The Children of Urdis (Grimwold and Lethos Book 2)

by Jerry Autieri

  "You seemed desperate for help."

  "But your own body lay only an arm's distance from you. Why not return to your own concerns and your own friends?"

  Grimwold had to pause. The boy had a point, and he had the same question of himself. Running to the aid of a stranger when he had so much else to worry him made no sense. He had acted on impulse.

  "You didn't seem strong enough to do what you must without my help. I wanted to help you."

  "To your own cost? Was it worth it?"

  "I have not helped you much. In fact, I think it is you who is helping me. That thing had wrapped me and gods only know what it was about to do."

  The thunderous voice chuckled, then spoke again. "You have given much of yourself to aid others. Why?"

  "I would not say that is true." Grimwold's memories flashed back to his youth. He was the man who made Aros the Conqueror a legendary terror of the coasts. Villages had burned and enemies had fallen on their swords all at the command of Grimwold's power. He had taken men's lives needlessly and without honor. "In fact, I would say I have delivered more sadness to the world than most men."

  Again the chuckle rippled from all around. The boy's silhouette seemed to be growing in height as he spoke. "It is true you were once a wolf among the lambs. But we do not blame the wolf for what it is. In those days you could be nothing more than a killer. Yet now, knowing what your power is, you have chosen to become someone else."

  He forced himself to look at the shadow of the boy, which had grown taller than Grimwold. The boy he had recognized was gone, replaced by a giant of man hidden in shadow. He was dressed as a warrior, for his mail shirt sparkled with the surrounding light and the hilt of his sword was prominent at his hip. Strong arms were folded across a broad chest and a bushy white bearded face looked down on him. Even in the shadows, the heavy brow was still obvious.

  "What are you? Where am I?" Grimwold asked, awed at the towering figure. Behind the giant shape, the light grew steadily brighter.

  "I am many things. I am the first. I am the last. I am all who remains to watch, and even now my eyes slowly close."

  Grimwold strained to penetrate the shadows of the face. Was it smiling? The piercing blue eyes were flooded with black, but he did not believe them closed. "Are you Danir? Am I to be taken to your hall?"

  He went to his knee, even though nothing but swirling light was beneath he feet. So he was dead after all, and Danir himself had gathered him home. He felt instant remorse for abandoning Lethos.

  "You fear for your friend," the voice, now that he understood it to be the words of Danir the First Father himself, vibrated to the depths of his heart.

  "Lord Danir, father of all things, please consider taking him to your hall. He was brave in battle, and deserves a place in the hall of heroes, even if he is not of your people."

  "That he does, and you are right to fear for him. Though not for my judgment. Lethos is deceived by his family. He and you both might die at their hands."

  "Am I not dead already?"

  "You were not dead, but on your way toward life again." The giant god unfolded his arms, placing one massive hand on the hilt of his sword. "But I caused you to tarry. A test for my own satisfaction. You would give your aid freely, without a thought for your own safety. You stood no chance against this pitiful thing, yet you challenged it with what little you had. That is the mark of a true hero."

  Grimwold bowed his head lower. "You honor me greatly."

  "I do. Now arise. You must make a choice."

  Grimwold looked up at the god, the light from behind the giant form searingly bright. He had to turn away as he stood. "I will do as you bid me, All-Father."

  "I have been called many names, and seen in many forms. Danir is what you understand. The Manifested, as you know your kind to be called, once named me Phyros. You have held one of my swords, and it had judged you worthy."

  "Your sword, my lord? Do you mean High King Eldegris's blade?"

  "Yes," the voice echoed across the vastness of the light. The black tentacle mass remained frozen in space, the only other thing besides Danir and himself. "Eldegris's time has passed. The Order to which he had sworn himself is decayed and dying. My brother, Urdis, is sending his children to your shores."

  "The Tsal," Grimwold said, instinctively connecting Kafara's warnings to the god's words. Then, realizing he had interrupted a god, he lowered his head. Danir's chuckle was a thunderous rumble.

  "Your mentor has told you what she understood. But she and Eldegris were both of the past. Today, I look to you for the future. Your kind, the Manifested as you prefer to call yourselves, no longer stand together. They turn upon each other, each believing they are doing what is right. They squander their gifts either in refusing to use them or applying them to selfish ends."

  "I have no knowledge of their schemes, my lord. Kafara and Turo were all I knew of my kind, and they were valiant."

  "They have always been so. I guided them to you, such as I could without the interference of Urdis. It is a shame they are lost and this time will never return."

  Grimwold chanced a glance into the light, but turned aside again. "They might have come back?"

  "In time you will learn more of the truth of your kind. No Manifested has ever truly died. Their force returns to a new life, keeping a constant balance of numbers. Now enough history. You, Grimwold, have visited the world again and again. Always the same choice for you to make, and always the aversion to a decision. But today I give you no chance to evade me. You will make your choice, or I will return you to the doom you had made for yourself. And just like your mentors, your life force will be gone forever."

  The shadowed figure of the god gestured at the grotesque black mist frozen beside him. A cold touch shuddered through Grimwold's body as he regarded the thing. Voices had beckoned him to join them. What sort of horrors they concealed he could only guess. Danir was not offering him much of a choice.

  "Lord Danir, if it is to serve you then I would be filled with honor."

  The giant form of Danir grew taller until it dissolved into nothing but fire and light. Grimwold felt no heat despite the brilliance engulfing him. The voice now filled his head, a rolling thunder that echoed across the expanse of light.

  "Will you willingly take up my sword again?"

  The question was so simple, it could not be what Danir claims he resisted in some other time. "Of course, my lord."

  "A swift answer. You have given your word. I will not press you for understanding of your agreement." The fire grew more agitated. "Our time here is done. You will return to your body. Your friend is in the gravest peril of his young life. Save him, then seek my sword from Eldegris's son. He is not worthy of my service. You will know what must be done after that. I will guide you as I can."

  The fiery shape flicked a tendril of flame at the black mass hanging in the air beside it. With a single touch, the creature dissipated into nothing. A horrible shriek echoed off the light, another voice from a place far off. This howl of anger and anguish turned Grimwold's bowels to water, for the inhuman cry came not from the destroyed creature but something distant that shared its pain.

  "I have destroyed a blasphemy of Urdis's children. He weeps for all his creations, though they be heartless and cruel. He cares only that blood was given in his name to make these foul things." The voice laughed. "Unless stopped, his children will make themselves as gods above men."

  The fire spun and swirled as Grimwold felt himself plunging toward it. A hand of fire formed out of the chaos and touched his forehead. A thousand visions and sounds flooded him, as if a world of knowledge were being deposited into his skull. His body grew heavy and he felt pain again. His chest hurt and throbbed. His eyes pulsed with the beat of his heart. The world became dark. A strange scent filled his nose, a burnt scent like the odor left after a lightning strike. Voices murmured around him.

  He realized his eyes were closed. He was alive once more.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
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  Lethos held the wooden bottle in both hands, the leather that wrapped it cool and smooth beneath his palms. He sniffed at the open neck and a berry scent stung his nose. His eyes watered and he jerked his head aside. Beyond the door in Blund's hall, he saw the abandoned iron pot in the middle of the main room, the boy who had been carrying it having fled with the other servants when Tirkin and Storra had arrived out of the storm. Rain still beat on the fresh thatch above, and buckets still splashed with the leaks falling from the ceiling.

  "Gods, it's like every weed that ever bloomed was stuffed into this bottle," he said. "It makes my head hurt."

  "Drink," said Tirkin. The stray tufts of silver wolf fur of his cloak glowed from the lamplight behind him in the crowded room. The burly man's heavy eyebrows drew even tighter together, as if the screams only he heard had increased in volume. He tapped the bottom of the bottle as if Lethos might misunderstand his monosyllabic order.

  Storra's wide, clear face hovered over Tirkin's shoulder. Her condescendingly beautiful smile encouraging him to drink. She held her own silver wolf fur robe tight against her body. Lethos still could not help but wonder at the torn blue dress she hid beneath it.

  "You want to help Grimwold?" she asked.

  He did not detect any of the commanding power she had expended on Blund. Behind her, Valda frowned at Storra's sweet tone. She gave Lethos a warning look, as if he was about to drink poison. While the offered drink did not smell pleasant, it could hardly be poison. Turo had specifically told them to find Tirkin and Storra. He had nothing to fear from these two.

  "Of course I want to help. But how does this affect him if I'm drinking it?"

  "It will prepare you for the next step," Storra said, her voice smooth. Again, he detected no edge to her words. When Grimwold controlled a person, he imagined lashing them with chains and drawing them to their knees. His victims detested him after being so abused. Yet here Lethos felt none of that.

  "Can't you explain all the steps before I drink this?"

  Valda now stepped forward, no doubt emboldened by Lethos's questions. "You seem eager for him to drink and reluctant to explain what it will do."

  Storra's plaster smile faltered a moment and Tirkin's eyes narrowed at the challenge. Yet neither turned to face Valda. Instead, Storra restored her smile and explained to Lethos while Tirkin brooded. No doubt he was debating if he needed to add another word to his drink command.

  Storra stepped from behind Tirkin. "The potion is made from rare berries that grow in the mountains of Ageos. They will open the connection between Prime and Cohort, but they will make the drinker excessively drowsy. We will lay you beside Grimwold's bed and guide you in using your connection to break the spell holding Grimwold in his slumber."

  "Well, that makes sense," Lethos said brightly. "Before I was bonded to Grimwold, Kafara had given me a berry potion to keep the madness down. This is something like that, then?"

  Tirkin's frown did not alter. "Yes. Drink."

  Two whole words. Lethos felt badly for mocking Tirkin even in his thoughts, but the man was not an endearing personality. When someone looks as if he were sniffing a chamber pot all the time, it grows wearisome to tolerate. A smile could do so much for the man, but the lines of his rugged face seemed to only know frowns. Grimwold might understand him better.

  "Very well, a toast then." He held up the bottle. Valda rolled her eyes and looked away as if she could not bear the humiliation.

  He tipped it to his lips and looked down at Grimwold laid out on Valda's bed. The blanket was still folded aside, exposing the white, glistening flesh of his chest. His face was relaxed, beard matted with sweat and dark hair surrounding his head like a halo. He was so strong and solid, a match to Tirkin's muscular girth, yet he had been laid low by a stone chip. It would all be cured now that Turo's friends had arrived. The black mark on his chest would be removed and he would return to the world.

  The black mark. It began to writhe like a crushed spider kicks its legs in death, then it contracted until it vanished. The ache in Lethos's own chest melted away.

  Then a sensation of cold ice water flowed down the bones of his spine. He nearly shivered from it. His mind flooded with a roar like distant thunder.

  He was holding a bottle of poison. His powers had returned, feeling stronger than ever for their long absence. He knew to behave as if nothing had changed, that they were waiting patiently for him to drink and then collapse into a sleep from which he would never awaken.

  His thoughts bubbled with dozens of confused images of fire and writhing, inky monstrosities. He stretched out his mind to Grimwold and felt the warm buzz of contact. Grimwold's eyes flicked open, but Lethos mentally shouted at him.

  Do not move yet. We're in danger. I don't know how bad.

  All this transpired at the speed of thought. The two impostors who called themselves Tirkin and Storra were still watching him. Valda remained sulking in the doorway behind them. Whatever changes had shaken Lethos's core had not shown on his face, or so he hoped. He exhibited only the slightest pause, and played it off as intolerance for the scent of the potion. Now that he knew what it was it smelled even more foul.

  "Well, here's to my health," he said with a vague laugh. The man pretending to be Tirkin deepened his frown, something Lethos thought impossible. Behind him the cruelly beautiful woman posing as Storra nodded encouragingly. Lethos knew who they were now. These were the Manifested pair who killed Kafara and Turo. That was why the woman's dress was torn. She had been held between Kafara's shark teeth.

  The ice water flowed down his spine and he surrendered himself to his power. It had never once misguided him.

  "Drink it yourself, murderer!"

  He plowed with all his supernatural force into Kelata, which was the name of the man posing as Tirkin, and drove the potion at his face. They both crashed back into Myrakka and Valda. Valda slipped aside, but both of the Manifested crashed to the floor beneath Lethos's small body.

  Rage was building in Lethos's chest. This frowning bastard and his bitch partner had killed Kafara and Turo. They wanted to do the same to him and Grimwold. Lethos shoved the opened bottle over Kelata's mouth, which was now closed tightly. Rust colored fluid splashed over his compressed lips, and he turned his head aside.

  Splash it in his eyes. The thought rose unbidden into Lethos's mind. He flicked the bottleneck at Kelata's eyes and thick drops of fluid plopped into them.

  The force of the shove back sent Lethos flying to the ceiling. He crashed against a beam, felt it yield and heard it crack, then plummeted back down to land on his face. He scrambled aside and leapt to his feet. Kelata had turned over on his stomach, both hands covering his face but making no sound. Myrakka, her cold beauty now contorted into a hateful mask, struggled to her feet.

  "Kneel," she shouted. The order was a barb that sank into the flesh of his brain. He felt his knees buckle and his stomach weaken as he began to lower to the floor.

  A bull grunted.

  Did he imagine it, or was it audible to all? Valda was drawing her sword at a speed that seemed like a demonstration given to a child. Myrakka was hardly moving, her thin red lips slowly forming a word as she reached for her hip. Kelata appeared motionless, laying on his stomach and hiding his face.

  The bull roared now. Held down for so long, so deep in its pit, it was delirious with rage. It charged into Lethos's heart and his body flushed with heat.

  Now he was crashing into the beams again, this time his head bumping the wood and sending splinters and loose thatch to the floor. His bulky, strong arms were covered in glossy black fur. Myrakka and Valda both looked up at him. Valda's eyes were wide with shock, but Myrakka's hate had not changed.

  "Kneel," she shouted again. Everything was moving at normal speed again. She withdrew a stone knife from her hip. He knew it for the weapon that had killed Kafara, that could kill any Manifested.

  Her command meant nothing to him. It was just a weak shout by a small woman who was ripe for his h
orns. He was already lowering his head for the strike.

  Myrakka smiled.

  He charged the short distance and she raised the stone knife.

  "Halt!" The shout was like a hammer blow on the back of Lethos's head. He staggered aside from the force of it. Myrakka and Valda both froze in place, their faces taut with fear.

  Grimwold stood in the doorway, swathed in his blankets like the robes of ancient kings. He had no weapon, but he held himself as if he commanded a legion of soldiers. Lethos had obeyed the command not from the use of power, which could never affect him, but out of surprise. The bull inside quailed at Grimwold's voice, and Lethos reacted out of the same fear. However, his power had blasted the room and all the others had frozen where they stood.

  Stepping out of the doorway with a sneer, Grimwold looked down on Kelata then into Myrakka's face. She was quaking with an effort to resist, her entire body trembling. Lethos tried to blurt out that she had killed Kafara and that her stone knife was deadly to them all, but he only managed to snort and reflexively scraped the floor with a massive hoof. His horns caught in the roof, sending more thatch down on everyone.

  Grimwold smiled up at him. "Don't wreck our host's hall. I've got this in hand."

  Then he paused at Valda, who had backed up against the wall and huddled behind her drawn sword. His eyes widened as he looked upon her.

  The distraction was all Myrakka needed. She leapt with frightening speed, her stone dagger poised for Grimwold's neck. Lethos was her equal, slamming her aside with a swat of his massive talons. The silver wolf fur robe tore away, revealing the form-hugging blue dress that had been torn by Kafara's teeth. The sight of it further enraged him. Myrakka slammed into the far wall, smashing the wood but bouncing forward. She was beside the door.

  Lethos knew he had to block the door. Outside, she was a danger.

  He charged for the open space, a bright gray rectangle in the dim hall. Rain slashed down as Myrakka turned toward it, the knife still in hand. Lethos's roar was deafening. The bull wanted to gore and tear, to stomp and slam. He lowered his horns.