Death of the Immortal King

by Sarah McCarthy

  Paric swung the blade in a smooth arc over his head as he pivoted on his bare feet. “Yes.”

  “Why do you have a Volarian blade?”

  Paric lowered his weapon and turned to her, his eyebrows raised. “Because I’m a Volarian?”

  Coralie’s jaw dropped. “You are?”

  Paric gestured to his face. The aristocratic nose and the light blond hair. “How is it that you recognize a Volarian blade and not a Volarian?”

  Coralie blushed. “My grandfather taught me about your weaponry. He thought highly of it.”

  Paric gave a curt nod. “Good.” He resumed his practice.

  Coralie wanted to ask what a Volarian was doing working for a strange noble in the Wrimn sea, but she didn’t want to be rude.

  “He’s an assassin,” Gird said, picking daintily at a biscuit.

  Paric glanced, annoyed, over his shoulder and stabbed the blade out in front of him with more force than necessary.

  “Oh,” Coralie said, glad she’d been polite, and decided not to annoy him with follow-up questions. Except she really wanted to know who he was supposed to be assassinating.

  “He came here with orders to stir unrest. To keep the clans of the Wrimn warring amongst themselves.”

  “That’s enough, Gird,” Paric shot over his shoulder.

  Gird lowered his voice to a whisper. “He has orders to assassinate anyone who rises to power. On the way here, though, his ship was caught in a terrible storm—”

  “I can still hear you, you know,” Paric said menacingly, but continued practicing.

  “And he begged the goddess Wrimera to save him.” He raised his voice slightly. “Begged and cried. Promised her ten temples.”

  “Shrines.” Paric rolled his eyes. “Ten shrines. Let’s see how much it takes to make you cry like a baby.”

  “He told you this?” Coralie asked.

  “Talks in his sleep,” Gird said. “He’d prayed to all the Volarian gods of course. None could help him. Had to ask one of ours.”

  “Yeah, well, Finance and Poetry weren’t going to be much help.”

  Gird sniffed.

  When Coralie had finished her meal, she brushed the crumbs off her skirt and climbed up into the rigging to see if she could spot Kreiss yet. She couldn’t, but on the horizon she noticed a tiny black smudge. She called down to Paric and pointed it out. He climbed up into the rigging after her, stared at it intently for a few minutes, and then called for Aron.

  He arrived on deck quickly, just as Coralie was dropping down from the rigging.

  “What is it?” she asked, but Paric interrupted, directing Aron’s gaze. “Just there, see?”

  Aron nodded, watching it.

  “Well?”

  A troubled expression crossed Aron’s face. “I—I’m not sure, exactly. I think we need to get a little closer.”

  “We get any closer and they’ll see us.”

  “Can’t they see us now?” Coralie interjected.

  “They’re bigger than we are,” Paric said.

  Aron was staring up into the empty sky. “No,” he said, his expression clearing. “We need to get closer.”

  “Are you sure?” Paric asked. “These waters, it’s unlikely to—”

  “I know, Paric.” Aron turned his grey-green eyes on the man. “Thank you.”

  Paric nodded once. “I’ll adjust course.”

  “Wait,” Coralie said, as Aron started to walk away. “What’s going on? What is that thing?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “But Paric thinks it’s dangerous?”

  “Yes. I think it’s dangerous, too.”

  “So… why are we getting closer to it?”

  Aron grimaced. “Because…” He looked up, as if looking for inspiration. “Because…” He sighed and glanced uncomfortably at her. “I’m sorry, I can’t think of a reason.”

  “Are those raiders?”

  He winced. “Probably.”

  “Do we have any way to defend against them?”

  “Paric has some weapons.”

  “Enough to fight off a band of raiders?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Are we faster than them?”

  “Possibly. If they’re weighted down. Or maybe if they’re taking on water or their sails are shredded or something. Other than that, no.”

  “Is there any reason they might not want to attack us? Like, we look so beaten down that there wouldn’t be anything of value on board?”

  “No, we probably look like an excellent target. And we are, really.”

  Those were all the possible reasons that Coralie could think of that it might be OK to approach. “Well, then, I think, logically, we should avoid them.”

  “I understand. That makes sense.” Coralie breathed a sigh of relief. “I still feel like we should get closer.”

  Coralie had never wanted to strangle someone before. It was a strange feeling. She took a few deep breaths while the urge lessened.

  “I think we should talk about this with Lilianna,” she said evenly.

  “All right, but…” He trailed off.

  They found Lilianna lounging on the bow, her long legs and arms bare and beginning to tan. She opened one eye when she heard them approach.

  “There is what is mostly likely a raider ship on the horizon,” Coralie said. “Aron wants to get closer. I think we should avoid it.”

  “Why do you want to get closer?” Lilianna asked.

  “I just feel like we should.”

  Lilianna considered this. “What do you think, Coralie?”

  “Well, apparently we wouldn’t be able to fight them off, or run from them. If we get any closer, they’ll be able to see us, and they’d definitely be interested in attacking us. So… I think we should avoid them.”

  Lilianna looked back at Aron. “That makes a lot of sense.”

  Aron looked depressed. “I agree. But this is how I do things, and it works.”

  “Maybe it just works because you’re a noble and people give you whatever you want,” Lilianna said.

  Aron bit his lip. They watched, waiting to see what he would say. Some internal war was raging just below the surface. After a very long pause, he finally nodded. “Maybe.”

  “So, let’s avoid the ship,” Coralie said. She waited to see what he would do. He could make a unilateral decision here. It was his ship. His servants would do what he said.

  “Are you sure?” was all Aron asked. He looked worried.

  “What do you think, Lilianna?” Coralie asked.

  Lilianna looked back and forth between them for a few seconds. Coralie wondered how she could possibly be taking so long to decide.

  “I guess… avoiding the ship sounds safer,” she said finally, and Coralie felt a rush of triumph.

  Aron nodded. “All right.” He moved off to give Paric the instructions.

  Coralie watched the smudge fade away as the boat shifted course, a knot loosening in her chest. So Aron had meant what he’d said, after all. She looked down and saw him sitting at the back of the boat, his feet hanging off, looking pensively into the water, and suddenly wondered whether she’d done the right thing.

  31

  Alydren

  The small boat rocked on the grey-green waves. A heavy mist hung over everything, tendrils of it winding around the main mast. Droplets of water collected on every rope, beading up on Alydren’s bare scalp and soaking his beard as he sat huddled at the prow, peering into the darkness ahead. Behind him, his men were quiet, sitting alone, each with his own thoughts, staring out to sea as their sail rippled and their craft made a slow track forward through the leaden water.

  The day before, he’d thought he’d seen a small boat on the horizon, but other than that they’d been alone for days.

  Shapes formed in the mist. Alydren saw the prows of ships, which disappeared as soon as he looked at them, and the dripping heads of monsters. I should have killed him. The thought echoed again through his mind, the same answer
returning yet again. If you’d tried, you’d be dead. A shadow loomed through the mist ahead, and this time didn’t disappear when Alydren blinked. More shadows appeared behind it, a dark cliff face looming out of the gloom.

  He turned, but the man at the tiller had already seen it.

  “Ready about?” he called.

  There was a quick shuffle as men ducked out of the way and unhooked lines from cleats.

  “Helm’s alee,” the man said, yanking the tiller and ducking as the boat came about, the boom sweeping by over their heads.

  There was a thwack and a muffled curse as it connected with one man’s head. He groaned and sat up, massaging his forehead.

  “Helm’s alee means duck, Jones,” the tiller man said.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. Some of us are taller than others,” Jones said.

  Alydren shook his head but said nothing. Jones was at best of middling height. But sometimes it took a man a couple of times of being conked on the head before he learned. In Jones’ case it seemed to be more than a couple. But Alydren wasn’t worried. He’d learn. They all did eventually.

  He rubbed his stiff, frozen hands together, blowing into them as he returned to squinting ahead. It shouldn’t be long, now.

  He heard it before he saw it. The clatter of boards being dropped. The pounding of a hammer. The muffled shouts of dock workers loading or unloading cargo. Moments later, Glynrose appeared, wreathed in mist. A cliff face loomed ahead of them, traversed by narrow, spindly stairs, a mess of docks and platforms clinging to their feet.

  They tied up their craft and disembarked, heading for the narrow stone staircase that ascended the cliff face. The actual city of Glynrose perched fifty feet above its harbor, protected by the sheer walls of the fjord below. A system of ropes and pulleys allowed them to raise and lower cargo into their tiny port.

  The stairs had a handrail wobbled under Alydren’s grasp. It felt good to stretch his legs, but they quickly began to burn as they climbed higher. The port disappeared into the mist below them before the city appeared above them, but at last they turned a corner and arrived at the overlook, the village spilling out around them. Everything was built of neatly fitted stones.

  Alydren had always liked Glyrose. It felt orderly, safe. The streets were aligned in well-labelled blocks. It was like a well-organized kitchen. You almost didn’t need to know where anything was, because everything was in the most logical place.

  It was early evening, and the lamps were already lit, glowing through halos of mist. Neatly dressed townspeople carrying baskets or pushing carts passed them on the street, most nodding or giving them a polite “go with Ava” as they passed. They passed the temple to Ava, the temple to Eclelia, and a large marble statue of Dizotl, his eyes closed in thought, his many hands pointing in all directions. Not many cities worshipped the god of choice.

  A clean marble edifice squatted in the center of the city, and it was up these steps that Alydren led his men. An ornate clock hung above the entrance, but Alydren hardly spared a glance for it. They hadn’t made an appointment, hadn’t even written to let them know they were coming.

  A woman sat at a desk in the center of the room, illuminated by an iron chandelier. She looked up, her light blue eyes curious.

  “Can I help you?”

  Alydren noted the guards at the four corners of the room, their eyes ranging over his men.

  “We wish to address the council.”

  The woman glanced at a clock, wrapping her wool shawl tighter about her shoulders. “The council is nearly done for the day. You will have to come back next week.

  “I’m sorry we’ve come at such a late hour,” Alydren said. “But this is a matter of life and death. There is a great threat to your city. It could be here at any moment.”

  Her eyes strayed over them.

  “I will ask if they will see you.”

  She pushed back from the desk and disappeared through a side door.

  Several minutes passed, during which the only sounds were a faint ticking and the occasional shuffle of boots on marble, echoing through the halls.

  The woman reappeared finally. “They will see you,” she said. “But you’ll have only a few minutes.” She held the door open and gestured for Alydren to follow. “The rest of your men can wait here.”

  Alydren bowed. “Thank you.” He followed her through the door, down a long marble hall with paintings of thoughtful looking men and women, and through a set of double doors at the far end.

  He found himself in a large receiving chamber, with rows of empty seats on either side. At the far end was a semi-circular table, behind which sat two women and five men, all clad in heavy wool robes.

  Alydren crossed his right arm over his chest, his fist clenched, and bowed deeply.

  “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

  The woman in the middle, who looked like she was the oldest of the seven, readjusted in her seat and peered over at him. “You said you had something important to tell us.”

  “Yes. A few years ago, I encountered a… a supernatural entity. A man, small and weak in appearance, but able to kill four of my men easily. There were six of us. He killed four, one joined him, and I ran. Since then he has been growing his forces, burning cities and collecting followers wherever he goes. He claims to be working for the god of death. Says that Yqtos himself has given him this power and told him to destroy all temples to any of the other gods or goddesses, and to kill one man every day.”

  The old woman’s eyebrows raised. “He sounds insane.” Alydren’s heart sank. He recognized that look in her eyes, the look that said, “What does someone so young know about anything?” He saw it constantly. Any time he was assigned a new recruit who was older than he was. Give me a week, and I know I’d convince you. I’d show you I’m capable. What these people failed to grasp at first was that there was a reason he was the youngest captain in his town’s history. It didn’t take long for them to learn, but he didn’t have weeks. Not for every town in Mimros. He shook his head, clenching his jaw and straightening.

  “Yes, but when he killed, there was some evil presence. His veins went black, some deathly power pulsed beneath his skin.”

  “And you come to warn us? Is he headed this way?”

  “Not yet, but—”

  The man next to her cleared his throat, but Alydren continued, raising his voice.

  “He will come eventually, to destroy your temples. A great many other cities have already fallen to him.”

  “I see. Well, thank you for bringing this to our attention.”

  They began to gather their papers.

  “Wait,” Alydren said. “I haven’t even said what I’m here for.”

  The woman paused, but the others continued packing up. “Well you’d better hurry up and say it, then.”

  “I need your help. I plan to hunt him down, but he’s gaining followers. Soon he will have an army behind him. I would ask that you send what men and supplies you can to fight this monster.”

  The woman pursed her lips. “If he comes here, we will fight him ourselves.”

  “It will be too late by then.”

  “That’s very presumptuous of you. Did you see our walls? Do you know our defenses?”

  “I do. They won’t be enough.” She stared at him, her face stony, but he continued. “There are a thousand cities in Mimros. If this monster wants, he can conquer us one by one. If you wait until he is at your doorstep it will be when he is ready to defeat you. He has the god of death on his side.”

  “We worship the god of death, amongst the others. What makes you think you know better? What makes you think the gods will not protect us?”

  Alydren ran a hand over his grimy, salt-tangled beard. “Please. It doesn’t have to be much. Even one fighter. If every city offered up a single fighter, I could defeat him.”

  “And how do you know that? You seem to be making a lot of assumptions. You say you’ve met him; why did you not defeat him then? You say he
killed four of your men. There were six of you and one of him and you failed. And now you say he has an army. What makes you think you can defeat him now? Will your army be six times the size of his? If he is as strong as you say, why would we want to provoke him?”

  “You don’t need to provoke him. He we will come for you eventually.”

  “Then he will come, and we will drive him off when he does, as we have done with every other raiding party, corsair, and gang of bandits that has come our way.”

  “He is worse, stronger than any of those.”

  “So you say. Perhaps you’d better leave him to those more capable, then.”

  With that, they stood and filed out of the room. Alydren watched them go, his heart pounding, resisting the urge to call after them with more arguments, more words that would fall on deaf ears.

  The next city the came to—passing several burned-out ruins along the way—had already heard of Jedren. They had barely docked their boat when they saw the workers with pickaxes chipping away at and destroying their own temples. Alydren asked a passing fisherman what had happened and learned that they had taken it upon themselves to destroy all places of worship except one, which they were turning into a temple to Yqtos. Their emissary was already on his way to surrender to Jedren in exchange for his protection, and for the favor of the god.

  Alydren and his men restocked their small craft and continued on their way.

  It was like this at every city they came to. Either they were confident in their ability to defend themselves, or they had already surrendered, or they had already been destroyed. Maybe one in ten agreed that something must be done, but most of these refused to waste any of their soldiers. Slowly, Alydren began to lose hope.

  32

  Jedren

  Jedren was in the great hall receiving supplicants the first time it happened. Ryn ushered in the next group, a trembling collection of fishermen who knelt before his throne.

  “Praise Yqtos,” the largest of them said. By his tattered sackcloth clothes, he was clearly a poor man, his tanned skin spoke of hours under the hot sun, dragging in nets full of wriggling fish. On either side of him, two other men knelt, their heads bowed, and behind him two young boys, twins, it looked like, around five or so, knelt, their eyes darting up occasionally to stare at Jedren before flicking back down in terror.