Divine Right

by James Neal

kill.”

  Evelyn shifts in her seat again. Carghen notes it and uses sleight-of-hand to place a small shard of hematite on the counter. To his satisfaction, Evelyn does not notice. The conversation is taking a turn Carghen doesn’t like. He’s starting to think Evelyn plans to attack him rather than talk him in. Which is smart, he’s not walking in to have his Divine Right revoked. Not a chance.

  Because he is weak in magic, Carghen must prepare beforehand. His way might be more ritualistic than natural, but it has saved his ass on more than one occasion. Of course, if she casts anything than a fire spell…he’s toast.

  “People, normal people, are talking about you, Jon. You’re failing to cause fear within the masses. Wonder, sure, but the cloak does that on its own. You have been in the game, Jon. The Crimson Knights are just as political as we are religious. You have pushed too far into mediocrity. The Bishops want us to remain the visage of power. Letting your targets live is failing to garner you points.”

  “The Bishops want death from my hands? Threatening to take my Divine Right seems heavy-handed. We haven’t released any Knight for two centuries, and he was a killer!”

  “Times change Jon. And I don’t have time to wait for the writ to be recalled. Are you coming by your own will?”

  “Oh Evelyn, you already know the answer. That’s why you’ve been sticking the syllables of your spell into the words you say to me, right?”

  Evelyn’s stunned look gives Carghen great satisfaction. A very few know she can perform her spells even as she holds a conversation, and Jon Carghen is not the most intelligent of the Knights. Fine. He may know it’s coming, but he has no idea how much energy she put into this particular spell. This is a one-spell kill. The Bishops should be able to identify his body with their magics.

  “I’m sorry, Jon.”

  Evelyn places her left hand on Carghen’s leather chest piece, the tattoos on her arm bright red. Carghen feels intense heat wash into his body. She plans on cooking me from the inside out, he thinks. Without any actual fire, the hematite doesn’t activate to counter her spell. Carghen already wants to vomit, and sweat flashes out of his pores, dripping to the floor. He’s got seconds before he’s cooked through, and he’s only getting hotter.

  Feeling delirious, not knowing what in the mixpit he’s supposed to do, Carghen grabs the hematite shard from the counter and places it on Evelyn’s glowing arm. Evelyn yelps, but holds her hand steady on his chest.

  Heat continues to pour into Carghen’s body. Is this what the bartender felt like, he wonders? It seems he got it easy, the bartender’s life had ended already. This is a slow burn, born of hatred and jealousy. Why Evelyn would feel jealousy is beyond Carghen, but hatred? Oh, hatred he understands.

  Jon made a decision long ago that he didn’t care if the Order of the Crimson Knights liked him, so long as he obeyed his goddess’ precepts, he would perform as he wanted. Evelyn had been correct, he knew the political climate of the Order changed over the course of years. As the Order became more bloodthirsty, Carghen became more the pacifist.

  When he and Evelyn first ran into each other, he manipulated her into revealing her target’s location. Rather than purifying the creature by fire, as Evelyn wanted, Carghen got there first and used divine light to burn the evil out of the creature’s mind. Evelyn was put under scrutiny because of Carghen’s actions. She was forced to face the Bishops, alone, because she was not meeting the demands of the Order’s bloodthirst. Yeah, Carghen understands her hate.

  Jealousy though? She is so many levels above him in combat magic. Where Carghen is bottom of the barrel, she’s leader of the mixpittin’ pack. Maybe this is just hatred, then. Maybe this is her version of what should have been done to her creature years ago, visited upon the man that took that victory away from her.

  At this point, Carghen realizes he’s still able to think. His brain should be well and fried by now. Focusing on the outside world, he sees Evelyn passed out, head on the counter, and her hand in his mashed potatoes. The potatoes are well and fried, now.

  His body is still far too hot, but cooling. He feels dehydrated. Looking at the floor, he’s surprised at the size of the puddle there. Climbing down from his barstool, dizziness attempts to land him. Grabbing the counter, Carghen manages to steady himself. He needs water, right now.

  After several glasses of piss-warm liquid, Carghen wipes a sleeve across his mouth. Seeing a bottle of Galrey Whiskey, he grabs it and places it in his bag. Looking over Evelyn, he sees the hematite fused to her arm. So, the rock saved him after all. Unable to resist, he touches the rock. Hotter than a blacksmith’s forge, Carghen pulls his hand back and sticks two fingers in his mouth. The rock explodes, sending tiny shivs throughout the tavern. Carghen tucks that away into his memory: over-heated hematite blows up on contact. He also thanks Maylyn for the heavy leather armor covering his vital organs with a quick prayer.

  Evelyn’s eyes begin to flutter. Uh-oh. Better hurry this up. Placing a chunk of silver ore behind the counter, Carghen scans the tavern to make sure nobody but Evelyn is left inside. There’s not, no surprise there. Walking outside, he makes sure to step over a line he’d drawn in the dirt before going in the tavern. On either end of that line are more chunks of silver. Each side of the building is marked the same, with silver connecting near the corners. A quick run shows none of the ruts are broken. Opening his spellbook, Carghen finds the correct page, marked ahead of time.

  “Cro ba isinil derbidio.”

  From each slab of silver, a thin turquois line appears, connecting to each other. Soon, the building is encased in an invisible barrier, save the turquois lines.

  “Binto pluos camnen.” Carghen says.

  The lines begin to shrink, dragging the slabs of silver with them. Within a shade, the whole building will be smashed into nothingness, along with everything inside. Carghen feels a pang of regret…in a sense, he’s giving the Order the precise thing they want: blood.

  Evelyn steps out the door, looks around, and realization dawns in her eyes.

  “No, no no no. Jon, you don’t want to do this,” Evelyn says.

  “You’re right about that. However, I can’t have you following me and catching me off guard later. We both know your plans for me, after all.”

  “Jon Carghen, if you murder me, the Order will come down on you, and Maylyn may join their fervor. They’ll keep coming for you. How many of your brothers and sisters are you willing to kill before the inevitable comes?”

  “If need be…all of them. Maylyn won’t join the Order’s hunt. She would have given me warning beforehand. I do my job, I follow the precepts. Politics be damned.”

  The silver chunks continue dragging closer to Evelyn.

  “Why did you even set this trap?” Evelyn says.

  “The truth is, I wasn’t expecting you or our brothers and sisters. In actuality, I was expecting Ben Hhand.”

  “You were going to do this to him?”

  “Nobody will be able to kill him unless they catch him by surprise. This is my best trap. And yes, I have every intention of killing Ben Hhand, unless he manages to reduce the evil of his father within him. I doubt that he can.”

  The side of the tavern pushes in, splintering along with the sound of groans.

  “Not much time now, Evelyn. It will be over soon.”

  Tears are running down Evelyn’s face. Carghen doesn’t believe they’re tears of fear.

  “Don’t make me die like this, Jon. I accept I must die. Just let me do it my own way.”

  Okay, maybe they are tears of fear.

  “You’re just going to spell me if I bring down the barrier,” Carghen says.

  “No, no I’m done. I’m not doing justice here, I’m seeking vengeance. I see now that I’ve allowed evil to enter my heart. The time is come. Just, please. Let me burn the evil out of myself.”

  It happens sometimes. A Crimson Knight faces more supernatural, evil, creatures than any of the general public. On top of that, they bring judgement do
wn on powerful, power hungry mortals. Lots of bad. And sometimes, that bad gets into the Knight. When that happens, a Knight is allowed to use their gifts on themselves. They can either burn the evil out using divine light…or fire. Carghen can see it in her eyes, Evelyn’s choice is made. She’s going to feed the machine, be the perfect soldier. She will obey the precepts while following the political climate.

  She wants to die by fire. And fire can’t burn hottest when the oxygen is low. Carghen nods his head and opens his book.

  “Bielay, diflittig.”

  The turquois lines dissipate into nothingness. The crushing of the tavern stops. Evelyn steps from the doorway. Lifting her arms into the air, she cries to the sky.

  “Corrum diedes mezdo in a li corrugib!”

  A pillar of fire forms in the sky, rushing down to meet Evelyn’s arms, enveloping her, engulfing her entire being. Smoke rises from her hair first, then her clothes. Soon, her skin catches fire, but Carghen can’t see it through the licking flames around her. What he can see is the smile on Evelyn’ face. The smile of one who has found peace. The smile you give when the one person you love wraps you tight in their arms. Then the smile is gone, replaced by charred bone. The flames rise back into the sky.

  Carghen makes his way to the stable. All he’d wanted was a meal and a drink. Well, Galrey gave him a bottle of its best…by default. Reaching into his bag, he grabs the bottle, twists the top,