Fire And Steel (The Merryweather Chronicles Book 2)

by Lesley Woodral

  Brandon could. The magic surrounding the door tingled against his skin, causing goose bumps to run up and down his arms and the hairs to stand on the back of his neck. He pulled back from the doorway and thought back at Rok. Why is the opening so high? How do the grohlm get through?

  The tower fell. You saw that. Rok said. But the gateways between worlds cannot be destroyed as easily as all that. With the right magic and a steady hand, the doorways can be still be opened. And the Usurper is a powerful sorcerer. It is within his abilities to open the gateway, if only for a short time. Though It taxes his strength and his army grows slowly. Already, he has sent more grohlm into your world than you can conceive of. And he hasn’t finished.

  That's why he hasn't come through, himself, isn't it? Brandon thought at Rok. He let the thought ring inside his head for a moment before following it with. He has to be the last one through the gateway, or else he risks losing his army?

  Rok's laughter was like soft thunder inside his head. The god said. You're smart, Merryweather. That's why I chose you. That's exactly why he hasn't come through. In the land of your fathers, the Usurper's power is very nearly infinite. But in your world, the gods are not as powerless as in the old. He would have to build his strength all over again. Something that would be impossible to do with you and your uncle hunting him.

  That’s why he sent the grohlm after us. Why he created the Curse to destroy my family. To stop us standing in the way of him conquering this world. Brandon thought. Below, he saw a change in the pattern of lights. Swelling in size, a pair of them moved toward the open doorway. Brandon stumbled back a step, drawing his swords, and stared. A pair of wicked glowing eyes flared at Brandon from the other side of the doorway. Inky blackness, darker than the night beyond it, created a shapeless halo around the presence staring back at him. Brandon felt his body go cold all over and Rok went silent inside his skull.

  The presence spoke, its voice cold and hollow on the other side of the doorway. Brandon didn't have to be told to know that it was the voice of his enemy. The voice of the Usurper, mocking and victorious. "Welcome home, Bran."

  Before Brandon could react, something big slammed into his back, sending him hurtling toward the open door and the waiting presence. Trying to keep his balance, Brandon spun and found himself face to face with a bull grohlm. Snorting and slobbering, the bull wrapped its massive arms around Brandon's body and carried him through the doorway. The door snapped closed behind them as they fell, vanishing from sight as Brandon and the bull dropped toward the ground below. Fighting against the bull's massive arms, Brandon smashed his elbow into the side of the bull's neck. Once. Twice. Three times. The third blow knocked its head sideways, causing it to loosen its grip.

  Twisting in its arms, Brandon put the bull between himself and the ground, stabbing it through the neck and chest with both of his swords. At the same time, his brain screamed at him that this was no dream. He was through the gateway and home was now only a distant memory. The wind screamed in his ears as they fell, buffeting his face and arms, and Brandon's stomach tried to claw its way up his throat.

  The drop lasted only heartbeats but felt like an eternity. They didn't hit the ground. Instead, they landed on a group of grohlm, crushing the monsters beneath their combined weight. The bull twitched, the bloodied tips of a pair of lances jutting from its still chest. Brandon yanked his swords free and rolled off of the corpse and stood, facing the horde surrounding him. Coughing and retching, fighting for his breath, Brandon was overwhelmed by a nightmare of sights and smells. Howls and roars from the monstrous army. Screams from some unknowable victim being cut apart. Perhaps for some horrible cook pot, hung low over one of the countless fires he’d seen from the doorway above.

  The stench of smoke and excrement mixed with the sweat and stink of thousands of animal bodies to create a miasma of gut wrenching nastiness. The grohlm pressed into an impossible mass moving around them like an ocean of gnashing teeth and glittering eyes.

  The grohlm surged around him, screaming and chittering as they fell back. Most panicked and fled, unsure of what was happening. Others held their weapons in clenched fists and paws. Growling and spitting curses at Brandon as they moved in, they brandished their weapons and made ready to attack. Brandon prepared himself, bracing his feet in the dusty broken soil and holding his swords low and ready. He kept the emptiness wrapped around his mind, the soft glow of Rok's presence reassuring him as he prepared to fight for his life.

  Before the grohlm could rush forward, a voice rose in the darkness, cutting through the din. "STOP."

  The grohlm froze, uncertainty filling the thousands of eyes that glowed in the flickering light of the campfires. Brandon stood his ground as the grohlm in front of him began to shift and move, parting to reveal a tall figure. The Usurper stood before him, a golden god in his shining armor, his lips quirked into a friendly smile behind the gaping maw of his helm. When he spoke, his voice wasn’t booming or rasping. Nothing magical or supernatural about it at all. It was just a man’s voice. "I’m very pleased to finally meet face to face, Bran. I’ve watched you for so long, I feel as if we’re family.” His voice was all syrupy goodness wrapped in the condescending tones of victory.

  “You killed my family.” Brandon said, gritting his teeth to keep from screaming it.

  “Indeed I did.” He said, his voice going all thoughtful. “Some with my own hands. Those that I could catch.” His smile widened. “Tell me, Bran, in all of your anger and pain and teenage angst, did it ever occur to you to wonder why?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Brandon said. “Because soon you’ll be dead. And so will I.”

  The Usurper laughed. “You are a delightful lad, Bran. I think we’re going to be great friends.” Gesturing at a pair of nearby grohlm, he said. “Take the young king to someplace comfortable. I shall be along shortly.” He turned away, dismissing Brandon as if he was suddenly beneath his notice. A buzzing fly to be swatted at his leisure.

  The stone tucked inside his arm guard went ice cold against his skin, feeding him strength, and Brandon attacked. The grohlm’s surprise at his sudden charge only lasted as long as it took him to snuff out their miserable little lives. The first, a stag, gave a startled grunt as Brandon smashed his fist into its armored chest plate, warping the hammered steel and crushing the rib cage beneath. The blow sent it flying backwards, blood spraying from its startled mouth as it crashed into the mass of grohlm.

  While the stag was still in the air, Brandon snapped the second grohlm’s neck with an elbow strike and kicked another in the face, shattering its jaw. Kardas was no fool. He was moving before Brandon finished killing the stag, falling back and shouting at his honor guard. “Stop the fool! Take him alive, if you can, but if he lays one finger on your master, the grave worms will feast on your cubs!”

  Brandon followed on Kardas’ heels, losing himself to the fury pounding through him from the stone and killing the grohlm that dared attempt stopping him. Nothing would stand between him and his vengeance. Not the grohlm. Not the Curse. Nothing.

  “You were foolish to come here, boy.” Kardas called as he ran, hiding behind his army. “There is no vengeance here. Not for you or your father. All you shall find here is death."

  Brandon didn't say anything. Blood misted the air as he slashed and carved a path through the howling beasts. The ground was muddy with black blood and spilled grohlm guts. Holding his swords tightly, he clenched his jaw and listened for any sound from the god sitting inside his skull. But Rok was silent. The soft glow of his presence was still there though, devouring all of Brandon's fear and anger until all that was left was the emptiness. His mind empty and his face devoid of expression, Brandon met their charge and paid them blood for blood.

  Wiping blood from the visor of his helmet, Gerrick stood in front of the closed doorway, staring hard at the raindrops carved into the ancient wood. Around him, the dead grohlm were a silent testament of Brandon’s passing. Running his gloved hand over the raindr
ops, Gerrick felt an emotion he thought long removed from his being.

  Fear.

  Brandon was gone. The door was closed and the knob wouldn't turn when he tried it. Nor did the door budge an inch when he planted his shoulder to it and tried to smash it open. It was as solid as the smooth stone walls surrounding it. No amount of battering would open it.

  He had arrived too late. Far too late. Gerrick didn't know why Brandon chose to enter the gateway, or even if he went in himself. He could have been carried through by surviving grohlm. Or by Kardas, himself. Revenge was powerful motivation, Gerrick knew. Powerful enough to make a boy do something foolish. But if Brandon went through the doorway, he was probably already dead. Or soon would be.

  Gerrick listened to the grohlm, pouring down the steps above him, and slowly knelt in front of the closed door. He had failed. He had failed his king and he had failed his only friend, the closest thing he'd had to true family.

  He had failed his mission.

  A sound made him look up. Standing nearby, watching him, was a figure cloaked in shadow. As Gerrick stood, easing his wounded shoulder, the figure stepped closer and the shadows fell away from its hidden face. Gerrick gave a weary shake of his head and said. “You’re too late. He’s already gone.”

  Sha'ha'Zel met the gaze of the Tower Knight and said nothing. His cloak rustled and moved, as if from a non-existent breeze, and his 4 arms came out. Each of his fists clutched a wickedly curved blade etched with glowing red runes. Lifting each of the curved blades up to touch the black skin of his face, the Curse’s cracked and blackened lips twisted into an ugly smile and he took a slow step toward Gerrick.

  The Tower Knight held his sword low and waited for death to strike first.

  Brandon ducked under a swinging axe, stabbing the bear that wielded it in the stomach, twisting the blade as he tore it free. Roaring, the bear fell backwards, its insides spilling out onto the ground. Arms and legs flailing, it hit its back and was instantly covered by a dozen other grohlm. Snapping and barking, the other grohlm ate the bear's steaming guts even as it bellowed its final dying roar. Brandon kept moving, leaping over the dead bear and its devourers, and chased the Usurper further into the army of grohlm. He barely slowed as he cut through the screaming monsters, blood and entrails flying, trying to keep the Usurper in sight as he followed.

  The grohlm parted like the red sea for their leader, closing up ranks behind him as soon as he passed and forcing Brandon to fight every step of the way. But Brandon didn't mind. He felt no annoyance or fear. The anger gripping him earlier was gone, replaced by calm determination. Silent as he was, Rok kept Brandon's mind empty and focused, letting him become one with the battle raging on all sides. He slid around every sword thrust and ax swing, carving a gory path to his target.

  The Usurper laughed as he fled. Calling out, he egged Brandon on, hoping to stoke passions that were gone, replaced by a granite vault inside his mind. "Come, Storm King. Are you so eager to join your father?" The man, or sorcerer, or whatever he was, sounded amused. He laughed and shouted. "He died on his knees, you know. Like a pig. As will you. No matter what hidden strengths you might have, you are still just a foolish boy. A boy lost in a playground of my own creation."

  Brandon ignored him, chopping his way through a dog face and splattering blood and brain matter across his face and chest. He felt like he was hewing wood, chopping down malformed and stunted trees. Only these trees bled thick black blood and screamed when his blades bit deep.

  Dimly, in the dark recesses of his consciousness, Brandon realized that the Usurper was leading him away from the tower. Away from his only way home. Brandon spun away from the Usurper's laughter and tried to find the tower. But all he could find was grohlm. Surrounding him in every direction. The sky above was black and empty. No moon. No stars.

  Ignoring the mocking laughter of the Usurper, Brandon began to make his way back the way he'd come, using the bits and pieces of those he'd killed as a guide. His own gruesome trail of bread crumbs. Behind him, the Usurper's laughter stopped and a ripple rolled through the grohlm surrounding him.

  Following the river of bloody mud and severed limbs, killing grohlm as fast as he could, Brandon felt the tingle of magic growing in the air. It lifted the airs on his arms and on the back of his neck, making him think of home. Of Highgarden. He was getting close to where the tower had stood, where he and the bull had fallen, when the sky lit up around him. There was a screech from above and a massive ball of flame exploded into the grohlm to his right, engulfing them and sending up panicked howls of terror. Another appeared overhead, twisting and tumbling through the air, followed closely by two more, each bigger than the last. Screaming as they flew on their destructive path, the trio of fireballs speared down out of the night, flashing towards him.

  Brandon flung himself sideways, snagging a snarling grohlm by the thick tuft of hair growing from the back of its neck and using its momentum to drag himself out of the fireball's paths. Two of them missed, slamming into grohlm on either side of Brandon, blasting them into bloody chunks of smoldering meat. The third hit Brandon in the chest, exploding in his face and engulfing him in flames.

  The force of the explosion sent Brandon tumbling through the air. He came down hard on top of the grohlm, his swords flying from his fingertips, and felt a dozen swords strike him at once. The explosion should have killed him. Should have blown him apart where he stood, despite the strength of his armor. But, instead, the armor was cracked and warped, smoldering where the flames had tasted it, but otherwise whole.

  Letting the god inside his head devour his fear and shock, Brandon rolled to his feet and threw his arm up, blocking a sword thrust from a grohlm with the tusks of a boar and hideously human like features. The grohlm growled a very human sounding curse and swung again, aiming for Brandon’s head this time. He didn’t seem to be taking Kardas’ order to keep Brandon alive very seriously.

  Brandon caught the thrusting sword in a gauntleted fist and smashed his fist into the boar’s chest, crushing its sternum, and sent it crashing into the mass of charred and writhing grohlm still caught in the firestorm. He could feel the grohlm, slashing and stabbing as they threw everything they had at him, but nothing they did could touch him. The swords and spears, maces and axes, didn’t do any damage, not even when they slipped through gaps in his damaged armor. They couldn't pierce his flesh.

  Brandon surged to his feet, tossing a pair of grohlm into the air. Two more fireballs bloomed in the night sky above, streaking down at Brandon’s position. Throwing a fist into the snout of a mule grohlm, shattering the thing's face, Brandon ran toward the fireballs, hoping to force them to overshoot him. The other grohlm screamed for his blood as he leapt under the flames and the fireballs exploded the rank of monsters immediately behind him. The strength of the blast buffeted him in the back, searing his armor with heat. He twisted sideways, snatching a rusty blade from the cloven fist of a boar, and stabbed it in the throat. Blood showered down onto Brandon's shoulders as he leapt up, his left foot coming down on the back of a bear grohlm's neck, and kicked himself further into the air. Flipping over the outstretched arms of snarling grohlm, Brandon slashed the throats of 3 more beasties before landing.

  The grohlm momentarily fell back. The ground was a muddy soup of blood and guts, slippery underfoot. Brandon stopped long enough to get his bearings before launching himself toward where the tower had stood. The grohlm stood their ground, though most were bleating and making terrified noises even as they attacked. Brandon met them head on, launching himself onto the back of a massive bear, stabbing it in the neck as he kicked off its shoulders and leapt past another fireball as it formed in the air above and lanced down at him.

  Visible for just a moment, hanging in the air where the fireballs appeared, were three distinct forms. Winged creatures, unlike any sort of grohlm that Brandon had faced before. They moved in slow circles above the battlefield, guarding the closed doorway hanging in the sky.

  Even as t
he first fireball screeched past, howling like a missile, two more flared to life. Brandon threw himself forward, leaping into the air to try and dodge them again. His arm was searing cold where Rok pressed hard into his skin, the old god silently strengthening and protecting him. One of the fireballs hit him in the back, exploding and sending him crashing back to the ground. The armor took most of the impact while Rok did the rest, but his cloak was alive with flame.

  Rolling to his feet, Brandon tossed aside the ruined cloak and ran. Behind him, the remaining fireball exploded amid the screaming grohlm, lighting the night up bright enough for Brandon to see the three flyers. None of them were close enough for him to grab, so he threw the sword, instead. It pierced one of them through the chest. It screamed, an eerily female sound, and fell from the sky.

  Brandon followed it down, landing lightly beside it. The thing stopped screaming and wasn't moving. Brandon grabbed the hilt of the sword and yanked it free. In so doing, its robe fell open. Brandon recoiled and felt his blood go cold.

  It was a girl.

  With pale white skin and long blonde hair, the girl looked younger than Brandon, maybe 13 or 14. She was naked under the robe, her pink nipples standing up in the cold air, and beautiful. The sword had pierced her through her stomach. Blood, black and sticky, was pooled in the slight concave of her tiny little belly. The wound was an ugly tear, marring the girl's dark perfection.

  Brandon felt a moment of icy terror, at the thought of having killed a human girl, then her eyes opened. Lightning blue, exploding with hate and magic, they were the eyes of a monster. With a howl, the girl-thing began thrashing on the ground. Her cloak fell away further, revealing a pair of feathered wings. Black feathers, long and glossy looking. Brandon didn't need to see more. Swinging the sword fast and hard, Brandon cut the girl's head off, sending it tumbling among the grohlm.