The Sword Falls

by A. J. Smith

  We formed an arrow, with Rys at the front and the three Brethren at the rear, and attacked. The Sea Wolf was crouched, and growled like a frenzied beast, before barrelling into the void legionnaires. They were trying to stand and retrieve their spears, but a shock of pale-blue wyrd sent them flying. He used his wyrd like a battering ram, pushing everything forwards, and keeping little in reserve. It was the opposite of how he’d fought against Trego Cyclone. Those he struck, he broke, killing four or five men in a flash of rage. I found it incomprehensible that an Eastron could use three-quarters of his wyrd all in one go. As with Lagertha Blood’s death, it was craft unknown to the Winterlords, and would be suicidal without appropriate backup. Luckily, the Wolf’s Bastard had the finest of allies at his back.

  To the left, Leofryc executed two men with a single wide sweep of his greatsword. They’d been flapping around with their armour, and trying to reach their spears. To the right, I drove my blade through the chest of a legionnaire, and smashed my elbow into the face of another. Nearby, Silver Jack crashed through a pile of spears, spun around, and used a flash of wyrd to behead a man. Ten void legionnaires were dead before Marius Cyclone and the Outrider Knights reached the fray.

  Barely half of the void legionnaires could mount a serious defence. Most wore only pieces of their black steel armour, and some no armour at all. Their spears and shields were not to hand, and they were forced to rely on their side-swords. I judged them as skilled as those I’d fought in the Silver Parliament, but with far less of an advantage.

  The seven of us straightened, forming a line, with each warrior needing enough space to engage two legionnaires at once. The only exception was Rys Coldfire, who used the sliver of wyrd he had left to wrestle the closest Brethren. His lack of weaponry did nothing to diminish his impact, as he broke limbs and stretched necks with his bare hands.

  Jack and I had to adapt to fighting with small straight swords, and wearing no steel, but our training and instincts quickly took over. I actually found it liberating to be able to use speed as well as strength. Without heavy plate armour and a broadsword, I could kick, punch and manoeuvre with far more freedom. It was counter to how Winterlords were taught to fight, but appeared second nature to the Outriders. As I fought, I found myself noticing Straya’s skill and mimicking some of her technique. She kept low, always ready to counter-attack, and struck only to kill or incapacitate, never overextending or losing balance. I saw it as a simple dance to kill as quickly and efficiently as possible, and I tried to replicate it. Marius fought in a similar way, but his use of wyrd marked him as an immensely powerful Eastron, to whom the warriors of the ninth void legion were simply not a match. He and the Wolf’s Bastard were roughly equal in spiritual might, with wyrd only slightly lesser than my own.

  Then it was over, and thirty men were dead.

  The grassy field now had a wide, red line of body parts and blood, forming a brutal counterpoint to the burned village and slaughtered Pure Ones. I didn’t know if this was home to Heart of Stone and Autumn Rain, but I enjoyed the feeling of having gone some way to avenge the destruction. And it was good to remind myself that, even with no crown, I was still Oliver Dawn Claw.

  “Are all Sea Wolves so fucking stupid?” shouted Marius Cyclone, flicking blood from his straight sword and marching towards Rys Coldfire. “We could have avoided this.”

  The Wolf’s Bastard had used all his wyrd, and lay exhausted on the bloody grass. In spite of this, the duellist managed a deep, throaty laugh. “Go fuck your dead brother,” he replied, sprawling backwards with a contented grunt.

  The Stranger’s eyes went wide, and he gritted his teeth. It was clear he was about to attack the Sea Wolf, or at very least challenge him, until Straya and Toro blocked his path. The two Outrider Knights had sheathed their swords and each stared at Marius Cyclone.

  “Are your sins less than his?” asked Straya. “So much that he needs to die, while you live?”

  “These men follow the green owl,” added Toro, waving an arm at the dead legionnaires. “They are already dead. But this Sea Wolf… he is not our enemy. We must be humble until he becomes so.”

  Rys laughed again, and Silver Jack nudged my shoulder, as if I should intercede. Leofryc was otherwise occupied, walking amongst the bodies and making sure all were truly dead, and I felt that my guardian was probably right.

  “Lord Marius,” I said. “This was necessary. The legionnaires were looking for us when they burned this village. Better to kill them here and now, than wait for them to burn another village. Do you not agree?”

  “How close are we to Snake Guard?” asked Silver Jack.

  The Stranger closed his eyes and bowed his head, his face softening. “My lord Sea Wolf,” he muttered. “I apologize for my insult. You may be wiser than I thought. Though the way you deliver your wisdom… is hard for me to comprehend.”

  “We’re close,” said Straya, answering Jack’s question. “South from here, we’ll reach the Great Serpent in five or six hours. Then Snake Guard, an hour after that.”

  Rys Coldfire rose from the bloody grass. He appeared elated, and shook his entire body as he stood, grunting and cracking his joints, like he was waking up from a deep sleep. “You all talk too much,” said the Sea Wolf.

  *

  The burned village had not been the home of Heart of Stone and his Rykalite. It had just been a simple place of farmers, merely unlucky to have been in our path. Marius said that similar cohorts of the ninth would have been sent by his brother, Santago, throughout the Wood of Webs, ordered to clear every village in an effort to find us. My understanding of the sibling conflict between the three Cyclone brothers was becoming clearer over time. Somehow, Trego and Santago had both given themselves to the Waking God and his rotten wyrd. Marius, the youngest, had chosen a different path.

  Gradually, the forest ended, and the Great Serpent flowed across my field of vision. The river was narrower here, and forked into two rushing paths, each tumbling across rocks and forming rapids. On the eastern shore of the river, just before it forked, was a block of grey stone, with high walls and castellations. Snake Guard had few external features, and I couldn’t guess at why it was built here. It was a large fort that commanded no pass, dominated no landscape, and appeared to be guarding the rapids. The northern wall had several gates, each with a heavy drawbridge, designed to span the river.

  “What awaits us within?” I asked Marius. “Something I need to see?”

  “Indeed,” he replied, as one of the drawbridges began to creak. “I’ve told you much, but shown you little. What you saw from Trego and Alexis is but a fraction of what you need to see. Though I fear for you, for truth can have a strange effect on the mortal mind… You will see something that has driven men insane.” He looked at me. Every time he did so, I felt as if he was looking for something, or analysing a piece of my character. So far I’d been unable to tell if he liked what he saw.

  Before I could reply and assert that my mind was strong, the drawbridge struck earth, and figures appeared from within Snake Guard. Heart of Stone and his Rykalite had melted back into the Wood of Webs, leaving the eight Eastron exposed, on a grassy bank. Leofryc and Silver Jack were close behind me, and the two Outriders were either side of the small column, with Rys helping Elizabeth Defiant across the uneven grass.

  The huge drawbridge was framed in brass, with sharp corners that dug into the earth. The chains that secured it in place were fastened with steel struts at three separate places along its length, enabling it to stretch across the fork of the river. The lowering of the wooden platform allowed a glaring beam of sunlight to strike my eyes, momentarily obscuring the figures who approached, but there were three of them – two Dark Brethren Outrider Knights and a Pure One.

  “Come with me, all of you,” said Marius, primarily addressing the Winterlords.

  We followed him, across the grassy bank, to greet the three figures. I recognized Quinn, the hawk-faced man who’d killed Jago Eclipse, but the rotund Outrider
in the lead, and the wrinkled Pure One, with feathers woven into his white hair, were not known to me. All three of them nodded their respects to Marius, before turning to the rest of us.

  “I think we need some introductions,” said the fat Dark Brethren. “My name is Emilio, I am called Gentle. Snake Guard is under my charge.” He gestured to the elderly Pure One. “This is Ten Cuts, Speaker of the Rykalite, and friend to the pale man. And I believe you’ve met Quinn, called Full Moon.”

  Leofryc strode to the front and thrust out his chest. “May I present King Oliver Dawn Claw, protector of the Eastron from across the sea. This is James Silver Born, guardian to the king, and I am Leofryc Bright Hand, commander of Falcon’s Watch. Many people are hunting us. We require sanctuary within your walls.”

  Ten Cuts was staring at me, through deeply sunken eyes. The old Pure One had an unnerving intensity in his glare, as if he saw more deeply than normal men. He had a spirit-whistle tied around his neck, and caressed the artefact as he looked at me.

  “And I’m the Wolf’s Bastard,” said Rys Coldfire. “And I don’t give a single fuck who any of you are. I want to know why we’re here.”

  I was taken aback, as the elderly Pure One strode forwards and met the Stranger in a warm embrace. Their contact lingered, with whispered words passing between them. After a moment of silence, with everyone else waiting, Marius straightened and smiled at me. “I’ve guided you here, Prince Oliver. But I cannot show you all you need to see.” He bowed his head and stepped back, allowing the wrinkled Pure One to face me.

  Ten Cuts was a tiny man compared to me, barely over five feet tall, and shrivelled to the point of appearing ancient. He still held the spirit-whistle, tapping his fingers across it, as if it spoke to him. “Eagle Prince,” croaked the old man, “I have a vision to show you. I will blow my whistle and you will see how this world will end. You will see the Sunken God. Though there is danger. I have shown this vision to few people. Each has seen something different… and reacted differently. I showed Marius and his brothers first. Trego went mad, Santago saw a chance for power… Only the youngest Cyclone brother saw the truth for what it was.” He and the Stranger shared a meaningful look, as if in remembrance, before Ten Cuts continued. “The last Eastron to see the vision was Duncan Greenfire, a young Sea Wolf lad.”

  “I know him,” I replied, brightening slightly as I remembered the way Duncan had saved my life at the Severed Hand. “How did it affect him?”

  “His unusually erratic wyrd protected him,” said Ten Cuts. “Now he is one of our most devoted allies, though his people think him dead. We hope that you will also become a devoted ally.”

  I thought for a moment. I believed everything Marius had told me, and I’d seen and heard enough to constitute evidence, but my mind was still troubled. Leofryc had introduced me as King Oliver, and yet none of the Stranger’s allies had addressed me as such, or even acknowledged it. If I was to see a vision of the end of the world, and lead the Eastron to safety in a far void realm, I would do so as king.

  “Show me your vision,” I stated. “Show me this Sunken God. My mind is strong, and I will always serve the Eastron… as warrior, and as the Always King.”

  Last Port was raised by Mathias Blood in the eightieth year of the dark age.

  For ten years it grew.

  The Sea Wolves looked to the Sea of Stars, but saw nothing but water.

  The Winterlords saw only their craven king.

  The Dark Brethren saw only their Silver Parliament.

  The Kneeling Wolves saw, but their warnings were ignored.

  Then, in the ninetieth year of the dark age, the sea changed.

  Last Port was attacked, though few would ever tell the tale of what happened.

  Death rarely benefits from poetry, and madness even less.

  Though broken walls and splintered ships tell their tale loudly.

  The Eastron had settled too close to a sunken king, and they’d been punished.

  From “The Battle of the Depths: an unauthorised account” by Lennifer High Heart, lore-mistress of First Point.

  PART SIX

  Adeline Brand aboard Halfdan’s Revenge

  16

  I needed more warriors. The Bay of Bliss had been a victory, but its cost was far too high: three warships and more than five hundred Sea Wolves, including those smashed to death by the Ravenous Whip. I’d taken an elite group to the Temple of Dagon. The finest ships and the most skilled crews, and it was sobering to see how little our martial skill mattered against the abominable forces of the Sunken God. Without mounting any defence, or meeting us in battle, they’d shown us how much damage a tiny fingernail of the enemy could inflict. At Last Port, my father commanded a fleet, but nowhere near enough to replace those lost at the Severed Hand. If I was to lead the Sea Wolves against this old enemy, I needed at least the hope of victory. As it was, that hope was becoming a series of empty thoughts and half-remembered confidence. The Ravenous Whip, the corrosive frogspawn, even the Sunken Man I’d killed, it all churned into a single vision of defeat.

  Within my dreams, I opened my eyes and saw a vaulted ceiling, cloaked in shadow. It was the dead of night and I was at Swordfish Bay, motionless next to Young Green Eyes. It was a hot night, and we were covered only by a thin blanket. I’d not wanted to fuck, and I’d not wanted to talk. I’d just wanted to sleep. Somewhere there was rest, but I couldn’t find it. The warm body of my lover was the next best thing. The Old Bitch of the Sea didn’t allow me to doubt when I was awake. Vulnerability only appeared in my dreams. Everything twisted and turned in my head, with emotions appearing like an immediate headache, and vanishing just as suddenly. Somewhere in the far void, a spiritual wolf was no longer a pup. The Old Bitch of the Sea was growing quickly. She was kind, with a gentle heart and a strong will, but she was far more primal than I.

  “Adeline, the bosun’s shouting for you.”

  “Is she awake?”

  “She’s a really deep sleeper. And she doesn’t sleep much. I feel bad waking her up.”

  I rolled over on my wooden cot. Bright sunlight shone through the small porthole in my cabin, at the aft of Halfdan’s Revenge, and a Kneeling Wolf was poking her head around the door. Tasha Strong smiled. I couldn’t have been asleep for much more than two hours, and all I could think of, as I blearily stood up, was when I could next close my eyes. I didn’t want much, not any more. Just sleep.

  “Tell her I’m coming,” I grunted, coughing to clear my throat.

  The friendly face disappeared and the door closed. I leant heavily against the cot, and rubbed my neck. We’d soon be back at the Severed Hand. Dozens of transport ships would be waiting, as well as a small fleet from Four Claw’s Folly. Everything we had, and everything we’d built, would be left behind. Perhaps sleep wasn’t the only thing I wanted. I also wanted to avoid looking into the faces of the remaining Sea Wolves, forced to leave their home.

  “Adeline,” said Tasha, knocking gently on the other side of the door. “Hurry along now.”

  She was irritating, but I was glad of her. If not for her constant company, I’d have long since descended into grumpy solitude. Whether I wanted to talk or not, she was always there. She made sure I ate, drank, washed, and maintained a veneer of normality. As I extended my spectral arm, pulled on my heavy, leather boots, and laced them up, I showed a rare smile. A Kneeling Wolf was keeping me sane. How Arthur would have laughed.

  I tied back my hair and pulled a leather coat over my thin, white shirt. With a single deep breath, I left the cabin. The Revenge was built for speed, and as such it had a low draft, making the belowdeck sections somewhat cramped. Sea Wolf captains didn’t give up their cabins, not even for the most prestigious of passengers, and so I’d been given a small storeroom to call my own. It was still the most comfortable accommodation I’d ever had aboard a warship.

  Tasha stood upright and smiled warmly. “That nice bosun lady is with the healer,” she said, pointing down the nearest set of wooden step
s. “I think the captain’s there too.”

  “What do they want?” I asked, using the overhead planking to steady myself. “Do they have a thousand more duellists for me?”

  “Not sure,” she replied. “Something about those two Eastron in that little boat. The one’s the massive frog killed.”

  I nodded, and made my way down the steps. The Kneeling Wolf followed, and we criss-crossed the ship, moving forward, past hammocks, tables, and a few dozen sailors at rest. I was just able to stand upright belowdeck, though a good portion of the crew were not so lucky, having to stoop for fear of constantly banging their heads. At the fore of the second deck, beyond ballistae parts and bundles of stowed bolts, was the healer’s chamber. I’d not met Driftwood’s spirit-master, as the man stayed in his cabin, but he was reputed to be a highly skilled healer.

  I once again steadied myself on the low roof, making sure my footing was stable, before using my one hand to open the door. Within was a large, musty chamber, encompassing a significant portion of the forecastle. Several rooms, each with closed doors, made use of every inch of space around the central healing chamber. Captain Tynian Driftwood and his bosun stood with a severe-looking old man around a circular table. Elsewhere in the chamber were the dead men and women from the Ravenous Whip’s attack, laid out on tables and covered in red cloaks.

  “Mistress Brand,” said Driftwood. “This is Bjorn Coldfire, my spirit-master.”

  The old man nodded. He was tall and thin, with dark brown eyes. “Hello,” he said. “My nephew likes you, but my captain doesn’t. Puts me in a bind.”

  Driftwood closed his eyes and shook his head. “She knows, everyone fucking knows,” said the captain. “It’s an ongoing conversation.”

  I didn’t smile, but I raised my eyebrows at him, trying to convey that he and I had no problem. “You want me for something?” I asked, cutting through the introductions.