The Wrath of Heroes (A Requiem for Heroes Book 2)

by David Benem

  He blinked. He blinked and he staggered upward, leaning against her. Her glare was a command and he followed it.

  A’Sha gathered both bodies and slung them over his broad shoulders. Both swayed with sickly noises against the Harkanian’s back. “From whence we came, Alisa?”

  Alisa stood at the room’s entrance, peering down the winding corridor. “I fear there’s no other way. Bale, be prepared to summon your light. And A’Sha, be ready also. Be ready for the worst.”

  The horn’s blare chased them down the strangled passage and the maddened screams followed just after. The tight corridor echoed it all.

  Bale stumbled ahead, gripping Lorra’s arm and warding away the sharp thorns with an upraised sleeve. Behind them A’Sha hefted the Sentinels’ bodies, moving his big form with agile steps.

  Alisa’s Coda pulsed with a strange luminescence. She unsheathed her sword and brandished it before her. “They’re coming,” she hissed.

  Bale felt something, an icy chill and a change in the air. The passage’s movement—the pulse of its floor—seemed stronger now, pressing them onward like waves of a rising tide. The wind moved differently, too, rushing toward whatever lay ahead.

  He cringed and held close to Lorra, wanting to stop this fool’s crusade and find some secret refuge. He knew, though, the only safety he’d find was away from this tower, far away. Fear stoked his stride.

  “We’ll make it, Bale,” Lorra said over the shrieking din.

  Bale nodded and plummeted on, clutching her. She held him, supporting him and guiding his steps through the twisting corridor.

  A sharp groan came from behind. Bale jerked his head to see A’Sha hoisting the two bodies upon his shoulders, his dark brow pinched in apparent puzzlement.

  “They move,” the Harkanian said, turning to look upon the things.

  “They move…” Bale said, hope finding his heart. “Alisa! They move! They may yet live!” He grabbed her cloak but she shrugged him aside and charged ahead.

  “We’ve no time for that now,” she commanded, urging them onward through several more turns of the passageway.

  Suddenly the horn and the screams fell silent. In their place a dreadful quiet filled the air. Bale felt even the rustle of his robes seemed an offense to it.

  Alisa brought them to a stop. “The doorway…”

  Bale craned his neck to gaze over her shoulder and upon the steamy stretch before them. Ahead, not more than twenty feet, the door stood open to the dark expanse of the throne room. In the midst of the chamber rose the great dais of ringed stairs. Near the base of the dais, not far from the door…

  I am too weak an instrument.

  A black rent appeared to be rising from the chamber’s floor. It shifted and shook, a tear in the drifting haze. Something deeper than shadow, a black chasm opening upon the world.

  “Bale,” whispered Lorra, “what is that?”

  “Necrists…” he breathed.

  Bale peered into the vast room and squinted toward the growing rift in the dark. He tried to deepen his shallow breaths and ignore the harsh words he heard shouted from some far corner of the expanse.

  Alisa stood by him, rubbing her Coda with eyes fixed on the void. “A shadowpath,” she said. “Who knows how many travel within it…”

  Bale darted blind eyes about, finding the whole of the chamber draped in darkness. “Can it be the gate still stands open?”

  “What is that?” said Lorra beside him, grabbing his shoulder to turn him about.

  He looked to see A’Sha behind him, slack-jawed with fingers knotted in his beard. Before the Harkanian, looking little more than children, stood what Bale guessed to be Kressan and the other being they’d rescued. Their small, naked bodies still ran with blood though their grievous wounds seemed to be healing.

  “Kressan?” Bale exclaimed, his fear momentarily forgotten. “You live!”

  “I live, Zandrachus Bale,” said Kressan, her voice barely a whisper. Her hairless body had turned a deep gold stained red in many places. She gestured in seeming pain toward the other small being. “As does my twin Sienne.”

  Sienne, identical but for her silvery hue, tilted with a slight bow. “You have our gratitude,” she said.

  “Bale!” urged Alisa.

  Bale remained transfixed by the twin Sentinels, his head lost in old tales. “I-I…”

  “Now!” Alisa barked again, seizing a handful of his robes. “We must run now!”

  Bale shook himself from his trance and turned to see the rift had grown to several yards across. It convulsed and squirmed, its shape shifting as it opened wide. At its edges he could see gnarled hands gripping and tugging, tearing a larger hole into the space of the chamber.

  The hideous shrieking began anew, the sound of it cascading from the void. A bell tolled, loud and terrible. Many shouts came from across the chamber and its heights.

  Bale’s heart quailed. “I-I…”

  “Run!” screamed Alisa. She bounded wide of the void, her cloak whipping behind her. A’Sha moved just behind, helping along the limping Sentinels. Their metallic faces were impassive, statuesque, and they seemed to pay no heed to their hunters.

  Bale leaned upon Lorra as they scurried after. He looked to the opening shadowpath and saw figures—things—emerging from it. Black-robed Necrists poured from its depths, swarming into the great chamber with shadows coiling about them like snakes.

  Others came, too. Hobbling, hump-backed dwarfs and lumbering, misshapen giants groaning as though every step were a dagger in the back.

  “Dead gods!” Bale drew a breath of the cold air and blinked away tears. He sagged against Lorra, almost collapsing.

  “Run, spooker!” she scolded. “You run or we die!”

  Bale whimpered and surged onward. He glanced back again. The Necrists and their malformed progeny pursued, not more than twenty yards away. The Necrists jerked and spasmed but ran frighteningly fast and were gaining. Others materialized from the mouth of the shadowpath and they too gave chase.

  Fear choked him and he looked to the chamber ahead. They’d begun to round the great ring of stairs and he could now see the crucified bones of children and the fires of the blazing braziers. Beyond the fires he spied flashes of steel. Spears, swords, axes. All wielded by Arranese warriors.

  Alisa drew to a stop, boots skidding on the black stone beneath. Bale and Lorra nearly slammed into her but managed to come to a halt at her side.

  “We can’t stop!” pleaded Bale over the piercing wails. He glanced back to the Necrists dashing toward them from the dark. “We mustn’t stop!”

  “You’d have us run headlong into Arranese blades?” Alisa snapped. “A’Sha! Can you handle the warriors? We’ll deal with the Necrists.”

  A’Sha stepped ahead, shaking his hands. “It seems I must.”

  The Harkanian threw his arms outward, upward, and as he did he transformed. New sinews seemed to ripple and surge from within his hefty form. His neck cracked and his head cocked at a sharp angle. A second set of arms sprang from his ribs. He roared, the sound of it harsh and feral. His many fingers twisted and sprouted long claws and his body contorted and grew to nearly triple its size.

  Dead gods!

  A’Sha roared again, spittle spraying from a jutting maw. He’d become a fearsome beast, like some massive, hairless bear, and the Arranese warriors retreated.

  “Bale!” Alisa said with a stern gaze. “Light this tower!”

  Bale, bewildered, turned to behold more than two dozen Necrists and their twisted creations charging toward them. They seemed a gallery of horrors wearing masks of the dead. Black eyes glared from black sockets. Shadows spun from their hands and seemed to swell with every stride.

  “Illienne…” Bale said, stretching a timid arm toward the coming dark.

  “Bale!” snarled Lorra. “Make your light!”

  He threw out his hand, firmly this time, and his mind focused on every syllable of the sacred words. “Illienne!” he shouted. “Illienn
e abralide y ganode allum!”

  Pure, brilliant light flooded the great chamber. The Necrists and their creatures staggered as though blinded and their shrieks fell silent. They faltered to a stop, many clawing at the light as though it were a physical thing. The flesh of those at the fore smoldered. The shadows they held withered, diminishing to almost nothing.

  The trembling hint of a smile lifted Bale’s face. It’s working!

  But some of the Necrists seemed to gather themselves. They bent behind nearby comrades and worked pale, sickly hands as though kindling the wisps of shadow within them.

  A Necrist at the rear began barking at the malformed creations and the cow-eyed giants lumbered ahead. They limped through the cringing crowd then lurched forward upon legs that looked to be braided from those of many corpses. Fists like anvils swayed at their sides and the ground shook beneath their march. Behind them, Necrists crept in the shade they cast and the shadows they held grew and darkened.

  Alisa shouted something, some arcane command, and her sword erupted with green fire. She sprang upon the enemy. She slashed her weapon at the first monstrosity, cleaving away a chunk of its thigh. The giant moaned but then threw down a massive fist. Alisa just managed to avoid the blow.

  The Necrists behind the beast muttered madly, speaking a harsh language of insectile chitters and guttural noises. Shadows spread from their hands like smoke from fire.

  Alisa swept her blade at the dark and dodged another strike from the giant before cleaving its belly. Its innards spilled upon the stone, a bloody stew of what appeared to be small fingers, eyeballs and brains.

  The wounded giant teetered and fell. The Necrists shrieked.

  Bale sucked in a horrified breath and turned his head about. Lorra stood beside him with a hand on his arm and mouth agape. Behind them, A’Sha—or whatever he’d become—growled and lashed his claws at a clutch of Arranese warriors.

  But the Sentinels were not to be found.

  “Where…” Bale breathed, his focus wavering.

  His light flickered.

  Alisa cursed.

  Bale looked to her. She danced about, slashing her shining blade at the legs of the two remaining giants. The Necrists’ shadows groped at her like the tentacles of some undersea monster. One coiled about her waist. She cut it away but another quickly wound about in its place.

  Bale took a stride forward though his heart stammered. He pressed his hand farther ahead and concentrated, willing himself courage. He drew a deep breath, hoping—praying—the divine illumination would prevail against the night.

  The light shone, but it didn’t seem to be enough. Not in this shrine of evil nor against so many foes. The light was failing and the Necrists seemed to be recovering, their shadows deepening and darkening.

  And at last the light died.

  The air filled with the Necrists’ loud chitter, the scuffle of Alisa’s movements and the violence of A’Sha and the Arranese behind. Bale’s eyes darted about, desperate, adjusting to the renewed dark. Thick shadows obscured the whirling flame of Alisa’s sword, and the dull illumination of the chamber’s braziers seemed but a rumor. There came no hint of sunlight and he was certain the tower’s gate had shut.

  All of it, all the darkness and the madness within it, surrounded him now and appeared to be closing.

  His heart sank. Enemies were everywhere, and he could find no sign of the Sentinels.

  Have they abandoned me? And after so great a journey to find them?

  He cast his eyes downward and drew his hands into fists. He pounded them against his hips and shook with a sob. Are we to die here?

  “Bale,” hissed Lorra. “Look.”

  He sniffled then lifted his head to search the dark. The Arranese warriors lay in shattered heaps among pools of red reflecting the tower’s fires. A’Sha, still in his monstrous form, stood doubled over, the wide breadth of his back heaving. After a moment he straightened and roared, the sound more tragic than ferocious.

  “A’Sha!” Bale said.

  A’Sha turned to reveal a massive body torn by many grievous wounds. He flexed and shook the great claws of his many hands, splattering gore upon the stone tiles. He pressed himself ahead with a snarl.

  Lorra held Bale’s arm as the great beast approached.

  “A’Sha?” Bale said, shrinking.

  A’Sha paused and looked down to him, his bestial, bear-like face softening with seeming sadness. “Bale,” he said, his sonorous voice unaffected by his transformation. “We will delay the enemy. Go now. They await you.” His expression hardened once more and he trudged away.

  “But…” Bale said, his head tangled with fear and confusion. “Who waits?”

  No answer came.

  Bale’s eyes followed A’Sha and he saw beyond him Alisa still battling the Necrists and their giants. She swept her fiery sword about but the darkness seemed to be engulfing her. A’Sha came beside her, flailing at the enemy, and soon shadows entwined him as well.

  “Zandrachus Bale,” came a voice.

  The voice, Bale knew, sounded only in his head, just as when Lyan the Just had first communicated with him beneath Cirak.

  Bale’s looked about. “Kressan?”

  Lorra squeezed his shoulder. “Bale! We can’t just stand here!”

  “You must come to the gate,” said the voice.

  He stared again to Alisa and A’Sha. The shadows around them had grown and more foes had joined the fray. Alisa cleaved her sword into a Necrist’s skull then reeled as a giant smashed her side with a mighty fist. A’Sha howled as black tendrils coiled around him.

  “I can’t…” Bale breathed. “I can’t leave them.”

  “We must run!” pleaded Lorra, her hand knotted in his robes. “We can’t fight these things and you must save your Sentinels!”

  “Come now, Zandrachus Bale,” said the disembodied voice. “The gate will not open for long.”

  He glanced over to where he remembered the gate to be. Something shimmered there, a figure distant and small and gold. The Sentinels were his charge, he knew, though leaving his new allies—new friends?—to fight the enemy alone tasted of cowardice. He tried to think of what he could do to help them, rummaging through cobwebbed memories of old books he’d read. He wondered about an exorcism, but knew such things required much time and preparation. He thought also of powerful blessings and curses he’d learned, but those too demanded profound concentration.

  He wrung his hands, helplessness and fear consuming him. Is there nothing I can do?

  “Bale!” shouted Lorra. “We’ll not die here!”

  He looked to her, her face mere inches from his own. Her sharp features pinched with what seemed panic and desperation. She braced his arm with hers and tried towing him toward the gate.

  “Now. You must come now, or you will perish.”

  Bale dug in his feet. He felt his lower lip shaking and his limbs ran cold. He looked ahead and saw only the failing light of Alisa’s blade. He listened to the harsh drone of the Necrists and heard within it a muted roar from A’Sha.

  I am too weak an instrument…

  He whimpered and succumbed to Lorra’s pull. She dragged him backward along the slick stone tiles, between broken, bloody bodies of Arranese warriors ripped nearly to shreds. “Move your damned legs!” she said.

  He turned toward her and spotted Kressan at the chamber’s far end, still and golden and regal as a statue. Her twin, Sienne, moved to stand near, her silver hue catching the fires’ glimmer.

  “Alright,” he said with a quavering voice. He clung to her and together they ran, his stride ragged and clumsy but determined. The came nearer the Sentinels and he could see beyond them the gate cracking open to a blaze of sunlight and a rush of hot wind and sand.

  The Sentinels drew to his side and they hastened onward. Onward to the light, and to hope. He drew a sharp, elated breath.

  But his eyes fell one last time to Alisa and to A’Sha, far behind him. He could just see A’Sha tearing clawed
hands into the growing darkness. Shadows surrounded him. Alisa, too, was fading, the gleam of her sword now hardly discernable. More shadows, more Necrists…

  A distant roar sounded though it spoke only of pain. A thud and a pitiable groan followed.

  Bale heard Alisa’s scream—a terrified scream that penetrated the dark—then the clang of metal against stone.

  The sword’s flame vanished. Bale could see nothing more of his friends.

  Only darkness.

  He reached out an arm though knew he could do nothing to save them.

  They were dead.

  And there was only darkness.

  He clutched Lorra and together they fled the tower.

  19

  OLD ACQUAINTANCES

  Lannick woke to a thunderous pain in his head, a thick tongue and a burning throat. He drew in a breath of hot, stinking air and moaned. He rolled to his side but his shoulder caught hard wood and splinters just above him. He leaned back and eased a hand to a head topped with hair crusty in places and sticky in others, as well as with two massive, throbbing lumps swollen and smarting.

  His bed lurched. It jolted about and swayed and groaned.

  Am I moving?

  He eased open his eyes, finding his surroundings a darkened box. Threads of light striated the tight enclosure, and the whole of the thing seemed fashioned of wooden planks.

  A coffin?

  Dead gods!

  He jerked his head about as fear seized him. Whatever he was in creaked and listed. A horse nickered somewhere outside. He guessed his box was borne upon a wagon of some sort, and worried he was about to be dropped in a newly-dug grave.

  “I…” he croaked. “I’m not dead yet!”

  Laughter. From without the box came hard, hateful laughter. “Hear that, boys? The captain’s not dead!”

  The wagon crawled to a halt. Shapes moved outside, darkening the thin light within Lannick’s enclosure.

  Lannick frantically felt about. He still wore his chainmail and cloak though his sword and the purse containing his Coda were gone. I’m defenseless!

  There came the sound of jingling metal. The box shifted like someone pushed against it. A click. The squeak of a turning key then a clack. “Here you go,” grumbled someone. “Unlocked and all.”