by Sandell Wall
Another giant hand materialized from the miasma, its fingers wrapping around the bronze disk and holding it fast. The man at the crank tried to force it to turn, but he could not get it to budge.
“Here it comes,” Kaiser said.
The mist parted, and the monster squeezed through the opening and into the arena. It had to crouch low to fit. Once through, the beast stood to its full height and inspected its surroundings. It was as tall as a house and almost as wide. The creature had arms and legs like a man, but its shoulders and back were hunched, causing the knuckles of its long arms to drag the ground. Beneath its pale white skin, a mountain of muscle shifted with every movement. The skin itself looked armored. Its gnarled flesh was a twisted mess of ridges, lumps, and scars.
Kaiser watched the behemoth’s face. Its piggish eyes, set in a blocky, grotesque skull, stared hungrily at the encampment. An ugly mouth filled with a jumble of sharp teeth salivated in a constant stream of slime. Blood and flecks of meat dribbled down its bony chin.
The man at the crank abandoned his efforts. Instead, he lunged for a bell that hung from the platform’s railing. He rang this bell loud and hard. The monster jerked its head towards the noise.
“I think our hosts are as surprised as we are,” Kaiser said.
Kaiser heard the gate open behind him, but he did not turn to look. Shouts rang out in the camp above the tiny arena. The monster seemed confused. It stretched its squat neck towards the sky and sniffed at the air.
To Kaiser’s surprise, the swordsman had quit the wall and come to join them in the arena. The man moved to stand next to him. He had a shield strapped around his injured hand, and he held a spear up and pointed at the invader from the miasma. More men from the camp came pounding down the ramp. They carried long pikes, and they formed a line on the left and right of Kaiser.
On Kaiser’s left, the swordsman shouted an order, and their formation started a slow advance towards the beast. Kaiser and Brant were ill-equipped for this fight, but he was not about to let these men face this creature without him.
“Hang back and let the pikes do the work,” Kaiser said. “If that thing gets inside their reach, we’ll try to force it back.”
Brant nodded but did not speak.
From somewhere behind them, a bowstring thrummed. An arrow sailed over Kaiser’s head and glanced off the brute’s thick hide. This got the beast’s attention. It lumbered forward. The pikemen stopped their advance and braced for impact. More arrows followed the first, and the monster raised a huge hand to protect its face.
Once the creature was in range, the pikemen attacked. They had obviously done this before, because they tempted the beast to swing at them with a weak feint, first yanking their pikes back out of its reach and then leaping forward to drive the sharp points of their weapons deep into its chest and arms.
The behemoth roared. It stopped trying to guard its face and tore into the pikemen with both hands. An arrow plunked off its skull but did not penetrate. Enraged, the monster moved too fast to be tricked with a feint now. Pikes splintered, the wielders sent flying when they tried to withstand the beast’s terrible weight.
More and more fighters were pouring into the arena, but the creature was about to tear their fragile formation apart. One of the pikemen stumbled in his scramble to get away. A single huge hand snatched the man off the ground and raised him to the monster’s mouth. The man’s head fit inside the brute’s jaws with room to spare. The giant bit down, popping the man’s skull like a melon.
Kaiser had seen enough. The monster needed to be distracted.
“You go right, I’ll go left,” Kaiser said to Brant.
He did not wait to see if Brant followed his instruction. Kaiser sprinted toward the creature. Its attention was on the few pikemen still standing. They were stabbing at its eyes, trying to force it back. Kaiser ducked behind one huge leg and braced a foot to put all of his weight behind a thrust. He only hoped he could pierce the tough skin.
The battered short sword proved true. One hand around the hilt, the other flat on the pommel, Kaiser plunged the blade into the back of the monster’s thigh. He grunted as he dug his feet in the dirt to push the sword in up to the hilt. Both hands on the hilt now, Kaiser jerked the blade up and down with all his strength, sawing at the hard muscle.
An angry bellow split the air, and the sword was torn from Kaiser’s grasp as the monster turned to face him. He caught a glimpse of Brant between the thing’s legs. Brant’s mouth was open—he screamed as he charged.
Kaiser saw the blow coming, but the monster struck too fast. A white fist slammed into Kaiser like a falling boulder. He saw a brilliant flash, and then his world went black.
Chapter 38
KAISER WOKE ON HIS back. His first sensation was pain. He felt like he had been run over by a horse. The last few seconds of the fight with the mist monster flashed into his mind, and he winced. How could he have known that thing could move so fast? He was lying on what felt like a cot, so they must have overcome the creature after Kaiser was knocked out.
A gentle touch to Kaiser’s face caused his eyes to snap open. He regretted it immediately. The light only made the throbbing of his head worse. But his guess had been correct. He was reclined on a cot in what must pass for an infirmary in the encampment. Above him, the canvas of a tent swayed gently in the breeze.
The cool cloth on his forehead muted the pain to a dull ache, and Kaiser swiveled his eyes to the side to see who had placed it there. Their identity hidden by a tattered robe and mask, a person sat on a stool next to Kaiser’s cot. It took him a moment to remember that this must be a forsaken. It looked exactly like the disguise Lacrael had adopted.
Kaiser swallowed. His mouth was bone dry. He tried to work up some saliva so he could speak. The forsaken noticed that he was awake. They looked left and right, obviously checking to see if anyone was watching. These furtive movements struck Kaiser as odd.
The forsaken leaned in close, so close that Kaiser noticed the grain in the wood of the blank gray mask.
“Kaiser, it’s me!” the forsaken said, the familiar voice barely more than a whisper. “It’s Lacrael.”
Lacrael lifted her mask just long enough for Kaiser to see her face. He stared at her in dazed wonder. His thoughts were still moving slowly, and Lacrael was the last person he expected to find at his bedside.
“Lacrael?” Kaiser said. “How did you get in here?”
“I’ve learned that if you’re willing to haul the city’s filth around, you might as well be invisible,” Lacrael said. “I can come and go as I please, as long as I look like I’m busy with a chore no one else wants to do. We knew you and Brant were taken to the fighting pits, and Niad knew where this camp was. Even still, it took me a few hours to find an opportunity to get inside.”
“Why are you here? What’s happened? Are Tarathine and Sorrell okay?”
“Shhh, not so loud. Keep your voice down.”
Lacrael glanced around them before continuing.
“Tarathine’s still alive,” Lacrael said. “We obtained some medicine that we started giving her yesterday. She hasn’t regained consciousness yet, but her color is returning. It’s still too early to say, but she might be on the mend.”
Kaiser closed his eyes and laid his head back. He drew a shuddering breath. “I scarcely allowed myself to believe,” he said.
“There’s more, and I don’t have much time,” Lacrael said. “A forsaken lingering where they shouldn’t draws the wrong sort of attention.”
“I’m listening.”
“Mazareem is here.”
Kaiser’s eyes flew open.
“He’s the ‘risen one’ we’ve been hearing about,” Lacrael said. “I discovered him when I went to find Sorrell. She’s been assigned as his slave.”
Before Kaiser voiced his disbelief, Lacrael raised a hand to silence him.
“Wait, you need to hear the rest of what I have to say before you make your judgment,” Lacrael said.
/> Kaiser listened intently as Lacrael outlined her conversation with Mazareem. His righteous indignation gave way to cold calculation as he weighed the risks of allying themselves with their enemy. Lacrael finally finished her recount of her encounter with Mazareem, and she asked the question that had clearly been tormenting her.
“Do you think we can trust him?” Lacrael said.
“Trust? No,” Kaiser said. “Use? Maybe. If he’s right and we can’t open that portal with Brant’s amulet, I don’t think we have much choice. If he’s as weak as you say, we can deal with him once we escape. However, that leaves us with two problems that need solutions. Getting you in place to ignite the miasma and getting me and Brant out of this camp. I doubt we can come and go as easily as you can.”
“You’re being prepared for a spectacle at Mazareem’s ‘rite of oblation.’ I don’t know what that means, only that you’ll be there when it happens.”
“So it’s all going to come down to that ceremony. You’ll have to make sure Niad and Gustavas are ready with Tarathine.”
“They will be.”
“I think I know where you can get outside the city, but it’s going to be up to you to figure out how to do it. There’s a door in this camp that offers passageway through the city walls. They opened it, and the monster that came through put me in this bed.”
“I’ll find a way,” Lacrael said. “I have an idea how to do it. But if Mazareem doesn’t come through, I’ll be trapped out there.”
“If he fails us, we’re dead anyway,” Kaiser said. “You must commit fully to this course of action if we’re to have any chance of success. Any hesitation, any doubt, and we’re undone. Can you do this?”
Lacrael regarded Kaiser from behind her blank white mask. He reached a hand out to take hers, and she clung to him. Kaiser felt the desperation, the fear in her.
“I won’t let you down,” Lacrael said.
“Don’t let Mazareem hurt Sorrell,” Kaiser said.
Lacrael squeezed Kaiser’s hand.
“She’s a fighter,” Lacrael said. “Focus on keeping yourself alive. Sorrell will be okay.”
Kaiser let Lacrael’s hand go, and she turned to leave the tent. He stared at her retreating back as he imagined Sorrell a slave to Mazareem. The thought made his blood boil. If Mazareem harmed her, not even Abimelech would deliver him from Kaiser’s vengeance.
Chapter 39
MAZAREEM LAY IN HIS bed and tried to remember what had happened to him. He had gone to Morricant, that much he could recall. But beyond that, the details were hazy. Had she placed another curse on him, or had the trauma been so terrible that his mind had blocked it out?
He rested on his side, one arm going numb beneath his body. When Mazareem tried to roll over onto his back, it felt like someone was driving nails into his ribcage. Obviously, Morricant had done a number on his spine. Without a mirror, he could not inspect the wound, but his searching fingers found a ragged incision that ran from neck to waist. It was tender to the touch, and he avoided probing at it.
Someone entered the room, but turned away from the door as he was, Mazareem could not see who. Their footsteps approached the bed. He heard a gasp when the visitor saw his back.
“I don’t know how you’re still alive,” Sorrell said.
“I think I’d rather not be,” Mazareem said.
“There’s something strange…“ Sorrell said, her voice trailing off as she drew nearer. “That’s not a normal wound. It looks like something’s inside it.”
Her words triggered a memory, but when Mazareem reached for it, it slipped from his grasp. Morricant had cursed him. She was intentionally hiding something about what she had done to him.
Mazareem opened his mouth to instruct Sorrell to inspect the wound, even though he doubted he could convince her to touch him. Before he got the words out, a commotion in the main room of the suite caused him to hesitate. The unmistakable sound of clashing blades rang out, followed by the solid thump of a body hitting the floor. Sorrell whirled to face the door.
Angry voices shouted in alarm just outside Mazareem’s room. His mind raced. There was only one faction that stood to gain from armed conflict here. He was surprised they had waited this long.
“Listen to me,” Mazareem said. “Whatever happens, you’ve got to act like you’re my devoted slave. That’s the only way you’ll survive. Now roll me over so I can face the door.”
Sorrell hesitated.
“You’ve got about five seconds before they come in here and run you through,” Mazareem said. “The other servants are already dead.”
This jolted Sorrell into action. She grabbed Mazareem’s shoulder with both hands and pulled him towards her across the bed. His body rolled with the motion. He stifled a scream when his back touched the covers. Mazareem thought he might pass out, but he held on and he could now see the entrance to his room.
“Now get on the floor and cower like you mean it,” Mazareem said.
Sorrell did not need much convincing. She dropped down next to his bed and put her hands over her head. An instant later, Venerator Dezerath strode into the room like a conquering hero. Her tomb keeper armor gleamed, although she sported a nasty gash on her breastplate. She was cleaning blood off her sword with a rag. Dezerath frowned when she spotted Sorrell.
“Another one?” Dezerath said. “I just got my blade clean.”
“Spare her,” Mazareem said. He tried to sound commanding, but his demand seemed pitiful to his own ears. “The Lady of Pain has not been kind to me. I need this slave to tend to my broken body.”
Dezerath came near to the bed as she contemplated Mazareem’s words. She grimaced when she saw the extent of Mazareem’s injuries.
“Look at what that bitch has done to you,” Dezerath said. “She steals you away from us and then experiments on you like you’re one of her pathetic trophies. I’ve come to correct this travesty. You’ll come with me to House Gorvan’s compound. We can protect you there.”
Mazareem wanted to laugh, but he hurt too much. This idiot actually thought she could defy Morricant and live.
“Bring the slave,” Mazareem said.
Three more House Gorvan tomb keepers entered the room. At Dezerath’s command, they helped Mazareem out of the bed. He recognized these women as survivors of their journey from Candeth. They remembered his divine actions in Corpsefire Canyon, and they treated him with reverence.
One of the tomb keepers advanced on Sorrell with a drawn blade.
“She lives,” Dezerath said, waving the tomb keeper off. “The risen one is in great pain. We need the slave to tend to him.”
Sorrell watched all of this, her eyes wide with fear. She did not understand their words, but the meaning was plain enough. When the tomb keeper yanked Sorrell to her feet instead of running her through, Mazareem thought she was going to collapse.
Dezerath ordered them from the room. Mazareem clung to two of the tomb keepers, who carried him between them. Sorrell stayed close behind him. In the main area of the suite, ten more House Gorvan soldiers were anxiously waiting. Dezerath had come in force.
One of Mazareem’s seplica guards lay sprawled next to the wall. Blood pooled under her armored body. There was no sign of the second guard, but she had no doubt suffered a similar fate. Dezerath strode through the room with the air of a victorious general. Mazareem wanted to tell her what a fool she was. Instead, he kept his mouth shut.
The tomb keepers whisked Mazareem down the stairs and out into the street. There were even more House Gorvan troops here. Surprised at their numbers, Mazareem adjusted his perception of what was happening. Maybe this was more than a bid to claim the risen one. Maybe Dezerath was starting an insurrection.
Dezerath moved to the head of the formation. Mazareem and Sorrell were escorted into the center where they were protected by a mass of armored bodies. At a shout from Dezerath, they moved out. They made it several hundred paces before a squad of seplica appeared at their rear.
The seplica
were woefully outnumbered, but that did not stop them from harrying Dezerath’s soldiers. Mazareem heard arrows impact armor and clatter to the street. Shouts echoed off the buildings on every side as the House Gorvan troops tried to protect their flank. The seplica were slowing Dezerath down.
Making a tactical decision, Dezerath ordered their numbers to split. Half of her soldiers formed up in the street to fend off the smaller squad of seplica. The rest surrounded Mazareem and hurried towards the House Gorvan compound. They raced through the streets with the sounds of battle raging behind them.
Fortunately for Dezerath, the seplica were not able to get between them and their destination. They reached the House Gorvan estate without encountering any more resistance. In Orcassus, the fortified structure might be called an estate, but anywhere else it would be referred to as a castle. It had defensive walls, a moat, and a drawbridge that was currently lowered and waiting for them to cross.
They ran across the bridge and through the main gate. Pain stabbed through Mazareem’s back with every jolting step. In the main courtyard of the estate, they found barely organized chaos. The place was filled with House Gorvan soldiers. A cheer went up when the women noticed Dezerath and Mazareem.
Mazareem’s eyes were drawn to the gruesome sight of a head perched on a pike. The weapon had been driven into the ground next to the steps that led up to the entrance to the castle. Mother Terro’s lifeless gaze stared out over the courtyard. The message was clear and the consequences obvious: Mother Terro had objected to Dezerath’s plan to reclaim the risen one. Mazareem could not imagine that Dezerath would defeat such a formidable woman in an honest challenge. The venerator must have stabbed Terro in the back.
Dezerath ordered Mazareem and Sorrell taken inside while she paused to address her troops. The tomb keepers supporting Mazareem carried him up the steps on the edge of the courtyard and into the main hall of the estate. Mazareem tried to remember the route they took through the winding corridors, but his mind was not working correctly. Every time he tried to grab onto a coherent thought, it was obliterated by the agony climbing up and down his spine.