Fate of the Tyrant (The Eoriel Saga Book 3)

by Kal Spriggs

  ...help me...

  "You're trying to trick me," Walker said.

  ...weak... too weak... the voice spoke in his mind.

  "What do you want?" Walker asked.

  ...what you want... it whispered in his mind ...revenge.

  Walker felt a connection as the spirit touched him. A moment later he caught a series of images. The impressions were vague, faces blurred. A foreigner, a trader, who came to the village and brought with him... something. A darkness that ate at the souls of those it touched. They welcomed it because it made them feel stronger and it brought them success and confidence. They abandoned their shrine, instead following the darkness. One man took the darkness and built a shrine to it, deep underground, where he sacrificed his family to it, one by one to sake its thirst for death, until in the end he cut his own throat.

  He saw the villagers turn on one another as petty rivalries exploded into violence, the darkness swallowing their souls as they died, consuming them and growing stronger.

  The vision faded as the last of the villagers huddled together, sapped of energy, drained of the will to live, dying because they couldn't manage the effort to live. All the while the spirit watched, unable to protect them from the dark power that they had invited in themselves.

  Walker stumbled back. "What does that have to do with me?" He felt bad for the villagers, for what had happened, yet it mattered little to him whether it was Dawnspring's spirit that killed them or if it were something else.

  ...they will do the same to you... the spirit whispered in his mind. It reached for him and this time Walker had the impression of two men, faceless but both of them gave him the feeling of Aerion and Jarek, trapped in the buried shrine.

  "Where is it?!" Walker snapped, "Where have they trapped them?"

  ...help me... the spirit said ...help you. This time the spirit showed Walker an image of his father. He could tell it was something the spirit created, because it showed Walker running his father through, showed the blood gushing forth and showed a smile of victory on Walker's face.

  Walker shuddered, though. He knew better than to hope for that. "It's impossible," he said.

  ...help me and you will have that power...

  "How?" Walker demanded.

  ...let me in...

  Walker hesitated. If this was some kind of trick, then he would lay himself open to the spirit. Most stories that spoke of such things made it plain that that was a bad thing. While spirits could overwhelm someone's mind and take control of them without their consent, it often took time and effort. If he allowed it to enter him, he would give it immediate access. From there it could rip his soul away or snap his mind, especially without a witch or priest to bind it to some agreement.

  This was spirit magic at its most dangerous aspect, he knew. Yet Aerion was in trouble. Again the spirit showed him the vision of his father spurting blood. I could finally defeat him, he thought.

  "Do it," he said.

  The spirit washed into him, the mist seeping into his flesh and his body tingling with the energy. He felt the hairs on his neck and arms rise and he felt a crackle of raw energy wash over him. What are you doing, he asked.

  ...changing you... the spirit said. He could feel it dive deeper into him in a way he couldn't explain, deep down into the very core of his being, into his soul. It wrapped around him tighter and tighter.

  Walker felt a pressure grow there and he dropped to his knees. "Stop," he gasped.

  ...no...

  The pressure grew and pain exploded through his chest. He felt as if his heart were going to explode. "Please," he gasped, "it hurts..."

  He could feel the spirit's essence, now. It was weak. Yet he could sense its age and knowledge, could tell that whatever it was doing to him, it would use the last of its strength. ...almost finished... it whispered to him.

  Every nerve in Walker's body seemed to explode in agony. At the same time, his muscles locked down and he couldn't scream, couldn't even breathe. What are you doing to me?

  The spirit had faded to almost nothing, its mental voice so faint that Walker barely heard it ...you are become... death.

  And then Walker's world went black.

  ***

  Captain Aerion Swordbreaker

  The flickering light of the tiny fire seemed pitiful against the all-encompassing blackness of the room. Aerion looked over at Jarek, "We have to try something," he said.

  "I'm open to suggestions," Jarek responded.

  "I'm going to search the altar," Aerion said.

  "That doesn't seem like a good idea," Jarek said. Yet Aerion could read his expression. Jarek knew that waiting wasn't a good option. Their tiny fire wouldn't last much longer, mere minutes at best. They didn't know if their runic weapons would work against whatever spirit magic held the door shut.

  The darkness awaited them, he knew. Somehow he knew that when the light ran out, Shivenkaru would extert her full influence. The only question he had was whether she waited to heighten their fear or if she gathered her strength.

  Aerion walked towards the altar, "You said gods might need some kind of physical focus, right?"

  "I said that makes sense," Jarek replied. "I'd imagine it would have to be a specific, special thing."

  "Could it be the altar itself?" Aerion asked as he approached the red-rust stained stone altar.

  "I wouldn't think so," Jarek said after a moment. "I mean, it wouldn't make much sense with what we know. An altar would be hard for her followers to carry around, right? I'd guess something smaller."

  Aerion stopped a few feet away from the Altar. The flickering light barely seemed to reach this spot and he strained his eye to make out details. Crusty, dried blood coated much of the altar and he shied away from thinking how many must have died here to stain the area. The dark stone seemed to absorb the light and the carved image in the rock above almost seemed to dance...

  Aerion ripped his gaze away from the image, even as he realized he had come to stand only a few inches away from the altar. He fought to clear his head, yet it was almost like a voice whispered right in his ear.

  His left hand dropped to the pommel of the Starblade and it was as if he had stuffed candle wax in his ears. The voice withdrew and Aerion's head cleared. On impulse he drew the Starblade and it shone with a soft, pure white light that seemed to banish the darkness.

  "Ancestors," Jarek breathed behind him, "I feel like someone just lifted a weight from my shoulders."

  Aerion didn't respond. In the light of the Starblade, he saw what had hidden in the shadows. A medalion, carved of black onyx, lay on the back edge of the altar. Even in the light of the Starblade, darkness clung to it in a cloud.

  Aerion reached out, "I found it--"

  As he picked it up, agony tore into him. He felt lancing pain drive up his right arm and into his chest. Reflexively he let go and the medallion fell to the altar's surface. It hit with a dull thud and lay there, the malevolence and hatred pouring off it.

  Aerion's right arm hung useless at his side. It felt more than numb, it felt like a dead, alien thing attached to his shoulder.

  "What did you do?" Jarek hissed. Aerion looked back and saw Jarek had his head buried in his hands. "It felt like something was screaming in my head."

  "I don't know," Aerion said, staring at the medallion with horror. He felt as if it had ripped part of him open, yet besides all the hatred pouring from it, he felt something else coming from the medalion: fear.

  Aerion raised the Starblade to put more light on the medallion and at once the emanations of hate and fear rose. At the same time, he could almost hear a call at the edge of his mind, in a language he didn't understand.

  "Aerion, the door!" Jarek called.

  Aerion turned and now he heard shouts and the sound of feet on the stairs outside. It seemed their captors had come. With his right arm limp, Aerion wouldn't be able to fight them at his full ability. For that matter, Jarek squinted out of his uninjured eye, half blind.

  Aer
ion moved over to stand next to the young nobleman. After the revelation that Jarek wasn't his rival, he felt cheated to realize that they were about to die. "Sorry about before," Aerion managed to say, as he heard the bar lift on the other side of the door.

  "Sorry we didn't get to know each other better," Jarek said.

  The door opened, and men swarmed in, blades bared.

  ***

  First Sergeant Walker

  Walker came to on the cold stone floor. He felt light-headed and weak and he slowly sat up. The spirit was gone and with it the sense of energy it had given him. It seemed that whatever it had tried to accomplish, it had failed.

  At least he knew that Aerion and Jarek were trapped somewhere below Vuk’s house. He rose to his feet, at once tempted to get help and at the same time, worried that any open attack would lead to the death of his friend. No, he decided, I need to do this myself.

  He stepped out of the shrine and started down the slope. He worked his way along the wall of one building until he came up on the corner of Vuk's house.

  The ground floor shutters were all closed and other than the front and rear doors, he didn't see a way in on the ground floor. Yet he noticed a balcony, here on the side of the house, and it looked like the door there wasn't as sturdy. After a quick check to verify that he was out of sight, he took a run and then jumped, his fingers outstretched.

  His fingers just caught one of the balcony supports and he pulled himself up, giving silent thanks for his father’s training, even if he hadn't practiced this kind of thing in almost a cycle. He quickly scaled the support and then climbed onto the balcony. He moved quietly to the door and frowned as it didn't open at a tug. Walker knelt outside it and peered through the crack between door and wall. It looked like a simple latch rather than any real lock.

  He pulled a slim dagger out of his boot, suddenly missing the lockpicks he had discarded when he fled his father’s service. Still, the dagger did the trick and a moment later he eased the door open and slipped into the room beyond.

  Walker paused and let his eyes grow used to the gloom. It looked to be the master bedroom, hardly a surprise. A large bed and battered wardrobe was the only furniture. Walker grimaced at the stale smell of sweat and sex. Clearly Vuk used some of his serving women for more than food preparation.

  Walker moved over to the blanket that served as a door. As he did so, a gust of wind pulled the balcony door open behind him and slammed it hard against the wall. He dove to the side as he heard a shout from downstairs, "Gardan, check that out!"

  A moment later, Walker heard footsteps in the hallway, "I told Nomar to shut that door, but does Nomar get punished, no, of course not. I do, because I'm not Vendakar born. I'll show them--"

  Walker didn't wait to hear what Gardan would show them. As the man stepped through the door, Walker stepped in behind him, one hand snaking across the man's mouth and the other plunging his dagger into the back of Gardan's neck, just at the juncture of spine and head. He felt the familiar soft crunch and he twisted the blade and Gardan went limp.

  Walker felt a rush of energy, at once strong and at the same time fleeting. Walker lowered the still-twitching corpse to the floor, careful to ease the body quietly. When he stepped back his hands were shaking in reaction. The room seemed brighter, his vision sharper, and he felt more alive than he had ever felt in his entire life.

  Walker absently moved over to the balcony door and closed it, careful to latch it this time. He had no idea what had happened, yet he felt so confident, so powerful, that it didn't really matter. He turned around and moved to the hallway.

  With cat-like footsteps, he moved to the top of the stairs.

  He heard voices below, but he couldn't understand them. Walker listened quietly as he tried to figure out where his enemies were. Vuk had at least a dozen men. It sounded as if seven or eight of them were in the dining room, but it was hard to tell from the voices.

  Walker eased back from the stairs and then moved over to one of the other bedrooms. He slid aside the blanket over the doorway and listened to the loud snores of the two men inside. Walker moved in quietly and kneeled at the side of the first man. With a smooth action, he covered the man's mouth and slit his throat. The spray of blood and the wooshing gurgle washed over him, along with another rush of energy... of power.

  Since the very first time he had killed, Walker had never felt much of anything as he took someone's life. Now, though, the rush was heady, he felt almost invincible.

  Some of his victim's blood must have splashed the other man for he started to sit up and rub at his eyes. Walker didn't give him the chance to do more than that. He moved behind him in one smooth motion and covered his mouth, too, as he planted his dagger just above the man's spine.

  This time, he welcomed the flow of energy, savored it as it washed through him, raw and powerful.

  His latest victim still twitched as Walker rose effortlessly to his feet and stalked to the doorway. With those kills, he felt almost invulnerable. He could go down the stairs and finish of the rest of them himself. I don't even need to worry about stealth, he thought, I'm stronger than them, faster than them.

  He started to take the first step when he heard a psychic shriek in his mind.

  "The medallion!" One of them shouted, "Her temple is in danger!"

  Walker froze, half-certain that they had somehow realized he was there. Again, then, he felt the inhuman cry in his mind, one part rage and one part fear. The darkness, he realized, whatever was down there was in danger.

  He felt a smile grow on his face at that. It sounded as if Aerion was up to his usual.

  ***

  Captain Aerion Swordbreaker

  Aerion parried the attack of the first man through the door and Jarek ran him through. Yet two more men came through behind him and Aerion was not only blind on his right side, but without a shield.

  He swung the Starblade down in a slash to cut one man's leg out from under him, but the next man leapt forward in a lunge that Aerion barely dodged. Three more men hurried in, followed by Vuk and Senko.

  "Get them!" Vuk shouted, "Kill them now! Protect her!"

  The medallion, Aerion thought, they fear I'll hurt it...

  Aerion swung his sword in a broad arc that forced his attackers to back up and then ran for the altar, "Cover me!" he shouted.

  He reached the altar and then swung the Starblade high, its broken length flaring with light. He paused there looking back and saw that the men facing Jarek had frozen, their eyes wide with fear.

  "Do not!" Vuk shouted, his olive skin gone pasty. "Please, anything, we'll give you anything! Wealth, women!"

  "You have nothing I want," Aerion snarled.

  "We'll kill you if you do it," Senko hissed from the doorway. "Then we'll let the beasts in to kill your men and the refugees. Shivenkaru will put her assassins to hunt down your friends, your family, everyone you ever knew, until your name is a curse that people won't dare to utter."

  Aerion went cold at those words. The spitefulness that Senko had described went beyond anything he had imagined. He almost lowered the Starblade, then.

  Behind Senko, though, he saw motion. Aerion's eye went wide as he recognized the man sneaking down the stairs behind the Vendakar.

  Aerion gave a broad smile, then, "My name," he said, "is Aerion Swordbreaker." He swung the Starblade down and the medallion exploded.

  The altar itself shattered and the detonation knocked Aerion back several steps. He heard an anguished scream inside his mind and an oily black mist leached out of the shattered medallion, only to ignite with blue flame.

  Half of the Vendakar gave out shouts of panic, while others fell to their knees without words. Aerion spun to attack them, even as he saw Jarek charge into them.

  Jarek and Aerion fought side by side and their enemies, panicked and broken, tried to fleet.

  That was when Walker ambushed them. Senko died with a gurgling shriek as Walker opened his throat. Vuk turned, then realized that he had n
o escape. As the last of his men fell, he looked between Walker and Aerion, his face twisted in hate. "You think you've won? Shivenkaru will not forget this. She knows your name, Swordbreaker. You have brought the doom of everything you know."

  "Well," Walker said as he wiped his blades on Senko's corpse, "I suppose we'll just have to kill her first."

  Vuk's eyes went wide at that, "You cannot kill Death!" He shouted. Aerion didn't miss how the Vendakar's gaze went to the shattered altar, though. Vuk backed away from them, until his shoulders met the wall. "My death will be far quicker than yours," Vuk hissed. Before Aerion could stop him, he whipped out his dagger and plunged it into his own heart.

  "Well," Jarek said as he toed the dead body, "how are we going to explain this?"

  ***

  Aerion Swordbreaker

  None of the refugees, especiallly not the three women who Vuk's men had used as little better than slaves, seemed particularly broken up over the news of his death. Aerion kept the information about the temple to Shivenkaru a secret, for now.

  Hopefully the village is cleansed now, he thought, even as he looked at his sergeants. "How do we look for supplies?" Aerion asked. Jarek sat in the corner of the room, a bandage over his left eye and a cold compress over his right. The company's healer didn't think he'd lose vision in either eye, but he thought Lord Jarek’s right eye should be covered until they returned to let someone more knowledgeable look at it.

  "Not good," Sergeant Gorich said. The young man, once a militiaman in Zielona Gora but now a veteran who had fought at the Ryftguard and in the Battle of Zielona Gora, looked grim. "Vuk's larder," he spat on the ground, "doesn't have anything any of us would eat." It had become clear that Vuk and his men had resorted to cannibalism, feeding off of refugees that their dark Goddess had drained. Aerion didn't have the heart to ask the abused women who had cooked for them if they too had eaten that flesh. "The refugees' other supplies are sparse at best. With what we brought, we have at most six weeks, more if we ration it, but..."