by Steve Thomas
Habrien poured the moat into the castle, flooding its floor, then advanced. The guards could see their fate. These men had fought under Maldon Sangrook. They had witnessed firsthand what a powerful Mergeling was capable of, and they feared it as much as Habrien once had. In past battles, they knew how lucky they were to fight alongside a Sangrook. When they recognized what Habrien had become, they knew how profoundly unlucky they were to be defending their fortress from him.
Habrien took down two soldiers with a single swing of his icy halberd. The soldiers tried to form a defense, but the surging waves kept them off balance. Habrien slashed throats and punctured breastplates as he advanced. Some men tried to break formation and run, but Habrien froze their feet in ice and filled their lungs with water.
One soldier managed to land a blow while Habrien administered his magic, but the sword glanced off the seashell armor. Habrien swept his legs with the halberd and the man fell to the flooded floor. Tanuk’s champion held a foot on the man’s chest until he drowned.
By blade, ice, or drowning, Habrien cleared the hall. He continued on, the moat flowing with him like a river, until he was met by a trio of archers. They huddled nervously, blocking his path. Habrien tossed his weapon aside and called forth a dense mist to blind them, then dropped to his stomach and slithered through the current. He cracked one man’s leg with a snap of his jaws and stole his arming sword while he fell. Then he ran through the others before the first hit the floor.
At last he reached the throne room, where Maldon Sangrook perched atop his blackened steel throne. Pikes and swords bristled between Habrien and his mark, but Habrien had no patience for these. The water he had drawn from the moat surged into the throne room, coating the floor. Habrien commanded the water to freeze around the troops’ ankles in a solid block of ice. The immobilized, panicked soldiers hacked at the ice with their weapons, trying to free their feet, but the ice was too thick.
Only Maldon himself remained untouched, protected by a sphere of demon’s fire. He calmly watched Habrien, studying his herald’s new abilities.
Habrien called the rest of the moat into the throne room in a massive crest of water, lifting the ice block up and up until the soldiers smashed into the high ceiling above. Bones crunched. Men screamed. The spirit lamps hanging from chains shattered into darkness. Then he melted the ice and cast waterfalls out the windows, letting the dead and dying soldiers rain down.
Habrien and Maldon were alone. The Sangrook prince stood from his throne. He didn’t speak. Maldon wasn’t one to chat with his enemies. That had once been Habrien’s job. Instead, he held out a hand and summoned his great scythe. Flames swirling around him, Maldon stepped forward, rolling his shoulders and stretching his neck.
Just before he came close enough to strike, he stopped. “Habrien? Oh Habrien, what did that creature do to you?”
Habrien opened his mouth to speak to his former master, but it wasn’t his words that came out. Tanuk said, though him, “You broke our promise, Sangrook.”
Habrien saw the calculations running behind Maldon’s black eyes. “What promise? Habrien, what are you talking about?”
“Not Habrien,” he said. “Tanuk. This is Tanuk’s river and Sangrook promised to leave it alone.”
“Ah,” said Maldon. “I think I understand. You’ve been soulbound. How unfortunate.” Fire coursed along the blade of Maldon’s scythe and he slashed at Habrien with what should have been a killing blow. It came so quickly that Habrien barely had time to raise a hand in his own defense, a feeble gesture in the face of certain death.
The blade harmlessly slid across his open palm. Maldon responded with a blast of searing heat, but it didn’t so much as dry Habrien’s hair. Just as Maldon’s grandfather couldn’t harm Tanuk in their duel, Maldon’s magic had no effect on Habrien. And yet Maldon rewarded him with a mad grin.
Habrien lifted a spear from a fallen soldier and readied to attack the prince. Maldon unleashed his battlefield fury in a storm of sorcery. Fire and earth assaulted Habrien, but he weathered them like a river weathers a summer day. Maldon tossed his scythe aside and coated his fist with stone drawn from his own castle. A heavy punch that would have crushed a man’s chest only pushed Habrien back a step. Habrien countered with a lunge of the spear, but he was a herald and Maldon was a warlord, an expert in weapons and battle. He had no hope of winning this fight. No, the fight was Maldon’s to lose. Habrien would be patient, let Maldon wear himself out in a hopeless battle, and run him through when he stopped to catch his breath.
And so they fought for hours, until Maldon’s demon fire boiled away every last drop of Tanuk’s moat and the chamber was thick with fog. Tanuk had lent Habrien a great fraction of her strength, while Maldon held a smaller portion of a conglomeration of thousands of gods and had decades of practice with that power. The only thing holding Maldon at bay was that he couldn’t rely on his magic to attack Habrien, and for some reason he never resorted to a more mundane form of attack. Habrien fought defensively, sensing that Maldon was holding back, occasionally attempting to skewer his old master as Maldon assailed his former herald with all the powers at his command.
Well, all except one.
By the time Habrien heard the footsteps, it was too late for him to wonder why Maldon hadn’t summoned the dead to fight for him. There were at least a dozen bodies in this room alone.
The answer was that Maldon Sangrook wanted more than a dozen ghouls at his side. The footsteps grew into an avalanche of feet that shook the castle’s floors. Habrien turned his back on Maldon, hoping to steal a quick glance at the newcomers, and froze. They clogged the hallway and spilled into the throne room just as Habrien’s floodwater had done before. The first three charged at Habrien. He cut two of them down effortlessly, but not before the third grabbed hold of his arm and closed his jaws against it. But the teeth stopped at the surface of his skin. He was protected. He was emboldened. He ignored Maldon, instead focusing on the enemy he could defeat, and charged into the throng.
He charged into Maldon’s trap. The ghouls couldn’t harm him, no, but they could crowd him and immobilize him. When he swung at their front lines, more ghouls flanked and surrounded him. They closed in tight, grappling his arms and legs and holding him there. Soon he was pinned to the ground at the bottom of a crowd of undead warriors, tasting their stench and struggling against their strength.
They filled the room and dragged him forward to Maldon’s feet. They piled on top of him, bent his arms behind his back, and pulled his head up by the hair.
The Sangrook prince sat coolly on his throne with his scythe draped over his lap. “Oh, Habrien,” he said. He even managed to feign sadness. A ghoul entered from the back room to supply Maldon with a glass of crimson wine. “Forgive me. That sparring match left me parched. I wonder, do water gods get thirsty?” He downed the wine in one gulp and handed the long-stemmed glass back to his servant. “Now, what am I to do with a man who tried to assassinate me after years of loyal service?”
Habrien strained to respond, to say it wasn’t his fault, to say that he was still loyal and needed his prince’s help to overcome Tanuk’s sorcery. But just as strongly, he wanted to cast off these ghouls and drink Maldon’s demon-tainted blood. A ghoul gagged him before his warring mind could form a word.
“We just spent the morning confirming a hypothesis. Yes, on the surface, you switched sides and betrayed both your mission and your prince. I sent you to bring me the essence of a creature who can not be harmed by Sangrook magic, you disappeared for weeks, and just when I thought you were dead, you came back in a murderous rage. And you were controlling the river like one of the old gods who, I might add, you swore to me you worship. The obvious conclusion is that through your betrayal, you succeeded in your mission.” He paused for another drink. “You did indeed bring me the essence of a creature who cannot be harmed by Sangrook magic.”
He stood and descended to look Habrien in the eye. “Well done, Habrien. Well done. I’m sorry it ende
d this way for you. Truly.” Habrien would have hung his head in shame if only the ghouls would let him, but instead he was forced to stare into the void of Maldon’s eyes. Maldon patted him on the cheek, then snapped his fingers at the nearest ghoul. “Bring me the extractor.”
***
Five months later, Maldon Sangrook paid homage to his mother in Sangrook Manor. In the secret chapel, where only members of the Sangrook Clan gained access, he set down the newborn Habrien Sangrook, swaddled in a thick wool blanket, on Maldaeron’s sarcophagus. The gray, spindly old matriarch in a deep red dress leaned forward and kissed the boy on the forehead before dragging a sharp fingernail across that same skin.
Young Habrien cried out, but his grandmother scooped him up in a gentle hold, singing a song in a harsh, guttural language that nonetheless soothed the boy. When she was done, when the ritual was complete, she kissed the boy again and the wound healed itself, leaving only a few drops of blood as evidence it had ever existed.
Maldon accepted his son back into his arms, kissed his mother’s proffered hand, and slipped away. Only when he returned to his private chamber, with the door barred and Yssila standing watch outside, with the windows shuttered and all but one candle snuffed out, did Maldon open the folds of the boy’s blanket.
There, on his chest, rested a ruby heart, worn as a pendant around his flimsy neck. A light shone within where none had shone before. The artifact had worked. His son was free.
Maldon tapped the gemstone and a sad smile crossed his lips. “Thank you, Habrien.”
Necropolis
There is a presence inside me. It whispers to me, always pulling me towards acts of desecration, always filling my mouth with cruel words, always flooding my thoughts with violent desires. There is no respite in my faith. There is no edification through brotherhood. I am consumed, wholly and irrevocably. I can only save my daughters from sharing my fate. They must die.
- From “The Mad Crusader Valmi, Act III”
“Caeva, wake up.” Grellok shook the lady of the castle’s shoulder to rouse her.
Caeva snapped awake and reached for her blanket to cover herself, but let her hand drop to the side when her eyes met his through the dim lantern-light. She greeted him with a coy smile. “Captain Grellok, you should know better than to sneak into a lady’s chamber in the middle of the night.”
Grellok took a position against the wall, where his eyes could flick between Caeva and the doorway. “Not tonight. Put on something inconspicuous.”
She frowned. “So you’re here as my bodyguard this time.”
“We need to leave.” His lantern was the only light in the hall. There was still time.
“What’s wrong? Are we under attack?” Caeva had grown up in war camps. To her, waking up to flee was as mundane as waking up for breakfast. Grellok had always led her to safety before.
He shook his head. “We’re under arrest.” At this, Caeva hopped out of bed and glided to her wardrobe. Even under duress, her training shone through, raised as the perfect daughter of the Lord Crusader to become the perfect wife of a king. And now they were both after her.
Caeva pulled a dark wool dress over her head. “Why? Who ordered it?”
A shout echoed through the stone corridor. That would be the man sent to apprehend Grellok in his sleep. They were wasting precious time. “Your father suspects you of treason.” He readied his mace and crouched into a fighting stance, ready to leap at anyone who stepped through the door.
“Treason?” She paused, her fingers gripping her disheveled collar. “And my husband agreed to hand me over?”
“We need to move.”
She stopped fussing with her dress and slipped on a pair of boots. Grellok tossed her a sack full of water skins, bread, cheese, and smoked meat, enough rations for a few days. “Carry that and follow close.” He peered into the hallway. It was still clear, but he heard footsteps in the distance. “I may need my hands free.”
Caeva strapped the sack over one shoulder and stepped away from her wardrobe. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”
Grellok grunted. Caeva had made a habit of confounding his every effort to protect her since she married King Melkon. It was his fault for treating her like more than someone under his watch. He’d allowed himself to care about her in all the wrong ways, allowed her to get too close to respect him. “There’s a lot I’m not telling you. We’ll talk when we’re safe.”
Caeva made for her bookshelf. “There’s a false wall. We should escape through here.”
Grellok grabbed her by the wrist. “No. All the guards know about that one.”
“Then what do you suggest?”
There was no time for debate. He pulled Caeva through the door. Balancing stealth against speed, he led her through the stone corridor and down a spiral staircase. The whole castle was awake now, full of shouts and boots and steel. In the winding stairwell, the cacophony seemed to be coming from all directions. Grellok feared that it truly was.
At the bottom of the stairwell was a lesser known trap door that led into a tunnel. If he could get Caeva that far before the guards overtook them, there was hope. Grellok wished he could snuff out his lantern and immerse himself in the darkness. But no. These ancient steps were more treacherous than whatever Lord Crusader Valmi had planned for him. Better to be seen than to trip on a crumbling step.
There was more yelling at the top of the steps. They had found Caeva’s bedroom empty. “Check the stairs,” someone barked. “Search the passage,” said another. “Find her!” “She can’t be far.” With every floor they passed, the search for Caeva grew louder and closer. Grellok doubled his pace.
When Grellok was a mere one floor from the bottom, he saw a light ahead. He skidded to a stop, slipping down a step under the weight of his own momentum. He barred the stairwell with his arm to stop Caeva from tumbling down. “Stay behind me,” he whispered. “Keep some distance, and warn me if someone is coming.” She nodded, for once taking his orders without question. It was then that Grellok noticed that she was fighting tears. “I’ll get you through this,” he said, the only comfort he could offer at the moment. He set his lantern on a step and crept downward.
A nervous boy wearing the black and red of King Melkon’s servants stood by an open door, some bleary-eyed, sweat-soaked new recruit clutching his candle with both hands. Grellok knew him. He was the son of kitchen maid, likely roused by the commotion. He was also a witness.
Grellok liked to think of himself a good man and a loyal soldier. He didn’t picture himself as the sort of man who would pounce down a stairwell and brain a kitchen boy with a mace. He also wasn’t the sort of man who would allow his charge to be arrested and tried for treason by her own vicious father. Tonight, he could only pick one.
The boy never had a chance to scream. He pushed the dead boy back through his door and before anyone else could interfere, Grellok and Caeva were trudging through an earthen tunnel. Rats scurried ahead of them and cobwebs slowed their every step, but the din of the search grew ever more muted behind them. They were alone and no one was following.
Satisfied that they were safe, Grellok turned to Caeva. Her tears had dried, but her eyes were a flurry of emotion. No doubt, the escape had left her with ample time to dwell on his warnings. She deserved answers. It pained Grellok to see her so lost and confused.
“Your father has gone mad,” he said.
She sniffed and fiddled with her dress. In the confusion, she had neglected to lace the front. “You said he accused me of treason. What does he think I did? Does he know about us?” They both knew their affair was dangerous. Many a nobleman’s wife had been executed on the mere suspicion of adultery. Her marriage to King Melkon was strategically important to Lord Crusader Valmi; it kept Vestige at peace with the savage lands north of the Divide. And yet Grellok had grown bold in his midnight visits to Caeva. He had been stupid, careless. He’d put her at risk. But he hadn’t been caught. If he had, he would have been tortured to death lon
g before Caeva’s arrest.
“No,” he said. Now came the hard part. His mouth went dry as he tried to form the words. “It’s your sister. She’s…” He hesitated. There was no way to put it gently. “Your father had her executed.”
Caeva stopped. “Delvae? But what could she have done?”
Grellok caught her in an embrace, and Caeva slumped against his chest. “They said it was heresy and treason. Whatever she did, your father thinks you were involved.”
“Why would she betray the Convergence? Delvae, what did you do?” She sobbed. “It doesn’t make sense. I barely ever speak to her anymore. Why would he think I had anything to do with it? How do you know all this? If I were under arrest, they wouldn’t tell my own bodyguard.”
“I was planning a visit and I overheard a messenger along the way. They’re after me, too. They want me as a witness.”
She sobbed. “Delvae… If Father killed her, he’ll burn down the world looking for me. Our marriage is only reason Melkon stays loyal.”
Clearly, Valmi either didn’t share that belief or didn’t care about losing Melkon. “My lady, I will do everything I can to protect you. We need to keep moving.”
“I know you will, and I thank you for it.” She broke the embrace and looked down the tunnel. “Where will we go?”
“I know a place. There’s an ancient necropolis about a day from here. We’ll be deep in the woods and there are plenty of defensible buildings we can stay in until we come up with a better plan. I need you to focus on moving forward. Can you do that?”
She straightened her back and wiped away the tears. She channeled her training and set aside the scared, grief-stricken girl. “I am the daughter of Valmi, Lord Crusader of the Order of Templars. Of course I can.” She resumed the march.
***
After hours below ground and hours more in the forest, the first mausoleum came into view. It was a large enough for a family to live in, but Grellok knew there was no life inside. Some ancient civilization must have cleared the land to build this place in a time before people learned that the dead were better off burned. Over the centuries, the forest had slowly reclaimed the land, but it shied away from the building. No vines or insects clung to its carved stone walls. No birds roosted on the grotesques lining the rooftop. Even the trees kept their distance. A weeping willow grew mere feet away, its cascading branches parting around the stone building and its trunk curved away from the overhanging roof.