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

by James A. West

  It took an hour and a few false starts, but eventually Ellonlef found a faint path winding up behind a rocky outcrop, and then higher into the mountains. After another hour filled with curses and scrabbling hooves, the path became a well-used trail.

  Keeping the horses at a sedate walk, they climbed steadily through weathered pillars of red rock and scraggly brush, until reaching the top of a forested plateau surrounded by high, craggy peaks. By now night was falling, and a freezing wind was rattling the branches of juniper and sage.

  Glancing back the way they had come, Kian jerked his reins with a shocked curse. When the others glanced at him, he pointed to the west. Far off across the Kaliayth the wind was piling the smoke into a dark and curved wall. Behind that forbidding arc the sky was a startling indigo.

  “Look at the stars,” Hazad breathed.

  “What are you babbling about?” Azuri demanded.

  “There’s the Archer … and there the Turtle,” Hazad answered, pointing out the constellations.

  Unease stole over Kian. “Gods good and wise,” he muttered. “Those are winter stars.”

  “Nonsense,” Azuri said.

  Hazad nervously twined his fingers through his beard braids. “There’s the Bull, and the Maiden, and the Four Sisters.”

  “I see them,” Azuri said irritably, “but if so, then we somehow lost two seasons.”

  The three men looked to Ellonlef.

  She gave them a fleeting, nervous grin. “Perhaps whatever forces destroyed Attandaeus and Memokk,” she said slowly, “also caused the world to shift its place in the heavens.”

  “Madness!” Azuri declared.

  “Something only a swatarin-addled Madi’yin would think up!” Hazad gusted.

  “And probably as close to the truth as we’ll ever come,” Kian said.

  The thankful grin from Ellonlef eased some of his shock, at least enough to return his mind to the matter at hand.

  He searched their surroundings, picked out a few prominent landmarks. “By my reckoning, we can reach the Chalice before midnight.”

  Hazad fixed Ellonlef with a hungry eye. “You’re sure this friend of yours has food?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you know of a secret way into that rancid cesspool?” Kian asked of the Chalice.

  She laughed. “The place is like a sieve. There’s no way Varis could post enough sentries to secure the Chalice.”

  With those thin hopes in their hearts, they set out to the east at first, before turning back to the north. As the hours passed, the wind grew more chill, and for a wonder the air cleared until all the smoke had pressed to the south and east. Starving and thirsty, bitterly cold and exhausted, Kian nevertheless felt his spirits lifting along with everyone else’s, save Azuri’s.

  “I smell snow,” he said, raising his nose to the wind. “I also smell the Chalice.”

  “So that’s what that is?” Ellonlef said, casting an apologetic look at Hazad.

  The big man raised his eyebrows in affront. “You really think I’m the only one of this miserable little band who stinks?”

  No one said anything, but they laughed.

  Before midnight, by Kian’s judgment, the murky amber glow of the Chalice came into view over the top of a hill. After taking a moment to think, Ellonlef led them a winding course until they were riding along a rutted road surrounded by rundown shanties. The wind still gusted, but now they could also hear music and boisterous laughter. Soon after, they were surrounded by inns, taverns, and people who were carrying on as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened in the last weeks.

  But that wasn’t quite true, Kian saw. Many of the buildings had recently burned, and those still standing had cracks running up their walls. The folk were even worse off. They had the same hungry look he and his companions shared. Also, there was a savageness in their eyes, as if they had lost what little decency they had.

  Azuri cupped a hand over his nose. “Smells worse than I remember.”

  Unperturbed by the reek, Hazad said, “I’ve never seen this many folk in the Chalice.”

  “They have come to hide behind whatever walls the realm can offer,” Ellonlef said. “Better if they had stayed away.”

  Kian only listened with half an ear. He was too busy glaring at anyone who came too close. Before they had moved far into the Chalice, his hard looks stopped working to keep the milling crowds at bay. Eyes turned, mouths murmured, and hands stiff with cold reached, eager for anything that might help them, freely given or not.

  With no other choice, Kian began using his boot to shove people back. As well, he drew his sword and held it along his thigh, and Ellonlef told all who asked that they had nothing to give.

  Nothing they did worked for long. More and more people were taking notice of the riders in their midst, those with panniers hanging behind their saddles. They couldn’t know those panniers were empty, but Kian wasn’t so sure that knowing would have mattered.

  More alert than ever, he watched word pass from mouth to ear like a slow spreading fire. The pleas dwindled, and the crowd started pushing forward.

  Feeling like a crumb of bread before a swarm of rats, Kian looked to Ellonlef. “Take us to your friend,” he ordered her.

  “I’m trying.”

  “You’ll have to do better, or these fools will rip us apart.”

  Ellonlef scanned the yelling mob with terror in her eyes, and Kian knew she had been too hungry for too long, and that she had suffered too much to lead them any farther.

  “Where is this friend of yours?”

  Ellonlef pointed toward the north.

  That was good enough for now.

  Kian looked to Hazad and Azuri. “Fall in behind Ellonlef. I’ll lead.”

  The two men answered by drawing their swords, and Kian forced his horse through the shoving throng, until he was ahead of Ellonlef. “Stay with me,” he said over his shoulder. “No matter what.”

  She nodded, and when he saw her hands tighten on the reins, he swung his sword overhead and howled a battle cry. In an instant, the horses were plunging through the crowd, bowling people over.

  A spear thrust at Kian’s face, and he viciously hacked off the rusted tip. Another man tried to snatch his stirrup, and he slammed the flat of his blade against the attacker’s skull, dropping him like a stone.

  As the horses picked up speed, those blocking the way began to reconsider. Those who thought too long, Kian rode down.

  And then they were through, the shouting crowds falling behind. They continued at a gallop, making hard turns and wild charges down streets and alleys, until they reached a quieter part of the Chalice.

  Kian reined in before a tavern with a hanging shingle on the stoop displaying a large, frowning green eye.

  “Gods,” Azuri said studying the placard, “have a nasty sense of humor.”

  Ellonlef took a long shuddery breath. She looked better, now that people weren’t trying to rip her out of her saddle. “What do you mean?”

  “This is where we met Varis,” Kian said, disgusted all over again that he had not told the arrogant whelp to bugger himself.

  “Where is your friend?” Azuri asked.

  Ellonlef said, “We go to the Street of Witches.”

  Chapter 24

  “You take us to a witch?” Hazad gasped.

  “Hya is no witch,” Ellonlef said, “but she lives among such women, posing as a pyromancer. It’s said she is quite skilled at the trade, but she is a Sister of Najihar.”

  “Only fools have dealings with witches,” Hazad countered.

  “We’ve faced worse,” Kian said, keeping an eye out for the unruly mobs that might still be on the hunt.

  “You need not fear women who grind herbs and gaze at leaves to learn the future,” Ellonlef said. “As for Hya, she’s a gentle old woman who has secretly served the Ivory Throne for many long years.”

  “If she has something to eat,” Hazad relented with a shrug, “then I don’t guess I care what she is or
isn’t.”

  Ellonlef led them on a zigzagging course through the Chalice that ended at a dead-end alley. A little way down, Kian saw a wooden sign painted with a flame hovering above an open palm.

  “You three stay put,” Ellonlef said. “Hya is … well, she’s Hya.”

  Kian and the others dismounted, and watched her approach a rickety door set in a brick building. She knocked, waited, and knocked again. After a moment, the door opened a crack, and a milky eye glared out.

  “You!” Hya hissed an old woman’s voice. She opened the door a little farther, allowing the pungent scent of sulfur to drift into the alley. She held up a lantern to see better, but Kian got the feeling she might dash it against Ellonlef’s head if she didn’t like what she saw.

  “This may have been a mistake,” Azuri said, fingering the hilt of his sword.

  Kian nodded.

  “We have come a long way, Sister Hya,” Ellonlef said, bowing respectfully.

  “What do I care how far you’ve come?” Hya scowled around at the others, then looked back to Ellonlef. “The years have not treated you kindly, Sister…?”

  “Ellonlef.”

  “Well, what else would your name be?”

  “We have urgent need of help,” Ellonlef said.

  “Sure you haven’t come to drag me off to some backwater arsehole of a kingdom?”

  “No,” Ellonlef answered.

  “Well,” Hya grumped, “if you come to beg scraps, I’ve none to give. Taken to eating rats, myself. Tasty, they are, with the right spices. Though of late, even salt is hard to come by.”

  “Hya, my companions and I need your help.”

  “Companions, you say?” She shoved her way through the doorway, her rumpled brown robes unable to conceal her twisted girth. “I’ve sight enough to see that these brutes are no Sisters escaped from Rida.”

  Ellonlef shook her head. “They are Izutarians.” Then, hesitantly, “What do you mean, escaped?"

  Hya brushed past Ellonlef and closed on Kian and the others. “Best hide those horses,” she advised, “lest some starving wretch hereabouts sees ‘em. To most folk, braised horsemeat is tastier than toasted rats on sticks.”

  “Hya,” Ellonlef urged, “what happened that our Sisters should flee Rida?”

  Hya behaved as if she had not heard the question, and motioned to Kian and the others to follow her. She shuffled deeper into the alley, her lamp swinging. “It’s not a barn, but there’s room enough for your horses, and enough oats to feed them a day or two.”

  As Kian passed Ellonlef, he whispered, “Can we trust her?”

  Ellonlef hesitated, then nodded.

  Kian accepted that, but kept his eyes sharp. If Hya had served the Ivory Throne so long, she might now serve Varis.

  Hya stopped in front of a large wooden door and held up her lamp. After passing over Azuri and pausing on Kian, her gaze landed on Hazad. “You there, open this door. Mind the hinges. They’re near rusted through.”

  Bobbing his head, Hazad grasped the door’s handle and lifted until the lower edge came out of the dirt. Straining, he carefully backed up, the hinges screeching loudly enough to make everyone cringe.

  “That’s a good lad,” Hya said. “Big, dumb, and quick to obey. Best qualities for any man,” she cackled, showing a handful of nubby teeth.

  Azuri burst out laughing, and only laughed harder when Hazad turned an ugly glower on him.

  At Hya’s gesture, Kian led two horses into the enclosure, followed by a still sniggering Azuri leading the other horses. While Hya held the lamp, they made quick work of unsaddling the mounts. Kian fetched oats from a near-empty sack.

  “Sure you’d rather not keep this for yourself?” Kian asked, warming to the old woman.

  Hya’s face knotted into a frightful collection of folds and wrinkles. “Never liked oats. Looks too much like something a dog gagged up.”

  After the horses were tended, they joined Hya in a one of a dozen small rooms off her shop. On every wall, hundreds of small nooks and cubbies reached to the ceiling, filled with all manner of books, scrolls, vials, and substances folded into oiled parchment.

  “You spoke of help,” Hya said moving about the room and lighting a few candles in a way Kian had never seen. First she sprinkled something from a small vial around the wicks, then spat on the substance. With a hissing crackle, dark purple flames shot up from each candle. After a moment, cheery yellow flames replaced the purple. “My guess,” she added, “is you’re not interested in elements used to create fire?”

  “Not yet,” Kian said contemplatively.

  Hya noticed the curious looks, and held up the clear glass vial. Within glinted dark red grains. “The Blood of Attandaeus, the Nectar of Judgment.”

  Hazad’s eyes widened. “You are mad.”

  Hya chortled and pinched his belly, causing him to stumble backward. “Mad, am I? Perhaps. But that changes not the name nor the potency of what I have here. When I could still see worth a damn, only I, a Sister of Najihar among scores of blustering pyromancers, dared labor on such a creation. And only I have succeeded in giving life to a substance that defies the properties of common fire. By blood or by water, by oil or by wine, all liquids set the Nectar of Judgment alight. In quantity, it burns through flesh or iron, and nothing will smother the flames before the grains are spent.”

  “Such as that could bring you great wealth,” Azuri observed. Kian noticed that he was idly picking at his fingernails, and thought maybe things were looking up.

  “Indeed,” Hya said. “Yet, imagine if you will, an ambitious and cruel man gaining this knowledge and using it for war? There would be no stopping him. ‘Tis better the secret of its making dies with me, than to sell it and swim in gold tainted by the blood of innocents—or ashes, as it were,” she cackled.

  “What if there was a brutally ruthless man with even greater strengths at his disposal?” Ellonlef asked quietly. “A man with abilities born not of potions and powders, but of the powers of gods?”

  Hya’s her misty eyes sharpened. “Then, Sister, I would seek out one such as myself.”

  “And what advice would you offer?” Kian asked, thinking the woman knew more than she had so far revealed.

  “I would suggest, Izutarian, that such a man shouldn’t be allowed to stride the face of the world.”

  “Even if he’s a highborn?”

  “A highborn,” Hya whispered, clucking her tongue. “Yes, I would destroy even one such as that. Even if that highborn were a king, I would want him dead.”

  “Why?” Kian asked, his eyes narrowed.

  “Evil is evil, and cannot be overlooked,” Hya said promptly. “And those who allow wickedness to exist are no less wicked themselves.”

  Kian stared, wondering if they had walked into a trap, for surely she knew he was speaking of Varis.

  Hya returned the stare, unblinking.

  Moving slowly, Hazad peeked through a crack in the wall to the street beyond. Azuri shifted to one side of the doorway, hand on the hilt of his sword.

  “You have nothing to fear from me,” Hya said to them, though still gazing at Kian. “But there is one who should terrify you. Perhaps he is even one such highborn who needs to perish?”

  “Prince Varis Kilvar,” Ellonlef blurted, putting an end to the strange game.

  Hya nodded. “Aye, but he is a prince no more. Our new king has only just begun to set up his rule, though rumors have reached even here. Unbelievable tales. Dire tellings that spread like wildfire. And yet, some are already beginning to side with him.” She smiled darkly. “If half of what’s said about King Varis is true, then he is as evil and powerful as you hinted. And if, as you say, he wields the powers of gods, he cannot be allowed to exist.”

  Kian relaxed. “What’s he done?”

  Instead of answering right away, Hya sat down with a gusty sigh in the room’s only padded chair. She waved for the others to sit where they would, which meant on one listing stool, or the dusty floor. Ellonlef was
given the stool, but Kian and his companions remained standing.

  “Please,” Ellonlef invited, “tell us all you can,”

  Hya leaned back in her chair, making it groan. “Big man,” she said to Hazad, “fetch me a blanket from that pile in the corner."

  Hazad was moving before he thought to balk, and then it was too late. Scowling, he brought the blanket. Hya flashed a grin, but this time kept her hands to herself.

  After she had swaddled herself, she shook her head in apparent disgust. “Never has a winter come so early to Ammathor, and never one so bitter. If such weather holds, or grows worse, by springtime the crowns of the Two Brothers will be covered in snow, and their feet with graves. That’s if there’s anyone left alive to dig graves.” She let those dire words sink in a while, then answered the question Ellonlef had asked earlier.

  “You should know that you and I, and those who were not on the Isle of Rida, are the last of our order.”

  Ellonlef put a hand to her mouth, and tears welled from her eyes.

  “A great burning rock,” Hya went on sadly, “as large as a mountain, some say, struck just off the coast of Aradan. No one who actually witnessed its fall are left alive. Those who saw the burning mountain from afar went to the spot, then spread the word. They say Rida is simply no more. The sea churns over shattered rock, and the waves are the color of blood.”

  “No,” Ellonlef breathed.

  “Too many people have carried the tale for it to be false,” Hya said, her now tender voice at odds with her worn features. “Merchants and refugees all say the same. What’s more, they say that from forty leagues south of Kingsport to the Sunset Cliffs of Tureece, the lands are shattered and burned, like a clay pot dropped into a hearth fire. Where once there were a few islands off the mainland, now there are hundreds, mayhap thousands, and not a one fit to tread upon. They say great founts of fire light the night, and by day molten rock spreads across those broken lands. The very air, it is said, is deadly.”

  Kian placed a gentle hand on Ellonlef’s shoulder, and she took it in both of her own.

  “Tell us of Varis,” Azuri said.

  “To understand,” Hya said, “you must appreciate the circumstances he has used to ensure his victory. Since the reign of King Edaer, Ammathor has never been able to sustain herself. After the faces of the Three were destroyed, it was but days before merchants and crofters ceased bringing supplies to the city. Even before true hunger came, lawlessness sprang up. It’s worse in Ammathor than in the Chalice, for the people of this district have always had to survive each new day, even during the best of times. Sleeping under moldy blankets and eating rats in the Chalice, after all, has never been all that unusual. Ammathor is another matter. When the food ran out, the highborn became desperate, began calling for unspeakable acts of tyranny. King Simiis, though he has been a good sovereign, bowed to that wickedness.”