Clockwork Legion (Aboard the Great Iron Horse Book 4)

by Jamie Sedgwick

  Flynn let out a war cry as he closed in on another of the ghouls. It fought back with the perfection of a trained professional, parrying his blows and countering with equally measured skill. This ghoul was large, taller than Flynn, and much stronger. It wore several pieces of plate armor, and Kale saw the glint of moonlight on the metal in its joints, holding them in place.

  The creature bore down on Flynn with a series of powerful overhead strokes, driving the young knight back step by step. As the blows rained down, Kale saw Flynn’s grip loosening on the sword. The ghoul noticed, too. It grinned, an eerie hideous smile that sent a chill crawling down Kale’s spine. He broke into a sprint, but knew he’d never make it in time.

  Flynn dropped to his knees as the ghoul raised its weapon for the final blow. As the blade came down, Flynn lifted the blade with both hands in what appeared to be a last-ditch attempt to block the attack. Instead of blocking, he twisted the handle, activating a hidden mechanism inside the hilt. The sword’s blade separated from the fittings with a loud Snap! It shot forward, piercing the ghoul’s chest plate, and drove deep into the monster’s chest. The blade protruded through the ghoul’s back, gleaming in the moonlight, streaked with inky black blood.

  The force of the blow drove the creature back a step and Flynn rolled away. At the same instant, they heard the twang of a bowstring and an arrow pierced the monster’s eye. The creature swayed, reaching for the feathered vanes projecting from its eye socket. Kale arrived, beheading the ghoul with a sweep of his blade. The fiend crumpled.

  Kale stood over Flynn, looking down at him. The young knight was bruised and bleeding, but seemed otherwise in good health.

  “Thanks,” Flynn said. “He almost had me.”

  “Nonsense,” Kale said. He reached out, helping Flynn to his feet. “You had him right where you wanted him.”

  Kale drew the second sword from his baldric and handed it to Flynn. A few yards back, Erin cleared her throat.

  “Never mind me,” she said with a glare. “I didn’t save your lives just now or anything.”

  “Agreed,” Kale said with a wry grin. Erin narrowed her eyebrows and started to say something, but the two knights were already rejoining the battle. She snorted as she nocked another arrow.

  In the darkness and confusion, it was difficult to determine which bodies were those of the attackers and which were friends. The knights called out to each other, trying to identify themselves in the chaos. More than once, Kale found himself crossing swords with a new opponent only to suddenly recognize the helm or armor of one of his companions.

  Erin lit a torch and threw it across the clearing, into the midst of the battle. Clever, Kale thought as the flickering light fell on the faces of their attackers. He found himself next to a tall knight wearing dark-colored armor. The armor looked like Hector’s, but the knight spun on him with a snarl. Before he could raise his blade, the ghoul punched him in the face with a gauntleted fist. Stars flashed in his vision, and he stumbled back a step.

  The ghoul closed in, horrific dead eyes glaring with hatred, a patchwork of bronze gears click-clicking on the side of its face. The clockwork monster raised its sword -a bastard sword with a jewel-encrusted hilt- and brought the blade down in a sweeping arc. Kale parried the attack. He stepped in to counter with a strike to the abdomen, but his blade glanced harmlessly off the undead knight’s armor. The ghoul took another wide swing at him. Kale blocked, countered, and the ghoul did the same.

  Kale pressed on, ignoring the sharp stabbing pain in his midsection and the horrified sense that he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Everything Kale thought he knew about the undead had suddenly changed. These creatures, these ghouls, could fight. They were intelligent; dangerous. In fact, Kale had his hands full just keeping his attacker’s sword at bay. No matter how fast he swung, or how he countered, the creature always had a response.

  Kale fought the fatigue that threatened to slow his defenses. Just a bit longer, he thought. If I can hold him off a bit longer…

  No sooner had he thought it, than the tip of Hector’s sword exploded through the undead knight’s chest. The creature froze, eyes wide with surprise, sword still raised for the next blow. Kale capitalized on the moment. He decapitated the ghoul in one smooth slice. The creature collapsed between them, the mechanical gearworks in its face clicking wildly.

  The two knights locked eyes. Kale opened his mouth to speak but Hector raised his sword and shouted, “Step aside!”

  Kale instinctively obeyed, and barely avoided Hector’s flashing blade as it thrust toward his midsection. Another ghoul seemed to materialize out of the darkness, and Hector’s blade plunged into its chest. The creature dropped to its knees. Up ahead, they heard Gavin shouting:

  “They’re retreating! They’re retreating!”

  Hector beheaded the ghoul. The two knights hurried up the trail towards Gavin, stepping over the bodies littering their path. They found the elderly knight twenty yards up the slope, leaning on the handle of his sword. The remaining ghouls had disappeared up the slope.

  Kale wiped the blood from his blade and sheathed it. He took a deep breath, and a shockwave of pain went through his body. He doubled over, hands on his knees, sucking in shallow gasps.

  “You all right?” Hector said.

  “Just… my ribs,” Kale said as he tried to catch his breath. “I’m fine. You?”

  “A few bruises.”

  Kale stood upright, adjusting his armor so it wouldn’t press against his tender ribcage. “Have you ever seen anything like that?” he said. “Ghouls wearing armor, fighting with swords?”

  “Never,” said Gavin. “I’ve seen undead before, but never like this.”

  “Nor I,” said Hector. “According to all the stories I’ve heard, these creatures are supposed to be mindless; barely even alive at all.”

  “We need to inform the queen,” Kale said. “These incursions are just the beginning.”

  He turned, looking over the group. They all had injuries -cuts, bruises, a few open wounds- except for Erin. She alone seemed to have escaped unscathed. Sir Bathus moaned. He had come up the path behind them and now stood at the back of the group with a hand held over his side. Blood flowed freely between his gauntleted fingers. Kale took a step in his direction, and Bathus dropped to his knees.

  “Give me a hand,” Kale said to the others. “Get him to the clearing.”

  Together, they lifted the knight and carried him back down the trail, reclining him gently on the moss at the edge of the pool.

  “What happened?” Kale said as he pulled Bathus’s hand away to reveal the wound.

  “Hard to say. Too much going on in the dark. I guess one of them got me with his pigsticker.”

  “I need to remove your chest plate,” Kale said.

  Bathus leaned forward so Kale could reach the buckles. The knight winced, and a moan escaped his lips. Kale loosened the straps and pulled the plate over Bathus’s head. He bent closer, examining the wound. “I need more light,” he said.

  Erin collected the torch she’d left on the trail, She hurried over with it, holding it above their heads. Kale’s expression darkened as he got a good look at the injury. “This wound is deep. We need to get you back to Dragonwall.”

  “I can help,” Erin said. She opened her bag and rummaged around. She produced a small tin, which she opened to reveal some sort of brown jelly-like substance.

  “What is that?” Bathus said. His voice rattled as he spoke.

  “It’s a salve. It will clean the wound and staunch the bleeding.” Erin ripped a shred of cloth from the end of her cloak. She covered it in salve and then pressed it to the wound. “There,” she said. “Hold it tight. Keep pressure on it… and drink this.” She handed him a small flask. Bathus took a sip, and his eyes brightened as the liquid touched his lips. A weak grin spread across his face.

  “That’s booze!” he said cheerfully.

  “Yes, it will slow the infection in your gut. Drink it all. Dr
ink it fast.”

  “That, I can do.” Bathus tilted his head back and emptied the flask. He handed it back to her and wiped the moisture from his beard with the back of his gauntlet. Kale rose to his feet and surveyed the rest of the group.

  “Where is Flynn?” he said. The others turned, scanning the darkened path and the woods down the slope.

  “I don’t see him,” said Hector. “If he’d fallen down the hill there, we’d see tracks.”

  “Here!” Gavin said. He had walked up the path a ways, and he came back into the light carrying Kale’s second sword. “They must’ve taken him.”

  Kale cursed under his breath. “Hector, I need you to get Bathus back to Dragonwall. When you get there, inform the queen of our situation. Tell her I’ll be back as soon as I can. Tell her to activate the militia.”

  Hector’s eyes widened, and Gavin cleared his throat. “Kale, what exactly did you see beyond that cliff?”

  Kale didn’t answer, but the look on his face was answer enough. Gavin rolled his eyes heavenward. Hector groaned. He began pacing back and forth along the trail.

  “I didn’t believe it. I thought it was just a girl’s fantasy, but it’s not.” He turned to face them. “How can it be? Where did they come from?”

  “I told you!” Erin said, crossing her arms over her chest and scowling at him. “And I’m not a little girl.”

  Hector ignored her comment. “What do we do now?” he said. “How do we fight an army like that? How do you fight an army that’s already dead?”

  Kale waved his arm with a dismissive gesture. “We don’t have time for this. Take Bathus back to Dragonwall and give the queen my message. Dispatch a messenger to the Iron Horse. Tell Socrates he has to turn back. They shouldn’t go anywhere near the Firelands.”

  “What about her?” Gavin said, nodding at Erin.

  “What do you mean?” she said, squaring her shoulders.

  “It’s not safe at that farm. Not with these ghouls around.”

  “I’m going with Kale to rescue Flynn.”

  Kale shook his head. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve seen these things up close. They’re dangerous.”

  Erin leaned against her longbow and gave him a cocky smile. “So am I. In fact, it seems to me that I’m the only who came out of that fight in one piece. Look at the rest of you! You look like you got steamrolled.”

  “She has a point,” Gavin said. “She’s good with that bow.”

  “I’m also the only one who knows her way around these mountains,” Erin said. “I can show you the pass. You’ll never find it on your own.”

  Kale sighed. “Fine. The three of us, then.” He grabbed Bathus by the shoulders and helped him back to his feet. Hector took over, throwing the knight’s arm over his shoulder to help him walk back to the chargers. Kale turned back to Gavin and Erin.

  “Let’s get moving,” he said. “There’s no telling what those things will do to Flynn if we give them the chance.”

  Chapter 10

  As Shayla regained consciousness, she became aware of cold, damp stones beneath her. She heard water dripping and noticed the metallic scent of blood in the air. She recognized another scent, mingling with the wet-animal odor of the elk hide cloak over her shoulders. The scent was familiar, but she didn’t have a name for it. Somehow, she couldn’t place it.

  The pale green light emanating from the fountain seemed oddly bright. She remembered the glow of starfall -had seen it up close more than once- and didn’t remember it having this level of luminescence. Then again, this may have been the effect of her eyes adjusting to the pitch-blackness of the cave. Shayla sat upright, and the room spun. Her stomach did flip-flops, and she waited for the spell to pass.

  After a few minutes, Shayla rose to her feet and stood there swaying, trying to take inventory of her condition. Her head ached from the base of her skull to the top. Cuts and bruises covered her body. Shayla’s dress was torn to shreds, so much so that the last ribbons of fabric fell to the floor as she moved. Her boots were missing as well. They must have fallen off when she was being carried through the tunnels by her attackers.

  Shayla covered her nakedness, pulling the cloak tight about her shoulders. She scanned the cave looking for a torch or even a discarded nub of candle; anything to help find her way out of there. She found nothing.

  Her stomach rumbled, and she wondered how long she had been down there. Had she slept through the night? Longer, perhaps? It didn’t matter. She had to get moving, had to get her blood flowing. She needed to get warm and dry before she caught a fever.

  Shayla took a few uncertain steps into the tunnel, blinking against the darkness, teeth chattering with cold. The stones felt painful and irregular against her bare feet. She was unaccustomed to walking without boots. Her cloak-shrouded body cast a long shadow in the dim phosphorescent glow of the fountain, and the sound of dripping water echoed maddeningly in her ears.

  The tunnel curved right and then left, and began to climb upwards. The light of the fountain faded away behind her. Somehow, Shayla was able to make out certain details of her surroundings even in the darkness. The slope of the floor in front of her, for example, or the jagged stone thrusting out of the tunnel wall. These details were hazy and colorless, but nonetheless recognizable.

  Shayla remained aware of the scent of blood lingering in the tunnel, pungent and foreboding, and it occurred to her that this must be from the man she had stabbed during her ordeal. Images flooded her mind: cruel faces leering at her out of the darkness, rough hands forcing her down into the water, the cold burning sensation of drowning, the absolute overwhelming panic…

  Shayla closed her eyes and placed a hand against the wall, steadying herself. She could see her attacker’s faces. Each and every one. She would never forget them -never forget what they had done to her- but now was not the time to dwell on that. First, she had to get to safety. There would be time for revenge later.

  Shayla pushed on, making her way up the tunnel, rising from the womb of the mountain as if it had birthed her in the vast darkness below. Soon, she heard the distant sounds of civilization: the churning, humming noises of machines and motors, the drumming footsteps of men in spring-powered suits hauling loads of ore and equipment up and down the mountain’s interior, the ringing sound of anvils and the dull rumble of the lava cauldrons beneath the mountain. Then, eventually, voices. They were distant, muffled, unintelligible.

  The tunnel became a passageway, and Shayla followed it until she came to a spot she recognized. It was a narrow hallway near the base of the mountain; a rarely traveled passageway connecting many of the lower tunnels. It was unlikely that anyone would find her here, but still she proceeded with caution. Shayla took the staircase around the next corner, and began the slow hike up the mountain.

  As Shayla climbed the stairs, it occurred to her that she was naked, wrapped only in the cloak her attackers had abandoned. It wouldn’t do for her to be seen like this. She had a reputation to protect. To the people of Dragonwall, Shayla was a beautiful, exotic stranger -not someone they could trust, perhaps, but someone they longed for, or longed to be. It wouldn’t do, allowing them to see her humbled in this manner, stripped down to nothing, bruised and battered, tossed aside like a cheap whore.

  That wasn’t her only problem. The men who had attacked her were still there, somewhere. They were still in the mountain, and if they knew she had survived, there was no telling what they might do. Logic dictated the best thing to do now was to leave. Shayla couldn’t stay in Stormwatch. She was too well known there, and far too likely to encounter the men who had tried to kill her. She needed to find a safe way to escape the mountain.

  Shayla paused in her thoughts as she entered the Chamber of Kings and saw her reflection in a full-length polished silver mirror. It was a tall, intricately wrought furnishing made by the highly talented smiths of Dragonwall. The entire chamber was filled with such treasures, all dedicated to the memory of the great kings of the past. Their portraits hu
ng on the wall adjacent to the mirror, but it was the mirror that caught her attention.

  Shayla took a step closer, the cloak falling away as she saw her likeness reflected there. She frowned, staring at her naked reflection, perplexed by what she saw.

  She had grown. That was the first thing she realized. Shayla had always been a woman of average height, like her entire royal line, but somehow she had grown taller. There was no doubt about it. She turned, comparing herself to the table and chairs nearby, to the suits of armor near the entrance and the swords hanging on the wall.

  Not just that; she was thinner, too. Statuesque. Her beauty remained, but her face… it seemed somehow changed as well. And her ears. Her ears! They had elongated into tiny elfin points, much like those of the Tal’mar. Her eyes widened and she raised a hand to stroke the soft velvety fur that covered them with the tips of her fingers. It was fine, almost transparent except for the golden-tan color that seemed to shimmer in the light. She took a step closer, blinking, studying every detail.

  Her eyes seemed unusually dark. As Shayla came face to face with her reflection, she realized that her pupils had changed. They were tiny horizontal slits, surrounded by a mesmerizing pool of swirling gold. The overall shape remained. She looked human enough, but her eyes had become the eyes of.. of what? Some animal. A horse perhaps, or…

  Shayla took a step back. She reached out, touching the mirror, somehow doubting the reflection it cast. It couldn’t be real. But as her fingertips touched the polished metal, they left hazy circular prints that blocked out her reflection. An involuntary whimper slipped through her lips, the sound trailing off into a mournful wail. Her shoulders shook with sobs, bitter tears streaming down her cheeks. She dropped to her knees, eyes downcast, unable to face the abomination staring back at her.

  The fur-lined cloak was on the floor next to her. She reached for it, a curious look sweeping across her features as she held it in both hands. She touched the fabric, the leather, put the fur to her nose and inhaled its scent.