Death of the Immortal King

by Sarah McCarthy

  Jedren glanced at Kallia, who nodded. He reached out and took the blade, expecting the man to attack. He didn’t. Instead, he got to his knees and prostrated himself on the ground in front of him.

  “Please allow me to serve you,” Ryn said, his face pressed into the dirt of the road.

  Was this a trick? Had some signal passed between the captain and this man that Jedren had missed?

  “What do you think you’re going to do?” Jedren asked.

  “Whatever the Black God wishes,” Ryn said. “If he wishes temples destroyed, then I will help destroy them. If he wishes those with black eyes killed, I will help you do his bidding.”

  Jedren slipped the man’s sword into his belt. “All right. Well, you can start by gathering up those horses, and whatever coin those men had.”

  Ryn scrambled to do as he was told, and Jedren, one eye trained on the man, went to Kallia. Her eyes were red-rimmed, from smoke and from tears.

  “I’m sorry,” he breathed.

  She took a deep breath. “I told you I’m with you. I—I don’t like this. But I’m here.”

  He nodded, and he felt the yawning chasm between them. Then she reached across it and took his hand. Her fingers were cold, and he wrapped them gently in his own.

  11

  Jedren

  The next day they arrived at a town on the coast, a small fishing village with spindly docks stretching out into the choppy sea. Great cliffs rose on either side, streaked with bird droppings and dotted with nests. The sky was filled with birds wheeling, calling, and diving into the ocean to scoop up sardines.

  Jedren sent Ryn to scout the temples while he and Kallia sold the horses.

  They got a fairly good price for the horses, then wandered the quay together, looking down into the seaweed-choked waves lapping the pebbly beach. Kallia’s hand felt loose, empty, in his own, and he glanced at her, watching the wind blow her hair in front of her face.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “No,” she said. “But I don’t have a good answer. I don’t know what to do.” She looked away, back up the streets, packed with visitors to the town’s weekly market. “Let’s not talk about it.”

  “All right. Whatever you want.” He squeezed her hand, then cast about for something else to talk about. “You hungry?” She shrugged one shoulder, but then nodded.

  That night, Jedren waited until late before climbing carefully out of bed, trying not to wake Kallia. He stood contemplating her bare back for several moments. Her shoulders were tense.

  “I’ll be back soon,” he whispered, but she didn’t answer. He turned and slipped out the door.

  There was no large, stone temple in the town, only small wooden shrines, and altars recessed into steps. Jedren and Ryn disassembled the shrines, pulling apart the spindly altars, gathering the candles and clay figures and casting them into the sea. Jedren found a lone fisherman sitting out on the docks, contemplating the reflection of the moon on the sea’s surface, and sent him quickly to Yqtos.

  Ryn had travelled more than either Jedren or Kallia, and Jedren tasked him with finding their routes between towns, making sure they were never caught out in the open alone. Jedren made it clear what would happen to Ryn if that happened. Ryn, unruffled, only bowed and agreed.

  Word travelled quickly, though, and it wasn’t long before they arrived at a town to find the gates locked and barred, a contingent of guards pointing spears down at them.

  “You’re not welcome here, demon,” a guard with a long, braided beard said.

  Ryn stepped forward. “My lord and master Jedren is a servant of Yqtos himself, creator and destroyer of all. Do you defy the gods?”

  “I defy crazy people who burn down cities.”

  “The god of death has a commandment for you. He commands that you destroy every false idol, every temple to the false gods. That, and one sacrifice, is all that we ask of you. Give us this, and we will leave you in peace.”

  Three bowmen appeared on the walls, arrows nocked and aimed for Jedren. Kallia stood silently at his side. He took a step sideways, placing his body between her and the archers.

  “Surrender now,” Ryn continued, “and we will spare you.”

  “Be on your way and stop bothering us and maybe we’ll let you live,” the bearded man countered.

  “Very well,” Ryn said. He and Kallia began to back away, out of the range of the archers. Jedren waited, his palms itching in anticipation.

  First four men, then six, now an entire contingent of guards inside a walled city? How far did the god’s gift go? Without giving himself any more time to think, Jedren ran for the walls, the arrows singing past him. His hands found holds, his feet scrabbled against the smooth sides, but somehow, seconds later, he was at the top.

  Thirty-four minutes later, the town was in flames, streams of men and women poured out of it from all sides. Jedren stood gasping, his heart pounding with power. Something wet trickled down the side of his face and he lifted his hand to find a horrible gaping wound where his ear had been. Strangely he felt no pain, but his stomach rolled over. Kallia ran to him, carrying strips of cloth, which she began binding about him, trying to staunch the blood flow.

  “It’s all right, I’m all right,” he said, but let her bind the wound. A wave of dizziness washed over him.

  She didn’t speak, only tied the bandage more tightly.

  Three men approached through the smoke, their eyes wide with fear. One by one they knelt in front of Jedren and offered him their swords.

  Ryn nodded in satisfaction. “All hail the one true God,” he said. “Praise Yqtos.”

  Jedren surveyed the tops of the heads before him. He didn’t want followers. Didn’t need them. But the longer he marched, the more enemies he was going to make. At the very least, that captain had said he would be back. It seemed likely he’d be back with an army. A dull ache throbbed on the side of his head. Followers meant protection, meant he’d never again find himself alone with only Kallia out in the barren expanse between cities.

  “All right,” he said. “I accept your service.”

  12

  Alydren

  Captain Alydren wasted no time. He rode at breakneck speed back to his ruined town, gathered what men he could, and thundered on. He didn’t know how many he would need. How many men would it take to defeat the scion of the god of death? Could this demon even be defeated? He would need to consult the head priestess of the order of Numenos, the wise scholars of the orders of the other gods as well. He needed to know if this had ever happened before, if this creature could be defeated and, if so, how.

  He went to the ancient library in Wight, down into the catacombs of the island of Hardwick, and up to the mountain fortresses of Tarith. But nowhere was there anything written of something like this. The gods and goddesses had always had champions, had sometimes given them gifts or aid, but very little was written about the god of death himself. There were no temples to him, no priests or priestesses dedicated to his worship.

  Research was not the captain’s strong suit, and finally, he came to the conclusion that this creature must be defeated like any other. By the swords of good men.

  And all this time, he received reports of the growing strength of Jedren’s army.

  I’ve learned nothing. Captain Alydren thought. I should have stayed that day and fought him. I’ve let him build an army. Another voice in the back of his mind answered. If you had stayed, he would have killed you, too.

  It was time. Enough research. Now was the time to gather the army that would defeat this monster.

  13

  Jedren

  “A carriage, Jed, really?” Kallia said, smiling, her hand resting gently on her swollen belly. “I’m not an invalid.”

  “No, but it’s a surprise,” Jedren said, peeking out past the heavy curtains as the carriage bumped along. He glanced back at her and grinned.

  The carriage jolted to a stop and she reached for the door handle. “No, wait,” he said,
leaping out into the bright sunlight and coming around to the other side. He opened the door and reached up, taking her hand to help her out. As she descended, her gaze swept the landscape. They were high on a rocky outcrop overlooking the sea. They’d come to this island at Ryn’s suggestion; it was less than a day’s sail from Kreiss, the largest city. Once they conquered it, he said, the other cities would fall in line. The last of the temples would soon be destroyed, and all Jedren would have to worry about was the single daily sacrifice.

  She stopped when she saw it, her head tilting upwards to take in its full height.

  “I told you I’d get you one,” he said, barely able to suppress his glee.

  “Er, yes…” she laughed. “And I told you I didn’t need one.”

  “True,” he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and placing one hand gently on her belly. “But it might be nice to have now.”

  The castle was smaller than he’d imagined, somewhat drafty and stark, but it commanded sweeping views of the ocean and the surrounding part of the island. No one could approach from land or sea without at least a day’s warning, and the castle was well-stocked, had gardens and a well, and was surrounded by a wide moat. None of that had saved its previous occupants, but Jedren didn’t hold that against it.

  “Let me show you around,” he said, taking her hand and leading her across the drawbridge. Their contingent of Jedren’s most trusted guards followed at a safe distance, two scouting ahead.

  He showed her the battlements, the wide halls. “We can cover these with tapestries, of course,” he said anxiously as she ran her fingers across the cold, bare walls.

  He showed her the gardens. “Immune to siege. And beautiful,” he joked, but she stared at the flowers, saying nothing.

  Finally, looking out the windows of one of the towers, she turned her light green eyes to him. “It’s beautiful, Jed, thank you.”

  He waited for the rest.

  “I have something to ask you.”

  “Anything.”

  She leaned against the windowsill, one hand massaging her lower back.

  “I’d like a room of my own here.”

  “Of course.” His face split into a wide smile. “You can have all the rooms. The whole castle is yours.” He threw up his hands, gesturing widely.

  “What I mean is, I would like a room where I know you will not go. Some place you will never ask me about.”

  “What do you—” he caught himself. He took in her tense face; her eyes darted away from his every few seconds. Why would she want this? Immediately, his mind supplied the answer. The gods. The temples. He tried to push the thought out of his mind. If he knew the answer, he would have to destroy whatever she built. No. There were a million things she could want to keep there. Books. Secret lovers. Of course he wasn’t enough for someone as beautiful as she was. The black fist clenched around his heart, grinding into his arteries, but he ignored it, placing his hands on his wife’s waist he smiled. “Of course. Don’t even tell me where it is. I will go no where in this castle unless you tell me I can. You decide which rooms will be ours, and I will stay there.”

  She smiled a tight smile, worry lines crinkling around her eyes. He loved that face so much, loved how well he knew it, how much of her thoughts and her heart he could see in its every expression. He ran a hand through her hair, rubbing his thumb along her temple. Her face relaxed, the lines smoothing.

  “Thank you.”

  “Any time.” He leaned in and kissed her, feeling closer to her than he had in weeks, ignoring the seed of worry, that nagging sense of wrongness in the back of his mind.

  14

  Alydren

  One Year Before the Reign of the Mandrevecchian.

  Alydren knew that if he showed up at one of the larger towns, with only the four men he’d gathered so far, that no one would take him seriously. He had to start small and work his way up. Gather a small army and use it to convince the larger cities to join him. Which was why he found himself tying up in a tiny little coastal village a few days’ sail from Glynloch.

  “Excuse me, sir?” He addressed an old, very tan man sitting on the dock, twisting bits of twine together into fishing line.

  The man grunted around the piece of thread he was holding in his mouth.

  “We come with urgent news, who is in charge around here?”

  “You’ll want to talk to Hugen,” the man said, removing the thread from his mouth and squinting at it. “Kyeg family runs things around here. He’s the oldest.”

  Alydren bowed. “Thank you. Where can I find him?”

  The man shrugged his leathery shoulders. “Maybe up chopping wood with the rest of ‘em.”

  Alydren nodded to his men to stay with the boat and made his way up through the mostly deserted village. A few chickens scratched in the dirt; a woman called out a greeting from the little garden around her cottage.

  He passed one particularly ramshackle dwelling, it looked like it had mostly collapsed. Out front a slim young woman sat on a rain barrel, her long legs dangling, her feet bare. Alydren tried not to stare, but there was something haunting about her eyes. Her face was delicate, but those eyes were iron. She met his gaze and watched him as he passed. He could still feel her watching him as he made his way up the road.

  The steady thump of axes grew louder and louder as he approached the edge of the forest. There came a great splitting crack, and a huge crash that shook the ground, and the pounding ceased. There, ahead, a group of men approached the newly fallen tree.

  “Excuse me,” Alydren said, and they turned to stare at him.

  “Is one of you Hugen?”

  An old, straight-backed man, skinny but with powerful muscles, turned, gripping an axe. “That’s me.”

  “My name is Captain Alydren, of Eastfall. I’d like to speak with you.”

  “Well, looks like you are, aren’t you?”

  The men around him snickered.

  Alydren didn’t bat an eyelid. “Thank you. I’ve come about the raids. I’m sure you’ve heard they’ve picked up recently.”

  “Aye.” He tossed the axe idly into the air and caught it again.

  “Glynloch has already been destroyed, as have several other towns. This isn’t just another group of raiders. This is… something different. The man leading them is some sort of demon. Claims he’s working for the god of death.”

  There were some raised eyebrows around the group now.

  “And you want what from us?”

  “I’m putting together a militia. He needs to be stopped. I’d like your help. But also, he’s coming this way. He’s been gathering followers for months now.”

  “Just like you’re gathering followers?”

  “I’m not destroying temples to the gods or murdering innocents.”

  “You know how many times someone like you has approached me?”

  Alydren’s eyebrows furrowed. There were others like him? “You mean to fight this monster?”

  Hugen tossed the axe and it embedded in the trunk of the fallen tree.

  “Doesn’t matter what kind of monster. This or that. Some town leader getting too powerful for their neighbor’s liking. Everybody’s got a cause,and everybody wants my help.”

  “This isn’t some—”

  “It never is. Whatever it is, it’s always the most important thing to somebody. It’s always some new, terrible threat. And you know what? It never has been.”

  “This is—”

  “When I was young, the first time this happened, know what I did?”

  Alydren shook his head.

  “I took it at face value. I gathered my men—my family—and I rushed over there, and we won. And a third of my boys died. And for what? Do you think we saw any benefit from that?”

  “I’m sure you didn’t,” Alydren said, raising his voice, cutting across the older man’s speech. “And I’m sorry. But this is different. The demon is coming this way. He doesn’t come from some rival town. He says he has orders from
Yqtos to destroy every temple to every other god but him.”

  “You think we haven’t been attacked before?”

  “I’m sure you have.”

  “You see a pile of rubble? Are we all dead?”

  “I’m sure you’re strong. That’s why I need your help.”

  “Flattery won’t get you anywhere, young man.”

  “What will?”

  “Nothing. We’re not interested in what you’re selling.”

  Alydren ran a hand through his hair and helplessly scanned the eyes of the other men. There wasn’t even a flicker of disagreement.

  “All right,” Alydren said. “Thank you for speaking with me. If you change your mind—”

  “We won’t.”

  “Or if any of you are left alive after he’s done with you, you can join me in Kreiss.”

  Hugen stared back, his eyes cold, his jaw jutting forward. No one spoke. Holding back a sigh, Alydren left them to their wood cutting. On his way back through the village, he looked for the young woman, but she was gone.

  15

  Coralie

  One Year Before the Reign of the Mandrevecchian.

  The pack weighed about thirty pounds, Coralie guessed as she heaved it onto her strong shoulders. She stumbled under the weight, then righted herself, adjusting the shoulder straps, grabbing her walking stick, and securing the door of the forge behind her. She needed to do this before she changed her mind, before she thought too much about it.

  The trail climbed up the edge of the fjord, then turned east along the ridgeline. It was eight miles to Kulem. If she hurried, she could be there in a little over two hours. Hurrying was easier said than done with the pack, though.