The Glass Breaks, page 27
All four warships had launched boats, sending hundreds more warriors to reinforce the vanguard, but they wouldn’t arrive in time to save the small force on the beach. Blade Smile’s warriors of Ice outnumbered the Sea Wolves by at least five to one, and the vanguard had split into two, in an effort to protect against the archers. Lord Ulric was standing on his own in the centre of the beach, though his cloak of crackling blue wyrd deflected attempts to shoot him. I couldn’t see a way for them to win. Was I going to be forced to watch the First Fang die?
“One flicker of wyrd, and I sleep you,” snarled Loco, wrapping my neck in a choke-hold. He didn’t tighten it, but left me in no doubt that I couldn’t help Lord Ulric. We’d fallen back to the ridge separating the beach from the dead ground beyond, with a maddeningly clear view of the conflict. Loco and his four legionnaires were here to guard me, not to assist Blade Smile in killing the Sea Wolves, but their anger at what I’d done was clear.
There was wyrd on both sides, though the warriors of Ice used theirs sparingly, fully aware of how difficult it was to leach spiritual power through the glass of Nowhere. Their limbs emitted a subtle nimbus, but nothing like the surges of energy being provided by the spirit-masters at anchor. It was like looking at a mismatched chessboard, with one side having only their most powerful pieces left.
Blade Smile stayed in the centre, with a small force, to face down the First Fang, but directed his warriors into two wings, with each going to one of the cliff faces. Loco didn’t let me move, and I lost sight of the two groups of Sea Wolves behind the advancing columns. All I could see was Lord Ulric, standing alone on the rocky beach, holding his twin blades across his chest, with a look of violent madness on his rugged face. A stray arrow ricocheted from his wyrd, as Blade Smile ordered his forces to kill them all. Then people started dying.
Once more for the Severed Hand. I heard it a dozen times from all quarters, as the Sea Wolves ran to meet the oncoming warriors of Ice. Individuals disappeared in a fog of steel, swearing and blood. The First Fang was the last to engage, but when he did, he killed two people. One blade was driven downwards through a man’s skull. The other emerged through a twitching woman’s throat. Blade Smile hung back, looking for an opening, as his warriors surrounded Lord Ulric. Either side, two larger battles took place, though I could barely see the Sea Wolves amongst the warriors of Ice. They wore the same armour, and wielded the same cutlasses, and killed each other with the ferocity of true hatred.
“You did this,” said Loco, spitefully. “This is not what Lord Inigo wanted. Your First Fang will die, not knowing that he could have been the saviour of his people. This proves that the Sea Wolves can never be a part of Marius Cyclone’s plan. You’re far too barbaric.”
“Once more for the Severed Hand,” I whispered, with tears seeping from my eyes.
Loco tightened his arm around my neck. “What did you say? Boy!”
I didn’t repeat the words. I let him jostle me left and right, as I tried to focus on the slaughter. The void legionnaire didn’t choke me unconscious, but I could feel that he wanted to. His hold loosened when the First Fang drove a blade through a man’s eye, and kicked another in the groin.
To the left, Taymund Grief was suddenly visible, hacking at warriors of Ice with equal amounts wyrd and steel. To the right, Siggy Blackeye was cackling with laughter, as she danced around blades, skewering their wielders. The weak and unskilled amongst the Sea Wolves were quickly dealt with, leaving only twenty or so of the most powerful. The air was thick with crashes of wyrd, meeting at the point of every blade, and scything through bodies. The warriors of Ice were swarming, with small circles of resistance forming around the strongest Sea Wolves. Vincent Heartfire swung a huge falchion, severing the arms and legs of anyone who got too close to him. Jacob Hearth, captain of the Black Wave, used strength to batter his opponents to death. Charlie Vane, the Kneeling Wolf, was freakishly skilled with his barbed whip, and used it to strangle people and steal their swords.
My eyes were suddenly drawn upwards, as the archers were dispersed by ballistae bolts, launched from the ships at anchor. A handful were killed, and the rest scattered, as the artillery reloaded and fired again.
What the People of Ice and the Dark Brethren didn’t understand, was that the Sea Wolves would never surrender. They’d never submit or retreat. They’d fight and die with a smile on their faces, content that their deaths would be remembered in tales. Perhaps even written in the Bloody Halls, and immortalized in song. There was a time when I wanted nothing more than to think like them, but seeing them fight and die made everything feel so hollow. Twist certainly thought so, and the pain spirit was hunkered down on my leg, experiencing things with regret, as if the truth had suddenly changed. We’d seen the rising sea, though we couldn’t remember it clearly, and everything else was suddenly petty. I’d made a huge fucking mistake.
Lord Ulric Blood, First Fang of the Severed Hand, was far more powerful than the warriors of Ice who attacked him, and he’d killed five or six, but twenty blades was a lot, even for him. His skill had waned, to be replaced by frenzy, and the huge man was now an engine of war, with insane eyes and an instinctive will to survive. But still his wyrd shone. He appeared taller and brighter than everyone around him, making his attackers hesitant.
The rocky beach was now stained red, with narrow rivers of blood snaking away from the growing piles of dead and maimed bodies. Warriors of Ice broke off from the conflict to assist wounded friends and remove the dead, but the Sea Wolves just kept fighting, even as most were overwhelmed and cut down.
Ingrid Raider and two other Sea Wolves had broken away from the battle lines, and were fighting to reach Lord Ulric. They thinned out the attackers just enough to keep Taymund Grief alive, allowing him to keep his back to the cliff face, whilst fighting the closest three attackers. Charlie Vane was surrounded, but he used his wyrd like a second whip, describing a circle through which no-one could pass.
“This is taking too long,” observed Loco, his eyes betraying a flicker of concern. “Blade Smile’s warriors are …”
“Weak?” I offered. “Unskilled? Relying on numbers?”
He yanked my neck, making me splutter. “Their morale is … lacking. A psychological war can be more important than a physical one. And the Sea Wolves won that war long ago.”
Even so I struggled to find a dozen still alive. Ulric, Taymund, Charlie Vane, Ingrid Raider, they were all wounded, but still killing people. I couldn’t see Vincent Heartfire, Siggy Blackeye or Jacob Hearth, but my vision was as much obscured by dead warriors of Ice as living ones. They may have outnumbered them five to one, but they now had five times more dead. The Sea Wolves would never surrender, but the People of Ice were wavering. If they pushed forwards, they’d win, but there was a reluctance in their movements. So many had died, and the remainder were looking for a reason to fall back. Their reluctance got them killed. The few remaining Sea Wolves were mighty warriors, and Lord Ulric was a legend. It was a stark reminder of how powerful an Eastron could be, if they channelled every ounce of their wyrd into combat prowess.
I started to feel light-headed. At first, I attributed it to the gruesome spectacle on the beach and Loco’s restraining arm, but it was something else. Over the sounds of combat, flowing from every clash of steel and shouted word, came the thin whine of a whistle. I couldn’t turn my head, but I knew Ten Cuts was close.
Is this what you wanted? It was the pale man who spoke, his voice coming from far away.
“Not this exactly,” I replied, thinking the words, but not saying them out loud. “I wanted to be with them. I’m not sure I do anymore. I feel like a fool.”
It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I thought you’d understand the vision, but your pain spirit protected your mind. You know the sea is rising, but you can’t recall any details. And your need to be a Sea Wolf is stronger than I anticipated. I need to show you again. You need to see more. And you need to remember what you see.
My eyes were drawn upwards, above the brutal conflict, the warships at anchor, and the encircling cliffs. Twist made me flinch, with ripples of discomfort, pushing my gaze into the clouds, as if he’d finally decided we should remember. From the muddy grey sky, a shape started to form. The mirages, known to appear along the Bright Coast, were a remnant of past void battles and overuse of the glass. This was different. Somehow I was seeing an apparition, superimposed onto the sky. At first it was just an outline of an indistinct shape. Then Twist pushed my eyes up and down, and left and right, and I saw an immense shadow, forming across the horizon. The colossal shape was lacking in colour. Everything else – the rugged, green and grey cliffs, the rolling terrain, and the massed warriors – all appeared vibrant in comparison.
Twist wouldn’t let me look away, as arms and legs gradually formed in the distance, flickering at the shadowy edges, as if caught by a great wind. A giant form loomed over everything, eclipsing the light and casting a vile shadow over the insignificant creatures below. The silhouette was humanoid, with bat-like, membranous wings, and a bulbous head, dripping with tentacles.
The Sunken God strode forwards, sweeping up a warship in its clawed hand, before effortlessly crushing the vessel and flinging it at the beach. The hull splintered, sending lethal shards of wood into the bewildered Sea Wolves. The mountainous creature took a stride forwards, indiscriminately killing a hundred warriors of Ice and Mirralite Pure Ones. Each human was an ant, scattering as quickly as they could, unable to comprehend what they saw. Sea Wolves roared, warriors of Ice ran, Mirralite froze. Most died. They were crushed by its slimy feet, grabbed in its sinewy hands, or gobbled up by its twitching tentacles. Its vile body shimmered in tones of black and grey, almost unreal against the rivers of blood and flesh that now saturated my field of vision.
Twist was afraid. The spirit hugged my leg, causing me no pain, but gripping as tightly as it could, as if it were a small dog, cowed into submission by a loud noise. We’d seen it before, but it had been different. The lines weren’t as clear, and we’d chosen to forget it.
“Duncan!” I wasn’t sure who was talking, and was surprised that I could hear the voice above the deafening carnage below. Men and women screamed as they ran, with no-one mustering the insanity needed to stay and attack, while each footfall of the monster’s flabby limbs made the earth shake.
“Duncan, what is wrong with you?” It sounded like Loco Death Spell. “Stop screaming.” He was grunting with exertion, as if he held someone down.
The Sunken God swept an arm across the low ground, annihilating half the fleeing warriors with one swipe. It then tensed its colossal legs and stood upright on the beach, allowing a tidal wave to wash past its ankles and drown any mortals that remained, eclipsing the ships, the beach, the cliffs, and travelling inland for more than a mile, carrying with it utter darkness and complete destruction.
My face started to sting, as if someone had slapped me, and I realized I was lying on the grassy ridge, with Loco’s hand over my mouth. I stopped screaming and fought back vomit, struggling to turn my head and look at the beach. The Dark Brethren were alarmed, and four short bows were pointed at my head. They still thought I might erupt and kill them, but Twist and I were far too distressed to lash out. I just wanted to look at the Sea Wolves and see if I’d caused the death of the First Fang.
Loco removed his hand and let me move, but only when Blade Smile and the screaming warriors of Ice began to rush past us. They’d broken in the face of the Sea Wolves, and had fled. Through the chaotic retreat, I saw a line of figures, spread out across the rocky beach. They were covered in blood, and they howled to the sky, roaring their challenges at the cowards who had run away. There were eight of them. One hundred had come ashore as the vanguard, but only eight Sea Wolves had fought hard enough to keep their lives. They were truly powerful … and utterly insignificant.
Lord Ulric, Siggy Blackeye, the War Rat and five others, unrecognizable under a second skin of blood. One of them, cheering despite the loss of an arm, looked like Taymund Grief. Another may have been Ingrid Raider, but she was too wounded to stand.
“Fall back,” commanded Blade Smile, his voice crackling with panic. Fifty or so warriors of Ice were retreating in a disorganized mob, seemingly oblivious to their advantage of numbers. Hundreds of them had died, and they had no further will to fight. The Sea Wolves were some kind of evil spirit made flesh, and many of the fleeing warriors of Ice cursed their own foolishness for daring to stand against the First Fang. The Severed Hand had smashed them, and smashed them again, over and over, since Duncan Red Claw and Velya Ice first arrived with the Always King. They’d never been able to stand against the Sea Wolves. Why was now any different?
As the People of Ice retreated, Mirralite Pure Ones hastily erected barricades in the low ground beyond the ridge. They couldn’t fight the Sea Wolves, but they could allow themselves the illusion of corralling them on the beach. Not that their piles of wood and debris would stop the First Fang. He’d come inshore when he wanted to.
As for Twist and I, we could barely think clearly enough to be happy that some had survived. All I could see, as if tattooed on my eyeballs, was the monstrous creature, staggering forth from the depths of the Sunken City, with seaweed and slime oozing from its flabby body. In time, my mind could recover, but it would never be the same. I’d been shown something that mortal creatures were not meant to see and I feared I would never be rid of it. This time I would remember.
*
Where was Inigo Night Walker? Where was the third void legion? Blade Smile practically screeched the questions, over and over again, as hundreds of Sea Wolves made camp on the beach, and began assembling funeral pyres. He asked the questions so many times that Loco retreated to the cliff tops, taking me and his four legionnaires with him. Reinforcements had arrived from Cold Point, and there were now two significant armies, facing each other across Mirralite barricades and burning bodies.
Thanks to me, the Sea Wolves knew only that Vikon Blood was dead. They knew nothing of the rising sea, nor of the importance of Nowhere. They thought they were killing rebels and traitors, not warriors who fought to keep secret a doorway into the distant void. So many had already died in ignorance, and I was tortured by my part in it. Twist dug nails of anger into my leg, and I deserved every ounce of pain the spirit caused me.
“I’ve seen you kill a lot of people,” said Loco, perhaps gaining insight into my facial expressions. “I imagine that must be difficult to bear.” He paused. “I apologize for my earlier sharpness. A void legionnaire should not allow emotion to intrude.”
“I’m sorry too,” I replied. “You were right. You, Inigo, the Grim Wolf, you were all right. The Sea Wolves are too impulsive and violent to understand why you came to Nowhere … and why you attacked the Dead Horse. And I’m a fool for getting so many people killed … why? Because I’m a fucking Sea Wolf.” I snorted the words, angry at what they meant.
From along the cliffs came a tall Dark Brethren. I felt he’d been listening, and chosen this moment to make himself known. He wore a black steel breastplate, under a leather overcoat, and had the bearing of a void legionnaire. He came to a stop, looking down at us. Loco had been sitting next to me, leaning against a tree, with his sword resting across my shoulders. Now, the young Brethren stood and backed away. It was the furthest he’d been from me in days.
“A fucking Sea Wolf?” queried the tall man. “You shouldn’t insult your own people. That’s where you came from. That’s who you are.” He had black hair, with silver streaks, and wore a thin beard. A tattoo was just visible, creeping onto his neck from under his leather collar. It was a blue shape of some kind, but I couldn’t guess at the whole design. “You can’t swing a sword or shout a worthy challenge, but you can save the Eastron from extinction. I’d say you are the most important Sea Wolf who has ever lived.”
Loco and the other four void legionnaires bowed their heads, as a crackling blue aura slowly faded from the tall Dark Brethren. I felt I should stand up, but Twist didn’t want me to. I’d need to massage feeling back into my left leg before I could stand unaided. “You’re new,” I said, scratching at my leg.
“Yes,” he replied, trying not to smile. “I am Marius Cyclone, called the Stranger. We would have met sooner, but there was an assassin sent after me. I believe I have you to thank for thwarting his efforts at the Severed Hand. I suppose I should be honoured that my brother found me as worthy of killing as Prince Oliver Dawn Claw.”
He waved an arm across the cliffs and the rocky beach below, and the air changed. The hairs began to rise on my arms and I felt goose bumps all over my skin. The ambient temperature dropped sharply and mist came from my mouth. I pulled myself upright, using the tree as a crutch. I glared at the Stranger, fighting back the impulse to hate him.
“I am claiming the island of Nowhere,” stated Marius Cyclone. “It must be protected at all costs.”
Small arcs of lightning struck the air all around us, from the beach, across the cliffs, to the low ground. The lightning framed a blue-and-white vortex in the air, drawing hundreds of eyes upwards. Then another appeared, then another, until dozens of whirling storm clouds of fizzing energy surrounded the battlefield. Warriors on both sides showed signs of panic, though the Sea Wolves were slower to move. Even Lord Ulric had taken several backward steps and appeared unsure what was happening.
The largest vortex surged backwards, opening out and forming a tunnel of roiling energy. From the depths of the storm, surrounded by lightning and blue cloud, walked Inigo Night Walker. Behind him, slowly emerging from the tunnel, marched ranks of Dark Brethren. Each vortex became a storm tunnel, and through each came a similar column of warriors, marching in formation. They wore black armour and helms, fashioned into the likeness of an owl, with wide eyepieces. Each held a tall shield and a spear, with a straight sword at the hip. They appeared on the cliffs, the beach, and on every side of the low ground. Rank upon rank of warriors, moving as metal snakes with a rhythmic clank of steel.
