The Traitor's Reliquary

by Chris Moss

  Arbalis motioned for the others to crouch down. Pressing himself against the rocks, he peered through the cracks into the light beyond.

  “Demetros?” whispered Eriwasteg, drawing her sword.

  “No, something else.” Arbalis held his weapon ready, squinting through the shadows around him. The old veteran beckoned his charges to follow and crept into the larger cavern.

  Kestel spotted glints of light reflected in the darkness. “Arbalis, duck!” He threw himself forward at the dark shape separating itself from the shadows, launching at the soldier.

  Acting on the instincts of a lifetime, Arbalis spun and thrust his sword forward at the shape ploughing into him. The impact knocked the old man off his feet. Kestel and Eriwasteg scrambled after the pair rolling down the pathway. Kicking and grunting, Arbalis and his assailant knocked over stalagmites and cracked a nearby light stone. Though still shocked from the sudden attack, Kestel drew his sword and jumped into the fray. His screaming thoughts registered Eriwasteg jumping onto the creature’s back.

  “Get it off me!” yelled Arbalis with only his writhing limbs and blood-drenched sword visible.

  Kestel shoved his sword deep into the prickly, black animal under him. It rewarded him with a snarl and flash of teeth. The gleaming yellow fangs lunged toward Arbalis again. The old man screamed, but the bleeding creature rolled away, bucking Kestel and Eriwasteg off, and loped back into the darkness.

  Arbalis lay on the floor, clutching his belly. He groped around for his sword with a blood-covered hand. “The Sepulchre.” He groaned. “It’ll be at the end of the path. We have to run.”

  “Help me with him.” Eriwasteg pulled Arbalis up and slung the old-man’s arm over her shoulder. Kestel helped from the other side, half-carrying, half-dragging the soldier. Ahead of them, the cavern opened out into colossal proportions, with a series of giant iridescent columns creating a circular pool of light.

  “Hurry!” Eriwasteg yelled.

  An animal’s growl answered her shout. It echoed down the central pathway, drowning out Arbalis’s groans as they staggered into the Sepulchre.

  Inside, columns reared up around them, glowing with colored lightning arcing from structure to structure. At the center lay the immense stone altar from Kestel’s vision, its surface bare of Musmahu’s bones, but still slick with black oil. Kestel leaned Arbalis against one of the iridescent pillars, his eyes straying to the interwoven patterns of figures carved into the wide pillars—men, women, the strange headless figures he saw before, as well as stranger races he couldn’t recognize.

  The entire cavern erupted in howls, a deep baying from every direction. Kestel whipped around, keeping Eriwasteg behind him. He looked into the shadows between each shining pillar, but the pull of another vision kept trying to fog Kestel’s view.

  Black and brown shapes poured through the spaces between the iridescent columns, tumbling and crawling over each other to encircle them.

  “What in Baabuk’s name?” Eriwasteg put her back against Kestel, sword at the ready.

  “Don’t move.” Arbalis struggled to his feet. “If they wanted us dead, they would have torn us to pieces by now.”

  “I don’t think they’re going to reason with us, Commander,” said Kestel. “I’m pretty sure we’ve made them angry.” Kestel blinked at the clouds fogging his vision, desperate to find any means of escape.

  The tall, stocky beasts had enormous arms and thick, black-clawed hands. Thick, bristly fur covered their entire bodies. They had wolf-like faces, with short muzzles and thick jaws. Their brown and gray eyes narrowed at the sight of their prey.

  “Chonoroq, we mean you no—”

  A chorus of savage barks and growls from the beasts drowned out Eriwasteg’s words. Several leaped forward to snap at the young woman before darting back into the throng.

  “You mean us no harm?” said a deep, throaty voice from the darkness beyond the pillars. “Or, is it that you cannot harm us, female?”

  The beasts near the columns scampered away at the sound of the voice, while the others hunkered down in fear, whining. Kestel turned with Eriwasteg to face the new voice. His sword wavered at what stepped into the crackling light. Larger and broader than the other Chonoroq, long, gray-brown hair fell over its shoulders and chest in ropy locks. The creature strode naked through the scattering beasts, bearing a long staff of black iron.

  “Greetings, Herald,” said the creature, his voice deep, the words, well enunciated. “I am Rawshnet, Chieftain of those you call the Chonoroq, and first acolyte of the Dead God.”

  “What makes you think I’m the Herald?” said Kestel, deciding it best to be cautious.

  “I have watched many Heralds.” Rawshnet’s voice dropped into an animal-like growl several of the others picked up and echoed around the small cavern. “All the way back to Aedron. I am the eldest, first of all the Immortals, receiving the gift from the blood of the Dead God himself! I have ruled these caverns as his apostle for countless cycles, from a time when all the races trembled at his power, to the forgetfulness of these late times.”

  “The other races?” said Kestel, his sword up and ready.

  “I remember the other races, Herald,” said Rawshnet. “The dreamers, the shapers, the humans, the beast-men. It was the Dead God who ruled them all, even if none remember.”

  “We remember.” Eriwasteg spat. “The Baavghir will never forget what you did to us. It is blood feud forever.”

  The Chonoroq laughed. “I was there when the Dead God slew Baabuk.” He sneered. “I watched as Great Bear emerged from her halls and was torn to pieces by the Dead God’s fangs. I still remember her white fur stained with blood.”

  “Tzvarec! I’ll kill you!” Eriwasteg raised her sword and bared her teeth at the assembled mass of Chonoroq. The malice in her voice caused the closest beast-men to shiver and take a step back, but Rawshnet drew back his lips and grinned, baring broken, yellow teeth.

  “We humans stopped you eventually,” said Arbalis, staggering forward to stand unsteady before the mob of black shapes. Kestel pulled Eriwasteg back and tried not to grimace at the sight of the ground around the old veteran’s feet, flecked with blood.

  “They had help!” Rawshnet snarled. “He was another like this one—” He nodded toward Kestel. “—a slave to higher forces. But even when they summoned forth the Angel, they could not completely kill our God.”

  “Then, we will do so again.” The old soldier drew himself up, grimacing in pain.

  “Is that why you are here, little human?” The ancient beast’s words drifted away into the lightning storm above them. “Did the leader of your Citadel peer through the mists of time to send you to this place? What lies were you told?”

  “Shut your filthy mouth,” Arbalis yelled, clutching his wound.

  The leader of the Chonoroq stepped forward and swatted the old soldier to the ground with a leathery paw, grinding Arbalis into the stone floor under his clawed foot. “Here is the truth you have come so far to find, human. The Angel will no longer intervene on your behalf against its brethren. You lost the Angel’s grace when the blonde woman betrayed it, just as she betrayed us.”

  “Shut up!” Arbalis coughed, struggling against the weight crushing him.

  “Get away from him!” Kestel leaped to the old man’s aid, but was sent sprawling by the pack of beasts.

  Eriwasteg stepped in front of him and held her sword against the circle of monsters. Kestel scrambled to his feet, but the Chonoroq surged forward and grabbed the pair, holding them fast in leathery hands. Kestel yelled and struggled in vain against the Chonoroq’s iron grip, feeling Arbalis’s heart tear as if it were his own.

  The old man put a bloodied hand over his face, but none present could mistake the way his shoulders shook with each ragged breath. “You’re wrong.”

  Rawshnet threw his head back and laughed. “Where is it then, little human? If the Angel wishes to save you, then let it come.”

  “Don’t listen to them!” y
elled Eriwasteg. “The Chonoroq have always been black-hearted liars! Why would Kestel be here if not to summon the Angel?”

  “Why would I lie?” said the monstrous figure. “The Angel could not kill the Dead God. My master’s very corpse lived on, even as the humans hunted all Musmahu’s acolytes. Only I remain, but without the gift of my master, the others of my race will wither and die.”

  “What do you mean?” said Eriwasteg.

  “I see it.” Kestel shook his head at the images overwhelming him. “Lychra Maal came and found you in the swamps. She knew the black hydra’s blood would grant immortality. She offered to bring Musmahu back to life in exchange for a taste of the creature’s blood.”

  Rawshnet’s muzzle wrinkled, but Kestel kept speaking.

  “But instead, she raised your mighty God and took him with her as her slave.” Kestel blinked away the images and stared into the ancient Chonoroq’s eyes. “No. Not a slave, but as a pet—a plaything.”

  Rawshnet snarled and wrapped a clawed hand around Kestel’s face, pulling his head down and yanking back the damp hair so that Maal’s tattoo could be seen by all present. “You are not here like the other two, fat with good intentions and empty valor. Whose plaything have you been, human? Did you turn on the gold-haired woman to come here?”

  Even through the cold, through the horror of Calla’s death, the painful fear for Eriwasteg and Arbalis, the old anger brewing in Kestel’s gut burst forth. “I did not betray that bitch. She betrayed me!”

  The assembled creatures howled and circled the small group. The Chonoroq holding Kestel roared and brought his teeth toward Kestel’s exposed neck.

  “Stop!” Rawshnet waved the bestial figure away. “You came here for revenge on Maal?”

  Kestel looked at Eriwasteg and Arbalis. The former struggled against her captor—the latter clutched his bloodied side and stared at Kestel with tired, blue eyes.

  “Yes, I did,” Kestel said.

  “But you are the Herald. I see it all over you—through you...” Rawshnet paused, his breath hanging in the air. “I, too, have peered through the mists of time. I have seen you use the Authority of the Herald to free the Dead God and restore him to us.”

  “No! Don’t do it!”

  The Chonoroq holding Eriwasteg put their leathery hands over her mouth, cutting off her shrieking words.

  “I have foreseen you freeing Musmahu,” said Rawshnet. “Think on it. The blonde woman’s rule will be utterly destroyed. You will be the first of Musmahu’s acolytes—young, strong, and powerful forever. I can give you dominion over all the humans if you wish. You could watch Maal tortured for your pleasure. Have a different maiden warm you every night. Simply free the Dead God and acknowledge him as your master.”

  The words sank in, spinning around the dark corners of Kestel’s soul before fading away.

  Isn’t it strange how fate grants your wishes long after you no longer want them?

  Was that you, Creven? thought Kestel.

  No, Herald. That was you.

  “Well?” said Rawshnet.

  Kestel shook his head. “Once, I might have freed the hydra, but now that I know what he is, I’d rather see him dead than leading monsters like you.”

  Rawshnet snarled in frustration, waving a hand toward Arbalis and Eriwasteg. A mass of black fur and yellow teeth tightened on the two figures.

  “We will kill your friend and your woman if you do not help us!”

  Kestel looked at Eriwasteg, three sets of clawed hands grasping her arms and shoulders. Her amber face was pale, but her determined stare never wavered from Kestel’s face.

  “Then, I will kill myself,” said Kestel in a flat tone. “And unless another Herald wanders down into these caves, your Dead God will remain Maal’s slave for the rest of time.”

  The assembled Chonoroq whined and snarled, looking to Rawshnet for the kill command. The ancient beast growled at Kestel in frustration.

  “Perhaps I can help,” said a gurgling voice from above.

  “No!” Kestel looked up with a sickening resignation and spied Demetros perched on the carvings on the Sepulchre’s columns like a rotten gargoyle.

  “You’re dead!” said Kestel. “You died on the cliffs!”

  Demetros laughed and sprang from the iridescent stone, landing between Kestel and Rawshnet. The ghastly figure had not fared well from his fall in the caves. Demetros looked like a dirty amber cadaver with long orange weals running the length of his body and one side of his skull peeking through the orange crusted flesh.

  “I keep telling you, boy.” He sneered. “You can’t kill me.”

  Rawshnet sniffed at the blood oozing from the creature and his graying hackles rose. “You are an Immortal? You dare take on the blood mantle of the Dead God?”

  The Chonoroq throng milled in confusion at the newcomer, whining and baring their fangs.

  “Tear him to pieces!” shouted Rawshnet. “Destroy this blasphemy!”

  The mass of Chonoroq tumbled toward Demetros in an avalanche of claws and teeth. The black and orange figure laughed, dodging and spinning between the beasts as if dancing. The Chonoroq barked and snarled, but no matter how many threw themselves at Demetros, he always twisted away.

  Come on. Kestel looked to the bestial figures guarding Eriwasteg and Arbalis. One of these things has to kill him.

  The roiling mass of creatures started to slow, whines and sharp yelps of pain escaping from the pack. The creatures drew back. Demetros stood over several dead Chonoroq, his arms dripping with black blood. Demetros’s shoulders and midsection were gashed and torn, but he radiated a terrible vitality.

  “Like I said...” The skeletal figure cocked his head toward Rawshnet with a sneer. “...you can’t kill me. I’ve hunted this little bastard from one end of the continent to the other. And not one of you can take him from me.”

  “I will tear you limb from limb,” said Rawshnet, his voice lost in an animal growl.

  “Tell me, dog,” said Demetros. “You want your God back?”

  The old Chonoroq hesitated, his hackles rising at the rotting figure’s approach.

  “Maal wants this traitor. Give him to me, and she will send your hydra back to you.”

  “The blonde woman betrayed us once already!” said Rawshnet. “She merely fears the Herald’s power!”

  “He’s already said he’d rather die than help you, old fool. What are you going to do, torture him until agrees? He’ll use his Authority to take Musmahu for himself!”

  “Do you expect us to take the blonde woman’s word as honorable?” Rawshnet sneered at the bleeding Demetros.

  “Just as you said, dog,” said Demetros. “You foresaw that this boy would deliver you the hydra, and he will—through me. Just hand him over.”

  Rawshnet’s gray eyes drifted between Kestel and Demetros. Kestel felt the possible futures hanging in the balance. He strained against his captors’ grip.

  “The Herald has spoken,” Rawshnet finally said. “He will not help us, even at the cost of his elder and his mate. We will accept the offer of the false Immortal. We will keep the Herald’s mate as a hostage—you may kill the other.”

  “No!” Kestel doubled his effort to squirm out of his captors’ grasps. Arbalis, however, stood quietly, arms at his sides. The creatures circling him backed away.

  Kestel writhed out of the iron grip around his face, but still couldn’t completely free himself. He watched, helpless, as the black and orange monster lurched over to the old man.

  “If there really is some sort of Angel out there, please come!” he yelled. “Come now. If there’s anything that can hear me, come now!”

  Demetros’s jagged smile crept almost to his ears, looking at the old soldier before him. Pale and swaying, the wet stones under Arbalis’s feet red with blood, one hand clutching the wound in his side. He stood his ground and looked up at the wretched figure.

  “You didn’t find your Angel, old man.” Demetros sneered. “Now you’re going to die, ju
st like your friends. Soon the boy and the little bitch will follow. Any last words?”

  Arbalis looked at Kestel and Eriwasteg, then out over the crackling iridescence beyond the Chonoroq army.“I have loved, truly and completely, and been loved in return. Tell me, you hideous freak, will you ever be able to say the same?”

  Before Demetros could respond, the old veteran whipped a dagger from his belt and stabbed hard into the orange-and-black-creature’s chest. Eriwasteg and Kestel shouted in triumph as Demetros stumbled back, but Arbalis didn’t slow. He slammed his bloody fists into his opponent’s rotting face, forcing Demetros back against the shining column. The old soldier continued to press his advantage—even the Chonoroq bayed in response.

  Arbalis sent a bronze shoulder into Demetros’s ribs, forcing the blade deeper into his chest. The old man faltered, blood dribbling down his side. A black hand shot forward and tore through the ragged leather protecting Arbalis’s midsection. The soldier gasped and stumbled but refused to fall.

  “Help him!” screamed Eriwasteg to Kestel. “Do something!”

  “I am trying. It won’t work,” said Kestel. He hated seeing Arbalis’s leathery face curl up in pain. It brought a red stinging behind his eyes.

  “Enough games.” Demetros twisted his blackened hand, cutting deeper into the old man’s belly. Arbalis wheezed and, blood foaming from his mouth, whispered a single word.

  “Julia.”

  The old man fell flaccid against the columns, rolling into the crowd of Chonoroq, leaving a watery trail of blood across the stone.

  In the silence that followed, Kestel’s vision expanded. Seeing all—the Chonoroq, the Sepulchre, and every figure within it—he realized, to his core, how wrong Demetros’s existence was. The revolting amber creature should never have existed.

  “You will let go of me,” he said.

  The Chonoroq holding him whined and stepped back. Kestel walked toward Demetros.

  The monster sneered. “What do you think you’re doing—”

  “Demetros,” Kestel said, calm assurance reflecting his voice. “You will die. Your immortality is stripped from you.”