Out of the Grave: A Dark Fantasy (The Shedim Rebellion Book 2) (7 page)

“Biral said she is in a tower.”

“Must we do this every day? Azmon waits to attack, and we will use that time to etch more champions. We prepare for the next invasion. There is no preemptive strike.”

“Then you have already lost. You let him pick the time and place.”

“I am not the king.” She seemed saddened by that fact.

The day started, and that meant he had men to train. Tedious work, but it got him out of the tower.

“Be gentle with the champions,” Dura said. “They are young.”

“Time they grew up.”

She left. Alone in her study, Tyrus picked through her notes. He recognized runes, knew enough to do that, but her notes were hard to read and had strange words about layers, weaves, and matrixes. The mess bothered him. Azmon had kept a more organized workspace, and her struggles appeared haphazard. Tyrus had sworn an oath to the wrong person. He had sworn too many oaths: pledged himself to Dura, Azmon, Ishma, and Marah. Better to abandon them all and start over with Ishma. But first he had to escape Ironwall. He went to the training terrace. The exercise might clear his head.

Klay knelt on the scrublands between Ironwall and the Paltiel Woods. The hard ground was covered in rocks and weeds, but he tracked purims, the demon spawn resembling a mix of man and bear. He tried to tell how many had passed, but several were similar in size. In the tracks, he found fresh spoor, less than an hour old and smelling of carrion.

He stood and turned to his mount, Chobar, a war bear. The grizzlies were a special breed native to the Gadaran region of Argoria, and the ranger corps had made custom plate barding for the animals, as well as saddles. Their uncanny intelligence made working with them problematic, but they were useful when fighting half-giants and purims, who hated the grizzlies. Most of the time, Chobar could scare off a small pack.

“We should be going.”

Chobar snorted.

The bear’s armor glinted in the sun. He stood, sniffed the air, and looked agitated. Klay had worked with him for years and knew that meant the purims were close. He trusted Chobar’s instincts as though they were his own and checked the tracks again. Hard to find their numbers, but the larger the pack, the more aggressive they became.

Chobar plopped to all fours, Klay jumped in the saddle, and the two of them surged forward. They traveled to the Paltiel Woods. Klay drew his bow and nocked an arrow, scanning the rolling hills as they went. Whenever they crested a small hill, he watched for animals loping after them. He saw none, but the hairs on the back of his neck bristled.

Klay cursed himself for not traveling with another ranger. With the elves distracted by Rosh in the east, the purims had grown more active, pushing the western border of Paltiel. What had once been a safe route had grown dangerous. They neared the woods, and Chobar picked up speed. The ranger let him set the pace, preferring to fight in the woods than exposed on the plains.

As Chobar ran, he leaned back in the saddle because the bear’s front legs were shorter. Bears excelled at climbing mountains but were poor mounts. A horse would be worse—less useful in a fight, and they drew the purims like a dinner bell.

They made the woods and relaxed because the purims seldom ventured into them. Klay patted Chobar’s shoulder, jumped to a tree branch, and climbed until he spotted the animal men maybe a mile outside the woods. Six of them, with bear-like shoulders and crude clubs, crouched on the plains, but they had stopped chasing. Purims feared the home of the Ashen Elves.

After two weeks of hard riding, he was on the other side of Paltiel, near the border between the woods and the plains of Shinar. In the distance, he could make out the shape of the great city, a lone structure dominating the yellow plains. It looked like a child’s toy at this distance, but that betrayed its size as one of the oldest and biggest cities in creation. Camps stood between the woods and the city.

About half a mile from the tree line, three forward bases dominated the flat plains. They used wooden palisades for walls, dry moats filled with sharpened spikes, and dozens of bone beasts on patrol. Bone lords walked with the beasts and wore black robes. Unlike last time, when Klay had captured Biral, the lords stayed close to the forts. He counted the Imperial Guard and thought about Tyrus and his many runes, wondering how many of the guardsmen were Etched Men. Most Gadaran warriors had at least one, Klay had two, champions usually had five, but Emperor Azmon had perfected techniques for giving his warriors dozens of runes.

Klay kept watch while the sun set.

He had promised Tyrus to search for a royal carriage that might hold the empress, but all he saw were sorcerers and warriors. He had also promised the leader of the ranger corps, Broin, as well as Dura, to watch for lightning storms. They had reports of strange sorcery.

Chobar hunkered down to nap, and Klay fought off a yawn. Waiting was the worst part of scouting. He watched a few fires dance in a breeze and counted off time between patrols of beasts.

Quiet hours passed until a bolt of lightning arced out of the center camp. Checking the skies, he saw stars without clouds. More lightning followed with a strange crackling sound that built up within the fortification. Klay climbed a tree to see more, but a large pavilion blocked his view. He climbed down with a curse. His report would be no better than the rest. A wind blew out fires. The camp darkened except for flashes of light. As the storm grew worse, strange sounds carried on the wind, chimes followed by ghostly moans.

Chobar had woken, and his ears were flat to his head.

Klay heard something closer, a chirp used by the corps to signal other rangers. Chobar stood, sniffed, and headed south. Klay followed and found Annrin. She wore a similar green cloak and carried a ranger bow.

Annrin asked, “You saw the rite begin?”

“What is he doing?”

“No one knows.”

“Damn those tents.”

Chobar greeted Annrin’s companion, Laban; the two sniffed at each other and playfully pushed at each other’s armored shoulders. Gadaran grizzlies were more social than most.

Klay asked, “Have you seen any lords near the trees?”

“They don’t patrol that close now.”

Out on the fields, the sorcery died down. Darkness returned and, with it, an unnatural quiet. Klay was tempted to wear black robes and get closer to the camp, but he remembered fighting the beasts. They were constructs, imitations of life, which had few emotions other than rage, and he doubted if a man in black robes would fool them.

Klay asked himself, “When will the league act?”

“I think they’re waiting for Rosh to march. If they go around Paltiel, the elves are less willing to help.”

“They would help.”

“The elves want to defend. Going out on the plains takes away the advantage of the trees. Against those monsters, it would be a slaughter, the Fall of Shinar all over again.”

“The longer they wait, the worse it will be.”

“Smarter people than woodsmen are making that decision.” Cynicism tinted her words. “They chase forbidden runes.”

“What does the king think? I’ve not spoken to him myself.”

“So far, Dura delivers on her promise. His champions grow stronger, and he is content to wait.”

Klay kept the rest to himself. The race for runes seemed pointless because Azmon was decades ahead of them. Without speaking, they walked deeper into Paltiel. The Ashen Elves kept a watch as well, at a nearby outpost. The rangers could eat a warm dinner and compare notes with their sorcerers.

“I miss the old days,” Annrin said. “I miss hunting purims.”

“They are easier to kill.”

“Too much spying and waiting. I want a range to patrol.” She sighed. “The king talked about breaking the oaths to defend Teles. The elves did not defend Shinar, and he wonders if we should help them.”

“He can’t betray them.”

“Since Shinar fell, we are pulled farther and farther east. The clans are angry at the lack of protection. The purims raid the ranges more.”

They walked a well-known path in the dark. They both had an owl rune to see in the dark. Dense ground cover provided a path wide enough for one person at a time. Something about Paltiel, the holy ground of the elves, made them whisper.

He asked, “You are still running errands for Einin?”

“And you aren’t?”

“What will she do with all the gold from her horses?”

“She has strange ideas about the importance of her own blood. It’s hard to say, but she’s intent on going west. Dura knows her plans. Broin told the king. Samos is more concerned about the Reborn than Einin.”

“You told Broin her plans?”

“Of course.” Annrin gave him a curious glance. “You mean you didn’t?”

“Well, I’m not helping her fund an escape.”

“She has no talent for Nuna. Months of lessons, and barely able to speak a hundred words.”

“You are certain she wants to leave?”

“She asks about Westrend.”

“She doesn’t understand the Norsil or the purims.”

“No. She does not.”

Klay worried about Einin and Marah. If the woman took the child into Norsil lands, they wouldn’t last a day. Even the purims were intelligent enough to respect the barbarians.

Weeks later, Klay returned to Ironwall. The rangers stabled their bears as far from the horses as possible since they hated the smell of the grizzlies. Most of the animals belonged to the Shinari Knights. Klay left Chobar in his cave and went for a meal at a public house. He craved a mug of mulled wine, an Enoris Red, but everyone saw his green cloak and pestered him about the coming war. Merchants offered coin if he helped them escape a siege. He had no idea where they would flee—Rosh on one side and purims on the other—but still they bribed him.

He had nothing to report other than the fact that the invasion had halted and no one knew why. That sounded too honest to be believed. They accused him of keeping secrets for the king. The head of the ranger corps didn’t like it either when Klay met him in private, in his office, which was a small apartment in the barracks.

Broin asked, “Did the storm produce a new beast?”

“Not that I saw. Maybe one of Dura’s sorcerers would understand it better.”

“We tried. Azmon confuses the elves as well. Dozens have seen that storm, but no one knows what it means.” Broin slapped his desk. “Well, I have another errand, for the king. You’ve been cozy with Dura of late.”

“Annrin and I watch the Reborn.”

“And her nurse.”

“She is the one to watch.”

“The king wants the Shinari to take more runes. The army grows in strength, and he thinks the knights need more runes.”

“Azmon’s had the runes longer. We can’t win a race of sorcery.”

“I know, but why does he wait?”

Klay shrugged. Maybe the emperor worked to replace his Lord Marshal. But that didn’t sound right. Etchings didn’t spark lightning storms.

He asked, “What must I do?”

“Convince Lior and Lahar to take more runes. Some of their men are already taking them, but they refuse to prepare for the war.”

“It is their choice.”

“If they are anything like their father, they can take more than most men, especially with the Butcher’s new runes. Dura might give them dozens more. They could turn the tide of a battle.”

“You know my history with them.”

“It’s time to put that nonsense behind us.”

He kept his doubts to himself. The princelings would not think it nonsense, nor did they respect rangers. The nobles obsessed over runes and ignored the bigger threats. Runes were the least of Azmon’s weapons.

“They have greatness in their blood,” Broin said. “We have few warriors who can endure etchings. Convince them to follow their father’s example.”

Tyrus had helped kill their father, but Klay didn’t say that. “As you wish.”