Wrath of the Forgotten: Descendants of the Fall Book II

by Hodges, Aaron

Lukys shook his head, struggling to shift back to a verbal conversation. “Something startled her,” he offered finally. “We’re lucky she didn’t tear our throats out.”

  That seemed enough for Dale and he let the topic drop.

  I would not have harmed you, human. There was a touch of humour to Sophia’s words now.

  Frowning, Lukys glanced in her direction. He was about to mention to her something of their words in the forest, but at the last moment thought better of it. There seemed to be little point in reminding the creature of her loss. Instead, he offered an observation.

  My name is Lukys, he tried, reaching out more gently with his mind now.

  Yes, it is. Her voice turned cold again, and Lukys swallowed as silence fell across his mind.

  It was a strange sensation, having a conversation all in his mind—almost like he were talking to himself. He wondered how the Tangata did it, how they distinguished their own thoughts from those of their fellow Tangata. Sophia’s voice had a distinct tone to it, but often the whispers he heard coming from the others were indistinguishable from his own inner musings.

  Finally they reached the bridge spanning the Shelman River. It stretched some six hundred feet to the distant island, built from great blocks of granite that plunged down into the swirling waters. Bricks had been laid to protect the structure from the endless traffic, but these had been worn smooth over the decades, and twin ruts in the centre revealed the gradual erosion left by the wagons.

  There were no wagons now, though. The few Tangata leaving the city were on foot, many carrying great packs upon their backs. Lukys expected them to stop and stare at the human prisoners Adonis had brought to the city, but instead the passersby paid them little attention.

  Halfway across the bridge, the polished stone turned abruptly to wood. Lukys paused, eyeing the ragged section of planks spanning a gap between the granite blocks. He guessed the allied forces of humanity must have blown this section of the bridge to protect their retreat to the north. The Tangata had evidently lacked either the skill or the patience to repair the damage with stone.

  Sophia and the other Tangata continued across the patched section without hesitation, leaving Lukys with no choice but to follow. The boards groaned as they took his weight, but thankfully held, and a moment later he returned to the bricked path.

  They continued, reaching the shores of the island and passing onto the broad avenue that split the city in two. Lukys was surprised to find the street awash with colour. Trees lined the avenue, pink blossoms sprouting from their wiry branches, their petals swirling at every breeze and filling the air with the sweet scent of flowers.

  More than that, though, the buildings themselves were each a display of individuality. Just like in the border city of Fogmore, the Calafe had built their city of wood. But the similarities ended there. Where Fogmore appeared to have been thrown together overnight, New Nihelm had been built with care, the wooden beams and panels of every building fitted together with precision.

  Each house had also been painted in different colours from its neighbours. Façades of red and yellow and blue and green led away down the street, creating a vibrant, picturesque image of a city united by its differences.

  Sadness touched Lukys at the thought, as he remembered that the families who had so lovingly crafted the image were gone, forced from their homes by the threat of the Tangata.

  The sun was lifting higher into the sky, bringing with it more of New Nihelm’s new Tangatan occupants. They moved about the paved streets much the same as the citizens of his own city back in Perfugia, though they were not half so numerous. It would have been easy to forget the creatures around him weren’t human.

  Easy, but for the fact they lived in a city stolen from its rightful owners. It had not been the Tangata who had thought to build their city upon this island. It had not been their skill that had crafted such beautiful homes, nor their hardship that had maintained it for a century. No, the only thing built by the Tangata on this entire island were the wooden boards they had used to span the broken bridge.

  Everything else they had stolen from the Calafe.

  Eventually, their captors led them off the main avenue into the smaller streets that crisscrossed the island. There they began to see further signs of life—vendors standing behind stalls, groups of Tangata on street corners, and still others carrying great packs of goods on their backs. Only…Lukys could not help feeling there was a strangeness to it all, an unnaturalness that hung about the city.

  It was a while before he could put a finger on the abnormality.

  It was the silence.

  In every city, every town he had ever visited, there was a constant buzz, a distant rumbling of wagons and beating of hammers, of voices, of life. With the Tangata in New Nihelm, there was none of that.

  They crossed a number of bridges spanning smaller watercourses, though these were broad, arcing things that lifted several yards higher than the surrounding streets. Crossing them, Lukys began to realise New Nihelm was not one island at all, but many, divided by canals that crisscrossed the city. At the edge of each channel, stone foundations were revealed, plunged deep into the mud and hidden by the structures that had been built atop them.

  Anger touched Lukys as he was again reminded of the effort the Calafe had put into the construction of their city, only to have it stolen away. He found himself glaring at the creatures they passed in the streets, wishing there was something he could do, some magical way of restoring to Romaine’s people what was rightfully theirs—

  Lukys froze as he caught a glimpse of a figure amongst the Tangata gathered around a nearby fruit stall. Frowning, he came to a stop, watching them, aware there was something different about this group. Sophia and the other guards did not immediately realise his absence, and silently he stepped towards the stand. Two males and a female stood perusing the vegetables on display. In another time, he might have wondered at the oddity of the monsters from his nightmares out shopping, but something about the female’s movement had caught his attention.

  Struck by a sudden suspicion, Lukys darted forward and reached out to grasp the woman by the shoulder. A belated cry came from behind him as Sophia finally realised his absence, but she was too late. Crying out, the female he’d accosted spun, hands raised in fright, eyes wide.

  Eyes of a brilliant sea green.

  The woman was human.

  7

  The Fallen

  The Illmoor Fortress was five days ride from Fogmore, though the queen lingered a day in the riverside town to prepare supplies before pushing on. Her Guard rode large destriers bred for war, their iron-shod hooves capable of caving in the skulls of even the most ferocious of the foes. Behind them came the supply wagons, though many would be left in the smaller forts that lined the shores of the Illmoor, restocking them for the coming months of conflict against the Tangata.

  Romaine himself rode a smaller mare, for which he was thankful. The destriers might make great warhorses, but their thumping gait would have been agony for his injuries. Even with the smoother strides of the mare, Romaine was aching by the time the sun set on the first day. It was a relief when he finally topped a rise and found the vanguard setting camp on the floodplains below.

  Tugging on his reins, he drew the mare to a stop and watched the preparations. Still far from Gemaho, there was little chance of an attack by Nguyen’s soldiers. Indeed, if they were lucky the man might not yet know of their advance.

  As for the Tangata…an attack seemed unlikely, but with the Illmoor River less than a mile from their position, nothing could be guaranteed. The soldiers below were certainly taking no chances. There were no trees available for a stockade wall, but a defensive ditch and embankment were already nearing completion.

  The thumping of hooves came from below and a moment later a rider topped the rise and approached Romaine.

  “Have to admit, those Royal Guards sure are an efficient sort.”

  Lorene wore a broad grin on his youthful
face as he pulled his mount to a stop alongside Romaine’s. He’d volunteered for the expedition when the queen had asked for scouts to help navigate the journey east. There were no roads or passageways in these parts, and so close to the river it would have been easy for the queen’s forces to become bogged in the marshland. The seemingly solid ground in the open pastures had a habit of sinking beneath the weight of horses, so it paid to have scouts along who knew the territory.

  Romaine only grunted and swung from his saddle. He would walk the rest of the way down the hill—his body could use the stretch. Grinning at some unspoken joke, Lorene did the same, and together they started down the hill.

  Romaine did his best to keep the pain of his injuries from his face, but it was difficult to ignore the searing that touched his chest with each step. How much longer until he healed? Days, weeks, months? Despair swelled in his throat and he struggled to push it back down. What good was he to anyone, let alone a Goddess, if he couldn’t even walk without pain?

  “You think she’s really going to attack the Gemaho?” Lorene asked as they threaded their way down the hillside. There was a path that wound around in a gentler manner, passable for the wagons, but they had opted for the more direct route.

  Romaine flicked a glance at the man but said nothing for the moment, keeping his attention focused on the ground beneath his feet. The grassy slope fell steeply to the campsite and they were doing their best to zigzag the horses down. The mare snorted and tugged at her reins but otherwise followed Romaine without question. No doubt she was relieved at the break from his weight upon her back.

  “You know, you didn’t need to join us,” Romaine said, skirting the man’s question, then muffled a curse as a patch of earth slid beneath his boot.

  These hills had once been covered in forest, much the same as his own homeland across the distant waters, but for the last decade the banks this side of the Illmoor had been progressively burned away. The Flumeeren soldiers had feared the Tangata would use the forests as cover to pass their defensive lines and attack settlements further inland. Now though, the land lay exposed, and many hillsides were slowly crumbling beneath the forces of erosion.

  “I know,” Lorene replied with a shrug. “It’s just…it didn’t feel right, staying behind last time. I should have gone with you lot when you went south.”

  “If you had, there’d be one more corpse lying in the forests of my homeland.”

  “Maybe,” Lorene said, a self-deprecating grin appearing on his lips, “or might be I could have helped. Can’t know now, can we?” His eyes turned ahead, to the distant mountains. A sharp V between the soaring peaks marked the valley through which the Illmoor passed. Beyond, the plateaus of Gemaho waited. “But at least I can still help the lass.”

  Romaine chuckled at that. “Can hardly call her a lass now, you know.”

  Lorene grinned. “Nah, maybe that’s the real reason I’m coming. Didn’t get a chance to see her before her untimely departure. Wouldn’t mind a glimpse though. Something to tell the grandkids about, you know?”

  “The Gemaho might have something to say about that.”

  “Ain’t that the truth.”

  They fell silent at that, each pointedly turning his eyes from the distant mountains. Before anyone could reach the plateaus of Gemaho, they first had to pass the granite walls of the Illmoor Fortress. And the defenders wouldn’t let the queen’s army pass without a fight.

  Reaching the bottom of the hill, Lorene nodded a farewell and mounted up again to set off around the perimeter of the camp. Romaine watched him go, then led his horse on through a gap that had been left in the fortifications for the arriving army.

  With no tasks of his own to occupy him, Romaine wandered through the camp. The vanguard had staked out areas for the army’s tents, which would soon arrive in the wagons. Watching the men work, Romaine found himself thinking of the coming conflict. Again, doubt touched him. The Tangata were massing beyond the Illmoor. With an attack imminent, was now really time for the queen to start a war between the kingdoms of man, the first in more than a generation?

  Yet…neither could Romaine bring himself to disagree with the queen’s decision. After all, it was his only chance of rescuing Cara. And perhaps the dispute could be ended without bloodshed. After all, surely the King of Gemaho did not intend to hold one of the Gods against her will. The eastern peoples were not known for their devotion, but not even they could deny Cara’s divinity.

  Though Romaine had to admit, he still hadn’t entirely come around to that truth. It seemed impossible the innocent young woman that had spent so many weeks at his side was one of the Divine. What had a God been doing here anyway, sparring with the Perfugians, eating with the other soldiers in the mess hall, even befriending Romaine? But then, that was the way of the Gods, was it not, that mere mortals could not understand their motives?

  Shaking his head, Romaine returned his attention to his surroundings. The queen had been riding with the vanguard and now he saw her ahead, supervising the last touches on the camp fortifications. Romaine’s horse gave a soft whinny, announcing his approach. A smile lit the woman’s face and she waved a greeting.

  “Romaine, come, join me,” she called. “I trust the ride was comfortable?”

  Romaine nodded. Thankfully, Amina did not call him out on the lie, though he feared the truth was written on his face.

  “What do you think?” she asked, gesturing to the men at work.

  Romaine cast a professional eye over the fortifications. The ditch was a good four feet deep, the mound rising behind it almost the same. Enough to stop the most determined of cavalry charges, but against the Tangata…the creatures could easily leap the width of the trench, and a mound of dirt was not likely to slow them.

  Turning to the queen, he shrugged. “Good work.”

  A smile tugged at the queen’s lips and there was a hint of laughter in her eyes as she drew him away from the working men. “You may speak truthfully with me, Calafe,” she said. “You think such measures inadequate against the threat of the Tangata?”

  Romaine glanced over his shoulder at the soldiers. They were out of earshot now, but several had broken away to follow the queen. Her personal guard. Shaking his head, he regarded the woman.

  “You are no fool, Your Majesty,” Romaine replied. “And the fortifications will at least provide a line for your men to hold, should the Tangata strike. But…if the creatures were to attack in any force, there is little a mound of dirt will do to stop them.”

  The queen nodded and they continued away from the boundaries of the camp, heading towards the centre. The supply wagons had arrived now and many were hard at work setting the tents for the night. One of the queen’s grooms approached as they walked, eyes on Romaine’s horse. He handed over the reins with reluctance—a man should always care for his own horse.

  “You are right, of course,” the queen said as the groom led his mare away, “but a leader must think not only of the day at hand, but those to come. Would you believe I had my soldiers perform this ritual every night we spent camped between Mildeth and Fogmore?”

  Romaine frowned. There would have been little risk of attack by man or Tangata in those lands. “No wonder you travelled so slowly.”

  The queen gave a throaty chuckle. “Of course, without such precautions, we might have reached the city a day sooner.” She gestured to the soldiers moving past. “However, in a matter of days, we will be faced not by Tangata, but men. My soldiers must be ready to repel any attack. I thought it prudent that they have some practice at setting a war camp before we marched into enemy territory.”

  “You truly think it will come to that?”

  “This is war, Romaine. I discount no possibility when it comes to my enemies. Especially one so wily as King Nguyen.”

  She came to a stop at that, and Romaine realised they were now standing in front of a canvas tent at least five times the size of the others that were being set up around the campsite. Two of the queen’s
personal guard already stood outside, spears held upright, eyes fixed on Romaine.

  Romaine shook his head. “What does that man want with Cara?” he murmured, more to himself than the queen.

  “There are several possibilities that come to mind,” the queen mused. “However, I had hoped you might shine some light on the subject. You knew the Goddess best. Would you join me for a drink, Calafe?”

  For a moment, Romaine was tempted to turn the woman down. His chest was aching something fierce and he wanted little more than to lie down and sleep a dozen hours. But…one did not simply turn down a request from the Queen of Flumeer. Muffling a sigh, he nodded, and the queen led the way inside. Ignoring the hostility of her guards, Romaine followed.

  Within, the tent was more luxurious than he had expected for a woman who wore a full suit of armour. But then, he supposed even a warrior queen needed a few indulgences. The floor of the tent had been lined with stone tiles and Romaine quickly did his best to wipe the mud from his boots in the doorway. Warmth greeted him as he stepped inside, drawing his attention to a brazier set in the corner. Several plain wooden chairs had been set there, while beyond a feathered mattress lay on a slate bed.

  Surprised they had managed to fit so much into the supply wagons, Romaine returned his gaze to the queen.

  “Take a seat, Calafe,” she said, gesturing to the chairs beside the brazier. “Perhaps the warmth will ease your injuries.”

  The warmth was only adding to Romaine’s weariness, but he did as he was bid while the queen moved to a cabinet set beside the bed. She joined him shortly though, proffering a glass of amber liquid. Accepting the drink, Romaine sniffed gingerly before raising an eyebrow.

  “Calafe gold?” he murmured. It had been almost a decade since he’d last drunk the wine. One of the first attacks by the Tangata had burned the grapes on their southern vines.

  “Of course,” the queen replied, lifting a glass of her own in salute. She leaned forward then, the glow of a lantern setting her emerald eyes alight. “So, tell me of her, Romaine. What was it like to sup with the Divine?”