The Redemption of Wist Boxed Set: Books 1 - 3: The complete collection

by David Gilchrist

  The sounds of the others returning from the outside echoed along the stone corridors. As Wist sped from the room to meet them, the muffled footfalls cascaded down the sloped entrance to the cave towards him. He met them on the slope near the entrance. Dregan continued past him, but Nikka stopped. His dark face was as horror-stricken as Faric’s had been. Before Wist could ask him what he'd seen, Nikka spoke. ‘Someone approaches – fast and hard, a single horse bearing a rider and another without. They are pursued by -,’ at this last statement Nikka faltered, unable or unwilling to continue.

  ‘Show me,’ said Wist, his heart pounding in his ears. Together, they raced back to the surface. As Wist crested the last upward section, he barely noticed that the façade which had concealed the entrance was gone. He burst on to the mountainside, followed by the dark dwarf. Wist’s hesitancy and uneasy gait had vanished; he stood atop the mountain, potent and helpless.

  He looked to Nikka, and the Cerni thrust his gnarled digit out at the desert. There, a diffuse arc cut its way through the endless sand dunes, halting where it met the first slope of the mountain. Upon the lower slopes of the vast Rathou, he could see a horse: the dappled chestnut mare on which Tyla and Aviti had ridden from N’tini’s farm only a week before. As the distance closed between them, Wist could make out first the rider and then another shape. Slumped between the rider and the neck of the horse, lay the body of a man. Wist shuddered as he recognised them. They rode frantically up the slope without a thought for the terrain or the horse.

  Nikka grabbed his shoulder and forced Wist to look back along the path the horse had taken. There, a mass of cloaked warriors strode across the open desert, seemingly impervious to the unrelenting sun.

  Oh God, the Lyrats.

  Behind the Lyrats’ swift, smooth advance came a single man astride the blonde horse Wist had ridden only a few days before. Tall and broad-shouldered, this man shone with an intensity of purpose. Wist flinched as he looked at him. Although he could not make him out at this distance, the imbalance of this man sang out to him from the desert. Like a beacon of unalloyed hatred, he rode through the sands.

  But the real horror lay beyond him.

  There came uncountable corruption; shambling, falling, crawling they came. The massed ranks of the Damned had been set free from their imprisonment. Waves of their debased nature assaulted Wist’s senses. Nausea and collapse would not claim him this time. ‘Tilden!’ Wist yelled at the oncoming forces and then he ran toward Aviti.

  15 - Red War

  Kerk watched with grim satisfaction as the dark horse fled before his warriors. He had not expected the woman to have caused him so much trouble, or so much pain - but she would achieve his aim. She would lead him to that bastard imposter and revenge for the ruining of his city.

  The thick, black smoke he had seen belching from Mashesh had told him all he needed to know. His city was despoiled, rent of her beauty and abandoned to her death; he would never return. Now the smell of his own charred flesh only served to remind him of how his life had been stolen from him.

  He had almost been surprised at the force that had awaited him at the Damned. Tilden, or whoever he claimed to be, had told him that the survivors from the Lyrats’ sacking of the city would await him. He had presumed that the desert filth would have wiped out all of the Masheshis, but God had provided the means for His vengeance. With the remainder of the city at his call, and the massed ranks of the Damned that had been compelled by God to aid him, he could not be stopped. He would crush the Lyrats and finally kill that demon who led them. He should have stopped to consider the Damned and he knew he should have taken the time to consider things. But his reason had gone the same way as his city; blown away on the desert winds.

  The horse on which the priest rode cut across the desert floor at a tremendous rate. Kerk was glad that he had made an effort to keep one of them. The beast had fought him at first, but he had been swift to enforce his dominance on it. It would prove a powerful tool – graceful and swift. As the target of his pursuit reached the base of the mountain, Kerk roared to his force to quicken its pace. The stench of the Damned was abominable, but he had overcome worse. He would not be distracted from the Path. Each step upon it brought him closer to accomplishing God’s will. Only once he had fulfilled God’s will could he choose a new Path. He would be shown the way, he had no doubt.

  Strange that the smell of his singed face should bring saliva to his mouth, he thought.

  His quarry transitioned from the rolling approaches to the mountain itself. Perhaps he should have waited and held the girl – forcing his foes out of the hills – but she had taken him by surprise. Kerk’s face throbbed with the pain from the flashing heat the witch had unleashed, but at least he had dealt with the Lyrat; one of a pair, Tilden had said. Let his twin feast upon the sight of his dead brother then, before I send them all the same way.

  The horse moved forwards through the ranks of the Masheshis at his urging. They seemed to slip from his sight as he passed through them as if they had become insubstantial. This detail should have bothered him, but his calm centre had been shattered by the death of his city. The control he had exerted over his life had blown away over the desert with the remains of Mashesh and anger threatened to erupt once more, shredding the last of his discipline, leaving him no better than the animal he rode.

  Dust and rocks fell in a brief shower from higher up the mountain. Kerk could make out a two figures careering down the mountainside. As he looked back up the trail they had left, he could make out a figure or possibly two, moving up there. Where was the army of Lyrats he had been told to expect? Again, this should have triggered his inner alarms, but they were dormant, disconnected from him. All he wanted to do was throttle the bastard that had brought his city down.

  --*--

  Wist half ran – half fell, down the steep side of the Rathou. His heart had leapt at the sight of Aviti, but just as it had soared at glimpsing her, it had been punctured by the limp, lifeless form that bounced roughly upon the horse.

  Tyla.

  He hadn’t considered that there could have been danger to the Lyrat. Tyla had seemed the less accomplished of the Lyrat pair, but only by a breath. It took an eternity to close the distance between himself and the onrushing Aviti, but finally they met. Gasping, Wist asked, ’Aviti, what happened? Tyla – my God – who did…?’

  ’Tyla lives yet!’ yelled Aviti. ’Where is Eliscius?’

  Wist pointed back to the direction he had come from where Nikka was now fast approaching. Seeing the concern on Aviti’s face at the onrushing dwarf, Wist allayed her fears, informing her that he was with them. As he examined Tyla, he noticed the katana protruding from the Lyrat’s belt, so Wist slipped it free and felt its weight in his palm. The leather grip felt cool in his hand. It had been crafted to suit Tyla, but they were similar enough in build to allow Wist to use it.

  ‘Who did this?’ asked Wist, as Aviti kicked her horse back into motion. She shot an enraged look, but pointed back down the hill to the rider that had worked his way to the front of the massed ranks of Lyrats. Rage boiled in Wist as Nikka drew level with him. The dark dwarf took a single prolonged look at him and swung his hammer down from his back.

  ’Are you sure you want to do this, boy?’ asked Nikka. Without a second thought, Wist nodded and together they rushed onwards to meet their foes.

  --*--

  Eliscius had emerged from the underground stronghold to witness the approach of an army once more. The echoes of his past threatened to overwhelm him, but he had borne much worse in an epoch long dead. Between Dregan’s arms and his own, they had carried Faric up here, at the Lyrat’s insistence. With each step, Eliscius could see the strength returning to Faric, but the Lyrat’s mental dislocation remained, encapsulating him. Faric took a step away from the supporting arms and Eliscius followed his gaze to the horse that approached them. Eliscius examined the rider on the chestnut brown horse as they stopped to converse with Wist, and then continued thei
r charge. The rider was a girl – Aviti, he presumed – and on the horse was what looked like the body of a Lyrat. Faric showed no sign that he recognised either of them. The horse pulled up in flurry of dirt and dust, and with a flourish of her legs, Aviti was free of her mount and in front of Eliscius.

  ’Help him, please,’ pleaded the Masheshi girl, without pausing for an introduction. Dregan moved to the side of the horse and slid the seemingly lifeless man to the earth. The black robed mage motioned to Eliscius, who moved around the horse to stand beside Dregan. Faric stared at them all with nothing but shock on his face. His inexpressive face had lost its passivity, although only confusion registered on it now.

  ‘Who?’ asked Faric plaintively, but his question remained incomplete. Aviti pleaded silently with him to help, but he stood bereft and alone.

  --*--

  When the horse bearing the priest gained the preliminary slopes of the Rathou, Nikka and Wist were almost upon him. The big man leapt to the ground and discarded the horse negligently. Seizing its opportunity, the blonde mare fled up the mountain, away from the impending slaughter. The priest stretched the stiffness from his frame and readied himself as Wist and Nikka ran in, weapons held at their sides. The priest clenched his fists, preparing for the initial impact.

  Wist fought down revulsion as he saw the damage to his enemy’s blackened face. He pulled up short to slice at the huge man’s exposed arms, while Nikka charged in low to knock him off-balance – leading with his tarnished hammer. The priest caught the hammer with his open palm and pulled it aside, bringing his massive fist down on to the back of Nikka’s skull as he fell past. Nikka’s body slid face down on the rocky mountain ground until his momentum was spent. He lay motionless as the priest grinned down at Wist. Idly, he flipped Nikka’s hammer so that the handle lay in his open hand.

  Wist took his opportunity and slashed at the man’s burned face. Unable to repeat the action he had used with the Cerni, his target raised his other arm to block. Garbed only in a plain brown monk’s tunic, the katana sliced though the garment and found the flesh of his forearm.

  A grin spread wickedly across the priest’s scorched countenance, but not a glimmer of pain registered in his eyes. This giant of a man was insane, Wist realised. As Wist slashed at his opponent, trying to force an opening to kill him, the towering man advanced. Wist’s training was with him fully now, but he had never been taught how to combat someone who had little regard for their own skin. He was forced to retreat as the priest pushed onwards. The hammer looked perversely small in the priest’s hands, but he used it effectively to parry and block as he gained ground. Blood ran down the priest's arm and dripped in increasing rivulets onto the barren earth. Wist glanced over to his oncoming force. Rather than waiting for them to overwhelm him, it seemed to make the priest desperate to finish the fight.

  Wist evaded a wild swing from the hammer. The weapon was ill-fitted for this man’s size and he over reached with his first pass. This allowed Wist to pierce the priest’s upper arm with the sharp tip of his blade. He spat at Wist – refusing to acknowledge the hit. As the priest pulled his arm back to strike again, a shadow of doubt crossed the remainder of his face. He dropped the hammer when he was at the apex of its swing and launched himself wildly – bodily – at Wist. The priest was trying to use his overwhelming size advantage to finish this.

  The leap had surprised Wist. He thrust out his sword to protect himself, but it never stood a chance of stopping the assault. The full weight of his opponent hit him, and then he was lying prone on the mountain.

  The priest howled as he fell on him, screaming bloody wrath and hatred, deafening him. With the wind knocked from him, it took Wist a moment to realise that he was free. The priest had rolled to the side, but his cry continued - its timbre shifted until it was a wrenching scream. Wist rolled away to find his sword. As he grabbed it and stood up, he looked at the massive man rolling in the dirt and rocks. He clutched at his head while blood poured from a gaping, ragged tear in his face. He had lost one eye, most of an ear and the connecting tissue between lay ripped; a cheek bone protruded viciously beneath the vacuous hole where his eye should have been. In his desperate attempt to stop his rush, Wist had removed almost half of his charred face.

  Wist turned in disgust from the writhing man so he could see the march of Lyrats. He could not guess how many were there: hundreds certainly. Grabbing Nikka’s discarded hammer, he knew that he should turn and finish his foe, but seeing the Lyrats had broken rage’s control over him. Without the heat of battle to justify his action, Wist felt revulsion rising in him at the thought of murder. Disregarding the thrashing man, he ran to where Nikka had fallen. If he could not rouse him, they would be overrun. And even if he managed to get him up, he doubted that they would be able to gain sufficient distance to prevent it – but he would not leave Nikka to die in the dirt.

  The limp body of the Cerni lay only a few steps from Wist, and he went quickly to him, eyeing the Lyrats as he ran. Something in their stride - a somnolent, halting procession - caught his attention. Their movement seemed at odds to what he had expected; where Tyla and Faric had moved with an effortless grace - a balletic poise -, the massed ranks of Lyrats were cumbrous and disjointed: their gait did not lurch, but neither did it flow. The fact Tyla and Faric were a Pair could not explain the difference. These new Lyrats seemed to share more in common with the Damned than with the graceful Lyrat Pair.

  He rolled the heavy dwarf onto his back. The movement roused Nikka and his eyes fluttered open amidst a grazed face. He proceeded to sit up and stare out at the oncoming mass of Lyrats. Nikka rose to feet and grabbed Wist, shaking the confusion from his head. Despite the hopelessness of the situation, with scores of Lyrats descending upon them, Nikka shoved Wist to get him moving up the hill.

  As they looked up towards the entrance of Eliscius’ stronghold, a horse came thundering down the hill. Through the dust and rocks, it plummeted, dashing onwards. At first Wist thought he saw Aviti riding the powerful dark brown horse, but he was mistaken – it was Faric. Following them, amongst the tumult and chaos, came a second horse - the blonde mare was gliding along in their wake. How could Faric have recovered so swiftly? Surely it was impossible, but there he was, a thunderstorm upon the hill.

  Wist glanced once more to the horde of Lyrats. They would be upon them in moments. A small part of him wondered why they did not hurry. He turned his attention back to the hill where Faric had pulled his horse to a sudden halt beside them, the lighter horse joining its companion heartbeats later.

  ‘Mount!’ yelled Faric, his shout jarring Wist’s emotions almost as much as the sight of his broken companion. He helped Nikka scramble onto Faric’s mount and then leapt to his seat on the blonde horse. Wist could see that they were too late. The Lyrats had cut off their retreat and closed in on them. He could make out many dark faces now. There were no leering grins or satisfied smiles upon the Lyrats’ miens - only a grim, sad determination. Their death was at hand.

  Then the light blinked out from Wist’s eyes and he was plunged into darkness. Yelling to Faric, he clung to the horse’s mane. Disorientation and vertigo grasped avariciously at him - fighting each other for control in the consuming blackness. Had his fear overcome him again? He could hear the approach of the Lyrats, their scuffling footfalls. Could he face his death in blackness and terror? The sound of sliding stone groaned at his right-hand side, as if the bedrock of the mountain had opened its maw to devour them all.

  A guttural cry caused his horse to rear and kick out. Wist was almost thrown from his seat as the horse’s hooves connected with an invisible form. At a shout from Faric, the horse carried him forwards into the blackness. As he fought for control of the horse and himself, he realised that the darkness was not as complete as he had first thought. His eyes adapted to the preternatural nightfall and it became obvious that he had not been robbed of his sight, as he had first feared; he could make out shapes and forms moving. Small scuffling beings passed in a
wave beneath the horse – some perhaps as tall as its legs, others far smaller. All of them seemed to be shouting and crying in a rasping, harsh tongue so unfamiliar to him. In a sudden rush, battle erupted behind him.

  ‘The Volni!’ cried Nikka, his voice coming from the distance through the growing sounds of fighting. ‘The Volni have come!’ Wist plunged on through the gloom, his horse carrying him towards the shout. Something or someone had darkened the area around them, perhaps to give them a means of escape. The loud ringing of weapons joined the Volnis’ guttural cries.

  Wist broke from the darkened area to find that he was charging up the mountain behind Faric and Nikka. His eyes stung from the piercing white light of the sun and he closed his eyes, putting his faith in his steadfast mount while his vision recovered. Despite their rapid pace, the sounds of battle grew. Wist risked a glance back through partially shut eyes, but all he could see was a massive black dome enshrouding the ground. Occasionally a glint of metal escaped the darkness; imprisoned stars shining in a nebulous gaol. Now they closed on Eliscius, who watched their assent. Dregan and Aviti tended to the fallen Lyrat who laid immobile close by.

  ‘Eliscius, how did you do that?’ asked Wist breathlessly, as he dismounted to join his companions. Eliscius shook his head and Nikka answered in his stead.

  ‘The Volni, son. They cannot see in daylight and so have devised means to bring the darkness with them. It is a tactic they deploy in their raids upon Sordir.’

  Wist ran over to Aviti, his questions temporarily forgotten. Aviti’s face wore no tears, but her tense concern was obvious as she glanced between Dregan and Tyla, watching his efforts. Tyla had a deep gash on his forehead above the right eye, running parallel to his older scar. This one was far wider and ran from his hairline almost to his ear. Wist could see that Dregan’s hands were aglow with a deep azure light as they ran the length of the cut, knitting the flesh slowly together and stemming the flow of blood. As Wist began to speak, Nikka grabbed his shoulder urgently and brought him back to Eliscius.