She’d detected the defiance in him. The desire to break free from the creatures ruling this land. Turning him to her cause would not be easy. She had no idea how to begin. Not after dedicating weeks to hunting him down. He had become the bane of her existence and now she needed him. Life was cruel.
Brogon stood near the base of the clock tower. His arms folded across his chest. She felt his sorrow as he stared upon the great work. The endless ting of hammers striking was a symphony of despair that chilled her soul. What effect did it have on him? A once dead man. Did he still have a soul or was he a hollow animation of what once was? She feared the answer, while hoping it was the latter.
Brogon Lord. His name stained her lips. Gave her nightmares. Now here she was, hoping to turn him to her cause. Lizette gave up trying to figure life out. There were too many twists for her to keep up. So, she sat on the edge of the ravine and plotted. And waited. Time, after all, was the answer to all things.
Lizette walked along the edge of the prisoner’s tents. Her heart strained at the sounds of children weeping or crying in their dreams. Several children sat, staring into the abyss of greys and blacks, without seeing. Their fragile minds incapable of comprehending what had transpired. Lizette wished she could do more, but there was only so much one woman was capable of.
She stopped beside a small girl with a filth covered blond mop strewn across her head. Dirt covered the girl’s face, caked under her nails. The puffiness of her cheeks remained, indicating she was one of the newer prisoners. Lizette offered her brightest grin and sat beside her.
“Hello. I am Lizette. What’s your name?” she said.
Confused, the child looked up. Everything about this place was wrong.
“Where am I?” the girl asked.
Lizette saw little point in lying. There was all likelihood that they were both going to die here. Every child deserved to know the truth. “You are in the Other Realm. Do you remember how you got here?”
Blond curls swung back and forth. “I went to sleep and woke up here. I’m scared.”
Aren’t we all? Lizette forced a smile. “I’m here to take care of you, as much as I can. Will you tell me your name now?”
“Emrys.”
“Emrys. That is a beautiful name for a beautiful girl. What village are you from?” Lizette pressed.
The knowledge was unimportant, but it helped calm the new arrivals. Anything to keep that mummified horror from taking notice. There were, she’d come to find out, worse creatures lurking in the gloom. Terrible things who forced the children to work. Things with appetites for human flesh.
“Halm,” came the reply.
A village Lizette had never heard of. Not in all her research in the castle was she apprised of any village of similar name either. The possibility of Brogon moving into different duchies for his prey dawned on her. Until now, this had been a problem for Fent. Lizette knew where every child had been stolen from. Emrys presented a new set of problems.
The workforce was either dwindling due to untimely demise, or because time was almost up. She glanced up at the tower. The frame for the giant clock face was almost finished. Soon it would be filled with machinery. A chill filled her soul as she imagined the gong of the clock, resonating and frightening, sounding for the first time. Only, the clock was being constructed to stop time. She professed no understanding of how that would work, or why.
The Other Realm was a place of mystery lacking human understanding. What should make sense didn’t. Lizette felt adrift, but she was wise enough to know when a threat was serious. She had no doubts Brogon Lord’s masters meant what they said.
Emrys began crying. “Why am I here? I miss my momma.”
Her heart crying, Lizette pulled the child close and hugged her. “I know, Emrys. This is not a place for children. Would you believe me if I said I am doing everything I can to get you home to your mother and father?”
The child nodded.
“Good.”
Emrys nestled deeper into the embrace. “Lizette, I’m scared.”
Lizette felt her heart break. “I know, child. I know. I am, too.”
Brogon Lord watched the exchange from behind a nearby tent. Head cocked to the side, the once dead man listened to the endearing words. Surely Lizette knew them to be lies? There was no escape from the masters, or this wretched realm. He’d tried and was punished for daring. The masters tolerated no disrespect.
Still, there was something different about this woman. He didn’t know why he took her, other than to keep the priest from lashing out a second time. Brogon was hurt badly from the assault. Brought back from the dead, he was no match for the power imbued in their magic. Taking Lizette seemed his one course of action.
She didn’t belong here. He knew that, but it was too late to change what he’d done. The masters would never let her go. Once, when he had emotions, he would have sympathized with her. Brogon was never a bad man, nor was he exceptionally good. He was … a man. Filled with faults and strengths in equal measure.
Death robbed many of his memories, leaving him twisted and broken. He no longer remembered why he took up a life as a swordsman. Didn’t know if he had a family. Flashes of battles and duels remained, providing just enough knowledge to confirm he was dangerous. How he died was how he lived. By the sword. Brogon remembered the blade driving into his gut. How the pain, so intense, spread through his torso—white hot.
Life hadn’t been kind to Brogon Lord. Nor was death. Reduced to a child stealer, he was a ghoul who preyed on the unsuspecting. It sickened him. Trapped in an existence there was no escape from, the once dead man stumbled through the days, dreaming of a time when he could at last lay his head to rest.
He stared at the woman, wondering if there was any hope of finding peace at her hands. She went to great lengths to comfort the children. Even knowing they were meant to die here once the clock was finished. Could she do the same for him? He needed to know. Needed to discover if there was a path back to death. Brogon was so very tired.
Hatred for the masters kept him going, even as they forced him to betray the last vestiges of his conscience. Could there be a way to kill them and free himself? Brogon needed to know. Doing so meant one thing. He needed to speak with the woman.
The once dead man stepped from behind the tent, exposing his decaying corpse to both woman and child.
“Lizette.”
Her head jerked up. Horror laced her eyes.
THIRTY-TWO
Fent
The trek to Fent was fraught and filled with peril, despite there being no legitimate natural predators in the duchy. None that is, but one. Man. Waern had never been a particularly strong man. He endured a childhood of shame and embarrassment. All those petty experiences shaped him into the thoughtful man he was now. One who twisted men to his bidding, while succumbing to temptations far too easily.
Rising to village Elder was no small task, but he dedicated his life to the pursuit. Waern craved power, knowing it to be the means with which he would extract vengeance upon all who wronged him. When Merchant Giles approached him with an offer, Waern couldn’t refuse. He saw an opportunity to become wealthy beyond measure, while destroying his enemies in the process. For his greed, he fled for his life.
Kastus’s hunters pursued him across the duchy until he was certain a blade was close behind. Separating from Bartus and the others, all of whom had proved worthless, was the best move he could have made. Let Kastus hunt those men down, while he inched closer to Fent. All his plans were in jeopardy of being exposed. No doubt that bitch Deana betrayed him, casting him to the wolves to save her own neck.
He didn’t care. The castle loomed, filling the skyline. He was almost safe. Giles would know what to do. The merchant had a vast network of smugglers, spies, and informants to utilize. For a price, naturally. Nothing came cheap in the world Waern forced his way into. Men like Giles were vipers, capable of killing unnoticed. It was a delicate game the Elder was confident he could play well.
>
“What if the streets are being watched?” Hask asked.
Annoyed, Waern dismissed the sell sword. Neither were important. Losing one or the other did little to hinder his quest. The Elder had thought it through and determined Hask and Thirl were liabilities. He counted on filling their pockets to buy their silence once they delivered him safely to Giles. They were so close.
Waern frowned. “Einos will have his forces searching the countryside. Confident he can stop me, he won’t think of garrisoning his own streets. We keep moving.”
Thirl spat. “These horses will give us away. Need to ditch them as soon as we can.”
He had a point. Horses didn’t belong in the streets, not when Einos knew he was riding. “There are stables on the outskirts. You take the horses, while Hask and I continue on.”
Thirl grew suspicious. “What about me? I never been to Fent before. Where am I supposed to go?”
I don’t care. Waern debated ordering the man back to Palis, to catch up with Bartus and be gone from his life. Not that he expected the others to reach home uncontested. Fent’s army was small, but they held a ferocious reputation. From what he’d seen of Thep and his company, Waern suspected the rest of the army was more than capable of capturing Bartus long before he reached Palis.
Which presented another problem. Bartus was loyal, but only for a price. How much would it take before Einos twisted him to do his bidding? Waern scolded himself for not taking better precautions. Then again, he never expected to be caught. A mistake he hoped did not prove fatal.
“Wait at the stables. I shouldn’t be long,” Waern finally said.
“Hold on! I’m not going to wait in the horse dung while you and Hask enjoy drink and food,” Thirl snapped.
“You work for me, don’t forget that,” Waern fired back. “Once I get to where I need to be, I will send Hask back for you. The sooner we are all off the streets, the better.”
Thirl pointed a finger at Waern. “Don’t mess me over.”
Waern ignored him and kept riding.
They shuffled through near empty streets, amazed at how a village so large could have so little pedestrian traffic. Waern grew concerned, wondering if martial law had been ordered. He’d been to Fent once, when Einos assumed his role. A grand fete was held for three days. Every village elder or duchy statesman was invited. Waern found the affair lavish and immediately decided that was what he wanted out of life. Oh the irony of his current position.
“This way,” he gestured down a tight alley.
Merchant Giles had several properties dotted across the duchy, including a modest home here to accompany his warehouses and offices. Anticipating any of his network might need to find him without attracting unwanted attention, he developed a maze. Only those who knew what to look for could find their way into his private safehouse. Which was where Waern headed.
Waern halted at a black iron door. His protectors flanking him, the Elder struck the knocker three quick times. Nothing happened. Waern began to fear he was at the wrong location. That Giles had been arrested and his schemes were finished. Footsteps on the other side of the door drew his attention. He tensed, fully expecting Einos’s guards to rush out and arrest him. The door cracked. Faint light cascaded into the alley.
“What?” a stern voice demanded.
Waern licked his lips. “I have come to see Giles.”
An eye appeared, dark and suspicious. “Piss off.”
Waern fumbled as the door began to close. “Please. Tell him Elder Waern has come.”
The door slammed shut.
“Load of good that did,” Thirl muttered.
They turned to leave when the door was cast open. The same man stepped into the alley and gestured them to enter. Waern felt relieved but remained on guard. Nothing in Fent felt right. A dark energy was settled over the duchy. One making him uneasy. He stepped into the safehouse, the door closing behind.
“Why have you come, now?”
Waern recognized Giles’s voice, though it sounded strained. Almost bitter. Armed men shuffled behind him, separating him from Thirl and Hask.
“Where else am I to go? Einos’s dogs forced me from Palis. He scours the countryside for me, thinking to uncover a plot against his rule,” Waern sneered. “You got me into this, Giles. You owe me.”
Silence for a moment, then an insane laugh filled the room. “I owe you nothing. Let Einos spend his energy hunting shadows. He is of no consequence to me. You, on the other hand, have become a problem. You should not have come here.”
“Where else can I go?” Waern spread his arms. “I have lost everything.”
“That is not my problem,” Giles insisted. “Get him out of here.”
Hands curled around his arms. Waern panicked. “Wait! I am a village elder. I will not be treated so!”
A malevolent glint entered Giles’s eye. “Indeed. Who else knows you are here?”
“No one,” Waern said, too fast to be believable. “Just these men. Give me safe passage east and you will never hear from me again. I swear.”
Giles nodded. His men struck. Thirl was stabbed in the neck, steel driving down into his lung. Hask tried to flee but had his throat slit for the effort. Both men died without a sound, leaving Waern trembling in a semi-circle of enemies. The prick of steel bit into his back.
“Easy lads. I don’t want him dead. Not yet at any rate,” Giles told his men. “You return at a perilous time, Elder. Both of those men would have betrayed you, sold you out as soon as it became profitable. I did you a favor.”
“But, but they helped me,” Waern stared at the spreading pool of blood at his feet.
Giles advanced. “You owe me now. Funny how life turns, isn’t it?”
There was a different air about the merchant. He’d lost weight, grown pale. Thick blue veins spread across his exposed flesh. His right hand trembled ever so slightly. Waern was too afraid to notice. Watching the ease with which his men were killed rattled him, forcing him to reevaluate his thinking.
“Giles, I just want to leave Fent,” he said, his voice quiet. “I won’t say what you’ve done. No one will ever know I was here or that we are associated.”
“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” Giles asked. Torchlight flickered over his dark tunic. “See, I don’t believe you, Waern. In fact, I think you will sell me out at the first chance you get, just to save your miserable neck.”
“No, Giles. I would never.”
Giles broke into a wicked grin. “If only I could believe you. Take him and throw him in a cell. Kill him if he protests.”
“Damn you, Giles! We had a deal!” Waern shouted.
“Deals change. The price of doing business. Get him out of my sight and clean up this mess. I don’t want the city watch snooping around,” Giles ordered.
He watched as men dragged Waern away. One problem solved.
Einos watched the setting sun with casual interest. His mind raced through recent events, replaying his slow fall from grace as the once dead man continued to have his way. Fent was no longer the peaceful duchy it had been since inception. Panic and fear gripped the land and there was nothing in his power to prevent it from worsening. Every move he’d made to counter Brogon Lord had failed. His position degraded daily.
When a captain reported that they’d encountered a strange creature offering to help, Einos barely bat an eye. Depression threatened to grab him. He wanted to return to Aneth and hold her tight. Life was always better when she was in his arms. None of the troubles of the day could harm him. No worry was too great to overcome. She offered warmth and reason when he failed to find either.
Reluctant to turn away from the dying day, Einos tucked his hands up into the sleeves of his heavy jacket to avoid the chill and entered the command tent. There’d been no word from Kastus or any sign of their quarry since capturing Bartus and his thugs for hire. All appearances suggested Waern had escaped, disappearing into a lesser known world.
What he saw standing before his field chai
r was almost unimaginable. Short, barely coming up to his chest, and pale green skin, the sclarem regarded him with calculating eyes. Einos, like most, grew up listening to tales of the elder race. Also like most, he never expected to see one, much less stand in the presence of one. Wonder aside, Einos realized the true danger his duchy was in as more myths continued to surface.
“Baron, Dalem has come with word on the once dead man,” the captain announced.
Einos dismissed him with a wave, eyes never leaving the sclarem. “Thank you, Captain. See that no one disturbs us.”
“Baron.”
Einos waited until he was alone with the sclarem. “I would offer you better food and drink if we were in the village. Regardless, welcome to Fent.”
“Human customs are lost on me, Einos of Fent,” Dalem said. His voice was broken, as if it hurt his throat to speak the same language. “I am Dalem and I come to you in your hour of greatest need.”
“You know of Brogon Lord?” Einos asked.
The sclarem nodded. His black top knot slipping over his chest. “I do. We fought. Outside of one of your villages. He should not be walking this earth.”
No, he shouldn’t. But what more can I do? Everything I’ve tried has ended in failure. “Can you help us?”
Dalem cocked his head. “Perhaps. My magic is strong. Ancient, as only my kind have. The F’talle is imbued with equal magic, though from what, I do not know. It will take much to defeat him.”
“I have a war priest here,” Einos divulged. He’d asked Quinlan to remain outside. A necessary precaution.
Dalem’s eyes widened. “Ah, yes. I know them.”
Einos wasn’t about to try and guess how to take that, for the sclarem proved enigmatic in his answers. “I will not lie when I say that my hopes are now doubled by your presence, Dalem. I believe that between you and Brother Quinlan, we will find a way to raise the miasma consuming Fent.”
The Children of Never: A War Priests of Andrak Saga (The War Priests of Andrak Saga Book 1) Page 21
