The Sword Falls

by A. J. Smith

  My final adviser was Elizabeth Defiant. She was my lore-master, and the keeper of our history. The dark age had ended with my coronation, and the Age of Power had begun.

  “We serve at your pleasure, my king,” said Santago. “And at the pleasure of the Risen God.” He stood, with a straight back and a high chin.

  Jack and Elizabeth both bowed, and every Winterlord knight saluted by striking their breastplates with gauntleted fists. I insisted on respect and formality at all times, and a strict hierarchy of rank and authority. Everyone within my kingdom would know their place, and those who did not would be my enemies.

  “Lord Marshall,” I said, giving Santago a shallow nod.

  “You look well today, my dear king,” he replied.

  “It is a good day,” I said. “Have my generals returned?”

  “Yes, your highness,” he said. “Lucio returns from the Dark Harbour, and Alexis returns from Nibonay. Our purges are proceeding as you have ordered. The Sea Wolves are now little more than a savage tribe, hiding in the Wood of Scars, and the Brethren of the Dark Harbour are dead to the last man.”

  “So, my new world begins,” I stated. “It is just as the Risen God dreamed.”

  *

  I awoke to the distant sound of charging horses. They whinnied and snorted, rising and falling in volume, as if they were being ridden past me at speed. There was a clatter of hooves, and the rustle of metal armour, though when I opened my eyes, I saw nothing but the void. My dreams had been beautiful and vibrant, as if I was imagining my perfect world, without the inconvenience of actually having to slaughter my enemies. Now, vulgar reality intruded.

  I was in the void, laying flat on a wide, arched pathway. To my left, at the closest edge, was a drop into nothing, framed by crackling blue lightning. To my right, sprawled awkwardly on the void path, was Silver Jack. A little way ahead, with his back to me, stood Quinn, called Full Moon, the horizon-walker. His shaven head moved slowly, left and right, surveying the dense lattice of glittering void paths, as if he were reading an eldritch map. His peculiar craft was unknown outside of the Dark Brethren, and certainly not something a noble Winterlord would ever devote themselves to.

  Quinn turned just far enough to see that I was awake. His pointed features were even more predatory beyond the glass, conjuring the image of a hungry bird of prey. “Eagle Prince, you need not rise yet,” he said. “I’m still waiting for a particular wind.”

  “I’ve slept enough,” I replied, standing to join the smaller man. “You said the route to the Dawn Claw is treacherous, but you didn’t say how long it would take.”

  “We try not to answer questions of time,” said Quinn, “for it is not always a straightforward matter in the void. I could say a day, and it could appear to us that it had been a day. But… months, or years, could have hidden themselves within that day. If I don’t remain focused, time will get away from us.”

  I wanted to chide the horizon-walker for answering my question with ambiguous babble, but I elected to keep him on side, until the opportunity arose to bend him to my will. “So, a day then?” I asked, drily.

  “Perhaps less,” said Quinn, again focused on the void paths. “With the right winds we can travel far, but the wrong winds will set us adrift. Hence… we are waiting.”

  I tried to see what he was looking for, but the crackling, blue horizon was incomprehensible. The void paths moved, as endless silver lines, across every inch of the sky. Whenever my vision found the end of a path, my eyes recoiled, and I could no longer find where I was looking a moment before. As mighty as I was, I had to concede that I was out of my depth beyond the glass, and reliant upon the horizon-walker.

  “Soon,” said Quinn. “Perhaps your friend should begin to pull himself together.”

  I glanced over my shoulder and extended a gentle kick to Jack’s outstretched leg. My guardian flinched, rubbed his eyes and grumbled loudly, before sitting up on the void path. When the Winterlord duellist looked up and saw me, his expression fell, as if angry that he was awake.

  “Stand,” I commanded. “Gather yourself.”

  “I hate sleeping in the void,” he grunted, standing up in small increments. “Actually, I hate the void. Are we there yet?”

  “Soon,” repeated Quinn, his eyes fixed on the horizon. “The winds are beginning to change.”

  “How the fuck can you feel that?” snapped Jack, transferring his confused-anger to the Dark Brethren. “I can barely feel a ripple of air.”

  Quinn moved to the edge of the void path and looked down. “It’s subtle,” he replied. “Ready yourselves.”

  I followed him to the edge, but saw nothing. Just endless layers of black and blue, with the occasional flash of red. If there were landmarks, or reflections from the realm of form, I couldn’t see them. I felt a sense of vertigo, but not from height. Angles didn’t work the same here, with up and down and left and right being rather fluid concepts.

  Jack composed himself and stood with us, looking down. “What are we going to do, jump?” he asked.

  “Yes,” replied Quinn. “You wanted the fast way, which means we need to travel a night-road… and they are difficult to see.” He tilted his head and looked me in the eye. “You need to jump when I say.”

  “Fuck off,” said Jack. “There’s nothing to jump onto.”

  Quinn’s face rose, as if alerted by a sudden change in the wind. He stepped to the very edge of the void path, and appeared to be slowly counting down from five. When he reached zero, the horizon-walker stepped into darkness. “Now,” he said, as he fell.

  I grabbed Jack’s shoulder and made sure he followed, as I hopped from the void path. A rush of wind immediately enveloped us. I didn’t feel as if I was falling, but the void air was thick, almost like water, letting the three us be carried gently on the wind. I had no control over my direction of travel, but I was following Quinn, and the horizon-walker did not appear alarmed. Whatever was happening was part of his plan, however unnerving.

  I glanced behind me, and saw Silver Jack’s face locked in a silent scream. Then, with no warning, Quinn stopped moving and, an instant later, my boots hit solid ground. My guardian swore and hit the new surface heavily, but all three of us stopped moving. I took a deep breath and looked down. My hands could feel something solid, but it was transparent, with the same black-and-blue sky visible beneath us, as if we were standing in mid-air.

  “Look at it,” said Quinn, sharply. “Until you can focus. Both of you!”

  I disliked his familiarity, but found myself bound by his word. I looked at my hands and felt the rough texture beneath them. I had to blink several times, and rub my eyes, before the new void path came into view. It wasn’t flat and smooth, like the previous one. It was gravelly to the touch, with an arched, chitinous seam running along its length, like a cross between a snake and an insect. Though it was now fully visible, I found it difficult to see more than a few metres into the distance.

  “We call them night-roads,” said Quinn. “They’re impossible to see… unless you know where they are.”

  Jack recoiled from the surface and scuttled away from the edge. “Looks like a dead thing, floating in the void.”

  “Perhaps it is,” said the horizon-walker. “A long dead void serpent, from before the first plants grew in the realm of form.”

  “How long is it?” I asked.

  “No one has ever reached the mouth or the tail,” he replied, “but it will take us to your Lord of the Quarter.”

  “So, let us walk,” I commanded.

  Quinn bowed his head, before striding away along the strange night-road. I quickly followed, with half an eye making sure Silver Jack was flailing behind us. He was not yet comfortable with my new path, but I would keep him with me until he understood. I needed him, though I was not sure why. Perhaps he was the final link to my previous life, now that Leofryc was gone. Or maybe I just enjoyed his company. For now, I saw keeping him alive as an indulgence, like a pet who swore too much.

/>   We began walking in silence, with the angular night-road providing more than enough stimulus for Jack and I. The black surface wove its way over and under the other, more vibrant paths, forming thick coils and wide spirals. Our route was no longer level, and Quinn led us up steep inclines, and down winding pathways, appearing to be huge, black staircases. The horizon-walker stayed ahead of me, going so far as to speed up if I got too close. He was wary, almost twitchy, with his hawk face taking note of every bizarre curve along the twisted night-road. I hated that I had no control over my path, but trusted that Quinn could be relied upon. Most of his life had revolved around me and had led to this, his final duty. His commitment was such that I considered letting him live when he’d fulfilled his purpose.

  “Stop walking,” said Quinn, suddenly motionless on the path before us. He was a little way above us, at the apex of a sharp slope. His stance indicated that he’d seen something ahead.

  I looked to my hip, expecting to see Zephyr, and sneering when all I saw was a second-hand broadsword, given by the Outriders. One day, long ago, it would have belonged to a lesser Winterlord, but the blade had been languishing in the vaults of Snake Guard for decades, and was an inferior weapon for a king. I drew it anyway.

  I saw Quinn raise his hands, as if he was mollifying something I couldn’t see. He didn’t draw either of his straight swords, but neither did he retreat from whatever it was. Jack moved to stand next to me, looking up at the horizon-walker, but too far out of his depth to make a glib comment. I decided to advance, sword in hand, and see what was interrupting our journey, though I kept my steps light, unwilling to rile whatever lay in our path.

  Quinn was too concerned to notice my approach, though he shot a quick glance over his shoulder as I reached the top of the incline. He was far smaller than me, but his poise, and the way he kept his feet light, marked him as a skilled warrior. I judged this a good thing, as I looked along the night-road, and saw a grotesque creature before me.

  “Easy,” whispered Quinn. “It’s not here for us.”

  I narrowed my eyes, trying to focus on the thing before me. At first I thought it was two or three separate creatures – a pinkish, fleshy maggot; a squat insect of some kind, with three sets of membranous wings; and a faintly-luminous globe, from which came a mass of wriggling stalks, each topped with a lidless eye. After a moment, I discerned that all three elements belonged to the same bizarre spirit. It was twice my mass and blocked the entire path.

  “What the fuck is that?” asked Jack, appearing behind me, and speaking rather louder than I thought wise.

  “Shh!” snapped Quinn. “Lower your fucking voice.” He paused, making sure the spirit had not reacted to my guardian’s outburst. “We call them Strangelings. Sovon No Moon once tried to speak to one. He said they call themselves Mi-go. They feed off the night-roads.”

  The spirit was wriggling over the void path, and I saw a hundred tiny mouths across its pink underside. In its wake was a dull trail of slime, where it had scratched and gnawed at the black surface.

  “Are they dangerous?” I asked, still holding the broadsword. “Do they feed on Eastron?”

  “No,” he replied, “to your second question.”

  “So we just wait?” added Silver Jack. “Until it’s finished eating?”

  “No, we kill it,” whispered the horizon-walker. “Quietly.”

  I frowned at him. “What? If we’re attacking it, why are we being quiet?”

  His hawk face twitched. “Because there are a dozen more above us.”

  Jack and I looked up in unison. A coiled section of the night-road arced over our heads, with a cluster of flabby, pink creatures hanging from it, apparently attached by their bellies. Several more Strangelings were flying in tight circles above the others, their insectoid wings vibrating in the void sky. In flight, the spirits were easier to see, and my mind struggled to find an adequate description for them. Part glow-worm, part fly, with additional features that belonged to no creature of form. They were also far larger than I’d first thought.

  “How do we kill it?” I asked, suddenly needing to suppress fear.

  “Draw blades, advance slowly, stay to its rear, and stab it repeatedly. Don’t shout, don’t run. They can’t see creatures of form, but they can hear us. We are just removing it from our path.” He slowly drew both his straight swords and held them point down across his red-and-black armour.

  I sneered, disliking the sensation of helplessness. I hated having to feel fear, especially of lesser creatures like these scavenger spirits. However bizarre their appearance and alien their motivation, they were nothing but overgrown insects, unfit to stand in the path of the Forever King. Nevertheless, I accepted that killing the creature was a necessary part of my journey to the Dawn Claw.

  “Do you need me?” asked Jack, tentatively holding the hilt of his sheathed sword, but clearly not eager to draw it.

  Quinn just nodded, before tiptoeing towards the Strangeling. I grasped Jack by the shoulder and marched him along with me, pointing to his sword and grunting my disapproval at his reluctance. My guardian was far too occupied to notice my sneer, but he drew his blade anyway.

  The three of us approached as quietly as we were able, revealing more details of the Strangeling as we moved. I could now see small pincers, all across its thorax. Perhaps three pairs, snapping and clicking as it wriggled across the night-road. Its glowing head pulsed, with odd fluctuations in the sickly light, travelling down its body as it fed. I couldn’t rationalize the creature, so just took a stride past Quinn and drove my broadsword into its head. The blade grated and squelched, but met little resistance, until it thudded into the night-road. The horizon-walker followed suit, showing no alarm at my impulsiveness, and stabbing both his straight swords into the spirits body. Jack was slower to attack, pausing over the creature. It hadn’t made a sound, or reacted to its wounds. As my guardian gripped the hilt of his sword in both hands, there was a deadening of the spirit’s light. As he struck downwards, all movement ceased.

  Quinn left his swords in the creature’s body and turned sharply. His predatory eyes pointed upwards. I followed suit, and saw no reaction from the other Strangelings. Above us, they crawled and vibrated, but didn’t change their behaviour, as one of their kind was killed.

  “We must be humble,” muttered Quinn, “and know of our sins.”

  “Up your arse,” grunted Jack, out of the corner of his mouth. “Is it dead? Can we just leave?”

  “It’s dead,” he replied. “We can leave… quietly.”

  *

  I didn’t want to admit it, but there was a gap in my knowledge. There were probably several, but only one was vexing me. Spirits. I’d grown up seeing them as little more than curiosities. There were always stories of the other Eastron and how they spent time beyond the glass, treating with the denizens of the void, but for a Winterlord, the only spirit of note was the Dawn Claw. Spirit-masters did exist at First Port, but they were far more numerous at other holds.

  As hours passed and the monotony of following Quinn made my mind wander, I made a decision. As Forever King of this land, I would cast spirits aside, and heavily restrict travel to the void. The future of the Eastron lay in the realm of form, with the rising god to guide us. We would have no need of eldritch congress with spirits. My musing almost caused me to stumble as Quinn led us a sharp left-hand turn. It was only the second time the night-road had branched, like the corpse of the void serpent had more than one body, or perhaps two separate creatures had become fused together in death.

  “Not far,” said the horizon-walker, scanning the muddy blue void sky. “We’ll soon be able to see the edges of the roost.” He spoke as if I should know what he was talking about.

  “The roost?” I queried.

  He’d stopped moving, and was again waiting for some kind of sign. “The more powerful the spirit, the more room it needs. The Lords of the Quarter are too mighty to exist in one place, even in the void. They’d cause too much disrupt
ion, so they portion bits of themselves, and store them in pocket realms. The Old Bitch of the Sea has a den, the Night Wing has a nest of shadow, and the Dawn Claw has a golden roost.”

  Jack took some heavy breaths and plonked himself down on the night-road. He proceeded to grumble about blisters and massage his feet. I made no comment and took a gentle stroll away from both of them, letting Quinn employ his void-craft, and my guardian whinge like a child. I could feel a gentle breeze, but couldn’t discern its direction. There was an ambient tingle of noise, but it didn’t appear to have an origin. As we’d been walking, I’d been able to ignore the strangeness of my surroundings, but whenever we stopped, I was reminded of the uncomfortable gap in my knowledge. I was even beginning to feel the Waking God’s dislike of the void.

  Then I saw a stranger on the road. A little way ahead, turned away and gazing into the distance, much like Quinn, was a robed figure. I glanced over my shoulder, but saw no reaction from my two companions. They didn’t appear to see the stranger. I carried on walking, moving closer, and becoming sure that the figure was visible only too me. It was a slender man, cloaked in black, but I couldn’t see his face.

  “I thought not to see another traveller,” I said, quietly, so as not to alert the others. “Are you bound for the roost of the Dawn Claw?”

  The man turned, revealing a dark green seam to his cloak, and a strangely familiar face. His chin and cheekbones were sharp, with shadows creating a black triangle around his smile. He was Dark Brethren, with bronze skin and black hair, though his manner was warm and friendly. “Hello, my friend,” said the man. “Do you remember me? Look closely.”