Cursed Earth (Kat Drummond Book 12)

by Nicholas Woode-Smith

“Oh, I care not. Bring an army. Come alone. It makes no difference.”

  I considered asking him why. But, I could already hear it in his voice. The darkness. I wouldn’t get any real answers out of him.

  “When?” I asked instead.

  “I’ll be here until midnight. For every hour you are late after that, I shall remove an eye. And I see these men are not sorcerers. They need their eyes.”

  He laughed, as if he had made the funniest joke in the world.

  “I’ll be there,” I announced, and hung up.

  My body pulsed. Treth manifested before me, placing his hand on my shoulder to calm me down. Brett did the same, even as he fought down his own rage.

  “What…who was that?” Cindy asked, skin pale.

  “The Necro Lord.” I looked up at her, even as I shivered. “He has Henri and Busani.”

  Brett flew up from his chair, knocking it over.

  “Where? How?”

  “Athlone Stadium…where I fought the Marshal. He wants me to meet him. He doesn’t care if I come alone or not.”

  “It’s a trap,” Guy answered, bluntly.

  “Obviously! But, do we have a choice?”

  Nobody answered. I clenched my fist, digging my nails into skin. And then released. I had to be calm. For their sake…

  “We have until midnight…then he starts removing eyes.”

  Guy and Brett stared, for just a second, before tearing out of the room. They were going to get armed. Even with Guy’s protestations, Busani was his friend. He wouldn’t…couldn’t let him get hurt like this.

  Themba followed his cousin. He still knew how to fight, even if his tangle with the vampires had sapped the life from him.

  Silence fell on the dining room. Cindy’s wonderful meal grew cold.

  “I’m sorry, Cins…” I started, as she gripped my shoulder.

  “It isn’t you, Kat. It’s never you. And we don’t have a choice here. They’re our friends…”

  I looked up at her, expecting to see sad resignation on her face.

  Instead, I saw rage. A red-hot anger that I’d never seen on the serene face of Cindy soon-to-be Giles-Mgebe before.

  “We’ll make that bastard pay,” she muttered, and turned to get ready herself. “And we’ll get them back.”

  Chapter 15.

  Confrontation

  The roar of engines flooded the night air of Hope City as a convoy of Crusaders and police surged towards Athlone Stadium. The dead streets of the border-slum soon turned into a parade of stampeding vehicles. Fortunately, there were no pedestrians about to be hit.

  The mole in the Crusaders came in handy. For, as soon as I had sent out the APB, Montague and the Chairperson were on the line. They wanted in. And, for once, I was glad that the police were going to be there. This was most likely a trap, and we needed as many people as we could muster. Which meant every single Crusader. Not just those on duty. All of them.

  No one complained. No one requested overtime.

  The Necro Lord had two of our own. We’d make him bleed for that.

  The city was dark as we turned into view of the stadium. No lights shone on the structure. Only moonlight provided a silhouette of the now disused structure. After this was done, I’d formally request they demolish it. It seemed all it was good for these days was hosting duels.

  Brett’s van, containing the five of us (six if you included Treth), screeched to a halt, joining a motley crew of flashing police cars and Crusader vehicles. I jumped out of the van as it was still moving, and immediately saw Conrad conversing anxiously with the Chairperson himself, with a silent Captain Montague standing to the side.

  The three of them went silent as they saw me approach, my coat threatening to burst into an inferno as it lit up the dark night.

  Montague paled.

  “Last Light! I’m sorry...”

  “Reconnaissance, Montague! We gather intel first then we commit to the raids. That was the plan!” I yelled. I noted that Treth’s sword was drawn. He wouldn’t use it, but he was angry too.

  “I lost men too…” he replied, voice soft. “Good men.”

  “What were they doing? How did they get caught?” I continued to yell. His soft-spoken manner was a far cry from that of his brother. It didn’t calm me.

  “Doing what is needed,” Riaan interjected, finally. I spun on him. He didn’t flinch. Seemed he was getting used to the Kat death glare.

  “They knew what they signed up for,” he continued.

  I considered hitting him. But even my coat thought that was a bad idea. Its flames dimmed, as rain began to fall, letting out tiny hisses as it hit the boiling scales.

  “There’s no use arguing,” Conrad announced, stepping between us. “There’re good men still living in there. Trap or not, we can’t abandon them.”

  He looked at me, pointedly. “Are you ready for what’s in there, Kat?”

  “I have to be,” I replied, immediately.

  He nodded, pride and sadness resonating in the gesture all at once.

  I didn’t think he knew how much the former meant to me.

  I put out my hand and let Treth manifest Ithalen into it. Riaan jumped back. I turned to the assorted Crusaders and police.

  “Crusaders!” I bellowed. “Tonight, we save our own!”

  I let the war cries wash over me as I turned towards the black silhouette of the stadium and advanced, an army at my back.

  Police, armed with military-grade armour and rifles, swarmed around us, surrounding the stadium. Even if it was a trap, we had the Necro Lord surrounded. Or, his proxy, most likely.

  I realised that Charles Montague was by my side, with a squad of police that looked like soldiers.

  “This is monster hunting work,” I said, coldly.

  Charles held a magnum revolver. I saw the glint of silver. He was prepared for more than just undead.

  “My brother sent hunters to their deaths without serving by their side,” he said. “I won’t make the same mistake.”

  I nodded. I couldn’t stop him. And, I could not help but feel a growing respect for him. Even if he was a cop.

  The tunnel entrance was just before me. And a strong sense of déjà vu.

  “Why do you fight, Drummond?” the Marshal had asked, years ago. “Is it because you have nothing to truly lose?”

  And I answered:

  “If I don’t fight, I lose everything,”

  It wasn’t just my life now. It was a dozen…a hundred lives. And I owed them all. To fight for them. To die for them, if needed.

  This is what it meant to be the Last Light.

  Hammond’s and my coat’s fire lit up the dark tunnel leading into the stadium proper. Crusaders turned on their flashlights, letting orange and white light dance around the piss-smelling concrete.

  And then, the fresh night air greeted us, only marred by the slight hint of decay, and the smell of gun oil.

  It was dark. I could not see past my aura of fiery orange. And then, with an electronic, almost explosive buzz, the stadium lights awoke. One by one, washing the overgrown green field with white light. As if it were day.

  And, standing in the centre of the field, on a stage made for musical performances, was a young man with black, short hair, and an even blacker robe. Even at a distance, I could see the lines and corners that his robes hid. He had tactical armour underneath. He wasn’t completely foolhardy.

  “Kat Drummond!” the Necro Lord boomed over the stadium speakers, not hiding his excitement. “Come closer! I won’t bite.”

  Even in person, his voice was acidic. It was as if he was casting dark magic with every word. As if he could no longer speak normally. Every utterance was darkness personified.

  Brett caught my eye. He nodded, reassuring me, and shouldered his rifle. I took a step forward. The mass of Crusaders at my back followed. Kyong, resonating pure energy. Hammond with his flames cupped in his hand. Pranish had a fireball charged. Trudie and her wolves had already transformed. And there wer
e dozens more. I counted every single one of our ranks that could fire a gun or swing a sword.

  Yet, I still felt nervous.

  “And…stop there,” the Necro Lord suddenly blurted. I stopped dead, and he giggled.

  “Good, good. I can see you properly now…”

  And I could see him. And, by his side, the kneeling, restrained figures of Busani and Henri. Both were gagged, but I was close enough to see the fear in their eyes. Busani was more used to this, and even he was sweating buckets. Henri…poor young Henri…was weeping.

  I took another step forward, just as I saw a flash of silver.

  “Oh…not another step, Last Light.”

  My eyes widened.

  It couldn’t be…

  The Necro Lord held a wakizashi of pure, shimmering silver, held underneath Busani’s neck. I could see the white of my friend’s eyes. Perhaps, he also recognised the blade. It was mine. The wakizashi Trudie had given me on my 20th birthday. The one I had lost in the fires of Candace’s fortress.

  “Yes…stay there. Your comrades would appreciate your discretion.” The Necro Lord smiled. “Now, I’d like to welcome you back to your old battleground. The one where you slew my honoured henchman…”

  “The Marshal was not yours. You aren’t the Necrolord,” I responded, barely keeping my rage at bay.

  The Necro Lord looked taken aback. For just a second. He nodded, solemnly, and smiled.

  “There is no deceiving you, Last Light. But I thought it prudent to test you. There are many myths in Hope City. But, it seems that yet another myth is true.”

  He shook his head and laughed. Brett and Guy didn’t take their eyes off Busani. I heard the whispering of purification magic at my back. Cindy was preparing a spell. Just in case.

  “You aren’t the Necrolord,” I repeated. “So, who are you?”

  The Necro Lord ceased his laughing, but his smirk remained.

  “Me? I am the new Necro Lord. Once, I was a follower of the original Necrolord. A necromancer in his ranks. But, as you slew him, I was left destitute. My empire fell with his empire. But even if his descent left me destitute, I still had one thing left of my master.”

  He paused for effect and seemed to stare into the past. Reminiscing.

  “His knowledge. And, so I rebuild his empire. For, as all empires fall, they can all rise once again. Like Persia from the ashes.”

  He winked. He knew what Persia meant to me. That all but confirmed his involvement with the Conclave. Typical.

  “So…this is revenge?” I hissed. “For slaying the Necrolord who captured me? Then release them! They weren’t even involved in the Necrolord Case. I’m here now. Face me!”

  “Face you?” the Necro Lord asked, incredulous. He laughed, dropping his microphone and sending feedback through the speakers.

  Somehow, his voice was more deranged without the mic.

  “I didn’t call you here to fight you, Kat Drummond. I came to see you in the flesh! To meet the hero of Hope City. The girl who took down the greatest necromancer the world has ever seen…until now.”

  He eyed me up and down. His sneer disappeared and was replaced by an intense frown. He shook his head.

  “I must say, I am unimpressed. But, heroes are never that impressive in the flesh, are they? You know why?”

  “I’m sure you’re gonna tell me.”

  His grin returned. “For the flesh is weak, Kat Drummond. Malleable. And, oh…so…sensitive…”

  Faster than I could act, he slit Busani’s throat. Blood sprayed onto the grass, as Busani’s body soon followed. Guy and Brett opened fire, just to have their bullets fly off an arcane shield. And then…screams.

  The lights over the seating burst to life, revealing a horrific horde. Rows and rows. An entire stadium’s worth of armoured, armed abhorrent stood surrounding the stadium. Bloodied at their feet, were Montague’s police.

  I had a split-second to take it all in. Then, it all exploded. Crusaders opened fire on the Necro Lord, despite the shield, or at the abhorrent as they poured onto the field. Cindy let loose a barrage of purification bolts as she hastily ordered Crusaders to form a defensive perimeter. But, it was too late. Hammond launched a tide of fire at the shield, to no avail, as Guy and Brett tried to charge at the Necro Lord. Just as hands burst through the soil, catching their legs.

  Chaos erupted as undead rose from the ground and descended from all around us. The Necro Lord stood on his perch, watching this all with glee, as he moved towards young Henri.

  I stabbed downward as I felt a hand wrap around my ankle. Ithalen hissed and the hand went limp. Treth appeared by my side, beheading an abhorrent with butcher’s knives for hands as it tried to cleave Cindy in half.

  Charles and the police were being overwhelmed, as their bullets just squelched into the undead surrounding them. I looked at the police captain and caught his eye. The throng of bodies around him was too much. He couldn’t even aim his gun. He fired into the air. Desperately. Impotently. I looked at him. And then looked at young Henri, the Necro Lord edging closer towards him. I only had one choice. I couldn’t let another Crusader die.

  I willed my coat to burn and, with the cover of a firestorm, I burst through the engulfing abhorrent towards the stage. Treth teleported underneath me, as I leapt onto his shield, being propelled onto the stage. I levelled Ithalen for a strike at the Necro Lord, roaring over the gunfire and crackle of magic.

  My hand rung as my blade glanced off my old wakizashi. I landed on my feet, spinning to put myself between the Necro Lord and Henri. I sliced towards him, just as he caught my blow again. Usually, swords couldn’t handle so many blocks. Would dull the edge. But, both the swords were enchanted. My bones would sooner disintegrate than them go dull or break.

  I brought back Ithalen for another blow, the commotion of combat surrounding me.

  The Necro Lord took another step back, and smirked. He clicked his fingers and muttered a single curse.

  My heart went cold. I clutched at my throat as my veins seemed to become infused with ash. I fell to my knees, grasping for air and any sort of relief.

  Treth was fighting in the mosh pit of bodies but, in his semi-corporeal state, couldn’t get to me. He cried out.

  But, the Necro Lord didn’t strike me. He strolled past me, as I tried to resist the corruption curse. I craned my neck to watch him, as he grabbed Henri by his hair and tore off his gag. Before Henri could speak, the Necro Lord skewered the tip of his blade into Henri’s eye, ripping it out like an olive from a jar. Henri screamed and fell to the floor as the Necro Lord examined his prize. Just as light infused within me and I broke his curse, surging towards him.

  Then, the ground exploded.

  Soil, wood and grass flew up, as Henri and I fell towards the Earth. I rolled to catch my injured companion, as I watched a horror emerge from the depths. Scaled with pallid, rotting grey hide, showing bone and with eyes afire with blue flames…was a drake. An undead drake.

  The Necro Lord saluted me, sheathed my sword and jumped atop the drake’s back. With a gust of air that sent abhorrent and crusaders reeling, the drake shot up into the air, and disappeared into the night.

  He was gone. I turned towards the ongoing combat. Charles lay dead, his head metres from his body. Heather and Hammond were cornered, fighting off the horde as Kyong made mincemeat of all he could get his hands on.

  I steeled myself as Henri whimpered in my arms, and Busani lay dead on the annihilated soil.

  The fighting wasn’t over. Far from it. I stood up straight, sword ready, as I became surrounded by abhorrent. I charged into the fray, yelling my defiance.

  Chapter 16.

  Death

  “And it shall come to pass,” the Titan Priest recited, holding his hands outwards, as if collecting rainwater. “That all of us shall be committed to the Earth. We shall be covered by rock, as is the merciful Titan, Adamastor, who spares us his wrath for another day. But his wrath shall not come for Busani Mbatha. This child of the Ea
rth and dutiful servant of the Titan shall not breathe again or face the storms and quakes of the Titan’s inevitable awakening. He shall be committed to the earth and rock. And, like the Titan, he shall be covered in rock…”

  Six Titan cultists, robed in blood red, stood up from their kneeling positions around a large, stone fist, situated on a pedestal a respectful distance from the hole where Busani would be buried. I had caught a glimpse of the epitaph before taking my seat. Engraved into the rock, in solid lettering, read:

  “Like the Titan, he sleeps. But forevermore.”

  The cultists lifted the rock sculpture on all sides. I could see that some were using force magic to assist the endeavour. Then, Amazing Grace began to play, performed by a single piper. Themba, standing to the side of the priest. Guy didn’t know his cousin could play the bagpipes.

  From behind the rows of seats, filled with Crusaders, a coffin was carried towards an already excavated hole. The coffin was carried by Guy, Brett, Hammond, Kyong, Ismail and Henri. All wore the Crusader black and grey.

  With the solemn, haunting tune of Amazing Grace, a Christian hymn, being played on a Scottish instrument, at the foot of Africa at a Titan Cult funeral. It was very Hope City.

  No one spoke. No one tried to stop the drizzle from wetting them further. Trudie’s make up already ran rivulets from tears. The rain would make no difference. My coat even calmed its flames, to stop itself from hissing and steaming.

  Hammond passed me at the front. I saw fire in his eyes.

  “We’ll get him,” he whispered, glancing at me as he passed. I nodded, stiffly. I couldn’t feel rage this second. But I knew it would come. Later. The pallbearers arrived at the hole, meeting the cultists with the rock fist.

  The pipes stopped, as the hymn came to an end.

  The priest lay his hand on the now lowered coffin, and then the rock fist.

  “Death is merely slumber,” he said, with practiced finality. “And, in the dream of rock and stone, we find salvation.”

  The Crusader pallbearers backed away as the cultists hefted the rock over the hole, covering Busani’s coffin.