DRYSTON GOT UP TO DEFEND HIMSELF, one eye left open to watch for Skadi. But he had lost her. He got caught back-footed and sliced open at the sleeve. Blood streaks painted themselves onto the deck in a wide arc.
Skadi was somewhere, sucked down under the prow and scraping against the keel. Dryston called out her name, but it was futile. Hearing and sight would be gone, except the muffled gurgling sounds of the drowning in the depths beneath her. He was afraid her whole body was numb from the shock and that she didn’t know which way was up and down. Only staying conscious and her light clothes made it possible to somehow come back up to the surface. She breathed and coughed up water simultaneously. The boat’s prow was looming over her, threatening to crush her face.
Jade leaned over the bulwark with her feet braced against the bulk, held over the water only by Dryston’s grip. She reached out to her. The tattoo-dragon on Skadi’s back emerged from the ice water and was drawn back into the land of the living.
Skadi hit the deck and curled up, gasping and coughing water. She was shivering all over. She must havefelt like her joints and organs were icebound. In a circle around her, Dryston, Jade, and Cormack had driven back their foes. Not because they had bested them, but because the skirmish was going to their side’s favor. Godfrey’s men were retreating to floating boat-wrecks and an uncertain fate on the lake. They gave up resistance because they felt Tancred’s men were pressing on and their lives would be spared.
All around, burning flotsam and boat skeletons floated on the water. The lake was on fire and shaken up by incoming missiles again. Tancred and the barbarians had salvaged enemy vessels and abandoned those of their own that were beyond recovery. The king had won this battle for them. The next lay dead ahead. The sky had closed with clouds and wept crystal tears. The port and shore in front of them lay in mist and driving snow. It would be their entry to Skybridge.
THE WARRIORS TURTLED up behind their shields as arrows knocked against the prows of the boats. They came drifting into the port’s bay. Dryston’s ship ran onto ground a few yards short of the shore. He and his pack hauled themselves over the rail into knee-deep water and proceeded with haste to leave the terrain that slowed them down. Another boat passed Dryston and drew fire away from them. With enough momentum, it drove onto the shore and disgorged its cargo.
Cormack’s ship came adrift and hit a pier. The bulky vessel deformed the landing stage after crashing through a small fishing boat and an unmanned guardhouse, leaving merely wooden panels in its wake. It came to a loud, rocking halt, prompting all on board to hold onto the deck.
Belrand’s sleek carrier swished in beside other boats that lay at anchor, using the dock and its shacks as cover.
Tancred’s vessel came in to Dryston’s right, plowing forward with oarstrokes and placing itself on the ice-coated brink. It remained there silent, like a fang driven into Skybridge’s most vulnerable point.
Hakon’s hulk was on the far left, but still within the planned landing zone to assist one another against the flocking in port defenders.
They were responding sporadically after the attack force had made it through the ship-blockade and the following missile barrage. The king’s group had sunken deep into a spot where the war engines weren’t destined to reach them until they relocated. Relief forces arrived, scattered from alleys, as the main force was occupied at the gate and wall. It left Tancred’s men the opportunity to engage them one at a time. It rendered the vast numbers of an enemy that outnumbered them through illegal armament irrelevant.
Tancred observed the site. Strength through concentration of force.
“Secure a beachhead, then consolidate our packs over the landings! And no inch back! Don’t let them throw us back into the lake.”
Skadi was in no condition to defend herself or contribute to the fight. Her body was going through shock, and she could barely hold herself on her feet. But she was an icon, like Dryston himself.
HE WAS THE FIRST, leading the onslaught. He had to be. No one could pave the way for him; no one would share the severity and determination he had to bring to the task at hand. This was it, the undertaking of a mission that would not end until he failed or succeeded. He would outlast it or die trying.
He kept close to the shanties on the dock, picking out stragglers as he went. There were close ones, and damn were they close. But he didn’t halt. He was bleeding from several wounds, but the bloodier he got, the more determined he fought.
Jade struggled to keep up, following his bloody path, never sure if it was his own or that of his enemies. Severed fingers, stretched out in defense, teeth. Every time she caught up, Dryston was hunched down at his enemy, asking him the same question before leaving him on his own or delivering a coup de grâce.
“Where is Argis Cairn-Breaker?”
They were closing in on the yard, keeping eye contact with the nearby barbarians and making sure that Skadi was with them. Cormack’s steps thundered over the pier to overcome distances between one foe and the next. Belrand and his special forces followed, silent and efficient, between the barracks.
King Tancred strode with his sword drawn forward. He was where his presence was needed the most. Though the fighting hadn’t come to him yet, he led them on and helped them through their personal skirmishes like a mentor guiding his students.
This was a warrior’s dream. To be part of the events unfolding, and doing things that no one else could dream of. It was already a day where you could die gladly, with having seen all the horrors and sensations of this cruel world.
THEY LOST MANY GOOD MEN while securing the beachhead. Hakon and Skarin had crushed their vials and were re-digesting their berserker potions, turning them into feelingless furies. Cormack held back as long as he was protecting Skadi, who had to be dragged in the safety of his arm. But even he knew that it wouldn’t last any longer.
The violation of Skybridge’s garrison limit made itself apparent. Tancred’s group had pressed on to choke the side streets and prevent the stream of reinforcements to the yard, but with subsequent losses, it was pushed back. Even Tancred had underestimated what Godfrey, the self-proclaimed protector of mankind, was capable of with withheld sums from tithes and sheer endless numbers of prisoners, non-human lowlifes, and military personnel.
“Women and men of Skybridge!” King Tancred exclaimed. “My people! You have been misled by the tyrant Godfrey. No one has to die in this coward’s name anymore. Lay down your weapons, and your life will be spared!”
The mob didn’t obey. They weren’t fanatics for Godfrey’s personality cult, nor were they spiteful enemies of Tancred. Something else paralyzed them, a fear from something that was greater than the dread of facing their king. None of them wanted this fight. They marched on relentlessly with an obviousness that this was their duty.
It made Tancred far more worried than a bunch of anarchic rebels that were only out to see his blood would have done.
“Tactical withdrawal to the ships,” Belrand commanded his special forces. “Cover their retreat, ladies and gentlemen.”
King Tancred was back at the vessels. He had a lantern and his sword drawn in hand.
“What is he doing?” Jade asked.
Dryston sighed. It was a great venture, but he was glad Tancred was setting the stakes to be on the same level as Dryston himself. He could not afford to abandon this quest.
“Burning the ships,” Dryston said, earning a terrified look from Jade Cyrus. “So that there is no way back.”
The king let the lantern fall onto the deck, destroying their only hope of flight. Rekindling their will to fight on, with their backs against the wall.
Everyone who had fought in the kingdoms would tell you that he’d rather fightagainst ten men who were defending their home and families than against one man who had nothing to lose.
The rout rallied.
Cormack crushed his vial and let go of Skadi. He headed to the place where his brothers Skarin and Hakon were holding off the enemy flood as lon
g as they could.
Jade Cyrus caught Skadi and held her back from following the barbarians into the fray.
“No Skadi,” she whispered into her ear. “Not this time. He is gone.”
The berserk drug took over, triggering raving madness under the three hulks. The red dream was overtaking them like they were wolf-bitten. Spears didn’t take them down, even though shafts were sticking out from several parts in their armor. They turned into red devils once more, not caring whose blood they were spilling, while reeling more and more into frenzy. Red snow covered the yard. It rained blood.
Cormack dived into the loose rows of militiamen, regardless of the consequences. He was free, his whirling death-dealers only extensions of his body. He became a weapon himself and wouldn’t be stopped until the minute his body bled out. Between Cormack and his two brothers, they took dozens with them.
THE BERSERKERS were buying their allies time. Tancred was regrouping with Belrand’s special forces behind stacks of cargo. Dryston and Jade Cyrus were joining up with them with Skadi in tow. Her face was blurred by tears and her lips violet.
“We need to get into a better position,” Tancred said, kneeling in front of the half-circle his men forming around him. He drew the outline of their vantage point on the ground with the tip of his dagger, showing angles from where the enemy came. “Evade the push from this and this lane, draw them out and persuade them to shift back to the gate and wall. Away from us.”
“There is a mansion to the northeast where we could hunker down,” Copper replied. He pointed to the map in the snow.
“Good,” Tancred said. “Belrand, your group takes lead. Take Copper with you.” He turned to Dryston, Jade, and the Valkyrie. “You three stay with me up center. Find us the fastest way to that mansion. Let’s move out!”
When they got up and Tancred blurred the drawings in the snow with his boot, Skadi looked back to Cormack.
CORMACK HAD SURVIVED BATTLES BEFORE. A healed skull fracture and years of experience spent fighting showed this. But on this day, on a berserk rampage, there was no way back. The head was a priority target in every armed conflict. Even though the wearing of helmets was widespread because of this, they could be removed by consecutive blows. Cormack suffered eight wounds to his head that day. When bone breaks, the cracks veer towards existing areas of weakness. The first five strokes were delivered by a broadsword to the left side of his head, from an enemy standing in front of him, while Cormack sliced him up with his scythe in between each cut he dealt to him. None of them had been lethal, but the next almost certainly was. From behind him, someone swung a sword towards his skull, carving a down-to-up trajectory through the air. The blow opened a huge horizontal gash in the back of his head, like a slit you could post a letter through. Fractures raced down to the base of his skull and around the sides of his head, ultimately felling him.
He had taken so many of his enemies with him, that it wasn’t enough for them to simply kill him. They had to eradicate him, eradicate this evil he was in their minds and hurt it so bad it never dared come back. They were trying to remove his identity, cut off his ears and nose.
Dryston had seen it a hundred times before, even done it himself. He’s never grown used to it, though it was what awaited them all.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
KOLANTHEL RISE
AFTER BREACHING THE GATE and overcoming the rampart of Skybridge, the combined army entrenched itself on the battlements of the wall, gatehouse, and towers first, before occupying the surrounding quarters. The defenders had mostly withdrawn into a central district called Old Town, the walled ghetto of old derelict buildings and home of the elves, orcs, dwarves, and gnomes.
This was where most left their lives, on the run, when the ranks were broken and it was every man for himself. Jarnsaxa and her retinue on horseback pursued the stragglers through the streets, chasing them down. Disorientated and overheated, many began to remove their helmets. A slashing stroke from a passing rider removed their heads.
THE ROUT LEFT the besiegers space to regroup, and what was even more important, gave them access to much longed for supplies. The severely wounded were treated in the houses and homes of Skybridge, while those fit enough to fight on sheltered under roofs from the snow. Soma Ice-Veins and Doc Sage were busy among them on both sides. Those were still the ones in most danger, the soldiers who underestimated sustained cuts and fractures. A creeping death hovered above them, infesting their wounds with bacteria and infections. There were attempts to staunch the wounds. If the injured took a crushing hit to the skull, surgeons and clerics drilled a hole into the skull to relieve pressure on the brain. Salves would be applied to fight infections. Pain killers in the form of teas, booze, and opium were handed out to ease suffering. Then they simply waited.
IF AN ORGAN WAS PIERCED, it was a slow and agonizing death, usually fatal. If too much blood was, lost it was dire. But infections were still the prime cause of death. Sometimes men would recover mostly from grievous injuries only to die of a hospital infection before they could get away from the rest of the wounded. Bloodletting was applied at times by using leeches to suck out the blood of the patient and sometimes caused enough damage to kill a man who might otherwise have survived. Experimental medicine from non-humans was common, as most wounded were going to die anyway. Experimental chance was better than none.
Mass grave pits were excavated at sunset outside the town. Vultures were busy robbing the dead of their last possessions, collecting weapons and armor pieces for the next skirmish.
Soma Ice-Veins sat down a moment to re-strap her hairband, while orderlies hurried past in one of the cramped spaces of a merchant’s house. The floor was littered with makeshift beds and bodies. The cleric felt a shadow over her from behind.
“What can I do for you, lictor?” Soma asked, wiping her hands on her bloody robes and turning around. “Normally my patients don’t come to me by themselves.” She gestured to the packed room. “I have to come to them.”
Freya smiled, relieved, only for the fact that the cleric referred to her as a patient. The other woman had recognized something was troubling her.
“I need help,” Freya said. She let the words hang, until Soma devoted her attention fully to her. “Emotional help, I think.” She swallowed, trying hard to find the courage to talk about her feelings. She saw the irony in that she assaulted the city wall out of a siege tower only hours before. “I’m feeling exhausted, sad, angered, all of that at the same time. But on top of that, I feel good. I feel so happy. Everything that I hear or taste feels better than before. I guess I never felt as good in my life than right now.”
“And that is bad how?” Soma said.
“It’s so wrong,” Freya explained. “I killed people on the wall. I should not feel good about it, but I do.”
Soma looked her in the eyes. They were sparkling in a beautiful blue, her pupils dilated. She smiled at her.
“Your body is just thanking you for being alive,” the cleric told her. “We are all feeling the same. All the pressure building up over the last few days is suddenly released, and we realize there is nothing left to fear. We made it. We expected to die, but we didn’t. We are alive.”
Freya nodded wisely. “Like reborn.”
“Aye, like reborn,” Soma agreed. “This is a war. Through my profession, I am surrounded by death at every breath I take. I guess so much that it deadens me to a certain extent.” She exhaled slowly and sat upright. “This is why I think I don’t experience it as intensively as you anymore. But to this day, I still remember how the first time felt. And I’m sorry to say that I miss it. Be glad that you don’t feel as dead inside as me.”
Freya put her hand slowly on Soma’s shoulder.
“You shouldn’t feel dead inside, Soma,” she said. “You are the one that ensures more of us make it through alive, while everyone else is just fighting to keep himself or the friend beside him alive.”
Soma nodded thankfully but then looked away. “You don’t u
nderstandthat I lose so much more than anyone else. And then, as if it would make any difference, are those deaths that trouble me the most. The ones that just should not have happened. There was a boy, his name was Lucky Kyr, who got murdered the night before battle, either by enemy scouts, or Kolanthel, or one of our own; I don’t know. I just received the corpse for examination as his mother asked me to find out the cause of his death. As you can imagine, I don’t have much time for this right now. I had to stave her off, the mother of a dead son who was slain in cold murder the day before he would have gotten the chance to become a hero.”
Freya understood. It made all the difference in a culture of warriors and legends.
“Can you say anything about it?” she asked.
Soma thought about the wound on Lucky Kyr’s body she had examined. Despite all she had seen, the image still made her shudder.
“He was killed by a sharp but small weapon, like a very long knife or a machete,” she said. “A few chops to the back of the neck. The killer must have been big and strong to get the result he achieved with the small blade. The head was severed from the body.”
“A skull-taker?” Freya asked.
Soma shook her head. “This is the thing: the head was found nearby. A skull-taker would have collected it as a trophy. Or sent it to someone as a warning. No defensive wounds. No ritual scars on the body. Only a brutish but calculated murder. It just makes no sense.”
Freya stroked her hand over her lips and chin. “Maybe someone he knew?” she wondered. “I will look into it.”
“Cleric,” a rasping voice interrupted them. It came from one of the cots, one of the burns victims. The women kneeled down beside him.
“I want to atone for my sins.”
Soma and Freya listened intensely to the man.
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