Brave Men Die: Part 2 (4 page)

Dathe followed the page through the halls of Gravid’s Drift. The lad had come crashing through his door, ordering him as politely as possible to follow him to the council chambers quickly. Despite the three months of serving him, Jon was still hesitant about just how far he could go with the visiting dignitary, which made Dathe smile to no end.

Buckling his sword belt as he wound his way through the corridors of the living quarters in the western wing of the building, Dathe hurried to keep up with the page. He followed the boy down the narrow service stairs three floors to the level the earl used for state purposes.

Approaching the council chambers from the kitchen prep area, Dathe could already hear the earl screaming orders, his voice carrying through the stone corridors. That concerned him. The earl was generally a softly spoken man, but his commands had presence and not a single man would disobey an order given by him. The fact he was yelling meant that something serious had happened.

Emerging in front of him, from the central hall running the north–south length of Gravid’s Drift, Lacey was already at a full run, her father’s voice now matched by another’s. Dressed casually, her hair tied back, her blonde ponytail flew out behind.

‘Lace,’ Dathe cried out as he started to match her pace.

Slowing her pace so she could look back over her shoulder, Lacey pulled up so Dathe could catch her. There was a look of desperation and panic in her green eyes, screaming that something was very wrong, and her father’s booming voice was not placating her fears.

‘Do you know what’s wrong?’ Dathe asked.

She shook her head and closed her eyes, composing herself as he gripped her gently by the upper arms.

He stood motionless for a minute, letting the screaming from the council chambers wash over him, to identify the second man arguing with the earl. But that wasn’t the only thing he was listening for; the background noise around the keep was different. The staff knew something had changed. There was a hum of activity. A sense of urgency.

Dathe pushed the door open and they entered together, immediately taken back by the sight before them. Cygnus was up in the earl’s face, screaming back at him turn for turn. The same size and shape of his father, and the same stubborn streak, Cygnus was clearly not prepared to back down.

Dathe looked around the room. All the captains and council members of Gravid’s Drift were present and none of them were making a move to interfere. Whatever this was, everyone was going to let it play out.

Turning to whisper directly into Lacey’s ear, Dathe mumbled under his breath, ‘This can’t be good.’

She looked at him, her heart in her throat. It wasn’t just the fact that her father and brother were arguing, it was what the argument implied. Everyone had been on edge since the signal smoke appeared over the mountain outpost in the Musea Pass. It wasn’t just for the safety of the men stationed there, nor was it for the security of the Kingdom, but for Thol who had been posted there for the last year. The seventeen year old would have been on the front line when the Kyzantines attacked.

Captain Figur had led his company immediately to the pass to reinforce the guards. On horseback it was only a day and a half travel time but Dathe was beginning to suspect they hadn’t made it. Gazing over the faces in the room, he spotted Figur standing in the background and realised he was right. If Figur was back, he hadn’t seen combat at the outpost — it had already fallen.

‘Back down Cygnus, that’s an order,’ Arryn screamed three inches from his son’s face.

‘No sir, we should already be on the move to the pass. Give the fucking order so we can get on with it.’

‘They are already dead Cygnus.’

‘You don’t know that. They could have taken prisoners.’

‘Who would have surrendered, son? You know Barcus and all the others posted there, you served with them, none of them would have lowered their weapons.’

‘Thol …’ Cygnus muttered.

‘You know your brother. He would have taken as many down with him as possible.’

‘He is a valuable prisoner …’

He’s dead with all the rest,’ Arryn answered.

Cygnus retreated a step, stumbling as it sunk in, his father’s words gutting him even harder than the initial report had. He looked around for something to support him, found the closest chair, and sunk into it.

The earl left his son to his anger and grief and faced the waiting crowd. He met the eyes of every person in the room, noting their demeanour before moving to the next man.

‘Captain Figur returned a short time ago. The Kyzantines have destroyed the command stationed at the pass and the only survivors were those that Aspring had sent out as messengers at the onset — six men out of the hundred.

The enemy are now using the Musea Pass as a staging ground for their invasion into the Kingdom. They are massing huge numbers and will shortly be moving south toward our position. The men of Gravid’s Drift will be marching north to meet them.’

Arryn turned to look at his son with his last comment to see his reaction. Cygnus looked up from his stupor and grudgingly nodded his head — he was after all getting what he wanted.

Dathe watched it all unfold. The Dunn family were hurting but the earl was keeping it together the best. He shifted his gaze to Lacey. Tears were streaming down her cheeks but she didn’t utter a sound, kept her head upright and faced her father stoically. Dathe smiled grimly, proud that this young lady was proving her worth, knowing she would never show the pain she was experiencing right now.

Captain Figur stepped forward from the assembled captains. ‘I’ve ordered my company to hold position north of the city in the direct path of the approaching enemy. They will engage and fall back as necessary.’

The earl was pacing while Figur talked, running through the tactics they would employ and resources they had at their disposal to use. Dathe could see him mentally taking note of everything that was being said. He was calm, calculating, brooding. The complete opposite to Cygnus. There was anger building inside the son, rage contorted his face.

‘We need to strike back,’ Cygnus snarled. Slamming his fist into his open hand, he moved to face his father. ‘We need to take every armed man and retake the pass. Fuck those bastards that killed Thol. The Kyzantines need to pay.’

‘They fucking will,’ the earl snapped, before taking a deep breath and controlling his own anger. ‘Calm down, Cygnus.’

Cygnus bit his tongue, clenched his hands into fists and released them, over and over again. Finally he turned his back on the earl and kept his mouth shut.

‘Captain Marsh, please marshal every company at once, we leave for the pass in an hour.’

The captain nodded and left, every set of eyes in the room on his back as his footsteps echoed on the stone floor.

‘Cygnus, you are to take the Howlers to Black Claw. Buckthorne will need the numbers, they would have split their forces between Black Claw and the Gorgon Pass and won’t have enough to hold it if they are coming at them in the same numbers we’ve seen at Musea.’

‘Father! I should be leading the army to avenge Thol. Fuck the rest of it, it’s a matter of honour!’ Spittle flew from his mouth.

The rest of the hall was silent. The remaining captains averted their eyes. The councillors were staring at their feet.

‘You will lead the Howlers to Black Claw. You are my son and you will do as you are told. I will be leading the men to the Musea Pass personally.’

The two men were standing an inch apart again, their cold blue grey eyes held, chests breathing hard. Dathe was worried that the men were close to reaching for their weapons by their sides.

‘Cygnus.’ Lacey’s voice cut through the hall. ‘Do as father says.’

He slowly turned to look at her, contempt in his eyes. Dathe could feel the hate radiating from Cygnus, and standing next to Lacey he felt it was also directed at him. He felt his hand slide toward the hilt of his weapon, unsure whether he should defend Lacey if Cygnus felt like taking it out on her or if the earl would be fast enough to intervene.

Dathe was aware of Cygnus’ temper; he was an emotional man and let his feelings get the better of him. Bouting against him was like fighting a stone wall: unmoving and hard. But then he attacked recklessly, dangerously, randomly. Cygnus angrily launched himself at his opponents, always pressing, unrelenting and attacking with the force of a sledgehammer.

‘Just go Cygnus, you’ll bring shame on us all if you don’t.’ Lacey was staring him down. Her voice was steady as she stepped forward to challenge him further.

The look on Arryn Dunn’s face was a signal for his daughter not to press it, not to complicate matters further. Dathe held his breath, knowing full well that Lacey couldn’t help herself. The tension in the room was on knife's edge. The hard set of her jaw was an indication that something had changed about her, that she wouldn’t back down on this, that Thol’s death and now Cygnus’ insubordination unsettled her.

‘Lead the Howlers or I will,’ Lacey snapped. She was purposely shaming her brother into doing what he needed to do. ‘Dathe, you will accompany me.’

Dathe felt everyone in the room turn to him, like he was aware of Lacey’s plan from the beginning. He was pinned between looking the fool and not knowing, or holding his ground and standing beside the young, proud woman. He exhaled and stepped forward.

‘Lacey, you go too far,’ Arryn said, noting Dathe’s allegiance.

‘Father, you want your child to lead the Howlers to Black Claw. I’m your child, and I’m happy to do it. Give me the command and I’ll make you proud.’

Lacey’s eyes never left her father’s. She didn’t flinch as his facial muscles tightened and he ever so slightly lifted his chin to her defiance. Her lips pressed together and the only movement on her unblinking face was the flaring of her nostrils as she breathed deeply and in synch with her father.

Dathe was aware of the thin smile formed on the earl’s lips beneath his moustache. He kept it for only the blink of an eye before turning on Cygnus. ‘Do you want your sister to command your troops? The daughters of the Kyzantines lead companies, I will not suffer any shame if Lacey marches to war in your place.’

Focused on his sister’s threats, Cygnus was unexpectedly surprised when the earl turned on him. His thick arms folded across his chest, he immediately went on the defensive and seized on the opportunity it created.

‘Let her lead them, that frees me to go to the Musea.’

The earl scowled. ‘No it does not. One of you will be staying here. Since Lacey is going to Black Claw you will remain here at Gravid’s Drift.’

‘Father, I want to take the fight to them …’

‘Then bloody well lead the Howlers to Black Claw like I told you to five minutes ago.’

Cygnus bit his tongue, frustrated, and stormed out of the room. The door slammed behind him. Arryn waited a few moments before continuing, everyone expecting Cygnus to come barging back in and carry on the argument.

‘Captain Anders, ensure that the Howlers march immediately to Black Claw and report to Baron Scythe. Do not deviate from that order for any reason.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Captain Anders responded, saluting.

‘Lacey, you are in charge of Gravid’s Drift while I’m leading the men into the pass and your brother is at Black Claw. All stations are to be on full alert and have the watch commander double the shifts. Nothing comes in or out of my city until I return.’

‘I’ll ensure that it happens father.’

‘And Lacey, don’t piss off Cygnus like that,’ Arryn said warmly, approaching his daughter and placing a hand on her shoulder.

‘He should have done what he was told.’

‘And he would have eventually without your interference.’

‘We all want to make the Kyzantines pay for Thol … I would have led the Howlers.’

‘Oh child, you may get your chance yet.’ Arryn moved forward and embraced Lacey, kissing her gently on the forehead.

Lacey smiled and left the chamber immediately before she lost her stoic composure. The door closed firmly behind her, before the tension in the room finally subsided.

‘Dathe, I have something I need from you,’ Arryn said before Dathe could leave.

Dathe looked to the earl, noticed the way he was twiddling with the end of his moustache, a habit Dathe recognised when the earl was thinking.

‘I need you to stay here, and before you can complain, I know your father commanded you up here to serve me, sword and body, but I have greater need for you to stay here. If the reports are true, that an invasion force is marching down through the Musea Pass, then we might not be able to contain them, let alone defeat them.

‘I need someone here who I can trust to rally the men, get the women and children out safely if it comes to that.’

‘Sir, what about Lacey, you just gave her command of Gravid’s Drift.’

‘And I’m giving you the command of the armed forces that will remain behind. They need someone with tactical experience. Lacey will be the figurehead, you will be her sword. Is that understood?’

‘Yes my lord.’

‘Excellent. Now listen to what I propose to do and I’ll run you through the defences of Gravid’s Drift. I intend to make them pay for the death of my son.’

Edrazil and Devilin walked into the Drunken Sailor and were instantly drowned by the rowdiness coming from the intoxicated dock workers that occupied most of the tables. The brothers were unintimidated. They belonged in places like this.

Devilin indicated to his brother to head for the only available table in the corner of the room. It had been left that way because the minstrels were performing so close to it. Their tunes filled the air, half muffled by the talk and laughs of the patrons, but as they got closer they knew it for what it was: noise. Edrazil pushed his way through, not caring when he had to raise his voice or barge into people to make progress.

Devilin headed for the bar and stood beside a man who was slouched over his drink, muttering to himself. Disgusted by the sight of the drunkard — what a waste of existence — he tried to catch the eyes of the woman serving the drinks behind the bar. Just as she turned, another man yelled for her attention and she turned to him.

Scowling, Devilin looked around the bar at the half drunk men who sat over their ales, who came here by themselves to do nothing but drown their sorrows and piss away their pay. The ones at the tables were here with friends, come for a chat and a laugh. His thoughts turned to how he could get the woman’s attention as more patrons kept her at the other end of the bar.

Frustrated, Devilin kicked the stool out from under the drunk beside him. His yelps for help as he flew back through the air got the attention of everyone at the bar. The woman looked at him, moved closer to see if the drunk was alright.

‘I’ll have four beers,’ Devilin said before she could ask if the drunk was okay.

She looked a little shocked that he’d placed an order while the man was having trouble getting to his feet so Devilin made the effort to reassure her.

‘He didn’t hurt himself, nothing is broken. Drunks, what are you going to do about them?’ He smiled.

The woman smiled back and started pouring his drinks. The froth leaked over the rim of each mug and Devilin handed over his money when she put all four up on the countertop. Grabbing two in each hand he headed toward Edrazil but nothing was ever easy and a drunk approached him and offered to take some of the drinks off his hands.

He dropped his eyes and stared at the man, thought about his options if he actually tried to claim one of the drinks. Avernus’ stupid rule about not going out in Alvista with a sword strapped to your waist was starting to get on his nerves. Devilin could take out his legs or smash one of the mugs over the man’s head — let him try.

The drunk did a double-take of the beer, then looked again at the stare Devilin was giving him and finally thought better of it and left, stumbling off to bother the group at the closest table.

Devilin sat down and pushed the two mugs in his left hand over to Edrazil, and put the first one to his lips. His throat bulged as he skolled the beer down, planting the empty mug on the table before him. Seconds after Edrazil did the same with his and started to slowly sip at the second.

‘How is your arm?’ Edrazil asked.

Devilin glanced at the wound under his shirt, he could still feel the bandage tightly wrapped around it. The wound was deeper than he thought, the Prince was a decent swordsman — it had been a good fight.

‘It’s fine. Feeling better already,’ he lied.

‘Do you think that Avernus’ plan will work?’ Edrazil asked.

‘It’s just crazy enough to. I’ve already heard rumours that there is fighting in the Callisto Mountains. The Kyzantines haven’t waited long before getting some revenge.’

‘How have you heard that already? Avernus hasn’t even mentioned it.’

Devilin shrugged. ‘I’ve got my sources.’

Indeed he did. Avernus didn’t like anyone mixing outside the Seraphim but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Devilin knew a few people that knew some people. It was always good to have some contacts out of your immediate circle. It meant it was easier to disappear or obtain information. Things that often needed to be done in his line of work.

‘Have the Murukans responded?’

‘To the bloodshed in the mountains or the Kyzantine cries that their Prince is dead?’ queried Devilin.

‘Either?’

‘I imagine that both Buckthorne and Gravid’s Drift are on the march to the mountains, but they could already be there in force to reinforce their stationed guards. As for the other, who knows? I seriously doubt they have any idea why the Kyzantine Empire has decided to invade.’

Edrazil thought about his response, made mental notes to check with his own sources. All the years of work had made them both highly suspicious of anyone apart from Avernus and each other. Really, you had to trust family or it would be a lonely existence.

‘Ed, you know this is going to get a whole lot more dangerous before it is over right?’

‘I know Dev, I know. But just think about it. A couple more years of hard work and then we will have it easy. Avernus will look out for us and once this plan of his gives him all the power he needs, we will carve out a little kingdom for ourselves. He will have his books and magic, you’ll have your swords and training grounds, and I’ll have all those pretty women you two won’t have time for.’

Edrazil sat back chuckling to himself and Devilin couldn’t help but laugh along too. His brother had a way of humouring things, no matter how bad it could potentially be. Putting the beer to his lips he took another gulp and thought about how long it had been since they had been drinking together, all three of them, on a summer night.

The evening went quickly, the beers kept coming, and they went down as fast as they arrived. As the hours went by the other patrons left, until it was just them and another group off in the opposite corner that had got there not much after the brothers. One of the group had a striking familiarity that Devilin couldn’t put his finger on.

He wasn’t one of the students, Avernus had strict rules about leaving the labyrinth to go drinking. Plus none of the students would have the balls to do it anyway. No, this man was someone else entirely and Devilin could feel his eyes on him whenever he wasn’t looking.

With his bladder full and almost bursting Devilin pushed himself up from his seat, his legs almost going out from underneath him, but he managed to get hold of the table to gain balance. His head swooned from the alcohol but he pulled himself together and headed for the gents all while Edrazil laughed at him.

He pushed through the swinging door, stumbled over to the trough, and pulled it out. Urine bounced off the back of the trough and down as Devilin held himself upright with his left hand firmly planted on the wall above. He heard the doors swing open but didn’t look around. It was never good to make eye contact in this kind of situation.

Finally the stream of piss finished and he shook, reluctantly removing his left hand from the wall to do up his pants. He slipped sideways as the knife hit the wall where he had been seconds ago. Despite his drunkenness — most of it an act to lure the man out — his finely trained body reacted as it should, albeit a little slower, and moved to disarm the man.

Devilin caught a glimpse of his face and recognised him as the one from across the tavern floor, before driving his foot into the back of his knee, unsettling him and slamming his head forward into the wall. Dazed, the man lurched back, and Devilin swung round with a right. The attacker stumbled backwards into one of the stalls and Devilin followed him in, picking up the discarded knife from the floor as he went past.

The man tried to get up, but a kick to the throat halted the attempt and Devilin plunged the knife into his heart. He left the stall and closed the door behind him, cursing that he forgot to interrogate the man and moving to the washbasin to clean himself up. Looking up into the small mirror on the wall, Devilin recognised the sight of alertness in his eyes — the fight had bloody sobered him up.

He headed for the bar for another beer when he noticed two women at the table with Edrazil. Devilin could hear him all the way across the room, telling the blonde how pretty she was all the while telling the brunette that his brother would love to meet her. Shaking his head, Devilin thought his brother could sweet talk the pants off anyone.

He headed over and was introduced, he didn’t quite hear the name and didn’t really care, just smiled and told her she had nice eyes. They each had another drink, his shout, before Edrazil suggested they head upstairs to one of the rooms. The girls agreed, the blonde thrown over Edrazil’s shoulder, the brunette led by his own hand.

They had barely gotten into the room before Edrazil’s hand was up the blonde’s skirt, their lips frantically kissing. The brunette closed the door behind her, letting it gently shut as her hand caressed the side of his face. Devilin closed his eyes and took a deep breath, the girl smelled like citrus.

Grabbing one hand around her waist he leaned in and kissed her, all the time walking backwards toward the only bed in the room. Devilin knew Edrazil wouldn’t be using it. He let his body fall, bringing the girl with him with a slight squeal of surprise. Her mouth moved from his lips to his neck before her hands moved over his body. She slid herself down until she was kneeling at the end of the bed, her long fingers working the buckle of his belt until it was off, his button open and his fly down.

His eyes closed in pleasure as her fingers gently grabbed hold of his cock and she ran her tongue over it. Devilin opened his eyes and looked down at the girl, seeing only her dark brown hair. He turned at the sound of thumping to see Edrazil had the now naked blonde against the wall, his pants around his ankles, and was fucking her senseless.

He shuddered and was brought back to the moment when the brunette did something fantastic with her tongue and a smile crept onto his face. He wondered how on earth there was anything better than a night like this and why the bloody hell hadn't Avernus wanted to join them.

In the darkness of Avernus’ private study the mage relaxed into his favourite chair and stared at the amulet in his hand. He measured the face of it in his open palm, turned it over and looked at the back of it, before letting it dangle from the thin golden chain held tightly between two fingers.

The first prize from Tarkinholm sparkled as it spun in the air, making Avernus smile as he thought of his triumph. One down, two to go, and then things could get started. Placing the amulet on the table beside him, he snapped his fingers and a light burst into existence in the room.

Crossing over to his bookcase, the tattoos on his back and arms rippled as his muscles did. Although thin and lithe, the mage had muscle definition and his taut body had come from years of physical training with the brothers.

His fingers found the small, black leather spellbook automatically, muscle memory from reading it every night before bed, reminding himself of his goals. Inside was every painstaking piece of information he had gathered over the last eight years. Each of the artefacts he needed were in his book and each had over a hundred entries for it, copied perfectly word for word and scripted in his best handwriting. Everything he had found about the amulet had been correct, it had just taken all that time to piece it together. The other two items were easier to locate, but were simply much harder to obtain undetected.

With the amulet obtained and a war started in the process between two countries that has been straddling conflict for centuries, the others should be easier to collect than he first thought. The wheels had been set in motion.

His fingertips flicked through the pages, settling on an image of the Crystal of Ramatta. The many-faceted jewel would be the next thing to collect once they had purchased the map from the old merchant in Karnich. How Devilin had tracked it down was a mystery to him, but he was grateful for the effort.

Avernus flipped through another series of pages, his handwriting prominent on all until he found the page he had been looking for. In capital letters he had written the last of the items, had finally tracked its location down and realised it would be the hardest of all to get. Murukia was a dangerous place for the likes of him. Thoughts of
The Starjek Chronicle
weighed on his mind as he slammed his notebook shut and returned to his chair.

He reached into his bag that was propped beside the chair, felt the dusty leather and pulled it up onto his lap. The amulet wasn’t the only thing that he pulled out of the Keeper’s clutches in Tarkinholm. The dusty old volume in his lap was a treasure that he had thought lost forever. He blew the dust off the cover before running his hands over the embossed title.

‘
Dunkirk’s Dark Craft
,’ he whispered to himself.

The book was legendary, probably more so than the mage who wrote it. Dunkirk had lived several hundred years ago and was one of the most inventive magi ever to grace the continent. He came up with new spells on a weekly basis, from every magical study, and he put it in this book. Notes on how he mastered them and detailed descriptions of how they all worked were within the leather.

Dunkirk’s Dark Craft
was thought to have been lost when the males who studied the path of power had been exiled. Some had thought the book was taken into exile, others thought the book destroyed as the magi battled over it. In any event it was gone from the face of the earth for all those who squabbled over the power within. Until now.

The battle with the Keeper came flooding back, the power the man had for a religion that did not believe in magic. Strange that one of their stronger and most religious recluses be wielding a magical staff and trying to destroy him with magical energy.

Somehow, during the breaking of the paths, one if not multiple males must have infiltrated the Kyzantines' religious sect, the Hand of God, and worked their way up the hierarchy. They could have claimed that their powers were a favouring from their One God and have trained their own over the last centuries.

It just meant the possibility of more magi that could oppose his own Seraphim.

He opened the book to the first page and began reading. He had things to learn and had better do it quickly if he wanted to put them to good use. Soon enough battles would be raging around him and he would need his arsenal to be the strongest it had ever been.