by Jeff Shanley
address the Eldest? said one. He stepped forward, and his eyes were blue but shone with a golden glimmer.
“Íne,” I said, and some of my men cowered. I snapped at them, “Kneel, and it’ll be the last thing you do on this earth. I promise to make your death quick.” They immediately stood at attention.
Why have you allowed the Malicious One to consume you, Azgharáth? Íne asked me. This is precisely what I feared for you at your birth.
“You condemned me to a lifetime of misery and lowliness,” I spat. “I’ve found power beyond anything imaginable; greater even than that which lies at your heart.”
Be that as it may, mine is a power you shall never possess, Íne replied. If you continue down this road, Azgharáth, spilling the blood of your kin and blood of the Elder Beasts, you will not find the solace you crave. Is it such a burden to earn the love of your father than to take the loyalty of your people through fear?
“One thing I saw in Tisîro’s eyes as he died was fear,” I shot back, “and I tell you, Eldest, it was one of the proudest moments of my life. Kill them all.”
And with that order my men bolted forth, and they roared and howled and snarled, and soon the ground, freshly whitened by a layer of snow, was stained red with the blood of the White Wolves who dared challenge my authority. They were caught off guard, and the White Wolves scattered wildly, trying to evade the inevitable onslaught, but to no avail. Íne stared at me, the first of any being to look me in the eye and not cower before me, and I pursued him. In my wolf-form I ran with such speed that none could match me, and I barreled down on the Eldest. I held him down with my paws, and snarled with pure joy at the thought of ripping his throat. And I took my right claw and seared his chest, and the White Wolf’s snowy coat was desecrated with four lines of deep crimson. I ripped his ribs apart, and dug through to his heart, searching for that which was mine, but the Lifestone was nowhere to be found. In my rage, I snarled and clamped down on Íne’s neck, severing his head from his body. And I remembered what he said to me, and I fumed.
Mine is a power you shall never possess.
FIVE
I returned to the camp with Íne’s head in my hand and his blood running down my chest. There was no denying it: I’d been had, outsmarted by a White Wolf. But no matter. And now there was no use delaying any further.
“March on Bazôkaš now,” I commanded. “They know we’re here already; surely one of you let one of the White Ones escape. With their speed they would be at Bazôkaš within minutes. We march now.”
“But father,” said Ecálos, “some of the men are injured, many are dead from bite wounds, and—”
“I said now!” I roared. I grabbed Ecálos by the neck and flung him aside. Kalahoth leapt to my side and barked orders to the sixty-nine thousand soldiers that remained with me. And lo and behold, five thousand more Kânín, loyal to Kahacîr and thus to me, joined our ranks, and we ran headlong for Bazôkaš.
We passed over a stony knoll, and beheld the threefold city of mountain: the massive, otherworldly stalactites gave it the appearance of a maw of some great monster of legend and myth. Nevertheless that is where our path laid, and then our conquest of Mānakhašu would be unstoppable.
Horns sounded throughout the city, and in minutes Bazôgoþ’s entire army met us on the field. A hundred thousand massive Bazôkašian werewolves clashing against seventy-four thousand rebel Padakisians and Bloodwreakers (as my people were often referred to) and among them were their own brethren. I managed to slip past the vanguard with Kalahoth and Kahacîr into the city itself. Here there were fewer men of arms, but there were some guards patrolling the inner city. These were slain easily, and their blood ran through the streets of Bazôkaš just as Tisîro’s had run through his chambers the night I slew him. It took several hours to find the hidden stairway in the mountainside, but find it we did, and wound our way this way and that up the staircase and eventually into the stalactite temple of Bazôgoþ himself.
Bazôgoþ stood there with all the pomp and regality he was known for. He had no guard, like Tisîro, yet unlike Tisîro he was prepared to meet his end. But the sight of his son at my left hand unnerved him to the core, and I saw this and smiled, my teeth still stained with Íne’s blood.
“Does it surprise you that your own son knows the feebleness of your rule, brother?” I asked. “Or the folly of the Kingfather’s hold on the throne? Could it be that under that rock-hard, stone-thick skull of yours, you know that you have but two choices before you?” Here I stepped forward, relishing in a victory I knew was mine, and extended my arms. And like that, with that simplest of motions, a black sword grew out of my right wrist, and as if it were natural I immediately grasped it and held it in my hand. I was certain Bazôgoþ had caught my surprise but I played it off so well, as I remember the scene in detail.
“I know what is right, brother,” Bazôgoþ spat. “Allying yourself with some demonic force will not gain you Father’s love.”
“I don’t want it anymore!” I roared. “I don’t need it! Because I have felt the power, and the joy that fear brings to me. You don’t know what that feels like, do you?” My elder brother, massive as he was, shook his head and seemed to diminish.
“I’d rather not, brother,” Bazôgoþ replied. “We were brought here by the wisdom and grace of the Shaper—”
“To serve the White Wolves! To be pets to the favored creatures of the Shaper, when it is in fact we who are superior to them! Open your eyes before I cut them from your head!” At this, Bazôgoþ smiled.
“You would be hard-pressed to, little Az’ka.” And with that, with all his size he moved with such speed that I nearly lost sight of him, and slammed into me with such force that I knew my ribs had caved in. But I had already (somehow) recalled my black sword, and shifted into my wolf form. My ribs popped back into place and I lunged for him, gnashing and snarling. As Bazôgoþ held me at bay, I saw him undergo his own transformation. Bazôgoþ in his wolf-form was almost as tall as I was, but did not have the advantage of sheer size that I did. He was still light on his feet, however, and lunged for me. But he was not fast enough.
I stepped to the side and with powerful jaw clamped down on Bazôgoþ’s shoulder and flung him against the stone wall of his temple, and I heard the satisfying crack of his bones. He had hit the wall with such force that the thick stone had begun to crack. Nothing made me happier in that moment, than to see the mighty lord of Bazôkaš slump down, unwilling to get up and finish his own fight, all hope lost.
I shifted back into my man-form and planted my foot on his chest. And I let loose a terrible howl that shook the very foundations of the Great Peaks. Below us, I heard the people of Bazôkaš wail in fear; for they knew that their precious lord had met his end, or was about to. Bazôgoþ looked at me wearily as he shifted back into his man-form, bloody and broken.
“Azgharáth…” he said, “…please…” I could only laugh at him.
“Now you understand,” I spat. My sight reddened, and grabbed my brother and flung him out the window like a rag doll. He landed in the very midst of his own city, but thanks to the immortality of our people was still alive. No matter, a public execution is exactly what I wanted this time. I leapt from Bazôgoþ’s temple and summoned my black sword, which all marveled at. I walked slowly through the sea of faces: men, women, and children, all fearful, too fearful to say anything to their new High Lord. But High Lord I was, and they had no say in the matter, just as it was in the beginning. But I would lead our people to greatness, supremacy over all, and I was about to prove that very fact.
I stood over Bazôgoþ’s broken body, and he whimpered like a coward, for one so strong. I had never seen him cry so violently. But I relished in it.
Kahacîr stepped up and held his own father in position, and without word or formality I swung my blade in a mighty arc. There was a succulent pop, and with that, Bazôgoþ’s head fell to the ground, crimson blood flooding the patchwork pavement of the street we stood on. Kahacîr stood proud b
efore his people, my people.
“Kneel. Or die.”
That was all that needed be said. In the end, there was not one person standing in Bazôkaš. It was mine.
SIX
I had killed Íne, the Eldest of the Elder Beasts. But he did not possess a Lifestone within him. Why?
Using Bazôkaš as my principal fortress, I left my men to do as they pleased as I searched the Great Peaks for the White Wolves. The winds were searing and so cold that many times I feared that I would freeze to death. But I pressed on, and searched. For years I searched, wavering not from my path, for the Eldest had tricked me somehow, I was sure of it.
Astoundingly, my hope in Ak’horos had begun to flicker and falter, but it was only then that I fell. A bit of rock had given way to my weight and I fell for a long while, down into darkness. But I landed on my feet, and my eyes were keen at piercing the veil of darkness, and I saw all as if I carried a candle with me, a candle with a flame made of pure gold.
I was in a vast cavern within the great mountains, and the faint drip of water told me that I would find creatures living here. My ears, sensitive to sound, heard movement, and my eyes flashed.
“Who’s there?” I barked. “Show yourself, I command you!”
You command nothing, a voice said out of the
