The last body fell. Azaran realizing he wasn't even breathing hard. He looked at the dead men, the men he'd killed, dead by his own hands. He raised those hands, staring at them with shock. Who was he, to kill so easily?
Attack. Advance. Strike, do not be struck.
So much violence...so much death...
His past was still a mystery, But Azaran could now make an educated guess...it was a violent one.
Remember...you are a man. Not a beast... The silent passenger fell silent after that.
He then became aware of the crowd, on their feet and shouting at the scene below. Pointing at him. Shaking their fists.
He looked back at Segovac, who was shocked at what just happened. "How...where did you learn to do that?" asked the Eburrean.
Azaran shook his head. "I told you. I don't remember."
"You...were telling the truth?"
The guards came onto the sand before he could answer. They approached Azaran slowly, faces pale with fear. He raised his hands and they stepped back, one of them raising a bow, nocking an arrow and drawing back the string.
He held his hands out. One of the guards edged forward and quickly clapped a pair of manacles about his wrists.
Chapter Four
Fire...blood. He stood on a field of the dead, breathing in the stench of burning flesh. He felt...nothing. All this was nothing. Only one thing mattered...
He turned. A hulking shape rose up, dark, indistinct save for a pair of glowing red eyes. A blood-crusted mace raised up high. A mouth burning with hellfire opened and out came the dread words that would shatter his soul at the root. "Wake up, you shit heap!"
Azaran's eyes snapped open."I said wake up!" said an irritated voice. A stick poked him in the side. He rose to his feet, staring into the sweaty, nervous face of a guard. "What do you want?" he asked calmly.
The guard pulled a ring of keys from a pocket. "Someone who matters wants to see you." He unlocked the cell door. "Try anything and you'll get an arrow."
Azaran glanced at the second guard, standing some distance away with a shaft nocked to the string. "I understand," he said. He came forward, hands out and unresisting as manacles were clapped about his wrist. He looked at the other cell, now completely empty, reflected on how quickly things could change. Yesterday morning it was full of living men...killers and beasts all, but still men. Still breathing. All dead now.
Segovac stirred in the cell. "Off to better quarters?" he called out with a yawn.
"Shut up, scum!" snapped the archer. "You're time is coming."
"I look forward to it." He said nothing more as they led Azaran out of the holding pen.
It was early in the morning. The air was still cool from the night, free of the stifling summer heat to come. More guards waited outside, armed with long spears or bows, weapons that would kill at a distance. "Follow us," one of them said.
All kept back, watching him as they would a dangerous animal that crept into the street. Azaran wondered if he should laugh or weep. Though under the circumstances it made sense.
They headed to the mansion on the hill. One guard went ahead, clearing the street. Azaran's bare feet tromped through the mud and muck as they went through the narrow lanes, the slope rising with each step.
The House of Enkilash came into view. A thick log palisade went around the hill about half way up. Two wooden towers flanked it to the north and south, giving the archers stationed there a clear view of any target. The lower slopes of the place were kept clear of any obstacles that might provide cover to an approaching enemy. Men in chain mail shirts patrolled the place, with a small squad of them stationed at the lone gate through the palisade. Azaran found himself wondering how he might capture the place, if such a thing was called for. The palisade was at most eight feet high. A man coming at it in a rush, might be able to catch a foothold, particularly if another fellow gave him a boost...but both would have to cross the lower slope...easy targets for any half-awake archer. And those towers gave an excellent vantage point...
Except the men within them weren't paying attention. He looked to the southernmost one, saw two men there, both of whom had their backs to the town. A flask passed back and forth between them. The guards manning the gates were chatting with one another, paying little attention to the path coming up the hill. No discipline. Surprise would be the best option then...wait until just before dawn, when men were at their most distracted. Send two teams of picked men with grappling hooks and lines up the slope and over the top. One to seize the tower, the other to take the gate guards from behind, then have the main force up the path...
"What am I doing?" he muttered. Why would he want to assault the place? How would he even know how to do it? Another mystery to solve and it only made Azaran all the more nervous.
The guards at the gate waved them past. Behind the palisade there was another patch of open space. At the top of the hill a large sprawling house, surrounded by sheds and workshops. They went up to a large open door on the southern edge of the place. A pirate appeared, his yellow sash made of silk, his ears and nostrils weighted down with gold ornaments. "Is this him?" he asked. "The big killer man?"
"Aye." The lead guard fingered the spear in his hand. "Came along quietly.”
The pirate strutted forward, coming almost nose to nose with Azaran. "I lost money yesterday, 'cause of you."
"Sorry."
The pirate spat off to the side. "You killed those men so quick. Maybe you wanna kill me? How would you do it?"
Azaran shrugged. He could think of at least four ways to do it, none of which required the use of his hands. "I don't know. I don't want to kill anyone."
The pirate snorted. "Sure." He turned about and stumped into the house. "Bring him alone," he said with a sneer. "The big man be waiting for this pile of meat."
One of the guards poked him in the back with the butt of his spear. Azaran took the hint and went in. Stone walled passages lit by sooty lamps on the walls. The air was musty down here. Store rooms to the left and right, filled with everything from dried meat to weapons racks. At the end was a stairway headed up. The upper levels were somewhat better lit, through the windows were narrow, more like slits for arrows than anything else. The place wasn't a house so much as fortress. Down another corridor lined with closed doors and then into a wide chamber with a high ceiling. Twin shafts of light came down from a pair of tall narrow windows in the back wall. Sitting between them was a tall wooden chair. The three women from the day before knelt beside it, their eyes downcast as always, their bodies barely hidden beneath the scraps of cloth on their bodies. Beside them sat a fourth girl, huddled in shadow, her knees pressed to her chest, her face permanently cast in a state of shock, flinching at every loud noise.
Off to the left of the throne was an iron cage, hanging from the ceiling by a thick iron chain. Sitting in it was an oversized monkey...no, it was a man, filthy and disheveled, wearing little more than rotted rags, his skin a mass of sores and boils.
Pirates and assorted hangers-on were scattered about the floor before the empty chair. They glanced at Azaran, but said nothing, clearing a space before the throne. The guards stepped back, keeping their weapons at the ready.
Then everyone snapped to attention as Enkilash strode in through a side door. He slurped from a cup of wine, ignoring the various greetings and compliments from the people in the room. He halted beside the iron cage. "Wake up!" he snapped, grabbing one of the bars and shoving it hard. The cage spun about, the man in side squawking like some sort of beast. His tongue had been cut out.. Enkilash laughed at the sight and tossed the drugs of his drink through the bars, splashing the man in the face. The others laughed at the site as well, hurling insults at the caged man as he wiped the wine off his face, pushing the filthy drops into his mouth with animalistic grunts, looking on Enkilash with an impotent rage that went beyond the boundaries of madness.
Enkilash slumped down on the throne. As he did so, three more men entered the chamber. One of them carr
ied a black wooden case that Azaran remembered from his arrival to the island. The others were guards, who kept their fingers on their swords at all times. The bearer took position to the left of the throne and opened the lid, revealing the three crystal orbs within. All three glowed with a faint, unearthly light and Azaran fancied he could see roiling clouds of smoke and vapor within then.
"Right," said the master of Tereg, "we can begin. Ugallar!"
The pirate with the gold in his ears and nostrils stepped onto the floor. "Hear my words," declared Ugaler. "Enkilash, Scourge of the Sea, the Sorrow of Hadaraj, graces your presence this day! Bow your heads, bend your knees and praise your gods that he touches you with the hand of friendship! Fear him, respect him, obey him! Hail Enkilash!"
"ENKILASH! ENKILASH! ENKILASH!" The pirates and flunkies chanted the name three times in response, bowing their heads with respect.
Enkilash held out his up. A slave scurried over and refilled it with red wine. "So," he said, voice only slightly slurred. "You are the killer. Doesn't he look fierce, Ugallar?"
"If you say so, my lord," came Ugallar's reply. "Looks like a pretty boy in need of carving to mine eyes."
"This pretty boy turned the pit into a mass grave." Enkilash looked him in the eye. "Those men you killed. They were killers. The meanest, hardest lifetakers I've ever set eyes on, and I count myself on that list. And you went through them like a whorehouse scald."
Azaran shrugged. "They were trying to kill me," he said. "I didn't agree with them on that point."
Enkilash laughed, as did the others in the room. "Disagreements are a dangerous thing," he said. "Especially when men have steel in their hands and reasons to use them. You left Lugdal in a bad spot, he's short of bodies to die in the pit. The poor man is in bad health to begin with."
"I weep for him," Azaran replied.
Enkilash drank from the cup, keeping his eyes on Azaran the whole time. "Still, you are alive and they are meat for worms. Says all that needs to be said. What say you, Ugallar? You don't seem convinced."
"He got lucky, is all," Ugallar snarled.
"So many against one. He didn't get a scratch on him." Enkilash chuckled. "This because of that bet? How much did you lose?"
"Three weights of gold."
"You'll get it back soon enough."
"It's the principle of the thing," Ugallar said. "I don't like losing coin. And this...I could kill him. The others were fools. Let him fight a real warrior."
"Maybe some day. Might be amusing...but not yet." Enkilash tossed the wine cup at the slave. "What do they call you? I heard you name, but it didn't stick."
"Azaran."
"What kind of savage name is that?"
Azaran shrugged again. "It's the only name I have."
"And what land do you hail from, Azaran?"
"No place you'll have heard of."
Enkilash frowned. "Fine...keep, your secrets. Doesn't matter to me. I don't care what shore spawned you or why you were plucked from the sea. Your past is your business. What matters what you can do tomorrow for me."
"What do you want me to do?"
"What you have done already, with such exquisite skill." Enkilash leaned forward. "I want you to kill."
Azaran felt dizzy. Violence...so much violence, said the silent passenger in a sad voice. Is that all you are? Azaran wasn't sure what the answer would be. And he wondered if he even wanted to find out. He realized that Enkilash was still speaking to him and pulled his mind back to the present.
"...wealth, power, women, all that, especially the last. Stand up!"
"Er...what?" Azaran frowned, already on his feet.
"Not you," Enkilash said. He grabbed the huddled girl by his throne and forced her to stand. "Go on. Show him what you have."
The girl stumbled forward. She raised shaking arms above her head, trying to put a sultry look on her face through a mask of tears. Azaran felt his stomach churn. He had no memory of what an intimate relationship between make and female might be like, but there was nothing erotic about this scene to his eyes. He looked at the girl, as much a prisoner as he and felt only pity.
"She's...very pretty," he forced himself to say.
"The cream of Haradaji nobility. Now she nothing but a receptacle for my seed. Serve me and she will serve the same purpose for you." No master...
"Serve?" Azaran asked.
Enkilash met his gaze. "Yes. Bend your knee, bow your head. Acknowledge me as your lord and master. Serve as my champion. And know that I reward loyal service..."
No master. Rage boiled in him, sudden and fierce, coming from a dark place hidden until this moment. No master. The words repeated in his head, a command of divine strength, unshakable and unbreakable. No master. No master...no master...NO MASTER...
"No," he said thickly, fists clenching. The iron links of the manacles were stretched tight, and his ears heard he faint squeal of stressed iron.
Enkilash frowned. "What was that?"
"I have no master." Azaran forced anger back. "I serve no man. I bend the knee to no one."
Enkilash reddened. He slowly rose, hand touching a dagger thrust through his belt sash. "Back to your kennel, bitch," he snarled at the girl. She knelt back down by the throne, shaking in terror. He stepped towards Azaran. The guards closed in, spears at the ready. Azaran shifted into a combat stance, the anger receding, replacing by that dreadful clarity.
"I am Enkilash," said the lord of Tereg. "I have killed sixty-three men with these two hands. I have burned the cities of my enemies, sunk their ships, slaughtered their men and made slaves of their women and children. The waves speak my name when they crash on the shore, telling all who hear that they live because I allow it! Everything I see is mine to do with as I wish...and that include you, slave!"
"Shall I kill him, my lord?" asked Ugallar, hand on his sword hilt.
But then Enkilash smiled. "No. Dogs must be broken to their collars. Take him back to the holding cells."
"My lord?" Ugallar asked, confused.
"He will fight again, and again....until his arms are tired and his legs are weak. And he will learn that I am his master. He will learn that Enkilash owns him body and soul. And if he survives, it will be by my will."
He went back to the chair and sat back down. "Away with him!" he commanded, waving a hand.
The guards closed in and took Azaran away.
"You did what?" asked Segovac. "And you walked away with your life?"
Azaran nodded. He was back in the cell, back to the wall, gnawing on a moldy crust of bread the guards tossed in for dinner. "Apparently I'm more amusing alive than dead."
"Most men would prefer death under the circumstances. Enkilash will make you suffer. A man like that is at war with the world, an enemy of all."
Azaran thought on this. "A enemy of all. Seems...big."
"Some men," Segovac said, "bear a grudge against the entire world, not just a certain part of it or certain people living in it. They would set a flame to their own house if it meant the flames would spread to the homes of their neighbors. That is Enkilash, our lord and master. An enemy to all men. And fellows like him will never lack for company, as you have seen."
"What made him like this?" Azaran asked. "No man enters his life twisted like that."
"How would you know?" Segovac asked. "Given you have no memories that go back more than a handful of days." Then the Eburrean was silent for a moment. "He was a nobleman, or so they say..."
"'Who is 'they?"'
"People in general. Don't interrupt." Segovac recovered his train of thought. "A nobleman from some city in Hadaraj - that's the land on the southern shore of the Great Green Sea. Kedaj, I think, that's the name of the place. A great city, wealthy and ancient. He was the nephew of its king, had a wife and children. They say he might have been king himself some day, he had the knack of getting men to follow him. But one of his cousins also had a desire to be King. They faced off against each other...plots, intrigues and so on. The Hadaraji have
a taste for such things. A knife in the back at night, not a sword in a fair fight under the sun...I suppose it causes less damage in the end. The cousin proved himself the better backstabber, and the King named him the heir and Enkilash an outlaw."
"He fled?" Azaran asked.
"Not at first. They took him and his family before they could get out. The wife and children were burned alive as an offering to one of their gods, while Enkilash watched. He was sentenced to impalement, but escaped before it could be carried out. The ship carrying him was taken by pirates. When they found he was noble born, the captain and crew planned on taking him back to Kedaj for the reward. But Enkilash broke his bonds, killed the captain and several others beside. The rest bent the knee to him. They sailed to Tereg, where he formed the happy band of pirates and thieves we know so well. Didn't long before they controlled the sea and everything floating on it."
"How did he accomplish that?"
Segovac rubbed his chin. "When you went before him, did you see three crystal globes, the size of a child's head?"
Azaran nodded. "They seemed...odd."
"The Wind Stones, that's what people call them. Artifacts of great power...when all three are together they give their owner the power to control the wind."
Azaran remembered the wind driving the Teregi fleet to Otossa, the way it made his skin crawl. "Where did he get them?"
"No one knows. But with them, no fleet can stand against Enkilash. He can sail his fleets where he wants, when he wants. The winds obey his every whim. Ships that stand against his pirates are stopped dead in the water or driven onto the shore. In the twenty years since he came to Tereg no one has been able to stop him. Those who don't pay him tribute find their ships sunk and their coastlines set aflame. The Hadaraji are a favorite target of his...he attacks his own people even when they have nothing left worth stealing. Some years back he attacked Kedaj. They sacked the coastline, burned the fleet in the harbor and blockaded the city for two weeks, until finally a ransom was paid. When they left the holds were filled with plunder, including dozens of women from the noble families of the city. Enkilash also had the cousin responsible for his family's death as a prisoner. That man still lives, kept in a cage like some beast in his throne room."
Warrior on the Edge of Memory (The Tale of Azaran Book 1) Page 4