Neversfall

by Ed Gentry

  “Get some rest, soldiers. You’ve done well. I’ll have your relief along shortly,” the man said.

  The guards affirmed the orders. Adeenya heard feet shuffling as they all moved away from the door. If the shift-change was so close, then she had lost track of time by more than she’d suspected. She thought about taking the chance to slip out, but her plan might have a chance to succeed now. With no guards outside the cells, the traitor might make a move. Adeenya stretched her tired legs as well as she could and readied herself.

  The sun was past its zenith for the day, but still it poured the midday heat down upon Taennen as he marched behind Bascou. The Maquar durir glanced back toward the fortress. Though it was still only a few hundred paces away, he felt the tether of safety it provided him snap in his mind. To judge by the faces of the Maquar and Durpari with him, he was not alone. Eight soldiers plus himself and Bascou made a small force, especially with an enemy lurking somewhere just out of sight.

  “There, do you think?” Bascou said, pointing to the border of the Aerilpar in the nearing distance.

  He indicated a narrow parting in the otherwise thick, unrelenting line of trees at the edge of the forest. The trees to either side of the path stood tall and straight at their bases, their tops leaning in toward one another with centuries of branches weighing them down. The opening looked like nothing so much as the mouth of some cursed cave, beckoning fools to enter.

  “It is the only break in the trees. Surely it must be what the invaders use to gain entrance to the forest,” Taennen said.

  “Exactly. We will find them quickly, will we not?” Bascou said with a smile.

  “But they will know the area and could be expecting us to take the most obvious path to find them. If we cut a path through another part of the forest, we could come at them from a different—” He stopped when the Chondathan leader waved him off.

  “Quicker is better. We will find them faster if we go this way. We will go this way,” Bascou said.

  Taennen could think of a hundred arguments against the idea, but all were quelled by his training and, he could not deny, his thoughts of earning back Jhoqo’s trust. Taennen nodded to Bascou and fell into step behind the man, marching toward the mouth of the forest.

  As they entered, the dense foliage of the trees blocked the light, making the interior of the woods a world of night in the middle of the sun-drenched plains. They pushed through underbrush that, while mostly cleared, slowed their progress. As their eyes adjusted, the darkness was not as deep as it had seemed at first. Trickles of light filtered down through the canopy, and their ears filled with the sounds of the wild. On the plains silence reigned, but in the forest the sounds of beasts none of them had dreamed of held court. Men were trespassers in that kingdom.

  Chirping, squawking, buzzing, and something akin to the tittering of tiny children filled the air as Taennen brushed broad leaves from his path. Bascou navigated the lush forest well, flattening very little of the underbrush under his feet. Some of the other men were not as delicate, but Taennen did his best to follow the Chondathan leader’s example. The shafts of light from above illuminated motes of pollen that scattered across the ocean of murky green. Insects—some so small they could not be seen, some species as large as a man’s finger—darted through the air all around them, occasionally getting swatted away for having flown too close.

  “I think I can see some sign of passage here,” Bascou said in a low voice as he continued into the forest.

  Taennen squinted and bent down to examine the underbrush as they passed, but he could not discern what signs the other man might have seen. The exotic plants rising from the ground looked defiantly intact, though the dim light made further detail difficult to discern. Their perfumes were overwhelming, some close to the scents of familiar spices, others so foreign and new that his nostrils flared in confusion at their scent.

  Taennen stooped to examine the petals of a yellow flower the size of his fist. Bascou gripped his shoulder, stopping him, and motioned for him to stand. Seeing the man’s fingers to his lips calling for silence, Taennen looked over Bascou’s shoulder. The Maquar durir held his left hand up in a clenched fist, signaling to the other men to hold and make no noise. Focusing his eyes through the darkness, Taennen could not make out what Bascou saw. Perhaps the man was not sure himself. That notion was lent weight when the Chondathan man dropped to the ground before him.

  Taennen dropped to a crouch in a blink and heard the thud of an impact behind him. Staying low, he turned to watch one of his fellow Maquar fall to the ground, a spear lancing his gut. One of the Durpari men fell next, an arrow piercing his cheek. The man’s cry of pain was muffled by the arrow shaft blocking his tongue and clacking against his teeth. The rest of the soldiers all dived for the ground before scrambling toward the source of the projectiles, not ready to be motionless targets for their opponents.

  Taennen stayed near Bascou, ready to defend the man. It was the place of any second-in-command on any given mission. He held his shield over his head and pulled his khopesh into his right hand. Sweat stung his eyes as he crawled through the foliage. He heard a volley of arrows followed by another shout of pain. Still on his belly, Taennen rounded the tree where he figured the spearman would be hiding, but he found nothing.

  He scanned the immediate area for any sign of the enemies. Suddenly, one of his men’s arms was struck by an axe lashing out from the darkness behind a low tree branch. The soldier’s arm fell to the ground as he screamed and collapsed to the forest floor. The axe flashed again but missed a second soldier, who had thrown his weight backward and fallen to the ground to roll and come back to his feet a few paces away. Taennen dashed toward the tree, his shield and khopesh at the ready.

  Taennen leaped for the branch, swiping at his foe with his blade. The enemy’s axe rang out against Taennen’s shield. At the same time, the khopesh dug into the soft flesh of the man’s thigh. Pulling down hard as the man fell from his perch, Taennen slid his sword through flesh and sinew before wrenching it from the man’s leg. His opponent hit the ground on his feet. The man was dressed in the same dark colors and mask as the invaders from the earlier attacks. The barbarian seemed not to notice his leg wound. He growled and charged Taennen.

  Taennen deflected the first swipe of his opponent’s axe with a clang. He sent the back of the khopesh across the barbarian’s stomach, sending hot blood pouring over his hand. The enemy unleashed a howl of pain. Taennen stared down the axeman, who was barreling toward him with a bloodied blade in his hand. Taennen could hear the struggles of his companions all around him. He needed to end the fight quickly.

  The barbarian’s bright green eyes shone in a patch of light, peering above a kerchief that obscured most of his face. All of the wildmen wore similar masks.

  The man came in for another blow. Taennen feigned a wide swing. His opponent rushed the opening, and Taennen easily dodged the man’s axe. Sidestepping the blow and switching his shield to his right hand, Taennen reached out and yanked hard on the face covering with his left hand. His shield crunched into the man’s shoulder. In the dim light, Taennen couldn’t distinguish anything specific about the man’s face—just that he was too pale for a southerner, and bearded.

  Holding his shoulder in pain, the barbarian turned and ran into the forest. Taennen let the man go and dashed through the ground cover toward his men locked in combat.

  Ahead of him, one of the remaining Durpari took a spear to the stomach. Taennen leaped and kicked the enemy’s chest, sending him tumbling away. Taennen landed and headed for a tall spear-wielder who menaced one of the Maquar.

  The spearman thrust at Taennen, ignoring his previous target. Taennen swept his weapon toward his enemy’s gut, but he missed. He brought the concave edge of his khopesh around and down hard on the spear shaft. The wood of the long weapon splintered and shattered with a snap.

  The wildman’s eyes widened, but his surprise did not stay his hand. He dropped the remains of his weapon and drew
a short sword from the back of his belt. Before he could bring the blade to bear, Taennen swung his own weapon up, twisting it in his hand. The end of the khopesh bit into the man’s groin, eliciting an inhuman yelp, and sent the man to the ground. Taennen bent and slid the rounded side of his blade across the man’s throat to end his pain and the threat to Taennen’s squad.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Not long after Jhoqo had gone, the door squeaked open. Adeenya tensed the muscles in her legs, ready to spring. Footsteps, heavy by nature, slow by effort, tapped across the hard floor at a pace that indicated no hurry. Adeenya leaned toward the low stone wall, moving slowly so as to produce no noise. She closed her left eye and peered through a crack between the blocks.

  A stubby man with light hair greeted her eyes, the familiar armor recognizable even from the back. She could not see his face, but she had no doubt. There, wielding his axe a pace from the big formian, was Marlke. He shook the wrist of his free hand and popped his knuckles. Marlke moved to the heavy ring of keys hanging on the wall farthest from the cells.

  Questions about his motives ripped through Adeenya’s mind, but she knew no answer would satisfy her. She wanted to see the dwarf’s face, hoping that he was staring at his intended victims with remorse even before the deed was done. Though she had not known her second-in-command long, she had grown to trust the moody dwarf. It might have been selfish, but that betrayal was what hurt her the most.

  Adeenya sprang from her crouch and over the stone wall in one motion, already running when her feet hit the floor. “Stop!”

  Marlke spun, his axe dropping to his side in one hand. He looked at her as she stopped a few paces away and drew her sword. He shook his head and pushed a disgusted sigh past his thick lips. His weapon still hung at his side, the axe head clunking to the floor as he growled, “Girl, what are you doing here?”

  “Stopping a traitor,” she answered.

  The dwarf looked over his shoulder at the formians before returning his eyes to her. Marlke’s knuckles went white as he tightened his grip on the handle of his axe. He took a step forward and brought the large weapon before him, gripped in both hands. “That’s a shame.”

  Adeenya sidestepped the dwarf’s blow. His axe rang off the stone floor. Her body moved by instinct, her thoughts coming too slowly to save her. Marlke’s axe split the air arcing toward her. She hopped back a step, avoiding the strike. Coming to her senses, the anger of Marlke’s betrayal settling over her like a persistent fog, Adeenya hissed. She launched her knee straight up into the flat of his axe and sent it high and away from her. At the same time, she thrust her sword low and right to score a hit in the dwarf’s abdomen. He cursed aloud and sprang backward from the biting weapon.

  “Always too clever for your own good, weren’t you?” he said, adjusting his grip on his axe.

  “The Maquar wizard?” Adeenya asked.

  “Aye,” Marlke replied, a grin creeping onto his face.

  “Who are the attackers to you? Why would you help them?”

  The dwarf laughed as he circled to his right, spinning the axe in his hand. The head of the weapon caught one of the few beams of light in the room, and the resulting flash caused her to squint for a moment. Marlke leaped forward at that instant with a sweeping blow. She avoided the thrust with a twist of her body.

  “They’re nothing to me,” he said, circling to his left.

  Adeenya matched his pace and counter-circled. “Then why help them?”

  “Why? For the coin, of course. Why else? Well … that and their help with killing my uncle,” the dwarf said.

  Adeenya knew that Marlke was the only heir to the Gemstone Chaka’s ruler. Were the venerable Stoutgut patron to die, Marlke would inherit complete control of the Gemstone Chaka’s considerable holdings, not the least of which were their newly discovered mine and a seat on the ruling council.

  “Why not just betray your uncle and kill him yourself? You’re more than capable,” she spat.

  Marlke rolled his eyes and said, “Oh, yes, clean and easy is your view of me, isn’t it?”

  He stepped in, drawing the axe across her body in a short span. The blade bit at her armor, catching enough to send her into a half-spin. She recovered her feet and responded with a wide blow.

  “Ah, but there’s so much more at stake. That’s your problem,” Marlke said. “You’re so busy fussing over the details of a thing, you can’t see the big picture. Well, hear me when I tell you things are never that simple.”

  “You’ll forgive me if the lessons of a mad killer don’t hold much weight with me,” she said, feigning another strike.

  The dwarf did not oblige her attempt and merely chuckled. “See, there you go again!” he said, slowing his pace and changing directions. “A lesson is a thing to pay heed to, no matter where it comes from. And what’s so mad about making coin? ”

  “Blood coin,” she said.

  “Don’t be so dramatic,” the dwarf replied, ceasing his circling. “You’ve spent your fair share of the stuff that your daddy earned.”

  Adeenya centered herself on him and stopped. Marlke gave her a grin before charging, pulling the axe back for a swipe. She drove forward to meet his charge until she saw his swing come toward her from behind his back. His face showed the strain of power he was putting into the blow. Her sword was no match to parry the axe with the dwarf’s full strength behind it. Adeenya threw herself on her side, the world tilting in her eyes as she plummeted to the floor. The axe rang against the stone floor where she had been only a moment before. She landed hard on her right shoulder but twisted immediately to her back. She drove her short sword into the dwarf’s belly between two horizontal bands of his layered armor before rolling away and finding her feet.

  Marlke let go of his axe, the weapon clattering on the floor, and placed his hands on his wound as he staggered back. Adeenya came forward with her sword drawn back, ready to cleave his head from his shoulders if he came after her again. The dwarf stumbled and slid to the floor. Adeenya heard the door open behind her. Marlke’s face turned from pain to amusement as his eyes looked past her. She spared a glance over her shoulder to see Jhoqo closing the door behind him.

  “You’ve done well,” the Maquar urir said.

  “Thanks, but she got me pretty good,” Marlke said.

  Jhoqo shook his head and walked to stand next to Adeenya. “I am sorry you were betrayed by this filthy ojbadu,” Jhoqo said to her.

  Adeenya caught her breath, befuddled by the dwarf’s answer to the man. She turned her gaze from Jhoqo’s kind face to see Marlke coming to his feet, his brow furrowed. His eyes were not on her but on Jhoqo. She turned to look at the Maquar but suddenly her head was falling forward and a sharp pain shot across her neck. She hit the floor, face first, her head bouncing like a child’s ball. Her final glimpse before blackness overtook her was Marlke’s grin.

  “To your left!” Taennen shouted to one of the Durpari soldiers still standing.

  Too late. The man howled as a barbarian cleaved into his shoulder with a heavy axe. Taennen barreled into the attacker. The two fell in a tangle of limbs and weapons. Taennen rolled from the fracas to his feet before his opponent. With a quick slash, his khopesh took the barbarian’s life.

  Taennen spun to watch a Maquar, a man he’d known for four years, being run through with a spear. The durir moved toward his falling comrade, watching in horror as blood spouted out his mouth in gouts. Taennen dived blade-first into the attacker, sinking his khopesh in deep before springing away and into another barbarian. His new opponent landed a solid blow. Taennen’s armor absorbed most of the damage though his ribs crackled with pain. He kicked his opponent’s stomach. The man fell to the ground, breathless. A quick slice of Taennen’s khopesh made certain he’d stay that way.

  The coppery tang of spilled blood filled the small forest clearing. Taennen crouched in the dim light that filtered through the trees, sweat dripping from his brow.

  The forest around him had grown silent,
only the buzzing of insects to be heard. All around him the bodies of allies and enemies alike sprawled in the dirt and leaves. Only Taennen remained standing.

  He found a pair of his Maquar comrades, sprawled near a tree, and was pleased to see they had found their ends fighting next to one another, defending one another until the very end. He offered quick prayers over their bodies, though he was no holy man. At a quick glance he counted eleven dead barbarians and his eight allies.

  “Come, friend Taennen, we should return,” Bascou said behind him.

  Taennen spun and faced the man, weapon in hand, unsure where he had come from. “Return? We must search for signs of where they make their camp. Surely there are tracks or something to indicate where they came from,” he said. “They killed our entire party. We have greatly diminished their numbers for certain. Now is the time to strike.”

  Bascou shook his head and said, “No. We are in sorry shape. We need more men.”

  Taennen looked Bascou over and saw no wounds at all. The man’s sword dripped with blood, but he looked as whole and hearty as when they had entered the forest. Taennen began to protest, but quieted when Bascou held up his hand.

  “We return.”

  “Our dead. We need to bring them back,” Taennen said.

  “I am returning,” Bascou said. “You may do as you wish.”

  Left with little choice, Taennen followed Bascou in shock. Soldiering was Taennen’s entire life, but he was accustomed to orders being sensible. Bascou’s unwillingness to make fruitful the loss of so many lives was baffling. And his leaving fallen was an abomination.

  Taennen walked beside the man but kept a wary eye on him. Nothing about the expedition had been right from the start. Now the Maquar and Durpari numbers were even further depleted, and Bascou did nothing about it. Did Jhoqo know Bascou was this type of man?