Redemption (Book 6) (32 page)

The boy turned and gasped. He didn’t even try to raise his sword.

The werewolf pounced with a shattering roar, drowning out Wilkes’ scream. It latched its powerful jaws onto the lad’s shoulder, and knocked him clean off his terrified mount.

The riderless horse bolted.

The werewolf tore at Wilkes' shoulder.

The boy screamed.

Kendril drew the revolving chamber pistol, the one he had taken off the Merewithian mercenary he had killed more than a month before. He snapped back the flintlock hammer, then fired.

The gun kicked in his hand like an obstinate mule. The flash and roar drowned out all Kendril’s senses for a split second.

The force of the shot knocked the werewolf off Wilkes. The beast rolled once, howling in pain. It looked up again, straight at Kendril.

Kendril snapped back the hammer, revolving the chamber to the next pre-loaded charge.

The werewolf snarled and hurled itself forward.

Kendril fired again.

The blast hit the werewolf square in the jaw. Its head lurched to the side.

Another werewolf came running in on all fours from Kendril’s right. It howled and yipped as it crossed the ground.

Wilkes screamed and sobbed at the same time. His shoulder was a bloody mess. He rolled about on the muddy ground, weeping.

The first werewolf stood, baring its claws and teeth. It bellowed in rage.

Kendril swore aloud. He cocked back the pistol and fired again.

The third shot punched right into the creature’s open mouth and out the back of its head. It toppled back to the ground and writhed in its death throes.

At least, Kendril
hoped
it was its death throes.

He turned, bringing the smoking pistol to bear on the second werewolf. He raised his rapier in his off hand, ready to strike.

The beast was coming right at him, its slavering mouth open and its golden eyes gleaming cruelly.

Kendril’s horse stamped nervously, ready to bolt.

Kendril pulled the trigger on the revolving gun.

The gun sparked and sizzled. Blue smoke poured from the revolving chamber and the barrel.

A misfire.

Kendril jerked back the flintlock with his thumb to try the fifth chamber.

He never made it

With a howl the werewolf leapt up at Kendril, jaw open to bite.

Kendril lashed up with his rapier, feeling the solid blade cut deep into flesh. The next moment the solid bulk of the huge creature slammed into him. Kendril tumbled from the saddle, hearing the horse’s scream. His back slammed into the ground, hard enough to knock the breath out of his lungs. Hot, fetid breath was in his face. The jaws of the werewolf clasped and scrabbled on his lobster helm.

He wasn’t going to die. Not like this. Not tonight.

Kendril shoved his pistol up blindly, feeling cruel claws cutting into his side.

A snarl as deep as a bass drum sounded in his face.

Kendril fired.

The pistol blasted back in his hand.

The heavy weight left him. A yelping and howling filled the air.

Kendril pulled himself to his feet. He was gasping for breath, his nose filled with the stench of gunpowder. His whole body ached, and the acrid taste of blood was in his mouth. He turned, the smoking pistol still in his hand.

The werewolf was scrambling to its feet. Its eyes were filled with a pain-stoked rage.

Kendril forced his bruised body to step forward. He leveled the pistol at the monstrosity and fired again.

The flash and lurch of the pistol felt good in his grip.

The werewolf’s head lurched back in an explosion of fur and bone. It crumpled back to the ground.

Kendril stuck the smoking pistol into his belt and turned back to the first werewolf.

It had stopped moving. Dead, hopefully.

“Eru! Eru it hurts!” Wilkes wailed. He pressed his free hand against the shredded remains of his shoulder.

“Hold on, Wilkes,” Kendril shouted. He spun, looking frantically in all directions.

A group of tattooed Jombards rushed towards him.

Kendril drew his second revolving pistol and readied his rapier.

Horse hooves sounded behind him. “Sir!” came Beckett’s voice. “We have to move!”

“Get Wilkes!” Kendril shouted without looking around. “Get him to Redemption!” He fired the pistol at the nearest Jombard, not waiting for a response.

The warrior went down.

Kendril clicked the chamber, then fired again. And again.

The Jombards pressed in around him, screaming and stabbing at him with swords and spears.

Kendril’s rapier flashed and whistled through the air. He cut down one warrior after another, firing his pistol at point-range until the chamber clicked empty.

Beckett charged in, knocking down the last barbarian. A slash of his sword made sure the man wouldn’t get up again. “Sir, where’s your horse?”

“Run off.” Kendril turned to the mounted captain. “Get Wilkes. Get him out of here. I’ll find another horse.” He ran over to the fallen boy, and boosted him up. “Come on, man, hurry!”

Beckett jumped off his horse and grabbed the screaming Wilkes.

Between the two of them they managed to get Wilkes up onto the back of Beckett’s horse.

Beckett turned to Kendril. “Take the horse, sir. I’ll—”

“Not a chance,” Kendril said. He glanced over at a nearby group of Jombards in the darkness. “I said I’ll find another horse. Now go or the boy will bleed to death.”

Beckett hesitated, his face torn with indecision.

“I’m
ordering
you, for Eru’s sake,” Kendril bellowed. “Now get moving, Captain!”

Beckett finally turned, jumping up onto the horse. “I’m coming back for you, sir.”

“No you’re
not
,” Kendril snarled. “Don’t stop until you reach Redemption.” He slapped the horse’s flank.

Beckett and Wilkes thundered off towards the south. Their mounted form soon vanished in the gloom.

Kendril spun, his rapier out and ready. He wiped rain from his eyes with his free hand. He expected to see a sea of Jombard warriors cascading towards him.

Instead, there was a line of Jombard warriors standing at a distance. They were chanting. From behind their ranks came wailing and squealing pipes.

Kendril felt suddenly alone and exposed. Why weren’t the barbarians surging forward? What were they—?

Then he saw him.

The Great Fang was walking across the body-strewn ground, his huge longsword held easily in one hand. The Soulbinder pulsed and crackled around his neck. He looked directly at Kendril. “You ran from me before, Demonbane. Are you afraid?”

Kendril slid his left foot back, finding as solid a footing as he could in the slick mud. “I don’t know. Why don’t you ask these two werewolves?”

The Great Fang threw back his head and laughed. “You have spirit, Demonbane. I expected no less from you. It is our destiny to meet here on this battlefield, to fight as warriors in service to our gods.”

“You speak our language well,” Kendril said. He put both hands on the hilt of his rapier. “I’m impressed.”

The Great Fang kept coming forward. “I am no uncultured barbarian. I have studied you and your kind, Demonbane. The nations of the west, who profess to be so civilized.” He chuckled. “In fact, you are soft. Weak. Ripe for conquest.”

“Right,” said Kendril. Try as he might, he couldn’t take his eyes off the Soulbinder that hung around the barbarian chieftain’s neck. “Nice necklace, by the way.”

“Ah,” said the Great Fang with a smile. He fingered the pendant. “You have seen one of these before, no doubt? In Vorten?”

Kendril glanced over the line of Jombard warriors. They were still maintaining a respectable distance, chanting and banging spears and swords on wicker shields.

The Great Fang hefted his large sword. “Vorten was nothing, Demonbane. Only the beginning.” He spread his arms wide to encompass the battlefield around them. “This,
this
is the true rise of the Seteru. As it should be. In blood, and fire.”

Kendril grimaced. His thigh was aching badly. It was all he could do not to grunt out loud at the pain. “Indigoru already tried that in Vorten,” he said. “It didn’t work out very well for her.”

The Great Fang stopped about ten feet away from Kendril. His towering, muscled body was like a dark phantom in the night. “This isn’t Vorten, Demonbane. And I think you will find that Harnathu isn’t Indigoru.”

Kendril gritted his teeth. “All right, are we all done making small talk? If we’re going to kill each other, let’s get at it.”

The Great Fang swung his heavy blade in front of him. “I like you, Demonbane. Who knows? In another life, we might have been friends, you and I.”

“I seriously doubt it.” Kendril jumped forward. He swung his rapier down in a two-handed chop.

With a speed that was surprising for his size, the Great Fang swept up his sword to block the attack.

The blades clanged together, thrumming in the gently falling rain.

The Great Fang disengaged his blade and slashed at Kendril.

Kendril jumped back. He barely managed to lift his rapier to parry the blow. The impact of the longsword against his rapier jolted all the way up his arm. He stumbled a step, off-balance.

“You are smaller than I expected,” said the Great Fang. He swung again, his blade aimed squarely at Kendril’s head.

“I get that a lot.” Kendril deflected the strike. He was pushed back another step. He took a breath, then stabbed forward at the Jombard chieftain.

The Great Fang leapt to one side with a startling agility. He brought his sword around again at Kendril’s head.

Off-balance, Kendril couldn’t block the attack in time. The blade hammered against the side of his lobster helm. Purple and white stars exploded crazily across his vision. He slammed onto his side into the mud. His head ached. He could feel a wet trickle of blood down his cheek.

“Disappointing,” the Great Fang mused. He swung his blade in a great circle in the air. The blade hummed. “I expected more from you, Demonbane.”

Kendril wanted badly to throw back a snarky remark, but his vision was still off and he felt sick to his stomach. He lurched back to his feet and tottered back a few steps.

If he hadn’t been wearing his lobster helm, the sword blow would have taken his head off. He was getting soft, and slow.

Kendril blinked, trying to clear the splotches from his sight. His head was pounding like a sledgehammer. He brought the rapier down into a ready position. His whole body throbbed with pain.

Some Demonbane.

The Great Fang turned, a cold smile on his face. “After I kill you, I will destroy Redemption. I will burn the town, along with everyone in it.”

“Sounds like a stellar plan,” Kendril gasped. He managed to say the words without throwing up, which he thought a marvelous accomplishment.

The Great Fang stepped towards Kendril again. “It is all an offering for Harnathu. The victory will be his, not mine.”

Kendril lashed out with his sword again, more cautiously this time.

The Great Fang blocked each strike, and deflected every lunge.

Kendril fell back, defeated and out of breath.

The Great Fang shook his head. “Is this really all the great Demonbane of Vorten has to offer?”

“Tuldor’s beard,” Kendril said, “don’t you ever just shut up?” He thrust the rapier at the chieftain yet again.

The Great Fang parried the attack, then cut in with a quick riposte.

Kendril dodged back. He felt the edge of the Great Fang’s longsword swipe across the steel cuirass he wore.

The armor he wore was saving his life, but it was also slowing him down, making him more sluggish than usual. He had fought so long without it as a Ghostwalker that it was hard to get used to it again.

The Great Fang flexed his muscles and smiled patronizingly. “Come, Demonbane. Face me like a man. You do not want to die like a terrified woman, do you?”

Kendril took a couple steps back, his booted feet sliding a little in the mud. He reached up and yanked off the lobster helm, then dropped it off to one side. The cold drizzle and wind felt suddenly strange and fresh on his sweaty and bloody face.

The Great Fang nodded approvingly. “You shed your armor. For a true warrior, the strength of his arm and the courage of his heart is all the armor he needs.”

“Whatever,” Kendril grunted. He reached up and yanked hard on the straps that held his cuirass in place. Once loosened, he shook off the steel armor. It slid to the ground with a heavy thud.

A sudden cold gust of wind cut across the field, chill and bitter.

Kendril snatched a Jombard short sword off the ground, and held it in his off-hand. “All right, Fang-boy, let’s dance,” he snarled.

The Great Fang lowered his head and charged forward.

Kendril leapt to meet him.

Blade clashed on blade, hammering into the night air. Both men grunted and panted as they ducked, weaved, and parried.

Spinning around, Kendril slashed open the top of the Great Fang’s arm with his short sword. He retreated, bringing both his swords up again.

The Great Fang caught his breath, smiling at the blood that ran down his arm. “Now
that
is more what I expect from the man called Demonbane. Some fire at last.”

“I’m just getting warmed up,” Kendril spat. His arms were ached, his back felt like it was one giant black bruise, his leg throbbed relentlessly, and his head was still ringing. Still, he felt somehow freer without the armor.

Almost like he felt like himself again. The
real
Kendril.

The Great Fang threw himself at Kendril.

Kendril was ready for him. He parried the pounding blow of the chieftain’s sword, then slashed back with his rapier.

The chanting of the Jombards grew louder.

Kendril turned, then stabbed with his sword.

The Great Fang grabbed Kendril’s wrist with a vice-like grip, stopping the thrust. He smiled, then kicked Kendril hard in the stomach.

It was like getting kicked by a horse. Kendril flew back and slipped in the mud, then slammed onto his back. He retched, unable to breathe. Pain was his whole world.