The Shadow Realm (The Age of Dawn Book 4) (25 page)

Grimbald grunted, hacking through another body wriggling through the window on the other side. They were just like Death Spawn, mindless to the bitter end. Why was Juzo so different? He answered his own question: he had killed his master.

“Juzo! Where are you? Come out, you coward!” How could he do this? All these people, their lives cut short because of his selfish act.

Grimbald brought his axe up and dragged it through the neck of the Blood Eater in the window. Its head sagged from its ruined neck, spurting out with jets of blood. He brought his axe up to make the final chop. “Damn you, damn you, damn—” Grimbald cried out as something crashed into his back, sending an axe spinning across the floor.

Juzo was on him and drove a heel into his upper back, hair whipping behind his head. Grimbald tried to get up, his hand clutching one axe, but Juzo stomped on his back again. “Stay down, you big bastard!” Grimbald groaned. Juzo walked on Grimbald’s head as he strode towards Walter, sword rasping from its scabbard.

“You can’t take them from me, Walter!” He pointed at him with his sword, striding between the charred beams of the tavern’s wall.

Walter backed away, hands up. “This ends today, Juzo. Why are you doing this?”

“It’s for us, for everyone. For the realm. I’m building an army to save us.” He stepped down from the tavern’s floor into the weeds spotting the grounds. He kept the blade leveled at Walter, using the point to guide him back.

“You’ve strayed from the path, Juzo. This—this isn’t what we need. You killed Grimbald’s father. Do you understand that?” he breathed.

“Who? The fat bastard upstairs? He didn’t have much time in him anyway.” His voice was laced in ice. Walter knew the feeling, like nothing mattered. Walter had carved a path in himself that was dark and narrow so no one could follow. He knew how it felt to want nothing more than to watch the world burn. They had to rise above that.

“Juzo, who are you? Did something happen?”

Juzo took a lunging step at Walter. Walter held his ground, the point of his sword drawing a bead of blood from his breast. “Do it. Send me back,” Walter said flatly. He stared into Juzo’s eye and a corner twitched.

Something caught Walter’s eye. Grimbald screamed from behind Juzo, his arms spread in a bear hug, eyes locked on him. He fell on Juzo, his mammoth arms wrapping him up in a crushing embrace. Grim sprung up with Juzo writhing in his arms. His great sword dangled between two fingers, then slipped into the ground.

“Let me go or you’ll pay for this!” he screeched.

“Juzo. Enough.” Walter reached a pleading hand for him. Walter kicked away his sword.

Grimbald’s forearms gleamed with sweat and slabs of muscle shifted as they struggled to contain him.

“No. No! You can’t take them. Without them—” He fought to take a breath. He exhaled and Grim’s arms cinched down tighter to consume the extra lung space. “I’m nothing.” He squirmed with fury, legs thrashing and trying to connect with Grimbald.

“That’s not true,” Grimbald hissed in his ear. The corners of his eyes welled with tears. “Stop, please stop.” Grimbald grunted and strained against Juzo. The tendons in Juzo’s neck stood taut.

The remaining Blood Eaters rounded the corners of the wall, stalking towards them, at least ten paces away. They were covered in dark blood congealing with dirt and bits of grass. Walter counted seven, enough to be a problem.

“Call them off, Juzo.”

“Fuck—” Something popped and Juzo gasped. “You,” he whispered.

“Juzo.” Grimbald planted his legs to get a better footing. “These were. My. Friends.” He struggled and sobbed.

“There’s no way out of this, Juzo. Call them off, damn it!” Walter roared in his face.

“No,” Juzo breathed. Juzo jerked an arm free and slammed an elbow into Grimbald’s face. Grimbald grunted and Juzo struck again. Blood sprayed out of Grimbald’s nose on the second strike.

The Blood Eater’s launched into a sprint, like shrieking animals. Arms raised and mouths parted.

“Juzo!” Walter barked. They moved faster, blurring ghosts. Walter exhaled and a pair of horizontal portals sprung to life, intersecting in their paths. Most were hewed at the hips, others at the chest, a child at the neck. Some limbs fell through the portal, opening in the practice yard of the Silver Tower. Their shrieking faded with their severed bodies. Torsos tumbled and an arm flopped into a bucket, painting the dirt in red sheets. A pair of disembodied legs staggered under the portal before collapsing. The butcher wasn’t properly compensated for his dark work. He turned back to Grim.

Walter gasped. Juzo was at Grimbald’s flank. One hand held his sword and pressed the point between Grimbald’s armor plates. The other held Grimbald’s wrist, arm outstretched and using it to lever him into the blade. “Juzo—enough!” Walter roared, patience evaporating like water in Dragon fire.

“No.” He drew out the word, his voice wavering. “Walk away, Walter. Leave him here and… and we can forget everything.”

“Juzo.” Walter swallowed. “Let him go. He’s done nothing to you. He’s your friend. Don’t forget who you are—”

“No!” Juzo snarled and rammed the blade up to the crosspiece under Grim’s armor.

It all happened so slow. He saw the blade travel inch by inch under his armor and between his ribs. A gleaming jewel of Juzo’s saliva dropped out the corner of his mouth.

Grimbald screamed and arched his back, falling as Juzo withdrew the bloody steel. Blood jumped from Grimbald’s side and he pressed his hand into the wound.

“Juzo!” Walter screamed. Time lurched into full speed.

Juzo’s blade rose up, flashing in the sun. His lips twisted with hate. “They’re mine!”

Walter had a second to decide. “Don’t make me do this!” he screamed. That single second held a lifetime of consequences. Walter focused the Dragon through his eye, aiming for Juzo’s shoulder. The beam of crackling fire tore through the air. Juzo saw it and started to duck.

Walter reached and grasped the empty air, but it was too late. No. The beam of flames struck him in the side of the head, lancing a fiery hole through his skull. Juzo’s eye met his for a moment that would forever plague Walter’s days. Juzo’s eye twitched, filled with tears, and in that moment, Walter felt all of his crippling misery. His eye rolled back in his head, sword thumping on the grass. Juzo’s legs failed him, crumbling onto his back and snapping through weeds. His hair fanned out over the dirt and blood oozed out the side of his head.

Walter fell onto knees that felt broken. “What… what have I done?” The Dragon slipped from his mind, his arms and legs going limp. He dropped onto his hands and wretched. His stomach twisting and jerking acid up his throat. He couldn’t look. Something touched his back and he flinched, his head whipping to see Grimbald.

“Walter,” Grimbald croaked. “I’m… I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Walter stared into the weeds. One had jagged leaves with a red flower in the middle. In the center of the petals was a curving section bright as the sun, dusted with orange pollen. A thread of blood crossed over a weed with spade shaped leaves.

“Walt. Can—” Grimbald moaned. “Can you heal me? I know it’s not—”

“Right, right, right.” Walter swallowed, belched and rose onto his knees. “Come closer.”

Grimbald slithered over to him on his knees. It felt like a dream. Blood pulsed with every beat of his heart down the side of his armor. Walter’s hand lifted to Grimbald’s side. It felt like someone else’s arm. His hand hummed, glowing with the healing light of the Phoenix. Walter watched as his skin knitted back together like living sutures.

“Thank you,” Grimbald gasped.

Walter mechanically dragged out more of the Phoenix, re-filling Grimbald’s body with the blood he’d lost. “Better?”

Grimbald nodded and lowered himself onto his back, his breath shallow. He stared up at the sky.

Walter stood on wobbly legs, eyes hooded. He forced himself to walk over to his dead friend. Forced himself to face the consequences. Juzo’s arms and legs lay spread-eagled, head tilted to the side and exposing Walter’s sin. He nodded and his lips curled into a frown.

He placed a trembling hand on Juzo’s chest. It was cold as wood. He leaned forward, placing his ear on his chest. All was quiet in there, dead as mud. He didn’t know how long he sat there with his head on his chest. Hours, maybe.

Grimbald guided him up by the arm, leading him back to the mounts. He complied, allowing him to help, craving the touch of the living. Without Grimbald, he might have stayed there until he starved to death. Before he mounted, he met Grimbald’s eye and wrapped him up in a hug. He pressed his face into his armor, smearing it in blood.

Grimbald shuddered in surprise, then wrapped an arm around him. “Alright.” He cleared his throat after a moment. “Let’s make camp. We’ll take care of… everything when the sun rises.”

Walter nodded. He pushed away from Grimbald with tears glistening on his cheeks. He wanted to bury Juzo now, but felt like he wouldn’t have been able to. He was sure Grim felt the same about his father, about everyone. The price of using the Dragon and the Phoenix had to be paid with sleep. If he didn’t rest willfully, they would seize it from him. They had to rest, had to get their minds right. Sleep was the great redeemer.

He feared he might have taken his own life if he didn’t get away, to die with honor like the King’s Warmaster. That wouldn’t do though. He still had Nyset and Grim. Still had others he could help. People he could save.

Asebor lived and would taste his fire. The Shadow god will come to know pain as its only ally.

He swayed on his mount, gripping the pommel with what little strength remained. The afternoon sun crested the horizon, beating its heat into the ground. They walked into the shadowed path, returning to Scab and his men. No tales of glory would be sung about Walter the Giant Slayer today.

E
arth wasn’t thrown
into holes only for Juzo and the villagers, but also for some of Scab’s men. A few Blood Eaters had infiltrated their ranks yesterday. Scab said it took close to twenty men to kill one of them. A handful of other wounded mercenaries perished in the night.

Small groups of men hunched with sorrow in the misting rain, staring into graves. Some seemed wracked by self-pity rather than sadness, likely wondering how debts would be paid. It was a look that served just as well at a funeral. Scab’s second and new third threaded between the groups, doling out empty, consoling babble. They were all aiming for that sorry tone. There was no sign of Scab. Funerals were apparently not worth his time.

The day had started for most of Scab’s men like any other, as if the mourners were ghosts. Men cursed as they squirmed out from under wet blankets, grumbled at damp clothing and tried to dry wet armor. Men scratched themselves, found spots to piss, and sucked out the last drops from empty wineskins. One man extracted a chicken bone from under his coat, and slurped on the few strands of remaining skin.

A few mourners chuckled at a joke. A couple men laughed far too loud because they all knew there would be more grisly work ahead and laughs had to be taken when they could. Walter looked at Grimbald, his head down as he shoveled another clod of earth over Juzo’s fading form. Walter wanted to dig, would have if not for his damned hand.

Scab strode up beside Grimbald, grinning without a care. Walter was a little annoyed by that smile, and a little jealous of it if he were honest. If he was known as a madman, he wouldn’t have to go through the empty rituals and empty words. Maybe that was Scab’s ploy all along. There was a right way of doing things and there was no avoiding it.

Walter cleared his throat. “An accident you’re in mars your skin, maybe breaks a bone or two. At worse, crushes you and permanently maims your body. An accident you caused… changes you. There’s no blood anyone can see, but you’ll always be bleeding on the inside. Certain things in life are inescapable,” Walter said into the mist. That got a few mutters of agreement. Grimbald looked at him, pausing to wipe beads of water from his brow.

“What did a man have to do to be remembered? For his name to be sung beside campfires? Kill an army single-handedly? Save a man from certain death? No. He had to be loyal to the end, I think.”

Grimbald grunted in agreement. Scab raised an eyebrow at him, opened his mouth to speak then closed it.

“Juzo Pulling and I grew up together in Breden, fought together. He was like a brother to me. He had a tough time of it over the last year. Went through horrors that would break the hardest of men. I’ve lost count of the number of times he’s saved my life. Never complained, not much anyway. He always knew what to say to—to make me laugh.” Walter choked out the last words. He gathered his breath.

“Saved my life at least three times,” Grimbald added, face hard as iron.

“Something changed in him though, broke off from the path.” Walter’s voice croaked and became a whisper. He cleared his throat and pushed on. “He didn’t die the way he ought to have. Should’ve had a hero’s death. Juzo loved a good fight as much as any of us. He should’ve died in his sleep fifty years from now, but he fell by my hands. An accident. Dying in your sleep was better than a hole burned through your skull. By someone you might have called your friend.”

Grimbald shook his head. “You saved my life, Walt. For that, I can never repay you.”

Walter nodded and knelt beside the hole. “A life for a life.” You had to make choices and unseen consequences could play out forever.

“Songs. Forget about them. You did what you had to do, Walter. He had what was coming to him,” Scab said quietly.

Walter glared at Scab. Maybe he did have it coming. He’d made some mistakes, but shouldn’t everyone get a second chance? Juzo was denied that. He grabbed a fistful of dirt and spread it over Juzo’s form. “Be at peace.”

“Peace,” Grimbald muttered, heaving another clod of earth into the hole.

“Peace,” Scab echoed, sprinkling dirt over Juzo. “We’re all going to be in there eventually.” Scab grinned, expecting that to lift everyone’s spirits. “Aren’t we?” He shrugged and turned away, moving onto another grave.