Champion of the Scarlet Wolf Book Two Read online

  Blind Eye Books

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  Champion of the Scarlet Wolf

  Book 2

  By Ginn Hale

  Published by:

  BLIND EYE BOOKS

  1141 Grant Street

  Bellingham, WA 98225

  blindeyebooks.com

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher except for the purpose of reviews.

  Edited by Nicole Kimberling

  Cover Art by John Coulthart

  Interior Art by Dawn Kimberling

  This is a work of fiction. All characters places and events are fictional and any resemblances to actual people, places or events are coincidental.

  First digital release December 2014

  Copyright © Ginn Hale

  Digital ISBN 978-1-935560-35-7

  Print ISBN 978-1-935560-34-0

  This book is dedicated to all the readers who supported the series and waited so long. Thank you!

  —Ginn

  Chapter One

  Clouds of granite dust swirled through the narrow lanes, throwing a haze over the few rush torches that lit the nighttime street. The grit irritated Elezar’s eyes and caught in his throat but he didn’t have time to wait until it settled. He gripped Skellan’s limp body with one hand and held his reins in the other as he urged his charger farther into the chaos of Milmuraille city.

  In the gloom, the great heaps of newly fallen rubble and the jumping shadows cast by distant fires lent an eerie uncertainty to every form Elezar glimpsed as he rode through the maze of streets. The deathly pale faces of stunned onlookers peered from windows, while parties of irrepressible drunks hooted and screamed like wild devils from overhanging balconies. Exhausted city guards stumbled through the wreckage, escorting clusters of filthy, bloodied folk to the shelter of temples.

  The few bell towers still standing in the city clanged out alarms as fires lit the stormy night sky. And all around bizarre creatures pulled themselves from the shattered stone walls that had held them captive for generations. The strange beasts fled through the crowds and confusion like the damned racing from the three hells.

  Lightning crackled across the sky, silhouetting the smoky forms of ghostly horses as they bounded over the roofs of guild houses. A buck with a crown of six antlers and snakeskin for a hide darted across the crooked street as if making way for Elezar and his wounded charge.

  Far in the distance the gray edifice of the Cadeleonian garrison loomed. It had been erected too recently to harbor wild spirits within its structures. It would stand through this madness and if need be its cannons could be turned against all the unknown that crept and slithered and flew free now that the Labaran sanctum lay in rubble.

  Flocks of white bats with dangling strings of flickering tentacles winged overhead, squealing and screeching like excited children. Cloud imps, Javier had called them.

  Ahead of Elezar, two long-limbed women scurried from the remains of a bell tower, racing for the river. As Elezar’s charger barreled down the broken road, lightning filled the sky. He caught a clear view of the women’s gaping, frog-like faces and the mats of green hair that draped from their heads down to their webbed feet. Their huge toad eyes caught the light of lamps shining from overhanging balconies and glowed orange even after darkness closed in again.

  “Frogwives,” Javier shouted from the behind Elezar. He ran a hand soothingly along the neck of his small dark mount. Dust powdered his long black hair to gray and his clothes hung in tatters. Elezar doubted that he himself appeared any more presentable. He’d crossed a courtyard of ash and clawed through the wreckage of the sanctum, tearing his clothes and bloodying his body in the race to reach Skellan. He’d walked over dead bodies and listened to a ghost whisper of a plot to destroy his homeland.

  But right now all he seemed able to care about was the faint, living heat that radiated from Skellan’s battered body. Elezar dug his fingers into the bearskin cloak that he’d wrapped around Skellan.

  He’s still alive, Elezar silently assured himself.

  Somehow, Skellan had survived his lone battle against a fiery serpentine demon lord. Just remembering the sight of that immense monstrosity rising up over the sanctum tower where Skellan had stood set Elezar’s heart pounding hard.

  Skellan had looked so small—a lanky witch dressed in rags and standing barefoot, his red hair swirling in the hot wind of the demon lord’s breath. Yet he hadn’t wavered, not even when a cascade of flames poured down upon him from the demon’s molten jaws. He’d fought, rending the demon lord down into darkness even as his own life had faded away. It humbled Elezar to think of Skellan’s courage and infuriated him to realize that the witch had seemed all too willing to simply sacrifice himself.

  He’d survived. Barely. But he’d not opened his eyes or spoken a word. He hung limp against Elezar.

  “Stay with me,” Elezar whispered. “I’ll get you to help, Skellan, I swear.” It seemed so little to promise but at the same time so difficult to accomplish in the chaos of this night.

  Elezar’s mount shied suddenly as the cracked facade of a small Labaran tavern collapsed. Hundreds of tiny black shadows scurried from the rockslide, hissing.

  Javier pulled his own mount to a halt beside Elezar’s. He hurled a shining white light ahead of them. It spun and shone like a comet, casting its cold illumination across the faces of people staring from their windows and balconies.

  On the ground, some hundred yellow speckled lizards hissed in alarm, and then spreading insectile wings, lit up into the air like a swarm of beetles. Cloud imps swooped after them, snapping them into their tentacles and pursuing them beyond the eaves of the surrounding buildings.

  Elezar glowered at the rubble filling the street. He didn’t have the time or strength to shift so much stone. They’d have to turn back and try yet another of the winding side streets. At this point, he’d take a mugger’s alley if it stood clear.

  I will shift the little rocks. You protect our Hilthorn.

  The words rumbled through the air like the crashing of distant waves. Then Bone-crusher, the craggy four-story troll whom Skellan had freed from the walls of the sanctum, stepped gingerly forward. Even the raving drunks fled from their balconies as the troll squatted down. His rocky thighs brushed the buildings on either side of the narrow street and a musky smell rolled off his pendulous genitals in waves. The odor caught in Elezar’s throat, tasting sweet as the wild grasses that sprouted all across Bone-crusher’s body but also pungent as a prison cell. The long spikes jutting from the troll’s back caught the light as he scooped up the spill of cracked granite. His eyes were black pits and the glow of distant fires lent a red cast to the ragged crown of his mossy skull.

  “Fascinating company you’ve fallen in with since we last rode together,” Javier remarked. He glanced up at the troll then cast a much more concerned eye over Skellan’s slack body, then Elezar himself. “You know you’re bleeding?”

  “Scratches,” Elezar said with a shrug.

  Bone-crusher heaved the ruble aside with a force that shook the ground beneath them. Then he straightened and stepped back. Javier’s horse tossed his head in fear as the troll’s body passed over. Both horses bolted ahead the moment they were given free rein. Bone-crusher followed them, passing through the city like a walking fortress.

  Soon the collapsed maze of old Labaran streets gave way to the neat grid that marked the Cadeleonian district of the protectorate. Here the garrison dominated the skyline even in the darkness. In comparison to the bright paint and ornate decoration of Labaran structures the massive walls of the garrison appeared imposingly drab and ugly. It occupied four times more land than Count Radulf’s Sun Palace and had been built to house an army and repel an invasion. Though after decades of corrupt leadership, abuse, and desertion, the number of Cadeleonian soldiers inside numbered only seventy-five and of those hardly twenty remained fit to fight. Walkways and watchtowers, which should have blazed with lamps and torches all along the massive walls, stood dark and empty. Only a few lights flickered beyond the portcullis. Two near the stable, one at the gate, and another just beyond at the entry of the headquarters.

  All four of the men guarding the gate wore Labaran uniforms: three attired in the colors of Count Radulf’s personal guard while the fourth displayed the white badge of a deputy to Sheriff Hirbe. These men owed Elezar no allegiance and he feared they might refuse him entry. The garrison had all but fallen into Labaran hands this evening, and though Elezar still held the keys entrusted to the garrison’s commander, he’d only come into their possession by chance and with the complicity of the Labaran sheriff.

  Then Elezar’s gaze fell on the young deputy. He wore his brown hair a little long but didn’t sport the mustache favored by the majority of Labaran men. His hands and feet seemed oversized, like those of a wolfhound pup. Likely he would fill out to a brawny man in a year or two.

  “Magraie!” Elezar called to him. “I’ve brought Ske—Count Hilthorn Radulf. He needs the care of a sister-physician.”

  At the mention of Skellan’s birth name the deputy leapt to the winch and cranked the heavy gates open.

  Elezar and Javier rode in easily. But Bone-crusher had to crouch low to pass beneath the massive portcullis.

  Magraie and his fellow guards stared in wide-eyed shock as Bone-crusher emerged and straightened from the shadows. The count’s guard
s raised their spears and the young deputy stepped forward to halt the troll’s advance, though he had no more chance of doing so than a sparrow might have of stopping a landslide.

  “Let him pass!” Elezar shouted. “Master Bone-crusher is faithful to Hilthorn.”

  Magraie and the other three guards looked immensely relieved to obey Elezar’s command. The troll stepped around them with a surprising grace.

  Faithful I am, but I cannot make him well nor are my hands enough shelter for him now. Bone-crusher bowed so that his huge rocky face hung over Elezar. His breath felt like the vapor of a hot spring. Something bright gold glowed within the depths of the troll’s eyes. His teeth were iron spikes and lichen and moss crusted the tattoo of swirling patterns carved across his cheek. You must take Little Thorn inside and see to him. I will take my rest near the well where I can hear the water running deep.

  Elezar couldn’t see the well but he knew where it lay at the back of the headquarters, near the open training grounds and the cavalry arena. How Bone-crusher knew the well’s location, Elezar couldn’t say. Perhaps he indeed felt the currents of water pooling deep underground and filling the cisterns beneath. Bone-crusher straightened and then strode away, his footsteps quiet as falling snow.

  “Shall I take your horses to the stable, Lord Grunito?” Deputy Magraie asked.

  “Yes, thank you. And have the sister-physicians sent for.” Elezar tossed the deputy his reins and then swung down from his saddle with Skellan cradled in his arms. “We will be in the first floor rooms at the end of the east hall of the headquarters.”

  Javier dismounted and handed his horse over to the deputy’s care as well and followed him as he made for the austere headquarters. Two more of the count’s men guarded the entrance, though one went pelting off to the infirmary on Elezar’s orders and the other merely held the door for him.

  Elezar chose the humble chamber that overlooked the well. It held a bed, but no bedding or pillows of any description. Char, but no wood nor embers, lay in the cold fireplace. Past the open iron shutters he spied Bone-crusher’s silhouette curled like a mossy hill. Cloud imps flitted over the troll’s jagged spine like nighthawks hunting mice.

  Elezar laid Skellan down on the straw-stuffed mattress. The rickety bedside table offered neither wash water, nor a lamp. But at least the mattress stuffing smelled fresh. Javier laid Skellan’s dog skin cloak over the white bearskin. The scarlet fur stood out glaringly against the white ticking of the mattress and glossy bearskin.

  For a while neither Elezar nor Javier said anything. Both stood staring down at Skellan’s still body. He wasn’t elegant in his spill of dirty, tangled hair, and bloodied limbs. Crusts of dried blood speckled his nose and mouth. Ash and mud streaked his skin. He looked an utter mess and Elezar found it nearly impossible to pull his gaze from him. He wanted to take Skellan’s hand in his own but felt ashamed of the impulse. Now was no time to act like a distraught suitor.

  “I expect he’ll live,” Javier said at last. Flickering white light danced between his fingers.

  “He has to,” Elezar responded. The raw emotion in his own voice alarmed him. Javier arched one of his black brows and Elezar turned away. “He’s Count Radulf now. If this city is going to stand against the grimma, we’ll need him.”

  Still fearing what his expression might reveal, Elezar strode to the writing desk standing in the corner of the room and picked up the oil lamp sitting atop it. He found a tinder box along with a pen and bottle of old ink in a drawer then busied himself coaxing a warm flame from the short wick of the lamp. Shadows jumped and fled into the corners of the room like startled roaches.

  When he turned back he found Javier studying him with the expression of a man who had amassed a long string of unspoken questions.

  “Something wrong?” Elezar demanded. They’d known each other since they’d been twelve and Elezar didn’t see the point in making small talk if there was trouble.

  “You mean aside a sanctum being shattered and half of ancient mythology climbing up out of the wreckage?” Javier inquired. “Apart from the troll we left in the courtyard and the fact that there is nothing now standing between this city and four armies of giants and monsters?”

  “Yes, aside from the obvious,” Elezar replied.

  “No, I suppose that’s about all that’s troubling me. Well, that, and the fact that I stink like the inside of a dog.” Javier laughed at himself and then with a soft clap of his hands extinguished the white lights he’d kept rolling between his fingers.

  The room dropped into a dim golden glow. Elezar stretched, feeling the pull and aches of his body.

  “Do you truly intend to stay here and attempt to defend this city against four armies?” Javier asked softly, as if someone might overhear.

  “I do.”

  “This isn’t your country and these aren’t your people,” Javier said. “Why would you risk so much for them?”

  “Because… I was sent to keep Cadeleon from being dragged into a war. That means the grimma and their armies need to be stopped here.” Elezar wasn’t lying but he knew his motivation wasn’t so simple as serving his king and country.

  Prince Sevanyo wished to avoid bloodshed, but neither the king nor the royal bishop opposed a war so long as it was fought on Labaran soil. A hundred years before, similar circumstances had given Cadeleon dominion over the southern Labaran counties. The taxes Labarans still paid to maintain Cadeleonian garrisons and soldiers in their lands amounted to fortunes. As far as Elezar’s exact duties went, he’d accomplished all that Fedeles had entrusted to him—he’d breached the Sumar grimma’s sanctum and delivered Prince Sevanyo’s gifts. He’d even done all he’d promised for the Sumar grimma. He had located her abducted child and placed her ring upon his hand. Elezar glanced to Skellan and noted how the ruby stone gleamed against the dusty skin of his index finger.

  No, his urge to stay stemmed neither from duty or obedience. He knew that. But he declined to acknowledge the stirrings that inspired him to protect Skellan’s city. Particularly not to Javier, who already knew too much of the desires lurking in Elezar’s heart.

  He suspected that if Javier were in his place he wouldn’t have hesitated to speak his heart. But that was why Javier now lived as an impoverished, heathen holy man, exiled from his home, friends, and family. Elezar admired him no end for his courage and honesty but he didn’t think he could make the same sacrifices that Javier had.

  “Defending Milmuraille is the honorable thing to do,” Elezar said flatly. “There’s nothing more to it.”

  “Of course.” Javier offered him that smug smile that had made Elezar want to put him in a headlock so often back at the Sagrada Academy. And it didn’t help that Javier still looked like the handsome, fine-featured nineteen-year-old of their school days. But they weren’t the boys they had been and Elezar quashed the urge.

  If he hadn’t been so exhausted he might have flicked Javier in his sharp pretty nose just for appearing so young and energetic while Elezar felt like a battered old man.

  “If you’re planning on surviving a four-army siege you’re going to have to start taking better care of yourself.” Javier stepped closer and frowned at Elezar’s chest. “That gash is still bleeding.”

  “It’s fine.” Elezar wiped at the narrow cut. It stung a little. He’d been scraped and bruised but hadn’t endured anything that wouldn’t heal completely in a week.

  “The last time you claimed you were fine you were dying of a poisoned wound.”

  Kiram had brought the incident up as well. It embarrassed Elezar that both men had seen him in such a moment of despondency.

  “And because of that mistake I now know the difference between a harmless scrape and a wound that will cause imminent death by muerate poisoning,” Elezar replied. “I assure you, I’m fine.”

  “I suppose you are.” Javier sounded tired all at once. He eyed the chair beside the desk and then dropped down into it. He kicked his legs up on to the desktop and sprawled back in his seat. “What a damn day.”

  Elezar leaned back against the wall.

  “Hell of a night as well,” he commented. Then he stole another glance to Skellan’s body. Elezar watched his chest rise ever so slightly as he drew a shallow breath. Oesir had said that he would live, but then how well could a ghost judge the difference between the living and the dead?