BETRAYER: THE RISE OF AZGHARÁTH

by Jeff Shanley

had my greatest trust and love.

  The Kingfather welcomed Ecálos and Ekannar as favored grandsons; there was no sign of disgust or foreboding in his face whenever they were called to Mānakhašu. But there came a day when, after over two thousand years without a single word, he finally had the nerve to summon me to Mānakhašu, to meet with my brothers in a little family reunion I suppose. Tisîro and Bazôgoþ arrived with only a few aides and hangabouts, whereas I arrived with an army. Three thousand men made camp before the gates of the city, refusing to leave until they saw their lord return to them unharmed, for they knew how I was despised in Mānakhašu. The guards denied their entry, but my men knew better than to abandon me. And it was for that reason that I allowed them to survive.

  My two younger sons remained with my men in my stead, whereas my eldest ascended the steps of Mānakhašu with me. We entered the citadel where my father and brothers awaited us. And when they first laid eyes on my dear Kalahoth I saw fear in their eyes; the same fear Manakh had for me they had for my own son. I could not stand for this. Kingfather or not, I was not going to allow the disrespect my own flesh and blood.

  “How dare you!” I remember fuming, “How dare all of you, cowering before some inane, archaic superstition at the sight of your own family! Who do you think you are, Manakh? Tisîro? Bazôgoþ? Who!” they were appalled, and grieved at this display from me, and my rage only continued to build.

  “My entire life you have swept me aside in favor of your elder sons, Manakh. I, who was born into a bloodline of the most noble, whose name stretches back to the Sands of the East, the great Manakh of Bavhælund, shunned like a bastard. And you two…” I turned my gaze on Tisîro and Bazôgoþ, and for the first time in my own memory Bazôgoþ cowered at my rage. “We are brothers! Our bond is closer than the bond between him and us! But oh no, I am not good enough to be counted among the sons of Manakh.”

  “Restrain yourself, brother!” Bazôgoþ shouted, “You are mistaken.”

  “Am I? And now you try to show compassion? You are too late. I have suffered my burden for five thousand years. No more.” And then I felt it. In my chest I felt the searing, burning embers of those ancient fires lain in me by the Red Moon at my birth, and they scorched my innards and gave me power. My sight went crimson, and then gold, and then I saw the world in vibrant colors as if my eyes had been opened for the first time, truly the first time. And I felt reborn.

  My body swelled, and I fell to the floor panting and gasping with breaths tinged with rabidity. And I reveled in the strength that I had found, that had been blessed upon me. My clothes tore off me like rags and fell on the floor, and black fur sprouted over my skin. My bones contorted and popped as they took new shapes, and I felt more aware of myself than I had in five thousand years of mistreatment and disdain. I stood tall and proud before them on all fours as Až’karhôda the Redborn, mightiest of the Kânín.

  Manakh’s guards transformed as well, but they stood before me as naught but grey wolves, barely two feet high at the shoulder. And here I towered over them, and I was hungry…so very hungry. Kalahoth smiled and transformed as well, and here I perceived that, because he and I were both conceived of a Red Moon, that our wolf-forms were different from those of my father’s and brothers’ kin. I heard were cries of dismay in the hall. Some called us “demons”, others “monstrosities”, and yet they did not know what we knew. They did not wield the power we now wielded.

  Manakh’s guards challenged us, and without a word my precious Kalahoth leapt forward to defend his father, and tore a wolf’s head clean from its body. Blood spurted onto the floor, snaking between the tiles in crimson lines and etches, and I grabbed the other in my forepaw, hurling him out the window. My aim was so precise that I could hear the thud of the body as it impaled itself on an iron spike. I turned and stared at my father, the great Mênecoth of Kânavad, and saw fear in his eyes. And I threw out my chest and let loose a howl that echoed across the plains of Kânavad.

  The next time I saw him, I vowed to myself, I would kill him where he stood. But for now I was satisfied with that fear, fear of the realization that had he not paid any mind to that damned superstition, that he could have avoided all of this.

  As we ran to our village I thought of Íne. The “Eldest” of the Elder Beasts, these White Wolves that were worshipped by our people, he was the one who had truly made all this possible. Who was he to say who was cursed and who wasn’t? That was the answer I wanted.

  In the center of our village was a great fire-pit, with stones arranged in my personal symbol, a wolf’s claw. And it was there that I sat and meditated. The time for feasting had long since passed, and the pit was now simply five smoking holes in the ground. And there I sat, under the light of a Red Moon. It was the day of my conception, five thousand two hundred and thirty years before this night, and I marveled at how I had not known my own potential until now. I sat in silence, focusing my being on that which was beyond, which Manakh refused to see. There was a power out there, somewhere, which had bestowed incredible gifts upon my son and me. We, who were feared and reviled by our own people, by my race, had been blessed with powers beyond reckoning. And I longed to find the source of that power, to fall before it on my knees and thank it.

  Až’karhôda.

  My eyes snapped open, in fear and awe. The great wolf-claw before me burst forth in flames of the brightest red, and I savored the heat that seared my bare skin. The voice, a deep mellifluous shadow, trembled through my entire being and I knew that I had found what I had been seeking for so long.

  “Master,” I replied.

  Yes, Servant, the Voice said again. You, who were shunned even by the great Shaper, can find solace in Me. I can help you take the honor and majesty that you deserve, that has been withheld from you.

  “Yes,” I said, “you know the desires of my heart. But how?”

  I have watched over you since before you took your first breath, Servant. Born under the auspices of the Red Moon, which your people foolishly fear as an ill omen, their eyes diverted from the truth by the Shaper himself and his pet Íne, your brothers were favored above you, when you should be their equal. I can raise you above them, Servant, so that they will tremble at your name and the name of your blood. And in the end, Manakh himself will meet his doom and suffer as the mortal he once was. And he will suffer at your hand, Servant, if you will but do me one deed in return.

  “Anything,” I replied. How could I refuse to such promises? “Give me your will.” The fire shone now as gold under the Red Moon, and the heat of it increased. My new Master was pleased.

  The Elder Beasts possess something I need, Servant. Something that will allow me to abandon this immaterial plane I have been chained to since We came into Our being. I must escape, Servant. And in return for the power you seek, I would only that you gather these tools necessary for me to do so: the sacred Lifestones that the eldest ones of the Elder Beasts hold in their hearts. Seven there are; no less and no more, and it is these Seven that I need to break free of my bonds. I am Ak’horos, Servant. And you will be My instrument.

  “I am at your service, Master,” I said. And as I spoke the words the fire before me shone with the brightest orange glare, and the ancient fires within my spirit burned me terribly, and smoke poured forth from my mouth and nose and choked me to the point of death. I coughed up blood, and it stained my chest and hands. It was but a small price to pay for what I knew was before me, before my Kalahoth, and the vengeance I would have on my people. I, the noble bastard of the Kingfather, would become his undoing. I would become greater than he could ever be. I would not cower before the White Wolves, no. I would tower above them as a monument before a sculpture, and fear would be my ultimate power.

  By the will of Ak’horos, the people of Kânavad would fear me.

  THREE

  My sons had heard the commotion outside. They rushed to my side, and Kalahoth sat me up on my knees. He poured water into my mouth from his waterskin and I coughed it back u
p, red and clear. I opened my eyes and I saw Ecálos and Ekannar jump back in fear. Only Kalahoth stared in wonder. He held up a mirror to my face, and to my shock at first I saw that my eyes had become blood red where they were once white. And the irises, oh the irises, they were of the most beautiful, metallic gold one could ever conceive of. These were the eyes of one with power, blessed by the Mighty One to do his bidding. I stood to my full height and gazed down at my sons.

  “We will take this land,” I said. “Tonight, our true purpose has been revealed to me, my sons. The time of the great Kingfather Manakh is over. For too long we have sat in the shadows, feared as a cursed lot by those who would deem themselves our betters. But know this, my precious flesh and blood: that ends now.

  “They say I was not meant to be born. Well if that is the case, then neither were you. Yet here we stand, my sons, at the pinnacle of a great time. The great city of Mānakhašu will tremble in fear before the might of our armies, and their white stones will run red with the blood of our enemies.”

  “Where do we start?” Kalahoth asked me. I smiled, so proud of his willingness. Ecálos remained silent, but I could see that he and Ekannar shared the same thought, for I read their