The King of the Vile

by David Dalglish

  She glanced once more at Dieredon. So far his attention remained on the tall grass, and if he was worried about the creature’s caution, he didn’t show it. His face was perfectly calm, brown eyes alert, muscles tensed and ready to act. Jessilynn tried to match her teacher’s demeanor. She had to be ready. Even the slightest delay might cost lives, and she’d seen enough death to last her a lifetime. Sadly it seemed she would see far more before the night was done.

  Jessilynn’s eyes narrowed as she watched the grass steadily sway from the bird-men’s movements. Something about it seemed...unnatural. Staged, even. They were walking back and forth, back and forth, without ever stepping foot beyond relative safety. This went beyond caution. Grabbing her bow, she slowly rolled over so she could look the other way. Just as she feared, over a dozen of the beasts rushed down the road from the opposite direction. Panic spiked in her heart before she could fight it down. The bird-men had sensed the ambush, and formed one of their own.

  You think you have us trapped? thought Jessilynn as she pulled an arrow from the quiver strapped to her back. A smile flitted across her lips. She was a paladin of Ashhur, and these creatures were about to witness the fury of her god. Rising up on one knee, she lifted her bow, nocked an arrow, and aimed at the nearest of the bird-men. The metal arrowhead shone a soft blue-white, pulsing as if a star were trapped inside. There’d be no hiding after she let loose, and given the number of enemies they faced, every shot must count. Breathing out slowly, and taking extra care with her aim, she finally released her arrow.

  Like a falling star it streaked through the night, leaving behind a trail of silver. When it struck the bird-man in the chest, it blasted him backward as if he’d been swatted by a giant. The body rolled, smoke rising from the giant hole in its ribcage.

  The creatures squawked and shrieked with ear-piercing volume. From all sides they rushed, crooked legs dashing, clawed fingers flexing. Jessilynn stood, no longer needing to hide. Across the road, Dieredon did the same. With speed she couldn’t hope to match, the elf fired arrow after arrow into the tall grass, dropping several beasts before they could come barreling toward the homes. Jessilynn protected the other way, pausing the briefest moment before each shot to steady her aim. She shot center of mass, trusting the power of her god-blessed arrows. Dieredon might be able to spear an orc through the eye from a thousand yards, but she didn’t need such accuracy when a hit to the chest could shatter ribs and break spines.

  “All sides!” she heard Dieredon shout as she dropped a fourth creature with an arrow that hit its stomach and tore out the other side of its body. “Focus on all sides!”

  She turned and quickly understood her teacher’s warning. While she wasn’t looking, the bird-men had swarmed from all directions. She increased her firing speed despite the risks to her aim. They were so many, at least fifty by her count, and moving with such speed! She shot down two, missed a third, and then spun left, to where a trio of bird-men had almost reached the side of the home. Jessilynn killed one, but the other two vanished beneath the rooftop. She took a step, hoping to fire straight down, but her foot punched right through the thatched roof. Her leg vanished up to the knee when she fell.

  “Dieredon!” she screamed, but the beasts had reached his home as well, and he could not spare a single shot. Jessilynn heard incessant scraping as the bird-men’s sharp claws dug into the home’s wooden sides. They were climbing up.

  Jessilynn fell to her back, leg still awkwardly trapped. Her bow lay atop her, and she hoisted it with her left hand while grabbing the drawstring. There was no way she could draw an arrow in time as two of the vile creatures clutched the roof and pulled themselves up, but she didn’t need to. Ashhur was with her. At her touch, an arrow materialized itself, nocked and ready. It shone a pale white, with blue mist curling off its translucent feathers. Jessilynn released, and before the string had even finished snapping forward she was already reaching for it to fire again. The first arrow blasted its target into the air. Chunks of rooftop flew with it, ripped free by the force of impact. The second bird-man leapt toward her, but another blessed arrow struck it, vaporizing its skull.

  The headless corpse tumbled backwards, hit the rooftop’s edge, and then tumbled over. Jessilynn tilted her head, saw another trying to flank her. Twisting her body, her trapped knee wrenching painfully, she brought her bow to bear. The angle was awkward, and she could barely pull the string back halfway, but the arrow flew true, sparking with power as it ripped through the beast’s feathered stomach and knocked it off the rooftop to die in the street below. Jessilynn spun about, looking for more, but it seemed they’d abandoned the climb. Confused, she sat up and glanced at Dieredon. The elf had dropped from the rooftop, his bow slung over his back. He wielded two long daggers, dancing and weaving through the creatures as they tried, and failed, to surround him.

  A sudden flurry of scratching, coupled with a cracking sound as wood broke, tore her attention back to her own home. The cellar, Jessilynn realized. The creatures were tearing open the door in search of easier prey.

  Jessilynn dropped her bow and yanked upward as hard as she could to free her trapped knee. Sharp pieces of wood tore into her skin, but she grit her teeth against the pain and ignored it. A little pain and blood didn’t matter. The people trapped beneath her, the people who had trusted her to keep them safe, were the only ones who did. Grabbing her bow, she limped closer to the roof’s edge, stepping carefully despite her hurry. She’d be of no use to anyone stuck in another hole.

  The cellar door was fronted with thick stone and had been barred from the inside, but that protection meant little as Jessilynn watched three of the creatures rip enormous chunks of wood free with each scrape. Jessilynn felt her throat constrict. If they could do that to wood, what might they do to soft, human flesh?

  She didn’t want to find out. Refusing to draw a regular arrow, she pulled back the empty string, trusting Ashhur to grant her an arrow of far more power. Her first shot blasted the leg off one of the creatures; her second removed its arm and left it to bleed to death. One looked up at her and screeched, the sound so loud it made her nauseous. She put an arrow down its throat as a reward. The creature’s innards liquefied, the arrow tearing out its lower back with an explosion of gore.

  Gross, thought Jessilynn as she turned to the last of the creatures. She’d thought it’d try to dodge, or perhaps run, but instead it ripped into the broken remains of the cellar door. Panicking, she rushed her shot, but the bird-man didn’t dive inside. Instead it grabbed one of the broken pieces and hurled it straight up at her. Her arrow missed wide, punching a crater into the grass, while the hurled plank cracked against her forehead. Jessilynn stumbled, her whole world spinning from the blow. The pain was sudden and vicious, and she felt blood trickling between her eyes and down her nose. Focus, she had to focus. Her left hand clutched her bow tightly as she fought down a sudden urge to vomit.

  Forcing herself back to her knees, she looked down to where several more of the creatures had rushed into the cellar. From within she heard the sound of fighting, coupled with loud, terrible screams. People were dying. Her charges were dying. With no way to help them, Jessilynn did the only thing that made sense to her woozy mind at the time: she rolled off the rooftop.

  She didn’t scream when she hit the ground, which Jessilynn considered a victory. The impact bruised her arm and stung her neck as her head whipped up and down. The instinct to vomit went from a mild urge to a sudden, unstoppable need. Even as her stomach heaved, and bile splashed across her knees, she rose to her feet and lifted her bow. The three bird-men hadn’t seen her, instead hustling through the narrow cellar door, desperate for their meal.

  Hustling through in a nice, even line.

  Jessilynn drew back the drawstring, felt an arrow materialize between her fingers. Bits of her earlier meal clung to the string, the smell of vomit and blood overwhelming to her nose. Begging Ashhur to keep her aim steady, she took in a deep breath, let it out, and released. The li
ght arrow shot through the cellar door, and with its passing she heard the sound of bones shattering. All three bird-men collapsed, gaping holes in their chests.

  Jessilynn turned and saw Dieredon approaching with blood coating, none of it appearing his. The villagers slowly exited the cellars, stepping around the many feathered corpses.

  “They safe?” Jessilynn asked, still feeling like her balance was yet to return.

  “For now,” Dieredon said. He glanced toward the grasslands, where several of the bird-men fled in the far distance, and frowned.

  “Good,” Jessilynn said, and then she vomited all over his fine, elven boots.

  An hour later, Jessilynn lay beside a small fire, the upper half of her body wrapped in a blanket. They camped in the heart of the village. The place was empty, since Dieredon had urged the people to gather their things and head south, toward the Castle of the Yellow Rose. Behind the walls protected by Lord Arthur, they might have a chance.

  “We don’t need to stay here,” Jessilynn said as Dieredon carefully tended the fire. She could tell he was anxious. No doubt he wanted to be many miles from here, warning another village instead of taking care of her.

  “I’ve seen such a reaction before,” the elf said, tossing a small stick into the fire’s center and then crouching low, chin resting on his fist. “That blow to your head was worse than you let on. Have the headaches started?”

  She nodded.

  “I thought so,” Dieredon said. “I must warn you, Jess, the bruise on your forehead will heal far faster than the hidden damage. This next week will be difficult for you. Daylight will be uncomfortable on your eyes, as will any loud noises.”

  “I’ll suffer through,” Jessilynn said. “We don’t have time to be sick. The creatures are still moving, and so must we.”

  Dieredon shook his head. “Tonight you rest.” His brown eyes flicked up from the fire to hers. “Unless...can you heal yourself using Ashhur’s power?”

  Jessilynn huddled tighter underneath her blanket. Healing? There’d been no occasion to try at the Citadel, with both Lathaar and Jerico insisting they’d focus more on that subject once the students were older. She knew the rudimentary prayers, the concepts behind it, but to perform such an act, and on herself?

  “I don’t know,” she admitted.

  Across the fire, the elf shrugged his shoulders.

  “That’s fine,” he said. “But surely there’s no harm in trying?”

  Jessilynn let out a soft chuckle. “I guess not.” She sat up straight and let the blanket fall into her lap. The movement sent a spike of pain from the back of her head down her spine, and she hissed as she clenched her teeth. She felt so foolish, so pathetic. A simple block, that’s all it’d taken. Jerico had endured an onslaught of thousands of undead, yet a humanoid bird hurling a chunk of wood had her down and suffering. If there was ever an epic retelling of her journey with Dieredon, she hoped this part would be mercifully left out.

  Telling herself a dose of humility was always welcome, she put her right hand on her bruised forehead and closed her eyes. The damage was hidden, Dieredon had told her, and so she tried to focus on the pain deep inside her head. Calming herself with a deep breath, she began the prayer as best as she could remember Lathaar teaching it.

  “Through your power, not mine, let this wound be healed,” she whispered. Exactly as she expected, nothing happened. Jessilynn let out a sigh.

  “It was worth the attempt,” Dieredon said. “This will slow down our travels significantly.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jessilynn said, crouching as if to make herself as small as possible. The elf stared at her, and she wondered what he could possibly be thinking behind that careful, guarded stare.

  “Perhaps you should consider wearing a helmet like many of your brethren,” Dieredon suggested.

  “You don’t wear a helmet.”

  “I also would have dodged the throw.”

  Jessilynn laughed despite the hurt it caused.

  “Of course you would have,” she said. “And if you find a helmet around here that fits me, I’ll wear it, but I’m not holding my breath.”

  Silence settled between them. Jessilynn shifted closer to the fire, warming her toes. For several long minutes there was silence. Bored, Jessilynn tapped her fingers on Darius’s sword, lying beside her in the grass. She’d kept it strapped to her back throughout all their travels, putting it aside only when they were to battle. Dieredon frowned at the blade often, but to her appreciation, he never questioned her need to bring it with her.

  “We do too little,” he said, his voice a whisper, the words a guilty confession. “Killing handfuls of the creatures? Saving scattered villages? We’re like flies biting at the side of a horse.”

  “What else are we to do?” Jessilynn asked.

  The elf turned her way, and the intensity in his eyes was frightening.

  “You said two wolf-men led this horde.”

  “Moonslayer and Manfeaster,” she said. “I killed Moonslayer during my escape.”

  “Then Manfeaster must die, and soon,” Dieredon said. “We retreat from the vile beasts’ numbers when instead we should be racing right into their heart. With their leader dead, all cooperation between the races dies with him.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have sent Sonowin away, because how are we to make it through the hordes of monsters between Manfeaster and us?”

  “My skills in stealth are more than sufficient,” Dieredon said.

  Jessilynn winced against a sudden pain in her skull. “Yes, yours are. I on the other hand...” She fell silent, and when the elf said nothing, she sighed. “I’m holding you back, aren’t I, Dieredon? Just go. This is too important, so leave me and take down Manfeaster on your own.”

  Dieredon stared at her across the fire, and it seemed his hard visage softened.

  “I’m not leaving you,” he said. “And never suggest I do so again.”

  The elf wrapped his own blanket about himself and lay down beside the fire with his back to her. Jessilynn stared at him, feeling strangely guilty.

  He may never leave me, she thought, but it doesn’t mean I’m not holding him back.

  As the headache assaulted her, she gritted her teeth and reflected on her first attempt to heal herself. She’d expected it to fail, thought such an injury clearly beyond her power. But why did she still consider herself so limited? By the mere touch of her bowstring, she could summon Ashhur’s presence in the form of an arrow. She wasn’t some little girl. She wasn’t a helpless trainee.

  Putting her fingers back to her forehead, she closed her eyes, once more falling into prayer. This time she didn’t meekly request healing, nor doubt its granting. This time, she demanded it.

  You are with me, she prayed silently. Through your power, banish this pain. Your power, not mine, and so it shall always be.

  She heard the ringing of distant bells. When she opened her eyes, the light of the fire did not hurt her, and the aching waves of the headache were already receding. Jessilynn smiled as she lay down to sleep for the night. Her hand reached out, touching the long blade of Darius’s sword.

  “Not forgotten,” she whispered, repeating the words the deceased paladin had spoken in her time of need. “Not abandoned, not unloved.”

  Her fingers brushed across the steel, fingertips leaving an afterimage of shimmering blue light, that glow calming her heart and allowing her to sleep.

  4

  As King Henley’s honored guest, Qurrah could have slept in the enormous tent at the heart of the camp, but instead he preferred the far outskirts beside the Corinth River, where the people were few and the soft flow of the water and the chirp of the crickets could drown out the human noises. Neither him nor Tessanna had been comfortable with crowds all their lives, and since gaining their labels as the Betrayer and the Bride, solitude had grown all the more alluring. They had no tent, only a large padded bedroll and a shared blanket.

  “They march for war soon,” Tessanna said, sitt
ing up and staring at the distant campfires of thousands of men.

  “I know,” Qurrah whispered.

  “Harruq will fight them when they do.”

  Qurrah sighed. “I know.”

  Her hand wrapped around his, and he turned to look upon her. She was pale, thin, her long dark hair a shroud falling down around her hunched, diminutive form. Her face was turned away from him, staring at the army. Qurrah didn’t need to see her expression to know she was worried. But it wasn’t the army that troubled her, he knew that. It was the frightful future.

  “My days of fighting Harruq are done,” Qurrah said. “If we march into Mordan, we do so to overthrow the growing tyranny of the angels, not wage war against my brother and the boy king.”

  “A distinction few will make.”

  Qurrah sat up, the blanket falling down about his waist.

  “Is that what’s bothering you?” he asked. “Are you afraid this will somehow come between me and Harruq?”

  “No,” she said. “What bothers me is the impending disaster Mother wished me to prevent.”

  “What disaster?” he asked, wishing he could glimpse the visions Celestia haunted her with. “What happens that is so terrible?”

  “I see it no longer,” Tess said, and she sounded so sad, so defeated. “I only know my chance to stop it is passed. We must suffer through the bloodshed until its end, Qurrah. Suffer through, and bury the dead.”

  Qurrah took her hand and gently pulled her toward him.

  “Come to bed,” he said. “And try not to worry.”

  His wife finally turned his way. Tears were in her black eyes despite the smile on her face.

  “Without worry, I’m only sadness,” she said.

  “You’re more than that and you know it.”

  She leaned in to kiss his lips.

  “If you insist, I’ll believe,” she said, then lay down beside him to sleep.