Duke of Minds (Master of Monsters Book 4)

by Stephen L. Hadley

  They reached the river just as the first hints of navy began coloring the eastern horizon. The sound of the swift tributary eased some of the tension that had begun building in Leo’s neck. As the hours had passed, he’d begun entertaining horrible daydreams of losing his way and finding himself the one ambushed. But, as the army veered north and maintained its smooth, efficient pace, such worries faded.

  The only thing he had to fear was the brutality of the war to which he’d committed himself.

  As before, the act of marching itself soon grew so hypnotic that he nearly staggered when the ranks before him halted. Looking around, he was almost surprised to discover grim, anxious expressions on the faces surrounding him. Nyssa, Buchold, even Iresh looked one setback away from trembling. And, even more unsettling, each face stared back at him.

  “Master?” Nyssa prompted. Her brow furrowed warily.

  Shaking himself, Leo set his jaw and rested a casual hand on the sword at his hip.

  “Fight hard,” he said, with as much resolve as he could muster. “Gods protect you. And remember: I’d like the count alive. But if he won’t surrender quietly… well, just give his body a kick for me, yeah?”

  No one laughed, but there were a few snorts of amusement. Even the corner of Sophe’s mouth quirked a bit into a wry sort of half-smile. And then, with a sudden hiss, Iresh thrust his carved bone aloft.

  “Go, my brothers!” the Gwydon said. “Spill the blood of your would-be masters! Honor the dead and Sha’rath with your devotion! Atk’linain!”

  ***

  It turned out that the scouts had halted roughly a thousand paces from the edge of the unknown count’s camp, just inside the edge of the closest tree line. Despite that distance between them, however, there was no mistaking the gathering for anything but what it was. The sky above the chosen dell glowed a muted orange from the number of campfires, and the air was richly scented with the smoky aroma of burnt wood. And, although Leo could not quite make out faces, he could just barely spot the flicker of sentries as they strolled past the spotted glow of the fires.

  “We were lucky,” Buchanan announced. Though he’d whispered, the suddenness of his voice was enough to make Leo flinch. “Er, sorry, Your Excellency.”

  “They haven’t spotted us at all,” Leo murmured back, amazed. Shaking his head, he grinned. “It hardly seems fair.”

  “It isn’t,” Buchanan agreed. “But don’t you go worrying about that now, sir.”

  “Never do. Are we in position?”

  Buchanan glanced around. The woods curved in the approximate shape of a crescent moon, each point of the curve stretching toward their unsuspecting foe like enormous wings. Though there were still six hundred paces or so of open ground between them and the camp, there was no point in forgoing such an opportunity. Even before Leo had arrived at the front line, the captain had already directed several trow and elven divisions into flanking positions.

  “Near enough,” the man said.

  Leo exhaled an inaudible sigh and turned. Mere feet away, Karran, Sann, and Nyssa waited obediently. Each watched him, ready, able, and unquestioning.

  “Buchanan,” he said without bothering to look at the man. “Give the order.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  They were halfway across the open ground before the first cry of alarm reached Leo’s ears. He tensed at the noise, fingers tightening around the hilt of his blade, and fought the urge to hurry. Fortunately, thanks to Buchanan’s steady breathing to one side and the subtle crunch of Nyssa’s armor as she walked to the other, he maintained both his composure and his pace.

  The predawn air was cold but Leo felt none of its chill. If anything, the world felt overly warm. Sweat soaked his undershirt and chafed where the armor pressed close. Each breath he took seemed to add to the cloying humidity. And, of course, the frantic pattern of his heartbeat made for a potent countdown.

  Horns were sounding now. Urgent, panicked cries filled the air as the foes roused themselves from tents and raced to gather swords and don their armor. There were hundreds of them streaming from the camp, gathering in ranks and hasty formations. Here and there, a handful of disorganized archers loosed arrows blindly into the dark. A single, agonized shout erupted from the opaque gloom, fifty paces to Leo’s left. Another followed, several seconds later and far more distant.

  And then, they were there.

  Leo wasn’t quite at the front; some twenty paces separated him from the vanguard proper. But neither was he so far back that he couldn’t see they’d arrived. The foremost ranks slowed, tightening grips on sword hilts and spear hafts, and began to inch forward with wary eagerness. They stared down the clumsy, ever-gathering forces opposite.

  And then a voice—Buchold’s, Leo realized after a second—pealed loudly and split the indecisive tension in an instant.

  “Don’t just stand there! Kill them!”

  The resulting roar shook the very air like thunder. And for just a split-second, Leo felt very, very small. Then, as his army poured forth in a tidal wave, he had no time to consider such things any longer.

  It had begun.

  The minutes that followed that first, chaotic charge were a blur of violence and confusion. Despite the best efforts of Nyssa and the others to shelter him from the tides of the battle, Leo found himself carried along by the frothing ranks as they carved a bloody path through the enemy. Men fell by the dozens, screaming or silent, many having cast aside their hewn and useless weapons and lifted hands in supplicating surrender.

  It was not until they’d butchered their way through the ranks of would-be defenders that the ground stabilized beneath Leo’s feet. He stood amid trampled tents and bodies, sword in hand and bloodied—though he could not recall drawing or using it.

  The enemy ranks had disintegrated but his fared little better. Here and there, terrified men fought or fled, pursued by packs of snarling, jubilant elves and trow. And although some number of human and elven officers stalked through the maelstrom of combat and dragged a handful of the wilder combatants back into formation, a single glance made it clear that the battle would be over by the time their efforts succeeded.

  And then, without warning, Leo found himself exposed. The ranks before him parted, lured away in identical fashion by a sudden pocket of resistance. And so, taking him for an easy target, the count’s men arrived.

  There were six of them. Their motley assortment of weapons and half-complete armor would have been laughable under different circumstances. But the outrage and loathing written on their faces, visible even in the paltry light of the fires, stole away whatever humor their appearance might have elicited.

  Leo took a step back and staggered, his heel catching on a partially unearthed tent peg. He recovered quickly, but the momentary distraction was all the opportunity his foes needed. They launched themselves at him, weapons outstretched. Leo parried with his blade, knocking aside the first spear thrust aimed his way. The next caught him in the ribs, glancing off his armor in a shower of sparks.

  And then, Nyssa reached him. She leaped with the grace of a dancer, slicing through both spears with a single stroke. Before Leo even had a chance to feel grateful, she was airborne again. Hurtling at his attackers, she swung with both swords. Two heads fell.

  The ease with which Nyssa dispatched the pair was not lost on the others. They turned to flee but had not even managed to show their backs when Karran and Sann arrived as well. They landed atop the men like enormous hunting beasts, their claws and talons carving through flesh with the same effortless ferocity as Nyssa’s blades. And, if the men who suffered their brutality felt any pain, they had no throats with which to express it.

  “Leo!” Nyssa snapped. “Stay here!”

  Looking up from Karran and Sann’s freshly made corpses, Leo blinked in surprise and confusion. He thought, for just a moment, that Nyssa planned to leave him standing there. He realized his mistake at once, as the trow took up a defensive position a few f
eet ahead of him. Her words were not implying some sort of maneuver. She’d just grown tired of chasing him onto the battlefield.

  “Sorry,” he said. Glancing down, he lifted his shirt to examine the damage to his armor. Though his aching ribs suggested he’d find a massive bruise later, his breastplate had done its job. Aside from an ugly scratch to the steel and a severed leather strap, his protection was no worse for wear.

  Looking up, he found Nyssa watching him with an eye. Before either of them could speak, however, a deep, guttural roar wrenched both of their attentions forward.

  The golem lumbered from the darkness, staggering so wildly it might have been drunk if not for the pained expression it wore. A half dozen arrows and a footlong splinter of spear half protruded from the creature’s leathery hide. But evidently, it was not the pain of the injuries that perturbed the golem most. With one enormous finger, it plugged an ear. And with each new outburst of noise from a corner of the battlefield, it lunged and growled.

  Unfortunately, the simple-minded nonhuman did not appear willing to consider plugging both ears. Instead, it dragged an enormous iron bar—the reinforced axle of a wagon by the look of it. And, as Leo watched with growing horror, the golem began to drag its improvised weapon toward the nearest, loudest source of noise: Buchold.

  The elf primarch stood at the head of a cluster of forty-some elves not twenty paces to Leo’s left. Though Leo couldn’t quite make out what the elf was shouting, he was clearly doing his best to gather the elves under his command. He bellowed orders, banging the pommel of his sword against a shield like a makeshift bell.

  And, unless Leo was quite mistaken, the elf had not yet spotted the agitated golem stomping his way.

  “Shit,” he growled. There was no time to think, no time to plan. “Change of plans. Kill the golem.”

  Nyssa groaned but did not argue or delay. Instead, she readied her swords and trotted forward.

  “Stay back, Leo,” she advised.

  And, to be fair, he did. Leo held back, lingering in place just long enough to watch Karran and Sann trot dutifully forward, stretching and flexing their claws as they went, then stalked forward as well. Though he trusted their combat abilities far more than his own, he’d be damned if he stood around waiting for the worst to happen.

  Several of Buchold’s comrades noticed the golem as it approached. But, as expected, their shouts of alarm did more harm than good. The golem bellowed in frustration, one hand still plugging its ear, and hefted the axle it dragged. Unorthodox though its weapon was, it may as well have been a warhammer. The elves scattered beneath its shadow and at the roar of the beast that brandished it.

  Nyssa lunged. Her sword sliced ruthlessly at the back of the golem’s knee. Then a second time. And a third.

  It was not until the fourth swipe of Nyssa’s blade that the golem staggered, dropping to one knee with a resonant, almost deafening groan. It turned slowly to look at her, and its leathery features hardened into a frown.

  And then, so swiftly that Leo could hardly believe it, the golem swung at her. Nyssa threw herself to the ground, dropping one of her swords in her haste. And even then, the golem’s fist missed her by inches. It tried to stand, roared in frustration, and then swung its makeshift club in a powerful overhead blow. Once again, Nyssa dodged and managed to evade the attack by mere inches.

  Leo was moving before he knew what he was doing. It was a pointless gesture, but the agony of doing nothing was less tolerable than his fear. And he knew, somehow, that the golem’s next assault would not be so easily dodged.

  He wasn’t the only one to come to such a conclusion. And before he’d covered even half the distance to the spot where Nyssa lay, Karran and Sann joined the fray.

  Hissing, Sann launched herself into the air and landed squarely in the golem’s face. She kicked and clawed like a feral cat then scampered about the creature’s shoulders as it reached for her. As a counterattack, her efforts were mediocre at best; the golem’s leathery face showed only a few bloodless, pale white scratches where her claws had dug deep. But as a distraction, Leo could hardly have asked for more.

  Nyssa climbed to her feet and snatched up her sword from the spot where it had fallen. And with a furious curse, she thrust both blades into the golem’s abdomen, just above its hip. Opposite her, Karran scrabbled at their foe’s uninjured knee. But, despite the pair’s determined ferocity, they accomplished little. Nyssa, in particular, gawked in disbelief. Her swords, thrust home with all the speed and precision the trow could muster, had penetrated a mere hand’s breadth into the golem’s leathery hide. And when she pulled them free, only a few smeared drops of murky blood colored the shining tips.

  Sann yelped loudly. For an instant, the vicious slashing of her claws and glistening talons accelerated. And then, with a louder, rather more piercing wail of pain, she was dragged from her perch.

  The golem held her upside down, its thick, clumsy fingers wrapped tightly around the base of her tail. It stared at Sann, seemingly intrigued by her energetic thrashing. And then, with another rumbling growl, its frown deepened.

  “Sann!” Leo bellowed. He resumed his futile, madcap dash forward.

  The golem’s dark, beady eyes glanced his way. Then, with the same uncharacteristic speed with which it had swung at Nyssa, the creature slammed Sann to the dirt like a sack of flour.

  The drakonid’s body crunched as it struck the earth, and Leo’s insides constricted so violently at the sound he felt almost as if he’d been run through. He eyed Sann, who lay in a crumpled, unmoving heap, but he could do nothing more than recognize the color of her glacial blue skin before his vision blurred. It wasn’t tears—those would come later, if necessary. Rather, it was the white-hot rage of helplessness that burned outward from his gut, the likes of which he’d not felt in years.

  He charged, sword in hand and a vile curse squeezing his throat until it burned. The sound of his cry startled the golem, and it turned to face him. Again it moved quickly, far quicker than Leo believed it should be capable of, raising the axle in its hand like a cudgel.

  Leo didn’t hesitate. He continued to charge, ducking and diving aside at the last possible moment. He felt the breeze of the golem’s missed swing ruffle his hair as it passed overhead. And had he not been so utterly consumed with fury, the nearness of it would easily have turned his knees to jelly.

  Recovering, Leo lifted his sword. He aimed it. And then, before the golem had time to prepare another attack, he drove the point home a cubit above its craterous navel. The blade caught, sank forward—

  —and halted, once again, only a few inches into the creature’s craggy abdomen.

  “Shit,” he muttered. Again.

  And then, with all the welcome spontaneity of a sudden insight, Karran was at his side. She shoved him, hard—hard enough to knock him out of harm’s way—and executed a technique unlike any Leo had ever seen. The speed with which she rolled made it difficult to follow. But, in the end, the move found Karran with her hands and shoulders planted in the dirt, her boot resting on the pommel of Leo’s embedded sword, and her body stretched between the two like a slackened tackline.

  She huffed. And Leo was briefly struck by the distinct, peculiar notion that, had she not been born mute, Karran would have laughed. Not that he could have blamed her. With a sharp, brutal motion, the ambrosian’s leg straightened and shoved Leo’s blade inward until its guard met flesh.

  The golem flinched. Still frowning, it peered down at the sword hilt protruding from its stomach.

  “Well done,” Leo said, straightening. It was as much time as he could spare. Bracing himself for the worst, he hurried toward the spot where Sann lay.

  He’d taken only three steps when the axle descended from on high. It whizzed past his face, striking the ground in a spray of dirt and thundering echoes. Stunned once again by how close he’d come to death, Leo turned woodenly to discover the wounded, decidedly not-dying golem glaring at him. The brute
gave him no time to appreciate the connection, however. Plucking the axle from the dirt, it struck him hard in the chest with the iron rod and sent him tumbling.

  Leo flew, rolled, and came to a stop on his back some twenty paces from the spot where he’d stood. His ears were ringing, every inch of his body ached, and his chest felt as though it had been used as an anvil. But he was most definitely alive.

  Struggling to sit up, Leo froze as a sharp pain burned warningly in his chest. For a moment, he feared he’d broken a rib or three. But a quick glance down confirmed that the source of the pain was merely his armor. The golem’s blow had shattered the topmost third of his breastplate and several jagged shards of polished steel were angled in toward his chest like metallic teeth. Though the damage made it hard to breathe, the sight of the damage prompted a sigh of relief—albeit a shallow one.

  And, even more heartening, he didn’t need to worry about a follow-up assault from his foe. No sooner had Leo confirmed that he was more or less uninjured than a riotous shout from Nyssa yanked his gaze from his ruined armor back to the battlefield. And, as with Karran, the sight of the trow’s martial grace nearly stole the breath from his lungs.

  Nyssa leaped forward, both swords cradled deftly at her sides. With a single, almost delicate lunge, she landed atop the hilt of Leo’s sword—still buried in the golem’s gut. And then, with another purposeful cry, she vaulted higher.

  And drove the blade of her favored sword into the golem’s mouth and out the back of its neck.

  This time, there was no hesitation or dumbfounded looks. The creature collapsed, limbs slackening and blood foaming at the corners of its elongated mouth.

  Leo watched the golem crumple. But even before its body stilled, he was already moving in Sann’s direction. And upon reaching the drakonid’s side, he found the situation every bit as grim as he’d feared.