Chapter 145
Of Men and Monsters
The wind rushed through his hair sharp as ice. But he barely felt it. Warmth radiated from the beast below him. He’d ridden horses most of his life. He knew the feeling of power and strength of a horse at a full gallop. The feeling of unstoppable freedom and momentum. It paled in comparison to this. To riding this creature, this beast of untold strength.
An ancient power.
The dawn was approaching. Golden light just starting to peak above the ice of the Nortara sheet. The wall lay before him. He’d seen it before. Bluewater Wall. Although smoke rose from a hundred different spots along it.
The bastions—raised platforms that served as the main defensible points along the wall were—under a heavy barrage of attacks. Hellhounds and their riders were launching themselves onto the wall. A flood of smaller black figures scrambling after them.
The water of Bluewater river was not blue yet. It was still too dark. His mount effortlessly flitted down the rocky mountain path. And then he was in the flood. Part of it. But also… not part of it.
***
Tanlor was exhausted. Every ounce of his strength faded as he stumbled back from an attacking rak. He panted. He felt another pulsing wave of the enemy foebreaker. It was an intense and sudden blast of crippling fear.
It was frustrating because he knew it was a foebreaker doing this to him. And that was how you defended against one. Once you knew your emotions were being manipulated, your edir worked to block the effect. Only an exceptionally stronger foebreaker could push past that, but against this many people? Impossible!
The hellhound wasn’t far off, tearing through the other defenders. Tanlor had lost sight of Daegan. He was somewhere among the chaos. He hoped he’d had the intelligence to flee once he’d realised what was happening. It was all over for them here. Tanlor knew it.
He gritted his teeth, raising his sword to block the attack of the rak. Pushed his weight forward and let out a roar of defiance. He was going to die. But he wasn’t going to die easily. The rak was pushed back towards the edge of the wall and just as Tanlor had been about to rush forward and throw himself and the rak over the side of the wall. A spear burst from the rak’s chest.
A stonespear? The rak was flung forward with the impact towards Tanlor who had to dodge to the side to avoid the collision. There was a rush of wind as something enormous moved past him. He spun and saw a black shadow, like a giant serpent, rippling past him.
What fresh hell is this?
As if rakmen, hellhounds and giant fucking crabs weren’t bad enough. Now this—some demonic serpent come to devour the last of their strength.
But it… wasn’t attacking the defenders. It was going straight for the hellhound.
***
The beast's flesh gave way beneath his fangs, its foul taste spreading through him like rot. It was wrong—decayed death—festering with a life that should not be. But he wasn’t hunting to eat. He was hunting to kill. He was Hralvek, and this was his purpose. His talons raked through the hellhound’s flesh, ripping deep. The draega thrashed and snapped its jaws in vain, never fast enough to catch him.
But Hralvek was also something else now. He wasn’t just Hralvek. He was two again. A pair. He would become one again someday. He’d been two before. Many times. And always the two eventually became one again in time.
The new part of him carried another name—Rowan. He was Hralvek, but he was also still Rowan.
The part of him that was Rowan launched himself from the part of him that was Hralvek. This was something new for Rowan. Rowan was not used to being two… not yet. It confused him to think of Hralvek as also being him.
Rowan had his sword drawn and moved to intercept the attacking rakmen. He moved with the speed and ferocity of the ferrax, faster than any man. He was more like a demon himself now. He knew what he was, yet he’d never heard the term before.
He was soulforged.
And there were others like him on the battlefield. Other soulforged. On both sides. But they were another another kind. The wrong kind. He could feel the pulses of their edirs. The ferrax felt these differently from Rowan. Whereas Rowan had always visualised the edir like another limb reaching out and brushing another. Hralvek’s was like a wave, blanketing the entire battlefield.
He could feel the other runewielders near him. One stood out. Nearby. Strong. Like him. Like Hralvek. A soul that had been many and was now one again. He would find this other. And he would end it.
Rowan noted that the defenders nearby were faltering, their movements sluggish. As though their very wills were being siphoned away… A foebreaker. Strange that the foebreaker’s effect had not touched Rowan’s mind at all. His eyes narrowed, grip tightening on his sword. The rak runewielder’s edir blanketed the bastion. Pulsing out in a way similar to Hralvek’s. Rowan’s head spun, looking for the source.
He could physically see it now that he was focusing on it, the pulses of the rak’s edir came in as faint white waves that emanated from a particular rak. He was standing amidst the carnage like a nexus of power. The rakmen didn't fight in organised formations like the defenders, but on inspection it was clear that this group was clearly forming a guard. A deliberate circle of protection around this rak.
This wasn’t random. This was strategy. And the runewielder at the centre was the architect. Hralvek surged forward, a blur of red and gold, his claws slicing through rakmen as if they were parchment. Rowan followed in the wake of destruction, his blade rising and falling and cutting down rakmen in his path.
A rak lunged, spear raised, but Rowan ducked low, spinning and severing its legs in a single motion. Another came from the side, but Hralvek was faster, his tail snapping out and sending the creature sprawling.
The path to the runewielder narrowed as the protective circle tightened. The rakmen fought harder here. Rowan struck high, then low, his blade meeting flesh and bone. Hralvek leapt over him, landing amidst the remaining rak and scattering them like leaves in a storm.
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And then Rowan was through.
The runewielder turned. It looked much like any other rak. It’s unnerving blue eyes boring into him. Its weapon—a curved staff capped with a jagged stone, seemed more crude than those its companions wielded.
“You,” it rasped, its voice a guttural echo. It spoke Old Esterin but the meaning was now clear to Rowan as if he’d spoken Common tongue. “You are soulforged.”
Rowan didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. His grip tightened on his sword, and the ferrax’s power surged through him, lending speed to his movements. He darted forward, blade aimed for the runewielder’s chest.
The rak moved faster than he expected, its staff spinning to deflect the strike with a clash of steel against stone. Rowan pivoted, driving his shoulder into the creature’s side, but it held firm, its strength matching his own.
Then he felt a blast of the rak’s edir. A centralised force of will. Trying to dominate him. To subdue his mind and push Rowan to his knees.
Rowan staggered back but stayed on his feet.
Another edir pulse passed over him like water over stone. Hralvek’s edir was the stone. And now so was Rowan’s. Hralvek snarled, leaping in to Rowan’s defence, but the draega anticipated the attack. The runewielder raised its staff, and Rowan actually saw the flashing shockwave of his edir erupt before a wall of jagged stone was thrust up from the ground to intercept the ferrax mid-leap.
He could feel new pulses pressing against him, the rak probing for weaknesses. But Rowan wasn’t alone. He focused, drawing on Hralvek’s strength, something that felt instinctual. Rowan sent his own edir surging outward, disrupting the rak’s attack and blasting apart.
The rak faltered, just for a moment, and Rowan seized the opening. He charged, his sword flashing. The rak met him head-on, its staff swinging in a wide arc. Rowan ducked low, closing the distance, and drove his blade upward.
The rak twisted, the sword slicing into its side instead of its heart. It roared in pain, its meaty hand lashing out and catching Rowan’s shoulder. The impact sent him sprawling, his sword skittering across the ground.
Rowan rolled to his feet, his breath ragged.
The rak was advancing on him, its alien face now twisted in pain from Rowan’s attack.
Hralvek—was already moving. Golden antlers gleamed in the hellish glow of the battlefield as the beast charged. The rak turned and swung its staff in a desperate attempt to defend itself. But the ferrax was too fast.
With a bellowing roar, Hralvek lowered his antlers, driving them straight into the rak’s torso. The staff clattered to the ground as the rak was impaled. Blood—blue and viscous—sprayed across the stones. Hralvek heaved upward, lifting the rak clear off the ground, its limbs flailing uselessly as the antlers drove deeper, piercing armour and flesh alike.
Hralvek was terrifying, beautiful… and unstoppable.
With a twist of his neck, Hralvek hurled the rak’s broken body to the side, the impact cracking the stone beneath it. The creature twitched once and then lay still.
But there was no time to marvel at their victory. The ferrax turned back to Rowan, its red-and-gold form steaming in the frigid air, and let out a low growl.
The connection between them flared, a pulse of understanding. The fight was far from over.
Rowan reclaimed his sword, his hand steady despite the adrenaline coursing through him. He looked up at Hralvek, who was already bounding toward the next cluster of rakmen. They would keep moving, together, until there were no more foes left to face.
***
Tanlor clung to the narrow battlement, his greatsword slick with blue blood as he drove it into the chest of a rakman scaling the wall. The creature’s clawed hands scraped against the stone, desperate even in death, before it fell backward into the seething mass below.
His breath came in ragged gasps. The heat from a grenadier’s blast still singed his skin, the force of it having flung him from the bastion moments before. The battlements were crowded with soldiers fighting to repel the endless tide. There was no time to find a clear path back.
Another rakman crested the wall, its jagged axe swinging in a wide arc. Tanlor ducked low, rolling beneath the strike, and came up with a powerful thrust of his blade. The greatsword tore through the rak’s abdomen, its roar cut short as it crumpled.
He spared a glance back up at the bastion platform. He could see the ferrax, a radiant blur of red and gold as it tore through hellhounds and rak chieftains alike. Its massive antlers gored through one rak, flinging the corpse aside before pouncing on another. For a moment, Tanlor could have sworn he saw Rowan, blade flashing, fighting alongside the beast. A fleeting vision of man and monster, side by side, like some ancient myth brought to life.
But there was no time to confirm it. A shrill war cry pierced the air as two more rakmen leapt onto the battlement, their weapons swinging. Tanlor deflected the first strike with a clean parry, sending the rak’s spear spinning into the darkness below. The second rakman came at him fast, its twin blades flashing in the pale early morning light. Tanlor barely sidestepped, the swords slicing through the air where his neck had been.
The ground beneath him shuddered as another grenadier’s blast echoed in the distance. The walls seemed to quake with the ferocity of the assault. Tanlor felt the vibrations reverberate through his boots, heard the shouts of captains barking orders, the horns blaring their desperate calls.
"Hold them back!" someone screamed, their voice hoarse and filled with despair.
He slashed upward, severing the arm of the twin-bladed rakman, and followed it with a heavy kick that sent the creature tumbling back over the wall.
Another flash—the red and gold creature flitting down from the bastion to wreak havoc upon the approaching horde. The ferrax leapt, its claws ripping through a hellhound as its rider screamed.
And Tanlor was sure of it now. Rowan! His brother leapt from the creature's back. His blade moved like a blur, cutting down rakmen with an efficiency that didn’t seem human.
Tanlor wanted to yell out, to confirm what he saw, but another rak clambered over the wall, this one wielding a jagged, rusted sword. There was no time to wonder, no time to do anything but fight. The rak roared, and Tanlor raised his greatsword, ready to meet it head-on. The wall would not fall tonight, not while he still drew breath.
And just as it seemed the tide was now turning in their favour, the ground beneath Tanlor’s feet trembled. A low, ominous rumble that grew into a deafening roar. He staggered, his grip tightening on his greatsword as shouts erupted from the defenders around him.
The battlefield seemed to pause, every soldier—man and rak alike—turning toward the source of the sound.
The ice sheet of the Nortara cracked. A massive fissure snaked its way across the frozen expanse. Then, with an earth-shaking eruption, the ground gave way, and an enormous draega burst forth.
It was like a hellhound, but far larger, its size far more monstrous than its appearance. Its hide was a patchwork of jagged black scales and raw, sinewy flesh. Bone-like spines jutted from its shoulders, and its maw was a cavern of jagged teeth dripping with black ichor. Its six massive legs crashed against the ground as it emerged fully, its roar a sound that seemed to rend the very air.
It had been beneath the ice sheet?! How far had the thing travelled under the ice?
Chunks of ice rained down upon the battlefield, crushing rakmen and defenders indiscriminately. One slab landed mere feet from Tanlor, sending shards slicing through the air. He was thrown off his feet, landing hard on his back, his vision spinning as the cacophony of battle surrounded him.
“Gods above…” he rasped, forcing himself upright. His arms ached as he tried to lift his sword, his legs shaky beneath him. He could hear the screams of soldiers, desperate cries of captains calling for order amidst it all.
The draega surged forward, its massive claws tearing through the frozen earth as it charged toward the wall. It was far too large to move at the speed of its smaller kind. Its thick legs not strong enough to propel its enormous body at such speeds. Each step sent tremors rippling through the ground.
Its roar drowned out the blaring of horns.
Tanlor pushed himself up, his head pounding, and stumbled toward the parapet of the wall. A movement caught his eye—a rak, its hammer raised high, rushing toward him. He turned, his body sluggish, and barely managed to raise his sword. The hammer came down on him, striking him square in the temple.
White-hot pain exploded in his skull, and he fell to the ground. His vision blurred, the sounds of battle muffled as though he were underwater. He tried to move, to grasp for his sword, but his limbs felt like lead.
Through the haze, Tanlor could see it happening.
Further down the wall, near the gate.
The great draega slammed into the wall. Its enormous body smashing through the ancient stone with devastating force.
The stones groaned, cracked, then gave way.
The breach yawned wide in a cloud of dust and debris.
Rakmen poured through the opening, a black tide surging.
Tanlor’s head lolled to the side. The world tilted as his vision darkened, the last thing he saw was the monstrous draega rearing up, silhouetted against the cloud of dust.
Then darkness took him.