Falls of iron an epic fa.., p.1
Falls of Iron: An Epic Fantasy Adventure (The Magelands Eternal Siege Book 4), page 1
Falls of Iron
Christopher Mitchell is the author of the epic fantasy series The Magelands. He studied in Edinburgh before living for several years in the Middle East and Greece, where he taught English. He returned to study classics and Greek tragedy and lives in Fife, Scotland with his wife and their four children.
By Christopher Mitchell
The Magelands Origins
Retreat of the Kell
The Trials of Daphne Holdfast
From the Ashes
The Magelands Epic
The Queen’s Executioner
The Severed City
Needs of the Empire
Sacrifice
Fragile Empire
Storm Mage
Soulwitch Rises
Renegade Gods
The Magelands Eternal Siege
The Mortal Blade
The Dragon’s Blade
The Prince’s Blade
Falls of Iron
Paths of Fire
Gates of Ruin
Copyright © Christopher Mitchell 2021
Cover by Miblart
Map by Irina French
Cover Copyright © Brigdomin Books Ltd 2021
Christopher Mitchell asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems (except for the use of brief quotations in a book review), if you would like permission to use material from the book please contact support@brigdominbooks.com
Brigdomin Books Ltd
First Edition, January 2021
Ebook Edition © January 2021
ISBN 978-1-912879-49-6
For Vicky
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank the following for all their support during the writing of the Magelands Eternal Siege - my wife, Lisa Mitchell, who read every chapter as soon as it was drafted and kept me going in the right direction; my parents for their unstinting support; Vicky Williams for reading the books in their early stages; James Aitken for his encouragement; and Grant and Gordon of the Film Club for their support.
Thanks also to my Advance Reader team, for all your help during the last few weeks before publication.
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Dramatis Personae
From the City
Corthie Holdfast, Champion
Blackrose, Dragon
Aila, Shape-shifter
Naxor, Demigod
Maddie Jackdaw, Dragon Rider
Belinda, God
Falls of Iron
Irno, Count of the Falls of Iron
Vana, Sister of Irno and Aila; cousin of Naxor
Alea Tanton
Sable Holdfast, Spy
Gantu, Blue Thumb Gang Boss
Millen, Gantu’s younger cousin
Adlin, Blue Thumb Training Manager
Sanguino, Captured Bloodflies Dragon
Latude, God; Governor of Lostwell
Baldwin, God; Patron of the Deadskins
Felice, God; Patron of the Blue Thumbs
Kemal, God; Patron of the Bloodflies
Isa, Servant in the Governor’s Residence
Implacatus
Renko, Ancient; Commander of Taskforce
Joaz, God assigned to Taskforce
Maisk, God assigned to Taskforce
Banner of the Golden Fist
Van Logos, Captain
Ahito, Major
Sohul, Lieutenant
Baku, Lieutenant
Others
Karalyn Holdfast, Dream Mage
Silva, Former Courtier of Belinda
Gadena, Trainer of Mercenaries
Contents
Printable Maps
1. Faithless
2. Dun Khatar
3. Refined
4. Implacatus
5. The Third Ascendant
6. Acting on Impulse
7. The Better Part of Valour
8. Local Knowledge
9. Hot and Cold
10. Unprofessional
11. A Bitter Taste
12. Misdirection
13. Sobering Up
14. A Day at the Office
15. At a Crossroads
16. A Little Truth
17. The Queen of Khatanax
18. The Creator
19. Willpower
20. Mind Games
21. Trunkful of Trouble
22. Underestimating
23. By Proxy
24. Never Again
25. Unreadable
26. Thicker than Water
27. As Foretold
28. Savage
29. Unleashed
30. Desirable
Note on the Calendar
Author’s Notes
The Magelands Series
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Printable Maps
For printable maps, please visit:
www.christophermitchellbooks.com/printable-maps-eternal-siege
Chapter 1
Faithless
Alea Tanton, Tordue, Western Khatanax – 12th Dunninch 5252
The noon sun beat down from the cloudless sky, its rays illuminating the blood-soaked sand. Sable Holdfast suppressed a grimace, while around her, the crowds on the stone benches of the arena watched, their attention on the violence below them.
A dozen slaves had been pushed out onto the sands, of whom four remained on their feet, each grasping one of the weapons that had been left in a pile in the centre of the arena. Around them lay the bloody remains of the others, hacked to pieces in the initial chaos and carnage of the confrontation. The crowds had cheered and bayed at the grisly spectacle, but their attention was already starting to drift as the survivors circled each other on the sands.
The well-built man to Sable’s right grunted. ‘Get a move on, you useless assholes.’
One of the slaves raised the large cleaver he was carrying, and lunged at a fellow survivor. The crowd’s interest flickered, then boos and jeers arose from the half-filled benches as the intended victim turned and ran.
‘Remind me, Gantu,’ said Sable; ‘what is the purpose of this? Beyond our entertainment, of course.’
‘It’s the qualifiers, ain’t it, babe,’ said the man to her right, the muscles in his thick neck bulging. He stretched out his bare arm and placed it over Sable’s shoulder.
She ignored the urge to shrug his arm off, keeping her eyes on the action in the arena below them. Only two of the slaves were still standing. One was gasping for breath as he huddled by the high wall surrounding the circular area of sand, while the other was approaching, a long spear clutched in both hands. The crowd quietened as they watched from the tiered stone benches, then let out a roar as the slave drove the spear through the torso of his last rival. The victorious slave turned to the crowds, raising his hands to accept their acclaim.
Gantu removed his arm from Sable’s shoulder so he could applaud the victor.
‘What happens to him now?’ she said.
‘He gets a chance to join the greatest team in the city,’ he said.
Sable frowned. ‘This is how the team gets new recruits?’
‘It’s one of the ways,’ Gantu said.
She picked up a growing sense of irritation from him at her questions, and nodded instead of asking another. He liked showing her off to his friends and cronies, who sat around them in a large group on the stone benches, but seemed to prefer it when she said nothing. It annoyed her, but was a small price to pay. Her gaze drifted over the crowds lining the arena as guards emerged from gates and strode across the sands. More slaves ran out, and began clearing up the remains of those who had fallen, while the victor was led back through one of the entrances that dotted the circular wall.
‘Ah, there’s the little runt,’ Gantu muttered, his eyes squinting at a row of seats to their right. He nodded to a few of his friends, and then he and several of them rose to their feet. ‘Stay here,’ he grunted to Sable, then they walked away.
She watched as Gantu led the others over to where another group was sitting, then she noticed the eyes of a younger man on her. She turned, and the man glanced away, blushing.
Sable smiled. ‘What would Gantu think,’ she said, ‘if he knew his little cousin was staring at me?’
The man’s eyes widened. ‘But… I wasn’t…’
‘Relax, Millen,’ she said; ‘I’m joking. Come over here and sit next to me.’
‘Um, I don’t think I should.’
‘Do it, or I’ll tell Gantu that you were staring at me.’
She felt a twinge of guilt as fear shone from Millen’s eyes. He shuffled along the bench towards her.
‘So,’ she said, waving her hand at the arena; ‘what’s next?’
‘It’s the, uh, executions,’ he mumbled, ‘and then the team has their practice session after that.’
‘And those seats opposite us,’ she said, ‘is that where the gods usually sit?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Will they be coming today, do you think?’
Millen shrugged. ‘Maybe. They always show up for the big matches, but on practice days like today, then normally only Lady Felice bothers to attend.’
‘Felice?’
‘Yeah, she’s the patron of the Blue Thumbs; they’re her team.’
Sable sniggered.
‘What’s so funny?’
She thought better of telling him that she found the names of the three teams of Alea Tanton ridiculous, as the locals took the whole competition so seriously.
‘Nothing,’ she said, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the harsh sunlight as she glanced around the arena. ‘When does the free food arrive?’
Millen lifted his eyes to her. ‘I can buy you some if you’re hungry.’
She smirked. ‘Are you trying to avoid me?’
‘No,’ he said, his voice a little strained. ‘It’s just, you know… my cousin Gantu can get a bit… possessive.’
Sable turned her eyes to glance over at where Gantu was sitting, his cronies surrounding him as he spoke to a small group of terrified-looking men. There was no doubt that the man was a brute, but he had already proved his usefulness to her, providing her with not only food and somewhere to stay in the city, but also with a level of protection that her association with him entailed. Not that she needed protecting; she was perfectly capable of looking after herself, but no one bothered her, their fear of Gantu enough to keep all straying hands and glances away from her.
The crowd’s attention turned back to the sands of the arena as a gate opened. Armoured warriors emerged, leading a long line of ragged and shackled prisoners out of the shadows of the underground tunnels that ran under the arena.
‘The condemned?’ she said.
Millen nodded. ‘Yes. Today’s batch of executions.’
Sable’s eyes narrowed as she watched the prisoners be escorted out into the middle of the arena. The attention of the entire crowd was on them, and a hushed excitement percolated over the stone benches. The condemned were a mixture of the young and the old, men and women, all dressed in rags and covered in red weals and stripes from the whips held by the armoured guards. Sable hardened her heart. She had a job to do, and the suffering of the people inhabiting the festering city of Alea Tanton was none of her concern.
The prisoners were led to a long line of upright posts that ran down the middle of the arena, and the guards secured their chains – one captive to each stout pole. Two of the prisoners had a green tinge to their skin, and Sable realised that they must be Fordians – a people who made up a third of the population of the city, and who were the greatest rivals of the Blue Thumbs.
‘I thought the Fordians had their own arena,’ she said.
‘They do,’ said Millen, ‘but any caught breaking the law in our part of the city are executed here in the Central Pits. And, obviously, they’re not allowed to compete in the qualifiers. There’s no way any of them would be allowed to join the Blue Thumbs; just like they would never let any of our folk into their team, the Deadskins.’
The armoured guards pulled back as soon as the last prisoner had been secured to a post, and they filed out of the arena through a gate that closed behind them. The crowd stilled, their gazes on the sand.
Sable frowned. ‘What happens to them now?’
A large iron gate in the arena wall began to open before Millen could respond, and an ear-splitting shriek rose into the air. A beast emerged from the opening as soon as the gate was lifted, and Sable suppressed a cry as she stared down at it. It had a large, almost rounded back of thick, dark green skin, and each of its long forelimbs ended in a set a vicious-looking claws. Its back legs were scrabbling against the sand beneath it in its haste to reach the prisoners, but a thick chain around its ankle was keeping it back. It slashed out with its claws as its large jaws clacked open and closed, its teeth glinting in the strong sunlight.
The prisoners cried out from the posts where they had been secured, but there was no escape, no matter how much they writhed and struggled as the beast slowly approached.
‘A greenhide,’ said Millen; ‘that’s what happens to them.’
The crowd whooped and cheered as a long section of the beast’s chain was loosened, and the monster charged forwards, its shriek echoing off the round wall of the arena. It reached the line of posts in seconds, and Sable glanced away as its claws tore through the first prisoner.
‘Enjoying the show?’ said Gantu as he sat back down next to her. He gave a glare to Millen, who lowered his head and edged away.
‘Hmm,’ said Sable. ‘I’m not sure if “enjoying” is the right word.’
Gantu laughed as he watched the greenhide tear through the prisoners, then placed his arm over Sable’s shoulder and pulled her closer. She noticed his eyes as he stared at the slaughter unfolding on the sand below them, and she didn’t need to enter his mind to know the pleasure he was getting from watching the prisoners die.
It was none of her business, she told herself. Lostwell wasn’t her world, and Alea Tanton wasn’t her city. She had seen plenty of death in her twenty-eight years of life; much of it caused by her, but she had never taken pleasure in it, never actually enjoyed it. She had done some terrible things, but they had been for a greater cause, and it wasn’t her fault that the cause she had been fighting for had turned out to be a sham.
She struggled against her feelings of revulsion as the crowd bayed for the slaughter of the prisoners. Gantu was rocking with laughter, his hand gripping Sable’s shoulder tightly, his eyes fixed on the spectacle.
‘Hector’s hungry today,’ he said.
Sable frowned. ‘Hector? You mean that beast has a name?’
‘We give all our greenhides names,’ he said. ‘The Blue Thumbs have six of them just now.’
‘Seven,’ muttered Millen.
Gantu turned and cast a glare of contempt at his younger cousin. ‘Smart ass. Why don’t you go and fetch some drinks for me and Sable, eh? Do something useful for a change.’
Millen got to his feet, looking pleased at the opportunity to get away from his cousin’s presence for a while.
‘Little toerag,’ Gantu muttered to Sable. ‘I hope he wasn’t bothering you when I was talking to those guys.’
She shrugged. ‘No more than usual.’
‘Good. I’ll break him in two if he so much as looks at you the wrong way.’
The crowd began to settle as the final prisoner was torn to bloody pieces by the greenhide. The beast crouched by the remains of one of the bodies, eating its fill, its teeth and claws dripping red onto the sand.
‘Does this happen every day?’ Sable asked. ‘Not just here, but at the arenas of the other two teams as well?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s a lot of executions.’
Gantu snorted. ‘Alea Tanton is a rough place.’
‘Still, that’s over a thousand executions a month.’
He gave her a glance that she interpreted as him wanting her to be quiet. She frowned, wondering how much longer she needed to humour him. He had connections – people Sable wanted to meet, but at the same time she was starting to tire of him. She turned to the sands of the arena. The chain attached to the greenhide was being wound back as slaves turned a large winch, and the beast was being dragged across the ground, its claws grasping onto chunks of flesh as it shrieked in protest. More slaves entered from another gate and, under the close supervision of armoured guards, began gathering the scattered body parts into great baskets.
