Redemption (Book 6) (37 page)

Colonel Root stepped over Odgar’s dead body with a grin, and glanced over at Markus. “Best not to let them drink anything,” he yelled over the clamor of the battle. “We’ve got enough trouble without werewolves.”

Markus grinned in return, then threw himself at the faltering Jombards.

They could do this. They could push back the Jombards in the town, hold back the army assaulting the wall, and then—

A cry of despair rose up from the ramparts. A couple of the dragoons screamed in terror.

Confused, Markus looked behind him.

The dragoons and the militiamen on the ramparts near the gate were in a panic. Some were throwing their arms over their head and ducking back below the level of the wall. Others threw down their weapons and were running down the stairs or back along the ramparts.

Markus felt a cold chill crawl up his spine. What could the Jombards have that was so terrible, so awful that—

A roar sounded.

Not just a roar. It was a massive, rage-filled bellow unlike anything that Markus had ever heard before in his life. The ground actually vibrated from the sound. Puddles in the street rippled wildly. The windows in several of the nearby stores that had not already broken hummed and shook.

For a moment after the roar ended, Captain Markus heard only a ringing in his ears. He stared at the gate and the wall, forgetting the Jombards behind him.

What on Zanthora could possibly—?

The eastern gate buckled with a blow like a cannon shot.

“Tuldor’s beard,” Beckett swore. He hesitated in the side street for a moment, looking frantically around. “What was that?”

The echoes of the roar still seemed to throb in the air.

Olan turned around, his face half-hidden by the hood of his cloak. “That was no werewolf,” he said darkly.

Renaald stepped up beside his leader, his rapier out and at the ready. He glanced up the street. “It could have been...perhaps just a-a—”

Kara came around the corner, panting from the run.

Beckett glanced back at her, a stern look on his craggy face. “Now see here, miss, there’s no call for you to be up here with—”

Kara gave out a cry and almost fell to the ground. She bent double, gasping in pain.

“
Ashes
,” Beckett exclaimed. He rushed forward and grabbed Kara with both of his huge hands. “Are you all right?”

Callen started forward as well, reaching for his satchel.

“I can
feel
him,” Kara moaned. She took a breath between her teeth, forcing herself back up to a wobbly stand. “He’s here.
He’s here
.”

Renaald and Olan exchanged a nervous look.

“
Who’s
here?” Olan ventured.

Kara looked up at them, her eyes wide with terror. “Harnathu.”

“Here, sir.” The young militiaman bundled in through the door, carrying a simple wood and fabric stretcher.

Another militiaman, an older man who looked like he had farmed crops most of his life, came in behind the first man. He gaped at Kendril’s fallen form. “Is that the-the—?”

“The
General
. Yes.” Joseph pointed at the stretcher. “All right, set that up there. We’re going to get him on the stretcher on the count of three. Got him? Good. Ready? One. Two—”

The men hovered near Kendril, hesitant to touch him as if he were a saint.

“
Three
,” Joseph said.

With a couple grunts they lifted Kendril as one and put him squarely on the stretcher.

Kendril moaned. His eyes flickered, but didn’t open.

Joseph slapped the young militiaman on the shoulder. “You take that end.” He turned to the older militiaman. “And you grab the other. We’re taking him down to the harbor.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Yvonne said. “He’s already dead. We’re
all
dead. It’s just a matter of time. None of us are going to leave her alive.”

“With respect, ma’am,” said Tomas in a low voice, “I think you had best conserve your strength.” He turned to Joseph, keeping his voice barely above a whisper. “You heard that sound? The roar?”

Joseph steadied the stretcher as the two militiamen lifted it. He almost didn’t want to acknowledge Tomas’ comment. “I heard. It doesn’t change anything.” He turned to the militiamen. “Let’s go. Straight to the harbor, understand? Don’t stop for any—”

“Joseph....” Kendril weakly held up a hand and clutched the sleeve of Joseph’s greatcoat.

Startled, Joseph looked down at the semi-conscious man.

“Get...
Simon
....” Kendril murmured. His eyes fluttered and closed again.

Tomas gave Joseph a half-smile. “Simon? His
mule
Simon?”

Joseph rubbed a hand across his face to hide his angry scowl. “Sounds about right. I come halfway across Zanthora to look for the man who almost killed the woman I love, save his life after he gets shot, and then he sends me out to get his blasted mule.”

Tomas’ smile vanished. “I suppose. Then again, it looked to me like this time around he
saved
Kara’s life by taking the bullet himself.”

Joseph frowned. “Maybe. Now if you’ll excuse me, apparently there’s a mule I need to collect.”

A second blow slammed into the gate.

Pieces of splintered wood exploded from the frame. The huge crossbars that locked the gate into place bent and cracked, almost shattering in two.

Markus gawked at the gate. He was shocked into inaction. That was no battering ram. It was too big, too powerful—

The men on the wall screamed and wailed. Several were cowering in fear or abandoning their positions.

What on Zanthora—?

“Fall back,” Colonel Root yelled. He swept his arm towards the nearby buildings. “Move back to—”

Another deafening roar sounded.

Markus actually fell to his knees, dropping his sword. He covered his ears against the sound, his eyes watering from the pain.

The gate kicked backwards, almost flying open. The bars cracked and shed splinters. Smoke began to curl up from underneath the gate itself. The wood began to blacken, as if it were being burned by some intense heat from the other side.

Markus felt a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back to his feet.

Ashamed, he grabbed his sword off the ground. He looked behind him.

Colonel Root was shouting something at him, but Markus couldn’t hear over the ringing sound in his ears.

Markus shook his head, trying to clear his hearing.

The chant from the Jombards had risen and become louder, drowning out even the occasional gunshots from the men on the ramparts.

Harnathu...Harnathu...Harnathu...

“We have to pull them back,” Root yelled, practically in Markus’ ear. “That gate’s going to go any second.” He raised his voice again, slashing backwards with his sword. “Everyone, fall back to the second line, now! Move!”

The dragoons and militiamen that were still able to move begin to fly off the wall, shoving each other to get down the stairs.

Colonel Root moved back, pulling Markus with him.

The gate shattered open. Pieces of wood and metal scythed out in all directions, hitting some of the fleeing dragoons like shrapnel.

Markus stared into the smoke that curled out of the opening, trying to tell himself that he wasn’t seeing the impossibly huge shape that was emerging from the pall.

Then he screamed.

Kara ran, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in her chest. She was out of breath, and her lungs seemed to burn. The bow in her hand felt unnaturally heavy. Her head was swimming.

And then the second roar came.

Her chest exploded in pain, fiery lances that seemed to cut through bone and flesh. She collapsed to her knees in mid-run, trying to breathe. She couldn’t cry out. The pain was too bad.

Beckett reversed, running back to her. He put a massive hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right, lass?”

“Fine. I’m fine,” Kara gasped. The pain was subsiding. She staggered to her feet, half-helped by Beckett’s steady grip.

“You should turn around, lass,” Beckett said in a low but firm voice. “This is no place for you.”

Kara shrugged off the man’s hand with more pique than she actually felt. “I told you I’m
fine
. We need to—”

A booming crash echoed through the streets of the town.

Beckett lifted his head, his face haggard. “That was the gate,” he spat. “The Jombards are in the town.”

It was a wolf.

No, not a wolf. Not even a werewolf. The creature, if it even was a creature, was huge. Bigger than a draft horse, as big as one of the fabled tusked creatures far to the south.

It stepped forward into the space in front of the gate. Steam and smoke rose from its bodies. Its eyes glowed with an incessant fire. Sparks drift and float down from its body.

It was like a werewolf, only five times as big. And in place of fur, its body was metal. Glowing, red-hot metal. It radiated heat that caused the air around it to shimmer and dance. The puddles at its feet steamed and evaporated.

And around its neck, seemingly unaffected by the furnace-like heat that the creature exuded, hung a pendant with a single, blood-red jewel.

Markus stared, his body rooted to the spot. Nothing like that could possibly exist. It was impossible, a very twisting of every conceivable natural law.

He knew what he was looking at, and the thought of it was almost enough to drive every ounce of sanity out of him.

It was a creature of the Void. One of the Seteru. Just like the one that had destroyed Vorten at the beginning of the Despair.

Only this one was right
here
, in Redemption.

“Eru help us,” Colonel Root whispered. Like Markus, he seemed frozen in place.

The Seteru incarnated raised its mockery of a wolf’s head. It looked over the terrified dragoons and militiamen, and then almost seemed to smile.

“Where is the Demonbane?” Its voice rumbled and reverberated through the air, like thunder in dry heat. “Let him come and face Harnathu, the god of slaughter and blood.”

Colonel Root finally found his wits and his feet. He stepped back, dragging Markus with him. They tripped up onto one of the boardwalks of the nearest street. “Shoot it!” he ordered. “Shoot it
now
!”

No one moved.

The Seteru stepped forward. Its huge metallic foot sank down into the mud and mire of the street, sending an eruption of steam up into the air. The muck actually began to boil where it touched Harnathu’s body.

Olan came running out into the street, followed quickly by Renaald and Callen. They all stopped short at the sight of the monstrosity in front of the gate.

“Eru in Pelos,” Olan swore. He looked over at Root and Markus. “A cannon. We need a cannon. The biggest you can—”

Harnathu jutted his head forward and growled. The sound caused the wood in the boardwalk to vibrate.

“Bring me the Demonbane, mortals,” Harnathu said. It took another step forward. “I would teach him pain, and defeat.”

“I said
shoot
it!” Colonel Root repeated. He reached for his own pistol and started to reload it with shaking hands.

A few of the dragoons managed to shake themselves from their terrified state. They raised their carbines at the abomination in front of them.

Harnathu stepped forward again. He spread his paws out to either side. The dark metal fingers ended in razor-sharp steel claws.

Beckett and Kara came running around the corner. Both stopped cold, their faces aghast.

Harnathu began to stride forward, smoke curling from his red-hot form.

“
Fire
!” Colonel Root cried.

A smattering of gunshots flashed out from the dragoons, along with a couple crossbows and even the twang of a hunting bow.

The shots pattered and pinged off Harnathu’s metal skin as if they were pebbles.

The creature gave a bellowing growl that sounded strangely like a laugh. “You seek to kill a god, with
those
?”

“Back!” Olan shouted. “Everyone back now!”

The dragoons and militiamen didn’t need a second urging. They started to run for the buildings and streets of the town.

Harnathu bunched his clawed hands into fists and raised them towards the sky, then slammed them down into the ground in front of him.

A wall of flame exploded outwards from Harnathu’s hands in an expanding ring, sweeping across the mud and puddle-strewn ground.

Beckett grabbed Kara around the waist even as she was readying her bow. He yanked her back behind the corner of the building.

Colonel Root and Captain Markus both ducked into a nearby doorway.

Olan and the other two Ghostwalkers ran for the corner of the street.

And then the fire swept in.

The town was practically deserted. The few people that Joseph saw were running hard for the sheltered causeway that led down to the beach and the docks.

So this was Redemption. How long had Joseph been here? Less than twelve hours? So much for that. Something told him he wasn’t going to be coming back anytime soon.

Assuming, of course, that he managed to make it out of here alive.

Joseph turned the corner of one of the streets, skidding in the mire.

The large town stables were directly ahead.

Joseph caught his breath, then jogged towards the building. He could only hope that Kendril’s blasted mule was there.

Why was he even doing this? Once again, it was Joseph the errand boy to the rescue. Joseph the man who would follow the woman he loved halfway across the known world just to hear her tell him that she didn’t know how she felt about
him
.

Tuldor’s beard, why did he even
care
about this stupid animal, anyways?

Joseph reached the entrance to the stables. Unsurprisingly, there were no signs of any stable hands or guards. He made his way back into the stalls. Most of them were empty. Joseph cupped his hands to his mouth. “Simon!”

There was a braying sound towards the back. A familiar gray head poked out of one of the stalls.

“We’re leaving, you big brute,” Joseph shouted. “Come on.”