The Lord of Death (The Age of Dawn Book 2) (5 page)

He scrambled onto its chest and pinned the long sword to the ground with one hand. He used all of his weight to drop a vertical elbow into its flaring mouth, producing the satisfying pop of a dislocated jaw. He smashed his elbow into its soft face two more times, black blood covering his elbow.

Walter lost his grip on its functioning arm on the next blow, and scarcely moved his head in time before eating its blade. He rolled backwards and tried to stand, slipping in the wet mix of red and black blood, falling onto his back.

The monster leaped into the air towards Walter, sword withdrawn for a lethal strike, black droplets of blood trailing in a line behind it. He inhaled sharply, focusing his mind upon this cusp. He turned to Grimbald, still gasping on all fours, face tomato red. He looked to Nyset who met his eyes. “Together!” She shouted.
Yes, together.

A single burning disc sprung to life above her. She pushed it with blistering speed and Walter touched it, making it different.
What am I—
the disc spun in the air and slammed into the creature’s head with the flat side, exploding in a hail of green liquid. The beast fell from the air and shrieked on the ground, ineffectually trying to wipe at its face.
Not something you can do very well when you’ve let your hands be replaced with swords.
Walter scrambled away, eyes wide.

Smoke billowed from its skin and armor. The greenish liquid was burning holes through its armor and the floor around it. It writhed on the ground, frantically smashing with arms and legs. Its mangled arm twisted in unnatural directions and tore free with a thrash, sliding across the ground before Walter and Nyset, leaving a line of blood in its wake.

He put his arm around Nyset, preventing her from falling over. She felt so small against him. He wanted to drift into a deep sleep right there, in the mess of red-black gore. Exhaustion is indifferent to circumstance. Grimbald winced as he walked toward them, one hand clutching his bleeding shoulder.

“What in Dragons was that? He almost killed us,” Grimbald said between groans.

“I don’t know,” Walter said gravely.

A soft humming emerged from the spiraling staircase leading up to roof. “Hm. Yes, I think I shall read that one first, most appropriate,” Baylan said softly. “Why is it so quiet? Are you being lazy and avoiding engaging in your training?” he yelled from around a corner. Baylan walked through the roof’s entryway and stopped in his tracks. The tall pile of books stacked in his arms tumbled to the ground and his mouth fell open.

B
aylan stormed
around the circular table, arms gesturing wildly.

“What were you thinking? They weren’t ready for a Ripper!”

Malek lounged in a plush leather chair, legs in a figure four, and hands clasped behind his head, hood raised. “You said to get them prepared for battle as soon as possible, and that’s what I did,” he said flatly.

“I said prepare, not slaughter,” Baylan said, banging his palms against the table. He fingered the long silver dagger that sat on his hip, staring without blinking at the sinewy wizard.

“Don’t do something you may regret,” Malek said, yellow eyes pulsing with a red glow. Baylan unsheathed his dagger and slammed it into the table with thump.

“I have no regrets and I never will,” Baylan snapped.

Malek smirked at the shining dagger. “A fine blade. Where did you get it?”

“Do
not
try to change the subject,” Baylan said icily.

“Okay, you’re right.” Malek said, palms open. “Perhaps a Ripper was a bit severe for such an early test. But did they slay it?”

“That’s not the point, the —”

“The boy and girl worked the powers together, woven as one, creating a spell I’ve never seen before or heard of. Without the stress of that moment, it would have taken years for them to discover they could do it.”

“And if they failed? Their blood, their innocent blood would be on your hands,” Baylan said jabbing a finger at Malek.

“None are innocent. You should be thanking me. Champions, warlords, and high wizards have fallen to the Ripper’s blades, but yours have survived.” His face grew dark and tense, cruelty knitting in his brows. “These Breden children are just so very special to you, aren’t they? They’re powerful, too powerful to need my help,” he said, sneering.

Baylan turned away and covered his mouth. “Are you sure? Are you serious? I should thank you?” He took a deep breath and let it out, shaking his head. “You’ve been traversing a black path Malek, I can see it in your eyes. The Tower will know of this.”

Malek stood, pushing back the hood of his robe. “The Tower!” he laughed. “Do they not already keep a watchful eye upon my affairs?” He narrowed his eyes. “I know why you still visit me, friend. Do not deny that you are a puppet under the Tower’s control, a slave to their beck and call.”

“You know nothing,” Baylan said licking his lips and leaning back against the wall. “There is a plague in the Tower, rotting it from within, a hidden pestilence that drives us apart. It makes us quarrel like children, but that is for another day.”

“Typical Tower squabbling, and Jean still wonders why I don’t join their ranks,” Malek said.

“Power needs to be checked by power,” Baylan said, pushing a hand through his hair.

“Ah! You’re here to check on me? Is that it? The Breden boy was merely a ruse?”

“No, of course not —”

Baylan stopped at the clanging of sabatons against stone carried up the tower’s stairs. Malek and Baylan stood, Baylan tilting his head and Malek with arms crossed. Baylan moved to the dining chamber’s door and saw the tip of a spear with red feathers bobbing up the stairs, followed by the Midgaard Falcon soldier holding it.

“Mr. Malek, ah, wizard sir?” the man huffed, catching his breath.

“Yes.” Malek nodded to the solider in shining armor.

“Pardon my interruption sir, I apologize for —”

“Out with it soldier,” Malek said with a sharp gesture of his hand.

“It’s the King, sir. There’s been an attack on King Ezra! The Black Guard were able to kill the assassin seconds before it would’ve been too late. I saw it with my own eyes, a terrible thing,” the soldier said, leaning on his polearm. “The King sent me to fetch you, you are to come at once.”

“We must go,” Malek said, nodding to Baylan. “What’s your name, boy?”

“Carver, sir.”

“Carver, take a rest now. Give us a few minutes and we’ll be on our way.”

Walter emerged from a room opposite the dining chamber, rubbing his eyes and standing shirtless. “What’s all the commotion about?” he asked groggily. Nyset and Grimbald followed behind him. Grimbald’s shoulder was wrapped in white cloth with a hint of blood seeping through. Nyset’s face was pale and her eyes appeared sunken.

“How long have we slept?” Grimbald said, yawning. Wiggles trotted from the room and dropped into a low front leg stretch and then shook from head to wiry tail.

“Just over six hours,” Baylan said. “Come with us, there’s trouble in the King’s palace.”

Walter turned, peering through a small window and looked to the palace beyond the lattice of residential buildings. The sun was starting to set and the last of the day’s rays were bathing the rooftops below in pink. Nyset crossed her arms and visibly shivered in her shift, turning back into their bed chambers.

“Alright, let’s get dressed then,” Walter said.

“This is exciting! I’ve never been to the palace,” Grimbald said, grinning. “I woke up with the perfect name for my axe: Corpsemaker. What do you think?”

“Sounds grim, Grim,” Walter said with a chuckle. “I like it, flows off the tongue.”

“You need to stay here, boy,” Walter said, patting Wiggles. The hound whined and crawled back into Walter’s bed with a groan.

P
airs of Falcon
soldiers were starting to light the street torches before night came.

“Good evening, Carver,” one of the soldiers of a pair said as the group of six passed them lighting a street torch.

Carver nodded and put his fist to his chest. Carver led the group along the cobblestone streets of the market quarters, wide enough for two carriages. People were packing up the wares on their carts and wiping down counters. Those who were fortunate enough to transition to a shop of their own were locking their front doors and flipping the ‘open’ signs to ‘closed’. A shopkeep swept debris into the street, forcing a smile and nodding at the group.

“The lights make the street look so pretty, what a brilliant idea.” Nyset said, smiling.

“The erecting of the street torches was King Ezra’s idea, a way to keep crime down at night,” Malek said as they passed a sweets shop.

“Mm. I could really go for some candy,” Grimbald said, bouncing his eyebrows and slowing at the shop’s window. A rainbow of candies sat in neatly arranged rows.

“Does it work?” Walter asked.

“To keep crime down? Well, somewhat. There are two gangs the city has been struggling to control,” Malek said, taking long strides to keep up with Carver. The ridiculous red plume on the soldier’s helmet swayed as he walked.
What is the point, just makes you a target in an actual battle,
Walter thought.

Carver cleared his throat. “Yeah, the Purists and the Equals have been a thorn in the Falcon’s side for a while now. It seems like the Purists have recently gained more traction around the market and Noble’s quarters.”

Grimbald caught up with the group, craning his thick neck to listen. “What do these gangs want?” Grimbald asked, dodging a stray cat.

“Well you can probably guess, or perhaps not,” Malek said, smirking at Grimbald. Grimbald adjusted his tunic and his gaze flitted around the street. He sighed quietly, looking down.

“What my
friend
is trying to say is that the Purists don’t like wizards, or people who can touch the god essences living in the city. They fear what they don’t understand. It’s only natural, a human condition I suppose,” Baylan said, looking at Grimbald.

“I see,” Grimbald said, trying to fit his big hands in trouser pockets far too inadequate.

“The Equals, obviously named, seek equality among the Midgaard residents. They believe, as I do, that regardless of our abilities, we should live in harmony.”

“I like this idea,” Grimbald said smiling.

They turned a corner and the street abruptly changed. Shops became giant houses, trimmed with intricate wood detail and windows that spanned the size of most doors. The uneven cobbled streets became flat tiles bound together with mortar. The frequency of torchlights seemed to have doubled as did the number of Falcon patrols. This street was cleaner and free of stray animals. It graded steeply up towards the King’s palace.

“The Noble’s quarters?” Nyset asked.

“Yes, indeed, this is the Royal road,” Malek said, meeting her eyes.

“Pst,” a sharp whisper said from an alley.

Walter stopped in his tracks. “Yes?”

Three men, dressed head to toe in white, slid from the shadows into the torchlight of the street. “Do you know who that is?” said the tallest of the three to his white companions. “Does he know magic?” the thin man to his left asked. The tall man stepped forward and spat, “Wizards. What are you lot doing with this scum? Are you a wizard too?” The man had a bald head and a bushy beard, his face a scowl.

“Me? I’m no wizard. Yes, this is Malek. He’s been a gracious host to my friends and me,” Walter said frowning. “He sure looks the part.”

Malek appeared beside him. “Did I hear one of you fine gentleman mentioning my name?”

The bearded man stepped forward and slammed a fist into Malek’s gut. The man’s hand appeared to have slipped inside of Malek, except the arm extended too far for his body to possibly contain. The man’s eyes bulged and he shrieked, removing his hand and waving it in the air. It was covered in tiny shards of glass and blood, an oddly beautiful combination, Walter thought.

The bald man and his flunkies ran down the alley, stumbling into each other. “Never trust a wizard to fight fair!” he shouted. “I told you they are devils,” said another. Grimbald released his grip on the axe, setting on his back.

Malek’s mouth formed a sadistic smile.

“You’re not helping the realm’s perception of our kind,” Baylan said with crossed arms.

Unarmed, yet they still attacked with the giant standing behind me. They either didn’t see him or they’re insane.

“Insane,” Walter muttered.

“Yeah. I think they were munching on Fang Cress,” Nyset said.

The road leading to the palace increased in grandiosity as the imposing building drew near. Each house seemed to compete with the other in ostentation. Intricate front gates and elaborate statues of the Phoenix and Dragon littered the house fronts.

“Yes, men are alike everywhere, vying for wealth and power, only to be part of the same dirt pile,” Baylan said with a half-smile. The smooth road’s steepness increased sharply. Walter’s legs were starting to burn from the effort. He looked to Nyset and she met his eyes with a smile. Sweat formed on her brow and he put his hand behind her neck, giving it a rub. She put her soft hand over his and squeezed it. He found his eyes tracing her sharp jawline and his body wanting to pin her against a wall.

The cream colored stone of the Midgaard palace finally came into view. Lining the top of it were glass baubles of incredible size, lit from within by candelabras.

A group of a dozen or so red plumed Falcon soldiers stood at the ready by the entrance. These men had hard faces, unlike those that patrolled the market and city gates. Carver raised a hand to stop the group, and then spoke with one of the guardsmen.

“This way,” Carver said with his best air of command.

Malek beckoned for the group to follow. Walter felt the eyes of the soldiers on him, surveying his form.

“Wait, they must stay here,” Carver said.

“They come,” Malek said, eyes pulsing with a glow.

“Ah, yes sir, sir Malek,” Carver said. “But you must leave your weapons here.”

Grimbald handed his axe to Carver with a sigh. Carver lurched under its weight and set it alongside a barrel of varied weapons. “How can you promise I’ll get that back? It was a gift from my Pa,” Grimbald said.

“Cowl always remembers, yes he does,” said a grizzled old man, missing an eye and oozing puss from the socket.

Walter raised an eyebrow.
Stormcaller will stay right here.

“And the rest of you now,” Cowl said with an expectant palm.

Baylan handed over his silvery dagger and Malek pulled a dagger that resembled an eagle’s talon from under his sleeve.

The gardens were a sight to behold. The courtyard exploded with color, a vivid contrast to the grays and neutrals of the streets and stonework. It was divided into four equally sized quadrants. One section was a lattice of vines that stretched ten paces into the sky. The vines were blooming with red and purple flowers the size of a man’s face. Another section had a series of gargantuan Sand Buckeyes, dormant at the moment. Walter hadn’t known plants could be so beautiful when carefully arranged. The gardeners planted them in exotic patterns that grabbed the eye. Strange trees towered over the garden with vibrant red leaves that would protect the more delicate plants from ash clouds. The air rustled through the courtyard and felt soothing against his skin.

“Wow,” Nyset said, spinning in a circle as she walked. “This is incredible! Dawn Lotus? What a beauty!” She stopped and dropped low and rubbed the back of her hand along the white petals of the cup shaped flower.

“Come along,” Carver called to her from the head of the group.

A soldier crept towards one of the Sand Buckeyes, brandishing a spear with a bleeding pig impaled upon its tip. A drop of blood fell from the pig and landed on the bulbous mouth of the plant. The plant’s mouth creaked open and strings of sticky ichor spread as it parted. The pig screeched and its legs flailed.

“Oh my, Phoenix it’s still alive,” Nyset said and placed one hand over her mouth, the other pointing at the pig.

“It has to be or they won’t eat it,” Carver said, keeping a steady pace.

With a jerk of the spear, the pig fell from the spear tip into the plant’s giant maw. The pig squealed and cried when it landed in its mouth. Walter’s jaw dropped and Nyset clapped her hands over her mouth. Grimbald worked his way beside Carver, speaking to him in a hushed voice.