“Sorry, Cecil,” he said. He snapped his fingers, spreading ice all around Cecil’s body, sealing him inside like a cocoon. When it was finished, he stomped a foot against the icy thread attaching the cocoon to the bridge. It shattered, and the cocoon fell to the river, landing with a loud splash.
Tarlak turned to the Masters’ Tower and bowed low.
“Have I proven myself satisfactory?” he asked, projecting his voice as loud as his wounded side allowed.
Their applause was a definitive ‘yes’. Roand floated off the disc and onto the bridge, and he spared a glance down to the Rigon River.
“It seems you’re in need of a new apprentice,” Roand said. “I’ll assign you one shortly.”
“Thanks,” Tarlak said, clutching his side as he walked toward the door of the Masters’ Tower. “Let’s hope this one doesn’t suffer a similar fate.”
Roand chuckled, and he smiled as if it were the funniest thing.
Laugh, you lunatic, Tarlak thought as the tower door opened, and several other wizards greeted him with enormous smiles. Laugh, each and every last damn one of you.
As the door shut behind him, wizards shaking his hand and slapping his healthy shoulder, Tarlak tugged at the burning pendant about his neck swore that when he finally escaped the towers, he would be the last one laughing.
14
“Admit it,” Aurelia said as she walked through the marketplace, little Gregory’s hand in hers. “It feels great to get out of the castle.”
Aubrienna bounced atop Harruq’s shoulders, legs wrapped around his neck, hands gripping his hair.
“It’s also slightly painful,” Harruq said. Aubby tugged hard on his hair to stay upright as if to prove his point.
“You’ve been beaten, stabbed, and smacked around with magic,” Aurelia said. “I think you can handle a little bit of hair-pulling.” She stopped at a stall selling assorted necklaces. Aubrienna leaned forward, straining to see, while Gregory stood on his tiptoes and eyed the nearest few sets.
“Handle it? Sure. Like it? Nope. That’s more your thing.”
Aurelia smacked his shoulder.
“Behave. We have children with us, and in public.”
“Would the little king like a necklace?” asked the squat lady running the stall. Her face was caked with paint, her lips a powerful shade of purple. Gregory shied away, and Harruq winced. The boy was still young, but acting so timid would not help the strained trust the people held in him.
“Go on, Gregory,” Harruq said, hoping to coach the child out from his shyness. “Pick one you like.”
Gregory peered around Aurelia’s leg, giving the strange lady a wary look that would have amused Harruq under most circumstances.
“I’m not sure yet,” he said.
“I like that one!” Aubby shouted from above, lunging forward and pointing. The act nearly sent her tumbling off Harruq’s shoulders, and he had to grab her by the legs to keep her stable.
“I’m sure the necklace is very pretty,” Harruq told his daughter, “but let’s not go diving headfirst to the ground for it, eh?”
Aubby laughed, kicking her feet together beneath his chin. Harruq grinned; he had to admit, being in the open air, surrounded by people, did help his spirits. Sure, they gave him wary looks, and the crowd would grow chilly when an occasional angel flew over, but overall it was fun to pretend things were back to the way they’d been in Veldaren, when the only responsibilities he had were to his family and not to an entire nation.
A scream from far down the road jolted his thoughts. The market was built into the side of the hill leading up to the castle, and he saw a gathering crowd of men and women farther down the way. Shouts grew louder, more numerous. From within the crowd, Harruq spotted the white feathers of an angel’s wings, but nothing more than that.
“What’s the matter?” Aurelia asked.
“I don’t know,” Harruq said. “But whatever it is, it’s going sour fast.”
He pulled Aubrienna off his shoulders and placed her before his wife.
“Get them to the castle,” he said. “I’ll find out what’s going on.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” Aurelia asked.
“I’m supposed to be in charge of this city,” Harruq said. “I might as well act like it.”
“What about your swords?”
Harruq shrugged. He’d left them in the castle, along with his armor, figuring neither would be needed.
“I got my fists,” he said. “If need be, I’ll improvise.”
He hugged his wife, kissed his daughter on the forehead, and started jogging down the hill. Behind him, he heard the telltale hiss of a portal opening, and he breathed easier. The gathering crowd filled the entire street from side to side, and he heard cries for guards. People were flooding in from all directions, and Harruq sensed the rumblings of a potential riot as a lone accusation echoed like a chant.
“Murderer, murderer, murderer.”
The crowd’s numbers had swelled to well above a hundred when Harruq heard another shriek of pain pierce through the streets, the stalls, and the people. The reaction was both immediate and terrifying. Those in the outer ring fell back, scattering in all directions. Harruq used his size and strength to shove his way through. One young man tried to push Harruq aside, and when he failed, he swung at his jaw. Harruq caught his fist and held it in the air. The frightened man gaped, his anger quickly replaced with fear.
“I’m…I’m sorry,” he stammered.
“Sure you are,” Harruq said, tossing him aside. The crowd spread out, about fifty now screaming and throwing stones from a wide ring. In their center, enormous mace held before him, was Judarius. At his feet lay the dead body of a man whose face was crushed to a pulp. Two others lay nearby, sobbing, one with a crushed arm, the other a knee bent completely the wrong direction. The crowd refused to get any closer, and they hurled their accusation along with their stones.
“Murderer!”
Judarius kept his mace raised and his body hunched, letting his armor and weapon reflect the projectiles.
“Get back!” the angel shouted, not that any listened. Harruq pushed through the ring, and he screamed Judarius’s name until the angel lifted his head.
“What are you still doing here?” Harruq shouted. “Get to the castle!”
Judarius spread his wings and he jumped into the air. Before he could fly, the crowd surged toward him. One brave woman lunged ahead of the others, her arms wrapping around Judarius’s leg. Two others grabbed hold of his arms and neck. Still baffled by what was happening, Harruq tried holding back those near him to keep Judarius from being overwhelmed. His efforts were in vain as Judarius took his mace and swung, smacking the woman in the face. Blood blasted from her nose and mouth, and she collapsed to the street with an aching cry. Judarius dropped to his feet, swinging his mace in a wide circle and screaming.
“I said get back!”
With his free arm he grabbed the man holding his neck and tossed him aside like a rag doll. Harruq elbowed someone in his way, pushed a woman aside, and then grabbed the last person hanging onto Judarius.
“Enough!” Harruq screamed, rolling the man across the ground. Judarius hefted his mace, and seeing no one charging, again unfurled his wings. Screams followed him, accusations of murder and butchery, but Harruq knew that’d have to be settled another time. The angel soared into the sky.
“Leave him be,” Harruq ordered as their hatred turned toward him. “Do you want to die?”
“They murdered my son!” an older man shouted back. “We saw it, we all did!”
Harruq looked to the dead body. Blood and gore was all that remained of his face.
“He must have done something wrong,” Harruq said, but there was no conviction to his defense.
Others quickly shouted him down. From all around him, Harruq heard more shouts of murder, and just as worrisome, he heard the flutter of angel wings. Amid the unrest, most began to flow toward the castle,
but the older man approached Harruq, recognition in his eyes.
“You,” he said. “You’re the steward. You can do something about this. You have to. You have to.”
Harruq opened his mouth, but no words came out. Nothing made sense. He didn’t know what was happening, what was true, what promises he could make. The older man grabbed him by the shoulders, crying now, hands trembling, voice shaking.
“They murdered my son,” he said. “My son, don’t you hear me, my poor son...”
“I hear you,” Harruq said as he looked to the castle. Accusations spread like wildfire, the pent up rage releasing in a sudden, violent fury. Not two hundred feet away, a stall was smashed to pieces by four men, and an angel landed, attempting to prevent the theft. Before the four men could retreat, one lay dying, and two others bleeding. Already smoke began to rise from throughout the city.
The grieving father looked to the corpse of his son, then cried into Harruq’s chest.
“I hear you,” Harruq whispered again, having never before felt so weak and useless in all his life.
Several hundred people gathered before the closed gates of the castle, chanting for a trial. Harruq had to shout and wave at the guards until they noticed him, then rush through the opening they made with their shields. Once inside the entryway, he found Sir Wess waiting for him, looking pale and nervous.
“I’m glad you’ve returned safely,” Sir Wess said. “We’ve received reports of riots from all four quarters, plus the outer ring. I’ve sent out squads to confirm our guard stations are still secure, but beyond that, I’ve been waiting for your orders.”
“Get them out there,” Harruq said. “Every soldier you have, get them onto those streets ordering people to their homes. We’ve got to keep them from burning this whole damn city to the ground.”
“What of the angels?”
Harruq stopped halfway toward his throne. “What of them?” he asked, turning to glare at the knight.
“The angels think they’re helping to calm the riots, but they’re not,” Sir Wess said, not backing down in the slightest. “You need to get them out of Mordeina immediately.”
“How?” Harruq asked. “By ordering them?”
“You’re steward, and act in the name of the king.”
“Don’t you get it?” Harruq shouted. “I’m king, but I’m not their king. I have no authority over them.”
“They live on our lands now,” Sir Wess said, voice dropping as he stepped closer. “Which means they must obey our laws even as they enforce them. You do have authority over them, Steward. Now act like it.”
Harruq’s jaw tightened, but before he could respond, he heard the flapping of wings. He glanced up to see two angels flying through the tall window of the throne room: Azariah and Judarius.
“See to your men,” Harruq told Sir Wess as the angels landed. “You have a long day ahead of you. Do whatever you can to protect the lives of the innocent.”
“As you wish,” the knight said. He bowed low, and glared at the angels as he exited the throne room. Harruq spun in place, gesturing to the other guards.
“All of you,” he shouted. “Out. Now.”
Once they were gone, Harruq marched up to Judarius, and it took all his control to keep his fists at his sides instead of pounding them into the angel’s face.
“What in Ashhur’s name happened out there?” he asked.
“I dispensed justice,” Judarius said, as if it were obvious.
“Justice?” Harruq asked. “I watched you smash a woman’s face in for grabbing your leg. Was that justice?”
“I was defending myself,” the angel said, growing angrier. “I have that right.”
Harruq flung up his hands. “Perfect. Just perfect. It’s bad enough your kind stormed into homes in the middle of the gods-damn night to slaughter those you once forgave, but now you perform your executions in broad daylight? Do any of you, any of you, have a clue how precarious our peace has been?”
Harruq stopped as a third angel flew in through the window and landed beside the others.
“The riot has spread throughout the entire city,” Ahaesarus said. “For now, my angels are focusing on maintaining the fires. Anything else is proving too dangerous. I have never seen the people so angry before.” He looked to Harruq. “Do you know the cause?”
Harruq waved a hand at Judarius.
“They say your commander here killed a man without reason, and in full view of a market crowd, no less.”
Ahaesarus’s face reddened.
“That is preposterous,” he said. “We have sworn our lives to mankind’s protection. Surely they do not think—”
“Have you seen the fires?” Harruq interrupted. “Heard the chants for trial? Yes, Ahaesarus, they do. They think it very much so, and we need to do something about it before the entire nation descends into anarchy!”
“They are spoiled children,” Judarius said with contempt. “I witnessed sin and performed my duties accordingly. We are Ashhur’s divine wardens, yet they treat us like miserable sinners no different from them.”
“Talk like that isn’t going to help,” Harruq said, grinding his teeth. “The people want a trial. They need to believe your kind will be held to the same standards as you hold them.”
“But we don’t hold ourselves to the same standards,” said Azariah. “We hold ourselves to a higher standard.”
“Then you have nothing to worry about! Let me show the city that you aren’t above them, that an angel cannot kill a man and get away with it without at least a trial. If Judarius is innocent, then there’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“This is preposterous,” Azariah argued. “What angel would commit murder? We do not kill without reason. We are this city’s protection, its guardians in the sky. We endure their scorn, their fear, their unjustified hatred, all in hopes of spreading Ashhur’s teachings, and now you would have them drag us down to their level through pretty ignorance? To put Judarius’s fate in the hands of frightened children?” The angel stomped his foot into the stone, cracking the floor of the throne room. “No. We will not allow it. If you insist upon a trial, then we will be the ones to hold it. That is the only way we will agree to such a farce.”
“You are not the one to make such a decision,” Ahaesarus said. “Our city is in chaos, armies invade from both north and south. We cannot afford such distractions. Give humanity their trial. If Judarius is innocent, he has nothing to fear.”
“To submit ourselves to mankind’s courts will forever alter how we may serve Dezrel,” Azariah argued. “You’re right. I am not the one to make such a decision, and neither are you. We have already summoned a conclave of all angels for three days hence, so we shall put it to a vote then to decide who shall judge Judarius—mankind, or our own tribunal. Once these matters are concluded, and the city has regained some semblance of order, then we may look into other threats.”
“Listen to me,” Harruq said, fighting to remain calm. “I am telling you this for your sake. The people need to feel like humanity still controls its own fate. They need to believe we have the capacity to govern ourselves. If they come to view you as their jailors, and not their protectors...”
“We are their guardians,” Azariah said. “With all the responsibilities that entails. We will at least discuss allowing them a trial, Harruq. It is far more than they deserve.”
He nodded at Judarius, and the two spread their wings to fly away. Ahaesarus grabbed Judarius by the shoulder, keeping him still.
“Wait,” he said. “Tell me you did not murder that man. Let me hear the truth. That is all I ask.”
Judarius pulled his shoulder free.
“That man deserved death, and I gave it to him. Now let me go. I have work to do.”
With a gust of wind, he soared to the ceiling window. Azariah bowed and followed after. Harruq shook his head as he watched them go.
“Did he lie?” he asked.
“No.”
Harruq laughed. It was the o
nly reaction he could give.
“That’s not much comfort,” he said.
“No,” Ahaesarus said softly. “It isn’t.”
“Azariah mentioned you were already preparing a conclave,” Harruq asked. “Does that mean you’ll finally decide to fly north to help?”
Ahaesarus sighed.
“I hope to address that concern, but that is not the real reason,” he said. “The conclave was actually called so we may hold trial.”
“A trial for who?” Harruq asked, face twitching.
“Given your prior relationship, we did not wish to tell you until the day of the proceedings. Azariah felt this would prevent you from taking rash measures. The trial is for the man responsible for the fall of Avlimar. Before the entire conclave of angels, he will be judged and sentenced.”
“The fall of Avlimar?” Harruq said. “You mean—”
“Yes,” Ahaesarus said. “The man who calls himself Deathmask. We found him at last.”
15
Avoiding the road made his travel all the more arduous, but with the Kerran army so close, Alric knew he couldn’t afford the risk. The tall grass slapped his thighs, and bugs constantly buzzed in his ears, but at least insects wouldn’t imprison him.
There were still several hours left in the day when he reached a slender stream he had to cross. Alric stopped walking. He was exhausted, and the thought of trying to sleep in wet clothes set him ill at ease. He’d cross in the morning so he had the while day to dry off.
He unrolled the thick blanket he’d purchased with the coin Beatrice had given him and collapsed, staring at the distant army. After leaving Beatrice’s cabin, he’d traveled west for several days until he found the main road north out of Scatterbrook. Not long after, he’d spotted campfires. He’d kept ahead of them for a while, but day after day of checking the distances and avoiding scout patrols had worn on him. As he leaned back and closed his eyes, he decided it best to let them pass. He could always travel to Mordeina in their shadow.
The King of the Vile Page 16