Sword of pallens, p.1
Sword of Pallens, page 1
All Things Impossible
THE SWORD OF PALLENS
Author: D. Dalton
Editor: Thomas Szott
Cover Art: Dennis Saputra
© Copyright 2011 D. Dalton. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-578-08145-8
This work’s copyright has been
registered with the US Copyright Office.
First Edition, printed April 2011
www.allthingsimpossible.com
This book or parts of this book may not be distributed or reproduced in any form without express permission from the author who is the sole copyright holder.
No one may acquire this novel in a digital form or any form for free and distribute it in any form for profit without documented permission from the author.
This is a work of fiction. None of it is real or based on real persons, with the single exception that one of the characters is named after a dearly departed friend of mine. Other than that, there is no intentional correlation between what is written here with any other works of fiction, or real world events, places and/or persons.
This book is dedicated to Kelin Mead.
1982-2000
You are still my friend, just as you were when we were
five years old and just as you were in high school.
Prologue
White knuckles choked the wooden casing of the spyglass. The captain fired his gaze up to the crow’s nest. “Anything?”
“Not a thing, cap’n!” The shout spiraled around the ropes of the rigging. The waves nudged the ship closer to the foggy shore.
“Two months, two months,” the captain growled beneath his breath. He twirled the spyglass in his hand and his boots clicked against the polished wood under his feet as he paced.
“You!” He pointed to a sailor mopping the deck. “Get up there!” He jerked his thumb up at the nest.
The unlucky sailor slipped on a puddle and kicked over his bucket. “Sir?”
“Four eyes are better than two, now git!”
“Aye, sir!” The sailor saluted at the same time his feet propelled him toward the rigging.
The captain’s gaze leveled the deck like a sword’s swipe. Sailors, understanding their captain, dropped what they were doing and thrust their heads over the railings. Their noses sniffed the salty wind and their eyes scanned the horizons. The captain joined them, looking port out to sea.
And still there was no sign!
The captain wrenched the spyglass free again and made another thorough stare at the sea and shore.
Nothing.
Again.
A gust of wind exploded from his nostrils. He pressed the spyglass to his chest. If he returned to Alscane without the treasure ships, it would be his head on the prince’s platter. As an honest man, he would swear by the sea god Kreighton’s amulet that there was nothing to be found.
Three quarters of the Alscane navy was out searching for the missing treasure fleet. The other quarter had been guarding it.
Could it be pirates? No one else had a navy who could threaten theirs, save the Blue Farers, of course. But everyone knew how honorable they were. The weather was more likely a culprit.
The continent of Dosmar still offered many, many riches even though the Empire of Pallens was long dead. Most of it came in the form of raw materials: gold, silver, iron ore, copper and gems. Few dared its rich heart, and the Empire’s much removed descendants lived in sod huts, so Alscane faced no competition.
The captain heaved another sigh. Harvesting the riches of the Empire’s land felt too much like plundering an abandoned temple. Yes, only a handful of people remained in the ruins of the city of Pallens; and he prided himself on being one of the very few who had actually visited there. And yes, those people didn’t do anything with the great natural wealth about them. Yes, Alscane was prospering tremendously and he owed his city his allegiance. But, it just didn’t feel right.
That wasn’t his worry, he told himself as he lowered the spyglass. His duty was to find and guard those treasure ships. He let his gaze fall back to the deck of his ship, the Pride of Mendelin. He hadn’t looked much at her in weeks. He’d been too busy staring at empty horizons.
The sleek caravel was heavy enough for warfare, but she could cut quickly through the water like a schooner. Her many, tall sails snapped proudly in the light breeze. The seawater licked her sides lightly as she tiptoed around the coast toward a small cove off the starboard side.
The sunlight glinted off of the ocean and through the captain’s spyglass once more. He twisted the cylinder for better focus. He pressed the device into his eye and ignored the pain. Something along the shoreline wasn’t quite the same pattern as the rest. The shape was too rectangular.
He inhaled sharply and re-focused the glass.
A ship!
The splintered hull rose up against the rocks. By the good condition of the wood, it had been recent. Shouts rang out over the ship as crewmen noticed it too.
The captain lowered the glass. His mustache twitched in thought.
“Shall we go closer, sir?” His first mate materialized by his side.
His frown folded even lower. “It’d be a nasty chore to get out of that cove, we can’t maneuver at all. I don’t like it.”
“We’ll have to tender to investigate anyway since she’s run aground.” He paused “The sun’s getting long too, sir, and we won’t be able to patrol the shoreline much longer.”
“I know. But that ship’s built like one of ours.” He sighed again. “Let’s see a closer look. No longboats and we can’t get that close, but let’s actually see what we’re so busily staring at.”
As the ship rounded into the cove, the tattered blue of Alscane’s banner flapped toward the Pride from the stricken vessel. The crew rushed the prow as they caught sight of the blue. All eyes nailed themselves into the broken hull.
Suddenly, the cold fingers of sea mist stroked the back of the captain’s neck. He had learned to walk with the ocean waves knocking him down and learned early to listen to the water’s song. She called out in mourning now.
Mechanically, he swiveled his head behind him. Four devilishly fast ships swam at them from a hidden inlet on the other side of the cove. They moved as gracefully as hunting sharks. The captain suddenly recognized the wreckage for what it was: bait.
He stared hard at those ships. They screamed toward him and made whitewater in their wakes. He’d never seen ships built like these. They glided sharply over the water twice as fast as he could with good wind. They were only two thirds his size, but he couldn’t stave off the four of them, not with that speed. He saw ballistae peeking over their railings. Their massive bolts reflected the setting sun. The wind began to pick up the scent of burning pitch and he suddenly knew they had the compact catapults for ship to ship combat, bolted carefully in the center so not to unbalance the boat.
Behind the four selachian boats emerged the largest vessel the captain could have ever imagined. Its hull was wide and flat, and the entire ship was painted midnight black. A sable flag he had never encountered before marched triumphantly in the breeze from its perch on the massive ship.
He read the name painted in careful lettering on the side: Hound of Hell.
“What manner of a name is that?” the captain murmured softly.
On the Pride’s deck, men hollered aloud and scrambled for their own weaponry. The captain looked around at the trap again. There was no escape. He removed his hat and glowered at the attacking ships. “Clever bastard.”
Doors pulled out through the sides of the Hound of Hell’s hull, and the captain saw that the entire deck was just a hatch for the belly of the boat. A hatch for what?
The spyglass slipped from his fingers. Its lens shattered against the deck, breaking the silence. The sailors shouted now too, but the captain was too busy staring.
A long silver neck, followed by wings unfolded from the belly of the boat. Then the entire dragon blossomed free from its confinement. It lowered its head and glared at the Pride with pulsating, ruby red eyes. It opened its mouth. Lightning crackled inside its jaws and looped through its sword-like teeth.
The captain wondered if they would have time to see it coming, or if the dragon would let the ships slaughter them and laugh at the exhibition.
Despite it all, a question bubbled up in the back of his mind: why would a dragon bother with a ship?
Chapter One
The Dead Rising
The skull split like a grapefruit as it cracked on the sword. The body tottered for a moment, and then collapsed into the snow. Kelin Miller noticed that the corpse failed to steam against the frozen ground. It was already cold.
His breath certainly frosted the air before catching on his perennial whiskers. The single edged, slightly curved sword loosened in his hand. It was a magic sword, but it really didn’t do anything other than glow with a meager light. It’d saved his life against undead and more before, though, since only magic could kill such things as were-creatures.
He’d fought undead before, but not like these. The ones that had ambushed them on their way to Riverfall had scraped along the ground, barely dragging their feet. These moved like they were dancing over the fires of hell.
He looked at the chemman. “I don’t understand. We’re well beyond the edge of nowhere! Do the undead just happen out here? Naturally?”
Thistle snorted and sharply shook his head. He shot forward and the snow failed to crunch beneath his boots. Absolute silence seeped from his black sword. All sound vanish
Until the blade stopped all motion, it silenced the oncoming moans from the couple remaining creatures. Kelin yelled, but the sword’s power overrode his shout. Thistle held the blade still and arched his eyebrows.
“I don’t know; that’s why I asked!” Kelin yelled again and spun to face his next target. This one couldn’t move as fast as the others. It hopped madly toward them on its only leg. Its remaining flesh had rotted to brown. Kelin squinted, and thought he could see worms between the holes in the thing’s skin. Frozen dead worms. How long had this guy been out here?
It hopped closer. “Grrrrrllll…”
Kelin nearly dropped his sword. “Oh dear gods! It’s trying to speak!” He gulped. They’d never seen that before!
“Grrrrlllll….”
Something suddenly snatched the back of Kelin’s shirt and yanked.
He barely stopped swinging his blade in reflex. He glared down at the half-chemmen, half-elven boy. “Thalon! Don’t do that!”
The boy looked up with helpful innocence shimmering on his face. He blinked his orange eyes. “Can I get this one, please?”
Kelin’s mouth twisted as he tried not to frown. “Can you even reach?”
The corpse of the very late fat man hopped closer. They could hear the moans as whatever was left of his vocal chords tried to vibrate. “Grrrrllll...”
“Yes,” the boy replied sulkily.
“Oh really?”
Thalon closed one eye and sized up his opponent, which was twice his height and at least four times his weight. The creature extended one brown hand. Several of the fingers had rotted off, but its first finger pointed stubbornly at the child. Moss dangled freely from its fingernail.
The boy’s confidence evaporated from his face. He stared, hypnotized by the outstretched aberration. It thrust out its other arm, and Thalon didn’t even blink. The creature thundered toward him, only ten feet away now.
Thalon still didn’t move.
Kelin and Thistle both jumped, swinging their blades. Sparks lit up the evening air as their swords accidentally crashed together over Thalon’s head.
Thalon, ignoring them, dropped his hand to his belt and tossed up a sleek long knife. He caught it by the blade and launched it at the hopping corpse. The knife twirled through the air between the adults symmetrically.
It stuck more than halfway to the hilt directly between the creature’s eyes. Perfect. The arm of the body rose as if to pull it out, but stopped midway and the corpse crumpled.
Thalon grinned and jumped in place and pointed. “Look, Dad! I got one!”
Thistle whirled toward his son. He ground his teeth. “Don’t wait.”
Kelin opened his hand to the final one. “Do you want this one as well, master warrior?”
Bones reflected in the blue moonlight. Clumps of hair and skin clung to patches all along the very late man’s body, but more bone was visible than flesh. With no tendons surrounding its ankles, it could only stumble along. The wind stirred behind and the bones shook together to sound like wooden wind chimes.
Kelin shivered, and he wasn’t entirely certain it had to do with the winter breeze.
Crooked yellow teeth mashed together as if the monster were already munching on their flesh.
“Uh…” The boy retreated half a step. “You can have him.”
Thistle’s lips split in mockery of a smile. His feet whispered against the ground and he spun around behind the undead thing. With one definite stroke, he broke open its head. The body fell as heavily as a toppling oak.
Then only silence assailed their ears. Kelin looked around just to make certain. “I thought no one ever came this way, even if just to die.”
Thistle shrugged. He stood over the fat one. His sword tip hovered over an empty eye socket. If this were a recent kill, he would poke it in the eyes to see if it were truly dead. But for these – he thrust the black blade down – he made sure he knew.
Kelin knelt to wipe the blood, hair and gray splatters off his blade in the snow. The process just seemed to make a bigger mess, but it scraped most of it off the weapon.
Thalon left only a dusting of footprints in the snow as he darted past his older friend into the bush. “Chloe? You can come out now.” He pushed his head into the frozen foliage and offered the golden haired girl a hand up. She pushed the snow off of her simple green skirt with her mittens. The pair stood side by side with the girl slightly higher than Thalon. She tried to smile; all the while her eyes darted around them into the darkened forest, as if looking for more monsters.
Kelin finished scrubbing his curved sword clean. “That’s the second batch. Someone’s tangling with horrible magic, raising the dead like this.” He spat.
“Why?” Chloe’s face faded to a shade akin to her skirt at the sight of the slain monsters. “And they’re people!”
“They’re not human anymore.” Thistle smiled toothlessly. “Soul’s gone.”
“But– but, it used to be a person!’ She rubbed her cheeks with her hands and tried to push the tears back into her eyes. “And why would they attack us?”
“Survival is more important for the living than for the dead.” The chemman snarled at the motionless creatures on the ground. “Even if they do want to feed.”
Kelin knelt in front of the children. He offered a small smile. “They’re just decaying bodies that should be put to rest. That’s all we’re doing.”
“We know, Kelin.” Thalon slipped past him and bent over to pull his long knife out of his kill. It came free of the corpse’s face with a sucking sound. “They’ve been out here awhile, haven’t they? ‘Cause it’s winter and, um, the meat’s frozen.”
Kelin shrugged. “I don’t think there are recent dead in these lands. People don’t come here.”
“We’re here,” the boy pointed out.
“Often.” Kelin brought his eyes up to Thistle’s orange orbs. “Could it be? They’re the only ones that I know who would…”
“Aye.” Thistle’s face remained blank. “They are.”
“But those were different!” He flung his free hand out to encompass the snowy darkness. “But wouldn’t it be like the chemmen to create undead and just let them wander the wilderness?”
“Chemmen?” Thalon’s eyes shot wide open. He spun toward his father.
Thistle nodded. “Some may have been in the world when Darkreign was sealed again and who were not at the battle.”
“They’re here?” Chloe gasped.
He shook his head. “I said it was possible.”
“But we haven’t seen any signs of them!” Thalon protested.
“Never did before either,” Kelin mumbled.
Thistle’s gaze swept over the small group. “They are starving for revenge. It is all that they have become. If you were tiny in number and couldn’t risk showing yourself, what would you do?”
Kelin pressed a hand to his forehead in an effort to halt the dizziness suddenly attacking him. “No.”
“Create a few creatures that won’t stop, even out here until they literally rot or are destroyed,” Thistle continued. “They could have been practicing out here, trying to improve–”
“Stop!” Chloe cried. “That’s too terrible!”
Kelin felt his knees sag. He’d always known it could happen, but even evidence of a suspicion was too much.
He knew it had only been a year, but it felt as if the war had taken place in another life. He had never been that young. He’d never been that ignorant as to how large the world truly was, or of the inventive cruelty of some of the people in it.
Before last autumn, the entire world was fifteen buildings huddled together around an unnamed river. That was all of Riversbridge. That was home.
He hadn’t returned. He could stomach fighting the undead out in the middle of nowhere, but he didn’t think that he could face home.
