Imogen grinned just like Damien, reminding Marie-Bell how much time she’d spent with him. What was he doing right now? Probably something more fun than flying through a demon-infested wasteland.
“Hey, is that it?” Imogen asked.
Marie-Bell stared into the distance. A domed tower appeared out of the murk. It looked reasonably intact. It vanished behind a bank of clouds, but her glimpse had been enough.
“I think so.” She sighed in relief. Nice to see her goal was more than a phantom of her imagination.
A hundred yards further on the wind picked up, swirling the gray sand around and blurring her vision. The closer they got the harder the wind blew, eventually forcing them to hold hands to avoid getting separated.
“Where did this come from?” Imogen shouted.
Marie-Bell wished she had an answer beyond “it’s the Haunted Lands,” but she didn’t. They powered on, but their flight slowed to a crawl. If the wind picked up any more they’d be going backwards.
Minute after painful minute they forced their way onward. At this point Marie-Bell wasn’t even sure which direction they were going. She sensed nothing beyond the streaks of corruption in the wind, even the background corruption that pervaded everything in the Haunted Lands was gone.
Then, as if someone snapped their fingers, they flew into an area of calm. Marie-Bell almost fell off her mount when the wind stopped. She pulled up and looked around the perfectly circular area. A wall of wind surrounded them and marked a sharp boundary.
“Down there,” Imogen said.
Marie-Bell looked and sure enough a dark figure stood at the far edge of the storm. It gave off as powerful a demonic aura as she’d ever encountered. Whoever or whatever it was had a distinctly masculine build, broad and bulky, but blurry at the edges.
She descended and let her mount vanish. When Imogen joined her, Marie-Bell stalked over to the demon, her hammer cocked and ready.
“Did you cause this storm?” Imogen asked.
Crimson eyes blazed to life in the demon’s head. “I did. I wished to speak with you and this seemed the best way to get your attention.”
“Maybe we don’t want to talk to you,” Marie-Bell said.
“I never imagined a paladin would, hence the need for coercion. First let me offer my congratulations on recovering your armor. Grimgar was a nasty piece of work and you two handled him expertly. When I saw that, I knew the answer to my problem had arrived.”
“I don’t need compliments from a demon,” Marie-Bell said. “Either fight or get out of our way.”
The demon held its hands out to the sides. “You act like those are my only options. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why you’re here. The holy sword still rests at the feet of your predecessor’s corpse. Unless I allow it, you’ll never enter the palace to attempt to retrieve the weapon.”
“Maybe I’ll just kill you.” Marie-Bell gathered herself to attack.
The demon’s form vanished. “Foolish girl, can you slay the wind?”
Marie-Bell spun but there was no sign of him. The demon’s voice came from everywhere.
“I am the Demon Wind. The skies of the Haunted Lands belong to me. My protection has kept you safe from the demons wandering this land and I could just as easily send a hundred of them to tear you apart.”
Marie-Bell fumed as she struggled to figure out how to strike. Imogen laid a hand on her arm. “Perhaps we should hear what he has to say.”
Marie-Bell stared, dumbfounded at the suggestion that they listen to this monster.
“What are our other options?” Imogen asked.
“What indeed,” the demon said. “I am pleased to see that one of you is sensible.”
Marie-Bell slumped. “Fine, I’ll listen, but I make no promises beyond that.”
The dark figure reappeared. “My task is a simple one and should appeal to your self-righteous desire to destroy evil. I mentioned earlier that the skies of the Haunted Lands belong to me; the earth, unfortunately, does not. All that digs, burrows, and rots belongs to an undead creature dwelling in caverns under our feet. I want it dead, truly dead, then no one can contest my rule of this land. Since you’ve recovered the Armor of True Death, defeating an undead foe should pose no problems for you.”
Marie-Bell’s face scrunched up. “Armor of True Death?”
The demon nodded. “Did you not even know the name of your prize? The Armor of True Death is half of a set, along with the Sword of Demon Slaying, that was forged by the half-angel smith Hammerfell at the founding of your order thousands of years ago. How is it that you don’t know your own history?”
“Much was lost when our ancestors crossed the ocean, and the angels themselves remained silent about the artifacts. We believed them simple tools to carry out our work.”
“They are tools, but hardly simple,” the demon said. “So, do you accept my task?”
“We kill the undead ruler and you grant us access to the palace,” Imogen said. “Right?”
“Correct.”
“Do you require proof?” Imogen asked.
“I will know when the creature is no more. When it’s done you will find the storm ended.”
Marie-Bell shared a look with Imogen. Both women nodded.
“We accept your offer,” Marie-Bell said. “But if I see you again, I will destroy you.”
The demon laughed and disappeared again. “I will guide you to the nearest entrance to the undead’s realm. Best of luck, little humans.”
A gap appeared in the wind and they followed it away from where she thought the palace waited. She begrudged every step, but for now she had no choice but to play the demon’s game.
Chapter Forty-Six
Jen, Rhys, Edward, and Alec rode into Simonsville like they owned the place. And given how much coin they’d taken off the dead Dragons, they probably could have bought every building in the town with money left over. Before they left Drevlin, the warlords had changed into civilian clothes so that they looked like just another group of out-of-work mercenaries. At least Jen hoped they did.
To say Simonsville was underwhelming would have been far too generous. It was a farming town that had seen better days. There was a slumping tavern, stone smithy, and a stable interspersed amongst one-room huts.
On the way in, Jen had seen a few men out in the fields working in the waving grain. The wheat was just showing the first signs of amber. Another few weeks and they’d start harvesting. The fields appeared heathy, so why the many sullen looks? Something felt off, but she couldn’t say what.
She shook it off and headed towards the stables. Rhys had the Dragons’ horses on a lead and Jen intended to make a show of selling them. If that didn’t get things moving, they’d continue on to flashing some gold at the tavern.
“Are you sure you want me to take the lead?” Edward asked.
“For the tenth time, yes. There aren’t many female mercenary commanders. It’ll look less suspicious if you play the part of chief.”
He gave a final, glum nod as they reined in outside the long, thatched stable. A single whiff of the place had Jen shutting down her sense of smell. Everyone dismounted and Rhys tied the horses to a rail. Edward, Jen and Alec pushed the door open and stepped inside.
An alley ran through the middle of the building with six stalls on either side, three of them occupied by horses one step from the grave. A gaunt man wearing a stained tunic and torn trousers turned to face them. He had a broom in his hands which he gripped like they intended to take it from him.
“Help you?” he asked through five teeth.
“We have some horses to sell,” Edward said.
The stable hand nodded and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Boss!”
A minute later the fattest man Jen had ever seen entered the stable from the opposite direction. His tunic resembled a tent that hung down to just above mud-caked slippers. He waddled down the alley, missing the fronts of the stalls by inches. Looking at the pair you’d be inclined
to think the boss stole the employee’s food.
The owner flashed perfectly white teeth partially hidden behind a thick black beard. “Name’s Callum. Can I help you?”
“We’ve got horses to sell,” Edward said for the second time.
“Let’s have a look.”
The stable hand got back to his chores while they retreated outside. Edward motioned toward the three newly acquired horses. Callum looked them up and down, running his hands over their flanks and checking their teeth.
“Fine animals. Do you mind if I ask where you got them?”
“In Drevlin,” Edward said. “Seems their owners didn’t need them anymore.”
Callum glanced at Jen who offered a humorless smile and patted her sword.
“I see. Would you like to sell the tack as well?”
“We would,” Edward said.
They set to haggling. Jen didn’t pay much attention, instead focusing on Callum’s forearm. From her angle she couldn’t see if he had a tattoo or not. When they finally reached a price, Callum excused himself to get the promised coin.
“Did you notice anything?” Jen asked.
The guys all shook their heads. Callum didn’t strike her as a likely candidate for an outfit like the Dragons, but that didn’t mean anything and making assumptions was dangerous.
Callum returned carrying a bulging pouch, handed it to Edward, and they shook hands. No sign of a tattoo. Pity, but you couldn’t expect miracles.
They mounted up and turned toward the tavern. Edward looked her way, but Jen kept quiet. It would do him good to get a little experience making command decisions. If Edward ever hoped to get a squad of his own, he needed more confidence.
The ride across town didn’t take two minutes. The silent streets had an eerie feel, but what did she expect? It was late afternoon, naturally everyone was still working. Much as Jen hated to waste time in a place like this, it appeared they’d need to hang around until after dark at least.
They reached the tavern and Edward led them into the taproom. Most of the rough-built tables were empty, but a handful of men sat around one in the corner and a lone drinker occupied the end stool at the bar. A heavily muscled man with one arm and a stained apron was serving him a frothy mug of ale.
Edward slapped a handful of gold royals on the bar. “The drinks are on me. When that runs out let me know.”
The bartender laughed. “That much gold will buy my tavern and all the drink in it.”
He lined up a row of mugs and filled them with ale. They sat at the bar and Jen downed half her drink in one long pull. Horrid stuff, but no self-respecting mercenary sipped her ale.
The bartender settled in across from Edward. “So where’d you get the coin and why in heaven’s name are you wasting it here?”
Edward slammed his empty mug down where it was promptly refilled. “We just finished a job in Drevlin and this seemed like a good place to stop and celebrate our good luck. We also had three spare horses to sell. Got a good price over at the stable.”
“Yeah, Callum’s free with his coin. Don’t know where he gets it, but he never seems to run out. You guys mercenaries?”
Edward nodded. “Between jobs just now. Need anybody killed?”
“Not at the moment,” the bartender said. “If you’re looking for work, you’d do well to head south. Word is the bandits are getting bolder all the time. Merchant’s guild is paying good coin for swords.”
“Thanks for the advice,” Edward said.
“You paid for it plenty of times over.” They shared a friendly chuckle.
Hours passed and the tavern grew busier as farmers left the fields. She feared they’d gone to the wrong town, when Talon walked in, glanced her way, and took a seat at an empty table. Jen stood and wobbled her way towards him. She caught herself on the back of the second chair and slumped into it.
“You make a convincing drunk,” Talon said, his voice pitched so low only someone with warlord senses could listen in.
“Thanks,” she said in the same tone. “Let’s hear it.”
“I followed a skinny guy on one of our horses south about twenty miles. He nearly killed the poor beast getting to that camp. I didn’t dare get too close, but I counted five guys with four-star tattoos and another with a six-star. They all seemed real interested in what the messenger had to say.”
“I’ll bet. There’s something we need to check out. Care to take a walk with a drunken mercenary?”
Talon grinned. “Love to.”
Jen popped to her feet and slurred, “Come on, handsome, let’s get out of here.”
Talon put his arm around her and they headed for the door, followed by the occasional hoot of laughter. The moment they were out of sight, the act disappeared and they accelerated to warlord speed.
A couple seconds later they stopped outside the stables. Jen motioned toward the back and Talon nodded. They slunk along, every sense alert for a trap. At the far end of the building was a closed-off area with a light under the door. That had to be Callum’s quarters and it looked like he was home. How convenient.
Jen pointed at the door, drew her sword, and held up two fingers, then one, then she pointed again. Talon kicked the door off its hinges and they surged through.
Callum leapt to his feet and raised his hands. “Please don’t hurt me. They made me do it. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
Jen shared a look with Talon. “Why don’t you tell us about it?”
Chapter Forty-Seven
Damien yawned and stretched on his conjured bed. A few hours of sleep had been welcome, though still no news from the dragon. After the battle with the huge ogre, the heretics had made two more probing attacks before seeming to call it a day. Maybe the death of their giant had discouraged them. Damien could only hope.
A fresh batch of Builders was keeping watch while he slept in an abandoned house near the main tunnel. It felt odd sleeping in a stranger’s home while they were elsewhere. Even occupied Builder homes lacked much in the way of decorations. Simple, shaped furniture of stone, a stove that burned dried mushroom stalks, and stone tableware. Maybe it felt homier when more people were around.
He sighed, got up, and let his mattress vanish. He wasn’t going to be getting any more sleep now anyway. Breakfast was the order of the day, preferably something other than bug.
Damien was in the middle of strapping Lizzy on his back when the door swung open and Dahlmis stuck his head in. “Hurry, they’re moving again.”
Damien snugged down the final buckle and ran out after Dahlmis. “Another attack?”
“Sort of. The heretics are digging a bypass tunnel. The elders sensed them earlier. They’re trying to sneak past us and go right after the females and young.”
Damien shook his head at the cowardly move. “What’s the plan?”
“We’re going to shape an intercepting tunnel and cut them off. I’ve got a team of eight already working on it with the elders guiding them.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Drive them off so we can seal the tunnel. The elders won’t approve, but if you can kill the heretics it might end this war before anyone on our side dies.”
Damien raised an eyebrow but kept quiet. If the Builders could be brought around to letting him go all out against their brethren, it would make fighting much easier.
They flew over the wall and Dahlmis waved in passing to the trio of Builders on watch. If this was a trick to draw them away, the ones left behind would be in trouble. Of course with the helpless noncombatants under threat, they couldn’t risk doing nothing.
“Where’s Dorius?”
“He was getting underfoot, so I let him into one of our old temples to study the markings. He seemed pleased for the opportunity.”
“No doubt.” They landed beside a seven-foot-diameter tunnel that already reached dozens of feet into the stone. “Wow, your people aren’t fooling around.”
They strode down the newly built tunnel until they came up behind the
workers. Damien watched as they shifted the mass of the stone to the side, making the surrounding rock denser. It was a brilliant way to construct a tunnel, one he’d never considered. The reinforced stone didn’t require braces.
“How far do they have to go?” Damien asked.
Dahlmis cocked his head. “Twenty feet. The enemy is still above us. We’ll let them dig down in our tunnel then strike.”
“Do you have a lot of experience with this sort of thing?”
“Too much. During the last war we fought this intersecting battle all the time. The heretics learned to bring their monsters along and we lost many of those skirmishes.”
“Well, you won’t lose any today if I can help it,” Damien said.
Dahlmis offered a faint smile.
The diggers stepped forward as another yard of tunnel was finished. The process was slow, nerve-wracking, and silent. He’d never witnessed anything like their soul force coordination. If they could use that unity of purpose in combat, they’d make a truly formidable force.
A foot at a time they advanced and while the pace was incredible given they were drilling through solid stone, to Damien each step seemed to take forever and he was growing more aware of his lack of breakfast by the second.
Sometime later, he guessed at least a couple hours, the diggers stopped their forward progress and began expanding the open area into a round chamber. Try as he might, Damien heard no sign of the approaching enemy.
“They’re only five feet above us,” Dahlmis said, making Damien wonder if he really could read his mind. “Make whatever preparation you require, they’ll break through in minutes.”
The extent of his preparations was to draw Lizzy from the scabbard on his back. “Don’t they know we’re here the same as we know they’re coming?”
“Almost certainly, but they haven’t slowed their approach. I suspect they’re hoping to kill a few of us and then retreat. It’s a common tactic. They use their monsters like expendable battle fodder. That gives them a large advantage.”
Damien nodded. A lack of interest in your soldiers’ survival did make it easier to be a general.
Dreaming in the Dark_Chains of the Fallen Volume 1 Page 17