The False Martyr

by H. Nathan Wilcox

  Everything seemed to happen in a blur after that. Ipid fell to Eia’s side, placed a hand on her shoulder, felt blood pulsing over it, watched it creep across the floor, up her hair, onto her face. She was not moving, eyes closed, body peaceful. Ipid pressed on her shoulder with one hand, praying for the blood to stop flowing, and slapped her cheek with the other, staining it red from his fingers, calling for her to wake, for her to make another portal, for her to get them away from this.

  The crossbowmen stepped aside, replaced by a new set with weapons armed. The Darthur created a wall between them and their target. One of the warriors fell. The other two descended upon the archers. Two men appeared to stop them. They whirled, moving like dancers around the first of the warriors, making the giant look as clumsy as a drunk trying to catch a band of pickpockets. Except that these pickpockets carried two swords each, one long, one short in the style of Imperial legionnaires. They were the perfect team, and the first warrior was down before his fellow, stumbling with a bolt in his leg, could do anything to aid him. The men smiled at each other as they engaged the final Darthur. The bolt standing from his leg made it all the more pointless. The men almost seemed to be playing with him as they cut and slashed and stabbed until the mighty warrior crashed to his knees. A final backhanded twirling blow sent a blade across his throat, removing Ipid’s final line of defense.

  Only when Lord Stully walked through the door and stood between the men did Ipid realize that he had seen the swordsmen before. They were the twins that had flanked the lord that night so long ago. Now, pressing Eia’s shoulder, slapping her cheek, begging her to wake, Ipid could only watch Allard Stully advance. Behind him, the room filled with familiar faces, members of parliament, governors, Commander Tyne, Jon, Di Valati Wallock. Every one of them was present. Every one of them had been part of the plan not only to usurp him but to kill him. He felt his heart fall. At least they weren’t smiling.

  “This is it,” Lord Stully sneered, face screwed up tight with his fury. “There was no reason for it to be like this, but you couldn’t help yourself. You had to take out your petty quarrel on my son, had to make me pay before you gave me what I wanted. I should make you suffer like I suffered, but I know better than to leave a wounded snake, so I’ll make it quick.” He motioned to his henchmen. They closed in steady strides, bringing their longer blades up as one.

  A portal opened. Every eye went to it. The twins paused. Allard Stully’s grim countenance faltered. Ipid felt hope rise as he waited for Naidi, waited for the blast of energy that would cast back his attackers and provide his escape.

  Naidi appeared. The hood of his black robe was thrown back, revealing a disfigured, white, scar-lined head and mangled face that looked like something a small child would make from clay. But he did not stride through the portal, did not throw up his arms and cast back the swordsmen. He stumbled, hand clasped to his stomach, and fell to the stones in a motionless ball.

  Ipid’s eyes flashed from Naidi to Stully. Allard’s face formed a grim smile. Failed them all, was all Ipid could think as he brought his bloody hands from Eia and raised them over his head. There was no use in begging for his life, so he might as well give them a clean shot at his heart.

  “No!” a voice rose. It was deep, gravely, husky with emotion, terrifying. It was Rynn. Wearing the black robe for the first time Ipid had seen, hood down, blood-soaked hands stretched out, he looked the very image of death. And that is what he brought. Ipid felt his emotions sucked away. “Burn!” the boy, Dasen’s fondest friend, ordered in a voice that could have come from the Maelstrom itself.

  Towers of flame rose around the twin swordsmen, around Lord Stully, around the governors, parliamentarians, officials, advisors, generals, and guards. Every important official, every leader had wanted to be part of this, had wanted to tell his people the part that he had played in the overthrow of the Tyrant. They had all gathered in one place, increased their emotions to hide their unity, and with a single word, Rynn turned them to ash. With a single word, he killed every leader the nation had and ended any hope that the Kingdoms would ever be unified again.

  Ipid watched in horror as everything he had fought to create, as any chance his nation had to heal went up in flames. The heat was such that his eyes burned, but he could not make them blink. They had to watch as hope was scoured away, condemning an entire generation to chaos. Given the choice, he would have gladly, willingly accepted his death, that of Eia, Naidi, even Rynn. He would have given all those and more. But he wasn’t given the choice. All he could do was watch.

  Chapter 74

  The 59th Day of Summer

  Jaret could almost sense the creatures. He peered through the trees around them, hoping for a glimpse of the things, some sense of what was waiting, but they were in the densest, darkest, most remote portion of an already impossibly remote forest. Branches and brush surrounded them on all sides, green and dense and tangled. The creatures could have been anywhere, could have been fifty feet away, and he never would have seen them. He looked to the sky instead with little relief. The canopy above was nearly complete. Even with the midday sun shining in a cloudless sky, it felt like twilight. Ahead of them a rock outcropping, a craggy peak standing twice the height of a man, rose from the forest floor like a fortress. That’s where I’d be, Jaret told himself. If I were the creatures, I’d hide there and hit us from above. Eyeing the rocks, he considered saying something to Lieutenant Caspar before reminding himself that he was the amateur here. He needed to allow his officers to lead, to trust them as much as the Order would allow.

  “The trail leads south,” Lieutenant Caspar said in hushed tones from ahead. “I doubt they’re in the rocks. They prefer surprise to geographic advantage, would rather come at us from a poor location that we don’t expect than a defensible one that we do. My guess is they’re on the other side waiting for us climb up.” He paused and looked again at the rock, the trail they had been following, and the men around him. “We’ll split up,” he declared. “First platoon with me around to the south. Second, come in from the other side. Wait until we engage then hit them from behind. Understood?”

  The men, including Jaret, nodded. The lieutenant for all Jaret’s talk about letting him lead was sure to catch his commander’s eye, confirm his approval, before giving the signal for his men to move out. Lieutenant Caspar and his men had been hunting these creatures nearly every day for over two weeks now. They likely knew the things better than any men on this side of the Clouded Range. This was Jaret’s first time. Despite his position, he’d nearly begged the lieutenant to let him come, had promised that he’d stay out of the way, that he would not endanger himself, that he would not even engage the things. Lieutenant Casper had finally relented but only because there had been no one of sufficient rank to support his denials. If Joal, Yatier, or even Ewon had still been with them, they might have forced their commander to see reason, but a lieutenant, even one as esteemed as Caspar, had no chance against the man who was, by some people’s accounts, the Emperor in exile.

  Thus it was that Jaret had joined his men early that morning, tracking these creatures, following the signs of their movement, circling around almost to where they’d started before the trail led them here. Twenty legionnaires accompanied Jaret all with weapons out and ready. They were all veterans of these hunts, had made it their only jobs since the attack on the Camp, and had gotten, by all accounts, very good at it. But that did not mean there had not been losses. The creatures were still profoundly dangerous. They could still kill, many of them from far away, many before you even knew they were near. Jaret had seen the men return from these hunts, had buried a few of them, had heard their screams as the bite of the Curava Deilei Tuhar’za were administered to heal the wounded.

  The men called them phukers. It was an acronym – pain healer, something – that someone had made up. They had names for most of the creatures now, typically crude and slightly comical. It was part of the game, almost a contest, just like using Thagas�
�kuila’s cousins to heal themselves. They’d captured fifteen of the things after the battle and in the hunts that followed and had almost turned it into a moniker of pride to have their injuries healed by the things. They displayed their scars with pride, made a game of who could go the longest after a bite without screaming – none of them had made it more than a few seconds – and then taunted the creatures after. It meant that any injury could be healed in a matter of seconds. The man only needed to shove an arm through the bars that contained the things and put up with a few minutes of incredible pain. But it had also made them reckless. It took the fear of serious injury, even death, from the equation to the point that it was almost an honor to be injured, a chance to show your bravery, rather than a sign of your stupidity.

  For his part, Jaret had no desire to feel the poisonous bite again. He was not sure that even the wall that held his emotions could handle it, and after his calf had taken most of a day to heal and left him even now with a slight limp, he was losing faith in the healing power that Thagas’kuila had given him. That had made him more cautious – like I have any control, he scoffed at his own thought. He had not ventured from the Camp until today and, if not for the power compelling him, would not have done so this day either. He reminded himself of that. It meant that the Order had plans for him out here. Something important was going to happen, or It wouldn’t have made me come. Somehow, that only increased his unease.

  Ever since the battle, Jaret had been waiting. He knew now that he did not control his words or actions, so he simply waited for the Order to break his paralysis. The army surrounding the forest had withdrawn completely, marching west to invade Liandria according to the few legionnaires who had defected from their ranks. Commander Valien had returned about the same time to confirm the claims. He had made it through to Liandria but failed to secure any assistance. More disturbing, he had brought news of an invasion from across the Clouded Range, of a massive army led by wizards and creatures like those that helped Emperor Nabim. The invaders had, according to Ewon, already conquered the Kingdoms and were, even now, preparing to take Liandria. The entirety of Liandria had gathered to face them north of Lianne, which meant that they were sparing no one to defend their eastern cities from Nabim or aid Jaret’s nascent rebellion. Reading between the lines, Jaret guessed that they were hoping to use the Morgs for that purpose. It had become Jaret’s hope as well.

  If Liandria hired the Morgs, they could sweep into the Empire from the north and drive all the way to Sal Danar before Nabim could recall his army from Liandria. The fortress at Pada Por was the only thing that might stop them, so Jaret had ordered Joal and Yatier to return there. He wanted to make sure that nothing barred the Morgs from claiming the Emperor’s head, that the gates of Pada Por were wide open when they came to do it. Barring that, Commander Valien had taken a dozen legionnaires south to Pindar in search of additional aid. That left Jaret with just over sixty legionnaires, half of whom were still in training. And though there was no reason for them to remain in the forest, Jaret could not seem to order their departure, so they stayed and they hunted.

  A scream cut through Jaret’s thoughts and made even the legionnaires around him jump. They tensed, held out their weapons, drew their bows, and prepared themselves for anything. Halfway around the rock fortress, the scream had come not from it but from the opposite direction. If it represented the creatures’ location, the other platoon was horribly out of position, would likely not make it to them until the fight was all but over.

  There was another shriek, closer now, more discernable. But it was not a cry of battle, but rather a scream of fear, and it had come from a woman, here where there should be no women within hundreds of miles.

  The scream seemed to cut through the men. Only Lieutenant Caspar remained unfazed. He caught the eyes of the men to either side of him and silently motioned them forward and to either side of the scream’s origin. The men darted through the brush, but the call only sounded again, louder, closer, higher pitched. Another voice joined it, this of a man, his cries a series of curses that only a soldier would appreciate.

  Lieutenant Caspar responded with another series of gestures that sent the entire platoon running toward the sound. One way or another, it had to be the creatures they hunted. The time had come. Still, Jaret considered what they were running into. The voices could only have been those of people, people who were in trouble, but why would there be people here. They were in the far northern section of the forest, almost to the mountains that loomed above the trees. There was absolutely no place for other people to have come from nor anywhere for them to go. But that logic clearly meant nothing to whomever these people were, for at that moment, the woman screamed again.

  “Careful,” Lieutenant Caspar warned the men running ahead of them. “We’ve seen this trick before. Be aware of your surroundings and don’t approach anyone no matter how harmless they seem.”

  Jaret suddenly remembered a story from one of the first hunting trips his men had taken. They had lost two of their company to a creature that wore the countenance of a beautiful woman. The men had run to help her only to see her transform into a demon before their very eyes. It had been one of the legion’s costliest forays since the battle in the Camp. Their caution showed that the men remembered it. But this felt somehow different to Jaret, like he was being drawn to those screams, like they were part of him.

  “Back!” a man’s voice yelled from before them. “Whatever you are, get back!”

  “Help!” the woman wailed, putting a word this time to her shrieks.

  “There are men following us,” the man yelled again. “Morgs. They’ll cut you to pieces. You’re only chance is to run.”

  Morgs, Jaret thought. He looked at the mountains looming before them. Beyond those were the Fells, but the closest known lodge was Inuvik on the other side of Cloud Lake. Why would Morgs be here? Even if they meant to invade the Empire, they wouldn’t come this way.

  Black shapes appeared out of the corner of Jaret’s eye. Two of the legionnaires pulled and fired. The arrows might as well have been fired into the Maelstrom. Two black flashes were on them almost before the arrows hit. Looking most like enormous wolves, the creatures lunged from the shadows of a boulder twenty paces to Jaret’s left. They ran on four legs, crashing effortlessly through the brush with such speed that they were a blur. “Bolves!” one of the men called. Bear-wolves, Jaret realized. He had heard the men talk about them the night they’d decided on the name. The name had been given with a reverence reserved for only the most feared of the creatures, and Jaret had known to mark it.

  Ignoring the arrows that struck them, the beasts went straight at the two closest legionnaires. Luckily, those men were better prepared than Jaret. They slashed at the things’ faces with swords then dodged behind trees to escape the initial charge. It was not enough. With their final bound, the bolves rose to two legs and swung clawed hands as big as a man’s chest. The legionnaires had expected the creatures to fly by them – nothing that big, moving that fast should be able to stop that quickly – and barely ducked below the blows that would have removed their heads. Great maws of slathering teeth followed. Standing, the things were at least twice the size of a man – larger and fiercer even than the mountain bears that were rumored to rove the Fells. They had shaggy dark fur like bears, but their snouts were longer and larger, like enormous wolves. Their teeth were sharp and angular, a solid row of three-inch spikes on top and bottom. And they had the legionnaires trapped.

  One of those men was saved by his fellows. He slipped to the side just before the jaws closed on him. A blade caught the creature’s second arm as the claws perfectly anticipated where the man would be. It slashed through fur leaving a long, deep cut, sapping some of the power from the blow but not enough. The claws hit the man full in the chest. The chains and leather there helped, but the claws cut through, popping the iron links and slicing through the leather like swords. Blood sprayed from the slashes, and the man flew two pace
s from the force of the blow, landing hard against a tree, ribs shattered, blood pouring but alive. His fellows were on the creature before it could finish the job. A legionnaire drove a sword between two of its ribs from the side while another leapt onto its back and planted a long knife in the base of its skull.

  Closer to Jaret, the other legionnaire was not so lucky. Pinned against the tree that was supposed to protect him, his comrades, several paces away, had no chance to help before the creature’s jaws caught his neck, engulfing it and his shoulder all the way across his chest. A sickening crunch and a jerk followed. The man was dead before he hit the ground. Jaret and five legionnaires avenged him a hammering heartbeat later. Four of the men attacked the thing from the front, slashing and striking. The fifth came in behind, cut away the tendons behind its knees, and Jaret, acting purely on instinct, slashed his sword up through its neck as it fell. The blow opened its throat, but the legionnaires took no chances. One of them planted a knife in the back of its head and twisted to make sure the thing would never kill again.

  Only then did Jaret realize that those were not the only creatures they’d been tracking. Ten paces away, a half-dozen other shapes had emerged from the trees to hit the four legionnaires, including Lieutenant Caspar, who had not fought the bolves. Momentarily outnumbered, those men used the trees to give ground, darting and slashing to keep the creatures at bay until the platoon that had circled around from the other side could arrive. The second platoon sprinted in from behind at the same time that Jaret and the men who’d killed the bolves arrived from the front.