undying legion 01 - unbound man (59 page)

“Oh, yeah? You’ve got every one of those Quill out there ready to throttle you. Might be smart to have someone watching your back.” She paused. “Or, you know. Your throat.”

A surge of gratitude filled him. “Thank you,” he said. “Truly. It’s more than I deserve.”
Weeper’s tears, how little I deserve.

Mara grinned. “You’re right. Perhaps we can take that up when —”

Movement from the passage caught his eye. Arandras turned, but Mara was already shoving him aside, drawing her cutlasses with frightening speed and sprinting toward the doorway. He stumbled, blinking at the shadowy figure beyond even as Mara raised her blades and leapt through the portal.

A blast of air met her in mid-leap, flinging her across the room. She struck the far wall with a crack and slumped to the floor, unmoving.

A man stepped into the portal: large, thickset and scowling. Arandras had never seen him before in his life.

One of Clade’s. Oh, shit.

The man lifted his hands, brow furrowed in concentration. Arandras turned to run.

The blast hit him from behind. Arandras raised his arms over his head. He felt himself flying through the air, the cool air caressing his cheek like a lover. Then his body struck something hard, and the world went dark.

•

The boulder was huge, far too large for Clade and his group to have moved by themselves. The Quill, however, had shifted it for them, revealing a great tunnel curving away into the side of the cliff. No spark of light could be seen within, nor was there any hint of sound. Either the Quill were taking care to stay silent, or they’d gone too deep for any noise to reach the surface.

Large ochre bags lay near the passage, each bearing the insignia of a charcoal feather. Clade rubbed his chin, pondering their significance.
They can’t have gone far, or they’d have taken their gear with them.
They’d be back soon, then, looking to set up camp somewhere.
In there?
He frowned. If they camped inside and were sensible enough to maintain a watch, it would be impossible to surprise them. But they’d left their bags, so they couldn’t have chosen a site yet. Perhaps they’d camp somewhere out in the open…

Sinon picked up a bag and began to pick at a buckle.

“Don’t touch that!” Clade covered the distance between them in two strides and snatched the bag away before Sinon could reach inside.

A spasm of anger crossed Sinon’s face. “Dreamer’s arse, what now?”

“Gods and demons, you really need to ask?” Clade stared, but Sinon’s broad face showed nothing but baffled outrage. “As far as the Quill know, there’s no-one around for leagues. Are you trying to give us away?”

“Keep it down, will you?” The words were Hosk’s, low and terse. “Stone throws sound further than you’d think.”

A sharp retort leapt to Clade’s lips, but he caught it and pressed it down, grasping at the threads of his discipline. “Thank you,” he said at last, his voice thick. “You’re right. Sinon, go back to the shore —”

The words died in his throat. Azador arrived with the force of a whirlwind, sweeping down on him like an eagle upon its prey. A surge of greed engulfed him and he stumbled, reaching blindly for the cliff.

“Clade!” Kalie appeared before him, grasping his shoulders and grunting beneath his weight. “Are you ill?”

His questing fingers found stone. “I’m fine,” he muttered. The god’s hunger pressed down on him like a yoke, but he clenched his teeth, forcing himself to straighten beneath the load. “I’m fine,” he said again, offering what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “There, you see? Nothing to worry about.”

Kalie eyed him dubiously, but stepped back nonetheless. He took a deep breath and released his grip on the cliff wall. Azador’s presence settled the matter. Fighting would be hard enough with the god there at all. Staging a battle through its first sight of the golems would be madness.

“Here’s the plan,” Clade said. “The Quill left their bags. That means they’ll be coming back soon. We’re going to let them come all the way out of the gorge. Once they’re completely out, we’ll cut off their retreat and strike.”

He glanced at Terrel, who inclined his head fractionally.
He agrees. Or he doesn’t disagree enough to object.

Good enough.

They left the gorge in single file, Clade bringing up the rear. The rocky shore was narrower here than back by the path. Scarcely a dozen paces separated the cliff from the lake. But the strip was bare, bereft of anything that might offer concealment, and the cliff was steep and featureless.

Clade scanned the terrain.
Nowhere to hide. Unless…
“Kalie,” he said, and she hurried over. “How deep is the water?”

She shot him a quizzical expression, then grinned her understanding. “I’ll check.”

Two waterbinders,
he thought, watching as she knelt by the edge of the lake. Its waters were dark now, almost black, reflecting the dusky sky.
Enough to keep us breathing for an hour, at least.
The water would be cold, though; too cold to get away with just a small air pocket around their heads.
And Terrel and Hosk will want dry hands for their swords, and dry boots to fight in. How long could the girls sustain a bubble that large?

Kalie straightened and shook her head. “Ankle-deep for at least a dozen paces,” she said, and he turned away with a frown, eyes flicking over the barren ground.
Not that, then. What else?

A hiss from Terrel drew their attention. “Movement,” he called softly. Clade jogged back to the cliff, cursing under his breath and gesturing for the others to follow. Though the sun was now out of sight behind the western peaks, the sky was not yet dark enough for stars to emerge. They’d be seen as soon as the Quill emerged. He shook his head, trying to ignore the hollow feeling in his gut.
Maybe they won’t look. Maybe they’ll just head back the way they came.

“All right,” he whispered. The others crowded around him in a tight circle, and Clade was struck by the uncanny impression of Azador standing among them, pressing close to hear his instructions. “Stay close to the cliff. We wait until they’re all out or until we’re spotted. Then we move. Kalie and Meline, get to the lake as quick as you can. Keep the firebinders off our backs. Sinon, you take out anyone still in the gorge when they see us. Make sure they don’t get back to the cavern. Terrel, Hosk, the rest are yours.”

Hosk raised an eyebrow in thinly veiled amusement. “That could be half a dozen or more,” he said.

“Yes,” Clade said. “Or Sinon could have that many still in the gorge.”
Believe me, please. I’m not trying to get you killed.
“I’ll come help whoever’s hardest pressed.”
As much as I can in a place so devoid of wood.
“All right?”

Terrel nodded once, his lips thin. Hosk chuckled and looked away.

A breath of wind ruffled Clade’s hair, carrying with it the cool scent of fresh water. He pressed his back against the rough stone, gesturing for Sinon and the sisters to do likewise. Terrel unslung Yuri’s sword from across his shoulder and stood it against the cliff, then slowly drew his own. Hosk crouched beside him, his blade already in his hand. From somewhere over the lake came a bird’s high screech.

Voices approached. Clade reached around to where Yuri’s sword lay propped against the cliff, grasping the hilt in a sweaty palm. How long had it been since he’d used one of these? He rolled his shoulder, trying to loosen the muscles, then froze as a man emerged from the gorge.
Here we go.

Another figure followed, and another, the ochre and charcoal of their clothing little more than grey and black in the dim light. Clade held his breath, counting the figures as they appeared.
Six, seven. Eight. Come on.
Another two joined the others, and the group turned around, milling about the mouth of the cleft.
Come on. Where are the rest?

“Hey!” A figure pointed straight at them. “Who’s that?”

Shit.
“Go,” Clade said, and the party sprang into action.

Sinon charged at the assembled Quill, Terrel and Hosk a few paces behind. Cries of alarm rose from the group, the sound echoing strangely along the stony shore, and the Quill began to bunch together, those at the front producing blades, those at the rear crouching to dig into their bags.
That’s it,
Clade thought.
Nice and close.
“Identify yourselves,” called one of the Quill. “Speak, or be destroyed.”

Sinon came to an abrupt halt just short of the group. For a moment, nobody moved; then a tremendous blast of wind burst from Sinon’s position, hurling the Quill backward like wheat on a field. Terrel and Hosk rushed in on the groaning forms, slicing and stabbing at anything that moved.

Fire erupted across Clade’s vision. Terrel shrieked and reeled away, a figure wreathed in flame.
That came from the gorge. Damn it, where are my waterbinders?
His gaze fell on the sisters standing ankle-deep in the lake, a pillar of water already rising between them. It reared from the lake, swaying in the air like an unnatural limb; then it toppled, cascading into the gorge, cutting off the stream of fire as abruptly as a blade severing a snake’s head. Sinon sprinted down the gorge after the tumbling water, and Clade allowed himself a moment’s relief.

Breathing heavily, Clade surveyed the field before him. One of the mercenaries was down; the other, Hosk, chased a pair of fleeing Quill back toward the cliff path. From among the bodies littering the shore, another Quill staggered to his feet, sword in hand. He looked around, then set off at a stumbling jog toward Kalie and Meline at the edge of the lake.

They didn’t see him coming. Clade watched in horror as they directed another jet of water into the gorge, oblivious to the Quill loping unsteadily toward them.
Hells, no.
Clade broke into a run, shouting and waving at the sisters, gesturing wildly with his borrowed sword at the approaching danger. They turned, spotting the man at last. A new limb began to form at their feet, twisting upward like something blind.
Too late,
Clade thought, feet pounding the rocky ground in a vain attempt to reach them in time.
Too late…

The Quill stretched his arm back and swung. The sword sank deep into Kalie’s unprotected chest and she sagged against the blade, hanging there for an absurd moment; then she fell, sliding sideways into the lake.

Yelling, the Quill drew back his sword for another swing.
No! Not both of them, you bastard!
The crunch of pebbles betrayed Clade’s arrival, and the Quill swivelled his head, eyes wide. Clade barrelled into him, thrusting his blade deep into the man’s side.
These girls are mine.

The man’s cry turned to a gurgle. He shuddered, lips twitching as though trying to form words. Repulsed, Clade shoved him away. The man slid off the blade, splashing face-down into the lake beside Kalie, limbs jerking in a cruel parody of swimming strokes before at last falling still.
That’s ten.

Meline stared at the corpses as though transfixed, shivers racking her frame. “Meline,” Clade said, snapping his fingers in front of her face. “Meline. Look at me! There’s still work to do.”

Silence greeted him, before and behind. He blinked and turned around.

The shore was strewn with bodies. Terrel’s charred form lay only a few paces away; further away, past the mass of fallen Quill, three more bodies sprawled by the lake.
Hosk and his runaways. Shit.
Sinon limped slowly from the gorge, his lip curled in triumph, still more corpses behind him. Nothing else moved.

That’s it, then,
Clade thought.
We won.

He stirred, waving to get Sinon’s attention. “Check for survivors,” he called. “If there are others still inside, we may need hostages.”

Sinon nodded and bent to the task.

We won. Good. That’s good.

From somewhere directly behind his eyes and a thousand leagues away, Azador pulsed its satisfaction.

•

Eilwen crouched behind a slight outcrop in the cliff, just below the first of the odd, window-like openings, and watched the battle unfold.

Her knee throbbed where she’d wrenched it in a mistimed leap during her descent. She’d done it on the very first gap in the path, catching her foot on a spur of rock as she landed, fortunate not to overbalance and plunge from the ledge to her death. At that moment she had seriously considered abandoning her pursuit; but the thought of repeating the leap, only uphill this time, had convinced her to carry on, and she’d finally reached the bottom, sore and exhausted, just as the sun began to slide behind the jagged peaks of the Pelaseans.

The halting pace forced upon her by her leg proved to be a blessing. When the Oculus emerged from what looked to be a narrow gorge, she was still far enough away to find partial cover behind a rare outcrop. Huddling against the rock, she’d peered into the gathering gloom, relieved that the figures did not seem about to retrace their steps but unable to work out what they were doing.

Then the Quill appeared.

Well. That changes things,
she thought, watching as the ochre-and-charcoal-clad figures trickled out of the same cleft the Oculus had appeared from moments before. Just as she had been following the Oculus, it seemed the Oculus had been following the Quill.
Beads on a string, and the Quill the largest bead of all. That explains why they didn’t come looking for me. They couldn’t spare the time.

The attack came without warning. The Quill were blasted through the air like wooden pins, hitting the stone with a horrific crunch. Men rushed in to finish them, seeming in the dim light to be wielding blades of shadow, invisible save for when they obscured a stray glint off the lake behind them. A gout of flame spat forth from somewhere within the gorge, engulfing one of the swordsmen; then, in fell answer, a serpentine tentacle rose from the lake and launched itself into the fire.

Eilwen stared, no longer seeing the battle before her. She stood on the foredeck of the
Orenda,
salt spray in her face, watching the same uncanny, impossibly long limbs of water rear from the sea. They towered above the ship, impossibly high in the twilit, cloud-strewn sky, as though the ocean itself were attempting to grasp the heavens. Then they fell, smashing into the
Orenda’s
timbers with the force of mountains. Blow after blow hammered the ship, buckling her decks, cleaving her hull. One of the columns crashed down almost on top of Eilwen, flinging her into the water. Clinging to a piece of railing, she bobbed helplessly as the ship split in two and was swallowed by the waves.