Heirs of the Fallen: Book 04 - Wrath of the Fallen

by James A. West

  With an uncharacteristically shy smile, Nola sat down next to her. “Father was pestering you, wasn’t he?”

  “How did you know?” Belina asked, retuning the smile. It felt good to sit with Nola. Since the destruction of the Throat of Balaam, they had not been alone together very often.

  “Not hard to guess.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Well,” Nola said after a lengthy pause, “what was he on about?”

  Belina almost kept her lips sealed, but then said, “Husbands.”

  “Gods good and wise,” Nola said, shaking her head.

  Belina noticed her shy smile growing wider. If it had been daylight, Belina knew she would be able to see a blush creeping into her sister’s cheeks. She asked the question she knew her sister was waiting for. “Are you going to tell me about him?”

  “He’s wonderful,” Nola exclaimed, then pressed a hand against her lips to stifle anymore outbursts, and fell giggling against Belina. That nasty pang of jealousy tried to stab at Belina again, but she buried it under a mountain of joy for her sister.

  Wincing in regret, Nola gestured at her face. “I don’t know how, but when he looks at me, I can tell he doesn’t see this the way everyone else does—the way I do. And he’s so strong and fierce, a true warrior. But he’s also kind, gentle, funny and....”

  Belina listened intently as sister gushed on and on about Sumahn’s qualities, unsure if she saw him the same way. It seemed Nola had created a fantasy that cast the youth in a flattering light. She kept thinking that, until it dawned on her that she was listening to Nola, herself a ferocious warrior. In Nola’s eyes, Belina guessed Sumahn would seem almost tame.

  “What about you?” Nola said suddenly, grinning like a fool.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You know ... you and Leitos?”

  Belina had known what Nola was coming to, but when she spoke his name aloud, Belina saw in her mind’s eye what had happened atop Witch’s Mole. Not the way Leitos had slaughtered the sea-wolves, but what he had become—rather, started to become. She hastily shoved that image and what it meant aside.

  “That will never be,” Belina said softly, and where envy had failed to pierce her, now sorrow succeeded. She tried to tell herself it was a girl’s silly wish, something she should have outgrown long ago, but the ache remained, spreading from her heart to her throat.

  “I’ve seen the way you look at him,” Nola said quietly. “And I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

  “You’ve seen what you wanted to see,” Belina countered.

  Nola’s jaw tightened. “I may only have one good eye, sister, but it sees as good as it ever did.”

  He loves another, Belina almost said, but didn’t. “Perhaps you are right,” she said at last, forcing herself to sound hopeful.

  “I know I am,” Nola said. “Just you wait and see.” She placed a hand on Belina’s arm, gave her an earnest look. “But if you wait for him to figure it out, you will have a long wait. Better to tell him outright, and take away any questions in his mind.”

  “I’ll think on it,” Belina promised, knowing she never would. She could care for Leitos, protect him for the sake of the world, but it would never go farther than that.

  A rattle of stone drifted out of the darkness. Belina reached for her sword hilt at the same time Nola snatched her dagger free. The click of stones bumping stones came again, then Sumahn, Damoc, and Adham materialized out of the night to join them.

  “Did Ba’Sel come this way?” Sumahn demanded.

  “No,” Nola said. “I thought he was resting.”

  “He was,” Adham said, giving Damoc an accusing stare.

  “The old fool hasn’t moved on his own for days,” the elder said defensively. “How was I supposed to know this was the night he would decide to go wandering.”

  “Dare not speak of him that way,” Sumahn said, low and dangerous.

  “And don’t you dare give me warnings, boy.”

  “Stop this,” Nola said, looking uncertainly between her father and Sumahn. Neither man appeared ready to back down, and Belina was reminded of the fight between Damoc and Leitos, the one in which her father had nearly lost his head to Leitos’s sword.

  “If you’d kept an eye on him,” Sumahn said, squaring his shoulders, “he would not have gone wandering in the first place.”

  “Are you blustering fools going to fight over it,” Adham asked, “or are we going to find Ba’Sel before he stumbles into an enemy patrol, and brings a host of Alon’mahk’lar down on our heads?”

  Both Sumahn and Damoc continued to grumble under their breath like a pair of ill-tempered dogs, but the tension went out of them.

  Adham looked around in the dark. “He cannot have gotten far. If we split up, we can find him quick enough.”

  “What about defending the camp?” Nola asked.

  “We’ll leave two people here with the supplies,” Damoc said. “The rest of us will look for him. Unless, of course, someone has a better idea?”

  Sumahn looked like he had a lot of ideas, but as none of them would help find Ba’Sel, he held his tongue.

  “Let’s stop dithering, and get to it,” Adham said.

  In short order, everyone had paired off to begin the hunt.

  ~ ~ ~

  The scent of cool sage filled Ba’Sel’s nose as he escaped through the night. Leaving tracks in the sand would not do, so he moved by leaping from rock to rock. It did not make for a straight path, but he continually went in the right direction. East to his homelands. East to Eponta.

  He came to a hill of tumbled sandstone, scampered up to the highest point, and looked back the way he had come. In the faint moonlight, he could see several figures sneaking along his back trail, beating the brush and poking around larger boulders. They were moving slow, searching. But they would not find him. No, no, they would not. He was a ghost, and the night was his realm.

  In the other direction, he saw the faint light of a small city. Memory told him it was Zuladah, but compared to what he saw now, it was a different city. Zuladah was a bustling seaport. At night it glowed like the jewels of a crown lit by golden sunlight. Always there was music and dancing, feasting and celebration. But this place he saw now was gloomy, its jewels dim, worn out, ugly. And where the harbor had once rested just outside the walls, so like Kula-Tak, now it was separate, as if the land had ruptured and raised up the city, while at the same time sinking the harbor.

  The Upheaval broke the lands asunder, a cruel voice told him. Don’t you remember?

  “No,” Ba’Sel breathed. “There was no Upheaval.”

  You saw the stars fall from the heavens. You saw the skies burn, and the Three die. You were there when the Well of Creation was destroyed. All you imagine is from before. The age of men is dust ... unless you stand and fight.

  “You lie,” Ba’Sel whimpered, the two Zuladahs struggling to merge behind his eyes. He could not let that happen. He looked back toward his enemies.

  Not enemies, you old fool. They’re your friends. You must remember. The Upheaval ravaged the world. The Faceless One—Peropis—rose from the ashes, and with her came the demon-born. You are a Brother of the Crimson Shield. You must remember. War is coming, and you must fight.

  “I cannot,” Ba’Sel said, terrified, shaking his head. “I must hide. Always hide. Troubles come and go, but always they return, and all the more swiftly they fall upon those who resist. Best to let trouble pass by. There is no other way.”

  If none of this is true, the voice said, tricksome now, like a serpent slithering into a bedroll, then why would you need to hide?

  For a moment, those two opposing ideas vied for space inside his head, freezing him, making his skull ache.

  Remember.

  “No.”

  What was, is no more.

  “No.”

  If you don’t remember, then all is lost.

  “You lie!” Ba’Sel shouted.

  Far off, a few shad
owy heads turned in his direction.

  Ba’Sel scrambled off his perch and raced east. He no longer cared about leaving tracks. Later he would be more careful, but right now he needed to put miles between himself and those who sought him. He gradually turned north to avoid the dying city of Zuladah.

  Not dying, that voice said. Dead. And dead you will be, if you do not remember the reason you fight.

  “Cannot fight,” Ba’Sel blubbered. “Never fight! It only leads to blood and death. Must hide. Always hide. You speak lies.”

  If I lie, then why would you need to hide? If there is no war, then why seek refuge? If Zuladah yet thrives, then why not find a tavern and drink your fill? Dance, Brother, love a woman, and be merry.

  “No! No! No!” Ba’Sel screamed, burying the filthy, confusing voice. Run! he told himself, and was horrified to hear that the deceptive mutterer in his head had spoken with his voice.

  Hide, Brother, and you will die.

  Ba’Sel clutched his head between his hands, refusing to heed the babbling inside his skull, refusing to look at Zuladah as it passed by in the night. His feet flashed through the cool air, taking him east. East to his homelands. East to Eponta.

  Chapter 29

  Caught between two pairs of silent guards, Leitos and Ulmek spiraled down through a stairwell that seemed to have no end. Countless passing feet over countless years had hollowed the center of each step, forcing Leitos to concentrate on his footing.

  Before he and Ulmek had come to the side passage branching off the sewer, where the four befouled guards had met them at a small wooden door, the Brother had explained that Muranna and her band made the ancient catacombs under Zuladah their home. It was a long tradition laid down by her ancestors, who had lived below the city even before the Upheaval.

  Ulmek had also suggested that they would be greeted with open arms. Instead, cold steel and mistrust had met them. One of the guards had assured the others that he had heard of the Brothers of the Crimson Shield, but that only seemed to make them more uneasy. When another guard demanded that they hand over their weapons, Ulmek had smiled coldly and fingered his sword hilt. That put an end to demands of any sort.

  Leitos had begun to think they really were journeying to the Thousand Hells, when the stairwell abruptly ended at pillared hall with a ceiling so high that the light of two long rows of lampstands could not diminish the darkness overhead.

  As they marched along the length of the hall, Leitos worked to keep his awe in check. The bone-towns he had traveled through north of Zuladah had stunned him with their great manses and palaces, despite the ruin the Upheaval had wrought upon them. But nothing he had seen was built on the scale of this hall for the dead. Beyond lampstands, he spied bronze castings of men and women standing eternal watch over their entombed bones. The mossy tarnish of ages bearded those faces in green and white, but could not dispel their regal bearing.

  “Kings and queens?” Leitos asked.

  “Merchants,” Ulmek corrected. “After the fall of the Suanahad Empire, Geldain was torn apart by dozens of warring sand kings—the Emperor’s former advisors and generals. After a generation of constant war, much of Geldain lay in shambles. Common traders and artisans formed guilds, which in turn amassed more wealth and power than any king, queen, or emperor had ever imagined. In time, they became the true power of Geldain. In time, it was they who raised up kings and queens, and decided the laws for various realms.”

  Leitos tried to imagine such a time, but failed. “What happened to them?”

  “Their greed, corruption, and lust for authority eventually destroyed them, their subjects, and their lands,” Ulmek said. The Brother shrugged at Leitos’s frown. “Even if we win this war, little brother, the light will shine only for a while, before the darkness starts creeping back.”

  “How can you know that?”

  “Ba’Sel taught his warriors how to read the ancient histories we found in bone-towns,” Ulmek said. “Read enough of those dusty tomes, and you begin to see the patterns of rulers and the ruled.”

  Leitos refused to accept it. “This time will be different.”

  “If folk rid themselves of their chains, peace and prosperity will reign for a time. They will be thankful for their freedoms. But generation by generation, their courage and principles will breed arrogance and selfishness. Folk will begin to think their mere existence should earn them every desire of their heart. At that time, they will begin to support rulers—be it kings or wealthy merchants—who promise to give them all they want. And, generation by generation, those kingly gifts will become less and less. Folk will come to accept the crumbs and severe laws that have replaced the gold and freedoms their forefathers knew. By then, it will be too late to escape the chains waiting in their children’s future.”

  “If there is no lasting hope, then why fight at all?”

  “We can only fight for the hope of this day, Leitos. We can teach our children to fight for the same, but when we are gone, it will be up to them to decide their fate.”

  Leitos struggled with that until they came to a matched pair of towering doors layered in gold and aged ivory carvings.

  “Wait here,” the eldest guard ordered Leitos and Ulmek. His brow was lumpy under a fall of oily gray hair, and his bulbous nose was squashed deep into the center of his face, as if someone had thrashed him brutally and often when he was a babe. Like his fellows, he smelled of moldy cheese and excrement. He jabbed a finger at those three now. “Make sure these fools don’t get up to any trouble.”

  After receiving nods of agreement, the guard pounded at the doors, careless of the great wealth encrusting their surface. When it opened a crack, he started to slip through, but Ulmek caught his arm. “Make sure you give Muranna my name.”

  Squash-nose leered. “Unless you want to gobble my cock, I don’t owe you anything, so you can keep your demands to yourself.”

  Shocked gasped came from the other guards, and for a moment Leitos thought sure the Brother was going to cut the man’s heart out.

  Ulmek settled for a curt, “Do as I say, or I’ll carve your gods-cursed eyeballs out of your skull, and stuff them into that foul mouth of yours.”

  Squash-nose gawped, revealing a handful of rotten teeth, then jerked out of Ulmek’s grasp and darted through the opening. A second later, the door boomed shut.

  “You told ol’ Thayon, you did,” one of the other guards laughed. The man passed a hand over the few limp strands of black hair at the crown of his otherwise bald head.

  “And what are you called?” Ulmek asked, face pleasant, save for his eyes, which glimmered hard and dark as obsidian.

  “Blavis,” the man said eagerly. He made a clumsy little bow, and his tuft of hair wiggled. When he straightened, he swiped the sleeve of his tunic through strings of yellow snot leaking from his nose.

  “Blavis, indeed,” Ulmek said musingly, as if that explained a great deal.

  “I’m Gargun,” another guard piped. “An’ this one’s my brother, Rineold.” These two were skinny as skeletons. “Muranna always sets us to guardin’ the Hall of Bones, as we’s the best at it.”

  “And there’s not a better choice your mistress could have made,” Ulmek assured them.

  “We’ve heard stories of you,” Rineold blurted.

  “And of all the Brothers,” Blavis added.

  His nostrils flaring, Ulmek leaned away as Gargun edged closer. The guard’s grimy hands fondled the haft of his spear. “If you need a good fighter to join your order, why, you’ve come to the right place. I can fight demon-born, an’ so can Blavis and Rineold.”

  “Not Thayon, though!” Blavis snorted. “Gods no!”

  “Too old, he is,” Rineold said with a sad shake of his head.

  “An’ too stupid!” Gargun hooted.

  By now Ulmek’s upper lip had grown a curl. “I’ll keep you in mind,” he promised, having to raise his voice above the energetic babble.

  Silence fell at once, and looks of awe and gratefulne
ss crossed the trio’s faces. Ulmek took that moment to turn his back on them.

  The guards looked to Leitos, all but begging him to engage in conversation. As he didn’t have a word for any of them, he joined Ulmek in a silent study of the ivory and gold doors before them.

  A moment later, one of the great doors opened again, and Thayon emerged. He gave Ulmek a hateful, piggy glare, and jerked his head in the direction he’d come from. “She says you’re welcome to enter—but if you get up to any mischief—any at all—I’ll have off your stones.”

  The idiot grins fell from other three guards. They set to grumbling amongst themselves, and casting hard looks at their leader.

  “The day you draw steel on me,” Ulmek said, “is the day I sheath a sword in your decayed arsehole. Now stand aside.” When Ulmek pressed in close, Thayon’s lips skinned back from his dung-hued teeth, and he bumbled out of the way.

  Leitos passed over the threshold into a gloomy antechamber. Ulmek came after, slamming the door behind him. Outside, Thayon’s impotent threats rose immediately, spiced liberally with vile oaths. A moment more, and all the guards were shouting and cursing one another.

  “Poor Thayon,” said the young woman who greeted them. “You must forgive his manners. He has his uses, few as they are.” Lean and tall, she wore dark layers of strapped and studded leather, and there was a hint of sardonic laughter in her eyes and in the turn of her full lips.

  Here, Leitos knew, was no dimwitted guard of the Hall of Bones. What troubled him was that her demeanor, sure and confidant, and the easy way she clasped the hilt of her scabbarded sword, reminded him too much of a Hunter—Zera, in point of fact.

  The woman motioned for them to follow her through another set of doors, which she promptly barred. Leitos’s mouth fell open at the unexpected light and richness that greeted his eyes. The woman set out across the mosaicked floor of another hall, this one smaller but more sumptuous than the outer hall. Decorative horseshoe arches supported high barrel vaults. Statues of stone and burnished metal lined the walls between dozens of barred doors. Mirrors hung behind radiant glass globes filled the hall with a warm yellow light.