The Lord of Death (The Age of Dawn Book 2)

by Everet Martins

  “Only a guilty man would run from the scene of a crime,” Grimbald said.

  “I have not seen the traitor, has anyone else?” Ezra said, looking from Lajoy to Thurber. Ezra reached to his feet, “These boots are terrible, fire the leather worker who made this trash immediately, Thurber.” Walter rolled his eyes and the secretary scribbled a note on his clipboard.

  “The last report I have regarding Malek’s whereabouts said that he was seen departing from the East gate towards The Wall. He was apparently well-stocked with a bag of travel supplies. I assumed he was going on another one of his herb gathering ‘missions.’,” said Lajoy with a scowl.

  “If anyone finds him well, you know what must be done to traitors,” said Ezra, beckoning for a re-fill of his wine. The wine bearer slipped from an alcove and hurriedly filled the king’s jeweled cup. Nyset swallowed and rubbed her chin.

  “Is there anything else I should know wizard? Er, Baylan?” Ezra hiccupped and his eyes seemed to have trouble focusing.

  “I will send a message if anything else arises.”

  “Thank you once again, my lord, for your gracious generosity,” Walter said, with an awkward bow.

  “Yes, yes… be well, then,” Ezra said with a wave of his cup.

  * * *

  Malek stopped as the ash began to fall, swirling around his robes and streaking his cheeks with dark lines. He grunted as he loosened the shoulder straps on his pack, removing it and setting it on the dirt road. He opened the pack, pushing aside a gold cup with dark jewels and carefully setting aside a Basilisk’s Eye. He pulled out a dark scarf and wrapped it around his face and pulled up his hood, leaving only his eyes exposed. He slipped on his pack, lurching under its weight and started walking east toward the Tigerian Bluffs.

  A cold gust swept across the barren road, creating ash eddies around his feet. The forest to his left and right was already starting to thin, turning into scrubland. He looked back over his shoulder as he walked, staring at the imposing and grand wall that spanned as far as the eye could see. The Wall towered above the bottom half of Midgaard, shrouding it in a protective arc that wound from the Mountains of Misery to the north to the Grey Riven Foothills to the south. That won’t stop the tidal wave that boils under this land.

  “Years of work, gone. Well done, Darkthorne. You are a worthy adversary,” he muttered. “But don’t worry, no don’t you worry. I will have my revenge,” Malek said rubbing at the sagging, overstuffed pouch that contained Bonesnapper.

  Malek turned around, walking backwards and staring at The Wall. Something glinted from the entrance and tiny dots of red appeared. These men will die. I almost pity them. They can’t possibly understand the size of the jaws they’re stepping into. The Lord of Death comes. The Plains of Dressna will run red and the plants will feast on their blood. Asebor’s force will not miss a chance for a display of power.

  About fifty paces to the north, off the side of the road, was a small settlement of vagrants. There were about a dozen conical tents, a patchwork of colored fabrics. There were a few men sitting around a small cook fire wearing heavy blankets and looking up at him with deep-set eyes and unshaven faces. One of the men turned a spit which had a handful of yellow Shroomlings impaled upon it. Their tiny arms and legs were badly charred.

  A man with white hair stood and raised his arm, “Hey there traveler, would you like to join us for a late lunch?” he shouted.

  Malek waved his arm back and forth and shook his head, “No,” he yelled back. I don’t want to be eaten today, thank you very much.

  The three men rose, reaching under coats and up sleeves for what would presumably be sharp objects. Their hard, sordid eyes locked upon him. The men moved in an awkward jog, navigating the bumpy terrain.

  “Turn around now, if you value your pathetic lives!” Malek allowed the pack to slip from his shoulders, planting his feet wide and wiggling his fingers as his rings started glowing in various hues. The men stopped in their tracks, mouths held open.

  “Finally, for once, someone has listened,” Malek said, folding his arms with a satisfied smile. The men turned around, babbling and screaming. Malek bent over to pick up his pack when something metallic encircled his ankle, yanking him from the ground and violently jerking him into the air.

  “You cannot escape your failures. You cannot escape me.” Asebor’s voice grated from behind.

  Malek ground his teeth as the chain around his ankle continued spinning, grinding through his flesh and exposing bone.

  “I am nothing. I am a worm, an insect beneath your heel!” Malek whimpered. “I have failed you master. I have failed you!”

  Malek hung upside down from Asebor’s chain, like a toy in a child’s hand, swaying from side to side. Bright red blood streamed from his ankle and down his torso, pattering onto the dusty road. He looked up at his snared leg, each link in Asebor’s chain a gleaming blade, groaning at the site of his bones. Warm, sticky blood trickled down his neck and rolled from his chin.

  The vagrants disappeared into their tents, emerging seconds later with women and children in their arms. The urchins frantically ushered their families further north, away from the road, away from the face of death.

  “Failure must be punished, but you already know that,” Asebor said.

  No, I will not die like this, Malek thought. He clenched his fists and then an amber beam shot from one of his rings, tunneling through Asebor’s shoulder. Asebor released the grip he had on Malek’s ankle. Malek fell onto his back and Asebor growled.

  Malek rolled onto his belly, barely avoiding a chain strike that cut into the earth, blasting a curtain of dust into the air. A black beam, a green cloud, and an arcing bolt of lightning hurled towards Asebor from Malek’s rings. Asebor’s form shifted from leather wrapped muscle to a hazy mist and fell forward, allowing Malek’s attacks to pass through his Mist Form. Malek coughed and gagged on ash as he scrambled to his feet.

  “You fight me!” Asebor’s voice boomed like a thunder crack.

  Asebor re-materialized and the chains around his arms shrieked through the air, snapping around Malek’s wrists and hauling him to his feet. A jet of flame from Malek’s hand blasted into the dark sky. Long white teeth formed in a smile from Asebor’s shadowy face. The chains spun around Malek’s wrists, slicing through flesh and sending bone splinters into the air.

  Malek screamed and thrust his head back. Blood poured from his arms and ran down his chest. Must heal. Malek turned within and reached for the Phoenix, but it was blocked by a wall of flesh and teeth, gnashing and biting for his fingers.

  “No!” he moaned, squeezing his eyes shut, welling with tears. The chains continued spinning, sawing through his wrists. His body trembled as he looked up to see his hands being removed and bone fragments flew into his eye. The chains snapped free, whipping through the air as his severed hands fell beside his feet with two sickly thumps. He clenched his jaw so hard a molar cracked. Malek fell to his knees and spat out the broken tooth and red spittle.

  “That was for resisting me, now you will be punished,” Asebor bellowed, standing to his full height of at least twenty-six hands.

  Malek sat back on his knees, bleeding stumps beside him, eyes trembling with rage. “Kill me! You bastard! Kill me!” he screamed.

  “No. You will not get to leave this realm with such ease. You will be made Passive.”

  Asebor towered over Malek, arm outstretched and hand open, white talons stark against the gray sky. The fleshy wall of teeth and claws preventing him from touching the Phoenix curved inward, encircling the Phoenix in his mind. It formed a sphere that engulfed the fluttering Phoenix, growing smaller and crushing it. Asebor growled and closed his hand.

  “NO!” Malek screamed. The light of the Phoenix faded and all that remained was darkness; emptiness all around. “No, great lord, anything but that, please, no…” he moaned.

  “You will live out your days as a mortal, dying when my axe falls on this land,” Asebor said. The ash fell from the
sky in increasing thickness, fluttering around Asebor, but never touching him. Malek bowed his head into the thick ash and let out a gasping sob. A blue portal opened in front of Asebor and he stepped through, leaving Malek alone to bleed on the empty road.

  Malek started quietly laughing in between sobs and groans. “I know who can kill you. I— I know who you will bring your ruin,” he said, slamming his bleeding stump into the ground and shrieking in pain. The Breden boy, Walter. It all makes sense now, he is the Breden Dual Wielder. That’s how he burned the Skin Flayer and how the Black Wynch detected Bonesnapper in the village.

  * * *

  Malek crisscrossed his arms through the mare’s reigns as it plodded along a winding road south of the Tigerian Bluffs. Half of the sun slipped away in the horizon behind him, casting pink and orange along the walls of the plateaus to the north. A warm wind from the east blew dust into his face, pushing his hood back and exposing pale skin. He licked his split lips with an almost dry tongue. Water. Need water.

  “Maybe I’ll take up farming. Seems like it would be a fine profession. Maybe I’ll plant some wells” he said, dreamily.

  The bandages wrapping his stumps were encased in a thick and crusty blood, desperately needing to be changed. As the horse swayed, his stumps left red stains on its brown hair. The horse snorted. Its nostrils were dry and it had thick foam on its lips.

  “Farming,” he laughed, staring at the two red stains on either side of the horse. “I would kill for a sliver of the Phoenix right now… it’s not fun being a Norm,” he said to the wind.

  He had to trade ten ruby marks for this horse, about five times the normal price. It’s strange how money loses all value when your body has been decimated. The farmer’s wife was kind to bandage his hands for him. If she hadn’t disinfected it with Ribwort oil, he wouldn’t have survived for very long. He probably should have asked them for a little water for the road, or perhaps a dagger to slit his wrists with. A cut throat was starting to sound awfully pleasant.

  “No, I suspect if they knew who I was they wouldn’t have helped me… Hah! What is that man doing in the middle of the road? What a strange man,” he said, slurring his words.

  In the distance, in the middle of the road was a man in all black with white hair and a patch over one eye. He stood like a statue in the shadow the plateaus, unblinking.

  What a strange man, so strange. “Hey there! Hey you, what are you doing?” Malek shouted.

  Juzo exploded into a sprint, long coat whipping behind him. You will be my meal tonight cripple. His body moved with a speed that was still unfamiliar. The horse reared as Juzo drew near and he dashed to its flank, kicking up sand as he shifted his footing. Juzo seized the frail man by his robes, throwing him to the ground with ease.

  The man screamed and writhed on the ground, protectively holding his hands or lack thereof. Juzo took a step back and scratched his head. “I see you’ve had a bad day. I’m sorry to tell you it’s about to get a lot worse.” Juzo licked his lips, baring vicious fangs.

  “No, please stop. Do you know who I am? I am Malek, King Ezra’s advisor! I am of very high station —” A loud crack erupted from the man’s chest as Juzo’s boot easily penetrated it.

  “Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?” Juzo asked.

  Malek rubbed at his ribs with a bleeding stump. “I — I am one of The Wretched, one of the demon god Asebor’s generals. If you harm me, I promise you an eternity of pain,” he wheezed.

  “You — why didn’t you say so earlier? Terar will be very pleased that I found you.” So much for eating tonight, maybe just a taste, it’s been so long.

  Juzo stomped on one of Malek’s stumps with his heel. Malek screamed and blood squirted through the rags around his wrist. Juzo’s red iris flared at the site of Malek’s fresh blood. Juzo dropped to his knees and grabbed Malek’s bleeding arm with both hands, sucking and licking at the wound.

  Malek recoiled and swallowed hard. “You— you are a vile creature. Leave me alone,” Malek stuttered, trying to free his hand from Juzo’s iron grip.

  Juzo moaned with ecstasy, painting his face with red smears. That should be enough for now, he thought, releasing his mouth on what remained of Malek’s wrist. He rose to his feet, and stared at the cringing man. What have I become? He wiped most the blood from his face on his coat sleeve, at the same time smearing some across his cheeks. An excess of saliva filled his mouth, urging him to spit. I am an abomination, a creature of shadow. I am not a man. His stomach heaved and he started choking. He looked at Malek’s bleeding wounds again, turning and vomiting blood and bile. He coughed for a long minute and his eyes watered from the force of it.

  “Who made you?” Malek asked, crossing his arms and rocking. “That fool Terar did, didn’t he? You are his warrior, Law, the bearer of Blackout,” Malek said, mouth growing slack.

  I am not Law — I — I am Juzo. Do not forget your name, he repeated in his head. “Come,” Juzo growled, grabbing the reins of the mare and throwing Malek over its back.

  Is it true? Is this man really one of The Wretched? How else could he know about Terar? The master will know what to do.

  * * *

  A woman’s voice whimpered in the distance, echoing through unseen chambers. The crack of a bullwhip against flesh sounded from somewhere nearby, each hit eliciting a grunt that resisted its torturer. Four torches burned with green flames, surrounding Terar’s obsidian throne. A rumble crashed through the caverns, sending dust and bits of stone raining to the ground around Juzo and Malek. Terar rose from his chair with the even grace of a dancer.

  “You have done well,” Terar said, his eyeless mask regarding Juzo. He turned his attention to Malek, who kneeled in front of Juzo. “I asked you for another child, but… this one will do for now.”

  Uglyfuck, I would have never brought you a child. You would have had to kill me first.

  “You will release me, Terar. Asebor will not like to hear of this. He —”

  “I know you have fallen out of favor due to your failures in Midgaard. You are nothing, you are my pet,” Terar hissed, smashing his serpent staff upon the stone floor.

  “I have connections, I can be of use to you,” Malek said, shoulders sagging, dry voice rasping.

  “I have just the idea, you will be Law’s minion,” Terar returned to his throne, leather sarong waving. “Law,” Terar gestured with his staff. “You may feed upon him.”

  Juzo circled around Malek and stopped when he was facing him. Juzo looked down at Malek for what felt like an eternity. The man’s eyes pleaded for mercy and his lips formed an ugly frown. Feed. Feeding again. Eat the blood of man. What choice do I have but to obey the master? Without human blood, my strength wanes. I’m slower, weaker, no longer able to heal from wounds. I need it.

  Juzo fought the tears that wanted to emerge and swam in the hate he felt for his impulses. He fought the rage he had to suppress from boiling from his lungs. He closed his hands into tight fists and fell upon Malek, sinking his sharpened teeth into his neck. The blood felt incredibly warm and soothing as it rolled down his throat. He wanted to wretch again at his body’s reaction, at the deep satisfaction he felt. I have to make him happy so he doesn’t hurt me again.

  While Juzo drank he felt Malek’s heart rate drop and knew that it was time to stop. The blood no longer hurtled into his mouth and became a slow trickle. He pulled away from the man’s neck and inhaled sharply, filling his lungs with air. I am a monster. He breathed deeply, forcing down the vomit. Malek groaned, his eyes closed and pressed his mangled wrist to his neck. How is this man still alive?

  “Good, in a few hours he will be under your control. You will feel his emotions, thoughts, and desires. He will be yours to command.” Terar said, hands motionless on his knees. The white skin of his bare torso was bright against the dark throne. He walked to the corner of the room and opened a long, dark box. When the box cracked open, ethereal voices penetrated Juzo’s mind like nails. I return, we feed, we destroy,
we are war, I am chaos. Terar lifted the jet black sword, Blackout, from the chest and presented it to Juzo.

  “Law, you have earned your weapon. You will be my right hand, my hand of war. I have granted you near immortality, now I grant you with the ability to consume the souls of man,” Terar said.

  I am your body, Blackout. My friend, how long I have missed you. Juzo thought, as his fingers reached for the humming blade. It felt like hours before his hands touched its icy haft. When his hands wrapped around Blackout’s haft it felt as natural as an appendage.

  You are me and I am you, the sword whispered. We are one. Kill. Murder the master. We must eat. Juzo shifted his gaze from the sword to Terar. The souls trapped within the sword screeched in his head for an instant. Juzo reflexively squeezed his eyes shut and groaned, pushing their cries for release from his mind.

  Terar cocked his head at Juzo. “Do you dare? Do not forget your place, Law. I feel your heart,” he drawled.

  Juzo dropped his sword arm to his side, letting it hang loosely. Yes, do it, the sword urged. Juzo’s nostrils flared and the muscles around his throat tightened. He took a deep breath as a gust whistled through the cavern, brushing his white hair across his face. I am Law. I cannot fight the master or he’ll hurt me very badly.

  Kill, no more master! The sword hissed.

  “Are you not listening to me?” Terar roared. Kneel boy, Terar’s voice said, clashing with the sword’s whispers in his mind. The sword’s whispers grew more powerful and pushed Terar’s voice out entirely. Terar shuddered and took a step back.

  “What is this?” Terar hissed.

  Freedom. Strength. We are power, Blackout boomed. Something Juzo hadn’t felt in months suddenly returned. The force of willpower, the freedom to decide filled him with vigor. Juzo’s eye vibrated as he stared at Terar. Terar’s voice bellowed in the background of his mind, like a voice in crowded park. Juzo raised Blackout to strike and it felt like he was moving through tar on the downswing.