The Children of Urdis (Grimwold and Lethos Book 2) (9 page)

Warning horns sounded, low notes that rebounded off the mountains. Lookouts from the other towers had spotted the same ship and no doubt felt the same fear as she had. The wind strengthened as if its howl attempted to drown out the warning. Valda rushed to the opposite side of the tower and leaned over the side. The guards were all running to man their posts. The horns continued to sound and the wind grew ever stronger until the cold cut through her thin clothes.

Then a horrible noise came from the south where the main gates lay and where trolls and Avadurians both had once tried to scale the walls. It was the sound of crashing rocks, a continuous rumble that shook the tower floor. Valda did not understand what she saw. The sky had turned black and the sun became a spot behind the clouds, leaving all in a flat light. A greenish light like a healing bruise flooded the clouds and a swirling cone of wind reached down toward the gates. She had heard of these kinds of storms. The twisting winds were called the Finger of Urdis and destroyed whatever it touched. Perhaps twice in a lifetime a person might witness such a storm. Now what were the chances that it arrived now with the strange ship?

The front gates and curtain wall exploded like so many piled up stones when the god's finger touched it. Sand and debris sprayed out at Valda and she fell flat to the tower floor. She slid to the other side as the wind swept her like a dried leaf. The roar was deafening and terrorizing. She clawed the rough stone floor, but had nothing to grasp. She slammed up against the opposite wall and flattened out as the finger receded into the clouds again. Rock and shattered wall rained down on everything, and fist-sized clumps of stone crashed all around her. She did not scream, but was frozen in terror. The wind dropped her from the wall like a bully grown bored with his victim. She landed on her face, gritty dirt clinging to her and filling her nose with the bitter scent of earth.

She scrabbled to her feet and sought the white ship again. It was closer now, unaffected by the storm that had raised the waves of the ocean and produced winds strong enough to shatter the front walls. The wind still pushed against her, threatening to tip her over the side down into the rocky chasms below. She shivered from the intense cold and turned from the wall to pull open the trapdoor.

It was stuck. She hauled on the cold iron ring again, and it did not give. She thought the falling rocks might have damaged the hinges in some way. She got on hands and knees to clear away the sand and debris then tried once more. The door was jammed. She began to bang on it, knowing no one would hear her. She had not told anyone where she had gone, nor would any guard be left in the tower. All would be headed toward the breached walls.

Thinking she might call for help, she returned back to the side facing the interior of the castle. The futility of that plan was immediately apparent. Her face burned with frustration. Not only was the yard clear of people, but it was too far down for her small voice to reach anyone. The wind roared, the crumbling sound of the swirling clouds overpowering everything. She looked up as lightning crossed the sky. She wanted to pray for help, but what god would listen? Something evil was controlling the storm. Something from that strange ship. She knew it. Everyone was in danger and she was trapped atop a tower.

Her thoughts were for her sisters. She was responsible for them. With Thorgis gone, she was the eldest, and defending them was her honor. It mattered not a whit if her father thought such duties were not fit for her. When the Avadurians had come last year, she had been ready to fight to the death in defense of her family. She would do it now too, if only she knew where an enemy might arrive. Though only a ship had appeared and a storm had demolished a curtain wall, she felt certain this was an enemy invasion. How she knew mattered not at all to her. Only that she did know--and was right.

Yet the trapdoor would not release no matter how hard Valda pulled on the ring. The wind shoved her and she fell to the side twice as she struggled. Then she heard the rumble in the sky strengthen again and lightning flashed blindingly white. She smelled its strange scent on the air, a raw note that made her nostrils burn. The finger of Urdis began to descend once more. She screamed now, watching the funnel cloud plunge toward the yard directly below. It was a thin funnel, more like a tail than a finger. The wind slapped her with debris that stung her flesh, cutting her cheek. This funnel, however, did not command the same powerful wind as the first. Instead, it extended to the ground with the gentle delicacy of a true human finger. It touched the dirt floor of the yard and circled lazily.

Wherever the funnel lingered, it left a man in its wake.

Valda blinked, then rubbed her eyes. The cloud was depositing men onto the ground. Her mouth fell open at the sight, but it was not a delusion. Tall, thin men in strange armor that gleamed with the scarce flat light stood where the funnel cloud passed. Each one was as still as a statue, the wind not even stirring the long pale hair that spilled from beneath their helmets. She could not distinguish them from this distance, but counted six of them arrayed in a semicircle. At last, the funnel cloud lingered over a spot and then retreated to the sky. It left behind a final man in front of the other six.

She ran back to the trapdoor, desperate now to escape the tower. Her hands were like ice upon the ring, but no matter how desperately she pulled, the door would not release. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

Then she was flying through the air. She had heard a boom, felt a punch to her chest, then the world had gone white. For a moment she was weightless, vaguely aware that she seemed to be heading down. A spray of rocks surrounded her as she plummeted. Had she been hit by lightning and thrown from the tower? Was this death?

Valda plunged into a cart of hay. Even with the hay beneath her the fall should have resulted in broken bones at best. Yet she suffered nothing worse than a roiling in her belly that made her nauseated. She was buried in the cart, inexplicably unnoticed by the strange men, but through the straw she could see them all clearly. They were beside her, plates of shining metal joined by either links of chain mesh or thick leather. They all wore gray cloaks and carried strange shields in the shape of a long, oval seashell. Their armor gave their wiry bodies bulk, but Valda sensed an intense strength from their posture.

Across the yard, the iron-bound doors opened and her father strode out. She bit back an urge to call out to him. He wore a heavy coat of armor and carried an unadorned shield. The cheek plates of his helmet did not hide the grave lines of his face. At his back his guards emerged in a disciplined line, their mail far simpler and duller than the mysterious invaders'. At least two dozen spilled out behind him with heavy spears lowered.

"Eldegris," said the lead man. His voice was like a snake's hiss, but it seemed to echo off the walls. The storm calmed as he spoke and the wind died. Flashes continued to rake the sky. "Paladin of Phyros, I know your name."

Valda froze at the words. She had never heard her father called anything other than High King. Debris and stones continued to fall from the sky as the winds retreated, plinking off the armor of the assembled warriors. Her father drew his sword. It cleared the scabbard with a dull rasp, but it did not alight with magic as legend told it would. Her father's blade was to have been capable of cleaving a dragon in two with one stroke. But he held out a plain blade hardly worthy of a bandit.

"There is no place for the Tsal in this world," he said. He leveled the blade at the leader. "Return to the mists before Phyros strikes you down."

The wintry laugh of the leader made Valda shiver.

"Where is your sword, mighty paladin? The blade that felled dragon and demon both. Is that it? It is but a toy for a child. Do you know who faces you? I am a captain of a white ark. Does your order understand what that means? I am Avulash, and your doom is at hand."

"You are outnumbered," Eldegris said. His eyes never faltered and his sword did not waver. Pride at her father's defiance flared in Valda's chest. He curled his lip in a sneer. "I care not for your name, Tsal. It means nothing to the Order. I keep the watch here, and your kind will not return to this world. The gods have forbidden it. Phyros has commanded it."

"Phyros and the gods have turned their eyes from this world. Why else would your sword not flicker with magic? Why else would I find the way? Oh yes, Eldegris, I feel you tremble at that thought. But I have opened the way for the return of the Tsal. The path through the mists is discovered, and behind me a thousand times a thousand white arks will flood back into our world. Who shall be outnumbered then?" The man called Avulash looked defiantly at the gathered warriors. "These boys are not true members of the Order. You have trained them well. But they are nothing to the Tsal. Vermin to be swept aside, as you will be."

Avulash waved his hand and a shimmering black mist spread from it. Valda's nose suddenly filled with the gagging scent of blood, and she covered her nose and face with her hand. Her motion drew the attention of the closest enemy, but his cold golden eyes swept past her.

The warriors recoiled from the strange black vapor. It floated over their heads, and Eldegris roared, then charged forward. The men behind him did the same, lowering spears and shields as they did. Avulash remained unmoving with hands extended, mist pouring out from the palms. None of his companions so much as flinched.

Avulash snapped his arms down just as Eldegris and his warriors were about to reach him. It was like a heavy blanket smothering them. They collapsed beneath it, screaming and gagging. Her father crumbled as well, and Valda wanted to scream. Yet her body had frozen and her voice had been stolen from her. She could only watch.

The men rolled on the ground clutching their throats, eyes bulging, helmets falling from their heads. Within a dozen heartbeats all had stopped moving. Amid the litter of the yard, men lay in heaps atop their shields and weapons, not a drop of blood spilled but dead all the same.

Tears streaked down Valda's face, her strange paralysis forcing her to witness the murder of scores of warriors. Her father, however, still struggled to his knees. He used his sword to right himself, and the thin, wicked man called Avulash waited for him to rise.

"On your feet to the end," Avulash said with a nod. "I'll grant you that much. But without your sword, we both see what a paladin of Phyros is worth. Less than the mud on the soles of my boots."

Avulash drew his own blade. It was long and thin, and strange geometric symbols swirled around it in a violet fire. He let Valda's father study the blade as it hovered over him. His helmet had fallen off, and Valda noticed how old her father looked. His hairline had receded and his cheeks were hollow. Gray stained his beard and the temples of his hair. He did not flinch at the blade as Avulash drew it back.

"Your blood begins a new age," Avulash said. "Rejoice in that thought."

The sword plunged through Eldegris's chest as cleanly as a hot blade through snow. Eldegris's mouth fell open as if to scream, but nothing more than blood erupted from it. Valda fought against whatever held her. The tears rolled down her cheeks, but she could neither move nor cry out. She watched as Avulash slid his blade out of her father and let him collapse at his feet.

Thunder boomed and lightning flashed. All of the strange enemy looked fearfully at the sky. The leader, Avulash, was the only one who did not. Instead, he collapsed to one knee. One of his men in a tattered, stained cloak rushed to his side and helped rise him again.

"Inside," Avulash croaked. "His bloodline must be ended, and then we will own what was his."

The invaders stepped over the dead bodies like men avoiding slippery stones in a stream crossing. Valda watched with helpless terror as they disappeared into the dark opening of the main fortress. She remained paralyzed, unable to move and knowing her family would soon be dead.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Lethos hauled another bucket of water to the side of the ship and dumped it back into the sea. It was a pointless exercise, as the water leaked back into the hull as soon as he dumped it. It was like throwing out a drunk houseguest that constantly returned through a back door, and just as aggravating. He paused to catch his breath, watching the water speed past. The sail was full now and properly tied down, unlike his attempt at the same. The mast creaked as it caught the wind north and the sea hissed as the hull cut through it.

"Hey, she's taking on more water. Back to bailing, friend." The fisherman who now ran the ship pointed at the ever deepening pool of water at the center. He was a terse man burned brown from the sun and made darker for his heavy black beard. His smile shined ever brighter for the surrounding dark. "These low draft raiding ships were built for speed and hops between islands. They're not made solid, and this one's worse than most."

Lethos rolled his eyes, then returned to bailing. The three other fishermen chuckled. They were all as dark as their captain, bare-chested and carefree in the wind that streaked the deck as the ship shot over the waves. They had rescued Lethos from his sandbar trap. The five fishermen were at first inclined to relieve him of the ship until they recognized Grimwold and determined Lethos's identity. Then they had decided to help if compensated. Lethos granted them the ship if they would only take him and Grimwold to Norddalr. A simple bargain was struck, and Lethos rejoiced at having avoided facing the consequences of his own arrogance. Three boarded his ship and two took their fishing boat back to shore. Lethos knew he'd been a fool and did not want to admit it to anyone but himself. The fishermen didn't disparage him either, but had assigned him to bailing as if he could handle nothing more.

"This is the last time I ask what I can do to help," he muttered as he dumped more sea water. He was again convinced sailors had a secret for making their ships run on minimal effort. But for the captain at the tiller, these men did little besides tie down and pull on some ropes.