Blood and Iron 2

by Eli Steele

  “Like it won’t be swinging a sword for a while.”

  “Good thing it’s your left shoulder,” she replied. Exhaling deeply, she added, “So, did that whole place just collapse?”

  Nodding, Rowan said between gasps, “I think so...”

  “Let me understand this,” Kassina said, “the seven presumably highest mages in the world just convened to destroy this damn sword, and now they’re dead? Where does that leave us?”

  Rowan closed his eyes, ignoring the question.

  “Rowan! What’re we going to do?”

  “Shit! I don’t know! I guess we hide in Avendor!”

  “With who exactly? Thatcher Frost’s friends? ...I don’t think so...”

  “Then wha-“

  “That’s what I’m asking you!” Kassina shouted, her voice carrying deep into the sewers.

  “Shut your arses!” Bela snapped. “The both of you! Now, we take this one step at a time. We get out of these sewers, then we get out of this city. Where we go from there, we’ll decide when the time comes. Got it?”

  They both nodded.

  Bela pulled out a skin of tea, took a gulp, and passed it to Kassina. And from her, to Rowan, and back through to Bela.

  “I sure wish that was wine,” Kassina muttered.

  Rowan chuckled.

  “What?”

  “Nothing...” he said.

  Bela giggled.

  “What’s so funny?” Kassina demanded.

  “Let it be, Kass, this is no time for an intervention…” Rowan quipped.

  “Go to hell, Ro,” she snapped, before laughing herself.

  “I feel better for that, if only just a little; thanks,” said Bela.

  After a short rest, Rowan said, “Alright, let’s get through these sewers...”

  Back at the gate, he said, “Stay close. Whether anything’s in here or not, Pisk certainly believed it was...”

  Pisk... you odd little imp... and now like, Orick, a casualty of Thatcher Frost...

  With a clack, the lock sprung free; Rowan stepped through the threshold.

  Perhaps it was the memory of Pisk, but the imp’s unease now fell on the thief. Torch extended forward, he slowed his pace. His ears searched the tunnel for threats unseen.

  The drip-drip-drip of the sewers sang endlessly. Somewhere close by, a pipe emptied into the canal. Rats squeaked and scampered down an intersecting passage.

  Rowan slid free the sword and wielded the focus that flowed freely from it. He recalled Pisk’s words:

  The namer has power over the named...

  Unforgeable… No… Gruff was close, but that’s not quite right…

  “Unforged,” he whispered to himself.

  “What’d you say?” Kassina whispered in reply.

  “Nothing...”

  Sensing his unease, she pulled her curved dagger.

  Somewhere up ahead, he heard a faint scratching of nails on stone. Rowan stopped.

  “What is it?” Kassina whispered.

  “I heard something...”

  “Are you sure? I didn-“

  “Shhh, there it is again. It’s closer.” Closing his eyes, he centered on the sword until all else faded. Together, they searched the night. Rowan opened his eyes.

  “Ro,” said Bela, “we need to move. There’s something back here...”

  “Ok, but I think something’s up here, too.”

  At an intersecting tunnel, Rowan stepped on the narrow iron bridge that connected the ledges. On the opposite side, a figure appeared in the outer rim of the torch glow. Its pale-white face was long like a horse’s, but still human-like, though horribly disfigured. Tattered and gray, a robe hung from its gaunt frame. Hissing, it stepped forward, nails scraping on brick, milky eyes searching the thief’s face.

  Rowan stepped back.

  “What the hell is that?” Kassina whispered.

  Rowan didn’t reply. The relics...

  “Umm, there’s one behind us, too,” Bela said, her voice shaky. “Wait... shit, there’s two... Kass, take my torch.”

  Kassina complied. Bela readied her bow and nocked an arrow.

  Shit...

  “Rowan...”

  He glanced down the side hall; where it went, he didn’t know. “We’re going to have to make a detour...” he said, watching the front relic edge closer. Hissing and clicking its tongue, it craned its neck and studied him with eyes that craved. “Ready?”

  Bela leveled her bow at the chest of the nearest creature. “Ready...”

  “Now!” Pushing off of the wet brick, he sprang forward. The front relic screeched and lunged, seeking to head off the girls’ escape.

  Pivoting, Bela found the charging creature and loosed her arrow. A sickly thwunk resounded as the missile sunk into its flesh. Clutching at its chest, it teetered and fell into the canal, shrieking and thrashing about before disappearing beneath the surface. In the distance, a chorus of ghastly howls answered its cries.

  Behind them, Rowan heard the skittering of claws on brick, scratching after them. Their snarls were deep and nasally. His shoulder throbbed in concert with the manic rhythm of his heart.

  Bela twisted and stretched her bow string, letting another arrow fly. It sailed high of its target, disappearing into the blackened maw. “They’re gaining!”

  The ledge widened, crowding out the canal until it disappeared altogether. At the same time, the ceiling closed in.

  Please don’t be a dead end...

  Gnarled hands with long claws scratched at the damp air, seeking Bela out. Looking back, she screamed.

  Kassina spun and flung a torch at the relic. End over end it sailed through the void, casting odd shadows on the walls and ceiling. The torch’s oil-soaked rags struck the relic’s chest. Flames rolled over the tattered robe, igniting the creature. Shrieking, it tumbled forward, face first onto the bricks. The second creature bounded over it, hissing and snarling as it did. Behind it, the distant sounds of the others could be heard.

  Up ahead the tunnel narrowed in on a wall. In its center, a hole yawned open with brick and rubble piled around it.

  Rowan dove through, spun, and pressed his back against the wall. Blade held high in one hand and torch in the other, he waited. His pulse raced and his shoulder ached. Adrenaline soured his mouth and parched his throat. The sword narrowed his field of vision and focused his eyes. The chamber blurred black beyond the brick’s breach.

  Kassina leapt through the opening first, followed closely by Bela. As she landed, she looked back and shouted, “Now!”

  Chopping down hard, the sword’s razor edge met the relic’s soft, pallid flesh. A low gurgle bubbled out of its throat as its head snapped forward, bobbing against its chest. Without aim or direction, the figure crumpled and slid across the stone floor. A putrid stench rolled off the carcass, defiling the room.

  “They’re still coming!” Bela shouted, clawing herself back to her feet. Whirling around, she launched two arrows blindly through the maw. Somewhere beyond, a shriek rang out. The same ghastly chorus rose up in response.

  Unlike the sewers, the cave was irregular, pressing in on itself before yawning back out. Blanketed with rubble, the stone floor rolled and yawed and snaked about as it drilled deeper into the earth.

  Before them, the walls and ceiling disappeared. A ledge jutted out into a wide expanse, endless and black. At the edge of the rocky precipice, a rope and timber bridge slung out, extending endlessly until it faded into the gloom.

  “What the hell is a bridge doing down here?” Kassina exclaimed.

  “A better question is what the hell is after us!” Bela retorted.

  While Rowan checked the bridge with the toe of his boot, Bela bounded out past him. “Sturdy or not, there ‘int much of a choice!” She shouted.

  Ropes groaned as they stretched under the load of the three, while planks creaked and the bridge swayed precariously. Halfway across, a familiar hiss welcomed them from the other side. Behind them, the clattering and scratching o
f the relics’ claws drew nearer.

  Shit...

  In the middle of the chasm, sagging low on the bridge, their two torchlights trembled, alone in the black.

  “Do you hear that?” Rowan said, gripping the blade.

  “Hear what?”

  Leaning over the rope rail, he dropped his torch.

  “Water…” he whispered.

  The flames growled as they plummeted for nigh an eternity. And then suddenly, the torch smashed into the stone floor below. Embers and sparks scattered like an explosion of fireflies. At the edge of the illuminated arc, a body of moving water could just be seen.

  “I hear it now,” said Kassina, “faintly... is there... is there a waterfall down there?

  The bridge sagged and swayed as the first of the relics stepped off the ledge.

  “That’s good enough for me,” Bela said, edging towards the water. In a single motion, she cleared the railing and plummeted into the void. A loud splash echoed up from below.

  Kassina looked at him. “Rowan... if we don’t-“

  He grabbed her torch and flung it down to the other. Stepping forward, he wrapped his arms around Kassina, rolled over the railing, and whispered, “We’re together... we’re going to make it... Now, close your eyes and hold your breath.”

  In the gloomy abyss, somewhere far below the streets of Ashmor, pursued by relics, she held her breath and smiled.

  Chapter 22

  Eldrick D’Eldar

  Braewood Keep

  Kingdom of Beyorn

  Grim was the mood atop the wall, and as gray as the skies overhead. Silence, heavy like the snowdrifts in the Barbeau Pass, blanketed the line. The north wind burned Eldrick’s face.

  The gift of the Brae... cracked lips and cheeks as red as the field down below...

  Again the trebuchet launched a boulder from the protection of the olde growth. It arced lower than the last with more forward motion, wind rushing around it, wobbling and rolling as it closed in. By chance, or fate, or some curse against the keep, the stone met the earth just ahead of the gate and careened into it with a deafening crash. Splinters scratched up the heavy timbers, but still they held.

  “My lord,” Eldrick said between the gusts, “we are being chipped away. The next wave could very well be our last. We should make preparations-“

  “We shall do no such thing,” Baron replied. “My son is still out there, and I will not abandon him. Not while we can fight still.”

  “Lord, at least send the women and children to Perk until this is over. Or better yet, on to Ashmor...”

  Shaking his head, the elder Alexander replied, “And what would that say to these men? No, we need all of their hearts in this if we are to hold this line. Should the main gate fall, we will do what we must, but not a moment before then.”

  D’Eldar surveyed the field. Writhing and wailing, the dead-to-be lay in the knee-high grass. Crimson-stained stalks swayed amongst the tarnished sea of green. Already, vultures hopped about like seasoned merchants in a strange place, wary of the wares they weighed, searching out the stalls for the choicest of offerings.

  “How long before they strike again?” Eldrick asked after a lull.

  “Shouldn’t be long. Already they stir along the fringes.” Baron stepped forward and peered through the looking glass. “Come here.”

  Eldrick joined him at the parapet wall.

  “Look,” the lord of the keep said, pulling D’Eldar in front of the glass. “Over there, see the mass of men in the woods?”

  “I do.”

  “Have the ballistae tighten their arses. Those bastards aren’t the only ones that can kill from afar.”

  Eldrick turned and spoke to Roke and Rulf, before watching them make their way to the towers. With the motioning of hands and trading of words, the Ballistae swiveled into position and launched bolts as long as a jouster’s lance. They raced down across the battlefield, before piercing the forest’s edge and flattening their targets with deadly precision. Panicked shouts rose up from the Braewood.

  Satisfied but not smiling, Baron studied the scene through the looking glass. “Their accuracy is inspiring...” After a quiet, he added, “They’re tending to the wounded, fire another bolt.”

  Eldrick motioned to the east tower. Again a missile split the field of crimson-green and met its mark.

  Pulling back from the glass, the elder Alexander remarked, “That might stir their nub-armed commander. I’d rather coax a siege while there’s something left to defend. Maybe they’re cocksure enough to oblige us.”

  After a time a war cry rose up, followed by an advancing shield wall and a line of archers.

  “Fools,” Lord Baron snorted. “Or maybe it’s we, lurching towards the losing fight...” Straightening, he shouted, “Archers, ballistae, wait for no man! Burn down that line!”

  Eldrick and Ezra carried the command to the end of the line.

  Men traded their steel-headed arrows for those wrapped with oil-soaked rags. With torches passed down from the boilers, they lit them and nocked them back. Three-dozen bows creaked in an anemic protest.

  A thin array of flaming missiles roared over the field and rained down on the line. Many bounced off the shields, sending hot oil and flames skittering across banded timber and man and grass. Others stuck tight, spreading fire and chaos. And fewer still found a gap in the row and bit deep into flesh and bone.

  As men fell back, others stepped forward, holding tight the line. Buckets of water doused the flames. Behind them, mangonels labored into place. From the center, a line of ladders and a pair of rams streamed forth.

  From the bows behind the shield line, a flaming volley much larger than the Brae’s responded in turn. Arrows filled the sky, before rolling down and chasing in on the wall.

  “Down!” Lord Baron shouted, stepping under the looking glass’s canopy.

  Eldrick and Ezra repeated the call to their men. All down the wall, shields raised up and men crowded against the low battlement. Fletched brimstone clattered against the Brae, sending sparks and wet fire in all directions.

  Standing, the spy watched the mangonels change their tactics. Launchers hurled heaps of skull-sized stones towards them. “Get your asses against the wall!” he shouted, running down the line, but he was too late. A hunk of limestone hit Roke, caving in his chest. Turning, his panicked eyes met D’Eldar’s as he fell down into the courtyard. He landed hard, eyes open and mouth agape. Blood pooled around him, seeping into the stones.

  With a heavy thud, the first of the ladders slapped against the Brae. Shields overhead, Meronian soldiers surged up the rungs. “Oil and fire!” Eldrick shouted, grabbing a pot and dousing a ladder, before setting a torch to its top. Flames raced down the side timbers, burning man and lumber alike.

  A dozen strides down the wall, he hacked a raider climbing over the battlement with his sword, before groaning and straining against the ladder. Looking over, he saw Lann cowering under his shield. “Get your ass up!” he barked.

  “I-I can’t, m’lord. I’m too scared…”

  “Scared of dying?”

  Lann nodded.

  “I promise you, you will die if you don’t hold this line. Now come, help me!”

  Reluctantly, the youth scrambled over to his captain. Together, they relieved the wall of the siege ladder. Grabbing a crossbow, he shoved it into Lann’s arms. “We need you. Please…”

  Lann nodded again, managing to mouth, “Ok.” Tears streamed down his face.

  He wanted to hug the boy and tell him it would be over soon, one way or the other, but there was no time. Instead, he turned and continued executing Lord Baron’s orders. Sucking in smoky air, Lann aimed the crossbow at the battering team that was quickly approaching down below.

  Again a volley of smoking arrows fell upon them, clattering at Eldrick’s feet and hitting Bran in the leg. He cried out, pulled it through with a shriek, and continued to help Jarin repel a ladder.

  Oarsmen… if that I had a hundred more o
f the hellstormers...

  The loud crash of the ram returned to the field. Eldrick aimed for the gatehouse. A hail of mangonel stones showered the Brae, shattering bones and maiming and killing men on both sides.

  Oil-soaked and afire, black smoke curled up from the ram, filling the spy’s nostrils and burning his eyes. Still, the heat offered a respite from the harsh winds. He started to call out to the boilers, but it was too late; the gate heaved in with a loud crash. Raiders flooded into the narrow passage that led to the second gate.

  “Drop the dirt!” Lord Baron shouted.

  Turning, the oilers dumped barrels of burning sand through the murder holes, cascading it onto the invaders and filtering it into the cracks and gaps in their clothes and armor. Screams filled the narrow space.

  Behind them, the second battering crew entered, pressing their protective roof up to deflect the oiler’s attacks. The deafening crash of the heavy log against the reinforced timbers rattled Eldrick’s ears.

  In the distance, the trebuchet groaned, launching another boulder at the Brae. D’Eldar watched it climb high into the gray skies. Behind it, something caught his attention. Stepping forward, he pressed an eye into the looking glass and scanned the horizon. Smoke hung low over the forest, held down by the gusts. And then, the winds shifted, revealing the source. A blaze raged in the Braewood, rolling overtop itself as it consumed the canopy and bore down on the Meronian position.

  Shocked, Eldrick stepped back from the looking glass. All around him the chaos, and clamor, and terrors of war faded away. A smile stretched across his cracked lips.

  Someone grabbed his shoulder and shook him. Men dove as the boulder slammed into the gatehouse, knocking him to his knees. Turning, he saw Baron shouting at him, but his words were blank. Spittle foamed on his lips and caught in his red beard.

  “Your son…” the spy said, standing, “They will sing songs about him, and this day, and what he did…”

  Looking out over the northern horizon, the two men saw the redness grow in the low sky, not of dusk’s creation, but of the inferno that still swelled as it clawed its way to Hell’s Gate.

  Chapter 23