THAENA’S HEART POUNDED so loud in her chest that she could hear it in her ears as clear as the same rhythm of her steps. The aching sorrness in her muscles forced her to hold her weapon low, but she was ready to reposition her crossbow at any movement. She had left the crypt because she was afraid of the darkness, but now she regretted that, instead, she had joined something like this. She should have known by now that a dark place in a crypt was a safer place than any other site occupied by humans. She was afraid. Afraid of something appearing in the windows, afraid of what would be lying in the building, afraid to shoot her weapon at an adversary. Afraid of getting attacked and hurt… or worse.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw the hulking form of Cormack jogging behind her. His muscles and clanking war gear made him look more intimidating than normal. She was grateful to have him on the same side, at the same time knowing that the men they were looking for were probably of similar stature, and there were two of them. Not untrained men, but mercenaries accustomed to the trade of killing.
She reached the door of the house and got down on her knee, her shoulder pressed against the solid wall. Not once did she let the door out of her sight, while she grabbed down onto the earth and smeared mud across her fingers.
FOR JADE CYRUS, the day of death already felt like a part of her past. She’d already died years ago, losing her life before the beginning of her long journey, on which she was remade as a woman with a new soul. She had seen and felt things that some men wouldn’t witness in their whole life. Her personality had been broken, wiped out and rebuilt from the ashes by use of hallucinogens and opiates. The only reason she followed Dryston was to keep him able to fight, just as she would have to give something back out of gratitude. She asked for no reward in this life, because every moment after she had met death was merely a gift of fate.
CORMACK KNEW FEAR like every other human being. But it was diminished as much as possible by asking the same question again and again, as he reached the door and stretched his hand down to the handle: What would my forefathers have done in my situation? and, Can I live up to the demands they make? He slowly pressed down the handle and opened the door a crack.
THERE WERE THREE SOURCES OF FEAR with fighting: fear of the reputation of an enemy – which was not known; fear of the appearance of an enemy – which could not be seen yet; and fear of having not prepared his whole life enough for the moment of confrontation. Cormack at least made sure that he could say he had done everything he could to be ready. Beginning from the trials in his childhood till his intense sparring sessions with Dryston, the saga of his life would go on, till one day, whenever that day was, it would meet a bloody end in glory.
With breath held, he pushed the door all the way open, and he and Dryston entered the building.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE VALKYRIE
THE ROOM WHERE SKADI FOUND HERSELF in was dark, the small window not letting in enough of the fleeting daylight. What little light found its way through was absorbed by the two figures standing opposite of her. That’s why the room had to be lit by a candleholder over the bed, made of a ring of horns with candles like a crown. Besides that, there was only space for a table with some stools. Skadi stood with her feet naked on fur. She had made sure that the two men, now stripped to the waist, were who they claimed to be and studied them for a while. Two men from the north, with long braided hair and rugged beards. Their eyes were red from excessive use of smoking swampweed the previous night. The floor was sticky from the last drops of mead, where their empty drinking horns had landed.
“You want to know what gave that mead this smoky, meaty flavor?” Gorm War-Anvil asked her.
“I’m not sure I want to know that,” Sifnar Red-Shoal said.
“I’ll tell you anyway. They used to hang game carcasses in their caves to cure. Now, there were bees which nested in those carcasses and brought the honey there. That’s how it took on the flavor. You know, sometimes, the sweetest secrets lie hidden inside the most hideous shells. And sometimes, the most dark conspiracies lie covered in the sweetest packages. Like in your case, little girl. Now tell us, what have you brought us, diligent honey bee?”
“You know you can trust us now. It’s time to show us what you got,” Sifnar Red-Shoal demanded.
At first, Skadi wondered if it was a trick? They had already seen her body on numerous occasions during the last hours they had spent in the room. Apparently, they hadn’t kept everything in mind.
“Don’t be shy and show us,” Gorm War-Anvil said. “I know you can’t see it yourself, but this is crucial. What you are carrying is larger than your own life. Like the little bee that carries the blossom dust, not knowing what it will accomplish eventually. You must understand, the sole purpose of your existence has become this. Why? Because it’s destiny. The little bee would never be attracted by the hanging carcass and yet is still drawn to it. Why is that, you have to ask yourself? Because you are part of a bigger plan. Carrying something you earned so hard and paid the price for, you venture into the cave you would never have gone to before, if that hadn’t happened to you. You engage with the carcasses, even though your instinct tells you you should keep your distance. But you plant your seed and bring the honey to the cave nonetheless, where the men waiting in the dark harvest that sweet gift of yours. They say revenge is the sweetest thing.”
She swallowed and nodded at the conclusion. Her own personality as an individual didn’t matter anymore. She had to fight with the feeling that she had been reduced, but at the same time elevated, to one function only: to protect and carry her body through the lands and show it to the barbarians that were willing to commit to her cause. A cause she hadn’t chosen voluntarily and was still undecided about whether to admire or condemn. Skadi faltered but then slowly turned her back to them and let her clothes slide down her skin.
The men instantly came closer and surveyed the tattoos on her back, as she combed her hair over her shoulders. The throat of an ink dragon reached from her neck down to her shoulder blades, where it turned into a scaled torso that was clutching the world in its wings, talons and tail. The end of the tail was spiked and ended over her thigh. Along the ancient creature, names were written in runes along with depictions of faces.
She felt a prickle over her spine as the breath of the two men blew over her. To her curiosity, they didn’t touch her and instead held a respectful distance. She felt that she was something special to them. What was it that they had called her? Valka…Valkyr…Valkyrie. From their own language, it translated into: a chooser of the slain. In a way she had it in her hands to decide who would die and who would live.
DUST FLOATED IN KYRA CELESTE’S VISION. The steps of her high-heeled boots echoed through the corridor as she went through the numbers on each door. They didn’t help much, except for orientation. She couldn’t just break open every door the multi-leveled building had to offer in order to search through all the suites. Sure, physically she would be able to, but time was running short. She had to look for clues.
Kyra laid her ear against the next door and listened. She heard muffled voices, but they didn’t sound like the men she was searching for. Something smelled like burnt wood and made her eyes water. She cautiously touched the ground, aware that she was not damaging the thrumming vials and scrolls that were bound to her belt and thighs, and tried to glance underneath the door gap. A black cloud of smoke blew through the slit, making her cough and get back on her feet.
She heard footsteps approaching and moved away from the door. Clutching the grip of her thin-bladed sword, she waited till the inhabitants had left the room, hurrying. They spotted her with wide eyes but had other things on their mind than stopping to watch the rare sight of a sorceress. Discreetness would not do for her, as her body, clothes and whole appearance acted as a vessel for the arcane powers. It showed. But the fire provided enough of a distraction. Not only for her, she thought. Pearls of sweat formed on her temples. The fire left a dull feeling at the back of her head t
hat reminded her that someone was probably working against her.
She thought a moment on extinguishing the fire to gain more time, but her powers had never worked that way. She couldn’t control what happened once she opened the rift for the energies. They always destroyed and never saved things. She couldn’t produce rain. She remembered that sometimes it rained when she was sad. Though it was more likely that she was sad because of the rain. The powers always seemed to be linked to her emotions. But she was under no illusion that the world aligned itself under the heed of her feelings. Her feelings just determined how fierce the powers would be channeled. And right now, she felt tightness in her chest and immense stress heating up under her skin.
Kyra proceeded along the hallway, reeking black smoke filling the path behind her.
A THUMP AGAINST the door made Skadi look up. The bump shook her marrow and clanked the door hinges.
“What the hell?” Sifnar Red-Shoal exclaimed.
A second thump cracked open the door. Two men burst into the room. Skadi let out a shriek as she saw the loaded crossbows in their hands.
“It’s them. Let’s kill them!” one of the men said.
She went down the moment they aimed their weapons.
Sifnar and Gorm instantly went for the knives on their belts, their main weapons leaning out of reach against the wall. They were too late. They stopped mid-draw, halted by the thud of two small bolts.
“Damn!” Sifnar sighed.
“Ha, look at those toothpicks,” Gorm chuckled.
“You mean their bolts or those clowns?” Sifnar said.
“Both.” They shrugged off their injuries and closed in on their attackers with knifes drawn.
“That was the last mistake you’ll make. We’ll break your legs and slit you up from heel to head.”
Something halted them.
“Damn, what’s that?” Gorm War-Anvil asked, chlutching his chest.
“Poison darts,” Sifnar Red-Shoal said through gritted teeth.
Skadi looked up and shook with fear when the two men crashed to the floor.
She glanced around desperately. She didn’t want to die here. She was afraid her relatives would never find her and she would end up in a bag dumped in the marshes.
“Gods, no!”
She got up and dived over to the bed. Something caught her in mid-air and pulled her back to the attackers.
“Leave me! Leave me alone!” She stared into the cold eye of a killer, who was holding her wrist.
Another man entered.
“What are you doing with her?” the newcomer said.
“Please, help me!” Skadi said.
With a dismissive yank, the assailant threw her on the bed.
The newcomer looked trustworthy. He was clean-shaven and had friendly eyes. He was smiling. If nothing else, he could be talked to.
“This must look like a big misconception to you,” he said to her. “Like something you’ve gotten into without knowing who you were dealing with. I can imagine just coming here to meet with two men and fearing nothing of your immediate death.” He produced a wire from his pouches and strained it between his gloved hands. “So young and already going to die. It’s not so bad, you know. Everyone has to die, but not everyone really lives. I, on the other hand, try to live by making others die.”
Skadi crawled backwards, curling the blanket at her feet as she struggled to get away. She was made aware of the wall behind her, as she had forgotten that she was trapped.
“In reality,” the man continued, leaning close to her, “it was all rigged from the start. But now, let me tell you what I’m going to do. I can’t just kill you. No, you are too important. You have become more than the little girl that should have been slaughtered back then with the rest of your family. You have evolved into a plague, and everywhere you go, you plant seeds of troubling things. That’s why I came to weed you out. I won’t kill you, darling. I’ll have to erase you from the face of the earth. I heard what those two men told you about the bee. I’ll tear out your wings and stomp you into the ground, little bee. See, what you carry is too valuable. I can’t let you get away with it.”
The man put the wire on the girl’s throat while one of the other men was standing guard on the hallway. He brushed away her hair and took a look at the tattoo uncovered on her neck. “I really wouldn’t want to be in your skin right now,” he said, laughing. “And I always thought a bee would sting when faced with certain death, strike one last time and release a little poison, while unable to retrieve its prick. Have you seen it? It tears out the bee’s whole lower body, entrails coming out and all. A defense mechanism, ha. It’s pathetic. But you won’t do this. I can do it for you.”
“Haddock, we got company,” the goon exclaimed. “Could be trouble.”
“What kind of trouble? Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something here?”
To Skadi’s surprise, Haddock turned and let go of her.
“Just finish it,” he said to his men and walked out of the door.
HADDOCK STUMBLED INTO THE HALLWAY, coughing and holding a cloth in front of his mouth. The smoke made it difficult to see, and he guided himself along the wall. There was a woman approaching him fast. He stumbled forward and held on to her unusual skirt.
“Get out here, lady! The fire is spreading everywhere!”
Scroll-vials were clanking against each other. This one was a mage. He looked up into the eyes of the woman. He had to be careful.
DRYSTON CAME RUNNING UP THE STEPS to the third floor. He encountered numerous refugees in the dark hallways, which he thought had no means of orientation. The hallways were lacking windows. It was like moving in a box, enclosed to the outer world. The feeling nagged him that one could get lost inside the building with all the fire and never be found.
“Kyra!”
He was starting to doubt he would find her, when suddenly he got a glimpse of her at the end of a corridor. Another man was holding on to her and pleading for help. She stopped when she saw Dryston then shoved the helpless man aside and entered a room through an open door.
“No, don’t go in there!”
THE SIGHT THAT she was presented with was a murder scene. Two men, stripped to the waist and pierced by crossbow bolts through their backs, were lying in a pool of blood. Two other men, possibly the killers, were closing in on a girl on a bed, who looked too frozen with fear to put up a fight. Kyra took a step forward on the blood-soaked fur, when she heard another person entering the room behind her.
“Oh, look, next plaything.”
The two on the bed turned and Kyra lost her fear. Everything became clear for a moment, in which she felt nothing and thought that she could decide what to do with time standing still. Her brain was working full speed, her heart was thumping and she breathed rapidly. She kept her wits about her. She raised the palm of her hand in the direction of the man on the bed, her long fingernails stretched in a star-shape from each other like an antenna. She somehow felt what was happening, even if she didn’t have the capacity to grasp the concept of what it was in this span of a heartbeat. Magic in its pure form couldn’t be seen, but Kyra had studied about it and could imagine. Tiny invisible parts of energy were running through the man’s body right now, without a charge or affinity, but in numbers that surpassed the biggest army the world had ever raised. They passed unhindered through matter. The energies that left Kyra’s body turned an exponential number of them into an electric charge. It sent them colliding with other charged particles what led to tiny explosions, resulting in a disintegrating energy beam. A streak of crackling light explosions wandered from the man’s thumb over to his chest, severing his fingers in the course of its action, burning lungs and blood, before grooving itself into the back wall, where it left a scorched, smoking black trail. The slit open man toppled and slumped heavily from the bed. It was only then, that Kyra finished drawing her sword with her other hand.
IT WAS TOO LATE to defend herself from the attacker behind her. She whirled
around and spun her blade high to parry, but it was Dryston that had come for her.
“It’s me, Kyra!”
Their flashing eyes locked for a moment, acknowledging that they were not enemies. There was only one left. A last goon was stumbling up the bed, his grimace distorted by the shock of the powers Kyra had unleashed on his fellow.
“You bastard witch!”
He fumbled to reach an axe that had belonged to one of his victims.
Dryston dashed forward, but he came short and Haddock’s thug managed to pull it up and take a swing. Dryston danced back. The smile of the axe would have chopped off his neck. He deflected it with both of his fist weapons, and didn’t care that he was hit somewhere else. There would never be a better chance than now. He dived into the goon’s body, clutching his legs and toppling him over against the wall. They fell with a deep thump on wood. Dryston felt the goon’s rib break under the impact of his shoulder he had buried in the thug’s side. The goon had lost grip of his axe but instead was clutching Dryston’s neck with both of his arms. The goon released one arm and pulled tighter with the other to choke Dryston, while his freed arm fumbled for the lost axe. Dryston drove his shoulder deeper into the broken ribcage of his opponent and got his head out just in time to catch the axe blow. A next one didn’t happen. Dryston was faster and hammered his first punch into the goon’s face, deforming it to a red swollen visage. He aimed up for a follow up but rested his weapon in midair, breathing heavily. The thug was already out cold. He would need him for interrogation.
DRYSTON LOOKED FOR KYRA. Blood was running out of her nose. It was always like this in the aftermath, accompanied by nausea. This would be trouble. This whole mess would bring them into deep trouble. They would be prosecuted, convicted, maybe banished. But that was something to deal with later. Now, it was only important that they found Kyra. It had been close. He couldn’t even envision what would have been if he’d come too late to help her. The corpses were terrible enough to experience, but what if Kyra had been among them. Everything, their targets, the mission, was unimportant. Kyra’s survival was the only thing that counted.
Red Axe, Black Sun Page 4
