“Choulidiat,” it answered. Rondarius had heard names like that. They were common in the east near the powerful Kingdom of Seawall, known for its mages, wizards, and sorcerers.
“What did you do in life?” he asked the wraithlike form.
“I was a priestess and a warrior, serving the Toralian army. I led wave after wave of attacks on the weak men of Seawall.” It hissed. So he had the right area, but the wrong sex and Kingdom that it served. Or she rather.
“What do you offer me and what do you ask in return?”
“I bring you the power you crave. I ask to feed on the weak souls of men who brag of hollow power over women. I bring you slaves and riches. I ask for revenge in return. I kill where you ask, but I get to leave nothing except a hollow shell of any man that comes within an arm’s length of me.” She would eat the souls of men. That sounded good to him.
“Why did you remain here instead of going to your Goddess when you died?”
“I spit upon her when the church demanded I allow the children to live. I know they grow to men and it is better for them, and us, to kill them before they can become a danger to themselves and others. When the church executed me, I cursed them as I died. I rose from my death and killed every man in the crowd. Slave, husband, child, or freeman. They all died at my cold hands and frozen bite.”
Rondarius smiled and nodded and waved her to the side without even considering the calculating look she gave him. The next creature was a marble statue of a man; pale even compared to the walking dead around him. It slid sideways in a blur and came to a halt as if it hadn’t moved at all.
“My Lord,” he said, “shall I answer the same questions that my sister in death answered?” The man spoke in a loose flowing tongue that carried an odd accent that was almost a lisp.
“Sure, tell me what I need to know,” Rondarius answered.
“I once was much like you, but not as powerful. I dealt in many dark magics including necromancy and demonology. I was imprisoned under my own stronghold when a bastard Aeifain entered and banished me.” Rondarius made a sympathetic noise at this, knowing how that feels. “My name is Lord Emite of Aborgas. I brought the first pack of werewolves into my service and spread their disease through the southlands. I can be a cloud or a shadow, I can shatter a man’s spine with the slightest of movements, I can control those of weak will and I know how to create more like me. I offer my services and loyalty, in exchange for a chance to bring revenge upon those that did this to me, or their descendants. I chose this form so I could build power. I still have that goal.”
Rondarius nodded. “Welcome to my Legion then, Lord Emite. Please stand there while I interview the next candidate.” The well-dressed man slipped sideways out of sight.
The remaining person looked like a twenty-year-old country bumpkin. He was dressed in plain-woven clothes and had no shoes. He had a look in his eyes that spoke of other things. He also showed no sign of being chilled though the air was cold enough for it to snow. He nodded at Rondarius.
“Well?” Rondarius snapped. The man looked Rondarius in the eye and the necromancer almost stepped back. He steeled himself and glared down at the impetuous youth.
“I am Omega.” The boy said. His voice was a deep baritone and rattled the rickety platform on which the throne was built. “I change bodies. I evict a soul from a body. If I choose, I can leave the body I inhabit for that person’s. Either way, I take their body if I want it. So, I can be anyone. I can give you the soul of anyone, trapped in another form, and then later return it to his or her own. If I force their soul to leave and do not give them a body to inhabit they die, but the body I cleared becomes like one of your pets, the middle dead, your elite forces. I will work for you because it is more entertaining to be able to share the things I do with others. Oh, and I get to play in their minds while I am in their bodies. Did you know that the memories are stored in the body? That is why so many ghosts or reincarnated beings have no memories of their past life.”
Rondarius began to smile as the possibilities opened themselves to him. He would lead the greatest army in history. He could get into any place that had people, open gates, give commands to the enemy army to cause chaos and so much more. He was looking forward to this winter. Tonight Feven would be his; soon he would travel to the west and see what awaited his Legion there.
“Malvornick wants to control Humbrey, that’s why!” Lord Jaeken yelled at the King’s closest advisor, Lord High Chancellor Warren. The minor lord had convinced seven of the thirteen ruling counselors that there was a danger. He had spoken to all of them except the High King. He had been turned down at every turn for an appointment with him.
Jaeken had been invited to meet with the King, and had been shown into an antechamber to wait. Its walls were covered with tapestries which showed mighty battles and glorious victories. Magical globes of light hovered above the room, lighting it so there were no shadows. A long table in the center of the room was covered with rich foods and crystal decanters of alcohol. The chairs around the table had been arranged to face the single door in the room, including the throne-like chair at the end of the table that was meant for the King Himself.
“Now, explain again what you are raving about, old friend,” Lord High Chancellor Warren said as he placed a hand on the minor Lord’s shoulder.
“Warren, we have been friends since we were boys, and our fathers rode together as Knights. We were in the cavalry together; we were promoted to Knights in the same ceremony. Listen to me now, if our history and friendship carries any weight, listen to me. Duke Malvornick of Malvor, advisor to the King of Trysteria, has infiltrated and corrupted many of the Dukes, Earls, Counts, and Lords of Humbrey. He has set it up so he may overthrow our King and place his pawns into power.”
“You have proof?”
“Not directly, just things I have seen and information from a very reliable source.”
“Who is this source of yours?” Warren draped an arm around Jaeken. “Give me a name, I am sure that would show me the reason I should rush to believe this incredible and outlandish tale.”
“I cannot. You would not believe the source.” The lord’s shoulders slumped as he said this.
“You convinced others, why is it so hard to convince me? Who did you say has risen to this cause of yours that the King Himself did not know of?”
“I cannot tell you that either, not until I know the King is safe from this plot. I can tell you that Malvornick wants to bring Humbrey to its knees, to show the world that the most glorious and noble can be corrupted. He has bought men. Gave them power, money, position, and things that no other could offer to them. He appealed to their darker nature and allowed them rewards that blacken a man’s soul.”
Warren stepped in front of his childhood friend, taking both of Jaeken’s shoulders into his hands and staring deep into his eyes. “I believe you. I have heard of these plots also. I just needed to see where your loyalties lay.” The door behind Lord High Chancellor Warren opened and the King entered followed by another man. Duke Malvornick walked in, naked to his waist and smiling.
Jaeken lunged to move his friend out of the way, his other hand reaching for his sword on his hip, “Look out!” He shouted.
With a laugh, Warren shoved Jaeken backwards. The lord’s knees hit a chair and knocked his feet out from under him, causing him to sit on the cushioned wooden chair. It had a high back and arms, and his sword scabbard was knocked forward making his body twist as he hit the chair. He landed on the cushion with his left thigh and buttock, his shoulder jamming into the padded back of the chair. Instead of the soft landing he expected, he felt the warm sliding sensation of razor sharp metal entering into his leg, backside, and shoulder. Warren was on top of him, a blade slicing the sword belt Jaeken had reached for, pulling it away with one hand, and shoving the man back further onto the blades with the other.
Jaeken tried to rise, but his muscles would not respond. He was not sure if the multiple blades had cut something so he could not respond o
r if it was something else.
“Welcome, Lord Jaeken,” Malvornick smiled as he ran a hand up the King’s thigh, lifting the royal robes as he did. “Your King is very compliant. Let us say he does much more than just pay lip service when he says he will do something. I especially enjoy how he doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty, and how he will get down on his hands and knees to do what needs done.” The Duke sneered. “He doesn’t even cry anymore when I do to him what I shall do to this country.”
Lord High Chancellor Warren’s face came into Jaeken’s line of sight as he pressed his lips to the bleeding man’s. The rough kiss surprised the lord, but he refused to open his lips. When Warren bit into one, tearing it partly from the man’s face, Jaeken could not help but open his mouth to scream. When the man pulled away, Jaeken could see a maniacal look on the Chancellor’s face.
“The church will stop you, too many know already!” The seated man yelled, blood flying as his lip flopped around. He realized his hands had been strapped to the chair, though he wasn’t sure when that had happened. His head was hazy and fogged.
“Oh? Will they? Funny thing, Lord Father Alixin is dissolving the church council today. He will be High Lord Father now and make all decisions due to the corruption he found inside the church. He will, of course, reform it as soon as all guilty parties have been found and judged.” Jaeken’s clothing fell to the floor as Warren swiftly cut them away. The High Chancellor stepped away, took the King’s hand from Malvornick and led him to a table, where he bent the monarch over and lifted his robe. Reaching for the bottle of grain alcohol on the small table beside Jaeken, Malvornick began pouring it over the open wounds on the man’s back, and said, “Now, let’s talk about the people you have spoken to, and who brought you this information to begin with.”
Jaeken screamed.
The night was cool, but not as cold as the other nights. It was a full moon, but clouds covered it as often as not. They found the lake at the north end of Ocean River late yesterday evening and traveled south to the place where they now camped. They set up their camp with their five small tents radiating out from the fire like spokes. It allowed them to gather the heat, a trick that Rogen shared with them. He also showed them how to make a fire in a pit using coal and put a metal plate over it, but not totaling covering it. This allowed heat to escape the open areas but rain did not put it out when properly irrigated. They could sleep close to it and not have to worry about an open flame, but the coals and heated metal of the cover kept them warmer than a normal campfire. It also was not a beacon for their enemies to find them at night. They picketed the horses not too far from the tents and brought the saddles over to use them as seats around the fire.
It was Spirit’s Wind, a holy day of the seven Keepers of Evil, seven gods who guarded the dark desires in people’s souls. The five companions sat on the east shore of the Ocean River around a fire telling the scary tales they had heard as kids, sometimes laughing, other times sitting in silence with an eerie feeling. It was said if you told the stories on this night, it would keep the evil away. This was the day when the veil between worlds was the thinnest. Spirits could cross over and things of evil could enter the world easier than any other night.
They took turns and told stories for each of the Keepers. Cyril told a tale in honor of Stinatia, Sentry of Sloth, of a man who refused to move from his chair. The man demanded that his wife fetch him his slippers, robe, food, pipe, and drink. Soon he demanded that she bring the chamber pot. The dutiful wife did all these things. She even fetched a bard to tell him the news of the town and to entertain him with songs. It was weeks later, after demanding everything to be brought to him for all that time, when the house caught fire when he was home alone. The man had sat so long that his legs would not answer his call, and he was burned alive because of his laziness.
Gruedo told the story dedicated to Loathar, Sentinel of the Sullen. She told of a pouting child who always told everyone how terrible he had it. How his parents fed him poorly, gave him second hand clothes, he had pimples because of his poor living conditions, and none of the other children would speak with him. Then one day a girl came to him. She showed him sympathy, made him new clothes, baked him fresh breads, washed him, and loved him. They married and one day a child was born. The pouting boy was now a dour man. He still complained, but now of how his wife didn’t clean the house well, he never had a hot meal, and his child received all of the man’s attention from his wife. One night a man broke into the house to rob it. The man began to weep and complain as he always did. He begged the intruder to help him, told him of what a horrible wife he had, and what an unbearable life he had. He swore if the intruder killed his wife and child the town would finally see what a bad lot the man had been given. The thief explained he was just hungry and wanted food, not to hurt anyone. The wife, who had also woken, gave the man bread, wine, cheese and asked him not to harm her or the baby. The man did as she bade and left. The husband complained the next day to the town reeve. The lawman explained he had caught a man by the same description that morning sleeping in a barn. The husband went to see if it was the same man, and swore it was. It was then that the constable took the complaining man into custody and brought out the wife. The wife had already identified the intruder, but not until after the criminal had turned himself in and told the lawman how the man begged him to kill his wife and child. The pouting man was hung for conspiracy to murder his wife.
Rogen told a tale for Glootin, Keeper of the Evil of Excess of a man who hoarded everything. Food, money, power, and shared nothing with anyone. It ended with the man dying alone and his ghost damned to watching as the whole town rejoiced and divided his personal belongings without one tear shed in mourning for him.
Gruedo told another story, this time for Darken, Defender of Deceit. It was a popular wives’ tale of a boy who guarded sheep crying wolf when there was no actual wolf, just so he could have attention. One day when a wolf did come, no one answered because of this many false alarms, and the beast devoured him.
Dawn told the fairy-tale of a woman who was jealous of her daughter’s beauty. How the woman planned the girl’s death but was foiled and by a horde of bandits that took the girl in and protected her. Eventually a prince found the girl, returned with her and proclaimed the mother’s execution for trying to kill a creature of such beauty. This tale was in honor of Evedam, the Escort of Envy.
Argent, Assailant of Anger’s yarn was told by Rogen. It had a lord who was stubborn and never listened to anyone. The man demanded everyone listen to him or be beheaded. A wandering crone cursed him, and in the morning he woke with the head of a bull in place of his handsome human head, and no one would listen when he begged to explain. His own wife, children, and servants chased him away to live alone forever. He showed how hatred and rage never wins over a cooler head that thinks things through.
Cite told the final tale in honor of Peter, Provider of Pride. The bard skills had improved. Accompanying himself on the lute, he wove a captivating account of a man who felt he was untouchable in his power. He did horrible things. Murder, rape, won political office, and more. When he was at the pinnacle of his power and felt he could not be overcome, five friends turned the tables and raised a rebellion that not only overturned him, but also had him hung in retribution.
Dawn cheered and Cyril smiled when Cite closed the story by saying the man’s name was Duke Malvornick. Gruedo blurted out, “Is that another prophetic dream?”
“No, I am afraid it is not. It is just a simple fact that we will have to make come true,” was Cite’s reply.
“It has been three days since we faced the Dasism. We all know it is only a matter of time before we face another attack,” Rogen said, his voice heavy with worry. “How will we fare if Cite cannot use his full abilities?”
“I think that was my higher consciousness that was in control there,” Cite said as they sat around the campfire. “It shows I have the abilities and just need the confidence and knowledge to use th
em with that caliber of skill. The biggest problem is that I can’t practice until we face an enemy again.”
They had also discussed strategies involving everybody’s skill, and the best way to blend their talents. Dawn had assured them that no rain on the way for the next day or two, and the night should remain mild. Each evening they set watch and Gruedo set out trip lines that would give them some small forewarning of an attack, if luck held out. The river was loud and would cover most noise of an approach, making things more difficult, not that the Dasism made any noise as they moved through the forest. Cyril and Rogen spent most of the late afternoon constructing a raft to cross the river tomorrow. The horses would swim, led on long reins.
From the camp, they could see the mountain of Jonath carved into a castle in the west. It stood like a monolith marking how much further they needed to travel. Even from this distance they could see the grandeur of the structure that took up most of one face of the peak. It gave them hope, but also filled them with dread.
Cite woke to a whistling noise. It was a noise he thought he should know. He felt something far away. He crawled out of his tent and looked around, confused, and tried to figure out what it meant. No one else heard it and Cyril, Rogen, and Dawn still slept. Gruedo was nowhere to be seen, but Cite could feel her in the tree line and approaching fast. From the far side of the camp, a horse screamed and deafening crashing sounds roused the others. Gruedo came running into the camp, her eyes wide.
“Why did it have to happen on the third watch?” she muttered to herself before whispering to the others, “The trees, they are alive.” Rogen and Cyril swung out of their tents. Dawn climbed out slower, unused to places you had to crawl out of the end. They all looked towards the horse line as another branch crashed down. Another horse screamed as they pulled at the lines that held them. Rogen darted forward, and sliced at the reins to free the animals.
Harbinger: The Downfall - Book One Page 31
