The War Born, page 1
PRAISE FOR JAMES A MOORE
“James A Moore is the new prince of grimdark fantasy. His work is full of dark philosophy and savage violence, desperate warriors and capricious gods. This is fantasy for people who like to wander nighttime forests and scream at the moon. Exhilarating as hell.”
– Christopher Golden, New York times bestselling author of Snowblind
“Fast-paced fantasy that you simply can’t put down. Great action adventure.”
– Morpheus Tales
“Gripping, horrific, and unique, James Moore continues to be a winner, whatever genre he’s writing in. Well worth your time.”
– Seanan McGuire, New York Times bestselling author of the InCryptid and Toby Daye series
“Moore has laid the groundwork for a trilogy that promises to be loaded with terrifically grim fantasy storytelling. I might even call it epic. There is a lot of swift, merciless violence in this book, mingled with an undercurrent of very welcome, if very dark, humor. All of it together takes me back to what made me giddy about epic fantasy way back when. I’d say I’m happy to be back, but I’m not sure that’s quite the right word for a book packed with this much violent incident. Let’s say instead that I’m bloody satisfied.”
– Rich Rosell for the B&N Sci-Fi & Fantasy Blog
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
The Tides of War series
The Last Sacrifice • Fallen Gods • Gates of the Dead
The Seven Forges series
Seven Forges • The Blasted Lands
City of Wonders • The Silent Army
The Godless
The Blood Red series
Blood Red • Blood Harvest • Blood of the Damned
The Chris Corin Chronicles
Possessions • Rabid Growth • Newbies
The Serenity Falls Trilogy
Writ in Blood • The Pack • Dark Carnival
The Griffin & Price series (with Charles R Rutledge)
Blind Shadows • Congregations of the Dead • A Hell Within
Alien: Sea of Sorrows
The Predator: Hunters & Hunted
The Haunted Forest Tour (with Jeff Strand)
Bloodstained Oz (with Christopher Golden)
Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Chaos Bleeds
Cherry Hill
Deeper
Fireworks
Harvest Moon
Homestead
Under the Overtree
Vampire: House of Secrets (with Kevin Andrew Murphy)
Vendetta
Werewolf: Hellstorm
The Wild Hunt
Slices (stories)
This is Halloween (stories)
ANGRY ROBOT
An imprint of Watkins Media Ltd
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The End of An Era
An Angry Robot paperback original, 2023
Copyright © James A. Moore, 2023
Cover by Alejandro Colluci and Sneha Alexander
Edited by Paul Simpson and Robin Triggs
Set in Meridien
All rights reserved. James A. Moore asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Sales of this book without a front cover may be unauthorized. If this book is coverless, it may have been reported to the publisher as “unsold and destroyed” and neither the author nor the publisher may have received payment for it.
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ISBN 978 1 91520 261 1
Ebook ISBN 978 1 91520 276 5
Printed and bound in the United Kingdom by TJ Books Limited
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d_r0
For Tessa, who completes me, and to all the nice folks who’ve made it through these books, thank you very kindly!
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER ONE
The mountain loomed above them all, a freshly grown tower of unearthed stone that bled smoke and molten rock from its top. Nearly a hundred soldiers did their best to recover from watching the volcano birthed on the steppes, most so stunned by the unexpected appearance of several thousand feet of jagged outcroppings and peaks that they could barely manage the luxury of thinking coherently.
Merros Dulver considered himself a good man and a decent leader. He was in charge of the armies of the Fellein Empire because Nachia Krous, the Empress, and Desh Krohan, her First Advisor, agreed with that assessment. That fact did not change how he felt as he looked up at the black rock or the fiery halo it sported near the very highest points.
He had seen other mountains force themselves from the land in the past, but never so close.
The skies above were as black as the freshly risen stone, save where flames licked at the underbellies of the newly formed clouds. Not far away, Darsken Murdro of the Inquisition was also recovering from the unexpected birth.
From above came the sound of horns blowing. Merros knew the type. Somehow the new mountain had come complete with enough soldiers to need horns to call the troops to arms.
“This day is one I’ll remember, I expect.” He was speaking to himself, but the Inquisitor laughed just the same, shaking his head and looking at Merros as if he’d just made the funniest possible jest.
Maybe he had. You simply had to appreciate it in the moment.
From far above them the horns echoed, and the heavy tread of infantrymen made itself known even over the rumble of the nascent volcano.
Which god was this, Merros wondered? Which of the Seven Forges had moved itself to a new location? He had seen all of the mountains over time, had seen them first where they were originally located and then where they had moved themselves when the gods willed it, but this vast stone structure did not look at all familiar.
The sound of the rumbling from the mountain changed and Merros closed his eyes, listening as carefully as he could. Spend enough time in an army and certain noises become familiar. The tread of a thousand soldiers sounds different than the marching of a thousand horses, for example. What he was hearing was definitely not infantry.
“We have cavalry above us,” he muttered. “How in the name of all the gods is that possible?”
“Not gods, Merros Dulver.” The voice was that of the sorcerer that had been sent with him as a messenger of the empire. Try though he might, he still could not remember her name. Desh Krohan had insisted that one of his wizards accompany them on their quest, the better to offer quick reports to the First Advisor and the Empress. The woman speaking to him was heavyset and older than him, with gray hair shot with streaks of brown. She had wisely stayed out of his way for most of the trip but availed herself to him when he needed to communicate. Now she spoke plainly, but with a different voice. She was passing on a message from Desh Krohan.
“This is the work of the Wellish Overlords. I can sense them. They have awakened, as I feared they would.”
“Well, can you put them back to sleep?”
The woman shook her head. “No. You need to rally your troops and get away from there before it is too late.”
“It’s already too late! I have soldiers coming down the mountainside. I can’t see them yet, but I can hear them!”
Next to him Darsken nodded and moved closer, looking up at the mountain, frowning as he tried to spot any sign of the horses and men they could already hear. The horns sounded again, a long solemn note that promised pain in the near future.
The horses showed themselves as if coming from a hidden passage – and perhaps they were. Sorcery was upon them, and Merros knew from experience that where magic was concerned, almost anything was possible.
They did not charge down the mountain. They could not, there were no clearly discernable passages or pathways. The riders were at the mercy of their mounts, who were in turn at the mercy of the terrain. They might have longed for easy combat but that was not what they received. Instead the horses moved carefully, placing hooves where they could in order to avoid sliding down the slope and falling to their deaths.
Merros gestured to one of the foot soldiers standing nearby. “Sound the alarm! Call the troops to order.” The man stared at him gape-mouthed for a moment and then remembered the horn he was carrying. A moment later, despite the dazed expression on his face, he managed to blow into the horn and a clear note rang out. The reaction was exactly what Merros would have hoped for on any occasion. Soldiers who, like him, had been staring at the mountain, shook off their shock and prepared to meet their enemy or retreat as Merros decided.
From above, the cavalry continued to descend and, yes, now he heard foot soldiers moving behind them. Though the angle made them nearly impossible to see, he expected a very large number of them. One of his reasons for coming to the Wellish Steppes had been to solve the mystery of where so many mercenaries might have gone. He’d followed the latest trails of freelance soldiers into the area and remained baffled when they disappeared ahead of him. He understood now where all of the mercenaries had been hiding. Alright, not how they had hidden on a mountain that had only just showed up, but that was the nature of sorcery, and it continued to annoy him constantly.
“They will reach us soon.” Darsken was staring at the slowly descending soldiers. “Do you have archers?”
“I have no proof that they mean to attack.”
“They are sounding war horns, are they not?”
“Good point.”
Merros walked over to where the troops were gathering as best they could under the circumstances. Most of his men had been on horses. Those horses had decided to vacate the area as soon as the mountain started forcing itself from the ground. Getting them back was not likely to happen any time soon.
“Who has spears? Who has bows? If you’ve got ranged weapons, form on my left!” Not nearly as many as he would have liked were answering favorably. As most of his equipment had left with his horse, he understood why.
The horns above him blew again, and before he could call on his men to sound off, another, different horn responded.
They came out of the Blasted Lands, or what he assumed were the Blasted Lands. In the past the endless storms of the Blasted Lands had separated the Sa’ba Taalor, the grey-skinned warriors who followed the gods of the Seven Forges, from Fellein. There were mystical properties to those storms, as Merros knew after spending half a year moving through them, but they had gone away when the war with the people of the forges had ended.
They had come back not long ago, storms that did not move but instead surrounded each of the seven volcanoes and locked them away from easy sight. From where he stood, the mountain hid away the closest of the storms, but he knew it existed because Desh Krohan’s wizards had found out about them and reported on their reappearance.
Yet more sorcery. Yet more madness. He clenched his jaw unconsciously at the very notion.
The Sa’ba Taalor came from the direction of the storms, and they came in great numbers. Merros felt his stomach twist at the very notion of their arrival. The last time he’d seen large numbers of the gray skins they’d been in the process of killing his soldiers.
Even from a distance he recognized the leader of the group. The man at the head of the charge was Tarag Paedori, the King in Iron, the very same man who had led the assault on Fellein five years earlier. But for the interference of another of his people, Drask Silver Hand, he would likely have ruled all Fellein.
There looked to be several hundred of his people following him.
The man did not even seem to notice Merros. Instead, he rode toward the newly formed mountain, and looked up toward the pinnacle.
Merros decided to be seen. If there was going to be war between their people again, he wanted to know about it before the battle started.
Even as he walked toward the King in Iron, another of the rulers of the Sa’ba Taalor made himself known.
Tarag Paedori was a massive man. He was taller than Merros, broader than Merros, and almost the largest man Merros had ever seen.
He was second to only Tuskandru, the King in Obsidian. It was Tusk who charged in now with another army of his followers, and this time he brought people on horseback with him.
Merros managed to not look panicked. He stared first at Paedori and then at Tuskandru, drinking in the details of the men as they moved closer to each other and looked up the mountain.
Rather than try explaining, Merros moved closer to the two kings, fully aware that they were almost as likely to war with each other as they were to war with him. They were followers of different war gods. Even when they fought against a common enemy, they shared a history of conflicts that ran back decades at the very least.
“Merros Dulver!” came a bellow. Tuskandru looked his way with a broad, eager smile on his scarred face. The man rode toward him on the predatory mount that carried him into almost every combat situation, and reached down to give him a familiar thump on his shoulder. Merros managed not to fall over, but he had a moment of doubt about his ability to keep his feet. “It has been far too long.”
“Yes, well, the last time we saw each other we were at war. Tends to make socializing a bit more challenging.” He resisted the urge to rub at the sore spot on his shoulder.
“You are still a funny man.” Tusk looked up the side of the mountain. “These are your soldiers approaching?”
“No, not in the least.”
“Then who do they follow?”
“They’re mercenaries. I came here to find out who they follow.”
“I think they are enemies of the Sa’ba Taalor. They sound war horns.”
“To be fair, they may not even know you’re here.” Merros looked up the side of the mountain himself, uncertain as to how many soldiers were up there and heading down.
“Where is your horse?” asked Tusk.
“Didn’t seem to like the mountain growing from the ground. The nag bucked me.”
Tusk laughed and swatted his shoulder again. “So, you ride with me. This time we fight on the same side!” Before Merros could comment, the man was grabbing his arm and lifting him into the air. Merros resisted the urge to fight, realizing that Tusk was making a friendly gesture. A moment later he was seated in front of Tusk on the broad back of the mount.
Before he could truly settle himself – or protest for that matter – Tusk urged the great beast forward and Merros was forced to grab onto the thick mane of the creature to keep his seat.
The ride was nothing at all like being on a horse. Tusk pressed up against him from behind and the muscular mount surged under him, leaping and charging up the mountain’s steep slope even as others of the gray skins began their ascent. Tarag Paedori rode next to them, his face hidden behind a scowling visage made of iron. All around them the Sa’ba Taalor moved in a wave toward the descending mercenaries.
Horns sounded from both sides and before the notes had finished rolling across the sheer face of the mountain the two groups gathered in bloody combat.
The mercenaries were unorganized, and if anyone was leading the attack, they were doing a poor job of it. The Sa’ba Taalor on the other hand were synchronized despite their chaotic appearance. Spears dropped into place and lancers charged forward, striking the descending warriors, impaling some and unseating others. The mounts were predators, and the horses were their prey. Great claws lashed out, rending flesh, tearing riders from their saddles, even as the horses began to panic.
In seconds the full brunt of the descending mercenaries hit the Sa’ba Taalor. Their horses may have been spooked but there was nowhere for them to go but down toward the mounts, and the creatures reared back, attacking savagely. Merros would have been thrown for certain, but Tusk held onto him and kept him from falling, laughing as the great beast he rode lunged forward and tore the throat from the closest equine.
A moment later Tusk was dropping from his mount and not so gently pulling Merros after him. It was for the best, as Tusk’s mount attacked the next horse and rider, pulling both down savagely and ripping into them with claws and teeth.
By the time Merros had regained his balance, the fighting had become a proper battlefield. Soldiers fought desperately as they collided with the Sa’ba Taalor. Merros had enough time to draw his sword before the first of his enemies descended, letting out a hoarse battle cry and swinging a mace at the general.
Merros’ heart raced and he let out a cry of his own, dancing back from the attempt to bash in his skull and hacking halfway through his attacker’s arm with his blade. The man was screaming and bleeding yet still he tried to hit Merros. His mace fell from his wounded arm and the screamer looked almost comically surprised when the weapon hit the ground instead of the general.
Merros feinted with his sword and then drove his dagger into the side of the bastard’s neck. Beside him Tusk very nearly split a man in half with a weapon that seemed more axe than sword, despite the long blade. He drove his shoulder into another mercenary and sent the man staggering backward, directly into the great sword of Tarag Paedori.
