Fire And Steel (The Merryweather Chronicles Book 2) (18 page)

      Teague tried to pull himself to his feet, but fell down when his back screamed in protest. He lay on the ground and stared at a strange figure fighting the wolf. The long cloak hanging from his savior’s shoulders billowed out as the fight continued, the two fighters nearly evenly matched. The other wolves had fallen back as their alpha launched a blur of powerful blows at the rescuer. It should have been enough to cut the other to pieces, but somehow the sword was always there to turn away the long spear before it could touch anything but air.

      Rough hands suddenly grabbed Teague up by his arms and he was being dragged to his feet by Faux. The federal agent was covered in sweat, his rifle hanging loose from his shoulder. Winston and Underhill were crouched beside Baker, who was still on his back. Underhill watched the fight before them with wide eyes, a splash of blood marring his scarred cheek.

      Baker wasn’t moving.

      Teague tried to go to his friend, but Faux stopped him. He just shook his head and steered Teague toward one of the waiting vehicles. The other two men followed, leaving Baker where he lay. Teague let himself be put into the backseat of his own vehicle, staring hard at the parking lot and the bodies scattered across the concrete and the two warriors fighting it out in the moonlight. The other wolves were ignoring the retreating survivors as they watched the alpha fight the interloper.

      Teague’s gaze dropped to the dark hump that was his dead friend and felt his face tightening in anger and an anguish that was paralyzing. This had to end and it had to end soon. The price was far too high for failure. If the gateway wasn’t closed tonight, Teague would never be able to live with the guilt. Good men had died tonight and it was on him and nobody else.

      It had to be worth it. Their lives had to count for something.

      Gerrick slipped past the slashing spear and drove a hard kick into the alpha grohlm’s face, or at least that was his intention. But the wolf was too damn fast and the kick caught only air and Gerrick was forced to dance backwards, sword flashing as he fought to keep the wolf’s spear from touching him. The armor bore more than a few deep scars from him being too slow, but it was doing its job. He’d taken no wounds yet.

      He was still somewhat amazed by the lightweight composite the armor was made of, at its strength and how flexible it was. He had allowed a mistrust of technology to keep him mired in old traditions for far too long. Brandon coming to Highgarden had opened him up to new ways of doing things.

      After so many years, it was nice to know he could still learn new things.

      The surviving hunters had made it to one of their vehicles and were already driving away from the fight, broken and bloodied. But it could’ve been far worse. Gerrick hoped they knew that. With one less thing to worry about, Gerrick was able to focus on the fight before him.

      The wolf had noticed the hunter’s departure as well. It leapt clear and chuffed at the other wolves, who had started moving in, as if to join the fight against Gerrick. The others backed off, growling and staring hard at their leader. The packmaster turned and faced Gerrick, its malevolent gaze glittering with a far too human intelligence. It paced in front of him, its spear tapping lightly against its armored thigh.

      Gerrick did nothing. Standing still, his muscles loose, he waited and watched for the attack that was to come. The wolf’s mouth lolled open in a hideous grin and it raised the spear and rapped it against his chest. The blade rang off the steel and the wolf growled. It spoke in a gutteral voice. “Nashoba.”

      Gerrick said nothing. The wolf, Nashoba, gestured with his blade again and the other wolves began to move in a slow circle around the two warriors, rattling their blades against their cobbled together armor. Nashoba pulled a second spear and advanced on Gerrick, tongue lolling from its grinning mouth.

      Gerrick waited until it was almost upon him before exploding into motion, launching himself at it, his sword a blur as he sought to end the fight before it started. The wolf blocked the attack, turning the blade aside with his shield, and drove the second spear at Gerrick’s stomach. Gerrick spun, the sharpened steel missing him by centimeters, and smashed his elbow into the wolf’s muzzle.

      There was a stinging pain in his shoulder and blood splashed Gerrick’s armor. The wolf ducked a slash that would have severed its head and planted a kick into Gerrick’s chest that sent the big man crashing to the ground. Gerrick rolled to his feet, swinging his sword even as he fought for breath, but the wolf had backed off.

      It dropped its muzzle, licking at a smear of blood on its armor, then looked up at Gerrick. Nashoba growled low in his throat and chuffed at the surrounding wolves. They moved in, circling Gerrick with their weapons ready, and Nashoba grinned at Gerrick. “Now you die.”

      Gerrick watched the big wolf leave, disappearing into the darkness, its heat signature moving in the direction Brandon had gone, and rushed to meet the wall of fangs and steel that stood in his way. 

Chapter 18

      Casting a pale glow through the overhanging tree limbs, the moon stood above the Briar woods, filling up the cloudless night sky. Brandon turned off the thermal optics soon after leaving his uncle. Between the moonlight and his own enhanced senses, Brandon had no trouble moving silently through the shadows. The light rain turned into a heavy mist a mile from where he left Gerrick and the hunters, soaking through his cloak and feeding him strength as he moved through the high grass and brambles.

      Brandon held onto the emptiness as well as he could while he moved, but the inside of his mind form the perfect void. Instead of the small lock box that he normally found in the darkness, Brandon found Rok. Floating inside the emptiness of his mind, the polished stone was vivid and fully realized, like a 3D image. It glowed faintly and pulsed with his slowing heartbeat, pulling all of his stray thoughts and fears into itself. When Brandon tried to visualize the box instead, the glow from the stone intensified and Rok's voice filled his head.
Where are we without trust, Bran? Let me help you. Let me make you stronger.

      Brandon didn't respond. But he stopped trying to make the stone disappear from his mind, allowing it to float, undisturbed, in the emptiness. He let Rok have all of his fear and anxiety, letting the God of the Earth protect him, same as the Goddess of the Rain.

      The forest became thicker and darker the deeper he went, slowing him down and making it more difficult to move without disturbing the brush. Brandon used the shadows to become invisible, moving from tree to tree like a dark specter. His twin swords were unsheathed, the blades painted a matte black that vanished against his forearms.

      The forest was silent as he passed. No chirp of crickets. No animals, scampering up trees or cutting through the bushes ahead of him. Nothing. It was as if everything in the forest was dead.

      Or hiding.

      This was further into the Briar woods than Brandon had ever gone before. The trees reared up, blocking out the moonlight, their twisted and tangled limbs creating a patchwork of shadows on the ground at Brandon’s feet. He was tempted to use the night vision, but didn’t. He could see well enough to keep going. If there were grohlm, they were staying far away. As if holding back, for some unknowable reason.

      Brandon kept moving. The rain was steady now, but still light and cool. He felt strength soaking into his body, washing away any weariness he may have felt at the late hour or the long hike through the woods. 

      Inside his head, Brandon felt a sudden change in the glow emanating from the rock floating inside his empty mind and the skin of his forearm went cold where the rock rested against it. He had tucked the stone inside his arm guard, against his bare flesh, before he left Highgarden. The stone spoke to him, its voice soft inside his skull.
Can you feel the doorway yet? Can you feel its pull, pointing you in the right direction?

      Brandon didn’t answer right away. Because he could feel exactly what the god was talking about. A subtle tug, seeming to radiate from the center of his chest, pulling him in a more easterly direction. Brandon stopped and focused his entire being on the feeling calling to him from that direction. The soft tug became something else entirely. “I can feel it.” He said aloud, his words silenced by his mask’s noise bafflers. There was a bright spot in the distance, calling to him. Drawing him ever onward.

      There was no denying it.

      He continued on, moving steadily east and deeper into the woods. The moon was just a pale shape flickering through the trees above, barely even cutting through the thick branches overhead anymore. The darkness was nearly complete, yet Brandon could still see just fine. It wasn’t as if was daytime, but the shadows were lighter to him than they should have been. “Is this you?” He said aloud to the god tucked up his sleeve. “Is this part of your powers?”

      Rok didn’t respond. But Brandon thought he could detect a sort of gloating warmth to the presence inside his skull. So Brandon stopped questioning and said a silent prayer of thanks to both of the gods that were traveling with him through the darkness.

      With all of the power coursing through him, Brandon was disappointed to realize that the grohlm were either gone or they were ignoring him completely. He stopped wasting energy trying to stay silent and just ran towards the source of the siren call dragging him deeper and deeper into the Briar woods. Whatever was keeping the grohlm back, whether it was the cold protection of Sha’ha’Zel or something even more sinister, Brandon wouldn’t waste time questioning it. The faster he found and closed the gateway, the quicker he could return to help his uncle and the hunters.

      Brandon was so focused on what he would do after he found the doorway that he almost passed it by. It was Rok that stopped him, the glow inside his head intensifying and pulsing brightly. He said.
It’s close. Be careful, there are terrible powers at work this night.

      Brandon stopped and studied the shadows surrounding them. It all just looked like the same old forest to Brandon. Dark and foreboding, twisted vines climbing the massive trees and tangled branches overhead. He winced as the calling twisted like a hook in his gut, making him turn and stumble further into the darkness. “Where is it?"

     
It’s just up ahead.
Rok actually seemed nervous. The glow in Brandon’s mind had a muted dimness to it, as if something was trying to pull the god away from him. As if sensing Brandon’s sudden uneasiness, Rok said.
I may not be able to speak directly to you for a time, but do not be afraid. I am with you, Brandon Merryweather. My strength is yours.

     
Brandon said a silent thank you to his friend and let the now muted glow in his mind have his uncertainty and fear, feeding it all to it until there was nothing left but the emptiness. He closed his eyes and focused inward, searching for the tug of the gateway, and found it.

      Just ahead.

      The forest opened up and Brandon stepped out into the moonlight, into a flattened circle of high grass and weeds, and found what he was seeking. In the center of the clearing was the shattered remnant of an old well. At least that’s what it appeared to be at first sight. But, when he got closer, he saw that it wasn’t a well at all.

      It was the broken top of a stone tower, stabbing upward out of a heaped mound of overgrown weeds and debris. In the center of the mound was a ragged hole edged with ripped vines and broken roots. Rough stone steps emerged from the torn soil, winding their way around and around, disappearing into the earth, vanishing into the darkness below.

      Brandon crept around the gaping mouth into the earth, careful of traps or any grohlm that may have been lurking about, waiting to pounce. Upon closer inspection, he found that the hole was larger than it appeared originally. Large enough for a human. He stepped onto the first step and stared hard into the darkness below, then activated his helmet’s night vision. He keyed his microphone and spoke softly. “Gerrick, I’m at the entrance to the gateway. How far out are you?”

      Brandon didn’t really expect an answer, so he was surprised when his uncle’s voice came low and collected in his ear. “Not far.” He might’ve sounded a bit winded, but that could also have been feedback from the bud in his ear. “Hold position until I arrive.”

      Brandon crouched at the opening and watched the shadows surrounding the forest oasis, searching for the grohlm that were surely watching. But seeing nothing. From somewhere deep below, he felt a powerful pull, overriding the forward thinking part of his brain. Speaking directly to the lizard part of his being. If asked, Brandon wouldn’t be able to say what made him take those first few steps, but as soon as he started moving he knew it was the right thing to do.

      The interior of the broken tower was overgrown with hanging vines and the rough stone was crusted with mold for the first ten feet or so, but it cleared away the deeper he went. Brandon moved steadily down the steps, swords out before him, and felt the pressure in his chest loosen the further he went. The steps broadened and opened up the further down that Brandon went, the rough stone becoming smoother and less broken. A pale light began to emanate from the walls of the tower, forcing Brandon to turn off his helmet’s night vision. The shadows were thick, but he was able to see quite well the deeper he got.

      Brandon counted 500 steps before he found the first door. The stairs broadened into a large open chamber. The rounded ceiling was decorated with strange glowing symbols, scrollwork that looked almost celtic in design, that painted the space a pale green. The tile floor was trashed with debris and muddied tracks, crisscrossing trails of equal parts dirt and feces. The grohlm left ample evidence of their passing. Empty wall sconces made a ring around the chamber and flanked the sides of the door.