Heirs of the Fallen: Book 03 - Shadow and Steel (3 page)

“Gods good and wise,” Ba’Sel breathed, “are you mad? We cannot fight them. I have cautioned the men that we must avoid confrontation. Even now, they are preparing to return to our longboats, so that we can escape. We make for Geldain. Perhaps it is safe to return to our last sanctuary or, maybe, we can vanish into the Fire Mountains.”

Leitos glanced at the closing vessels. Their drums had grown louder still, and their rams carved furrows through the turquoise waters.

“When will you tire of running and hiding?” Ulmek asked.

“We must preserve our order,” Ba’Sel said. “Lest you forget, we are not an army, but a meager company whose survival demands that we strike from the shadows.”

“What if the Kelrens capture us? Would you have us accept their chains, or would you then allow us to fight?”

Ba’Sel looked offended. “You
know
the answer to that.”

“Do I? Do any of us? We creep and cower, as a matter of course. Truly, what purpose do we serve any longer? We are the Brothers of the Crimson Shield, yet we are Brothers only to ourselves and shields to nothing, save our own lives.”

“Do you so eagerly seek death?”

“No, Brother, I seek life—a
better
life, a
free
life—for myself and our kindred of this fallen world. That is all I have ever sought. If we destroy these slavers this day, how many innocents will we spare from chains on the morrow?”

Brow furrowed, Ba’Sel turned his back on Ulmek. “Do as I command. We must be well away before the Kelrens drop anchor.”

Ulmek hesitated, seemingly on the verge of adding more, then stormed down the slope.

Leitos looked after him, stunned by what he had just seen and heard. Until that moment, he had never put much stock into the rumors about Ba’Sel’s growing fearfulness. Until now, it had not mattered to him, as all his energies had been on fashioning himself into a warrior strong and skilled enough to stand against the Faceless One. Now, with an enemy at hand, threatening their very existence, his leader had given the command to flee, never considering that his men knew every foot of Witch’s Mole, and could likely crush the sea-wolves.

“Come,” Ba’Sel said, “we must make haste. By sunset, I mean to walk again upon the lands of my birth.”

Chapter 4

By the time Leitos and Ba’Sel reached the heart of the sanctuary, the dust of rushing feet had hazed the torch-lit cavern. Ba’Sel hurried off toward a central pool to help others fill waterskins. Leitos made for his father.

Openings dotted the walls at intervals around the small chamber, from mere cracks to natural archways, which provided safe travel to places all over the island. The Brothers had fashioned bunk beds along one wall, rising four and five high in order to conserve space. Nooks and crannies held what few supplies they had gathered. In all, it was a tidy if stark home.

Adham, stuffing supplies into a pair of haversacks resting on his bed of woven grass and lashed saplings, glanced up at Leitos’s approach.

“You have made me proud,” he said, pushing a strand of iron-gray hair from his eyes. Long years, many spent in the Faceless One’s mines, had lined his brow, but not so much as to ever guess his true age. A hundred and sixty-seven years he had walked the world, but he looked less than a quarter of that. He had once told Leitos how Kian Valara and Ba’Sel had been present when the Well of Creation was destroyed. Exposure to the unleashed Powers of Creation had given them long life and a remarkable ability to heal, which they had passed down to their children.

Leitos wanted to tell of his concerns about Ba’Sel, but decided to keep it to himself. Instead, he smiled in answer. “Apparently the sea-wolves are proud as well, and have come to celebrate.”

Adham offered a cursory grin. “Well, such as it is, you had better put on your
uniform
,” he said, pointing to a bundle of folded clothes to color of dark sand.

Leitos picked up the outer robe, a well-made garment of sturdy cloth. The linen inner robe lay beneath, and had numerous pockets sewn all over it. He donned this first, then drew on the outer robe. A plain leather belt would hold it closed.

“I told them to make them a little big,” Adham said. “The menfolk in our family tend to come into our growth later than most.”

“It is perfect,” Leitos said. Simple as the clothing was, he had never worn anything so fine.

“I suppose you’ll want your boots,” Adman said, pulling them from under the bed.

As Leitos put them on, his father produced something else. Leitos stared at the weapons. A short, straight-bladed sword in a leather scabbard, and a long, spike-like dagger. The Brothers often chose their swords by what they could scavenge from bone-towns and the like, but their daggers had been forged before the Upheaval for use by Geldainian mercenaries, the Asra a’Shah. That order of warriors had become the Brothers of the Crimson Shield, but their daggers, meant to inflict deep, nearly bloodless punctures, had not changed. Leitos had often wondered how many remained in the world, but supposed only Ba’Sel and a few others would know.

“A pity we are not staying to fight,” Adham said, while Leitos secured his sword and dagger to his waist. Adham’s gray eyes shone with an eager wildness, something the Brothers claimed was common to ice-born Izutarians who were about to rain destruction upon their enemies.

Before Leitos could agree, a laughing Sumahn and Daris burst into the sanctuary from a passage that led to the western shore. Everyone went still. Ba’Sel straightened from filling a waterskin, a shadow of concern spreading across his features. “Have the Kelrens landed?”

“They have,” Sumahn answered. “Hundreds.”

“To be fair,” Daris interjected, “we crushed a fair number of them with a rockslide after they found us. Doubtless, they are rethinking the plan to hunt us.”

Ba’Sel slung the waterskin’s strap over his head and pulled it across his chest. “How did they find you?”

“Strictly speaking,” Daris began, smiling as broadly as ever, “putting my arrow in that Kelren’s heart
might
have given us away.”

Sumahn shook his head. “Don’t forget the one I poked into that ugly wench’s ribs—have you ever seen such brands as she wore? Gods good and wise, why would folk scar themselves so?”

“You
attacked
the Kelrens?”

Finally sensing trouble, the young Brothers fell quiet.

Before Ba’Sel could browbeat the pair, Ulmek strode forward. “The folly of these idiots is the least of our concerns. My lookouts have brought word that the sea-wolves are sweeping across Witch’s Mole. If we do not hurry, this sanctuary will become our tomb—”

The sounding of a gong cut him off. The three distinct tolls signaling that an enemy had entered one of the passages. Another peal burst from an opening a quarter turn around the cavern. Again, three sharp rings.

The Brothers all looked to a frozen Ba’Sel.

Before he could give any orders, deep, snarling howls filtered into the chamber from far away. Leitos had heard such voices before. The Kelrens had brought Hunters with them, Na’mihn’teghul, changelings, the wolves of the Faceless One.

Ba’Sel’s distracted air shattered. “Block all the openings. Quickly!”

“You mean for us to face the changelings?” Ulmek said, drawing his sword.

“No! We flee through the east passage, and make for our longboats, and then the sea. Go, you fools, and block the ways.”

After a moment’s hesitation, several Brothers vanished into the openings around the cavern. Before Leitos could join them, Ba’Sel caught his arm.

“You stay with me. You and Adham. It’s your blood the Faceless One seeks, your blood we must keep out of his hands.”

“And it’s the lives of your men that he wants to extinguish,” Adham said.

The thunder of falling rock drowned out anything else he might have added, and dust began billowing from the many passages.

“This will only slow our enemies for a short time,” Ulmek warned.

Ignoring the warning, Ba’Sel called to the returning Brothers, “Gather all weapons, and enough supplies to last two days.”

“Stay here,” Adham told Leitos, and rushed off.

Ulmek glanced at Ba’Sel, then joined the Izutarian at the racks holding swords and hide bucklers, bows and quivers, spears and staffs.

“I have seen it a hundred times and more,” Ba’Sel said, “yet always the pain our departure brings is as my heart’s first breaking.”

“Then let us fight,” Leitos blurted.

Ba’Sel turned. “A new-made Brother, and already so full of wisdom?”

“Give the Faceless One the war he desires,” Leitos urged.

“Were it so simple,” Ba’Sel murmured dismissively.

As the Brothers began to regroup, Leitos leaned close to Ba’Sel. “Someone told me once that there is no place for weakness and self-pity in this world. She said that we die or survive, that life under the rule of the Faceless One is struggle and pain and sorrow. She gave me a choice to fight and live, or to quit and perish. I chose then to fight, glad for opportunity. Then as now, I choose to fight.”

“I would like to meet this woman,” Ba’Sel said absently.

“You trained her, and took her as your own daughter.”

“Zera?” Ba’Sel said in a stricken tone. At Leitos’s nod, he added, “I suppose I should have known. She was a woman of simple truths.”

“Is there any other kind of truth?”

“Perhaps, perhaps not, but I cannot see how any truth, save fleeing, will help us now. We cannot preserve our lives by fighting. At best, we would wake on the morrow, chained and bound for a mine, such as the one you escaped. At worst, we will all perish.”

“Flee this day if we must,” Leitos allowed, “but soon we—
you
—must begin to make ready for the war you told me was coming. If we continue running, the Brothers of the Crimson Shield may last out the year, maybe even the year after, maybe even a dozen more, but our order is dying a slow and certain death.”

“Wars are fought with armies, Leitos,” Ba’Sel said, sounding tired.

“Then it is time for
you
to raise an army. And if not you, then Ulmek would leap at the chance, and so too would Sumahn and Daris. Ke’uld and Halan as well. I would help, as would my father. All are willing, but you must allow it.” He searched Ba’Sel’s face, looking for any indication that his leader agreed, or was at least considering the possibility. He saw only indecision.

Adham and Ulmek trotted up, each carrying extra weapons and supplies. Without a word, Ba’Sel took an offered haversack and a staff.

“Your bow,” Adham said gruffly, handing the weapon and a quiver of arrows over to Leitos. “An Izutarian without a bow is but half a man.” Usually he smiled when he said this, but not now.

Leitos took the short, double-curved weapon that Adham had helped him fashion when they first came to Witch’s Mole. While the Brothers had seen to all aspects of his training, Ba’Sel had noted Adham’s unmatched skill with a bow, and left it to him to train Leitos in its use.

“Is all in readiness?” Ba’Sel asked, once the Brothers had gathered round. Grim nods met his question. “Very well,” he said, and set out.

One by one, some few holding torches aloft, the Brothers merged into a growing line. As they marched, the Brothers each took a turn coming abreast of Leitos. With approving grins, they gripped his shoulder, or thumped him on the back, each in their own way voicing their approval and acceptance of him into their ranks. Ulmek came last, and Leitos fought to conceal his surprise.

“I still do not trust your judgment, Izutarian,” he rasped near Leitos’s ear. “But then, I could say the same of Sumahn and Daris, and most of the rest of these motherless goats. You are one of us now, a Brother of the Crimson Shield, and I will guard your life with my own.”

Astonishment stuck Leitos’s tongue to the roof of his mouth. Ulmek noticed his surprise, and his smile widened, a brief flicker of wry amusement, then he strode ahead to join Ba’Sel.

Soon the way grew brighter, the scent of the sea filled the passage, and the Brothers crept from gloom into the dappled sunlight falling through the boughs of scrubby trees.

Leitos took a knee beside Ba’Sel, and was joined by Ulmek and Adham, Halan and Ke’uld. Leitos glanced around, feeling that something was out-of-place. He saw nothing obvious, and counted it as nervousness.

“The way looks clear,” Halan whispered, his rumbly voice matching his blocky frame. Sweat glistened on the dark stubble sprouting from his head. He looked a brutal man, but was known to be the most tenderhearted of the Brothers.

“That’s what worries me,” Ke’uld said, black eyes roving. Wiry and dark, he could have been kin to Ba’Sel. He tugged at the pointed tuft of tight black curls adorning his chin. “Even with so many sea-wolves locked in the passageways, there should be scores of sea-wolves crawling over Witch’s Mole. Yet I see nothing of them. Where are they?”

Ulmek looked to the sun, nearing the highest point of its daily journey. “Give it a little time, and you will have all the sea-wolves you could want gnawing at your heels.”

“They’ll find I’m not so tasty when I poke a blade in their festering gobs,” Ke’uld warned.