Fire And Steel (The Merryweather Chronicles Book 2) (36 page)

      Brandon had halved the distance between himself and his uncle, running hard, the Phoenix flashing in his fist. Overhead, thunder crashed and icy rain began to fall, mixing with the falling snow. Where the rain touched him, Brandon felt strength surge into his body. But he was too slow.

      Still laughing, Gerrick and the screeching mass covering him heaved one last time, rolling over the side of the bridge, and fell, crashing through the ice below.

      Brandon skirted the bridge, skidding to a halt at the creek's bank. A few of the grohlm had hit the ice around the main mass without breaking through. They tried to pull themselves away from the black hole that Gerrick and the rest of the grohlm had disappeared into. There was no sign of Gerrick.

      Feeling hollowed out, Brandon watched the ice crumble beneath one of the wounded grohlm, dumping the stag into the icy water below. It bleated once and vanished as the swiftly moving current pulled it underneath the ice. The very same had happened to Gerrick, if he hadn't sank to the bottom. As quickly as the man moved, Brandon knew his armor had to weigh hundreds of pounds. It would be impossible to swim, let alone fight the current.

      The rain continued to fall, coming down hard enough to obliterate most of the remaining snow. Strength flowed into Brandon. From Nina, as well as Rok and the Phoenix. He said a silent prayer to all three. The Phoenix may not have been able to answer, but Brandon thanked it just as hard. He turned away from the creek, facing the ruined yard. The snow was nearly gone, beaten down by the rain and washing away as the wind rose and thunder rolled.

      The surviving grohlm had fled back into the forest, licking their wounds. Hundreds of dead and those too wounded to run littered Highgarden. Some only twitched feebly, while others dragged themselves towards the woods. In the distance, wolves howled.

      Brandon ignored them all. He had eyes only for the black cloaked figure standing in the center of the broken training circle. Sha'ha'Zel watched Brandon approach, his red eyes glittering. Rain popped and sizzled where it touched the thing's bare flesh, but the Curse ignored any pain it might have caused. He spoke softly. "The line of the winds is ended. The last Knight of the Tower is gone."

      Brandon stopped at the edge of the circle. The Phoenix was a burning brand in his fist, heat radiating from its glowing length. His face was hard as he stared into the Curse's eyes. Strength flowed into him as the rain soaked his hair and sluiced down his body. The two warriors faced one another as the rain came down. The weather was like a living thing, the wind tearing at the Curse’s cloak as it watched the young man. 

      Squaring his shoulders, Brandon said. "He wanted to die. For me to kill him. Why?" He sounded calmer than he felt. The emptiness enveloped him, but flickering flames of anger smoldered around the edges, threatening to ignite. He pushed it away as well as he could, but he felt an echo of his anger vibrating through the Phoenix. The sword was practically humming in his fist. "Why did he want to die so badly?"

    "Because he couldn't." Sha'a'Zel said. His coal black skin had cracked open in a couple of places, inky blood oozing from the wounds. He had to be in pain, but he ignored it. No, not ignored. He seemed to be thriving on it. His glowing red eyes brightened even as his skin split and smoked from the rain. He spoke slowly, his deep voice showing no sign of pain or even discomfort. His tone was conversational. "People often want what they can't have."

      "Why couldn't he die?"

      "It was his curse." Sha'ha'Zel sneered and his cloak twitched, its torn and ragged hem flexing and uncurling. The rain became a steady downpour, yet he continued to ignore what it was doing to his body. "His family, like yours, was also cursed. To be betrayed by one of their own and hunted down until none remained. None, but the last, who would wander the earth, a kinslayer, and hated by men. Unable to take his own life, he would throw himself into battle, praying that somebody, someday, would end his suffering.” The Curse shook his head, rain sizzling on his black cheeks. “He served your family in the foolish hope that he would die protecting you or your father. That I would be the one to end him. That was the pact he made with your grandfather."

      "But you wouldn't give him that, would you?" The emptiness trembled. Flames danced around the edge of sight, pulsing in time with his heartbeat and the heat radiating from the Phoenix. Brandon felt like he should be on fire, the heat building within himself was so strong, but when he looked down at himself he saw that the rain still ran down his chest and arms. He half expected to see it sizzling and popping, as it was doing to the curse. But the flames building within him weren't quenched by the rain. Rather, they seemed to absorb the rain, feeding on it like it was gasoline. Brandon tightened his grip on the Phoenix.

      Up on the deck, Claire watched them with a pained expression, unsure of what to do. She was terrified that she was about to watch the man she loved be killed right in front of her and there wasn't a thing in the world she could do about it. She didn’t try to fool herself. The grohlm she killed were nothing compared to the horror standing in front of Brandon. If Sha’ha’Zel beat Brandon, she wouldn’t outlive him for long.

      Hefting her axe, Claire promised herself that she would make the demon bleed when it took her. She wasn’t going to sell her life cheap and it would pay in blood.

      Sha'ha'Zel glanced at her, seemingly reading her thoughts. He bared his teeth in what might have been a smile and shook his head. His red eyes flashed and he looked at Brandon, answering his question. "I could sooner kill myself. The same magics that held his hand, bind mine, as well. I could hurt him, bring him to the point of death, but I could not kill him."

      Brandon stepped into the circle. He was silent as he set himself, holding the Phoenix in a low guard position, but he looked at Claire, meeting her gaze. Thunder boomed overhead and lightning shattered the sky as the rain intensified. She gave a small nod of her head, silently telling him everything that he already knew. That she loved and trusted him. His eyes said the same to her and more. Then he pulled his gaze away and looked at the Curse.

      Sha'ha'Zel didn't move. Looking into Brandon’s eyes, his terrible smile slid off of his face and he said. "It's early, yet. Are you so ready to die?"

      Brandon looked into the Curse's bloody eyes, pulling the emptiness tight around his mind, and said. "It's time to end this."

      Sha'ha'Zel blinked once, seeing something in Brandon's eyes that he hadn't expected. It wasn’t the lack of fear that surprised him, but the fire in his gaze. The demon turned sideways and, with a shrug of his shoulders, his cloak fell away. Twisting and writhing, it tried to slither away. It smoked and smoldered as much as the rest of the Curse. More. Before it had gotten more than a couple of feet outside the circle, it burst into flame. The fire engulfed it, the flames fed by the falling rain, and soon it was only a smear of black on the wet ground.

      Ignoring the burning cloak, the Curse uncoiled his arms and faced Brandon. Each of his 4 blades gleamed wetly in the darkness. When he spoke, his tone was no longer conversational. It sounded like crumbling snakeskin. "Very well, Son of Storms. If this is your decision. Come.” His blood red gaze flared against the night and he smiled. “Meet your death."

Chapter 35

      Lightning crashed overhead as Brandon threw himself at Sha'ha'Zel. The Curse moved like smoke, turning aside the Phoenix, and landed a fierce cutting blow across Brandon's chest. Brandon fell back, grimacing. The cut across his chest was deep, bleeding freely, and the rain was slow healing it. He brought the Phoenix up and stepped sideways, keeping the searing length of steel between himself and the demon.

      The sight of Brandon's blood galvanized the Curse. He flung himself at Brandon, swords flashing, and drove the younger man back, step by step. Brandon defended for all he was worth, moving on instinct to put the Phoenix between his bare flesh and the black steel of Sha'ha'Zel's curved blades. He moved faster than any human could have, yet, he wasn't fast enough. More slashing cuts began to decorate his body. His arms were slick with bright red blood. The rain came down, a fierce gale that threatened to topple trees, but the wounds knitted slowly, the black steel's magic battling with the power of the gods.

      Brandon ignored his wounds, wrapped tight within the emptiness, and threw everything he had at the Curse. He gave up on striking at the creature's head or body, instead focusing on the thing's arms. With four arms to his two, the Curse outmatched him by a wide margin.

      Sizzling along the edge of the emptiness, fierce flames continued to boil inside of Brandon, threatening to scour away everything. It was his anger, he knew, and if he allowed it to consume him, he didn't know what would happen. Twisting just in time to catch a burning slash down his right shoulder blade, Brandon stumbled. His foot slipped in the bloody slush they waded in and the Curse snapped a lightning fast kick into his chest, sending him crashing backwards.

      Somewhere, distantly, he heard Claire calling his name. Screaming it.

      He was on his back, the cold wet mud sticking to his wounds and making them heal that much faster as Rok did his part. Sha'ha'Zel stood over him, inky blood running from dozens of cracks in his black flesh. He stared down at Brandon, his lips peeled back from his jagged teeth. "It's over, Merryweather. You've lost." He looked over his shoulder, glancing at Claire.

      She came down off the deck and stood not far off. She had added another axe to her growing collection of weapons and watched the fight with an intense expression. She was fully prepared to jump into the fight. The Curse turned back, red eyes meeting Brandon's gray. He said. "Before you die, Stormson, know this. Your woman is mine, now. No matter her hidden strengths, she will fall to my blades. And she will have a long time dying, if I allow her that mercy. She is quite impressive. Perhaps, I will have an heir of my own?"

      The emptiness vanished in a white hot instant, the fire of Brandon's rage blasting white hot within him. All of his fear and uncertainty. All of the things that the emptiness hid, but were never really gone, were obliterated by the flames. The Phoenix flared in his fist and the long blade ignited, boiling flames wreathing the razor sharp steel. Swinging from where he lay, Brandon sent a ball of living flame racing at the Curse's chest.

      Sha'ha'Zel flung himself sideways, batting at the fireball with one hand to try and deflect it. The fire smashed into his sword, engulfing his arm up to the elbow, and the Curse hit the ground rolling. Beating at the mud, to quench the flames, the Curse came to his feet fast and hurled himself at Brandon.

      Brandon was back on his feet, as well, his wounds mostly healed. The Phoenix burned like a sun in his fist. Power filled every ounce of him, making him tremble with the sheer force of it. He knew it had to be directed somewhere, else he would be consumed by it. Meeting the Curse's attack head-on, he slid beneath a blow that would have split his face in two and came up, twisting the Phoenix in a hard circle, severing two of the demon's arms at the elbows. The Phoenix's living flame cauterized the wounds, leaving the stumps charred and smoking.

      Falling back with a sound somewhere between a hiss and a scream, Sha'ha'Zel stumbled. Brandon followed, pushing his attack. Battering aside the remaining two swords and forcing the Curse back, step by step. The wounded demon blinked blood from his red eyes and snarled as he worked his remaining swords, defending against the Phoenix.

      Thunder rattled Brandon's teeth and rain pounded onto them from the heavy clouds above, feeding strength into his arms and legs, and searing the Curse's black flesh. Bits of its skin fell into the mud underfoot, sloughing off of the raw and infected looking muscle beneath. Yellowish pus and inky streamers of blood streaked the muscle, washing away in the downpour.

      The ground beneath the two warriors was a churning lake of blood, melting snow, and freezing cold mud. Brandon kept his footing, as if on concrete, working the Phoenix like a master swordsman. He couldn't take all the credit, he knew. The blade sometimes moved as if it had a mind of its own, intercepting Sha'ha'Zel's attacks and battering past his defenses. Long, seared cuts now decorated the creature's chest and arms. Flames licked at the cracks in its skin, black smoke boiling out into the rain.

      Falling back, the Curse hissed and hurled one of its remaining blades at Brandon's head. Brandon batted the blade out of the air, sending it spinning out into the night, and ducked under Sha'ha'Zel's final slashing attack. Snapping the Phoenix up, he severed the Curse's hand at the wrist and, in the same swift motion, spun and lopped off the demon's head.

      There was a moment of startled understanding in the Curse's eyes as the Phoenix swung in its glittering arc. The slightest shock of impact in Brandon's wrist was all that told him that he'd struck true. Then the head fell. It hit the ground, splashing in the sludge underfoot, and Sha'ha'Zel's wide eyed look of flabbergasted surprise mirrored the feeling that exploded inside of Brandon.

      The headless body stumbled sideways, lashing out with its severed limbs, and collapsed onto the soggy ground. The effect of the rain on the Curse's remains was powerful and immediate. Melting as if floating in a vat of acid, skin and muscle boiled off of cracked and strange looking bones. The bones lasted no better, crumbling away in a matter of seconds. Until not a trace of Sha’ha’Zel, the Walking Curse, remained.

      The rain slowed, then stopped. Brandon didn't know how long he stood there, staring at the place where the Curse had fallen, but he gave a slight start when Claire touched his elbow.

      "Is it over?" Her voice was loud in the sudden silence of the night. "Is it really dead?"

      Brandon looked at her. Her face was a pale oval in the darkness, the dark eye patch a sharp contrast to the paleness of her skin. The Phoenix put out a soft radiance, the blade no longer wreathed in flame, but not enough to truly see in the shadows. The glow emanated from within the weapon. "Yes. He's dead." He looked up at Highgarden, looming over them. The house was dark and silent, with the neglected air of a place long empty. Something was missing. Gone from the place. He said, hating how loud he sounded. "The magic is gone."

      Claire didn't say anything. She dropped the two axes, the blades burying themselves in the mud, and looked at her blood stained hands. Glancing at the ground, near the deck, she saw what she needed. Taking Brandon by the hand, she lead him carefully around the place where Sha'ha'Zel melted away, and approached the deck and the broken circle. The engraved rock lay on the ground a few feet from the house. Leaving Brandon beside the circle, she went and retrieved it. It was heavier than it looked, not really a rock at all. It hefted more like lead. Or gold?

      Walking slowly back to the circle, she knelt and fitted the stone back into the hollow from which it was removed. It went in like a tooth slipping into its socket. Still kneeling, she looked up at the house. Nothing changed. Pursing her lips, she looked at Brandon and sighed. “You have to do it, I think.”

      Brandon tapped the Phoenix against his leg absently, enjoying the warmth of it through his soaked jeans. His body was still warm all over. Even his feet, though the mud he stood in was beginning to freeze again. At least, he hoped that it was mud. He frowned at her words and said. “What do you mean?”

      Claire said. “You have to light the candles.” She pointed at the sword in his hand. “With that, I think.”

      Brandon looked down at the Phoenix for a long moment before meeting her gaze and nodding.

      Claire watched him, not needing to be told that an interruption now was the last thing that he needed. She wasn't sure what she was saying, but she knew she was right. Magic filled the air, no matter what Brandon thought. She could feel it touching the skin of her face and arms, like the ghost of a spider web on the wind. Her mind still reeled from the last 15 minutes of her life, if it was even that long since she met Albert by the road. It felt like years since she left her house. When she looked at Brandon, she worried, but she also felt a fierce pride and an even fiercer love for him. He'd won a great victory tonight. He'd revenged himself on his parent's killer and saved them both from a bloody destiny that had seemed unavoidable just the day before.

      But the night wasn't finished.

      Not yet.

      Not understanding how Claire knew what he needed to do, Brandon stepped into the circle and stood straight and tall in its center. Moving on instinct, he raised the Phoenix straight overhead. The sword caught the moonlight, reflecting and redoubling the light until it was burning as bight as a star. The sword's hilt grew hot, hotter than a griddle under his fingers, and Brandon clenched his teeth against the growing pain.

      When the pain reached its crescendo, when it seemed he should drop the sword or be burned alive for it, Brandon twisted the Phoenix in his fist and drove its tip deep into the ground. Flame bubbled up around the blade where it pierced the earth and broke away, spider webbing across the circle. The flames caressed his bare feet but didn't harm him. The candles forming the circle burst into life and Brandon felt something kindle deep inside of his chest. His body felt flushed.

      Dropping to his knees, Brandon felt his hand pull away from the Phoenix's hilt as he collapsed. The last thing that he saw, as the world was swallowed by darkness, was Claire, rushing forward to try and catch him.