Heirs of the Fallen: Book 03 - Shadow and Steel

by James A. West

A hissing sound, followed by a seemingly insignificant thump, cut him off.

  Leitos whirled to find a young, dark-haired woman with an arrow lodged in her throat topple off the wall. An instant later, a hail of shrieking arrows sliced through the Yatoan ranks.

  “Archers in the watchtower,” Leitos warned, at the same time Ulmek shouted, “Take cover!”

  Sumahn and Daris followed Ulmek in jumping down to a slate-roofed storage shed built against the inside of the wall, and then they bounded off that and rushed into the shadows of a nearby building.

  Leitos did not hesitate. He caught Belina around the waist, and together they dropped to the shed, rolled off the roof, and crashed against hard-packed dirt. Leitos took the brunt of the impact, with Belina landing mostly on top of him.

  He groaned as he got to his feet, ribs aching. Above them, as his people died in droves, Damoc cursed and flung himself off the wall. Other Yatoans followed, some missing the shed to sprawl on the ground. Too many to count, pincushioned with arrows, did not regain their feet.

  Leitos pulled Belina toward Ulmek. Damoc yelled some command, but Leitos kept on until he reached the safety of the building and his Brothers. Only then did he let go of Belina.

  Damoc ran toward them, eyes bright with fury. An arrow jutted from one shoulder, and another from the opposite thigh. He did not seem to feel his wounds, and rushed near with his sword raised. “Betrayers! You led us into this trap!”

  With blurring speed, Ulmek spun and batted away Damoc’s blade, caught the man’s throat, and slammed him against the building. His free hand ripped out the shaft buried in the elder’s man’s shoulder, then jammed the barbed head half the width of a finger into the skin above his heart. “Your enemies wait in the city, not among us, and the only trap is the one you stepped into with all your proud bluster.”

  Unsure which enemies to address, the remaining Yatoans split ranks, half focusing on their surroundings, the other half aiming at Ulmek’s back.

  “Call off your warriors,” Ulmek advised, “or I will end you before you see the deaths of your people avenged.”

  The veins in Damoc’s neck bulged, and he flung his head back and screamed. His grief washed over everyone who heard it, and Leitos shrank back, knowing too well such pain.

  When that cry cut off, the elder’s agony fled him all at once, and he went limp. Had Ulmek not still held him, Damoc would have collapsed.

  “Call them off,” Ulmek urged. “Set them to defend us, or we are all dead. Do you understand me?”

  With a pained expression, Damoc looked from Ulmek to his few remaining clansmen, and finally to his daughters. “Belina?” he whispered. “Nola?”

  “We are alive,” they said together.

  “The time to grieve those you lost will come,” Ulmek said, “but that time is not now. You must command the living. Fight, Damoc, and bring judgment upon those who would end your clan.”

  Damoc looked over the Brother’s shoulder to his clan. “Heed this man in all things.”

  As Yatoan bows began to lower, Adham skidded to a halt at the edge of the building, eyes wild, face dripping sweat.

  “We must flee,” he said. “Adu’lin has archers ringing us about. Sea-wolves and Mahk’lar advance, tightening the noose, with the aid of Alon’mahk’lar—two score, at the least. As well….” He trailed off, glancing between Ulmek and Leitos, Sumahn and Daris. In a grave voice he finished, “As well, your brothers march with the enemy. They are men no more, but demons sheathed in the flesh of the men they once were.”

  Leitos and the others stared in open shock at Adham’s revelation.

  “What can he hope to gain by that course?” Ulmek seethed.

  Damoc’s eyes lit up, as if discovering the answer to a puzzling riddle. “That is why Adu’lin so eagerly came to your rescue! He knows that Mahk’lar cannot possess us, and so serve no purpose in defending Armala against our attacks. The Kelrens are a threat, but no more than any man. As well, Alon’mahk’lar can be killed.”

  “What has any of that to do with my brethren?” Ulmek’s dark eyes never stopped moving, but the elder held the largest part of his attention. By now, the Yatoans had taken up defensive positions to secure their bare scrap of ground.

  “Had you not come,” Damoc said, “it was only a matter of time before we would have destroyed the Fauthians. But now these Mahk’lar can harness the deadliest skills of your men. With such warriors—those who can do us great harm, even in small numbers—he hopes to crush our rebellion.”

  “How could Adu’lin have known we were more than just another group of slaves caught by the Kelrens?” Ulmek asked.

  “Adu’lin, as does most of the world, serves the Faceless One,” Damoc said. “It is likely that he found out where you were, and sent the Kelrens to capture you, intending to use you against us.”

  “There must be a way to force the demons out of our brethren,” Daris said.

  Adham shook his head. “Once a Mahk’lar entrenches itself within living flesh, that flesh dies or is transformed, and the soul which controlled that flesh passes beyond the mortal realm.”

  That truth pressed in on Leitos, but he fought despair by thinking of those yet alive. “What of Ba’Sel? You spoke of freeing him … is he with you?”

  “After cutting Ba’Sel loose,” Adham said, “I went after Adu’lin, intending to slay him. That’s when I discovered what he had done. When I returned for Ba’Sel, he had fled. I had no choice but to leave him.”

  “Ba’Sel was many things,” Ulmek said, “but he was no craven wretch. If pressed, he would have fought.”

  Adham took a deep breath, collecting himself. “Doubtless that is true … but in the end, he was not himself.”

  “What are you saying?” Ulmek questioned.

  “It is a rare thing,” Adham said hesitantly, “but I have seen it before.”

  “Tell us what you are going on about, Izutarian!” Ulmek demanded.

  “The father of your order has lost his mind,” Adham said bluntly. “He began raving about his homelands, of his mother. If he survives, maybe he will become again the man he was. But last I saw him, he was as a fearful child.”

  “We must find him,” Ulmek said, searching faces for those who might join him. Daris nodded eagerly, but Sumahn narrowed his eyes in unspoken refusal. Leitos recalled Sumahn’s talk of Ba’Sel’s uselessness aboard the Bloody Whore.

  Of the Yatoans, none so much as batted an eye. Ba’Sel was unknown to them, and their fealty rested with Damoc and their clan.

  Adham gave Ulmek a pained look. “Have you heard nothing else I have said? We are besieged. In moments, Adu’lin’s horde will fall upon us. Ba’Sel, whether he lives or not, is lost. We must flee … or we must fight.”

  “If we flee,” Damoc said, “it could be months—if ever—before Adu’lin lowers his guard enough for us to attack again. And now that he has turned your brothers into the weapons he needed, he will fortify Armala, and eventually destroy my people.”

  “Why Armala?” Leitos blurted. “What is so important about an empty city?”

  “It is Adu’lin’s fortress,” Damoc said.

  “That is not what I mean,” Leitos said with a shake of his head. “Why does Adu’lin not simply leave Yato? He would find many other lands safer, without the constant threat of the clans looming over him.”

  Damoc gave him a quizzical look, but Belina’s face brightened. “It is not Armala he wishes to protect, but the Faceless One.”

  “The Faceless One is here?” Adham barked, his voice mingling with those of the other Brothers.

  “I have faced him,” Leitos admitted, “but he is no man.”

  “As he is without flesh and thus unassailable,” Damoc added, “I would say his spirit alone resides within the Throat of Balaam.”

  “Then we must destroy the Throat,” Ulmek said decisively, “in order to keep Adu’lin from him.”

  “This is all well and good,” Adham said, “but we still face the same choices
as before. Fauthian archers watch the wall, and worse foes are drawing nearer. Our death is all they seek.”

  “Then we fight,” Damoc said with quiet ferocity. “For those taken from us over long generations,” he said, voice rising, “for those ravished by Alon’mahk’lar, for those who have died this day, and for ourselves, we fight.”

  Chapter 35

  After Damoc’s defiant words rolled over those gathered about him, the elder looked to Ulmek. “Your order is known, even in Yato, as men of war. How can we push past our enemies?”

  “You five,” Ulmek snapped, rapidly pointing out those he wanted, “will join Leitos in drawing the attention of the archers. While the Fauthians and their allies are distracted, the rest of us follow Adham back the way he came.”

  Robis, one of the chosen Yatoans, shook his head. “I will be no sacrifice.”

  “You will do as ordered,” Damoc snarled, “or I will cut you down myself.”

  Robis swallowed, tried to speak, but no words came. He reluctantly nodded under the stares of his fellows.

  Satisfied, Ulmek glanced at Leitos, silently conveying to him the leadership of the small band. Only when the Yatoans had turned their attention to Leitos, did Ulmek lay out his plan.

  “Once the Fauthians have turned their attention on you, you will have only moments to find cover. I will position another handful of our archers to watch over you, then wait for a twenty count for you to rejoin the rest of us. If you are not there in time, you are on your own. Do you understand?”

  Leitos swallowed his doubt. “We will be there.”

  “Very good,” Ulmek said, and picked out another five archers from among the Yatoans. When he finished, he glanced at Leitos, and bared his teeth in a stony smile. “Noise, little brother, will work best to attract our enemies.”

  Understanding what Ulmek meant, Leitos nocked an arrow to his bowstring, took a deep breath, and burst from cover with a crazed shout. The Yatoans came at his heels, screaming like demons escaped from the Thousand Hells.

  Leitos had taken three long strides before the first volley of Fauthian arrows rained down. A shout became a shriek behind him, then another, but he did not falter. Still howling, he aimed at a shadow lurking within an arched window, a hundred paces distant and four stories above the ground. For a single instant between strides, his bobbing arrowhead steadied, and he loosed the shaft. Before the arrow ripped into that darkness, before the shaded figure dropped from sight, he had nocked another arrow and drawn the bowstring to his cheek.

  No longer focusing on targets, he sought an opening in the wall flashing by at his side. Of windows there were plenty, all boarded over. Midway down the side of the building, he found a wide stair rising to a portico before a set of massive wooden doors. Pitted and splintered with ancient rot, they slumped on their hinges.

  He loosed his second arrow at another figure, then darted up the stairs, taking them three at a time. Running full out, Leitos cradled his bow protectively, and tucked his shoulder. The impact was harder than he expected, and despite looking ready to fall apart at the slightest touch, he bounced off with a stunned grunt.

  Three Yatoans came barreling up the stairs, all hollering, Robis loudest of all. The big youth did not slow or try to avoid Leitos, but instead rammed into him, driving them both against the doors. The other pair added their weight, and the latch gave way with a screech of tearing metal and shattering wood. The foursome tumbled into dusty gloom, just as a flight of arrows streaked into the spot where they had been.

  Leitos bounded to his feet, and tore off through a hall littered with old furnishings and fleeing rats. The Yatoans came at his heels.

  Beyond the hall waited a corridor lined with staggered doors, the walls hung with tapestries fouled by coats of greenish mold. Wild cries and curses from outside the building drove them from the corridor into another hall. Leitos made for a set of double doors twice the size as those they had crashed through. Ulmek had said he would give them a twenty count to get through, and while Leitos had not bothered keeping count, he knew they had plenty of—

  The doors burst inward with such force that they flew off their hinges, and crashed to the floor. Backlit by the golden dawn, two hulking shapes with horned heads rushed through the doorway, their guttural howls shaking the air.

  Leitos and Robis dodged to one side, both colliding with a stack of benches. The other Yatoans changed course too late.

  Desperately trying to untangle himself from the heap of shattered wood and stinking fabric, Leitos gave a warning shout, as the first Alon’mahk’lar swung a spiked cudgel the size of a small tree. The weapon found its mark, and the Yatoan fell, his skull broken. The second Yatoan collapsed with a drawn-out scream, as the other Alon’mahk’lar raked its talons across his chest and belly.

  For all his earlier fearfulness, Robis proved his deeper courage by flinging Leitos aside, and attacking. His sword hacked and slashed with no great skill, but with an immense, desperate strength.

  Leitos reached for an arrow, only to discover that his fall had snapped the bow in his hand. He flung it aside, and in the same motion drew his sword and dagger. He stalked forward, looking for an opening.

  Robis chopped his blade against the first Alon’mahk’lar’s bloody cudgel, sending chips of wood flying from the haft. He swung again, and the Alon’mahk’lar answered the attack with its own. When the two weapons met, Robis’s blade shattered. The youth fell back, hands clutched to his belly.

  Before the demon could finish its deadly work, Leitos’s arm flashed, and his dagger sank into the creature’s throat. As the Alon’mahk’lar stumbled backward, blood boiled from the wound and flowed over its chest. In an effort to pull the dagger free, the demon-born savaged its own flesh with its talons. It tripped and crashed to the floor, kicking and clawing.

  Leitos spun to face the next Alon’mahk’lar, barely in time to deflect its great sword. Even that glancing blow rocked Leitos to his heels, left his arms and shoulders numb. He staggered, trying to bring up his blade, but instead the hilt fell from his tingling fingers.

  With a deafening roar, the Alon’mahk’lar lunged, sword falling. Leitos threw himself into a forward roll. The demon-born’s blade slammed against the floor, spraying a shower of sparks and broken tiles. Moving with terrible agility, the Alon’mahk’lar wheeled and came after Leitos before he could get to his feet, leaving him to scramble on all fours.

  The demon-born’s sword fell again, and just missed cleaving Leitos’s spine. Another stroke clipped the sole of his boot, and sent him tumbling across the floor. He collided with one thick leg of a massive table, twisted himself around, and dove headlong underneath it.

  The falling sword disintegrated a section of the tabletop. Torn nearly in half, the table collapsed, pinning Leitos. Fighting for breath, he struggled to get free of the tremendous weight. The Alon’mahk’lar laughed, and eased around for a killing blow.

  From the corner of his eye, Leitos watched the demon’s sword sweep upward, and then pause before its lethal descent.

  In that moment of hesitation Leitos imagined his father, and Belina, and what remained of the Brothers, all standing over his mutilated corpse. In his mind they did not wear expressions of grief or anger, but looked on him with blank eyes and smooth faces, as if they, too, were dead.

  “No!” he cried, throwing up a hand between him and the Alon’mahk’lar. The demon-born unexpectedly staggered back. Its glittery eyes swelled wide in the shadow cast by the cliff of its brow. The creature caught itself, shook its head, and abruptly laughed again, its terrible voice watering Leitos’s eyes.

  Robis abruptly landed on the demon-born’s back. He caught hold of a horn in one hand, and used the other to rake his dagger across the Alon’mahk’lar’s neck, the keen blade passing through its hide to grate over bone. The Alon’mahk’lar’s laughter became a bubbling gurgle, as a torrent of blood poured from the wound. The sword fell from its spasming fingers, and the demon-born pitched over with Robis still saw
ing away, and smashed through a pile of chairs.

  Robis rolled to his feet, and ran to heave the shattered table over on its side. Gasping, he gave Leitos a hand up. Instead of letting him go, Robis dragged him close and rasped into his ear, “She is not for you, outlander.”

  Dazed by the skirmish, still trying to catch his breath, hurting head to toe, Leitos could only stare in bewilderment at the big youth.

  “Belina,” Robis clarified. “She is not yours.”

  Leitos jerked free and took a cautious step away, remembering how easily Belina had persuaded Robis into clearing out the Yatoan camp in order to free him. Now he understood she had used his love for her against him.

  “Belina will decide in her own time, and in her own way, to whom she will give herself.” Leitos had no worry that she would chose him, nor would he want her to. He had loved her sister, the woman he had killed. Once he revealed that to Belina—as he must do, at some point—he could not expect forgiveness.

  “We’ll see, outlander,” Robis said, shoving Leitos away.

  Trusting that Robis would not stab him in the back, Leitos caught up his sword. Next he moved to the first Alon’mahk’lar, plucked his dagger free of its throat, and wiped the blade clean on the demon-born’s studded leather kilt. The last thing he did was to take a bow and quiver off one of the dead Yatoans. When he straightened, he realized the yelling back the way they had come had gone silent.

  “Come on,” Leitos ordered, glancing sidelong at Robis. “If we do not hurry, we will end up fighting alone, until we are both dead.”

  Where nothing else might have, those words gave Robis a violent start, and brought him around to what really mattered. Surviving.

  Chapter 36

  After Leitos and the Yatoans began their diversion, Ulmek led the others into an alley. Before they reached the end, a hulking man stepped into view. Behind him came others, a handful, all dressed as Brothers of the Crimson Shield, snug robes the color of sand and dust. Some carried scimitars, others straight-bladed or curved swords; others held daggers fashioned like long spikes.