by David Benem
Another agonized cry sounded, frail and pathetic. Fencress had slain enough men to know the sound of the dying, and this was it. Odds were it was a soldier bleeding from battle, shuddering as he pulled his last breaths. But perhaps the fellow’s seen something…
“Who’s there?” Fencress said quietly, urging her horse another few strides forward.
“Please… No…” came an accented voice.
An Arranese warrior. Fencress slipped from her horse and crept ahead, eyes straining for details in the darkness. The man likely posed no threat, but she dropped her hands to the hilts of her twin blades, just in case.
“No… Don’t kill me…” the voice said again.
“Easy, friend,” Fencress said as she neared the figure slumped against the low wall. “We have no stake in this fight.”
The soldier shifted slightly and his face caught some of the dim light of the moon. His sharp, angular features were covered in black blood and his eyes were wide with fear. He looked not at Fencress with his almond-shaped eyes, but straight upward. His mouth trembled and his breathing was quick and shallow.
Fencress stepped forward, close enough to where the soldier was sure to see her. “Friend?”
“Don’t kill me… Please…”
“We’re usually an awful lot, but we’re not going to kill you.” She took her hands slowly from her blades. “You have my word, for whatever that’s worth.” She held out her hands just as she would after winning a round of deadman’s dice, turning them over and then upward to show she didn’t have something hidden in her sleeves.
The man’s eyes didn’t move. They remained frozen, staring blankly at the sky. It was at that point Fencress noticed the fellow was missing both of his arms.
“Dead gods, man,” Fencress said. “That’s tough luck. That must have been some rough bastard you crossed. Can I give you a hand?” She paused and frowned. “Sorry. Terrible choice of words.”
“Please… No…” the soldier said again.
Fencress stood over the man, hands at her hips. Still the fellow’s eyes remained fixed on the stars, unblinking and twitching slightly. “Friend?” she asked again.
The Arranese warrior sucked rapid breaths and did not respond.
Fencress frowned and turned to her companions. “This lad’s lost to us, and to the world for that matter. We’ll leave him be.”
“Gravemaker!” the soldier said loudly, his tone frightened and desperate.
Fencress froze. Gravemaker. The name of Karnag’s sword.
“The Gravemaker killed us all.”
“Where?” Fencress demanded, bending low to the soldier. “Where did this happen? How low ago?” She grabbed the soldier’s vest. “You must tell me!”
The soldier said nothing, pulling his eyes from Fencress’s gaze as though it were painful. Tears pooled in his eyes and his breath became a gurgling wheeze.
Fencress gently let him loose and stood upright. “Lost to us.”
There came then a sound. A low, rhythmic sound carried upon the wind.
Fencress listened, searching the fields for the source. She saw nothing, but shivered as she recognized the sound.
Laughter. Karnag’s laughter.
A hand pressed against her shoulder and she spun about. Merek stood before her, his expression grim.
“My Coda,” he whispered. “You must return it to me now.”
Another cry pierced the night. It seemed another of the Arranese had just met his doom and Fencress knew Karnag lurked in the darkness nearby.
“My Coda,” Merek urged again. “You have no idea what we’re dealing with, Fencress. You have no inkling of the gravity of our peril. It is possible he will slaughter us just as he has the Arranese, for he knows only death.”
Drenj moved beside them. “He speaks truth, Fencress. You remember Hargrave. You remember the look in his eyes. If Merek can help us, we must give him the means.”
Fencress thought of that image, of Karnag’s dead eyes. She pressed her hand against the Coda concealed in her cloak and knew Merek was right. I have no hope of dealing with Karnag alone. She looked squarely at Merek. “What do you intend to do?”
“With the Coda I can draw upon the powers of my Sentinel master, Valis, and keep our purpose hidden from him. I will try to speak with the spirit of Castor. It is my hope your friend has not yet gained mastery of the Sentinel’s power, which will allow me some advantage.”
“It is your hope?”
Merek sniffed. “What else do we have?”
“And what then?”
“I may be able to place the Sentinel Castor at rest—to stay him. Then we can deliver your friend to those who can remove the spirit while leaving him unharmed.”
“And who would that be? Others like you? Other witches? Forgive me, but I don’t trust you, much less those like you who I’ve never met. Tell me why I’m mistaken.”
Merek regarded her with dark, serious eyes. “The Sanctum. They are devoted to the service of Rune, and, above all, the goddess Illienne the Light Eternal. Together, our actions may save Rune from the utter dark of the Lord of Nightmares.”
Fencress threw up her hands in exasperation and looked hard at Merek. “I have no taste for this horseshit. What I need to know is whether we can trust you.”
“I am a guardian against that darkness. My intentions are pure.”
Fencress shook her head. “So you and your ilk will capture this ‘spirit,’ and then Karnag will be his old, jolly self again. It all sounds so very lovely. Why didn’t you try these things at Hargrave?”
“I needed to confirm Castor’s presence. That, and I lack the ability to do these things alone. I may be able to still the spirit, but I cannot extract it. Ultimately, we will need the skills of the Sanctum, at their Abbey in Ironmoor.”
There came then a howl, a groan, from some distance away and nearer to the hills. It sounded only vaguely human, but Fencress had no doubt as to its source.
She looked to Merek for a moment before withdrawing the heavy bracelet from the pockets of her cloak and flipping it toward the man. “Very well.”
Merek snatched the thing from the air and placed it upon his wrist, where it fastened with a resounding click. Just then, it seemed an aura of green-hued light surrounded Merek for an instant and vanished.
“There,” Merek said, his tone certain. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes. “Now we find Castor’s vessel.”
They pressed cautiously toward the hills, studying the land about them as they rode. In the faint light of that time before dawn they accounted for many of the Arranese hunting party, all of them fallen and broken and missing vital bits. Some had lost limbs, others their heads, and all of them their lives. Fencress pulled her cowl tightly about and kept her hands near her swords. Karnag was as quick and clever a killer as there was in all of Rune, and could catch them entirely unawares if such was his desire. And that was before he became a devil.
Fencress looked across the dark, rising landscape. “We’ve found only twenty. Perhaps your count was off?” She grinned slightly.
“No,” Merek said, his eyes glinting in the near-darkness. “The Arranese hold sacred the number seven. Their religion honors the number and holds it holy, so their armies use it in all manners, figuring it grants them some sort of blessing.” His brow knotted as he searched about. “They wouldn’t have sent twenty men—such would have invited disaster in their minds.”
Fencress smiled grimly. “As opposed to this?”
Merek’s stoic expression did not change. “There is still one remaining.”
“Ahead,” hissed Paddyn suddenly. “A structure.”
They pulled their horses to a stop and peered into the darkness. There did seem to be a squat farmhouse of some sort nestled at the base of the black hill before them, perhaps a few hundred feet away. It was a small building, just taller than a man and perhaps only just longer, uneven on the edges and leaning to the left as though ruined with age. As Fencress inspected it, it se
emed there was something moving slowly about it, a shadow among the shadows.
Fencress leaned toward Merek and dropped her voice to a whisper. “So how is it we do this, Merek? Just knock on the door and say a cheery ‘hullo’?”
Merek rubbed at his Coda. “If there is another Arranese yet alive, he may be dealing with him. Best if he is distracted with that when we approach. My Coda will keep me masked from him and he will not suspect my intention, but we have little time.”
There came then from the direction of the structure a scream. Not the low, sinister howl they’d heard earlier, but a shriek of pure terror.
“I think we’ve found the Arranese warrior,” Fencress said, pinching nervously at the rim of her cowl. “And it doesn’t sound as though he’s enjoying himself.”
The sky above was brightening, shifting from black to a deep purple. Dawn was not far off.
The scream sounded again.
“Go,” Merek said, kicking at his horse’s flanks. The beast, however, whinnied and reared up and then began pressing backward. “Damned beast!” Merek hissed. “Forward!”
Fencress urged her own mount ahead but found the result was the same. The stallion flailed its head about, refusing to move forward even a step. As she looked about she saw Paddyn and Drenj, too, had moved nowhere. “Off the horses, then!” she said, swinging her leg over and dropping from the horse.
Paddyn and Drenj crept toward her. “What if he doesn’t recognize us?” Paddyn said. “What if he’s gone mad?”
Drenj moved close. “He’ll kill us, Fencress. Every one.”
Fencress paused. She knew her companions could be right, but she could not abandon Karnag. Not so long as there’s hope, she thought, frowning as the notion crossed her mind. Her hand found the shape of the totem about her neck. Hope. In deadman’s dice she’d call it her gut. Whatever it was, it told her there was still a chance to save her friend. She looked at each of them in the eye. “We’ll be fine, boys,” she said. “Trust me.”
Paddyn nodded, and after a moment Drenj nodded as well. The Khaldisian held out his hands, palms upraised. “You,” Drenj said, “have saved my life and I consider you my friend. I do this for you, but then we are square. I have a family, Fencress.”
Fencress nodded and took Drenj’s hands. “Square, after this. I’ll even buy you a drink or three at The Dead Messenger.”
Suddenly Merek pushed within their circle and grabbed Fencress’s shoulder. “Now!” he snapped. “We must move now. If Karnag is done with the Arranese warrior, I will need him to see you. He will recognize you, and perhaps that will steady him and distract him. Come.”
They set off, keeping low to the mist-covered earth. They ran swiftly but quietly, making no more sound than a breeze through the tall grass. Merek took the lead, and although Fencress knew she could outrace the fellow she figured it best if her head weren’t the one closest to Karnag’s sword.
She fixed her eyes on the structure ahead and it seemed there was no longer movement about the place. Whoever or whatever had been rounding it earlier had either slipped inside or behind the building. She didn’t know what worried her more: seeing the shape of Karnag in the dark or not being able to see him at all. She felt her insides twist with fear as she thought on this, and pulled her swords from their sheaths.
They closed to within ten or so yards of the structure and Merek halted. Fencress bounded forward another few steps and stopped beside him. “What now?” she whispered.
Merek stood slack-jawed. “Sweet Illienne,” he breathed, his eyes fixed upon the building.
Fencress turned again to regard the structure. It seemed a jumble of stones slick with rain, its surface glinting dimly with the coming dawn. She searched the shadows for Karnag’s black gaze, but he was nowhere to be found. She stood still for a moment and heard faint sounds of activity coming from within the building. “He’s inside.”
She began moving sideways, searching the building’s exterior for a door or window. There seemed to be no source of light she could discern from the place, but she knew there had to be an entrance into the ruined structure. She took a few more careful steps forward.
Then she realized what Merek had seen. This was no farmhouse and the wetness was not rain. The sheen upon the thing was blood. Buckets of it. There were no stones forming the structure, but rather heads and hands and hearts and bones. The parts missing from the Arranese—the members of the hunting party and many, many more. It was a monument to death itself.
To Karnag.
Fencress tried to steel herself but could not keep from vomiting the bitter remnants of the cider she’d drank earlier. She swept away the dangling spittle with the back of a gloved hand and stood upright. “Dead gods,” she hissed. “What have you become, Karnag?”
Her three companions, led by Merek, came to her side. Fencress noticed Drenj had pissed himself, and Paddyn’s lips and hands trembled incessantly. Merek was wide-eyed but self-assured.
“Call to him,” Merek said, gesturing toward the sickening shrine.
“Are you mad?” Drenj asked.
Merek’s eyes swept across them. “This may be our last chance to save him. The longer he possesses the spirit of Castor, the closer his connection to the Sentinel’s spirit will become. He will only become more powerful, more…” He stopped and paused. “You must call to him now.”
“There is no need to summon me,” came a deep voice. “I hear your call before it is given sound.”
Fencress knew the voice, and it chilled her to the very core. She squeezed shut her eyes and, for the first time since youth, she prayed. Sweet Illienne the Light Eternal, I call upon your blessing. Set me forever free of the bonds of darkness and the throes of evil.
“Fencress Fallcrow,” said Karnag. “Old friend. You are unwise to come to this place, for your time has not yet come. This is a place of death, and death alone.”
Fencress slowly opened her eyes. There, before her, was Karnag. He was awash in blood, some of it dried and black but most of it wet and red. He was as broad and strong in shape as ever, but his cheeks were pitted and his thick braids were covered with debris, the gristly remnants of the dead. And then there were the eyes. Cold and unnerving, ever seeming to look upon an unseen point, far away. Fencress felt they looked not at her soul but through it. To the very end. The eyes of the dead.
“Why do you come to this place?” Karnag asked, his tone one of strange concern. “Why do you not enjoy our spoils in safety? I instructed you to leave me.”
Fencress steadied herself and met Karnag’s gaze. Are you inside this form, Karnag? She swallowed and forced down the bile rising in her throat. “I…” she said, her voice more nervous than she would have liked, “I have come to save you.”
Karnag regarded her with a puzzled expression. “Save? From what? I am what is to be feared. I am the inevitable. I am every man’s ending.”
Merek had moved to stand to Karnag’s side, and he gave a subtle nod.
“Karnag,” Fencress said, “we can help you. We can help you become what you once were.”
With that, Karnag let out a horrible cry of pain and sank heavily to his knees.
Stunned, Fencress took a step backward, her blades at the ready. She pulled her gaze from Karnag and saw Merek beside the great slayer, his body aglow with a pale green aura. He held his hands outward and he whispered strange words, just as he had when he’d hunched over Drenj’s sleeping form many days before.
Karnag cried out again, writhing and wailing at Merek’s feet. He pulled at his blood-soaked jerkin and shred it from his body, and clutched desperately at his chest.
“What is he doing?” Paddyn asked. “Are we in danger?”
Fencress nodded dumbly, her eyes affixed to the scene before them.
Karnag whimpered and screamed once more, the sound of it agonizing. His fingers dug at his chest, ripping into the flesh. Thick veins bulged at his neck and tears fell from shuttered eyes.
Above him Merek’s arms tre
mbled as though from great effort and his whisper had grown to a low drone of arcane words. His brow dripped with sweat and his eyes twitched.
Again there was the awful sound of Karnag’s cry, and Fencress felt a splash of something wet across her face. She looked to her old friend and saw a split in the Karnag’s side which squelched and squirted with blood.
Damn this all! Fencress gritted her teeth and took a bold step toward Merek. “You’re killing him!”
Merek’s face shook as he turned to Fencress. “If need be,” Merek said, his mouth still forming the chant and his voice sounding closer to Fencress than was possible, “then yes, I will kill him.”
“That was not our bargain!”
Merek returned his gaze to Karnag’s squirming form. “I serve Illienne the Light Eternal, not you. There is no bargain.”
“This is a foul betrayal!” Fencress said. “Boys!” she shouted to Paddyn and Drenj. “This man’s life is forfeit! Cut him down!”
Fencress charged and leapt toward Merek, arms coiled and flexed and ready to drive her twin swords though the man’s heart. Closer she came, less than a yard from her target…
But instead of a rough impact there was a flash of light.
Then blackness.
Fencress woke with a hard start. She gasped for air and forced her eyes open. There was a blazing light that seared her brain and forced her to squeeze shut her eyes again.
Her head ached as it had never ached before, worse than any hangover or fever or failed bout at fisticuffs. It felt as though a dagger had been jammed in her skull, but as she pressed her hands about she found no wounds, only the smooth leather of her cloak’s cowl.
There were voices. Harsh voices speaking with a sharp accent.
She groaned and bit at her lip and forced her lids open to a thin squint. There was, indeed, a brilliant light. But this was that of the midday sun, not the unnatural flash she’d seen when she’d tried to skewer Merek. There, too, were figures, heavy shadows against the blinding sky.
