Fire And Steel (The Merryweather Chronicles Book 2) Page 18

  Gerrick said nothing. The wolf, Nashoba, gestured with his blade again and the other wolves began to move in a slow circle around the two warriors, rattling their blades against their cobbled together armor. Nashoba pulled a second spear and advanced on Gerrick, tongue lolling from its grinning mouth.

  Gerrick waited until it was almost upon him before exploding into motion, launching himself at it, his sword a blur as he sought to end the fight before it started. The wolf blocked the attack, turning the blade aside with his shield, and drove the second spear at Gerrick’s stomach. Gerrick spun, the sharpened steel missing him by centimeters, and smashed his elbow into the wolf’s muzzle.

  There was a stinging pain in his shoulder and blood splashed Gerrick’s armor. The wolf ducked a slash that would have severed its head and planted a kick into Gerrick’s chest that sent the big man crashing to the ground. Gerrick rolled to his feet, swinging his sword even as he fought for breath, but the wolf had backed off.

  It dropped its muzzle, licking at a smear of blood on its armor, then looked up at Gerrick. Nashoba growled low in his throat and chuffed at the surrounding wolves. They moved in, circling Gerrick with their weapons ready, and Nashoba grinned at Gerrick. “Now you die.”

  Gerrick watched the big wolf leave, disappearing into the darkness, its heat signature moving in the direction Brandon had gone, and rushed to meet the wall of fangs and steel that stood in his way.

  Chapter 18

  Casting a pale glow through the overhanging tree limbs, the moon stood above the Briar woods, filling up the cloudless night sky. Brandon turned off the thermal optics soon after leaving his uncle. Between the moonlight and his own enhanced senses, Brandon had no trouble moving silently through the shadows. The light rain turned into a heavy mist a mile from where he left Gerrick and the hunters, soaking through his cloak and feeding him strength as he moved through the high grass and brambles.

  Brandon held onto the emptiness as well as he could while he moved, but the inside of his mind form the perfect void. Instead of the small lock box that he normally found in the darkness, Brandon found Rok. Floating inside the emptiness of his mind, the polished stone was vivid and fully realized, like a 3D image. It glowed faintly and pulsed with his slowing heartbeat, pulling all of his stray thoughts and fears into itself. When Brandon tried to visualize the box instead, the glow from the stone intensified and Rok's voice filled his head. Where are we without trust, Bran? Let me help you. Let me make you stronger.

  Brandon didn't respond. But he stopped trying to make the stone disappear from his mind, allowing it to float, undisturbed, in the emptiness. He let Rok have all of his fear and anxiety, letting the God of the Earth protect him, same as the Goddess of the Rain.

  The forest became thicker and darker the deeper he went, slowing him down and making it more difficult to move without disturbing the brush. Brandon used the shadows to become invisible, moving from tree to tree like a dark specter. His twin swords were unsheathed, the blades painted a matte black that vanished against his forearms.

  The forest was silent as he passed. No chirp of crickets. No animals, scampering up trees or cutting through the bushes ahead of him. Nothing. It was as if everything in the forest was dead.

  Or hiding.

  This was further into the Briar woods than Brandon had ever gone before. The trees reared up, blocking out the moonlight, their twisted and tangled limbs creating a patchwork of shadows on the ground at Brandon’s feet. He was tempted to use the night vision, but didn’t. He could see well enough to keep going. If there were grohlm, they were staying far away. As if holding back, for some unknowable reason.

  Brandon kept moving. The rain was steady now, but still light and cool. He felt strength soaking into his body, washing away any weariness he may have felt at the late hour or the long hike through the woods.

  Inside his head, Brandon felt a sudden change in the glow emanating from the rock floating inside his empty mind and the skin of his forearm went cold where the rock rested against it. He had tucked the stone inside his arm guard, against his bare flesh, before he left Highgarden. The stone spoke to him, its voice soft inside his skull. Can you feel the doorway yet? Can you feel its pull, pointing you in the right direction?

  Brandon didn’t answer right away. Because he could feel exactly what the god was talking about. A subtle tug, seeming to radiate from the center of his chest, pulling him in a more easterly direction. Brandon stopped and focused his entire being on the feeling calling to him from that direction. The soft tug became something else entirely. “I can feel it.” He said aloud, his words silenced by his mask’s noise bafflers. There was a bright spot in the distance, calling to him. Drawing him ever onward.

  There was no denying it.

  He continued on, moving steadily east and deeper into the woods. The moon was just a pale shape flickering through the trees above, barely even cutting through the thick branches overhead anymore. The darkness was nearly complete, yet Brandon could still see just fine. It wasn’t as if was daytime, but the shadows were lighter to him than they should have been. “Is this you?” He said aloud to the god tucked up his sleeve. “Is this part of your powers?”

  Rok didn’t respond. But Brandon thought he could detect a sort of gloating warmth to the presence inside his skull. So Brandon stopped questioning and said a silent prayer of thanks to both of the gods that were traveling with him through the darkness.

  With all of the power coursing through him, Brandon was disappointed to realize that the grohlm were either gone or they were ignoring him completely. He stopped wasting energy trying to stay silent and just ran towards the source of the siren call dragging him deeper and deeper into the Briar woods. Whatever was keeping the grohlm back, whether it was the cold protection of Sha’ha’Zel or something even more sinister, Brandon wouldn’t waste time questioning it. The faster he found and closed the gateway, the quicker he could return to help his uncle and the hunters.

  Brandon was so focused on what he would do after he found the doorway that he almost passed it by. It was Rok that stopped him, the glow inside his head intensifying and pulsing brightly. He said. It’s close. Be careful, there are terrible powers at work this night.

  Brandon stopped and studied the shadows surrounding them. It all just looked like the same old forest to Brandon. Dark and foreboding, twisted vines climbing the massive trees and tangled branches overhead. He winced as the calling twisted like a hook in his gut, making him turn and stumble further into the darkness. “Where is it?"

  It’s just up ahead. Rok actually seemed nervous. The glow in Brandon’s mind had a muted dimness to it, as if something was trying to pull the god away from him. As if sensing Brandon’s sudden uneasiness, Rok said. I may not be able to speak directly to you for a time, but do not be afraid. I am with you, Brandon Merryweather. My strength is yours.

  Brandon said a silent thank you to his friend and let the now muted glow in his mind have his uncertainty and fear, feeding it all to it until there was nothing left but the emptiness. He closed his eyes and focused inward, searching for the tug of the gateway, and found it.

  Just ahead.

  The forest opened up and Brandon stepped out into the moonlight, into a flattened circle of high grass and weeds, and found what he was seeking. In the center of the clearing was the shattered remnant of an old well. At least that’s what it appeared to be at first sight. But, when he got closer, he saw that it wasn’t a well at all.

  It was the broken top of a stone tower, stabbing upward out of a heaped mound of overgrown weeds and debris. In the center of the mound was a ragged hole edged with ripped vines and broken roots. Rough stone steps emerged from the torn soil, winding their way around and around, disappearing into the earth, vanishing into the darkness below.

  Brandon crept around the gaping mouth into the earth, careful of traps or any grohlm that may have been lurking about, waiting to pounce. Upon closer inspection, he found that the hole was larger than it appear
ed originally. Large enough for a human. He stepped onto the first step and stared hard into the darkness below, then activated his helmet’s night vision. He keyed his microphone and spoke softly. “Gerrick, I’m at the entrance to the gateway. How far out are you?”

  Brandon didn’t really expect an answer, so he was surprised when his uncle’s voice came low and collected in his ear. “Not far.” He might’ve sounded a bit winded, but that could also have been feedback from the bud in his ear. “Hold position until I arrive.”

  Brandon crouched at the opening and watched the shadows surrounding the forest oasis, searching for the grohlm that were surely watching. But seeing nothing. From somewhere deep below, he felt a powerful pull, overriding the forward thinking part of his brain. Speaking directly to the lizard part of his being. If asked, Brandon wouldn’t be able to say what made him take those first few steps, but as soon as he started moving he knew it was the right thing to do.

  The interior of the broken tower was overgrown with hanging vines and the rough stone was crusted with mold for the first ten feet or so, but it cleared away the deeper he went. Brandon moved steadily down the steps, swords out before him, and felt the pressure in his chest loosen the further he went. The steps broadened and opened up the further down that Brandon went, the rough stone becoming smoother and less broken. A pale light began to emanate from the walls of the tower, forcing Brandon to turn off his helmet’s night vision. The shadows were thick, but he was able to see quite well the deeper he got.

  Brandon counted 500 steps before he found the first door. The stairs broadened into a large open chamber. The rounded ceiling was decorated with strange glowing symbols, scrollwork that looked almost celtic in design, that painted the space a pale green. The tile floor was trashed with debris and muddied tracks, crisscrossing trails of equal parts dirt and feces. The grohlm left ample evidence of their passing. Empty wall sconces made a ring around the chamber and flanked the sides of the door.

  A recessed opening was cut into the smooth polished stone, the floor dusty but free of grohlm scat directly in front of the tall opening. Brandon stepped closer to the door and touched it, laying his open hand against the surface. It was made to look like age darkened wood, with a scorched black handle and matching black scroll-work etched around the frame. There was a carving in the center of the door of a moon and stars, glowing to match the light above. Though the surface looked like wood, it was cold and metallic under Brandon’s hand.

  Brandon didn’t need to try the old fashioned handle to know that the door would not open. Nor did her need the voice of the god inside his skull to tell him, though it did.

  Wrong door. Rok said, the glow inside Brandon's head intensifying. Keep going.

  Brandon passed the moon door by, continuing down the next set of stairs. Taking the steps two at a time, Brandon continued his descent into the bowels of the broken tower. He passed at least a half a dozen doors, each carved with different but no less obscure images, before Rok's voice stopped him, saying. Prepare yourself, Bran. You are nearing the gateway.

  Brandon slowed as he landed on the next platform, holding his blades low, and ran headlong into a pack of wolves. There were 8 wolves in the pack guarding the doorway, some stood at ease near the lower stairs, while the others crouched and leaned at different points of the chamber. Each was dressed in various pieces of armor and held either bastard swords or long curved daggers.

  Brandon stumbled as he hit the ground, startling two wolves that were crouched near the ramp’s entrance. They gave startled yips when Brandon appeared, spinning and trying to bring their weapons up. Brandon struck them down in two moves, unsheathing and cutting in one breath, and they hit the filthy floor in 4 pieces. The blood churned the filth on the floor into a gory swamp underfoot. The surviving wolves scattered, barking and cursing in growling voices that were all too human, and tried to flank him on each side. They tried to attack the way that real wolves would in the wild, trying to surround their prey to nip at the flank and find weak points, but the chamber wasn’t big enough for it to be effective.

  Brandon didn't allow them to set the pace of the fight, launching into a fierce assault that caused them to fall back in sudden fear. Throwing himself at the wolves, he danced underneath their slashing blades and cut the legs off of one wolf and sliced open the belly of another. Its insides spilled out onto the ground and the wolf thrashed and died while Brandon moved on to his next opponent. Bouncing up onto his toes, he whirled his swords over and around his head and snapped the heads off of two more wolves before he stopped moving. The remaining 2 wolves fell back, circling around him. They held their weapons low and ready, their muzzles wrinkled and snarling as they stared at him. Sidestepping around dead and dying wolves, Brandon moved closer to the gateway. The door was closed. There was a scattering of raindrops carved on the face of this door, glowing softly.

  It would have to be rain. Watching the amber eyes of the remaining wolves, Brandon stopped moving and set his feet. Lowering his blood stained swords, he cocked his head and spoke. His voice was low and deadly. "Let's go."

  Snarling, the wolves hurled themselves at him. Their blades cut through the air with a hiss, almost black in the darkness of the caves, but none so much as touched him. Brandon moved among the wolves, the emptiness of his mind complete, except for the soft glow of the stone. With each movement, his swords bit into flesh and bone. Every blow was a killing stroke, none of his movements wasted, and the rain began to fall again, this time made of blood instead of water. Brandon bathed in it, cutting down his enemies with surgical precision. When the last wolf's head was tumbling into the darkness, Brandon stopped moving.

  He stood in front of the door, the blades at his sides dripping black and stinking blood. He could hear more grohlm moving his way. They were coming from above and below. After cleaning and sheathing his swords, Brandon stepped toward the door. He placed his hand on the black knob and paused. Examining the door in the darkness, he placed his other hand on the symbol, pressing his palm against glowing raindrops. Closely studying the door, he tried to see any way that it might have been booby trapped or tampered with. It was old fashioned, with a large keyhole and heavy medieval looking hinges. Brandon was tempted to peek into the hole, but the image of a narrow blade piercing his eyeball and punching through the back of his head came to his mind. The door looked safe enough, though, and he knew that any traps were more likely to be magical in nature than mechanical. He knew what he had to do.

  The knob was slightly warm under his fingers, tingling as if building up a charge of static electricity. He took a deep breath then turned the knob and opened the door.

  Gerrick charged through the darkness, cutting a grim and gruesome path through the horde of grohlm standing between him and the center of the strange clearing. He could just make out the remains of a broken tower up ahead. Above him, the grohlm were leaping at him with no regard for the bloody death that awaited them. They were trying to wear him down by throwing themselves at him indiscriminately, totally heedless of their losses. It was an old tactic, used by every army that ever picked up a sword or lance or rifle.

  And it was working.

  The tower knight was drenched in blood, his arms soaked up to the elbow, and he could taste the blood in the air. His arms grew heavier with every swing of his sword and the back of his shoulder burned where a grohlm's blade had bitten through his armor. He had reached the place where the helmet’s GPS had lost track of Brandon without finding any dead grohlm or even much sign of the boy’s passing.

  The grohlm had let him pass by without attacking. They wanted him to reach the gateway in one piece, all part of some twisted design. They served their master’s will in both worlds.

  Gerrick twisted, knocking back a snarling hound, and stabbed a crow in the heart. Moving as fast as he dared, he reached the broken tower and threw himself down the stairs, killing grohlm as fast as they appeared. 20 years before, when he and Stephen first arrived on this plain, leaving
behind their old world and everything else they knew, Gerrick woke up on his back, lying in a small clearing, surrounded by trees and shattered bodies. There had been no gateway or doors bridging the gap between the worlds. All he remembered of the journey was the coldness of water surrounding him and the pain he felt upon awakening.

  Taking a deep breath, Gerrick backed down the stairs, working his sword like a butcher as he met wave after wave of grohlm. They dropped down into the tower in pursuit of him, hooting and screaming as they came. Gerrick fought on, throwing everything he had into holding them back and said a silent prayer for Brandon. If the boy fell now, he would die without ever knowing the truth. Gerrick couldn't allow that to happen.

  Chapter 19

  Brandon stood on the cusp of the open doorway for a long time, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Below him, stretched out for as far as he could see, was an endless void. An abyss, much like how he pictured the emptiness inside his mind during combat, except there was no soft glow from the ancient god nestled in the far corner of his mind.

  It wasn't until he moved forward, leaning out into the darkness, that Brandon saw the first needles of light, twinkling far below him. How far away, he couldn't guess. It could have been miles? Or feet? They might have been stars? Or the glint of a thousand eyes?

  But Brandon knew better.

  They were campfires. Hundreds, thousands of them, spread out over miles and miles of nothingness. Brandon leaned further out, narrowing his eyes, and tried to make out the shadowy things moving slowly around the flickering flames. He heard the ring of steel on steel, as forge fires flared and hammers rang against heated blades. Howling at the night, grohlm fought and snarled around thousands of fires, a writhing sea of death and despair. If this was an army, it was the largest that Brandon had ever seen.

  They ready for war. Rok said to him from the void, the glow inside his mind expanding and contracting with every word, like breath. The gateway can only be opened for a short time. That is why they haven't flooded your world like a plague. I can feel the gateway becoming more unstable, even as we stand here. Becoming less. Can you not feel it?