The King of the Vile

by David Dalglish

  “Washing up,” Harruq said, and wiped his wet forehead, then gestured to his stained shirt and pants. “I’ve got some coward’s blood on me.”

  Sir Wess bowed as Harruq exited the throne room and marched down the cramped stone hallway toward his room, fuming all the while. He’d known his power was tentative, with Gregory too young and too weakly connected to the royalty to command much respect. He’d been counting on the angels to keep the lords in line. Apparently he had guessed wrong. The angels weren’t protecting him. If anything, they were pushing the lords to act even further out of line.

  When Harruq flung open the door to his room, he found Aurelia reclining on their bed with a book. The front cover was in flowery elvish script and laced with gold. Old elven history mixed with elaborate stories. Aurelia had begun collecting them as Aubrienna grew older as part of a blossoming desire to teach their daughter more about her heritage.

  “Is something wrong?” Aurelia asked.

  Harruq paused, drinking in her beauty as golden light shone through the window and illuminated her face. He desperately wished to tear off both their clothes and just have at it, but instead he began pulling off his shirt.

  “I hate being in charge,” he muttered.

  Aurelia set aside the book and sat up. “What’s the matter now?”

  “Sir Richard has informed me they’re all marching south to fight King Bram,” Harruq said. He used his shirt to wipe the blood from his face and then tossed it to the floor. Aurelia frowned at the bloodstained clothes.

  “Did you kill him?” she asked.

  Harruq chuckled.

  “I wish. Just a broken nose. Ugly bastard will be even uglier, but he’ll live. More than I can say for the people they’ve left to die up north.”

  Once his pants were off, Harruq rummaged through their enormous armoire for a change in clothes.

  “It’s not your fault,” Aurelia said. She slid off the bed and wrapped her arms around him, pressed her cheek against his back. Harruq sighed and leaned into her.

  “Feels like it,” he said.

  “Even kings cannot always control their subjects, and you’re no king, only a steward. Right now, we need to make the best of the situation.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping for.”

  Aurelia helped him put on a new shirt, a red one with loose and smooth fabric. Upon being named steward, she’d purchased several such shirts, hoping they would make him look more authoritative. Harruq stared down at it, wondering if his armor and weapons might have better suited him. People didn’t respect him as a steward; they knew him for the power he wielded, skills honed by the Watcher and blades blessed by the gods.

  “If Richard, Typh, Foster, and all the others won’t help, then we’ll send what we can,” Harruq said. “We’ll send the angels.”

  “Harruq, I’m not sure we can trust them to go.”

  Sighing, Harruq turned about to face his wife. She didn’t flinch at his frustration.

  “Why not?” he asked, knowing he wasn’t going to like the answer.

  Aurelia nervously ran her hands through her long auburn hair, pulling strands from her face. Not good. Not good at all.

  “When I took Gregory and Aubby to the market,” she said, “a young boy came running down the street. He couldn’t have been more than thirteen, and he looked terrified. An angel chased after him. Aubby and Gregory watched him drop from the sky and spear the boy through the chest with his sword.”

  Harruq winced and fought down anger at the thought of his poor little girl having to see something like that.

  “Why’d the angel kill him?” he asked.

  Aurelia frowned. “Because the boy had stolen a piece of Avlimar’s wreckage. That was it. I watched them pull a tiny chunk of gold from his pocket as he lay there, motionless. No questions. No testing of lies, or seeking forgiveness. The crowd was livid. Some threw food, others stones. The angel didn’t care. He never even said a word. I don’t know what happened after that. It wasn’t safe, so I took Gregory and Aubby away from there as fast as I could. I thought about having the guards look into it, but decided there wasn’t much point by the time I reached the castle.”

  Harruq rubbed his face, groaning as he tried to make sense of what he heard.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.

  Aurelia sat back down onto her bed, shrugged. “I didn’t know what to make of it. And why give you something new to worry about if there was nothing you could do? But the more I think on it, the more uneasy I feel. Something is wrong with the angels, Harruq. I don’t know what, and I don’t know why, but they’re not the same as they once were.”

  “Azariah says Ashhur no longer speaks with them,” Harruq said, tugging at his shirt collar to loosen it. “Bernard Ulath confirmed the same before he traveled south to join the Sanctuary. They’re frustrated and confused, still trying to figure out their place in our world. But they’re still who they always were, wardens of Dezrel. They’ll protect us. They’ll fight for us. That’s the one thing I do know.”

  Aurelia slowly nodded.

  “I hope you’re right,” she said. “Because I don’t know what we’ll do if you’re wrong.”

  Harruq kissed her forehead.

  “I do,” he said. “We’ll endure. Always have, and always will.”

  He hurried back to the throne room, telling himself over and over that things would be all right. They might be pressed on two fronts, but if Mordan’s army could crush Bram’s in the south while the angels gathered together to save the North, then all would be well.

  When he re-entered the throne room he found several angels waiting for him. The big three, as Harruq had begun calling them in his mind. Ahaesarus, looking tall and regal as ever, stood front and center, with Azariah and his brother Judarius on either side of him. All three wore their sparkling white tunics, with Ahaesarus and Judarius also sporting thick gilded armor and weapons strapped to their backs. Across from them, hovering near the throne, waited Sir Daniel. He looked tired and miserable, and Harruq couldn’t blame him. The knight had flown into Mordeina shouting a cry for aid, and as days trickled by, no one seemed to listen.

  “Looks like we’re all here,” Harruq said as he made his way to the throne. He didn’t feel like sitting, so he paced in front of the angels as they patiently made their introductions.

  “Greetings, steward,” Ahaesarus said, and the other two echoed him.

  “Greetings,” Sir Daniel muttered from the corner.

  “Greetings and welcome and all that other stuff,” Harruq said. “Time is short, and we need to act now. Our friendly local lords have all decided to abandon Lord Arthur so they might instead head south to tackle King Bram’s invasion.” Harruq nodded to Ahaesarus. “The North is being overrun, so gather your angels and fly to Lord Arthur’s aid. Once the Castle of the Yellow Rose is secure, we can spread outward from that safe zone, hunting down the beasts wherever they’ve scattered.”

  “You speak as if we are your soldiers to order about,” Ahaesarus said. He smiled at Harruq, as if that might remove the sting. It didn’t.

  “I’m not giving orders,” Harruq said. “I’m stating the damn obvious.”

  “Even so, I’m not sure tackling the beast-men is the wisest course,” Judarius said. “Paladins of Karak march with Bram’s soldiers. With Ker having so stubbornly refused Ashhur’s rule, and now allying with Karak, I fear the fallen god has found himself a new home to re-grow his following.”

  Harruq felt the first tinge of panic.

  “It’s just a few paladins,” he said. “They aren’t going to win a war on their own.”

  “Jerico and Lathaar are but two,” Ahaesarus said, “yet what army would not tremble when facing their combined might? If dark paladins fight alongside Kerran soldiers, then it is a conquering force we must consider before we send our combined might in the opposite direction.”

  “And what of Devlimar?” Azariah added. “What assurances do we have our home will remain safe d
uring our absence?”

  Harruq wanted to scream, but the angels were not Lord Richard. There’d be no head-butting an angel, no matter how appropriate it felt.

  “That’s what guards are for,” he said, patience straining.

  “Already you give us guards, and they accomplish little.”

  “Then I’ll station more guards,” Harruq said. “This is insane. Is your new home really that much more important than the people dying in the north?”

  “We have all seen the sacrifices you and your friends made in the defense of your homes,” Azariah said. “Why are we not allowed to care for our own?”

  “I did it for the people there,” Harruq said, growling. “Not the damn buildings.”

  “The last piece of Ashhur’s perfection in this world is steadily being broken down and stolen. Perhaps you cannot understand, but that loss hurts us deeply.”

  Harruq felt the last of his sanity breaking. The angels weren’t going to help? How could they not? After everything they’d done, everything they’d sacrificed...

  “Harruq is right,” Ahaesarus said after a long, uncomfortable silence. “The people are what matter most. We should fly north to aid against the beasts of the Wedge.”

  “Karak is our enemy, not the mindless creatures of the first war,” Judarius said. “I say we accompany the army south.”

  They all turned to Azariah, Harruq desperately hoping the angel would see reason. Whichever side the wise angel joined would be the winning argument. Those hopes died with the shaking of Azariah’s head.

  “Devlimar will be finished within a few days,” he said. “We have spent too long bleeding and dying for those who would reject our help. For once, we must look to ourselves, and ensure our own spiritual needs have been met. We must rebuild Devlimar. We must cry up to the heavens for Ashhur to hear us and answer. Let him provide us with the proper path. Until then, we are lost sheep, and whichever way we go may be wrong.”

  Ahaesarus turned to the smaller angel, and Harruq was surprised by the anger he heard in his voice.

  “We do not have the time to...”

  “We do,” Azariah insisted. “Convene a council if you must, and we will vote on the matter. Or would you tell our brethren you feel it wiser to act with haste instead of seeking Ashhur’s wisdom?”

  The comment must have stung Ahaesarus deeply, for the angel looked away, dismayed.

  “You can’t,” Harruq said. “You won’t, but...but why not?”

  “Once the council convenes, we will inform you of our decision,” Azariah said with a bow. “Until then, we have work to do.”

  Azariah took flight, exiting one of the enormous windows. Judarius followed. Only Ahaesarus remained, and he stared after his departed brethren. Harruq felt his legs going weak, disbelief settling in.

  “I don’t understand,” he said.

  Ahaesarus shook his head.

  “Neither do I,” he said softly.

  With a great burst of air, the angel spread his wings and flew away. Once he was gone, Harruq lowered his head, sucked in a deep breath, and screamed as loud as he could.

  “FUCK.”

  He dropped to his rear on the carpet, resting his head in his hands. The angels had been the one faction he thought he could rely on, the one shining beacon of sanity in an insane world. Not anymore.

  Footsteps behind him reminded Harruq of Sir Daniel’s presence, and he turned about, his neck and face flushing.

  “Sorry about that,” he said.

  Sir Daniel shook his head and gestured to the window the angels had exited through. “You have nothing to apologize for. Those fools, on the other hand...”

  “Not sure what else there is to do,” he said. He rubbed his eyes against an oncoming headache.

  “There’s not,” Sir Daniel said. “Which is why I’m leaving.”

  Harruq lifted an eyebrow. “Leaving?”

  The knight offered his hand, and Harruq slowly stood and accepted it.

  “I’ve done what I can, as have you,” he said. “But if nothing can be accomplished here, then I’m going to fly Sonowin to the castle to aid Arthur. I may be only one man, but I will still do what I can.”

  Harruq pumped the knight’s fist, then stepped back.

  “Don’t quit on us yet,” he said. “Aid will come, I promise. Just...give me a bit more time. A whole lot of strange is going on, and I need to figure out what it is so people can start behaving like they should.”

  Sir Daniel nodded.

  “I won’t tell Arthur he’s abandoned,” he said. “But I won’t lie to him, either. For now, we must stand on our own. Good day, Steward, and may Ashhur help you in the days to come.”

  “Thanks,” Harruq said. “I think we’re going to need it.”

  Sir Daniel bowed low, then marched down the carpet and out the double doors. Slowly, Harruq approached the throne as if it would eat him. He stared down at the empty seat and couldn’t help but wonder if it’d be better if it remained empty. Tilting his head to the ceiling, he shook his head.

  “Are you watching?” he whispered. “Do you see what’s become of us without you?”

  Harruq expected no answer, so when he felt a cold wind blow, heard a soft whisper breathe his name, it chilled him to the bone. It was a voice from his past, a voice of nightmares and loss.

  I see it, my wayward son, whispered the voice of the Lion. I see it all.

  11

  Lathaar sat in his room and stared at the letter on his desk. It was a simple letter, only three sentences long, sent by a farmer from a village near the Bloodbrick.

  “Damn it,” Lathaar slammed a fist against the desk. “Ashhur damn it all, not again.”

  He grabbed the small piece of parchment and hurried from his room. He had to find Jerico, had to react before things spiraled out of control. Lathaar raced down the stairs of the Citadel two at a time. The students should’ve still been outside performing their morning exercises, with Jerico overseeing them to make sure no one decided to take things easy or pretend their fifth sit-up was actually their fiftieth.

  When he reached ground level, he shoved open the heavy doors, climbed down the five stone steps to the ground, and rushed around to the west side of the tower. Sure enough, the thirty students were in scattered groups, performing their stretches and other assorted exercises. Jerico stood among them, looking tired and bored.

  “Come to join us?” Jerico asked when he saw Lathaar approaching. “Sparring won’t begin for at least half an hour, but I’m bored enough to...”

  He trailed off, frowning and crossing his arms. His voice lowered. “What’s wrong?”

  Lathaar handed him the letter. Jerico read it, and his frown deepened.

  Ker declared war on Mordan. Already crossed the Bloodbrick. Karak paladins fight alongside them.

  That was it, but that was all they needed to know. Jerico lowered the letter and sighed.

  “Well,” he said. “It looks like things are about to get interesting, aren’t they?”

  “I’m not sure ‘interesting’ is the word I would use,” Lathaar said. “What do we do?”

  “What can we do?” Jerico asked with a glance at the students. “They’re too young to fight. The two of us alone won’t be enough to defeat an army, nor do we need to. The angels can handle any threat Ker poses.”

  Lathaar shook his head. “Karak’s paladins are finally on the move. We can’t ignore this. Whatever they’re planning, it isn’t good. We both know that.”

  “Jerico!” called one of the younger paladins. The boy looked deathly white as he rushed over. Lathaar frowned, wondering what could possibly have spooked him so.

  “What’s the matter, son?” Jerico asked.

  In answer the boy pointed north, just beyond the Citadel.

  “There’s...there’s an army coming,” he said.

  The two paladins exchanged a look.

  “They wouldn’t be coming from the north,” Lathaar reasoned, cutting off the thought that Ker’s
army had turned their way at the dark paladins’ behest.

  “Then who?” Jerico asked.

  Together they rushed through their ranks to the corner of the Citadel. Before they were even to the other side, Lathaar could already see what had spooked the boy: a swarming mass of creatures, at least three hundred strong. They were too far away to make out individually, only that they were a mixture of gray fur and pink flesh. They rushed southward alongside the western bank of the Gihon River. Lathaar’s head grew light, the air in his lungs suddenly too thin.

  First Karak’s paladins, now this?

  “What in the abyss is going on?” he wondered aloud.

  “I don’t know,” Jerico said. “Get the students inside. We need those doors barred at once.”

  The two ran back to their students, shouting orders. Lathaar failed to keep the panic from his voice as he urged them on. In a scattered line the students ran to the front of the Citadel, rushing up the steps and through the thick doors. Lathaar slammed them shut behind him. They’d been reinforced with battle in mind, and together he and Jerico dropped the heavy iron bar into place.

  “Everyone to your rooms,” Jerico called behind him. “All of you move it, right now!”

  “How much time do we have?” Lathaar asked as the students filed up the stairs.

  “Time enough to put our armor on in case those doors don’t hold,” Jerico answered.

  Both had rooms on the second floor, and they helped one another strap on their platemail. With each piece, Lathaar’s insides hardened. How long had it been since he’d fought in battle? Five years, closing in on six? Ever since Thulos’s death, he’d done little but train and teach. The world had felt legitimately safer, but that safety was now revealed a lie.

  “Ready?” Jerico asked as he slid his left arm through the buckles of his shield.

  Lathaar tightened his belt, then slid his long and short swords into their respective loops. Their weight was comforting, and he wondered if he should view that as a blessing or a curse.

  “Ready,” Lathaar said.

  They climbed to the third floor armory, which had eight windows facing all directions. Lathaar moved to the northern window, Jerico the northeast. Together they watched the small army approach, only minutes away.