“The source?”
“All of these creatures stem from a single source. Legends say that they rest at the heart Gessun Thune. It is that source we must find and destroy.”
He failed to mention anything about the nexus, or dark gods, leading Pirneon to question Corso’s integrity. Pirneon naturally assumed the source was the key to finding and destroying the nexus. It was a simple task.
“Very well, Minister. Do us both a favor,” Pirneon suggested. Corso folded his hands in front of his waist. “Stay out of my way. I don’t want your blood on my hands.”
“Indeed. I shall keep that in mind.”
Grunting his approval, Pirneon then asked, “May we begin? Daylight has broken.”
“Take up your positions. Do not let anything out alive,” Corso ordered his disciples. “If we don’t return by nightfall, see to yourselves lest you join us in oblivion.”
“There will be no such ending,” Pirneon snapped. “Come.”
He led the way into the valley with sword in hand. Corso followed at a reasonable distance, smiling wickedly the entire way. He’d come to hate Pirneon in their short time together. The man’s arrogance was his undoing, a sad state that had led to the ruination of an entire kingdom. No wonder Gaimos was destroyed. He focused his thoughts on luring Pirneon into the alteration chambers where magic would run its course. Only then would Corso be able to complete his task.
Pirneon demanded silence once they left the slope. Corso’s six men slinked into position, putting on a show of being afraid. They hid in the rocks and waited. Mildly satisfied with their amateur professionalism, Pirneon turned to the gaping maw just ahead. The very air reeked of evil, stifling, with murderous intent. He choked on sulfuric fumes sprinkled with brimstone. This was unlike any place he’d ever experienced.
Nothing lived or grew. The ground was moist, almost disgustingly soggy. Mold covered the rocks and boulders. Pirneon tied a scarf over his lower face. Then he spied the greenish mist pulsating from deep with the cavern. He spared a glance at Corso, who feigned ignorance. Together, they crept into the cavern.
Pirneon caught the erratic drop of water from somewhere in the gloom. The sound echoed loud enough to cover their footsteps. He smiled savagely. Every little advantage brought him a step closer to the end and the glory he deserved. The oracle had been wrong to choose Aphere and her vile taint. Once he finished with the werebeasts, he decided he would seek out every twisted Gaimosian and cleanse the bloodlines.
His suspicions arose suddenly when he failed to spot any bones. Hundreds of men had come down here, yet there wasn’t the slightest hint of remains. The werebeasts were carnivorous, but he had never met an animal who feasted upon bone. He tightened his grip on his sword, fully expecting an attack to come at any moment.
The path was midnight black and restricting. He could feel the walls slanting in on them. The only source of light was the strange green mist. Pirneon began to feel misgivings. Something was wrong here, but what? He disregarded the feeling as superstitious nonsense; after all, the gods had fallen here. He pushed deeper until the path began to widen.
The mists deepened. Claustrophobia subsided, just. Pirneon found he had room to swing his sword, the only truly important factor concerning him. Corso a step behind, he traveled deeper underground. Overwhelming dread awakened, building to the point it threatened to consume him. There was nothing natural here. He had a host of questions needing answering, but Corso was determined to remain recalcitrant.
Eventually, they came into a massive cavern, awash in the green glow. They stood at one end and gasped. Pirneon could make out the remains of dozens of buildings. It didn’t seem possible, but Gessun Thune had once been a city. What foul manner of creature once dwelt here?
“This was once the home of the Edaas,” Corso whispered, coming alongside him. Pirneon eyed him sharply. “Death cult of the dark gods.”
Pirneon reeled. The oracle had been right all along. Pirneon was now the true hand of destiny. His mind swirled, lost in the cyclopean vision of the future. “What happened to them?”
Unseen in the mist, Corso’s face hardened. “There was a crusade, similar to the one against Gaimos, to exterminate them. Kings and nobles banded together to destroy the Edaas. Only a few managed to escape, just over a thousand years ago.”
“The ones who did have carried on that legacy,” Pirneon guessed.
“And once again, Malweir stands on the brink of the abyss.”
Pirneon wasn’t satisfied. “What is the connection with the werebeasts?”
“No one knows. They only began appearing two years ago.”
Pirneon didn’t like the answer but knew there was little he could do about it. Corso was proving to be worthless, as far as he was concerned.
“We’re wasting time, Knight Marshal,” Corso hushed. He knew Pirneon wasn’t ready to accept the truth, wasn’t ready to learn how evil had adapted through the centuries. It was time to prod.
“There!” he exclaimed.
Pirneon followed his finger. “What?”
“To your right. See where the glow is brightest? There rests the source.”
“How can you be certain?”
“The ancient scrolls in the library mention it,” Corso lied again. “It must be the source. Quickly, before it is too late.”
They slipped through the ruins. Pirneon scanned the cracks and shadows for signs of the enemy. Surprisingly, the way was clear, prompting new worry. Where were all the werebeasts? They should have at least been aware of the Humans’ presence by now. Pirneon began to sense a trap, but it was far too late. They had almost reached the glow.
A ring of shattered columns lay in ruins surrounding the glow. Bright green light shot straight up from the ground. The opening! Pirneon felt his blood go cold as he gazed upon the gateway to another dimension. Through here, the dark gods threatened to break free.
The air was suddenly hot. Sweat ran freely down their bodies. Pirneon felt over his head. For the first time in his life, he felt inadequate. This place was death itself. He took a reluctant step forward, searching for something to strike. A lodestone. Anything that might signify the power of the source. The only threat came from the glow. His first instinct was to shy away.
Suddenly, the glow took on life. It pulsed the closer Pirneon got. The Gaimosian took that as a good sign, for the nexus knew he was here to kill it. He took another step, but it became sluggish. His footsteps were heavy, lethargic. Tentacles of mist circled around his legs. His thoughts became clouded. Pain spread from up his feet. He tried to turn but was rooted in place.
Corso watched with a wild look. Realizing he was betrayed, Pirneon struggled to reach him, to throttle him quickly, but he was caught. The first howl shattered the stillness, followed by dozens more. Pirneon’s sword dropped. He was caught helpless in a trap. His eyes widened with genuine fright as werebeasts of various shapes and sizes started crawling into the ruins. The creatures ringed the area and watched. Pirneon had been tricked from the beginning. Corso was the enemy he’d rushed blindly to fight.
“Corso!” he raged.
Corso waited until his prey was surrounded — not that he needed additional security. By now, Pirneon was hopelessly trapped in the poisonous gas. Casually folding his arms across his chest, Corso joined his pets. Pirneon watched in horror as the monsters parted and bowed reverently to their master.
“Poor, poor fool. Only now you begin to understand,” Corso began. “It was me all along. I pushed you where I needed you to go from the very beginning. That part was too easy. Your arrogance became my greatest strength.”
The pain reached Pirneon’s groin. “Why?”
“I’ve waited a thousand years to free my masters and take revenge against the sons of the usurpers. My agents helped cause the fall of your beloved Gaimos. Yes, it was your people who led the war against the Edaas, my kin. What better revenge to take than with the blood of Gaimos?”
Sharp pains lanced Pirneon’s stomach. He g
rit his teeth.
“You, Knight Marshal, are going to be the instrument of their final demise. But not like this, oh no, not in this form. The magic of the nexus requires the strongest soul to open or close it.”
“I won’t help you,” Pirneon grunted through the pain.
His body suddenly felt…wrong. As if it was changing. His muscles spasmed violently. The very blood in his veins caused him intense pain. Realization crashed like breaking waves upon the rocky coast. This was impossible.
“You understand now, don’t you? The mystery of the hunt is at last solved, but too late to save you. The Edaas learned how to turn men into beasts long ago. These werebeasts have done my bidding for a millennium. Eglios was fool enough to supply me with a steady stream of fresh specimens.”
“How?” Pirneon struggled.
Corso shrugged. “There’s no point in not telling you. You’ll become my willing slave as soon as the transformation is complete. Then you shall serve my will and bring about the end of the world. You really were no different. Seducing you was just as easy as playing on Eglios’s emotions. But for you I took a different approach. What better gift to give a man than what he didn’t have?”
He paused, turning suddenly. “You may come out now.”
A slight figure in black robes eased forward. Pirneon felt his soul shatter as Tamblin removed her hood, grinning malevolently.
“She’s been my servant since I found her as a child. I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist. Her charms are…quite remarkable, aren’t they?” His finger gingerly traced the curve of her jaw.
Pirneon renewed his efforts to escape, but his body revolted. Sharp pain consumed him, hungrily devouring him from the inside. Corso’s laugh echoed throughout the cavern.
“You won’t remember this, but the pain will be extraordinary. When next we meet, you’ll kneel before me and swear fealty.
Corso walked away, Tamblin in tow, leaving Pirneon to his demise. The werebeasts gathered closer and watched as their ranks grew yet again.
FORTY-SEVEN
The Hunt
Rantis was alive. Trumpets and drums boomed loudly over the roar of the gathered crowds. The smells of cooked food filled the air, enticing hungry stomachs. Today was the commencement of the hunt, what the people hoped was the last. Knights, squires, bounty hunters, soldiers, and the average man seeking glory filled the palace parade grounds — close to three hundred, in all.
The people cheered as the parade lurched forward, winding through the city. Flags and pennants waved from the tallest buildings and most windows. The heroes drank it in. never before had any experienced such a sendoff. Most had barely seen twenty summers. The few that had were old, long in the tooth. Weapons of every sort could be spotted under heavy coats or strapped across gambesons. Rusted armor of veterans mingled with the almost polished leather of the young. These weren’t the best, or even the bravest, but they were all willing to end the tyrannical threat assaulting Aradain — for the right price. naturally.
Eglios sat upon the throne. His crown was heavy, much as it always was on this fatal day. His mind was cluttered with the hopes that this would be the last time he needed to send innocent men into harm’s way so that his kingdom might be set free. Eglios closed his eyes and prayed.
“Sire,” Corso interrupted from the doorway. “It is time to greet the hunters.”
“Of course,” he replied without conviction.
The king rose wearily. His hair was mostly silver now. The lightning bolt on his crimson breast had lost much luster. Eglios donned his black cloak. It was heavier. He suddenly felt very old, almost used up. “Perhaps we won’t have need for this again.”
Corso remained stoic. “I have a feeling we’ll find success, sire. All of the signs are right. We can’t lose, not with the eclipse about to happen.”
Eglios didn’t bother with the explanation. He’d been told the same thing for months now, and nothing changed. No matter how many times Corso sought to reassure him, he still cringed under a nagging despair. He knew, deep in the corners of his mind, that Aradain was doomed. But why? His enemies had gone. The Fist was on the run, and the Gaimosians were all but disappeared. Even that pompous Pirneon had gone off to the black pit.
So why do I wake up with dread each morning? His sense of wrongness grew. Eglios slowly walked across the throne room. Sunlight streaked lines of light through the enormous windows but offered no warmth. He always felt so alone on this day. The world seemed to have abandoned him.
“Are you all right, sire?” Corso asked.
Concern steeled the king’s face. “I’m tired, Corso. Tired of all this. Tired of sending people I don’t know off to die in a struggle we are blind to.”
“Sometimes the most difficult task for a ruler is to risk the lives of his people for the greater good of the kingdom.”
“How many have to die before it’s enough, or too much?” Eglios asked.
“I don’t have that answer. This will soon pass. The future will turn this all into a distant memory.”
Placing his hand on Corso’s shoulder, Eglios said, “You are a good friend. I could not have asked for a better minister. Come, let us pay our respects to these brave few.”
Corso closed the door behind them. All too easy.
Moncrieff met them at the end of the granite-tiled hall. He was in his finest dress uniform, complete with ornamental saber. Escorting the hunters to the pit was normally his function, this proving to be the one exception. Eglios knew of his true mission, had approved it himself, if but hesitantly.
“Sire,” Moncrieff bowed. Rows of medals jingled softly as he moved. “The assembly awaits.”
Eglios nodded. “Is all else ready?”
“Preparations will be finished by evening. Some of the scouting elements have already pushed out. The main body marches at dawn.”
“The same as our hunters.”
Moncrieff replied, “Yes, sire. I have one battalion of the House Guard dispatched to escort detail. They should arrive at the forward camp unimpeded.”
He didn’t say what they both thought. Once the guards finished escorting the hunters to the camp, their task was complete. The hunters were on their own.
“Very well. Let’s go and bid our well wishes to this latest batch,” Eglios said. Some of his old confidence was returning.
A pair of guards, Damos and Kern, dressed in the house colors of crimson and black, snapped to attention as the king marched by. He’d always made a point of knowing his people by name. They were charged with defending the throne, and he could think of no better gift to bestow upon them.
Eglios stepped onto the second floor balcony to the cacophony of cheers and whistles. Doves were released from the surrounding roofs. Horns blared out. The crowds cheered louder in one of the few times they had to feel good. The blanket of repression hung low over most. Though each of the previous hunts had ended with despair, the people felt that this was the time the enemy would be broken and evil defeated. They cheered and didn’t stop until long after Eglios raised his hands for silence.
“Good people of Rantis,” he began. “Friends of Aradain and brave souls from across the world, I welcome you to this once proud kingdom in the hopes you will soon liberate us from the dark stain. All of you know our plight. An ancient evil has come to claim us. Our people are hunted and killed. They disappear in the middle of the night. We’ve tried, the gods know we’ve tried, to put an end to this menace ourselves. We were found wanting.
“I organized the hunts as a way for the best and bravest in the world to take up arms and win both honor and glory. This is the most holy of crusades. All you need do is reach forth and claim your glory. Do you seek it?”
The youngest, most influenced, of the crowd cheered, brandishing swords and pikes. Again, the people of Rantis cheered. Eglios almost felt it.
“Do you seek riches?” he shouted.
The very foundations of the palace shook.
“Then go forth in the name of
all that is just and right, and stake your claim in the annals of history. Each of you who brings me the head of one werebeast shall receive enough gold and gems to become a king yourself! Go! Go now, and may your blades strike true!”
The hunters filed out of the parade grounds under the intense cheers of the people. Flowers and incense were thrown at them. The sun was bright, shining. The day was perfect. Hope filled the city. Today just might be the day. Eglios watched them go. He wanted to believe, but past experience forced him to think otherwise.
“You have doubts, sire?” Corso asked above the roar.
“When does a king not? There are days when I feel the world is against me. I often wonder why the gods chose us for this calamity. But the gods do not answer. This is a cursed time we live in.”
“Your words were strong, inspiring.”
Eglios snorted. “Pure drivel. This hunt will fail just like all of the others. Of that, I am certain. I pray, General, that our armies are as up to the task of removing the threat in Kalad Tol as the hunters believe they are in the ruins.”
“Have no fear, sire. The outcome is all but decided. We have but to march, and the deed is done,” Moncrieff said confidently.
“Good. Once it is complete, I want you to swing north to the ruins and finish this once and for all. Kill any that get in your way, and bring the mountain down on top of the cavern. This kingdom will be free again. Good day, gentlemen.”
Eglios left them to their business. He had much to prepare for and so little time. Moncrieff took his leave as well, letting Corso stand and watch the last of the departing hunters. He gently punched his fist into the railing. Eglios was beginning to act impulsively. He threatened all Corso had worked so hard for without realizing it. Five more days until Corso was freed of the pathetic ministrations of Aradain. After that, they’d all kneel before him.
Corso wasted no time stealing away from Aradain. His own work took him back to the obsidian tower. Let Eglios do as he wishes. None of it matters. Fire and darkness will soon dominate this kingdom. Pain and suffering will be delivered upon them all. This is my hour. His anger lessened by the time he reached the tower.
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