The Sword Falls

by A. J. Smith

  He was tall, but I was still forced to look down. I did remember him, but I couldn’t conjure his name or where I’d seen him before. Nevertheless, I was filled with joy at seeing him again. I’d embraced devotion to the Waking God through beautiful dreams I could scarcely remember, but I felt deeply that the man before me was a trusted friend.

  “Of course I remember you. We met when I was a boy, on Raptor’s Nest. You showed me… everything that matters. You told me who I could become. And you waited for me, beneath my throne… You were smiling. You’re my friend.”

  His angular face rose into an expression of deep respect, perhaps even love, and he put a brotherly hand on my shoulder. “I wasn’t sure,” he said, warmly. “But I told you to come here… and here you are!”

  “Is the Waking God pleased with me?” I asked, eagerly, feeling like a child who’d been given a treat.

  He pushed back the hood of his cloak, and tilted his head. “You are highest in his regard and always in his thoughts… for he no longer dreams.” The shadows fell from his face, and the smiling black triangle turned into a man of flesh and blood. He was imprinted upon my mind, but always at the back, never in the waking world. And yet here he was.

  “I wasn’t sure you were real,” I whispered. “I feared I had no friends. I feared the steps to my throne were in my head.”

  “You need never worry again, King Oliver,” said Santago Cyclone, called the Bloodied Harp. “The new world begins and your part in it will be… glorious.”

  26

  I opened my eyes and saw a rugged, grey hold beneath me. It was on the coast, built around a wide bay, with a narrow sea channel, and framed on all sides by towering, snow-capped mountains. The hold appeared to be a blob of grey stone uniformity, cut out of the primal landscape. Wherever it touched the coast, there rose a series of impossibly thick walls, as if the inhabitants feared the sea above all things. Even across the mouth of the bay was an enormous sea wall, with five, square towers guarding the entrance.

  I viewed it from far above and couldn’t make out fine details, but it was certainly no hold I had visited. Its design was clearly Eastron, but I needed a closer look to know more. I pushed my perception downwards, eager to see what the Waking God wanted to show me. It was not a pleasant view. The grey buildings were grim and featureless, built purely for function and utility, and quintessentially Sea Wolf. There was a mob of warships, resembling a pack of rabid dogs, anchored just off the coast. It was the only part of the hold open to the sea, though every route to the huge dock was well protected by portcullises, drawbridges and heavy, wooden gates. This was a hold that expected to be attacked from the sea.

  It was Last Port, the great Sea Wolf fortress of the Battle Brand, built on the Sea of Stars. I didn’t know which First Fang raised the ugly, stone monument, but it was the newest Eastron hold. I had a passing knowledge of the place, and its part in the infamous Battle of the Depths, but I’d never thought to see it. It had been attacked in the ninetieth year of the dark age, which led to the annihilation of the Sea Wolf fleet three years later. The battle, and everything that surrounded it, had dictated the form and function of Last Port.

  I focused on the hold, filtering out the ocean and the mountains, until streets and distinct buildings came into view. The huge bay was called Red Haven, and the winding streets of the hold stretched away from it, like the fingers of a grey, stone hand. At the mouth of the bay, the largest of the five towers was called Shatter Point, and a hundred warriors could be seen around its battlements. Further inland, the hold was enveloped in activity, though its inhabitants appeared as little more than grey ants, scurrying across my field of vision.

  “What am I to see here?” I asked, disliking the grim, stone monolith.

  “This is not a vision or a trick,” replied Santago Cyclone. “You will see whatever you see, my king.”

  “This is now?” I queried.

  “It is happening this very instant, far away from all other Eastron,” said my friend. “Somewhere in this hold is Mikael Brand, called the Battle Brand, and he’s just been given some very bad news.”

  “I want to see this man,” I said, peering towards the blocky buildings, but unable to discern any particular centre of authority.

  “As you wish, friend Oliver,” he replied. “Nothing will be hidden from your view.”

  My vision flew downwards at a steep angle. There was no wind, or rush of air, just a feeling of deep and ancient energy. It flowed over me, as a blanket of wyrd, allowing me to wield power unlike other, lesser, Eastron.

  I flew over the outer walls of Last Port, gliding smoothly across the bay of Red Haven, and towards the low, stone settlement beyond. It was far smaller than the Silver Dawn, and lacked both colour and vibrancy, though it was still a hold of significant size. I imagined a population of no more than fifty thousand. In fact, I didn’t imagine… I knew. My friend was giving me knowledge of the things I saw. The main roads, leading from the bay, each had names. The Streets of Fish, of Blades, of Peace, and of Duellists. The largest building, strategically placed at the eastern point of the hold, was called The Forge, and the tall tower next to it was Brand’s Watch.

  “There,” I said. “The tower. Show me who is inside.”

  My trajectory veered to the right, over scurrying Sea Wolves, all clad in leather armour. As I got closer to ground level, I could see that the hold was enveloped in activity, as if an alarm had been sounded along every street. Everyone moved quickly, knowing their duty, and making for the huge sea wall. There was much wyrd on display, and these Sea Wolves were well prepared for a fight.

  I ignored the peasants, keeping my eyes focused on Brand’s Watch. The tower was wide and square at its base, with a narrow spire, acting as a lighthouse. It looked like a spike, rising far higher than any other building. As with the Wolf House at the Severed Hand, the tower was decorated with black murals, depicting scenes of battle. The top third of Brand’s Watch was covered in highly detailed pictures, etched into the stone, of Sunken Men and stricken warships, forcing the inhabitants to remember their greatest defeat. I felt that these Sea Wolves were different to those I had met before.

  “Listen carefully,” said my friend. “You can hear the Battle Brand shouting.”

  I focused on the mid-point of the tower. Just at the edges of my perception was a very angry man. His voice was gruff, and his statements blunt, as if he lacked the vocabulary to adequately express his anger. The sound got louder as I got closer, until the huge stone walls of the tower melted from my eyes, and showed me a barrel-chested man, with narrow, brown eyes.

  Mikael Brand, called the Battle Brand, was an imposing man, even for an elder Sea Wolf. I’d met his children, Adeline and Arthur, at the Severed Hand, and he looked like a larger, bearded, version of his son, Arthur. Two attendants were helping him don a suit of scaled-metal armour, and he was shouting at three other Sea Wolves.

  “How many?” he demanded, as if for the fourth or fifth time. “The question is simple, yet none of you can answer it.”

  “We don’t know,” answered one of the three, a middle-aged woman with red hair. “A dozen depth barges were seen east of Shatter Point, but...”

  “And a dozen more,” added a tall man with one white eye. “South from the Low Fork.”

  “But it could have been the same dozen,” said the woman.

  “And vague reports from the High Fork,” began the third Sea Wolf, “say that ten or so strange ships disappeared below the water a few hours ago.” This man wore no armour, and appeared to be in his eighties.

  Mikael Brand shrugged off his attendants, and finished buckling on the armour himself. There was still much anger, but I sensed another emotion, burrowing its way into the Battle Brand’s head. The man was afraid. He was a great Sea Wolf commander, but he’d spent his life looking across the Sea of Stars. He knew, far better that any Eastron, that primal power existed in this realm of form. And he knew, in that moment, that he and his people were unprepared
for that power.

  “So… three dozen,” grunted Mikael, his voice now low and regretful. “That we know of. Three dozen depth barges, and who knows how many Sunken Men. The first time they’ve ever been seen from these walls.”

  “Half the hold is panicking,” said the white-eyed man.

  “The other half are gritting their teeth,” said the red-headed woman. “But they are ready to fight.”

  They stood in the centre of a square room, surrounded by dull brown heraldry and rusted blades. The Sea Wolves were fond of adorning their halls with symbolic etchings and archaic weaponry, and Brand’s Watch was no different. There were no furnishings, and Mikael addressed his subordinates, standing in the middle of an empty chamber.

  As with the street names, I found that I knew who these Eastron were. The red-head was Veronica Lahandras, originally from Moon Rock, and a seasoned ship captain. The one-eyed man was Halfdan Raider, called the Watchman, second-in-command of Last Port. The old man was a spirit-master, known only as Rune. Between them and the Battle Brand, they represented the leadership of the hold. Waiting below them, just out of my sight, were many hundreds of duellists, anxious for their orders. Sea Wolves were simple people, and everyone here just needed the slightest reason to die for their hold. It appeared that Mikael Brand was going to give them that reason.

  “Very well,” he said. “It falls to me.” He rubbed his eyes, and let loose a grunt of humour. “Let us see if our walls and our blades and our engines of war actually mean something.”

  “Your orders, my lord Brand?” prompted Veronica.

  Mikael straightened, puffed out his large chest, and clenched both his fists. “Empty all ships and put them at anchor. We now defend the land, not the sea. I want every man and woman on dry ground. If we have an advantage, that’s it.”

  Halfdan Raider nodded. “It will be done, my lord.”

  “Artillery,” continued Mikael. “Point everything at the sea wall and Shatter Point. That’s where they’ll come. Fire and wyrd… Set Red Haven ablaze if they breach.”

  “As you say,” replied Rune, the spirit-master.

  “Everyone else to the walls,” said the Battle Brand. “First things first, we all need to see them. We need to look them in the fucking eye. For we need to kill them… and we must not be afraid.”

  “Once more for the Sea Wolves,” they said in unison, before going their separate ways and preparing as best they could.

  I felt like applauding, as if I was watching a skilfully-acted play, staged just for my enjoyment. The costumes were marvellous, the script first-rate, and the realism peerless. I felt every delicious morsel of their helplessness and fear. Not just from these four elders, but from every Sea Wolf at Last Port. As orders were relayed and word of the attack spread, so did the panic, seeping along every street like a flood. There was little shouting or cutlass-rattling, and the defenders prioritized armour and shields, as they ran to the huge eastern walls.

  Santago Cyclone started to laugh, and I joined him, unable to contain my euphoria and gratitude at the spectacle before me. The Waking God had blessed me with the most wonderful gift. He was no longer dreaming… I could feel him, and he wanted me to witness his power.

  “Watch them scurry,” chuckled my friend. “Like ants under a boot. The devils of the sea… reduced to nothing. If only it were the Severed Hand.”

  “What’s going to happen?” I asked, excitedly. “Will depth barges pierce the sea wall? Will my friends go ashore and kill everyone?”

  He laughed again. “Calm yourself, friend Oliver. Other holds will face such terrors. For this… for you… he wanted something special.”

  I was too excited to speak, and impatient for the Sea Wolves to move faster. Everything was happening in real time, with no consideration paid to the audience. I viewed everything from above, but could easily concentrate on sections of the hold. My focus plunged in and out as I desired, letting me view the final hours of Last Port.

  “It’s beginning,” said Santago. “Look out to sea.”

  I turned from the scurrying Sea Wolves, and focused on the crystal blue water. The tides were gentle, with the only real movement coming from a line of prowling depth barges, too far from the walls of Last Port to be visible. I pushed my vision downwards, excited to get my first glimpse of these remarkable vessels. They were pointed at both ends, and cut through the water like huge fish, breaking the surface, before disappearing below. They resembled barges, with jagged railings and open tops, but no obvious means of propulsion. The deck – if such a word even applied – was filled with beautiful creatures of form. I’d seen them in my dreams, but the reality was far more wondrous. They were twice as large as men, with a vaguely humanoid shape, but their bulbous limbs, sharp crests of flushed red, and elongated, fishy heads, set them apart. I felt their age and their timeless power. They had ruled this world for millennia before the Eastron arrived from across the sea, and they would be my most loyal subjects in the years to come.

  “How many are there?” I asked, trying to count the Sunken Men.

  “Many hundreds,” replied my friend. “And millions more, just shaking off centuries of sleep. They rise in the south, to greet their master. This will be a ceremony to mark the opening of his eyes, for the world is now ready for him.”

  “Will he be here? Will I see him?”

  Santago let forth a gentle laugh. “Not this day, friend Oliver. But one day soon. This day you will see the Whips of the Waking God, come to honour him… and to honour you.”

  The depth barges disappeared below the still surface of the Sea of Stars. To the west, thousands of Sea Wolves filled every inch of their grey, stone walls, and high above, I held my breath. “I may burst with excitement,” I exclaimed. “I want to see every one of them in pieces.”

  A sudden wave broke from the surface. “There,” said Santago. “Look.”

  A mile distant from Last Port was a churning disturbance in the water. It displaced the sea in every direction, and sent a huge wave towards the coast. Then, rising from the water like a new landmass, came a huge head. The scene repeated north and south, as three enormous creatures swam towards Last Port. I knew them, like each was a favoured uncle, or a wise old mentor. They were three of the oldest Whips, each many millions of years old. They had names I couldn’t pronounce and personalities I couldn’t understand, but each was as complicated as a thousand Eastron.

  “The Sea Wolves have seen them,” said my friend. “Their resolve is faltering.”

  I turned to the hold and narrowed my eyes. I wanted to find Mikael Brand and see his fear. The Sea Wolves had been using their limited time to prepare, but had done little that their walls didn’t already do. Everything faced the sea, but adding artillery and duellists was like forging an extra half-an-inch to the end of a sword. It might help, but would rarely be decisive. Nevertheless, the Battle Brand and his warriors stood at attention, along every section of the wall, unaware how close they were to annihilation. Or perhaps they did know, and stood their futile watch anyway.

  “They still believe it will be a fight,” chuckled my friend. “Look at them… so simple in their worldview, so sure of their blades and their wyrd.”

  Mikael Brand was now on the largest tower of the sea wall, called Shatter Point, from where he directed the defence of his hold. Senior duellists and other lesser Sea Wolves took their orders and rushed to fill every gap. But when the three Whips appeared every one of them stopped moving.

  “I’ve never heard of one so big,” said Rune, the spirit-master, peering to the east over Mikael’s shoulder. “And there are three of them… My lord, we should...”

  “Nothing’s changed,” snapped Veronica Lahandras.

  “Everything’s changed,” replied the Battle Brand, stoically. “Rune, send spirits to the High Captain… and to Adeline. Tell them Last Port has fallen. Tell them… the sea has risen.”

  There was a pause, as everyone close enough to hear reacted to his words. These were dutiful
Sea Wolves, obsessed with loyalty and honour, and not a single one commented… in disagreement or fear. On another day I may have admired their resolve, but this was a gift to me from the Waking God, and their mental strength only added to the unfolding drama.

  A series of large waves began to pummel the sea wall. Not enough to crest Shatter Point, but they rose suddenly from the calm sea and caused additional alarm. I turned my perceptions back to the Whips. They were closer now and appeared to be walking on the seabed, with bulging, black eyes and huge, serrated fins the only things visible. Dozens of depth barges encircled them, as if they were an honour guard, paying tribute to the greatest amongst them.

  “I want to see them,” I whispered.

  “Just watch, my friend,” replied Santago.

  The three Whips strode towards Last Port, creating larger and larger waves with every step they took along the seabed. I followed their movements, giddy with anticipation, hoping for a closer look at the magnificent creatures. As the waves rose, and the depth barges disappeared, I saw three heads and three torsos emerge from the Sea of Stars.

  I was given a human translation of their names, but knew that such watered-down utterances could never hope to encompass their majesty. The largest, and the most spiteful, was the Vile Whip, known for its intolerance of lesser creatures, and mortals in particular. To its left was a flabby creature, with rolls of sickly fat across its neck and chest. It was the Bulbous Whip, and it resembled a bipedal frog. The third was the Hateful Whip, and it appeared like a skeletal fish next to the others, with sharp barbs across every angle of its body.

  The three of them surged through the water, pushing waves before them, as they emerged from the Sea of Stars. Around each of them, forming a mantle of slime, were vast patches of bubbling frogspawn. It dripped from their bodies and moved with them like three immense cloaks, though large patches of glistening ooze travelled forwards on the crest of each wave.

  From the walls of Last Port, artillery sprang into life, launching boulders at the three Whips. The first volley was to mark the range, and I suspected all follow-up shots would be charged with wyrd. The huge catapults didn’t appear to concern the Vile Whip. It swatted a huge boulder out of the air, and plunged both its arms underwater, causing a sudden, violent wave to rush forwards. Within the churning water was a slick of frogspawn, carried swiftly towards the Sea Wolves.