Here Shines the Sun (24 page)

Aries peered out upon the mountain valley as they lowered. Already the fliers were out of sight. The emissaries could be seen, but they were far and only getting further. She growled and inwardly cursed there being no other way down into the north. The wall was impenetrable. There was no way in, and no way out. The mountains closed off the east and west, and the wall blocked the north and south. One could sail around the land-bridge that the wall protected, but the Kald were not sailors or ship-builders. They could try to fly over the wall, but Kald fliers were few in numbers and even fewer ever made it past the defenses. No, the only way past the wall was to go through the wall, and since Aries was not ethereal, being lowered down was her only option. Normally the slow descent was welcome. Getting to the bottom usually just meant a bunch of nasty cleanup work after a battle. Unfortunately, at this moment, cleanup was not on the agenda and time was of the essence.

“Hurry!” screamed Aries. She banged her working fist against the thick, steel bars of the cage. “Faster!”

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“What is it, boy?” asked Etheil as Solastron’s pace came to a slow padding down the dimly lit corridor. His black nose was held high and his nostrils flared as he engulfed the air. His aquamarine eyes looked up at Etheil and he made a number of high-pitched whines.

“He is sad.” said Syrus. “You are sad, right?”

Solastron paid the warrior no attention and lurched his head down the tunnel, sniffing. Then suddenly he erupted into ferocious barking and tore off down the corridor.

Brandrir scrambled after the wolf, followed by Etheil, Syrus and the other twenty soldiers, their boots all rattling the grated floor. “What’s wrong with him?” asked Brandrir between smoking breaths.

“Not sure.” said Etheil. “He must have smelled trouble.”

Solastron kept the others in a breakneck pace for about three-hundred yards until they came to the end of the tunnel. It was blocked by a wall of raw stone and Solastron bounded up, slashing with his obsidian claws, scraping chunks off with every growl. On the left side of the wall was an old, rusty lever and Brandrir quickly threw it down. From somewhere deep beneath them came the loud clunk and clank of steel mechanisms working and the wall slowly began to sink into the floor, flooding the tunnel with bleak, gray light. Solastron did not wait for the wall to fully open. He bounded up, his hind legs kicking as he squeezed himself through the hole and dashed away.

Seconds seemed to spread out into eternity as Brandrir and his men waited for the wall to open enough for them to get out. From beyond, Brandrir could hear the screams of men and the clash of steel. He could hear Solastron in an angry frenzy. The unmistakable hiss and screech of Kald floated among the commotion.

As the door sunk ever further Brandrir tore Raze from its sheath at his side. He swiped his right thumb over the activation rune on the hilt and the silver blade immediately turned into a smear of humming steel that resonated with a deadly purpose. He tapped the bottom of his mechanical left arm with his right wrist and the tunnel filled with the smell of ozone as a disc of yellow energy spread out, creating a crackling shield upon his forearm. Brandrir felt heat pour over him as Etheil ignited his Crystallic Sword, Firebrand. The tunnel glowed and flickered with the sword’s fiery light.

Syrus drew his sabers from his back and the rest of the soldiers all drew their swords. Crystallic weapons were a rare commodity reserved only for Knights of the Dark Stars like Captain Etheil. However, being the former King of Duroton’s son, Brandrir was lucky enough to have his own Crystallic Sword. The same type of power crystal that fueled Raze and Firebrand was also installed in Brandrir’s arm to give it the energy shield. It also helped power his mechanical arm, giving it extraordinary strength, even amongst the others with mechanical arms.

Outside, Brandrir could hear the clash of swords upon swords. He could hear Solastron’s savage snarls as he tore something apart. Brandrir was about to leap up and squeeze himself through the partially opened wall when his nose caught a familiar scent. He had smelled it just a few nights ago. Wet rust. It was pungent and distinct, even over the ozone produced by his shield.

The stone finally sank enough and Etheil jumped up onto it and leapt out onto the icefields, quickly followed by Syrus. Brandrir gazed down into the darkness of the corridor as he ushered the other twenty soldiers out. He was looking for it. Whatever that iron-clad being was that had attacked him some ten-nights ago was here. He knew it, though he couldn’t see it. Was it an assassin sent by the Council? Was there another coup planned against him? Perhaps it was Tarquin and his men trying once again to find the Mard Grander? Etheil, for some reason, seemed to think the being was a revenant—a creature not of life and not of death. Brandrir had no idea how his Captain had come to that conclusion, but part of him felt that he was right.

As the last soldier exited, roaring out a battle cry, Brandrir pointed Raze down the corridor and bowed his head slightly. He couldn’t see the being, but he knew it was there and he wanted it to know he’d be back. He turned and dashed out onto the snowfields.

The corridor exited out of a jagged cliff-face that rose thousands of feet to the tops of the mountains whose peaks were lost within the gray clouds that blanketed the sky. At the other end of the valley, a good two-miles off, spread a line of rugged mountains heading south. But here, upon the flat icefields at the end of the valley, red blood stained the snow everywhere. Men in black armor lay strewn about with their fallen horses, being slowly covered by the wind-driven snows.

A flash of cobalt dropped from the sky in front of Brandrir and he was confronted by one of the demons. The air around him grew colder, the snow tinkled as ice spread out from the thing’s bestial feet. Its great wings, like those of a bat, spread wide as it opened its blunt maw, revealing needle-like teeth crusted with frozen blood. It let loose a long, smoking hiss. Its body was slender and serpentine, covered with cobalt scales that shone like lacquered steel dusted with frost. Its yellow, piercing eyes glowed with unnatural light as they found Brandrir. Its clawed hand had slender blue fingers stained with slushy clumps of blood and it gripped a wicked, curved sword that was thick with an opaque layer of rime.

The thing lashed out with its blade and it cracked against Brandrir’s energy shield. He spun in, Raze thrumming through the air. Steel shattered; bone cracked. Brandrir spun back with his shield raised as black-red demon blood, as cold as liquid nitrogen, spat and crackled against it. Before him, two halves of the demon lay crumpled in the snow.

Brandrir shot forward to a pair of wingless Kald. Before they even had the chance to face him Raze had cleanly severed their necks from their torsos. He felt the heat of Firebrand somewhere to his left; he could hear it rush and roar as Etheil swept it about the battlefield, scorching the enemies before him. The Knights of the Dark Star had power over gravity. In combat their auras swept up debris. Brandrir watched as snow and ice swirled in an eerie, waist-high disc around his Captain who danced and moved about the field, falling the Kald around him.

Seven more Kald swooped from the sky, their feet crunching into the snow, sending webs of ice out as they circled Brandrir. He moved in on them, his sword a flurry of resonating steel. He could feel their auras engulfing him; could smell the frostbitten air all around him. Cold penetrated his armor and flesh, chilling him to the very bone. His movements slowed as he turned aside sword after sword, the demon steel sundering from his invincible blade. A Kald kicked out with its foot and Brandrir swept his sword up, lopping the appendage off at the knee. Demon blood sprayed his armor, instantly coagulating on its surface in gruesome clumps of ice. He turned and one of the Kald he had disarmed was upon him. It reached out with its clawed hands and Brandrir tried to get his sword up but the thing was too quick. He felt its icy hands wrap around his neck. He screamed out as its arctic fingers bit his flesh as surely as ice itself.

And then rage took him. It coursed through his veins like fire, burning away the icy aura that engulfed him. That night the Kald attacked Durtania swept through his mind; a vision of his little brother Dagrir upon the bed as the demons wrapped their fingers around his throat; Dagrir’s horrific, pinched scream as they tried to choke the life from him; his mother’s wails as they tore at her dress and scarred her flesh with their arctic claws; and the demon blade that cracked against his own skull as he tried to stand his ground.

Brandrir growled as he brought his mechanical arm up and wrapped its inhumanly strong grip around the thing’s wrists. The creature howled as he twisted, bones cracking. And then his sword plunged into the thing’s belly, tearing it wide open. Its arctic blood rushed out, pouring over his armor, crusting it with crimson rime.

And then there was an impact to his right side, his armor making a distinct crunching sound as a Kald sword tried to bite its way through his armor, fracturing the gory ice that had gathered upon it. He turned, but an icy hand wrapped around his wrist, though in his rage he felt no burning chill. He saw it’s other arm raise, its wicked blade glinting in the faint sun that filtered through gray clouds overhead. And then the demon was thrown to the ground in a burst of sapphire-blue and amethyst.

Solastron growled ferociously as his maw tore into the beast’s neck, spraying its black-red blood everywhere. Its cobalt skin was torn open by obsidian claws, limbs were ripped from sockets, and then the great wolf bounded off for its next victim.

Solastron alone was immune to the Kalds’ icy auras and burning-cold blood. Brandrir had seen the wolf fight the demons many times before, their touch never so much as frosting his fur. It was said that Solastron was the spirit of the Blue Wilds; that the wolf was the very avatar of the North. No one but Etheil really knew the truth. The wolf had saved him as a child from the clutches of the forbidden woods and had remained his constant companion ever since. As a child, Etheil had been sentenced to spend a long night in the Blue Wilds by Brandrir’s own father, the King. To spend a long night in the Blue Wilds was a death sentence. It was used as punishment against those who betrayed the lands of Duroton. It was a way that the Lands might take their justice. For Etheil, it was punishment for his father’s treachery; his father’s bargains with the Kald and his nearly successful plan to destroy the Thorodin bloodline. But Etheil had lived. He had been carried out of the Blue Wilds by Solastron, and it was therefore decided that the Lands had spared him.

But Brandrir had no time to reminisce or contemplate. He recovered quickly, his sword buzzing as he worked it in a deadly flourish against his next opponent and the next, and they all fell before him. Having cleared all immediate opponents, Brandrir turned and quickly surveyed the field. He saw a soldier upon the back of an Icelandic Great-Hoof, his black armor webbed with frost. A winged Kald hovered above him, brandishing a sword. The knight brought his own blade high, his steel sparking against the demon’s weapon. But then the demon swept its legs forward, gripping the man around the face with its long, clawed toes. The soldier howled in pain as ice crusted his face and frosted his hair. He clutched at the creature’s ankles, and icy tendrils crept up his hands and forearms. There was a sickening crack of bone as the creature’s feet twisted and the man’s neck bent at an impossible angle. He fell from his saddle and the demon descended upon his body, tearing it to pieces as a small gang of other Kald swarmed the horse.

And then Syrus was upon them. He was like a black specter of death upon the snowy field with his winterland cloak fluttering behind him. The silver blades of his sabers gleamed as he worked them in a dizzying array of combat prowess.

“Lo, there do I see the enemy upon me!” his blades flashed and four Kald fell to the ground, their black-red blood spattering his body, leaving gruesome, icy clumps. “Lo, here do the shadows of death surround me!” he spun in, his swords whirling as three more Kald failed to stop his momentum. “Hark! I hear the cries of my brothers who fought before me,” two Kald dropped from the sky as Syrus pressed in on them. Sparks flew, swords were sundered. Bodies fell. “And they beckon to call this dog of war!” Syrus ducked low as a demon blade sailed over his head. He was back up and his sword strikes came like torrential rain upon his enemies. A final Kald got in close and its clawed hand gripped Syrus’s wrist. Ice spread up his metal arm. The gears and hydraulics labored against the freezing ice that enveloped them. Syrus dropped his left sword and brought his hand up, its silver claws ripping the throat from the beast. Icy blood sprayed him and the thing fell dead at his feet.

And then it was over. There was that strange silence that lingered upon a won battlefield. The wind whipped at Brandrir’s face. His breaths heavy and smoking in the cold. He could hear Solastron’s hot panting somewhere behind him and hear the roar of Etheil’s fire-sword as it was blown by the wind. And then he saw her. Aries lay upon the snow, crimson staining the white all around her in gory patches.

Syrus saw her too. “Aries!” He rushed to her side, skidding to his knees before her as he scooped her head up into his metal hands.

Brandrir saw Braken nearby. He was on his hands and knees, struggling to stand. Blood dripped from his stomach as he held it tightly. “Brandrir!” he managed to shout as he got to his feet. He pointed out to the northern horizon. “Fliers escaped!”

Brandrir turned his head. He didn’t see any fliers, but far off, in the dark, gray bleakness of the snow-swept icefields he saw the towering spires of ice known as the Shardgrims. They were like titanic icicles stuck upon the ground by some ancient god; sharp, ever-looming and biting at the very clouds as if they were the teeth of a demon seeking to devour the heavens. Those were the Shardgrims. That was the boundary where men dare not go. That was the home of the Kald.

“Some escaped. We tried…” Braken coughed and spat blood from his mouth. “We tried to stop them, but there were too many.”