Revenant Winds (The Tainted Cabal Book 1)

by Mitchell Hogan

  Niklaus was standing nearby. “A few more Dead-eyes were scouting the settlement,” he said. “I killed them.”

  Aldric shrugged off his blanket and rubbed his eyes. The relic was still in his hand. He shoved it into a pocket. “What time is it?” he asked, thoughts sluggish as he tugged his boots on.

  Shalmara. The same sorcerer who was currently the Grandmaster of the Evokers? How could it be? The idea was inconceivable.

  “Almost midnight,” Niklaus said. “I didn’t think any more would come after last night, but there’ll be more on the way. Maybe tonight. Definitely tomorrow when it’s full-dark.”

  “Send out Stray Dog and Bryn—”

  “Already done.”

  Valeria sat next to the smoldering fire, making tea, as if there weren’t more productive things to do. Of Soki and Priska there was no sign.

  “Good,” Aldric said to Niklaus. “Where are Sokhelle and—”

  “Also outside. Apparently they couldn’t wake you.”

  Aldric buckled on his khopesh. He left a hand on the blade’s hilt, the familiar feel calming his nerves. “Take me to where you killed the Dead-eyes.” Three Niklaus killed last night, and now more. If the Dead-eyes could afford such losses, how many did they number?

  Niklaus grabbed two legs of roast chicken as they left, as if they were going on a picnic.

  He led Aldric out of Cherish toward the stream. There was no sign anywhere of others from their team. Aldric assumed they were out scouting; and Soki and Priska were using whatever sorcery they could to try to find out if there were any more Dead-eyes close by. Even in his worn-out state, Aldric’s skin tingled. It happened whenever Niklaus was near, as if he brought with him a violence that something deep inside Aldric reacted to—his animal mind responding to a perceived threat.

  The dream sat uneasily with him: Shalmara, the Grandmaster of the Evokers, battling the demon lord Nysrog’s army. It couldn’t have been the same woman he knew, could it? He thought back to his meeting with Shalmara in Nagorn City. She was old, almost a mummified corpse come to life. And the scar around her neck, along with her asking if he’d found the Chain of Eyes … it wasn’t just a coincidence, he was sure.

  But if she had somehow extended her life, did it really matter? She was on their side; he’d seen her fighting the infernal demons. Still, his thoughts were distracted and scattered, and now was no time to search for answers. He kept his hand on his khopesh and a cant of protection on his tongue.

  Niklaus led him to five lifeless bodies near a bridge over the stream.

  “What were you doing out here?” Aldric asked.

  The mercenary glanced at him, then toed one of the spindly Dead-eyes. “It would be peaceful here, if it weren’t for us and the Dead-eyes,” he said, waving a hand at a nearby cornfield. “This valley is a good location. The earth is fertile, and there are plenty of trees in the surrounding forest for timber. There are even fish in the river, which runs deep. They’ve made a nice little place for themselves. The Dead-eyes may be more than they can handle, but they’re not entirely defenseless or totally lacking weapons. Ask yourself, where did the settlers get them from?”

  He offered Aldric a chicken leg. Despite the situation, Aldric accepted it. There might not be time to eat later. He looked over the fields and back at the settlement, remembering how some of the villagers had come out clutching swords when Niklaus had rung the alarm.

  The answer was obvious. “Bandits,” he said.

  “And the food they gave us initially—scraps, whatever was about to go off, and stale bread. The settlers want the Dead-eyes gone, and they want us gone. Labor for these people if you want. Help to protect them. But know that they see us as nothing more than expendable muscle. If we die, they’ll just ask for more of us. And your Church will send another in your place. So heal all you want, but remember your mission. Kill some Dead-eyes and investigate the ruins.”

  Aldric swallowed a final mouthful of chicken and tossed the stripped bone into some long grass. “And what will your Church do if you die?”

  Niklaus shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t really care.” He grinned. “It hasn’t happened yet, though death has been close more times than I care to remember.” A frown crossed his face, and he grew somber, thoughtful. “Tell me, Aldric, does your Church spy on your activities? Perhaps question people about where you’ve been?”

  The change of subject startled Aldric. “No,” he said, too quickly.

  His Church did keep tabs on him; because he was a sorcerer, they treated him differently to other priests. There had been that one time in Kyuth … he’d stumbled across a nest of skorn: scaly-skinned, vicious creatures, half-lizard, half-dog, with jaws able to crack bone. An underworld boss had brought them in and tried training them as guard dogs and to menace others. What the thugs hadn’t realized was the skorns’ rudimentary intelligence meant they couldn’t be controlled or caged for long. They’d turned on the criminals and ripped them to shreds before escaping into the city’s sewers. After Aldric had hunted them down, killing every last one, a local woman came to him with information to sell. Priests of Menselas were asking after him, wanting to know what he’d been up to, where he’d gone, who he’d visited.

  “They check up on me sometimes,” he admitted to Niklaus. “But there are forces out there that could sway even the most steadfast worshiper. Everyone has a price. For some it’s gold. Others might find themselves swayed by a woman or other reward.”

  Have they asked Soki to watch me? Surely not …

  “I’ve known many men, and you’re one of the rare ones,” Niklaus said. “You’re confident there’s nothing anyone could offer you that would sway your loyalty. But you’re wrong. There’s always something.”

  “I serve Menselas, and he has blessed me with talents.”

  “Like being a conduit for his divine healing?” asked Niklaus.

  “Among others.” Though Aldric was often undecided whether to number sorcery among his talents.

  “Every man has his price,” repeated Niklaus. He bent and wiped his fingers on a patch of dry grass, then straightened. His penetrating eyes studied Aldric. “You don’t want to be here”—he waved a hand around them—“on this mission. You want to heal. To put down your sword and live a cozy life taking care of those who come for help. Maybe settle down with a good woman. Start a family.”

  “I do what I’m good at and go where my Church directs me.”

  But Niklaus’s comments stung. Because he was right. Always I do what I’m told, no matter how much I’m reviled for being a sorcerer.

  “And you?” he asked the mercenary. “Don’t you want to stop fighting?”

  “Me? I can’t put down my sword. After so long, it’s what I am.”

  Aldric kept his gaze on the blackness surrounding them, squinting so as not to miss any movement. “What do you mean? You aren’t forced to fight, and you don’t lack for coin. You could retire; lay down your sword and do something else.”

  Niklaus shook his head and chuckled softly. “No, my path is set. Just as you serve your god, I serve my goddess. Each in our own way.”

  “Through violence? Killing?”

  “Not always, but … often.”

  A killer. That was all Niklaus was.

  “Then it seems our ways are opposites,” Aldric said dismissively.

  He expected the mercenary to be offended, but Niklaus merely laughed. “Not so different. You’ve killed for your Church. I can see it. And not just Dead-eyes and creatures in the wilderness or in the ruins. Men. Women.”

  “I … I was forced to,” Aldric protested. “I often had no choice.”

  He became aware he’d mimicked Niklaus’s response.

  “Not so different then, you and I. At least I’m honest with myself.”

  Aldric bridled at Niklaus’s words and tone. But the mercenary’s face was pensive, as if he were lost in thought.

  “One day I will lay down this sword,” he continued, “if my plans co
me to fruition. But you … your god has marked you, and you want to heal people with his power. You’ve spent a lot of time with the settlers, healing them, looking after them. It’s … admirable. But your Church only tolerates you. You will never find peace there.”

  “I will,” Aldric said, with more confidence than he felt.

  Niklaus shrugged. “You need to be free. Not of your god, but of your Church.”

  The statement made Aldric suspicious. Was Niklaus trying, clumsily, to make him lose faith?

  “The Church is my god’s instrument in this world,” he said. “They are intertwined. I’ll never be free of the Church, not after everything they’ve done for me. And I’ll never be free from my god. I wouldn’t want to be.”

  “Gods are free of other gods. But I think you’re mistaken. The Church isn’t the instrument. You are. As is everyone else your god has marked. The Church is just an organization.”

  Images from Aldric’s childhood came to him: the wonder of his first healing, and his parents’ delight; the look of awe and reverence on the priests’ faces when he was tested. He knew he owed the Church a debt he couldn’t repay.

  “I disagree,” he began, but was interrupted by a wild clanging sound, faint but distinct.

  “The alarm,” said Niklaus. “The Dead-eyes are back.”

  He took off down the path. Clutching his sheathed blade, Aldric rushed after him, stumbling over the rocky ground, heedless of the bushes scratching his bare arms.

  A woman’s scream reached them. Shouts of alarm and panic rang out.

  Aldric urged himself to greater speed, his chest burning, his mouth dry. Niklaus continued to get farther away, seeming to glide across the ground without stumbling over rocks and roots. A jagged branch snagged Aldric’s shirt, dragging him to a stop before he tore himself free.

  He skidded around the corner of a house into a chaotic scene lit only by a sliver of Chandra. Spindly limbs attached to shrunken bodies flashed everywhere. Dead-eyes. A settler lay unmoving on the ground, blood pooling under him from shredded arms and torso. His face had been sliced open until it was an unrecognizable mess.

  On the other side of the square, Stray Dog and Bryn herded a group of women and children toward a nearby house. Pale-skinned Dead-eyes came at them with their high-pitched keening and growls, to be met with steel and death. Stray Dog hacked at the creatures with his axes while Bryn thrashed with his blade. Milky blood splashed across the ground.

  Niklaus was nowhere to be seen. Neither were Soki and Priska, Razmus and Valeria.

  Aldric whirled as something white flashed to his left. Razor-sharp claws came at him, and he batted them away with his still-sheathed blade. He jerked to the left and drew his khopesh in one swift motion, slashing at the Dead-eye. The crescent blade carved into its chest, and it collapsed, flailing, its boiled-egg eyes never changing between life and death.

  More snarling faces came out of the shadows. He cut two down before they realized he was there.

  The alarm had stopped ringing. Aldric glanced around. Were there other settlers in danger? He couldn’t see any more. Stray Dog and Bryn were standing with Dead-eyes lying prone around them, cloudy blood seeping into the earth.

  From somewhere in the distance came a chorus of piercing howls. Others joined in until the sound echoed around the valley, drowning out everything else.

  “Bloody hells,” shouted Bryn. “How many are there?”

  “Stay together,” Aldric yelled, backing toward them while keeping his eyes on places the Dead-eyes might appear from. “Don’t split up. Where are Soki and Priska and the others?”

  “Don’t know,” growled Stray Dog.

  Dead-eyes rushed around the corners of two houses, as if they’d been hiding there. Bryn cursed and hurried to stand at Aldric’s left while Stray Dog positioned himself to the right. The creatures’ fanged mouths shrieked as they grew closer, then they were upon the three men, dirt-crusted claws extended.

  Aldric cut at the thin bodies, their movements almost too quick to counter. He jerked back as a clawed hand lunged at him, then slashed with his blade, shearing through a skull. The Dead-eye slumped to the ground. Another went down as his blade cleaved its breastbone.

  Bryn’s sword flashed again and again as he danced among the Dead-eyes, leaving injured and dying in his wake. He fought silently, while Stray Dog grunted with each swing of his axes, severing limbs and hacking Dead-eyes into the ground.

  A new pack of Dead-eyes leaped at Aldric, too many to counter. Claws raked his arm, and his dormant wards erupted. Sorcery shielded him in its globe, repelling the razor talons. He stumbled back, arm burning from the cuts, and tripped over a fallen Dead-eye. He landed heavily and rolled to his feet to see the Dead-eyes that had attacked him lunging at Stray Dog.

  The big man’s axes chopped at the creatures, breaking spindly limbs and smashing into torsos. But there were too many. Slavering mouths latched onto his left forearm, and Stray Dog bellowed as fangs plunged deep into his flesh. His right-hand axe hacked at more Dead-eyes, but his left waved wildly as the creatures savaged his flesh.

  Aldric stepped toward him, but Bryn was there. His blade cut shining arcs through the air, and the Dead-eyes mauling Stray Dog lost their lives to cold steel. Cloudy, viscous blood pumped onto the dirt from their limp bodies.

  Stray Dog dropped an axe and began prying away the jaws still embedded in his arm, which was a mass of shredded flesh. His blood dribbled onto the ground.

  “I’ll cover you!” shouted Bryn.

  More Dead-eyes were coming, hurtling from the shadowy gaps between houses. As Aldric sprinted toward them, he released his sorcerous shield, and the golden glow vanished. He shrugged off the weariness of the draining sorcery. Better to conserve his strength in case he needed it.

  Dead-eyes raced at him, shrieking with vicious delight. Six—no, ten. Damn it, there were too many. Cursing, Aldric fumbled with the talisman at his belt and structured a sorcerous calculation. Spit thick in his mouth, he reached for his dawn-tide power and uttered a cant just as the Dead-eyes reached him. A blast of energy exploded outward from him in a circle. The Dead-eyes flew backward, knocked off their feet.

  Aldric, stumbling with exhaustion, managed to lurch forward and hack clumsily at the few that were still alive, dispatching them before they recovered.

  Where were Bryn and Stray Dog? He glanced back to see both of them fighting more of the Dead-eyes. Stray Dog’s arm streamed with blood, but he held his second axe again. Bryn was grinning as he effortlessly laid about him with his blade, no Dead-eye coming close to him without losing a limb or its life. There must have been at least twenty of the creatures lying lifeless in the dirt, and still more came.

  A fresh group rushed at Aldric as one. He backed away, looking frantically for a wall, something to guard his back. A Dead-eye leaped at him … Aldric shouted savagely, plunging his blade into its chest. He yanked his khopesh free and steadied himself to face yet more of the creatures racing toward him. He scanned the darkness behind them. Were there still more streaming into the settlement?

  A violet light erupted around the pack of Dead-eyes, tracing a perfect circle on the ground. The creatures stopped in their tracks, as if hitting an invisible wall.

  Aldric sensed a commingling of dawn-tide and dusk-tide sorcery emanating from his right. There, standing atop one of the houses on its gently sloping roof, was Soki. She shone with arcane brilliance to his sorcerous sight. Power he could never hope to command flowed through her, guided with exquisite control.

  She reached out a hand, twisted it, and spoke a cant Aldric didn’t understand. The Dead-eyes in the violet circle screeched. Their skin smoked, and they collapsed as one, wailing and thrashing in the dust. Orange flames erupted from splits in their flesh as their bones burned with fierce intensity.

  The reek of charred flesh made Aldric gag. He looked away, to the shadows, and saw the remaining creatures’ egg-like eyes reflecting the light of their blazing companions. Yelping cr
ies echoed around the valley, and the Dead-eyes turned and ran.

  Soki nodded grimly, then slid to the edge of the roof, threw herself off, and landed lightly on her feet.

  “Are there any more?” Aldric asked her. She would know; her sorcery was far greater than his.

  She closed her eyes, whispering words too low for him to hear.

  “They’ve gone,” she said eventually. “Somewhere to the east.” She hesitated. “There are many more of them out there.”

  Of Razmus, Niklaus, Priska, and Valeria, there was still no sign.

  ~ ~ ~

  So, thought Niklaus, they are coming from all sides. He bared his short blade, leaving her sword on his back. It was too sacred to be dirtied by the blood of these foul creatures.

  He moved out of the open and ran along a wooden wall. To his left, a door slammed shut and a bolt drove home. Frightened faces peered from between curtains. Ahead, a woman with tears running down her face herded a group of seven children toward another house, presumably more secure. The Dead-eyes had come sooner than expected and the barricades still weren’t ready.

  Where were Soki, Priska, and Razmus? He didn’t much care if Valeria lived or died, but if she was able to draw on the goddess’s divine power, as she claimed, she could look after herself. The high priestess wouldn’t use her abilities to protect the others, of that he was certain.

  Glancing around the square, Niklaus saw a wagon and a stack of barrels against the wall of a house. Nothing they could use in their defense. A streak of white flashed behind a row of bushes. Bloody Dead-eyes. For him, it was like fighting sheep, but the creatures would likely be a problem for the others.

  He spun around a corner and into the path of two Dead-eyes. He leaped, snarling savagely. A quick thrust, and his blade drove through the eye socket of one; then he cut the second from shoulder to navel. Niklaus kept running, yanking his blade free with a sucking noise.

  He heard a scuttling to his right and ducked his head as a Dead-eye flew at him from atop a stack of crates. A wrist flick sent his short blade slicing through its scrawny neck, and its head landed in the dirt, gushing milky blood.