Hazad’s sword slammed into the prisoner’s spine, withdrew, and fell again, higher up. The crown of the man’s hairless skull soared away like a crude bowl and hit the ground with a rattling thud.
Azuri, torch in one hand and dagger in the other, waded into those blinded by thoughts of fresh meat. Bellowing an unbroken stream of oaths, he beat one man to the ground, wheeled, and slashed another across the face. Even as he sought another foe, a fist-sized stone struck his cheek with a sickening thud. Azuri staggered, but did not fall. With a brutal calm, he attacked, dagger and torch finding all likely targets, burning or cutting, by turn.
Hazad focused his rage on those now scampering away. Despite his great size, he moved with the precision of a master painter, no stroke wasted or hedged. Blood flew in delicate drops from the slashing edge of his sword, splashing the dusty walls. A skeletal man reeled backward, screeching, attempting to hold his cleaved groin in one piece, even as his guts boiled out from another gash across his middle. Another deranged fool laughed aloud, thinking he had jumped free of Hazad’s blade, but the laugh became a bubbling hiss when the back of his head tottered back on a slashed neck and kissed his spine. His quivering corpse pitched over and hit the ground.
As suddenly as it had begun, the assault ended. All that remained were the silent dead and the dying, their clutching fingernails digging grooves in the dust. Most of the prisoners had simply fled. Ellonlef could still hear their aggrieved voices fading away into the bowels of the Pit. Azuri coaxed the smoldering torch back into life and looked upon Kian, his despair mirroring that of both Ellonlef and Hazad.
“Gods good and wise,” Hazad whispered. Where a moment before his eyes blazed with fury, now they were wide and filled with sorrow.
With the grisly tableau spread out around him, Kian looked like a fallen king brought low by lesser men, despite his valiant effort to win through. Ellonlef’s heart broke anew at the sight of him, knowing he would not long survive Varis’s tortures … and without Kian, Varis would rise to heights of power never dreamed of by a mortal man.
“What did they do to him?” Hazad muttered.
“Not they,” Azuri corrected, his voice filled with an anguish that did not seem possible for such a warrior. “Others might have participated, but it was Varis who commanded this. And for this, he will die.”
Ellonlef dried her eyes, set her mouth. There might still be a chance, but it would not be had here. “We need to get him to Hya. She will have the means to help, and more skill than mine.”
With the gentleness of a father cradling a sickly child to his chest, Hazad lifted Kian. Ellonlef led the way, while Azuri took the rear, watching their trail for any prisoners who had missed the lesson learned by their peers. When they reached the second door, Ellonlef took the keys Hazad had taken off the now vanished guard. Ellonlef unlocked the door and stepped through. Hazad bustled through next, followed by Azuri, who closed the door at his back. Ellonlef relocked and the trio hurried along.
To Ellonlef, it felt like they were on a leisurely stroll, but by Hazad’s sweaty brow and gulping breaths, they were moving as fast as possible. In short order, Kian’s wounds had reopened, slicking his skin with fresh blood. Despite this, Hazad’s grip never failed, and soon they came to the bottom of the stair and climbed up, urgency driving them.
At the top of the stair, Hazad slumped against the wall, still bearing Kian, while Azuri took the keys and moved to the door. Knowing Hazad could not do anything more than he already was, Azuri looked at Ellonlef. “Make ready. If Durrin and our gold did their work, only Ixron will stand against us. If not, then we fight until either they are all dead … or we are.”
She nodded, even as Azuri began pounding on the locked door.
After a few moments the lock clicked, and Ixron swung the door open a few cautious inches. His eyes widened at the sight of those before him. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.
Understanding belatedly dawned, and Ixron tried to slam the door in Azuri’s face, who in turn jammed his shoulder against the heavy wooden door. Although he was slender for an Izutarian, Azuri was no wisp of a man, and his strength proved too much for the Aradaner. Azuri leaned into the door, easing it open, inch by inch. Outside, Ixron’s feet scrabbled in the loose, sandy soil. He knew he was losing ground, and called over his shoulder for help.
Taking advantage of the distraction, Azuri’s hand flashed through the opening, caught hold of the gaoler’s neck, and violently jerked his face against the doorframe. There came a crunching thump, and Ixron fell away. Sword coming to hand, Azuri burst through the door, ready for anything, but there was no one to fight. Hazad carried Kian into the open, with Ellonlef coming last.
Durrin moved into view, sparing a regretful glance for Kian. “I have horses and a wagon ready, but you must hurry. The change of guard is due any moment.”
“What of the others?” Ellonlef asked.
“Have no fear of them.”
As proof of his assurance, a pleased looking pair of guards approached with two saddled mounts, while a third led a horse-drawn wagon. All the rest of the guards made a show of studying the frigid, night-shrouded street beyond the wall.
Azuri and Hazad hastily placed Kian into the back of the wagon, and Ellonlef drew Azuri’s cloak off her shoulders and covered him. Without hesitation, she crawled into the wagonbed next to him, trying to force her warmth into his cool skin. She felt a queer tingling in her fingers, which spread outward through the rest of her body. Strange as that was, it seemed somehow familiar, but she concentrated on keeping Kian warm.
After the pair hurled a groggy Ixron down into the stairwell and locked the door, Azuri leapt into the cart’s seat and took the reins, while Hazad and Durrin mounted the horses.
“Are you joining us, then?” Hazad asked.
Durrin drew himself up, his lined face hard. “I am leaving. With the rise of this new king, my soldiering days have come to an end. After we pass through the gate, I will go my way, and you will go yours.”
“And these others?”
“Thanks to your gold, they will take their leave, as well. If not, they are fools that deserve the punishment King Varis will deliver onto their heads for allowing Kian’s escape.”
Azuri nodded in acceptance, and clucked the horse into a rattling trot that would take them quickly back to the Chalice and Hya’s shop.
Chapter 42
After dismissing his incompetent counselors, Varis continued to study a huge and detailed map stretched taut across the banquet table. Its bright inks seemed to glow within the well-lit Golden Hall. The map was made from a hundred pieces of the finest vellum, each square of soft lambskin stitched together so precisely that the seams were nearly invisible. West of the island kingdom of Kelren, north of Izutar, east of Aradan, and south of Geldain, artfully painted clouds filled the map’s edges. Beyond those clouds lay mystery. Some thought nothing waited beyond, save danger and death leftover from the creation of the world. Varis silently vowed to discover the truth.
First, however, he had many familiar kingdoms to conquer. The Suanahad Empire, under the rule of Emperor u’Hadn, had subjugated all the known world after defeating and uniting the multitude of sand kings of northern Geldain. In ships barely suitable for the crossing, he had struck north for mysterious lands of plenty, sailing his fleet across the Sea of Drakarra and landing on the shores of what became the kingdom of Tureece. Of lush lands, the emperor found few enough, but of gold, silver, and precious stones, there had been an abundance.
In time, Emperor u’Hadn led his armies farther north, vanquishing the Grendahl clans, driving them into the inhospitable and icy holds of Falseth and Izutar. For the briefest time, u’Hadn held the known world in his palm, and ruled from the great city Kula-Tak, on the northernmost point of Geldain.
Then Varis’s greatest ancestor Edaer Kilvar, the First King, grew tired of bowing to an uncle who demanded the blood of his subjects and the wealth of the new world, all for the prom
ise of nothing, and wrested the lands that would become Aradan away from the emperor. In time, Edaer’s rebellion left the empire and its vast armies shattered, and the long-subjugated tribes of southern Geldain finished what he had begun, sweeping aside the last remnants of the retreating cohort of sand kings, to the point that even the memory of what u’Hadn had built became more myth than accepted truth.
For centuries, Aradan ascended, growing in power and influence until becoming so bloated, rich, and apathetic, that she had to resort to filling the ranks of her armies with the very peoples the fallen empire had conquered long before, the offspring of the Grendahl clans, the barbarians of Izutar, more ignorant animals than men. Straight away, Varis meant to wash clean his kingdom with the very blood of those lesser peoples.
And I have already begun, he mused, sipping sweet summer wine from a golden goblet studded with amethysts. By now, Kian was surely dead, and more, the food of men and vermin. The thought pleased him.
Thinking of Kian, who had been a thorn in his side for a short but lingering season, led Varis’s eye across Izutar on the map. His councilors argued that Izutar had grown stronger since their war with Falseth, some two decades prior, and were now more united against their enemies. Be that as it may, Varis considered them little more than witless brutes who preferred rutting with hounds rather than women. They spoke of honor and duty, but in truth they readily sold both for gold. They were easily manipulated fools, and as such, they would fall to ruin in short order. Moreover, a good many of the Izutarian population lived not in Izutar, but in Aradan. Already, he had commanded that all Izutarians be secretly identified, located, and marked for slaughter. And if, by chance, Izutar proved more formidable than he allowed … well, then, he would gladly destroy them with fire and shadow drawn from the very heart of Geh’shinnom’atar. By sword or by the power of gods, all that mattered in the end was that Izutar cease to be.
He took another sip of wine, already savoring the sound of the lament Izutarian women and children would one day sing. Such would be a paean to him, to be sure, but it would not still his hand against them. To the last, he would utterly destroy all remnants of the late Grendahl clans. They were not even fit to serve as slaves, to his mind. The utter annihilation of Izutar would serve as a lesson to the world that they dare not stand against him-
One of the throne room’s doors banged open, and a guardsman entered, nearly bent double in humility. Or is it fear? Varis wondered, trying to dismiss a sudden sense of unease.
“What is it?” he demanded.
The guardsman stammered something inarticulate, swallowed, then began again, his words halting but understandable. “Sire, the head gaoler of the Pit, Ixron, has come. He has word of Ki-” the guardsman cut off in a choked garble. Varis had forbidden the use of Kian’s name, not only in Ammathor, but in all of Aradan. To do so earned the penalty of death. The guard gulped a breath then stammered, “Ixron brings word of the … ah … the prisoner … ah … the Izutarian.”
The Izutarian, Varis considered darkly. Such had the ring of an honorific, and might well become a rallying cry for future martyrs. He saw straight away that he could not allow its usage, but now was not the moment to rename Kian. He would have to think on it, come up with a turn of phrase or title so vile that only a blind fool would think to use it to engender hope.
“Send him in,” Varis commanded.
The guardsman bowed low, then backed hastily through the doorway. A moment later, a filthy man covered with bruises and scrapes all but crawled into the Golden Hall. Even with his head bowed, Varis noticed a crust of partly congealed blood on one side of the gaoler’s bruised face. Something like a small terrified animal came alert inside him.
“What news do you bring?” Varis demanded.
Ixron began blubbering, perhaps thinking that if he blurted it out all at once, he would be spared. As he carried on, flakes of sticky blood fell from the wound on his face to the polished marble tiles at his booted feet. The smell of him, that of urine and stables and sour wine, curdled Varis’s stomach.
Ixron fell abruptly silent, breathing heavily.
Varis ground his teeth. “Begin again, and speak clearly this time. Fail in this, and I will have out your useless tongue.”
Ixron flung himself to the tiles, wailing in terror. “Kian! He is escaped!”
“You are mistaken,” Varis grated.
Ixron shook his head in answer, weeping uncontrollably.
Varis wanted to scream in rage, and the power of the gods surged in him. The light of his inner fires spread out over the map of the world, curling the edges. Yet Varis resisted, just managing to push it back down before he destroyed the throne room. He needed to know what was stirring, and turning Ixron to a heap of smoking ash would not serve … not yet.
“What do you mean, escaped?” Varis asked, subduing his wrath with a gulp of wine.
“Sire?” Ixron asked uncertainly, as if Varis had spoken in a foreign tongue.
“How could a man so near death escape the inescapable, you babbling idiot?” Varis snapped.
Ixron eyes fell. “As I said, he was aided by three-two Izutarians and a woman, a Sister of Najihar. More, my guards, they betrayed me to the last. I was set upon, battered insensible. When I came awake, they had thrown me into the Pit. I had a spare key, a secret key, but when I came out, all were gone.”
“He will be in the Chalice,” Varis knew instantly, recalling that one of the Sisters of Najihar resided there, in service to King Simiis longer than Varis had been alive. He silently cursed himself for that oversight. But that was no matter. They would not be able to move Kian far, his injuries serving to trap them.
Varis sent for the Captain of the House Guard. When he arrived, eyes bleary with sleep, Varis explained what had happened and where Kian and his companions would be found.
“Take as many men as you need and hunt them down,” he ordered, “Do not spare them. I want them dead.” He had toyed with them enough, and now was the time for blood to spill. “I want their heads.”
Chapter 43
Before coming to Hya’s shop, the wind became a bitter gale, driving litter down empty streets. For perhaps the first time in a lifetime, the reek of the Chalice was freshened. The biting cold was unlike anything Ellonlef had ever experienced, and she found herself constantly blinking on the chance that the surface of her eyes might freeze over.
Azuri was silent as he climbed down from the wagon’s seat. Hazad clenched his jaw, as if to keep his teeth from chattering. Ellonlef had no such strength in her. Icy fingers clawed at her flesh, leaving every inch of her shuddering. She knew she had experienced nearly unbearable heat before, and in her mind’s eye, she could see that remembered heat rising off the sandy wastes of the Kaliayth, but she could not recall how it had felt.
As she jumped from the wagonbed, her limbs stiff and uncooperative, the side door to Hya’s shop cracked open, and the old woman peeked out. Behind her, a lamp’s comforting glow beckoned. Ellonlef wanted to dash for the promise of any warmth, no matter how scant, but she turned instead to help with Kian.
Hya took in the scene at a glance, then shot a baleful eye toward the starless sky. “This cold will bring much death to an already troubled land,” she said in an ominous tone.
Ellonlef did what she could to aid Hazad and Azuri in pulling a seemingly lifeless Kian from the wagon, but in the end could do little more than fret and keep the door from slamming shut. Her real work, along with Hya’s, would begin once Kian was inside.
Hya led them along at a hurried shuffle to a prepared room. A brazier glowed with heaped coals in one corner, but the gale’s frosty breath easily penetrated every nook and cranny. Still, compared to outside, the room was only cool.
Hazad and Azuri gently deposited Kian onto a raised pallet loaded with ratty blankets. As they worked, exposing the extent of Kian’s innumerable wounds, concerned hisses passed Hya’s teeth.
“You are the better healer,” Ellonlef said gravely. “Tell
me what you need.”
Hya looked from Kian to her fellow sister, her eyes misty. “I can do nothing for him,” she said flatly, “save comfort him. By all rights, he should have perished before he reached the Pit. How he lasted this long is beyond me.” She took Ellonlef’s hand in her own. “I am truly sorry.”
Ellonlef’s heart broke anew at Hya’s words, and her sorrow was made all the worse by the tears streaming down Hazad’s bearded cheeks. Azuri, his face hard as stone, sighed heavily and turned away.
Stifling a moan, Ellonlef fell to her knees at Kian’s side. She clasped one of his blood-crusted hands in both of hers, a hand cold as death, and bowed her head over his hitching chest. A single, gulping sob wracked her, then searing tears fell on the dusty, moth-eaten blankets mercifully hiding the worst of his wounds. All was silent, save for Ellonlef’s soft, wrenching sounds of grief. She did not know how long she knelt there, praying to whatever god might yet hear her pleas.
At some point her prayers ended, and her mind wandered aimlessly. She saw Kian in memory, coming to her aid during the Bashye attack, a hulking shadow on that frantic night, full of menace for his enemies and strength for her … her, just an unknown woman alone in a world gone mad. Unknown as she was, still he had come, risked his life without pause, willing to die for a stranger in need. Her cheeks flamed at the thought. She had not looked at it that way before, had not accurately seen the selflessness of his actions. He was a man of honor … and he was a man dying before her. She had pressed him to help Aradan, so she had thought. Now she was not sure. In truth, she felt he would have come to Ammathor to spare a throne and a people to which he held no allegiance, no matter who had asked him. In memory, she admitted his hesitation had crumbled far too quickly, too easily had he abandoned his plan of returning to his home of Izutar. Few were such men.
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