The King of the Vile

by David Dalglish

  “My precious Vel, when have I ever lost my concentration?”

  She rolled her eyes but said nothing. Deathmask grinned, using his apparent carelessness to hide how much the spell had taken out of him. It would have been wiser to use something else, but his mood was foul, and he’d wanted the angel to suffer. Once his breath returned, Deathmask headed for the basement’s exit.

  “We’ll need to move again,” he said.

  “There’s nowhere left.”

  “There’s always somewhere. We just have to find it. Besides, it’s not like we can stay here.”

  Veliana seemed in no hurry. She stood over the angel, staring down at his delicate features and grimacing.

  “Why does the Council want you dead so badly?” she asked.

  “Perhaps they don’t like how well I’ve done without them,” Deathmask said, stepping over corpses. “Maybe they’re tired of me acting outside their jurisdiction. For Karak’s sake, maybe they’re just bored. It doesn’t matter.”

  “So what does matter? Proving our innocence?”

  Deathmask reached the door and glanced up the stairs to make sure no soldiers waited at the top. He laughed as he did.

  “Innocent?” he said. “We’ll never prove ourselves innocent. The frame is too beautiful. The very witnesses to our supposed crime are angels, and the assassins that tried for King Gregory’s life looked all too similar to myself. No, innocence is not what we’re after, Vel. What we’re after is vengeance for the ones responsible.”

  “Assuming we live that long.”

  Deathmask turned toward her and offered his hand.

  “Is that not always the case with us?” he asked.

  She took it, and he pulled her toward him.

  “I let the Council meddle,” he said, holding her close. “And this is the price we pay for my foolishness. Whatever game they’re playing here, I don’t want to play it any longer. Avlimar is in ruins, and amid its carcass rises the earthbound city. If there’s to be any stopping it, we need to win some allies in high places, and fast.”

  “I thought there’d be no proving our innocence?” Veliana asked, roughly pushing him away.

  “There won’t,” he said. “Not in any court that matters. But we can convince Harruq, or at least his wife. That’s a start.”

  “How?”

  “When a man is murdered, and you don’t know how, what do you do?”

  “You check the body.”

  “Exactly.”

  Deathmask winked at her, then dashed up the stairs. They exited out into the quiet streets of Mordeina, and from there they ran to the nearest alleyway, heading for the hidden places, the crowded mazes and underground veins beneath the city. The whole nation might believe he was the destroyer of Avlimar, but such a feat was beyond even him. But the Council? No, that was an enemy to fear, an enemy clever enough, and ruthless enough, to do whatever necessary to get what it wanted. Deathmask had no doubt they were the ones responsible for the eternal city’s fall. However, knowing it and proving it were two very different things, and right now he hadn’t the slightest shred of evidence.

  Come nightfall, though, he’d find it. He banished the ash from his face, pulled aside his mask, and hurried faster along the narrowing streets. Come nightfall, he’d take his first step toward vengeance against the organization that had banished him and stripped him of everything, even his name. Just as amusing to him, he’d do it while hiding in the one place the angels would never think to look.

  High above the angels flew, and as they ran, Deathmask kept one eye on the sky at all times. In that way, he doubted he was any different from the rest of the city’s inhabitants.

  Harruq Tun stared upon the ruins of Avlimar from a high castle balcony, the people searching through the remains tiny specks at such a distance.

  “We’ve had to increase our patrols, and even they are not enough,” Azariah said, standing beside him and sharing the view. The angel’s soft hands, smooth and unblemished, gently tapped the railing. Despite the fading of Ashhur’s magic, he still wore his white priestly robes, and he kept his brown hair cut short around the neck. “The allure of gold and silver is too much. The people scavenge the remains of our great city, and when we turn them away, they come back mere hours later.”

  “I can spare a few soldiers to help out,” Harruq said, containing his sigh. “Not many, but every little bit helps, right?”

  “We don’t need soldiers,” Azariah insisted. “We need law. The sinful will resist any punishment so long as they continue to draw breath. Declare theft from our fallen city punishable by death. That is the only thing these base creatures will fear.”

  “Death?” Harruq said, lifting an eyebrow. “Little harsh, isn’t it?”

  In answer, Azariah gestured to the sky, where the city of Avlimar once floated.

  “What we had was a piece of eternity itself,” the angel said. “Our remembrance of beauty and perfection. Now the city has fallen, and though we try to rebuild, we cannot. Every brick and stone is taken under the cover of night, smuggled to thieves’ dens and underground markets. The promise of eternity, now bartered and traded like a bit of food or scrap of metal. We must stop it. I defer this to you only in respect to Ahaesarus’s wishes. We must have peace with mankind if we are to perform our required duties.”

  Harruq stared at the ruins, which lay scattered across the green fields stretching out beyond the walls of Mordeina. Even from such a distance, the sunlight glinted off the gold, silver, and pearls.

  “Theft is theft,” he said at last. “Avlimar’s remains belong to the angels, and any who take them must be punished as the thieves they are. Consider it law. I’ll discuss it with the scribes later today, get it made public, but remember, my soldiers carry out the sentence, not angels. Got it?”

  Without waiting for an answer, Harruq left the balcony and trudged down the cold halls of the castle.

  “There is more we must discuss,” Azariah said, following after him. “Much more. Avlimar’s fall is a sign from Ashhur, and only fools would dare ignore it.”

  “I thought Deathmask and his guild were responsible?” Harruq said, eyeing him sidelong.

  “Even darkness can be made to serve the light. It is our failures that led to the collapse, and we must study those failures, and from them learn how we may evolve this world into something better.”

  “Fascinating,” Harruq muttered. “What does this have to do with me?”

  “Because we need your help in making amends.”

  Much as he liked the sound of the angels making amends, the half-orc still felt uneasy about what Azariah was trying to get at. He bought himself some time by descending a set of stairs. With the angel’s wide wings, there was no way they could walk side by side, and Harruq dashed down ahead of him. Reaching the bottom, he gnawed his lip and wondered.

  Deathmask, guilty of destroying Avlimar? Deathmask, allying with Kevin Maryll in his failed attempt to overthrow the angels and usurp the throne? It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t like him. It was too…obvious. Too destined for failure. But over a dozen angels reported seeing him flee the ruins immediately after Avlimar’s collapse, and several others swore they had seen him sneaking about the floating city days before its destruction, eluding pursuers. Even now, Harruq had angels leading squads of soldiers about the city, arresting members of his guild and searching for any hint of the powerful wizard. Doubtful as it was, he hoped to capture Deathmask alive. He’d love to have some answers.

  Harruq’s brief escape from Azariah proved fruitless, for as he stepped into the grand hall before the throne room he found several lords gathered together, waiting for him.

  “Greetings, Steward,” the first to notice him said. He was a chubby man with a lengthy black mustache. His blue clothes were tight fitted, his breeches held up with an enormous leather belt. “We’d worried you’d caught ill, so long was your absence.”

  Harruq rolled his eyes. He’d fled to his room for an hour so he might have a b
reak from courtly proceedings, and when he’d gone to the balcony for the fresh air, Azariah had spotted him and landed. Caught ill? He wished. Then he could stay in his room all day and night. If he’d been wise, he’d have turned down Antonil’s request to serve as temporary ruler in his absence. Harruq belonged on a battlefield, not a throne room.

  “Healthy as ever,” Harruq said, trying to move past them toward the exit. The chubby man blocked his way.

  “Please, I’m sure you’re busy doing whatever it is you’re doing, but we must have an audience,” he said. The other lords nodded. Harruq let out a sigh, and wondered what he’d done to Ashhur to deserve such punishment. Behind him, Azariah stepped into the room, and a noticeable chill followed. Harruq was hardly surprised. If anyone resented the rise of angel authority, it was the lords who had seen much of their power in punishing and policing their serfs stripped away. They could no longer act above the law either. There was no bribing an angel, nor lying their way out of sticky situations.

  Harruq frowned at the chubby lord, trying to pull up a name to match the face. He failed.

  “Who are you again?” he asked.

  “Lord Richard Aerling, ruler of the southern lands,” said the lord. If he was offended at not being known, he didn’t show it. “With me are Lord Typh, Baron Usun, and Baron Foster.”

  Harruq nodded to each as they were introduced, forgetting their faces and names moments after seeing and hearing them. Gods, he was not meant to be a politician. Azariah took up position behind him, respectfully waiting for a chance to resume his conversation.

  “Nice to meet you all,” Harruq said, trying not to be impatient. “So…what is it you want?”

  “We’ve come from the south with dire news,” Richard said. “As all four of us own lands bordering Ker, we thought it best if we approached you together when we told you.”

  Harruq rubbed his eyes, the man’s high-pitched voice giving him a headache.

  “Told me what?”

  “It’s very simple,” Richard said. “King Bram has already begun his invasion of Mordan.”

  The words struck Harruq like a brick to the forehead.

  “That’s, that’s…no,” he said. “I’ve got men stationed at the Bloodbrick, and they haven’t reported any new activity from Ker in weeks.”

  “Invasions can be preceded in many ways,” said the other lord, Typh or whatever. The man was incredibly tall, but his mustache wasn’t quite as long as Richard’s.

  “Indeed,” Richard insisted. “And the damage a small group of men can do to an unprotected home is equal to a full army. A village under my care by the name of Norstrom has been completely annihilated.”

  This time Harruq had no idea what to say. He glanced back at Azariah, found the angel frozen stiff, a frown locked on his face.

  “Are you certain it was men from Ker?” Azariah asked.

  “Who else could it be?” Richard asked. “Hundreds of people dead. Not a one escaped. That’s a portent of invasion, and we must act accordingly! We’ve begun mustering our soldiers, but we lost many of our troops in King Antonil’s second campaign, may Ashhur rest his soul.”

  An invasion? War? Harruq forced himself out of his stunned shell, forced his mind to work.

  “Troops?” he said. “What troops do you think we have to spare? Have you not already read the summons I sent you? The North is under attack, and needs every man we can spare.”

  “Mere rumors of a few aggressive animal packs are nothing compared to an organized army,” Richard insisted. “The North will endure, but will we? We must strike at Bram before he realizes we’ve discovered his cowardly tactic.”

  “You have no proof,” Harruq insisted. “Did you find a banner? A witness? Tracks you could follow? What if Norstrom were attacked by bandits instead?”

  The chubby man’s confidence wavered, but only a little.

  “I assure you, Steward, my lands are free of any such bandits, something that cannot be said for the North. Believe me, King Bram’s soldiers will be crossing the Bloodbrick any day now, and all you have to stop them are a pitifully few number of men. The time to act is now. All we ask for is a formal declaration of war against the nation of Ker.”

  That was it. He couldn’t take anymore.

  “Out,” he said. “Get out, all of you. I’m not declaring war, not now, not until Bram marches his army into our lands. When that happens you may send your soldiers to fight, but until then I want your men here. If the rumors of the North are true, we’ll need every last one of them.”

  Richard opened his mouth to respond, but Harruq would have none of it.

  “I. Said. Out.”

  He stepped closer with every word, his hand reaching for a sword buckled to his belt. The southern lords left, openly glaring at him. Harruq glared right back.

  “Gods damn it all,” Harruq said, blushing when he realized Azariah was still staring at him.

  “It does feel like that at times,” Azariah said. “But we’re not abandoned, Harruq. You must have patience. We are here, Ashhur’s angels, and we will protect the innocents with our lives.”

  “What about that business in Norstrom?” he asked. “Do you think he’s right?”

  A shadow crossed the angel’s face.

  “I will look into it,” he said. “Give me time.”

  “I’m not sure time is something we…”

  The doors, which had been opened partway to let the lords and barons out, suddenly burst open completely. Harruq’s jaw dropped as a white horse flew into the hall, her great wings beating to slow her progress. Harruq drew his sword, but quickly realized that would not be necessary. He recognized the beast as Sonowin, faithful steed of Scoutmaster Dieredon. Except it wasn’t the wily elf riding Sonowin, but a slender man with gray hair who stepped off on unsteady feet.

  “Welcome?” Harruq said, baffled.

  The man approached Harruq, saluted.

  “Sir Daniel Coldmine, at your service,” he said. “Forgive me for such a brazen entrance, but there is no time. The entire Vile Wedge has crossed the Gihon. Blood Tower has fallen, as has the rest of the Wall. At least twenty thousand strong of all manner of creatures march through our northern lands, destroying everything. I come at Lord Arthur Hemman’s behest, to plead for aid. He cannot hold them off on his own.”

  Just when Harruq thought the day couldn’t get any worse...

  “Twenty thousand?” he said, feeling dumb as he asked.

  “If not more.”

  His mind reeled, thinking of the men he’d need to summon, the vast stretches of land that’d need to be protected, the effect it’d have on trade. Above all, he imagined the thousands that’d be dying as they scrambled to react.

  “Then we have no choice,” he said shaking his head. “Azariah, get Ahaesarus in here. It’s time we formed ourselves an army.”

  3

  The night was young, the stars a bright field above, when Jessilynn heard the first sounds of the monsters’ approach.

  They’re here, she thought, her entire body stiffening. Keep me calm, Ashhur. I can’t afford to fail.

  It wasn’t her life she feared for as the bird-men stalked the outer edges of the quaint home, but the thirty villagers hiding in the cellar, relying on her to save them. Jessilynn lay flat on her stomach atop the thatched roof, careful not to move. Her bow lay to her right, and she kept a hand on it at all times. Its touch comforted her, reminding her she wasn’t helpless, nor alone. Ashhur was with her...and with her arrows.

  The soft hoot of an owl sounded. Jess flicked her eyes over to where Dieredon crouched on another rooftop, his wicked-looking bow leaning against his shoulder. His dark green and brown clothes camouflaged him well, and the cloak wrapped around his body seemed to darken, matching the color of the thatched roof. The elf pointed two fingers at his eyes then gestured to the tall grasslands forming the village’s border not far to Jessilynn’s right. She nodded, letting him know she’d seen them. In response, the elf clutched his hand into
a fist and shook his head. Not yet, he was telling her. They still must wait.

  Jessilynn crouched lower and stared at the tall grass. Its stalks shook and waved as the bird-men passed through them, sickening caricatures of human life. Their faces were long and slender, their mouths contorted into beaks strong enough to puncture metal. Colorful feathers, pointless remnants of the animals they’d once been, covered their arms. Their arms had long feathers, pointless remnants of their bestial heritage, for they could not fly. Where most men would have fingers, these creatures had long, hooked claws capable of shredding flesh with ease. For the past several days, she and Dieredon had stayed ahead of an entire pack of such creatures, warning villages so they might flee to safety.

  Assuming anywhere was safe.

  When they’d reached their current village several hours ago, they decided the bird-men would need beaten back if the villagers were to have a chance to flee. So they’d prepared their ambush, gathered all villagers into the cellars of the two homes, thirty in hers, another twenty in Dieredon’s, and waited.

  “It won’t take them long to discover the hiding place,” Dieredon had told her. “Fifty men, women, and children cowering in fear will release a strong scent they’ll track with ease.”

  “Why not spread them out?” Jessilynn had asked, which earned her a shake of the elf’s head.

  “I want the people gathered together,” he’d said. “Because then our foes will do the same. When we hit them, hit them fast and hard. The fewer who survive, the fewer we must face another day.”

  The grass continued to shift, and Jessilynn watched with steadily growing worry. Something was wrong. Twice before, she and Dieredon had fended off attacks by the creatures, and a third time they’d stumbled upon a raid in progress. All three times, the bird-men had rushed in with reckless speed, hoping to overwhelm any potential defenses before surprise wore off. Yet now they continued to circle, heads low, arms tucked to their bodies, their yellow eyes peering out with caution.

  They know something’s wrong, she thought. Everywhere else, the people have been asleep in their homes, yet here they’re hiding together.