear a wider path.

  “My father…?” Leitos could not say the words.

  “Adham and Ba’Sel were taken. We may yet save them, but not without first saving ourselves.”

  Sick with dread, Leitos took his place near the stern, and helped lift the boat. At Ulmek’s word, they followed a passage through the thicket, and came out at a precipitous trail leading to the cove.

  Without slowing, the Brothers leaped down the slope, the longboat scraping and bumping over the ground. Halfway to the shore, the trail steepened. Rising dust marked their descent, and large rocks bounced ahead. At the bow, Ulmek suddenly cursed and stumbled. He fought to regain his feet, but the way was too steep. Instead of holding the boat back, his weight pulled it faster. The longboat shot forward, dragging the Brothers along. Across from Leitos, Ke’uld screamed and vanished from sight.

  At the end of the trail, the longboat gouged into a berm of sand littered with seaweed and driftwood. The Brothers rolled over one another, ending up in a tangled pile.

  “Up!” Ulmek called. “Damn the lot of you, up!”

  As they hefted the longboat, one man remained half buried in the sand—Ke’uld, his leg horribly twisted. “Go,” he rasped.

  Ulmek rushed to the fallen Brother and, avoiding the man’s weak attempts to drive him off, gently lifted Ke’uld into the boat. “Prepare the oars,” Ulmek said, retaking his place at the bow.

  With the longboat held between them, the Brothers ran toward the waves. Face ashen, Ke’uld did what he could to obey Ulmek’s command.

  The Brothers speared the longboat into a breaking wave, and leaned into the salty rush, straining to gain a few more feet. The wave turned back, helping them put out to sea. More waves crashed over the bow, but the Brothers kept on until they were swimming.

  “Climb in,” Ulmek ordered, pulling himself up. He turned, caught Halan’s hand, and dragged him into the longboat. In moments, all had boarded the bobbing craft.

  While Leitos joined Halan at the stern, the others caught hold of the oars and struggled to turn the bow into the incoming waves. By inches, the craft came about, and the rowing Brothers made for open water.

  In the stern, Leitos knelt beside Halan, both ready with arrows nocked. Behind them, the Kelrens raced down the trail. Jaw set, Leitos took aim at the seething mass. His first arrow followed a blink after Halan’s. Leitos fired steadily. By his sixth shot, the longboat had begun to wallow past cresting waves, and the remaining Kelrens began to return fire.

  The first volley flew high when the longboat dropped into a trough. The Kelren archers raised their bows and waited, timing the waves. Leitos and Halan began firing as fast as they could, their haste and the pitching sea ruining their aim.

  “Stroke!” Ulmek cried.

  Another volley of Kelren arrows flashed out of the sky, flying wide by mere feet.

  “Stroke!”

  Leitos bent his bow and fired, bent and fired.

  “Stroke!”

  The Kelren archers drew back their bowstrings, again timing the waves. Around them, their fellows roared, waving their swords overhead.

  “Stroke!”

  The Kelrens fired, and hope fled Leitos’s heart … but only for a moment. The closest arrow fell into the sea, twenty feet back. Behind him, the Brothers continued to heave at the oars.

  “Come about,” Ulmek ordered, after the sea-wolves had become specks.

  Dripping sweat, the Brothers dropped their oars and leaned on their knees, looking back the way they had come. Witch’s Mole thrust out of the sea, a green-haired skull bowing under the weight of gathering storm clouds. Cackling gulls wh
eeled overhead, mistaking the Brothers for fishermen.

  After a time, Halan spoke up. “Do you mean to leave our Brothers to the slavers?”

  Ulmek glared back in silence.

  “You cannot have us abandon our Brothers to those filthy butchers,” Ke’uld gasped. His broken leg wept blood where splintered ends of bone had thrust through the skin. “What of Ba’Sel and the others? Do we leave them for dead, while we seek safety?”

  Ulmek looked into each man’s face, before coming back to Halan. “Ba’Sel’s way is to keep to the shadows. Would you turn from his decrees?”

  Halan’s craggy brow wrinkled. Ulmek’s questioning gaze roved. Brave and hard men all, none met his stare. Of anger—a tensing of the shoulders, a clenching of fists, and deep scowls—there was no shortage, but the Brothers of the Crimson Shield followed a strict hierarchy. In Ba’Sel’s absence, Ulmek was their leader, and it appeared that he meant to hold to Ba’Sel’s last command.

  “Point us toward Giant’s Head,” Ulmek said slowly. “And make sure the Kelrens see us.”

  Curious looks met this, and Leitos sat straighter. Ulmek went on.

  “It is my intention to cut down ten sea-wolves for each one of us they have stolen from our ranks.” He paused, waiting until each man faced him. “Unless, of course, you think I should lead us scurrying into the shadows?”

  “I have had my fill of hiding,” Ke’uld said. As the men murmured agreement, his eyes rolled up to show the whites, and his head clunked against the hull.

  “Bind his leg,” Ulmek said.

  As Halan and a few others rooted through haversacks to find anything to use for bandages, Leitos looked back toward Witch’s Mole.

  Hold fast, Father. He willed that thought to bridge the gap between them, refusing to consider that his father might have perished in the battle.

  Chapter 6

  While the rest of the Brothers sat nibbling strips of salt fish on the hull of the overturned longboat, Leitos paced relentlessly. Seaweed and damp made the footing slick across the reddish shelf of stone, which slanted into the sea from the base of a cliff. He had covered its breadth more times than he could count.