The Last King's Amulet pof-1

by Chris Northern

  The alarm was spreading, being returned all around us, more from outside in the courtyard than inside the building. It wouldn't be long before we had problems. The carpeted corridor ahead of us lead to the audience chamber that Kukran Epthel used and we moved down it fast, heading for the two guards who stood outside the door that was our target.

  Sapphire moved as though he knew what each man was going to do before he did it. Down to one knee and thrust to the groin, weapon clear and up and moving past the dying man before he had finished falling to his knees. Duck under a wild swing, turning on one heel and sword up under the ribs of the second, twist and tug free as the man hunched over the fatal wound. A look behind us and then turn and continue. I didn't glance back. He knew what was behind me and so did I, I could hear them coming, feet pounding on marble. Suddenly muted by carpet, the enemy pounded on toward us and I turned and raised the stone to spray hot death once more. It didn't happen. Gatren was among them, and had countered my spell. Behind him and around him were a half dozen men and more in the chamber behind.

  Meran was among them.

  89

  We never made it to the door; the barbarians were coming too fast and we had to stop and fight as they reached us. Meran took two from behind and then it became chaotic.

  Meran fought like a barbarian. Posing, shouting, intimidating. He was one of them and it showed. He needed to work himself up to attack and so did they. By comparison Sapphire was just killing people. It was what he was doing and nothing else. A barbarian shouted and lunged and Sapphire killed him. Another screamed and charged and died. There was no emotion in Sapphire as he fought. He was aware, each movement sure and controlled, every action certain. His face was expressionless, focused, concentrating on the job in hand. And me; I was fighting for my life and analyzing the difference between my companions. Insanity comes in many forms.

  Gatren was an additional concern. He was trying to cast and I had to counter him, even though I had no idea what spells he might have learned, I knew for sure I didn't want to find out right now. His problem was his own men and the chaos of the fray. Mine was that I had to watch him and defend myself at the same time. A gap would open and he would stab out with his fist clenched, I would do the same, countering whatever ugly spell he was attempting. The numbers of his own allies hindered him; they were intent on us and not thinking to get out of his way so he could cast clean. His attention was focused on me, the inhibitor of his magic. And I was focused on him for the same reason. I could not spray hot oil everywhere while he was countering my spells and he could not do whatever he was doing while I was countering his. Meanwhile his men were dying.

  I blocked a blow with my blade and stepped in with a short chop to the throat which ended in his eyes as he ducked in turn. Stepping aside I countered Gatren's spell and then thrust my blade into the staggering barbarian's floating ribs. Leaping back as his fellow stop-thrust for my chest. Sapphire continued to move through them calmly, each blow deadly, constantly moving, totally aware and focused on what he was doing and oddly calm as he killed and maimed. We were winning, and then something hit me a blow to the back of the head and I was suddenly on my hands and knees staring dully at the carpet. I moved, unthinking, half falling to my left, weight on one hip, legs tucked up and slashed wildly at whatever hit me. The blade made no contact and the world spun around me. I think I must have been struck again but I have no recollection of that.

  90

  The wrinkled face of Lentro swam before my eyes.

  That seemed both odd and normal at the same time, yet I couldn't think why it should seem either one. I took a deep breath and moved slightly. Nothing seemed to hurt, which was a blessing.

  I sat up with a jerk, causing Lentro to start. He leaped to his feet and moved away. Behind him I could see the throne of Kukran Epthel, the cadaver himself sitting upon it, watching me. I ignored him and looked round. The audience chamber was as I remembered it. I didn't count the zombies, but noted the addition of six guards who lined the back wall either side of the throne. They were brawny, competent looking men in mail armor that I recognized as having been looted off our noble dead. One wore mine, including the belt that made his form shimmer slightly. My swords were at his belt, his hand resting idly on the longer blade. I turned my head further. Sapphire was bound hand and foot, yet managed to look relaxed, sitting nearby and looking at me. The smile was gone from his face, his expression was neutral and his eyes as cold as ever.

  “What happened?”

  “We failed,” he said.

  Beyond him I could see Meran. Like me he was not bound. He stood glaring about, clenching and unclenching his hands. He locked eyes with me and raised an eyebrow. I shook my head and climbed to my feet.

  Lentro moved further away. I checked my fingers and found they was bare of rings, my tattoo had gone and my hands were my own.

  “Sumto, I thought you had decided to obey me.”

  “You were wrong,” I said mildly. My heart hammered in my chest as I wondered what further outrages they would now heap upon me. Living death? I looked at the eight zombies that lined the walls, noting this time the wealthy dress style of Gerrian chieftains. Those who had not accepted his incitement to rise against us, no doubt. No wonder their people had capitulated; suddenly led by whichever man had been chosen to take the position made so drastically vacant.

  “In the long run I am never wrong. I can wait. You will serve me. They all do in the end. One way or another.

  “All slaves together? I don't think so.”

  “Those who obey me are not called slaves.”

  “Called slaves or not, everyone who obeys you is a slave so long as you wear the last king's amulet.” I had finally remembered where I had seen the symbol of the amulet he wore. In a book, of course, a history of our own people, telling the story of the last true king. The last king of the city had had it made, soaking a stone into its metal to fuel the power that it embodied. Obedience, it demanded. It murmured the concept unceasingly, day and night to all who saw it; 'obey me.'

  He locked his dull dead gaze on mine and said nothing.

  Lentro looked round, taking in the amulet and frowning slightly. His eyes narrowed as he craned slightly forward the better to see.

  “Don't you recognize it Lentro? Our ancestors killed him for making it. As soon as they saw its properties in action and knew it for what it was they resisted and slew him. He was the last true king of the city and now we have none, save in name to honor better men.”

  “Be quiet,” Kukran spoke in the same unmoved tones, not raising his voice one iota, but I recognized his unease.

  “Why? Were it not true you would not fear it said. Where did you come by it? The histories say it was destroyed but I guess the histories lie. Histories are always dubious, written by the victor. Did you know that we have a practice of inviting parallel works from the vanquished? We keep them in the public libraries where everyone can read them. Don't we Lentro?”

  “Yes,” he answered, his attention still focused on the amulet.

  A small black-skinned figure appeared behind Sapphire and cut his bonds. Taking the knife and moving as though he had all the time in world, Sapphire brought his arms forward, the small knife in one hand and cut viciously at the ropes that bound his ankles. Swords rang from their sheaths at once and a voice I recognized said a word I did not. “Bogani'iodya,” it could have been. Dubaku was pointing at Kukran Epthel. I stood frozen for a moment, aware and ready to move but not yet committed.

  Kukran Epthel did not seem surprised. “Will you never give up?” he asked, and raised one weary hand holding the ten carat stone. The spirit Dubaku had called manifested and wrapped itself around him, instantly he burst into flames. “What?” He looked at his hands and arms, calmly. “Douse me,” he said as he turned to the frozen guard to his left. “Bring a tapestry and smother the flames.” The guard sprang to obey after only a moment's shocked hesitation.

  Sapphire was on his feet and moving, taki
ng advantage of the momentary distraction that had held the guards in thrall. They moved to meet him but it was already too late for the first whose initial step was his last. Sapphire's knife slashed across his throat so deep I thought I saw a flash of bone before the blood gushed out of the wound. Spinning away, the dead guard's sword now in his hand, Sapphire attacked his next target calmly. It was only then that I moved, unarmed as I was, heading after the guard who was intent on bringing down a tapestry. I tackled him from behind, hitting him hard so that we bounced off the wall together and fell to the ground.

  A thunderous concussion shook the room but no one seemed to react to it and I certainly didn't have time.

  “Douse me!” Kukran Epthel commanded again. “You,” I had no idea who he meant and cared less. The barbarian I grappled was turning in my grip despite the fact that I had my arm across his throat and was trying desperately to make my fist meet my own shoulder as I attempted to choke the life out of him. He was stronger than me. It was that simple. With my left hand I sought a weapon, scrabbling about his waist as I quested for a knife but he had me there too, one big hand gripping my wrist and pushing my hand away. I'd locked my legs about him, my ankles crossed and his right arm trapped beneath my leg. At least he couldn't get to a weapon himself. He got his elbow on the ground for leverage and started to sit up, taking me with him.

  Light streamed suddenly into the room as one of the drapes was ripped bodily from the wall. At that moment a thin black skinned fist and arm nipped around me, the fist held a small knife that glinted with wicked sharpness as it moved. The barbarian I was desperately resisting stiffened and arched his back, then twitched and writhed in my arms. Dubaku flitted away as I pushed my burden off me, glancing around to see what might threaten, even as I dragged his sword free of its sheath.

  Another mighty concussion shook the building. I ignored it as best I could. It wasn't in the room with me.

  “All of you, kill them!” Kukran Epthel cried. He had finally risen to his feet and begun to move across the room, purposefully heading to the windows where one of the eight zombies stood holding a heavy drape in both hands. It was shuffling backwards, dragging it across the floor as its master came to meet it. It had not reacted immediately, I noted. Resistance to the command or simply a consequence of its nature? I shelved the thought as I continued to glance around the room, taking in the details that would dictate my next actions.

  Sapphire seemed briefly held at bay by the three hulking guards, but one went down even in that brief glance and I stopped worrying about him, my gaze continuing to traverse the room. The doors had been flung open and in the center of the room Meran faced a guard; the other who had been standing outside lay writhing nearby.

  I came to my feet, gaze flitting back past Sapphire and his two opponents. I met Lentro's eyes for a moment. They were wide and horrified. I had no time for that. He knew what had been done to his mind and I knew that he knew. Kukran Epthel wore the last King's Amulet. No matter what happened here I knew Lentro would spread the word amongst those of us who had survived. Even if we died here, Kukran Epthel would fall at their hands. We do not suffer a tyrant to live, and only a tyrant would use such a tool as the amulet.

  Kukran Epthel had taken the drape and enfolded himself in it. The stink of smoke had filled the room unnoticed. I made a decision and moved. Fast but controlled, I crossed the room to Kukran. He clearly reasoned the fire was out and was slowly and clumsily trying to work his way free of the enshrouding drapery. I moved with controlled energy, emulating Sapphire. His hands found the edge of the drape and pushed it up. The drape was large and heavy, he adjusted and pushed upward again. I picked my moment, stepped and chopped hard at his wrist. The burned hand sprang free and spun through the air. I followed it. There was no sense hacking at a corpse and the undead had begun to move. The hand landed by the window and I was aware as I snatched it up that the courtyard below was a maelstrom of activity. Snagging the desiccated hand I looked down, stepped up and taking in the chaos outside in a glance, still moving forward. Hundreds of citizens of the town had taken up arms and stormed the building, overwhelming the barbarians who opposed them.

  “Out!” I shouted the word only once, sure that what I did next would attract attention even if my shout did not.

  Still moving, body tensed, I hurled myself at the window. It shattered and I fell.

  I hoped, in the brief moment I had free, that none of the shards of glass was so big as to impale me when I landed. Glass fell with me and I twisted in the air, trying to land on my feet. It was not a long drop, less than twelve feet, but it still knocked the wind out of me when I hit the hard paves, glass raining down with me. I rolled at once to my feet, slightly doubled over as I struggled to breathe. It wasn't happening. I was cut but nothing hurt too badly. There was some pain and I saw one fair sized shard sticking out of my arm. I would have yanked it free but I had a sword in one hand and a hand in the other. I cursed myself, still heaving for air, when I realized that I had jumped through the window with a sword in my hand. Sharp as glass and far more deadly. Moving slowly, I crabbed away, turning round once as I did so and straightening painfully. Several townsmen were moving toward me, holding a variety of weapons. I held up the desiccated hand and croaked something that sounded like nothing but was intended, for some reason, to be “it's me,” as though they would know who I was. I dropped the sword and they hesitated. Good enough. Unceremoniously I ripped the ten carat ring off the dry finger and pushed it home on mine. Touching the stone I quickly harmonized with it. Now it was mine and I felt on firmer ground. Also, I was getting my wind back.

  Covered in blood, Sapphire landed between me and my hostile allies, rolled effortlessly and came to his feet. He was covered in blood and I saw it pulsing from a wound in his arm. Taken aback, the townsmen froze and now I could talk.

  “I am Sumto Merian Ichatha Cerulian, patron of the city! This is my servant, Sapphire. Now dress his wound!” So saying I turned away with all the inborn arrogance of my kind and looked up at the broken window. Meran had his back to the window and was swinging his blade this way and that with silent desperation. “Jump, dammit!” I commanded him and he obeyed, stepping backward and launching himself awkwardly into space. He landed badly and I heard something break. I helped him to his feet, he nodded and grimaced with the pain, keeping one foot off the ground. “Leg,” he said, succinctly.

  “Pity we should run then, isn't it?” I looked up, picking men from the crowd. “You and you, carry him out of here!”

  I turned again and came face to face with Sapphire, tying off a tight binding to stop the blood flowing. He wasn't paying any attention to that though, his eyes locked on mine as cold as ever I had seen them. “Look, I like you, so I'm not going to kill you, but don't ever call me your servant again, okay?”

  I nodded once. It was a fact he was stating, nothing more or less, and so deserved to be acknowledged as such.

  “Jocasta,” it didn't exactly follow his train of thought but he accepted it. “She must be inside.”

  91

  The courtyard was filled with milling townsmen, upwards of three hundred of them, some wounded and some tending the wounded; others looting bodies and many carrying booty out of the buildings that surrounded the courtyard on three sides. Two areas were little more than rubble and I guessed that the massive concussions I had heard from inside the audience chamber were responsible. Jocasta must have taken them down. There were also two archways that led elsewhere; I didn't waste much time on them as I dodged my way through the throng, Sapphire with me.

  We moved as fast as we could; no one got in our way but most were about their own tasks and unaware of us unless we actually barged into them or passed so close in front of them that they reacted. Most moved fast and away from us when they saw us coming. I guess we looked like we meant business.

  Just as we hit the bottom of the steps Jocasta and Dubaku appeared at the top. She stumbled but didn't fall, looking straight at me as she came
forward, her expression puzzled. “No,” I used the word as flat denial of what I knew was true. Something had hit her, just at the moment she walked through the doorway. She began to fall. I bounded up the steps, putting everything I had into the effort but I was way too far away and far too slow. She fell to her knees, catching herself with her hands out in front of her, hair spreading like a mask over her face. Something small and black seemed to be resting on her back, stark against the cream colored cloth of the shirt she wore and I knew it was a crossbow flight, I knew it long before I was close enough to see it clearly. “No.”

  Dubaku was at her side, one hand stark black against the cream shirt as he gripped her arm. He saw the bolt. Looked back through the doorway. Pointed with his other hand and said something low and intense that I didn't catch. I was only peripherally aware of him. All my attention was on Jocasta and the tufted end of the quarrel sticking out of her back. I fell to my knees on the steps before her, pushed back her hair tenderly and gently lifted her head so that I could see her eyes; they were dull and unaware. I glanced up and met Dubaku's gaze. Expressionless as always. “Help her,” I begged him.

  “The arrow has to come out. The lady cannot heal around it.”

  I looked back at the tuft of the quarrel, all that was showing. Imagined gripping it, which would be hard enough, and pulling it out; imagined the damage it would do her and shook my head. It would kill her for sure and I said so.