The Shadow Realm (The Age of Dawn Book 4)

by Everet Martins

  “How do you think the Death Spawn got as far as the other coast without us knowing? How could so many get by the eyes of our scouts?” Juzo stopped his pacing.

  The answer was obvious to Walter. “Portals.” He was glad about the subject change, something to put his mind to.

  “But only someone who’s good with them could do that, right?” Juzo pushed a hand through wisps of gray hair.

  Walter blew out his cheeks, his eye drooping at the memory of all that blood in the Shadow Realm. “Asebor,” he said gravely.

  Chapter Ten

  Separation

  “Meteor: This is a very advanced spell that only few throughout the ages have been able to conjure, though for completeness it is noted here. Melding the elements of fire and stone into one spell a, bright glowing sphere of fire and stone appears above your foes. It then strikes the ground with incredible force and causing a thunderous boom. The stone will shatter upon impact, filling the area with burning rubble. This should be used with great caution as the collateral damage can be significant.” - The Lost Spells of Zoria

  A lantern merrily hissed on a mound of gravel, left over materials from the new Tower’s construction. The dim light cast half of Walter’s face in its amber glow, making the shadows stretch on the scarred flesh around his eye. The sun would rise within the hour he reckoned. He woke up early against his body’s relentless protesting, dragged himself out here to have some time alone to practice. It had been far too long. He found himself staring stupidly out into the dark. The river of blood in the Shadow Realm flitted before his vision for a second, demons roaring for an instant. He closed his eye, snorted and gave it a hard rubbing until it all went away.

  He let out a long breath, sheets of red fading in his eye. His ears picked out uproarious laughter and the clinking of glasses. The sounds carried from the distant taverns that studded the intractable land. It seemed the people here never slept. Between the endless varieties of drink and whores to satisfy every manner of deviant proclivity, it was no wonder anyone had. Nyset had complained that no one had marks to donate to the Tower. He now understood why.

  The others would be up soon, maybe sooner once he got going. Now that the Tower had an acceptable roof, everyone had moved from shabby, rented tavern beds to canvas sacks on the Tower’s sawdust riddled floor. Even, Isa, Claw and Senka stayed with them now. It felt good to be sleeping around friends. He felt safe with them. For the first night since his return to the land of the living, he had slept without a single nightmare. That is, if you weren’t counting the nightmares he saw in his wakeful eyes.

  A salted breeze wafted in from the Far Sea, twitching at the bottom of his cloak. He shrugged it back over his shoulders and rubbed his left arm bearing, Stormcaller with his stump. It was such an odd sensation, feeling things from a spot that should have been inside of your arm. His stomach wasn’t used to it yet, guts always churning at the bizarre sensation. Stormcaller’s sinuous dragon engravings looked to be breathing fire in the lantern light.

  Something skittered in the bushes, followed by the sounds of two pieces of wood being gently rubbed together. It was likely Vita lizards, either fighting or fucking with their multiple sets of horns. Nyset had explained to him that they functioned as weapons as well as sex organs. There were stranger things in the world.

  He had a feeling it was going to be awkward with Stormcaller on his right, but thankfully Noah had always forced the Sid-Ho students to train the lash with both arms, should such an injury in combat occur. He inhaled through his nose and Stormcaller sprung to life, willing it to be there like the opening of an eye. The familiar sizzling of its three amber tendrils danced along his side, hissing as they carved scars into the dirt.

  He raised both arms by his head in a fighting stance, Stormcaller in front of him, stump held by his right ear. His right leg whipped around his side in a crescent kick, tight hamstring muscles slapping it back to the ground. Mantis clipping head. As his kick landed, he slashed horizontally with Stormcaller on his left, fiery tendrils cutting the air and leaving trails of light. Screaming serpent. He lunged forward on his left leg, chopping diagonally with Stormcaller, carving a furrow out of the earth.

  Dreaded tiger. He planted his right leg, ball of his foot grinding into the gravel as his left wound in a great arc from behind his back in a spin kick. Vicious moon shield. He punched with his stump, then with Stormcaller, tendrils winding together and stabbing like a spear. His elbows rose up to block imaginary counter attacks from both the left and right.

  Triple dragon’s spear. He twisted on the balls of his feet, turning around and stabbing with his knee then simultaneously punching with his fist and his stump into a demon, not entirely difficult to conjure in his mind. Sweat beaded on his brow and a drop slipped from the edge of his nose, glittering like a jewel. He twisted around again, and side kicked, then followed the landing of his leg with an upward slash of Stormcaller, tendrils shooting into the air and crackling as they snapped straight like a tower of burning tree limbs.

  He darted forward, right elbow chopping up above his ear. Iron elbows. His torso twisted around, shooting another elbow over his shoulder, followed with another stabbing down, and another shooting straight between his opponent’s imaginary guard.

  He grabbed where the back of someone’s neck would be, lunging forward and shooting a knee into the air. Venerable wind knee. He leaped into the air, knee stabbing up as high as a man’s head, followed up with a punch with Stormcaller wrapped tight around his arm. He let his arm hang there for a few seconds, air shimmering around it.

  His eyes blurred with his beating heart. He would have done anything to have Stormcaller with him in the Shadow Realm. “I will kill all of you for what you did to her,” he whispered. He heard her screams bashing around his head like smith’s hammers, saw the demon’s talon emerging from his mother, tipped with her blood. He closed his eyes, swallowing hard, trying to dash the persistent memory away. His arm shook with the tension in his forearm, wrapping his fingers into a hard fist. “That’s a fucking promise.”

  His mouth parted into a madman’s grin. Maybe I could make my way back there now by wrapping Stormcaller’s lashes around my neck. He peered up at the sharp angle of the building’s roof, wondering how long the wood could stand under its burning tendrils.

  “Walt? That you?” Grimbald bladed his body half way out the Tower’s front door, one big fist rubbing sleep from his eyes.

  “Yeah.”

  “Come in, just made some hot elixir.”

  “Sounds wonderful,” he snatched the lantern and wiped sweat from his neck. And that was all it took to live another day, a friend who cared.

  * * *

  Nyset sat erect on her jet-black gelding, its hair gleaming like her silks in the warm blues of the rising sun. The clouds were like shredded cotton, dragging across the sky in thin wisps. Behind her in the distance was Helm’s Reach, dark concentric rings of walls going around and around towards the center and reaching up to the sky. The city was quiet still, most still slumbered in their beds, dreaming of a foe they had yet to face.

  “So you’re really leaving now?” Nyset asked, her hands clasped in her lap and clutching the reigns. The gelding snorted and pawed at the shingle.

  “Regretfully.” Walter placed his hands on his mare’s pommel and leaned forward, peering out at the most untidy, undisciplined group of men and women he’d ever seen. Scab’s count seemed accurate, looked to be about three hundred swords by his rough estimate. They wore a mishmash of scavenged armor, rusted weapons, dented maces, and ripped clothing. From hard use of their own, or hard use by someone else, Walter couldn’t say.

  Their mounts stirred about, chomping on weeds and kicking up enough dust that one could easily mistake it for a coming dust storm. Walter found it surprising how many women were in their ranks, almost an even split. The Falcon didn’t allow women recruits, why he didn’t know.

  Juzo’s surrogates stood in their own small group, pale faced an
d huddled up as if preparing for a long winter. Like Juzo, they had opted to walk rather than ride a horse, which was good because they didn’t have marks to purchase anymore. Juzo stood at their center, chatting with them like old pals. Walter would have loved to hear that conversation. Don’t worry, we’re only going to walk over one hundred miles on foot. Once there, you’ll be forced against your will to die against an enemy that will tear you limb from limb and wear your intestines as trophies. Don’t want to fight? If you don’t fight, you’ll get no blood and you’ll starve to death. So, who likes adventure? Walter snickered.

  “Something funny?” Grimbald said on his other side. Grimbald had procured another axe. It was similar in size to Corpsemaker, but with a lot less of the menacing details. It sat across his back under Corpsemaker, twin axe heads dangling just a few inches from his Blood Donkey’s hide. He had apparently been practicing using two axes lately, and found he preferred it to the one.

  “No, just nerves.” Walter swallowed. “You can really control two of those big bastards?” Walter eyed the axes on Grimbald’s back, their edges sharpened to a deadly gleam.

  Grimbald nodded. “Sure. Just stay out of my way when the killing gets going. You’ll be alright.”

  He wasn’t worried about himself so much as everyone else who didn’t know to avoid him. “If you say so. Everyone else know that?”

  “I’m sure they’ll figure it out.”

  Walter looked him up and down, clad in dull armor, sans a helmet. He was a terrifying figure when he was dressed for war, no doubt. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I’m sure as shit glad you’re on our side, Grim.”

  “Take good care of him, Grim.” Nyset said, smiling weakly.

  “I’ll try.” He shrugged uncomfortably.

  A rider emerged from the pack of mercenaries, a joyous grin spread over his lips. Scab’s boots were caked with mud, turning into dry clumps. His stained jacket hung open showing a strip of dark pelt on his chest. His cheeks looked to be sunburned with a few days’ worth of patchy stubble. He was bristling with weapons. He had swords on either hip, a dagger around his thigh, daggers at his boots, one cinched around his forearm, a bow across his back and an ornate sword strap over his chest. “Ah, so you do know the Arch Wizard! I thought perhaps you might have fibbed regarding that.” He wrangled his mangy looking mount before them, missing a big patch of hair on its flank.

  Walter raised an eyebrow at him. “Think you have a few spots missing weapons… maybe on your elbow, over your balls…” Walter popped the cork on his waterskin with his teeth.

  “One can never have too many weapons, my noble employer.” He offered his hand to Nyset. “My lady, Scab, the most notorious mercenary this side of The Wall.”

  Walter laughed, spluttering on his water and spitting it out.

  Scab raised a greasy brow at him. “Something funny?”

  “Not at all.” Walter rubbed dribbling water from his chin.

  “Nyset, Arch Wizard.” She said flatly and shook his hand, but seemed to be trying to minimize the amount of skin contact by using her fingers only.

  “My greatest pleasure, Mistress.” Scab managed an awkward bow in his saddle.

  “Your parents couldn’t have possibly named you Scab,” Nyset said.

  “No, but that’s my name now.” He shrugged.

  “Your presence will be sorely missed in Helm’s Reach,” Nyset said, tilting her chin up at him and snorting.

  “I’d imagine it would.” Scab grinned back at her with his red and cracking lips. “The taverns will probably miss us most, given marks are hard to come by these days. Hopefully our departure won’t affect the economy too severely.”

  “I don’t know how we’ll ever get by without your gracious support,” Nyset pressed her lips into a white line.

  Scab snickered. “Ah, support, yes.” He raised a soiled finger and touched it to the tip of his nose. “How much did we agree to again?” He squinted his eyes, creases ringed with dirt.

  “Don’t think we settled on a price, if I recall,” Walter said.

  “That’s right. We were getting there, shortly before you started leaking light and fire. Thought you were going to burn the whole damn place down.” Scab ran his hand through his mount’s mane, pulling out a clump of hair with it. His face twisted with disgust as he flicked the hair from between his gloved fingers.

  Nyset crossed her arms and shook her head. “Disgraceful. That horse needs veterinary care.”

  “Perhaps he’ll feed the men tonight,” Scab muttered, brushing the last of the hair off his glove. “Anyway, how’s one thousand marks per man sound?”

  Walter laughed. “You can’t be serious.”

  Scab leaned over his pommel. “Deadly so. Do you mean to say you’d put a lower value on the life of my men?” Scab’s eyes glinted like an obsidian mark.

  Walter’s guts squirmed under his stare, unsure if he was serious or making another joke. Scab wasn’t smiling.

  Scab jerked back upright on his saddle and clapped his hands, creating a dust cloud. “Alright, nine hundred marks per man. I see you’re a fierce negotiator, a man of my own talents,” he said with a wink.

  Walter looked to Nyset, who gave him a look that said, “This is your problem.”

  “Given the nature of the enemy we’re marching against, I think that price is quite fair. Of course, for any man that falls, I’ll collect his share and deliver it to his family.”

  “Naturally.” Nyset rolled her eyes.

  “Six hundred marks.” Walter offered his hand.

  “Deal.” Scab took it and gave it a hearty shake, flashed his yellowed teeth. There was a lot of strength there, more than Walter would’ve guessed for man in such a sore state of neglect. Walter had the sinking feeling he had still managed to vastly overpay. Scab turned his squat horse around and pounded off towards his men, giving a whooping cheer.

  “And where do you think we’ll get that?” Nyset demanded, staring daggers at him.

  “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter now. We’ll figure it out when we have to.”

  She huffed. “I’ll do what I can to raise money from the Earl and the city. Once again the duty falls on me.”

  “Could you maybe, eh… charge the new apprentices for the magics training?” Grimbald said, rubbing his Blood Donkey’s ears. “Call it a tithing, to support the will of the Dragon and the Phoenix.”

  Walter nodded and furrowed his brows.

  “That’s brilliant Grim.” Nyset clapped her hands, then pulled out a notebook and scribbled down something with a stub of charcoal. “Walter, remind me of your plans again.”

  “First, we’ll visit Midgaard and see if Grim can get men from King Ezra to help us. Then we’ll head to Shipton, and then Breden on our way to the Great Retreat.”

  On our way to fight the demon god who killed me once already. Seeing your enemy once thought dead, riding up to fight you again would be a fearsome sight. Life isn’t fair. There is no distinctive pattern to death’s scythe, it seemed. How many of this lot wouldn’t make it back? Everyone thought they were special, the one who would return in one piece. No one was special. It was something that everyone knew, but a precious few believed, embraced the reality of it. Most think when the great redeemer comes knocking, there will be a lesson in the end. Thought there had to be something more than just choking on your own blood. There isn’t. Just more blood and pain.

  There will be no songs, no stories worth repeating in the great march of time. Death is a tired businessman, with more orders for his product than he can deliver. Death made no estimates, had no opinions on whose turn it was to go. There was no mind expanding bliss before you slip off into the great beyond. It sticks a knife in your neck while you try to take your morning piss.

  Walter’s fingers traced the gnarled scars on his neck, pinching a rounded bunch between thumb and index finger. Death was swift and wasted no time on formalities.

  “Walt?” Nyset said, tugging on his cloak.
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  “Huh?”

  She smiled up at him. “Thought I lost you there for a second.”

  “Oh, no. Just thinking about the plan,” he said, smiling back.

  “Please send word as soon as you can about my parents,” she squeezed his bicep. “And do be careful around Juzo’s surrogates. Keep a watch on them if you can.”

  Grimbald let out a displeased grunt. “I know I’ll be keeping my distance from them.”

  “Don’t trust Juzo?” Walter raised a brow at her and then at Grimbald.

  “It’s not that I don’t trust him, it’s his uh… new children I don’t trust.”

  “Sums it up,” Grimbald added.

  “Don’t worry. If they become a problem, I’ll just burn them out of existence.” Walter crossed his arms, peering over at Juzo’s group of shambling surrogates. Burn them to bloody ashes, adding their souls to the Shadow god’s clutches.

  “Walter, those were men just weeks ago. Tell me you’re joking.” Nyset frowned at him. “I forbid you from killing any of them without my authorization.”

  “Your authorization? They’re not men anymore. They’re Death Spawn,” he said coldly. He exhaled, trying to soften the hardness in his voice. “Don’t worry. It’s not even going to come to that. Why are we having this conversation anyway?”

  “You brought it up,” Nyset snapped.

  “Really? I brought it up?” Walter growled.

  Grimbald grunted, gave his donkey a few nudges and it trotted off towards Juzo, then stopped mid-way to bend over a particularly delectable weed.

  “Well, I have a busy day ahead of me. I should be going. The others are meeting me for morning supper and today is the day I have to run my first apprentice training class.”

  “By all means, Arch Wizard. Don’t let a commoner such as myself keep you from carrying on with your business of the most noble import.” He gestured towards the new Tower. Its sign reflected with a pink twinkling in the morning sun. The house was built with two stories, almost as big as some of the neighboring taverns. It was about the size of Walter’s thumbnail at this distance.