by Helix Parker
He rounded the palace grounds and came to the defense tower on the far side. Thanks to a small sum of two coppers, that particular tower would not be manned for some of the night. He climbed the ladder and, inside the turret, found a man watching the capital through the openings.
The man was tall and wore only black—black mail, black gauntlets, black cloak. The cloak’s hood was pulled over his head. He was muscular and wide, and hanging at his belt was a fearsome sword with a skull at the hilt. The skull was small enough to be a child’s.
“Sir Rodrick?” Cabbot said.
“General,” Rodrick corrected.
“Of course, how silly of me.”
“You have brought it?”
“I have.”
“Give it to me then. The less time I spend here the better.”
“Not fond of our capital city? Many travel from all over the world to behold its wonders.”
“It’s the people. They live in delusion, and it sickens me. Happiness is a fool’s dream, yet they cling to it with all their might. There is no happiness.”
Cabbott suddenly feared he may not be able to control the Marauders as much as he would like. He debated a moment whether to give Roderick what he’d requested. “And if I give this, Erebos has assured me that the capital will be left intact?”
“You don’t care about this place. You want to ask me if he still intends to make you governor when the king has fallen. Do not mince words with me.”
“Well, does he?”
“Yes. You will be rewarded.”
Cabbott bit his lip. “I’m not so sure.”
Rodrick crossed the turret in an instant and grabbed him by the throat. Rodrick lifted him and pressed him against the wall. “Where is it?”
Cabbott gasped. “Not here.”
Rodrick released him. “I want it now, cockroach.”
“I’m afraid,” Cabbott replied, coughing, “that I’ll need more than assurances.”
“What then?”
“I was told he has a gem embedded in his chest plate—the Tear of Chedes. Now mind you, I am of the rational new elite, not the peasant folk, and I do not give in to superstition. So I do not believe the tales of a gem’s power and such. However, I know he values it above the world.”
“And what of it?”
“I wish to have it. When I am made governor and given an army to defend my post, I will return it to him.”
Rodrick growled. “You dare bargain with my master?”
“Everything is a bargain. So spare me your indignation.” Cabbott straightened, attempting to calm the cold fear in his belly. “One gem in exchange for a kingdom. That is my price.”
Rodrick sneered. He reached into a satchel on his belt and came out with the brightest jewel Cabbott had ever seen. It was the size of a peach and gave off a dull crimson incandescence.
“That’s it?” Cabbott said, unable to take his eyes from the gem.
“You know it is.”
“Why did you bring it?”
“My master sees all. He said you would ask to hold something of his, and this is the only thing he values. He also told me to tell you that if you lose it or if it should get stolen, he will turn you inside out. No mortal will ever go through as much pain as he will inflict upon your body.”
Cabbott nodded. The gem was so lovely. No. Lovely wasn’t really the word. Interesting might have come close. Irresistible, perhaps. Some aspect of it would not let him look away.
Pulling together all the will he had, Cabbott took the gem. It was warm to the touch and much heavier than it appeared. With effort, he slipped it into his robe pocket. Then he took a bit of parchment from one of his stockings and gave it to Rodrick. “The layout of the city of Dolane, including the sewers, as constructed by the royal engineers.”
Rodrick looked over the parchment then put it inside his cloak. He eyed Cabbott, his lip curling in repressed anger and disgust, then he left the tower.
Cabbott walked to the openings in the walls and pulled out the gem. Its light shot out far across the cobbled streets and filled the city with its glow. Cabbott licked his lips and put the gem away before quietly heading back to his chambers.
29
Spending the night at an inn on the Road of Turin—a winding snake of a road that went from Gelha in the south to Turin in the north—Edgar felt every bit of his body was in pain. His legs were scraped and crusted with scabs, his back was still bleeding, and his head pounded so violently he thought it might blow apart at any moment.
When morning came, he had somewhat recovered, thanks mostly to an apothecary Leon had fetched—a young girl with hair as black as night and a sweet smile. She removed the pebbles and gravel from his wounds and washed them before applying salves. She wanted to attempt something new on a particularly large wound on his leg where one of the creature’s claws had dug in.
“Are you mad?” he asked. “You want to sew me up like a doll?”
“Would you prefer the common treatment of dung in the wound to bring out the evil spirits?”
He paused. “That’s the usual treatment?”
“It is, little sir, and I’m more than happy to oblige.” She held up some almost transparent string and a rather large needle. “This string is made from the organs of cats. It will dissolve with time. The salve I have applied will numb your flesh, and you should not feel any pain. Just an odd tugging. The two halves of flesh should heal together, and the string will dissolve.”
Edgar weighed the dung and the needle in his mind. “Well, I suppose I will allow the sewing.”
“You won’t regret it.” She quickly threaded the needle.
When she thrust the needle into his thigh, he yelped though he felt no pain. She glanced up at him and smiled.
“And where did you learn this?” he asked.
“My father. He wished for a son to follow in his footsteps and become an apothecary, but all he had were girls. So here I am. The king’s law feels girls cannot become apothecaries, for our minds do not have the good judgment of men.”
“And you wish to prove the king wrong?”
“I have already done so. I am the most popular apothecary within several days’ journey. And from all the wars that I have seen, men seem to me to be the ones with the poorer judgment.”
“In that, young doctor, I feel you may be right.”
Before leaving, the girl gave him a leaf to chew, telling him it would help with the pain. The sensation over his body was an odd one, somewhere between numbness and euphoria. He felt he didn’t want to move, so he lay still and listened to the din of the patrons downstairs breaking their fasts.
A half hour later, Leon came in and sat next to him on the bed. He looked at the stitching in his leg. “Marvelous, the advancements that are made.”
“Yes, I’m all joy and candy over it.”
He grinned. “How do you feel?”
“Like I was almost eaten, Leon. I feel like I was almost eaten.”
“You imagined killing the Khan of the Marauders would be a simple task? Nothing is simple, least of all killing a man.”
Edgar fidgeted with his sheets. “I didn’t thank you for saving my life.”
“No, you didn’t.”
The two men glared at each other in silence a moment before they grinned.
Leon slapped his arm. “Rest. When you are better, we will go.”
“Where are we going?”
“Dolane. That is where the great Khan Erebos will be.”
30
The morning seemed cold, with the prospect of death hanging on it like an ornament. Rodrick was behind the castle walls, his breath visible in the frosty morning air. He sat atop a black stallion with a scar that ran down from its ear to its lower lip. One of its eyes was milky white from some long forgotten blow.
Rodrick trotted around the corner to the cheers of ten thousand men covering the grasslands like black fungus. He had never seen so many men in one place. He stood before them as their general, a
nd the only thing he could think was that he had no idea what he was doing.
He raised his hand for silence and moved down the path. The Marauders parted to make way. Hess, Saria, and a handful of trusted guards with the captains fell in behind him.
He spotted a crow in the sky and wondered what the horde appeared like from up there. A mass of dirty, frightening men with old blood caked on their clothing must have been quite the sight to a bird. He wished that he could fly to observe.
Erebos would travel to Dolane later. Always by himself, he neither rode nor ate with the men. He had said once that darkness was his only comfort, and all else took away from it.
“The crows give us their blessing,” Hess said from behind him. “It is a good omen.”
Saria said, “Maybe they give us their blessing because by nightfall we will give them so many bodies to feast upon.”
Rodrick said nothing. His heart pounded, and he knew he had to suppress his true self. What he wanted to feel was uninhibited rage and lust, the two emotions most suited to battle. But he could not. He was the leader of the horde, as good as the Khan on the field. His head must be kept level and cool at all times to adapt to the circumstances of battle. He had more than ten thousand men trusting him with their lives, and he would be sending them against an army of a million better armed and better equipped soldiers.
The road was clear. All the surrounding villages on either side had gotten word, and the common folk had locked themselves behind closed doors. He could feel their eyes on him as they watched through their windows and from behind stables. An uneasy peace had been struck, and he wondered who the people wished to win the upcoming battle.
The sky was steel gray for a long while until clouds swarmed in like unwanted guests and began to dump their contents over him. The road turned to mud, and water bounced off his ringed mail and drizzled down his face. His men didn’t seem to be bothered. A slave boy sat behind Saria, holding a leather shade over her head to block the rain—perhaps the only bit of femininity he had ever seen her display outside of using her sexuality for power. She smiled seductively at him, and he turned away.
After passing the villages and the Dark Forest, they headed north on the Road of Turin. Dolane was a three-day journey away. No doubt someone would ride ahead to each city on the way, telling the inhabitants of the approaching horde, but it did not matter. Surprise had never been an element of his plan. He didn’t need it. The battle would be fought in the way of his ancestors: with stones, steel, and rods of wood, one man face-to-face with another, trying to kill him. But he was also no fool. And a testament to that were the wagons at the back of the horde—two hundred of them covered in gray pig leather to keep them dry. Those wagons were how he was going to win the battle and the siege.
The downpour didn’t relent, and rain soaked them until the men shivered. No man would ever ask for a reprieve. They would rather die from cold than show such weakness. But Rodrick could see their pain in the trembling of their bodies.
The road had become pure mud, and the horses had difficulty traversing it. Sluggish and ponderous, the horde traveled across the land like a slow-moving wave engulfing a shore.
They passed the city of Itera and found the pearled gates, which were sung about by bards in all corners of the realm, closed, and archers were mounted on the walls. As if a band of farmers with arrows could stop a frenzied Marauder horde. Rodrick briefly considered taking the city for nothing more than the pleasure of watching it burn, but that would be a waste of time, and his men would glut themselves on wine and food, making them slothful for the rest of the journey. Better to keep them lean and hungry.
By nightfall, they had traveled in a day what they should have traveled in half that time. The horses were exhausted from trudging through the mud, and Rodrick was more worried about them than about his men.
With the grass soaked, they had to pitch their tents on the gravel near a mountain pass. Fires were built throughout the camp as the men gathered for ale and war stories. Later, they would bed down with the slave girls they’d brought for the journey.
Rodrick sat in front of his tent staring into his small fire. He drank little and ate even less. He pulled out his blade and began sharpening it with a stone, causing sparks along the steel as he ground the edge to a finer point.
A figure strode through the camp like a shadow and approached him. Saria sat down near his fire. Her eyes were like golden orbs as the flames danced within them.
“It’s so cold,” she said, rubbing her arms. “If only I had a man to keep me warm.”
“You torment me.”
“No, I lust after you, General. There is a difference.”
“Erebos would—”
“Erebos could not do anything about what he does not know.”
“He knows everything. He has visions that cannot be explained.”
“You fear him?”
He nodded, ashamed.
“You are right to fear him. He has nothing within him that is human. No soul to appeal to or speak with. Nothing to bargain with. Do you know that he didn’t used to speak?”
“No.”
“It was a long time, since his childhood, I think. He simply chose to live within himself. Twenty years he did not speak, or so they say. Then one day, he said, ‘The darkness is here.’ After that, he went about as if he had been speaking all his life.” She looked at him, her eyes wide and glistening. “He has flesh as you do, but he is not human. He does not love, and he does not make love. He cares nothing about his flesh.”
“So you and he are not…”
“No. He sometimes needs to inflict pain, and so he takes whoever is near. I think he enjoys my screams more than those of others, and that is all.” She was quiet a long moment as she stared into the fire. “He told me once that he speaks to Chedes. That the god comes to him at night and tells him he would be ruler of the world if he could conquer death. He said that Chedes is the most beautiful man he has ever seen. Do you think that’s true, Rodrick? That the god of the underworld could be beautiful?”
“I don’t know. I am a simple warrior. What do I know of gods and magik?”
Werzzel the Giant walked over to his tent, interrupting their conversation. Tall and shaped like a barrel, the captain inspired a general nervousness among the men. When drunk, he was violent and did not care much whether he was beating a Marauder or a peasant. “I don’t like this waiting, General.”
“We need to rest,” Rodrick replied, ignoring the contempt in the man’s voice.
“We need to march. The men are restless, and this camping and drinking are making them soft. If we march without sleep, we can be in Dolane in one more night. Let them sleep when the city is in ashes.”
“This is not attacking running peasants, Captain Werzzel. We are laying siege to one of the largest cities in the world. The men must be rested and have clear heads when we arrive. If we deprive them of sleep, they will make mistakes, and that is not something Lord Erebos will tolerate.”
Werzzel growled. “You’re making a mistake. You’re giving the Dolane army too much time. Surely word has reached them of the approaching horde and they have begun preparations. If we march now and arrive a day ahead of schedule, we will have the element of surprise.”
“I’ve made my decision, Captain.”
He guffawed. “That’s what we get when a child is given a man’s job.”
Rodrick leapt to his feet.
Werzzel smirked. “You wish to challenge me, boy?”
“I wish for you to follow the orders of our lord before you upset me.”
“I don’t see Lord Erebos here giving the orders. I see a boy. One who’s scared he’s going to get all the men following him killed, which you will if you think that too much. War is about death, nothing more.”
“War is about maximizing death. With the Dolanian army destroyed, the people will be at our mercy. With the army at their backs, they will fight us. And we cannot defeat a million determined people
.”
He grumbled again. “Watch your back on the field, General. Should you get my men killed needlessly, the Dolanians won’t be your only worry.” Werzzel stormed away.
Rodrick sat down and noticed that Saria had slipped away during the conversation. Then he heard whistling coming from his tent. He bent and looked through the open flap. She lay nude atop his bed of furs. He closed his eyes and turned his head, trying his best to remove the image from his mind.
But she whistled again.
He rose and entered the tent.
FROM THE BOOK OF IDOLS: Verse 14, Chapter 2
Verily I say unto you that Chedes did become the God of Death and went about the earth bringing death to animal and man. And he did smite the cobbler for his shoes and did smite the smith for his ironworks. And he did smite the seamstress for her dresses and smite the apothecary for their medicines.
And Rain was vexed and went to his father and said, “How can we tolerate such death? For I am but the younger son but I see the suffering my brother has caused. Will I not seek justice? For he is my brother.”
And Helios was cross and said, “Your brother has upset me and lied through his teeth. And he is no more to live among the Gods.”
And verily I say that it was then that Chedes was cast from on high and thrown into the underworld with the vermin and unclean things. And he festered in the darkness and became as the darkness and hardened his heart to the light.
31
The road north was a difficult one, especially for Edgar, since he had trouble controlling his horse.
Two days of rain kept them stuck at the roadside inn. Edgar spent his time drinking, eating, and visiting the three prostitutes the inn sported. They were a ragged lot but better than an empty bed.
On the second night, as the rain pounded on the roof like fists, Edgar sat by the hearth in the common lounge, which boasted thickly cushioned couches and chairs. He was on his fifth mug of ale when Naspen entered and sat across from him. She was dressed in simple crimson robes, and she appeared young again.
