Brave Men Die: Part 1 Read online

  CONTENTS

  COVER

  TITLE PAGE

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  COPYRIGHT

  PROLOGUE

  In the early hours of the morning the township of Tarkinholm was quiet. A slight breeze blew along the coast and gently rippled the water in the bay. The members of the night watch stationed around the town chattered amongst themselves as their hard gazes regularly swept their surroundings with a keenness born of experience and caution. The half moon, perched high on the black blanket and surrounded by glittering southern constellations, revealed nothing worth alarm and with barely-stifled yawns they turned back to their conversations.

  Three dark-clad figures moved purposefully through the encompassing fields and up the dirt path leading directly to the town. On cue, as if bidden by an unseen command, the moon shifted behind the clouds and veiled their silent approach in shadow. Little of their identity could be made out except their silhouettes. The central figure was the shortest and wore a robe. The outside figures were taller and had the distinctive stride of soldiers — power harnessed by stealth. Despite their larger frames, the jingle of their armour was dulled as they approached the gates with increasing pace.

  The gates were closed and the stationed guards were relaxed. Leaning complacently against the wall, the first put a smoke to his lips and took a long drag. Glancing up he saw the three figures, his eyes narrowing slightly as he surveyed their approach from the shadows, but his demeanour remained unconcerned.

  ‘It’s not safe to be travelling out at this hour,’ Jak commented, nodding in the direction of the three. The other guard chuckled.

  ‘Halt, who goes there?’ Jak asked, taking a last drag before flicking the butt away.

  His companion chuckled again, pushing himself off the wall and kicking some empty bottles with his foot.

  Hidden beneath their cloaks, the two warriors had their swords low beside their legs as the guards stood oblivious, waiting for a response. Covering the last twenty feet with deadly swiftness, in one fluid movement the two warriors brought their blades up and cleaved the guards’ heads cleanly from their shoulders. Two distinct lines of blood splattered onto the large wooden doors as the bodies toppled back against the hard wood and sank to the ground, smearing a trail of wet blood down behind them.

  The shorter figure stepped between the warriors and the corpses at their feet and planted his palms on the doors with concentrated intent. His sleeves fell down to his elbows revealing a tattoo on his left forearm. His lips moved with a soft, barely audible incantation and the doors began to fill with energy. They pulsed and expanded until they exploded off their hinges, blasting into the courtyard. Door fragments and splinters flew through the air, piercing the walls of the closest buildings and impaling the two guards on the other side who had, a second before, been regarding the shuddering door with increasing alarm. Their puzzled expressions were frozen on their faces as their bodies lay broken on the ground, wooden spikes protruding from their chests.

  Moving as one, the three Seraphim barely paused to consider the carnage as they pressed forward into the town. People were moving. The explosion had startled the residents from their sleep and, bleary-eyed and confused, they peered out windows and spilled out of doorways to investigate. The unfortunates who stumbled into the pathway of the Seraphim were ruthlessly and quickly disposed of as the three moved swiftly through the town, barely slowing their pace.

  The members of the watch who lined the walls fired upon them only to have the arrows bounce harmlessly off Avernus’ shield spell until he spun around and sent them flying beyond the wall with a simple flick of his wrist. Their dying screams ended with vicious thuds when they hit the earth.

  The Seraphim’s stride was confident and single-minded — they knew where they were going. Members of the watch surged out of the barracks. Caught unawares, roused from their sleep, they presented a motley crew in various states of undress and dishevelment. They had however all managed to snatch up their weapons and now stood resolutely in a rapidly forming line facing the oncoming Seraphim. Unperturbed at the appearance of this obstacle, Avernus lifted his arm, pointed his index finger, and whispered in guttural tones. A sphere of flame formed and grew at the tip of his finger. The corners of his mouth curled up as his gaze travelled down the line of soldiers. A spark of cold triumph lit his dark eyes as he noted the unease in their stares. Suddenly the Lava Orb launched forth, crushing into the chest of the closest guard and erupting, spreading flames over the Kyzantine soldiers.

  The guards screamed as the flames engulfed their flesh. Swords clattered against the cobblestone road as the men and women frantically tried to smother the fire. High-pitched screams filled the night as human torches blazed with a terrible brilliance and then incinerated the flesh to ash within moments. Unmoved by the frantic chaos surrounding them, the Seraphim crushed charred bones under foot as they continued with deadly intent.

  Members of the Tarkinholm Guard had formed ranks at the entrance to the inner keep, their faces set in grim determination as they brandished swords and shields. They braced themselves as the three intruders charged into them. Trained and experienced, the men and women of the guard moved with a practiced precision as they sheltered behind their shields and thrust their blades forward, followed by a downward strike from the shoulder. It was a predictable manoeuvre and the Seraphim made their move at the next thrust. Avernus twisted as the blade narrowly missed his face and grasped the man’s arm. Casting instantly, Soul Hunger felled the man on the spot. His skin turned black at Avernus' touch and black smoke trailed out of his mouth and nostrils. The two warriors parried multiple attacks, lashing out and hammering blow after blow against sword and shield. Blood sprayed forth as their blades punctured flesh. Avernus stepped back and cast Ice Shards, icicles rocketing into the Kyzantines and shredding their bodies. Devilin grabbed the remaining guard and slammed his face into the wall. His nose crunched under the impact, leaving a bloody splatter, and the inert body slumped to the ground.

  The three glanced at each other before the creaking of a lock signalled more Kyzantine guards. As another appeared Devilin slid beside the gate and pulled the man forward to impale him, his blade sinking deeply into the soft flesh beneath the armour as Avernus and Edrazil slipped passed. Devilin pulled it out covered in gore, still clutching the man at the back of the neck. The guard doubled over once released, thick drops of blood dribbling from his open mouth.

  Avernus led the way to a small building that looked much like any other in the streets below. He stepped aside and let the larger of the two warriors, Edrazil, past. With a graceful sideways twist and a quick thrust of his powerful leg, Edrazil lined up the door and kicked it in. Devilin hardly slowed his pace as he dove through the doorway, rolled, and sprang to his feet in one fluid motion. Two guards on either side of the door launched forward with daggers aimed at Devilin, unaware that the real danger was behind them. Edrazil drove his sword down through the neck of the first and the grunted curse from the dying soldier distracted the second. Devilin used that, spun around and blocked a careless thrust and cleaved the man’s head from his shoulders, the body smacking against the wall.

  Avernus scanned the empty streets before he turned and calmly entered the building. His eyes flicked disinterestedly over the room for the briefest moment before he cast his attention downwards. Walking over to the corner of the room he kicked at the hardwood floors, stopping only when he heard a hollow
sound. Bending swiftly, he ran his fingers lightly over the planks, searching for some irregularity. Working his finger through a small knot in the grain, he lifted up a plank to reveal a hidden lever. With a slight jerk, a small section of the opposite wall swung away exposing stairs descending into the darkness below.

  Avernus snapped his fingers and a ball of light formed above his shoulder. Leading the way he descended the stairs that led to the tunnels beneath the keep. The musty smell lingered in their nostrils as they moved further underground, the rising damp clung to the lower walls and the mud beneath their feet squelched with each step. Ahead, a rhythmic tapping thundered down in the darkness, ending with a splash as tiny droplets of water hit part of the wall of rock and landed in the puddle forming beneath.

  The rock was slick with moisture, melting into the contours of the limestone, water trickling down in spots. The light hovering above Avernus' shoulder, although reflected in the gleam from the wet walls, only dimly illuminated the path. The shadowed pools of water at their feet swallowed the light before it had the chance to penetrate too deeply into the menacing darkness. They pressed on through the flickering shadows. Following the labyrinthine path they wound their way along until the tunnel intersected with the corridor leading to the keep. Loud footsteps could be heard booming along the corridor toward them.

  Avernus turned back and signalled the two warriors to wait for the oncoming guard before he pressed on further into the tunnels, leaving them in darkness. Avernus continued along, calmly following the downward incline that the tunnel had now taken, frequently glancing to his right, his searching gaze flickering over the cavern walls.

  Twenty minutes later, and an estimated two hundred metres below where he'd left the brothers, the tunnel wall on the right gave way to a small niche that was barely recognisable. Avernus unclenched his fist and slid his arm in, fingers outstretched in anticipation of the expected trigger mechanism. When his elbow moved into the hole in the wall, his fingers finally felt the small lever and he pushed it down with his index finger. It clicked into place with an echo that seemed to fill the tunnel as Avernus withdrew his hand.

  He waited patiently as once again the tunnel was filled with silence, the only exceptions his breathing and his steady heartbeat. Then a mechanism stirred to life, the cogs and wheels whirring into motion, and the stone wall beside the small hidden niche swung inwards. Behind the wall, a room was filled with an orange luminance that flickered momentarily before the breeze from the swinging door settled.

  Avernus snapped his fingers as he entered the room and the ball of light hovering above his shoulder was extinguished. He pulled back his hood and cast his shaved head into the orange light. The two torches sat in holsters on the far wall above an elderly man dressed in the religious robes of Kyzantium’s Church, the Hand of the One God, who was comfortably seated behind a large oak desk. The remaining walls were lined with shelves, artefacts perched safely on each, more than most covered with such a layer of dust as to suggest that they had not been disturbed for centuries.

  As Avernus moved closer, the old man stood up behind his desk and leaned forward. His unwavering gaze was intent on the approaching man, his head tilted slightly as if in keen concentration. Avernus stared back unperturbed by the old man’s scrutiny before realising with a jolt of surprised unease that the fixated intensity was the empty stare of the blind. He came to a standstill as the old man spoke, his voice strong and authoritative.

  ‘I am the Keeper of the forbidden artefacts, and you do not belong here,’ he directed at Avernus, raising a finger and pointing it at his chest, rather accurate for a blind man. ‘This is a holy place, designed to keep the evil of your magic at bay, and only the light may enter.’

  ‘I won’t stay long, I promise. I’ve just come to have a look around and take what I need. No need to help — I can look for myself.’ Avernus’ cold eyes were already roaming over the cluttered shelves.

  The old man moved from behind his desk, reaching for a wooden staff propped against the back wall, and stood directly in front of Avernus.

  ‘You are an abomination, you dark-souled monster. Only over my dead body will you get anywhere near the forbidden artefacts.’

  Avernus sighed. ‘I thought you might say that.’

  Fire blasted from Avernus’ outstretched hand and bounced harmlessly off a pale yellow shield encompassing the old man’s body. The Keeper smiled complacently and raised his own hands toward his sworn enemy. A pulsating light burst forth, barely giving Avernus time to shield himself. The old man paused, his brow furrowed in consternation as his harmless spell dissipated into the air with a soft hiss.

  ‘The One True God gave me the power to destroy all abominations that come to take what we have sworn to protect. In my pride I underestimated the enemy. It will not happen again.’

  This time Avernus was ready and he matched the old man’s spell with one of his own, the two energies crashing together, each magic power clawing to dominate. Black energy met yellow and danced and sparked in the musty ancient room. Both men concentrated intensely as they struggled to overpower the other. Step by step, Avernus closed the gap between them, his hard eyes focused intently on the old man’s face, which remained calm and meditative, his lips moving in a silent plea to his One God. Close enough now to almost be touching each other's hands, the spells struck out probing for a weakness against the hastily constructed shields that engulfed each man.

  The crystal on the old man’s staff came to life with a humming glow as Avernus dug deeper into his own source of power and blasted away at the Keeper. Blood trickled out of Avernus’ nose as he exerted himself ruthlessly.

  Soon enough the black energy smothered the yellow pulse coming from the clutching hands of the Keeper and Avernus, sensing the weakening power of the old man’s barrier, intensified his focus and willed forth more of his dark power. The glowing staff pumped more energy into the barrier, the yellow growing stronger and brighter with each pulse. Unthwarted, insistent black tendrils clawed over the barrier, battering at it as Avernus’ central beam pounded away, aimed directly for the clutching hands and the staff that they held. In a moment of frustration Avernus unleashed even more power, his annoyance feeding his assault.

  The staff cracked. It was only a small fracture but the promise of imminent victory fuelled his will further and he pushed harder. Magic surged through his veins as the power lashed out around the room. Blood poured freely from his nostrils. The crack widened and the milky-white eyes of his adversary looked blankly toward him. Avernus could see the doubt in the old man’s face as the crack grew longer, running all the way from the crystal to his hands before it shattered and with it, the Keeper’s defence. The yellow barrier flickered and died and the black energy swept through it, incinerating the old man, the desk behind him, and boring into the fabric of the earth in its path.

  Exhausted, Avernus stopped casting and focused his eyes. His eyes quickly darted around the room, checking that the shelves remained intact, while he wiped the blood from his face. Relieved to find the artefacts were untouched amongst the surrounding devastation, he started looking for what he sought and hoped that it hadn't been on the old man’s desk.

  Devilin and Edrazil waited silently and within short moments saw the illumination of the torches flickering on the walls before the guards turned the corner. The Tarkinholm Guard moved three abreast and filled the narrow tunnel. Torches in one hand, swords in the other, they marched in time, left, right, left. A terse command ordered them to quicken their pace. In the flickering shadows, they didn’t see the hunters lying in wait at the junction until they were on top of them. Lashing out, Devilin impaled a guardsman then kicked his body into those behind while Edrazil sliced another from collarbone to hip.

  The guards surged forward to meet their deaths on the Seraphim’s blades. The fighting was ferocious in the close quarters. The Tarkinholm Guard fought desperately and died one after another. A voice boomed from further back and ordered them to pul
l back and disengage. The guards hesitated in their retreat as another figure pushed through from behind them.

  The lit torches that had been dropped from dying hands shone from the ground and flickered over the new figure’s face.

  ‘I am Derrick Jorgh, son of the Emperor of Kyzantium, favoured by the One God, may his praise be eternal. Drop your weapons and surrender. You have shed Kyzantine blood and are under arrest.’

  The two warriors looked at each other, the hints of smiles forming on their lips before they slowly and deliberately raised their blades before them.

  ‘Who will be first?’ asked the Prince, drawing his sabre. When neither warrior stepped forward his eyes twitched, betraying his intentions. ‘Have it your way …’

  He launched forward, hoping to surprise them, thrusting toward Edrazil’s abdomen. The Seraphim’s blade flashed across his body, knocking the thrust easily away. Annoyed, the Prince clenched his left fist and shifted his stance, left foot back, right forward. His sabre flashed out straight for the neck. As the blade was struck away again he committed himself and attacked relentlessly at any place on the two that was uncovered by armour. From all his training he knew that his sabre should be faster than their heavier blades and he was deadly accurate, yet their blades countered every salvo. Only the devil’s magic could conjure such an implacable defence against his renowned skill.

  Sweat dripped down Derrick’s face. Perspiration clung to his body, the humid conditions in the tunnel mercilessly sapping the energy from him. He could feel the exhaustion weighting his limbs. His opponents did not look perturbed. Their faces were calm, concentrated. Even with their heavy armour, they didn’t look discomforted, no flush in their cheeks. The Prince lunged forward, almost stumbling as he overextended but still managed a glancing blow to one of their thighs.

  Each strike now was countered in double unison, two blades creating an effective barrier. Through his gasping he could hear his men cheering in the background. It spurred him on. Faster now he attacked, pressing whatever advantage he could get.