Fire And Steel (The Merryweather Chronicles Book 2)

by Lesley Woodral

  She stared up at him, her single eye wide and unblinking. The blood stood out on her cheeks. She looked terrified, but her voice was anything but. "I came to help you, jackass. I might not be some kind of magical warrior princess, like you, but I can still swing an axe." She hefted the axe and narrowed her eye at him, daring him to say anything else.

  He couldn't help but smile. “I love you.”

  Wincing as another flight of arrows rained down on their position, she leaned forward and pecked his lips. “I know. Now let’s try not to die.”

  Brandon let the emptiness have his fear for the love of his life and turned, facing the yard. Gerrick moved across the snow toward him, ignoring the arrows flying all around them and the screeching of the grohlm. The Phoenix was in his right fist. He held it tight, though it squealed as it seared his gauntleted hand, even through the heavy leather. When he saw that Brandon had noticed him, he called out. "If you won’t fight to protect yourself, perhaps you will to protect the girl?" Tossing the blade through the air, he drew both of his swords and charged forward.

  Brandon just had time to snag the Phoenix out of the air before meeting Gerrick's charge head on. Steel crashed against steel, their blades kissing long enough to throw a sheet of sparks and liquid flame into the night air, and they continued their dance. Around them, grohlm appeared, throwing themselves at the swordsmen in the hopes of catching them unawares. Neither man spared the creatures more than a glance as they fought, only killing those that were stupid enough to get within reach of their steel.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Brandon could see Sha'ha'Zel killing any grohlm who went after the shattered deck. His living cloak lashed out, spearing grohlm through the throat or chest, as he hewed them like wood. The Curse was a deadly whirlwind, all 4 blades moving as he slaughtered the grohlm.

  As fast and as deadly as the Curse was, a few grohlm still made it through. Claire dispatched those with the axe, meeting them as they came. Brandon was terrified every time one got through, but he shouldn’t have been. Claire was more than a match for those grohlm unfortunate enough to survive the demon’s blades. She fought hard, splitting skulls and cutting throats as fiercely as any soldier from Brandon’s visions.

  She was absolutely beautiful, even among the blood and screaming death.

  Sha’ha’Zel kept one eye on the girl as he spilled open the bodies of the grohlm, secretly pleased at her strength. He let a few grohlm through intentionally, to try to ratchet up the girl’s terror, to prepare her for what he would do after Brandon was dead. But she had pleasantly surprised the demon. He had promised Brandon a month and he intended to see that he got it, even if he had to kill every single grohlm in Matheson to do it.

  Sha'ha'Zel watched Brandon and Gerrick fight, his black lips twisted into a smile. The Tower Knight wouldn't actually harm Brandon, not badly, but if he made so much as a move toward the girl, Sha'ha"Zel intended to bleed him for it. He wouldn't kill the man, that was forbidden, but he would definitely cripple the bastard.

  Brandon spun and twisted, the Phoenix flashing as it met every attack Gerrick threw at him and, at the same time, cutting down any grohlm within reach. The ferocity of Gerrick's attacks died down as the man grew tired. His armor was heavy and Brandon could see the tightness around the man's eyes as he fought. Why he chose to wear the heavy steel, instead of the lighter composite armor, was no mystery to Brandon. The older man was trying to even the odds between himself and Brandon. Without the added weight holding him down, Gerrick would’ve beaten Brandon long since.

  The grohlm around them were losing their fear of the two warriors, more and more of them throwing themselves into the fight. It seemed that every sort of grohlm was ready to try their swords against the Last Son of Storms and the Last Knight of the Towers.

  Somewhere, far away, thunder rolled, and clouds obscured the moon, throwing the yard into rich darkness. The stench of blood and wet fur burned Brandon's nose and the squeals and screams of the dying grohlm were loud in his ears. Back to back, he and Gerrick were forced to ignore each other as the grohlm desperately pushed in on them, swords and axes flashing.

  Acting on instinct, Brandon drove the Phoenix into the ground and gave the sword a wrenching twist. The grohlm had no warning as the ground erupted underneath their padded feet and hooves. Fire erupted from where the blade punctured the ground, rolling out in great flaming waves that grew in size the further they went. The earth was rent as the wall of fire and death raced toward the forest, swallowing the grohlm whole. The creatures died in fire and exploding earth, as if caught in a minefield.

  Brandon didn't have a chance to gawk at what he'd done. Using the explosion as a distraction, Gerrick spun and drove a potentially crippling attack at Brandon, raking the blade across his chest. The blow knocked Brandon back a step but left him otherwise unmarked, not so much as scratching the smooth skin of his chest.

  Gerrick only stared at him for one shocked moment, his eyes unblinking as he stared at Brandon's unbroken flesh, then spun and leapt for the deck. Claire was fighting a ram faced grohlm, using her axe to turn aside its curved short sword before planting it in its face. She didn't see Gerrick land on the deck, nor did she see him as he raised his sword, preparing to plunge the weapon into her back.

  Knocking the head off of a wolf, Brandon shouted. He was too far away to do anything except watch as the blade began to fall. He could feel his world preparing to die with the girl on the deck. When that happened, he didn't know what he would do.

  Before Gerrick's blade could finish its deadly arc, Sha'ha'Zel was there, snaring Gerrick's sword arm with a long tentacle from his cloak. Claire ducked underneath the writhing blackness of the cloak and fell back, somehow keeping a hold of the axe as it pulled free of the ram’s halved face.

  Gerrick had learned since his last run in with the demon and as soon as the cloak touched him, he spun. Slicing through the cloak with a long bladed knife pulled from somewhere beneath his cloak, Gerrick tried to twist his blade and plunge it into the Curse's chest. Batting aside the sword with ease, Sha'ha'Zel snatched Gerrick up off the ground and sneered into his upturned face. "You'll not die so easy as that, little brother."

  With a sharp toss, the Curse flung the knight away, sending him hurtling through the air. He flew impossibly far, crashing to the ground almost on top of the low stone bridge spanning the creek. He was as far from the deck as he could get, his sword lost in the flight. He'd kept his hold on the long bladed knife.

  The grohlm swarmed over him before he could get to his feet, short swords and axes stabbing and hacking. They crashed over him like a wave, the horde burying him completely.

  Brandon spared a glance for the Curse. Sha'ha'Zel stood on the deck, watching. Claire stood nearby, in much the same stance as the demon, watching Brandon closely. The axe in her hand dripped gore. She was spattered head to toe with blood and bits of dead grohlm.

  The rest of the grohlm had broken, most of them fleeing into the woods. The broken yard was littered with the dead and dying. Burnt and bloody, they were a tangled mess. Those not retreating into the woods were joining their allies at the bridge. The churning mass was a melting pot, but Brandon saw the side of the pile give a great heave as Gerrick fought his way to the surface.

  The knight's face was a crimson mask, but Gerrick laughed as he struggled to his feet. Grohlm clung to his arms and legs, trying to smash and cut through his armor. Gerrick battered them away, the long knife in one hand, a spiked mace in the other. But for every grohlm knocked loose, two took its place.

  Brandon charged across the broken yard, killing stray grohlm as he ran. Whatever his uncle believed, whatever he had done, Brandon wasn't going to let the man die. He was the only connection left to Brandon's father. His only living link to the truth about his family's past.

  Gerrick saw Brandon coming and his laughter grew louder. Throwing grohlm left and right, the knight pushed his way to the bridge, struggling against the avalanche crashing against him. He stopped I
n the center of the bridge, wavering in the moonlight. The grohlm surrounding him intensified their effort, clawing their way up his legs and body.

  Brandon had halved the distance between himself and his uncle, running hard, the Phoenix flashing in his fist. Overhead, thunder crashed and icy rain began to fall, mixing with the falling snow. Where the rain touched him, Brandon felt strength surge into his body. But he was too slow.

  Still laughing, Gerrick and the screeching mass covering him heaved one last time, rolling over the side of the bridge, and fell, crashing through the ice below.

  Brandon skirted the bridge, skidding to a halt at the creek's bank. A few of the grohlm had hit the ice around the main mass without breaking through. They tried to pull themselves away from the black hole that Gerrick and the rest of the grohlm had disappeared into. There was no sign of Gerrick.

  Feeling hollowed out, Brandon watched the ice crumble beneath one of the wounded grohlm, dumping the stag into the icy water below. It bleated once and vanished as the swiftly moving current pulled it underneath the ice. The very same had happened to Gerrick, if he hadn't sank to the bottom. As quickly as the man moved, Brandon knew his armor had to weigh hundreds of pounds. It would be impossible to swim, let alone fight the current.

  The rain continued to fall, coming down hard enough to obliterate most of the remaining snow. Strength flowed into Brandon. From Nina, as well as Rok and the Phoenix. He said a silent prayer to all three. The Phoenix may not have been able to answer, but Brandon thanked it just as hard. He turned away from the creek, facing the ruined yard. The snow was nearly gone, beaten down by the rain and washing away as the wind rose and thunder rolled.

  The surviving grohlm had fled back into the forest, licking their wounds. Hundreds of dead and those too wounded to run littered Highgarden. Some only twitched feebly, while others dragged themselves towards the woods. In the distance, wolves howled.

  Brandon ignored them all. He had eyes only for the black cloaked figure standing in the center of the broken training circle. Sha'ha'Zel watched Brandon approach, his red eyes glittering. Rain popped and sizzled where it touched the thing's bare flesh, but the Curse ignored any pain it might have caused. He spoke softly. "The line of the winds is ended. The last Knight of the Tower is gone."

  Brandon stopped at the edge of the circle. The Phoenix was a burning brand in his fist, heat radiating from its glowing length. His face was hard as he stared into the Curse's eyes. Strength flowed into him as the rain soaked his hair and sluiced down his body. The two warriors faced one another as the rain came down. The weather was like a living thing, the wind tearing at the Curse’s cloak as it watched the young man.

  Squaring his shoulders, Brandon said. "He wanted to die. For me to kill him. Why?" He sounded calmer than he felt. The emptiness enveloped him, but flickering flames of anger smoldered around the edges, threatening to ignite. He pushed it away as well as he could, but he felt an echo of his anger vibrating through the Phoenix. The sword was practically humming in his fist. "Why did he want to die so badly?"

  "Because he couldn't." Sha'a'Zel said. His coal black skin had cracked open in a couple of places, inky blood oozing from the wounds. He had to be in pain, but he ignored it. No, not ignored. He seemed to be thriving on it. His glowing red eyes brightened even as his skin split and smoked from the rain. He spoke slowly, his deep voice showing no sign of pain or even discomfort. His tone was conversational. "People often want what they can't have."

  "Why couldn't he die?"

  "It was his curse." Sha'ha'Zel sneered and his cloak twitched, its torn and ragged hem flexing and uncurling. The rain became a steady downpour, yet he continued to ignore what it was doing to his body. "His family, like yours, was also cursed. To be betrayed by one of their own and hunted down until none remained. None, but the last, who would wander the earth, a kinslayer, and hated by men. Unable to take his own life, he would throw himself into battle, praying that somebody, someday, would end his suffering.” The Curse shook his head, rain sizzling on his black cheeks. “He served your family in the foolish hope that he would die protecting you or your father. That I would be the one to end him. That was the pact he made with your grandfather."

  "But you wouldn't give him that, would you?" The emptiness trembled. Flames danced around the edge of sight, pulsing in time with his heartbeat and the heat radiating from the Phoenix. Brandon felt like he should be on fire, the heat building within himself was so strong, but when he looked down at himself he saw that the rain still ran down his chest and arms. He half expected to see it sizzling and popping, as it was doing to the curse. But the flames building within him weren't quenched by the rain. Rather, they seemed to absorb the rain, feeding on it like it was gasoline. Brandon tightened his grip on the Phoenix.

  Up on the deck, Claire watched them with a pained expression, unsure of what to do. She was terrified that she was about to watch the man she loved be killed right in front of her and there wasn't a thing in the world she could do about it. She didn’t try to fool herself. The grohlm she killed were nothing compared to the horror standing in front of Brandon. If Sha’ha’Zel beat Brandon, she wouldn’t outlive him for long.

  Hefting her axe, Claire promised herself that she would make the demon bleed when it took her. She wasn’t going to sell her life cheap and it would pay in blood.

  Sha'ha'Zel glanced at her, seemingly reading her thoughts. He bared his teeth in what might have been a smile and shook his head. His red eyes flashed and he looked at Brandon, answering his question. "I could sooner kill myself. The same magics that held his hand, bind mine, as well. I could hurt him, bring him to the point of death, but I could not kill him."

  Brandon stepped into the circle. He was silent as he set himself, holding the Phoenix in a low guard position, but he looked at Claire, meeting her gaze. Thunder boomed overhead and lightning shattered the sky as the rain intensified. She gave a small nod of her head, silently telling him everything that he already knew. That she loved and trusted him. His eyes said the same to her and more. Then he pulled his gaze away and looked at the Curse.

  Sha'ha'Zel didn't move. Looking into Brandon’s eyes, his terrible smile slid off of his face and he said. "It's early, yet. Are you so ready to die?"

  Brandon looked into the Curse's bloody eyes, pulling the emptiness tight around his mind, and said. "It's time to end this."

  Sha'ha'Zel blinked once, seeing something in Brandon's eyes that he hadn't expected. It wasn’t the lack of fear that surprised him, but the fire in his gaze. The demon turned sideways and, with a shrug of his shoulders, his cloak fell away. Twisting and writhing, it tried to slither away. It smoked and smoldered as much as the rest of the Curse. More. Before it had gotten more than a couple of feet outside the circle, it burst into flame. The fire engulfed it, the flames fed by the falling rain, and soon it was only a smear of black on the wet ground.

  Ignoring the burning cloak, the Curse uncoiled his arms and faced Brandon. Each of his 4 blades gleamed wetly in the darkness. When he spoke, his tone was no longer conversational. It sounded like crumbling snakeskin. "Very well, Son of Storms. If this is your decision. Come.” His blood red gaze flared against the night and he smiled. “Meet your death."

  Chapter 35

  Lightning crashed overhead as Brandon threw himself at Sha'ha'Zel. The Curse moved like smoke, turning aside the Phoenix, and landed a fierce cutting blow across Brandon's chest. Brandon fell back, grimacing. The cut across his chest was deep, bleeding freely, and the rain was slow healing it. He brought the Phoenix up and stepped sideways, keeping the searing length of steel between himself and the demon.

  The sight of Brandon's blood galvanized the Curse. He flung himself at Brandon, swords flashing, and drove the younger man back, step by step. Brandon defended for all he was worth, moving on instinct to put the Phoenix between his bare flesh and the black steel of Sha'ha'Zel's curved blades. He moved faster than any human could have, yet, he wasn't fast enough. More slashing cuts began
to decorate his body. His arms were slick with bright red blood. The rain came down, a fierce gale that threatened to topple trees, but the wounds knitted slowly, the black steel's magic battling with the power of the gods.

  Brandon ignored his wounds, wrapped tight within the emptiness, and threw everything he had at the Curse. He gave up on striking at the creature's head or body, instead focusing on the thing's arms. With four arms to his two, the Curse outmatched him by a wide margin.

  Sizzling along the edge of the emptiness, fierce flames continued to boil inside of Brandon, threatening to scour away everything. It was his anger, he knew, and if he allowed it to consume him, he didn't know what would happen. Twisting just in time to catch a burning slash down his right shoulder blade, Brandon stumbled. His foot slipped in the bloody slush they waded in and the Curse snapped a lightning fast kick into his chest, sending him crashing backwards.

  Somewhere, distantly, he heard Claire calling his name. Screaming it.

  He was on his back, the cold wet mud sticking to his wounds and making them heal that much faster as Rok did his part. Sha'ha'Zel stood over him, inky blood running from dozens of cracks in his black flesh. He stared down at Brandon, his lips peeled back from his jagged teeth. "It's over, Merryweather. You've lost." He looked over his shoulder, glancing at Claire.

  She came down off the deck and stood not far off. She had added another axe to her growing collection of weapons and watched the fight with an intense expression. She was fully prepared to jump into the fight. The Curse turned back, red eyes meeting Brandon's gray. He said. "Before you die, Stormson, know this. Your woman is mine, now. No matter her hidden strengths, she will fall to my blades. And she will have a long time dying, if I allow her that mercy. She is quite impressive. Perhaps, I will have an heir of my own?"

  The emptiness vanished in a white hot instant, the fire of Brandon's rage blasting white hot within him. All of his fear and uncertainty. All of the things that the emptiness hid, but were never really gone, were obliterated by the flames. The Phoenix flared in his fist and the long blade ignited, boiling flames wreathing the razor sharp steel. Swinging from where he lay, Brandon sent a ball of living flame racing at the Curse's chest.