The God King (Book 1) (Heirs of the Fallen)

by James A. West

  “Stubbornness gains you nothing,” Uzzret cajoled.

  Ignoring the crazed lickspittle, Otaker ran his fingers across the bulge closing one of his eyes. Blood leaked from his nostrils to cover his split lips. His tongue probed a loose front tooth and, with the slightest effort, dislodged it from its socket. He spit it out, watched it rattle about in a pool of his blood.

  “Answer the Life Giver,” Uzzret said, “or I’ll cut off your cock and choke you to death with it.”

  Otaker snorted. “After you pleasure yourself with it first, I’m sure.” The magus kicked him, and Otaker bit back a scream as the ends of his shattered ribs ground together.

  After he caught his breath, Otaker decided to stall for time by giving these wolves a bite of meat, which, unfortunately, would likely earn him more agony. “Has it occurred to any of you idiots that she might still be within Krevar’s walls?”

  Varis’s bulging white eyes stared down at Otaker. “We both know she is gone, lord marshal, along with six horses.”

  Otaker didn’t react to Varis’s accuracy, but his muddled thoughts sharpened. Gods good and wise, how does he know? He and Ellonlef had been careful when gathering what she would need and sending her on her way. But not careful enough, it would seem, he thought dejectedly. Someone had seen them. There was no other answer.

  Varis smirked. “It matters not if you tell me where she is going, for I know already ... and why.”

  “If you are so wise,” Otaker gasped, “then why beat the answers from me?” The one comfort Otaker held close was that Varis had not mentioned the two hawks he had managed to send off carrying messages of warning. There had been no time to send more, but he could not allow himself to fret over that.

  “You have been beaten for your insolence, and because I have found deceit in your heart. Your resistance only proves that I can never trust you.”

  “A charlatan dares name me a liar?”

  “Kill him,” Varis said.

  The enthralled looks of his followers became masks of fury. Otaker nearly cried out when he saw his wife and children looking at him the same way. Then they all set upon him, kicking and striking him.

  Otaker wrapped his arms around his head and curled into a tight ball, but the battering only increased. Someone cried for them to stop. After a few more shouts, Otaker realized he was the one crying out.

  The last thing he heard, a secretive noise below all that shouting, was the sound of steel sliding free of a leather scabbard. The last thing he felt was that same icy steel digging its way into his fluttering heart.

  Ride, Ellonlef! he thought, eyes glazing over. Ride!

  ~ ~ ~

  Varis searched the lord marshal’s slack face. It crossed his mind to give the man back his life, but he decided to leave him dead. Aradan has hundreds of such men, if I need them.

  He glanced at Lady Danara and her children, and also at the soldiers who had been fiercely loyal to Otaker just hours ago. Ordering them to beat and murder Otaker had been Varis’s intention all along. He had needed to know that they would destroy the man they loved and respected at a word. They had, and now he knew, and so the matter was finished.

  Varis strode out onto the same balcony and scanned the eastern horizon. The glow of living things was miniscule out on the desert, from the faintest threads emanating from bushes and dry grasses, to the brighter but still faint glow of lizards and vipers and desert-dwelling birds roosting for the night. Of anything larger, say Ellonlef and her six horses that a guard had reported, he saw no sign. Apparently his strengths in the Powers of Creation had more limits than he suspected. Would those limitations shrink in time? He shook his head in irritation. More than ever, he recognized that there was so much he did not understand about those powers, so much that Peropis had kept hidden from him.

  He looked again at his followers standing over Otaker’s corpse. Their eyes were locked on him, not their victim. Strange eyes, he thought, but with the changes to his own sight, he could not say why they were strange. He decided the vacancy he saw was merely a sign of their blind devotion to him. And how could he argue with that, when the evidence lay at their feet in a pool of cooling blood?

  “Life Giver,” they murmured all together, making it into a low, croaking chant.

  Why do they sound like that? he wondered, uneasy. He also sensed something in their voices, a guarded mockery.

  Under Varis’s continued scrutiny, Uzzret hesitantly stepped forward. “Master, forgive me.”

  Varis frowned. “For what?”

  Uzzret studied his sandaled feet, as if trying to find the answer. “For ... for displeasing you?” he said, turning it into a pleading question.

  Varis did not have time to coddle the man. “We must prepare to leave. Assemble my Chosen.”

  “M-master?” Uzzret stammered. “Aren’t we all your …… ah … Chosen?”

  I like him terrified better than fawning, Varis thought, smiling. “Only those I freed from the Thousand Hells have that honor, and only they will have the strength to travel with me. And you, Magus Uzzret, will also come along. Though I doubt it, I may have some small need of your insights.”

  “I’m to go with you?” Uzzret murmured. “Oh, thank you, Master!”

  Varis held back from striking the fool. “I will leave everyone else behind to secure this portion of my kingdom. They owe me their lives, as well as the lives of their loved ones. It will do them good to honor me so.”

  “Yes, Master. But, if I may ask, is such haste necessary? Shouldn’t we plan?”

  “There is no need for planning. I must move quickly and decisively. The Sisters of Najihar have great sway with the Ivory Throne. I cannot wait for Ellonlef to bring warning to Ammathor, for that is surely where Otaker sent her. I will send riders to capture her. The rest of us will leave after sunrise.”

  “Master, if I might beg a question?”

  “As you will,” Varis said impatiently.

  “Why not kill the woman?”

  Varis smiled. “I have other plans for her, things a cockless old fool like you would not understand. Now, do as I’ve ordered.”

  “Of course, Master,” Uzzret said. Face red with shame, he bowed his way out of the room.

  Varis turned back to his Chosen, those he had resurrected. They stared at him with blank eyes and unreadable expressions. To his sight, their auras seemed dim. It was as if they were only half alive. Or are they half dead? he thought, wondering if there was a difference.

  Chapter 13

  Kian halted what was left of his company some distance from the rundown stone walls of Fortress El’hadar. Overhead, the sun was an angry red eye peering through the shroud of smoke pouring out of the swamp.

  “Doesn’t look like anyone’s home,” Hazad said.

  Azuri narrowed his eyes. “Doesn’t look like anyone has been home for a long time.”

  “Nothing new in that,” Kian said, wiping sweat from his brow. The folk of El’hadar, mostly depraved soldiers too valuable to execute, had to work year-round just to keep the vegetation from overrunning the walls. By the look of things, Lord Marshal Bresado Rengar had failed to enforce that chore for several years, along with all other maintenance.

  “I’ve seen the same stonework in the seaport of Kula-Tak,” Ba’Sel said, edging his horse closer. “It’s called the Onyx Palace, though it’s better kept than this fortress.”

  “Well,” Hazad said, “this is no palace, and by Peropis’s sagging teats, it’s hardly a fortress. More like an outpost.”

  “More like a prison,” Azuri said. “A cursed one at that, said to have been here since the dawning of humankind.”

  “Be that as it may,” Kian said, “we need supplies if we’re to make it home, and we’ll not get any by waiting around out here.”

  “Someone should’ve hailed us by now,” Hazad said.

  Kian pointed out a line of vultures perched atop the crenelated wall. “Maybe that’s what they are for.”

  “I think not,” A
zuri said, inclining his head toward several more vultures fighting over something under a thicket of brambles. “I think they just showed up for the celebration.”

  “What’s that over there,” Hazad said. “By the gate?”

  “Let’s find out,” Kian said, fighting the urge to kick his horse into a northward gallop. Izutar called him home like never before. Nothing in all of Aradan seemed right, and he did not feel like stumbling across more of the kingdom’s troubles. But they had to refit, or risk dying on the long road home.

  “I’ll stay with my men,” Ba’Sel said in a choked voice, and wheeled his horse around.

  Hazad gazed after the Geldainian warrior. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “The stench, I would guess.” Azuri said, joining Kian on the way toward the gate.

  “What stench?” Hazad asked, looking confused. When no one answered, he kicked his mount into a trot and caught up.

  Before they reined in at the gate, Kian knew he should have listened to his instinct and rode north.

  “Do you smell it now?” Azuri asked, a tenseness around his eyes. It had taken far longer to get out of the swamp than Kian had hoped, and in that time Azuri alone had stayed mostly clean of mud. The scent of death greasing the air was not so easy to escape.

  “How long do you suppose this lad’s been dead?” Hazad said, pinching his nostrils.

  “A fortnight at least,” Kian said, not bothering to mention that the body was too rotted to determine if it had been a lad at all. Maggots and heat had reduced the corpse to a skeleton hung with tatters of skin. More maggots roiled deep in the chest cavity.

  “So, they died soon after Varis stepped out of that temple,” Hazad said.

  Azuri studied the remains and the nearby ground. “Whoever they were, they tried to flee without a stitch of clothing on their back.”

  “I don’t see any reason to stay here,” Hazad said, gagging. When he got his gorge under control, he took a long pull of jagdah. Eyes watering, he added, “Sooner we leave, the sooner we reach Izutar. Cut these Geldainians loose, and let’s be on our way.”

  Despite his earlier thoughts along the same lines, now a different idea came to Kian. He dismounted and walked to the gate, going wide around the skeleton.

  “What’re you doing?” Hazad asked.

  “If everyone is dead, we can raid Bresado’s coffers. That will make up for what we won’t get from Varis.”

  “So you would turn us into thieves?” Azuri said flatly.

  “We’ve been thieves before,” Kian said. “Or have you forgotten Marso?"

  “We were children then.”

  “Starving children in the land of our enemies,” Hazad put in.

  Kian heaved against the sally port gate, expecting it to be locked. Instead, it creaked inward. “Gold is only part of it,” he said. “I want answers, if there are any to be had.”

  “We’re going with you,” Azuri said, looking as if he’d rather do anything else, even if that meant crawling through a pigsty.

  Hazad scowled. “Speak for yourself! This place is a tomb, and likely cursed on top of it.”

  Kian smiled up at the big man. “I promise not to let any spirits get you.”

  Hazad grumbled under his breath, then threw up his hands in surrender. He glanced over his shoulder at the Asra a’Shah. “When the screaming starts, you lads just ride away.”

  Ba’Sel and the others looked mystified, but they nodded in agreement.

  After remounting, Kian led the way through the sally port and into nothing less than a charnel house swarming with flies. The dead lay everywhere, some alone, others piled high, all rotting. To the last, the corpses had been torn apart and scattered. Huge rats scrabbled about nubs of bone, while vultures fought over meat scraps.

  Beyond the sheer enormity of death, something about the scene seemed off to Kian, but he couldn’t put a finger on it.

  “Who could’ve done this?” Hazad gasped.

  Azuri gave him a speculative look. “I would say what did this.”

  “Another demon,” Kian answered, sure of it.

  “I’ve seen enough,” Hazad announced. “Gold and answers be damned.”

  Before the big man could turn his mount, Kian raised a hand. “Did you see that?”

  “What?” Hazad demanded, jerking his sword free.

  Kian felt eyes on him. He glanced at an outbuilding built against the base of the keep. Nothing moved, but he sensed something hiding amid the shadows, watching them.

  Hazad grabbed his arm. “What was it?”

  “A child,” Kian said slowly. “I think.”

  Hazad looked around wildly. “Come out, and we’ll get you safe from here.”

  A vulture screeched, flies droned, and a thousand squeaking rats ran hither and yon, but for a long time there were no other sounds.

  The Black Keep loomed over them, its blocky walls spotted with pale lichen. Narrow windows and arrow loops were as dark as the rest of the stonework. Higher up, a square corner tower squatted on the battlements, and from its crenulated peak a tattered banner flitted in the wind, uncurling to reveal the ebon boar of House Rengar charging across a crimson field.

  “I think your eyes betrayed you,” Hazad said, sounding relieved. “There’s nothing here, save ghosts and vermin.”

  “I’m here,” a croaking voice called from the outbuilding.

  “That was a child,” Azuri said.

  “Show yourself,” Kian called, “and we’ll help you.” Tittering laughter rose up in answer, making his skin crawl.

  After a long silence, the child said, “I don’t need help.”

  “That was a boy,” Kian said.

  “I don’t like this,” Hazad muttered.

  “Should I fetch your mother?” Azuri said.

  “If you’re so brave,” Hazad said, “then you go find him.”

  “Damn me!” Kian snapped. “Can you two cease your bickering, even for a moment?”

  The two warriors went still, both glaring at him.

  Kian had already dismissed them and climbed out of the saddle. Azuri sighed and Hazad grumbled, but both joined him on the ground. Walking side by side, they moved toward the keep.

  When the boy stepped out from behind a stack of barrels, they halted. The scrawny boy’s cracked lips parted to show a hungry leer of crooked yellow teeth. His unkempt hair stuck out in scruffy spikes, and his tunic was coated in straw and dung. Every inch of his exposed skin was just as filthy, and covered in running sores.

  “The rats been at you, boy?” Hazad asked sharply.

  “A leper,” Azuri said, dancing back a few paces.

  “Can’t be a leper,” Hazad said. “He's got all his bits.”

  “Where are the others,” Kian asked. “Your parents, the soldiers, Lord Marshal Bresado?”

  The boy grinned at them, leaning a little to one side and scratching his belly.

  Kian tried again. “Was there an attack?”

  “My master wishes to see you,” the boy said.

  “Lord Marshal Bresado?” Kian asked, uneasy.

  A slight hesitation, then the boy nodded. “Yes. My master. He has been waiting for you.” The boy turned and ran toward the doors to the keep. Once there, he slipped between them and vanished.

  “Tell me you’re not going to follow him,” Azuri pleaded.

  “Should I fetch your mother?” Hazad mocked, sniggering to himself.

  At any other time, Kian would have laughed at Azuri’s expense, but not now. “I am going. My guess is that the boy has lost his mind, but he may lead us to Bresado’s corpse, and maybe his coffers.”

  “Doesn’t it trouble you that the boy is still here?” Azuri asked.

  “Everything about El’hadar troubles me,” Kian admitted, and set off. Azuri and Hazad waited a moment, then trailed after.

  ~ ~ ~

  Beyond the huge doors leading into the Black Keep, waited a gloomy hall.

  “Come,” the child urged, waving them forward with a f
lickering candle. He moved into a corridor and began winding his way through tangled corpses and feasting vermin.

  Every turn led to another corridor, and at the end of each, there was a set of stairs leading down. The final corridor was free of the dead, but the reek of decay was nearly suffocating. When Hazad smacked his skull against a support beam, they all hunched over and pressed on until coming to a broad, circular landing. To one side, a heavy door stood open. Kian saw steep stairs falling into utter darkness.

  Keeping his distance, the boy placed the candle on the floor, then shambled back the way they had come. Before he vanished, he called over his shoulder, “Follow the stairs. My master is waiting.”

  Shrinking away from the filth covering the walls, Azuri said, “Why would Bresado be down there?”

  “I’ve heard that Bresado enjoys torturing captured Bashye in the bowels of the keep,” Hazad offered.

  Azuri gave him a disgusted look. “Do you really think Bresado would’ve retired to the cellar to persecute captives, instead of defending his people from whatever attacked them?”

  Hazad shrugged.

  Kian retrieved the candle and moved to the stairs. “Are you two coming?”

  “Of course,” Azuri said, as if he had never suggested otherwise. Hazad loomed over his shoulder, looking ready, if not eager.

  The air quickly grew cooler. After a hundred steps, dampness ran down the walls and collected on the ancient stairs, making gurgling little trickles. After another hundred steps, the stairwell ended at a low archway.

  Beyond, a long double line of torches ran through a chamber so vast that the light failed to cut past the murk. Far away, an array of oil lamps brightened a long trestle table and a seated man thrice the size of Hazad.

  “Is that Bresado?” Azuri asked.

  “If not,” Kian said, “then he has a twin.”

  “So much for him being dead,” Hazad said.