by Swanson, Jay
The flap opened, his heart fluttering as he scooted back on the cot subconsciously. A man in the dark black leather of a Hunter's armor stepped into the room, followed closely by two others. They gave the room a cursory glance, slinging their rifles over their shoulders before saluting Keaton where he sat.
“Sir.” The mask muffled the voice in such a familiar way. “We're here to spring you. I'd ask you to gather your gear, but it looks like Lucius has saved us the time.”
“What's going on?” Keaton groaned as he was lifted by the other two Hunters.
“Khrone's got word of what they had planned for you, sir.” The Hunter in the lead turned to open the flap for them. “Sorry we weren't here in time to offer you support.”
They half-carried Keaton out into the dark of the night. The sliver of the moon above glinted dully off the armor and visors of two dozen Hunters gathered around the tent. Keaton had never seen so many in one place since selection.
The Hunters saluted silently before dispersing. Keaton caught glimpses of more in the distance. The guards to his tent lay in bloody heaps on the ground.
“Where are we going?” It was nearing three in the morning by his count.
“Northeast, into the mountains. There's a stronghold there where we've been caching food and weapons ever since you took an open stance against the war.”
“Ever since... you listened?”
“Aye, sir.” The Hunter in the lead took Keaton's left arm from his comrade and placed it over his own shoulder. “You're an inspiration to us all, sir. The only Hunter in service to have actually fought Magi. You have a reputation, sir, going back to your successful Kettle Run, and when you spoke, you spoke for all of us. Khrone's has only one man left to follow.”
The camp was deathly silent. Keaton didn't see any sentries at their posts, and the ones he did see wouldn't be returning to posts of any kind. They were out of the camp's perimeter and working their way east before he even had much of a chance to realize it. They killed their own countrymen to free me...
“Who are you?” Keaton's questions sounded more like groans, even in his own ears.
“We're all that's left of Khrone's, sir.”
“I mean what's your name, Lieutenant.”
“Saltman, sir.”
“I've heard of you. Who's your captain?” The pace they kept made it hard for Keaton to talk. He hoped they had a transport somewhere nearby.
“We don't have one, sir.” Saltman shook his hidden head. “There were only three units left, sir, after Sykes' disappeared with you. The captains were all sent to the battle down here to fight with you. It was assumed their loyalty to the State would supersede any loyalty they might have to you.”
“I guess that didn't work out so well for the State.”
“Sir.” Saltman had no humor in his voice. “They've managed to kill half of Khrone's strength in a matter of months on fool's errands. Chasing the Magess for Silvers, running reconnaissance on our allies, and ludicrous suicide missions besides. There's a reason we're being killed off, sir. They don't trust us to fall in line.”
“After tonight's events, you'll hardly be able to blame them, Lieutenant.” The low burn of Liscentia's lights hung just over the horizon to the south. He wondered if they even knew what had happened to their soldiers. What horrors had taken them. What was coming for them next. What's coming for them next...
“Hold up, Lieutenant,” he coughed. “Wait, damn you.”
“Sir?” Saltman stopped, beckoning his brothers to do the same. Aside from those scouting, the Hunters held their position.
“MARD.”
“Excuse me sir?”
“What makes us different from the other units in the military? What distinguishes us on any spreadsheet or summary you've ever seen?”
“MARD...”
“We're trained to fight magic-wielders, Saltman.” The realizations burned Keaton's mind almost as much as the wounds on his skin. “And if Merodach has teamed up with magic-wielders, then we're as big of a threat as the Shadow King is to him.”
“Magic-wielders, sir?”
“Do you have a long-wave on you?” Merodach's allies were already in place. Keaton had to get his own on the move. He only hoped he wasn't too late.
“Of course sir, but we're running silent. We didn't want to risk discovery.”
Keaton held out his hand. “This is worth the risk.”
POMPIDUS MERODACH STARED OUT THROUGH THE WINDOWS WITHOUT SEEING ANYTHING. The snow drifted across the plains, making the brooding mountains of the Northern Range feel even more imposing than they had before. They reflected his mood, as did the churning gray clouds overhead.
He had gambled it all and lost. The fight to neutralize Liscentia had done little more than cripple them both. The people of Elandir wouldn't take news of the defeat well. Things would turn out especially poorly if they were to find out about his treacherous plot to convince them war was necessary. He had been mere inches from obtaining invulnerable power, and now he was as close to unavoidable defeat.
Bill and Clive... Clive and Bill... The names rolled back and forth in his mind like a tumor broken loose from its stem. Betrayed by a couple of brutish smugglers.
It wasn't the betrayal itself that hurt nearly as much as the pride at who it was that had bested him. And now his mind was drawing blanks. He had risked it all. He had lost. If he couldn't make a spectacular recovery, and make it quickly, he would soon find a knife plunging in his back or a bullet ricocheting out of his skull.
“Sir?” His attendant was still waiting for him, he realized.
“Any news?” Merodach didn't even want to turn to face the man. His anger was concentrated by the walls closing in on his broiling emotions.
“Nothing new sir. Lucius says he's cleaning up.”
“When is he returning, damn it?” Maybe his anger wasn't so far off after all.
“He wouldn't say, sir.”
“That was all I asked you to find out.” Merodach clenched his eyes for a moment, then fluttered them as if clearing the haze over his pupils would do the same for his mind. “How is the cleanup in the streets progressing?”
“Slowly, sir. There's barely enough of a garrison to hold the walls, and the people aren't exactly cooperating well.”
“Is that your own assessment? I didn't know you'd started your military career.” He rubbed his temples, swallowing hard at the thought of the citizens growing restless. He had to get the streets cleared, but he couldn't display to them just how safe he felt by releasing the garrison to help. They had to be kept in fear, for just a while yet, or they might revolt.
“Sir?”
“Just...” Fury, his old friend. It wasn't so ready to launch itself at the moment. He was tiring. “Just get my answers.”
His attendant didn't bother saying anything else before slipping silently out the door. That was fine by Merodach; the kid had learned something at least. The plates weren't spinning so well any more, gravity and distraction playing their parts with determination. He had to keep Elandir firmly under his thumb, but that required the ability to appear in control. Control was exactly what he was missing. He needed answers, and he needed them now.
A knock came at the door. “Here he is, sir. Or what's left of him.”
Merodach turned to see two carbon-gray soldiers drag the bloody mess of what was once the smuggler, Bill, into his office. Merodach recoiled involuntarily at the sight, barely able to recognize the pirate through the bruises and breaks that plagued his massive body. His legs were broken, and his body too weak to hold his own weight. The two soldiers dropped Bill unceremoniously in one of Merodach's oversized chairs, then took a step back to watch him.
Merodach quickly overcame his disgust for the whole business. Bill deserved worse for his treachery, to be sure. The sight of the wretch brought fury closer to the surface again. “The treatment you've received almost makes you wish we could classify you as a traitor and get it over with, doesn't it, Bill?”
The mound of pain in the chair before him made no reply.
“You said 'he' promised you would never be discovered. 'He' obviously lied to you, which leaves the question of why you're still protecting him, Bill. Why are you protecting him? Who is 'he?'”
“I ain't protectin' no one save meself...” Bill's voice cracked, the strength turning to a whimper as he curled forward in the chair.
“They knew we were coming, Bill. They knew, and by all accounts they were ready for us.”
Bill had resumed his statue's silence, even if he couldn't keep a statue's stillness. His quivering seemed to intensify the more Merodach spoke.
“What's more, both sides were attacked by something. Some unknown creatures that set themselves upon either front indiscriminately.”
Bill looked up at that, bloodshot eyes wide. “So it's true...”
“What's true, Bill?” Merodach's patience for the pirate was wearing thin, but as much as he would have loved to dole out more punishment, the man's state was proof enough that it would be ineffective. Whoever he was working for had scared him worse than the harshest of tortures. “What the hell is going on?”
Bill's look of disbelief twisted slowly into a grin, his eyes matching Merodach's as a slow laugh worked its way up from his gut.
“What's so funny, you licey piece of shit?”
But Bill was really laughing now. It sounded other-worldly, deep, powerful. “His power's real... I ain't never thought it more'n fancy tricks 'n twists o' luck, but it's real.” The laughter filled Merodach's office like a landslide echoing through canyon walls. “And his pets... they're real!”
“Would you shut him up?” Merodach had to shout to be heard.
“There's no hope for you now, Merodach!” The voice was entirely different now. His pupils glowed red. “Your city will fall. Your people will be enslaved and remade before they burn and die, and it's all thanks to your greed. It's all thanks to your short-sighted plots and maneuverings. None of this would have been possible if it wasn't for you.”
Merodach took a step back from the crippled man in front of him. In spite of his injuries he was radiating strength. And that voice... it wasn't his own.
“Your victory is forever beyond your reach, Merodach, but mine is only coming closer to fulfillment!” Bill stood on his broken legs, the pain barely registering on his face as they cracked and gave way under his weight. Still he came forward, clawing his way onto Merodach's desk.
“Stop him!” Merodach yelled at the frozen soldiers beyond the madman. “STOP HIM!”
“There is no stopping him, Merodach. There is no placating him, there is no defeating him. There is only death. There is only torment. Your death, Merodach. Your torment.”
Merodach fell into his chair, the squeaky wheels carrying him back towards the tall panes of glass.
“You have served him well, Merodach. And you never even knew it.”
“Who is 'HE?!'” Merodach screamed at the broken figure on his desk.
“'He' is the all-powerful, the Demon, the Reformer and Remaker, the New God, Darkness Above... 'He' is the Relequim!” A scream worked out from deep within Bill's broken frame in that moment. A wail that lingered like a scent in the air long after it had gone. “Merodach.” The voice took on an even deeper tone, its gravelly power sending shocks through Merodach's stomach. “I am coming.”
Before Merodach could cover himself, an invisible spike shot through Bill's neck. Bone and flesh shot forward as his back arched and the scream returned. He convulsed once. Then, as if struck by some invisible mallet, he flipped back onto the ground in front of Merodach's desk with a crunch and a thud.
SEVEN
RAIN RODE THROUGH THE STREETS OF ISLENDA SLOWLY, matching the pace of her brother's bodyguard as they made their way to the Citadel. She watched him carefully as he took the time to nod or wave to nearly anyone who caught his eye. Their father had done much the same at times, particularly when he was in a good mood. It seemed Rendin had taken to putting such a mood on in times of distress.
He did seem calm, however, well-collected and regal. Whether or not that was how he felt on the inside, Rain had her doubts, but he projected a kingly confidence nonetheless. It relieved her to see as much. Her concerns for his health and rule had rarely been far from her mind.
The armor of the guards around them clanked and clattered dully against their mounts. It felt strange to Rain to be surrounded by fully-armored men again, in spite of the creeping familiarity. Her time riding and raiding in the east was as distant from her memory as if it had been a different lifetime. As if she had been a different person.
“I've noticed trade is still strong,” she ventured. Her brother had hardly spoken since they had left the Temple.
“Don't let the presence of our colorful tradesmen fool you, sister.” Even when he kept his voice low, she had always been able to hear him well. “They sense the tide changing better than our own people. This will be the last influx of them for quite some time, I fear.”
Soon the Citadel loomed over them. She had forgotten how impressive it was. Riding around a final corner to see it rise between the rows of buildings in the city brought back a flood of memories. She immediately thought back to growing up in the long halls that ran deep into the mountain. Sitting with her brother at court, watching and learning from their father as he dealt with the business of the realm. The feasts, the parties, the tragedies and justice. Her father's seat was the center not only of her world, but of the unified west.
The Citadel itself stood as tall as any of Islenda's towers, built into the side of one of the mountains that made up more than half of the city's natural defense. Various layers of balconies and windows rested among the buttresses that flew along the face of the cliffs. Immense green banners fluttered in the wind from nearly every level of the structure. It had taken generations to complete, and its lack of uniformity or symmetry told as much. All of its imperfections only made it more beautiful to Rain, and more imposing to those visiting her city.
It took a while yet to reach the inner wall that ran from the cliffs to ring the Citadel. Though far lower than the outer wall, the inner wall was similar in its design and appearance. The masons who had crafted Islenda centuries before had been artists as much as they had been military architects. She smiled to see the gray veins running in their smooth white surfaces, the intricate designs of forests, animals, and the royal lineage welcoming her like old friends. It was amazing the things that could make her feel instantly at home when everything else felt so strange.
A contingent of mounted men stood waiting to the right of the gate. They wore purple, hemmed with golden thread. Sir Hembrody's house... Branston's father. Her stomach twisted at the sight. What will I ever tell him?
Sir Hembrody's house was one of the most powerful in Islenda. His swords made up nearly a quarter of their forces afoot, and his cavalry had been of nearly equal import to her father's army. The case was no different for her brother.
Rain edged her horse closer to her brother. “This will go poorly, Rendin. I have nothing but ill news to give.”
“Then ill news he must receive.”
Sir Hembrody spurred his horse forward, leaving his men behind as he approached the path of the King. Rendin slowed to acknowledge his ally and counselor. Rain's stomach twisted to see the old man approach. His white hair was still thick for a man of his age, cropped close and neat. The chain and brooch clasping his purple cloak to his throat were so covered in gems that she could barely detect the gold she knew lay underneath.
“My liege.” Hembrody's fingers touched his forehead gingerly to signify his respect.
“Sir Hembrody.” Rendin tilted his head in turn as he brought his party to a halt. “May your name live forever.”
“And yours, Majesty.”
Rendin sat perfectly still on his horse. Rain could hardly believe how dignified he could look. “To what do I owe the honor of your call?”
“Word has re
ached me that your fair sister has returned from afield. I wish to bid her welcome.”
“Of course.” Rendin motioned for Rain to come closer. “You needn't wait.”
The old man wasn't shocked, at least not visibly, but he clearly hadn't realized the ranger among the royal train was Rain.
“Forgive me, young Renault, and welcome home.” Hembrody bowed in the saddle. “It has been so long since I have looked upon your face. I had nearly forgotten the depth of your beauty.”
The flowery words unsettled her more. She detected venom's subtle lace on each word. “It is good to be seen, sir.” Once he had loved her, she knew. But that had been before she refused her betrothal to his son. The son who had betrayed her not weeks before.
“Where is the rest of your party?” His words were taking on more of an edge. “I should very much like to see my son. It has been far too long since my old eyes have beheld him.”
“I'm afraid I did return alone, Sir Hembrody.” Her throat tried to choke the words. This man was not known for his kindness. She couldn't bear to be the one who gave him an excuse to turn against her brother.
“Then I must ask after Branston, my son. Is he well? How far behind you is he? Surely you understand how strange a thing it is to find a warden so far from her men as to enter the city alone.”
“I'm afraid we were overburdened by our charge.” She couldn't avoid telling him forever. “I ordered my men to move them south and expect help soon.”
There was no way for her to read the old man at this point. His face was twisting and twitching subtly, but in so many ways she couldn't tell if he were angry or genuinely distraught for her men, his son presumably among them.
“What would possess you to leave them, young one?” The reprimand was thinly veiled.