“No,” she murmured, clutching his hands to keep him from pulling. “Please, it hurts, please.”
He knew what she wanted. He couldn’t bear to give it.
“You’ll pull through,” he told her.
“Haern’ll be back,” she said. “You only delayed him for a moment. Run, you damn fool, run!”
Deathmask felt his hands shaking. His mismatched eyes blurred, but no tears fell, so strong was his will.
“He’ll pay,” he said. “I will make Melorak suffer such pain he will beg for Karak’s tender touch.”
“Enough,” Veliana said.
Deathmask pulled off his mask and kissed her lips. She kissed back, holding in a cough as she did. When the kiss ended, Deathmask slipped his fingers down to her heart. A single whisper and he stopped its movements. Her lungs went still. Her blood froze.
He stood and put on his mask. He reached into his bag and threw ash into the air so that it swirled about his face, locked into orbit.
He left.
When Haern returned moments later, he found Deathmask gone and Veliana still on the floor. A stone-cold look on his face, he yanked free his blade, sliced out Veliana’s throat to be sure, and then left through the door, half his mission accomplished, the other half soon to follow.
9
King Bram Henley rode his horse into the center of the village, his keen edged sword held high. The lesser folk parted for their lord and his accompaniment of knights. A great fire waited to be kindled, and in the center of the wood stood three men tied to an upright log, their bodies stripped naked and bleeding from many thin wounds.
Bram slowed his horse as the last made way, revealing two priests dressed in the black robes of the roaring lion. They nodded their heads to their lord, but did not bow, which would have irritated him even if he hadn’t already been furious.
“What travesty occurs in my realm?” he asked. His voice thundered through the clearing. He was an imposing man, with broad shoulders, long black hair, and a stern face marred by a single scar from eye to chin, self-cut in the tradition of his father’s line. His naked blade revealed just how deep his fury went. He pointed it at the nearest priest, demanding an explanation.
“These men have defied the will of Karak,” said the first. Bram recognized him as a high-ranking priest of Ker, a chubby man named Gill. His words dripped like honey but his fingers smelled of blood.
“And how have they done so?” Bram asked.
Gill puffed out his chest and gestured to the crowd, and it was to them he answered. The exaggerated movements of his arms rang bells attached to the bottom of his robes.
“We have but one lord in all of Dezrel, and he is Melorak, the lion of Karak, the voice of his thunder, the interpreter of his mighty roar. Who here would doubt Karak’s power, or must his armies march through our nation once more?”
Bram’s eyes narrowed, but he kept his tongue. Let the priest have his speech, so long as he got around to his point. So far, the crowd was going along, but he sensed they did so not out of faith, but out of a desire to see the fire burn.
“These men would not swear oaths to Karak,” Gill continued, his voice shrieking into a higher pitch. “They would swindle the good, meek people of this village, and then deny their god, spit in his face, and exalt a man above all. Who here could question their guilt, or their punishment?”
The priest beside him shouted, “Praise be to Karak!” and a dozen or so onlookers joined in. Bram urged his horse closer to the pyre and nodded to the centermost man, who did not seem afraid, only royally pissed.
“Is what he says true?” Bram asked.
“We’re tax collectors, milord,” the man said. “And that viper demanded a tithe. I told him we could not, for the money was not ours to give, but yours, and not even a priest steals money from his lord.”
“Who is lord but our great lord, Karak?” Gill shouted. Bram turned on him.
“You would steal from my treasury, then murder those who would stop your thievery?” he asked. Gill’s eyes widened in exaggerated shock.
“I am a servant of our great god, and am most humble to be in his service,” he said. “You dare insult me, even you, King Bram, knowing that an insult to a high priest is an insult to Karak himself?”
Bram glanced about. The crowd was eating up every word, though many looked nervous at the implied threat.
Damn sheep, thought Bram.
“Perhaps these men did offer insult,” Bram said. “But I know of no laws that decree death to those who might affront Karak. We are a free people, and have been ever since the brothers’ war.”
“There is a new law!” Gill shouted. “A law elevating the common man to equality among kings. A law of gods, a law of Karak, and let true justice cover Dezrel in its righteous fury!”
The crowd cheered. As they did, Gill spoke softer, so that only Bram could hear.
“Our judgment sweeps across this land,” he said. “You would be wise to recognize and obey.”
Bram sheathed his sword and nodded for his knights to leave.
“I have a message for your god,” he said as he spun his horse about, and village men tossed torches onto the dry hay that surrounded the pyre. “Tell him that you, Gilliam Frey, are responsible for King Henley finally seeing the truth of Karak.”
Gill beamed.
“Praise be to Karak,” he shouted as Bram rode into the distance.
“Ride hard,” Bram said to Sir Ian Millar, his most trusted warrior. “We must reach Angkar before dusk.”
“What of the priests?” the knight asked as he kicked his mount’s sides.
“To the Abyss with them,” Bram said, hurling a curse to the wind as they rode across the yellow grass.
“Wake Loreina,” Bram said as he stormed through the door of his tower. “Bring her to the Eye. Oh, and Ian…be quiet about it.”
The knight struck his chest with his fist and bowed.
“Everywhere the Lion has ears,” the king muttered as he stripped off his riding gear. His room was poorly furnished, another relic of his family’s many odd traditions. The rest of the castle was gilded, polished, and overflowing with pretensions of wealth. But there in his tower, his room, he had a bed, a chest, and a mirror, all made of plain wood and glass. He paced the room, trying to calm down but knowing he wouldn’t. Too many were wresting control of his kingdom away from him. Four generations his family had reigned. He had no intentions of being the last Henley. Soon Loreina and Ian would be at the Eye, and he took several deep breaths to slow his heart and calm his nerves.
Bram kept his sword buckled to his waist. The world had grown dangerous as of late, and now he found himself on the side of the apparent loser of the spiritual war sweeping across Dezrel. What if some mad priest tried to gain the favor of his god by coming after him?
“Everywhere,” said the king, opening the door. “Goddamn everywhere.”
The castle had three main towers built into the corners of its walls. One was the king’s, another was housing for knights, and the third was the Eye. Its door was painted a deep red, and just above the door, ten skulls carved of stone leered down at any who might enter. He paused and looked up at them. They were relics of an older time, to give mystery and wonder to the tower and the proceedings within. How long until he’d be forced to carve the skulls into lions?
Bram shoved open the door and hurried inside. Immediately before him was a set of stairs, looping up and around to the only true floor of the tower: the Eye.
Inside the eye, paintings of men fighting angels, demons, trolls, orcs, and other types of monsters the artists’ imaginations could conceive covered every bit of the walls. Torches burned throughout, casting strange shadows across the images. In the center, older than any living man, was a seven-legged table. Carved in perfect detail atop it was the world of Dezrel.
“We wait as you commanded,” said Ian.
Bram was pleased to see he also still carried his sword.
“He might,”
said Loreina, walking around the table so she could kiss him. “I waited because I worry for you. Silly of you to think I’d sleep before your return.”
Bram wrapped an arm around her waist and smiled down at her. She was a slender thing, her brown hair braided and falling down to her waist. Though her face dimpled when she smiled, her eyes remained hard, attentive.
“You know more than I what the rumors say,” Bram said, taking a seat before the giant map. “So help Ian and me make sense of everything we are hearing.”
“Not much puzzlement from the north,” Ian said, crossing his arms and nodding toward Mordan. “Everything on the other side of the Corinth River is pledged to their new priest-king, Melorak. So far we’ve been lucky he hasn’t sent a permanent envoy to keep an eye on us.”
Loreina sat beside her husband, her hand in his.
“Their priests are doing a fine enough job on their own,” she said. “I’ve watched them, listened to their whispers as they scurry about the castle. More and more they press for people to repent and confess their sins.”
“We can’t ban them,” said Bram. His eyes lingered on Mordan as if he were looking for some hidden truth painted on the wood. “The moment we do, this priest-king will send an army to enforce his rule.”
“Does he even have an army to send?” Loreina asked.
“Of course he does,” Ian said, frowning. “He can’t have taken Mordeina without one.”
Bram crossed his arms and thought.
“It isn’t as simple a question as it seems. With King Antonil marching east to retake Neldar, defenses must have been few. Whatever troops he has might be needed to quell rebellion and ensure the rest of Mordan’s nobles swear their loyalty to him.”
“They say he has an army of the dead,” Loreina said. She shivered. “I don’t like it. I hear the priests’ whispers. This Melorak will come after us. Karak’s pets are far too convinced of their ascension.”
Gill’s threat as the pyre burned echoed in Bram’s ears. He told his wife everything, and she nodded as if not at all surprised.
“While you were gone, one of them came to me with another request for confession,” she told the two men. “He said the same thing: that a new law is coming over this world, and that it would be dangerous for me to have sin in my heart.”
Bram stood and flung his chair to the wall.
“Dangerous? Dangerous! I’ll cut his heart out and show him just how bloody it is with sin. What was his name?”
“I don’t remember,” Loreina said.
“You lie. Who was it?”
“I said I don’t remember.”
Ian coughed from the opposite side of the table.
“An execution would only reveal our true feelings toward them,” he said. “I don’t think it’d be wise to give away our hand just yet.”
The redness slowly faded from Bram’s face, and he grabbed another chair so he could sit.
“Enough of them,” he said, feeling childish beneath his wife’s constant stare. “What of the east?”
“We’ve received hardly a word through any official means,” said Ian. “The latest I’ve heard is that Theo White has assumed the throne in Kinamn, not that there was much to assume. The whole nation of Omn is said to be a wasteland. Those...demons…pillaged everything on their trek west. From what I’ve heard, at least half the nation is struggling to hold off starvation. Only those south along the coast have escaped relatively unscathed.”
“Theo is a bitter man,” Loreina said. “I’ve taken one of his former servant girls into my custody. She fled here when the demons first attacked, before Theo became king. He talks as if the sun will set tomorrow and never rise. With such thinking, he is unpredictable and dangerous.”
“Where do his allegiances lie?” asked Bram. “They would normally be to Neldar, but with it in ruins, it seems he’s free of any old ties.”
“I’d say his allegiances will be only to Omn and himself,” said Ian. Loreina nodded in agreement.
“There is one last strange rumor,” said Loreina. She pointed to Kinamn on the map. “Refugees pour into our city every day, and I do my best to have the guards question them all. Those who might seem useful are sent to me. The hours have been long and tedious, but every now and then…”
She paused. Bram put his arm around her shoulder and kissed her cheek.
“What is it?” he asked.
“The angels,” she said. “I hear men with white wings fly circles above Kinamn, and that Antonil is supposedly with them. If that is true, then his attempt to retake Neldar failed. He’ll be coming back, hoping for safety in Mordan.”
“And with an enemy to soon give chase,” Bram said, following the logical path. “Even worse, he won’t know that Mordan has fallen. He’s trapped between two foes. Omn is his only ally.”
“For now,” Loreina said. Bram raised an eyebrow.
“For now?” he asked.
Loreina stood and gestured to the map.
“Enemies on both sides,” she said. “Would you not say the same for us? Karak’s law will depose us. The priest-king hopes to rule a unified Dezrel. We’ll be lucky to have our heads on pikes instead of marching alongside his army of the dead.”
“What do you suggest?” asked Ian.
“Theo is a dangerous man. That means he’d be a powerful ally. If he thinks his country is doomed, he will shed streams of blood without batting an eye.” She pointed to the two rivers on either side of Ker, the Corinth to the north and the Rigon to the east, and then outlined her plan.
“Simple,” said Ian. “But it could work. I doubt there’s anywhere else we’d have such strategic defenses.”
“But the angels are with Theo,” Bram said, frowning at the map. “These religious zealots will overtake our nation, and I will not enslave myself to Ashhur just to free myself from Karak. I will not trade one set of chains for another.”
“But those of Ashhur are desperate,” Loreina insisted. “Defeat chases them, and they have no home, no hope. Whatever we wish, we can negotiate before we cast in our lot. As for Melorak…”
She crossed her arms and leaned against her husband. Her eyes lingered on the painted figurine of Mordeina.
“There will be no negotiating with that priest-king,” she said.
“I’ll send someone to speak with King Theo” Bram said, holding his wife tight.
“Let me be the one,” Ian said. “You cannot trust this matter to anyone else. The fate of our nation hangs in the balance.”
“Leave tonight, then. I’ll begin mustering our forces.”
Ian saluted and then left.
“What of the priests?” Loreina asked when he was gone. “They will question a sudden surge of recruitment.”
Bram grinned at her, a bearish grin, one she had fallen in love with the moment she’d first seen it on their wedding day.
“Why, my dear, we have enemies of Karak right here on our doorstep. Is it not our duty to help defeat the angels in Kinamn?”
She kissed the scar on his face.
“That’s my king,” she said, smiling.
“The only king this nation shall ever have,” he said. “I promise you this.”
They kissed again, hungrier, wilder, the desperation hidden from their words escaping in their touch.
10
“Kick his ass!” Tarlak cheered, letting out a drunken whoop as the two combatants clashed their swords together.
“Trying!” Harruq shouted as he dove aside. Judarius’s enormous mace smashed an indent into the packed dirt. Chunks of earth flew as the angel tore the mace free, swinging for the half-orc’s side. Salvation and Condemnation blocked together, showering the ground with sparks.
“You’re getting bolder,” Judarius said through gritted teeth as he pressed the hit, pushing Harruq back. He flapped his wings, blowing dust into Harruq’s eyes. Grumbling, the half-orc ducked, swinging wildly in hopes for a block. The swords missed. The mace smacked his skull, and he went down in a sudden
delirious wave. All around, soldiers cheered or booed, depending on who they had wagered on.
Harruq rubbed his eyes as he stood and glared.
“That was cheap and you know it. First time you’ve won, the first time, and that’s how you want it to be?”
Judarius gave him a curious look.
“A win is a win,” he said. “Should I pretend my wings don’t exist? Should you pretend your muscles are half their size when you train the other soldiers?”
“Quit whining,” Tarlak said, pressing through the crowd and smacking Harruq on the shoulder. “You just earned me a nice bounty of coin.”
Harruq raised an eyebrow.
“I thought you wanted me to kick his ass.”
The wizard shrugged.
“I did. Doesn’t mean that’s who I bet on, though.”
Harruq made a noise like a snarl and walked away.
“Only by cheating,” he grumbled. “A cheating angel…What was that?”
“You’re getting grumpy,” Aurelia said, sliding beside him and wrapped an arm around his.
“Were you watching?” he asked.
She nodded. “Judarius thought you were being bold, but he’s wrong, isn’t he? You were impatient, frustrated. You’ve been like that for weeks.”
“What are we waiting for?” he asked as he led her toward the courtyard well for a drink. “Instead of marching home to Mordan, we stay here and what? Hope Velixar doesn’t crush us to pieces? The angels are out of their minds, and that White guy along with them.”
“Theo’s gathering his troops,” Aurelia said. She dipped a finger into the bucket before Harruq could drink, chilling the water and flavoring it with lemon. “Besides, he has given you a great honor in training his new recruits.”
“Training?” Harruq gasped after a long drink. “You call that an honor? I spend half the day fighting off clumsy strokes a child should know how to block, and the other half getting pulverized to a pulp by the ones that know what they’re doing. Last time I was this exhausted was when I was training with Haern.”
“At least you’ve been accepted,” Aurelia said, dipping her hands into the bucket and taking a small sip. “The same can’t be said for your brother.”
The Half-Orcs: Books 1-5 Page 136
