The Holtur Curse (The Holtur Trilogy Book 2)

by Cameron Wayne Smith

  Once they had reached the courtyard, the third wave began flowing towards Holtur. Screams—from both sides—burned through Sonja’s ears as she fired upon the next lot of aggressors. She fired bolt after bolt, her accuracy improving once the screams below turned to cheers again. Her men had defeated the second wave. A good thing the slayers didn’t actually know how many men were out there, if they did their morale would extinguish.

  Once wave three reached the one-hundred metre mark, they began to sprint. These men were better equipped than the last lot. Crude, iron armour slowed their dash, but would make them more resilient to Holtur’s weapons. “Heavy armour!” Sonja screamed to the slayers below. Those wielding light weapons sheathed them and sought out hammers and bludgeons from the lower barrack.

  Again, the screams below triggered the next wave to begin its advance. Sonja unloaded more bolts into the new wave, only to be disturbed by the screams below. She was hardened to the sounds of men being brought to death—to an extent—but a new scream chilled her to the bone. The sound was an after-scream, like the victim had screamed all they could in life, but were continuing it through death. It was as if they were losing something else; releasing a cold, high-pitched, ethereal noise that didn’t belong in this world.

  Sonja glanced down into the courtyard and froze, as had half her men. The shadow-things had shifted to their human form and were attacking the aggressors. They weren’t attacking with blade, bow, or bludgeon; they were using tooth and nail. These men fought like monsters, bleeding the enemy dry and savouring their vital fluids. They were leeches.

  After the shadowy creatures had drained their prey, they drained a little more, inflicting whatever conjured that after-scream. They then picked up their victim’s weapons and began wielding them with violent grace, like they had stolen the fighting technique from their consumed enemy.

  Peeling her attention from the battle below, Sonja focused on wave four. The entire force was now advancing! With futility, she blasted bolts into the approaching force. While loading a bolt, she glanced down to the courtyard and realised wave three had been defeated—well, drained—much faster than she had anticipated. Amnesty began to flow between the slayers and leeches. They hadn’t yet lashed at each other, but it was obvious the slayers were uncomfortable with presence of these horrors. Understandable, considering the amount of drained victims the town had awoken to this sun.

  A shadow dropped out of the sky between the slayers and leeches. In the air the shadow-things seemed to lack proper form, it was only after they landed on the ground they appeared human. How they did it must be something to do with the lighting, or trick of the senses. It would be impossible to change their form so drastically. The figure that appeared between the two tense sides looked up to Sonja, and a crack of lightning revealed a very familiar face. It was Rigst.

  “We must work together!” Rigst called out to the slayers. “I understand you fearing us, but now is not the time for our two people to argue! We must stop this vile army, together!”

  The leeches held their cautious stances while the slayers—Sonja included—all looked to Rigst in astonishment. Sonja thought she knew the man—she had fought by his side, protected Holtur, even lain with the man—but right now, she had no idea who, or what, he was.

  Rigst looked around at the slayers, one after the other, catching their gazes individually. He then turned to the splintered remains of the main gate, staring down the distant army “For Holtur!” He raised his blade in the air. That got them cheering! The unlikely alliance between man and leech had been formed, for now. No doubt everyone who had grasp of their consciousness was fuelled with questions. Questions that would have to wait for another time, if they survived.

  The front of the endless wave had entered the range of the archers and crossbows. Projectiles were unleashed across the force, felling many of the soldiers before they could reach the town. Attacking groups now shared very different attire, armours, and weapons. Each segment moved in its own distinct way and had its own preferences for combat. This wasn’t a single giant army, it was a combination of several forces!

  Fire began dancing in the sky above the middle of the army, lighting up a massive regiment of crimson-clad soldiers. A force which must belong to Crispin. Were Caede and Crispin the only leaders in the Brothers of Eternity? Or did each section have its own?

  Her questions grew as the closest unit of men all stopped outside the walls of Holtur. Why did they not enter? The answer came in the form of a bombardment of flaming arrows. The white-hot projectiles flew over the heads of the stationary soldiers and into the Holtur grounds. Unfortunate leeches drifting through the sky exploded with brilliant light. The slayers below found the assault just as hazardous. Men were dropping to the ground, rolling around, trying to put out the flames that ate away at their furs.

  Sonja’s ballista was tearing men apart, but it wasn’t making much of a dent in the enemy force overall; there were just too many! The soldiers had entered Holtur now, taking advantage of the burning chaos to strike down men fighting against the fire. Even with the leeches assisting—latching onto and draining their victims dry—the slayers found themselves being pushed back.

  The sight of soldiers racing up the steps to the wall walk forced Sonja to ditch her ballista. She unsheathed her claymore and swung down at the first man who would have reached the wall. He didn’t see her there as he ascended, not until his head was at her boot level. Mouth agape, the last thing tasted was her steel.

  Sonja’s heart skipped at the man’s brief scream prior to his death. A demise that she had handed out herself. Inhaling deeply, she forced herself to think of what this man might do if he got his hands on that little girl at the tavern. These monsters were rapists, she knew that, and the kindest possible thing they would do to little Olivia—if they won this battle—would be turn her into an orphan. That wasn’t enough to comfort Sonja’s mind into accepting mass murder. She thought of the worst possible things they could do to that little girl. That innocent little girl. Sonja’s blood instantly began to boil. She was flooded with a new level of overwhelming hatred for the Brothers of Eternity. A roar blasted from her throat, flinging streams of spit over her enemy. An enemy she was now excited to slaughter.

  Sonja’s mind had raced so fast in that heartbeat. She had only just detached the mongrel’s head as its corpse was thrown from the stairs by the next soldier. She arced her blade towards his chest. He responsively raised his own weapon before him; a smaller sword for a smaller man. The claymore—and the force behind it—knocked the weapon from the man’s hand, then with a splattering crack, split his upper torso in half. Blood and internal organs splashed down on the invaders, painting them a putrid red.

  The next soldier to reach Sonja behaved much the same, attempting to parry her blow. These men—wherever they were from—had an unusual way of fighting. They wanted to parry and block, playing a dance with their blades. Sonja, however, had no intention of playing. These men had been categorised inside her mind as the worst possible horrors to attack her home, and like the monsters who lash out at Holtur, she just wanted them dead. Very, very dead. The blade reverberated out from his grip, and his insides were relieved from the body that had previously encased them. All this, only so another brother could sprout up in his place.

  Sonja continued to hack away. One man down, then another, and then another. She was surprised at how little effort it took to kill a man. So many things she had slain required incredible skill. The wrong weapon, or an attack to the wrong part of their body, would result in the creature devouring the slayer. Humans though—even when you cover them in armour—were squishy bags of stinking organs and blood. A hard strike—almost anywhere—and they would scream, open, split, shit, and die.

  The Brothers of Eternity were relentless in their assault. Death was not something they feared, it was as if their individual lives held no meaning. The next man her blade claimed was disallowed the opportunity to drop off to the side in death. Ins
tead, she kicked him down the stairs with all her might. It struck the next man, back into the man behind him, and he into the next. The effect snowballed as they tumbled down the stairs in a mess of armour, limbs, and blades.

  A moment of respite offered a breath and a glance at the approaching army. It had barely begun. If the force was a man, and Holtur was a hot bath, he had barely dipped in his small toe to test the water. Dread washed over her, only to be alleviated by a booming roar. Not the sound of thunder, but another all so familiar noise that often brought death and terror with it. This time, hopefully, the approaching death and terror was exclusive for the Brothers of Eternity.

  Another roar interrupted the bloody sounds of war, followed by streaks of flame scorching the earth in the distance. It was too far to clearly focus on, but she knew the shroud were being herded towards them. Like everyone who saw this army, those wyverns feared the Brothers of Eternity. She kept watching, waiting, needing that confirmation. It came. The air grew colder, thicker, and the fog was rolling in. She couldn’t hear it, but she assumed the distorted sound of the shroud feeding would soon be heard at the rear of the enemy force.

  “Look out!”

  Sonja turned around, only to be sprayed with blood and knocked in the chest by a freshly decapitated head. She cleared her eyes and focused on the man before her. “Rider?”

  He turned away, hacking his sword through one man’s chest, while grabbing the sword arm of another soldier. He pulled the held man by the arm, then clamped his teeth around his neck.

  “Rider, what are you doing?” She screamed at him, but he ignored her.

  She struck out at another approaching soldier, then yelled as loud as she could down into the courtyard, “The shroud are coming! My team, Hacknebel, Nordrachosten Alley, NOW!”

  Rigst stared at her for a moment, blood dribbling down his chin. His eyes appeared lighter in colour than the dark brown she remembered and it felt like he stared straight through her, like she was an object not a friend. They weren’t the eyes she had known. “I’ll cover your rear,” he rasped, spitting blood.

  Slayers had disengaged the enemy. Knowledge that the shroud were on their way would be enough to force any who knew of the horrors into hiding. Hopefully this would be an all new experience for the Brothers of Eternity. “Go on Crispin, Caede,” Sonja yelled over the battlements. “Try your luck against the shroud!”

  Descending the main stairs was no longer an option as enemy soldiers now filled the courtyard. Sonja raced east along the wall walk, risking the odd glance at the army within and without. Then, the wall walk gave out below her. It was the eastern section where the giants had penetrated. Something had just knocked the last of the masonry free, and Sonja was falling. She attempted to leap from a stone she found underfoot, but all that did was boost the falling rubble’s momentum. Soldiers were all around her, waiting for her crippling descent to end so she could be finished.

  Sonja closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. The impact never came and the wind direction seemed to have shifted. The rain striking at her face hit harder all of a sudden. She opened her eyes to discover she was wrapped in shadows, flying. It was Rigst, she could sense it. He had his arms—shadowy arms—hooked around her shoulders, carrying her along beneath him. He had saved her from her fall; perhaps he was still himself after all?

  “Rider…” Sonja sighed. “The shroud are coming.”

  “I know.” Rigst exhaled a breath on her neck, it lacked the warmth she had once known.

  “Take me to Nordrachosten Alley. We have set up a trap.”

  “For the men, or the shroud?”

  “The shroud.”

  “With all that is going on,” Rigst growled, “you want to capture shroud? Now?”

  “My brother lured the shroud to stop the Brothers of Eternity. It was his idea to collect them, and it was his idea to trap them.”

  Rigst groaned. “No lesson learnt from last year then?”

  “This is nothing like last year!”

  “You’re right, it most certainly is not,” Rigst said. “To Nordrachosten Alley.”

  Chapter 15: The Shroud Play

  Nordrachosten Alley came into sight soon enough. Outside, around the Hacknebel, stood a group of slayers waiting for their leader. All of them stared, mouth agape, watching Sonja’s aerial approach wrapped in shadows. Rigst slowed and released Sonja from his ethereal grasp. She landed before the slayers and did a quick count; eleven scouts were here and ready. Good, none had fallen.

  Rigst’s body formed the moment a shadowy foot hit the cobbles. Perhaps she had twelve scouts now?

  “Rigst?” Knoch questioned. “Guess we get to do this again!”

  “How’d you do that?” Rak mumbled. “Flying? Transforming?”

  “Long story,” Rigst said, avoiding eye contact with his old colleagues. “Short version is, I’m no longer human.”

  “But you are with us, right friend?” Zeilgen asked, his hand readied over the pommel of his blade.

  Rigst gave a shallow nod and Rahlman backed away from him. Battle chants from the Brothers of Eternity were growing louder. The band of men were lighting fires, breaking into buildings, and were generally looting and pillaging their way through Holtur.

  “We need to get inside, now!” Sonja commanded. “The shroud will be upon us soon!”

  “Just waiting on you, Captain Bluwahlt,” Ellard said, then heaved open the heavy, stone door to the Hacknebel.

  The men all rushed in, keen to get out of the icy rain and around a fire. Sonja looked back to Rigst, he was standing in the rain; it had washed away most the blood from his face. “Get in Rider,” she said. He stood there, looking at her, studying her. “Now! That’s an order!”

  He growled, bearing incisor fangs larger than Sonja knew he had; given their history, she thought she knew his mouth reasonably well. “I must insubordinate. Apologies, Captain.” His voice crackling with a tinge of fear.

  Sonja reached a hand out into the rain. “Please…”

  He scrunched up his face, then began effortlessly floating skywards. Sonja stepped out into the dark rain, trying to watch the man, but he swiftly merged with the shadows of the storm. She wanted to chase him, but a distant noise held her back. Screams that distorted as if bent by sound. Not like the after-screams of the leech victims. It was the noise of men being ripped apart from the inside out; the shroud had arrived.

  Rak had already grabbed Sonja’s wrist and hauled her into the building. “He might be fighting with us,” he said dryly, “but he ain’t one of us. Not any more.”

  “He has become an abomination!” Rahlman said. “Blasphemous!”

  What had Rigst become? What did he think? Feel? Rahlman may be right, but Sonja had an overwhelming urge to plant her balled fist into his stupid moustache. Now was not the time for that. Still, she had spent a long time worrying about Rigst. She wanted to tell him things, be with him, make him happy. Now he was different, out of reach. Rigst fled from her as the shroud closed in. Allowing him to consume her thoughts was not a productive idea.

  “The shroud are on their way,” Sonja stated the obvious, more to help shove their plan into action than warn the men. “Rak, Junior, Ansgren, Kaarm, and Ellard, upstairs. Along with myself, you lot will be the upper team. Zeilgen, you’ll be in charge of the lower team.” She pointed at Lambert. “That’s Lambert from the south gate. I assume everyone else knows each other well enough. Knoch knows how to operate the machine. The only difference with this model is that you can control the direction of the air flow. Four men must work at a time, three cycling, one directing. The remaining two are to watch over the others and substitute if a slayer grows weary. If you have any questions, give them now. If you have any worries later, send a standby up top.”

  Sonja took in a deep breath waiting for questions. None, good, Zeilgen could handle it. She ran up the stairs and noticed Professor Formidor in the corner, listening and watching quietly to Sonja’s orders. Also, no fire had been built.<
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  “Fancy to ordain our immediate endeavours?” Ansgren asked. His look was genuine, not smug, if only his words could follow suite.

  “Start up a fire on the net,” Sonja said pointing at the mesh balcony. Wood had already been fashioned into a pyramid shape and was ready to burn. “Ansgren, help Kaarm with the task. Junior, Rak, Ellard, on the cycles, no peddling until the fire is ready.

  The men all leapt to their position. Even Ansgren avoided saying anything! They’d all seen a lot over the last sun and were wanting it all to be over. Sonja snuck downstairs to see how everyone was coping. Surprisingly, they were all doing fine. Zeilgen exuded confidence and was instilling it into the slayers. A natural born leader. When this was all over she’d have to have a talking to him about the position of commander. He’d be a more suitable candidate than any other.

  She climbed back upstairs to a whooshing gust of heat blasting towards her. The fire had been ignited. Like all good Aesterus worshippers, Kaarm had gone a little over the top with its ignition. The magnificent fire licked flames high into the sky. It defied the storm, and would continue to burn a fierce blaze an entire moon—with minimal assistance—even if the rain decided to pelt down with increasing fury.

  Ansgren patted Kaarm on the back. “Ansgren offers a panegyric to your prowess; You are perplexedly exuberant with ignition of timbers.”

  Kaarm responded with a grunt and a raised brow.

  “I believe that was a compliment Kaarm,” Sonja hastily added.

  Both the masculine Altkrugan and short Holturian smiled at each other. The touching moment was interrupted by pounding against the building, screeches, and a damp, cool feeling flooding the room despite the roaring fire. The Shroud were right outside.

  Sonja raced to the stairwell, positioning herself so both the top and lower floor could hear her. “No peddling yet!” she called out. “We need them to flow into the alley first.”