Tatters of the King (The Warren Brood Book 3)

by Bartholomew Lander

  She shuddered. “Amanda Lark. Granddaughter of Charles Lark.”

  For a long moment, there was no further sound beside the popping and snapping of the brazier embers. She could feel his eyes probing her. Just when she thought the silence would kill her, the thing on the throne hissed and began to chuckle. Even the flames of the torches attempted to flee the sound. “And what about you?”

  Kyle cleared his throat. “Lionel Lark.” His voice held a noticeable bravado that she herself had lacked.

  The chewing from the Urn-ma ceased. “And you are this girl’s father?”

  “That is correct.”

  A low rumble answered, followed by a hot snarl that rolled from Nemo’s lips. “Did you believe you could fool me?”

  That question stopped Amanda’s heart. What the hell? Does he know? But how could he? Silence. The air grew so thick she was afraid a single breath would drown her.

  “Do not insult my intelligence,” Nemo said. “I can tell at a glance that you bear no relation to the girl. Now, will you tell me who you really are, or must I force you?”

  Kyle was silent where he knelt. He stole a glance in Amanda’s direction, and a horrified shudder passed between them. Before she could think to signal anything to him, his gaze returned to the ground. “My name,” he said with a small cough, “is Kyle Rogers.”

  The monstrous thing shifted. “Rogers. Rogers?”

  “That is correct, Your Highness.” The bravado he projected was at odds with the subtle trembling that gripped his fingers and wrists.

  Nemo leered at Kyle from beneath his hood. “Rogers. Kyle. Kyle Rogers.” He growled and twisted his neck into what should have been a fatal angle. He tapped the half-devoured bone against his statue-throne. “Now, tell me: why do I know that name?”

  Kyle seemed as surprised by the comment as he had about Nemo’s piercing observation. Still clearly unsettled, he stayed silent, though his lips wobbled with something unspoken.

  Nemo closed his eyes and hummed, his vocal cords vibrating at a grating tenor. A skeletal finger rapped at his leg. “Very well. I shall think on it later. What brings you to my glorious order?”

  Amanda felt that the question was pointed squarely at her. “I was drawn by the tales passed down from my grandfather,” she said, regurgitating the same excuse she’d grown accustomed to.

  “And so you wished to witness the dawning of the new order with your own eyes?”

  “Aye.”

  He began to gesture toward Kyle with the shaft of bone. “And you brought this man with you. Why? Does he mean something to you?”

  She coughed. What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

  Kyle cleared his throat. “I am here as protection.”

  Nemo sneered at him. “Did I ask you to speak?”

  “You did not,” he replied, voice regaining some of his earlier fervor. “I spoke because I wanted to.”

  The yellow robe shifted threateningly. “You would speak to me in such tones? Do you not know to whom you speak, Rogers?” But before Kyle could reply, Nemo flattened himself against his seat once more. The tapping of the bone returned, more incessant than before. “Rogers. Rogers, Kyle. Rogers.” He began to rap the bone against his knee and then against his forehead, twisting his head and neck in new directions as the tapping grew more vicious and frenzied. “Rogers. Rogers. Rogers.”

  What at first seemed a passing curiosity now grew into a harsh, rattling obsession. Bone clacking a frantic rhythm, fingernails scratching at his thin hair, he kept shaking and repeating the same two words. “Kyle. Rogers. Kyle Rogers.” Amanda gave Kyle a look, and found him returning it with the same lack of clarity.

  With a throaty croak, Nemo extended one finger toward him. “You. Stand. Now.”

  Kyle hesitated a moment before obeying. He stood with another crackle from his knees.

  “Now, come to me.”

  Amanda watched, hairs prickling along her neck, as Kyle did as instructed. Only when she went to grab the hilt of her concealed dagger did she realize that her fingers had never moved. The dull ache in her joints pleaded at her to loosen her grip.

  When he stood only a couple steps before Nemo, Kyle stopped. “What?”

  Abruptly, Nemo leapt to his feet. He seized Kyle by the throat and pressed his own forehead into his. “Show me who you are.” Nemo’s eyes went wide and flashed with a violet internal light.

  All at once, Kyle’s stance widened, and his arms drew inward with a harsh jerk. His muscles began to shake, and his jaw clenched hard. His eyelids peeled back, and the grays of his eyes rocked back and forth rapidly. And then, just as suddenly as the seizure had come about, it stopped. Kyle fell backward from the Urn-ma, a cry of pain ripping its way through his throat. He caught himself with one arm and rolled onto the ground, hands clutching his head. “Jesus fuck, what did you do!?”

  Amanda raised herself up and leaned toward him, fear of the robed one stopping her from drawing any closer. “Kyle? Wh-what happened?”

  A smile parted Nemo’s lips. He seethed a coarse, satisfied sigh. “Ahh. Better. Much better. Kyle Rogers. I remember now. You were one of the candidates.”

  Kyle crawled an arm’s length away before looking behind him, hand still pressed against his forehead.

  An amused chortle fluttered from the folds of the yellow robe. “Oh, yes. I remember you. Dwyre remembers you.” He began to glide over the floor alongside Kyle’s hunched form. When Kyle’s head turned to follow his movement, Nemo made a violent gesture. “Don’t move! Yes, I remember. It must have been almost twenty years ago that you were contacted. By a group calling themselves West Valley Research.” He chuckled, as though he found the name amusing. “If I recall correctly, you were offered quite a sizable grant to work on a very special project. You were one of the scientists to whom was extended the hand of NIDUS. You were given the chance to enter into the halls of legend and myth, helping to weave the helices of man and spider.” He paused. “But you were the only one to reject Clearwater’s contract.”

  Kyle looked up at him, whole body still shaking. “I . . . What? That offer really was . . . NIDUS?”

  Another chortle. “Oh, you did not know, did you? Given an amount and a location—far more than most needed—you turned it down. And why? Because of that woman, wasn’t it?”

  Kyle gasped. “What did you say?”

  “That woman. May Warren. It was because she and your old friend lived in Grantwood that you refused, was it not? For fear of having to face your own decisions.”

  “How could you possibly know that?”

  “Do not think for a moment that you can hide any of your secrets from me. Have you not effaced yourself for that decision, going so far as to leave the letter of invitation in that top drawer of yours as some kind of talisman of what could have been? But you, worshiper of your own sorrow, were offered the world. And your self-hatred alone kept you from falling into the net of NIDUS.”

  Kyle now shook with terror, sweat glistening in the folds of his face. “No. You can’t know that. What . . . What are you?”

  Nemo glared down at him. “Did you just dare to ask me a question? Prostrate yourself properly, idolater!”

  As though stricken by an unseen blow, Kyle flattened himself against the ground, throwing his arms out toward Nemo’s feet.

  Seemingly satisfied, Nemo turned away from him with a deep chortle. He paced back toward the fallen statue-throne and casually reached into the smoldering embers of one of the torches. The fire snapped and cracked. When he withdrew his hand, sparks swam through the air around his burned fingers. “Is it not amusing how fate works? It is by pure chance that your number was drawn by NIDUS, and chance that your past links you so splendidly with the others in Dwyre’s grand scheme. And it is chance that brings you once more here, to the cradle of the Avan’razi.” The last word rolled off his tongue with a palpable contempt. “So perfect are the coincidences that any outsider would surely see it as an intentional involvement, as though it has bee
n preordained.”

  Amanda’s breathing grew shallower. The venom in Nemo’s voice sank into her lungs and spread ice through every part of her body. Seeing the fear on Kyle’s face was almost too much to bear; where calming strength had been before, only horror and weakness remained. “Are you okay?” she asked, voice squeaking, pleading.

  Nemo let out another long sigh. “Preordained. Yes. Something has chosen you to appear, time and time again, in connection with the children of the King. And you would have me believe it is chance?” He wheeled on Kyle’s trembling form. “As though I would believe such madness. I know better than to attribute to chance that which can be stirred by the Primal Ones. No. You must have been touched, just as Repton and Dwyre were. Yes, there is no other possibility.”

  From beneath the folds of Nemo’s robe, Amanda saw the white gleam of gnarled bone appear again. Her heart stopped dead in her chest as he lifted the crude weapon into the air.

  “I will not have my rule challenged by more pawns of the King. You are of the old order, and like all that is entwined with the Yellow, you must be erased!”

  Amanda tried to yell, but her tongue wouldn’t move. Shock froze her muscles, and she could only look on as Nemo swung the bone implement downward and plunged it into the back of Kyle’s neck. The scream came all at once, ripping through the dam in a torrent of horror. Kyle’s voice broke beneath hers. From his prostrated position, he thrashed against the ground, a thick gurgling overflowing as Nemo twisted the sharpened bone.

  “Writhing Malefice!” Nemo shouted. “Ozmahesh! I offer this worthless soul to your waiting teeth!” He tore the bone-blade out of Kyle’s neck and sent the tool clattering across the floor.

  Kyle writhed in a desperate panic, trying to pull himself across the ground, one hand on his opened neck. His muscles convulsed, fighting his escape.

  Amanda’s heart pounded, each beat shaking her shoulders. She only noticed that she’d pushed herself ten feet away from the two of them when her back met the cold wall. Every thought hammering her brain told her it couldn’t have been real; it was too gruesome to be real, too cruel and inhuman.

  Choking, Kyle pulled himself inch by inch toward the sealed door, groping for support. Nemo swept in on him. He grabbed Kyle by the shoulder and tossed him back against the fallen statue with a dull thud. The Urn-ma reared back, cackling mad, and threw a massive punch into Kyle’s head. The man’s neck wrenched, splattering blood from his severed artery across the room. A dead crack broke through the air. Blood ran from Kyle’s throat just as freely as the laughter from Nemo’s. Another crushing blow took him in the side of the head, and then a third. Each attack bristled with a monstrous strength, and one punch broke off a powdery chunk of the stone seat as it clipped across Kyle’s skull.

  Tears mercifully blotted out the visceral scene for a moment. Amanda threw up in her mouth as the reality hit her. Her legs pushed desperately at the ground, trying to get farther away from the unfolding carnage. She tore the dagger from her belt and held it out threateningly, pointing it in the vague direction where the laughing yellow monster continued its assault.

  Finally, Nemo’s beating ceased. He grabbed the man by the throat and pulled his limp body up from the statue. Kyle’s face was beaten unrecognizable. Chunks of bone protruded from the grisly sea of blood. “All remnants of the Yellow must be extinguished,” Nemo said. “Your flesh shall feed the Dawn.” With a crazed grimace, he dropped Kyle’s body and crouched down over it, putting his face right into the man’s destroyed throat.

  The wet sound of chewing flooded the room. As soon as Amanda realized what was happening, her stomach turned and she threw up again, this time evacuating the entirety of her stomach contents upon the floor. Coughing, choking on the burn of bile, she began to crawl along the wall, toward where the door to the chamber should have been.

  A moist slurp addressed her. “Will you not partake of the feast?”

  She dared to turn back, and her eyes met his soulless emerald irises. His face was smeared red—it was the face of pure evil. Icy blades tore up and down Amanda’s back. His gaze was again probing her—testing her for disloyalty—and all she could do was tremble and feebly raise the dagger that had not moved from her grip. She knew that if he were to attack, it would do nothing to protect her.

  Seeing the weapon, Nemo’s eyes seemed to bulge. His rotten smile grew wider. “You know, Amanda. I learned something interesting from this man just now.” His lids narrowed. “I learned that you are friends with one of the daughters of the King.”

  Cold dread rippled out from her chest. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

  He chuckled. “And that makes you part of the old order as well.”

  Amanda held the blade as stoically as she was able, but her muscles shook worse than ever. The smell of blood and vomit surrounded her, making her dizzy with a sharp nausea that started in the core of her gut and exploded in all directions.

  He hummed, and his tongue teased at a growth of chitin that erupted from his chin. “I suppose we can discuss what that means for you next time. After all, it would be a shame to lose such a precious face just as soon as it’s arrived. Don’t worry. We’ll figure something out for you.”

  Nemo grabbed Kyle’s shoulder and dragged his body off the statue. It landed upon the floor in a wet heap. He turned around and again lowered himself upon his makeshift throne. Beneath his hood, his ember-touched gaze still held hers. “Return to your chambers,” he said in a bored tone. “We are done for now.”

  Amanda stumbled back through the halls of Ur’thenoth, her breathing ragged and starved. Each lungful of the stagnant air tasted like blood, and the dawning finality of the encounter stared accusingly at her from each statue and mural that lined the glorified crypt. Twice she stopped to vomit, but nothing came out; she’d already spent her stomach contents. She just bent and retched, unable to escape the sickness twisting in her core.

  He’s dead. I killed him. It’s my fault. Her thoughts kept repeating those same words over and over. Her hands were slick with sweat, and every neophyte that crossed her path looked like the specter of death itself. The way Nemo had stared at her and said that he knew who she was, that she was a part of the old order—he could have killed her at that moment. That he didn’t was somehow a more awful conclusion.

  When at last she returned to the dormitory, she slipped inside the stone doorway and tried to shut it as quickly as she could. The warm light of the candles welcomed her back, but she felt only cold.

  Chelsea sat up from where she lay on the bed. “Oh, thank God. I was starting to get worried.”

  The moment the stone door clacked shut, Amanda surrendered. She dropped to the ground, put her face in her hands and began to weep. The hot tears rolled down her cheeks and plopped against the floor—all she could think about was the blood splattering the walls.

  “M-Mandy? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

  She said nothing. Her chest was cramped, and she couldn’t see anything. She couldn’t even think. All she could do was scream into her palms as the tears flowed.

  “Mandy?” Her voice dropped to a lower tone, and her breaths grew uneven. “Where’s Kyle?”

  Amanda tightened her jaw and struggled to hold the sobs down. “He killed him.” The words tasted like a noose.

  A moment of silence. “What?”

  “The, the Nemo thing. He killed him. Right there. Right in front of me. And he—” Her gut rolled and churned as the imprinted memory returned. But even the sight of Nemo beginning to devour Kyle wouldn’t release her stomach of its purgatory. Retching and dry heaving, she put her forehead on the cool ground. Please let it all be a dream, God. I’ll do anything, just let me wake up.

  “A-Amanda. You’re joking. Tell me you’re joking.” Chelsea’s voice rolled and broke, putting another knot in Amanda’s gut.

  “I’m so fucking sorry, Chelsea. I was . . . I was so confident that it would all work out. I was stupid. Fucking stupid. Will warned us, but I didn’t fuck
ing listen!” She stumbled to her feet and grabbed Chelsea’s shoulders. She looked her in her horrified eyes. I have to be strong. One of us has to be. Amanda clenched her jaw and took a breath in a vain effort to quell her quivering insides. “We’re leaving,” she said. “Now.”

  Chelsea sniffed, desperate tears shimmering in her eyes. She nodded. Then they broke and began to scramble for their belongings. They packed in only a few moments, filling their bags with clothing and the rations of food that remained. Amanda crammed her crinkled notes on the cult into a side pocket and slung the bag over her shoulders. “Ready?”

  Chelsea was already at the door, fiddling with its rust-covered mechanism. “Y-yeah.”

  Amanda charged forward and cranked the lever. The door, now frictionless, swung open, and the two bolted into the hallway.

  And stopped dead.

  Just outside their dormitory stood a pair of Websworn. Their posturing and their expressions ruled out the possibility that they were there by chance. They were just standing there, staring. Waiting. Amanda swallowed hard. She shifted her body to hide her bag as much as possible. “C-can I help you?”

  The pale-skinned creature on the left skulked closer and rolled his neck. “You are not to leave. Return.”

  Amanda choked. Fuck, fuck, fuck! “You’re . . . Did N-Nemo send you to . . . ?”

  The one on the right spoke. “Urn-ma Nemo does not wish you to leave Ur’thenoth. Nor your friend.”

  Her chest shook, and she felt the burn of helpless tears beginning to form again. “You’re shitting me. You can’t be—”

  “Back inside,” the left Websworn said in a gravelly whisper.

  Amanda gave Chelsea an apologetic look and found one waiting for her in return. She turned about slowly, and her traitorous feet ferried her back toward the door, breath becoming faster and hotter.

  “Wait,” the other Websworn spoke.

  Amanda paused, almost afraid to look back. But she did.

  The tribalist had one hand stretched out toward her. “Your ritual blade.”