The Shadow Realm (The Age of Dawn Book 4) (13 page)

If only he knew that behind the thin veil of this realm, the true hearts of men waded through a river of blood. What treachery lies behind Scab’s leering smile? “Sorry about that, haven’t been sleeping much lately. You said this was your tavern?”

“A man needs to have a bevy of diversified assets in my line of work. Income is… lumpy.” Scab said, pressing splayed fingers into the table, dotted with hundreds of mug rings and now skin.

“And what is it that you do?”

“Murder.” He said it as plainly as if he was saying he was going for a walk. He held up a scroll declaring a bounty of five-thousand marks and the sketch of scowling man’s face. “And you?”

He had read stories of bounty hunters and mercenaries, but never thought they actually existed. The world was full of surprises. Walter supposed a sketch of a cheerful fellow wouldn’t attract many killers. “Lately? I kill Death Spawn, mainly.” He thought it prudent to leave out the part about his own death and demons in the Shadow Realm. Walter rolled his shoulder, trying to work out a string of pain buzzing like a loosed bowstring.

Scab regarded him for a long moment, his eye ringed with shades of red. Perhaps he wasn’t as drunk as he appeared. He likely had a good tolerance. He had a discerning air of calculation in his sleepy gaze. “You have a look I’ve heard described before.” He slurred a little bit. Scab’s eye drifted to Walter’s intact arm.

Walter’s eyes went there too, noticing Stormcaller was there. How had he missed that? He felt his eye muscles quivering under the heavy bandages, struggling for freedom. A pair of Dragons wound around the gleaming bracer, reflecting the amber glow of candles.

“Mm.” Scab nodded in recognition. “Very familiar. Don’t suppose you were at the battle of Dressna?”

“I was.” Walter took a slurp from his mug. “News travels fast.”

“A hired sword should always know of the greatest dangers about the realm. It seems we’ve managed to stumble upon one of them.”

Walter started to speak until Scab continued.

“Oh yes, I have heard many accounts of your valor, bravery.” Scab gestured. “And the songs sung about the man who wields fire. And here you are now, looking more like a broken cripple than an unstoppable hero. Suppose we all end up on the opposite end of the blade eventually, am I right?”

“Right you are,” Walter agreed, taking glances at his silent partners. Walter took another glug of beer, smiling at the wonderful notes of chocolate coming through.

“Drinking. I like that.” Scab took another sip, swished, then swallowed with a wince. “Everything tastes like shit here.”

“Interested in helping us fight the Death Spawn?” Walter asked, noting his pains throbbing with significantly less intensity. He downed the rest of his brew and signaled for another.

“Cutting to the bone of it, eh? Thought it was a little suspicious that you just happened to sit near us.” Scab grinned and tugged on a silvery stud through his ear.

Coincidence, of course, but he might as well use it to his advantage. “You looked like the kind of men we need, strong, good with a blade.” A little flattery never hurt. “Men well known through the realm for their fighting prowess.” Walter let his eye drift over each man. “You do all have experience, don’t you?”

“Experience!” blurted Wart. “Why, I was crushing knees before you were born, boy.”

“What my distinguished partner means to say… is that experience is what we have most.” Scab smiled pleasantly.

Walter raised an eyebrow. It certainly wasn’t cleanliness and etiquette.

Scab twisted the end of an unkempt mustache spreading out to his cheeks. “Enough experience to have far too many enemies. That I can assure you.”

That wasn’t entirely hard to believe. They didn’t seem the type you would have over for supper.

“What quantity of marks do you propose? Nothing comes without a price, of course. You’ll buy the drink? Since this is a business meeting?” Scab said it as if the customer paying was the usual way of things. It wasn’t. Walter had been to more than a few business meetings with his father when he negotiated the price of elixir beans with re-sellers.

“I’m afraid I don’t have any marks at the moment… but, sure, I’ll open a tab.” Walter scratched his head, looking up the dark stairs from where he had come. Where was Nyset? Where was this? How could he find out without seeming like a broken Fang Cress addict? “It appears I’ve been living here.”

He looked himself over. His pants were creased and pinked with weeks of bleeding and bedrest. His shirt was dotted with dried blood blossoms, crispy between his fingers. Everyone probably thought he hit himself in the head and escaped the infirmary.

“How much for the contract?” Scab leaned in, all business. His eyes gleamed at the prospect of money.

“Do you think there will be any contracts if Asebor, the demon god scourging the Tower, incinerates the lands?”

Scab pushed back in his chair and a ponderous finger scratched his neck. “An interesting point. When the war’s done then?” He inverted his mug, spilling dark rivulets of ale from the corners of his lips, along his neck, and down his shirt. He wiped his gloved hands across his mouth, adding a new stain.

“I happen to know the Arch Wizard, personally.” Indeed, she was likely still rotting in a dining chamber high in the Silver Tower. The Rot flies were likely having a feast on her decaying body. She had been ripped apart, torn limb from limb by her own assistant. “I’m sure your help in saving the realm from utter annihilation would be justly rewarded.”

“Everyone knows the Tower witches are liars and snakes,” squeaked Hook. “Wouldn’t trust ‘em trussed up with my knife against their backs, bunch o’ wily cunts.” His voice was absurdly girlish and it took everything Walter had to not burst out with laughter.

“Hook, was it?” Walter asked, leaning towards him, head tilted.

“Uh.” Hook grunted.

“You’d best watch where you say that, wouldn’t want to see you bust into a sudden conflagration.”

“Confla-what?”

“He has teeth! I like it.” Scab snickered at Wart and pointed at Walter.

“Burn. With fire.” Walter gritted his teeth and opened himself to the Dragon. It was the first time since he’d returned to the world of men. It was like pulling out the twig that supported a mountain of precariously stacked stones. A whirl of fire surged and roared through his chest, into his fingers, down his legs and into his toes. It took all of his concentration to keep it from exploding from his skin and melting everything within a ten-foot radius. His body shook, vision waved and blurred, legs convulsed. His face flushed with blood, red as a melon, skull thudding with every beat of his heart. The sound of glass cracking, wood clattering against wood and the shuffling of feet reached his ears.

Bright blue shafts of light pierced through the barroom gloom, twinkling from his body. He was a pincushion of light. The Phoenix screeched in his head, its beady black eye winked at him. He groaned and his back arched as his skin started stitching together, the lingering wounds puckering with new scars. He felt his eye tighten as a mass of twisted skin circled around his eye socket like a curtain and sealed it shut. Ropes of flesh circled his arm and his skin pulled tight as a drum around his oozing arm. Cracked scabs on his back itched and burned, flesh and muscle melding. Dents in his bones filled in and were made new. He felt a tendon in his knee snap and twist, shooting pain up his pelvis, his kneecap snapping into the proper position. Ribs groaned against his ribcage, creaking and re-positioning themselves where they belonged.

Someone was screaming above the din of the bar, roaring, laughing like a demon. The screaming devil was grinding through his skull, penetrating his sinuses. It was him, he realized, his throat splintering with pain. His whole body heaved with the effort of breathing. Sweat beaded from his temples. It was too hot in here and there were too many people.

Scab and his companions stood, inching away and pressing into the wall. They would have squeezed between the wallboards if they could. “Easy now, easy,” Scab’s distant voice said, raising his dirt creased gloves in a gesture of innocence.

Walter had to make himself breathe, sucking in a great breath of air. “Breathe,” he croaked through sore teeth. The Dragon wanted to be freed to bathe the world in fire. He eased it down, down, and down with each breath, its energy slipping out from his limbs like a receding wave. He let out a quivering breath and the burning glow, bright as the sun, faded from his eye.

The world shimmered and snapped into focus. Scab was staring at him wide-eyed, even his formerly crusted-over eye was opened and red with irritation. “Old Hook here was only making a joke, weren’t you, Hook?”

Hook snarled at Walter, stubby fingers curling into a fist, perhaps forgetting he had just toppled his chair over to scramble against the wall. “Huh? Fuck those—”

Scab reached out and smacked him behind the head, cutting him off mid-sentence.

“Right. Just joking.” Hook made an attempt at a smile, but it looked more like someone had just pried his lips apart.

“Uh… sorry. Something is different, changed.” Walter muttered, looking around the oddly quiet barroom. He saw everyone was staring at him now. A dirty miner’s arm had frozen with a beer halfway to his mouth and another with a chicken drumstick in his blackened hand. The barmaid had put her entire hand in her mouth, eyebrows drawn down, cringing back. Another staff member mindlessly swirled a soiled cloth around a plate, jaw slack.

“Shit.” He breathed. How long would it take for this spectacle to reach Asebor’s ears?

“We’re all friends here, let’s not do anything rash,” Scab said in a wheedling voice. “My third has loose lips at times. He’s not the sharpest of blades, but certainly knows how to work one.” Scab pushed himself away from the wall “We can worry about payments later. As you said most succinctly, sometimes we just have to do what’s right for the greater good of humanity.” Scab looked down at the floor for a moment, then offered his hand. “You have my word and my word is my blood.”

Walter stared at the man’s filthy glove. The mercenary was the last person Walter would expect to hold his word. Walter knew a man motivated by only marks wasn’t one to be trusted. The realm had to pull together. Every man couldn’t help but strive against death. Even the lowest of bottom feeders would fight for life. Maybe they had an inkling of the horrors that awaited one in the Shadow Realm. Likely not.

“How many follow you?” Walter asked, voice cracking.

The barroom patrons resumed drinking, laughing and fists thumped on tables as if what they had seen had been no different than any other night. Maybe something would go his way, after all.

“Just shy of three-hundred swords follow me. Most are laid up in the bigger pubs.” Scab pointed over his back with his thumb.

“Two-hundred and ninety-eight to be exact,” said Wart, crawling back into his chair.

“All men of my choosing.” Rapers and murders, no doubt. “They’re a very ferocious sort.” Scab rose onto his toes, outstretched arm starting to drop. “They’re loyal, as long as marks keep filling their pockets.”

Walter awkwardly shook Scab’s hand with his left. He really didn’t have any other choice and had a feeling once the man’s hand dropped that it would terminate any potential deal. They would need an army to stand against Asebor, even if it meant employing scoundrels. Maybe he could show them a better way. Likely not, but he’d try.

“You know Death Spawn then?” Walter asked.

“We had a run in with a patrol, I think. They don’t bathe.” Scab’s nose wrinkled up in disgust.

Wart grunted and Hook snorted.

“Stinky fuckers, aren’t they?” Walter puffed out his cheeks. “Glad you know the enemy. Where can I find you?”

“Spend most of my free time here.” Scab pointed at something behind him, took a big slurp of a recently filled mug. There was a massive sign hanging behind the bar in red, dripping script that read ‘The Devil’s Axe.’ “Certainly appropriate.”

Walter felt like he had enough consciousness for one day. The exhaustion from touching all that power was crushing his eyelids down and he was half-asleep as he trudged up the stairs. He found his way back to his disheveled bed and collapsed.

He opened and closed his fists, wincing at the throbbing pain radiating down his right arm, his stump. He closed his eye, muscles firing in a storm of twitches around his missing one.

“
I
’m
sure you’ll make an excellent apprentice.” Nyset smiled at the red-haired girl, who frowned back.

The girl wriggled her lips and twiddled tongues of fire in her palms before the recruiting table, flames reflecting in her charcoal colored eyes. She brought her hands close to the table, eyes wide with wonder. “See, I could be a veteran, Mistress,” she pleaded.

“Don’t burn the cloth, child.” Nyset tugged the tablecloth back. It was a scarlet silk and had the sigil of the Silver Tower woven in the center with violet thread. It was a gift she had received yesterday from a mother who desperately wanted her daughter to be admitted into the Tower’s ranks. She didn’t have the touch of the gods and Nyset was forced to turn her away.

“I won’t!” she squeaked and snapped her palms shut, snuffing out the flames.

“Please dear, go and see my assistant to add your name to the apprentice ledger.” Nyset gestured to Vesla, scribbling notes as she questioned a man with a gray beard.

“Thank you, Mistress. I will try very, very hard. I will. I swear it.” The girl’s eyes gleamed and the corners of her eyes wrinkled with her grin.

“Go on now, she’s almost done.” Nyset gestured. The girl skipped over to Vesla and clapped her tiny hands, arms covered in beaded hemp bracelets. She was so hopeful, so happy. Had Nyset been like that as a child? Her heart was still innocent, not yet tarnished and dented by the horrors of war. Nyset wanted to find a boat and get her far away from here, shield her from this world. There were other realms according to the Tower’s cartographer’s maps. How far, she couldn’t say. The cartographers were dead now, along with so many others who fell with the Tower’s siege.

She let her upper back slouch, just giving herself a little rest, eyes half-closing. There was so much to do and not enough resources to do it.

“Are you alright, Mistress?” Claw grunted from behind her shoulder.

She stiffened up at the hardness to his voice. She pressed two fingers into her temples and rubbed. “Fine.” Why had she taken this role? Duty and honor were heavy burdens, burdens few wished to bear. She took a slow, deep breath and let the tightness around her jaw relax. There had been a pain in her neck she realized, now easing.

“How long is the queue today?” She was grateful for all people who wanted to join the Tower. The sad fact was most were hardly qualified to be apprentices. About every tenth volunteer would be considered a veteran, strong enough with the touch of the god’s powers to fight. That put the number of veterans at just shy of fifty now and apprentices at close to a hundred.

“Long.” Claw grinned, his mouth a black pit of filth. She needed to get him a chewing stick before his lack of oral hygiene did him in.

Nyset exhaled a heavy breath through her nose, forcing her back upright. No one would follow a slovenly leader.

Senka was supposedly in a shadowed alcove across the street, her keen eyes watching for trouble. Nyset tried to look for her, scanning the rubbish heap for any sign of her and not finding any. She was well trained. Maybe Senka would be willing to train her, if she ever had some spare time to get to know the girl.

The Tower was overrun, the Black Furnaces taken in the Nether, and Death Spawn pillaged the west coast. Was building an army here the right decision? The question kept her up most nights. She wondered how Walter was faring, unable to carve out time to see him this morning. He was under fine care though, the barkeep of the Devil’s Axe also happened to be a surgeon in a former life. He was supposedly famous in the surgeon’s guild, so he claimed.

“What do you think you’re doing? I’ve been waiting here all day.” A woman shouted. Nyset peered down the line, finding the source of the commotion. A woman was close enough to kiss a wiry man, hands planted on her hips. She was wearing a soiled apron and brandishing a green apple like a weapon.

“Fuck off, Dragon worshiping bitch” The man said, shoving the woman to the ground. People backed away, nervy faces looking to each other for what to do. More shouting and yelling rose up all around. A dog started barking from an ornate window.

The woman rose up, lips peeling back into a snarl. “You… you bastard Phoenix worshiper!”

“Dragon scum. Go back to your quarters! This is the Phoenix half of the Middle.” The man sneered and jabbed his index finger into her chest.

“We don’t want no Dragon worshipers in the Phoenix quarters,” a boy yelled.

Something twinkled in Nyset’s eye. She turned towards it and saw Senka’s head poking out of the trash heap like a gopher. In her fingers, she held something to reflect the light of the sun. Senka started to crawl out of a mound of cornhusks until Nyset shook her head at her. Senka nodded, sinking down into the caving husks, leaving only her blinking eyes exposed.

“The Phoenix is a weak god,” another person shouted.

Nyset pushed up from her chair, seeing Claw had already made his way to the group. He held his curved sword at his side, his other hand glowing with the light of a Phoenix shield. His teeth were bared, knuckles white. He had the look of a wolf waiting for the opportune time to pounce on its prey. She shuffled up beside him, wanting to run but unable to due to her silks. This would be the last day she would wear these, she decided. To sacrifice mobility for regal stature was a mistake.

There were at least ten people divided into two groups, men and women, screaming at each other. Fires sprung up in the hands of the women and hues of blue from the Phoenix worshipers.

“Shall I?” Claw whispered in her ear, his breath as putrid as a latrine. More voices rose up, yelling and roaring over one another.

“No,” she said softly and put her hand on his sword arm. She pushed it down by his side and he did not resist. “Stay here.” Claw stared at her with knitted brows as she pushed her way through the surrounding mob, avoiding the pumping arms. The bodies parted at seeing her.

“Think you own this part, do you? The Dragon is king here.” The woman who had been pushed shouted. “Let’s see if the Phoenix can save you from this!” A gout of crackling fire exploded from her palm and the man cowered and screamed.

Nyset embraced the Dragon and raised a clawed hand up to the sky. A torrent of air whooshed through her skirts and caught the stream of fire, carrying it high above the city’s walls before intersecting with the man. She bladed her other hand and slashed the air with it. A block of granite sprouted through the ground in front of the frightened man, blasting through cobbles, throwing out a shower of debris. Dirt, cobbles, and splinters of stone were carried over the city’s walls in Nyset’s whirling funnel of air. A pile of apples stacked like a pyramid toppled over from a merchant’s cart and were sucked into her vortex. She tried to keep it as narrow and confined as she could to minimize collateral damage.

“You bitch!” the woman snapped, her eyes wild and glowing. Her hands rose up behind her head, a fireball forming above it.

She left her no choice. Nyset pushed the whipping, spiraling air into her.

“What are you—?” The woman cut off as she was lifted from her feet, spinning in the funnel of air. She screamed and her arms and legs flailed for something to grab onto.

“Claw! Shield her.”

“On it,” he said, dutifully beside her. She knew he wouldn’t listen to her commands. That would have to change.

Nyset let the air dissipate and a blue shield formed over the stout woman’s backside as she plummeted to the ground. Nyset wove a thin stream of air and pushed it under her to slow her descent. At the last few feet, her descent rapidly decelerated, and she was placed on the ground as gentle as a babe. The woman was taking shallow, rapid breaths, her arms wrapped around her body. Her bedraggled hair fell over her shoulders and half her gaping face.

Nyset nodded, impressed with her own control of air. Air was supposed to be one of the more difficult elements to master. Fire was the easiest, stone harder, air harder still, electricity almost impossible except by a few. Dust, stones, and clumps of moss fell around the street, followed by rolling apples.

Nyset hummed as she walked over to the woman in the apron. She cast her glowing eyes around the crowd, none daring to move. Everything had grown quiet, except for the dog barking with panicked fervor from the window. A mangy cat pawed at one of the apples, unsure of what to do with it.

Nyset squatted down in front of the aproned woman. The woman’s breath rasped and she tried to speak, but all that come out was incomprehensible noise. Nyset let the Dragon fade, fire fading and smoking in her eyes.

“I… I’m sorry Mistress.”

“C’mon, up now. You’ll be alright.” Nyset offered her hands and the woman stared at them. “Come now, don’t be scared.” Nyset beckoned with her hands. The woman reached out, snorted, paused halfway, then grasped Nyset’s hands. Her hands were leathery, tough from hard work. Nyset leaned back and hauled her up with a groan.

“You.” Nyset pointed at the man still cringing behind the boulder. “Come here.”

“No… please, no Mistress.” The man wheedled, ducking even lower. Claw was there a moment later, dragging him up by the arm, stumbling on doe legs. The man stared down at his boots, cheeks burning like a tomato. His clothing was clean, well-tailored and made with cotton dyed in a deep navy blue.

“Your name?” Nyset asked.

“Amand,” he said quietly.

“And yours?” Nyset regarded the woman.

“Cori.”

“Apologize, Amand,” Nyset demanded, leveling her eyes at his round face.

“What? Do you have any idea who I am? And she tried to kill me, remember?” He protested, still glaring at the cobbles.

Cori’s lips parted with a triumphant smile. “Stupid bastard Phoenix worshipers,” she muttered.

“And you! Almost killing one of your own.” Nyset snapped at her and the smile dashed from Cori’s lips. “You dare to disgrace me, the Arch Wizard by trying to murder your own before my eyes?”

Cori scowled. “He’s not—”

“Have you not seen the heads piked upon your walls?” Nyset screamed in her face. She turned, regarding the crowd, murmurs carrying down the line. “Humanity, men, women—we need to work together,” she shouted. “The one enemy is over there, burning the Tower. Pour all of your hate into fortifying yourselves for the Death Spawn, for in time they will be at your gates.”

She remembered something she had read about leadership. It was better to be feared than liked. Her eyes found the darkest, angriest looking woman in the whole mob. She walked around close to her, eyes locked. “If you want to live to see your children grow old, do what I command!” She stood there, her eyes vibrating on her long enough to drive her point home. Her guts were twisting, but she had to appear fearless.

“I’m trying to keep everyone alive, but I can’t do it without you. In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re at war with an enemy that wants to remove us from the realm. The Death Spawn do not take prisoners, they simply murder and torture. If you keep fighting amongst yourselves…” She paused and shook her head. “You’re just making the job easier for them.”

People murmured and feet shuffled. She had to win them over while she had their attention. Their petty squabbles would soon resume their positions at the forefront of their interests. She didn’t want to brag, but they needed to know who she was. “My name is Nyset Camfield. I’ve been embracing the Dragon for eleven years now, practiced every day for at least four hours. I’ve stood and fought against the most fearsome of Death Spawn, the Lord of Death at the battle of Dressna. Some of you may have heard it called a giant.” That got some heads nodding.

“I was there, saw her fight myself!” Someone from the back shouted. The crowd was swelling as more and more gathered around.

“The Death Spawn raided my village in Breden just over six months ago. Killed my first Black Wynch there, before ever becoming an apprentice at the Tower.” A few approving cheers burst out from the crowd. “Saw a lot of people I grew up cut down with Death Spawn blades. I fought Asebor himself at the Silver Tower, beside the giant slayer, Walter Glade.” That produced more cheers and nods. Her lips curled back. “Every battle you’ve heard about against Death Spawn in this age, will sing songs about, I was there. So you don’t have to question whether or not I’m up for the work.”

She thought she might piss herself at any minute, but her voice carried out strong, unbroken. Her voice may have been strong, but her guts were a coward’s, knots feeling like they were only getting tighter.

“I need you all to do the right thing. To fight against the real enemy!” she bellowed. “And before you start laughing and calling me insane, forcing me to throw you into a tornado…” She grinned at Cori and a few chuckles came from the crowd. “I’m not talking about tending to your business or feeding your Sand Buckeyes, or trying to be a hero. I’m talking about standing by the Tower! Fighting for humanity! Fight with the person beside you, not against him or her. And most of all, I’m talking about sticking together!”

She pointed out Claw standing beside her with a long finger. “Take a look at this man, his name is Claw.” Claw’s wretched mouth hung open as everyone turned to look at him. “A few days ago, he saved my life. He stuck by my side and killed the Death Spawn assassins whose heads are now perched upon your walls. He listens to me, most of the time.” She winked at him and for the first time she thought she saw him blush.

“You do me too much honor,” he mumbled.

“Some say he’s crazy, maybe he is, but he’s loyal to the end, loyal to humanity’s survival. He stood with his kind and kept himself focused when he was needed. Put his blade through a few Death Spawn. If you ever have any doubts about who the enemy is, go and take a hard look at the rotting heads before the vultures ruin them.” She might have embellished the truth a bit, wasn’t that the point of a speech? “He did the right thing. He fought against the Death Spawn, not against you, for whatever manner of transgression some of you likely inflicted upon a man like him. I think people of your experience and prowess with the god’s powers should have no issue with saving your strength for Death Spawn. An interesting note about the Death Spawn.” She tapped a finger on her lips, letting the silence weigh on them. “Some of them carry power-diamond marks, believing them to be a charm I’m told.” That got some more laughs. She had no shame about tugging on their strings of greed if that’s what it took to bind them together.