James West - Shadow and Steel

Leitos glanced at the closing vessels. Their drums had grown louder still, and their rams carved furrows through the turquoise waters.

“When will you tire of running and hiding?” Ulmek asked.

“We must preserve our order,” Ba’Sel said. “Lest you forget, we are not an army, but a meager company whose survival demands that we strike from the shadows.”

“What if the Kelrens capture us? Would you have us accept their chains, or would you then allow us to fight?”

Ba’Sel looked offended. “You know the answer to that.”

“Do I? Do any of us? We creep and cower, as a matter of course. Truly, what purpose do we serve any longer? We are the Brothers of the Crimson Shield, yet we are Brothers only to ourselves and shields to nothing, save our own lives.”

“Do you so eagerly seek death?”

“No, Brother, I seek life-a better life, a free life-for myself and our kindred of this fallen world. That is all I have ever sought. If we destroy these slavers this day, how many innocents will we spare from chains on the morrow?”

Brow furrowed, Ba’Sel turned his back on Ulmek. “Do as I command. We must be well away before the Kelrens drop anchor.”

Ulmek hesitated, seemingly on the verge of adding more, then stormed down the slope.

Leitos looked after him, stunned by what he had just seen and heard. Until that moment, he had never put much stock into the rumors about Ba’Sel’s growing fearfulness. Until now, it had not mattered to him, as all his energies had been on fashioning himself into a warrior strong and skilled enough to stand against the Faceless One. Now, with an enemy at hand, threatening their very existence, his leader had given the command to flee, never considering that his men knew every foot of Witch’s Mole, and could likely crush the sea-wolves.

“Come,” Ba’Sel said, “we must make haste. By sunset, I mean to walk again upon the lands of my birth.”

By the time Leitos and Ba’Sel reached the heart of the sanctuary, the dust of rushing feet had hazed the torch-lit cavern. Ba’Sel hurried off toward a central pool to help others fill waterskins. Leitos made for his father.

Openings dotted the walls at intervals around the small chamber, from mere cracks to natural archways, which provided safe travel to places all over the island. The Brothers had fashioned bunk beds along one wall, rising four and five high in order to conserve space. Nooks and crannies held what few supplies they had gathered. In all, it was a tidy if stark home.

Adham, stuffing supplies into a pair of haversacks resting on his bed of woven grass and lashed saplings, glanced up at Leitos’s approach.

“You have made me proud,” he said, pushing a strand of iron-gray hair from his eyes. Long years, many spent in the Faceless One’s mines, had lined his brow, but not so much as to ever guess his true age. A hundred and sixty-seven years he had walked the world, but he looked less than a quarter of that. He had once told Leitos how Kian Valara and Ba’Sel had been present when the Well of Creation was destroyed. Exposure to the unleashed Powers of Creation had given them long life and a remarkable ability to heal, which they had passed down to their children.

Leitos wanted to tell of his concerns about Ba’Sel, but decided to keep it to himself. Instead, he smiled in answer. “Apparently the sea-wolves are proud as well, and have come to celebrate.”

Adham offered a cursory grin. “Well, such as it is, you had better put on your uniform ,” he said, pointing to a bundle of folded clothes to color of dark sand.

Leitos picked up the outer robe, a well-made garment of sturdy cloth. The linen inner robe lay beneath, and had numerous pockets sewn all over it. He donned this first, then drew on the outer robe. A plain leather belt would hold it closed.

“I told them to make them a little big,” Adham said. “The menfolk in our family tend to come into our growth later than most.”

“It is perfect,” Leitos said. Simple as the clothing was, he had never worn anything so fine.

“I suppose you’ll want your boots,” Adman said, pulling them from under the bed.

As Leitos put them on, his father produced something else. Leitos stared at the weapons. A short, straight-bladed sword in a leather scabbard, and a long, spike-like dagger. The Brothers often chose their swords by what they could scavenge from bone-towns and the like, but their daggers had been forged before the Upheaval for use by Geldainian mercenaries, the Asra a’Shah. That order of warriors had become the Brothers of the Crimson Shield, but their daggers, meant to inflict deep, nearly bloodless punctures, had not changed. Leitos had often wondered how many remained in the world, but supposed only Ba’Sel and a few others would know.

“A pity we are not staying to fight,” Adham said, while Leitos secured his sword and dagger to his waist. Adham’s gray eyes shone with an eager wildness, something the Brothers claimed was common to ice-born Izutarians who were about to rain destruction upon their enemies.

Before Leitos could agree, a laughing Sumahn and Daris burst into the sanctuary from a passage that led to the western shore. Everyone went still. Ba’Sel straightened from filling a waterskin, a shadow of concern spreading across his features. “Have the Kelrens landed?”

“They have,” Sumahn answered. “Hundreds.”

“To be fair,” Daris interjected, “we crushed a fair number of them with a rockslide after they found us. Doubtless, they are rethinking the plan to hunt us.”

Ba’Sel slung the waterskin’s strap over his head and pulled it across his chest. “How did they find you?”

“Strictly speaking,” Daris began, smiling as broadly as ever, “putting my arrow in that Kelren’s heart might have given us away.”

Sumahn shook his head. “Don’t forget the one I poked into that ugly wench’s ribs-have you ever seen such brands as she wore? Gods good and wise, why would folk scar themselves so?”

“You attacked the Kelrens?”

Finally sensing trouble, the young Brothers fell quiet.

Before Ba’Sel could browbeat the pair, Ulmek strode forward. “The folly of these idiots is the least of our concerns. My lookouts have brought word that the sea-wolves are sweeping across Witch’s Mole. If we do not hurry, this sanctuary will become our tomb-”

The sounding of a gong cut him off. The three distinct tolls signaling that an enemy had entered one of the passages. Another peal burst from an opening a quarter turn around the cavern. Again, three sharp rings.

The Brothers all looked to a frozen Ba’Sel.

Before he could give any orders, deep, snarling howls filtered into the chamber from far away. Leitos had heard such voices before. The Kelrens had brought Hunters with them, Na’mihn’teghul, changelings, the wolves of the Faceless One.

Ba’Sel’s distracted air shattered. “Block all the openings. Quickly!”

“You mean for us to face the changelings?” Ulmek said, drawing his sword.

“No! We flee through the east passage, and make for our longboats, and then the sea. Go, you fools, and block the ways.”

After a moment’s hesitation, several Brothers vanished into the openings around the cavern. Before Leitos could join them, Ba’Sel caught his arm.

“You stay with me. You and Adham. It’s your blood the Faceless One seeks, your blood we must keep out of his hands.”

“And it’s the lives of your men that he wants to extinguish,” Adham said.

The thunder of falling rock drowned out anything else he might have added, and dust began billowing from the many passages.

“This will only slow our enemies for a short time,” Ulmek warned.