Chapter 30 #2
But her relief was short-lived, as the remaining skeletons hesitated for only a brief moment in front of the collapsed stairs before doing something unexpected.
One leaned over the gap and grabbed a handhold on the wall.
Another climbed over it and grabbed farther up the wall.
A third got on the first two’s backs. The fourth grabbed on to a landing and the spine of the third.
Yuma quickly realized what they were doing—they were building a bridge with their bodies.
Human bones being far from stone or wood, the bridge collapsed more than once during assembly, but the skeletal soldiers kept trying.
It would only be a matter of time. An impatient skeleton attempted to cross the bridge before it was completed and jumped to attack Yuma on the other side, but it fell to the streets below without having reached her.
“Aidan, can we break more stairs?” Yuma asked.
“Not quickly enough to matter. From this point up is where the summer repairs were finished.”
“Noted. Take care of the people here. I’m going up to see what’s happening, to see if this is almost finished.”
The herders made way for her up the narrow remaining stairs.
Yuma climbed, passing the door behind which the Host would be singing.
She badly wanted to ask him when his song would be finished but bothering him would only delay him.
On the roof, she went right to the horn and leaned over the ledge to look down on the blue-lit square below.
Garamund had lost his right hand and was now holding the mace in his left.
His armor of bone was shattered in places, the pieces littering the square, and his body was full of scars that hadn’t been there when Yuma last watched.
Lysandros had likely inflicted the wounds, but each of them had healed.
Lysandros looked unharmed. Yuma sighed in relief. He was as quick and clever as ever, parrying and attacking like some steppe predator.
Garamund wordlessly swung his mace again.
Lysandros lightly jumped out of the way and sliced the giant’s side with his forearm-mounted blade.
Yuma grinned. They might win this battle.
If Garamund fell, the undead army would lose their death magic and fall apart.
This would be the first defeat Eldred had ever suffered in Merseh.
As Garamund made another swing with the mace, Lysandros ducked and raised his blade at the giant’s remaining wrist, but the mace was already gone from his hand, flying through the air. With a loud clang, the square went dark.
Fractica, on the edge of the square, had fallen. Hit by the mace, the lid of the iron box had ripped off and something black had tumbled out of it. Lysandros froze. Yuma immediately turned and ran down the stairs.
“Out of the way!” she screamed, dropping her machete and unhitching the spear from her back.
Aidan and the herders jumped out of her trajectory.
At the final step, Yuma leaped and landed on the almost complete bridge of bones.
Without hesitating, she ran across it, not listening to the hideous sound of bones cracking under her every frantic step.
She didn’t have the luxury of dodging the skeletons’ attacks—she could only use her spear to ward them off, and pray that they missed on their own.
She gritted her teeth through the sharp pain of the skeletal hands clawing at her ankles, thinking only of Lysandros and the danger he was in.
As she reached the end of the bone bridge, Yuma jumped down to the street, ignoring the cuts and scratches she’d suffered on the way.
The jump was at least three times her height, and she was almost sure she felt something break as she landed and rolled, but she used the shock to get up and keep running.
When she got to the square, Garamund’s hand was gripping Lysandros’s helm, the emissary dangling in the air like a puppet with its strings cut.
For the first time, Garamund spoke.
“Now die, Inquisitor.”
A voice so deep, so cruel, that it could only be his. As Garamund was about to dash him against the ground headfirst, Yuma cried, “Grim King!”
Garamund turned to her, and his scar-filled face broke into something resembling a grin. It reminded her of the face Jed’s body had made when the Grim King had spoken to her through him.
“Chief Herder of Danras. So, you’ve realized it is me in this body.”
“It’s my turn to fight you, Eldred!”
As Yuma spoke the name, Garamund’s grin twisted, further revealing his sharpened teeth. Gasps escaped through the many windows and doors ajar.
Yuma tied up her braid in a firm knot, unwrapped the leather from the spear tip, and glared at the giant. From Garamund’s mouth, Eldred’s voice came once again.
“Isn’t it time for you to stop this rebellion?
Once my army kills your herders, they will drag your Host to me.
Then all the bones buried in your catacombs shall be mine.
Or do you intend to nick this giant’s body with your little stick?
Even when you’ve seen what has happened to this pathetic Imperial sorcerer? ”
The Host’s singing suddenly grew louder, loud enough for all of Danras to hear. A boy’s sharp voice, carrying the most clear and beautiful tune. The song was entering the final phrase. Garamund’s dead eyes moved toward the Feast Hall. Everywhere in Danras, windows opened. Heads peeked out.
“Lysandros has not lost,” she shouted, as loudly as she could. Loud enough for as many people of Danras as possible to hear. Garamund gave her a questioning look. “He’s only done exactly what he was supposed to.”
Yuma looked toward the northern sky. The stars trembled, and she couldn’t hold back a grin. She pointed her blade at the polestar. From the Host’s tower, a high and clear voice was heard throughout the city. The stars swirled around the polestar as Garamund—no, the Grim King—looked up as well.
The whirlpool of stars came together to consolidate around the polestar, creating a light that was somehow brighter than the sum of its parts. The light shone on Danras. The tip of her spear glinted like a torch, reflecting the starlight.
A fierce, cold wind swept through as the converging starlight shone down. Wind chimes sang in chorus as the Host’s final high note rang out.
Glancing at the sharp shadow that fell behind her, Yuma declared, “It is now day. This battle is over.”
A beast-like cry came from Garamund’s mouth. Every wound Lysandros had inflicted came back, bursting with black blood. The giant dropped down on one knee and let go of Lysandros.
Yuma rushed forward, stepping up on Garamund’s bent knee and plunging her spear into the giant’s neck with both hands. The Grim King’s general finally collapsed on the ground.
She heard cheers coming from the Feast Hall, and knew that the undead army must’ve fallen as well. But she didn’t celebrate with them—Yuma rushed to Lysandros’s side and urgently patted his helmet, crying, “Emissary! Emissary, are you all right!”
His visor slid up, revealing his familiar smile.
“Chief Herder, I am fine. But Fractica—”
Yuma threw off his helmet and covered his lips with hers. When she finally detached herself, he spoke again.
“Chief Herder chooses this moment to steal a kiss, when I can’t move.” He laughed weakly. “Fractica needs to be taken care of if I’m to regain the use of my body.”
Yuma smiled and nodded, wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of her hand, and got up. Fractica was not moving. Under the sunlight that wasn’t, she saw that a long box had popped out of Fractica’s chassis, and a heavy-looking sack had half fallen out of it.
The box inside the chassis was made of a dull gray metal, and it was wrapped in black chains.
A sudden foreboding, a feeling that she should not approach the box, came over her, but she ignored it.
Garamund’s mace must’ve broken the chassis, loosened the chains, and cracked the seal around the gray box.
Vapors of violet wafted out from the inner container.
Yuma bent down to get a closer look. She wondered why this sack was wrapped in something like long bandages that had writing on them—and when she realized what she was looking at, she jumped back in shock.
For she now knew she was looking at a carefully wrapped human corpse.