The Lord of Death (The Age of Dawn Book 2) (15 page)

It was quiet for a minute, while Nyset stumbled from the side of the clearing. They all scanned the camp, looking around to see if there was anything left to kill. Walter peered inside the shabby tent, grunting as his eyes caught the sight of their armor lying about.

“We killed all those bastards!” Grimbald bellowed, waving his bloody axe in the air.

Walter sighed, “You almost killed all of us, damn it.”

“Huh?” Grimbald asked, his arms dropping to his sides.

“Remember, the signal?”

“I saw you running in, wasn’t that the signal?”

“I thought that
was
the signal,” Baylan added, frowning.

Walter groaned and shook his head. “I’ll make sure I’m clear next time, anyhow, it’s good to be alive,” he said, clapping Baylan on the shoulder.

Grimbald jogged into the trees and heaved a sigh of relief as he pissed. “Shit, I got piss all over my hands.” They all had a good laugh at that and Grimbald was happy to have the tension in the air blow away. Grimbald grabbed Walter’s shoulder when he came back, “We killed them!”

“Don’t touch me with those piss covered hands, you bastard,” Walter laughed.

“We did well. Where the Falcon marches, there will be thousands more. Let’s hope they’re nowhere near where you think your friend is,” Baylan said.

“Thousands?” Walter said, mouth hanging open.

“Yes, I suppose I should have told you, an oversight on my part. The small group that was sent to Breden was a just a fraction of that army. The Death Spawn have been razing villages through the Plains of Dressna, searching for The Chains of the North for the past year. The Tower has, for the most part, been keeping them busy there.”

“I hope you told King Ezra. You did, didn’t you?” Walter said.

Baylan flushed. “I told Malek, who said he would relay the message. I assumed he did…”

“Shit,” Grimbald said. “We need to warn them.”

T
hey walked back
to their horses in relatively good spirits and Walter removed the cloth around Wiggles’ mouth. The dog promptly started barking and then ran into the clearing, sniffing at the dead Cerumal bodies.

“That was some pretty amazing work with the Dragon, Ny,” Walter said.

“Thanks… I think I’m starting to get the hang of it. Malek told me a lot of things that could be done and it feels so natural,” she said, untying Ashes.

“Malek,” Walter groaned and was sidetracked by Wiggles. “Hey, boy. Come here.”

Wiggles looked back at him with curious eyes and his head cocked to the side. The severed hand of a Cerumal dangled from the dog’s mouth by its finger tips. The hound sprinted up beside him and started gnawing on the creature’s bleeding hand. Walter rolled his eyes and shook his head. He reached into the dog’s mouth and extracted the hand, tossing it into the brush. The dog watched as it landed and started for it until Walter shouted, “Leave it!” The dog stopped in its tracks and whined, circling him.

“That’s probably not the best thing for you to be eating, boy,” Nyset said, scratching his head. Wiggles leaned up against her and his tongue happily lolled from his mouth.

The group emerged from the narrow path and Walter breathed a sigh of relief. The footpath spilled into the East road and the army could be seen about half a mile away. The density of the Cypress trees was starting to get to him. Midgaard and The Wall stretched endlessly, looming behind the army through the ash cloud. He now realized he preferred open plains to dense forests.
On the plains, it’s harder for enemies to hide. But then, where is this Death Spawn army?

Walter raised his hand above his eyes, shielding some of the harshness of the sun. “Thousands, where?” he whispered, looking towards the towering plateaus in the distance.

Baylan’s mare stepped beside him. “They’re out there somewhere, maybe hiding in the bluffs or the mountains. The army may go months before finding them, it’s also possible they’ve gone into the Nether, but it wouldn’t make any tactical sense to go into a wasteland. They were looking for Bonesnapper out there, but now that they have it… they must be wiping out people in the countryside.”

“Alright, let’s go tell them then,” Walter said, heading west towards the army.

“They won’t attack us, will they?” Grimbald asked. His Blood Donkey’s bright red coat was stark against the neutrals of the horses.

“I don’t think so…” Walter said, his voice ragged and uncertain.

Four men on porcelain white mounts split off from the pillar of troops and galloped towards the group, spears raised into the air with red cloth waving from the ends.

“Good day travelers,” a gruff voice called. The four men came to stop and looked them over. The one who spoke had a square cut beard and a tremendous array of long mustaches. His collar had five golden Falcon pins on a ruby bar.

“A Field Marshall,” Grimbald whispered, wide jaw agape.

“The name’s Jast,” the man chuckled. “These are my generals,” Jast said, gesturing to the other men. “This isn’t a safe place at the moment. You should ride to the south towards the Tower, or back to your village.” There was something about the man’s eyes and way of moving that commanded a profound respect that Walter couldn’t pinpoint.

The men wore gleaming plate from toe to neck, chests engraved with an ornate image of a falcon in flight. They looked like the perfect targets for an arrow.
How can they move in those suits?

Walter started, “We come to you with dire information—”

“I know him— I’ve seen him somewhere. Yeah, he was Malek’s protégé!” The thick man hefted his spear and re-gripped it. The other general beside him grunted and lowered his spear towards Walter, who reflexively leaned back in his saddle.

“Peace, Markus,” Jast ordered.

“You’re right, we were previously being trained by Malek. I was his close friend…” Baylan said, his voice grabbing the eyes of the generals. “We exposed the traitor… and these two personally foiled the assassination attempts on the king,” Baylan said, nodding towards Nyset and Walter. Nyset flushed and Walter grimaced, wincing at the memory and the excruciating pain of being poisoned by the Skin Flayer.

“Don't trust these ragamuffins —”

“Shut up, Markus,” the grizzled Field Marshall snapped. “What is it that you wish to tell me?”

Baylan’s mare stepped forward. “The force you expect to meet on the battlefield is not bandits or Purists.”

“Yes, I know that,” Jast said quietly, pulling at his beard.

“It is not hundreds of Death Spawn, but potentially thousands. Did Ezra know that? Did he tell you that?” Baylan asked, with a touch of eagerness.

Jast’s eyes narrowed and the wrinkles around his eyes deepened. He took a deep breath and glanced sideways. “How did you come upon this knowledge?”

“I am a Tower disciple. You must know that our knowledge is sound,” Baylan said.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Okay. Thank you for telling us,” Jast said, turning his mount around.

“Wait— what will you do?” Baylan cried as the men rode.

“We will do as our king ordered. We will eradicate any traces of Death Spawn in the Plains of Dressna,” Jast said confidently.
Too confidently,
Walter thought.

“But you will perish, you are greatly outnumbered at what, five hundred soldiers?”

“It will be a glorious death!” Jast roared, thrusting his mirrored blade into the sky, galloping back to the column of men.

Grimbald’s face grew pale. “Are there really that many?”

“I’m afraid so, but I hope not,” Baylan said.

“You were right Walter. After fighting those Cerumal… I would want to know what I was up against,” Grimbald said, rubbing his head.

“C’mon, let’s get to the Tigerian Bluffs,” Walter said.
We’re coming for you Juzo.

T
he towering plateaus
surrounded the group, swallowing them in their deep valleys. The land seemed to have been sculpted by years of magma and water flow. The trail they walked was likely once a water channel, as it had a fair amount of vegetation, compared to the sparseness of the surrounding areas closer to the plateaus. Some plateaus were as wide as the Midgaard palace, others as narrow as a commoner’s dwelling. Walter imagined that the plateaus seen from the sky would look like a plate as it shattered before the pieces split apart, something only someone who has trained with Warrior’s Focus would notice. The late afternoon sun didn’t seem to be kind to those who traveled the Tigerian Bluffs without supplies. Walter wasn’t about to let himself get caught traveling without water again. This time, he made sure everyone had at least three water skins before leaving Midgaard.

Grimbald’s Blood Donkey navigated the loose sand and sliding rocks with ease, occasionally baying when it did slip. The horses followed behind, frequently stopping to eat plant life. The path turned a corner, opening to a wide expanse with two massive statues carved into the faces of plateaus on either side. Each statue was a mirrored copy of the other.

The statue’s legs faded into the plateau’s face and their bodies were lithe and muscular, skin seemingly constructed of interlocking scales. In each of their hands was a broad axe, blades overlapping over the center of the valley and casting a deep shadow. Their heads were intricately detailed, a strange mix of a lion’s mane and a human-like face. Sharp strands of hair were carved on the manes of their snarling faces.

“Wow…” Walter said, bringing Marie to a stop, eyebrows raised. A gust barreled through the expanse and Walter’s hair flapped with a burnished copper sheen.

“It’s an incredible sight, isn’t it?” Baylan asked, pulling out his notebook and a piece of charcoal, face relaxed as he sketched the scene. Walter glanced at Baylan’s work, noticing how black his fingers were from his writing utensil.

“What are they? Or better yet, how did they get here?” Nyset asked.

“These would be Tigerian champions. They were ferocious warriors, known for their absence of quarter. They once occupied a great deal of the East, until men drove them out, back to Tigeria, hence the Tigerian Bluffs.”

“Right,” Nyset nodded, eyes staring up at the statues.

“They didn’t really teach you much in Breden, did they? I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. I often take for granted how well-stocked The Silver Tower library is,” he said, face flushed.

“It’s okay. I had read a little bit about them, but I hope to learn more, what else can you tell me?” she asked.

“Well, they have customs you may find quite strange. For example, one Tigerian male may father hundreds of children. Most of their children are born as men, making their women extremely precious.”

“Why wasn’t I born Tigerian?” Grimbald said with a frown. “It sounds wonderful.” Nyset looked at him, rolling her eyes while Walter and Grimbald shared a laugh. Nyset and Baylan trailed behind in spirited discussion about the Tigerian race, and Grimbald’s donkey walked beside Walter.

Walter’s eyes traced the statues from thigh to head as they drew near. There was a heaviness in his chest as he passed under their axes.
Now would be a poor time for one of those to break free,
he thought.

“Are we sure he’s out here?” Grimbald asked, wiping beads of sweat from his glistening head. He dismounted and walked the donkey into the shade cast by a plateau. The horses followed him into the cool air, eager for reprieve from the sun.

“Not really,” Walter said, uncorking his water skin and swallowing a gulp of water. “It feels right…” He looked towards the top of the crumbling plateau shading them, trying to imagine how high it was.

“There was a book that Walter had found in Juzo’s bag,
Necromancy and Wolves: The Veiled Darkness.
An interesting title… the book makes mention of plateaus in a few spots. I don’t know of any other place that has plateaus in Zoria, so it seemed like a good lead,” Nyset said, reaching a hand into her satchel.

“It’s the only one we have. It is a long shot, but we have to try,” Walter said. His nose felt like it was starting to burn.

“Nyset— did you, did you say you have a copy of
Necromancy and Wolves
?” Baylan said, dismounting and stretching his legs.

“Yes, why?”

“I guess I’m not the only one omitting valuable information. That book was written by—” Baylan lowering his voice. “That book was written by Terar, one of the Wretched in ages past.”

“The Wretched?” Nyset asked, rubbing Ashes. Walter studied Baylan as he answered.

“Yes, the Wretched… they’re Asebor’s generals, at least that’s what I’ve read they like to call themselves. They’re supposedly like his levers on the world. They operate quietly, but when they are requisitioned to strike, their damage is often devastating.”

“A big enough lever can move anything, my Pa always said,” Grimbald mused, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Right… Ny, I need to copy that book when we’re back. There is only one other copy in the Tower and it’s kept in a Milvorian case. What can you tell me about it?” He sat next to her on a slab of red stone, playfully bumping her shoulder.

“Well, it’s probably one of the strangest books I’ve ever read. I think it’s the closest I’ve ever come to feeling how it must be to have the mind of a madman,” Nyset said, taking a sip of water. She cupped her hand and poured some water in it for Wiggles, who lapped it up. A cloud of ash had slowly drifted over the Tigerian Bluffs, shielding it from the sun.

“The writer talks about strange dreams, strange, dark planes, how one needs to die to be reborn. He seems to think he is some type of deity. It’s all very confusing.”

Walter dropped into a low squat and groaned. Rocks and sand tumbled to the ground beside a plateau across from the group. Walter looked up to see the source of the disturbance and flinched at what he saw. There was a man with white hair and a dark coat watching them from the top of the plateau. A second later the figure was gone, an apparition against the gray sky.

“What’s going on Walt?” Grimbald asked.

“I– I’m not sure. I thought I saw someone on the top of the plateau, watching us,” Walter said, staring up.

“That’s impossible. The heat is getting to you,” Grimbald said, following his gaze. “Have some water,” Grimbald slapped a water skin into Walter’s gut. Walter grunted, pulling the cork from the skin and drinking deeply, eyes fixed where he had seen the figure.

“My friend, I don’t think anything is impossible anymore.”
Juzo. It had to be Juzo. It looked so much like him, but there’s no way he could’ve been up there.
Walter scanned the sheer face of the plateau, searching for handholds that would make it scalable.
No, there’s no way. But there was also supposed to be no way for a man to touch the Dragon and spray fire from his fingertips without getting burned.

“We should get moving, we’ll need to find a place to set up camp, Baylan said.

Walter licked his lips and swallowed, “Yeah, alright.” He glanced down the winding path they had used to enter the Tigerian Bluffs. Massive boulders surrounded the path interspersed with Scarlet Sand Buttons, whose long needle like leaves snapped at passing insects. Walter slowly made his way back to Marie, frequently looking up at the plateau as he put his pack back on.

The group traveled deeper into the maze of plateaus. Nyset marked their path with a gooey mixture of violet lotus and water. She said it would take months for it to wash away and was partially visible at night, if they needed it.
Her herbalism skill was becoming quite useful, I’ll have to ask her to teach me about it someday.

“Walter,” Nyset said, bringing Ashes beside him and Marie. He regarded her, remembering how it felt to kiss her. He wanted to relive that experience in the guard house again. To hold her in his arms, unabashed, was a wonderful moment. He noticed his armpits were now feeling a bit wet and the blood flow increased to his loins.
Why am I so nervous? Relax, it’s just Nyset.

“Hey Ny, you’ve been quiet, that’s not like you.”

“Juzo is dead, Walter,” she said quietly, looking at him from the side.

“What?” Walter said, hand slipping from his pommel.

“We have to face reality Walter. If he’s out here… if he was taken by one of The Wretched, how could he possibly be alive?” She shifted in her saddle, limpid gray eyes peering at him.

“What are you saying? How do you know?”

She looked down at the reins in her hands and bit her lip, then looked back at him.
What if she’s right? No.

Walter felt tears welling in his eyes. “How can you give up on him?” he said softly. “Do you all feel this way? Do you all give up on your friends before exhausting any possible way of finding him?” Baylan inhaled deeply and Grimbald shifted uncomfortably. The Blood Donkey let out a blubbering bay that echoed between the plateaus.

“We have a lot more ground to cover. We’ve been only here half a day and you already want to give up. What if it was you? What about his parents? Shouldn’t we try to give them closure?”

“Who are you?” a hoarse voice croaked from behind Walter. He twisted in his saddle to see a man. No, not any man. It was his friend, crouching on the rounded apex of a boulder. Walter gasped and his eyes bulged.

“Juzo! I knew it! You
were
there,” Walter said with a bark of laughter. Walter rolled from his saddle and ran towards him, arms open for an embrace. Juzo nimbly rolled off the side of the rock and fell into a fighting stance. Walter skidded to a stop, tentatively smiling, open arms faltering. There was something wrong, he looked so different. His cheeks were sunken and his hair had gone completely white. One of his eyes gleamed with a brilliant red and the other was covered with an eye patch.

“Juzo?” Walter asked, mind instinctively tracing the edge of the Dragon’s flames. It was effortless to touch the Dragon now, like blinking an eye. It was a reliable source of strength, a comfort when he felt threatened.

Juzo unsheathed a sword with a blade so black that it seemed to swallow some of the sun.
That sword, he still has it. Blackout, that damn sword.
Walter took another step towards him, gravel crunching beneath his foot in the quiet.

“I — I am Law. No, no, no you are Juzo, I am Juzo,” he muttered, looking at the ground. Walter looked over his shoulder at Nyset, who was rubbing her chin and wrinkling her brow. Grimbald and Baylan had started moving to his flanks. Walter looked back at Juzo, noticing the cat o’ nine tails lash that coiled around his other forearm.

“Juzo, it’s me, Walter. Don’t— don’t you remember me?” Walter said, palms held to the side.

“You should leave!” Juzo shouted at him, his intense red eye boring a hole into Walter’s soul. “I am a monster,” he said softly. His face had bits of dried blood on it and his jacket was crusting with gore. Tears slid from his eye, washing a clean line through some of the blood.

“Juzo…” Walter said, taking another step forward. Juzo thrust his head back, staring into the gray sky.

“You!” he screamed, savagely stabbing his sword towards Walter. Walter flinched at the violence in the movement. “You are not my friend. You left me in this fucking wasteland!” Juzo stabbed his sword into the ground, resting a hand on its guard, and releasing a ragged breath.

“You are not Law. You’re Juzo, my old training partner. The guy who taught me everything there is to know about girls, the guy who helped me fight that cruel bastard, Osgor, who threw rocks at me in school,” Walter said, stepping closer. Juzo stared at his hand resting on the sword.

“You took too long.” Juzo said, shaking his head. “He ruined me, you don’t know what I’ve seen, you don’t know what he made me do,” he said, voice quavering. “You are not my friend, you are nothing!” he growled, revealing his menacing teeth.

Juzo’s arm’s swung in a blur and before Walter realized what was happening, his body exploded with pain. The crack of the lash against Walter’s flesh split the air. The lash recoiled and jets of blue light sprung from his wounds. Walter closed the gap between them, dashing towards Juzo as the whip cracked the ground behind him in a vicious snap.

“No! Stop!” Walter yelled, hand pushing forward.

Walter intended to tackle him, but Juzo was too fast and easily dodged his attack. Walter touched the Dragon and its chaos filled his muscles with strength, and he caught himself as he rolled. As he came out of the roll, Juzo kicked him in the back, sending him flat onto his face. He twisted just in time as Juzo slammed his sword into the ground, aiming for his head.
Shit!

Juzo extracted the blade with a predatory growl. He stabbed again, and this time his sword struck true, plunging through Walter’s shoulder.
So fast,
he thought.

Walter screamed as the wound hissed and burned around the blade. Walter saw into Juzo’s fevered face, eye glittering, lips curled into a grimace. The healing light of the Phoenix blasted the sword from his shoulder, throwing Juzo back a step. Walter scrambled to his knees as a burst of fire tore through Juzo’s knee and side. Juzo stumbled back, letting out a bestial scream that vibrated in Walter’s chest.
Nyset.
Juzo sprung into the air with a yell, landing on a narrow foot hold at least twenty paces up a plateau. His coat fluttered in the wind and fire danced on his wounds.

Walter looked back at Nyset as she readied a barrage of burning discs, her face hard. The pain in his shoulder was excruciating, much worse than the Skin Flayer’s poison. It felt like his bones were burning from the inside. A translucent shield materialized over his body, obscuring his vision of Juzo clinging to the plateau’s face.