Dance of Battle: A Dark Fantasy (Shedim Rebellion Book 4)

by Burke Fitzpatrick

  Klay remembered the Tyrus that left Ironwall after he lost his queen. He had been a fearsome warrior but a disciplined soldier. The Tyrus he saw fighting to protect Marah was a berserker. He thought on what had changed, and either living among monsters had made him more violent, or he had been broken when he lost Ishma. Either way, he felt sorry for the man.

  Klay asked, “Do you think all the pain finally drove him mad?”

  “He’s not mad. He’s out of control.”

  “King Samos—and Bedelia—refuse to believe Marah is a prophet. I wish they had been here to see the battle. When she faced Azmon, I was at the base of the wall, and I didn’t see most of it, but today… She would have to be a prophet to do such things.”

  “Your king is a fool.”

  “I may need you to explain Marah’s powers to him.”

  “She defeated Azmon.” Nemuel let out a frustrated sigh. “What else needs to be explained? Dura was right to keep her hidden in the tower. When the powers of the world realize what she can do, they might start the third war.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  “Ithuriel will use her against Moloch. He’s done it before—many of the prophets died battling the Black Gate.”

  The thought of Marah caught in a battle between angels and demons made him feel sorry for her. She was too young for such a fate.

  “Save your pity, Klay. Prophets tend to get their followers killed, too.”

  “Then why are we going with her?”

  “If she loses control of the voices, we must kill her.”

  He spoke the threat as a simple fact, and his voice was as calm as though he was discussing the heat of the day. Klay took a moment to respond. He imagined Nemuel stabbing Marah in the back. The image seared into his mind.

  “How could you do that to a prophet?”

  “She speaks to the dead. That’s how she knows all the things no child should know. The Deep is no place for such a talent. More people have died there—and died worse deaths—than anywhere else on Avanor. The place is filled with echoes of the dead.”

  “So why kill her?”

  “Because if she loses control, the dead can talk through her.”

  “I don’t—I mean… What?”

  “We call it an abomination. Such things are forbidden for a reason.”

  “So make her stop.”

  Nemuel gave him a bemused look. “How?”

  “I don’t know, but it must be better than killing her. Explain the dangers to her. Make her understand.”

  “I did, and I’m sure Dura did as well. But I will try again. Killing her would be a waste.” Nemuel gave him a strange look. “Remember, though, what can happen. If she starts to kill dwarves or elves, you must stop her.”

  “If you can’t, how can I?”

  “An arrow in the back.”

  Nemuel left Klay with that wonderful thought and went to speak to his sentinels. When he left, Annrin approached and said she had questions but hadn’t wanted to interrupt Lord Nemuel. Klay made a circular motion with his hand, using their silent language to ask her to get to the point. He was distracted, though, by Nemuel’s words. On top of everything else, he didn’t need to know about abominations—he had wanted to believe prophets were good things.

  Annrin asked, “Why are you going with them?”

  “If the Ward falls, we need to know. Ironwall sits on a series of dwarves’ tunnels.”

  “You are the ranger lord now. I should go. You should be in Ironwall.”

  “I’m the lord in training. Broin hasn’t stepped down yet.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Klay nodded, but he wanted to see the Ward and learn more about the armies underneath his home. For years, he had taken the surface for granted and assumed the dwarves controlled their territory. The way Silas described things, the Ward was far more unstable than he had ever imagined.

  “I need a favor,” Klay said. “I need you to take Chobar back to Ironwall with you.”

  Chobar understood him, of course, and reared up on his hind legs to snort. Klay put his hands on his hips and ordered him to knock it off, but the bear exposed his incisors, and all the rangers grew quiet. The Gadaran grizzlies were a strange breed, incredibly smart and loyal but still wild and unpredictable. Chobar wasn’t playing. Klay couldn’t back down—he had to assert himself and pretend he was really in control of the fifteen-hundred-pound animal.

  “I know you like her, but you can’t come.”

  Chobar snarled. Spittle flew out of his enormous mouth.

  “There’s no way to feed you. There’s nothing to hunt. And it’s a bunch of cramped tunnels. You’re too damn big.”

  Chobar snarled again, but not as loudly. He fell to all fours with a heavy thud and stomped. He swatted at weeds. He picked up a discarded spear and ground his teeth on it until the shaft snapped in two. Then he moaned.

  Annrin said, “You might be talking to him too much.”

  “I like talking to him.”

  “You never shut up, though. It’s really annoying.”

  Klay grinned. “No one else can handle him as well as you do. I would appreciate it if you took care of him while I’m gone.”

  “You’ll do more than appreciate it.” Annrin winked. “You’ll owe me a couple of big favors, but I’ll wait until you assume your lordship to call on them.”

  “Thank you.”

  Chobar reared up one more time and snarled in the direction of the woods. Klay couldn’t say why he did so, but it caused the other bears and the elves to stop what they were doing and watch.

  Annrin asked, “What shall I tell Samos?”

  “Tell him…” Klay sighed. “Tell him I am working with the nephalem to separate Marah from the Norsil.”

  Annrin looked shocked. “Is that why you are going?”

  “Well, I’ll try.”

  “To do that, you’ll have to get her away from the Butcher. You’d have better luck separating ale from a feast.”

  Klay acknowledged his impossible task with a shrug. He wouldn’t tell Annrin what he was thinking, but the Underworld was more dangerous than a war with the Roshan, and Tyrus would die before he let anything happen to Marah. He imagined the big brute sacrificing himself for the child, which would give them a chance to ferret her away.

  Annrin asked, “Are you ordering me to stay out of the Deep?”

  “Must I give the order? I need someone to take Chobar home, and there’s a good chance none of us are going to crawl back out of that thing.”

  Annrin said, “I hope you know what you are doing.”

  “I’m making it up as I go.”

  “Well, I hope your luck holds.”

  “As do I.”

  Annrin left him to wander over to Lahar, and the two of them embraced. Klay thought it odd. They seemed to hug and kiss after each battle, and Lahar seemed as though he would be happier back in Ironwall. The two said a rushed goodbye before Lahar hurried after Tyrus and Marah. Several yards away, Chobar howled again. Klay groaned, envying Lahar. Somehow, the King in Exile had found time for romance. Given all they had been through since Azmon fled Shinar, managing to spend time with a woman like Annrin was a small miracle. Klay wasted his hours placating a pouting war bear.

  X

  Lahar was summoned to Marah’s quarters. He arrived late to find a room aglow with lamplight and a group awaiting his arrival. Tyrus stood with massive arms across his chest, and Olroth waited, relaxed, painted white. Larz Kedar paced in front of the window with his hands folded in his red sleeves. No one looked happy, and Lahar braced for bad news.

  He asked, “What is it now?”

  All eyes turned to Marah. She sat in a chair that looked too big for her. Her white robes hid most of the chair, but Lahar suspected her feet were barely touching the ground. She blinked and seemed distracted as though someone was whispering in her ea
r.

  “I am going with the dwarves,” Marah said. “You and your knights will stay in Shinar, with Olroth and Larz, to hold the city until I return.”

  “When was this decided?”

  Marah answered with an unblinking stare, and he corrected his posture, standing straighter to present himself better. He was still unsure how to address her and what titles to use. She was often informal and pleasant, but when she wanted something, he felt as though he should kneel before a monarch, which was odd since he should have been treated as a monarch himself.

  Marah placed herself apart, and that confused him.

  He cleared his throat. “I meant no offense, but I pledged myself to your cause. If you are going to war, I belong at your side.”

  Marah said, “You will defend King’s Rest until I return.”

  “If you are going to the Deep, shouldn’t we all go?”

  Marah shook her head.

  Lahar turned to Olroth. “How many thanes do they have now?”

  “We are outnumbered. Most of her clans have arrived, and they number around ten thousand. Of those, only a few hundred are famous thanes, a few thousand more are regular thanes, and the rest are men with only a handful of marks and archers.”

  “What is a handful of marks?”

  “Six or seven.”

  Lahar looked at Tyrus. “Those are not famous thanes?”

  Tyrus said, “Not in the eyes of the Norsil.”

  “And what do we have to hold the city with?”

  Olroth said, “Archers mostly—but good ones. And a couple hundred thanes. Most of the best are going with the Warrior.”

  Lahar was about to object when Larz said, “We also have my students. And we aren’t trying to control the city, just King’s Rest. As long as we have the keep, we have a chance at keeping a gate open when Marah returns.”

  If she returns… before we starve.

  He asked, “So we’re giving the Sea Kings the rest of the city?”

  They all nodded, and he could see they had already debated that. Tyrus and Olroth looked tired, and Marah had lost interest in the conversation. They knew, too, what it meant to abandon the city to Breonna and her thanes. When Marah came back, she would still be barred from the city because whoever was in the keep would have to sortie to a gate to give her entry, and the people who stayed behind were destined to starve if she never returned.

  Marah took an interest in him again. “You must protect the families in King’s Rest. They can’t leave Shinar. On the plains or in the city, Breonna will hunt them. This is the safest place.”

  “How many sorcerers has she hired?”

  “Twenty.”

  Lahar looked at Larz Kedar, seeking help. The Norsil even had more sorcerers, which had never happened before.

  Larz said, “Jethlah’s Walls—and the Keep—are warded against runes. Only Marah has been able to crack them. None of the Islanders have that kind of power.”

  Talk turned to managing the stockpiles of supplies. Larz and Olroth compared numbers for the amount of food they had stored in the keep versus the numbers of children and women they were moving into the keep.

  Larz said, “We might be able to last a year, but it won’t be pleasant. Six to eight months would be easier. Unless my order can bribe the Sea Kings away from the Norsil—then things will be different.”

  Tyrus shook his head. “They won’t be bribed away. Shinar is almost theirs.”

  “Perhaps we buy safe passage if you do not return.”

  Tyrus grimaced.

  The numbers made it real for Lahar. He knew then that they were talking about a long and painful siege of forced rations and crying children while they waited for the Sea Kings to crash through the main doors. And if Marah didn’t return, or if she was tied up in the Deep for longer, they would die.

  Lahar searched their faces, wondering how long they had been planning for a siege without him. One did not just stockpile a year of dried oats and dates. Larz even talked about stealing a few goats for milk, and Olroth bragged about a barge his men had raided. By comparison, Lahar and his knights had squirreled away a few weeks’ worth of rations. They had barrels of water and traps to catch rainwater.

  He had noted the way the thanes and their wives were constantly moving into the keep, but he had not noticed that they were stocking the keep for a long battle. None of his men had been tracking who came and went or what they dragged into the fortress.

  Lahar asked, “When did this happen?”

  Tyrus said, “We snatched what we could when the ships first landed. And the thanes have been stealing more ever since. I assumed Breonna would threaten to cut us off, and we planned to wait her out if she did.”

  “Why were my men not involved?”

  Olroth chuckled. “Do you know what they would do to Kassiri thieves?”

  “This is your command?” Lahar asked Marah. “Hold King’s Rest?”

  “It is.”

  Lahar bowed. “I am honored to serve.”

  The group talked in circles while the flames from the lamps fluttered. They talked about supplies for the journey and supplies for the city, but the subtext to it all was their lack of time. When the supplies dwindled, they were doomed, and no one could be certain if Marah would return in time to save King’s Rest. They talked around that point for a long time until Tyrus suggested Marah should rest, and the group filed out.

  Lahar waited to tell his men. He wandered his ancestral home and slowly came to accept it as his cage. They were trapped until Marah saved them, and he wasn’t sure how to tell the knights such a thing. They had trusted him. They had followed him. And they had squandered their chance to be free of the city.

  The next morning, Tyrus carried Marah onto the Shinari plains. A hundred thanes, painted white, followed them to the sinkhole, and the walls of Shinar filled with Norsil watching them leave. No one knew how long they would be gone or if they would return or what they might find if they did come home. The morning sun was warming the plains, and it shone brightly on the great sinkhole.

  Marah trembled in his arms, and he wasn’t sure how to comfort her. Then the air chilled when she used sorcery.

  Tyrus asked, “What is it?”

  Marah said, “The ghosts are worse in the Deep.”

  “But Silas showed you how to ward them.”

  “Without them, I’m blind.”

  Tyrus grimaced. “Are you sure about this?”

  “If we ignore the Ward, everyone dies.”

  The dwarves had left the city in the night and were busy setting ropes in the side of the tunnel. Lahar had suggested using the dwarven tunnels near Ironwall to travel to the Ward, but the dwarves insisted on following the new tunnel to its source.

  Tyrus and the thanes reached the camp and waited for the dwarves to finish their work. Two of them rappelled into the tunnel to set more ropes, and the others waited for the scouts to finish their work. Of the fifteen dwarves they had, Tyrus noted Silas and ten of them were ready for battle. They stood on the edge of the sinkhole, prepared to charge forward if their friends found trouble.

  The morning sun grew hotter. Tyrus closed his eyes and lifted his face to bathe in the light. He enjoyed the sensation of heat soaking into his skin.

  He told Marah, “Enjoy the light while you can. We won’t be seeing it again for a very long time.”

  “It hurts my eyes.”

  Tyrus frowned at her. “I’m sorry. I forgot.”

  Abashed, he felt selfish for holding her in the light. Her pale features were sensitive to the heat, and he should have found her shade or had the thanes improvise another shelter. The old memories of being trapped under all the stone of the world had plagued him since she announced her intent to take them into the Deep. He had not considered that she would welcome the darkness.

  The elves arrived with the rangers. Tyrus was surprised that the Norsil acce
pted them as well as they did, but they were some of Marah’s most loyal thanes, and she had ordered them to honor the truce.

  Silas told them, “We are ready. The wardens will go first, with half of the elves following. You and the Norsil will be in the middle. And the rest of the elves will bring up the rear.”

  Marah nodded.

  With the moment upon them, Tyrus wanted to stay out of the Deep. However, he knew Marah would go without him, and he had no way to stop her. If he balked at the trip, the nephalem would seize the opportunity to separate them forever. She’d vanish into the warrens or be secreted away in the Forbidden City. Knowing he had to go didn’t ease his concerns that Marah was dragging them into the Underworld for the wrong reasons.

  She chased runes, as her father had. The Deep Ward was a pretext, and he had no choice but to keep her safe. Standing beside him, Silas looked just as conflicted. His massive eyebrows were knotted in concern.

  Tyrus said, “This is what you wanted.”

  “I came here to find armies to help my brothers. I had hoped to find tens of thousands of warriors. And I return with a few hundred.”

  “I’ve seen a few hundred elves wreak havoc on thousands of Roshan soldiers.”

  Silas said, “Oh, they’ll do worse to the tribes, I’ve no doubt.”

  “Then what is wrong?”

  “Reclaiming the cities we’ve lost is only the beginning. We must hold them.” Silas grew sad. “And we’ve lost so many wardens. The demons bleed us dry.”

  “They bleed everyone.”

  Tyrus’s own words triggered his memories, and he began to see Mulciber’s bigger game. Azmon and the Roshan had hurt the great cities of Sornum and Argoria. They had weakened Telessar. The Norsil would bleed Ironwall, too. And the armies of the Deep were pushing upward. When the legions marched from the Black Gate, few warriors would be left to oppose them.

  The wardens scurried down the tunnel. The elves grabbed ropes and rappelled after them. Everyone was heavily laden with packs and supplies. Tyrus awaited his turn, and when it came, he held Marah close with one arm and grabbed a heavy rope with his free hand. He told her to hold on tight. Marah buried her face into his neck, and he lowered them into the darkness of the Underworld.