You Die When You Die
Page 44
But suddenly, for a moment, he’s not sure he wants to die.
The battlefield falls silent. He blinks and sees light.
A figure in silver armour. White, shining, blazing with light like the sun. A red cloak blowing in the wind. Moves through the ranks of the dead and the dying and the light beats on to them, pure and clean.
“Amrath! Amrath!” Voices whispering like the wind blowing across salt marsh. Voices calling like birds. Here, walking among us, bright as summer dew.
“Amrath! Amrath!” The shadows fall away as the figure passes. Everything is light.
“Amrath! Amrath!” The men cheer with one voice. No longer one side or the other, just men gazing and cheering as the figure passes. He cheers until his throat aches. Feels restored, seeing it. No longer tired and wounded and dying. Healed. Strong.
“Amrath! Amrath!”
The figure halts. Gazes around. Searching. Finds. A dark-clad man leaps forward, swaying into the light. Poised across from the shining figure, yearning toward it. Draws a sword burning with blue flame.
“Amrath! Amrath!” Harsh voice like crows, challenging. “Amrath!”
He watches joyfully. So beautiful! Watches and nothing in the world matters, except to behold the radiance of his god.
The bright figure draws a sword that shines like all the stars and the moon and the sun. A single dark ruby in its hilt. The dark figure rushes onwards, screeching something. Meets the bright figure with a clash. White light and blue fire. Blue fire and white light. His eyes almost hurt as he watches. But he cannot bear to look away. The two struggle for a moment. Like a candle flame flickering. Like the dawn sun on the sea. The silver sword comes up, throws the dark figure back. Blue fire blazes, engulfing everything, the shining silver armour running with flame. Crash of metal, sparks like from blacksmith’s anvil. The shining figure takes a step back defensively, parries, strikes out. The other blocks it. Roars. Howls. Laughs. The mage blade swings again, slicing, trailing blue fire. Blue arcs in the evening gloom. Shapes and words, written on the air. Death words. Pain words. Words of hope and fear and despair. The shining figure parries again, the silver sword rippling beneath the impact of the other’s blade. So brilliant with light that rainbows dance on the ground around it. Like a woman tossing back her head in summer rain, hair throwing out drops of water. Like snow falling. Like coloured stars. The two fighters shifting, stepping in each other’s footprints. Stepping in each other’s shadows. Circling like birds.
The silver sword flashes out and up and downwards and the other falls back, bleeding from the throat. Great spreading gush of red. The blue flame dies.
He cheers and his heart is almost aching, it’s so full of joy.
The shining figure turns. Looks at the men watching. Looks at him. Screams. Things shriek back that make the world tremble. The silver sword rises and falls. Five men. Ten. Twenty. A pile of corpses. He stares mesmerised at the dying. The beauty of it. The most beautiful thing in the world. Killing and killing and such perfect joy. His heart overflowing. His heart singing. This, oh, indeed, oh for this, all men are born. He screams in answer, dying, throws himself against his god’s enemies with knife and sword and nails and teeth.
Why we march and why we die,
And what life means … it’s all a lie.
Death! Death! Death!
BY ANGUS WATSON
Iron Age Trilogy
Age of Iron
Clash of Iron
Reign of Iron
West of West
You Die When You Die
Praise for Angus Watson
AGE OF IRON
“Watson’s tale is gore soaked and profanity laden—full of visceral combat and earthy humor, and laced with subtle magic.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Unflinchingly bloodthirsty and outrageously entertaining.”
—Chris Brookmyre
“It simply grabbed me by the throat and wouldn’t let go.”
—BiblioSanctum (5 stars)
“Would I read the next one? Yes, absolutely. Bring me my hammer, bring my beer, bring it on!”
—SFcrowsnest
“A fun and addictive read.”
—Fantasy Faction
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