by Aaron Bunce
“The five provinces are too strong. Denoril will never fall to the likes of you!” Strongside said defiantly.
“The weak fall to the strong, the strong fall to the stronger, and on and on. It is as it has been throughout time immemorial. We will take this, your mightiest of cities, and then the next, and the next, until we have returned this entire land to perfect order. We will raise a paradise from your tainted hovel,” Nephera said, striding right up to Morimer Strongside. The man shrunk away, despite being over a full head taller.
“Over our dead bodies!” Lord Russo spat angrily from behind Morimer.
“Yes, that of course was a promise of payment in the beginning!” she replied.
“No…wait-wait-wait, you said you weren’t going to harm us?!” Gladeus said.
“Truthfully. But your lives were promised in return for invaluable services. I trust you will understand,” Nephera said, motioning behind them.
Gladeus swung his head about as the line of soldiers opened, allowing a single figure through. He watched him approach, his long dark hair swaying.
“My old friends, you have no idea how it warms my heart to see you again!” the man said. He wore a gleaming, black metal breastplate, outfitted with dark leather and a deep red jerkin edged in gold thread.
“Djaron! How can this be?!” Lord Thatcher gasped, his legs shaking visibly beneath him.
“You know the beginning of that tale as well as anyone, Peedmont. After you betrayed me, stealing my birthright, and driving me into the wilds to live like a wild animal, so very much changed for me. I would love to sit down and share how I have spent the past twenty winter thaws, but I’m afraid I just haven’t the time. And sadly, neither do you,” Djaron said, and although his tone was bright and friendly, it didn’t match the horrible glint in his dark eyes.
“You align yourself with this…this, creature?” Lord Russo spat.
“She’s less a monster than you, Dorel,” Djaron said, laughing loudly. “When you cast me out into the wilds, I realized that I was probably destined to die, or to live a life under the constant threat of it. But in my exile, I met Nephera here. Well in another form than you see here. The durjj really did find her a fetching body, didn’t it?”
“You’re cracked,” Peedmont said, but Djaron ignored him.
“Her story, believe it or not, is so much like my own. The Nymradic ruled this land absolutely, benevolently, ages ago, just as I did in my own time. But they too were betrayed by those closest to them. The Dalan turned on Nephera and her people just as you did. She needed my help, just as I needed hers. Now, together, we will change the face of this world.”
“You always were a deluded, masochistic child. You weren’t fit to rule. You hurt everyone close to you, neglected anyone that tried to love you, and abused those that relied on you. You’re a stain on the Algast name,” Lord Dorel Russo said angrily.
“Dorel, you sack of puss and filth, thank you for your honesty. It is so refreshing. I’d say I am least happy to see your jaundiced, sagging face, but that just wouldn’t be the truth. Not with the one who turned you all against me present. Isn’t that right, Gladeus?” Djaron said.
Gladeus looked from the young man’s dark eyes to Nephera, and finally to the other councilmen. He stuttered, but couldn’t speak. How did he get here? How was this possible? How was the young tyrant king he cast out standing before them, looking no older than the day he left? Was he dreaming? Was he in hell?
“Not the response I expected from you Gladeus, but fitting nonetheless!” Djaron said, sweeping past them and up onto the dais. “I take my seat, a symbolic gesture! And now, the moment I have waited so long for. A moment to savor in triumph!” he added, sinking into Gladeus’ chair and crossing one leg over the other.
“And what do you expect of us, you twisted, murdering, rotten little shit?!” Strongside yelled. “Are we to dance and amuse you?”
“Ha-ha-ha. Dance, now that would be a sight. No, Morimer. Nephera here, in her wisdom and power, offered me a place of respect and dignity within her new world. A seat, to be specific. One with which to lord over our people going forward!”
“You aren’t fit to lord over an outhouse…” Morimer Strongside started to argue, but his words were choked off, replaced by a horrible gagging noise.
Gladeus watched as the tall, strong man convulsed. His hands flinched to his throat and his eyes bulged. A strange crackling noise filled the air and Morimer bent over suddenly, his bones breaking and splintering.
“What is this!? Stop this immediately!” the other councilmen cried out.
Gladeus looked to Nephera. The girl stood on the cusp of the dais, her hands held out towards Morimer, her eyes glowing and pulsing with a bright green light. He looked over as Lord Strongside flopped backward, his back breaking with a stomach-churning crack.
Lord Russo and Thatcher cried out, both taking lumbering, halting steps towards their counterpart’s broken body. Their faces contorted as their limbs started to bend and break.
Gladeus fell over himself, his breath a strangled, wheezing cry. He tried to get away, but ran into the wall of green-eyed soldiers and couldn’t push past them. Their arms snared him and turned him about, holding his head, making him watch.
Dorel and Peedmont’s broken limbs snaked in and around Morimer’s, their bodies fusing and locking together.
“No-no-no!” Miko Kingsbreath cried out suddenly. The old man’s eyes bulged, blood vessels swelling under his papery skin. He took a pained step towards the others, and then another.
Gladeus’ cheeks and chin felt wet. He was crying, and slobbering all over himself, blubbering like a scared child. A sharp pain erupted at the base of his skull, shooting down his spine and into his limbs.
“Ahhkk!” he mouthed, unable to form the terrified words spilling from his mind.
Gladeus lurched forward, his body pulling him toward the broken and tangled bodies of his fellow councilmen. Kingsbreath’s body contorted and snapped, hooking in and around the others, his breath rushing out of in a pained and forceful gasp.
This was it, the moment of his death. All of his wealth, his power and status, the great pains he took to be protected, meant nothing.
“Remember what you said to me, Gladeus?” Djaron hissed, sliding forward to the very edge of his seat. “I haven’t forgotten. It has been burning away at my mind ever since you stormed into my bedchamber. The man who was my mentor, my tutor, and in so many ways, the father my father should have been. I looked you in the eyes, a scared young man, looking to a familiar face for comfort and understanding. I looked to you. Do you remember now, Gladeus? Do YOU!”
Gladeus groaned, a tremendous force bending and twisting his body beyond every one of its limits. He knew exactly the moment Djaron was speaking of. It had haunted him every day since. One of the few moments of his life that brought him shame.
“I was troubled, looking for help and a guiding hand. My own body betrayed and fought against me. And you, the one person I thought understood and loved me, well, you looked me in the eyes, and right before my own guards tore me from my bed, you said, ‘it’s not your fault, Djaron. It’s your weakness that has overthrown you, not me.’”
Gladeus tried to swallow, but a lump had formed in his throat. He looked into the overthrown king’s eyes, but couldn’t hold the gaze for long.
“I can smell the guilt dripping off of you, Gladeus. After all of these thaws, living like a hero. But tell me. Where is my family? Did you betray them as you did me? Where is my sister?” Djaron asked, a pained look pulling at his face.
“She…” Gladeus started to say. How could he tell him that he locked up his entire family? Locked them up like petty criminals, like animals.
“Where is Ophelia, Gladeus? Where is my little sister?” Djaron roared.
“She died,” Gladeus said bitterly.
“No!” Djaron wailed and collapsed against the dais.
A tear broke from Gladeus’ eye as he watched the young
man convulse. The man he had failed all those thaws ago. The pressure in the councilman’s body intensified, and then he pitched forward, toward the bodies of his conspirators. Then his body was filled with pain as his bones started to bend and break.
Chapter 29
Breaking away
Julian lay on the straw, pretending to be asleep. His leg throbbed angrily, but at least his foot pointed in the same direction as the other. He could deal with some pain, at least for a little while longer.
They are growing weary, Pera said, his voice cutting into Julian’s thoughts. He had been thinking about Tanea, but more specifically, the fear and uncertainty radiating from her. It twisted up his insides that he didn’t know if she had received, or understood, his message.
They will never succumb like that. You need to find a way to make them comfortable, Pera added.
Julian rolled over, the bristly straw crinkling loudly beneath him. The two Yu warriors stood on opposite sides of the door, their arms crossed over their chest. Histarian gazed absently around the room, while Ghadarzehi’s head sagged towards the ground.
Tongues worked at a bench not far away, tending to small, toothy creature with red fur. He waited until the man finished, watching him carry the creature over to deposit it into a cage. Julian pushed up onto his elbow and waved to catch his attention.
Tongues wiped his filthy hands on his apron and waddled over, his cheeks jiggling.
“Sir, I was wondering if I could…” Julian started.
“Ain’t no sirs here. Tongues’ll do,” he cut back, in his clip and short manner.
“Tongues, might I trouble you for some chairs for my companions over there, and perhaps a few horns of mead or wine. Whichever you have will suffice.”
“Ha!” he barked. “This ain’t a wayside inn, traveler. But I might be able to scrounge together a few chairs in the back. Now the mead, that’s precious to me. Tis a mighty valuable commodity up here in the mountains.”
“I haven’t coin, but we could barter goods in return for your services, and hospitality,” Julian said, remembering what the guard told him when they entered the village.
“Well, that makes the request sound a might bit more reasonable. What’n you to offer?” Tongues asked, his face brightening.
We haven’t anything to offer him, Pera cut in.
True, but they do, Julian shot back.
“My companions have carried our burden, ever since…” Julian said, and motioned to his wrapped leg. “But we do have some coin, as well as a few items of particular worth. Namely blades of exotic make.”
Tongues face scrunched up a bit, but he chewed on his finger. “Weapons of good craft are always needed up here. Most of what we have is salvaged from camps, or junk traded off traveling merchants. What I really need is good textiles, fabric, wool, and the sort. You seem like an agreeable enough fellar, so if yer offer for barter is on the level, I’ll agree to the chairs and a few horns of mead,” Tongues said, nodding slightly.
“Thank you, sir…I mean Tongues,” Julian said, returning the man’s smile, before slumping back to the straw.
“Shall I bring the mead to you, or your companions?”
“To them, and if they hassle you about the worth, tell them I’ve already discussed trade, and they need not worry,” Julian said.
“Alright. Tis no matter. We deal with their kind on occasion. They live to barter,” Tongues said as he walked away.
Julian settled into the straw, trying his best to get comfortable. He watched Tongues push through a door off to the side. The space beyond looked large and well lit.
A moment later he heard a clatter as something fell. A host of strange noises broke the silence. One sound cut through the rest. It was deep and intimidating sound. Julian was confident that he didn’t want to meet the animal responsible.
Tongues reappeared in the doorway, one wooden chair clasped against his belly, and another dragging behind him in the hard packed dirt. He struggled over to the doorway, where he deposited the two chairs.
Histarian and Ghadarzehi watched the man silently, breaking their gaze only to look down at the chairs. They watched him walk away, breaking only to pass a few whispered words.
They do not trust, Pera said.
Julian agreed silently.
Tongues padded by, the smell of animal dung and sour sweat wafting behind him. He dropped a horn and large bladder of mead into their outstretched hands and turned to leave.
“Hold!” Julian heard Histarian say from across the room.
Tongues stopped and turned, his face scrunched up in irritation. There was an exchange between them, words that Julian could not hear. He watched Tongue’s shoulders tense up as Histarian tried to hand the horn back. The man said something and held his hand out flat, sliding the extended palm in a slicing motion.
They will not accept, because they refuse all acts of charity. Our host motions of barter and fair trade, Pera said, interpreting the silent exchange for Julian.
Histarian leaned and looked over to Julian, who pretended to be asleep, the blanket pulled up over most of his face. He didn’t open his eyes again until Tongues passed by once again.
Julian watched Histarian turn the horn over, inspecting it, and then handed it over to Ghadarzehi. The smaller Yu warrior grabbed the horn, pulled the cork stopper and lifted it to his mouth.
Ghadarzehi took a gulp, his face screwing up. Histarian snatched the horn away and smelled it, before lifting to his own lips and taking a drink.
Julian watched the two warriors pass the horn back and forth, filling it from the bladder whenever it emptied, until finally all of the mead was gone. They slid into the chairs, talking quietly, and even laughing.
My ankle? Julian thought.
It is still beyond me to mend, Pera thought back instantly.
He watched the two warriors in silent anticipation, the groan of the building and the whistle of the mountain wind as his only measure of the passing time. The straw crinkled and grated beneath him with the slightest movement. His hands and feet tingled, but he dared not move them to gain comfort.
Tongues moved about, his loose, leather shoes slapping obnoxiously while he tended to animals. Julian watched him for a while, Pera’s hunger creeping into his thoughts.
He looked back to the door and found Ghadarzehi’s head slumped down against his chest. Histarian’s head drooped, and snapped back up, only to sag once again. A few, weighted heartbeats later and the room was filled with their deep, slumbering breathing.
Tongues swept by, rambling softly under his breath. Julian watched him lift a locking bar, before disappearing through a wide double door.
He will be more than adequate. Follow him, this will be done, and then we can be gone from this place…and back to Tanea, Pera said.
Julian shifted and started to roll, but froze as the straw broke the silence. He eyes snapped up to the two warriors by the door, but they still slumbered heavily.
Slowly, and awkwardly, Julian wiggled, squirming like a snake to extricate himself from the heavy blanket and the dry straw. His anxiety rose, begging him to move faster, telling him that his chance would pass and his bondage continue.
Still…slow, and quiet, Pera cut in. The Nymradic’s voice had a calming presence, stilling the panic that threatened to overtake him.
Julian lifted his weight off the ground, his injured leg throbbing painfully. He paced forward, one hand forward, and then a painful foot. His breath caught and he clenched his jaw, but he would not give in to the urge to sink to the ground, not until he was free of the straw and over solid ground.
Creeping forward, Julian hobbled as quickly as he could. He ducked behind a table, and refused to look back before slipping through the half-opened door.
The space beyond was cavernous, cold, and dark. Cages extended into the darkness to his right. Wide, wooden tables dominated the floor ahead of him, and far to his left stood a door, flung wide. Snow covered trees extended beyond that.
&
nbsp; Julian turned and pulled the doors closed. The locking bar, which was connected to the one on the inside, dropped into its carrier with a soft thunk.
Hardly worth the time…block it, Pera cut in.
Julian turned, scanning the darkness nearby. His gaze drifted over a table, but it was too lightweight. He bent over and tugged on a crate, hidden in the shadow beneath it. It, and the sealed bags inside it, was quite heavy. Julian dragged the crate out from beneath the table, the swollen wood gouging deeply into the packed dirt, and pulled it before the doors.
Better! Pera said encouragingly.
Turning, Julian limped back towards the open doors, but something moved inside the massive cage next to him, its claws sliding noisily against metal. It rumbled, its growl erupting as a fog before him.
“Not too close,” Julian mumbled as a massive pair of eyes shone orange, reflecting the light from the door beyond.
He gave the cage a wide berth, his back bumping into a table set just before it. His hands slid through something wet, and sticky. Julian knew it was blood without even looking.
Large chunks of dark meat lay on the table. Judging from the amount of blood soaked into the table, he guessed it had been sitting there for a while.
Why leave it out in the open. Wouldn’t that tease the animals…Julian started to wonder, but answered his own question. He stepped aside as a thick, scaly arm extended out of the cage. Long, black claws scored the dirt, deepening gouges that had already been rut into the ground.
A caged animal is a fearsome thing, but a starving one…Pera reasoned.
Julian watched the creature pull its arm back into the cage, the light glinting off of a massive, muscled form covered in shiny scales.
Let us…Pera pressed into his mind, but Julian acted. He drove his fingers into both sides of the closest hunk of meat and turned, casting it into the darkened cage.
We must not linger, take your freedom while it is available…Pera’s voice grew stronger inside his mind, but Julian ignored him. He hefted the next piece of meat, and then the next, until there was only one left. He picked up the meat and turned, holding it out before him, inching forward.
