Killers, Traitors, & Runaways: Outcasts of the Worlds, Book II

by Lucas Paynter

  “Déjà vu, Zaj?” Jean teased.

  And then she began to recognize her surroundings. She hadn’t been in this specific house before, but the construction was familiar. There were no signs it had been occupied, which came as a relief; the inhabitants might not have fared well otherwise.

  “How long has it been?” Zaja asked.

  “Not very,” Flynn glanced back at her. “A few hours. The Reahv’li are in shambles and there’s miscommunication across the board. Half of them think we’ve retreated or that we’re still zigzagging through the valley.”

  “And how much of that was your doing?” she asked.

  “Less than you’d think.” He’d already returned his attentions to Chari when he added, “You should be resting.”

  Zaja was weak, but couldn’t dare show it. Her wound felt long healed, but she’d lost blood and energy. It had grown cold outside, and on any other day, she’d have taken his advice.

  “How soon do we move?”

  “Zaja,” Poe spoke up. “It may be better if you remain—”

  “How. Soon?” she repeated.

  They sat in silence for several minutes before any response was given. Zaja understood why. They were all exhausted, mentally if not physically. Dozens had died already, and Renivar’s sanctum loomed like gallows.

  “In a few minutes,” Flynn said at last, as he finished with Chari and slid her wraps back into place.

  “Don’t fancy moving,” Shea confessed with an abashed smile. “Can’t stay either.”

  There were no encouraging words or call to action. They only checked that the Reahv’li hadn’t come near, then stepped out into the night.

  Yeribelt appeared like a ghost town, its roads gently dusted by the wind. Through the fragile tents, Zaja could hear the denizens hushing each other in fear, keeping the lights and their voices low, hoping the monsters would pass. Intense guilt washed over her, and she’d have begged then for the ignorance to forget why they were so afraid.

  They walked the familiar streets, past the intersection where Airia Rousow had stood defiant half a year before, scorned by a mob too cowardly to suppress her. Airia had incited fear through notoriety alone, and Zaja’s company possessed considerably more. Perhaps they would find her, when this was all over.

  The moons were aglow in the sky when they reached the outer wall encompassing Borudust Castle. There was a crowd waiting, but it was not the Reahv’li soldiers they’d expected.

  These were Renivar’s humble worshippers, those brave few who had not joined his guard but were still prepared to stand and fight. Most were unknown to her, but one she was certain she’d helped with a broken wagon, another with laying fresh pipes for Yeribelt’s shoddy irrigation system. And another was of her own people; he’d run a noodle shack, last time she was here.

  “Vestus,” she said with some surprise.

  He looked at Zaja, his face a canvas of hurt and betrayal. She wanted to apologize, but they were on opposite sides, and it was unthinkable for her to switch. Renivar’s disciples believed themselves more righteous, more deserving of life and prosperity. It was a position Zaja could never empathize with.

  “You have fought through better, braver people than us,” their ringleader said. “And if need be, you shall fight through us. But we cannot allow you to meet the Living God, knowing what you intend to do.”

  They were poorly armed—a shovel here, a hammer there. Vestus clutched his kitchen knife, its blade stained from recent use. Zaja’s allies stood at the ready, waiting for the slightest provocation.

  “Stand aside, mortals,” Poe commanded. “You place yourselves in a fool’s position, opposing your betters.”

  There was no doubt he possessed the gravitas to be a god, and had they not already met one, this crowd might have been moved.

  “Please, stand down,” the ringleader requested. “Too much blood has been spilt today.”

  Her side would not—could not—give any ground. When the first shot rang out, the frenzy that erupted ended within moments. Zaja had stepped back, watching everything, doing nothing. Before this, it had been justified, self-defense. Soldier against soldier, after a fashion.

  It wasn’t a fair fight, but their opposition was brave. When the last body fell, Shea dragging her sword from her victim’s heart, Zaja ran into the slaughter to Vestus and cradled him in her arms.

  “Vestus! Vestus!” she cried, seeing he was still lucid.

  “Quinan…” was the last coherent thing he said. He murmured distantly as the life slipped out of him.

  Jean approached, looking down on them. “I remember that kid,” she said with only a hint of sorrow. “Made good soup.”

  Zaja flashed her an angry look, for reducing the weight of Vestus’s life down to a single thing.

  “Chari,” Zaja begged. “Chari! Please heal him.”

  Chari, who’d been attending her rifle, looked at Zaja crossly. “I won’t,” she replied.

  “But why?!” Zaja cried. “You’re a healer! Heal him!”

  She dropped what she was doing with obvious irritation and approached Zaja, looking down at Vestus, then back at her. “He is of the enemy. What makes this one more valued than any other of the dying surrounding us?” Zaja was at a loss for words, opening her mouth but unable to speak. “Think you he would welcome us if he were to survive? Forgive what must now be done?” A fleeting expression crossed Chari’s face that Zaja almost swore was relief. “Come what may, he has expired. There is no purpose in mending him now.”

  Vestus’s head slid from her lap and Zaja began to sob for him, even as she fought to keep the tears at bay. She withdrew her hands, and found them covered in blood, the same color as her own. She tried to slide out from under him without disturbing his body, that he might rest peacefully.

  The others had pushed open the gate, revealing the final distance between Yeribelt and the entrance to Borudust Castle, and Taryl Renivar within.

  As she stood there, trying to gather her thoughts, Flynn’s voice shocked her back to reality. “You’re still coming?” It may not have been a question—she wasn’t sure, but she nodded just the same.

  She’d crossed the courtyard before. It hadn’t changed, but it felt like the longest walk of her life.

  *

  It was all as Poe remembered from before. The vast chamber, the looming ceiling, and the pedestal upon which Taryl Renivar knelt in perpetual strain, unable to leave without sacrificing the divinity he’d been clutching for centuries.

  “I will confess, Guardian, I did not anticipate meeting you as you’ve become so soon,” Renivar said. “Some years spent grappling with your gains before manifesting behind me to attempt a single, cowardly blow; that is how I thought this would end.”

  Poe knew training and time would have been the wiser course, but they hadn’t the luxury for such measures. Renivar’s anticipation of Einré’s intended plan only served to speak of its inevitable failure; years of preparation that would have amounted to nothing.

  “I come to satisfy Airia Rousow’s bid and see you struck down,” Poe declared. He drew his blades calmly, and they hung lax in his hands. “Dethrone yourself, Taryl Renivar, and no harm shall come.”

  The look on Renivar’s face, even at such distance, was clear indignation on the verge of outrage. “No harm? Do not think me blind to the trail of death left in your wake. ‘No harm’ indeed.”

  “Not much choice, mate,” Shea countered. “Got in our way.”

  “I anticipated a collision with the Guardian,” Taryl said. “The rest of you were not to insert yourselves into our conflict.” He strained beneath some unseen force to raise an accusing hand. “This is your doing, isn’t it? You coerced them into coming here, knowing the harm you would inflict.”

  Flynn stepped to the fore, unwavering in the face of Renivar’s allegation. “I counted on it,” he admitted. “It would be better if it were just between us, but your devotees have made that impossible.”

  Between us? Poe sai
d nothing, but looked aside to Flynn. Was his ‘us’ referring to their group versus Renivar? Or was the quarrel more singular: Flynn and Renivar against each other?

  “If released, you are going to end life as we know it,” Flynn went on. “I can’t give a damn about those you think are worth saving, knowing how many more would pay the price.”

  Renivar did not waver. “Such a sweeping sacrifice is a necessary evil, and the last evil to ever be suffered. I do not dispute that it is reprehensible, only that it is essential.”

  “And as a god, you think yourself above such evils, Saint Renivar?” Chari stepped up to deliver her accusation. “You find fault in the conflicting moralities of humanity, yet stand arrogant enough to employ the most heinous of resolutions and think yourself uniquely qualified to eliminate any shades of gray?”

  Renivar shook his head. “It is a burden I’ve shouldered for myself. You do not understand because you’ve chosen not to.”

  “And what if it’s not us who’s chosen ignorance?” Flynn asked. “What if you’ve become dissatisfied and settled for an easy solution?”

  “Only a fool would believe there is any ease in this.”

  “You’ve expressed your disappointment with the bulk of humanity before,” Flynn replied. “But if there’s to be any collective improvement, it won’t occur overnight, let alone in a few years. It’s gradual, and you may not even recognize the results as they unfold.”

  “And how long is one expected to wait?” Renivar demanded. “So long as the wicked and cunning escape their crimes unpunished, it will serve as an example to others. Those struggling to climb from humanity’s excrement will only learn to fall harder.” He shook his head in disappointment. “I would expect such an outlook from one so desperate to save himself. The next world shall disallow men like you from ever coming to be.”

  It wasn’t like before. They shared a private audience with Renivar, who rose to a standing position. He was imposing, and though Poe was effectively his equal, he felt small before this god who rattled just to stay upright as his ethereal chains threatened to jerk him back down.

  “So can he do anything to us?” Zaja asked in a worried whisper.

  “My protection extends over all of you,” Poe assured her. “You five cannot be directly influenced by his power.”

  “Will it work?”

  “I haven’t the slightest clue,” Poe admitted.

  There was a pounding at the door behind them. It was barricaded, but the Reahv’li had caught up, and were trying to force their way in. Renivar beckoned for Poe’s advance. “I would see this over,” he requested. “I wish all of you gone.”

  Poe’s grip on his blades tightened, and he shifted to hold both at the ready. All at once, he brimmed with confidence, certain that Renivar could not outmatch him. His sins would not be wiped away, but a new destiny was waiting before him—he needed only to claim it.

  No sooner had Poe’s stride begun then his attention was drawn back to the allies at his back. Through Renivar’s will, the far walls had melded toward each other, converging in that slim space between him and them like amorphous stone.

  “Tryin’ to keep us out, fucker?!” came Jean’s muffled demand.

  The wall suddenly pulsed, nearly crumbling before it came back together and transmuted to solid steel. Poe was prepared to ignore them and advance, but the Reahv’li were coming, and he could not leave them trapped.

  It only took two strokes from his blades to slice an opening, and in that time the ground beneath him became like quicksand, and Poe was quickly sinking toward Borudust Castle’s depths. He twisted around to face Renivar as Chari rolled out beside him, firing shots. They did nothing, each bullet wound healing the instant it struck, but it provided Poe the moment he needed to climb from his snare, for he could move faster than the sand sank.

  Taryl Renivar had only begun his response, and raised his arms up, as though he were conducting an orchestra. Matter from the spire began to dissolve and swarm over him, before exploding out into a blinding sandstorm that flooded the grand chamber.

  Poe instinctively shielded his eyes, tried to peer through the deluge, and realized a mass of arrows was forming above Renivar, and the volley fired off without the need for bowmen. Neither the arrows nor the countless grains of sand pelting the air were problems in themselves, for Poe could see how each pierced the air, and knew where all were going and where all would land.

  Renivar is ignoring me, Poe realized. He targets my comrades.

  Every impulse in Poe’s body told him to advance and endure, but he instead darted to his sides, cutting the arrows in midair that they would clatter harmlessly to the floor. And while he was been distracted, Renivar had dropped to a crouch, thrusting his fingertips into the stone ground of Borudust Castle. It became like a sludge, boiling and bubbling as the gray stone turned molten red.

  “I’ve got this,” Zaja declared, sliding down and using her own magicks to force the ground to cool. She exerted with all her might, the process taking a clear physical toll on her, and for all her effort, she had only protected a small field of space around them—Renivar’s will was threatening to overtake them, and it wasn’t even wearing him down.

  And in the midst of all this chaos, the Reahv’li were still pounding at the door. It swelled from their pressure, the wood splintering, the hinges cracking as they tried to force their way in.

  “My followers, please,” Renivar called out. “Stay from this place! Do not imperil yourselves so easily!”

  Unable to advance, Poe stepped back and found himself near Flynn. “This is his power confined to this one chamber,” Poe said. “Imagine how the world might conform were he free.”

  “I don’t intend to find out,” Flynn replied. He was looking past the sandstorm, past Zaja and the molten ground, to Renivar himself. He studied the old man intensely, as if trying to probe some weakness.

  Poe had no choice—he would have to wade the molten floor and suffer the harm it would cause his flesh. The wounds would heal as soon as he emerged.

  No sooner had he taken his first step than Flynn turned away and retreated to the entrance, wrapping his arms around one of the wooden bars they’d used to keep their pursuers at bay.

  “What are you doing?!” Poe demanded.

  “Those are good people outside,” Flynn replied as he worked to unbar the entrance. “Good people will not follow orders merely because it’s the right thing to do. Good people act when needed.”

  The moment Flynn loosened the barricade, he had to fall back as the door opened and a mob of Reahv’li burst into Renivar’s chambers and drove the six further inward before overtaking them. The Living God cried once more for them to leave, but those who were able to speak only called out in support of him.

  “We shall not abandon ye, Lord Renivar!”

  “End the assassins! Do it for your families!”

  And all at once, the madness that had consumed the grand chamber retreated, for Taryl Renivar would not risk any tactic that would endanger his followers, and to that end, Flynn’s gambit had paid off. They had traded a force of overwhelming power for one of overwhelming numbers, but earth and air were both clear.

  Poe charged Renivar, easily outpacing the crowd, but something snagged his ankle, forcing him to a halt. Another wrapped around his midsection and another, his right arm, and Poe found that Renivar had willed into existence monstrous tendrils, rooted in the stone and struggling to hold him in place. Before any more could take him, Poe cut himself free and fell back, just as myriad swords erupted from the floor, where they would have impaled him thoroughly.

  He seeks to incapacitate me, Poe realized. Were I practiced, these would be no quandary, yet I cannot will myself away.

  “Bloody tossers!” Poe’s attention snapped back, and he found Shea being quickly overwhelmed. In truth, none of his allies were safe—the Reahv’li would have already won if only there were hardened killers in the bunch.

  For the moment, Poe retreated, cut
ting their attackers down left and right to reach Shea, and tearing through her assailants like paper. She had landed on her tail, and looked up at him with the same contempt she’d had on her face when they first met.

  “Thanks,” she muttered brusquely and then, wearily, used the Searing Truth to cut down another of the enemy.

  There was too much noise, too much chaos. Jean was collapsing the floor, and Renivar was just as quickly mending the damage. The Reahv’li soldiers would press their weight on one of Poe’s allies only to leave themselves open to another. And amidst the unfolding bedlam, Poe knew his chance to assassinate Renivar and claim his new destiny was rapidly diminishing. The intruders would overtake his allies and the Reahv’li’s expert killers would invade and drag Poe down with them. The path to Renivar was congested, as friend and foe alike repeatedly intruded.

  And then, in an instant, he saw it all: the flow of the crowd, where they were going and where they would be. He turned the Dark Sword over in his hand, raised it high, and hurled it through that perfect opening, the blade rotating vertically through the air toward Renivar, who would never be able to react in time.

  Not one to leave things to chance, Poe ducked and weaved through the crowd to see the deed done, and was nearly there when the blade collided, striking straight through the chest. His elation quickly turned to fury, for standing there, impaled, just inches between them, was Crescen DuMear, who had joined the fray unnoticed and placed himself between his god and certain death.

  “In service to you, my Lord,” he wheezed.

  “Crescen,” Renivar whispered in shock.

  Poe gritted his teeth and leapt upon the pedestal, catching the hilt of the Dark Sword underhand and tearing it free. He rotated on the spot, his back to Renivar’s face in a clean, underhand stroke that would see this god decapitated. Time slowed around them; it was to be done.

  “It should have been between us,” Taryl Renivar told him coldly.

  “It should have been,” Poe agreed. The intrusion of numbers had only gotten in the way for both sides.

  Guardian Poe was changed, no longer the man skulking in the woods, murdering those who came too near Heaven’s sacred gates. He was no longer the dog of a duplicitous mistress, but a higher being, and this placed him apart from those who had helped him along the way. He might not have made it to this pedestal without them, but these decisive moments should have been god to god; his blade would have struck true, he was sure of it.