by Eli Steele
“You mean to die here?”
Leaning in, Mery whispered, “By Lady Alyna’s word, Ezra has retained a ship – the Kaniere – one of those ferrying to the Cairn. The men of the Brae,” he paused, “these men, will fight together on the wall. If the battle turns against us, I am to muster them, fall back to our lady, and flee to the Kaniere. And I want you to come with us.”
Her eyes widened, “Who else knows of this?”
“No one here,” he whispered, “not yet, save for you and I. Abandoning Reyland Mace and his army can only be seen as treason, and we must guard this plan as long as we can. You cannot say a word, not to anyone, understand?”
Their conversation lulled as an armsman approached with a hot axe head and dropped it on her anvil. As he left, she said, “There are two others.”
“Then bring them,” Mery replied. “Your father was a friend and servant to Lord Baron for many years. Any friends of yours are welcome on the Kaniere.”
“Where will we go?”
Furrowing his brow, he replied, “A lady of our lady’s is of House Ross, so we will sail for Whitethroat, and from there, we will decide. Alexander is a dead name. There is no place for us in the Four Kingdoms, not anymore. I would not be surprised if we left for the mainland.”
The clatter of hooves on cobblestone echoed down the street and turned their heads towards a rider in boiled leather. His heavy cloak flapped behind him. Bela’s shock of red hair drew his face, and when he had seen Mery, he snatched his reins and rode his horse up beside them.
“Burke,” Mery said, “what’s wrong?”
“Ezra calls you to the wall, all of you, and bring the weapons.”
Chapter 49
Eldrick D’Eldar
Braeridge Mountains
The dying embers cast a faint glow, pushing back the darkness perhaps an arm span. Cautiously, Eldrick slid his hand across the cold floor, searching for another loose pebble. Upon finding one, he slowly raised his hand and flung it at Kren. The stone slapped his forehead, furrowing his brow and stirring him from his sleep. “What are you doing, Wayfarer?” he groaned.
The spy did not reply. Instead, he eyed the titan and motioned to the side with his head.
Redstorm looked over to find the timber wolf curled up in a ball beside his feet. A wide smile crept across his face. “It seems we are three now.”
“We are not taking him with us,” Eldrick growled under his breath.
“Careful, or we may not take you.”
D’Eldar sighed.
Sitting up, Kren stretched before rummaging through his pack and retrieving a vial, a pouch of dried mountain berries, and several strips of salted meat. “Drink this as you break your fast,” he said, handing it over. “It will guard you against the mountain air.”
Receiving it, Eldrick’s mouth hung agape. “This will soothe my symptoms?”
The titan nodded.
“Why are you only giving this to me now?”
Redstorm shrugged. “It is a rare thing. I had to make sure you were worthy.”
“Unbelievable...”
Kren pushed back his smile as he nudged a slice of meat under the wolf’s snout. He woke with a weak growl and snatched up the meat, before retreating several strides into the cave.
“See?” the wildman said triumphantly. “He is with us.”
“He looks like he might take your arm off at any moment.”
“Nonsense, Wayfarer. Now, he will need a name.”
“Is Wolf not good enough?”
“You are so foolish,” Kren snorted. “We will call him Sand, the hound from the vale, in honor of Eleksandr.” Standing, he stretched again and said, “Hurry, break your fast and make yourself ready. We must get moving.” Glancing back, he added with a chuckle, “You, too, Sand.”
* * * * *
Together, the three climbed steadily higher into the Braeridge Mountains. Sand followed along a short distance behind them, careful not to get too close, save for when they paused to rest or eat. Kren coaxed him closer with each strip of meat and hunk of bread.
The mountain elixir pushed back Eldrick’s aches and nausea, until a distant dull headache was all that nagged him, though he was uncertain if it was not more from hunger and exhaustion than heights. As they left the Hrunegardt Tribe’s territory, a mantle of unease was lifted from Kren. Thereafter, they talked of the mountains, and the Uhnan’akk, and the Kal’Deas.
That evening the blizzard passed, and with it, the heavy blanket of clouds. The spy marveled as he gazed south all the way to the Colored Coast. Black smoke hung heavy over what looked to be the ruins of Perk, tightening his chest. The mountains hid the Brae, of which he was grateful, for he did not care to see it in its current state. To the southeast, Ashmor was shrouded by the Valengrove and the low crags that would eventually grow into the Braeridge Mountains. He saw no black army, so he reasoned they had already passed beyond the hills to the walls of the merchant city. Unease plagued both his ascent and his sleep that night. Below him, a war raged, and they were losing. In the witch’s hour, as he lay awake, he cursed his mind and wished the clouds had never parted.
By mid-morning of the next day they stood before the yawning mouth of a cave near the crag’s peak. “This is it,” announced Kren, “the way to the wyrm’s den.”
“You’ve been here before?”
“I have, though not all the way to his nest.”
Sand sniffed at the entrance, before sitting on his haunches and letting out a whimper of protest.
“We found you in a cave,” Redstorm scolded, stepping into the cavern and lighting the torch, “what is the difference between one and the other?”
“Perhaps he knows what’s in there.”
“Come or stay,” said the titan, “the both of you. It matters not.” Turning, he held out his torch and pressed back the shadows.
Eldrick and Sand eyed each other. The man sighed and the wolf responded with a snort. After a moment, the spy drew his sword and followed after Kren. When he was several strides in, Sand slunk along as well.
The cave was about three armspans wide with a damp, earthy smell. D’Eldar shivered at the thought of the snake slithering through the cavern. Stalactites plunged down from the ceiling like dripping wet fangs, occasionally reaching all the way to the floor. Sand grew skittish and drew near to Eldrick, who in turn shouldered up next to Kren. In the oppressive confines of the den, the spy did not push the wolf away.
Protected from the biting winds and insulated by the mountain itself, the air was just warm enough to melt the snow that had blown in, leaving slick stones that threatened to snatch their feet out from under them as they descended the steep slope.
“Is there a chance the wyrm could hear us coming?” the spy asked.
“No, it is sealed to him. And he cannot enter through this cave. Besides, this is his wintering place. He will sleep until the spring. Then, he will hunt the high places until the leaves brown and fall, and he will return here again.”
“So, what do wyrms eat?”
“Many things. Crag lions and mountain goats, gray wolves and brown bears… Uhnan’akk and Hrunegardt…”
Eldrick shuddered. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen an adder longer than my forearm in the Four Kingdoms.”
“He is much longer than that,” Kren said with a snort.
“Do they ever come down from the mountains?”
“The old stories tell of them in the lands to the south. When the men of the vales arrived, they pushed the wyrms into the crags and ridges, where they did not live before. There are but a few left, and they only come down a short ways from the highest peaks to feed.”
Up ahead, a blue-green aura leaned out from around a bend in the cavern. Fainter than a torch, it was unmoving. “What is that?” Eldrick whispered.
“Cave glow,” said Redstorm, unfazed by its presence.
Rounding the curve in the cave, ten thousand tiny specks lustered. On the ceiling, along the walls, like a mantl
e of turquoise stars in an onyx sky, they illuminated the path as bright as the waning twilit moments. Kren rolled his torch along the ground, suffocating it until the flames were extinguished. “The glow will guide us from here,” he said.
As Eldrick’s eyes adjusted, the passage seemed less threatening bathed in the ethereal splendor. Plopping sounds echoed through the space as water droplets leapt from stalactites and landed in plunge pools below. A thin but steady stream of snowmelt and infiltrate flowed over the slick floor deeper into the cavern.
“How long can you hold your breath, Wayfarer?”
The spy shrugged. “Longer than most.”
“I have not been much farther than here. The old words say it takes the breath of two lungs to reach the wyrm.”
“Two lungs or two breaths?”
“Two breaths,” quipped the titan. “Did I chew on my tongue?”
The cave ended at a large pool of water, its water blue-green from the glow of the cave. “This is as far as I have travelled,” said Redstorm.
“We have to swim through that?” Eldrick asked.
“Were my words not as I heard them? For two lung’s worth.”
“If you’ve brought me all this way to drown me,” the spy sighed, “I will haunt you from the nine.”
Having heard the exchange, the wolf planted his haunches on the wet floor, unwilling to proceed farther.
“Sand has made his choice, Wayfarer. It is only you and I.”
D’Eldar let out a deep sigh.
“This pool is in the shape of a bowl’s bottom, it is said. Dive down, and follow the rocks back up. When you surface, be quiet, for we will be just before the wyrm’s den.”
Eldrick steeled himself, taking in deep breaths, readying his lungs.
Kren chuckled. “You are not ready, not yet. Strip to your braies and take only your sword. Fasten it tight to your back.” As he spoke, the titan did the same, until he stood before the spy in nothing more than the undergarments around his waist, with a vial tucked in them and his axes strapped across his shoulders.
The Kal’Dean did as he was instructed. Sand cocked his head to the side and watched the pair with silent curiosity.
“Have you any more questions?” Redstorm asked.
D’Eldar snorted and shook his head.
“Then I shall see you on the other side.” With that, the wildman dove into the water.
“Shit,” Eldrick said, looking around. “Has there ever been two fools larger?” With one final breath, he dove in as well.
Sand paced the bank, whimpering and sniffing and glancing about, before rearing his heavy head towards the ceiling and howling a mournful song.
The icy water shocked his system and sent his heart racing. The spy swam down into the black depths, imagining all sorts of terrors around him. Groping overhead, he felt the rough rocks and followed them along, just as he’d been told.
His lungs burned, but he pushed back the panic in his head. Instead, he focused on broad, steady strokes and imagined crisp air waiting for him at any moment. Reaching up, he felt the rocks still driving him down.
Eldrick’s diaphragm spasmed, yearning for air, while his lungs throbbed and felt as if they might burst into flames. Adrenaline surged through his body, forcing his heart to beat even faster. Finally, the rocks turned up again.
He opened his eyes, searching for the blue-green glow, but all he could see was black. Clawing feverishly at the depths, he fought for the surface, but it didn’t come. With all his being, he wanted to open his mouth and gasp, to fill his lungs with air or water or anything that would stop the burn, but he fought back the urge, until he could no more. His strokes weakened, his kicks grew less. Looking up, he saw a faint turquoise luster, but it might as well have been a ship’s length away. Eldrick opened his mouth to suck in wet death.
Heavy hands grabbed him under his arms and yanked him to the surface. A croaking gasp filled his ears – his own. Kren lifted D’Eldar out of the water and pressed him hard against the stone floor, before covering his mouth to stifle his coughs. “Shhh,” the wildman whispered, “or you’ll end us both!”
A pungent musk fouled Eldrick’s nostrils, growing stronger the more he recovered. “The wyrm kneads his stench into this place, he does not want us here.”
Standing, Redstorm drew his axes and slunk forward to a break in the wall. Deathly still, he peered around the corner. After a long while, D’Eldar sat upright and took in a few more breaths, before attempting to stand. His legs were weak, but they grew stronger with each step. At the gap, he placed an arm on the wildman’s bare shoulder and peered through.
A great chamber opened up before them, lit by the same ghostly turquoise glow. The stench was stronger still, a cloying, rotting smell – the smell of the wyrm’s den.
The chief of serpents lay coiled in the center of the space, his blue-gray scales like heater shields shimmering under the lights. Eldrick reasoned he must have been at least fifteen armspans longs, and maybe more, though it was hard to gauge with the beast in a heap. At his thickest, he was surely as wide as a warhorse was long.
Kren stepped through the maw and drew his axes, their honed edges glowing green. Looking back, a primal sneer betrayed his lips. “Here we are, Wayfarer, at our end. Fear nothing but failure. And do not forget, they will sing our song around the campfires as they drink their ale and wine, no matter what happens from this moment forward.”
Chapter 50
Rowan Vos
The Shoals
Calisal Sea
Like specters, they drifted across waters black as kraken’s ink, aiming for the skeleton with the drawn saber. Behind them, the Cormorant blazed like a bramwar’s eyes, its red-orange glow fading into the gloom of their wake. But to anyone on the corsair’s caravel, there was only the blinding blaze of the holk afire and the dark shadows that lay immediately beyond. There were no survivors.
Rowan’s head swooned and his chest burned. The tarpan had trampled the rider. He sat in the bow of the rowboat, shivering in the warm air while Byard pulled at the wooden shafts liked a seasoned oarsman.
Eyes adjusted to the dark, he looked over their port side and saw Kassina in the center and Sutton up front. The captain’s arms were bare, his shirtsleeves stained crimson having been wrapped around the gash. “These bastards’ll pay,” he said, before a fit of coughs overtook him.
“Not by the likes of you,” Kassina quipped.
“Quiet. Both of you,” Byard whispered, his voice stern. “This is far from over, and surprise is ours. Let us not forfeit that.”
After several silent pulls of the oars, Kassina said quietly, “So we take their ship, right?”
“No,” replied Sutton. “A caravel of this size demands a working crew of at least two dozen. If we were to pull the anchor, she’d surely drift into the shoals.”
“What do we do, then?”
“We burn it, just like they did our own. But before we do, we search the hold. If all they thirst for is blood, then they must have treasure aplenty on board. We’ll need our share of that if we ever want to sail again.”
“But where will we get a ship?” she asked.
“Don’t let the rocky coast fool you, there are villages and towns and cities all along this coast. It’s the only place they can live, for the inlands are barren.”
At the base of the ship, the northman swung a grappling hook overhead, connecting with the rail. Pulling it taut, he stood in silence and waited, but no one came. Slipping a separate coil of rope over his shoulder, he planted a boot against the ship and started up its side.
“Wait,” said Rowan. “It should be me. You don’t know what you’ll find up there.”
Without as much as a backwards glance, Byard replied, “Swords before lords, or have you not heard the words? Tie the end of the rope to the bow.”
Halfway up, a corsair peered over the rail, saber in hand. Before either man could react, a bolt slammed into his forehead. He dawdled backwards for a moment, befor
e plummeting over the rail. The northman watched him fall over one shoulder, then looked over the other to Kassina, mouth agape.
“Was he unlucky, too?” she asked.
“No, m’lady, I wager not.”
Crawling over the rail, Byard kept to the shadows and scanned the deck, but saw no one. The red glow in the distance faded by half with the crash of lumber and splash of water as the Cormorant collapsed in on itself. The northman watched their former ship thrash about in her death throes as he tied the coiled rope to the rail and lowered it to the second boat. A clambering of boots across the deck whirled him around.
“Byard!” Kassina shouted, scrambling across the boat to the rope.
“‘Tis but two, but make haste the same!” Before his words had finished steel sang against steel.
Rowan clenched his eyes shut to keep from seeing double as he hauled himself up the rope. His muscles spasmed, threatening to spill him from his perch. Somewhere overhead, he heard a man’s cries cut short by a final blow. Groaning, he rolled over the rail in time to see Kassina drive her saber into the back of a corsair atop the northman.
Byard lay his head against the deck and let out a relieved sigh. “You should’ve carried it through and ended us both.”
“Hardly,” she replied, pulling him to his feet.
With the help of the rails, Rowan stood. As he started forward, his knees buckled and he collapsed on the deck. “Shit,” he groaned.
“Ro,” she gasped. Together with Byard, they slipped their arms under his and helped him up again.
“I’ll be fine,” he rasped. “The more potent spells drain me.” Looking around, he added, “Where’s Howland?”
“He can’t make it up the rope,” she replied, “not with his wound.”
Stepping forward, the thief tested his balance. It was shaky, but better. “I can walk. Let me lead, I’ll find the shadows and scout ahead.”
“The last thing you need is more magic,” she replied.