by Gav Thorpe
'My deepest apologies, my master,' Lorgar said, bowing his head even as Nairo was bent over the rail and the first touch of the whip scored hot pain across the slave's shoulders.
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As the punishment continued, Kor Phaeron looked at the line of slaves, their backs bruised and bloodied, and returned his attention to Lorgar. The preacher was pleased that he had kept his temper. It helped to remember that despite his size and intellect, Lorgar was still a child, and whatever abilities the Powers had instilled into him he remained ignorant and innocent in many ways. His actions were not rebellion against Kor Phaeron, simply misguided.
Even so, the fault lay in the compassion as much as the act itself. To feel pity for the slaves was to begin to judge the Powers. If one thought that another did not deserve the lot to which they had been dealt, it was open invitation to other doubts - doubts that could lead to open defiance of the Powers and the Truth. Kor Phaeron knew he would have to be careful, lest Lorgar started seeing the slaves as victims rather than deserving of their suffering.
'Lorgar, attend to me,' he barked, crooking a finger towards the youth.
Lorgar approached along the deck, his expression bereft of suspicion or guile.
'Yes, my master?'
'The slaves have been punished for shirking their duties, but the trespass was not theirs alone.'
'No, my master.' Lorgar hung his head, shame-faced, his bald pate catching the yellow glare of the temple-rig's hanging lanterns. 'It was because of me that they transgressed.'
'You have natural wit and charisma, Lorgar, and others attend to your every word. That is a big responsibility.'
'Yes, my master.'
Kor Phaeron paused a moment, to ensure he phrased his next words properly as he looked down at the child. He did not want to even suggest the possibility that Lorgar might use his emerging abilities for any cause other than that of his master. But it was a delicate subject to broach, for in denying the moral right to do so, Kor Phaeron would introduce the concept itself. At the moment it seemed that the notion of rebellion was not even within Lorgar' s mental compass.
'You must swear to me now, an oath upon the Powers.'
'An oath, my master?'
'A promise, witnessed by the Powers, bound to your soul. You will swear by the Powers that you will be a defender of the Truth. You shall take the Word and the Truth to guide you in all things. Upon your immortal soul, give your word to the Powers that all you do shall work to their glory and cause.'
'I do, my master.'
'Say the words, and look to the Empyrean as you declare them. Give your oath fully so that all might hear it, both mortal and those beyond.'
Lorgar glanced at Kor Phaeron and then turned his eyes upwards, his gaze moving to the distant stars.
'I swear… I promise…' Lorgar faltered, uncharacteristically lost for words. He looked to Kor Phaeron with a pleading expression. The moment pleased the preacher greatly, for it served as a reminder that he was the teacher, that Lorgar still had much to learn and only from Kor Phaeron would he receive such tutelage.
'Something like, 'I swear by the almighty Powers…' would be a good start. And then say what you promise to do.'
Lorgar smiled and nodded, turning his gaze heavenwards once again.
'I swear by the almighty Powers that… I shall dedicate my life to learning the Word and the Truth, and to serve the Powers as they see fit to guide me. I shall heed their messages from the Empyrean, as they lay them in signs upon the sands and stars, in the minds and hearts of people. All of this I promise, and if I should fail my immortal soul shall be cast from the Empyrean to dwell in the torment of the passionless void.'
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'Good,' said Kor Phaeron, feeling a stab of pride at the boy's forthright pronouncement. He saw that the guards and slaves had heard the clear declaration, not only reminding them of the Truth to which they were all subject, but also of Kor Phaeron's authority over Lorgar and, by extension of that, every member of the caravan.
'Now, child, there is the matter of your punishment.'
Again Lorgar nodded his acquiescence, saying nothing. He strode to the rail, stepping past the cowering and moaning slaves. He placed his broad hands upon the metal and bent over, looking to Axata. The converts' captain glanced over to his master for confirmation and Kor Phaeron held up eight fingers in answer.
'Two more lashes than the slaves, Axata, for being the instigator of this sinful exhibition.'
Axata signalled his understanding and readied his whip. Kor Phaeron noticed him exchanging looks with several of his companions, and though it was impossible to know exactly what thought they shared, it seemed to the preacher that they understood how they had been complicit in the debacle. That they had been spared would not pass without remark amongst their ranks, and Kor Phaeron would take time to remind Axata that he also had onerous responsibilities.
Impassively, Kor Phaeron watched as the whip fell across the back of Lorgar, just beneath the shoulder blades. The acolyte's robe absorbed some of the sharp crack, and the boy barely moved. The priest could see nothing of Lorgar's face, but his shoulders were hunched, fingertips digging into the wood of the rail.
'Seven more,' he reminded Axata and turned away to the steps. 'This is a congregation of worship, not a circus.'
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A rising Mornday sun brought sight of the oasis at Ad Drazonti. Two pillars of marble rose over the horizon, each topped by a golden beacon fire illuminated by the power of the sun itself - another wonder of the Age Before, that time and the terrible crusades of the past had rendered indecipherable to the wit of even the most learned Colchisian. Like most such watering holes across the vast expanses, Ad Drazonti was seasonal, sometimes in full flood and crowded with dozens of caravans, but at low ebb when the procession of Kor Phaeron arrived in the late wake-rise.
The preacher dispatched the wagons with Axata, crewed by converts and slaves with an apportion of their meagre coinage and the water butts to fill, and the instruction that they needed enough food for at least another seven or eight days; Kor Phaeron wanted as little contact with others as possible.
Using his brass-banded ocular he scanned the oasis, counting three separate missions and caravans at the water's edge Guard towers, far smaller than the beacon lights, stood in a perimeter several hundred metres further out, delineating the extent of the water hole when it was fully risen. The trees and bushes that thrived on the spring had started to wilt, even this hardy vegetation giving in to the relentless dryness and the unforgiving sun.
Taking the ocular from his eyes, Kor Phaeron spied Lorgar standing at the rail, straining to see what was occurring. He was certain there would be magnoculars and telescopes trained back on their position and the boy was stood in plain view. If his effect on first sighting at the nomad camp was anything to judge by, there was no telling what his presence might stir amongst the more heavily armed trading station and merchant crews.
'Get back below,' snapped the priest as he strode forwards along the deck. 'I said to keep out of sight, you wretched child!'
He seized Lorgar by the collar of his acolyte robe and moved to haul him from the rail. The boy resisted, not moving a centimetre, but the robe pulled away from him. Kor Phaeron stared at the unmarked expanse of Lorgar's broad shoulders where only the passing of High Night before he had been viciously whipped.
'Get below,' he growled, suppressing any further reaction as he propelled the boy towards the hatch to the slave quarters - or attempted to. Lorgar staggered a step and stopped, looking back with a pained expression.
'I want to see the caravans and the guards!' the child protested, forgetting Kor Phaeron's tide in his petulance.
Such disobedience had to be suppressed immediately. Kor Phaeron struck the boy across the face, though he felt as if he slapped rock.
'Get below, child,' he snarled through gritted teeth, eyes boring venomously into Lorgar. 'I will deal with this insubordination later.'
Though it was obvious that the blow had caused no real injury, the shock of it and the flare of Kor Phaeron's fury was enough to put the boy to flight, sending him running for the dim spaces below deck.
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Kor Phaeron retired to his chamber and brooded, conscious that it seemed Axata had purposefully spared the boy his just punishment. Yet if he moved too far against the leader of the converts, the preacher knew he might find himself abandoned instead. It was time, he considered, that he started elevating another of the converts, fanning the ambitions of one with the lure of replacing Axata if need be.
He spent the rest of the wake-rise considering the candidates until the horns of the address system blared out in greeting to the returning expedition. He stayed below, listening to the rumble of the trucks and the boots on the deck, until all returned to orderliness when the loading of the stores was complete. He waited longer, comforting himself with verses from the Aspirations of Kor Adras, reminded by the tribulations of the first high priest of the Covenant that the path to righteousness, the ascent to the peak of the Faithful, was not an easy journey.
Axata's signature knock set his heart thumping at the possibility of the coming confrontation. Kor Phaeron knew that he could not cause open affront to the convert, potentially embarrass him in front of the others, lest he backed Axata into a corner from which the only escape was a fight. No, it would be better to invoke a far higher authority. The Powers themselves. He bade Axata enter and assumed a sombre, regretful expression.
'I have the stores listing…' Axata's report trailed away as he saw Kor Phaeron's sad face. Concern twisted his features as he stepped forwards with a hand stretched out in sympathy. 'What is the matter, master?'
'I am disappointed, Axata. Bitterly disappointed. I thought you a brother to me. A brother in the eyes of the Powers.'
The convert betrayed a mix of emotions at this declaration - delight at the thought of being so highly regarded, swiftly replaced by alarm that such status seemed to be on the verge of withdrawal. Kor Phaeron continued before Axata had a chance to say anything in response.
'I have placed my trust in you, Axata. Great trust. You are my eyes where I cannot see, my ears where I cannot listen, my tongue where I cannot speak.' These last statements were a direct quote from the famous speech of Tezen in the Book of Changes, when the prophet first conjured the duplicitous elemental K'Kaio. Axata trembled, knowing well the verses being thrown at him, and their lesson to be wary of treachery from all others. Kor Phaeron added the final phrase, laden with scorn. 'My hand where I cannot reach, Axata.'
'All is in order, I swear, master,' replied the convert, proffering the notes of lading as though they were the original parables of the prophets. 'I would never d—'
'Do you place your judgement over mine?' snapped Kor Phaeron, turning to generalities to harden his argument before he raised specific accusation.
'N-no, master.'
'Do you think that mortals should second guess the justice of the Powers?'
'Of course not, master. Why…?'
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The preacher fixed Axata with a piercing glare, daring him to confess his sins. He let the silence continue, marshalling his ire, directing it until he could no longer contain his righteousness.
'The boy!' Kor Phaeron dropped his voice to a harsh whisper, though he felt like screaming from the masthead. There would be those listening, or trying to, and he would not have them eavesdrop on this exchange. 'I ordered him lashed last night, yet there is not a mark upon his body. It is not your place to spare Lorgar his due punishment.'
'Nor did I, I swear,' said Axata, face flushing. Not with anger but shame. His meaty fists closed around the bills, crumpling the transparencies. 'I put the whip upon him as hard as any of the others.'
Kor Phaeron thought himself a good judge of people, at least in respect to reading their truths and falsehoods. Doing so had provided him with many a lever to extract support or patronage in the time since his exile had begun. In Axata he had a true convert, one who believed in the Truth to his heart. He feared the wrath of the Powers and accepted Kor Phaeron's position as the Bearer of the Word. He could no more lie before his master than he could cut out his own heart and keep living.
'Then we have a different problem, Axata,' Kor Phaeron answered swiftly, changing tack and tone. 'Come with me.'
Axata said nothing as he followed Kor Phaeron along the companionway and up the steps to the main deck. The whole caravan was already moving away from Ad Drazonti, the guard houses hidden behind the surrounding dunes. The priest called for Lorgar to come up from the hold.
The boy responded quickly, casting a nervous glance between the priest and the convert, sensing something was amiss.
'Strip, child,' Kor Phaeron told him.
Lorgar complied after a moment, the pause one of confusion rather than defiance. He pulled off his grey robes to reveal sun-reddened skin over knotted and thick muscle. Clad only in his loincloth he cast the acolyte robe to the deck and stood trembling slightly before Kor Phaeron's sneering scrutiny.
'Turn around,' the preacher said, twirling a finger to emphasise his command. He turned his head to Axata as Lorgar spun on his heel, revealing not even a bruise upon his hard flesh. 'See?'
Axata's surprise was the last confirmation Kor Phaeron needed that the convert was not complicit in some scheme to spare the boy his lashes. With that being the case, there was no further worry of conspiracy and the preacher turned his thought to a fresh concern.
'It seems your whip is not deterrent enough,' Kor Phaeron said aloud for all to hear. 'Gather your five strongest - have them bring their mauls.'
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Nairo watched with growing horror as Axata stalked about the deck, calling names and giving orders until he and five others waited with thick cudgels in hand. Lorgar stared at them impassively, moving his gaze from one to the next. No one was able to meet his stare for more than a heartbeat before turning their eyes away. Axata was smart enough to not even match gaze with the child, his own fixed upon his master's intent stare.
'You know what needs to be done,' the priest said as he jabbed a finger at Lorgar. 'The body must be scourged for the soul to know purity also.'
'Avoid the head,' Axata muttered to his companions as they surrounded Lorgar with weapons raised, looking to Kor Phaeron for… For what, Nairo wondered? For him to change his mind?
'Do it, or you will feel the touch of chastisement also,' Kor Phaeron said calmly, though Nairo thought he caught for a moment a twitch of consternation at this smallest sign of dissent.
Lorgar raised his fists to his face, elbows touching. Exposing his solid flanks and shoulders, silently accepting the punishment to come.
Axata landed the first blow, on the thigh, and once this was done it was as though a hex was broken and the others joined in, laying their mauls upon Lorgar two-handed. They beat him about the shoulders and ribs, until a blow to the back of the knee sent him sprawling to the deck, where they continued with on his back and legs, working methodically along spine and limbs.
Kor Phaeron gave no order to stop but the men started to tire, their blows lacking force. It was Axata that made the decision, stepping back, dropping his club to the deck from aching fingers. The others retreated, suddenly grateful for the cessation of violence. The withdrawal revealed Lorgar knelt with arms tucked beneath him, forehead on the deck. Every part of exposed flesh was blackened from bruises, here and there a trickle of blood where the skin had broken.
Kor Phaeron stepped closer, kneeling beside him to listen. Nairo also saw the youth's lips moving and strained to hear the quiet words.
'…and in the sixth summer of the Fasting Years, Sennata Tal was thrown into the serpent's cage, and his accusers amongst the unbelievers jeered, and they cursed his name…'
It was from the Revelations of the Prophets, the cornerstone of the Covenant's faith. Nairo saw Kor Phaeron watch Lorgar's thick tears drip to the deck befor
e he stood up. He gave a nod to Nairo, who quickly passed the word to others.
He led a cluster of slaves to the child and helped him up. With their assistance, Lorgar hobbled across to the open hatchway, head bowed, back bent. He stopped at the top of the steps and turned his head to Kor Phaeron, one eye blackened where a blow had gone astray. He nodded, as though grateful for the beating. It sickened Nairo to think that Lorgar believed he deserved such a terrible punishment, though he drew hope from what he had seen of the youth's recuperative abilities. Like the whip, the cudgels would leave no lasting injury upon him, and for that Nairo was thankful to the Powers even as he was reminded of the sting across his own back from Axata's attentions the Coldfall before.
Dignity emanated from the boy and Kor Phaeron turned his back on the acolyte, a little too quickly to be purely dismissive, Nairo thought. The preacher picked up the youth's robe and threw it to Nairo without looking at Lorgar.
'Such shall be Lorgar's punishment from now on,' he announced. 'It is only in the Powers' purview to forgive our trespasses, not mine The sins of the soul will be purged in the flesh.'
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From Ad Drazonti the caravan headed into the pitiless expanse known in Vharadesh as the Low Barrens, and to the nomads as The Sands that Slay. Its reputation was well-founded - a four thousand-kilometre sink of pressure and heat and scouring winds that was virtually impassable for three quarters of the year. The oldest myths from the Age Before told of hidden cities and a fall of stars that had created the terrible wilderness. Beasts roamed abroad, that was certain, and beneath the sands even more terrifying apparitions and denizens awaited the bold or foolish.
None were held in more awe than the Kingwyrm: an embodiment of destruction many living within The Sands that Slay worshipped as a demigod, an incarnation of the Powers. The spawn of the Kingwyrm had spread far and wide through the Low Barrens, preying on the unwary and desperate that strayed into the territories.