The Children of Urdis (Grimwold and Lethos Book 2)

by Jerry Autieri

  He had never seen their faces from this distance. They should have been handsome if not cold faces, oddly reptilian in the shadowy light of blue and orange. Some were warped with a leer and others were lined with hate. All their eyes were pale and gleamed with delight. The first one prodded him with his sword point.

  "Carefully place those sacred books upon the floor, then kneel before your masters."

  A second one jabbed his arm from the other side. "His hair is thick and filthy. He smells like worms."

  If anything, Syrus the Silver was famous not only for his charming voice but his fastidious cleanliness. Grimwold had often told him he could be rolled in a cow pasture but come away smelling like daisies. If he could see him now. Syrus carefully lowered the books to the ground.

  He had wanted to catch them in the fire as he had the snake demon. Such tricks rarely work more than once, he knew. Yet in the short time he observed these Tsal, he had guessed something about them that he would bet his life upon: they valued their treasures as much as their own lives.

  He held his right hand on the stack of books as if to balance them while his left hand flexed away.

  Then, with a snap, he shoveled his hand into the flames and threw the fire into the main room.

  His hand burned and he screamed, yet it was not hot enough for such a quick thrust to set him afire. The flaming debris landed in a shower of orange sparks and flames all over the books.

  Already unreasonably dry, the books caught flame. Then the oil-soaked pages burst into a whorl of fire, sheets curling up into the air with a hoarse roar.

  The Tsal screamed as one, but Syrus had already grabbed his books and now rammed into the Tsal directly before him.

  The metal armor hurt his face and shoulder, but he hugged the books to his chest and plowed through to freedom.

  "Stop the fire! I will deal with the human."

  Syrus was running for the crack which now showed clearly on the wall. He was shorter than these Tsal, and with their armor they might not be able to force their way through the crack. Yet Syrus was burdened with his books.

  A line of fire raced him to the fractured wall, and now rather than being his ersatz fuse to set off the conflagration, it had become a hurdle to cross. Burning dust spun into the air, making his eyes water as he ran. The oil would burn off fast, but he heard the clang of the Tsal behind him. The others were shouting and cursing.

  He glanced over his shoulder to tall flames obliterating the books on the ground and Tsal dancing among them. But the closer Tsal was directly behind him, the heavy plates of his armor not hindering his speed.

  The line of fire was already low enough to jump, but the dry books underarm caught fire nonetheless. He screamed as he felt the heat lick his elbow. At the wall he shoved them through, hoping that would extinguish the fire. If the books were destroyed now, he would have lost everything.

  "I've caught the worm."

  A hand like a bear trap clamped his arm and yanked him back. He spun around, the last of the books tumbling through the cracked wall, and faced the shadowy smile of the Tsal gripping him. His shield had been dropped and his sword was too long to be of use in close quarters. Yet his grip was crushing his entire left arm into numbness.

  "You will pay for all the destruction you have wrought here. You are worse than a worm. You are a maggot."

  Syrus flew back against the wall with such force that his head spun. Now the Tsal's sword had space to use. The point winked at him as it hovered before him.

  "I'm going to pin this worm to the wall then open its guts."

  He wished for Grimwold to possess him, for Thorgis to come charging with his sword gleaming, anything to save him from this fate. But nothing came. He was on his own.

  But was he not a true son of Valahur? He did not fear death if it was glorious and honorable. He had chosen a soft life, but he had been trained for war like all men of his age. He had sailed with Grimwold and faced trolls and ulfhednar with nothing but a naked blade. He did not need help. The Tsal did.

  He lunged for the Tsal's body, aiming for a dagger that hung from his belt. His hands gripped it, but it had been looped into the sheath and would not draw. Still, Syrus's body slammed into the cold metal and drove the unsuspecting Tsal back a step. Giving up on the dagger, his mind leapt to a new plan. He heard the snap of the fire behind them, saw the line of flames still dancing on the ground.

  With the Tsal off balance, Syrus hooked his foot behind the knee of the Tsal and pulled. The armored Tsal crashed into the fire and Syrus danced back. The burning oil seeped between the metal links and plates and the Tsal screamed.

  Syrus was already pushing through the crack. The dank air inside pressed into his face. The way was dark, but he heard running water and had a passing familiarity with the passage. On the ground, one book crackled like a comfortable log fire while the others had scattered far enough away to escape damage. The shouts and curses were hot behind him, so he grabbed the remaining books. Again the binding of one broke and pages scattered. He had no time, but stumbled toward the water which flowed toward the caverns. Flickering light from beyond the crack lit his way.

  A metallic crash preceded a darkening of the light. The Tsal had jammed himself into the crack, but his armor had wedged him into it. He cursed. "Worm! I will shred your flesh and drink your blood. I see you there."

  Running in the dark on an uneven floor guaranteed he would stumble and lose the books. The Tsal struggled and cursed as he tried to force himself through an opening not large enough for his size. Syrus began backing out of the light of the burning book to where the underground stream flowed from a pool in a series of natural caves.

  Then the Tsal roared as he forced an arm through the crack. He began beating on the opening, his gauntleted fist clanging like a hammer. Rock and wall began to fly away as Syrus watched the Tsal widen the opening. How strong were these creatures?

  With two more blows the wall crumbled around the opening and the Tsal fell through. He stood with a triumphant laugh, scanning the gloom for Syrus.

  Then the wall cracked again and rock from both the wall and ceiling started to fall. The Tsal dove aside as hunks of rock caved in around the entrance. Syrus turned then fled along the path of the stream to avoid becoming buried. The light of the fire snuffed out and Syrus was moving in darkness. The echoes of the collapse chased him down the darkness, the stream gurgling to his left. In a few strides, the sounds of the collapse dwindled to the thud of two or three falling rocks.

  How Thorgis had maneuvered this path without light was astounding, unless of course he had prepared a torch for himself. It mattered little now, for he still stumbled and kicked rocks until his feet and shins ached. Echoing out of the darkness behind him he heard rocks shifting and an angry hiss from the Tsal.

  "Impossible," he said as he clutched the books tighter to his chest. He redoubled his pace, but it only caused him to crash painfully to his knees against cold rock.

  He heard the battering of metal on stone, the Tsal's armor, no doubt. Then a shout, "Worm! I am coming for you."

  Syrus guessed the cavern entrance was close. Thorgis had to hide within, and he at least had a weapon. He would force it into the bastard's hands if he had to. Two on one stood a chance, however slight against inhuman strength and endurance.

  "You like fire, worm?" The voice was tired and ragged, but brimming with confidence. "Here, we can play with fire. I will gladly sacrifice the treasures you carry to roast you alive."

  He spilled out of the passage into the cavern. A deep pool hid in the darkness, and he did not want to drown in it. He had a vague memory of the pool and the layout, and knew the deep water was close to the entrance. He carefully set the books aside, freeing up his hands.

  He heard words muttered that reverberated down to him. The dank air became tinged with the scent of blood. Then fire belched from the passage. Heat scorched his left cheek as it rolled past him.

  In the brief flash of yellow light, Syrus saw the
cave and marked the start of the dark pool. On the far side, crouched behind boulders, sat Thorgis. He clutched his sword like a mother holding her sick child and his face was as white as snow.

  The fire rolled back and the Tsal laughed. "Did I miss you, worm? Do not fear, for there is more of it and time enough for you to burn slowly."

  The voice was close now. The Tsal might be able to see in the dark, he did not know. He was certain he had not heard his pursuer fall. In his metal armor he would've made enough noise for it to be obvious. He wanted to call out to Thorgis and make a quick plan, but did not want to give the Tsal more information. He would have to rely on Thorgis to do the right thing.

  Feeling around the floor, Syrus put his hands on the largest rock he could grip. It was cold and wet and he would probably drop it if he had to carry it. He was just waiting for the Tsal now. Syrus heard his feet dragging on the stone floor and smelled burned blood. In total darkness, he felt the heat of the Tsal as he passed.

  His rock smashed home, striking the back of the Tsal's head. He had just endured a cave-in. Syrus expected nothing from this, but the Tsal shouted in surprise.

  Syrus leapt into the dark, colliding with the Tsal. He was already off balance. If he could shove his heavily plated body into the water, maybe these Tsal could drown.

  Yet the Tsal had already been caught off balance once, and he denied Syrus another chance. He threw his legs wide and grabbed Syrus by the shoulder. Syrus shoved but it was like trying to push a boulder up a mountain. The Tsal slammed him to the ground like he was no more than a sack of grain. In the darkness he heard a rasp, and the faint glow of a sword blade grew into the darkness.

  "Worm. You die."

  But Syrus was not ready for death. He rebounded, screaming, and grappled the Tsal so that the drawn sword was useful only for its light. Now they both tumbled over, and Syrus quickly found himself pinned beneath the Tsal. The face was all shadow, but he could smell the copper scent of blood flowing from its mouth.

  "I will crush the life from you, worm."

  Both hands seized his throat as the Tsal straddled him. Syrus kicked and wheezed, fighting against arms that were as strong as iron bands.

  "Thorgis--help." It took all his breath, but the coward had either fled deeper into the caves or remained in hiding. The Tsal laughed and his fingers tightened slowly.

  "I feel the beat of your blood, worm. Soon that blood shall be mine, and your flesh will be made to dance at my whims."

  Syrus felt around the Tsal's waist, coming again to the dagger. The loop had already been worked off.

  He tore it free then plunged it into the side of the Tsal's neck.

  Hot blood sprayed over Syrus's face, and it was bitter and salty in his mouth. The Tsal's grip released and it fell back in shock, hand groping for the blade sunk to the hilt in his neck. In the faint violet light, the Tsal slumped and rolled to the side.

  Syrus wheezed and coughed for what seemed hours. When he finally regained himself, he kicked the Tsal's corpse off of his legs and rolled onto his side.

  Thorgis's sobs echoed clearly in the cavern. The shimmering violet sword was all the light in this dark, humid world. Syrus stared at it, his hands itching to drive it through Thorgis's cowardly heart.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Grimwold faced south toward the trees at the edge of the village, feeling Lethos's presence but unable to touch his mind. He was aware of the villagers peering out of their homes or barns, staring at him as if he might call the lightning again or transform into a beast like Lethos had. The rain had retreated along with the two Manifested who had brought it. Now weak sunlight sifted down from dark clouds that hung as a sullen reminder of the day's events. The scent of burned thatch carried in the air, and he heard Blund's voice in the distance as he cursed the damage to his hall.

  His return to life was not as joyous as he might have expected. The treachery of the two Manifested had nearly cost him his life, which up until a few weeks ago he thought was essentially immortal. Since he had not really grasped immortality, it was easy to go back to believing death was a certainty. Given all he had seen, he might not live even his normal life span much less one of a god.

  "Can you contact him?" The girl, Valda, broke her silence. Grimwold shook his head.

  "He has barred me from his mind. We can do that to each other. Just like closing a door to a room in a hall you both share. He will come around, though. He's the one who has to talk out all of his worries. Silence doesn't suit him."

  "But he seemed so afraid he might lose control." She stepped closer. He could feel her presence behind his right shoulder. "He didn't look like he knew what he was doing."

  "He had just been struck by lightning. How was he supposed to look? Even the bull demon lurking in his soul should have been laid low by that. Yet he was still standing, was he not?"

  Valda remained quiet, and they both stared blankly at the distant trees. Lethos had not gone berserk after being struck with the lightning. In fact, he had become clearer than ever, as if the bolt had knocked out the demon but left Lethos in his altered shape. Yet he still feared loss of control and had wanted time away from anyone until he could be sure. It was a smart plan, and Grimwold agreed. He just wished Lethos had left his mind open to him.

  They had little time to waste.

  "When I was--asleep," Grimwold said, unable to name where or what he had been, "I was visited first by Kafara's spirit and then by what I thought was a young boy's ghost. Kafara showed me your troubles, but I chose to aid another who needed it more than you."

  He still did not turn but heard Valda's cloak slide over her body as she stood behind him. "After that, the boy distracted me from returning to my body. It turned out this was no boy, but Danir the First Father himself. He had a test for me."

  Valda gasped, and Grimwold finally faced her. She was as beautiful as her mother, Siffred, but had her father's stern looks. She was neither tall nor especially strong, yet she had a commanding presence. She could not be ignored even if one wanted to look away. Perhaps she was an echo like his sister had been, capable of limited magic and sometimes not even aware of it. Her pale hand was at her neck and her eyes wide.

  "You make quite a boast. Danir appeared to you?"

  "I care not what you believe. I know the truth. He gave me a task, one that your father left behind."

  "What do you know of my father's life?" She tilted her head back and narrowed her eyes. The determined set of her jaw made her look more like Eldegris.

  Grimwold told her of his time between life and death and all that Danir had said. He told her how the god had called himself Phyros and how Urdis the Deceiver had cried out when his mist creature was destroyed. Finally, he told her of the great fire shape of the god and how it had touched him before sending him back and filled his mind with more than could ever be spoken.

  "The sword must be retrieved from your brother," he said. "When Danir's hand of fire touched me, he named the place as Tsaldalr and showed me where your brother hides."

  Valda's expression had shifted between concentration and amazement during his recounting, but at the mention of her brother it flickered between annoyance and disgust. "Without my father to hide behind, he is no man at all. Why did my father pass the sword onto him?"

  "I can't answer for your father," Grimwold said. "But Danir showed me something more in his touch. He showed me you."

  "Me?"

  "He has visited you, even worked his powers through you. Is this not true?"

  "After my father's death, I fought with Avulash. My sword--changed."

  "Even before that, you of all Eldegris's children had caught Danir's eye. He showed me, or made me know it. I can't decide which it is. He protected you throughout and lent you strength to survive."

  She sniffed and turned aside. "Would that he had intervened for my father. I'd have been happier for that. Why me and not him? Why allow his precious sword to go so far from us?"

  Grimwold scratched his head
and glanced past her toward the village. Dark shapes of villagers were gathering, and Blund was bringing his men together. Grimwold wondered if Blund might blame him or demand compensation for the damage. The new war chief would soon find out Grimwold had no patience for trifles.

  "I must gather together what remains of his old order. You should join me in that task."

  "Unless you are prepared to use your powers to force me, I will do no such thing." Her smile lacked any humor. "Valahur needs a leader and it won't be my weakling brother. Danir himself has named Thorgis unworthy. I will not say I should be High Queen, but until we can peacefully settle succession, someone will need to guide the people."

  Grimwold gave a dry laugh. "Never has the High King's throne been settled without blood. Even your father had to kill Sigurd to keep his rule strong."

  "Then it is time for a change."

  "I agree. You will be High Queen. I will ensure it."

  She rounded on him. "You will ensure it? Do I rule at your pleasure, then?"

  He shrugged. "It seems that as long as I live, any ruler keeps his throne at my pleasure, doesn't it? With my thoughts alone, I can command a king's army to tear him down and put his head upon a spear. I can force a man to cut out his own guts, no matter if he's a king or a fool. Your father knew this, and as simple a man as I am, I realized it only a short time ago. It is no wonder the Manifested leaders want me dead. My power is a threat to any ruler, is it not?"

  Despite his deliberately crude depiction of his magic, Valda did not flinch or soften her expression. "I will not be a game piece for your playing board."

  "Very good. I have no talent for games. I would flip over a game board and scatter the pieces before I ever played one. You will be High Queen because I see that Danir has favored you. What other war chief can say the same, and what other war chief can defy me if I choose to support you?"

  Valda tilted her head and raised her eyebrows. "I doubt there are those who can say as much." Then she blinked rapidly and her eyes glittered with tears. "I want to honor my parents with this. They should not have left the world as they did. And my sisters, too. I don't know if I can bring justice to their memories. I was never to be more than someone to marry off to a troublesome war chief. I do not know how to rule."