“We have left the ocean and entered the sky Jonah. Our ship is the first on Elmoryn to fly,” Captain Sarkett said as he patted his son on the shoulder. His other hand held the ship’s wheel firmly. “And we bring our ship to war.”
The Waymancers, led by the aged Samrale Overfist and his tremendous genius and power in The Way continued their chant, and Bridgette Marie continued to rise until she rode the clouds above the sprawling compound of House Kulare below.
Captain Sarkett ordered his sails to his liking, and the winds sent them east towards the besieged village of Ockham’s Fringe.
Thousands of mile away, James, Malwynn, Umaryn and Chelsea began to hear cries and screams from the dark depths of the previously silent forest.
Umaryn stood. “Ready yourselves. The dead come for us, and they do not sound pleased about our presence here.”
They drew their swords, hefted their hammers, and prayed to the ancient spirits of the world.
They couldn’t fly away from what came for them.
—Chapter Thirteen—
AND IN THE DARKNESS
DREAMS AND NIGHTMARES COME
The noises that came from the pitch black forest on all sides of the clearing in which New Falun sat wrinkled the skin with pimples of anxiety. The creatures—the monsters of the night—cackled and screeched in warbling pitches and tones, inciting dark and deep fears in the explorers.
To allay the darkness of the smoky gray clouds of the night above, Umaryn had set fire to five of the collapsed hovels. She had used a flask of their lamp oil to accelerate the fires, and as the sounds of the murder came closer in the darkness of the forest, the pyres of the village burned bright, casting out some warmth into the chilly air, and a thousand flickers of orange and yellow. They would not want for visibility so long as the fires burned.
Malwynn’s right hand held his sword. His left had crept out to take Chelsea’s. He sought strength from her, and in her cool, dry hand, he found it.
Behind them, James spoke out. “Umaryn, let me see your hammer. Quick.”
The tall woman in her striking red armor turned and faced the Apostle. His hands were held out to receive the weapon, and she handed it to him, sensing his urgency. A moment after he took it, he prayed.
“Father Desmond Silver, I thank you for the many years you gave to the people of Elmoryn, and for the dedication you put forth to destroy the undead that have menaced the living. I call to you this night once more to lend us your strength from beyond. I ask you to become a bane on this hammer of Umaryn’s. I ask you to give us your essence once more. Amen.” Umaryn and Malwynn felt the flare inside the ether of The Way as his prayer ended. The cleric had summoned a piece of the soul of the deceased Father, and imbued it into the weapon. He had in his own way, enchanted her hammer. As he handed it back, the volume and intensity of the screams grew. They approached closer and faster now.
“Chelsea, now yours please,” James beckoned. She already had her blade drawn, and handed it to him hilt first. He set into a prayer immediately as she drew a pair of daggers from sheathes in her boots. “Spirits of New Falun I call to you for your support this cold night. We are besieged by the dead, and with your souls we shall turn their attacks aside. I pray you make this blade of Chelsea’s a bane against the unnatural, and give it your strength. May it be in your names.” The Way flared invisibly in the glade. The world inside the ruined foundation of the old town hall vibrated and buzzed with all the enchantments he had set forth that night. He handed the blade up to her, and she took it after putting the daggers away. “Malwynn, now yours please.”
Mal shook his head, declining the offer. “No, save your power. I won’t be fighting with my sword nearly as much as I will battle with my bow or The Way. Say a different prayer for us, James. Shield us with your faith.”
“I can enchant your bow the same as a sword or a hammer. Give it here, friend. Let the ancestors lend you their strength.”
Mal chuckled, hiding the fear inside. “Save your power. I trust that you’ll need every ounce of your willpower to keep us in one piece tonight.”
James tilted his head in surprise. “You trust in me? You have faith in the ancestors, Mal? With all your joking and mockery of me I thought you were a skeptic.”
“I’m a realist James. A wiseass realist, but a realist. I’ve always had faith. Our mother raised us right. Now please. Show me why I have faith in you. Cast us a spell that will hold the night,” Mal said with a smile, though he spoke urgently.
“As you wish, my friend. I will pray for some time. Let them come and hear my words. Let my verses’ purity rock the bedrock of their evil, heretical nature. Let them understand how wrong they are.” James closed his eyes, and summoned the spirits again. The wind gathered, and the flames whipped.
“Yea though that death surrounds us I am bolstered by my love for the past. Yea though that the dead have been denied the Blessing of Soul’s Rest they must still be given mercy, and release. Yea though that you surround us with your eternal guidance and power in rest, I ask more of you this night; I ask you surround us with an aura of life, one that will help us banish them to oblivion, and make Elmoryn safe once more.”
The twins saw the monsters running through the ruins of the village as James started his prayer again. The brother and sister readied their own incantations as the monsters ran at them around the fires, fangs bared, claws spread, and maniacal expressions in their eyes.
“Argalen Brood reporting, my Lord,” the patrol leader said to his superior Yefim Gneery.
The hooded undead death mage Argalen addressed sat still on a smallish purple sofa inside General Hubik’s grandiose pavilion tent. Candles flickered, casting a gloomy light about. Gentle snores resonated almost in sync with the breeze that swayed the tiny flames. The general was attempting to rest behind a partition at the back of the tent. Sleep was a weakness the necromancer was no longer subject to. “You bring news to me from the south?”
“Aye my lord,” Argalen said, straightening out his bright blonde hair. “My patrol and I chased two Varrlander scouts. One escaped after they took down my horse with bow and arrow, but we chased down and apprehended the second.”
Yefim sat up straight, intrigued. Argalen tried to imagine what the Wight looked like under the purple hood, and found himself shuddering at the thought. Some visions were best left unseen. “Did the scout escape to the south?”
Argalen nodded and shuffled his feet nervously. “Yes. She rode away too quickly for us to give chase on foot.”
Yefim sounded disappointed. “A shame. I should hope that she doesn’t reach any sort of civilization with the ability to make a sending. We haven’t established a foothold here at Ockham’s Fringe yet strong enough to withstand a full assault by the main Varrlander army. They’ll wipe these tents from the plains in an hour.”
“My apologies, my lord. We did our best but I’ve no spell that allows me to run down a galloping horse, sans reanimating my mount, which I was able to do. I did question the other rider extensively. I do have some information to impart to you. It might be of use to you or the general and wanted you to know.”
“Excellent. Tell me what you will,” Yefim said intrigued again.
Argalen seemed bolstered. Perhaps it was because his head remained atop his shoulders after giving a small amount of disappointing news. “Of small note, the rider informed me that they have built a silent door on a gate in the village that allows them under cover of darkness to escape soundlessly.”
“Moot. More.”
“They have suffered minimal losses as of the rider’s departure time. No more than a score and a half. Some of the locals that stayed behind to stand against us have died as well. They have burned the bodies already,” Brood offered his leader.
Yefim made a noise that signaled more disappointment. “Unfortunate on all counts. It is somewhat good to hear confirmation of how useless the archery exhibition has been. Wondering why has been frustrating. Continue please.”
<
br /> “They have not contacted their allies to the south. The riders had set out to ride until they contacted a train heading north, or until they reached some form of assistance that would allow them to send another message.”
“My source inside the village confirms that. Good to know he tells me the truth,” Yefim said.
“We’ve a man inside the city?” Argalen asked, sounding surprised.
“Do you think the Queen and her best agents would go to such lengths in an invasion such as this and not have someone planted inside the forces arrayed against us? We’ve been plotting and planning this violent departure south for the better part of your life, Argalen Brood. War is more than swung swords and cast spells. Do your nation more credit.”
“I apologize. The rider confirmed the presence of Knight Major Marcus Gray. He is the leader of the unit inside, and the rider when questioned said Gray was a fine officer, and that he had made many plans to stop the effectiveness of our siege, as it has played out.”
“Any word as to what those preparations are?” Yefim asked.
Argalen nodded happily. “Marcus had fire engines transported north on trains here to combat our flaming arrows. He also had several of his non-commissioned officers trained in their use, albeit that training was minimal. He had lumber and carpenters sent north as well, and they constructed the walls you see, as well as roofing above the common footpaths in the city, so that few areas where his men would need to walk would be exposed to the bear’s share of danger. Quite thoughtful actually.”
Yefim forced a sigh out of dead lungs. “One might call him a genius.”
“I would not give him that much credit my lord. What would you ask of me?” Argalen asked.
Yefim thought about it before answering. “Stay in the encampment during the day today. I fear your patrols will quickly become needless after I speak to the general. Tonight my agent inside Ockham’s Fringe has explicit instructions on sabotage, and we shall see if he is successful or not. If he is, then I believe we shall be breaching the village walls before daylight tomorrow. I would like to have your undead there when we see the Varrlander Knight Major in the flesh.”
Argalen loved the sound of each and every one of those words. He bowed deeply, and when Yefim Gneery dismissed him with a wave, he exited the opulent tent.
The necromancer lord put his mind to work, and began to formulate a way to manipulate his snoring colleague. It didn’t take long. The living had such simple buttons to push.
“Dad?” Jonah asked his father as they stood behind the wheel of the soaring ship in the sky. The dark of night enveloped them above and below, and with both moons yet to rise fully, the stars above were crisp and bright. Puffy white clouds floated in three dimensions on all sides. The children of the night—the white specks of light that streamed across the dark horizon from end to end most nights—seemed extra active now. The bright white dancers of the dark sky seemed almost excited that the sailing vessel had jumped into the air and joined them. Crew and spellcasters alike slept on all sides of the father and son where they could, snoring their fatigue away, stealing rest from the stresses of their strange journey.
“Yes Jonah?” Sarkett asked.
“What is stopping us from sailing like this to Hestia? Or Lune?”
Sarkett thought about the strange question. “Well, perhaps when this is over we should talk to the good Samrale, and ask him if he’d like to set sail for the little red moon.”
“Do you think we could sail to the moon?”
“There’s nothing but air between here and there right?”
“I guess,” Jonah said thoughtfully. “Do you think anyone has been to the moons before? Do you think we’d be the first people to go there?”
Sarkett laughed quietly. “I don’t think anyone has been to the moons yet son. Certainly if they have they didn’t get there with The Way. Samrale is an arcane pioneer it would seem. I say let’s do it. Let’s go to Hestia, and swing by Lune on the way home.” Lovingly the father rubbed his son’s shoulder, and kissed the top of his head.
Jonah looked up at the lively night sky, and wished that his father’s promise would come true. He wanted to be the first boy to go to the moons. Red or blue, either would do.
—Chapter Fourteen—
THE CRUELEST OF DUTIES
The monsters came.
Malwynn had begun to ready his bow at the moment James began his incantations. The slender but strong Everwalk man had already placed pairs of arrows stuck in the ground around the foundation where he could get to them easily should he need to draw and loose quickly, and from the surge of white-skinned undead pouring around the debris and old homes of the village in their direction, he’d be drawing and letting loose arrows for hours. Any way to trim seconds off could save the lives of loved ones.
He slipped a feathered shaft with a fat razor-sharp tip from the quiver hanging off his shoulder and in a single fluid movement he notched it, drew it, and released it straight into the thickest knot of rampaging vampires thirty yards distant. Amazingly over their discordant screams he heard one of them yelp in pain. He’d hit something that hurt.
He heard his sister’s voice as he sent out another arrow. “Hammer I beg of thee stir and rouse this night. Strike harder, strike faster, and allow me to protect my friends and family,” Umaryn said brave and loud. She spoke to her weapon, the Apostle Chael’s hammer.
Mal couldn’t feel The Way flare from her spell, but he knew the magic would work. His sister could not fail at such a spell. She had mastered it, and she and the weapon had fought many times together already. They had a bond that even Mal could sense. Mal fired another arrow into the approaching horde and fetched his reward: another cry of pain. The vampires would be at the foundation remnants in seconds despite his volley of projectiles. They were unafraid. Uncaring that others of their kind were being hurt or killed by the people they’d come to slay. Mal prayed James’ consecration would be strong and give them an edge in the battle. He would find out if their prayers would come true in mere moments more.
“Get some!” Chelsea yelled at the drooling, growling faces approaching. She’d produced and slipped on a small shield she’d kept tied to her horse’s saddle and clanged her newly enchanted blade against it, taunting the tide of undead that were charging, leaping and screeching. Not far away the horses and lone Gvorn whinnied. They could smell the death coming and knew there was no escape. Like their humans, they would need to bear the evil and face it.
The front edge of the vampiric assault reached the flat grassy space on the outer edge of the dilapidated town hall and leapt, throwing themselves with reckless bloodlust at the broken stones that served as the last bastion of defense.
The soaring monsters—claws bared, fangs revealed in snarls—hit the air above the stone and seemingly slowed, paused by the invisible wall made of faith and magic born from James’ chants, and the ancient will of the spirit of Father Desmond Silver. Their ragged bodies, thin and drained of life and compassion, seemed to hang in the air, moving in slow motion instead of the blurs of death they were outside of the physical edge of the spell. The twins and Chelsea saw their opportunity, and they struck.
The Everwalk sister swung her hammer in a wide sweep on the opposite side of the building from her brother and his love. Chael’s hammer, twice enchanted with two forms of The Way hit the vampire that hung in mid-air in the sternum, and the resulting crack sounded like a brick being smashed apart. The vampire’s chest caved in as if she’d hit sheet metal and not flesh. His body fell to the ground inside the protected area at regular speed, bashed and broken. It twitched, and Umaryn moved on to the next leaping Vampire, this time crushing the skull down between the shoulder blades with an overhead swing before its feet landed.
Chelsea did not have Umaryn’s forge-born raw strength. She was tough, and more than a match for any average foe, but she used speed and skill as her primary assets, and these were no average foes. Where Umaryn struck a single devastating blow
, she slashed and stabbed twice. Two of the blood drinkers landed in the clearing inside the wall and closed in on her, flanking her. She smiled, thrilled at the rush of combat, and as the first lunged, bony claws ripping the air apart where her chest was, she ducked below the strike and stabbed upward with her enchanted blade, running the vampire through at the navel. She yanked her sword free and rolled to the side, avoiding the blow from the vampire behind her. Her roll got her to her feet, and with an upward swing of the short sword she lopped the hand clear off the vampire that just tried to rip the back of her neck open.
“Ahh!” it hissed, holding up the forearm that now ended in a stump. It looked to Chelsea and screamed as she pulled her blade from the neck of the first vampire she stabbed. “Heretic! Trespasser!” it screamed in a shrill, hurt voice.
“Call me what you will,” she said with short breath right before slashing the leg of the thing at the knee in a downward strike. It yelled again as it fell to the ground, and she stabbed it powerfully in the throat, her blade sinking into the cursed earth of New Falun. The monster stayed still, as did the first she’d killed.
Ten paces away Malwynn had discarded his bow. Two more of the dead had fallen over the wall, hampered as they were by James’ unending chant of devotion. They surrounded him, moving sluggishly as if they were submerged in mud from head to toe. Their feral snarling faces had begun to drain of their menacing confidence. Inside the stone perimeter they were not welcome.
The spirit of Father Desmond Silver and the unbound faith of their Apostle worked in concert to hamper and harry their evil natures. James’ prayers were working.
One of the vile creatures launched at Malwynn’s back, and the necromancer went to the ground at the feet of the other two struggling to shake it off. The beast-thing raked its nails down Mal’s back but the red armor his sister made for him held firm against the attack. Gouges were left in the wake of the claws, but the flesh below remained untouched. Her skill shined again.
The Echoes of Sin (The Kinless Trilogy Book 3) Page 16