“We don’t go without you and Solastron.” said Syrus.
Etheil turned to him. “Go!”
Just then there was a deep rumbling. The floor shook. All heads turned toward the entryway. A giant slab of frosty steel was lowering.
“Run!” cried Etheil.
The soldiers dashed toward the entryway they had come through but the gate was closing fast. One ran up to it, diving and sliding, trying to get through before it closed, but the massive slab of steel slammed shut on her body just as the others came up, stopping in front of the closed gate. They all spun. At the opposite end of the room, near Solastron, came fifty Kald up from the dark tunnel. They poured into the room, hissing and shrieking. Behind them Etheil could see more in the darkness, their yellow eyes glowing.
Solastron burst forward, a frenzy of claws and fangs and snarls. His blue and amethyst form was swallowed by the ranks of demons, but from within their numbers black-red blood flew and limbs were tossed high into the air. Then a hundred glowing yellow eyes fixed on Etheil and the others, and the swarm came forward.
In an instant Etheil threw off his black shroud and his sword, Firebrand, came to life in roaring flames. His aura swept up the snow and frost on the floor and it all swirled in a disc around his waist. He moved in on the Kald, and those that were not swept aside by his aura were cut down by his sword.
Syrus whirled in, his sabers a dizzying display of flashing silver. “Lo, there do I see the enemy upon me!” Blood flew high into the air. “Lo, here do the shadows of death surround me!” Kald shrieked as they fell. “Hark! I hear the cries of my brothers who fought before me, and they beckon to call this dog of war!” With a roar, the seven remaining soldiers ran forward, their steel clashing against the insurmountable numbers before them.
Etheil spun, his sword a whirlwind of fiery death as he drove deeper into the enemy ranks. He caught a brief glimpse of Braken and Aries as they held back by the steel gate. Few Kald got past Syrus and the soldiers, but those that did were cut down by Braken’s sword or mutilated by a blow from Aries’s mighty fist. Somewhere at his right he heard the ferocious growls of Solastron and the pained shrieks of Kald.
Etheil moved quickly and fluidly as his sword worked in deft motions against the demons. Here and there he felt the icy burn of Kald blood on his face as it sprayed from a fallen foe. It was all he could do to try to keep his aura strong to sweep as much of it aside as he could.
The thing about fighting the Kald was their blood. Their bodies were pressurized so that even a simple gash would spray their searing blood everywhere. Against the Kald, full plate armor was required and the soldiers of the Grimwatch trained to prevent as little blood as they could from hitting their face and eyes. Few men of the Grimwatch were without pink scars from where one of the beasts had grabbed them or their icy blood has splattered on their flesh.
At his left Etheil could see Syrus deep within the enemy ranks. Demon blood sparkled in the air amid the flashes of his silver blades. Being made entirely of metal certainly had its advantages for Syrus. He had little to worry about in terms of being frostbitten by flying blood. The seven soldiers—only six remained that Etheil could see—could not drive as deeply into the numbers as Etheil or Syrus. They were still men made primarily of flesh and they did not have the swirling aura of a Dark Star Knight. Still, they fought well upon the outskirts, falling any that might slip from Etheil’s or Syrus’s position. Unfortunately, Etheil was beginning to realize that no matter how many foes they killed, dozens more came pouring out of the tunnel. Etheil cursed as he saw one more of the soldiers fall, swallowed by a sea of cobalt scales and yellow eyes. They wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer against such overwhelming numbers.
“Aries!” cried Etheil from the fray. His fiery sword roared as he spun, slicing three Kald apart. “Aries!” he cried again. A Kald sword clanged against his armor, opening a gash of steel. With a curse Etheil flourished his sword, cutting down the demon, and then he swept out his spinning aura and a dozen or more Kald tumbled away. “Aries! I think something needs to go boom now! Seal that tunnel!”
Braken stood before Aries at the steel gate and was doing his best to keep what Kald got past Etheil, Syrus and the others at bay. His sword worked in swift and true motions, but it was obvious he was struggling and the wound upon his stomach was once again dripping with blood. With her only good fist, Aries knocked aside a Kald and got ahead of Braken. Then she held out her giant hand and from somewhere within her forearm gears whirred and clicked. The plates of her palm spread open and a small, metal sphere popped out. She closed her giant fist around it, and with a grunt, she chucked it across the room just as four Kald swarmed over her. She screamed and fell beneath them.
The metal sphere hit the top of the tunnel and exploded in a violent and deafening fireball. Etheil felt heat wash over him and then enormous chunks of stone and ice rained down. Kald screamed and hissed as they were crushed beneath boulders. The Kald were staggered for a moment and Etheil used the opportunity to gather as many as he could into his aura and cast them away into the walls all around. With a clear view, Etheil breathed a quick sigh of relief. The tunnel was sealed.
“Aries!” screamed Braken. He swung his sword, cutting down one of the Kald before him, its icy blood spraying his chest and sticking in clumps of grisly ice. He tried to move toward her but more and more Kald moved in on him. And then Syrus was on them, chanting his battle mantra. His sabers chimed and clanked as demon swords were cast aside and their bodies cut down before him.
Nearby, Aries struggled beneath the weight of four Kald. She swatted at them with her good arm, making purchase on one of their skulls and it crunched like a breaking melon. Another tore at her chest, its claws ripping at her leather armor. Frost and ice began to envelope her skin and hair. And then silver flashed and one of the Kald fell backward, a dagger sticking from its eye. Silver flashed again and again, and one by one the Kald were struck down by Syrus’s flying daggers.
Etheil pressed in on his foes. All around him they swam in a bewildering array of cobalt and glowing eyes. His sword roared with every stroke and his aura swept them off their feet and smashed them against the walls. Finally, their ranks began to thin. Etheil flourished his sword, cutting down two more, and then something impacted his side and he tumbled. He got his left arm up just as the needle-like fangs of a rather large, winged demon chomped down. He felt his armor give, howled as sharp teeth penetrated his flesh. He felt ice burn into his very bones. He tried to get his sword up but the beast stepped on it with a large, clawed foot. The demon raised its own sword and was about to sink it into his neck when a flash of steel tore through its head and the thing fell over, convulsing on the floor as its icy blood sprayed out.
Etheil kicked himself up to his feet. Syrus had a number of daggers in his hand and he bounded across the chamber as nimbly as a canine, tossing daggers like bullets as he leapt from position to position. Nearby, the remaining soldiers worked their swords in quick motions, and at last the final Kald fell dead.
Panting and holding his injured arm, Etheil surveyed everything around him. Throughout the chamber all the Kald lay dead and dying. To his right he heard heavy, rumbling panting. He turned. Solastron stood amid a sea of mangled Kald, their slushy blood splattered upon all the walls around him. His head was held low, his eyes narrow crescents. His breath smoked with each, growling pant. His obsidian claws dug into the floor as his head turned, his eyes fixing on Etheil. His lips furled, baring his bloodied fangs. He padded toward Etheil, hot breath smoking.
“Solastron!” cried Etheil. “It’s me!”
The wolf snarled and kept padding toward him, head held low, eyes fixed for the kill.
Etheil backed up. He took a quick look around. Only three of the soldiers remained. Braken was up and staggering toward him with the help of Aries as he clutched his blood-dripping belly. Syrus ran up beside him.
“Solastron, my friend.” said Syrus. “Tell me what is the matter. Let us calm ourselves by marking the territory we have won!”
“Get back.” said Etheil as Solastron made his way toward them. The wolf’s fur was heavy with slushy Kald blood, but even still he could see the six cuts upon his body, and the deep one upon his chest flowed freely with bright crimson.
“I shall talk to him,” said Syrus, “for we are brothers and speak the language of the wolf. Is that not right, Solastron?” Syrus slowly moved forward. He extended a hand. “Come to me, my friend. Let us find the highest peak and howl at the moon together. Let us—”
With a ferocious roar Solastron lunged forward, his massive jaws chomping down on Syrus’s arm. Solastron shook his big head, snarling, and Syrus was tossed about as if no more than a ragdoll. With a final shake, Syrus’s arm tore off at the elbow and hydraulic fluids sprayed as the man was thrown across the room. With a metallic clank Syrus landed and rolled, clutching at his ruined arm.
“Syrus!” cried Aries, nearly dropping Braken in her haste to run toward him.
Syrus groaned as he sat up. “I am ok,” he said, looking at his arm that was dripping with fluids. A couple small gears fell from it and clanked on the floor.
Aries came up on him and knelt beside him, her good hand encompassing his entire head as she held him. “Are you okay?”
He raised his mangled arm to her. “Aries, we match!”
Solastron kept padding forward, forcing Etheil to back up. “All of you, get out of here!” yelled Etheil.
“We can’t.” said Braken. “Both ways are sealed.”
Etheil looked around. At the one end, a massive, steel door prevented escape. At the other, tons of rock and ice blocked the tunnel. He turned his blue eyes to the wolf. “Solastron, it’s me, Etheil. Solastron—”
The wolf growled and lunged at him.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Brandrir ran down the corridor, his ten soldiers hot on his heels. After about a hundred yards the icy slope developed into a hallway of brick and stone covered with white frost. There were no torches lit here, so Brandrir ignited his electrical shield upon his mechanical forearm. It filled the tunnel with the smell of ozone but provided only minuscule light. Still, the soft, yellow glow was enough to at least keep them from bumping into the walls as it twisted and turned, snaking its way ever lower. They went on through the darkness for some time and eventually the corridor narrowed until it was only five-feet wide and about as tall, forcing Brandrir and his men to hunch and duck as they made their way down a very steep grade.
“My Liege,” began one of the soldiers. She slipped on the icy bricks, catching herself on Brandrir’s shoulder. “There is an ill feeling here.”
And there was. Brandrir could feel it as surely as the hum of his shield. But he was certain they had entered through some type of secret back-way and was determined to press on. “We’re the first men to be inside the Shardgrims since the age of the Great Falling.” said Brandrir. “Let us not waste this chance on fear.”
“But should we not head back?” pressed the soldier. “Already our hour expires.”
Brandrir blew a smoking breath through his nose. She was right. Still, he felt compelled to continue. Without sight or sound of any Kald he was beginning to think luck had blessed him this night. “A little further.”
Brandrir guessed they had descended at least five-hundred feet beneath the earth when at last the tunnel leveled out, opening up into a wider corridor of smooth bricks. For the first thirty-feet the walls and ceiling were covered with the same white frost as everything else they had seen. But here the stones were thawed, marking a strange division, but to what Brandrir had no idea. Brandrir’s glowing shield led them a little further until at last a door came into view. It was made of stone and carved with the head of some terrible monster.
Brandrir held his hand up, calling for a halt. He approached the doorway cautiously. There did not appear to be any sort of handle or locking mechanism. He pushed upon it, but nothing happened. Then, with both hands, he pressed on one side and the door made a scraping sound as it spun around.
Brandrir opened it just a crack and peered in. There seemed to be a large cavern beyond and he smelled something foul on the air. He put a hand to his mouth, stifling a cough. There was light beyond, but it was not torch light. It was an eerie, green glow similar to gaslight, but somehow more infernal.
He pushed the door open just a little further and peeked his head inside. It was an immense chamber cut from the very stone of the earth. The walls were jagged and full of crags and crevices. From the ceiling wet stalactites hung and all around the perimeter seeped a soft, spooky, green glow. He stepped through the door fully now, and realized that the chamber was cold, but not in the way the Kald were. This was not an arctic cold; it was not frigid and his breath did not smoke. No, Brandrir thought. This was the type of cold that was more primordial; more visceral. It was the kind of cold that came from morgues. It was an empty type of cold. A sad type of cold.
He deactivated his shield and wrapped his arms around his body as he looked about the empty place. It was permeated by that ubiquitous stench. It was soft but distinct and did not seem to have any immediate source. It was like swamp mud and death. Ahead there was an opening where giant, white stalactites and stalagmites striated with eerie mineral patterns protruded outward like the fangs of some type of deep-sea monster. He noticed that above the opening were carved two giant, cruel-looking eyes. Beyond the toothy fangs he could see a wide set of stairs that led down into a sea of that ghostly, green light.
“My Liege,” hissed one of the soldiers. Brandrir turned around and he could see the men through the doorway, though none dared to step from it. “It’s past our time. We must head back.”
Brandrir turned and looked at that menacing gateway that led into some unknown abyss. He could almost hear his name being whispered. There was something there; something that he had to see. He looked back to his men. “Just a little further.”
Brandrir slipped between the stalactites and set foot upon the first step and peered down into the glowing, green abyss they led to. He was about to take another step when one of the soldiers called his name.
Brandrir spun. The toothy opening closed, the dripping spires and pillars of mineralized stone coming together to create something of a barred gate. Beyond them he could see his men. “Brandrir!” one of them cried, running up to it.
Brandrir drew Raze from its sheath and ignited it. The blade thrummed in a blur of silver metal. There was nothing his sonic sword could not cut through, but part of him did not want his men to come with him. He looked through the narrow openings and said, “Go back. Tell the others I’ll meet them shortly.”
“But, my Liege,” began one of the soldiers. Brandrir ignored him and moved down the steps.
The stairs led down and down for what seemed an eternity. From every crack and seam where the steps met the edges of the cavern walls seeped that eerie, green light. It was soft and haunting and full of that empty, desolate coldness. From it he thought he could hear whispers, like ghosts upon a wind. They were distant, incoherent, and he wasn’t even sure if they were real or just a trick of his mind. The odor of swamp mud and death became stronger too and harder to ignore. But Brandrir pressed on and at length the steps ended upon a tall, arching corridor made of some type of black stone.
Brandrir reached out with his flesh hand and stroked the wall. Even through his gauntlet he could feel that it was rough and brittle, warm to the touch. It was like some sort of ancient stone that had been baked in the primordial fires of creation and had yet to cool. Ahead, at the end of the corridor, stood a door made of that same stone. Upon it were markings that he had never seen, etched right into the charred surface. They were like runes or some type of ancient writing and they were at once both beautiful and frightening.
&nb
sp; Brandrir moved ahead, his sword thrumming in his hand. He pushed the door and the runes began to glow as if they flowed with magma. He felt his entire body heat up and withdrew his hand. The runes went out like smoldering ash. Brandrir licked his lips and steeled himself. He pushed upon the door again, and once again the runes lit with fiery light and his body began to burn. He pushed harder, and just when he thought he couldn’t take the terrible sensation any longer, it opened with an ancient, stone-on-stone scraping.
More of that foul odor washed over him, but it was now mixed with something else; something like charred earth and brimstone. He shielded his mouth and nose with his hand as he stepped into an enormous cathedral of black stone where that haunting green light seeped out from every corner of every brick. There were pillars of black stone many dozens of feet high and from each burned a lantern whose flame was something more than fire. The light from those lanterns were more intense and seemed to burn with some type of sentient purpose.
From behind he suddenly felt an arctic cold. He spun and a number of Kald flitted down from some unseen hiding place, blocking his escape. He moved back from them as they hissed, their icy breath washing over him. He turned and noticed there were many more Kald here, but these were not the rank and file demons he had so often fought. These were larger and stronger, all of them winged and all of them in black armor covered with rime. A hundred or more glowing, yellow eyes fixed on him. They hissed, baring their needle-sharp teeth. Brandrir flourished Raze, the sword humming through the air as he made ready to fight.
And then they parted like a sea, revealing a long, red carpet that led up to a raised dais of black stone. And there, sitting upon a throne of charred stone that throbbed with heat, sat a hulking, bestial demon. But this was not one of the Kald. This was something else entirely. It was a being of charred flesh through which fiery veins pulsed. Around his head curled a pair of massive horns and through them stared two eyes like hot coals from a furnace. Ash and embers swirled around him the way leaves of autumn haunt their dying tree. He was awash in waves of heat that distorted his form, somehow making him more terrible to behold.
Here Shines the Sun Page 24
