James West - Shadow and Steel

“What has any of that to do with my brethren?” Ulmek’s dark eyes never stopped moving, but the elder held the largest part of his attention. By now, the Yatoans had taken up defensive positions to secure their bare scrap of ground.

“Had you not come,” Damoc said, “it was only a matter of time before we would have destroyed the Fauthians. But now these Mahk’lar can harness the deadliest skills of your men. With such warriors-those who can do us great harm, even in small numbers-he hopes to crush our rebellion.”

“How could Adu’lin have known we were more than just another group of slaves caught by the Kelrens?” Ulmek asked.

“Adu’lin, as does most of the world, serves the Faceless One,” Damoc said. “It is likely that he found out where you were, and sent the Kelrens to capture you, intending to use you against us.”

“There must be a way to force the demons out of our brethren,” Daris said.

Adham shook his head. “Once a Mahk’lar entrenches itself within living flesh, that flesh dies or is transformed, and the soul which controlled that flesh passes beyond the mortal realm.”

That truth pressed in on Leitos, but he fought despair by thinking of those yet alive. “What of Ba’Sel? You spoke of freeing him … is he with you?”

“After cutting Ba’Sel loose,” Adham said, “I went after Adu’lin, intending to slay him. That’s when I discovered what he had done. When I returned for Ba’Sel, he had fled. I had no choice but to leave him.”

“Ba’Sel was many things,” Ulmek said, “but he was no craven wretch. If pressed, he would have fought.”

Adham took a deep breath, collecting himself. “Doubtless that is true … but in the end, he was not himself.”

“What are you saying?” Ulmek questioned.

“It is a rare thing,” Adham said hesitantly, “but I have seen it before.”

“Tell us what you are going on about, Izutarian!” Ulmek demanded.

“The father of your order has lost his mind,” Adham said bluntly. “He began raving about his homelands, of his mother. If he survives, maybe he will become again the man he was. But last I saw him, he was as a fearful child.”

“We must find him,” Ulmek said, searching faces for those who might join him. Daris nodded eagerly, but Sumahn narrowed his eyes in unspoken refusal. Leitos recalled Sumahn’s talk of Ba’Sel’s uselessness aboard the Bloody Whore .

Of the Yatoans, none so much as batted an eye. Ba’Sel was unknown to them, and their fealty rested with Damoc and their clan.

Adham gave Ulmek a pained look. “Have you heard nothing else I have said? We are besieged. In moments, Adu’lin’s horde will fall upon us. Ba’Sel, whether he lives or not, is lost. We must flee … or we must fight.”

“If we flee,” Damoc said, “it could be months-if ever-before Adu’lin lowers his guard enough for us to attack again. And now that he has turned your brothers into the weapons he needed, he will fortify Armala, and eventually destroy my people.”

“Why Armala?” Leitos blurted. “What is so important about an empty city?”

“It is Adu’lin’s fortress,” Damoc said.

“That is not what I mean,” Leitos said with a shake of his head. “Why does Adu’lin not simply leave Yato? He would find many other lands safer, without the constant threat of the clans looming over him.”

Damoc gave him a quizzical look, but Belina’s face brightened. “It is not Armala he wishes to protect, but the Faceless One.”

“The Faceless One is here?” Adham barked, his voice mingling with those of the other Brothers.

“I have faced him,” Leitos admitted, “but he is no man.”

“As he is without flesh and thus unassailable,” Damoc added, “I would say his spirit alone resides within the Throat of Balaam.”

“Then we must destroy the Throat,” Ulmek said decisively, “in order to keep Adu’lin from him.”

“This is all well and good,” Adham said, “but we still face the same choices as before. Fauthian archers watch the wall, and worse foes are drawing nearer. Our death is all they seek.”

“Then we fight,” Damoc said with quiet ferocity. “For those taken from us over long generations,” he said, voice rising, “for those ravished by Alon’mahk’lar, for those who have died this day, and for ourselves, we fight.”

After Damoc’s defiant words rolled over those gathered about him, the elder looked to Ulmek. “Your order is known, even in Yato, as men of war. How can we push past our enemies?”

“You five,” Ulmek snapped, rapidly pointing out those he wanted, “will join Leitos in drawing the attention of the archers. While the Fauthians and their allies are distracted, the rest of us follow Adham back the way he came.”

Robis, one of the chosen Yatoans, shook his head. “I will be no sacrifice.”

“You will do as ordered,” Damoc snarled, “or I will cut you down myself.”

Robis swallowed, tried to speak, but no words came. He reluctantly nodded under the stares of his fellows.

Satisfied, Ulmek glanced at Leitos, silently conveying to him the leadership of the small band. Only when the Yatoans had turned their attention to Leitos, did Ulmek lay out his plan.

“Once the Fauthians have turned their attention on you, you will have only moments to find cover. I will position another handful of our archers to watch over you, then wait for a twenty count for you to rejoin the rest of us. If you are not there in time, you are on your own. Do you understand?”

Leitos swallowed his doubt. “We will be there.”

“Very good,” Ulmek said, and picked out another five archers from among the Yatoans. When he finished, he glanced at Leitos, and bared his teeth in a stony smile. “Noise, little brother, will work best to attract our enemies.”

Understanding what Ulmek meant, Leitos nocked an arrow to his bowstring, took a deep breath, and burst from cover with a crazed shout. The Yatoans came at his heels, screaming like demons escaped from the Thousand Hells.

Leitos had taken three long strides before the first volley of Fauthian arrows rained down. A shout became a shriek behind him, then another, but he did not falter. Still howling, he aimed at a shadow lurking within an arched window, a hundred paces distant and four stories above the ground. For a single instant between strides, his bobbing arrowhead steadied, and he loosed the shaft. Before the arrow ripped into that darkness, before the shaded figure dropped from sight, he had nocked another arrow and drawn the bowstring to his cheek.

No longer focusing on targets, he sought an opening in the wall flashing by at his side. Of windows there were plenty, all boarded over. Midway down the side of the building, he found a wide stair rising to a portico before a set of massive wooden doors. Pitted and splintered with ancient rot, they slumped on their hinges.

He loosed his second arrow at another figure, then darted up the stairs, taking them three at a time. Running full out, Leitos cradled his bow protectively, and tucked his shoulder. The impact was harder than he expected, and despite looking ready to fall apart at the slightest touch, he bounced off with a stunned grunt.

Three Yatoans came barreling up the stairs, all hollering, Robis loudest of all. The big youth did not slow or try to avoid Leitos, but instead rammed into him, driving them both against the doors. The other pair added their weight, and the latch gave way with a screech of tearing metal and shattering wood. The foursome tumbled into dusty gloom, just as a flight of arrows streaked into the spot where they had been.

Leitos bounded to his feet, and tore off through a hall littered with old furnishings and fleeing rats. The Yatoans came at his heels.