War God's Will

by Matthew P Gilbert

  “Pain is mental,” Logrus said. “I have fought for my life with much worse.”

  “Just be careful with it,” Aiul said sternly. “It’s not in a bad spot, but it can shift and puncture a lung, if you ignore the pain. Listen to what your body tells you.”

  Logrus nodded slowly and grimaced. “I just need a moment.” He looked about quickly. “No enemies, at least.”

  “For now,” Aiul agreed, though he did not feel so certain of it. Someone just tried to kill us.

  Aiul peered into the darkness, but it was a useless effort. The room they were in extended beyond the range of torchlight. Only the wall beside them was visible, stretching into darkness on either side of them, row upon row of stones fading into blackness. I’ll have to actually explore, I think. He rose to his feet and waved at the closed hatch. “We’re not going back that way. I’d best have a look about. Where’s your torch?”

  “Lost it. My pack, too.”

  “Mei!” Out of reflex, Aiul tightened his grip on the torch he carried, now their last source of light. It was a useless gesture, but it made him feel better.

  “Wait here,” he said. “I’ll see what I can find to bind you up with.”

  The Master stared into the pool, amused at the suffering of the invaders.

  The servant asked, “Does it please you, Master? I thought it would be better this way, slowly, instead of crushing them outright.”

  “Yesss,” the master agreed. “Their fear is sweet.” It dipped its claw into the black pool again, sending ripples over the image, and licked at it. “I have changed my mind. I want them alive. It is fortunate for you that you delayed.”

  The servant shuddered, an involuntary spasm of fear at the realization of how close it had come to making a fatal mistake. But it smiled, too, at its own cunning.

  “I am a good servant,” it crooned. “You are capricious. I try always to anticipate you. To please you.”

  The master tapped a talon on the stone rim of the pool, thinking that perhaps it might still be amusing to kill the servant, but dismissed the notion. It was difficult to find a servant smart enough to anticipate. It would be foolish to waste this one now.

  “I am pleased,” it said. “Bring them to me. I would speak with them and smell their fear. Perhaps they have knowledge. Then we will rend them and make them into art.”

  The servant touched its head to the floor, hissed its compliance, and scurried from the room.

  Chapter 11

  A Matter of Perspective

  The sun was dipping low when Sadrik spied yet another dead horse on the ground below. “There, see?” he called out over the wind. “That's the third one, and who knows how many we missed?”

  Ariano glanced down at him briefly, then turned her attention forward again.

  “Well, it’s odd, don’t you think?” he shouted up at her.

  Ariano glanced at him again, and shrugged as best she could with one shoulder. “If you work out what it signifies, by all means let me know.”

  For at least the thousandth time, Sadrik reminded himself that setting her on fire would mean certain death. He looked back at the rapidly passing ground below, hoping for some distraction, when he saw the group.

  “Look there!” he shouted, pointing. “The source of our dead horse problem, I should think.”

  Ariano followed his gesture, a look of exasperation on her face, which quickly changed to a cruel grin. “The Southlanders! We have him now!” Sadrik forced himself to remain calm as Ariano banked sharply and dropped toward their quarry.

  The Southlanders mounts looked to be on their last legs, several with bloody foam frothing around their lips. Sadrik was hardly an expert, but he had learned enough in school to understand these horses had been bred and seasoned to carry men of a lighter frame, not hulking brutes like the Southlanders. The few spares they had with them were in slightly better shape, but even those were clearly tired.

  Ariano set them down in the road about ten yards ahead of the Southlanders, making no effort at subtlety. The Southlanders, in turn, reigned their mounts to a stop and drew weapons. So it's a fight, then. Ah, well, that was the plan all along I suppose.

  Ariano raised an eyebrow and offered the Southlanders a wry smile. “Come now, friends. There's no need to shed any of your blood. We only need to relieve you of something you should never have had. Then you can go with our blessing.”

  Sandilianus, their second in command, answered with a fierce grin, “We are fine with bloodshed. Come and take what you would, if you can.”

  Ariano opened her arms wide and returned his grin with one of her own. “So be it.”

  So be it indeed. Sadrik followed her lead and stepped toward the Southlanders. We'll add a bit of panache.

  It took Ariano three steps before noticing his fiery footprints. Battle or no, she stopped dead in her tracks and glared at him.

  Wretched old crone! “What?” he shouted.

  “Stop that idiocy.”

  “It’s intimidation!”

  Ariano waved a hand dismissively. “It's cheap theatrics. I won't be part of it.”

  “It's practical. Tears down their will, makes mine stronger. It’s no different than any of your 'theatrics'.”

  Ariano folded her arms across her chest, unmoving. “It’s crude, and it tears down my will to tolerate your continued existence.”

  “Oh, please! Combat is crude! One doesn’t subtly stab someone in the throat or bash someone’s head in! Blood doesn’t flow in delicately selected patterns. It’s all there, loud and in your face!”

  Ariano looked at the Southlanders, who were eyeing them quizzically, then turned back to Sadrik and snapped, “We will resume this discussion later. This is the first thing you’ve brought up that is actually interesting to me, but this is hardly the time to discuss the aesthetics of killing.”

  Sadrik chuckled. “I’ll bear that in mind.”

  As they turned back to the Southlanders again, one of the horses collapsed, sending its rider rolling. Sadrik snickered. It was a quiet snicker, to be certain, but Ariano spun on her heal and jammed a bony finger in his face. “Whelp! You're making a damned farce of everything!”

  Sandilianus laughed out loud. “Ahmed is right. You are all mad.”

  Ariano spun toward him, fury blazing in her eyes, fists clenched at her sides, teeth a-grind. Her voice rang like a choir as she bellowed, “I will kill the lot of you, Southlander, if you don't present your leader this instant!” She would have been comical had the very air around her not been shimmering like heat. She absolutely means what she says.

  Sadrik took a step back, knowing from experience that when she really lost her temper, she was hardly selective about the direction in which she lashed out.

  Sandilianus laughed aloud. “Then you are in the wrong place, grandmother. Ahmed is not with us. He is within your Nihlos.” He scowled as he added, “Assuming you snakes have not slain him.”

  Sadrik took a deep breath and waited for the explosion. This will not end well. I wonder which one will grate her ass more, the fact that Kariana tricked us, or the Southlander calling her 'grandmother'?

  Ariano stood a moment, clenching and unclenching her tiny fists. Has there ever been a case of a Meite actually exploding in a rage? Sadrik was uncertain, and took several more steps backward on the off chance that it could happen. Sandilianus raised an eyebrow, but held his ground, eyes locked with Ariano's.

  Moments later, the storm passed without issue. Ariano relaxed and smiled up at Sandilianus. “Confidence is always attractive in a man.”

  Sandilianus grinned and dismounted, extending a hand to her. “If I were for women, I would pursue you! You are bold, and eager to fight.”

  “If we intended to kill you, we wouldn’t have landed,” Ariano tittered.

  We needn't have intended to do so for it to have occurred.

  “My men are expert marksmen,” Sandilianus countered. “I think it would not be so easy as you imagine.”

 
Ariano reached out her own hand. The Southlander took it, accepting the Nihlosian form of greeting, his great paw almost completely swallowing her dainty fingers.

  Ariano lowered her arm after a moment and asked, “Where are you going in such a hurry, Sandilianus Abu al Khayr, Centurion in Prince Philip’s legions, serving under Tribune Brutus Samir, and loyal servant to Ilaweh?”

  Sandilianus's eyebrows rose high. “You remember every bit, eh?”

  Ariano smirked at him. “I'm not as old as all that. And I have a talent for such things. Do you remember mine?”

  Sandilianus looked sheepish for a moment. “It's not 'Evil Sorceress', is it?”

  Sadrik snickered, surprised to see Ariano actually smiling at this. “Flattery is always helpful when one can't remember a name. In this case, the one you're searching for is Ariano Talus, but 'Evil Sorceress’ does have its charm.” Ariano’s expression grew serious once again, and she locked eyes with the Southlander. “Now, answer my question.”

  Sandilianus seemed to be considering a moment. “I am having deja vu,” he chuckled. “But again, it is a religious matter, not military. We go to Torium, to stop a great evil.”

  Sadrik couldn't quite suppress a small laugh. “You don’t say.”

  Sandilianus's smile faded as he looked pointedly at Sadrik. “Will you stand in our way?”

  Ariano suddenly seemed to take note of a blond, brutish Nihlosian amongst the Southlanders. He smirked back at her, but made no move to come down from his mount and speak. Ariano eyed him briefly, then turned back to Sandilianus. “That depends on how you answer my next question.”

  Sandilianus's eyes flashed, but he kept his face impassive. “Then ask, and let us be on our way to death or glory.”

  “What does your leader intend to do with the Eye of the Lion, Southlander?”

  Sandilianus gave her a bewildered look. “I do not know this thing.”

  Ariano studied him intently for a moment, then heaved a tired sigh and cradled her head in her hands. “You're telling the truth, aren't you? You don't have a damned clue.”

  Sadrik couldn't help himself. “It seems neither do you, Evil Sorceress.”

  Ariano gave him a foul look. “I'll tolerate that from a dashing, handsome stranger. Not from you.”

  “You were happy enough with the 'evil' label, it seemed.”

  Ariano rolled her eyes. “It’s all a matter of perspective, isn’t it? This is not the time for philosophy!”

  “Ah, so now it’s all about efficacy? What happened to ‘crude’, eh?”

  “Will you shut up? If I lie and say I agree with everything you say, will that satisfy you? Focus, young one, that’s what you still lack.”

  “That’s just what the flames do for me!”

  Ariano waved a finger at him like a teacher. “Efficacy damned well is not the be all and end all, but at the moment—”

  Sandilianus interrupted them. “We must be off. If we are not in Torium by nightfall, a great doom shall be born.”

  Ariano and Sadrik stopped mid argument and slowly turned to look at the Southlander. Sadrik could see his own confusion reflected in Ariano's wide eyes. “By tonight, you say?” he asked. “However do you plan on that?”

  Ariano was shaking her head in consternation, looking at the ground, lost in thought and fidgeting with her necklace. “He didn’t. He doesn’t even know. The Eye’s time has come. We can’t stop it. We resist our part in it at our peril.”

  Sadrik's shoulders slumped as he understood her point. “Which is just what Maranath told us.”

  Ariano, miles away in her head, muttered, almost to herself, “How curious that we should just happen along here at this time...”

  Sandilianus shook his head. “I know it is a hard road, but we are halfway, surely. We will run the rest of the way if we must.”

  Sadrik offered the man a sad smile, feeling terribly embarrassed to shatter his illusions like this. “Even we didn’t expect to arrive before midnight. Torium is another hundred miles from here, Southlander.”

  Sandilianus sat in stony silence, his expression grim and face ashen, as his men shifted and muttered amongst themselves. At last, he spoke, his voice thick with emotion. “Then we have failed.”

  Ariano broke from her reverie. “Perhaps not quite yet, Southlander, if you have courage enough to do something mad. We might all die in the attempt. How strong is your conviction?”

  Sandilianus snorted. “I shall fall upon my own blade if it will get us there in time.”

  Ariano grinned. “Perhaps later. For now, we have plenty of killing to do.”

  Sandilianus's face brightened. “Who must I slay?”

  Ariano’s face seemed to grow softer, less mean, less old, as humor twinkled in her eyes. “To begin with, trees, I should think.”

  Sadrik raised an eyebrow in appreciation. I think I see where she is going with this.

  Sandilianus scowled back and forth at them. “Trees? How can killing trees help? Are you mad?”

  Ariano remained inscrutable. “Mad? I am a Meite, Southlander. We are all mad, I suppose, if you feel the need to put a point on things. Now, are you with me or not?” She gestured toward the nearby woods. “Trees. We will need at least twenty.”

  Sadrik raised his eyebrows and put on an enigmatic smile. I do so enjoy being on the other end of 'cryptic' on occasion! “Go on then! You heard the Evil Sorceress! Do as she commands or she’ll likely turn you into a toad!” Mei, if I can just keep from laughing...

  Sandilianus again looked back and forth at them warily. “Fine. We will get trees. But if this is some game, you’d damned well better be able to carry out that threat. Even as a toad, I will jump down your throat and choke you to death! Are we clear?”

  Sadrik nodded, the very picture of innocence. “Crystal.”

  Chapter 12

  Class Reunion

  The ziggurats of Torium gleamed white as bone in the moonlight as Maranath and Maklin began their descent. Maranath counted eight smaller pyramids on the perimeter, watch stations along the wall, all dwarfed by the massive central structure. A moat, black as ancient evil, encircled the central pyramid like a guardian python.

  That will be our destination. He gestured to Maklin and pointed to a likely landing zone, and Maklin adjusted his course accordingly. As they grew nearer, Maranath could make out what appeared to be corpses on the debris-strewn ground below, as if some battle had occurred.

  He decided to have a look, and dropped the last twenty feet to the cobbles, hitting the ground with enough force to crack several stones beneath him. Maklin followed, landing gently a few seconds later, shaking his head. “No women here to impress, unless you’ve lost some pieces lately.”

  Maranath chuckled softly. “We don’t know who is around, do we?”

  Maklin conceded the point with a grunt. “True, that.” He kicked at the bones at their feet. “This fellow seems a bit thin for a guard.”

  Maranath could not restrain a snort of laughter. “I suppose it saves on the boarding costs, eh?”

  Maklin laughed back then abruptly stopped as something caught his attention. He gestured at an actual corpse. “He’s here, Maranath.”

  At first, Maranath saw nothing untoward. The corpse was too decayed to see many details, but Maklin was insistent, spinning his finger around in a ‘hurry up’ gesture. Maranath looked closer, and gasped in surprise as he recognized the symbol of a spiked fist hanging from the dead man’s neck. “Mei! The cultists!”

  Maklin nodded, his expression grim. “We need to move. We have no idea where they are, but we know where they’re going. Let’s hope the moat held them up long enough.”

  “We don’t know anything!” Maranath shot back. “Except that the Southlander has the last piece, and he has not yet arrived. I think we’re fine.” Mei! How could they have moved so quickly! They shouldn’t have been able to beat us here!

  “I suppose I’m a bit jumpy, but better safe than sorry,” Maklin said. He pointed to the central
pyramid. “We need to get in there.”

  “Just my thoughts.” Maranath looked back at the corpse, realizing now that there were several more in various states of disrepair, scattered across the courtyard. “Filth! We should have chased them down and killed the lot of them when we had the chance!”

  “We’ll see to them next. For now, we have other business,” Maklin said. He lit off, skimming a few feet above the moat, toward the central pyramid.

  Maranath was just about to follow him when he saw the water in the moat stir. Mei, there’s something alive in there! “Beneath you!” he shouted.

  Maklin looked down at the water, his eyes growing wide with shock, and shot upward with barely a moment to spare. A slick, mottled tentacle whipped through the space he had just fled, sending a spray of stagnant water into the air. It lashed back and forth briefly as if in frustration, then slowly sank back beneath the putrid surface.

  Maklin called down from above, “Still spry as a mongoose!”

  Maranath laughed and called back, “You’d be a mongoose breathing water if I hadn’t warned you!”

  “Oh, stop bragging and do something useful, would you? It’s still alive, you know.”

  Maranath shrugged and pushed off with his toes toward Maklin, making certain he skirted high above the moat. “It can stay alive as far as I’m concerned. It keeps idiots from meddling, and it’s no threat to us now that we know about it.”

  Maklin considered it a moment, then nodded agreement and set off for the central pyramid.

  At the top of the massive structure was a large, single story watchtower, heavily constructed of iron and showing not the least bit of decay. Maklin landed at the door to the building and entered.

  Maranath followed, noting as he landed that the surface seemed odd. “What is this thing made of?”

  Maklin looked briefly at the odd stone. “Looks like... crushed seashells or something. Who cares? Look at this!” He pointed at a huge grate in the floor.