Gods of Shadow and Flame

by M. H. Johnson

  The final man screamed, stumbled back, dropping his sword, lifting hands in helpless supplication. “Please spare me, my lord! I will serve you for all my days, I swear it!”

  Malek gazed coldly at the man, high on a furious euphoria the likes of which he had only experienced embracing the sweet madness of Shadow.

  How he hungered for the poor fool's blood, gazing at him with such terror even now.

  Eyes that pled. Eyes that had known horror and despair.

  “You work for a slaver. It is only fitting that you die by freedom's blade, scum.”

  The man's eyes scrunched up and he shook. Malek saw then that he was little more than a boy himself. "I am indentured to him. My father heard he was a trader, took good care of his sailors. Captain pays my family regular as clockwork! If I dared to leave, if I dared to confess what the captain did to anyone, my throat would be cut, and my family would pay the price. Please, my lord, please don't kill me!"

  The young man's eyes lit with desperate hope. Malek shuddered, his furious, glorious bloodlust suddenly chilled by doubt.

  By guilt.

  When the lad took his chance, scurrying up and dashing away, Malek chose to let him go.

  The captain roared furious curses then, Malek only noting then that the fast sailing cutter was free of its moorings, and rapidly slipping away from the docks.

  "Enjoy your feast of blood, you damned hellion. I won't trouble your lair again, and that's a promise!" The captain flashed a bitter salute, and the whimpers of the children trapped on board tore at what was left of Malek's soul. Without thinking he backed up, giving himself distance for a running jump, determined to board that ship.

  The captain saw what he was doing and mocked him. "Bloody fool! No man can jump that far. You'll sink like a stone with that armor, so be my guest!" Dark laughter turned to a breathless gasp. Eyes widening in sudden terror, he stumbled back even as with a terrible plank splitting crash Malek made the jump, howling like an animal, ready to cleave the captain's head in twain.

  Desperately, the captain wrenched one of the captive children who screamed at his touch, cruelly pressing the tip of his unsheathed dagger to the girl’s neck. She sobbed in desperate terror even as the panicked slaver ripped the sack from her head.

  “Look, you damned bastard! Look into her eyes! If you come any closer, I’ll kill her! I swear I will! And you can stare at her pretty little face while she chokes to death on her own blood!”

  The man’s nostrils flared in sudden triumph as Malek suddenly paused. “There, you bastard! Now back the hell up and get off my ship, or I’ll see all these pretties dead. Just you watch!”

  Desperately, Malek fought for control of the madness consuming him, so bitterly did he want to charge and cleave the vile man's head from his body, the foul captain preying upon the most vulnerable of victims even as strutted about his ship, dressed like a courtier in his den of horror. The girl's haunted gaze quelled Malek's wrath such that he could force cold thought upon his hot brow once more, and think. Carefully he looked for the words he needed to say.

  “If you kill her, I will gut you and leave you to squirm in your own entrails. No quick death for you,” Malek hissed.

  The desperate man before him shook, obviously taking his threat seriously. Now was the time to say the terrible words he must, no matter whether it horrified the wide-eyed girl trapped in the slaver's embrace or no.

  Malek's smile held the grim promise of death. "So perhaps that means I should just impale you both through the gut with my blade. She, at least, I will grant a clean, merciful death, even as I let you writhe and kick upon the planks, showing mercy only to your men, should they bring us back to port, allowing them to flee with their skins intact!" These last words he directed at the panicked looking sailors who had discreetly taken the time to race up the mast webbing, as if for their very lives.

  “How many of your cohorts lay butchered upon the dock for daring to cross me? Do any of you think you can survive if you dare the same?” He gazed up at the panicked men. “What say you, sailors? Captain dies horribly at your feet, you bring me and the children back to port, and you all get to sail away again with your lives and the ship to call your own, so long as I never see your faces again.”

  Desperate gazes peered down at him, some few even venturing a cautious nod. "We shall do as you say, my lord!" cried one. "Please spare us our lives, we are but trying to earn the coin for our keep."

  As much as his hot wrath wanted to show them exactly what he thought of their method of ‘earning their keep', well aware his inhuman Delver's strength and dread blade together could like as not cleave through the central mast entire, shattering it with one terrible blow, he forced icy discipline to constrict his terrible rage. He knew next to nothing about ships, and needed the fools to sail the children back to safety.

  “Excellent! Sail us back this instant, if you would save your own skins.” Malek’s grin was a cold, savage thing as he very slowly approached the captain. “I guess it’s time for us to end this, you piece of pustulent filth.”

  “Back away, mad man! I have this girl in my arms!” The pugnacious captain’s breath started to come in short ragged gasps, eyes widening in terrified disbelief as a coldly smiling Malek plodded toward him step by step, the captain stumbling back and squealing at last, and Malek grinned. He had rolled the dice and come out victorious. The slaver was too terrified to make good on his threat and kill the only thing keeping him safe from the dread berserker before him.

  The poor child screamed as well, her face pale, her entire shaking with terror. “Please don’t let him kill me! Please, I just want to go home!” Malek stopped then, giving vent to a coldly amused chuckle.

  “Ah, such a cowardly captain. I do believe I find you almost amusing.” He allowed a cruel grin to play upon his features. “Very well then, captain. Amuse me. What will you offer me for your life?”

  The man blinked, gasping as if his heart was racing, which Malek could tell it was. "I will give you gold. All the gold I possess, if you but spare me, my lord." The man grimaced, not even trying to bargain, simply clinging to the desperate hope of light at the end of the dark tunnel of madness his night had become. "But you must give me your oath as a Delver to spare my life in turn!"

  Malek flashed a fearsome grin. “Done. Your life for all your gold. And I’m keeping the children.”

  "Yes, my lord." The Shaking captain even then trying to stand once more nodded in frantic agreement. "Men! Back to the docks, lest you'd rather be impaled by this man's sword!"

  Desperately his crew stove to do just that, adjusting sails and tiller till they were headed once again towards port, though slower going it was, as they had to tack against the wind and make their way upstream, though a river as vast and wide as the one Barlton adjoined had a lazy enough current that Malek expected no trouble, and the sailors dared not fake it.

  Malek kept a careful eye on all of them, forcing the captain to unmask and untie all of the children. He left his serpentine greatsword unsheathed, radiating as it did awful energies even the captain could sense, serving as all the reminder the slaver needed of his fate, should he dare betray the savage killer before him.

  After what felt like an endless period of time, though he knew it had been but a fraction of a glass, ever alert for treachery, Malek and the freed children stood upon the docks once more, the little ones dressed far too shabbily for the fierce winter night.

  The captain faced Malek upon the boarding plank, face a caricature of a grin as he tossed a small silken pouch that clinked with the mellow sound of gold. Malek caught it with one mailed fist, having no need to open it. For he knew it was indeed filled with gold, and nothing else. His acutely sensitive nose actually seemed to smell the metal.

  Malek flashed a fierce grin, suddenly exultant. For the nervous trickle of sweat running down the captain’s temple was all the evidence he needed to know he was free to do what his dark heart most desired at that moment. No oath bound him
now.

  “Well then, I suppose that concludes our business.” The captain’s expression became almost contrite. “We will not venture to Barlton again, nor any city claimed by the Guild, of that you have my promise.” The man gave a final nod before turning around to address his crew.

  Malek chuckled darkly, and the captain lurched, backing up in sudden fear as the source of his dread sprung upon his deck once more, terrible blade in hand. The captain raised his shaking arms in mute appeal, voice squeaking with terror as his eyes helplessly tracked the terrible blade glowing such a fierce hot crimson, as if he could feel it hungering for his very soul. “I gave you my gold and sailed you back to shore! You swore to let me go, on your oath as a Delver!”

  Malek’s grin was as savage as his roaring heart. “It had been on one condition, ‘captain’. That you hand me all your gold. All of it! And I can tell just be gazing at your panicked grin, just by listening to your racing heart, that you gave me but a fraction! So clever you thought you were.”

  Malek’s eyes lit with a killer’s glee as the man desperately clawed at a silken pouch he had concealed upon his doublet, trembling hands imploring Malek to take it. Coldly, Malek shook his head, refusing the gold. "By all means, keep your gold. For it gives me license to do this!" And before the captain could squeal a single word of protest, Malek had expertly run him through. The gasping captain stumbled back in shock even as Malek viciously tore free his sword, his enemy's guts rupturing forth in a mess of coiled entrails and blood. With a final warning glare for the panicked sailors, he leaped back to shore, even as the captain screamed and writhed, futilely trying to hold in his spilling intestines.

  The shivering children gazed at Malek and his terrible gore-spattered blade in speechless horror.

  As their terrified gazes met his own, a fierce sense of loathing hit Malek with such sudden force he fought not to crash to his knees.

  He had just run a man through, right in front of their eyes. Not to defend or protect them, but simply because he wanted the man dead. His heart was not that of a hero, but a killer looking for a reason to shed some blood.

  “Gods' wrath.” Malek heard one of the sailors whisper.

  “Demon from Hell,” cursed another.

  Malek turned about, eyes like frozen chips of stone. “Never let me see your faces again.” Frantic nods were all he received, none daring even to look his way as they worked in a frenzy to adjust their sails and be off, obviously wanting to be as far as they could from the blood-soaked docks upon which so many of their number had met their end.

  34

  The air was biting cold. Malek blinked, suddenly aware that he had allowed his mind to wander with the madness of it all, even if for but a moment. Behind him steamed the desiccated remains of slavers he had slaughtered with vicious fury, before blade and magics acted like the darkest of conduits, feasting upon their very life force, draining them utterly dry. He prayed, at the least, that he had not feasted upon their very souls, the one line Morlekai's inhuman gaze forebode him to cross. But in truth, he couldn't be sure.

  Before him stood a dozen children staring at him with expressions ranging from relief to terror. The girl who had been held by the captain was whimpering, as if afraid he would hurt her even now.

  Malek sighed, quickly cleaning his blade with a single act of will, blood and entrails absorbed entire by the dread blade, and Malek could feel its warm glow of contentment.

  He tried a smile.

  Several of the children whimpered and backed away.

  He sighed. “Let’s try this again. Whatever you may think of me, the people in that ship were going to let very bad things happen to you. I didn’t want that to happen, so I stopped them. They didn’t like that, and so they drew blades against me.” His grin was fierce despite his best intentions. “And I happen to be a very good swordsman. Not a nice swordsman, but a good one. There is a difference.”

  "You were going to let him kill me!" This from the girl who had been so savagely used by the captain, bursting into tears. Malek's heart ached, but he dare not approach her and hold her, lest she scream and bolt and all of them start running off in terror, easy prey for whatever other predators were out there on a night like this, to say nothing of them dying of exposure.

  "That's not true," Malek soothed. "I had to make him think I was willing to do anything to get to him, so that his fear would force him to make a bargain with me he really didn't want to make, that being to sail back to the docks and free you all. I had to scare him, in order to trick him into letting you go. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  Several of the children nodded. He noticed how frail they looked, and realized that all other conversation had to be put on hold. "Come." He offered his most human smile. This time they did not shy back. "You have been through a terrible ordeal. Let me take you someplace with hot food, warm baths, and comfy beds for the night, and tomorrow we will try to find your parents."

  He received tentative nods at this, faces alight with desperate hope, though a couple still looked forlorn. He would address that. He sensed those children’s situation might be particularly dire. But first, he needed to verify what his bloodmagic and nose already told him was true. Heart racing, he tentatively locked gazes with one of the girls hiding in back of the others, gazing at him cautiously with brilliant blue eyes that looked so like her sister’s.

  “Sweetheart, is your name Jacey?”

  The girl's eyes widened and she gave a cautious nod. Malek felt a wave of relief crash through him. "Thank the gods. Your mother wanted me to look for you. She misses you very much."

  Eyes alight with desperate hope, she ran over to Malek, torn between reaching out to hold him, and fear of his gore-spattered armor. His cloak, unfortunately, was a distant memory.

  Slowly, Malek bent himself down, gently stroking the girl’s dirty brown tresses. It broke his heart to see her shivering in the cold. He could see that she was almost as thin as her sister, and feared illness could be her death.

  “Wait but a moment.” All the children solemnly nodded, none even daring to move as he went over to the bodies of the fallen slavers, plucking free cloaks from piles of desiccated flesh, in some cases no more than crumbled ash. Malek found it strange to see hands that had so calmly wielded an instrument of such devastation were now shaking, forced as he was to confront the remains of his own savagery. He grimaced and bore it, taking what he needed, wrapping the children in pairs within the comfort of those seized cloaks, mute protests at the origins of the blood-stained cloaks overruled by their own body's desperate need to keep warm.

  Malek gave a small nod of satisfaction at his now far better protected flock of waifs, leading them down the thoroughfare towards the market. "Come, children. Tonight? We rest at the Guildhall, where you will be able to eat all the tasty meat pies, roasts, and fillets you could desire. With lots of cold milk to wash it down, and all the potatoes and cheese wedges you could ask for!"

  The children's eyes widened with wonder at the very thought of such a feast. And all of them, Malek realized, looked half-starved and wore clothing little better than rags. It sickened him to see firsthand just how vulnerable the children of destitute families were. "Come," he smiled. "Food and feather soft beds await."

  It was then that one of the children screamed. “A monster!”

  In desperate panic they all huddled around Malek even as he carefully drew his blade, gazing at the object of their terror, a fierce bear of a man with beard and hair of brilliant crimson, covered in armaments forged of darkest nightmare. A spiked shield seemingly constructed of ebony and moonlight was casually held in one hand, even as his other twirled about a wicked axe Malek did not doubt could bite through flesh, bone, and steel with equal ease.

  To say he looked as fierce and terrible as any northern berserker would almost be an understatement. Malek, of course, resheathed his sword, gazing at his friend almost apologetically. “Hello Alacabar. Fancy meeting you out here.”

  “Bl
oody Hells, Malek. I heard your roar all the way from the Guildhall! What, by the five saints, are you doing out here?” He blinked. “And why are there a dozen waifs all clustered around you?”

  Malek sighed. “It’s a bit of a story, and these children are as like as not to die of exposure before the telling. What’s say we head to the Guildhall and discuss it on the way?”

  Alacabar gave a curt nod and Malek spared no details as he conveyed the happenings as succinctly as he could, in the same way as any scout would, reporting back to his commander.

  "Saints above, boy. If you had that strong a sense something was wrong, like a hound whining to be let off the leash because he catches a scent, why didn't you say anything? You should have told me. Or dare I say it, the Guildmaster. He can play these subtle games far better than you or I."

  "I'm not so sure that the Guildmaster likes me," Malek admitted sheepishly. "Besides. I didn't really have any clear sense what was wrong. I just felt like something was off. Horribly off. It was like an itch, driving me crazy. And those dreams I had, Alacabar. Children crying out, trapped in darkness. Honestly, I only fixated on that Riskordian consortium's clamor for apprentices just on the off chance something was fishy." Malek shrugged. "My search seemed pointless, so few people would even talk to me, and just when I'm about to head back, I chance upon a woman who really had lost her child." He gently stroked young Jacey's locks even as he said the words, she having somehow managed to find the courage to hold his hand far earlier in their walk, now whimpering when he tried to let go.

  Alacabar nodded. “And with a Delver’s luck, you actually managed to spring upon a slaver’s cutter just as they were making off with their goods.” He turned to gaze intently at Malek. “Did you at least clean up, boy?”