by Sandell Wall
“We look like bandits,” Aventine said.
“Can’t be helped,” Holmgrim said. “Just keep your hands away from your weapons. Come on, let’s see if Marthis is home.”
Aventine followed Holmgrim through the dirt square in front of the inn. He thumped a huge fist on the door. The noise echoed off the surrounding buildings. No response. He looked around the dusty courtyard and then knocked again. In the middle of his second assault on the door, an angry voice shouted from inside the inn.
“What the blazes do you want? Can’t you see we’re locked up?”
“Marthis? Is that you?” Holmgrim said. “Open up, you old goat, it’s Holmgrim!”
The door opened a crack, and when the man on the other side saw Holmgrim, it swung open the rest of the way.
“Holmgrim!” the man said. “What in the name of the emperor’s will are you doing here?”
“Dark days, Marthis,” Holmgrim said. “The emperor has been betrayed, and we flee his enemies to warn him.”
Aventine was shocked by Holmgrim’s candor, but Marthis did not bat an eye.
“Dark days indeed, you don’t know the half of it. Come in, come in!” Marthis said, ushering them inside and then barring the door behind them. “Raiders have been landing on the coast above and below Umgragon. They range inland, sacking any settlement they find. They don’t leave survivors. Tickton is boarded up, only a few of us left. We’re about to leave and follow the rest who traveled to Umgragon seeking shelter.”
“Our destination is the same,” Holmgrim said. “But for different reasons. We will accompany you. First, however, we are in dire need of a solid meal and some good ale. Have you any stores left?”
“What sort of innkeeper would I be with an empty storeroom?” Marthis said with a twinkle in his eye. “I think I can rustle up something.”
“Nothing hot,” Holmgrim said. “We’re moving fast.”
“Very well, very well,” Marthis said as he led them to the communal dining area. The room was huge, the table big enough to seat at least thirty people. Large windows looked out into the open space between the barracks and the inn. At the back of the room, behind a bar, was a full kitchen.
“Sit wherever you like,” Marthis said. “The place feels lonely when the fields are empty.” He walked behind the bar and rummaged around in the cupboards. A mountain of meat, cheese, and bread started to take shape on the sturdy wooden tray he set on the counter.
Aventine’s mouth watered at the first sight of food, and as Marthis stacked the tray higher, her stomach rumbled so loud that Holmgrim glanced at her. Finally, Marthis brought the tray over and they tucked in.
“Careful now,” Holmgrim said. “Don’t eat too fast or too much. You’ll regret it on the road.”
Aventine nodded, her mouth full.
Marthis placed tankards full of ale in front of them and both Aventine and Holmgrim paused long enough to drain the flagons dry.
Holmgrim slammed his empty mug on the table. “By the gods, I needed that!”
“If you’ll lend me your packs, I’ll fill them with what I have left,” Marthis said. “I can’t carry it all with me when we flee.”
“We’re grateful to you,” Holmgrim said. “Tally what you pack, I’ll pay for all of it.”
“No need my friend. If you truly go to the emperor’s aid, it’s the least I can do.”
Holmgrim did not respond, distracted by something outside. Aventine turned to look through the window behind her. Several hundred paces away a man was sprinting towards the inn. She watched as he tripped and almost fell, but then caught himself at the last instant and kept running.
“I do believe that man’s in a hurry,” Holmgrim said.
Marthis’s head snapped up in alarm. He squinted as he looked out the window. “Gervald. I sent him to stand lookout.”
Gervald ran around the back of the inn. They heard a door slam open and then shut. A heartbeat later the terrified man stumbled into the dining room. Winded, he had to rest, hands on knees, before he was able to speak.
“Come on, man, what is it?” Marthis said.
“Raiders,” Gervald panted, “coming here. At least fifteen of them. Fully armored, moving fast.”
“Damnation!” Marthis said. “We almost made it out.”
“How close are they?” Holmgrim said.
“Half a mile, no further,” Gervald said.
“How many people are left?” Holmgrim said, looking at Marthis.
“There’s me, Gervald, two laborers,” Marthis said, and then his voice faltered, “and my wife. By the gods, my wife is outside!”
“Where is she?” Holmgrim said.
“She was cleaning the south barracks.”
“I’ll go. Aventine, stay here and guard the inn. They don’t expect resistance, so maybe we can surprise them. Wait for them to get inside and then fight at a chokepoint.”
“Gervald, grab the bow and get to the roof,” Marthis said.
Gervald nodded, and both he and Holmgrim bolted for the door. Through the windows Aventine watched Holmgrim lope across the courtyard to the south barracks. He grabbed a sledgehammer that was resting against the building before ducking inside.
“Emperor’s balls,” Marthis said. “I need my axe.”
Aventine was left alone as Marthis went to retrieve his weapon. She was about look for a place to make her stand when the invaders appeared. Survival briefly forgotten, she stood transfixed by the sight.
Two columns of seven men apiece marched into the courtyard, their movements coordinated with absolute precision. They moved like the little wind-up toy soldiers Aventine used to play with. Sunlight reflected off of their brilliant silver armor. Their faces were hidden by horned metal helms with only narrow slits for vision. The silver horns sent a chill down Aventine’s spine. She had seen those before. Each soldier carried a huge rectangle tower shield, its sides curving slightly inward towards the body. In their hands they all carried identical short swords. To Aventine it looked like one soldier had been copied thirteen times and formed into a squad.
But as strange as the silver marauders were, their leader was more bizarre. He moved at the side of the column, on the right of the first row of soldiers. Taller than his men, he wore the clothes of a warrior prince. A great coat of dark red flared open at his neck and knees, the long sleeves hid the armor beneath. Aventine could see the glint of a mail undercoat. On his left hand he wore an ornate gauntlet that sheathed his arm all the way up to the elbow. Sunlight reflected off of precious metals and embossed runes on the armored glove. Embedded in the gauntlet, centered on the back of his hand, was a glowing red runestone. In his right hand he wielded a longsword that shimmered with golden light. Tied to the hilt of the sword was a long tassel of what looked like huge knots.
What in the emperor’s name?
The leader wore no helmet, and with his short yellow hair, sunken cheeks, and pale skin, he looked sickly. Despite the bulk of clothes and armor, he was still impossibly thin. But he moved with the grace and strength of a natural predator. A wary predator.
Aventine saw the fingers of his left hand flicker with movement, and as one his soldiers stopped and waited, perfectly still. She held her breath as the man inspected the inn and the two barracks. Scared that he might spot her, Aventine moved to hide behind a curtain.
Seeing no movement, the foreign invader seemed satisfied. He raised his gauntleted hand and gestured for his men to move out. The runestone on his left hand flared as the fingers formed a complex sequence of symbols. There was no hesitation, no spoken word; the silver soldiers split up and launched forward like they were following some pre-arranged plan. Three raiders approached each building. The remaining five waited motionless in the courtyard with their commander.
Aventine watched the wooden door of the south barracks buckle and splinter as the invaders plowed through it. She could hear swords hacking at the barred entrance of the inn. Marthis had not yet returned, and she did not want to unbolt
the door until she knew where he was. From her position in the inn’s great room, even through the walls of two buildings, she could hear Holmgrim bellowing in the barracks. The five enemy soldiers in the courtyard swiveled in place to orient themselves facing the sounds of combat. And then they just stood there, waiting. The leader’s gauntleted hand twitched, and his men sprang into motion, converging on the southern barracks.
Damn! Holmgrim will be overwhelmed!
She rushed into the inn’s foyer, unbarred the door, and threw it open with a bang. Just as she stepped outside, an enemy soldier staggered out of the southern barracks, his helmet smashed grotesquely inward over his face. He stumbled, and then caught himself, bracing one arm on the door jamb. Out of the dark opening behind him Holmgrim’s sledgehammer smashed down onto the extended limb, crushing armor and snapping the arm backwards at the shoulder. With a pitiful groan, the man toppled to the ground face first. Holmgrim stepped out of the building, sledgehammer held across his waist like a woodcutter’s axe in his powerful hands.
No one was looking at Aventine; none of them seemed to even realize that she had charged from the inn. The three soldiers who had been beating on the door of the inn were striding towards Holmgrim. Sword in hand, she rushed at their backs.
Just tag one and retreat back inside. Maybe Marthis will ambush them if they give chase.
Her sword flashed out, aimed at the back of the nearest silver helmet. She wanted the blow to be loud, so she struck with the flat of the blade. Her weapon clanged off the armor. She danced away, prepared to run. But instead of fleeing, she stood there dumbfounded as her target started to convulse and scream. Short sword and shield flung aside, a terrible seizure wracked the man. He shook so hard that Aventine could hear his teeth clack together through his armor. His demented wailing sent shivers of terror up her back.
She took a step back, and then another.
What did I do?
The remaining silver invaders returned to their leader, moving in perfect unison to form a protective barrier around him. His reptilian eyes bored into Aventine, not afraid, but alarmed and surprised. His eyes flicked to her sword and then back to her face. Between them, the flailing soldier threw himself to the ground. On his back in the dirt, the soldier’s hands and feet beat a tattoo against the hard ground as he thrashed. The spasms were as unnerving as the hideous shrieking.
From behind and above her, Aventine heard the twang of a bowstring. She saw an arrow flash overhead, speeding towards the unhelmeted enemy commander. Unflinching, he raised his gauntleted hand and formed a symbol with his fingers. Brilliant blue light flashed and a crystal shield blossomed out of thin air—the arrow shattered harmlessly against the barrier. One of the knots hanging from his sword blazed with the same blue light.
Runestones! Who are these raiders?
When the enemy captain lowered his hand the shield disappeared, and the runestone tied to his sword was extinguished. He glanced at Holmgrim still standing in the barracks doorway, back at Aventine, and then signaled a command to his men. They backed out of the courtyard, keeping their shields up and in front of their leader. When they were back on the road, they turned and marched away at a double-time pace, heading inland, not back towards the coast.
Only trembling now, the abandoned invader at Aventine’s feet had stopped howling. Holmgrim crossed the open space, sledgehammer held loosely in his right hand. “They’re heading inland, not back towards the coast,” he said. “I think we were an attack of opportunity. They saw the buildings and came to investigate.”
Aventine nodded. “I would wager my father’s armor that they go to meet Dranzen.”
Holmgrim stopped dead in his tracks. “You speak truth? How would these foreign invaders have anything to do with the Lome bratling?”
“On our way to Delgrath, Brax and I stumbled across Dranzen meeting someone in secret. Whoever it was that he conspired with was not from the empire. They might not have even been human.” Aventine gestured to the silver-armored soldier on the ground. “But they wore armor like this. The timing is too convenient to be a coincidence.”
“I know of creatures like that captain,” Holmgrim said. “There is a darkness in the wastelands beyond the wilds that devours all it touches.” He shook his head. “If Lome has sought allies there in their quest for power, they court destruction.”
“Lome does not stand alone. In the wilderness, when we were ambushed, your people had dark armored soldiers fighting alongside them.”
Holmgrim looked sick. “It cannot be. There must be some mistake.”
“I know what I saw.”
“We will speak of it later. Right now we need to leave. Immediately.”
“Hold a spell,” Aventine said. Unable to stifle her morbid curiosity, she knelt and wrenched the helmet from the fallen invader’s head. She gasped as the man’s head clunked onto the ground. Sightless eyes stared at the sky, tears spilling from their corners. His skin was the color of stone. His ears looked like they had been mutilated, cut clean off and then deep spiral grooves gouged into the flesh. But as she looked closer, Aventine got the strong impression that the man’s ears had grown that way. On his forehead was a band of bronze. Runes had been carved into the metal, and as she watched, a faint glow of red faded from the inscribed symbols. Old scars of ugly puckered flesh above and below the circlet made it obvious that the thing had been burned into the skin. She did not think it could be removed without tearing the scalp off. When the runes went dark, the man’s grey lips moved.
Aventine put her ear next to the man’s mouth, straining to hear what he said.
“Toth michen?” she said, sounding out the phrase that the man was mumbling over and over.
Holmgrim jerked as if he had been stung by an insect. “What did you say?” he said, voice shocked.
“He’s just repeating the words ‘toth michen.’”
Holmgrim knelt and nudged Aventine out of the way. He put his ear to the man’s face to listen. Aventine watched surprise and then incredulity register on Holmgrim’s face as he confirmed what Aventine had heard. Holmgrim rocked back onto his heels and said, “He speaks the language of my homeland.”
“What’s it mean?” Aventine said.
“Toth michen,” Holmgrim said. “It mean’s ‘kill me.’”
Chapter 23
REMUS FOCUSED ON THE man’s eyes. He didn’t blink, didn’t even breathe, so that he could catch every single detail. When the runed circlet slipped into place, the prisoner’s mouth went slack. Pupils dilated with shocking speed, expanding to eclipse all color in his eyes. The man’s body went rigid. Remus watched the slack face transform into the twisted visage of a monster. The man’s chest heaved upward, drawing a huge breath. And then he screamed.
Startled, the other prisoners jerked back, appalled by the sound. It was the sound of madness tearing itself from the throat of what, just a heartbeat ago, had been a man.
“What have you done?” Ellion said.
“Hold him!” Remus shouted.
Too late. The thrall launched itself at Grotius. Its claw of a hand raked across his face. Grotius spun away, hands clapped to his right eye. Remus saw blood spurt from between Grotius’s fingers. Blood and flesh glistened on the thrall’s fingernails. This was too much for the other men, who scrambled away from the possessed prisoner. Ellion tried to grapple with it, but the thing flattened him with a savage blow to the neck.
Remus sidled to the cage wall and edged his way around behind the frenzied thrall. It shrieked and charged at the men huddled on the far side of the cell. Remus chased behind it, leaping onto its back before it could strike out with talon-like fingers. He locked his left arm under the thing’s neck, using his weight and strength to drive it to its knees. With his other hand he yanked the circlet up and off of its forehead.
He felt the power and rage drain out of the man. Deflated, the prisoner would have collapsed to the ground had Remus not been holding him.
“Speak, man,” Remus said
into the man’s ear, his voice harsh and urgent. “Do you remember who you are?”
Instead of a reply, the man’s body shook with sobs.
“Speak now, or I put it back on!”
“No! Please, I beg you, don’t!” the man cried.
“So you returned to yourself.”
“Yes, yes, please let me go!”
Remus released the man and watched him slump to the ground and pull himself into a fetal position. Behind him, the latch on the gate was released, and he heard the door swing open. He turned to see three Ethari guards enter the enclosure. Shields up and weapons drawn, they paused, obviously unsure what to make of the scene. In his right hand, the runed circlet still glowed brightly. The Ethari fixated on it.
“Come to take my new toy?” Remus said, holding the circlet up as he spoke.
One of the Ethari pointed his weapon at Remus and barked a command. Before he could respond, the nearest soldier lunged forward and struck the circlet with his sword, smashing it from Remus’s hand. Following close after the sword, the guard rammed the edge of his shield into Remus’s stomach. Remus doubled over, pain shooting through his guts. When he could finally stand straight again, a leather noose had been tied around his neck. The soldier who had attacked him held the other end of the cord with one hand. With his other hand he tucked the bronze circlet under his armor. The cage was plunged into blackness without the light of the runes.
Remus gagged as the Ethari guard yanked on the leather cord—the loop around his neck dug into his throat and cut off his air. The message was clear: follow, or be dragged choking and kicking. He chose the former and followed the three soldiers from the cage. They marched into the quiet town. In the darkness it seemed deserted. No fires burned, and there was no sound or movement within the hovels they passed.
Ahead of them the armory loomed out of the night. When they pushed through the flap of leather that hung over the door, Remus could see a faint flicker of light at the rear of the long building. Simple wooden racks filled the length of the big room, each one holding weapons and pieces of armor. It looked like a warehouse for a down-on-his-luck blacksmith who hoarded what he could not sell. Weaving through the racks, Remus was tugged towards the far end of the building where a space had been cleared. A lone figure stood in front of a brazier that was burning a weak, oily flame.