Chains of a Dark Goddess (33 page)

Breskaro had seventy-six undead knights against nearly four thousand troops. The odds weren’t fair, but he was counting on the fog, fear, and confusion to give him an advantage. Plus, most of these volunteers were not mounted nor heavily armored, and no mere wounds would stop his knights. 

The Mûlkrans also had on their side Esha’s friend: the metallic beast which she had nicknamed Mot, after its creator, Mokelmot.

“Now, Esha!” Breskaro shouted.

Esha whispered an order to the metallic monster. Mot bounded out into the pass, heading south, and tore through the enemy. Mass terror swept through the pass as its metal jaws snapped off heads and its spiked tail swept back-and-forth breaking the legs of horses and men. 

“Charge!” Breskaro yelled as the beast bounded out of sight. 

Nightsoul launched into battle, and the Undying Valiants were right behind him, veering toward the north, in the direction of the city. They rode in with lances and wrought destruction against the Issalian soldiers who were confused to find an enemy in their midst where there had been none before, an enemy they could hear but couldn’t see. As their lances broke or became trapped in bodies, the Valiants drew swords and maces and swung about them, attacking anything that walked along the ground.

Breskaro shattered his lance and drew his sword. He, too, began to wildly hack to each side at anything that came near him. The mists faded but his strength did not. For nearly an hour he chopped and slashed. The enemy’s number thinned and few Valiants were lost. Some of the Issalian volunteers begged for mercy but Breskaro cut them down. Many tried to rally and attack the metal beast, but their weapons were useless against it. Eventually, using the weight of numbers, they pulled it down to the ground. But they could do little more than dent the thing. A squad of Valiants charged to Mot’s aid, attacking those on it and dispersing them. At that point the metal monster leapt up and attacked with renewed frenzy.

Breskaro paused to look about. Three thousand men lay dead or dying. Another five hundred or more were dead from the impact of the rocks. Many more probably lay dead underneath the rocks on the outside of the pass. The last of the volunteer army had rallied into a defensive position and were backed up into a corner. Breskaro sent his knights on a charge, following behind the beast.

He had lost six knights entirely — heads missing or trunks so badly damaged that their bodies ceased to function. Perhaps a dozen were now impaired by grievous injuries. Missing appendages or with crushed bones, but they fought on, on horseback or foot, as best as they could. 

The battle raged in the corner and another of his knights were forever lost to him. Breskaro sighed and chewed at his lip. He didn’t want to lose any of his Valiants. He felt connected to them and cared about them, even if their souls had departed. 

“
Breskaro
!” a voice shouted out through the din of the battle and the screams of the dying. “
Breskaro Varenni
!”

Breskaro wheeled his horse around and rode toward that voice.

Kedimius staggered through the pass, battered, blood-stained, with a swollen knot on the side of his head. His left arm hung useless and he limped on his left leg. But he clutched his sword in his right hand and advanced with determination in his eyes.

Breskaro pulled his mount up short of Kedimius. “I told you not to return.”

“All this carnage, Breskaro. Is it worth it? These were good men.”

Breskaro glanced around. “Is it to me? Yes. To the mothers and daughters and wives of these men? No, it isn’t fair to
them
. But I’m not responsible for their coming here. You must have known these were dead men as soon as Togisi ordered them forward.”

“I tried to talk him into letting only volunteers go first, like you used to do, but he wouldn’t change his mind. Nor would High Priestess Blasidia. So I volunteered to lead them. It was the least I could do. It’s what you would have done.”

“He wasn’t wrong to send those who are the least valuable first. You see the result. I would do the same myself now.”

“But you are not the man of honor you once were.”

“I am a
dead man
, Kedimius. The dead have no honor.”

“I don’t believe that.”

Breskaro smiled. “Then believe this: I can’t afford such honor anymore.”

Kedimius pointed at the last of the volunteer soldiers who were fighting to their deaths. “Will you not take an offer of surrender?”

“I can’t afford prisoners. I can’t feed them. I can’t send them back. They will die fighting for what they believe in, no matter how foolish the cause. That’s the best I can give them.”

“I should go die with them. I led them here. And you said you would kill me if I came against you again.”

“So I did. Is that what you want?”

“No. I ... I should have died with you seven years ago. Everything would have been easier if I had. Everything here is
wrong
.”

“
Everything
? No, but some things are. Does Issaly need to conquer Mûlkra for its own people to prosper? The Mûlkrans are threat enough to themselves. They’ve done nothing wrong. They worship different gods, yes. But why should they suffer for this? Magnos and the Matriarch could end this by calling off the crusade. But they won’t, so I must fight them. And I will do whatever it takes to win. My loyalties are clear.”

“Mine aren’t,” Kedimius said. “You and Whum, you know where your loyalties lie, for better or worse. The Matriarch and General Togisi, my dear Ilsimia: They all know where they stand, and they stand firm in their faith. Not me. I am the one
torn
between you all.”

“You are not torn by loyalties. You are torn by guilt. I gave you the perfect option. Ride on and leave all this.”

“I can’t.”

“Then you
know
where your true loyalties lie. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be standing here talking to me. You’d be doing your best to run me through with your sword. You’re just afraid to commit. Don’t think that because I’m dead, because honor has left me, that I don’t still respect you. I would have killed you otherwise. Kedimius, I could use your help. I need you.
Orisala needs you
.”

“Orisala...” Kedimius shook his head. “No. I can’t fight my own people. I pledged my life to the service of the Goddess.”

“Seshalla doesn’t give a damn about you.
Fight
for those you love. And those who love you. No one else matters.”

The fighting stopped. Kedimius glanced back to see the Valiants moving through the pass, dispatching wounded men. A figure on horseback charged toward him. He spun and raised his guard, then dropped his sword and flung out his arms.

“Ked!” shouted Whum as he leapt down from the saddle and took his old friend into a giant hug.

Kedimius smiled, despite the grim situation. “Whum, old friend. I have missed you.”

Whum backed up and nodded toward Breskaro. “Talking to the dead one here won’t lift your spirits.”

“You know, Whum, you warned me that we’d be opposed to one another someday.”

“Not how you expected the split, eh?”

“I’m sorry we didn’t listen to you. The three of us, we should have gone on questing, adventuring for ourselves, helping people, doing whatever we thought was right. Crusaders for justice, not for Seshalla or Harmulkot or greed.”

“Wisdom is often late. You going to join us? Or am I going to have to knife you?” Whum glanced questioningly at Breskaro.

Breskaro replied, “I’ve given him a choice. He has
already
made it in his heart, but he’s not ready to commit.”

“How can you be so sure of what’s in my heart?” Kedimius asked.

“The Mûlkrans have a just cause, defending their home and their way of life. If they lose, the Issalians will raze Mûlkra and slaughter her citizens. You know this.”

“In Brekka, once you were gone ... It was terrible what we did.”

“And it will be worse here,” said Whum. “The Issalians have long hated us.”

“And it’s not only justice that will sway you,” said Breskaro. “You have friends here. Whum and me.
Orisala
. You still love her.”

Kedimius stared into Breskaro’s piercing green eyes, then he looked away. “What good am I here? I am one man against many. I will not win this war for you. And I failed you. I failed
her
.”

“Yes, you did. But I think you need a chance for redemption. And, Kedimius...” Breskaro dropped his head and fumbled with the reins of his horse. “Kedimius, you were like a son to me. I wasted my life. I would see you reclaim yours. I would see you be the good man that I can never be again. When all this is done. When I have saved Orisala ... She won’t need me, broken, dead thing that I am. She will need
you
.”

Esha ran up to them, sling in hand, with Larekal chasing behind her. “Master! You’re okay!”

“I told you to wait behind.”

“You told me to stay with Larekal, so I made him follow me.”

Larekal shrugged. “I couldn’t restrain her, master.” 

Esha glanced back to the pile of rubble in the south end of the pass. A scout was peeking his head over the top. Esha spun around and began to whirl her sling.

“You’ll never hit him from here,” Larekal said. “That’s over four hundred paces away.”

Esha loosed her attack. The bullet sped down the pass and nailed the scout in the forehead. He fell. 

“Hah! Got him!”

“By the gods!” Whum said.

Another head popped up and Esha gave it another shot. This one narrowly missed, but the scout got the message and went back down. No others appeared.

“Impressive, yes?” said Breskaro.

She flashed a smile at Kedimius. “I’m Esha.” 

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” said Kedimius.

“You will find that there is no one else like her anywhere,” said Harmulkot as Aleui approached.

Harmulkot billowed out from the qavra stone. Kedimius took a step back. 

“There is no reason to fear me,” said Harmulkot. “I shall not hurt you.”

“You, you’re a ghost! I thought you were—”

“Solid? I appeared to you so before, but that was an illusion managed with Aleui’s help. Of course, since you have now seen me this way, we cannot let you go. Though unless I am mistaken, you have decided to stay with us, have you not?”

Kedimius said to Breskaro, “You’re fighting with so little manpower
and
Harmulkot is a ghost.”

“The odds of us winning are slim,” said Breskaro. “They always have been. I took this on knowing that I would likely fail and that Orisala would be lost.”

“You could have made her heal Orisala first, Breskaro. Then fight here on your honor.” He turned to Harmulkot. “If you heal her now, I will fight for you. Breskaro would as well. He doesn’t lack motivation. He wants vengeance against Togisi, against Seshalla.”

“To heal her,” said Harmulkot, “could destroy my greatest weapon. That I cannot do. By the way, Breskaro, you should get moving.”

Breskaro leapt down from his mount and walked over to the first corpse he came to. He held his hands over it. White concentric rings of energy emanated from his hands and pulsed over the body.

“Rise,” said Breskaro.

The corpse stirred, rose, and bowed before him.

“This is madness,” Kedimius said. “These men deserve better than this.”

“Their souls are departed,” said Harmulkot. “All that remains within these bodies are soulless memories. They remember how to fight, to run, to cook a meal. They don’t remember loved ones, summer breezes, or a kiss upon the cheek.”

Breskaro moved on, swiftly raising corpses. Plunging his sword into bodies of men who were not yet dead as he went.

“This is the only way we can have enough manpower to defend my city,” said Harmulkot. “And that device is the same one that will heal your Orisala.” 

“You look familiar,” Kedimius blurted out.

“I will take that as a compliment,” she said.

“Why?”

“Because it means that you think I’m beautiful.”

“I don’t think that—”

“Oh but you do, Kedimius Threnna. You do. You may think of me as evil. And I am a ghost currently. But I am also beautiful. Especially to you. Do not deny it. Deltenya and Adelenia were my direct descendants. They looked much like me. Orisala—”

“Looks a lot like you,” he muttered.

“Even despite the many generations.” Harmulkot smiled. “Do not tell Breskaro.”

“He hasn’t noticed?”

“I am sure he must have. He probably does not like to dwell on it.”

Sounds of fighting erupted on the Mûlkran side of the barrier.

“Another part of the trap?” Kedimius asked.

“Of course,” said Whum. “Our military is ambushing the Issalians trapped on that side.”

“How did you get in here? The scouts were thorough.”

Whum pointed at the western wall where already the newly-raised, undead soldiers were limping toward a tunnel that led into the pass. Breskaro would soon have an army of at least a few thousand of these undying, unfeeling, relentless warriors.