“Would’ve been dead without you. I need you, Grim. The realm needs you,” he said. Walter looked him in his chill eyes, the words feeling almost shameful. He wasn’t used to prying himself open to someone, not even a little bit.
“Thanks, Walter. It’s nice to hear you say that,” Grimbald said, his eyes almost looking to be swimming with tears.
Walter turned away, giving him time to pull it together. It felt good to tell him how he felt. Perhaps he could deem it a successful experiment. “Should’ve listened to Ny. She warned me about him, about Scab.” Walter spotted Thalia marching down one of the curving bridges over the bog, leading the pack.
“She could have been wrong, though.” Grimbald rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “Scab had helped, fought against the other Wretched in the woodlands with us.” He bent down, inspecting the donkey’s hooves.
“Yeah. Think I know when it happened… caught him making what sounded like a shady deal. Should’ve trusted my damned instincts. You’d think that after making the same mistake tens of times, I would have learned by now.”
Grimbald shrugged. “You’re only human. Don’t worry about Scab; we’ll find him.” He nodded as if he were already captured, his fists balled up like he was thinking about what he’d do to him.
“I know. He’ll get his.” Walter met his hard gaze, the look they shared only when fighting together.
Thalia strode up to them, boots clopping against the moldering footbridge. She wore her long midnight hair down and falling behind her shoulders. On her head was a thin silvery circlet replacing her headdress. Over her eyes was a broad stripe of red going from temple to temple. Her lithe arms were wrapped in leathery cords from shoulder to wrist, bony spikes jutting out from between the windings, her torso covered from neck to waist in blackened leather armor. On her hip was a wide sheath, the blade curved and almost longer than her. She looked like a terror he wouldn’t want to meet on a battlefield. How could she even swing such a huge weapon? He had almost expected she and her warriors to fight topless, but that was a stupid thought.
“I see you’ve found your way down our bridges,” she said to him, her expression reserved.
“Wasn’t too difficult,” Walter said. He smiled at her with some effort. Everything in his body ached, fatigue still pressing on him. He met her eyes, a deep brown with greens at the center. He thought of her pressed against him last night, felt his prick fluttering to life.
Walter saw Thalia’s dark olive throat flutter with a swallow. “Where is your mount?” she asked. Her soldiers continued on around her, passing her on either side and starting off down the southern path. Some sent Walter grim stares, a few respectful nods.
They wore a mishmash of leather armor interspersed with bright peacock feathers. They carried sets of spears, about five per warrior, tucked into big quivers slung over their backs. Some had crude hatchets, broad short swords, others slings hanging from their belts.
“Over there.” Walter gestured to Kez. “Will you ride him for me? Want him in good hands.”
Her eyes went wide, mouth open. “I have my own horse, waiting down where the path widens. Are you not riding?”
“No, going to go on ahead on my own. Have some things I need to take care of.” He decided to leave out the Nyset part, avoiding adding salt to her wounds. “Going to try to use portals to travel, a spell I can cast using the power of the Phoenix.”
She frowned at him, rested her hands on a heavy belt securing her leather riding skirts.
“Please, Thalia? I wouldn’t trust anyone else.” The truth was, he hadn’t really gotten to know anyone else here. And Grimbald already had his acerbic Blood Donkey to deal with.
She gave him a bitter smile. “I will do you this honor. I am in your debt.”
“Thank you.” He reached out to hug her, but she did not reciprocate the gesture. There was a pleasant smell to her, different than last night, he could not put a name to it. It was faint, but made his heart thump with extra beats. She was dangerously attractive and he was glad she made no effort to touch him now. It made parting that much easier.
“I guess I should be going then,” he said to Thalia. Her eyes met his for a second, then broke away, stoically watching her warriors. He saw then that the heat between them last night was now dead as ashes. In the long run, it was for the better. It seemed only ruins were left in his wake, better not to drag more people too close to it. There was, of course, Nyset to think about. It felt like it had been years since he’d seen her. She felt distant, and not just geographically. It was like the part of him that knew her was slowly atrophying like a geriatric muscle. People often said that ‘distance made the heart grow more affectionate,’ but Walter thought that was wrong. Distance made the heart die a slow death.
“Wait.” Thalia reached out, her hand hanging between them for a second, fingers closing on the air, then her arm retracted. “Where will we meet you?”
Walter looked at Grimbald. “Helm’s Reach.” He nodded. “At the new Silver Tower. Grim knows where it is. You remember how to get there?”
“Mm,” he grunted. “Got a map anyway.”
“You know how to read those things?” Walter asked.
“Very funny,” Grimbald said flatly.
“Not to worry, our navigators can find anything,” Thalia added.
“Aye. Tell Ny, Senka, Isa… and the others I said ‘good tidings’ or something like that.” Grimbald scraped the last of the packed dirt out of the Blood Donkey’s hoof with the Death Spawn dagger. He tucked the dagger into his belt, sauntering over to Walter, armor gleaming in a pink ray of light. A broad grin spread over Grimbald’s dimpling face. He opened his big arms and wrapped him up in a bear hug. “Take care, friend,” Grimbald said. Walter hugged him back, feeling like a child against his mammoth chest.
Walter’s eye caught the bright Midgaard Falcon pin shining from his collar “You too, Captain Grimbald, you big fucker.” Walter smiled and Grimbald sheepishly chuckled. Walter pulled away from him, looked him in the eye with a nod, then slapped him on the shoulder for good measure.
“Take care of yourselves; the wilds should be safe now, I think.” He blew out his cheeks, looked from Thalia to Grimbald one last time. “Alright, safe travels. Keep an eye out for Scab’s men too, don’t know where they’d be headed.”
“I’d love to run into him,” Grimbald said under his breath.
Walter turned away from them and stared down the southern path. The Tree Folk warriors walked in groups of three, some having the unfortunate place of marching through snaring weeds. Leaving them was more difficult than he thought it would be. It was as if there was an unseen force tugging on his chest and drawing him back to them, but he had to go.
Walter walked into the forest’s edge, stepping wearily and watching for snapping Sand Buckeyes and chewing bushes, whatever those were called. Nyset would know. He slid the clasp on his satchel strap, tightening it across his chest. Vanya was up early and had given him pouches filled with sundries packed with dried blueberries, ginger root, squirrel jerky, and globs of lard. It certainly wasn’t decadent, but it would keep him sustained if he was dying of hunger. Not much appealed to him besides the blueberries. He squeezed his filled water skin, gurgling against his palm.
“Alright, here we go,” he whispered. He scanned around, making sure no one was near him. No more accidents, he thought. Had to be more cautious with the powers.
He blinked and inhaled the strength of the Phoenix. A calming sense of peace washed over him, assuaging all those niggling anxieties he hadn’t known were there until they were gone. Would Grimbald be safe without him? Did Thalia hate him now? Would she abandon them like Scab had? How would he find Bonesnapper? These questions, among tens of others, had been churning in his guts. He never felt truly relaxed. The Phoenix shut them up though, and for that he was grateful. He thought it might be helpful to draw on more of the Phoenix when he used the Dragon.
He imagined the portal in space, willed
it to be there the way one would will one’s muscle to flex. A blue line of light cracked the air, endpoints turned counter-clockwise and opened an oval shaped portal. A few of the Tree Folk shouted with surprise, calmed down by others who had remembered and recognized him. Through it was where he guessed a tenth of a mile farther down the path would be. It looked about right, could see the path through the other side. He would start with shorter distances and gradually increase them as he felt more comfortable. As long as nothing went wrong. The portal hummed, waiting. The earth at its bottom edge hissed, tiny leaves on weeds sliced and turned to dust.
He looked back and saw Grim, waved at him. He waved back, now mounted. Thalia looked to be shouting at someone, cringing at being the subject of her scorn. Walter was glad to have avoided that fate.
He leaped into the portal, bringing his arms in close to avoid the portal’s deadly edges. Air whooshed over his ears, icy wind coating his skin. One foot found solid earth through the other side, the other a loose rock, his ankle rolling and spiking with hot pain. “Damn it,” he groaned, hobbling on his good leg. He felt the Phoenix flare in his ankle, cooling and tightening up the stretched tendons. He shook his head. “Have to be more careful.”
He looked back through the shimmering portal behind him, saw the marching men waving like mirages. He let it snap shut, fizzling away with a spark. It felt like a sliver of his strength was left behind with its closing. His muscles felt weaker and there might have been a little fog creeping in at the edges of his thoughts. There wasn’t any sign of Thalia’s soldiers on the path, which meant he had traveled a fair distance. He strained his ears, listening for voices or boots. He heard the distant roar of the Blanched Falls drifting over the forest, birds chirping in a nearby tree, and a pair of squirrels dueling over a precious acorn. He inhaled deeply, crisp forest air filling him with lost vigor.
He felt his face, inspected his body up and down. Everything was intact and he felt good on the whole. Baylan told him that, at the Silver Tower, there was once a wizard who had developed a specialty in the use of portals. He was always extending the distance until one day he emerged through the other side with three cocks hanging from his face. Walter snickered at the thought, but also couldn’t help but feel a little bit of terror at the possibility of such a deformity. He still had one cock, though and in the right place. Time to get moving.
He had to use places he remembered well, images crystallized in his mind. He thought of the bridge they had crossed near the Blanched Falls, willed the portal to life a few paces before it. He stepped through this time instead of jumping, made it close behind him. His boots fell on well-nourished moss thriving on the rocky embankment.
The falls thundered over the edge from uncertain cliffs, crashing down onto rocks polished smooth from the water’s relentless pounding. Thin streams of mist swirled through the cool air, rising up to the verdant trees hanging over the falls. The light of the morning sun dappled through the waving trees, casting jets of light over the bank, making slivers of mist glitter like diamonds. The foot bridge was covered with a sheen of wet and yellowy mushrooms grew out the wood on one side. To the far east, he could almost make out a line of black smoke trailing out from the Scalded Peak, the biggest volcano in the realm.
He could’ve sat there all day reading a book and having a picnic. He thought of his favorite tale, Thieves of Gold. It was his Dad’s favorite story too. It was a story of a band of thieves who had decided upon robbing a wealthy baron, only to discover the baron was colluding with the mad king to burn each and every wizard on the stake. Life was often stranger than the stories, he thought. Perhaps in another life, another time, he would sit and read again. A new portal sprung open and he stepped through.
The air was different here, less humid, warmer. The portal closed, taking a little more of his vitality with it. He thought he could almost feel his skin cringing at the sudden change. The Midgaard palace stood in the distance, the size of his thumbnail. It towered over the capital city with all the ostentation King Ezra could produce. The palace’s walls reflected the sun, gleaming with an opalescent brightness, almost difficult to look at now. Behind him was the last bridge leading into Shipton.
Shipton was Grimbald’s former home, now a ruined shell, ravaged by Juzo and his Blood Eaters. It was difficult to revisit that memory, but here it was, pushing through his brain like an irrepressible volcano. It was the place where he had murdered his friend. “An accident,” he scoffed. It was the memory that would always come back in times of quiet, wrapping its scaled hands around his neck and trying to choke him with grief.
He sniffed, felt tears push out from his eyes and fall over his cheeks. “I’m sorry, Juzo” he croaked out. Even his scarred up, broken eye could still weep, not good for anything else. They were useless thoughts, useless emotions. They wouldn’t help him now, but would only make this path harder to tread. He stuffed those emotions deep inside, dashed apart upon the blade of vengeance. He knew he was made for one thing and one thing only: cleansing the world of the Shadow Realm’s malevolent touch. Nothing else mattered.
His head throbbed. He wrote it off as a symptom of dehydration, poor sleep, and a body ragged from combat. He sucked down some water, hoping it would pass soon. He produced a strip of salted lamb jerky from one of the pouches in his satchel and started gnawing on it. “Mm. Good.” He nodded at the plants.
People would go back to the village eventually, he hoped. Maybe after the survivors forgot about what happened there. It would take generations perhaps, but folk here were a hardy lot. The stories would always live on, though.
Honeybees buzzed on a bush with bright pink flowers, darting in and out of petals with hair-thin spines. Walter watched one unfortunate bee spend too much time harvesting its nectar, petals slowly closing down around it like a screwing vice and locking it between its sticky clutches. Walter heard the bee furiously buzzing from within, pleading for release. But no help would come. The hive would carry on, writing it off as part of the day’s losses.
Walter set his sights on Midgaard again, thinking of the king’s audience chamber. That wouldn’t do though. He had the mind to try the king again for help, but knew it would be as useful as trying to convince a stone to fly. He thought of the gardens around the palace, the spot where he and Nyset first kissed. He remembered the taste of her mouth. It reminded him of being home. That sent a warm tingling in his stomach, fluttering as it had the first time. It was a long distance, much farther than he’d ever traveled, a few miles at least. Was it worth the risk of potential ruin? “Yes,” he said to himself with iron resolve. “It was.” He had to test his capabilities.
The portal opened, showing him the rolling grasses of the Midgaard palace’s gardens. “That’s a good start,” he said to the portal. He stepped through, wind caressing his cheeks and whisking away his tears. The portal closed and the flattened world warbled.
His guts spun with nausea. His eyes went wide, stomach furiously gurgling, throat spasming and mouth torn opening with a stream of vomit. He hunched over, stomach compressing and ejecting his morning supper of blueberries and elixir.
“Shit,” he gasped, staring down at the puddle of black between his legs, vomit trailing down the sides of his boots. His stomach wrenched again, pushing out with more vomit. He fought for a breath, but his stomach revolted, putting him on his knees. His guts crushed down again, but all that came out from his lips was a hanging line of spittle. “Shit,” he breathed, rolled back onto his ass. “Too far.” He sat there for a few minutes, catching his breath and waiting for the nausea to pass.
Tall Cypress trees formed manicured columns, marking the garden’s gravel filled paths. Bright flowers were arranged by color to denote paths that branched off from the main path, organized by associated colors. Walter’s eye traced a golden path that wound over the vibrant grasses. It started with sunflowers and daisies, becoming yellow dahlias and then transitioning into rows of blond roses. He spotted a few happy-faced couples walking arm
in arm along the idyllic paths, likely ignorant of the evils outside their walls. They were right to enjoy it while they could, for only the scarlet world of the Shadow Realm awaited them.
In the distance, he could see The Wall, trailing along the landscape like a pale snake. Beyond The Wall was the Tigerian Bluffs, a series of plateaus flattened out at all the same height like a shattered plate. He wondered how the landscape had formed in such a peculiar way. It looked like a dust storm was brewing on the horizon, a sheet of swirling browns. The storms crawled from east to west from the Nether, usually dying out in the Plains of Dressna. They occasionally made their way to Midgaard, bathing the city in sand, sometimes bringing a dose of volcanic ash with it.
To the far north-east were the Mountains of Misery, white-capped, the peaks reaching above the puffy clouds. He wondered what lay beyond the mountains, felt his skin clamming up at the thought of all that bitter cold. Supposedly, some people lived there, Northmen, who thrived in that unforgiving landscape. Breden folk were hardy from living by the Abyssal Sea, cold one day and warm as summer the next. Walter thought weather made men tougher. Having to live in a harsh environment would change you. He couldn’t imagine the kind of folk who would be forged in those mountains.
He could almost make out the Silver Tower, a glimmering speck on the southern landscape. Most of its tallest spires had been laid to waste by Asebor’s catapults. The impenetrable walls of the Tower had been duly penetrated. Nothing was secure, nothing was sacred, and everything made could be unmade.
“You lost?” A gruff voice called from about ten paces away.
Walter flinched, flicking his eyes from the distant Tower to the sound. A soldier dressed in shining steel plate stared at him with wary eyes, his spear propped up, a pair of red feathers waving from its tip. The man stepped towards him, head cocked and brows furrowed. “You’ve got a familiar face.”
A New Light (The Age of Dawn Book 5) Page 35
