by Jeff Shanley
minds. Ekannar opened his mouth but before he even had a chance to speak, I lashed out and grasped his throat.
“Do not tell me that you doubt your father?” I said. “Do not tell me that you would have us kneel like peasants before Manakh and beg his forgiveness?”
“No, father!” he gasped. “I only wondered how we will do this thing you ask of us?” At this I released him. He had chosen his words carefully, a wise decision on his part. For once.
“You and your brother are not as widely despised as Kalahoth and myself,” I said. “Send word to your cousins Yehâgaf and Kahacîr. Use their fathers’ immortality to foment their bloodlust for power. They will be loyal to you, and if they hope to live they will be loyal to me. They command vast armies in the names of their fathers, let us make them our armies.
“My sons, we will march on Padakis at first light. Yehâgaf and Kahacîr will either swear loyalty to me and the will of Ak’horos, or they will die.”
“And what of the Kingfather?” said Ecálos, “Surely you do not think he will stand for this.” I smiled, reveling in my reply.
“When all is said and done my dear boy, Manakh will not be standing at all.”
We were in Padakis on the next full moon, and while Kalahoth and myself remained hidden in the underbrush just outside the city’s high walls, Ecálos and Ekannar were sent in to fetch Yehâgaf.
Padakis was a relatively flat city compared to Mānakhašu and Bazôkaš; Tisîro was never one to boast. Pity, had he been more of a brother to me he might have been spared. No matter. There was an outer wall of the city that stretched from the southern edge of the Bay of Tisîr, seven miles long and five miles wide. The buildings were small and square, more akin to huts than even the ramshackle houses of my own pack. The wall was very high, at least a hundred feet and it was topped with an array of black iron spikes. A perfect place for my eldest brother’s head once all was said and done.
Ecálos, Ekannar and Yehâgaf emerged from the tall wrought-iron gate after a few hours. The full, white Moon was now beginning to set. I noticed that Yehâgaf was fearful of his plight, which tickled me with amusement.
Yehâgaf was tall and had short hair; it only fell down to his shoulders. As the eldest son of the eldest son of the Kingfather, he was prone to lavish living and enjoyed the largest harem in Kânavad. He wore only the finest robes and rarely assumed his wolf-form, if ever. He would not be so fortunate if he were my son.
“Uncle Az’ka?” he whimpered in the moonlight. Enraged, I backhanded him. He trembled to his feet, crimson seeping through his fingers.
“Do not address me as such, I am your elder,” I said. He looked upon me and, after staring me directly in my eyes for a moment, cowered in fear, pleading for his life. “Silence,” I spat, “do you wish to rule or not? I’m sure your brother would be a more suitable replacement than you, you simpering cur.”
“No, no!” Yehâgaf replied. “I am at your bidding, my lord. To whatever end you think best.” A smile played at my lips.
“The end of Manakh,” I growled. “What say you?” Yehâgaf was stunned. He could not speak, his eyes widened in fear yet again. Foolish boy.
“What say you?!” I fumed. “Do you wish to serve an immortal life under your father and worthless Kingfather, cowering in fear before the White Wolves whenever we so much as think for ourselves? Do you? Or do you wish to rule your own people, where your word is law? Swear to me, my dear nephew, and I shall see it done.”
Yehâgaf nodded shakily.
“Swear in blood.” And from my cloak I pulled a black knife, given to me by Manakh himself. The ultimate blasphemy, I thought at first, but then relished it, for I knew it had been given to me for this purpose. I handed the blade to Yehâgaf and rolled back his silk sleeve. The boy looked at me, then to his cousins, frightened. Kalahoth stared, no remorse in his eyes, Ak’horos bless him.
“Do it, cousin,” he said. “It is the will of Ak’horos.” At the mention of the Master’s name Yehâgaf’s eyes glazed over, and seemingly of a will not his own, he slashed his arm. Kalahoth glanced at me and smiled. He stepped forward.
“Yehâgaf, Lord of Padakis, you swear on your own blood your allegiance and servitude to Azgharáth the Great, High Lord of the Kânín, and Exalted One of Ak’horos the Mighty.”
“I swear,” Yehâgaf replied.
“You swear your fealty and armies to him and him alone, and forsake all allegiances to the Elder Beasts and Manakh Kingfather.”
“I swear.”
“And you swear this for all your immortal life, until your dying day.”
“I swear it all.”
I smiled, and embraced my nephew with all the love I could pretend to have for him. Yehâgaf was shaken and disturbed, but he could not turn back now. He knew that as well as I did. I donned a black hood and took Yehâgaf by the shoulder.
“Escort me to your father, nephew,” I said, “I would have words with him.” Yehâgaf nodded blankly and walked me through the gate.
The streets were finely paved with molded slabs of granite, and bronze lampposts adorned the edges here and there. I always marveled at the simplistic grandeur of the design. Near to the north of the city was a large fortress four hundred feet tall and made of grey stone. There were parapets and balustrades all around it, and with my newly keen vision in the light of the full moon I could see guards both of man and wolf forms patrolling the towers. It was in the deep of night, and there were few people in the streets; there was almost no need for my hood to cover my face but all the same, one had to be careful.
We made our way through the streets: I, Yehâgaf at my side, Kalahoth at my right, and Ecálos and Ekannar behind us. No one paid us any mind, and getting to the fortress was easier than I would have imagined had I considered doing this during the day. By now Tisîro was undoubtedly content to sleep in his chambers, or study the ancient texts of Manakh’s previous life. Though he was of my blood, Tisîro now held no familial bond in my mind. He was just an adversary to be exterminated.
“Wait,” I said as we stopped at the tall wooden doors to Tisîro’s fortress. “I will do this myself, so that they will know who did this deed.” Kalahoth nodded, and took Yehâgaf back by the shoulder, holding him in place with a powerful grip. Yehâgaf whimpered as I laid my hand on the door.
“You’re not cowering out now, are you?” I asked. He shook with fear, but he also shook his head. I smiled and opened the door.
The air within the fortress was cool and dry, funneled by large vents and shafts laid into the walls. These cool breezes came from the great bay to the north, and were probably the reason Tisîro chose this place for his city to begin with. He was an admirable architect, I had to give him credit for that. No matter, the city was already mine anyway.
I ascended the winding stairs to a large, ornate corridor three hundred feet above the ground. The walls were decked with ancient parchments and scrolls of papyrus and animal skins, which had been painted over with scenes of ancient battles and buildings. The strange script composed of scratches and grooves, which Manakh had used during his time before in Bavhælund, adorned several large bronze and stone slabs. At the end I saw a door, slightly ajar, and within that room was the flicker of a candle. And with my mind’s eye I sensed my eldest brother within that room.
I put my hand out and the door swung in without a sound, but Tisîro jumped at the sensation of being disturbed. His eyes flashed yellow, and he growled at me in disgust.
“What do you want, Bloodwreaker?” he demanded. “I don't recall inviting you here. After what you did, defying Father, spitting in his face and shaming our entire family. You are an abomination, Azgharáth! You should have never been born!”
“But nevertheless I was, dear eldest,” I replied. I stepped toward him, and Tisîro backed himself into a corner, the fool. “And now I have been blessed with a gift that you could not have imagined in your wildest dreams.”
“You speak of gifts, I speak of curses,” Tisîro spat. “You are taint
ed by a dark shadow, little Az’ka. You know not of gentleness or love.”
“I have never known gentleness or love!” I roared, and it was so powerful that Tisîro was flung back against the wall, which cracked. The candle fell, and his lavish carpet caught fire. Tisîro looked up at me as the light danced across and brightened the room, and shrunk back in fear at the sight of my eyes. As I had hoped he would.
“You…this cannot be…” he said, “What has become of you?” I smiled, and fell on all fours, panting and growling with bloodlust begging to be unleashed upon my enemies, in service to my Master. My body once again swelled, my bones popped as black hair sprouted along my body. Tisîro transformed as well, but his was of no avail, for he was no larger than Manakh’s guards. I roared with unadulterated rage, and he and I slammed into each other, the fire encircling us as it consumed everything within the chamber: carpets, couches, curtains, all of it went up in flames.
Tisîro had much strength in him; he was the eldest of Manakh’s children after all. He roared and clawed at me, and bit me fiercely and wounded my side. But I fought back, and with my great forepaws grasped his neck and choked him violently. His tongue lolled, and I squeezed tighter until I finally heard what I had been longing to hear for millennia: the faint pop as his neck snapped. For good measure, I sank my teeth into his chest and
