On the battlefield, the human slave cautiously approached the hulking, royal brute. The ashen slave was tiny compared to Rutheir and he seemed acutely aware that these would be the final moments of his life. He tensed his muscles and lunged at his opponent, clinging to the vain hope that he might somehow overcome his foe.
Rutheir read the telegraphed move and reacted to the attack before it even came. He sidestepped the slave’s thrusting maneuver and brought his knee up into the man’s abdomen. The slave’s intended tackle left him crumpled in a heap on the ground; coughing and wheezing he spat up a pool of blood where he lay.
The king signaled to the goblin slave keeper. “Send me three of them this time,” he barked. “All at once.”
The goblin jailer yipped an acknowledgement. He unlocked the bindings on three captives who huddled together and tried to plan a desperate, impromptu strategy while they rubbed the sores that had formed below their shackles. The goblin quickly inserted a key and unlocked the gyves that bound their ankles.
One of the prisoners, thinking his end near anyway, kicked the goblin warden in his wrinkled snout as soon as the last gyve was off. The goblin shrieked, more insulted than injured, as he recoiled from the blow.
Rutheir laughed, amused at the slave’s fighting spirit. The king relaxed into his defensive stance and beckoned the slaves to attack him.
They charged at him together, hoping that they could overcome the single challenger with their combined ardor. In the zeal of their assault, they did not notice his stance subtly shift forward.
Rutheir charged at them and thrust his arms outward, clotheslining the two slaves on either side and cold-cocking the middleman with a powerful head-butt. His heavy, muscled arms slammed into the necks of the two men and completely flipped them.
They struggled to their feet. Rutheir kicked one of them back over and squared up to deliver a ferocious uppercut on the other. The blow struck the slave in his jaw. The sharp clack of closing jaw and cracking teeth reverberated as the force of the impact sent him sailing through the air. The slave landed on his back, his lungs forced empty by the impact.
The King turned to deal with the last conscious slave who finally staggered to his heels. Rutheir felt a blow to his back that jolted him ahead; his stumble forward knocked over the slave in front of him.
He turned around to see the original slave who had taken his knee to the gut. He’d pulled himself to his feet and continued the fight. Rutheir smiled a wicked smirk, and then jumped towards his attacker.
Rutheir’s large hands seized the slave’s wispy hair as he leapt like an animal unleashed. In one fluid motion, he pushed his hips into the slave and pulled a fistful of hair to his body. His hip made a fulcrum and he snapped the slave’s weight around, slamming him into the ground by his mane. The savagery destroyed the physical body of the ambitious slave, ripping scalp from skull and snapping spine and ribcage like they were a twiggy sparrow cage.
Grinning at the lifeless pile of ruined flesh, he turned. Rutheir went back to the last slave who staggered on his heels; the king simply tipped him over with his finger.
He called for his attendants and ordered them clear the floor and take the slaves to their prison cells beneath the castle. This gift could be reused, he thought and it would be best not to waste them all just yet, not when I have other toys to play with.
“Make sure that you feed and water them. Get them healthy; I want a real fight next time.”
He retrieved his sword and unsheathed it; the king swung it around a few times in a well-practiced arc, then he threw a pair of curved scimitars into the raked sand floor of his training room and commanded the goblin jailer to release a pair of the goblin “criminals.” The duo staggered into the ring, bearing the wild eyes and sweat from a feverish infection that had set in around their wounded throats. Severed vocal cords hung from the gashes at their necks where they had dried and cracked like a festered scab.
The king watched them reluctantly retrieve the weapons in vain hope of survival. The real fun was about to begin.
***
Kevin’s awestruck eyes remained fixed on the city of Xorst. As he and his escorts drew near the capital city of Gleend near mid-day, Kevin surveyed landscapes unlike anything he’d ever experienced. In the distance, the great chasm of Drindak could be seen like a dark black line splitting the horizon.
Finally within the border, Havara led Kevin, Kyrius, and Werthen through the back streets of the city, crossing over older, rickety bridges that spanned the chasm and its unstable tributaries. The four riders had pulled cloaks over their faces so that people would not recognize Havara and wonder about his traveling companions.
They crossed over the menacing pits where refuse and excrement were dumped and lost forever with nary a second thought. The bridge systems of Xorst were breathtaking. Connections crossed the gap at every thinkable impasse. Suspension bridges, rope bridges, wooden bridges and a massive, cobblestone conduit all made travel across the rip in the ground possible.
The causeways did not merely cross the chasm; they also formed pendent bridges, which crossed tall buildings, jutted across roads and alleys, and connected rooftops. Bridges were everywhere. Most of the roads were far narrower than those found in normal cities and the bulk of the traffic traveled via foot and over-bridge. Most of the air markets had actually set up on the rooftops; steep ramps curved upward at many locations letting service animals and citizens pull carts and rickshaws bearing people or supplies to the rooftops. Ropes and cables crossed in hundreds of directions, connecting to anchors and bridge supports all around the city.
Humans and ekthro of all varieties walked the paths that stretched structure to structure but most common were men, stout bearded dwarves, and fair-skinned elves. Everything in the city seemed painted in shades of brown: the sides of buildings, rope and wood in the bridges, the dirt of the roads. The sky seemed to mirror the color scheme below by tinting the clouds brown as stiff upward gusts of wind from the void blew the trodden Gleendish dust into the air on swirling wind currents.
Havara took his guests beyond the front entrance of his family’s enormous castle, which sat upon a slight rise that jutted off of an upward sloping escarpment. An immense wall surrounded the structure, completely enveloping it, with the exceptions of the large gates where castle guards kept post. He led his companions to a more remote entrance that was used only for service and supplies.
The gateway was smaller but still heavily guarded. Kevin nodded his agreement, subconsciously thinking about the access point that allowed for the recent assassination of Jand’s King.
Havara pulled back his hood to reveal himself to the posted guards and then dismounted. The other three followed their benefactor and led their animals inside the castle walls. Stable-hands quickly took their reigns and led the beasts off.
Kevin, Kyrius, and Werthen followed their host through winding paths that led inside the main castle, and then through several passages and hallways. After navigating a seeming maze, they eventually came to the personal living space of Havara’s family.
Havara’s brother was absent at that moment, so Havara checked a small mechanical device that functioned as a clock. He began to explain its function to Kevin, but the preacher already recognized it. Havara told Werthen about how it functioned since the ferreter was the only person who had never seen one in person before.
The prince had no wife or children. He lived a relatively humble life in his brother’s shadow. Lo-sonom had been the first-born, but more importantly had “the gift,” as they’d called it. The mark had been said to impart great wisdom onto him and allow him to see the plain truth of any situation.
King Lo-sonom had two wives and only one child by each, neither of which possessed this gift, although he was still relatively young and his wives hadn’t passed the typical ages of bearing children. Still, the king spent a great deal of time performing his royal duties and never had the opportunity to spend as mu
ch time as he wished with his family. Needless to say, Havara’s niece and nephew spent a great deal of time with their uncle.
The two children ran squealing to Havara and hugged his legs when he entered. He patted their backs and hugged them tight. They sat on Havara’s feet and giggled, thinking they had immobilized him.
“Where is your daddy?” Havara asked them.
Lo-sonom’s two wives sat in a nearby room, chatting idly with their servant, Ilsa; the elderly woman was the same maid who had helped to raise Lo-sonom and Havara and had served the family for all of her life. From the next room, one of the wives answered for the children.
“He is still in court.”
Havara noticed that the servants had prepared a table and hot food still remained on it. His family had waited for Lo-sonom to arrive and have a quiet dinner with them.
“Well then,” the brother said to his sister-in-law, “I will go and fetch him.”
He led the Christians back through the halls to the main court where the king sat on his throne. He listened and settled disputes, mostly, making judgments but also receiving emissaries and requests.
Kevin watched the prince and got the impression that Havara acted as Lo-sonom’s private counselor. Havara stayed too humble to claim as much, though. A genuine bond of love existed between he and his brother. What Havara would admit, was that his brother, despite his gift of great wisdom and discernment, was often erratic and very absent minded at times and it was not uncommon for him to stutter when speaking in public or become increasingly flustered by some things.
They entered the expansive throne room from a private entrance used only by certain persons. Kevin immediately recognized the king’s high sloped forehead when he looked at him. Kevin traded a look with Kyrius, who also recognized the genetic trait, and nodded. Lo-sonom’s judgements and unique black and white approach to how he saw things did not surprise the travelers. Kevin understood how his gift provided a certain kind of inimitable wisdom.
The throne room buzzed with voices that reverberated up through the immense, raised ceiling; decorative support pillars spanned the length of the room in two channels holding up the ornate ceiling. A carpet runner stretched from the main entrance to the stepped dais where the throne sat. Standing in the two wings of the large room waited groups of citizens that had been partitioned by rows of columns; they had come to request or hear the judgments of the wise king, Lo-sonom.
Havara gestured with his hands to the Christians to indicate that they should remain by the door. He walked through the court alone.
The prince passed by the crowds and walked up the steps. He waited behind the throne for an opportunity to whisper a message to Lo-sonom. The ruddy-haired dwarf pled his case before the king. The short and stout citizen lost his train of thought and Havara passed on the message.
Minutes later, Lo-sonom passed judgment and a herald proclaimed an end to the open session; court would not resume again until the appointed day and time. Each person in line would be given a numbered ticket so that they would not lose their place in line.
The King and his brother left the dais and walked back, where Kevin, Kyrius, and Werthen waited.
A trio of disappointed women refused their tickets. They appeared to be emissaries from Zipha by their Amazonian look, but they would not wait. The one in the middle glowered at Havara as he passed them by, turning right and leading his friends back to the royal house.
The scowl didn’t go unnoticed, however, by the prince who walked intentionally slow to catch their reaction. He shrugged when the women left speaking tensely amongst themselves.
“Trouble?” Kyrius asked.
Havara chuckled under his breath. “Not likely. We often receive suitors looking for me.” He shrugged again and laughed it off. “Maybe they didn’t like what they saw?”
***
By the end of their second day in Driscul, the Christians, led by Rashnir who they’d quickly defaulted to as their de facto leader, recognized the most pressing need in Driscul. The entire city felt as if it were blanketed in despair—the town felt gray, if feelings were colors. Their single greatest need was hope.
The citizens of Driscul seemed to emanate depression. Their eyes remained downcast, their faces drawn and pallid. Everything was painted in dour tones; even bright colors in the fruit and textile markets seemed muted and sullied by the dismal atmosphere. It seemed as if everything had collectively sighed as the people tried to eke out their living amid the oppressive somberness of their community.
Oddly enough despite that, very little Luciferian influence seemed apparent, at least in the official sense. The town only had one very small temple and it was little more than a place to pay tribute to Driscul’s patron demon: exaporeh’-omahee.
Such a palpable sense of despair permeated the locale that it was not uncommon for townsfolk to offer more than copper coins at the small temple. Many gave up their very lives to the demon and added their life energies to the cause of Luciferianism escaping the dark pall of the community by ending their own life. Any person who fell upon the altar was guaranteed a blessing in the afterlife by the Luciferians; those families left behind were promised a spiritual boon-although the darkness of the community seemed to say otherwise.
The first day, Rashnir scouted out the Luciferian building. Driscul’s tiny temple contained a money coffer just as you walked inside the building so that followers could worship with their money. Beyond the coffer stood a gold-leafed statue representing the emaciated visage of exaporeh’-omahee; despite his revolting appearance, the artisans had managed to make him look something like the benevolent angel he might have been before the Great Fall. Two steps beyond the idol, the floor fell away. In the hole that resulted a large altar erected to exaporeh’-omahee had been mounted to the floor; the altar resembled a saddle upon a sawhorse with a few fatal differences. Made of beaten metal, three wicked spikes protruded upward, two smaller arms on the sides of one large spire jutted upward to catch any who tried to change course mid-fall.
Not just an altar, it was a place to end your life. According to the locals, hardly a week went by without some person falling at the altar. The stink in the temple was abominably foul and an aura of despondency radiated from this place like spiritual darkness. It was a black hole for hope and Rashnir nearly vomited upon the discovery as he entered the doors of the mausoleum-like building.
Minor demons under exaporeh’-omahee’s dominion were responsible for the removal of the bodies. The Christian expected that they devoured the fallen and cleared away the refuse, leaving only the blood-smeared altar of death behind.
Standing above that pit of despair he recognized the depths to which Driscul’s hopes had fallen. Rashnir left to meet with his team over supper at the Full Flagon Inn where they would plan how they could reach out to the men and women of Driscul.
“If we can offer them hope,” said Shinna, “we will see conversions; I guarantee it. You cannot live life without hope and when you have hope you cannot give up on life.”
“I agree with that,” said Nipanka. “I owned one of the most successful small businesses in Grinden, but still I laid awake many a night and despaired over the consuming emptiness in my life. While other less successful men and women slept soundly, I’d often wished for the courage to kill myself and escape the all-consuming cycle of despair. The only way I could ever sleep fitful was by addling my brain with booze. At my worst, I remember hearing voices in my head, telling me how to end my life, giving me reasons why I should do it—but something always stayed my hand… I see now how that was divine appointment.”
“Those voices are common ‘round here,” sighed a sullen waitress as she laid out the food for the patrons. “Seems everyone hears ‘em, and I don’t think it’s just here. My guess is that it’s all over if you’ve got the right motivation to listen.” She sighed again as the believers turned to give her their full attention. “I think the whole realm is broken,” she specul
ated. About to leave, she mentioned, “If you knew a way to make them stop, you could make yourselves rich around these parts.”
“Excuse me,” said Rashnir.
The waitress turned to face him. A look of worry crossed her face when she suddenly recognized that she had intruded on a private conversation. She was young, still a teenager, and worry flooded those darkly lined eyes and soft features framed by her raven hair.
“What’s your name?” he asked compassionately. He made sure his tone washed away her concerns.
Her face softened. “Katerna,” she said, “My parents own the inn.”
“In that case, then, they wouldn’t mind if we asked you to take a break and sit with us. You see, we have found the cure for these voices. Each of us at this table has found the way to overcome them, and I guarantee you that we have all had similar feelings—that it would be easier to end it all. Each of us has found the same path to overcoming them… the only path.”
Katerna immediately sat with wide eyes and an open mind.
***
The night drew late when Rashnir and Zeh-Ahbe’ walked to the edge of town. They meandered up the grassy rise to sit near a thick grove of trees. Jibbin had fallen asleep under Shinna’s care and the kind woman remained nearby should he wake up. Shinna had been energized by her conversation with Katerna and the two stayed up and in deep conversation; Katerna had earlier become a Christian and been filled with a new Spirit as they prayed for her. She had so many questions and she wanted to know everything about her faith. Her enthusiasm was impossible to contain.
Nipanka had gone to sleep, as had Thim and Gans, two of the others who had accompanied them. Jibbin slept with Ersha in the women’s room; Ersha was the only other female to come along. Kevin wanted dedicated people by his side on the journey, but hadn’t wanted to fully deplete the Grinden Christians of the entire leadership council and he thought that her experience as a nurse might be of value. She hadn’t quite earned a position as a physician, but he thought she might be useful in case of any accidents on the road. Traveling could sometimes be perilous and he needed the trip to go well so that it would set a precedent for future travels which Kevin knew would come sooner rather than later.
The Kakos Realm Collection Page 38
