“Bastard!” Nyset yelled and sent another stone ringing from its head.
Nyset pushed her arms out, splayed her fingers and sent a gust of cutting wind, careful to avoid catching her allies. Those who felt the start of it were wise enough to get out of her way. The Cerumal slowed, eyes closed, hand drawn over its mouth. Lines of flesh peeled back showing red where pebbles had whipped up and sliced its exposed cheeks.
Claw sprinted at it, slid between its legs, and drove Ghostwalker straight up. It roared with pain. Blood rained over Claw, struggling to get up, hand and foot slipping. The Cerumal raised its steel bound boot to stomp the life out of him.
Claw’s mouth fell open as the Phoenix shield bloomed around him. Its boot crashed into his shield. Claw cried out, blood pressing out of his mouth with all that weight.
She eyed the catapult stone twenty paces off. It would severely drain her and would open the choke point that had slowed the Death Spawn. No choice. Nyset’s eyes flashed bright as the sun. Her body smoked with wisps of light. She went inward, drew on as much of the Dragon as she could handle without feeling like it would burn her alive. She saw it swirl in her mind, circling and blasting the world in gouts of fire.
The great stone lurched into the air while the Death Spawn behind it squealed with fury. Claw screamed and blood was ejected from his nose in spurts. “Drown!” she cried and sent the stone smashing it from the side. The Cerumal soared through the air, eyes wide with surprise, leg awkwardly still held up to crush Claw. The stone spun over the bridge and Nyset gladly released her grip on it, exhaustion piercing her bones.
“Damn it!” she hissed and threw fireballs to clear out a pair of Death Spawn greedily running at Claw. It was her turn to scoop him up. She dragged him behind a few Midgaard Falcon soldiers who fanned around her to provide protection.
Her back ached with the effort, muscles twanging. “You need to lay off the honey cakes.” She grinned at him. He looked at her with delirium in his eyes. She almost wanted to sob at seeing him in such pain, but there wasn’t time for that yet. Something caught her eye.
A giant hand clung to the side of the bridge. “Get him healing!” she shouted to a man and put Claw in his arms. She ran to the edge of the bridge, peered over. The giant Cerumal turned its head up to grin up at her, gnashed its sharpened teeth as if to bite her. Fat droplets of blood floated through the air from under its helmet and into the gorge, some pattering onto its shoulders. The water below twinkled like stars.
“What are you?” she asked, surprised by her own question.
“The end comes,” it croaked and started to swing its other arm up. She put her hand on top of its hand in what might have been a friendly gesture. She super heated it with roaring Dragon fire, turned its exposed fingers to chars. It fell without a sound, the other hand came up closing on air. She knitted her brows, watched it crash upon the rocks standing up like obelisks, a swath of red spraying out. The roaring water engulfed it, dashed it all away as if never there.
New shrieks came and she spun around. “Not another one.”
A dark figure loomed at the head of the pack of Death Spawn. Its hands sent pillars of violet fire cutting through Phoenix shields and bodies. Chains tore through armor and hoisted writhing men and women into the air.
“Asebor,” she breathed.
Walter crept down a flight of ruined stairs leading into the courtyard behind the main gates. Grimbald followed. His breath was shallow and quick, like he was having trouble getting a full breath. The din of battle carried over the wall, set Walter’s heart pumping hard, his stump throbbing with the force of it. His feet were wet with sweat, and the insides of his boots were becoming a swamp.
“We’re close,” Grimbald said. His foot slipped and sent a stone bouncing down the remaining dozen or so steps.
Walter’s lips formed a hard line as he glared up at him.
“Sorry,” he mouthed, bald head glistening with sweat and drying blood. He wiped his bracer under his neck, smearing blood from it onto his beard.
Walter swept his burning eye over the parapet searching for alarmed Death Spawn. None turned. Nearly fifty archers loaded and fired over the wall, working quick and not seeming to pick targets. Their bows sang an endless chorus of twanging strings and hissing arrows. A pair of Black Wynches marched back and forth, hard angles of their pyramidal helms reflected the sun’s rays. It took an enormous feat of willpower to not unleash everything he had right there and then, burning them all to cinders. He had a feeling conserving his strength might be the wiser approach. Was that a sign of maturation? He wondered. Baylan might have been proud.
Walter nodded for them to go on. “Slow,” he whispered and approached a section with a few missing stairs, tiny nubs of stone sticking out the side of the wall. He sucked in a breath and leapt over it, deftly landing on the other side, arms outstretched for balance. He went down a few steps and waited for Grimbald to follow.
Grimbald wagged his head at him.
Walter sighed and angrily beckoned, felt his heart beating with impatience.
Grimbald shook his head again, used his hands to point out his bulk.
Walter exhaled through his nose, nodded and found himself flashing Grim a smile. “Be quick.” A portal split the air before Grimbald, exiting at the bottom of the stairs. He stepped through and Walter let it snap shut. Grimbald shuffled into an adjacent archway. Walter stalked down the stairs, met him in the shadows of the archway. Through the short tunnel on the other side were the Silver Tower’s gardens, formerly a glorious spectacle. They were now a mess of choking vines, ruined bodies, smashed shrubs, interspersed with the defecation of war.
“What’s the plan?” Grimbald asked, hunching down to his knees.
“Take the walls first?” Walter said, squatting low.
“Sounds good to me. Sure they’ll be happy for the relief,” Grimbald said, his arctic eyes scanning up.
“Might be hard to open the gates while being turned into a living pincushion.”
Grimbald grunted in agreement.
“Walter? Grimbald?” A familiar voice hissed from the gardens.
Walter started for the gardens, bladed his body against the wall as he moved through the archway. The air was cold, sounds of battle swallowed. “Isa?” Walter called.
“It’s me. Come quick!” the voice said.
Walter met Grimbald’s narrowed eyes, his hand resting on Corpsemaker. He slipped out the other side of the archway, stomach churning, sword of fire flickering to life.
Isa stood propped against the adjacent wall, ivory head bloodied. He held a scarlet hatchet by his side, dark blood dripping from its narrow head. His armor was scraped up and a few pieces were missing. “Help her!” He nodded at his side.
A pair of legs were out next to him. Senka’s legs. Her back was against the wall, her chin sagging onto her chest.
“What happened?” Walter rushed in, dropping down in front of her, the Dragon fire blade dismissed in a puff of smoke.
“We had a run in with Dressna. Can you help her? Heal her?” Isa’s normally placid voice waved with worry.
“Move over,” Walter beckoned. Isa did.
Senka opened an eye to look at him, the other matted shut with blood. “Walter? Is that you?”
“Mhm.” Walter embraced the Phoenix, held his glowing hand over her. It filled him with a sense of inner peace, calm even with the storm beyond the archway.
Grimbald stuck his head into the archway, peered back for followers.
“No. Don’t. Save your energy,” Senka protested and put a weak hand on his chest. Walter watched as hundreds of spaded tails of the Phoenix wound through the air from his hand, slipping under her armor, caressing her face, knitting wounds and forging bones anew. He put his stump on her hand and she wrapped her small hand around it, her back arching up at the icy healing.
Senka moaned, eyes closed, and a soft smile spread across her cheeks. “Thank you, Walter.”
Isa nodded at her, then n
odded at him.
“Don’t thank me yet.” Walter offered his hand and she took it, drew her up to her feet.
“The wall?” Isa had slipped his bow from his back, arrow held at the ready, hatchet stowed on his belt beside his torturer’s weapons.
“The wall,” Walter said with a swallow. He saw there were five or so fresh Cerumal bodies strewn about the gardens, likely marking Isa and Senka’s path. One was missing both of its arms, hacked off at the shoulder and spurting out trickles of blood. The ornate fountain in the middle no longer gurgled water, it was now a putrid greenish-black. His eye shifted to a vulture staring down at him from the high wall, obsidian eye gleaming and waiting for them to leave.
Senka fiddled with her blowgun and loaded a needle. She clutched two daggers in her other hand, hefting their weight.
“Wait. Did you say, Dressna? As in Asebor’s guardian?” Walter asked, his hand going over his mouth.
“It was most certainly her,” Senka said, dark eyes hard.
“She’s dead,” Isa said flatly.
“Shit! Nice work.” Grimbald slapped Isa on the back, who grunted in surprise.
“Very nice work. That only leaves the last of their leadership,” Walter said. They all left his name unsaid. Isa tugged on his cloak and cinched down a dull buckle securing it around his neck.
“Everyone ready?” Walter asked. “Need healing, Isa?”
Isa waved him off.
“Grim and I will go up the stairs to the left. Our left once we’re facing this way.” He pointed at the back of the wall. “Senka, Isa, take the right. Clear the wall of Death Spawn.”
“What’s there?” Senka asked with a sniff. She bent down to stretch her legs.
“Archers mainly. Should be easy targets,” Walter answered. “Have the surprise part on our side.”
“Until they know we’re here,” Isa said.
“A couple Black Wynches too,” Grimbald added.
“I’ll do my best to cut them down once we’re noticed. You shouldn’t have to deal with them. So, everyone got the plan?”
Nods went all around. “Alright then.”
Walter spared a glanced back at the ravaged gardens. A shrub vaguely resembling the Phoenix had been split in half, one wing overgrown into a fat rectangle. Another that had once been carved into the shape of a man had been beheaded. Green sprigs pushed out from the middle of the neck as if it were frozen and mid-bleeding. Bright green vines crawled up the wall leading to the Tower’s western side, speckled with deep purple flowers the size of a fist. Between the vines, the stone shimmered with bits of silver. He remembered this place had once been immaculate, tortured into shape by the hand of man. The grass was once tight as a blade against the narrow walkways, tree limbs carved into perfect boughs.
“Going to be using the Chains of the North, don’t get too close once I get going.” Walter gave Bonesnapper a rattle. “Let’s go.”
His boots padded against the dirt; he felt it shifting beneath his feet. He jogged for the archway. Grimbald shuffled up by his side, slapped Walter on the back, chest thudding with the force of it. Walter glanced at him and admired his enormous size. “Said it before and I’ll say it again. Glad to have you at my side, Grim.”
“Likewise,” he rumbled, eyes fixed ahead.
The archway seemed longer this time, the stones underfoot uneven. Ornamental carvings of the Dragon crisscrossed on the ceiling above. They breathed stony streams of fire that extended down in varied lengths, though the roof was high enough to avoid snagging on the hair of even the tallest of men. The cool air within washed down Walter’s back. Senka and Isa fell in behind them, weapons softly jingling, breaths wispy. They entered the courtyard filled with soft light.
Shrieking, clanging, twanging and fiery explosions tore at the air. The sun was casting long shadows from the demons lining the wall, making dark towers form along the earth. The courtyard had a pair of mirrored stairs on either side of the main gates. They were made of enormous pieces of stone that could only have been moved with magic. The stairs drew up about ten steps in a diagonal against the wall, stopped at a landing pad, then proceeded straight to the top of the wall, twenty or so steps in all.
Walter’s heart rate slowed, but each beat throbbed against his ears. He eyed the Black Wynches, one on either end of the parapet. Don’t look, don’t look, he willed them. All of their backs were turned, focused on the dark work of warding off the attack.
Walter broke off in the center of the courtyard, heading left and making a line for the stairs. Walter caught Grimbald starting after Senka and Isa. He reached out, grabbed his pauldron and jerked him back. “This way,” he hissed.
Grimbald’s cheeks burned with crimson. “Shit, sorry,” he whispered and shook his head.
Walter’s boot struck the first step leading up. His legs surged with the strength of the Dragon, cloak flapping, and started taking them three at a time. There was no other feeling quite like charging into your enemies. Rolling the dice on your will, strength, and luck. He tore up and up, bouncing off the steps, chest heaving fire, arms burning.
He heard the creaking of drawing bows, saw them release. He looked over his shoulder, saw Senka and Isa on track. He unfurled the Chains of the North, clinking against the last few steps as he made his way up. His jaw muscles crushed against his teeth. Fireballs hovered at his shoulders. He stared at a Black Wynch, heard it squawking orders at a Cerumal’s back. Its rotting stink penetrated his sinuses.
“Die!” he bellowed, fireball zooming. It ripped through its giant helmet with a squawk and sent its flailing body tottering off the parapet. A few Cerumal turned at the disturbance. The Chains of North hummed, glowing bright with Stormcaller’s amber tendrils. Had to be careful. Walter willed each of the three chains to snare their heads. Around and around went Bonesnapper and with a tug of his arm, their heads were torn free. One spun over the wall, another squelching onto the battlements, another tumbling into the courtyard.
“Grim!” Walter pointed at the parapet’s far corner to his left. “Grim, go that way! I’ll go for the middle.”
“Aye!” he called, double-sided axe gripped in both hands.
Grimbald released a mighty roar. A Cerumal turned to face him, bow drawn and leveled at him. It shrieked at seeing him, released, Grimbald’s axe falling. The arrow dinged from his chestplate, soaring wide. Grim hacked him through from shoulder to breastbone with a vicious pop. He held Corpsemaker with one hand, still wedged in a sternum. He brought his neighbor up into the air, hand wrapped around its quivering neck. He dashed its head upon a corner of the battlements, face first and bathing it in blood, turned and jerked his axe free. He raised his axe up in a two-handed grip, an edge caught light, and cleaved through a hairy Cerumal arm pawing at a barrel of arrows.
At the other side, Senka and Isa were a blur of shining blades and streaking blood. A pair dark figures tumbled off the wall on either side. Senka spun in a sinuous dance of blades, cutting while in constant motion.
She held one dagger with a reverse grip, the other the regular way. She ducked a sword swipe and slashed at a Cerumal’s exposed inner thigh with one hand, rose up and slit its gray throat open with the other. A jet of blood shot out at an angle, taloned hand pressing on its wound. Before it could fall she kicked a squat Cerumal’s knee the wrong way, slipped around its side and rammed her dagger under its armpit. She eyed her next target, lines of spattered blood cut across her face.
Isa’s hammer came up with a grunt, smashed into an eye followed by a chop from his hatchet, cutting half way through a neck. He kicked the beast over the edge with a growl, tumbling into the churning waters. A spear stabbed at him, and he twisted around it, drove his arm up and down in a hard angle, smashing his hammer into a horned helmet with a clank. Blood sputtered from the stoved in metal, the Cerumal crumpling against a barrel of arrows.
A Black Wynch in the middle of the wall sprinted for them. Something struck Walter’s side, thudded against his hip bone, vibrati
on coursed through his leg. An arrow stood from his cloak pinning it, encircled in wet. A Cerumal with the dried face of a long dead corpse scowled at him, teeth yellow, hand reaching for another arrow. And then it was engulfed in Walter’s fire, falling into the archer next to it. It writhed in a futile attempt at putting out the endless, uncaring flames. Walter pushed with the Phoenix, hurling both of them down onto the unforgiving rocks. His fire held no quarter for friend or enemy, that he knew.
Walter dashed across the wall, arrow singing pain as it was ejected by the Phoenix, flaring with icy blue light. Now he had some room to work. He spared a glance at Grimbald, saw him making progress, bodies flying and limbs throwing out red. The Cerumal were so focused on shooting, they had entirely missed the enemy at their backs. It was almost too easy.
The Chains of the North whirled over his head, whooshing and passing through a pair of knees. A length of chain snatched an arm, drew the body shrieking over the wall and into the gorge. Another pierced through a gut, jerked out and splitting through a torso made ragged. Screams spread over the wall and most of the archers had stopped, struggling to find and draw weapons for melee combat.
A wide-eyed Cerumal stared at him, mouth slack. Walter’s pitiless chains slit it open from crotch to throat, cutting a ragged line through its armor. It fell across the parapet, blood gurgling and bubbling from its neck. Pain would be their only ally here. A few arrows flew at him. A Phoenix shield sprang up, sending them bouncing away like tossed stones. He laughed and tore through Cerumal three at a time. He severed bodies from limbs, running them through with Bonesnapper, searing them in Dragon fire, cutting holes through useless armor with fireballs.
Senka ducked the slash of the last Black Wynch, talons whipping. Isa’s sword darted like a snake over her shoulder, parried with its talons. Senka slashed, cutting an ugly gash through a spot of its exposed stomach. Isa lunged at its flank, hammer slamming into its arm with a crack, its arm bent the wrong way at the bicep. He followed up with a boot to the side of its knee.
A New Light (The Age of Dawn Book 5) Page 46