The Midnight Dunes (The Landkist Saga Book 3)

by Steven Kelliher

“Creyath and Talmir,” Karin breathed. “We’re too late.”

  Now that they were closer, the imagined sound of screeching birds came clear as children screaming. Iyana splashed into the shallows, moving with determined desperation toward the sounds of killing and dying—and there were plenty of both—and Karin followed after, his blood taking on the cold he’d need to die well, or perhaps to live.

  The gray-sashes and red spun and darted like wind coated in red fire.

  It was already growing slick. Lucky for Talmir Caru, the siege of Hearth had prepared him to fight in such conditions. In the past, he might have tried to block out the truth of what he slipped on, told himself it was the blood of mindless beasts and enemies alone, but he knew the truth of it. He knew there was plenty of red from his own beneath his sodden boots.

  He used it to earn back something of the name he’d tried to run away from for most of his life.

  Talmir stepped and slid, parried and countered, slashed and stabbed. He took streaking pale hands and the black claws they carried and he took the meat and pumping blood from the throats that screeched like horrors from another world—sounds unlike anything the Dark Kind made. These were beings of the World. They were men, though misshapen and changed, and they fought like animals.

  “Down,” he heard Creyath say at his back, voice even despite the circumstances. Talmir felt the heat on his back, flattening his shirt against his soaked skin and drying it instantly. Talmir squatted and the roaring comet consumed half the throng that had begun to force him back.

  But there were more, and so Talmir rose along with his father’s blade and gave them the death they so eagerly sought. He did it with a bite, wasting too much energy as he tried to give back some of the hurt the beast-men had doled out at the beginning of the ambush. He earned scores and gashes that would scar ugly and blinked away tears that had nothing to do with his own hurt as he thought of how many they must’ve lost—of how many their hosts had lost.

  A night of Sharing, indeed.

  The screams had started from below, but Talmir had taken them for a trick of the wind at first. He had been leaning against the side of the cave mouth, watching the last flames sink lower in the ring of stones atop the shelf. He had not partaken in any of the nomads’ bitter wine, but he was tired nonetheless. Tired from his argument with Pevah and tired of waiting for Karin to come back with their wayward Faeykin.

  Some of the adults among the desert folk had retired, escorting the children they seemed to share back into the bowels of the mountain like unwilling sheep. Talmir had smiled at their complaints and the way they tried to bribe their way back into the firelight and the stories some of the elders told. They wanted to talk to the strange men, they said, and it made Talmir sad to think they might’ve been family had things gone differently—had the King of Ember made a different choice.

  He had taken the first sounds of alarm as little more than the echoing, discordant voices of the particularly stubborn among them, the grunts and sounds of exertion little more than the deception of the undulating surface of obsidian wall, floor and ceiling.

  But then a sharp cry had risen above the rest before it was cut short, and Talmir straightened and peered back into the cave, the red light of the fire in the pit below only just visible from outside. The horses raised complaints, both from the shelf and from the moonlit chamber that broke off from the main way.

  Talmir had taken one step inside the cave mouth when the first shouts assailed him from behind. He whirled to see one of his soldiers go down in a choking spray of blood as a white-fletched shaft took him in the throat. The image was burned onto the backs of Talmir’s eyelids as Creyath flared a shaft of his own to life, the Ember lighting a length of sand just below the dip that revealed a dozen figures crouched there, bows and bones and stone blades bared along with the red teeth and white-rimmed eyes that looked dried and sunken as demons’.

  The soldiers of the caravan scrambled and reached for their weapons. They were a people used to fighting on a change in the breeze and it saved most of their lives as the tribesmen took the shelf, bloody teeth matching the dried stuff they’d covered their faces with. Creyath backed away to the cave mouth as Talmir drew his sword, but another series of sharp sounds from below covered them in fresh dread.

  Creyath turned his amber gaze on Talmir as they stood frozen between a fight and a massacre. It was no choice at all.

  Talmir spun and charged into the darkness of the cave, heading for the guts while Creyath lit the way. He had abandoned his bow in favor of the straight Everwood sickle and flared it to life, exposing the worry and fear etched onto the faces—swarthy and pale—that ran alongside them with all the budding horror of parents about to encounter the unspeakable.

  “Captain!” It was Ket calling from the cave mouth.

  “Hold them!” Talmir had shouted back as Creyath put some heat into his legs and outstripped them with ease, rounding the bend like a discharged arrow.

  Talmir nearly went down in a heap as he took the turn, and he yelled when he saw Creyath screaming toward the edge of the natural stair and kept going right over it, his legs bunching with sinew that stretched his loose-fitting pants and saw him shoot to the bottom of the shaft like a falling star. Talmir reached the edge and angled left, taking the steps down three at a time as Creyath announced his fiery presence to the press below.

  Talmir had not been prepared for the sight. He froze when he reached the bottom and wiped away blown ash from his eyes as the desert nomads shouted and screamed and cried their hysterics and turned it to rage as they unloosed blades and bows and charged into the midst of the pale monsters that were rending their brothers and sisters apart. There were a few children mixed in with the building red, scattered among the slick blood and the scattered coals from the ruined pit, though not as many as he had feared.

  And Talmir saw two of the Faeykin—Verna and Courlis—lying still as horrors whose skin matched their white robes rolled over them and laid their melted, bloody grips on those still standing.

  Talmir had helped to bring a fury on them that had yet to blow out, and though a few fell, he knew the folk that made this lake and its shore their home would not run out of the same anytime soon. It was the fire. It was in their blood just as much as it was in Creyath Mit’Ahn’s. It possessed their blades, even if they didn’t shine like the lone Everwood blade among them that was like their unifying sigil—their brave and vengeful banner.

  He cut down a dozen and then he added a dozen more. His footing worked as expertly as it ever had, like it had in the shallow waters of the Fork when he first saw what a Rockbled could do to a man not possessed of Ember blood. As it had on the training grounds without Hearth as he fought and bested Garos Balsheer in single combat for the first and last time, and followed it up by disarming First Keeper Vennil Cross.

  Talmir fought until he was covered in the stuff, and he raged until his own voice mixed and mingled and ultimately supplanted the screeching horrors that enveloped him like a wave of foam. Creyath burned him by mistake and he fought on. His grip slackened in the right when an errant claw found the flesh of his arm and pulled, so he switched to the left. And through it all, he felt that cut of bronze swinging in time with his blade, its spiked edges pricking his chest as he changed his cuts to stabs and his stabs to blocks and redirects. He felt thicker sweat that must have been blood trickling from the nape of his neck down to his chest, coating the Bronze Star in something that would suit it.

  Something that suited him.

  “The shore!”

  Talmir only realized they had pushed the beasts back when he saw Creyath forge ahead of him like a warding torch, his blade moving slower than Talmir’s silver crescent but doing twice the damage as it melted whatever flesh it touched. The Ember jumped over a line of pale men, arcing near as high as Ceth. He came down on one of the largest and drove his shining blade home with a crack like rolling thunder, and the rest turned in on him. There was a sizzling sound that rose to a
boil as they piled atop the Ember in the surf where the lake met the slick and sticky shelf, and Talmir shouted and charged in after, the men and women of the desert and the northern cliffs that watched over it taking up his call with their many voices.

  They met the wall of pale flesh and parted it, and Talmir pushed in and saw Creyath fighting unbrightened and unequipped as he lashed out with fists. Each body he hit crumbled under the enhanced strength his gifts granted him. He snarled like a wolf, but he was cut and bleeding badly. Talmir let his father’s sword lead with whatever edges it would, and the folk of the desert helped him.

  “Duck!” he shouted and Creyath flattened so his chin touched the churning black water, and Talmir squinted as his blade caught the reflected brilliance of the white crystal pillar that stood witness across the way. He set his feet wide. He breathed in and exhaled long and slow as he heaved from side to side with long strokes his allies fled quicker than his enemies. Those pale shadows that did not fall back immediately were carved on the spot, and as Talmir’s breath faded, he saw a sight that made his heart leap until the one behind it stole his courage.

  Karin Reyna, First Runner of Last Lake, came on with a speed that would have made any Ember blush. He broke the now-thin line of pale, melted men with little more than his momentum and snatched Creyath under one arm as Talmir switched his blade back to his right and took the Ember up under the other. They dragged him back until he bore his own weight once more, casting about for a new weapon with which to fight despite his wounds.

  “Iyana,” Talmir said, nearly breathless as he, Karin, Creyath and the warriors of the glittering depths formed a line against the renewed sea of pale flesh that came for them from the lake itself, as if they had risen from the depths.

  “Hiding,” Karin said. “I tucked her in an alcove on the edges.” He stepped before Talmir protectively, and Talmir spared a glance down at his body and winced at the red that was coming as much from him as everyone else.

  “Where is the Sage when you need him?” Talmir asked through gritted teeth. He saw some of the warriors around him exchanging glances at the mention. They did not seem to disagree. “Where is your protector?” he asked, meeting the eyes that would meet his in return. “Will he watch this, as he has watched everything else?”

  He turned toward the southern hall and the rooms splitting off. There were no more battles that way, though Talmir could still hear sounds echoing from the many rooms and offshoots in the nest beyond. He hoped they were the voices of hiding children and those who watched over them. As he turned back to the white swarm that edged toward them up a darkly glistening shore, a part of him wished the children had perished on the first exchange.

  That they might be spared.

  Karin let loose a small laugh that Talmir wanted to slap him for. The First Runner pointed to a streaking figure that parted the surface of the lake below him with his passing.

  “We may not have the Sage,” Karin said. “But we have his champion.”

  Talmir couldn’t quite manage a smile, but he adopted a grim look as he prepared to meet the Landkist in the center of that approaching tide of white hate. Ceth hit them like a portent, and like a judgment. There was a sound like rock warring with itself as the Landkist slammed into those at the back—those in the shallows—with a fist extended like a hammer of doom. Bodies flew and broke apart, and those still alive that soared into the air crashed down and stirred no more. He spun and fought among them, striking and killing with each blow. He was clean but for a bit of red on his face that seemed dark next to the creatures he killed, and there was a blur about him that seemed to drain color.

  But there was a sound Talmir hadn’t noticed before that gave him and those around him pause even as they prepared to rejoin the fray. It was a keening whistle, and it seemed to set the very air around them to thrum with dark intent. The color drained from Karin’s face and Talmir knew it was the work of the Blood Seers Pevah had spoken of.

  The pale men around Ceth seemed to stand taller as the dark song reached their melted ears. They fell on him with abandon, and sharp as his strikes were, he had not the fire of an Ember nor the strength of a Rockbled. Weighted down, he could not jump. Gripped on all sides, he could not leap and soar and make his weight what he willed it to be, whether it be a feather all the way through or a hammer at the point of the sole of his boot. He screamed in a knowing rage, and Talmir realized he could not bear to see him rent apart.

  Talmir charged and speared one of the painted warriors with red teeth who slinked among the horrors. The tribesman died with some curse gone unspoken and Talmir took some measure of satisfaction from that. Karin hit them next, and finally the warriors of this land once again came against their own nightmares and those of their children. In the place of bladework they had intent, momentum. They poured it on and Ceth was freed in time to attempt to die all over again.

  “Talmir!” Creyath roared, but the captain had committed to killing in the wrong place even as the red-sashes and the gray cleared around him, Karin diving for the west-facing wall.

  A great hot blast sent Talmir flying. He hit a sheer wall on the north side of the chamber, his sword flinging free from his grasp and sliding over the slick shore. He slumped against the wall and tried to rise, but could not.

  He focused and saw Creyath on one knee, a young man he recognized as Ket standing beside him, having brought the Second Keeper his bow. The Ember lined up another black arrow and his eyes flashed bright orange like the comet he’d made. He aimed this one more carefully, sending it toward the shoreline, where it burned the horrors there. It was his last shaft, and he laid his bow down and wavered.

  The soldiers of the caravan—those who had survived—poured into the cavernous chamber wearing their wounds and carrying their Valley steel. Ket shouted and Jes took up the call, the two youths forming the head as Mial masked his limp enough to put a run into it. Even the pair of merchants were bloody—and Talmir knew not all of it was theirs.

  Talmir coughed and sputtered, adding his own blood to the mix. He shifted and felt shards of pain in his chest, and still that warm weight of bronze leaned heavy against his skin. He pushed against it and stood on wavering legs, leaning back against the moist wall. He cast about for his sword and saw it between him and the fight that was more a massacre that hadn’t turned quite yet. He’d keep it from turning a moment longer if he could.

  Another red-toothed warrior was sent from the pack like a stone falling in the wrong direction. She broke against the wall not far from him, and Talmir saw the churning sea of pale flesh, red- and grey-sashes and the First Runner close back in around Ceth, whose face was weary.

  Talmir took four steps to that discarded blade while Creyath called to him. The Ember had regained his feet and Talmir felt heat wash the chamber as he gathered his stores—as he gathered too much—and Talmir knew the Ember would burn himself out if it meant dying well.

  His left hand closed around the sticky hilt, the leather wound tight so many years ago it was a wonder it hadn’t come undone since. He straightened and breathed in, and the white pillar out in the center of the lake seemed to shimmer like the sky’s witness from the world above. He saw Iyana splashing toward them from the shallows at the edge, her white hair matching the luminous glow. He shook his head, wishing she could’ve found a way out.

  He sighed. He made his peace and promised to offer none, and then he and Creyath put their wills before them and charged.

  Or would have. But it all stopped.

  His chest froze, as did his legs. He could breathe, but only barely, and his muscles bunched painfully as he was caught in motion, held fast by some invisible tether. He tried to turn his head, half-expecting Sen to be standing among them wearing some wicked look. Iyana still moved out on the lake, her halting steps the only clear sound apart from the dripping of blood from tired weapons and the crackle of thrown coals in their corners.

  The throng in the center was in the same state, and Talmir could see Ce
th, Karin and a clutch of red- and gray-sashed warriors form a frozen pocket in the center, blades and steely looks turned out against the pale beasts that were similarly caught fast. Even his Valley soldiers seemed a painting from wars beyond counting, their hair thrown back, motion caught in suggestion.

  It was like a dream. And its maker stepped among them from the shadows of the southern hall.

  Iyana froze more out of shock than compulsion. Karin had shoved her into a gap along the eastern wall as he raced toward the churning mass of flesh, fire, blades and sashes on the smooth shoreline that no longer glittered under its sticky coat. She had waited for the pale men to pass her by, shrinking into the deepest corner and squeezing her eyes shut tight to avoid the glint of green attracting unwanted attention.

  She heard another pass by after the throng of howlers and knew it was Ceth by the sound his presence made against the moist air and black water. She knew she should wait, but crept out as the sounds of screams and screeching and Creyath’s fiery charges dissipated, their echoes dying away completely.

  Iyana rounded the curve in the wall and walked out into the shallow center away from the shore. She half-expected to find nothing but a pile of corpses wearing red sashes and gray strewn among whatever horrors they had managed to slay. And while there were some of those, the rest was an image that took several blinks to bring into focus.

  The crystal-crusted pillar in the center of the lake threw it all into a ghostly glow that made the whole affair seem ethereal. The mass of bodies was frozen in a press, pale men reaching with clawed hands as Karin, Ceth and a clutch of their desert hosts formed a collapsing center against the nightmare wave. There were painted men and women with red teeth locked in screams on the outskirts, and as she peered into the mix, she saw Talmir, Ket, Jes, Mial and the soldiers of the southern Valley caught mid-stride as they rode the incline of the sticky slope down toward the embattled lakeshore. Even the merchants had taken up what metal they could find and joined the charge, their eyes wide with fear they made no move to hide.