Soul Under the Mountain (Legend of Reason Series) (4 page)

The largest of the Vindyri soldiers stepped forward. "Are you boys lost?"

"It appears you're lost," Rommus snapped back. "What is your name and rank?"

The man just laughed. "You don't fool me, Medoran."

"Medoran? Now see here—"

"Shut up, Medoran. Your friend here has dark hair. Did you think we wouldn't see that? Everyone get on your feet. We are taking you back to camp for interrogation."

Herrus
slammed his sword nearly hilt-deep into the man's belly under his cuirass. The man looked down to see
Herrus
twist the blade and rip it out of this stomach. Before the soldier knew what happened, another Medoran had slit his throat. Dark strings of blood whipped through the air as the battle began.

The ring of steel against steel cut through the night as blades cut through flesh. Men cried out; either in pain or in fits of rage. Both sides had to exercise extreme caution, for all men, friend and foe, were dressed in the same black armor. 
The scene was chaos come alive, and death waited at the tip of every sword.

Rommus blocked a blade and kicked a man down. It was difficult to see clearly enough to accurately stab between armor, and using his father's black sword did not help either. He swung more wildly than he should have, and his aggravation was beginning to show in his form. He eventually did dispatch the man, but not before taking a long, painful slice to his left forearm. Hot blood poured from the wound and pooled in his hand as he cradled it.

Rommus checked the surrounding area when he could afford to look away. Luckily no reinforcements showed up, nor did any
soldiers flee. If any of them escaped to report to the enemy, then the entire mission would fail. Rommus simply could not allow that to happen.

A sword pommel crashed into his helmet and stunned him. He fell to one knee as he tried to straighten the helmet enough to see through it again. A heavy boot smashed into his back and he fell to the cold ground. Anticipating an immediate attempt to stab him, he rolled across the ground, barely escaping the thrust. When the sword
stuck in
the ground, Rommus wasted no time. He got to his feet and spun around, hacking into the rear of his attacker's neck. It was enough to sever the spine, and the man collapsed into a harmless pile of
armor and flesh.

His wounded arm throbbed, and n
ew blood kept pouring out over the old. He couldn't drop his sword to put pressure on the cut, but he did his best to hold it against his armor. He couldn't see how much blood had come out, but he was beginning to worry that the cut was worse than he originally thought. He no longer had the powers of a god to save him if he lost too much blood.

The crisp, cold air burned inside his nostrils. Sweat from exertion quickly cooled on his skin, causing numbness and slowing him down. Fortunately, all of the men fighting were having similar troubles, and the enemy did not gain advantage. Still, Rommus felt
himself beginning to weaken,
and
he was becoming more and more concerned with every hack and thrust.

A severed arm still clutching a sword flipped th
rough the air in front of him, leaving blood speckling
his face and neck. A man screamed next to him, the sound ringing inside his own helmet. After a quick assessment, he determined that the sword whirling through the battle
had been
intended for him. He breathed a warm sigh of relief out into the frigid night air.

Eventually the din of weapons and grunts of men died down. The battle came to an end with the Medorans left standing. Three Vindyri lay on the ground, breathing heavily with their hands silently pleading for mercy. Six Medorans had fallen, the but the remaining nine swords were leveled at the cowering enemy. All eyes looked to Rommus, who stood with his sword tip stuck into the frosty soil.

Rommus
cut some cloth and wrapped his injured arm as he spoke.
"Get up and on your knees. I want answers from all of you, in unison, immediately after I ask the questions. Is that understood?"

Two of the men said yes immediately,
but
the third
just
flashed an angry glare. Rommus nodded to one of his men and
a sword was thrust down between his neck and shoulder, the cold steel entering his ribcage and no doubt tearing through a lung and his heart. He
jerked violently, but silently;
coughing out blood onto the frozen grass.

Rommus cleared his throat. "I think the two of you know how serious we are. We're not playing games here. You are invaders in our land and you have attacked us here, in our own city, by your own free will. You have surrendered to us, and therefore your lives are ours. Is that understood?"

"Yes," both men said.

"Do any others know that we are here inside the city?"

"No."

"Is there anyone else in your party who is not accounted for here, dead or alive?"

"No."

Rommus paced back and forth. "Do you have
any
information about what your army plans to do next?"

Both men answered, one with yes and one with no. A Medoran raised his sword, ready to bring the blade down on the one who said no. Rommus shook his head slightly, dismissing the idea. He then walked over to the man who said yes, and crouched down closer to his level.

"Is he lying to me? Does he have the same information you do?"

The soldier shook his head. "No, no, he doesn't know what I know. I'm a higher ra
nk."

Rommus leaned in very close. "Tell me what you know that he doesn't."

"The Zidaoz. He is coming here. He brings his armies with him."

"When? When will he arrive?"

"Ten days, give or take. I can't be sure."

Rommus s
tood back up to his full height and looked over to the rest of the Medoran soldiers. "Hide the bodies.
This one here lives.
Kill that one."

"But I did as you said!" the
doomed
man exclaimed. "
I didn't lie, I swear!
I answered you honestly!"

"
I believe you. But y
ou also came into my homeland with the intent to murder. You attacked us here in our city
that
you sacked.
You are a member of a hostile force that will stop at nothing to murder innocent people.
For your crimes, you will be put to death. For your cooperation, it will be quick."

Before the man could argue any further, the steel of a blade ripped through his neck. His severed head landed in the bushes and a Medoran
soldier
was already picking it up before the rest of the man's body slumped and fell over. The soldiers had rested long enough, and snapped back to work, cleaning up the mess of bodies that littered the area. All
of
the dead, regardless of who they were, were handled with respect.

Rommus tapped the
last remaining
Vindyri with the flat of his blade
to get his attention
. "Stand up and turn around while I bind your wrists.
What is your name?"

"Zeke. Zeke is my name."

Rommus sheathed his sword. "Well Zeke,
it's
your lucky day. Looks like at least one of the gods are with you this
night
."

Chapter
4

Her leg muscles burned and she could barely breathe. Cold air rushed in and out of her lungs as she ran. Buildings were just a blurry mess in her vision as she searched for an escape route or hiding place. The clouds shielded her from any moon or starlight, and shadows taunted her; offering places to hide but also
concealing
things to trip over.

Alana fought to stay upright and not keel over from lack of air and exhaustion. She had run nearly the entire length of Brinn, from north to south, with no rest at all. She kept hoping her pursuers would collapse behind her and give up, but they didn't seem to be tiring at all. Every time she looked behind her, black robes crept ever closer. Faceless enemies surely stared with hate and anticipation from under those dark hoods.

She could not allow them to catch her. She wasn't even afraid of what they might do to
her;
she was terrified that
they would find out what she was carrying. Her mind raced to think of any way that they could already know what it was. It made no sense that they would chase her knowing what she carried, but they were so relentless that it simply had to be true.

She wished that she had had time to grab a weapon of some sort. Everything had happened so fast and she had acted without thinking. Still, she knew if she paused even for a moment she would have been killed or captured already. At every step of the chase, the Mages
had been right on top of her, and a
t times she felt fingers or fabric brush against her skin. It sent chills up her already freezing flesh.

It was even more frightening that the seemingly superhuman runners behind her were totally silent. They did not cry out for her to stop. She didn't even hear them breathing heavily behind her. Even their footfalls on the cobblestone could not be heard. It was as if ghosts were chasing her to her own grave; only willing to stop once her heart exploded in her chest.

The ghost image in her head was made even more real from
a
magical staff one of them carried. From what she could see when she was able to catch a quick glimpse, it was a
rather ordinary wooden staff. Hovering a
bove the twisted staff, however, was an ethereal green glow, lighting everything around it with an otherworldly hue. At times it would grow dimmer as she seemed to pull away some, but it always brightened
as the
y
closed in once again. It was a constant, terrifying reminder that she would certainly die if she dared to stop or slow down even for a second.

She rounded a corner and cut into an alley. She cut the turn so close that she scraped the wall, the stone rasping her flesh. She had no time to dress warmly, and wore only her simple sleeveless shirt. That would certainly become a problem if she ever escaped her pursuers, for although her exertion kept her fairly warm as she ran, she would most assuredly freeze to death if she did not find shelter quickly.

In her arm she cradled a large, lumpy, folded piece of cloth. Inside that cloth was a large book. It was the book that they had taken from Song, who had taken it from the Mages, who had taken it from the Song's grave. It was a terribly confusing mess, but she definitely knew she did not want the Mages to take it from her.
The Book of Eternal Wisdom
was far too powerful and she knew that if Uritus and the Mages got their hands on it again, the world would be doomed to darkness from that day onward, forever and ever.

On she ran. Her muscles no longer even burned. They were beginning to just feel numb and shaky. She knew that before long, she would stumble or die from exhaustion. The men behind her would have the book, and the free world would come crashing down—all because of her. She wish
ed that she did not have to bear
that burden, but she could think of no other possible outcome. Her face was whipped numb by the frigid wind, but she imagined that at least a few tears escaped from her eyes from frustration, pain, worry and sadness. For the first time, she thought of giving up.

But something inside her called out. Some voice was screaming to her, prodding, pestering, annoying. It was
her own voice, her true self; t
he woman who did not know what quitting meant. The resolute, confident, capable Alana
that fought for her entire life to become the woman she was. That voice inside of her was also yelling at her, showing her a solution.

She summoned up all the energy left in her tortured body and ran to the next corner where another alley crossed the one she was in. She cut the corner as close as she could and searched frantically for something-anything—in the area that would work. Relief soared through her when she saw the open area in front of a doorway. It seemed to be a sitting area or something in front of a Medoran's home.
She could just barely make out a mural made from small tiles adorning the doorstep—an easy thing to remember if she ever got the chance to come back and retrieve the book.
In an instant she pulled the book out from under the fabric and unceremoniously threw the priceless text onto the doorstep. Without missing a step, she continued to run.

The uneven cobblestone was becoming difficult to negotiate. Every few steps one of her ankles would snap too far to one side causing her to nearly fall.
She didn't even care anymore. Her only goal now was to get as far away from the book as she could. The farther away she could get, the better off she would be—the better off the free world would be.

Another turn around a corner and her screaming heart sank. Not far away was the solid wall of a large stone building. There was no escape this time. Her immediate reaction was a mix of panic and despair, but then her insides fluttered with the thought that she could finally stop running. She could finally rest. They would probably kill her, but she didn't have to run anymore. She let her limbs go slack and she tumbled carelessly to the unforgiving stone street.