Fire And Steel (The Merryweather Chronicles Book 2) Page 20

  Two more fireballs lanced down from the sky, exploding close to where the blue eyed witch lay. Brandon dove into the press of grohlm, the flames covering everything like liquid fire. Like a wave of napalm. The heat was intense, but not painful.

  The other two witches screamed as they flew by overhead. Perhaps for the loss of their sister? Maybe just for the fun of it? Brandon didn't care which. Rolling to his feet amid a flaming circle of grohlm, Brandon snatched a curved battle-axe from the ground and turned, scanning the sky.

  He didn't have to wait long. Coinciding with another scream from up above, a fireball flared to life and launched itself at him. Ignoring the living flame headed his way, Brandon hurled the axe over handed, sending it spinning into the night. He thought he missed, until one of the screaming witches suddenly went silent and one of the fireballs sputtered out before it reached the ground. The other hit him in the chest, knocking him backwards, sending him tumbling ass over elbows. Bouncing him off of a wall of armored flesh. He hit the ground rolling, coming up to find himself facing the Usurper.

  Kardas stared at Brandon, his mouth a grim line beneath his helmet's gaping maw. The Usurper's head moved slowly, taking in the damage to Brandon’s armor. The visor had a crack in it, making a white line across Brandon’s vision. He looked up and met Brandon's gaze. He said. "It’s time to stop fighting, Brandon. You have a destiny. And it’s time to seize it."

  Brandon said nothing. Around them, the grohlm had fallen back, creating a living breathing circle of steel around the two warriors. Kardas unfastened his cloak, letting it fall to the ground as he took two long steps forward. His hands rested at his sides, making no move toward the sword sheathed at his hip. Firelight reflected off of his golden armor. “Surely, you know that you can’t possibly win? You’re finished.”

  "I'm just getting started." Brandon said, launching himself across the short space between them. The speed of the attack obviously surprised the other, forcing the big man back a step before Brandon’s fist slammed into his armored chest plate. He hit the man as hard as he could, making a fist shaped dent in the heavy steel and knocking the Usurper back another step. Spinning on his heel, Brandon lashed out with a boot, catching the big man in the side of his helmet. The helmet twisted sideways, obscuring the man's view through the narrow eye slits.

  Kardas threw up an arm to deflect another strike at his head and fell back, stumbling a bit over the cloak still lying on the ground behind him. Kicking the cloak to the side, the Usurper shook his head to straighten his helmet. He drew his sword, the steel ringing as the blade cleared the scabbard, and came forward, swinging.

  Brandon moved to meet him head on, noticing the runes decorating the blade. He recognized the sword as the one that he had used in the tower dream. The runes weren't glowing though, not while the Usurper held the sword. They were black against the length of steel.

  Sliding sideways, Brandon kept some distance between himself and the Usurper, watching the rune blade closely. The man's white teeth stood out inside the screaming mouth of the helmet as he smiled. He said. "You really do impress me, Brandon. Your grandfather was nowhere near as strong, even with the help of his bitch god. But this fight is over."

  The other two flyers dropped from the sky, landing on either side of the Usurper. Their robes fell open, revealing twin nubile bodies and angelic faces. One had hair the color of strawberries, dark red. Like freshly spilled blood. The other's hair was black as coal. They could have been twins to the dead blonde. Their eyes were the same electric shade of blue. Flanking the Usurper, the witches watched Brandon with a cold hunger in their eyes. Beneath their robes, their black wings twitched and their lips twisted into evil smiles. One had a bleeding gash across her perfect breasts, from the axe that Brandon had thrown.

  Brandon faced the Usurper and his witches, letting Rok take away all of his fear and panic. His arm was ice from his wrist to his shoulder, as if dipped in liquid nitrogen. Brandon rolled his shoulders and twisted his neck to pop it, then bent to pick up a bloodied broadsword. The blade was warped and pitted with rust, but still had a cutting edge. Brandon locked eyes with Kardas and said. "You say I have a destiny? That there is some secret truth that only you can tell me about me and my family? The family that you killed?"

  "Are you ready to learn the truth, Brandon?" Kardas said with a soft laugh. The witches laughed with him, their voices high and clear, like the ringing of hell's bells. It was a sound to make infants scream and men's ears bleed. The Usurper slowly shook his head. "I’m not so sure."

  Brandon wanted to rage, to scream at the man before him. He wanted to let out all of the pent up frustration and pain that had been a constant companion since the night his parents died. But all of that anger was gone. The emptiness inside his mind was perfect except for the blazing presence of the god protecting and strengthening him. All of his uncertainty was gone. He looked at the man responsible for his parent’s deaths, for all of the death and destruction that had followed him to Matheson and put countless innocent people at risk, and all he could do was shake his head. He said. “Is this all because you think I’m the Reclaimer? All of this death and destruction for some kind of half assed prophecy?” He pointed the tip of the broadsword in the man's direction. He said. “I’m going to kill you.”

  The time for talking was past. And both men knew it.

  Brandon exploded into motion, hurling himself at Kardas. The other man met the attack, bringing up his blade to deflect Brandon’s, but didn’t count on the younger warrior’s enhanced strength. He fell back under the onslaught, stumbling as Brandon landed a backhand blow that snapped his rusty sword in half and gauged a deep cut into his dented breastplate.

  The two witches didn’t just stand there and watch their master fail. Hissing, they came at Brandon, flickering flames taking form over their outstretched palms. He hurled the foot long length of broken steel at the face of the black haired one, smashing her face and sending the fireball meant for him straight into her sister. The red witch was instantly engulfed, the flames devouring her in seconds. Screeching, she tried to take to the sky, her black wings in flames as they beat at the air.

  Brandon didn’t bother watching the witch burn. Keeping the pressure on Kardas, he kicked one of the big man’s knees out from under him, sending him crashing to ground, and aimed a kick at his head. Kardas rolled in time to catch the kick with his shoulder, instead of his face, and lashed out with the broadsword, landing a blow to Brandon’s head. It shattered the visor of his helmet and peppered his face with plexiglass. He was still blinking glass out of his eyes when Kardas hit him in chest with a tremendous backhand, sending him flying. He hit the ground, tumbling and sliding to a halt amid the grohlm. The monsters slashed and stabbed at him as he rolled over and slowly climbed to his feet. He ignored the ineffectual blows raining down on him and faced his enemy.

  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.