Akiri: Dragonbane Read online

  This was what he lived for; no matter how he tried to deny it or convince himself there was some deeper purpose to his life, this was it. These moments racing along a narrow stone walkway blindly into danger that could upend worlds and turn death into life and life into death. And truth be told, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

  He ran lightly over broken stones. His heart rate accelerated, fueled by anticipation and at the root, joy. Where others felt fear, he felt elation. The thrill of battle was like a mother’s kiss.

  He had no fears about facing any foe, be they mortal or spirit. He was Dul’Buhar. He was counted among the mightiest of warriors. In his life, he was undefeated. Once, with the power of the mad Sorcerer King flowing through his blade, he had grown his legend with impossible deeds. His name had been spoken with awe and reverence throughout Acharia. That power might have been stripped away, but it had been replaced by the power of his bond with Kyra. She had healed his merkesh and filled it with her strength.

  He saw the dragon settling down a few feet from the boy, and smiled. For a moment, he felt as if she were smiling back.

  The old fortress had suffered incredible damage at some time in the past. The central keep wore battle scars and decay, and the upper tiers of the building were in various stages of collapse. None of the damage was new. An entire stone wall had crumbled and cascaded across the courtyard to create the barrier that blocked the portcullis. Wooden stairs had succumbed to rot and collapsed.

  The naked flame continued to flicker in the window, but as he neared, Akiri couldn’t see any obvious point of ingress from the walkway. The only way in he could see was down in the courtyard through a door at the base of the tower. The problem was that the sheer wall of the tower made it impossible to scale, particularly as the heat of the weird marsh seemed to make the stone sweat and left it coated with a glossy sheen. He couldn’t just jump, either, not without risk of serious injury. His best hope lay in the pile of rubble heaped up against the curtain wall, which could, perhaps, serve as a stair of sorts.

  No one looked out of the window.

  The collapse of the keep wasn’t natural. The damage wasn’t simply the result of decay. He saw into the shell of the building and noted the blackened timbers still holding it up.

  Fire.

  The drop was still more than ten, maybe fifteen feet. With no stability to the rubble he’d be dropping down onto, there was every chance of a broken bone, even with his natural agility. The rocks glistened with the same wet sheen as the walls. There was nothing good about this way down. He looked around for alternatives or ways to minimalize the risk and spotted a length of chain emerging from the stone beneath him of heavy, corroded iron. In another lifetime it had been part of the portcullis arrangement or perhaps the ruined drawbridge that lay rotting in the moat. He dropped to his stomach and reached down over the edge to test the chain. It appeared to be jammed. His hope was that the mechanism was as rusted as the chain and that the whole thing was fused together, meaning it would hold his weight.

  He grasped the chain and eased himself off the ledge. The jarring impact of the short drop and sudden stop brought a fresh wave of pain to his battered body, but he held onto the huge link as though his life depended on it, even as more pain erupted from within his recently healed shoulder. He refused to relinquish his hold, and clinging tightly, placed his feet wide on the wall as the chain began to groan alarmingly. He’d hoped to abseil down, or at worst use the chain to walk down the wall, but even before he’d managed his first step, something inside the mechanism gave out and the chain jerked alarmingly, falling a full revolution of whatever cog and gear arrangement worked within the wall, and dropped him a full foot.

  It was enough to have his heart racing; but the chain didn’t unravel after that first juddering slip. Akiri shuffled his feet down the wall a bit, adjusting his grip, and lowered himself by one hand after another as the ice-cold iron bit into the meat of his hands. Each step forced an adjustment of his grip, and each adjustment caused more of the rusted metal to dig deeper into his palms, making it harder to maintain his hold.

  The chain jerked again, slipping.

  This time the soles of Akiri’s boots slid against the stone as he scrambled to keep his balance. The drop was too sheer. The chain swung away from the wall and slipped again, and his shoulder slammed into the stone. It dropped yet again. He clung on with all of his might as the chain lashed about like a snake trying to strike, springing off the wall repeatedly as it fought to dislodge him.

  Too far, he thought, looking down between his legs at the drop still beneath him.

  He didn’t have a choice. Before he could brace himself against the wall, the chain lost all resistance and started feeding through the mechanism faster and faster, unraveling. It was pure instinct; no time to think. He was in freefall, even as he clung to the chain, with no way to slow his descent.

  It jammed again suddenly, stripping loose his grip. He fell away from the wall, arms reaching out desperately, but there was nothing to catch hold of.

  He didn’t fall far, back and shoulder coming down hard on the jagged edges of the rubble and starting a landslide that took him the rest of the way to the ground, stones spilling and sliding all around him. He hit the bottom and lay on his back, staring up at the tower and that flickering candlelight.

  His hands were cut and bleeding. There were more cuts and grazes across his body, but nothing serious. Akiri plucked a shard of rusted iron from his wrist and cast it aside.

  Battered but unbroken, he pushed himself back to his feet. There was no missing the extent of the fire damage from this vantage point. While much of the front of the fortress appeared to be relatively intact, and still breathtaking in its grandeur, it was a hollow shell. From here it was obvious that much of what remained was blackened roof timbers and broken stones. Most of the main tower’s entire side and rear had sheared away, leaving it precariously balanced against the fierce winds. The illusion of impregnability was utterly undone. It looked for all the world like it would take no more than one good shove to bring the whole pile of rocks tumbling down.

  But there was more wrong in this place than merely fallen stone. The entire structure had a reek about it, a smell that clung low to the ground. It was repugnant. He hadn’t been able to smell anything from the ramparts, but there was no mistaking it now. It was the stench of decay. The scent of death.

  Still, the only sign of life was the single flame burning in that distant window. It hadn’t been obvious from above, but the door was ajar – a crack of no more than a few inches that promised a deeper darkness on the other side – and like much of the wall around it, wore the scars of the fire.

  Akiri was not sure why that surprised him. After all, it wasn’t as though the necromancer had anything to fear from the pets he kept on hand for sacrifice, and the walking dead were enough of a deterrent to ward off even the most ardent intruder.

  He drew his sword, taking comfort from the familiar feel of it in his hand, even as his palm bled around the hilt. It completed him. He was ready to humble Yarrow with cold steel. He wasn’t interested in talking; he had no need to know what drove the necromancer to delve into forbidden law, or what his end game might be. These next few minutes would come down to a single purpose: exacting revenge.

  He pushed his way inside. The door opened with a baleful groan that seemed impossibly loud to his ears. He entered the darkness. The smell of death was worse; concentrated. It was enough to make Akiri want to empty his stomach. And only with supreme effort was he able to prevent himself from doing just that.

  On this side, the only light came from narrow arrow slits set in the outer wall, which cast a glow of arrows on the stone stairs, pointing the way as he climbed. There was no way of seeing any threat, even if it were lurking just a few feet around the spiral. Akiri stepped into the first arrow of light, following the winding climb upwards, keeping his shoulder close to the outside wall, sword easy in his hand, cautious in his ascent to be
sure he gave himself enough room to be able to use it if need be.

  By the time he reached the first thin arrow slit, only half a dozen steps away from the door, he was more than ready for the breath of fresh air that came in from outside.

  He heard something coming from above. Akiri held his breath, straining to define the sound, and was then surprised when he recognized it for what it was: a woman’s voice. Yarrow was a woman? He hadn’t expected that, but the name was curiously sexless, he realized. It was just his own Acharian prejudices that had led him to think Yarrow was a man.

  He continued to climb, placing his feet carefully so she wouldn’t hear him coming. As he grew closer to the source, he realized the woman was singing. He wound his way up around another two full revolutions of the spiral and emerged onto a landing. Through a larger window he saw the courtyard far below. There was one door. He listened again, holding his breath, until he was sure that the singer was on the other side.

  He rested one hand on the handle, hesitating before he curled his fingers around it and turned it slowly. But the door did not open.

  The voice fell silent.

  He didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. He stood there, hand on the handle, staring at the grains in the wood, imagining that he could hear the woman’s heartbeat as she did the same on the other side.

  He couldn’t understand why the door was locked when the door to the tower itself was wide open. He saw the answer: bolts, top and bottom. This door wasn’t locked to keep people out; it was there to keep someone in. Meaning the singer was a prisoner. Meaning she almost certainly wasn’t the necromancer. What it didn’t mean was that she wasn’t a threat.

  Akiri drew back the first of the bolts. The second was easier. The sound was greeted by silence on the other side of the door.

  If the woman was a prisoner, there was every chance she’d taken up a position to attack him as the door opened, assuming he was her captor.

  Akiri took a step back. He kicked the door with all his strength. It flew open, and Akiri charged in. For a split second, he didn’t see anyone. Then a flurry of movement off to his left had him spinning. But before he could move, a blanket was thrown over his head. This odd tactic caught him by surprise. He had expected some sort of magical attack, or at least a blade. But the sharp blow to his head from a heavy blunt object gave him no time to ponder this.

  He flailed his arms trying to uncover himself, but two more vicious strikes sent him to one knee. He thrust his sword, but found only empty air. A few more of these would render him unconscious. He rolled to his back, grasping at the blanket and ripping it away, and turned just in time to avoid a thick piece of wood that would have struck him dead between the eyes. He gripped the wrist of his attacker and jerked hard. He could tell this was the arm of a woman, but she was clearly an experienced fighter. Planting her free hand in his chest, she flipped her body and twisted free of his hold. Akiri sprang up. Before he could turn, a boot thudded into his crotch from behind. Waves of pain shot up his entire torso, and he stumbled forward and spun quickly, the wind from another blow brushing his neck.

  Finally he saw his enemy.

  “You!” grunted Akiri, the pain in his testicles throbbing.

  The woman stood frozen, eyes wide with recognition. Slowly shock turned to disgust.

  “The gods must hate me,” she said, tossing aside a table leg. “I swear it.”

  ELEVEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  She looked exactly as he remembered her – red flowing hair and fierce green eyes that made her appear to Akiri like some warrior goddess straight out of legend.

  “Rena?” he said, not quite believing his eyes.

  She shook her head and let out a pained sigh. “Of all the people who could show up.” She walked over to a bed on the far side of the chamber and plopped heavily down. She looked pointedly at his sword. “Unless you plan on using that...”

  Akiri stood stock-still for what felt like an eternity, his sword still held out in front of him. “What the hell are you doing here?” He sheathed the blade when she didn’t answer, reluctantly. He didn’t trust this woman. And with good reason. She had all but promised to kill him should they ever meet again. “Well?”

  “What is it to you?”

  “I see your manners have not changed. Nor has your sense of gratitude.”

  Rena sniffed. “You come blundering in here like some blind ox, and I should be grateful? Do you have any idea how hard it was to get myself captured and brought here?”

  “You meant to be captured?”

  “You really are a boneheaded fool, aren’t you? Of course I meant to be captured. So I do not need to be rescued.” She paused, suddenly tense. “Is that damned dragon with you?”

  Akiri ignored the question. “Tell me what you are doing here, before I lose my patience.”

  “Don’t threaten me, Acharian,” she snapped. “I haven’t forgotten what you did to me, or to poor Killian.”

  “I only did what I had to do,” Akiri retorted, maintaining the calm in his voice. “Killian was a victim of his own greed. Though if it makes you feel better, I lost everything – my home, my position, everything. I am an outcast; a fugitive from my own land.”

  Rena regarded him for a long moment, then nodded with a half-smile. “Yes. That does make me feel better, actually. It doesn’t settle things between us. But still…”

  Akiri’s thoughts turned to the boy. He was wasting time. Each second that passed left Seyla exposed and vulnerable. “Do you know where Yarrow is?”

  “Does it look like I do?” she replied. “Why do you want to find him?”

  “To kill him,” he replied flatly. “That’s all you need to know. So speak, or you can stay here locked in a tower.”

  “That’s fine by me. I didn’t ask you to come here in the first place.”

  Akiri grumbled under his breath. “Didn’t you smell the stench of death when you were brought here?” He caught himself, realizing something that should have been blindingly obvious the moment he set eyes on the woman. “How the hell did you get here? Every way into the fortress is blocked.” If there was a secret way in, it could lead to Yarrow.

  She shrugged. “I woke up here.”

  Akiri chuckled derisively. “So you have no idea how you got here, no idea who brought you, and you call me a fool?”

  Rena ignored the jab. “I wanted to get here; I got here. How it happened isn’t important.”

  He could see that despite her confident façade, fear dwelt beneath the surface. Rena was no fool. She had to see the danger of her situation. “Very well. If it is here you want to stay…” Akiri turned to the door.

  “Wait!” she shouted, just as he was about to leave. “Yarrow’s bounty is mine. You hear me?”

  “I didn’t come to collect a bounty,” said Akiri. “Yarrow murdered my sword brother and his family. I come for vengeance. If there is a bounty, keep it. Tell whoever hired you that you killed him if you want. But Yarrow will die by my hand.”

  The steel in his words clearly had an impact. Rena hovered on the edge of the bed for several seconds before letting out an exasperated groan. “Sit, and I will tell you what I know.”

  Akiri paused, pretending to balk at the offer, a bit of revenge for his injured testicles. After what seemed like enough time to irritate her just a bit, he shrugged and took a seat near the bed.

  “I’m going to assume you know nothing about the one you are seeking.”

  Akiri said nothing. He waved his hand for her to begin.

  “This land was once under the control of a minor lord named Bezel Qataan,” she said.

  Akiri nodded and gave an accompanying grunt, pretending to know the name. He didn’t, but he knew the type. The land was awash with thugs and thieves who set themselves up as petty tyrants. They were usually little better than bandits, and lorded over the people who feared them enough to bow to their will. Most were ignored by the ruling monarchs so long as they paid a tithe. Some rulers even en
couraged their rise; it made governing the outlying regions of a kingdom far easier. The Dul’Buhar had brought down their share of them in their time. King Zemel was not a man to allow such riff-raff to gain a foothold within his borders. They were too unpredictable, in his mind, and too prone to giving aid to the enemy, of which Acharia had many.

  “He was no worse and no better than any other warlord. He had even gained a semblance of legitimacy after a few years. But he let it go to his head and decided that he wanted to expand the lands under his control. Foolish mistake. He came up against stubborn resistance from the surrounding lords; true nobles with the wealth to raise real armies. You can imagine how well the campaign went. In short order, his much smaller army was defeated, and he was forced to retreat deep into the marsh. That was when he met Yarrow.

  “Yarrow offered salvation, but at a price: what was used in battle would remain his once they had victory, and Qataan was to allow him to live in the marsh unmolested and under his protection. It seemed a small price to pay, so he accepted the terms. But once he witnessed the horror – his own slain soldiers returned to the battlefield – he realized he had made a bargain with an evil that was beyond his control. But even knowing this, he did nothing until his victory was secured.

  “When it was over, Qataan burned the bodies of his fallen men, making them useless to Yarrow. He then petitioned the king to help him root out the necromancer from the marsh. But in the end, they could not find him. He had vanished.”

  “And Qataan?”

  “He vanished as well, while searching the marsh. I assume he belongs to Yarrow now,” she said.

  It was a fair assumption. The ranks of the necromancer’s army swelled with every fresh killing. “So where is Yarrow?”

  Rena spread her hands. “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

  She drew up her knees and wrapped her arms around them. Akiri knew that he’d exposed the flaw in her plan. They couldn’t just wait here for the necromancer to return when it could be weeks or months or even years, if ever. “How long were you planning on waiting for him?”