The Path of Ashes [Omnibus Edition]

by Parker, Brian

  “But, all is not lost. Prepare yourselves! Make your places strong. Defeat them or you will never know peace.”

  The sudden silence in the room was more maddening to Garrett than when all three women had spoken at once. His mind raced with questions and clouded with the images that her vision created. Had the Vultures really returned with another army? Were the flying lizard men that Arielle saw the same as his family’s ancient enemy? He remembered his father’s tale of how the young Seer, his Aunt Mary, had been off a little with identifying the gang.

  Diane said that they’d return when he was older, but had failed to say whether that was one day older or forty years. Then there was the part about the Earth Mother and healing… Did that have something to do with mending the soil so they could grow healthy crops instead of the stunted, shriveled fruits that they were able to produce now?

  So many questions without answers. He knew better than to ask the Seers, they often had no idea what they spoke about when the words flowed through them during a ritual. One thing he knew was that The Keep had to be fortified with stronger walls—first around the Traxx home and then around all of Homelake. When he was a boy, the walls of San Angelo were destroyed through sabotage and giant metal beasts that smashed through stone like a rock through glass. That wouldn’t happen this time; machines of that kind no longer worked and only haunted his nightmares.

  The smoke began to clear from the room as he sat silently waiting for the women to indicate that the ritual was complete. The two Seers behind him rose wordlessly and went to Diane, once again helping her to her feet before filing out of the room.

  As Garrett watched them go, his eyes drifted to Nicholas and Brandt, still positioned near the door. Seeing his nephew triggered something in his mind that Arielle had said before she began ranting about flying men. My friends will betray me… Who?

  TWO

  Balroth’s massive bare foot swept a wall of sand into Vengeance’s face, temporarily blinding him. He didn’t wait for what he knew was coming and dove to his right. He’d watched the giant’s other fights from the cages before. The man—more beast than human—was known for his dirty moves among the other gladiators.

  Vengeance felt the monster’s adze pass mere inches over his spine while he was still airborne in his dive to the side. If he hadn’t reacted instantly, the head of the tool would be buried eight inches into his side. No one could survive that kind of damage—and no one had.

  Balroth was the champion, the man who brought the crowds to the stadium by the thousands, the one who devoured all who dared to stand before him… And Vengeance had called him out for his shot at the title.

  The youth had little to lose. His only possession in this world was his life. He’d been a gladiator for seven long years, fighting in every little backwater hellhole that Lucas could find and had paid dearly for it. By all accounts, he should have been dead long ago, so it didn’t matter to him that Balroth collected men’s heads like some men collected women.

  The only real problem, as far as Vengeance saw it, was that he’d gotten Chaos, his older brother, involved in the fight.

  Vengeance hit the ground hard. He’d thought that he’d be able to roll back to his feet, but the sand in this stadium was thicker than he’d anticipated, causing him to sink into it. “Oof!”

  The crowd roared in response to his acrobatic move to elude the giant’s weapon and he smiled into the dirt. He heard Chaos yelling to distract Balroth and knew the giant was on the attack once again. The whistling of the blade made him roll away from his adversary. Sand flew in all directions when the axe buried into the ground where he’d been a moment before.

  Balroth grunted, pulling his weapon from the earth before blocking and sidestepping Chaos’ thrust with a farmer’s pitchfork. He clamped his upper arm down hard onto the shaft of the farm implement and then rotated his torso, sending the smaller of the brothers tumbling away to land in a heap beside the bodies of the three inexperienced slaves who’d made up their team of “gardeners” doomed to fight against the champion, the “woodsman.”

  The giant turned once more to face Vengeance. He gripped his garden hoe with both hands across his body, cursing his owner, Lucas, for agreeing to the theme of settlers versus a marauding invader. Their farm implements were woefully inadequate against Balroth’s adze, a wickedly sharp tool used to split and shape wood. Two of his companions lay face down in the sand, their heads crushed by one massive sweep of the champion’s axe. The other stretched gruesomely towards the safety of the gladiator cages, murdered as he tried to run. Balroth had buried the adze all the way up to the handle in the kid’s back.

  His adversary lumbered toward him, grinning with the confidence born from surviving countless fights in the wasteland matches. “You will die like the others, boy,” he grumbled.

  Vengeance smiled back. He’d endured twenty-four matches—he knew how to win as well. “Today is your day to go to the halls of the fallen, Balroth. I—”

  He didn’t have a chance to finish the witty comment that he’d prepared for the benefit of the crowd before the giant closed the distance and swung the adze. Vengeance blocked the axe with the shaft of the hoe, shattering the wooden handle and jarring his shoulders with the impact.

  He stepped lightly backward, holding both pieces of his ruined weapon. The champion glanced quickly over his shoulder to find Chaos, but Vengeance’s brother was nowhere to be seen. The youth didn’t have time to wonder where Chaos had gone; Balroth charged toward him, causing him to backpedal.

  Vengeance ducked under the champion’s clumsy swing as he barreled past. Balroth should have known better than to try an attack while running, he thought, swinging the lower part of the hoe at the backside of his foe.

  The crowd roared in approval. They assumed he was playing with the champion by slapping him on the ass with the stick. Vengeance raised his arms to the side, encouraging them to cheer. He loved the crowds; they were what made this life bearable.

  Balroth almost surprised him while he soaked up the mob’s adoration. He caught the man’s movement out of the corner of his eye and threw himself backward. The head of the adze whistled past, a mere foot in front of his face. If he hadn’t moved, it would have crushed his skull.

  Vengeance took advantage of the giant’s momentum and smashed the stick against the back of his head as he wheeled past. To his disappointment, it did little to the champion. He was simply too large to get any real advantage against him, especially with a half a length of garden hoe.

  He turned and sprinted back to where the other slaves had died. One of them had a pitchfork that his brother had tried to use against Balroth. He reasoned that the tines on the fork could do some damage to the champion, regardless of his size.

  Vengeance’s feet burrowed into the blood-damp sand as he stopped to search for the weapon. It wasn’t there.

  Balroth’s pounding feet caused him to turn. The big man was bearing down on him once again. Vengeance planted his feet and hurled the part of the hoe without the blade. It whirled through the air and smashed into the champion’s face. Blood exploded from his nose, covering his face in the dark substance.

  The giant stopped and wiped the gore from his mouth, smearing it across his cheek. His teeth were bloody as he smirked at Vengeance, “You’ve blooded me, worm. Thank you. It’s been a long time since anyone lasted more than a few seconds against me. You’ve earned your place in Fólkvangr today.”

  Vengeance inclined his head, accepting Balroth’s compliment. The momentary truce ended and the bigger man raced toward him, swinging the axe theatrically above his head for the benefit of the crowd. He had a moment to think that the champion really didn’t have any technique and must have relied on his size and strength to win his battles… Then he was ducking the blade.

  He swung the half-hoe hard, gashing a wound into Balroth’s thigh. The champion yelled out in pain, bending down to grasp his leg. “Goddamn it, you fucker! I’m going to tear you apart and fuck your c
orpse.”

  “This is your day—” A darting shadow behind Balroth caused Vengeance to pause. He recovered quickly, so as to not ruin the opportunity. “This is your day to die, Balroth.”

  The champion’s rumbling laughter echoed across the sands of the arena. “You think you’re gonna— Arg!”

  Balroth swung his elbow blindly behind him, hitting Chaos across the chest to send him flying backward once more. He clutched at his low back, pawing uselessly at the dagger buried to the hilt in his kidney.

  “I’m gonna kill you!” the mammoth shouted. The sand scattered wildly when Balroth turned toward Chaos with a growl. He lumbered toward Vengeance’s brother, raising the adze above his head to take a swing at the small gladiator who’d stabbed him. Chaos scrambled on his backside away from the hulking beast.

  “Hey! Hey, you big bastard!” Vengeance yelled to get his attention. Chaos was a capable fighter, but the simple truth was that he’d have been dead twenty times over if he’d fought on his own instead of as part of a group or doubled-up with Vengeance.

  It was no use, though. The knife Chaos jabbed into the big man’s back had injured him and he wanted revenge. The axe went up and fell amazingly fast toward his brother, stirring a cloud of dust up from the ground as it hit.

  “No!” Vengeance screamed. “Caleb!”

  He sprinted toward the two of them. Balroth swung his axe back and forth wildly into the dust cloud. Vengeance launched himself, hitting the giant low in the back. His shoulder smashed up against the hilt of Chaos’ knife, plunging it almost all the way inside Balroth’s body.

  The giant’s back straightened and he switched the axe from one hand to the other. Vengeance tucked up close behind Balroth to avoid the sweep of the axe behind his back. The blade passed closer behind him than it had before when he was on the ground as the seat of his trousers whipped sideways.

  He squeezed with all of his might around the giant’s midsection, attempting to drive the knife further into the man’s stomach. Somehow, impossibly, Caleb—Chaos—appeared through the dust and rammed a pitchfork into Balroth’s shoulder and the adze tumbled to the ground.

  Vengeance released him and snatched up the axe. He pivoted away on one foot and swung it sideways as hard as he could. The curved blade of the adze impacted just below the giant’s kneecap. The weight of the weapon’s head carried it through the meaty tendons around the knee, passing through the smaller, rubbery ligaments and continuing nearly unimpeded between the bones. The adze hacked through the same tissues on the inside of Balroth’s leg, emerging and then imbedding itself into his other leg.

  The massive gladiator stood silently in shock on one leg for a moment before toppling over. He began screaming and cursing Vengeance before he’d even hit the ground. “You mother fucker! Godsdamned, goat-raping, son of a whore.”

  The roar of the crowd was almost deafening. Vengeance allowed himself a moment to glance up from the bloody, spurting stump of Balroth’s leg. The bowl of the stadium stretched around him, impossibly large. Seats extended skyward, so high that he couldn’t even make out the faces of the fans in the top rows. All of these people are here for me, Vengeance thought.

  “Varan!” Chaos shouted as he ran up to him. They hugged each other fiercely as Balroth continued to bellow obscenities toward them. “Great fight, Brother!”

  Vengeance accepted the praise and then held Chaos at arm’s length. “Are you okay? I thought you were done for.”

  “I threw up a cloud of sand and got out of the way. Then, when he was swinging madly, without looking, I circled around and took Steven’s pitchfork. He didn’t need it anymore.” Chaos laughed at their friend’s demise like only a man who’d accepted death as his mistress could.

  “I’m glad that you did. I didn’t know what I was going to do after I got him wrapped up,” Vengeance admitted.

  “You’d have fucking died, worm!” Balroth shouted. The man had dragged himself nearer to them, the adze trailing alongside of him.

  “You’re beaten, Balroth. Admit it and you may live.”

  Individual shouts emerged from the crowd, “Finish him!” “Cut his head off!” “Kill him!”

  Vengeance looked up at the crowd as Chaos leapt onto the giant’s back, kicking the axe away before wrapping his arm around the man’s throat in a chokehold. Then he began squeezing.

  The onlookers wanted a death. They’d paid for a championship match—that always meant a battle to the death. It didn’t matter how many men had died today, it was one group of warriors against Balroth. Only one of those would be allowed to leave the sands of the arena floor. Vengeance knew the rules and Cooper would beat him if he tried to violate them. But he was the champion now; would Lucas dare to injure such a precious commodity?

  Balroth had always been nice enough to him when they were caged near each other; his personality didn’t change until he went into the arena. Should he let the man live? They could fashion a fake leg for him and he could retire to train the next generation of gladiators.

  That thought stuck in his gut. Did he want there to be a next generation of gladiators? He’d lost so much in his lifetime because of the slavers who’d taken him. A rhythmic chanting from the crowd caused him to stop the nonsense going through his mind.

  “Kill him. Kill him. Kill him…” On and on the chant continued.

  “Stop, Chaos,” Vengeance ordered.

  His brother released his hold on the giant. The smaller man had almost knocked him out, but once Chaos let him go, he began taking deep gasps to replenish his air supply.

  Vengeance walked confidently over to Balroth and crouched down. “You fought well today, Brother.” He surveyed the bloody scene around them. Of the six men who’d entered the stadium to fight the giant, armed with daggers and a few farm tools in some sick joke that the organizers had designed, only Chaos and Vengeance remained alive. “Many men went to be with Týr today.”

  “Send me to Him, then,” the giant replied, still gasping from the chokehold Chaos had placed on him.

  “Are you ready to go to the God of the Sun? To walk the fertile fields of Fólkvangr and live amongst the other warriors forever?”

  “I value death more than you will ever value life, Champion. Do it. Send me to Him.”

  Vengeance stepped away and retrieved the adze that had been Balroth’s weapon of choice. The fresh blood of his three companions coated the head and shaft already stained by the remains of countless others. Balroth had been a mighty warrior; surely he had earned his place in heaven with the souls of those he’d sent there.

  Chaos stood apart from them, throwing his arms up and down to incite the crowd into frenzy. They would get the death they commanded. Vengeance walked back beside the man who he emulated in secret and studied when he had the opportunity.

  He placed the axe on his shoulder and opened his stance. “Boy,” the giant said quickly before the strike came.

  “Vengeance. My name is Vengeance,” he corrected.

  Balroth nodded his head. “Vengeance, don’t let this life use you up like it did me.”

  The curved steel fell against Balroth’s neck and his head tumbled free.

  The masses in the seats roared their approval. This is what they’d come to see. Life in the wastes was hard; their sole source of entertainment was the traveling fights that made their rounds through the old stadiums.

  As his brother embraced him, Vengeance drank deeply of the crowd’s exaltation.

  THREE

  Tanya tugged at her dress. It felt so…restrictive after wearing pants for as long as she could remember. There was a time, when she was a young girl at the old home, when she wore dresses. Then, not long after her cousins were abducted, the family went on the road, so she traded in her skirts for breeches and she’d kept her legs covered ever since then.

  Today was a special occasion though; for today, her father would officially be crowned the King of Homelake. His coronation was supposed to have been almost a year earlier, but he’d
refused to do anything except prepare the city for war after he returned from his visit to discuss the future with the Seers of the Valley Lodge.

  He drove the people of Homelake hard as they geared up and fortified the city against the family’s ancient enemy. In between working in the fields, they harvested boulders and timber from the mountain slopes to build the walls. They’d completed massive structures only two weeks before today—which is why Garrett had finally agreed to allow the coronation ceremony to move forward.

  While the walls were constructed, the blacksmiths had been busy melting scavenged metal from the useless self-propelled carriages that seemed to be everywhere in the old world. From the light metal panels on the sides of the vehicles, they’d made arrowheads by the thousands and developed a durable and tough design for helmets and ring mail. They reformed the vehicles’ massive steel frames into short swords, fighting knives, pikes and spears. Financed from Garrett’s own pocket, they’d forged a massive armory for the city’s militia and the newly established Traxx Guard.

  The Traxx Guard had a two-fold mission; their primary duty was to protect members of the Traxx family. Secondly, they were to act as the sergeants and captains of the militia during drills and if they were called upon to fight. The initial force numbered thirty-four men and six women, chosen from among the militia, who’d applied and passed the grueling two-week tryout; special emphasis was given to those who showed exceptional skill with individual weapons. Her father chose to focus on a recruit’s ability to fight alone with their chosen weapon because the guards would be spread thin across The Keep and would need to be able to fight alone if the outer perimeter was ever breached. The militia, on the other hand, would fight in close-knit groups similar to how the old history books described the Greek phalanx, or as archers from the walls.

  The city of Homelake had become an island of armor and warfare in little more than a year.

  The regular militia was given a two-week reprieve from drilling so they could observe the tryouts for the Traxx Guard. Of course, Tanya watched the tryouts as well, when her duties afforded her the opportunity to slip away for a couple of hours. There was little in the way of excitement for a girl on the eve of her eighteenth birthday in Homelake…until she met him.