Reaver's Wail (The Legion of the Wind, Book One)

by Corey Pemberton

  “I'll survive. Maybe I would have given him quarter if his friend hadn't stabbed me.”

  Argus smiled. “We both know that's a lie.”

  “Come on. Let's try to get to the horses.”

  They scampered back through the clearing, looking for an open path to the south. It was full of empire soldiers. Another half dozen of them at least. They approached more warily than the men before.

  “No chance,” Argus said.

  He led them north instead. They sprinted toward the sound of clanging metal. After passing a few dead Calladonians, they found three living ones surrounding Cyrus.

  The Silent Company man swung his mace viciously. His face was flushed, on fire from the heat of battle. A pair of corpses lay at his side, and the three survivors approached him like a dangerous animal.

  “Now!” cried one of the Calladonians.

  Three broadswords thrust forward at once.

  Cyrus smashed his mace into one man's temple, but he couldn't dodge all those blades. He fell to his knees, still swinging, as they skewered him.

  “For the Legion!” Argus yelled, rushing into battle. He and Harun were on the survivors before they could get their swords out of Cyrus. They slashed them in the backs without giving them a chance to turn around.

  “We have to get out of here,” said Harun.

  Argus opened his mouth to agree just as a bloodcurdling scream pierced through the woods. It was the kind of scream that burrowed deep in one's bones, only to be dredged up in nightmares years later.

  A woman's scream.

  Helen…

  It didn't take long for her killers, four of the emperor's finest, to appear in the clearing and join the others. That made twelve left. More than he and Harun could handle.

  “No quarter!” their commander screamed. “These cretins have cost us enough already. They'll pay with their lives!”

  The others roared as they approached.

  Harun turned to run, only to collapse instead. Argus pulled him up again and leaned his friend against a tree. The thigh wound looked angry. He'd already lost a lot of blood.

  “Come on,” Argus said.

  “I can't. I can hardly even stand.” Harun's face was dusky in the moonlight, a part of him already dead.

  “It's just a little while. I'll help you. We'll find one of their horses and—”

  “No.” The Tokati offered him a weak smile. “It's like what you told Foster. We fight here—and die here—like men.”

  Argus swallowed hard. The empire soldiers advanced into the clearing. Some of them smiled. He watched them spread out and block off all the escape routes.

  He held Reaver high.

  It was a bloody, glorious death she'd always wanted. And that was exactly what he would give her, unless…

  No.

  He dropped his sword.

  “What in the blazes are you doing?” Harun said.

  Argus held his hands together and shut his eyes. He tried to think. All he heard were his friend's curses and the Calladonian soldiers crunching through the leaves. When thoughts finally came, they flooded him all at once.

  He combed through all the spells he'd learned.

  Willow's words came rushing back to him. Whatever you've read in that book, do yourself a favor and forget it…

  He opened his eyes.

  “Cranum pol shakur, cranum pol shakur, cranum pol shakur!”

  The soldiers wavered. Argus kept chanting over Harun's protests, listening to the words echo in his ears, feeling them vibrate on his tongue.

  He felt everything, then. His friend's heartbeat and the trickle of sweat running down the Calladonian commander's neck. The water running through the tree roots beneath them.

  “Charge!” the commander called.

  Argus turned to the massive alder which hung above the clearing. He probed it with his mind. Felt bark and sap and the breeze whisper against the boughs where the leaves had been.

  “Cranum pol shakur!”

  The largest branch snapped off as if struck by lightning.

  The Calladonians looked up, their eyes wide, but there was no time to escape. That branch crashed down on four of them. It didn't just fall; it hurtled to the ground like a rabbit trap. Breaking their backs and limbs.

  The clearing filled with screams.

  Feeling like he'd just survived the longest fight of his life, Argus turned to another branch. He grabbed it and broke it off. But this one fell slowly, and the surviving soldiers had enough time to scramble out of the way.

  Eight of them left, charging and screaming.

  Argus felt their fear. He tried to grab another tree branch, but it refused to budge.

  “Fight!” Harun said. “Fight, you idiot!”

  The Tokati picked up Reaver and handed it to him. When their hands touched, Argus staggered backward and fell to the ground. A channel had opened between them. Whatever energy he'd summoned had left him and entered Harun, who shuddered as it passed.

  Argus tried to scream, though no sound came out. Every nerve inside him burned. All he could do was climb to his knees and parry the first blow that came.

  “Die!” the Calladonians yelled. “Die, you bastards!”

  Argus and Harun were stubborn. They parried and dodged, and got in blows whenever they could. Argus lost himself in the dance, changing partners whenever he cut a man down. They got their hits in though. A slash on the arm. A glancing blow on the ribs.

  Everything submerged in the chaos.

  Harun found him and they fought back to back. Argus felt warm blood somewhere between them, but couldn't afford to check it.

  Six empire men remained.

  They weren't screaming anymore, but grunting as they threw reckless blows. The resolve in their eyes faded, and when Argus cut the commander down a dash of hope ran through him.

  It was quickly extinguished.

  The woods were on fire.

  Argus watched the flames while he fought. They weren't normal. These flames balled together in a single mass, floating above the battlefield. It looked like someone had managed to drag the sun down out of the sky and shrink it, then set it on them like a rabid dog.

  “Harun! Look out!”

  The Tokati slit a soldier's throat and doubled over, panting. He raised his eyes with a groan. “Oh… gods. Oh, no…”

  “What? What is it?”

  The Calladonians backed away. They watched the fireball hurtle through the treetops, their battle momentarily forgotten.

  Harun grabbed Argus and said, “Don't let it take me, my friend. For the love of everything good…”

  Argus asked him what he meant, but no answers were forthcoming. Harun simply stared into the fireball, frozen.

  Soon it was on them. It floated over the alder that Argus had snapped and settled on the clearing floor.

  Then it spoke. “We've been searching for a long time,” it said. Each word blended into the next, hissing until the voice disappeared into the inferno.

  “P-p-please,” said Harun. “I knew not what I did.” He raised the scimitar, but it slipped out of his hands.

  Argus heard the Calladonian soldiers cursing. They cowered behind trees and screamed for their Sculptor to save them.

  He wiped the sweat from his eyes. The clearing was melting. Half of the woods burned already, and he knew that fireball wouldn't be satisfied until it claimed every last branch.

  He squinted into the flames.

  It wasn't a fireball; it was a monster. It stood twice the height of a man, with a gaunt black body without an ounce of fat to speak of. Its legs bent backwards at the knee. Red eyes burned in the center of its head, which was wide and adorned with a pair of twisted horns.

  “A sandshade,” he gasped.

  Its eyes leveled on him, regarding his comment with something akin to amusement. Flames licked up and down its body like a constant shadow.

  Two of the empire men closest to it dropped their swords and ran. The sandshade took to the sky and plun
ged down on them. Screams. Argus looked away as the creature swirled about them and coated them in flames.

  The men fell to the ground, rolling, beating the fire with their hands.

  There was nothing they could do.

  Every time they screamed those flames flared higher, until the scent of charred flesh filled the clearing and the men screamed no more.

  Then the sandshade turned for Harun.

  The Tokati did something Argus had never seen him do: he turned and ran. He didn't make it far with his wounded thigh before he tripped over a tree root. He got up again, watching the sandshade immolate two more Calladonians and fly closer.

  “Pay your debt,” it whispered, in a voice that came from everywhere at once. “King.”

  Harun screamed.

  Argus screamed too. He turned to flee and almost stumbled right into a sword. A Calladonian held it, and in his eyes lurked madness. He'd given up all hope of escape—and settled on killing the men who had put him in this situation.

  He stabbed Argus in the shoulder.

  Argus fell, reaching for Reaver, but she was lost somewhere among the dead bodies and flames. Blood oozed from his shoulder onto the fallen leaves. It had been a glancing blow—but painful all the same.

  The Calladonian raised the blade again.

  “No!” came a voice.

  Then the Calladonian grunted and fell forward. A sword sprouted out of his chest. By the time he touched the ground he was already dead.

  Julian stood behind him, breathless and shaking his head.

  There was no time to thank him.

  A low, terrible wail made them turn. Argus shielded his eyes. The flames were upon them, filling the entire clearing. He and Julian rolled away. Suffocating in all the smoke, Argus looked back and those flames were gone.

  “Pay your debt,” the sandshade said. “King Wayra, first of his name. Kings always pay their debts!”

  It floated above the clearing with Harun in its hideous arms.

  The Tokati screamed and struggled, but there was no escaping those twisted claws. They soared above the treetops, higher and higher until Argus had to strain to see him.

  The last he saw of his friend was just a quick glance through charred branches. His eyes bulged, and his throat was open wide.

  His wail pierced through the roaring flames. It overpowered the whinnying horses and made Argus's blood turn cold.

  He let out his own wail, then, and reached for the sky.

  The sandshade hurtled away from the clearing and disappeared among the stars.

  Argus wept. He collapsed on his knees and pounded the earth. Some time later—he wasn't sure how long had passed—Julian shook him out of his grief.

  The Night Wolf said something about finding the horses before they were burned. He followed the man over to the horses they'd tethered. They took two each, and set the others free.

  They rode out of the clearing south for Sorbas.

  Neither of them said a word.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Argus and Julian parted ways when they got back to camp.

  It was morning, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten. They'd ridden all night. Gone through two horses a piece. Slumped in his saddle, he passed into camp and found the rest of the Legion of the Wind sitting by the fire.

  Their faces lit up when they saw him.

  That just made everything worse. If Harun truly was the runaway king from Tokat, the sandshades had hunted him for seven years. Why did they find him now, after all this time? He couldn't shake the feeling that he was responsible.

  Just like what happened on Davos…

  They hopped up to greet him and helped him down from his horse. Once they'd peppered him with dozens of questions, he told them of the night before.

  “And Harun?” Siggi asked. “What happened to Harun?”

  Argus shook his head. He kept his eyes fixed on the fire, though he no longer felt its warmth. There was a hollow place where his heart had been. The only heat he felt was of a different sort: the relentless burning of the sandshade.

  His old mercenary brothers swore. Even Nasira, who'd met the man as her would-be abductor, began to cry. Willow shook her head and spoke in the language of Eld.

  Argus had studied enough of the Five Branches to understand what she meant: may his soul sail swiftly to the world beyond this.

  They forced him to eat some strips of bacon and bread. Argus didn't taste them. He had some water and lay in the morning sun. Every time he closed his eyes he saw the sandshade. It wasn't the fire that bothered him. It was those charcoal-colored claws, clutching his friend, carrying him away to never return.

  If the gods were good, Harun was already dead.

  What was his real name anyhow?

  “King Wayra of Tokat,” Nasira said. “I read about him years ago. The king for a year. The one who refused to pay his debt.”

  Argus imagined him wandering through the world, always watching for the sandshade or the monks who served them. Shedding his identity every few years and surviving on his wits.

  There was a burden Harun—Wayra—had shouldered. Watching his people wither away from afar, as the sandshades swept the rain clouds away from the cities and carried them into the desert.

  Hopefully it would rain in Tokat again, and Wayra's curse would disappear in the sands of time.

  “I can't believe it was him,” Argus said. “I can't…” His voice trailed off. The sun was warm beating down on him, though he felt a chill he could not shake.

  It was my fault. Mine alone…

  The Legion of the Wind left him alone with his thoughts. Argus passed the rest of that day by that fire. Sometimes he watched north of the city, though there were still no signs of the Calladonian army.

  They couldn't arrive soon enough. By the looks of it all of the mercenaries would die, and at least then he'd be relieved of this burden.

  Night fell, and he sipped ale quietly by the fire. Nasira sang, Siggi told tales, and Brenn laid a meaty hand on his shoulder.

  “Time heals all wounds, lad. You did everything you could.”

  Argus blinked at him and said nothing.

  “Harun was a warrior. He went out the best way a man can—fighting. We'll see him again, my friend. In Setep's halls.”

  As the fire dwindled, one by one they went into their tents. Argus went into his, staggering from all the ale, but slipped out again quickly.

  This wasn't his tent. It was his and Harun's. He couldn't sleep in there.

  He went back outside and watched the stars, waiting for exhaustion to take him. One of the Night Wolves sang a ballad about two lovers crossed.

  “Fair and free, as summer sun's kiss, Lonely now, farewell my sweet bliss…”

  Finally the singing died off. Hours later—well after his limbs went numb—Willow slipped out of the tent she shared with Nasira.

  She saw him and came over without a word. Wearing a nightgown with her auburn hair flowing astray, she sat down beside him and nuzzled her face in his shoulder.

  Willow smelled like a forest after a storm. There was renewal within her. Despite the season and dead leaves piled all around.

  She stood up and offered her hand. “Come with me, Argus of Leith.”

  He took it with a shrug. She helped him up, and he let him lead her into the countryside. They wandered without destination or purpose. But the wandering was the only thing that kept the sandshade out of his head. He felt her warm hand in his as they passed through an empty swath of farmland.

  When they reached a mighty oak in the middle of a field, she stopped beneath its overhanging limbs.

  They lay together side by side. Argus felt her hair tickle his cheek. The tears returned then, and this time he made no attempt to stop them.

  He wept for Harun until there were no tears left.

  Then Willow tilted his face toward hers and kissed him. Her warm lips brushed against his until he lost himself completely. She took off his tunic, he took off
her nightgown and drank in her curves spread across the fallen leaves.

  Willow kissed him again, and pulled him closer until he was inside her.

  When it was finished just a few winks before dawn, they lay beneath the oak and slept.

  * * *

  Argus woke with the sun in his face, screaming.

  He opened his eyes. The sandshade still loomed above him, following him from one nightmare into another. Except he couldn't wake up from this one. This one was real.

  A warm hand fell on his chest, and he nearly jumped out of his clothes.

  “Shh.”

  He turned and found Willow in her nightgown. Memories from the night before came rushing back to him. Argus lay down and tried to slow his heart while the woman beside him slept.

  “I saw it,” he said. “The sandshade.”

  “It was… only a nightmare,” she mumbled.

  He stared up into the oak branches. He thought for a long while. His body was even more tired than the night before. But his mind crackled.

  That sandshade is a nightmare I'll have to live with the rest of my days, he thought. And one I caused. He closed his eyes, saw its claws and hungry mouth, and opened them again. He couldn't prove his magic had brought it to Harun, but he knew it in his bones.

  Wait. Something's wrong.

  He remembered years earlier, when Harun had told him stories of Tokat. He'd told him all about the sandshades. They were powerful creatures—not to be crossed. The only escape was to stray out of the Rona Desert, beyond which they couldn't roam.

  Except last night one had.

  “How did that sandshade cross the Cloudbreaker Mountains?” he asked.

  Willow stirred, still sleeping.

  “It doesn't make any sense!”

  “Maybe it was one of Eamon's familiars.”

  “What did you say?”

  She didn't reply. She lay on her side, facing away from him, and her breaths were even.

  Argus slid away. He moved slowly, careful not to wake her. A part of him wanted to shake her awake—just so she saw the man who would kill her. Yet he couldn't breathe, couldn't move at all, so he just sat there and reeled.

  Familiars. She had been very specific with that word. He'd never seen one before, but he'd heard ever since he was young that the only people able to keep them were powerful sorcerers.