by Sandell Wall
The Ethari split into two groups and found hiding spots to the east and west of Remus and his men. Soon, the two hundred armored Ethari were almost invisible in the dark forest. Remus turned to where Grotius and Ellion waited for orders.
“We’ve done this sort of ambush before,” Remus said. “The Drathani overseer travels behind the horde. If we attack from hiding, we’ll kill hundreds of thralls, but he’ll escape before we ever lay eyes on him. I need him to stay and fight. So here’s what I want us to do: find a place of concealment, but when you spot the first thrall, step out and make yourself visible. Follow my lead. If we can get the horde’s attention, they’ll stop and form up for an attack. The leader always comes forward to where he can see the fighting. That’s when we’ll charge. If we’re fast enough, Pricker here can catch the bastard off-guard.”
Remus’s men fanned out, taking up positions behind the huge trees. The trunks were so large that ten men could hide behind a single tree. When they stopped moving, the forest was silent. Remus would never get used to the eerie stillness of the Wilds. There was no bird song, no chirping of insects, no rodents scurrying through the brush or treetops. Whatever lived in the forest survived by staying hidden and quiet.
Underneath his armor, sweat trickled down Remus’s skin. He took the axe from his back and rested it against a tree. Almost as tall as he was, the axe was an ugly, brutish thing. A Volgoth weapon, the jagged, chipped blade held no illusions as to its purpose. It was a tool of savage strength, designed for brute force killing. Remus had no use for swords or spears, or any weapon that required grace and cunning. The axe mirrored his fighting style. He dictated the battle from the outset, imposing his indomitable will with an equally devastating weapon.
Several trees down, one of his men hissed. Remus raised his head to see the man pointing excitedly to the northeast. He poked his head around the tree he stood behind. On the very edge of his sight, he could see movement in the shadows. The number of thralls shocked him. As they shambled into view, their front line stretched to the left and right as far as the eye could see.
If this doesn’t work, we’re dead.
Remus quashed his fear and stepped from behind the trunk. His men followed his example, all of them abandoning their hiding places. Out of the corner of Remus’s vision, he saw frantic movement from Pikon, who was trying to get his attention. He ignored the Ethari. In front of him, the runebound horde ground to a halt as they became aware of the newly exposed threat.
There were thousands of thralls. Big and small, a mix of Volgoth and imperial, the only thing the enslaved had in common was that they were all filthy. Clamped on their foreheads, the rune circlets glowed a dull red. Remus watched and waited.
Come on you bastard. Don’t be a coward.
As if in answer to Remus’s thought, in the middle of the horde the rune circlets flashed, symbols igniting as a command was passed to the thralls. The runebound mob parted, opening up a narrow corridor in the press of bodies. Down this path stalked the Drathani overseer. His silver armor was barely visible beneath red flowing robes. On his left hand a golden gauntlet covered his arm up to the elbow. Embedded in the gauntlet on the back of the hand, a brilliant red runestone glowed.
He’s the same size as Pricker. I wonder how old he is, and if they know each other.
Standing in front of his army, the enemy Drathani inspected Remus and his squad. If they held back, the overseer would form up his legion of minions and try to bury them in sheer numbers.
Remus did not intend to let that happen. He raised his axe, pointing it at the enemy leader.
“Pricker,” Remus said. “Kill!”
Chapter 9
AVENTINE AND HOLMGRIM DID not sleep for two days. Holmgrim carried Saffrin in his arms as they stumbled their way through the heart of the Brokenspires. After escaping the fungus, they walked from marker to marker, pulled onward by the flickering blue flames. Those pale lights carried no warmth or encouragement, and Aventine started to fantasize that they were walking deeper and deeper into the underworld. Held back by the fire of Holmgrim’s torch, rock crawlers shadowed their every move. The noises of their chirping and skittering through the darkness was a constant reminder that if they faltered, the mountains would claim them whole, flesh and bone.
Once or twice they were forced to cross a bottomless chasm, trusting in only a narrow span of stone that bridged the gap. On either side, the black void beckoned, the emptiness begging Aventine to cast herself into its embrace. A dark voice in her mind told her that she would fall forever—it would be like flying. She tried not to look down, but morbid curiosity drew her gaze to the unknowable depths. Far below, even though her gaze did not penetrate the blackness, she could imagine massive forms slithering and crawling through the fissures that delved into the bowels of the earth. Aventine shivered, remembering the creeping slime that had almost been the end of her. She had no desire to meet whatever preyed on the fungus.
There was an unspoken agreement between Aventine and Holmgrim that they were not stopping until they were out of the tunnels. They never paused to sleep and ate little as they traveled. Saffrin did not stir in Holmgrim’s arms, but she was breathing deep and seemed to be recovering.
“She’s so tiny,” Holmgrim said. “The toxin probably affected her more powerfully than it did you and I. And she was exhausted. Maybe this way, she’ll be able to rest.”
“There was a creature back there,” Aventine said. “It didn’t look human, but it saved us.” She tapped the side of her nose. “It plugged my nose with some sort of plant that let me resist the fungus’s poison. Whatever it was, it vanished without a trace.”
“There’s more than one legend about mountain people that live in these caves. I heard an old-timer in the Legion swear that there’s a lost city down here. One of our prospecting teams went missing, and we thought they were dead, but they wandered out of the tunnels a week later swearing they’d been kept alive by guardian spirits.”
They were plunged into complete darkness when Holmgrim’s torch finally failed. Aventine stopped in her tracks. Her fatigued mind conjured images of insidious horrors creeping toward them out of the gloom, and a dread of being lost underground forever gripped her. With an iron will, she clamped down on her panic, but she desperately wanted the light to return.
“I’ve got three more,” Holmgrim said as he searched blindly in his pack. “Here, give it a spark with those daggers of yours.”
Aventine fumbled until she found the torch in Holmgrim’s hand. With painstaking care, not wanting to burn Holmgrim or Saffrin, she lit it with her rune dagger. When the orange glow of the torchlight had beaten back the darkness, they pressed on. Without a torch, they would surely perish. Between the strange markers there was only blackness, and the trail from one blue flame to the next was never straight. Jagged holes and crevices littered the floor of the great cavern, and razor-sharp stalagmites reared out of the darkness like spears of stone.
In spite of her fear and determination, Aventine struggled to stay on her feet. Holmgrim seemed tireless, but she was at the end of her reserves. She had not slept for more than two hours since before leaving the rebel stronghold to fight off the First Legion. Even properly rested, to pass under the mountains in two days was no small feat.
After lighting the next torch, Aventine ceased to function on coherent thought. All she could manage was to put one weary foot in front of the next while she stumbled after Holmgrim. If he had tripped and fallen into a fissure, she would have followed him, plunging headlong to her demise. Even in the darkness, Aventine could feel the vastness of the cavern looming over her.
She could not shake the sensation that they were being watched, and she revisited the encounter with the pale, cave-dwelling savior over and over in her mind. The inside of her nose ached, rubbed raw by the fibrous bundles of roots, but she was too paranoid of being caught off-guard to remove them.
Exhausted, Aventine started to hallucinate, dark thoughts trying to convin
ce her that she would follow Holmgrim through the blackness forever. But Holmgrim proved true. With the last torch almost dead, they finally reached the far wall of the cavern. The tunnel to the surface sloped gently upward, and soon the light of day was visible—the distant patch of blue sky was the most beautiful thing Aventine had ever seen.
When they were free of the tunnels, Holmgrim tromped over several hills before stopping in a glade next to a clear-flowing stream. After the oppressive darkness under the mountains, Aventine felt overwhelmed by the lush green of the forest clearing. Holmgrim sagged at last, having reached the limits of his stamina.
Gently, he laid Saffrin on the soft grass and slumped over next to her. Aventine collapsed nearby. A vague idea of making camp and checking that the area was safe floated across her awareness, but she could not rise. Exhaustion claimed her. She passed out.
Aventine drifted between sleep and wakefulness. She did not know how much time passed. The few times she opened her eyes, she managed only a groggy look around before falling asleep again. The first time she woke it was night, and she saw a campfire. The second, she realized that Saffrin was up and tending to her and Holmgrim. Finally, when she opened her eyes the third time, she did not feel the impossible pressure of fatigue weighing down on her. Above her, the treetops swayed gently in the breeze. She rolled over.
Holmgrim was sitting next to a campfire, eating food from a battered pot. Aventine’s stomach rumbled with a ferocious hunger.
He glanced at her. “Welcome back to the land of the living,” he said.
“Is that food?” Aventine asked.
Holmgrim chuckled. “Straight to the point, as always. Aye, it’s food. Saffrin raided my pack and made a stew. Come. Eat.”
Aventine crawled to where Holmgrim sat. He offered her a dented metal cup which she used to scoop stew out of the pot. Her world shrank as her senses were overloaded by the smell of the stew—her only concern was emptying the pot and filling her stomach. When she was finished, she sat back and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“That was delicious,” she said.
“You eat like a barbarian,” Holmgrim said with wry smile.
“Oh, sorry,” Aventine said, realizing she had devoured the stew and left none for Holmgrim.
“No need to apologize,” he said. “This is the second pot she’s made. I ate the first before you woke.”
Aventine looked around. “Where is she?”
“She’s gathering wood in the forest,” Holmgrim said. “She was not sure when you would wake and wanted enough fuel to keep the fire ready to cook a meal for you.”
“She’s okay then?”
“Seems to be. She says she woke to find the two of us sleeping like the dead. She made a campfire and watched over us while we rested. It’s been a day and a night since we came down from the mountains.”
“All I can remember is darkness and monsters.”
“You didn’t forget anything. That’s all there was.”
As they talked, Saffrin appeared carrying an armful of sticks. Her skin was flushed, and her raven-black hair was tangled by wind and work. When she saw Aventine awake, she smiled. Aventine was startled by the change in the older woman. It took her a few heartbeats to understand why. She had never seen Saffrin cheerful, and that was the only way to describe her now. Saffrin moved with a confidence in her step and an alertness in her eyes that had been missing before. She looked alive.
“Aventine, you’re awake!” Saffrin said.
Aventine glanced at Holmgrim with a raised eyebrow.
In response, he shrugged at her. “Maybe she left something behind, back there in the tunnels,” he said quietly.
Aventine returned Saffrin’s smile. “Aye, I’m alive. It’ll take more than a little hike through the mountains to do me in.”
“You sound like Holmgrim,” Saffrin said. “You’ve eaten? Good. I can prepare more if you’re still hungry.”
“That was the best stew I’ve ever had,” Aventine said. “But I’ve eaten my fill. You watched over us this whole time?”
“The heat of the sun on my face woke me, and when I sat up, I found the two of you passed out on the ground. The last thing I remembered was going to sleep next to that strange blue flame, and then a wet, suffocating heaviness. Holmgrim told me what happened.” She shuddered. “I did my best to keep you safe and be ready with food and warmth when you woke.”
“You probably saved our lives,” Holmgrim said.
“You carried me the entire way,” Saffrin said. “It’s the least I could do.”
“You weigh half of nothing,” Holmgrim said with a grin. “I’ll carry you as far as you like.”
Saffrin blushed. “I won’t burden you further, I promise.”
Aventine cleared her throat. If the two of them were going to start openly flirting, she thought she might hike back up into the mountains and stay there.
“Any idea where we are?” Aventine said.
Holgrim’s grin faded as he pursed his lips. “I was in no state to get my bearings. It’s a miracle that I led us out at all. I’ve no idea where we are.”
His words had a sobering effect, reminding the three of them of their goal. Aventine and Holmgrim stood while Saffrin doused the fire. Soon the gear was packed, and they were ready to travel. Holmgrim led the way with Saffrin following close behind. Aventine brought up the rear.
They did not have to walk far to reach civilization. Within the hour they left the forest behind and entered the well-tended fields of a province of the central empire. Specialized crops, orchards and vineyards, dotted the landscape. The scene would have been idyllic but for one glaring absence: there were no people. On the horizon, plumes of smoke could be seen.
“Orchards and vineyards this close to the mountains can only be one province,” Saffrin said. “I’d wager we’re in the province of Prancet.”
“Right between Lome and Cinder,” Aventine agreed. “We avoided our enemies, but not by much.”
The first farmhouse they found had been gutted by fire. Corpses littered the yard. Some were too small to be adults.
“By the gods of thunder and tree, this was a slaughter,” Holmgrim said.
“Who would do this?” Saffrin said. “I can understand rebelling against the emperor, but why kill innocents?”
“Defying the emperor comes with a price,” Holmgrim said, his voice grim. “Few realize that without the emperor, there is no law. When that happens, the strong and ruthless thrive, and the weak and innocent suffer.”
As they walked through the farmland, the signs of carnage were obvious. The countryside was desolate. Feeling numb, Aventine stopped looking, instead keeping her eyes on the road ahead. With no one to observe their passing, they traveled down the main highway between the farms.
“How did we come to this?” Aventine said. “How has Emperor Pontius allowed this to happen?”
Holmgrim and Saffrin did not respond. There was no answer they could give. Only the emperor himself could explain his failure. Once, they saw movement on the edge of a forest. What looked like a family of people fled from their sight, disappearing into the trees.
Near midday they reached the center of the province. Spread out before them, the capitol city looked as ravaged as the countryside. Behind the town, the battlements of a castle could be seen. On the outskirts nearest them, the remains of an open air market were scattered in the dirt. The three of them walked through the abandoned stalls. What goods that had not been looted were still displayed for sale. Crates of rotten fruit and smashed clay jars of wine were the only remains of the surrounding farmland’s bounty.
“All this waste,” Aventine said. “Why would they leave it all behind?”
“When the killing starts, a city is the worst place to be,” Holmgrim said. “The wise cut their losses and run. A wagonload of apples isn’t worth your life.”
On the other side of the market, they entered the city proper. Here, the damage was different. Buildings were no
t just burned out, they were destroyed. Destructive forces had smashed walls and blasted craters in the road. Aventine peered through a hole that had been punched in the side of a house. Inside, an armored body laid broken and twisted in the rubble. In the street, bodies reduced to blackened husks were melted to the ground. Smashed armor and shattered weapons were evidence of the brutal fighting the city had seen.
“Rune warriors fought here,” Aventine said. “This looks like the aftermath from a clash of noble houses.”
Saffrin looked around in concern, seeking enemies hiding in the shadows. “Perhaps we should turn around.”
“We need supplies,” Holmgrim said. “But maybe you’re right. There can’t be much left to find, and there might be bandits lurking in the ruins.”
Just as they had agreed to turn around and avoid the center of the ruined city, Aventine spotted movement several hundred feet in front of them. A single armored figure walked to the center of the street. Sword drawn, shield out, the soldier’s equipment glowed orange with the deadly energy of runes inscribed on their breastplate and blade.
Aventine looked behind them, back the way they had come. Three more rune soldiers blocked their retreat.
“Damn,” Aventine said. “We can’t fight our way out of this. They didn't attack us outright, so maybe there’s a chance they want something other than our blood. Let’s keep going forward and see what happens. Saffrin, take out the siege bow’s runestone and act like you’re our caster. Holmgrim, pretend you’re the rune warrior for a minor house. Maybe we can fool them.”
Holmgrim and Saffrin murmured their assent and followed Aventine’s lead. She made no move for her weapons and swallowed her fear as they approached the solitary soldier standing in the center of the road.
When they were close enough to be hailed, the soldier called to them. “That’s close enough. Who are you, and what is your business here?” The voice was muffled behind the soldier’s helmet.
Aventine’s mind raced. The only thing she could do was brazen it out.