The Betrayed

by Igor Ljubuncic

  Copyright © Igor Ljubuncic 2011

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 1466323493

  ISNB 13: 9781466323490

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-62112-599-0

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2011916380

  Createspace, North Charleston, SC

  This book is dedicated to my wife

  for all her love and patience

  CONTENTS

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 45

  CHAPTER 46

  CHAPTER 47

  EPILOGUE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  No man is an island. I did write this book, indeed, but it came to be with some help from others: John, my publishing consultant, Erin the editor who fixed all the English wrongs I put in there, Andrea, Nicole, Margaret, and the rest of the team at CreateSpace.com, who all deserve thanks for their professional touch and patience. But most of all, my wife, my first fan and critic.

  PROLOGUE

  Lord Erik opened the book and read:

  “The gods Damian and Simon were best friends. Damian was a hearty kind and a poet. He was a dreamer and a rebel. Simon was quiet and humble and often withdrawn, but he was thoughtful and passionate and full of vision. Together, they helped mankind and worked to create wonders. Damian and Simon made some of the most beautiful things in the world.

  “Then, one day, as the two friends traveled abroad from the City of Gods, they met a goddess they had never known before. Her name was Elia, and she was very beautiful. Both fell in love with her instantly. But Elia’s heart could only love one, and she chose Simon. From that moment on, everything changed.”

  Lord Erik flipped a page.

  “Grandpa?”

  Lord Erik lifted his eyes from the book. “Yes, Rob?”

  “You told me that all gods lived in the city. Why hadn’t they met Elia then?”

  “It is difficult to say, Rob. All books on the affairs of the gods were written by men. It is very difficult to tell truth from tale. But you should not think of the gods’ city as a real city or a small town where everyone knows each other. It’s more like a large forest, where each…animal controls its own territory. That is why the friendship between Damian and Simon was so special. And that is why when Elia fell in love with Simon, Damian took it so hard.”

  Lord Erik continued reading: “For countless generations since their makings, the male and female gods lived side by side, in peace and harmony. They protected the world of men around them, and in return, men prayed in their names, adding to their power and honor. Each deity had his or her cult of followers. There was perfect balance in the world.

  “There was no envy or ill feelings among the gods. It was a time when humans did not wage war unto their brethren. For when the hearts of the gods were pure, so were the hearts of men. Lies, deceit, and sin did not exist then.

  “But Damian’s heart was not restful. He was torn between his loyalty to his best friend and the sense of betrayal that he felt. Some say that Damian fathered jealousy.

  “Simon was unaware of his friend’s ill feelings. He believed there was no bad blood among them. Although the gods rarely fell in love amongst each other, it was not unheard of. Mostly, the gods mingled with their followers and birthed Special Children. Yet, some goddesses gave birth to young gods. But there had never been strife over one’s love for another.

  “Many years passed, and Damian grew bitterer. He spent time in isolation, in his temple, surrounded by members of his cult. He neglected the company of his friends. But no other deity took these signs of distress as alarming. They all lived in bliss and peace amongst each other. Until it was too late.

  “One day, Damian murdered Elia.”

  Lord Erik wet a fingertip and flipped another page.

  “Grandpa, he killed her?” Rob exclaimed, shocked.

  Lord Erik held his gaze fixed on his grandson, without blinking. “Yes.”

  “Grief and panic overtook the City of Gods. No one knew how to cope with murder. It had never been done before. But Damian had no qualms. Heralding unprecedented masses of men and wielding immense power from their belief, Damian swept against the other gods and waged war against them. He ruined their temples and killed their followers. Gods began vanishing as their followers dwindled.

  “Some of the weaker deities rushed to his side, afraid of perishing. Unknown feelings of destruction and hatred were born as gods took weapons and turned against one another. As the war raged, pure souls grew corrupt with the poison of doubt and greed and fear. Men followed like sheep, caught in the web of catastrophe that their gods had woven.

  “The Age of Sorrow had thus begun and reigned for a thousand years.”

  Lord Erik flipped a page.

  “After an eon of killing, the world was weak. Many gods perished, and those that survived were like shadows. There was little magic and power left in the world. Man almost became extinct. And gods on both sides slowly began to realize the sad truth of their self-destruction and saw Damian as the cause for the looming doom.

  “One day, Simon, who now led the other faction in the war against his best friend, sent a secret message to Damian’s allies and urged them to meet him. Without Damian’s knowledge, the two sides parlayed and decided to bring an end to the war lest they all perish forever. And they agreed to banish Damian from this world forever. The Pact of the Damned, it was called.

  “And so it came to pass that Damian was betrayed. His temples were razed and his followers massacred. Almost without any power left and barely alive, Damian was brought before the Great Court of the Gods.

  “Reconciliation was called between all of the warring factions. It was agreed that all the surviving gods would help rebuild the torn world. However, the deities also realized that mankind would never be pristine again. Men had known sorrow and evil now. And gods had no power to take those away and start all over again. With great sorrow and reluctance, they decided to leave mankind as it was, forever changed by war and violence.

  “Finally, they decreed that Damian would be forever banished from the world. They called his sin the First Sin of the Gods. They banished his soul and sent it to the Abyss of Making, where it wails in impotent anguish to this very day. They tore down his shrines and burned his books and killed all his remaining followers. And his name was not mentioned ever again, except in the secret books.

  “Thus came the Second Age of Mankind. It is the age we live in now. And Damian became known as the Father of Evil.”

  Rob was silent for a moment. “It’s a sad story, Gran
dpa. Damian was…was a bad god, but he was only a sad man with a broken heart. He lost his love.”

  Lord Erik smiled. Children could be so insightful. Regardless, without Damian, the world would have been such a boring place.

  He closed the book.

  CHAPTER 1

  Commander Mali winced as she methodically worked the string wrapped around her fingers. She had noticed a few brown hairs above her upper lip the night before and was now removing the culprits while a ruddy irritation bloomed in their place. Most female soldiers did not pay much attention to their looks, but Mali did not share their sentiment. She believed herself to be good-looking and intended to stay that way, despite her battle scars and the harsh sun, or even more so because of them. Men appreciated good looks. More than bad looks, at least.

  She looked away from her reflection in a small wall mirror, toward the slumbering shape of Captain Ralf, her last night’s companion. He slept peacefully, exhausted, tangled in sweat-soaked linen, one leg dangling off the bed, a spectacular backside just peeking beneath the cover, taunting her. She smiled.

  As a woman, she ought to be settled, a mother by now. As a warrior, she was free of the scruples of womanhood and could enjoy life just like men did. She had always been a bit of a tomboy, and a military career suited her like a glove. While most women came to the army ranks with hatred in their hearts, she came as a free, if rebellious spirit.

  She left the room quietly and headed for the kitchen. The guard outside her chambers curtly nodded at her. She winked back.

  It was quite early. Very few people were about. The corridors were empty and silent. Entering the kitchen, she scooped a few cakes from a platter, grabbed a pear from a basket, and sat in a corner to eat by herself.

  “Morn’,” Colonel George greeted her, seating himself on the bench opposite her.

  She mumbled a reply, concentrating on her meal. She did not like being disturbed, especially when she ate. But she wanted to hear what George had to report. He was back from a reconnaissance mission at the border. There was grime on his face and neck, road dust mingled with sweat.

  Mali poured herself some ale from a pitcher. “Any news?”

  The colonel removed his gloves and beat them against the corner of the table. Mali scowled at him. “Sorry,” he whispered. He sighed. “Well, yes. I’ve seen a Caytorean five leaving its barracks in Copper Astar and heading south.”

  The commander leaned back, surprised. “Five thousand men? South? Why would they go there? It’s nothing but leagues of Caytor grassland.”

  George shrugged. “I’m not sure they intend to stay in Caytor.”

  Mali looked skeptical. “The Safe Territories? Why?”

  “Why would a pigeon shit on someone’s epaulets?” George retorted. “I didn’t ride up to them to ask.”

  “Still, sounds like something worth keeping an eye on.”

  “Could be they were sent to deal with bandits.” George helped himself to a mug of ale.

  “They would not send a whole regiment after a few thieves.” Sorties into neighboring realms were not unheard of. Sometimes parties simply strayed. Sometimes they crossed the borders in pursuit of criminals. It happened quite often. Most realms had no real borders, just invisible lines running through grass or forest.

  George nodded. “True. My scouts are watching them. They seem undecided, though. They took their time getting ready to leave. More than a week. Then, they marched south for a whole day. And then, they backtracked almost all the way back to their garrison before heading back south again. Could be exercises.”

  “Or a well-thought-out plan to throw any spies off guard. Do you have any idea who’s leading the five?”

  George shook his head. “Nope. I did not want to risk it.”

  Eracia and Caytor were not exactly on friendly terms. When one side caught another’s spy, they made sure it became a public scandal. The perpetrator would usually be marched into city squares, beaten, and humiliated, only to be ransomed for one of their own men held captive by the other side. After many generations of bloody war, the two realms had resorted to diplomacy, which meant cowardly wars without soldiers. But there was always a risk of bloodshed.

  “Fine,” Mali said, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Any army movement on the other side of the border always caused a stir. Even if the maneuvers were purely for show, local forces would be alerted. One could never know when the other side would strike, like in the previous eighty wars the two nations had fought.

  Mali wiped her hands on her robe and stood up, without waiting for George to finish his ale. He rose clumsily and followed her out of the kitchen. “What do you wanna do?” he asked.

  She stopped walking, thinking. “Tell your scouts to stay close, but to avoid any combat. I don’t want any incidents. But the moment they cross into the Territories—if they cross—I want the regiments at Baran and Spoith ready to march.”

  George cracked a knuckle. “As you order. Do we…do we follow them into the Territories?”

  Mali rolled her eyes. “If they cross, yes. I want to know what’s so interesting that an entire five needs to look for it.”

  “Do you think they’ll cross?” The colonel pleaded for answers.

  She smiled. “I have never heard of a five moving from one garrison to another just for sport.” The nearest Caytorean encampment to Astar capable of supporting a five was more than twenty leagues away. In her entire career as a soldier, she had never known the Caytoreans to march for fun. They did it only when it was needed. A sad yet fortunately predictable fact.

  “They could be moving their troops about.”

  Mali shook her head. “I’m guessing it’s war season again. Well, we didn’t have one last year. I was really getting worried the Caytoreans had gone lily-hearted on us. Get the boys ready. Have them dust off their groin caps. They might be needing them soon.”

  “As you command, Commander.”

  Mali looked him up and down. “You staying here tonight?”

  George smacked his lips. “I’m too tired to ride back. I’ll send some men and go back tomorrow.”

  The commander looked pleased. “Good. Then I can see you later today?”

  “Good,” George answered.

  “Good,” Mali said and walked away.

  Dawn. In two hours, it would be over. They would hang him. A jealous man, having caught his wife in adultery, had killed her and framed Adam. Well-bribed constables had apprehended him, beaten him thoroughly, and dumped him in a cell. Then, a well-paid judge had decreed that he should die with a soaped noose around his neck two hours after dawn the next day.

  Adam had said nothing during the sentencing. It would have been pointless. His word against the husband’s. Even in the best of circumstances, no one would believe him. No one believed whores.

  Paroth was not a very kind place to prostitutes. While in most large cities there were guilds that protected the interests of their workers, as well as their patrons, prostitutes in Paroth had to rely on pimps or fend for themselves.

  Most male whores worked alone. Unlike women, men in this profession did not bond easily. Mistrust and rivalry ran deep. They were also much less likely to be abused. But at the moment, Adam could almost wish he had a pimp. The thought of having someone at your side at the hour of your demise was comforting. He had no friends or family.

  His kin had ostracized him after having learned the truth about his line of work. He was as good as dead to them. As a whore, he was not likely to have any friends, either. What could a male prostitute possibly have in common with a simple, everyday man?

  The three drunkards in his cell slumbered happily, oblivious of their fate or surroundings. In a way, the small, dank cell was a definite boon in their useless lives. They did not have to worry about anyone slitting their throats while they wallowed in the gutters, the hay was dry, and they might even get a chance to eat breakfast.

  Adam did not think they would feed him. Most jailers preferred if their customers did
not throw up on the planks of the gibbets. It kind of spoiled the moment.

  Last night, before going to sleep, one of his cell mates had taken the liberty of trying to flirt with him. A well-aimed kick in the groin had forestalled any further advances. Soon thereafter, the three had gone to sleep in a pile of lice and fleas. Adam had stayed up the whole night, unable to sleep, leaning against the hard stone and thinking. Mostly about the pointlessness of life.

  The clank of a rusted bar sliding in its groove shook him from his reverie. A door opened. A shuffle of steps transformed into a group of army officers and several constabulary guards. Adam remained seated.

  The officers were murmuring softly. Hay and dampness muffled the sound. Adam could not hear what they were saying.

  “You,” one of them called.

  Adam merely lifted his eyes, acknowledging the man. He said nothing.

  “What’s he in ‘ere for?” the man asked one of the prison guards.

  “Murder. Killed a woman with a hatchet.”

  “Oh, a feisty one, ain’t he? Hey, you!”

  This time, Adam decided to respond. He could tell the officer was quite irritated. And Adam had very good instincts. As a whore, people skills were some of his primary tools.

  “Yes?”

  “Would you like not to hang today?”

  Adam blinked. “Definitely. Sounds like an interesting prospect.”

  They exchanged glances. The fact he had used the word “prospect” seemed to have impressed them.

  “You got any skills with weapons?” The man smiled. “Other than the hatchet.” A few other men guffawed.

  “I’m not bad with a knife,” Adam replied.

  “Can you read?” the man asked.

  “No.”

  The officers resumed their murmuring. Adam sat and waited. He made the mistake of leaning forward. Cold pain lanced up his sore ribs, courtesy of the Paroth constabulary.

  “Well, here’s your choice, lad. There’s a war brewing. We need extra men for our troops. If you have a care for your miserable life, then take it. You’ll be enrolled as a monarch’s man in one of the regiments, and you’ll fight for the crown. If you live through it, you’ll be honorably discharged and your crimes pardoned.”