The Lord of Death (The Age of Dawn Book 2) (12 page)

Behind the Dragon marched the second battalion, wearing pins in the shape of tower shields on their collars. A handful of soldiers passed with red wreathes around their necks. Some had to step out of line to usher their families from the street.

“It has been over five hundred years since a Midgaard king has sent the Falcon to battle,” Baylan said. Walter and Nyset nodded. “We’re witnessing a historical milestone.”

Grimbald’s face grew red. “When was the last time? You see my Pa, well, he needed help and I had to work. I didn’t get to go to school, so there’s lots things I missed.” He cast his eyes down and scratched at the ground with his foot.

“That’s alright Grim, you know how to run a business. Few people know how to do that at your age. The last time the Falcon marched was during the Trial of Devastation just shy of 500 years ago. The Milvorians, hailing from the far west had invaded Zoria and nearly won.”

“The Milvorians, were those the cat people?”

Baylan laughed, “I’m not sure they would take too kindly to calling their mounts ‘cats’. True, what they ride resembles the Ice Cats of the Mountains of Misery except, they’re about ten times larger and have enough strength to jump over a man.”

“Sounds terrifying,” Grimbald said, rubbing his hand along the haft of his axe.

“Indeed. It was written that it would take at least three of our men to slay one of theirs. Let’s hope they don’t decide to invade again anytime soon,” Baylan said, furrowing his brow.

“There are volumes written about the Milvorians in these heavy blocks of paper bound by leather that I often carry with me. In fact, you can find a countless number of them in the Midgaard library right here in this very city,” Baylan said, grinning.

“No, this way is better.
You
read the books and just tell me the important stuff.”

Baylan groaned and sighed.

“They’re a truly fascinating people. Many of the artifacts we have today were collected from them. Malek actually has a few of them, you should ask him to see them. They’re quite amazing and some quite powerful,” he said trailing off.

“I was not aware most of the magical artifacts came from the Milvorians,” Nyset said.

“Yes, some also call them relics of the old magic. We haven’t figured out how to produce new artifacts or duplicate the existing ones. There are a few wizards in the Tower quite talented in the art, but what they’ve been able to produce is but a fraction of the power infused in the Milvorian artifacts.”

Walter looked down to Stormcaller, trailing his fingers along the twin dragons that wrapped around the bracer.

“Do you think this was created by the Milvorians?” Walter asked.

“It’s certainly possible, but the place where you found it, well it’s hard to say for sure.”

“I have a theory why Stormcaller would have been found where I found it,” he said quietly. “It was put in a place no one would dare to tread if they knew what it was. Based on what you’ve told me about the crypt’s former resident, it was probably one of the safest places in the realm.”

Baylan nodded, “A good theory.”

“Does anyone know if the Milvorians actually created the uh, magical artifacts?” Grimbald said, scratching at the beginnings of a beard.

“Good question. We really don’t know where they came from. The general assumption has been that the Milvorians created them. Assumptions are often incinerated however,” Baylan said, furiously scribbling notes.

A harmony of horns sounded from up the main road, commanding the group’s attention. At least twenty men pulled a platform of gleaming silver, gold, and shimmering jewels. Atop the platform was a throne with King Ezra standing before it and waving to the crowd.

“Unbelievable. Can you believe this? Look at all this waste. There are people on the streets, starving, dressed in rags,” Walter gestured towards the king. “The bastard has this, this, thing worth more marks than everyone has in Breden combined.”

“The world— life, is not fair,” Grimbald said.

A face in the crowd caught Walter’s eye.
It was… was it? Yes it was Malek.
His face was hard to make out behind his hood, but Walter recognized his profile.
Malek pushed the hood back and stared at King Ezra, unblinking. The king’s platform drew closer to Malek and the Black Guard walked beside it, heads in constant motion, looking for danger.

“I think that’s Malek —” Walter cut off as Malek raised a dagger with a red glow behind his head. He took aim at Ezra, and strangely, the people around him did not move or react.

“Where? I don’t see, where?” Nyset asked, frantically searching the crowd.

“Assassin! Assassin!” Walter screamed.

Malek’s dagger took flight, and the Black Guard surrounded Ezra in a heartbeat, their blades drawn to face their opponent. The red dagger exploded when it struck a Black Guard in the chest, blowing a gaping hole through the man. The decimated Black Guard’s body smashed into Ezra, knocking him off the platform.

Blood and bone fragments spilled across the ornate platform. The two Black Guards beside the one who was hit in the chest also crashed to the ground beside the platform. One was grasping at a missing arm and the other at the gem that had replaced his eye.

Ezra let out a primal scream and then everyone seemed to join him. A command boomed through the street and the second battalion moved into fighting stances.

Malek grimaced and turned on his heels, running into a narrow alley behind the scrambling onlookers. Walter’s eyes locked onto him, ignoring all else. Walter ran across the street, following, pushing through the crowd. His leg caught on someone and Walter fell into a roll, using the momentum to propel himself into a sprint.

Malek’s robes flapped as he ran down the empty alley. The screams of the crowd quickly faded behind Walter as he followed Malek. Malek slowed his pace to a walk when other voices echoed from an adjacent alleyway. Walter’s pace slowed in kind. Ash started raining from the sky and Walter wiped a clump that stuck to his cheek.

Walter took the focus of his vision from Malek and used his peripheral vision to watch him. A memory of Noah teaching a Sid-Ho class flashed across Walter’s mind. The students knelt around Walter. Noah paced with his chest puffed out and arms held behind his back.
A man can sometimes feel your spirit, eager to wage war upon it. Using direct focus while stalking can often alert your enemy to your presence.
When we stalk our enemies, we use our peripheral vision,
Noah had said.

This bastard was a wily one. Best to not take any chances.
Walter turned down the alley, following Malek and passing a group of girls he would have been very interested in speaking with had he not been chasing this scoundrel, or if Nyset weren’t with him, of course.

Walter rested a hand upon the remains of the Breden sword haft he had used to kill the Skin Flayer. Malek glanced over his shoulder and gritted his teeth when he saw Walter. He turned to run and Walter reached for the Dragon, but something was wrong. It was there, he could sense its presence, yet he was unable to touch it, unable to allow its fury to flow through him.

“What have you done?” Walter yelled. He growled and sprinted, rapidly closing the gap between them.
There is no way you can out run me, old man!
“Stop!” Walter shouted.

Strangely, Malek did stop. He whipped his head between two houses and shouldered his way through a rickety door of a house with three triangular windows.

“Who are you? Who do you think you are?” a deep voice commanded from within the house.

Children screamed and Walter forced himself to move faster, pushing through the door to see a man in a, once white, apron brandishing a butcher’s knife. A pile of red meat sat on the counter beside him. Behind the man was a woman, with her arms wrapped around two children with tears in their eyes.

“Where did he go?” Walter hissed. The man hesitated for a second, eying Walter, and then pointed with his knife up the stairs. Walter pounded to the top landing, leaving him with two options. One door had a wooden sword and a toy horse in front of it and the other had a lock. He kicked the locked door open, and Malek faced him, his eyes wide and frantically seeking escape.

“Everyone trusted you, why did you do this?” Walter fumed.

Malek made a strange, high-pitched guttural sound. Malek patted at his pockets and under his sleeves. Walter reached for the Dragon again, preparing for an attack, finding it blocked by what felt like a slab of ice.

“Why did you betray us?” Walter asked, taking a few steps across the room to Malek, who was pressing himself against the windows. The clanking of armor and shouting of soldiers traveled up from the alley below. Malek sneered and spoke something in the same guttural tongue.
No language I’ve heard.

“Answer me, dammit!” Walter said, taking another step. Malek took a step back towards an open window. He screeched and threw a wide punch that might not have connected if Walter had remained still. Walter countered with a hard right and spittle flew from Malek’s mouth.

Malek lunged at him and his bony form collided with Walter’s muscular chest. Walter slid both of his arms under Malek’s armpits and using Malek’s momentum, threw him over Walter’s hips and onto his back. Malek gasped for air and again spoke in a voice that sounded like fighting dogs. Dark tufts of ash drifted through the window, landing on Malek’s face. The sky had become dark and gray, muting the color of the world.

Walter started to pull Malek from the floor by the glowing crystal necklace he wore. The chain snapped in half and the crystal flew across the room, bouncing off a nearby wall. Malek fell and Walter follow up with an elbow to his mouth that visibly dislocated Malek’s jaw to one side and bent a few teeth back. The crystal necklace stopped glowing and went dark.

“Maybe your mouth works now?” Walter breathed.

Walter returned his attention to the Dragon again and this time its rage filled him, suffusing his veins with strength. Walter wanted to crush the life out of this insect. No, but he couldn’t.
This man was defeated and deserved a proper trial. Explanations are needed.

Walter turned, looking for something to bind Malek with in a dresser. Malek stirred and Walter said over his shoulder “Stay down, don’t make this any more difficult than it has to be.” Walter’s hands found a leather belt. “Yes, this will do nicely,” he said.

He turned to find Malek standing, eyes glimmering with a metallic sheen. “The Lord of Death will swallow this land!” he hissed.

“Shit!” Walter said, blading his body to avoid a strike from another dagger glowing with red trails. A force of light swelled in his chest and he opened his hand, blasting Malek with a torrent of air. Malek was lifted from the floor and shot backwards through the open window, knife tumbling from his grip. Walter watched as Malek was launched into the adjacent building, hitting a wall and crashing into the alley below with a resounding crunch of bone on stone. The dagger hit the ground a second later, ten paces away from Malek, and exploded in a hail of a stone, ash, and dirt.

Walter lunged to the windowsill, placing his hands upon it and looking down at the carnage below. A plume of ash rose from the street and drifted towards the window. He pulled the shutters beside the window shut and let out a long held breath. Walter plodded down the wooden stairs, wiping sweat from his brow. He felt a flutter in his stomach and tightening in his chest.
Those metallic looking eyes were all wrong.

“That man — that man was an assassin. He just tried to kill the king, you will be thanked for your service, I think,” Walter said to the man whose butcher knife trembled in his grip. “I won’t hurt you, please, lower the knife.” He did and Walter left the house, turning onto the alley where Malek fell.

The volcanic ash was falling heavily, coating everything in fluffy soot. Walter held his tunic over his mouth and squinted. He leapt over the hole the explosive dagger had created and probed Malek’s body for life with his foot. The corpse was layered in thick ash and strangely smaller, much smaller than it was a minute ago.

Walter brushed the ash from Malek’s body and shuddered when he saw what was under it. The corpse’s head was no longer Malek’s, but a perfectly round metallic orb, floating above a small figure in armor. He inched closer and saw his own darkened reflection in the orb.

“Dragons,” Walter said, shuffling back a step, gasping.

The armor that covered the small figure was a woven series of hard leather triangles. Its hands were tiny, like that of an undeveloped boy.

“What was this?” Walter said, lifting the small body over his shoulders with a grunt. He left the empty alley, leaving footprints in the thick ash that fell like black snowflakes. They drifted into corners, blowing in the wind and twisting into small whirlwinds over the cobblestones behind him.

W
alter didn’t care much
for formalities, but he supposed you couldn’t really turn down an invitation from the king, could you? He felt a bit better with Baylan at his side, a man more familiar with Midgaard custom. The throne room was now decorated with massive banners of the Midgaard standard behind the dais. There were two shrubs on either side of the dais, blooming with brilliant red flowers. The day’s waning sun slipped into the horizon, muted by the remains of the raining ash.

King Ezra sat upright on his throne, muttering and flapping the fur coat that hung from his bony shoulders. Sweat glistened from his bald head and he tugged on his long square-cut beard that shrouded his mouth. Lajoy, the king’s warmaster stood behind him with his arms carved of wood folded over his chest. He wore a long gray shirt and black trousers.

“So, you finally found the time to make it to see your beloved king?” Ezra said, wiping wine from his lips.

“It’s my fault, I wasn’t feeling too well after all the commotion from earlier, as I’m sure you can understand,” Walter said, brushing a clump of ash from his shoulder.

King Ezra cleared his throat and said, “Well, I suppose that’s alright, given the great service you’ve done for me.” The secretary wrote on his clipboard with a half-burned candle on top of it.

“Dammit Thurber, did you put an order with the masons to make these windows open yet?” Ezra said, wiping sweat from his brow.

“Yes my lord, they’re still busy completing the east wing.”

“Well tell them to hurry the hell up, I’m roasting like a Phoenix Festival pig in here. Now,” Ezra said, stabbing a long finger at Walter. “Because you dealt with the, ah,
second
assassin and determined that my closest advisor had… betrayed Midgaard, I would like to reward you for your service. Now this goes for Walter only, not the rest of you,” Ezra said, looking from Grimbald to Nyset and taking another gulp of wine. He signaled for the wine bearer to fill his cup, who did with haste.

“I will grant you any one request that is in my power. Name your reward boy,” Ezra said, opening his arms.

Walter wasn’t ready for this and his mind went blank.
A treasure chest of diamond marks? Weapons? A place beside the king?
No, but what?

“Anytime now, I don't have all day,” Ezra said, leaning forward and resting on one arm. Then it came to him. The one thing they all needed and no longer had. The thing that Walter yearned for deep within his chest that never seemed to wane. A place to call home.

“I would ask my king, that he would give myself and my companions the deed to Malek’s former residence, the Temple of Meditation,” Walter said, feeling the tension leave his body.

“Ridiculous!” the king laughed. “That property is far beyond your station, a priceless estate, even for a wizard.”

Walter crossed his arms and leveled his eyes at King Ezra, who promptly looked away, finding the wall more interesting.

“Secretary? Can we do this?” Ezra asked after a moment.

“The property is now the kingdom’s. We could arrange for the deed to be rightfully transferred with your consent.”

Ezra let out a deep sigh and said, “Fine you will have the estate. My debt to you is paid.”

Walter wanted to leap into the air, punching it with his fist. He laughed as he said, “Thank you my king, I will not forget your generosity.” Walter turned to Nyset, who beamed at him, highlighting her perfectly aligned teeth. Grimbald nodded, his expression flat. Baylan regarded him with raised eyebrows.

“Be gone, now. I have much to do,” Ezra said, standing and leaving the platform.

“Wait. There is more we must discuss,” Baylan said.

“What? What is it?” Ezra asked, waving his cup and sloshing wine onto the floor.

“What are you going to do if the two battalions you sent do not return?”

“We have ten more. They’ll come back, you babbling fool wizard. Have you forgotten that this is the Midgaard Falcon? Not some village militia.”

Baylan groaned. “Now you believe in the existence of the Death Spawn? You did see the body of the Metamorphose who posed as Malek, didn’t you?”

Ezra’s eyes flitted about the room, avoiding Baylan’s. “I don’t know what that thing was, but it wasn’t human. Death Spawn you say, eh?”

“Yes, Asebor has returned Ezra. I speak the truth, you know it is so.”

Ezra paled and scratched at his bald head. “This can’t be, can it? Okay, we’ll deal with it. The Midgaard Falcon is undefeated. We’ve fought countless enemies, invaders from the west and the north,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“The Falcon is an excellent army, well trained as they are, you will need help. I will be traveling to the Silver Tower to inform them of my findings. They may already know much, but they will expect you to work with the Tower.

“But I —”

Baylan interrupted, “We will all have to pool our resources. Asebor is not a foe to take lightly Ezra. More trouble will come your way now that Malek is gone.”

Ezra shook his head and took a gulp of wine. “All this time… I was a fool to trust him. I didn’t put it together. Every time he was around me, every time I tried to send even a small force to investigate the rumors in the Nether, I couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t let me do it. Phoenix, all the people that might’ve died by my lapse.”

“We are all fallible,” Baylan said, nodding. The king paced back to his throne and slid into it with a groan.

“All this time, my advisor was that metal-headed beast? What did you call it? What was it?” Ezra said, leaning to one side of his throne and holding his head up with his hand.

“A Metamorphose, a shape shifting Death Spawn. It can make itself appear exactly like any other living form, making it almost impossible to detect. They are, of course, rarely discovered. It has been thousands of years since the death of one has been recorded, until now,” Baylan said, nodding at Walter and Nyset.

“No, we believe Malek actually was human, most of the time. Malek and I have a long history. I would have detected the Metamorphose in seconds. That creature was something else, posing as Malek,” Baylan said, pushing a hand through gray speckled hair. Walter watched Baylan intently and Grimbald shuffled his feet. “Walter and Nyset discovered the creature’s handwriting and we compared it to Malek’s. It was certifiably not his. No, there was another force here trying to kill you and it was not Malek.”

The king blinked rapidly and sunk further into the depths of his chair. Lajoy’s eyes constantly scanned the room, head turning at the slightest sound.

Walter cleared his throat. “Has anyone seen Malek since we saw him this morning?” Everyone turned to look at him and shook their heads.

“Only a guilty man would run from the scene of a crime,” Grimbald said.

“I have not seen the traitor, has anyone else?” Ezra said, looking from Lajoy to Thurber. Ezra reached to his feet, “These boots are terrible, fire the leather worker who made this trash immediately, Thurber.” Walter rolled his eyes and the secretary scribbled a note on his clipboard.

“The last report I have regarding Malek’s whereabouts said that he was seen departing from the East gate towards The Wall. He was apparently well-stocked with a bag of travel supplies. I assumed he was going on another one of his herb gathering ‘missions.’,” said Lajoy with a scowl.

“If anyone finds him well, you know what must be done to traitors,” said Ezra, beckoning for a re-fill of his wine. The wine bearer slipped from an alcove and hurriedly filled the king’s jeweled cup. Nyset swallowed and rubbed her chin.

“Is there anything else I should know wizard? Er, Baylan?” Ezra hiccupped and his eyes seemed to have trouble focusing.

“I will send a message if anything else arises.”

“Thank you once again, my lord, for your gracious generosity,” Walter said, with an awkward bow.

“Yes, yes… be well, then,” Ezra said with a wave of his cup.

M
alek stopped
as the ash began to fall, swirling around his robes and streaking his cheeks with dark lines. He grunted as he loosened the shoulder straps on his pack, removing it and setting it on the dirt road. He opened the pack, pushing aside a gold cup with dark jewels and carefully setting aside a Basilisk’s Eye. He pulled out a dark scarf and wrapped it around his face and pulled up his hood, leaving only his eyes exposed. He slipped on his pack, lurching under its weight and started walking east toward the Tigerian Bluffs.

A cold gust swept across the barren road, creating ash eddies around his feet. The forest to his left and right was already starting to thin, turning into scrubland. He looked back over his shoulder as he walked, staring at the imposing and grand wall that spanned as far as the eye could see. The Wall towered above the bottom half of Midgaard, shrouding it in a protective arc that wound from the Mountains of Misery to the north to the Grey Riven Foothills to the south.
That won’t stop the tidal wave that boils under this land.

“Years of work, gone. Well done, Darkthorne. You are a worthy adversary,” he muttered. “But don’t worry, no don’t you worry. I will have my revenge,” Malek said rubbing at the sagging, overstuffed pouch that contained Bonesnapper.

Malek turned around, walking backwards and staring at The Wall. Something glinted from the entrance and tiny dots of red appeared.
These men will die. I almost pity them. They can’t possibly understand the size of the jaws they’re stepping into. The Lord of Death comes. The Plains of Dressna will run red and the plants will feast on their blood. Asebor’s force will not miss a chance for a display of power.

About fifty paces to the north, off the side of the road, was a small settlement of vagrants. There were about a dozen conical tents, a patchwork of colored fabrics. There were a few men sitting around a small cook fire wearing heavy blankets and looking up at him with deep-set eyes and unshaven faces. One of the men turned a spit which had a handful of yellow Shroomlings impaled upon it. Their tiny arms and legs were badly charred.

A man with white hair stood and raised his arm, “Hey there traveler, would you like to join us for a late lunch?” he shouted.

Malek waved his arm back and forth and shook his head, “No,” he yelled back.
I don’t want to be eaten today, thank you very much.

The three men rose, reaching under coats and up sleeves for what would presumably be sharp objects. Their hard, sordid eyes locked upon him. The men moved in an awkward jog, navigating the bumpy terrain.

“Turn around now, if you value your pathetic lives!” Malek allowed the pack to slip from his shoulders, planting his feet wide and wiggling his fingers as his rings started glowing in various hues. The men stopped in their tracks, mouths held open.

“Finally, for once, someone has listened,” Malek said, folding his arms with a satisfied smile. The men turned around, babbling and screaming. Malek bent over to pick up his pack when something metallic encircled his ankle, yanking him from the ground and violently jerking him into the air.

“You cannot escape your failures. You cannot escape me.” Asebor’s voice grated from behind.

Malek ground his teeth as the chain around his ankle continued spinning, grinding through his flesh and exposing bone.

“I am nothing. I am a worm, an insect beneath your heel!” Malek whimpered. “I have failed you master. I have failed you!”

Malek hung upside down from Asebor’s chain, like a toy in a child’s hand, swaying from side to side. Bright red blood streamed from his ankle and down his torso, pattering onto the dusty road. He looked up at his snared leg, each link in Asebor’s chain a gleaming blade, groaning at the site of his bones. Warm, sticky blood trickled down his neck and rolled from his chin.

The vagrants disappeared into their tents, emerging seconds later with women and children in their arms. The urchins frantically ushered their families further north, away from the road, away from the face of death.

“Failure must be punished, but you already know that,” Asebor said.

No, I will not die like this,
Malek thought. He clenched his fists and then an amber beam shot from one of his rings, tunneling through Asebor’s shoulder. Asebor released the grip he had on Malek’s ankle. Malek fell onto his back and Asebor growled.

Malek rolled onto his belly, barely avoiding a chain strike that cut into the earth, blasting a curtain of dust into the air. A black beam, a green cloud, and an arcing bolt of lightning hurled towards Asebor from Malek’s rings. Asebor’s form shifted from leather wrapped muscle to a hazy mist and fell forward, allowing Malek’s attacks to pass through his Mist Form. Malek coughed and gagged on ash as he scrambled to his feet.

“You fight me!” Asebor’s voice boomed like a thunder crack.

Asebor re-materialized and the chains around his arms shrieked through the air, snapping around Malek’s wrists and hauling him to his feet. A jet of flame from Malek’s hand blasted into the dark sky. Long white teeth formed in a smile from Asebor’s shadowy face. The chains spun around Malek’s wrists, slicing through flesh and sending bone splinters into the air.

Malek screamed and thrust his head back. Blood poured from his arms and ran down his chest.
Must heal.
Malek turned within and reached for the Phoenix, but it was blocked by a wall of flesh and teeth, gnashing and biting for his fingers.

“No!” he moaned, squeezing his eyes shut, welling with tears. The chains continued spinning, sawing through his wrists. His body trembled as he looked up to see his hands being removed and bone fragments flew into his eye. The chains snapped free, whipping through the air as his severed hands fell beside his feet with two sickly thumps. He clenched his jaw so hard a molar cracked. Malek fell to his knees and spat out the broken tooth and red spittle.