Fire And Steel (The Merryweather Chronicles Book 2) (21 page)

      Kardas came on, his eyes flashing with magic. Scrollwork had become visible on his armor, flaring with power as he drew closer. He said. “The prophecy of the Reclaimer is ancient and obscure, but remarkable in its simplicity. ‘Lo, the last son of storms shall pass into the hands of the gods and reclaim what was lost and the world would weep for his coming. For when the reaper’s wind draws close, only the Reclaimer’s blade will stand to block the final stroke.’ There’s more, of course. Reams of the stuff, but it all boils down to just a couple of things. The Reclaimer will save of us all. And he will be the last of the Storm Lords.” He lifted the sword and pointed it at Brandon’s chest and sneered. “So I killed them. All of them. I killed their children and their children’s children. Because, eventually, I would find one that I couldn’t kill. And that would be the Reclaimer.”

      The night was suddenly shattered by a tremendous roar and the biggest grohlm Brandon had ever seen exploded from the milling mass surrounding them and charged him. The beast looked like no animal he had ever seen, except for a passing resemblance to a rhino, but only if you crossed it with a velociraptor. It moved on all fours, its massive bulk too heavy to allow it to walk upright, and was more heavily armored than typical grohlm. It slammed its fists onto the ground, the impacts hard enough to rattle Bran’s teeth inside his skull, then charged. It moved like an ape, bounding on its knuckles, and was nightmarishly fast.

      Brandon barely had time to react before it reached him, clubbing him aside with one gigantic fist. The spot on his arm where Rok rested was so cold it burned, but whatever the old god was doing was obviously working. Instead of dying instantly when the blow landed, Brandon was sent flying, tumbling and crashing across the cracked and uneven ground.

      He collided with a screeching wall of rat grohlm, scattering most of them and crushing a few. Those that kept their feet tried to catch a hold of him, their rusty blades ineffective against the composite armor. It was cracked and dented in a few places but still functional.

      Brandon punched and kicked his way free, tearing one rat’s arm from its shoulder before picking up another and hurling it at the dino grohlm. It hit the dino in the chest with enough force to split its ragged flesh, bursting like a melon dropped from a rooftop. The dino stumbled back a step as blood and guts exploded in its face, blinding it.

      Brandon didn’t waste time. Sprinting toward the stunned behemoth as it shook its head to try and clear its eyes, he leapt onto its back. He caught hold of the twin horns curving up from its armored skull and held on tight. The beast went wild, bellowing as it rose up on its hind legs and attempted to shake Brandon loose.

      But Brandon was far stronger than he looked.

      With a roar every bit as primal as the beast beneath him, Brandon used his grip on the creature’s horns to wrench its massive head sideways, snapping its neck. It collapsed onto its face, a grotesque tree falling in the desert, and Brandon used the forward momentum to launch himself at Kardas.

      Kardas threw out a fist and a blast of energy caught Brandon in the chest, blowing him sideways, directly into the path of an exploding fireball. The world vanished in a blast of white light and Brandon slammed into the ground hard enough to shatter the desert floor. Before he could even attempt to rise, another fireball pounded him into the ground, engulfing him completely, sucking the air from his lungs. He rolled away, fighting his way out of the fire, and came unsteadily to his feet. Coughing and retching and shaking, he fought to catch his breath as the horde surged around him. The Usurper stood before him, eyes blazing as he stared down at him. “It’s time to see if you truly are the Reclaimer, Bran. It’s time for you to join your ancestors.” The two witches appeared beside him, one of them a charred ruin. Her once pale and flawless skin was now black and smoking, red and bleeding in places where it was cracked. Sparks of flames danced around the witch’s fingertips as they moved apart, circling around Brandon.

      Brandon sighed and bent to pick up a sword that lay at his feet. His voice was tired, exhausted, as he said. “Let’s go.”

      The sky above them was suddenly rent open by light and everybody froze. The doorway opened, exploding with a strange golden light that lanced down through the darkness. A black figure leapt through the open doorway, cloak whipping around it like a living thing as it landed on the ground before them. The cloak flared open, revealing four outstretched arms, each holding a wicked curved blade, and Sha'ha'Zel stared down at them. His blood red gaze flared in the darkness as he glared at Kardas and hissed. "Do not presume to touch my prey, pig!" The Curse’s cloak lashed out with a mind of its own and knocked Kardas back a step.

      The Usurper was incredulous as he regained his footing and faced the demon. The witches bared needle sharp teeth at the Curse and tried to shift their focus between him and the boy. Kardas’ lips pulled back into a savage grin and he raised the rune blade, pointing it at the Curse. His voice was low and cold as he said. "Have you lost your wits, Fel? I created you. Made you what you are. Now you turn against me? Surely, you know that I will destroy you?"

      Sha’ha‘Zel brandished his swords and matched the other’s twisted grin, his black lips peeling open to reveal cracked and sharp yellow teeth. His voice was like crumbling bones. "You created nothing, fool. Your cowardice created me. Pushed you into using magics that you didn’t understand, all so you wouldn’t have to face Jarek Fel on the field of battle. And now, because of your fear, you find yourself in the very position you feared. Facing me."

      "I fear nothing, demon." The Usurper looked at the witches, then gestured at Brandon. "Close the gateway and take the boy. I'll handle the dead man."

      Hissing, both witches spread their arms and fire exploded around them, wreathing their twisting forms in flame and lighting up the night. Brandon gave neither a chance to get into the air again. Moving quickly, he launched himself at the dark witch, snatching her long hair and yanking her towards him. Screeching, she tried to strike at him with her flaming hands and only succeeded in sending an explosion of fire all around them. Dragging her against his chest, Brandon flung the broadsword at the redhead, spearing her through the stomach. Falling backwards, the red haired witch clutched at the sword, blood and fire spilling through her fingertips. Above them, the doorway was still wide open.

      The surviving witch twisted in Brandon's grasp and her mouth clamped down on his neck, her teeth snapping against the side of his throat. Crying out, she fell back, her broken teeth spilling out of her mouth with a splash of blood. Brandon caught her head in his hands and was about to give it a sharp twist, when Rok whispered inside of his head.
If you kill the witch, the doorway closes. The trinity is a source of power that the Usurper draws upon to travel between worlds. Killing her will cripple him, but trap you here.

      Brandon growled and held the witch at arm's length.

      Behind him, Sha'ha'Zel met the Usurper's charge, four blades a flashing blur as he attacked. Steel rang against steel as the two monsters fought. Kardas was wreathed in magic as he used the rune carved blade to try and defend against Sha’ha’Zel’s onslaught, his expression drawn tight with effort. His cocky smile was gone, blood running from a gash on his face.

      Brandon stood unmoving, the writhing witch pinned against his chest. His heart raced as he watched those responsible for the fall of his family battling to the death. He hoped that somewhere his mom and dad were also watching. Watching and approving. A voice spoke from above him, jerking him from his reverie. "It's time to go home, Bran."

      For a long second, he thought he had lost his mind, that his father was somehow speaking to him from the afterlife. But then he looked up. Standing in the open gateway above was the silhouette of his uncle. Gerrick leaned through the open doorway, fist outstretched toward Brandon. Narrowing his gaze, he noticed the rope swinging from his uncle's grasp.

      Ignoring the fight going on behind him, Brandon held tight to the witch and leapt as high as he could, free hand groping in the darkness. His fingers wrapped tight around the rope and all of his and the witch's weight snapped down against his arm. It should have been painful, but it wasn't. A normal person would have dislocated their shoulder, but Brandon was able to hold on easily.

      Before they had stopped swinging, Gerrick was pulling them up towards the open doorway. Below them, Brandon watched the fight between the Curse and the Usurper continue. The two smashed their way through the grohlm who had returned to offer their master support. Blood, guts, and severed limbs flew everywhere.

      Brandon reached the doorway and his uncle grabbed his forearm. Hauling Brandon and the witch through the open doorway, Gerrick pushed them away from the open doorway, drawing his sword as he stepped back. The witch wailed against Brandon's grip on her neck, gnashing her teeth and tossing her black hair as she fought to get free. Gerrick had his blade leveled at the witch's face. He looked at Brandon.

      Brandon met his gaze and nodded. Twisting, he hurled the witch back through the open doorway. As she tumbled through, her arms and legs flailing, Gerrick whipped his sword around in a blur. Her head popped off of her shoulders and followed her down through the night. Brandon thought he could hear the ring of steel on steel as Sha'ha'Zel and the Usurper fought on, oblivious to the fact that their prize had just escaped them. Then the door swung closed.

Chapter 20

      Gerrick stared at the boy for a moment, scanning for wounds or blood. But other than scorch marks and a few cracks and dents in his armor, Brandon seemed okay. He was bare faced, his helmet lost, his skin splashed with drying blood and guts. His eyes were wide, but otherwise steady. He met Gerrick’s eyes and said. “I saw the Usurper. I met the man who killed my family.”

      "And here you stand, alive and breathing. I’m impressed." And he was. For the boy to have faced Kardas and the horde and walk away without a scratch was more than impressive.

      Brandon could only shake his head. He was exhausted emotionally, not physically. He said. "Will killing the three witches keep the doorway closed?" He asked Gerrick, but it was Rok that answered.

     
For now.
The glow inside of Brandon's head intensified with the sound of the voice.
It will take the Usurper time to marshal enough power to breach the pathways between worlds again. That’s if he even survives his encounter with Sha'ha'Zel.

      Gerrick eyed the closed door. "No idea. But there's always plan B."

      "Plan B?"

      Gerrick unsnapped a palm sized object from his belt and slapped it against the wall beside the doorway, where it stuck in place. It looked like a round gray patty of silly putty with a digital readout pressed into the center. Brandon had seen enough movies and played enough video games to have an idea what it was. He said, blinking at his uncle. "C-4?"

      "Near enough." Gerrick thumbed the detonator and a timer appeared. "We don’t have much time. Let's go."

      Gerrick led the way, sword held ready as he charged up the stone stairway. Above them, they could hear the barking growling noises of descending grohlm. Brandon wasn’t surprised that the grohlm had suddenly decided to attack after letting him get so far into their territory. He followed his uncle up the stairs, bending to retrieve a rusty blade from the outstretched fingers of a dead grohlm, fully expecting to have to fight his way to the surface. But they didn't meet as many grohlm on the way back up as they feared. And the few that they did come across seemed more interested in scavenging from their dead and wounded than in trying to stop the two warriors as they passed.

      Brandon and Gerrick let them be as long as they didn't try to stop them or slow their ascent. Those that were foolish enough to stand in their way died quick sticky deaths, hardly slowing them as they ran. Gerrick placed more charges on the walls of the tower as they moved, activating the timers as he slapped them into place. There was a precise order to the placement of the charges and the timers reflected it.

      Whether the door was permanently closed by the witch’s deaths made no difference to Gerrick. The explosives he used were professional grade, the same stuff used by the military and by industrial mining corporations. The tower was going to be just as shattered in the new world as in the old if the bombs performed as advertised. The Usurper would have to find another way to bring his armies across, giving them time to deal with the grohlm already infesting Matheson. It also gave Brandon a reprieve from the Curse.

      Sha’ha’Zel would be trapped in the old world as well, at least for a time. Brandon didn’t kid himself, though. It would take more than closing a door to stop his demon stalker. If another way across worlds existed, he was sure the Curse would find it.

      They were still inside the stairwell when the first charge went off, the concussive force shaking the floor and rattling the tower all around them. There was a deep thump inside of Brandon's chest, followed by the roar of flames racing up the stairs behind them. Grohlm screeched and tried to follow them out, fighting each other in their panic to escape the flames. The tower began to crack apart around them, long winding cracks appearing on the floor and in the walls, seeming to race them up the remaining stairs.

      "HURRY!" Gerrick shouted, cutting in half a screaming grohlm that was too slow to move aside. He launched himself up the last flight of stairs, the flames licking at his heels. Brandon was just behind him, his hair and eyebrows curling against the heat, as the they exploded up out of the opening in the ground, flames and debris following them in a cloud. The fore of the blast sent them flying, crashing and rolling across the forest floor. The ground bucked under Brandon as the next charge in the sequence went off, then the next.

      Grohlm scattered into the surrounding woods, leaving their dead behind as they scuttled off into the shadows. A 10 foot tall jet of flame shot up from the hole in the ground, searing the air and setting the treetops on fire, and the earth surrounding the hole collapsed in on itself as the shaking subsided. The rain was coming down hard, cold on his cheeks where the flames had warmed them. As the water ran down his face, Brandon felt a surge of strength and vitality flash through his body, washing away his fatigue.

      Getting slowly to their feet, Gerrick and Brandon stood in the shadows, alone except for the sound of fleeing grohlm and the rumble of the earth settling. As the flames died down, the shadows grew and the forest became dark. The sky was black, thick with storm clouds, and the moon and stars were nowhere to be found. Gerrick looked at Brandon, his face invisible behind the blood spattered visor, and said. “Are you injured?” He was breathing hard. This was the first time that Brandon had ever seen his uncle winded. The older man stood in the rain, letting it wash down his face and over his body, sluicing away the blood and sweat. He snapped his wrist, clearing the blood from his sword, before sheathing it. He stared at Brandon and asked. “What’s wrong with your arm?”

      Brandon didn’t answer right away. He had taken off his right forearm guard and was staring at the place where Rok had been tucked against his skin. Inside his head, he could still sense the comforting glow of Rok's presence, but the stone was gone. He hadn't dropped it. He would have felt it happen. In the center of his forearm, where the stone had touched his skin, was a pale green tattoo. It was a match to the carving that was on the top of the now missing stone. There were tiny green lines of runes branching out from the mark, wrapping around his arm like a tribal tattoo. Shaking his head, he said. "Nothing." He made a fist and met his uncle's steely gaze. "Can we go home now. I think we’re done here."

      Gerrick ignored Brandon’s lie. Giving a tiny nod, he said. “Let’s go.”

      Nashoba crouched in the shadows and watched the warrior and his he-cub leave the shattered gateway behind and enter the woods. The murder of grohlm that remained with him was restless, some of the more vocal of them growling and nipping low in their animal throats as they watched the two humans that had caused them so much grief this night.

      Crouched next to the massive wolf, another grohlm, this one with the face of a toad, croaked a garbled question. Nashoba didn’t answer. Instead, he raised his curved sword and waved it over his head in a circle, signaling the nearby grohlm to fall in and prepare to move position. His enemy had proved persistent and adaptable, something the wolf hadn’t encountered in a long time. Even before traveling through the magic gate. Following the rest of the horde, Nashoba gave the buried tower one last look before vanishing into the darkness.