“I can see the bloody look in your eyes, Dormael,” D’Jenn said, turning away to stomp in the direction of the temple entrance. “You don’t have to say a fucking word.”
“What do you expect?” Dormael growled, running to catch up with his cousin. “Mataez was my friend! I loved him like a brother, and I’m bloody allowed to be confused if I want.”
D’Jenn rounded on him again, bringing them up short of the doorway.
“You think he wasn’t my friend, too? You think I didn’t hold any love for him? That I didn’t grieve when I had to kill him?”
“Did you?”
“What?”
“Have to kill him,” Dormael said, his anger getting the better of him. “Was it necessary?”
D’Jenn stared at him for a moment, his eyes as cold as winter. Dormael could see his jaw tightening as he ground his teeth. The man was probably thinking about punching him, and Dormael almost wished that he would. Every bone in his body ached for a good fight, and the blood was rushing through his ears.
“Aye, it was necessary,” D’Jenn said. “I was injured—you saw the state I was in when I returned. He found me that way, told me that if I had to die, he wanted my death to come at the hands of a friend.” His voice broke on the last word, but he took a deep breath and went on. “He died in pain, Dormael—in agony. I had to drink the poison myself, or close to it, in order to see it done, and I’m the one that gathered the wood for his bloody pyre, too. I said a few words and sang a dirge over his corpse.”
“D’Jenn, listen—”
“No, you fucking listen!” D’Jenn growled, stepping close to Dormael’s face again. “If you think for a single bloody instant that I don’t regret it, that I don’t see his face in my fucking dreams, you’re a fool! That’s what I’m willing to sacrifice, Dormael, those are the lengths to which I’m willing to go! Do you understand? I didn’t do it to preserve the secret of the Nar’doroc, or the traditions of the bloody Conclave! I did it for you, for Bethany, for Shawna and Allen—understand? I killed a man that I considered family. You don’t get to keep bloody secrets about a strange thing sifting through your thoughts and telling cryptic truths, get it? Not in the face of that, Dormael. Not in the face of that.”
D’Jenn shifted the books in his arms once again, and spun to walk into the daylight. Dormael watched him go for a moment, feeling a storm of confused emotions running through his veins. Anger, doubt, sadness, shame—it was all rushing around in his head, muddling his thoughts. He wanted to punch D’Jenn, wanted to lay about with his power until the stones of the old temple came raining down to the dirt.
Most of all, he wanted to take back what he’d said to his cousin.
“D’Jenn!” he called, guilt tasting like bile in his mouth. D’Jenn paused, turning to look in his direction. Dormael could see the indignation on his face, and he felt the weight of his own stupidity settle into his stomach. It had started to rain again during their time in the catacombs, and the sound echoed through the ruined temple.
“I didn’t mean that about Mataez,” Dormael said. “I know it was bloody necessary, alright? I don’t blame you, but I don’t have to like it. I don’t have to like any of this.”
D’Jenn sighed and shook his head. “None of us like this, Dormael. None of us.”
A scream cut through the air from outside, stiffening Dormael’s back. D’Jenn’s expression changed in an instant, and he gestured for Dormael to follow as he rushed out into the storm. Cursing, Dormael hefted his spear and followed D’Jenn outside.
The main courtyard was empty as Dormael and D’Jenn rushed through it. Allen’s and Shawna’s voices were ringing through the deluge from out front, beyond the great statues of the gods. They had left the horses there before going in, and Dormael felt a stab of panic that the Warlocks had finally caught up to them.
They made the yard with haste, Dormael’s boots slipping on the rain-slick grass. A chaotic sight greeted Dormael’s eyes as they rushed toward their friends. Bethany was being shoved into her saddle by Allen, who was yelling for her to take the horses into the temple and find a place to hide. Shawna stood at the wall that bordered the courtyard, gazing down the hill at something in the distance. Her swords were drawn, and she kept shooting worried glances at Allen and Bethany. When she saw Dormael and D’Jenn appear, she gestured at them to hurry.
“What’s happening?” D’Jenn called, running over to secure Indalvian’s books in his saddlebags.
“The vilth!” Allen said, ripping his saber free. “He’s here, and he’s brought more friends than last time!”
“Are you sure?” D’Jenn said, eyes on his work as he fumbled with his gear.
Dormael gestured for Bethany to do as Allen had bid her, and reassured her in the Hunter’s Tongue. He ran over to stand with Shawna, who gave him a restive look as he slid to a halt at her side. When he saw what Allen was talking about, his stomach climbed into his throat.
A lone man sat astride a horse on the ground beneath the hill. Though he was wrapped in a black robe, and hooded against the rain, Dormael would have recognized him anywhere. He’d seen the man through a magical projection on their journey to Ishamael, when he’d spoken with the late Jureus. Even at this distance, Dormael could feel the cold intensity of his gaze. His attention, though, wasn’t what filled Dormael’s heart with ice—it was the horde of silent cadavers tearing their way up the hillside.
Gods, Dormael thought. We’re fucked.
Die with Honor
Dormael suppressed the panic that tried to claw its way out of his chest.
At the sight of the struggling, expressionless corpses, he felt sure that fate had finally conspired to end his life, and the lives of all his friends. Shawna glanced at him, conveying something that could’ve been acceptance, or determination. It was hard to tell with her, sometimes.
D’Jenn reached the wall a moment later, almost tipping over as he slid to a halt. He took one look at the oncoming force of animated bodies, and set his jaw. Dormael heard his cousin’s Kai begin to sing, gathering his magic against the horde of creatures facing them. Dormael tied the armlet to his belt, using magic to secure it in place. Hefting his spear, he looked to his friends.
“It’s time for another show of force,” D’Jenn said, meeting Dormael’s eyes. “Let’s link, and send these things to the Six Hells! You take control. Ready?”
“Ready.”
Dormael pulled on his Kai, letting the bright-hot power fill his senses. The rain was a cacophony of tones, each resounding in his mind like a tiny bell. Reaching out with his power, he intertwined his magic with D’Jenn’s, giving their respective songs a short moment to settle. They had worked together enough that their Kais were familiar to one another, and the process was short.
The corpses were nearly to the top of the hill when Dormael began to sing. He closed his eyes and let the magic show him the world, adding his own voice to the song that his power played through the ether. His fear, his indignation at the argument with D’Jenn, the anger over the injustice of it all, and his disgust for the man orchestrating this attack—all of it he fed into the magic. His Kai seethed with anger until Dormael felt he would burn like the midday sun.
There were no words to his song, but he hummed the tune to a popular dirge—a lament for fallen hunters from Tasha-Mal. D’Jenn knew the melody, and raised his own voice in support. Dormael opened his eyes, holding the vast power in check with the sheer force of his will. The cadavers came on like a ravening horde.
As the first one got within spitting distance, he unleashed the spell.
The rain began to bend outward from the hill. Lightning flashed overhead, cutting through the whispering din of the downpour. The roughly-mortared stones in the wall began to crepitate, trembling in place as the magic cut through them. Cracks resounded from the stones as the pressure of the magic was brought to bear.
A few of the undead bodies were caught in the initial wave of power, and floated into the air as they reach
ed the courtyard wall. They fought with a violence that Dormael had never seen, a singular focus so intense that even with their feet bereft of the ground, they struggled to put their hands on Dormael and his friends. The magic drew to a crescendo, postured like a mountain cat ready to pounce.
Then, with a series of bright, powerful flashes, the hill descended into chaos.
Stones ripped themselves free of the wall, zipping into the mass of bodies. They bowled through the corpses with enough force to send pieces flying from ruined bodies. Meaty thumps sounded as the rocks wreaked their bloody havoc, but never a scream. It was chilling to watch the forms of women, children, and the elderly being bashed to pieces, though Dormael knew the souls that had once inhabited their bodies were gone into the Void.
At least, he hoped they were.
Lightning arced from the darkened sky, slamming into the hillside with deafening cracks. Cadavers were blown from their feet under the deluge, leaving wide swaths of destruction on the ground, and afterimages over Dormael’s sight. There was no clear direction to the spell, no singular intended outcome. The thought of survival fueled it, the fear of being ripped apart by cold, unfeeling hands. It was all Dormael could do to keep the spell pointed outward. He strained to control it like a dam holding a river.
Dormael felt D’Jenn’s power waning at the demand Dormael was putting on their magic. D’Jenn put a hand to his shoulder, warning him that he couldn’t sustain the link for much longer. Dormael gave him a quick nod, and let the spell run its course. He released his hold on his cousin’s magic, and hefted his spear as the revenants began to recover.
It was stunning to see.
While the wild magic had taken a toll on the horde of mindless bodies, it hadn’t done for them all. Dormael saw many that bore crippling injuries—jaws smashed to bloody bits, broken legs that had no right supporting weight, and deep rents with wet, shifting meat beneath—all pulling themselves from the ground to struggle up the hill once again. He tried to estimate the number of standing forms to the ones that lay motionless, but there was no time. The wall around the courtyard lay in ruined pieces.
A howl sliced through the cloudy day—one that Dormael recognized from the tunnels beneath Ishamael. Terror crawled up his spine at hearing that scream, and remembering the kind of monster that uttered it. He had hoped he’d seen the last of them.
“Not that bloody thing again,” Allen said. He nocked an arrow to one of his bows, pulling the string taught as he aimed down the hill.
“You have to hit them in the head,” Shawna called to him, not taking her eyes from the advancing corpses. “Don’t waste your arrows on heart-shots, or belly-shots.”
“I remember well enough,” Allen muttered. “Watch and learn.”
He let fly, and the arrow sank into the head of one of the cadavers struggling to stand, felling it in place. Allen reached down to a quiver he’d propped against the wall, drew, and loosed another shot. Dead bodies began to fall one by one as Allen took down the stragglers.
“Here they come!” Shawna warned, pointing one of her blades toward a group making the top of the hill. She shot a quick look at Dormael, and gave him a wink. “Watch my back, will you?”
“Always,” Dormael smiled, hefting his spear.
She nodded, and with one last look at Allen and D’Jenn, hopped over the ruins of the wall. Dormael gave D’Jenn and Allen the sign for luck in the Hunter’s Tongue, then followed Shawna into the fray. She gave him a single glance for reassurance, then turned to meet the advancing carcasses.
Four of them ran forward, dead eyes trained on Shawna. The rain hindered their mad rush to get at her, feet slipping on the wet hillside. Dormael felt a moment of worry for Shawna as he saw the bodies bearing down on her. A vision of her pulled to the ground and pummeled to death flashed through his mind’s eye, and he pushed it down with the rest of his fears, where it would help to fuel his magic. Shawna was one of the more capable warriors he’d ever seen, and she’d probably be scornful of his concern.
He lashed out with his magic, slamming a wide bar of pure force into the cadavers’ knees. They tumbled to the grass in a bone-crushing heap, still trying to crawl forward. Shawna quick-stepped toward, swords licking out with deadly purpose. She took the head from the closest one—a young man wearing simple farmer’s clothes—and ended a second with a thrust to its skull.
Dormael slid in beside her and shoved his spear through the eye socket of a third, having to wrench it out as the bone caught the blade. The fourth body wrapped a hand around Dormael’s ankle, squeezing with such force that he thought it would break. He twisted the thing’s neck with his Kai, and the carcass went still.
“Breaking their necks works, too,” he said, breathing hard. Shawna gave him a quick nod, then surveyed the field for more.
“Incoming!” she said, stepping away from him.
An old woman barreled down on them from the side, milky eyes locked on Dormael. Shawna whipped out with one of her blades, taking the crone’s head from her shoulders in a single slash. Dormael side-stepped the body as its momentum carried it onward, even as its head fell to the grass.
Another form appeared out of the driving rain, tearing up the hill in their direction. Dormael seized his spear in his Kai, and threw it toward the corpse, directing its flight with his magic. The blade smashed through the creature’s face, taking it from its feet with a violent thud. A flick of Dormael’s wrist brought the spear back to his hand.
“Dormael!” Shawna called, drawing his attention back to her. Five more of the dead bodies made the top of the hill, sprinting toward them in a silent, murderous rush. Dormael pulled on his magic, bringing more of his power to bear. One of the stones from the courtyard wall lay nearby, and Dormael ripped it from the ground with his Kai. He sent it flying into the center of the group, scattering their charge. Two of them fell to the ground, but the rest kept running, heedless of his attack.
Shawna waited until the revenants were almost on her, and side-stepped the closest one. It scrambled to change direction as it went by, and Shawna chopped into his leg with a vicious downward slash. The wound slowed it enough so she could take its head with her next strike. It went down like a sack of meal.
Dormael seized the remaining two in his magical grip, and crushed them into a ball of unrecognizable flesh. Their bones cracked as their bodies were mashed together, and Dormael was aghast at the lack of sound they made. Anything that was killed with such violence should make a noise of protest. These things didn’t die, though—couldn’t die. They simply ended, and did so in unsettling silence.
D’Jenn’s song rang out from nearby, and Dormael chanced a look in his direction. He saw his cousin and Allen facing down their own group of undead, but a warning call from Shawna drew his attention. She pointed one of her blades down the slope, indicating something in the distance.
Another group of cadavers was pulling itself from the ground and running in their direction, but Shawna’s sword was pointed over their heads. Just beyond them, standing in the driving rain, was the robed figure. He had dismounted his horse, and as Dormael caught sight of him, he started to walk toward the fight.
“Is that him?” Shawna said, her eyes locked to the strange figure.
“It must be,” Dormael replied. “Things are about to get—”
Before he could finish his sentence, he felt the vilth open his Kai. His song was as sharp as a dagger. It reached out and sank its claws into the world, as if it disdained everything it touched. Entwined with the man’s magic was something else, some other source of power that Dormael had felt only once before—from Inera in the tunnels under Ishamael. It lay over the vilth’s magic like an oily film.
One of the stones that Dormael had used against the corpses whipped from the ground and flew at Shawna, making a whooshing noise as it sliced through the rain. Dormael shouted with effort and reached out with his own power, shattering the stone in midair. Gravel and dust exploded from the pulverized rock, tumbling away
as Shawna covered her eyes and shied in the opposite direction.
A deep anger blossomed in Dormael’s chest. Another stone ripped from the ground and came at them, and this one Dormael knocked aside rather than destroyed. It spun away, landing amidst another group of struggling bodies and scattering them to the ground.
“You deal with that!” Shawna called as she gathered herself. “I can handle myself here.”
“Shawna—”
“Go, you fool!” she said, giving him a meaningful look. “I’ll be fine. He’ll keep trying to kill us both if you don’t take the fight to him!”
She was right, of course. He hated to abandon her, but he couldn’t support her and fight the vilth at the same time. He nodded to her, catching her eyes one last time, and stoked his anger.
Summoning more of his magic, he turned to face down the vilth.
***
D’Jenn was almost certain they would all die on this hill.
Dormael’s wild spell had drained D’Jenn’s power more than he would have liked, and after the fight in the catacombs against the Lurker, he was already starting to flag. He would have been sweating, had the rain not been falling. He could feel the fatigue in his legs, creeping into his muscles and making them tremble.
“Those things are getting up,” Allen said. D’Jenn looked over and saw him adjusting a targe on his off-hand, his bow abandoned at his feet. “Wish I had a bigger shield, maybe a line of spearmen.”
“Do you still have that axe?” D’Jenn asked, keeping his eye on a group of revenants gaining the hill.
Allen reached to his lower back and pulled the axe from his belt. He flipped it in his hand, and proffered the haft to D’Jenn. Nodding, D’Jenn took it up.
“Finally getting rid of that unwieldy bludgeon you use?” Allen asked. “It’s a stupid weapon, really.”
“No,” D’Jenn said, too tired to participate in his cousin’s wordplay. “But I do like the axe.”
The Seven Signs: Three Book Collection Page 116