Iron and Flame Read online

  Iron and Flame

  Awakening the Giants book II

  Alex Morgenstern

  Copyright © 2018 Alex Morgenstern

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Contact email: [email protected]

  Cover art: Eerilyfair Design

  Author's note

  The fictional nations and traditions depicted on this series are inspired by various historical cultures around the world. None is intended as a faithful representation of any nation or culture at any point in history.

  Chapter I - The Tower

  A freezing wind blew through the trees, screeching like a phantom. Askar shielded his nose and mouth behind the thick layer of fox fur. The wind pierced to the bones, through his tunic, through his segmented armour. He kept walking, hiding the tremors of his legs.

  The hills and blossoming oaks and birches covered their view, partly hiding the wall and the watchtower overhead.

  “This better be good,” Centurion Ascylkas muttered, following Askar, his sword clanking against his armour as he walked.

  They descended from a boulder, crossed the last leg of flowered trees, and reached the border wall of stone and wood. It extended for miles, left and right dividing the Imperial Territories from the vast barbarian lands up north.

  “There, sir,” Askar said, stepping out of the last patch of bushes and trees. He did not need to point at the thing in question. The centurion opened his eyes wide, and tensed his lips. The wall stretched up, five meters from the ground, and in one entire segment, there was a gap as wide as a cavalry tower, as if a tornado had decided to push its way across the wall.

  “Who did this?” Ascylkas walked toward the gap and leaned his hand on the rocky wall, on the broken logs, splintered as if broken by hand, and the damaged bricks at its base, as if crushed by a battering ram. He looked through.

  “What do you mean, Centurion?” Askar muttered. “It wasn’t done. I mean . . .”

  Ascylkas turned and glared, his brow furrowed and teeth clenched. His eyelashes twitched, a usual sign of anger, which he routinely let out on his soldiers.

  “Whosoever did this is going to get punished,” the centurion pointed a finger at him. “I do not know what the hell these boys are thinking. Tell me. Elkas saw it first, he must know. Or did he do it? Tell me, Askar, and the punishment will be lesser.”

  Askar took a deep breath.

  “With all due respect, Centurion, Elkas only reported what he saw.”

  “That damned story again? Or are you hiding something too, you skunk? Do you think these stories of giants scare me? Do you think I’m a cowardly rascal like all of you maggots.”

  “No, sir,” Askar said, then swallowed. The centurion had said the word. He feared them. “He just reported what he saw.”

  “What he saw?” The centurion’s eyes were red with anger, he put his finger on Askar’s chest and pushed him lightly. “These superstitions are getting out of hand, and they shall be dealt with accordingly. If whosoever is responsible for this does not step out and clarify this, I’m going to punish the entire company. And the company under Julius’ command as well. So you better tell me. Spit it out, soldier.”

  Askar clenched his teeth. His eyes remained fixed on his superior, his face tense. He trusted Elkas. Elkas himself had run back to camp and demanded for an expedition company to be formed. Even Elkas, the brave decurion, the best of his troop, had become pale and tremulous, and yet, he had not shied away from searching for the beast. The villagers all said the same thing. But Askar dared not even think the word, as it was believed it could draw them to the place.

  “My centurion, I assure you . . .”

  “Do you think these tricks will convert me to your foolish religion? I have received reports from the South. I know about it, believe me. But you won’t fool me.” He pointed at the gap. “This was made with the legion’s battering ram. Careless use of the army’s resources for a foolish trick.”

  “Sir, no. It wasn’t . . . No!”

  But the centurion was not going to listen to his words. The man was boiling in anger, and yet, for that blind anger, the legion would suffer. Words would not make him understand.

  He knew what would.

  Askar cleared his throat.

  “Sir, that is not all.”

  “Do not interrupt me! You will get punished too, soldier Askar. This is not acceptable.”

  Askar took a deep breath. “May I? This is not all that we needed to report.”

  “What are you talking about?” The centurion yelled.

  “The hole in the garrison wall is not the only thing,” he said.

  “The hole in the . . . Soldier, this is enough.”

  “Centurion, please, if I may, I just need you to take a closer look.”

  “I had enough of this,” he snorted. “No, I will not waste any more time.”

  “Sir, just for you to take a look.”

  “What?” The veins in his neck popped. “I told you I won’t waste any more time with you.”

  “Just take a look.”

  “Whatever you’re planning,” the centurion said and stepped out of the hole. Askar followed, breathing deeply. Then, he pointed at the floor, and the deep, piercing footprints, as if a rock had been dragged along the grass, peeling the earth, shaping it like a claw and sinking more than two feet below.

  “Are you being serious, soldier?” the centurion pouted.

  “Yes, sir, please, let us gather a few soldiers and come . . .”

  And then, Askar noticed something that had not been there earlier. He fixed his eyes on the trees that grew a few steps from there, and he noticed a grey boulder. Its shape was not like anything he had seen before. It looked like a mass of rocks, bound together by some invisible glue, and strangely symmetrical. It was vaguely shaped like an hourglass. An even number of rocks in the shape of triangular spikes expanded from its centre. Its base was angular. It looked vaguely human.

  “What are you looking at, soldier?” The centurion spewed.

  “Th-th-that . . .”

  “What? That? That’s only a rock.”

  “C-centurion. That was not there during sunrise.”

  “What are you saying?” The centurion strode through the short grass, reached the object and drew his short gladius. “It is just a rock,” he yelled.

  “Centurion, it was not there before.”

  The centurion spat on the floor and poked the object with his sword. Askar shut his eyes for an instant. It sounded just like iron hitting stone, and as such, the object was not scratched.

  “You see? Nothing,” the centurion said.

  Askar took a deep breath. He had to calm down.

  His eyes opened wide.

  The centurion remained still. Time seemed to dilate.

  The boulder twisted like a piece of hot iron. It seemed to split in three, as if arms grew out of its centre. It rose in the sky and towered above them, higher than the wall—higher than the trees—next to the soldier. Its legs stretched for about seven feet off the ground, with spikes protruding from its knees. Its abdomen was as thin as the legs, only the chest was wide, seemingly carved in grey stone. The figure had a massive skull, its upper part was sloped, its chin was long and disproportionate. Long teeth, shaped like daggers stuck out of its mouth, and its eyes were like burning coal.

  “What are you looking at?” the centurion asked.

  Askar’s tongue was paralysed.

  The centurion turned as t
he gargantuan hand reached down and grabbed him around the torso, like a man grasping a sword handle. In a second, a splash of warm blood splattered on Askar’s face. He blinked, and saw his leader turned into a pulp of red and purple, squeezing out the blood like juice. The iron of his segmented armour had been squeezed like a can.

  Askar’s heart shot up and banged like a drum of war. He turned and ran with all his strength. He dashed through the gap in the wall, his heart rate matched his steps, and he screamed out his lungs.

  Chapter II - Borderlands

  After the death of Governor Larius, his successor Florianus decided to burn the forest where Alana and the Clan of the Brown Bear hid. Red flames, furious as lions, licked the ancient trees, torturing them slowly, before turning them to ash. The flames lit up the air, burning beasts and plants alike. They raged for days like sacred temple fires.

  But the Clan of the Brown Bear had a hideout. They sunk into secret caverns deserted ages ago, and they endured through persecution and fear. On one cold moonless night, in the dead of winter, they emerged from their refuge and walked through burnt trunks and dead bushes. Under falling snow, over a vast white desert and a frozen river.

  A charred forest and dark catacombs could never be called home. They only had swords, a few arrows and spears made of stone and wood, as they crossed into the eastern forest, heading east. Alana grew stronger. She polished the Sword of Ares, symbol of her struggle, she strengthened her arms and her skills, and they journeyed on, two young boys, ten women, and a bear cub.

  One day, at the start of spring, they reached the border.

  “It’s time,” Alana said, crouching through the tall grass of the steppe, with moon and stars as guiding light, the dragon blade clattering in her belt, Kassius crouched by her side, the Sword of Ares wrapped in leather straps, bound to his back, and a small bow in hand. He had cut his wild hair short, but a sober beard was growing on his young face. Kassara, a former general back in the steppe days, stood by, a knife in her hand, her hair lush and blacker than the night, her eyes almond-shaped and decisive. She was leading the attack, and a segmented armour taken from an enemy soldier shielded her body.

  “Kassara . . .” Alana lowered her voice, narrowing her eyes, looking above the wooden tower in front of them. She could see something shiny under the wooden roof. It was the watchman’s helmet. A wide wooden wall extended to the sides, illuminated by two torches close to the watchtower. “Can you see them?” she asked.

  “I see one of them,” Kassara said in a harsh whisper. “Now you two listen to me very carefully. Do as I say or we may get in trouble.”

  Alana nodded. She noticed Kassius rolling his eyes, his face, as usual, was marked with red ink and magical staves.

  “No matter how many soldiers there are on this post, do what I say and save your butt,” Kassara muttered. Her voice had something motherly about it.

  Alana bit her tongue, she wanted to trust in Kassara’s words, but even after months of training, she did not feel confident. Kassara’s plan was simple, avoid frontal engagement, lurk in the shadows, like a hunting mountain lion, and if there was someone who knew about fighting and strategy, it was her.

  They advanced, almost crawling over the tall grass. Kassara, Alana, Kassius and two women who fought in the war stayed close. Their names were Raxana and Aliya, and they held stone spears in hand, and kept their heads up, looking proud and confident, although they still wore the ragged clothes from when they escaped their imprisonment.

  The man on the tower bobbed his head, peeking casually around. He leaned his head forward and his eyes wandered through the field. His helmet shone dully, reflecting the waxing moon. The group did not make a sound, and Alana instinctively lowered her gaze, until the man turned to observe the opposite side of the field.

  Kassara looked at Kassius.

  “We only have one shot, magic man.” Kassara extended her hand toward him. “Now let the grown-up do the job.”

  Kassius took a deep breath and passed her the bow and arrow with a frustrated sigh.

  “Thanks.” Kassara winked at him. “Alright,” she said. Then she crawled forward, and rested on one knee. With one eye shut, aiming the arrow with her hand, she nocked the arrow. “This is how you do it, boy,” she muttered.

  Kassius faked a smile.

  Kassara let go, the arrow flying with a thud, and the soldier’s head collapsed against the tower fence.

  “Where did you hit him?” Alana asked in a whisper.

  “Neck,” Kassara responded. “Quick, let’s go,” she commanded, raising her hand. They walked slowly through the moving grass. The ones who were not fighting, the vanguard—which included Irema, Tor, Gitara with her baby, and a few others—remained about fifty yards behind.

  “I’m going first,” Kassara announced. “Raxana, you follow me.”

  “Yes!” Raxana said, her fiery-red hair blending into the flames that danced along the wall. Like Kassara, she was late into the third decade of her life, her deep green eyes beginning to show the lines of time. Alana was grateful for having great veterans to look up to and to help them fight. They were invaluable, were it not for them, none of them would have survived the winter.

  Kassara stepped with the side of her boots and walked to the wooden stairs, bow and arrow in hand. They creaked lightly, and when she got to the top, she took a quick look. Raxana followed close. When she was half-way through the stairs, Kassara raised her hand and stared down at her, indicating her to stop.

  Alana saw from below, how Kassara shot two arrows, one after the other and fast as a rabbit’s leap. Then, she ordered the group to follow.

  Suddenly, a deep sound buzzed in their ears.

  Someone had blown a horn of alarm. Alana raised her head and looked from side to side, to the back, where Tor and the other ladies awaited, crouched and hiding in the grass, and forward, where Kassara and Raxana kept their calm. She drew her dragon blade and swallowed. Her stomach turned in fear.

  “Quick, we have the high ground!” Kassara shouted at them. Alana, Kassius and the third veteran, Aliya, climbed hastily through the creaky stairs.

  When they were on top, Alana saw Kassara shoot two more soldiers who approached from the stairs on the other side of the wall, wielding long spears and shields. Alana felt her heart rate increase, pulsating through her veins. She had fought against great warriors, and had managed to survive using only trickery and chance, but engaging in battle, even against a small group was something different. Kassius looked even more distraught; he nervously fidgeted the hilt of his knife. He always refused to train with swords, and now, as Kassara had taken his bow, he surely felt useless.

  Alana rushed up the opposite side of the stairs. She held on to her dragon blade and waited attentively. For an instant, she glanced at Kassius. His eyes were not focused on the scene in front of him, they were locked down on the floor.

  “Kasha, is something wrong?” she asked.

  He shook his head.

  Alana swallowed, grasping the blade with both hands.

  “They’re coming up!” Kassara said, looking back at them. “I’m running out of arrows, let’s stay together and not lose any of our warriors, understood?”

  Kassius blinked, as if waking up from a trance.

  “How many are there?” Kassius asked shyly.

  Raxana took a quick peek at the field.

  “More than a dozen,” she answered.

  “Get ready!” Kassara said, checking the shiny gladius sword she had stolen from the dead soldier, Kassius’ bow now bound to her back.

  Alana shut her eyes. Kassara had not fought in years, and Alana hoped she could hold her ground against the soldiers. The enemy formed beneath them, assembling with their large square shields, and their spears with iron tips. They started climbing, one by one.

  Kassara closed in, running down the stairs, dodging their spears like an acrobat, she reached one of the soldiers halfway through the stairs an
d thrust the blade into his side, between the folds of his segmented armour. The man dropped his spear and she held him by the neck, using him as a shield.

  Then, Kassara pushed his body, and two soldiers stumbled and fell to the ground.

  Raxana rushed behind Kassara, grabbing the spear that had belonged to another soldier, then jumped to the ground below. She rolled upon contact with the trimmed grass, waved her lance and struck a soldier in the neck. Another two attacked her at once, thrusting their spears viciously. She twisted her body to dodge, using the handle of her spear to smack one of them in the face. His nose broke, bathing his face in blood.

  Two soldiers ran up the stairs, with their spears ready, Alana and Kassius looked at each other. They had practised against long sticks, but even Alana was terrified. Aliya, the other veteran, stood next to them, holding a newfound gladius in hand. Both enemy soldiers advanced with shields protecting their faces and their spears forward.

  “What do we do?” Alana asked, gasping and fidgeting the blade. Kassius, on her side, was as pale as a piece of paper.

  “Let’s wait until they come up,” Aliya whispered. “And then I’ll close in.”

  “Yes,” Alana said, and Kassius nodded.

  Aliya did not wait, and went in for the fight. The soldiers charged against her, and she moved to the middle. The spears brushed past her. She managed to hurt one of them, but was attacked by the second one, who pushed her back up the tower, out of the stairs.

  He made Aliya retreat to the corner while she held the sword and avoided the lancer’s thrusts.

  Another pair of soldiers started climbing the stairs. Alana and Kassius had no choice but to fight and defend their position. The soldiers jumped up, already on top of the tower.

  Alana tried to close in with her blade, feeling a strange burst of energy rage through her, attacking the enemy’s side. The soldier’s spear shifted, now pointing toward her as quickly as a jumping lion. Her instincts reacted and she blocked the thrust with her blade. She instinctively stepped forward. She had closed in. She pulled the blade away and waved it across, her grasp firm and unflinching. She felt it connect with something soft, then against the metal of the soldier’s armour.