The Shadow Realm (The Age of Dawn Book 4)

by Everet Martins

  It shambled over towards Juzo, its ankle bent the wrong way. Juzo raised his palms. “Stop.” The Blood Eater staggered into Juzo’s arms, mouth wide, eyes locked on his neck. Juzo pushed it away, punched it in the gut before he kicked out its knee, sending it toppling over.

  “Told you. They’re not yours anymore.”

  The Blood Eater writhed, teeth snapping and mouth spitting.

  “It’s not supposed to work like this.” Juzo said. His greatsword rasped against leather as he drew it, gleaming in the orange lantern light.

  “Lots of things don’t work out like they’re supposed too. Don’t need me to tell you that.”

  Juzo nodded. “Damn it.” He raised the blade in both hands and chopped down into the earth. The Blood Eater’s neck sprayed blood into the air in red arcs. Juzo left the blade in the ground for a long minute, staring down, his chest sucking in a quivering breath. “I’ll take care of it. Sorry that it came to this, Walt. You alright?”

  “Yeah.” A wry smile touched his lips. Just another ragged memory to add to the nightmare that is my broken mind. And here I was thinking I’d be able to sleep again. “Nice to get some practice in.” Walter sniffed, rose up and shook out his legs.

  Juzo peered into his face, eyebrows raised, then turned away. The tip of his sword dragged behind, carving a line in the earth. “Shit,” he muttered. “Should we tell Scab?”

  Walter grunted. Do you mean should you tell Scab? “We’ll tell him tomorrow. He plays the fool, but he’s sharp as Grimbald’s axe.”

  Juzo sighed, wiped his blade on the corpse’s pants and sheathed it. “You have to remove the head, or burn them.”

  “Huh?” Walter bent down for the lantern and frowned as it sputtered out. The trees were dense as cornfields, like midnight fingers bouncing in the wind. The last flickering threads on the lantern’s wick winked out. It was no use to him now.

  “To kill a Blood Eater, that’s how you kill them so they stay dead.”

  “How do you know?”

  “A book.” Juzo cleared his throat. “Necromancy and something or other.” Walter stared into his eye, like a bleeding star in a black tide. He felt like a moth to a torch, unable to tear his eye away from it.

  “That book. Necromancy and Wolves. The veiled darkness?”

  “That’s the one.” Juzo snapped his fingers. He groaned as he picked up the shovel and started heaving earth onto the remaining Blood Eater. He’d been quiet while they spoke, but now raged with protests as Juzo worked to bury him.

  “I have it, well had it. Back at the Tower. Kept meaning to give it back to you.”

  “But how? I had hidden it in my satchel. Shit. Walt, I can’t do this.”

  “Do what?” Walter walked over the edge of the pit. He wanted to help, but shoveling with one hand was an absurd task.

  Juzo let the shovel slip into ground, standing upright like a black spear penetrating the blanket of stars. He turned and looked at Walter. “Burying him. Still alive like this.”

  “It just ain’t right. Let me go, please let me go. I didn’t do anything wrong, couldn’t help myself,” Burly wheedled from the grave.

  Walter nodded sharply and embraced the Dragon, muscles surging with life. He felt its warmth around his eyes, illuminating the man’s dirt caked face with reddish light. “Had to burn them first, you said?”

  “No, Walt.” Juzo reached a limp hand towards him.

  “No!” Burly pleaded. “Please, Phoenix no.”

  Walter squatted down over the edge of the pit, rubbed his hand along its damp edge. “What did the children say before you killed their parents? Before you ripped their necks open and drank their blood?”

  “Is there no forgiveness in your heart?” Burly coughed. “No second chances?”

  Walter rose up, snorted air through his nose and peered down into his scarlet eyes. “I fear my forgiving days are over. If one ember is left burning, no matter how weakly it clings to life, a fire will inevitably burn again.” No more half measures. So much is lost through stopping midway than through utter obliteration. The enemy always finds a way to recover and seek revenge. A lesson my enemies will soon learn. A foe must be crushed in body and in soul, lest they return from the Shadow Realm. No, there is no more room for pity and hesitation. These notions have done nothing but make my life harder. An enemy left alive is like a half-dead viper that I nurse back to health, only strengthening its fear, maybe hatred for me.

  “There is no hope,” he whispered. I must exterminate my enemies. Crush them under my heels. Deny them the slightest chance to plague me, deny them the possibility of scourging my future.

  “Please. I’m sorry, so sorry.” Burly was on his knees, tears gleaming in the fires in Walter’s eye.

  “Walt?” Juzo asked.

  “Sympathy is fatal in this world, Juzo. Didn’t you learn that under Terar’s cruel tutelage?”

  “What the fuck, Walter? This was just a man, like us days ago.”

  “Where was your mercy a minute ago when you took the other’s head off? Mercy only seals your own doom. The enemy must be annihilated.” The words didn’t feel like his. They came out from some deadened part of him.

  “He’s not going to hurt anyone else. I have control of him.” Juzo wheeled. “Let him go. Or—”

  “Or you’ll do what?” Walter cut in. “Mercy is weakness.” His voice was hard as stone.

  “Where would you have been without a little mercy? What if Nyset had never dragged you from your grave?” Juzo’s hand clamped on his bicep.

  “I should’ve stayed there. Should’ve killed them all. My escape was a coward’s decision, made out of fear,” he said through gritted teeth. He pointed at all the nude bodies and tangled limbs with his stump. “This is the debt that mercy levies.” He looked Juzo over up and down, licked his lips, and jerked his arm free from Juzo’s hand. “Stay back.”

  Juzo said something else, but Walter ignored it. It didn’t matter The decision had already been made.

  Walter narrowed his eye, flaring with heat and light. He pushed the Dragon out his eye the same way he did his hand and a beam of fire cut the night. It burrowed through Burly’s skull then there was a loud crack. His head split apart up the middle, fires burning on the inside. Flames pushed through Burly’s eye sockets and his skull burned bright as a smith’s fire.

  “You’ve gone mad.” Juzo stared at him, his jaw hanging open.

  “Round up the rest. We burn them all tomorrow or take their heads. You choose how they die. If you’d seen what I’ve seen, Juzo, you’d think this was kind. I gave him a quick death, painless even.”

  “I won’t do it.” Juzo hurled the shovel into the grave. “They’re mine. They make me something,” he hissed.

  “What are you saying? Shit. You don’t need them.” Walter took a step towards him, arms opening then sagging by his sides. “You—”

  “No.” He shook his head. “You can’t take them from me. You don’t know what it’s like to live in your fucking shadow.” He growled. Walter took another step towards him.

  Juzo’s eye closed, leaving nothing but darkness around him. The air whooshed around Walter, flicking through his hair as Juzo fled. Walter stared into the dark where he thought he might be. He listened to his leaping steps crunching through leaves and breaking branches as he navigated the path away from here.

  Walter waited until his eyes adjusted to the night, grabbed the shovel, and finished filling the grave.

  Chapter Twelve

  The Capital

  “Mind Eater: To cast this spell, you must mold the light of the Phoenix into the shape of a spider. It requires tremendous concentration and a clear mind. Once cast, it allows you to eavesdrop on the thoughts of other creatures, as well as injecting your own thoughts into the creature’s mind. It is a most dangerous spell that is considered banned by the Silver Tower.” -The Lost Spells of Zoria

  Walter could see bright red dots speckling the Wall’s ramparts, milling about like a lazy col
ony of ants. When he left, he remembered seeing just a few Midgaard Falcon soldiers there. Now there seemed to be lookouts every ten feet. Whether they were plumes on helmets or weapons, he couldn’t say.

  He never understood why the Midgaard Falcon would want to make themselves such obvious targets. Pride or tradition maybe, things that didn’t have much use in a battle. The Wall’s battlements gleamed in streaks of light, fortified with piercing lances for foes willing to try to ascend its perilous height. He wondered if Death Spawn had ladders that tall. He was glad to see Midgaard hadn’t taken the fall of the Tower lightly. Burning villages wasn’t enough, but the Tower was. Why did so many have to die before they took action? Most had regarded the Death Spawn as creatures from fanciful stories. It seemed Midgaard knew how real they were.

  “Hey, Grim.” Walter let out a lip vibrating breath and reigned his mare in beside him.

  “Hey, Walt. Rough night?” Grimbald regarded him. His hands were stacked together atop his pommel, so large they covered most of the saddle. Maybe he really could handle wielding two broad axes. Walter supposed he’d find out eventually. Hopefully later than sooner. The thought gave him a shiver, realizing he was living the life he’d always read about in the stories. Walter wondered if his life would be told in a story one day. A foolish thought. Too cocksure, Noah would have told him.

  It felt like every muscle in his body ached. It had taken him the rest of the night and the earliest part of the morning to finish digging in the grave. The Phoenix and Dragon had left him with what he felt like was at least a day’s worth of debt to rest. His eye started drooping, finding the gently swaying of his horse relaxing. The air came at just the right time, brushing his eyelids and pushing trickles of sweat along his jaw.

  “Are you really falling asleep right now?” Grimbald nudged him.

  “Huh? No.” He shook his head and blinked. The world snapped back into focus. “Yeah, used the god’s powers last night. Too much.”

  “I see. How come?” Grimbald scratched a thick scar on his arm. Walter saw his arms were covered in scars stretching from wrist to shoulder. It gave him a hard look, like he belonged with Scab’s crew

  Walter wiped his hand across his brow, beaded with sweat. The sun felt like it was pressing down with the brunt of its heat earlier than usual today. “Juzo.” He narrowed his eye at the dirt wedged deep under his fingernails. “Had some trouble with the Blood Eaters last night. Didn’t sleep much, not at all actually.” He had to bury some children, their parents, some friends maybe, and burn a few of Scab’s men. All in a hard night’s work.

  “What sort of trouble?” Grim’s Blood Donkey let out a blubbering bay. Its eyes were black and shone like obsidian. Its coat was a prism of reds in the sun. It was crimson around its head then became darker hues around its body, its rump the color of red wine.

  Walter pushed his index finger into the side of his nose and twisted his body to the side of his mare. He then gave a sharp exhale, shooting dirt and snot from his nose onto the grasses. “The sort of trouble you might have been worried about.”

  Grimbald grunted. “Let’s hear it then.”

  Walter opened his mouth to speak and turned over his shoulder at the clopping of approaching hooves.

  Scab comfortably swayed in his saddle, a wide grin pasted on his mouth. Beside him were his first and second, Wart and Hook. They were more menacing in the daylight, battered faces tight with scorn and hips bristling with blades. Wart’s head was in constant motion, beady eyes seeming to be always on the lookout for threats. Hook’s lips were moving as if he were lost in a conversation happening in his head alone.

  Maybe Scab’s men couldn’t be trusted. Walter supposed that would make sense given their chosen profession. He was wondering again if he should have listened to Nyset when she balked at his decision to hire mercenaries. He needed men who could fight and they had the scars that told of experience. They had killed the Death Spawn patrol with the fierce savagery that would be needed.

  “Good day to you, my noble employer,” Scab raised his arm and gave Walter a flourishing wave. He rode up between Walter and Grimbald, bringing the stench of months without bathing with him. The air grew painfully still, the stink of spoiled milk biting Walter’s sinuses. He started mouth breathing.

  “Beautiful day, isn’t it?” Scab grinned, flashing a mouth full of yellow and green plant remnants.

  Grimbald coughed and his lips pulled down into a frown. He wiped his hand over his mouth and painfully grunted.

  “Lovely.” Walter wanted to ask him to return once he’d bathed, but thought better of it, given the dark news he’d have to tell. “Surprised to see you eating Fang Cress.”

  “This?” Scab pointed at his mouth. “Oh, yes. We call it something else, Magic Leaf. Works better than elixir, helps you think, though moderation is required. Want some?” Scab pulled out a piece and nibbled on it with his front teeth.

  “Everyone I’ve known who’s used it didn’t stay sane for long. Are you still sane?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine.” Scab sighed and tilted his head at Walter. “My line of work isn’t for conservative types. No, no. You have to be daring, bolder than any mortal man.” Scab puffed out his chest and planted his hands on his hips.

  “Or insane.”

  “Perhaps.” Scab pursed his lips. “It’s been years since I’ve been to the city. I’ve heard the whores are the best here in all the realm. Is it true?”

  “Couldn’t tell you.” Walter shrugged and felt a nervy bead of sweat tickling down his back. He was hoping to sleep with Nyset before they left, but fate had a way of never giving them time alone. She would be his first. With his luck, she’d get pregnant. It wouldn’t be fair to bring a child into this world before the Death Spawn were cleansed from it. He would have to wait.

  Scab’s jacket hung open, revealing coiled hairs glistening with sweat. He leaned forward on his saddle and started twisting a mustache between his thumb and index finger. “It seems a few of my men have left the gang, but my memory isn’t what it used to be. Ah, faces come and faces go. Don’t get old, that’d be my best life advice for you, if you were asking.”

  “I wasn’t.” Walter had to tell him what happened last night, but couldn’t get his mouth moving to do it.

  “Seven,” said a voice from behind. Walter turned and Hook’s eyes slitted at his.

  “What’s that, my glorious third?”

  Hook pulled up on Walter’s left. “Seven men out last night, headed out to hunt boar. Spoke with the watch this morning. He said they never came back. Don’t suppose you know anything about that, do you, Walter?” Hook leaned in close enough that Walter could see sprigs of hair blooming from the wart on his nose.

  Walter stared into his wrinkled eyes and Hook stared back. His face became a gaping mouth, flesh bright red, teeth like horns, tens of golden eyes studding his head. Then it was gone and one of Hook’s eyes twitched with fury.

  Hook snorted and turned away, peering into the distance. “Got something to say, boy?”

  “You think I had something to do with it?” How did he know? Had he been there? The time was now. “I confess. I had to kill your men last night.” He felt all their heads turn on him. Grimbald met his eye, quirking an eyebrow. Walter swallowed. “I followed them, curious to see what they were up to and—” he shook his head. “They went to a farmhouse. I assumed they were only robbing the place. But that wasn’t all they were doing. They stripped ‘em all down, butchered them.”

  Scab shrugged. “What do you expect from mercenaries?”

  “You believe this story?” Hook scoffed.

  Grimbald scratched his neck lined with black stubble. “Why’d you have to kill them?”

  “They attacked me when I came out to tell them you’d hear of this,” he nodded to Scab. The truth was always easier to tell. Lies required far too much concentration. He would of course have to leave out the Blood Eaters part. “I had no choice but to defend myself.”

 
Wart’s voice chimed in from behind, rough as gravel. “You killed seven men, alone?” His gnarled hand rested on the handle of one of his maces, as if itching for Scab to give him the signal to club his brains out.

  Walter nodded and yawned, exhaustion beating through his body and begging for rest. Walter’s mind fingered the Dragon, just in case. “I trained Sid-Ho every day for the past eight years.”

  “I don’t blame you. A dog barks, sheep bleat, and men kill.” Scab pulled the cork from a waterskin and took a swig. A red streak trailed down his neck, a wineskin apparently.

  “You’re going to let him kill our men and get away with it?” Hook’s eyes widened.

  “Life is chaos, turbulent as the wind. You have to look forward, focus on the present.” Scab removed his gloves and held them both in one hand.

  “But—” Hook stared at his boss, his jaw going slack.

  “Ah, my third. You have much to learn about the world. You can only lose what you treasure. You have to learn to accept things as they are. A man must learn to let go of transient things and life is sadly one of those things.”

  Hook rubbed his twitching eyelid. “Transi-what? What about marks then? You’ll let your marks go into my coin purse then, will you? Accepting things as they are and all.” He cast a smug grin at Wart. Wart’s face was mostly impassive, just a corner of his lip raising.

  “Well, marks are an entirely different matter, as critical to life as the air we breathe. You can’t be ridiculous.” Scab waved his gloves around as he gestured. “I’ll take their shares for safekeeping to bring to their families, as our contracts state.”

  “But—”

  “Marks, money, currency gives you freedom. Freedom from milking cows, swinging a smith’s hammer, plowing the elixir fields. No, no that life isn’t for me.”

  “I miss that sort of work,” Walter muttered.

  Grimbald grunted in agreement.

  “You don’t make much sense.” Hook glowered at Scab.