Blade breaker, p.43
Blade Breaker, page 43
Dom slid from the saddle, making for the prince. Both lieutenants leapt aside to clear his path. They knew better than to get in the way of an immortal Veder.
“You will burn with them, if this Spindle is left to fester,” Dom said, glaring between the two. His voice carried, spreading through the war band.
He wished he could show them what he saw in his head, what they’d fought on the Long Sea. The creatures of Meer were still loose in the waters, even with the Spindle closed. And there was another Spindle somewhere else, spitting out dragons, of all things. One of those monsters might even be close, burning its way through the hills and forests. They couldn’t afford to leave another tear in the realm of Allward, another chance for What Waits to walk through.
“Our best hope is to close it now.” Dom turned back to the prince, looking down on the stout warrior. “Before anything more terrible can enter this realm.”
Oscovko stared back, holding his gaze. “And what has come through already? Could this be the dragon?”
To that, Dom could only shake his head.
But Sigil jumped down from her horse and clapped a hand on Oscovko’s shoulder, giving him a hearty shake.
“Won’t it be fun to find out?”
Dom winced. But Sigil’s bravado was infectious, spreading through the war band. A few rattled their swords, and some color returned to Oscovko’s cheeks. He put a hand over her own, giving her a wide grin spotted with gold teeth.
Overhead, the snow fell quicker, carried on a sharper wind.
The Prince of Trec regained his swagger, raising his sword high above his head. “I will not command you to fight if you cannot, or will not,” he shouted, facing down his war band. “But this wolf feasts on glory tonight.”
In this realm or the next, Dom thought darkly as the war band howled over the wind. The battle cry passed through them all, even the injured, who raised whatever they could in a flashing wave of iron and steel. To his surprise, he felt a cry of his own rise up in his throat, begging to be freed. He locked his teeth, waiting for the sensation to pass.
And then something answered the wolfish howl.
The horn sounded from the sea, a low, guttural noise that reverberated in Dom’s chest. He turned toward the beach, eyes narrowed against the clouds offshore. But they were a gray wall, obscuring the horizon, even from Dom. Another horn picked up the tune, a bit higher and keener, and Oscovko flinched.
His eyes went wide.
“What is it?” Corayne asked from her horse, standing up in the stirrups.
Dom dismounted without thinking, moving to the edge of the rise to get a better look. Sand shifted beneath his boots. He squinted, seeing the vaguest of dark shapes cutting through the haze.
Behind him, Oscovko jumped back into the saddle.
“Raiders of the Jyd,” he spat. “Vultures, scavengers, come to feast on the still-burning carcass. Will we give them the satisfaction?”
His war band brayed out their opposition, bashing shields and breastplates. Their horses pranced beneath them, catching the rising excitement of their riders. The kingdom of Trec was no stranger to the clans of the Jyd.
Dom hissed out an exasperated breath. He didn’t have the stomach for these mortal squabbles.
Among the clouds, the shadows solidified into longships, their prows curling high above the water, sails flung wide to catch the frozen wind blowing from the north.
Then the first longship broke through the cloud bank and all his frustration lifted, his entire body going numb. Dom’s legs gave beneath him and he fell to his knees, landing in the soft yellow sand of the beach.
Battle-ready men and women crowded the deck, working the oars. Their wooden shields hung over the sides of the ship, painted in every color. Their iron and steel flashed red, reflecting the burning city. Dom stared, not at them, but at the woman at the prow of the ship. He almost didn’t believe his own eyes. It can’t be, he thought, even as the ship came into sharper focus.
Still on the rise, Oscovko peered down, silhouetted against the smoke.
“What do you see, Immortal?” he called. The other Companions clustered next to him, concern on every face, even Sorasa’s.
“Victory,” Dom answered.
She wore pale green armor, her black hair wild and streaking over her shoulder. To Dom, it was as good as any flag.
More and more longships broke through the heavy clouds, bristling with shields and spears, but Dom saw only Ridha, the blood of Iona returned.
His cousin was not a vision, not a sending. Her form was real and solid, her own cloak of Iona catching the wind. She saw him as he saw her, and raised a hand. Dom did the same, his palm turned out to the waves.
Strange, unfamiliar joy surged through his body, growing with each new ship on the horizon. It felt like lightning in his veins. It felt like hope.
Ridha’s ship reached the beach first, running up onto the sand. A dozen others followed close behind, cutting through the shallow waves. Dom cared only for his cousin and ran for her ship, arms wide. She leapt from the deck, landing gracefully despite her full plate armor. Others followed, most of them Vedera, but one was clearly mortal, with blond hair and whorled Jydi tattoos. Ridha matched his speed, closing the distance between them. He laughed as she caught him around the middle, nearly lifting him off the ground. For a split second he was a child again, dragged back through the centuries.
“You’ve lost weight,” Ridha muttered, grinning.
Dom took her by the shoulders and looked her over, smiling so wide even his scars twinged. He steered them both up the hill, back toward the Companions and the war band.
“You look the same as you did months ago, when you rode off seeking a miracle,” Dom laughed as they crested the rise. Then his eyes flicked past her, as the rest of her ship emptied onto the beach. “It seems you found one.”
Hope rose up inside him as the Vedera of Kovalinn descended to the beach, outfitted in furs and mail, carrying greatswords like his own. A red-haired woman led them, taller even than Dom, with an iron circlet on her brow. She climbed the hill up to them with long strides and surveyed him with a cold eye, her white face raised.
Though they stood on some ash-blown plain and not in the halls of an immortal enclave, Dom bent at the waist, bowing low to the mother of Kovalinn’s monarch.
“Lady Eyda,” he said, putting a hand to his breast. “It is a pity we must meet in such circumstances. But we thank you for your aid.”
She approached with fluid grace, a sword of her own in hand.
“My son’s command is clear. Kovalinn will not doom the Ward to ruin,” she said, her gaze going beyond Dom to the mortals behind him.
The Companions looked on with great interest, none more so than Corayne. Oscovko blinked between Eyda and Ridha, slack-jawed. Dom nearly reached over and tapped his mouth shut.
Eyda was unbothered. “My warriors are few, but they are yours for this war.”
Dom nodded, bowing again. This time the others followed suit, blanching in the face of so many immortal warriors.
“May I present Lady Eyda and the army of Kovalinn, as well as my cousin Ridha, Princess of Iona and Heir to the Monarch,” he said, overproud. At least one member of my family is useful.
“And the raiders?” Sigil said, eyeing the shallows below.
The longships ran aground one by one, hulls hissing up onto the sand. Four had already landed, with still more coming. The Jydi spilled out, less graceful than their immortal counterparts, but far more numerous. Dom spotted men and women, both fair and dark-skinned, all armed to the teeth. With only a glance, he understood why so many feared the people of the Jyd.
Ridha shifted, allowing the blond raider to step forward. She was short and wiry, with a wolf tattooed over half her head. She curled a wicked smile, her incisors sharp, made of gold.
“We are ready,” she said, raising a fist to her raiders. They shouted back, answering her command. Then she clapped her fist to her chest, her eyes flashing. “But Yrla came first.”
Dom had no idea what she meant, though Ridha clearly did. She all but rolled her eyes.
“Yes, Yrla came first, we know,” she muttered, shaking her head with a small, soft smile. But it quickly dropped, her gaze landing on Corayne’s face. Her breath caught in her teeth.
Before Dom could intervene, Ridha dipped her brow, touching it gently. “I apologize, but . . . ,” she murmured, her pale cheeks turning red. “You look so much like him.”
It was a knife in Dom’s chest. Judging by the sudden look on Corayne’s face, she felt it too.
“So I’m told,” she bit out, her face going blank. “Seems everyone knew my father but me.”
Ridha bowed lower, her armor clanking. “I apologize again.”
“Well, I certainly see the resemblance between you two,” Corayne mumbled, eyeing Dom. “How did you know to find us?”
The Jydi woman answered instead, jabbing a thumb over her shoulder, indicating a figure down on the beach.
“So the bone tells,” the raider said.
Dom shivered, and a gasp ran through the Companions. They traded confused glances, all sharing the same thought.
He followed the raider’s gesture to see the figure climbing to meet them. Her blue eyes were the brightest thing on the beach, her gray hair braided into many plaits all tied with bone. She wore black paint across her eyes and the bridge of her nose. It turned her fearsome, a warrior as much as the rest of them. Her old wool dress was gone, replaced by a long black robe. She cackled and sang a melody they all knew but could never re-create, waggling her bony fingers. At her waist, her pouch of bones rattled.
Annoying as she was, Dom breathed a low sigh of relief. He never worried for the witch, but he was glad to have her back all the same, even with her rhymes.
Valtik did not disappoint.
“Worn to bones, worn to blood,” she chortled, walking up to them. “A Spindle torn for flame, a Spindle torn for flood.”
He recognized the rhyme. She said it before, so many months ago, in a tavern at a crossroads. The Spindle for flood was gone. But the Spindle for flame remained, burning now, close enough to smell.
Ridha eyed them all, her brow furrowed in confusion. “We found the old witch floating out to sea, clinging to some driftwood. The Jydi said she is one of their own, and she led us through the clouds. Right to you,” she said. “Do you know her?”
Valtik’s laughter cracked like split bone.
“The Spindle looms,” she sang, puttering along. “The dead tree blooms!”
Corayne took her arm, as if the Jydi woman needed any kind of help. “She’s right—there’s no time to explain.”
Ridha threw her hands up in disbelief. “Baleir’s wings!” she cursed. “You understand the old witch?”
“Don’t fret over it,” Dom muttered. “We have worse to face.”
Beyond the beach, the city still burned, its gates still shut fast. Dom’s fear rose to life again. He tried to breathe evenly and slow his quickening heart.
The others looked out, watching the flames.
“Into the jaws of death we go,” Ridha murmured.
Sorasa was the first to climb back into the saddle, snapping her reins.
“You get used to it,” she said over her shoulder.
They wasted little time forming up, the war band on their horses, the Jydi and the Vedera on foot. The raider chiefs stood out in their war paint, white and blue and green swiped across their eyes, the colors denoting their clans. Only Valtik wore black. She returned to the Companions astride a horse none of them had ever seen before. Dom thought little of her mysteries now, long used to her strangeness. And grateful for it too. His mind was ahead, on the gates of Gidastern. They were only oak banded in iron, but cracks ran through the wood. Flames licked up inside the walls, burning against the other side of the gates.
The gates will fall easily, Dom thought, though they had no siege engines and no battering rams. From a few hundred yards off, he could already see them crumbling. A few Vedera would not struggle to bring them down.
Oscovko raised his sword, roaring out a cry to rally his war band. They answered in Treckish, a rousing shout, their swords ringing against shields. The Jydi joined the fray, haunting in their chant. Their voices thumped like a drum, like a heartbeat, in a language beyond reckoning. Dom felt it pounding with his blood, and his horse pawed the frozen ground beneath them, eager to run. He was eager too, his sword in hand. The steel edge gleamed with the fiery light. Beneath the clouds and falling snow, he no longer knew what time it was, day or night. All the realm seemed to narrow, until there was only the burning city and their force. Even with Ridha’s ships, they numbered less than a thousand.
Will it be enough?
This would not be like the temple. Corayne could not hang back and wait, not with Taristan nearby. And not with the Spindle burning in the city. She would have to ride with them, safe within their company, the Spindleblade at the ready.
She waited now between Andry and Dom, her face indifferent and still. But her horse betrayed her emotions. The mare whickered nervously, feeling Corayne’s fear.
Dom wished he could take it from her, but there was nothing he could do but fight. It was his best use now: a weapon and a shield, not a friend.
Ridha stood with Lady Eyda and the Vedera of Kovalinn, the sight of them Dom’s only comfort. A single Veder was worth many good soldiers, and at least a hundred stood at Eyda’s back, armed and flint-eyed. But he feared for them too, Ridha above all. He could not even fathom the loss of her, not now when she was real and breathing before him.
Something clattered behind the gate, and every immortal turned, hearing what the others could not. Dom narrowed his eyes, trying to see through the wood itself, to whatever waited on the other side. Something was scratching, its claws breaking against the charred wooden gates.
Many somethings, Dom realized with a jolt.
Their roar was sharp and short, like a dog’s bark but deeper. Bloodthirsty. It rose from the city, echoing out over the coast, louder even than the crashing waves. The cry settled deep in the pit of Dom’s belly. His jaw tightened as the creatures roared again, his teeth gritted so hard they threatened to shatter. Many of the riders flinched, ducking down in the saddle or looking to the sky in fear. Others glared at the Companions or the immortals, searching for some explanation.
But there was none to be had.
The Jydi alone did not quail, raising their axes and swords and spears. Their chant deepened, louder now, rising to match the barking roar of the Spindle monsters beyond the gate. Oscovko followed suit, howling out his wolf call, and his war band reacted in kind, ringing their shields again.
Sigil added her voice to the cacophony, raising the cry of the Temur.
Then Charlie kissed his palms in prayer, looking to the sky. His lips moved without sound and Dom hoped some god heard him. After a long moment, Charlie looked down their line, his eyes finding each of them. He lingered on Corayne, offering her a grim smile.
“Don’t die,” Charlie said, dipping his head to her. “I won’t allow it.”
Her lips tightened, her smile tight but sure.
With a nod to the others, Charlie rode out of the column to await the end of the battle, or the end of the world.
Sorasa’s own language curled under her breath, so low only Dom could hear. He did not understand the Ibalet, but she kissed her palms as Charlie had, offering prayers to her goddess.
Next to him, Andry and Corayne clasped hands, bending their heads together.
“With me,” Dom heard Andry mutter, and Corayne repeated the words, turning to draw the Spindleblade.
The ancient sword sang free of its sheath, joining the melody rising with the smoke.
Dom knew death now, better than many. He could not pray. His gods were not upon this realm to listen. He could not sing, with no cry of his own to add. The Vedera remained silent, still, coiled in wait for the fight ahead. Even now they seemed detached and cold, set apart from the lives around them.
But we all die the same.
As he had before the temple, Dom thought of Cortael and so many already dead. So many lost for Taristan’s foolish greed. He drew on that rage, letting it fill him up. The anger was better than fear.
“The gods of Infyrna have spoken, the beasts of their fires awoken.”
Dom shuddered and Valtik’s voice rang out through the army, as if she spoke in every ear. Her horse bucked, rearing up on its hind legs. The old woman held her saddle without blinking, her focus trained on the gate and nothing else.
“Storm and snow, wind and woe,” she chanted, reaching into the folds of her long coat. To Dom’s disgust, she pulled out a leg bone far larger than any in her pouch. It was old and yellow, and human. Her skeletal fingers clawed to either end.
All down the line of the Jydi, other raiders did the same. Like Valtik they wore braids and long robes. More witches, he realized. Almost a dozen femurs rose in the air, brandished like spears.
They mirrored Valtik’s movements, each witch holding a bone skyward, their eyes on the spiraling snow. Their lips moved as one, chanting the language of the Jyd.
The wind howled cruelly at their back, blowing over the army toward Gidastern.
Valtik’s horse bucked again and she held firm, grasping the horse with only her knees. The old witch went grim, her maddening laughter long forgotten. Her grip on the bone tightened, her knuckles white beneath her pale skin. Her eyes stood out against the black paint, blue as ice, blue as the heart of a roiling hot flame.
The roaring and scratching kept on, nearly drowned out by the rallying army. Pieces of the gate fell away, the iron bands peeling back as the wood splintered. Fire licked between the planks, and then came a pair of long, clawed paws. They scratched and kicked, slamming into the gate over and over again, like a prisoner rattling the bars of his cell.
“Let the ground quake,” Valtik hissed. “Let the storm break.”
The leg bone snapped in her hands, split clean down the middle. The crack drove through the air, louder than any sound, even the wolves. Twelve more cracks answered, as the bone witches broke a dozen femurs in half.
