Here Shines the Sun

by M. David White

  Callad wiped at his eyes as he lifted Sierla over his shoulder and lumbered after Ertrael.

  Saint Ertrael ran toward the back of the house with Kierza on his shoulder as Rook grabbed Callad’s hand and whisked him forward. Ertrael jumped and kicked as he neared the far wall. Plaster and stone broke over his star-metal boot and he tumbled through the hole with Kierza over his shoulders. Rook pushed through, still holding Callad’s hand.

  They now stood in the bright sun of the afternoon. Rook could see that blood from Kierza darkened the glassy sheen of Ertrael’s armor. The Saint’s head whipped back and forth. “Where to?” he yelled.

  The King’s retinue had broken formation and seemed to be in a state of disarray, looking around in wild confusion. “Seize them!” cried Saint Paniel, pointing their direction. The knights all snapped their heads toward Rook.

  There was nowhere to run. To get to the city they’d have to go down the hill, right through all the knights and Saints Paniel and Rael. To either side were just the fields and Rook’s smithy, but that was no fortress. “The barn.” said Rook. He turned, tugging Callad with him, and found green goggles staring at him from beneath a black cloak. Rook paused. A bolt-thrower was raised.

  “Get down, boy.” croaked an ancient voice.

  “Diotus?”

  JINK! The bolt-thrower roared to life just as Rook pushed Callad away. Saint Paniel flourished her sword as she came running, the steel bolt exploding off her sword. JINK! JINK! JINK! The Saint whipped her sword back and forth, two bolts exploded off her blade but the third impacted her breastplate and she stumbled. But now Saint Rael was coming for them, as well as one-hundred charging knights. Diotus raised his bolt-thrower again. “Get out of here you fools!”

  And then the cottage exploded as King Dahnzeg burst through. Stones and timbers flew in all directions, sending knights tumbling. Saint Rael stumbled. The King roared out in anger. Upon the hill he was a monster cloaked in shadows that the sun dared not dispel. He stood twenty-feet tall, his face an ogreish reflection of what it once was. All around him the lawn became weeds and crabgrass. He grabbed a knight by the collar, and the knight’s armor turned into crude iron, pocked and pitted. “GET THEM!” bellowed the King, his very voice shuddering the earth. “GET THEM!” He threw the knight across the field. He picked up a chunk of broken wall, the colorful cobblestones turning to unsightly gray pumice in his hands. “GET THEM!” The chunk of wall crumbled in his grasp.

  “If we’re going to run, this would be the time.” said Diotus.

  “To where?” yelled Rook.

  “At them, of course.” said Diotus, handing Rook three metal spheres. “Remember your training. The surest way past your opponent is through him.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” said Ertrael.

  Rook looked at the Saint and the limp body he held, blood dripping off and running down his armor. In Callad’s arms Sierla looked just as bad. Rook couldn’t tell if either of them were alive. He had no idea why this Saint was helping him, but he did know that if he could not attend Kierza’s and Sierla’s wounds soon, both would surely be dead. Rook grabbed Ertrael’s arm. “Get them to safety.” said Rook. “Get them out of here. Heal them. Please.”

  Ertrael looked at the limp form in Callad’s arm with those ruby eyes of his. Then he turned his gaze to Rook and nodded once.

  “No!” Callad boomed, his head shaking as he held Sierla closer. “No!”

  “It’s the only way.” said Rook. “Saints can run with the wind. He can get them out of here. He can heal them.”

  Ertrael put his free hand on Callad’s shoulder. “I shall die before I let further harm come to your wife. If I can get her to safety, I might yet be able to save her.”

  Tears rolled down Callad’s face as he helped place Sierla over the Saint’s other shoulder.

  Diotus jogged forward. For an old man he moved fast. Both Saints Paniel and Rael were back up and coming for them. Diotus raised his bolt-thrower as if to shoot but yelled, “Throw one now!”

  Rook tossed one of the metal spheres at the Saints as they flourished their swords to block shots from Diotus. The sphere impacted the ground in front of the Saints and exploded with an earth-shaking boom! that sent them flying in opposite directions.

  “We can lose them in the city.” said Diotus. “Make for my shop.”

  The knights came charging. Diotus picked a couple off with his bolt-thrower as they ran. Rook chucked two more of the spheres into their ranks, violently opening a path as armor and limbs flew over their heads.

  Rook turned to Saint Ertrael. “Get them into the city! Tend their wounds!”

  Ertrael nodded. His Caliber flared brilliantly around him and he took off fast, flying past what remained of the knights.

  Rook overtook Diotus now, Starbreaker thrumming through the air as he cut down any knights that got in their way. The King lunged for them and Rook pushed Callad aside as he danced out of the way, his sword shearing through four more knights. Diotus yelled something about cover. Rook looked up just in time to see Diotus chuck a cylindrical object into the air. Diotus barreled into Rook and Callad, throwing them to the ground as the bomb exploded into a dozen spheres that belched noxious, black smoke as they rained to the earth.

  Rook felt Diotus’s hand pull him up by the collar as clouds of sulfurous blackness enveloped everything. Rook covered his mouth with his hand. Behind him Callad began coughing.

  “Run!” Diotus pushed Rook hard on the back. “That way!”

  Rook grabbed Callad’s arm. All around plumes of black smoke engulfed the hilltop. Coughing knights faded away into it. Rook ran, tugging Callad along as gauntleted hands clumsily grasped at him through the darkness.

  “FIND THEM!” the King’s voice bellowed somewhere at Rook’s left. “BURN THIS CITY! RAZE IT!”

  — 16 —

  The Kaldenthrax

  Solastron barked savagely as he lunged at Etheil with his powerful, chomping maw. Etheil’s arm narrowly escaped the wolf’s jaw as he scrambled backward, almost falling on the stone floor that was slick with the icy blood of demons.

  “It’s me, Solastron!” said Etheil, his breath smoking in the cold chamber that had become the tomb for countless Kald, and now threatened to become his own. He held his left arm where a Kald had bitten through his armor and cringed against the stinging, bitter pain.

  The giant, blue wolf picked up a dead Kald and shook it to pieces, sending limbs and icy blood flying. He then fixed Etheil with his aquamarine eyes. His lips furled into a snarl that revealed his rows of bloodied fangs. The deep gash in his chest dripped a constant patter of blood. He padded forward, growling.

  Etheil took another step back. “Open that gate!” he yelled, not taking his eyes off Solastron.

  “It’s no use,” called Braken from behind. “It’s sealed. Too heavy to lift.”

  “Aries, blow it open.” said Etheil. Solastron lunged at him, barking ferociously. Etheil stumbled backward. “Solastron! Easy!”

  “I can’t.” said Aries as she knelt beside Syrus. The two looked a pathetic mess with their broken arms. “My broken arm won’t give it up.” The arm made some clicks and grinding sounds, but the grenade within wouldn’t come into her palm.

  “Let me speak with him,” said Syrus, struggling up to his feet with Aries’s help.

  “No!” yelled Etheil. He had no idea what was wrong with Solastron, but if the wolf was willing to attack him there was no telling what he might do to the others, and he had already torn Syrus’s arm off. Next time it might be his head. Etheil slowly raised his right arm and pointed at Solastron’s chest. “It’s the wound, Solastron. Remember it. Don’t let it control— ”

  Solastron lunged, teeth bared. Etheil tried to move backward but his feet slipped in a puddle of blood-turned-ice. The wolf’s jaw clamped down on Etheil’s shoulder. Etheil felt his ar
mor crumple as if it were made from nothing more than cheap tin, and in the next moment he was tossed away like a chew toy, tumbling upon the ground.

  Etheil rolled up to his feet just in time to hear Braken and the three remaining soldiers cry out. Solastron charged toward the steel wall where they were gathered, barking and growling wildly. Braken turned and made a futile attempt to lift the wall as the three soldiers held their positions against the on-coming wolf, swords drawn. “Solastron, no!” roared Etheil.

  But the wolf was on them. He tore into the soldiers. Swords flashed as the men were tossed aside like leaves into the wind. Braken turned to face Solastron and the wolf leapt upon him, claws digging into his armor. Braken fell backward. The wolf snarled as his jaws clamped down on Braken’s hip and tossed him across the room.

  “Solastron!” roared Etheil. He scrambled to his feet and came toward the wolf. He felt tears, warm upon his cold cheeks, stream down his face. “Solastron! Face me if you must!” He swiped his thumb over the activation rune on his sword and Firebrand roared to life in blazing fire.

  The wolf wheeled around to Etheil’s direction. The blue fur upon his back stood up. His obsidian claws raked the stone floor, leaving deep gashes. Saliva poured from both sides of his jaw. His eyes gleamed wild, savage, angry.

  “Face me!” Etheil wiped the tears from his eyes. He walked toward Solastron, red flames licking off the blade. He wiped at his eyes again. “If this is how it must be, then face—”

  A frightful sound reverberated through the chamber. It was a shrill roar unlike anything Etheil had ever heard before. It was cold and haunting, but powerful enough that the very roots of the Shardgrims shivered in its wake. Etheil felt his blood run cold. Even Solastron gave pause, and in that moment Etheil saw the flicker of intelligence and benevolence return to the wolf’s eyes. The sonorous cry echoed again, this time more deep, resonant and terrible. Etheil felt his skin crawl.

  “What beast comes?” asked Braken, his voice no more than a frightened whisper.

  Etheil turned his head. His soldiers looked around wildly, their eyes filled with terror. Even Syrus and Aries hugged each other close. Etheil looked back at Solastron.

  The wolf licked his lips and made a whimper.

  Etheil sheathed his sword. He knelt and held out his hands. “Solastron, come to me. It’s all right.”

  The wolf turned away from him and bounded for the massive, steel door. Obsidian claws flashed, tearing gashes from the steel. Solastron bit and tugged at the mangled metal, snarling and growling. The entire door boomed against the frame of the wall with every jerk of the wolf’s head.

  “Solastron!” yelled Etheil.

  Steel whined as it tore. The door boomed and shook. A flap of metal screamed as it sheared away and Solastron tossed it aside and slipped out into the night.

  “Solastron!” cried Etheil. He ran over to the door and had to contort his body slightly to get through the opening. A cold wind swept the icy walkway of the Shardgrims, swirling the giant flakes of snow that fell. “Solastron!” Etheil cried out, his voice echoing upon the sheer face of the snowy cliffs all around, but it was no use. The blue wolf raced away.

  Etheil stood there a moment, watching the wolf until he was swallowed by the night, disappearing through the corridor at the end of the path. Etheil hunched over, resting his hands on his knees, his head held low, breath smoking. He felt a large hand upon his shoulder and looked up. Braken’s red lenses stared down at him.

  “We must go,” said the large man. He scanned the area warily. “Who knows what creature made those sounds.”

  “We must find Brandrir.” said one of the soldiers. He held his sword out, as if some terrible demon might lurch down upon him at any moment.

  Etheil stood and looked at his men. None of them were in good shape. They would never survive another Kald attack. Only three of his soldiers remained. Of his lieutenants, Aries and Syrus both had broken arms and Braken was holding his wounded belly. Etheil rubbed at his left arm. He himself had a nasty bite wound. He puffed out a smoking breath.

  “Let me go after Solastron.” said Syrus. “I will talk to him, brother to brother.”

  Etheil shook his head. More than anything he wanted to go after the wolf himself. There was no way he could risk any of his men until he knew what was happening to Solastron. All he could do now was hope that Solastron just needed some time and would meet him back at the Grimwatch. Etheil looked at his men. “Let’s go find Brandrir.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

  The demon, Bulifer, reigned upright upon his throne of black, charred stone. His infernal eyes stared past his large, curled horns and burned into Brandrir’s soul. “Come now. Don’t tell me you don’t remember me.”

  “I don’t think we’ve ever met.” Brandrir flourished Raze. To either side of him, among the tall, black pillars, the ranks of Kald hissed at him.

  Bulifer’s lips curled into a wicked smile. “Mortal memories are so fleeting. But I have been with you a long while, and you have held my hand many times. Do you remember that first night, when you were but a boy, and the Kald attacked? Do you remember me standing before you, and the anger that flowed through your veins as surely as fire when I placed my hand upon you?” The demon laughed. “Yes, I was with you then. You were so frightened, so certain that death’s icy clutches were upon you. And I offered you my hand, and you lent of my strength and you lent of my fire.”

  Brandrir did indeed remember that terrible night. His mother, the Queen, and his brother, Dagrir, were on the bed. He had gone to the window after he heard the walls of the city come thundering to the earth. He remembered the ice as it encroached upon the walls. He remembered the silver blade of the demon coming through the curtains. He remembered the fiends circling him, and the pain he felt as one of them struck him across the head. Dagrir’s horrific scream echoed in Brandrir’s mind.

  “Ah, yes, remember.” said Bulifer. The beast stood from his throne. He was a hulking creature. Veins of fire pulsed between his charred, cracked, flesh. His eyes burned white-hot as he pointed a clawed finger at Brandrir. “Remember the pain. Remember your helplessness as the Kald tore at your mother. Remember the coldness of that floor you laid upon.”

  Brandrir remembered laying upon the cold, stone floor as Dagrir wailed from the bed. His mother screamed as Kald tore at her gown, searing her flesh with their icy fingers. Brandrir’s grip tightened around Raze.

  “Don’t fear memories, for they are but the past.” spoke Bulifer. “Remember the anger and hatred that lifted you to your feet.”

  Brandrir closed his eyes. In his mind he recalled how rage coursed through his veins and melted away the icy webs of the demons. As Brandrir’s consciousness was sucked further into the abyss of nightmarish memories, he felt fire licking at his flesh. He saw embers swirling around him as he struggled to his knees. And then he saw the demon standing in the shadows. Its eyes burned like coals past curled horns. Its lips furled into a smile that revealed charred fangs. Flames spiraled around him.

  “Take my hand.” He remembered the demon’s words now. That terrible, guttural voice reverberated in his mind. “Take my hand and free yourself of the cold. Take my hand and I promise you that you and your brother shall live.”

  Brandrir reached out.

  The demon chuckled. “But there is a price. If you take my hand, the Lands of Duroton will curse a phoenix in your name. But I offer you my fire in its stead. I promise you shall ride with me upon the season of the world’s demise. The Kald shall all fall by your hand and then together we shall face the warlords of the heavenly rank. By your sword, all shall know your name is War.”

  The screams of his brother and mother echoed through his mind. Through his memories Brandrir looked at the beast and extended his fingers. The creature laughed and took him by the hand and Brandrir felt himself back on his feet.

  �
��One day I will offer you a sacrifice, and this sacrifice you must cast into the fire.” said the demon. “From those fires an offering shall come, and when you take it, our covenant is made whole and we shall be as one.”

  Brandrir’s breath caught in his throat as he was snapped back to present time. He shook his head. “No!”

  Bulifer chuckled. “So you do remember.”

  “No!” roared Brandrir.

  “Ah, but it is true.” spoke the demon. “Such a scared little boy. So helpless. Yet, there was an anger in you and it called out to me. Your hatred sang to me and I joined its chorus.” Here Bulifer fixed Brandrir with his infernal eyes. “There is no shame, Brandrir Thorodin. I brought you here to remember that.”

  Brandrir scowled as Raze thrummed in his hand.

  Bulifer stepped forward. “Brandrir Thorodin, you are destined to bring Duroton to flames. They are the same flames that I offered you, and which you gladly took on that night so long ago. I have been with you ever since, and you with me. All those battles where you felt your anger course like fire within you, those were my offerings to you. That night the phoenix burned before your eyes, it burned because you took the fire from me and my dominion. When you killed the Royal Guard in your fit of hatred, it was my fires you touched.”

  “What do you want with me!” growled Brandrir.

  “No,” said Bulifer. “It’s not what I want. It’s never been what I want. It’s all what you want. For I gave myself to you. You are me, and I am you.”

  “Bullshit! What do you want?”

  Bulifer smiled and spread his arms wide as if to display the Kald that surrounded him. “We want to show you the sacrifice.”

  Brandrir flourished his sword, ready to attack. “I’ll sacrifice nothing to you.”

  Bulifer laughed. “You will in due time. There is yet one last anger you must know before you are ready, and that is the anger of betrayal.”