Guardians of the Dead / Guardians of the Gate

The Bridgeburners

A score of figures sat on gaunt horses along a ridge a hundred paces distant.  Wrapped in black raincapes, armored and helmed, they seemed to be watching her, waiting for her.  But terror held Kalyth rooted, as if knee-deep in frozen mud...

The frost-rimed riders drew closer, and she could just make out that array of faces behind the serpentine nose-guards of their helms – deathly pale, bearing slashes gaping deep crimson and bloodless.  They wore surcoats over chain, uniforms, she realized, to mark allegiance to some foreign army, grey and magenta beneath frozen blood-stains and crusted gore.  One, she saw, was tattooed, bedecked in fetishes of claws, feathers and beads – huge, barbaric, perhaps not even human.  But the others, they were of her own kind – she was certain of that.

...

"Aye, we're no gods, and we're not going to attempt to replace him beneath that rotted cowl.  We're Bridgeburners, and we've been posted to Hood's Gate – one last posting –"

The grey eyes settled on her once more.  "Destriant, by that title alone you must now consort with the likes of us – in Hood's – your Reaper's – stead.  You see us as Guardians of the Gate, but we are more than that.  We are – or will become – the new arbiters, for as long as is necessary.  Among us there are fists, mailed gauntlets of hard violence.  And healers, and mages.  Assassins and skulkers, sappers and horse-archers, lancers and trackers.  Cowards and brave, stolid warriors."  He hitched a half-smile.  "And we’ve found all manner of unexpected … allies.  In all our guises, Destriant, we shall be more than the Reaper ever was.  We are not distant.  Not indifferent.  You see, unlike Hood, we remember what it was to be alive.  We remember each and every moment of yearning, of desperate need, the anguish that comes when no amount of beseeching earns a single instant's reprieve, no pleading yields a moment's mercy.  We are here, Destriant.  When no other choice remains, call upon us."

The ice of this realm seemed to shatter all around Kalyth and she staggered as warmth flooded through her.  Blessed – no, the blessing of warmth.  - (DoD UK HC p. 433)

"Death's guardians. Human faces in place of the Reaper's shadowed skull. Oh, what a thought! What a relief!" - Destriant Kalyth - (DOD UK HC p.435)

The Fourteen of the only Jaghut Army

Fourteen in all.  Details assembling as Sag Churok and Gunth Mach raced ever closer.  Gaunt despite the blackened, gnarled armor encasing their torsos and limbs.  Strange helms with down-swept cheek guards that projected below their chins.  Ragged camails of black chain.  Thick, tattered and stained cloaks that had once been dyed an intense, deep yellow, trimmed in silver fur. 

Sag Churok saw that seven of the strangers held in their gauntleted hands long, narrow-bladed swords of blued steel, basket-hilted with half-moon knuckle-guards; and ornate bucklers.  He saw two others with heavier single-edged axes and embossed round shields covered in mottled hides.  Three with broad-headed, iron-sheathed spears.  And two more, standing behind the rest, preparing slings.

And, surrounding them all, spreading down from the faint rise on which they waited, frost sparkled on earth and stone.

Disbelief struck Sag Churok like a hammer-blow.

This was not possible.  This was … without precedent.  Impossible – what cast these strangers?  Foes or allies?  But no, they cannot be allies.

Besides, as all know, Jaghut stand alone.

"There!"  shouted Kalyth, pointing.  "I prayed!  There – run to them – quickly!  Guardians of the Gate!" - (DoD - UK HC p.439)

Then the spear-wielder spoke.  "Flee.  Your hunters shall know the privilege of meeting the last soldiers of the only army the Jaghut ever possessed." - (DoD UK HC p.441)