Heirs of the Fallen: Book 02 - Crown of the Setting Sun

by James A. West

  “We should sleep,” Zera said, rising. “Tomorrow will be a long day. Once we are in the mountains, the days will only get longer and more difficult.”

  She held out her hand to Leitos. He took it and stood. After that, he felt lost in a daze. She rolled out their blankets, making a pallet that seemed far too narrow for two people. He was still staring at their makeshift bed, and Zera resting on it, when she shot him a questioning look. “What are you waiting for?”

  The moisture fled his tongue, and his limbs lost all feeling, but he managed to join her. Laying on his back, with no less than a foot between them, he twitched when she nestled near and spread a blanket over them.

  “It’s so cold,” Zera said, her voice already drowsy, muffled by their shared blanket. “Give me your arm.”

  Leitos rolled to his side and did as she asked, fearing that his heart would leap from his chest. She pressed against him with a contented sigh, and then twined her fingers through his. By her breathing, she fell asleep almost at once, and he began to relax into her comforting warmth. He lay there a long time, the scent of her—leather and clean sweat and the faintest hint of some flower’s fragrance—filling his nose.

  Chapter 23

  It was still dark when Leitos came awake, his skin coated in cold sweat. The fire had been built up, its light mingling with the glow of a gibbous moon. Where is Zera? Strange howls crawled out of the canyons, crept over camp. There were words buried within those utterances, suggestions—

  “Gods!” Lakaan bellowed. He sat up, his bulbous head turning this way and that.

  “It seems that trouble has found us,” Zera said, standing near the restive burros.

  Galvanized by another howl, Leitos sprang to his feet, flinging aside his blanket.

  … still the heart … savor the meat … devour the soul … sweet perishing … sweet death … be still be quiet … yes yes … lie down … yes yes yes … slumber … die.…

  “We must flee!” Lakaan babbled. He stood up, blundered one way, then another, spinning in mindless circles. “Run!” he shrieked. “We must run or die!”

  “Calm yourself,” Zera snapped, her voice like a whip. Lakaan halted at once, panting, eyes wild. “We will run,” she growled, “but not in a blind panic. Do you understand?”

  Lakaan nodded, his plump fingers plucking nervously at his collar.

  Zera moved away from the burros, and pressed a fat bundle of supplies into Leitos’s arms. “An Alon’mahk’lar’s greatest weapon is its voice,” she said. “Do not heed their words. Push them away.”

  … sweet perishing … sweet death….

  Leitos gritted his teeth, focused on the shifting sand underfoot, the bundle in his arms, the memory of Zera pressed against him in the night, anything to avoid heeding the accursed voices on the wind. He realized that the howling beasts did not sound so near as he had first thought. He had been sure they were upon them, just a few paces from camp. But no, they prowled miles distant, using their voices to drive their prey mad with fear.

  Zera led an ashen-faced Lakaan to Leitos’s side, then released the burros. Once freed, the beasts tore into the night, braying and kicking as if death were nipping at their hooves. Perhaps it is, Leitos thought with a shiver.

  Zera retrieved two more bundles from the back of the cart and returned. “We continue west,” she said, handing Lakaan a bundle.

  They did not run, but Zera set a pace fast enough to discourage talking. In the first hour, Leitos was sure the hunting Alon’mahk’lar were coming nearer, but deep into the second he knew they were not. By the end of the third hour, as the stars faded, the only sound in his ears was the steady, sulfurous wind blowing down off the mountains. There was no hint of the chilling whispers anymore. He didn’t know how they had shaken off the pursuers, but he was glad Zera’s skill had kept them safe once again. Other than pausing to sip from a waterskin Zera carried, they did not halt until midday, after climbing into the foothills of the Mountains of Fire.

  While Lakaan and Leitos shared a crust of bread, Zera fashioned straps from a coil of rope she had taken from the cart, and then tied them to the corners of the three supply bundles.

  “Rope makes for poor straps,” she said, testing her makeshift pack, “but sore shoulders are better than having our hands full if an Alon’mahk’lar sets upon us.” She gave them both a hard stare.

  “We cannot stay here,” she said, handing Lakaan the depleted waterskin. “We will walk days and nights, until we are through the mountains.”

  “And break our fool necks for the effort?” Lakaan complained.

  “The trail is not easy,” Zera admitted, “but it is passable, even in the dark. Besides, staying still too long in these mountains is to invite the company of death.”

  Lakaan weighed that for a moment, as if he were willing to take his chances, then shrugged in resignation. “So be it,” he muttered, and passed the waterskin to Leitos.

  A long day followed, the beginning of a ceaseless march through a parched, desolate land. The open road narrowed to a rocky trail barely fit for travel. Behind them the broken canyons, through which Leitos and Lakaan had journeyed, stretched far away under an ugly haze. Dark gray and lichen encrusted, the mountains stood around them, an impregnable wall seamed with the sullen reds of molten rock. Where it had cooled and hardened, the new stone was darker still, clinging to the floors of dizzying ravines. Ever the reek of sulfur left them gasping and choking by turns. What vegetation grew was tough and scrubby. Spiny leaves hung curled and yellowed, starving for pure water and bright sunlight.

  Zera called a halt one evening at a wide spot on the trail overlooking a gorge so deep that shadows hid the bottom. A muted roaring told of an abundance of water leaping and crashing amongst boulders far below. A battered bridge spanning the gap drew Leitos’s eye. Deep ruts grooved its surface, like those he had seen made by wagons on the road to Zuladah. Zera answered Leitos’s question before he could ask it.

  “Once,” she said, her voice tossed and pulled by a fitful breeze, “this route was one of the greatest trade roads in all of Geldain.”

  She saw Leitos’s doubtful expression and explained, “Ancient stories tell that from Zuladah to what was once the city of Imuraa, merchants used this route to avoid the stormy months on the Sea of Sha’uul. Great armies once trod this road, as did lesser merchants—those more given to smuggling than honest trade. That was a thousand and more years before the Upheaval, during the reign of the Suanahad Empire. Now it is a trail barely fit for walking, and seldom used even for that. I expect the day will soon come when every lingering trace of what was, will be lost.”

  The finality of that statement fell over Leitos even as the last, muted rays of sunlight winked from the sky. “And then what?” he wondered aloud.

  “Then some fool will build it all up again,” Lakaan said, peering into the impenetrable gloom under the bridge, “and another fool will tear it down. Birth, life, death … such is the way of things.”

  “So our purpose is to live a life that amounts to nothing, and then die?”

  “Some believe Pa’amadin has a design,” Zera said, “but it is not for us to know.”

  Leitos gave her a quizzical look. “Do you believe that?”

  “My purpose is to see you safe into the hands of the Brothers of the Crimson Shield,” Zera said. “Whether that is the will of Pa’amadin or not, I cannot say.”

  “Brothers of the Crimson Shield!” Lakaan barked. He wheeled, not looking childlike anymore, but dangerous. “You have been traipsing us through these accursed hinterlands, searching after that false dream?”

  Zera leveled a flat stare at him. “You are free to go where you wish, old friend, but I am taking Leitos to those who can help.”

  “They do not exist!” Lakaan shouted, the words echoing away.

  “They do,” Zera countered with deadly serenity. “Elsewise, they would not be sought after by the Faceless One.”

  Leitos looked between them, then settled
on Zera. “Tell him,” he insisted.

  “Tell me what?” Lakaan demanded.

  “That they do exist,” Leitos said slowly, “because she is of their order.”

  Lakaan roared harsh laughter. He did not notice Zera’s fury, nor her hand falling to her sword hilt, but Leitos did. “She is no more a warrior of the Crimson Shield than I am. By the gods good and dead, boy, she is—”

  A howl cut off whatever he was about to say. Thick with malice, it pushed up the trail and encompassed the trio, then sped past them and over the bridge, fading under the sound of rushing waters.

  Zera’s sword flashed from its scabbard. “Go,” she ordered in a tone that ended any arguments before they could begin. “Stay on the trail as far as it takes you. I will find you, as I did before.” She wheeled and sprinted back down the trail. A moment more and she was gone from sight.

  Another howl broke over Leitos and Lakaan, carrying with it all the dark promises of before. Not again, Leitos thought. He had taken two unconscious steps after Zera when Lakaan caught his arm in a crushing grip.

  “There is much you do not know or understand, boy,” he snarled. “Believe me, now more than ever, when I say she can look after herself. Believe, as well, that her doing so is a sight you do not want to behold.”

  At another of those terrible howls, Lakaan moved beyond explanations to action. He spun Leitos about and shoved him. “Run, damn you! RUN!”

  Chapter 24

  One moment Leitos was struggling to keep his footing over the bridge’s cracked surface, the next he tripped and fell hard against the low rail. The crumbling stonework, having survived the ravages of ages, the Upheaval, and the constant abuses of the Mountains of Fire, fell away with an almost trivial grating noise, taking Leitos with it.

  Leitos clawed, seeking purchase he could not find. His legs flew out over the drop. The edge of the bridge slid under him, scraping his upper legs, his belly, his chest, then he lost all contact. The world tipped and spun. Lakaan ran toward him … too slow. Then Lakaan was gone, and the stars wheeled overhead—

  His shout became a pained grunt when Lakaan caught hold of his wrist, arresting his plummet. Lakaan heaved back, flinging him toward the center of the bridge. The big man gathered himself, hauled Leitos to his feet, dragged him along to the far end of the bridge, and then pushed Leitos forward with a warning that iced Leitos’s blood. “They’re coming!”

  His near-plummet forgotten in the face of greater danger, Leitos sprinted away. Lakaan came after, bellowing, “Run faster!”

  Past the bridge, the trail fell in a steep decline, a wide ledge cut into the face of a vertical cliff. Leitos spun back when Lakaan’s cries changed.

  The big man had stopped and held a crude dagger, half as long as Zera’s sword, angled across his chest. His opposite arm was outstretched, his hand raised like a shield. A creature stalked down the trail, while another clung to the cliff above Lakaan. Leitos had never seen such beasts, but he knew them for what they were by stories his grandfather had told. Wolves.

  Not wolves, Leitos told himself, but Alon’mahk’lar. His next thought was for Zera. Had they gotten past her, or had they—

  “No,” he prayed aloud. “Please, not that.”

  The wolves’ eyes reflected back the moonlight in malignant, shifting hues—first a murky yellow, then muddy crimson, then a swirling dull silver. Leitos had never seen an Alon’mahk’lar with eyes that changed color, but that did not mean they were not Sons of the Fallen.

  They closed in, muscles bunching. Dark sable bristles covered the smaller of the two creatures, which crawled spiderlike along the cliff face. It held to the rock using not paws but long-fingered hands tipped with wicked talons. The larger wolf, standing chest-high to Lakaan, wore a tawny pelt. It bared its glimmering white teeth, each matching the size of the knife Leitos clutched in his hand.

  “Give over the boy,” the tawny beast said, its voice a guttural rasp. Leitos nearly screamed upon hearing it speak. All that stopped him was the terrible knowledge that he knew that voice.

  “Take him!” Lakaan yelled, abruptly spinning on his heel and running headlong at Leitos. The trail was too narrow to avoid getting trampled. Leitos backpedaled, shouting for Lakaan to stop, but the big man gained speed with every step.

  The wolves sprang. In their greed for the kill, they slammed into each other and fell to the trail in a snarling tangle. The darker one yelped and bounded away. Holding up one bloodied leg, it flattened its ears, growling low in its throat. The second wolf darted after Lakaan.

  Leitos fled before a screeching Lakaan and the Alon’mahk’lar wolf. The short chase ended when the beast crashed into Lakaan. He screamed, thrashing the dagger over his shoulder. The wolf avoided the blade, and drove Lakaan to his knees.

  Leitos ran back. As the gap narrowed between him and the struggling foes, the wolf reared its head back and howled. Froth flew from its mouth, slathering Lakaan’s face. Driven into a frenzy, Lakaan fought to get free, but the wolf’s freakishly human fingers clenched, sinking talons deep into his back and shoulders.

  Leitos raised his knife, loosing his own cry. The wolf’s howl cut off and, staring at Leitos, it grinned. In that moment, its shifting eyes burned with red glee. Powerful jaws closed on Lakaan’s neck, stilling his fearful wails. Wrenching its head to the side, the wolf ripped the life from Lakaan, just as Leitos came close enough to use his knife. Hot blood sprayed over his cheeks and brow. Leitos swung the blade, raking sharp steel across the wolf’s muzzle. Reversing his swing, Leitos slashed again, and the wolf released Lakaan’s corpse to scramble backward. The tip of the blade just skimmed one of its eyes, stealing away that dread crimson light.

  With no thought to skill, Leitos waded in, hacking and slashing. His feet slid in Lakaan’s blood, and he threw out a hand to catch himself. The needlelike spines of the wolf’s pelt punctured his palm, and Leitos jerked back. In a last, wild strike, he buried his blade in the creature’s neck. The wolf flung itself away in a twisting leap, taking Leitos’s weapon with it, and ran back the way it had come. Its darker companion had already vanished.

  Gasping, Leitos searched the darkness for any sign of Zera, but found none. He called her name, but the only answer was the rumble of water deep in the gorge. A heartbeat later, the wolves howled in the distance. He waited a moment more, indecisive, then turned and ran. He feared for Zera’s safety, but if anything, it was the wolves that should be afraid. Whether she got to them before they came after him, was another matter. His flying feet barely touched the ground as he sprinted away. All became a blur. He fell many times, but the tumbles meant nothing, only getting away did.

  He did not halt until his booted feet splashed into icy water. That cold bath cleared his head. Gulping air, he gazed about at the lightening day, unable to believe that the wolves had not given chase. I escaped, he thought, relieved, if not a little bewildered.

  The land had changed during his flight. The ankle-deep stream flowed broad and clear through a canyon braced on either side by low hills carpeted in tall, summer-yellowed grass. A few trees dotted the hills. Not scrubby thorn bushes, but real trees. Most towered two and three times his height, and some taller still. The air, which had burned his lungs for so long, smelled fresh and was free of the sulfurous haze. Hills waited ahead, no telltale veins of molten rock marring their flanks.

  He faced east and scanned the Mountains of Fire, standing between him and the rising sun. They ascended stark and black, close enough to be imposing, but far enough to give him a sense of relief at having escaped them. For the moment, he avoided thinking on Lakaan’s death and Zera’s absence, and focused instead on taking advantage of the stream, and the apparent tranquility of the moment. After that, he had to get farther from the mountains, and all that hunted within them.

  After drinking his fill of the sweetest water he had ever tasted, he made his way to the far side of the stream, filled his waterskin, and reorganized his pack into a firmer bundle. While he worked, the bu
shes along the stream’s bank came alive with songbirds harvesting a wealth of dark, purple-black berries.

  If those are good enough for birds, they are good enough for me. He plucked one, squeezed a drop of juice onto the tip of his tongue. Sweetness flooded his mouth. Then he was dumping the berries into his mouth by the handful, indifferent to the small thorns that guarded the precious fruit. The sticky purple juice stained his hands, lips, and chin.

  Full to bursting, he went back to the stream and washed away most of the stains, then drank again. After another search of the eastern bank, it was with great reluctance that Leitos adjusted the straps of his pack, and set out in the opposite direction. He did not know how far he had to go, but he was beyond the Mountains of Fire, and that meant he was closer to the Crown of the Setting Sun and the Brothers of the Crimson Shield. Zera was somewhere behind him. In the deepest reaches of his heart and soul he knew she would be coming. She had told him to stay on the trail and she would find him, and he believed her.

  Between one step and the next, the sun edged above the mountains, casting shafts of golden radiance upon the world. Leitos stopped in his tracks. Without question, the land through which he now trod was arid, but nothing like the waterless desert wastelands he knew. Birds sang as if in praise to the coming day, insects whirred in dense thickets, and there, just at the edge of a field, he saw a pair of antlered animals he knew as deer from his grandfather. They saw him and bounded away in graceful leaps, their short bushy tails waving. He felt awake and truly alive for the first time in his life, like all he had experienced before was just a nightmare.

  It was no dark dream, he told himself. It was all as real as this place. Something Zera had said to him filtered through the events that had come afterward. “Some believe Pa’amadin has a design … but it is not for us to know.”