He reached the bottom of the stairs, saw the room was wide and circular with a thick column in the middle. His guts spasmed and he would have puked again if there were anything for them to push out. “Where are—” his voice cut off, fireballs setting light upon the swimming shapes pressed against the back wall. He sent more of the Dragon into them, making them brighter.
His jaw fell open. There were at least twenty haggard men and women, cringing with terror, eyes red as rubies. Some were nude, others partially clothed. Their skin was smudged with dirt, eyes sunken, teeth missing, limbs sharp and bony. He saw quivering hands covering faces, fingers browned with blood and dirt. He let Bonesnapper clink to the ground, chains unfurled at his side.
“Wa-Walter?” one of the figures stepped forward, tangled hair swept over half its face. It let out a muffled growl at one of the Blood Eater’s creeping away from the wall, a shambling corpse. The beast grumbled, fell back in with the rest of the cowering line.
“Who are you? How do you know my name?” Walter asked. It would only be fitting after all, that someone in the colon of the world would know his name.
The figure, a man Walter guessed by the voice, spread arms that lacked hands. “You-you-you don’t remember me?” the man stammered, expression awe-struck.
Walter took a cautious step away from him. There was a familiarity to his voice that he could not place. “No…”
“I trained you. You still do not remember?” The man pushed his hair over his face, showing the sly eyes he faintly recognized. Then it came to him and with it, a lance of anger.
“Malek, you traitorous dog. But— what are you doing here?”
Malek’s shadowy mouth twitched up into an ugly smile. “The story is long. You don’t like this home? My friends? No, no no.” Malek hunched over, stabbed a stump into his forehead. “He doesn’t care, doesn’t care. No one appreciates the things you do,” he screamed into what should’ve been his hands.
Walter watched him with a wary eye, saw his threadbare robes were soiled with blood and years of what could only be his shit. He was gone, his mind turned to mush, Walter thought.
“Your friend did this to me, you know. He did this to me!” Malek’s scarlet eyes went wide with rage, his arms and shoulders shaking.
“What? Who?”
“Juzo! Juzo did this to me!” he wept. “The endless hunger for blood, never ends, never, ever.”
It could’ve been true and Walter had no way of truly denying it. “Liar,” he found himself spitting.
“The great lord has not forgiven me, has not. He took my hands, made me passive!” he hissed, lunging at Walter. His jaws opened wide as a snake’s, stumps reaching for his neck. Walter flicked his hand, bones filled with ice. The fireball blew apart against Malek’s face, burning neck hole streaking the shadows in blood.
Shrieks of terror roared over the group, crouching low, fumbling over one another and trying to use each other as shields. “What to do with you?” he muttered. He’d thought they would have pounced on him after his aggression and he was ready for it. He backed up, his bare heel pressed against the first coarse step. They seemed to relax as he stepped back, their screams becoming a soft gibbering. How did they get here? Who were they? What had they endured under Malek?
He couldn’t let the Blood Eaters leave. If he brought ruin to the stairwell, collapsing it, they’d starve to death. “Starving… not a good way to die.” But was fire any better? He could make it quick, make it hot as the Ars volcano. Not much of a choice.
“Please! Stop!” A boy with curly hair writhed on the ground. Bare, uncaring feet crushed his tiny body.
“Don’t hurt us, no, please don’t hurt us. We mean no harm,” an elderly woman prostrated herself, eyes shining like stained glass.
“I’m sorry,” Walter croaked. He was the butcher and they were the meat. He had to do what needed to be done. Starting in the middle of the tangled mess of Blood Eaters, a blade of fire split the earth. In a second, the blade became hundreds, fanning out into a white wall of fire. Piercing shrieks roared over the flames, flesh hissing in the conflagration. Bubbles formed on arms, burst open with blackened bones and cooked blood. It was over in under five seconds, wisps of choking black smoke crawling for the stairwell. The stone surrounding the back wall waved from the heat. The iron gates propped open from cells were puddles of molten iron, those not fully melted sagging like limp pasta.
Walter crouched down as the smoke flitted over him, avoiding the worst of it. He stared at the pile of red embers, flesh, bones and connective tissue reduced to a heap of coal. There wasn’t anyone or anything that could touch that old spot in his chest, deadened and broken, made of Milvorian steel. He would do what must be done, regardless of the cost.
Chapter 18
Reunited
“There is always time for trust, for love.” -The Diaries of Nyset Camfield
It was a world slowly falling into the hands of a demon god, but still stunning and gloriously beautiful. The sky was a vast, bright azure bowl going out into the reaches of infinity. It was granted depth by swollen clouds of pure white crawling out to the limits of Nyset’s vision. They went up and up like towers reaching for a universe beyond their realm and understanding. The sun warmed her skin, filling her with energy. The energy of life spilled out from that golden orb, made everything grow despite the dark forces on the lands. Nyset knew that someday she and the plague on the realm would be gone and only the plants would remain.
Something flickered on the endless stretch of dusty horizon, an oval of blue light. It vanished a second later, then appeared again, only slightly larger. It was coming toward her, she realized, watching it wink out again. A figure marched from the fading light, across the sands, draped in billowing black. Light glinted like a star from its form. Nyset rose to stand, legs tingling from sitting too long. She set her warm mug of elixir on top of a saucer with a clink.
“It’s a man,” Senka said, bluish-black eyes flicking to hers, then back out to the horizon. Senka put one hand on the rail marking the porch’s edge and vaulted over it. Spots of light swept over her lithe body from the trellis covering the porch. The porch had been recently built, wrapping around the Silver Tower for outdoor seating.
“A powerful one.” Nyset started to smile. Could it be him? She raised her hand to shield her eyes from the sun.
“A wizard approaches from the north,” Claw stated the obvious. He came around the side of the new Silver Tower, his shirtless, grizzled chest beaded with sweat. He drew his sword from his hip sheath, barked a series of orders to a pair of apprentices, but Nyset didn’t hear him over the beating of blood against her temples.
She uncoiled a cream colored scarf wrapped around her neck, letting it fall by her side. The meteorologists predicted a sandstorm today. They were right. However, the storm was in her chest and not on the plains.
“Walter,” she saw it was him, knew it by his gait. She blinked away the tears filling her eyes and ran, wood thumping. “Call off the alarm, Claw! It’s fine!” She threw over her shoulder, watched him send her a confused squint. He ran after her, huffing.
“Mistress, wait! We don’t know for sure. It could be anyone, anything,” Claw panted from behind.
“It’s him, I know it.” She drew on the Dragon, legs pounding with energy.
A handful of violet lizards hissed and darted for shadowed holes. The wind whipped at her shirt, sticking to her sides. There was so much to tell him, so much to do. Air pulsed in her nose and all the sun’s fury wicked the moisture from her throat.
“At least, let me catch up to you, Mistress,” Claw shouted.
“You can’t always protect me,” she said
“I can try, though.” His voice was muffled in a gust.
She saw another portal, shining with the bright light of the Phoenix. A grin pulled at her cheeks and spread up to her eyes. She gasped and slid to a stop as the air was filled with a sudden humming. The other side of the portal cracked open in a twist
ing line of blue light a few paces away. Walter stepped through. The portal snapped shut, sand below it a blackened line.
“Nyset,” he beamed, browning blood flaking from a sunken cheek. “I thought that was you.”
Her heart beat like a drum, taking him in. His brown hair had grown, tussled and almost down to his ears now. His piercing eye glittered from deep within the socket, distant maybe, surely hard as stone. Around Stormcaller was a series of chain links, interspersed with mirror bright blades. He looked gaunt, as if he hadn’t had a proper meal in months. His high cheekbones were higher, his prominent nose sharper, beard in dire need of a shave. He looked tired.
“Walter-I,” She only had time to open her arms as he swept her into an almost crushing embrace, brushing the fine line between pain and pleasure. She almost told him to stop, but couldn’t and wouldn’t. His lips pressed against her neck, soft. They traveled up to her cheek, nuzzling along the path to her mouth. “You’re alive,” she breathed. “I received your letter.”
A tremor waved through his body. His lips pressed against hers. They felt dry and chapped, and his breath was horrid, but she didn’t care. She felt the hot warmth of tears roll down her cheeks, the floodgates held back for too long were finally free to open. They collected where their faces met, sticking to his cheeks. His tongue lapped at hers, gentle at first, then powerful, ravenous licks. She pulled away from him and grabbed his shoulders. She licked her lips, tasting his saliva, looking into his red-rimmed eye. “They’re gone then. They’re truly gone?” Her voice wavered like a lamb’s. She was the Arch Wizard, the Earl of Helm’s Reach, but nothing else mattered now.
Walter’s throat rolled, head slightly shaking. “They’re gone,” he said, head lowered, his forehead pressing against hers.
“How?” she whispered, wiping her eyes. “Please tell me, I must know.” She might have collapsed if she weren’t held by his powerful arms.
“No. You don’t want to know,” he said through a clenched jaw.
“Please, Walter. You owe me that.” She felt her brow squirming with tension, doing her best to sound commanding.
“Don’t make me re-live it. Don’t make me go there now.” He met her eyes, darkness flitting behind his.
“Tell me!” she hissed, new tears swimming in her eyes, her lips forming a bitter little smile.
“Fine,” he snapped and dropped his arms. “Your father,” he croaked, shaking his head. A tear streamed down his cheek and washed a clean line through at least a week’s worth of dirt. He sucked in a deep, quivering breath, looked down at his bare foot, and slowly let it escape his lips. The waiting was killing her. Why wouldn’t he tell her what she wanted to know?
He steeled himself, hard lines forming around his mouth. There was danger in his stare, might’ve been the same one he gave to his enemies, she thought. It sent an icy chill down her back. “Your father was skinned alive and eaten by Death Spawn. Your mother, disemboweled and dismembered, battered. Like everyone else who decided to stay in Breden. They were tortured for sport, for the fun of it. Some were put on pikes through their guts, others through their asses. Some through their—”
“Enough.” She put her hand over his mouth and he closed it. “Thank you. Thank you for giving me that.”
Walter looked at something over her shoulder. She turned saw, Claw awkwardly milling about, kicking a dead shrub.
Claw flinched at being noticed. “Guess I’ll catch up with you later, Mistress. Walter,” he nodded.
“Claw,” Walter nodded back. Her heart stopped ramming blood through her ears, and she felt herself starting to relax to be in his presence again. She heard the scuffing of Claw’s boots fading behind her.
A long silence hung between them. Wind lapped at their clothes. Walter shuffled his feet. “Thank you for that,” she said again. “I knew it would be something like that but… but not like that. Not for them, not like that.” Her hands wound into fists, legs going soft. The blues of the sky magnified with stratified shades, the white of the clouds whiter. The texture of the sands popped with undulating shadows.
She fell, choking on new tears. Walter lunged, scooped her up under her armpits. She wanted to fall to the hot earth, almost wanted to never get up again. She sobbed against his chest, sagging in his arms. She thought she had already emptied herself of that pain, but here it was again, wounds torn anew. “Why?” she cried.
He embraced her with his damaged arm, fingers running through her hair. “I don’t know.”
Tears leaked out of her, body spasming with the weight of that pain “When will it stop, Walter?”
“It never stops,” he whispered. He was warm, his muscles hard as stones, touch gentle. “Have to remember the good times.”
“I don’t know if I can handle it like you. How do you do it?”
She felt a harsh laugh in his chest and then she understood. All this time, he had lived with that pain but kept it buried down deep. She supposed that was what one had to do in order to function. But wouldn’t that eat at you? Change you?
He held her tight under the sun, for how long she couldn’t say. Her sobs eventually subsided and she felt a bit better. There was a sort of catharsis at seeing him, her only living tie to her former life. She found herself biting her inner cheeks, wondering what he’d think about what happened with the Earl. Would he respect her? Hate her? She still grappled with that day, but treachery could not go unpunished.
Walter released her and took her hand, rough with calluses. “I hate to be a bother with so much catching up to do…but do,” he coughed, “do you have water?” He patted at his empty water skin, licked his lips. She saw they were badly peeling. His saliva was thick at the corners with bits of white foam, a sign of dehydration.
“Of course, this way.” She guided his hand, careful of the new strange weapon hanging from its side. “What is that?” Her insatiable curiosity brought the question forth, the pain of loss muting. There were so many questions.
“Bonesnapper,” he said, his voice hoarse.
“You must be joking? Delirious are you?” She gaped at him.
He shook his head, deadpan.
She smiled. “Let’s get you some water, food, and a bath. Then we can talk. How’s that sound?”
He nodded, eyebrows bobbing and softly laughing. “The day has been long.”
“I can only imagine.” Nyset strode up to the porch and Senka fanned out from her flank, drawing towards her. She had apparently followed Claw, or more accurately followed her.
Nyset approached Lena the Herbalist, peering out from the Tower’s doorway. “Get me a pitcher of water, tell the apprentices I’ll need a double portion of supper for him, and have them prepare the bath in my quarters.”
“Yes, Mistress.” Lena shuffled away, her long skirts swooshing.
Walter strode straight to the chair in which she’d been sitting, snatched her mug of elixir from the table and inverted its steaming contents into his mouth. He moaned with satisfaction, dark lines of elixir winding down his neck. “Elixir,” he snickered, then wiped his sleeve across his mouth.
“What of it?” Nyset asked.
“You were right to be worried about Scab. He betrayed us.”
Nyset tapped her lips with a long finger. “How? What came of him?”
Lena swept in from the main hallway of the Silver Tower and set a ceramic pitcher beaded with condensation on the circular table.
“Thanks,” Walter said to her with a nod. He grabbed it from the table and started chugging it. Rivulets of water streamed down his neck, washing away the lines of elixir.
“I will return with cups,” she said, eyes widened at Walter. “Though there is something that troubles me.”
“What, Lena?” Nyset’s voice grew hard.
“I must tell you that my duties do not fall under servant. I am a mere researcher, an herbalist only. I would appreciate it greatly if—”
“Lena,” Nyset’s voice cut in. “If you want to stay in the Silver Tower you
will obey my command without complaint. Do you understand?”
Lena narrowed her bushy eyebrows. “I think I understand,” she said in a tone that sounded as if she didn’t understand at all. Lena turned and stormed down the hallway, the beads on her dreadlocks clacking together.
“I’m not sure what came of Scab. He left us. Let me tell you what happened.”
“Wait. Have a bath first, then we can talk. Take some time to rest.” She tilted her head at him.
Walter nodded. “Can’t argue with that.”
Walter stood beside a window on the renovated second floor of the Silver Tower, elbow pressed against the wall. Rather than just exposed wood, it was now beautifully finished with oiled oak. Half of it had been made into her quarters, the other half a properly furnished room for meetings. There were some benefits to being the Earl, deep coffers were one. She wondered how King Ezra would take the news. Likely with the same cloistered indifference he paid to the outside world, according to Walter.
Half of the window was opened, the other half closed with slitted shutters. The window framed him in, giving him the look of a painted hero straight out of the stories. He stared out, outlined in black, with a pink edge that trailed over his curves from the wounded sun. It traveled along his square jaw, veined shoulders, striated muscles drawn up his waist, and faded at the top curve of his bare ass.
Walter cleared his voice. “How did you get the marks to make the Tower so nice? Seems to be well built.” He ran his fingers along the wall.
“I’m the Earl now, remember?” She felt a smile forming at that, thinking of how proud her parents would have been. Perhaps she would have kept the part about the Earl dying of hundreds of puncture wounds out.
He didn’t turn to face her and he didn’t smile, but only stared out. “Dark work,” he muttered.
A New Light (The Age of Dawn Book 5) Page 38