BRUTAL: An Epic Grimdark Fantasy

by James Alderdice

  BRUTAL

  James Alderdice

  BRUTAL Copyright 2017 James Alderdice

  Cover typography/design by: Damonza https://damonza.com/

  Digital formatting by: Hershel Burnside

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owners and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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  Contents

  1. The Road

  2. The City

  3. The Duchess

  4. The Bar

  5. The Goddess

  6. The Marquis

  7. The Confrontation

  8. The Wizard

  9. The Secrets

  10. The Ambush

  11. The Rival

  12. The Bribe

  13. The Peace

  14. The Roof

  15. The Double-Cross

  16. The Assassin

  17. The Damsel

  18. The Chase

  19. The Hunt

  20. The Bear and the Bull

  21. The Golden Hair

  22. The Curse

  23. The Attack

  24. The Capture

  25. The Assault

  26. The Duel

  27. The Basilisk

  28. The Stolen Key

  29. The Goddess Revealed

  30. The Reveal

  For KARL

  Lord of the Dark Muses

  Down the swift path I glide trying to outrace ghosts and find I cannot, but they remain by my side to encourage me to further my stride.

  1. The Road

  Steel grey mountains flanked him like jutting teeth to the left and the right, a precipice leering at his side. Instinct shouted that this tongue of road led into the jaws of a trap, but he did not slow his mount’s pace and had no one to blame but himself when around a sharp bend, he was violently dismounted.

  A tightrope stretched between a scraggly tree and a boulder. He was lucky it hadn’t hit him in the throat. Had he been an average sized man, instead of a giant, it would have. Instead, it caught him across the chest, flung his body to the ground, and left him dazed and breathless. The horse fared worse. In the commotion, robbers leapt from their spider-holes and tried to grab the beast’s reins but it panicked at their sudden presence and careened off the side of the cliff. A terrible scream echoed throughout the canyon as it tumbled down to the rocks and river below.

  Voices like cracked leather argued. “Could’ve told ya, we didn’t need to spook the horse like that.”

  “I wanted to be sure we got him,” said another with a lighter, nasally tone.

  “Oh, you made sure of that didn’t you, ya halfwit.”

  The last had a distinct voice, as if he came from a distant land. “See to him then. If he’s alive—he’s alive, so slit his throat, an’ give me that sword on his back.”

  “Yes, Suko,” said the nasally one.

  The closest robber crept up to examine the man on the ground. He was big, that was plain enough, they had seen that when they espied his approach from a distance. Now they saw he wore fine mail, sturdy leather boots, and a long blue, wool cloak like a soldier, or better yet, an officer of the kingdom army might wear. It had white fur around the collar, now ashen-gray with weathering, but there were no marks of rank they could see. There were a few other accruements that denoted he wasn’t standard military, he was probably a scout or a Sellsword, a mercenary for hire in the king’s guard—at least until recently.

  The robbers especially noticed his weapons. A broad dirk hung from his belt, while two swords were strapped over his shoulder. He lay upon them even now, but the hilts of both the big bastard sword and smaller thrusting blade were of the finest workmanship. These were of unrivaled make, forged far to the east in distant Kathul where men test iron through flesh and blood as well as fire and ice. The robbers salivated at the thought of selling them. They would bring a price greater than a months’ worth of banditry on the common folk. This was truly a king’s ransom. All accomplished with the ease of a rope across the road, hardly any work at all.

  “He’s still breathing, hurry up,” ordered the robber chieftain.

  The smaller one approached quickly with his dagger drawn. He looked upon the unconscious man’s shaven face. There was something familiar about the square jaw and long dark hair, but he couldn’t be sure what. Didn’t matter, he would slit the Sellsword’s throat and take his property.

  He leaned in closer to do his work when the man’s blue eyes opened. The Sellsword had been playing possum. Before the robber could scream, the broad dirk was in his mouth, slicing his tongue in half and plunging out the back of his head.

  “Kill him!” cried the robber chief.

  Two of the robbers had crossbows and sent bolts flying, but the Sellsword used the small robber as a shield and caught the bolts in the dead man’s back.

  “Draw your blades, fools!”

  The Sellsword flung the pin-cushioned body off his dirk and leapt to his feet.

  “Didn’t I tell you to make sure he was dead?” growled the robber chieftain to his lieutenant.

  The lieutenant gritted his teeth and produced a studded cudgel; the other two had drawn curved blades preferred by mountain folk. The lieutenant took a step forward but his confidence washed away when the Sellsword drew his bastard sword. The lieutenant shouted his war-cry and charged in with his cudgel raised for a brain-shattering blow while the others came in behind him.

  The Sellsword sliced through the raised cudgel and the arm behind it. The lieutenant dropped to the ground screaming, then, with a second stroke, his decapitated head rested beside his fallen arm and silence returned to the canyon.

  The two bowmen come swordsmen looked to each other in horror, screamed and charged as one.

  Like a venomous serpent, the Sellsword’s blade licked out and slashed the one on the left’s bowels wide open, then deflected the one on the right’s crashing strike. It sent the robber’s sword flying away.

  Too late, the road pirates realized they were facing a true blade master.

  The Sellsword sent his steel through the exposed man’s chest, and held him up a moment as he gaped, then hurled him to the ground.

  The robber chieftain had a short sword, though it was not of such good steel as the Sellsword’s, nor did he have the skill of it and he knew it. He dropped his sword a pace away from himself and fell to his knees. “Mercy Lord, we was only trying to feed our starving families. It was nothing personal. Honest. Mercy.” He lowered his head in supplication.

  The Sellsword said nothing, but he stepped closer to the edge of the precipice to look upon the remains of his shattered horse. He cast a disappointed look down. The horse had crashed among the rocks at the bottom, but now the river that cut through the mountains was dragging the remains into its brown murk. There would be no retrieving anything from the saddlebags, even if he found a way down. He glared at the kneeling robber, who looked back fearfully.

  “Truly sorry about that, Lor
d. It was a mistake. We never meant to hurt the animal. Honest.”

  The Sellsword turned and strode toward the robber chieftain with his sword still drawn.

  “Please, Lord. Spare me I have seven pups at home.” He closed his eyes, bracing for the looming death stroke. “And a crippled mother and a three-legged dog.”

  “I’m not going to kill you,” said the Sellsword. He snatched the robber’s wool hat and wiped the blood from his sword. Then tossed the gory hat back to the still kneeling robber.

  “Thank you, Lord.”

  “How far is Aldreth from here?”

  “You mean All-Death?”

  The Sellsword furrowed his brow. “Start a fire.”

  “Sorry, Lord. That’s just what locals call it. Bad place that, why do you think I’m out here in the wilds, where it’s safe?” If the robber was hoping for a laugh or even a smirk he didn’t get it from the Sellsword, so he continued talking as he gathered tinder for a fire, “It’s about ten more leagues up this road. You’ll be wondering where it could be, when suddenly you come over a blind rise and there she’ll be, spread out before you like a waiting hussy. A big Sellsword like you ought to be able to find lots of work, I imagine. Lot of troubles there lately from what I hear.”

  Once a blaze was kindled and crackling, he threw a few larger chunks of dry wood on. “Maybe you and me could become partners, huh? I know all the ins and outs of the area.”

  “I don’t need a partner.”

  “Everyone needs friends.”

  “I see what happened to yours.”

  The robber glanced at the four bodies a short distance away; his grim look quickly gave way to a big grin. “You’re playing with me aren’t you? They had it coming fair and square, besides they weren’t my friends, they were just business associates.” He watched closely to see what the Sellsword might say, but the taciturn man remained silent. “I could point you in the right direction. I know who you should talk to in All-Death. I could moderate hiring you out. For a pittance, of course.”

  The Sellsword didn’t say anything for a long time then said, “You owe me a horse.”

  The robber shrugged. “Afraid, I haven’t got one. Banditry isn’t all that lucrative out here in the wilds.”

  “Find another trade,” said the Sellsword.

  “That’s easy for you to say,” said the robber, indignant. “I wasn’t lying. I do have seven pups at home to provide for. Farming in these mountains is piss-poor, nothing grows the six months we have without snow an’ ice. The mines in All-Death aren’t putting out iron anymore. What else can I do?”

  “I don’t care, but if I hear about bandits in these mountains again. I’ll kill you,” said the Sellsword.

  The robber gave false grin, nodding, and then warmed his hands over the flames. “This is nice.”

  “Put one of the big flat daggers on edge there,” said the Sellsword.

  The robber looked suspiciously at him, but did as he was told. The blade was in the coals, heating while the handle was shielded by the ring of stones. “What’s this for?”

  “When order is restored in Aldreth, you could go back to work, yes?” asked the Sellsword, pointedly.

  The robber grinned, saying, “There is always some kind of work if a man is willing, but I don’t think I could. I’ve become an infamous outlaw in these parts. Everyone in these mountains has heard of Suko.” He beat his own chest in pride, then grew somber. “For me to show my face in All-Death some form of justice would have to show that I’ve paid my debt to the townsfolk, and I don’t know how I could do that and keep what I’ve got.”

  The Sellsword nodded. “I’ve thought of that. Is it hot enough?”

  The robber looked up in worry, pointing at the fire. “The dagger? For what?”

  The Sellsword’s blade was out in a flash and the robber’s right hand was gone. The robber’s eyes almost bulged out of their sockets in shock when he realized his hand was in his lap.

  “Cauterize that stump now!” ordered the Sellsword.

  The robber panicked and fumbled with the red-hot dagger while his right wrist bled out. The Sellsword cracked him on the skull with his sword pommel, then took the red-hot dagger and cauterized the robber’s bloody stump.

  ***

  The Sellsword made himself tea and drank solemnly, waiting for his guest to awaken. When the robber did wake, he howled in agonized pain. He tried to get up but, no longer having a hand, had to prop himself up with his elbow. He stared daggers at the Sellsword, who squinted at him, displeased with the caterwauling.

  “Why did you take my hand?!” he frothed.

  “Now you’re marked as having paid your thieves’ debt under the king’s law. When there is order in Aldreth—and there will be soon, go back and earn your place as a new man.”

  The robber wailed with a great gnashing of teeth. “You bastard! How am I to be reckoned a man when you’ve crippled me? You’re a sick pig! You know that? Better for you to have killed me than live like this!”

  “So be it,” answered the Sellsword.

  The robber had half a moment to glance up at the shining blade. He raised his left hand, but four fingers and the neck behind them were set free as the word, ‘No,’ escaped his lips.

  The Sellsword dumped the last of the tea over the dying coals, cleaned his blade, turned and strode up the road as it wound on. The mountains were splashed red with the light of the setting sun and a cold wind blew ahead of him like ghosts heralding warning. The Sellsword was coming to Aldreth.

  2. The City

  He spent the cold night in the mountains amongst boulders by the wayside. Continual wind swept out of the high passes like the breath of frost giants. He had been through worse before, but not much worse. Morning was a welcome respite, and he continued his journey.

  Just as the robber had said, it was almost a surprise when the Sellsword came up over a blind rise and the city lay stretched out before him. A rickety sign made from the remains of an old shield was propped up by a rotting fence post, defying the wind by remaining erect. The name Aldreth was emblazoned across its sun-bleached face, but the worn lettering had been crudely altered to read All-Death.

  Grain fields surrounded the city proper, but they contained only stunted, stubby growth this late in the season. Like all mining towns Aldreth was ugly, blanketed by a perpetual haze of grays and yellow-browns. Half of the buildings were on semi-level ground, the same as the fields, but the other half of the city rose in steep terraces zig-zagging up the mountainside. The change in elevation made some of the city’s towers and smelters seem especially tall and imposing. A few mines that had fueled the city’s growth were working, they still belched acrid smoke even now, but more than a dozen looked forgotten. Some cables and turrets were still trussed up and down the mountainside, but they did not appear to be in use. A vast section of the city had once been a foundry works, but its chimneys were also cold and abandoned.

  High on the mountain behind the city stood the massive bust of a topless woman. It was at least twenty spans tall. The Sellsword recognized it as an image of Innara, patron goddess and protector of women, livestock and fields. She looked to be fashioned of white marble blocks but age and mining smoke had cast a sickly pallor over her as well, making her eyelids dark and foreboding. Why she was erected beside a mining metropolis like Aldreth was a mystery to the Sellsword.

  He took in the view one more time, breathing deeply and started down the steep path toward the city. The smell of sulfur blown up from the valley floor stung his nostrils. There were no trees save a few runt-like bushes that produced little usable fuel. They must use coal. A stone wall with a jagged parapet surrounded three fourths of the city, circling it in a half-moon up against the slanted mountainside. Crumbling guard towers were spaced evenly every hundred paces along the wall, but it was plain to see that most of them were not occupied. The crisp morning air showed smoke rising from cookfires in only three out of more than a score of them. A small torrent of a river wash
ed out of the canyon behind him, ran down into the valley then was spider-webbed with irrigation ditches that ran serpentine through the valley floor before dipping into the city on one end and exiting out the other side much the browner.

  The Sellsword passed a cemetery on his right halfway down the slope. The pungent smell of fresh turned earth was strong here and the slight depression of many new graves pockmarked the hillside. Most were decorated with the stubs of candles or a pair of coins stacked neatly to pay for the dead’s passage to the other side. There certainly seemed to be more graves—new graves, than a city of this size should have. A pair of gravediggers busied themselves at the far end of the field, but there were others present.

  A beautiful brunette woman with the wind tearing at her hair and silken robe, stood with two young children at her feet beside a fresh plot. A pair of large men-at-arms stood nearby, but they offered no comfort or solace to the woman, they were merely present. The Sellsword looked at her and she at him. Her features were striking and he reminded himself that she was clearly at her husband’s funeral. The two men-at-arms became aware of his presence and growled their displeasure. One made a crude gesture for him to keep moving. The Sellsword ignored them but nodded to the woman, not knowing what he might say to her and continued his way.

  Once he arrived at the bottom of the valley, the Sellsword heard an argument rattling out the door of the nearest farmstead. A young man and an old man rushed out the door, trading ineffective blows with one another as they struggled over a sheathed sword. The Sellsword paused to watch. A screeching woman followed the arguing farmer and son, but stopped fearfully on the porch when she saw the Sellsword.

  The son broke away and spat, saying, “Better to make some money and enjoy life than sitting here eating gruel.”

  “You fool! Do you want a long life or quick death?” shouted the farmer, still grabbing at the sheathed sword.

  The son finally knocked the old man to the ground as they tussled for the weapon.

  The farmer cried out. “You’re a knife in my heart!”