The King of the Vile

by David Dalglish

  “How many times have you witnessed the stubbornness of angels?”

  The elf’s mouth twitched. “Not quite as often.”

  “Either way, it is good to meet the two of you again,” Daniel said with a half-hearted salute. “Now if you don’t mind, I need to find myself a bed. I expect I’ll be here for a while, so I might as well settle in.”

  Jessilynn and Dieredon let him go, then exited the castle.

  “Your, uh, horse went that way,” a guard said, gesturing to one of the few somewhat empty stretches of grass close to the castle.

  Dieredon thanked him and went after his horse. Jessilynn walked a few steps behind, wondering why the elf did not discuss this new development. A lack of aid coming from the south? But why? And how did it change their plans? She received no answers to these questions as they approached the place where the majestic Sonowin grazed. Dieredon put hands on either side of Sonowin’s face and pressed their foreheads together. Away from the wall, and the many encampments of refugees, they finally found a measure of silence, and it hung heavy in the air. The elf seemed somber, which made Jessilynn nervous.

  “We won’t survive this,” Dieredon whispered. “Not if we stay. Their numbers are too great, and ours too few. Our only real hope was to delay until rescue came, but that hope has been torn from us. Remaining here means death, nothing but death.”

  To hear such hopelessness in the skilled elf’s voice was a thorn to Jessilynn’s heart.

  “What choice do we have?” she asked.

  “We fly,” he said, patting Sonowin. “We spread news of Lord Arthur’s fall, and the massacre that took place within these walls. The outcry will give the angels no choice but to answer the threat.”

  Jessilynn’s lower lip trembled, and she clenched her hands into fists. “You’d have us flee?”

  “Rather than die here, yes. We accomplish nothing by throwing our lives away. It won’t save a soul. The destruction awaiting us is complete, Jessilynn. Only a miracle will keep that army from smashing through the gates or climbing over the walls, and right now, I fear this world has no miracles left.”

  His words hurt her worse than if he’d pierced her with one of his arrows. She looked to the distant wall, mind haunted by images of villagers being slaughtered by Darius’s sword. She felt tears building, and she hated it, hated feeling like such a little girl. She remembered Darius’s words and clung to them.

  Despite our terror, despite our fear, despite our doubts and sorrow, we fought anyway. Even when we thought it hopeless. Even when we knew it would cost us our lives.

  “No,” she said. “I’m not running.”

  She pulled her bow off her back, and she held it tight. “I was given this gift for a reason, and this is that reason. I’ve always feared I wouldn’t live up to the legends that came before, the undead Jerico destroyed, the mad priest Darius brought low. This is my chance. You can go, but I’m staying. We told the people to flee here, and I won’t abandon them. I will stand upon that wall, and I will hold those creatures back until they spill the blood in my veins. You say we need a miracle? Then so be it. I’ll loose arrow after arrow until one arrives. Ashhur will save us, Dieredon. He will. I believe that with all my heart, and I want to be a part of it when it happens.”

  Dieredon stared at her with those guarded brown eyes of his. She waited for him to judge her, to call her a fool and insult everything she believed. Slowly he took the bow from her hands, set it on the grass, and knelt down. He cupped her hands in his and peered up at her in the moonlight.

  “You are a lost child seeking light in a very dark world,” he said. “And I would be honored to stand at your side upon that wall.”

  Jessilynn tried to smile, but she let out a sob instead as she flung her arms around the elf’s neck and held him close.

  20

  Harruq watched the sun rise, the crisp morning air welcome against his skin. He stood on one of the upper balconies of the castle, drinking a bitter tea meant to chase the exhaustion from his mind. Fires had burned throughout the night, his soldiers having captured dozens of looters and arsonists. They’d all need to be judged, and Harruq would see to that. Then would come the merchants, the businessmen, all demanding reparations for their damaged homes and shops. Inevitably fingers would point toward Avlimar, seeking payment in the form of silver and gold. Payment he could never force the angels to hand over.

  A long day of screaming and headaches, basically.

  “I hope wherever you are, you appreciate this, Antonil,” Harruq murmured as he leaned against the balcony rail overlooking the city sprawl. Smoke lingered in the air, making the skyline look like it was covered in dirt. “When we meet in the hereafter, I expect a damn handshake for handling all this mess.”

  He sighed. It was selfish to think that way, of course, but so what?. So many days spent bending over backwards to keep people happy, and failing anyway, had left him scraped raw. For all the good the angels had done, the sight of their white wings circling the distant Devlimar now filled his stomach with bile.

  As his eyes lingered on the earthbound city of angels, he realized one of those distant pairs of wings was flying straight toward the castle. Harruq drummed his fingers on the railing and waited. The angel soared over Mordeina, never slowing, and as he approached, Harruq saw the enormous sword strapped to his back, as well as the angel’s overall size. It seemed Ahaesarus was coming for a chat. Harruq was hardly surprised. An apology might be nice, too, but no apology would undo the damage of the angry riots.

  The moment Ahaesarus landed, Harruq knew this was about something much direr than riots.

  “Good morning,” the angel said, bowing low. Harruq frowned, not liking the worry lines covering Ahaesarus’s face one bit.

  “Morning,” Harruq said. “Come to join me for an early drink?”

  “I wish the reason were that pedestrian.”

  The half-orc downed the rest of his tea and proceeded to twirl the cup on his forefinger. “Of course not. It never is. What’s the matter, Ahaesarus? You look about how I felt after going blow to blow with Thulos.”

  The angel chuckled and joined Harruq in staring out at the city. For a long while he said nothing. The silence made Harruq even more nervous.

  “We failed,” Ahaesarus said softly.

  Harruq caught the cup, ceasing its twirling.

  “That’s bloody obvious,” he said, careful to keep his tone light. “Care to elaborate?”

  The angel shook his head.

  “Little good it will do. How did this happen, Harruq? Did we lose our way all at once, or was it a gradual slide? I thought we’d learned. I thought, after that horrible excursion into Ker for your brother, I could guide us to a proper path. But then Avlimar fell. I think, deep down, the hearts of many of my brethren fell with it.”

  “Tell me what’s going on,” Harruq said. He wasn’t nervous anymore. He was terrified.

  “Our place was never to rule,” Ahaesarus said. “Nor to fight wars and anoint kings. We were to heal, to guide, and to use our blades to protect the innocent. I pray there is still time to make this right.” He turned to Harruq. “In what comes next, know that I tried my best and was shouted down. Those who still heed my words are flying north with me, to the Castle of the Yellow Rose.”

  “How many?” Harruq asked.

  “Three thousand,” Ahaesarus said. “Little less than a third. Again, that is my shame to bear. Innocents die in the north, and I have done nothing but debate. Such fools are we. Such proud fools.”

  The angel offered him a hand, and when Harruq took it, Ahaesarus wrapped his other arm around him in an embrace.

  “Azariah awaits you by your throne,” he whispered. “He speaks for those who remain, and they are many. Do not keep him waiting.”

  “Sure thing,” Harruq said, still confused, still frightened.

  Ahaesarus stepped away, and Harruq was surprised to see tears running down his chiseled face. With a flourish of wings, the angel took to the
air, flying northward. Hundreds more joined him from Devlimar, traveling in a great flock. Harruq watched, dread building, until he flung his cup to the balcony floor. The porcelain shattered, and he stared at the shards as if they were Mordeina herself.

  Azariah indeed awaited him when he descended the stairs and made his way to throne room. Also accompanying him was an angel Harruq recognized from the previous night’s trial, the one named Ezekai. The larger angel carried himself with the air of a bodyguard. Why would an angel need a bodyguard in a guarded throne room?

  The only reason Harruq could think of made the twisting pain in his gut that much worse.

  “Greetings, Harruq,” Azariah said, dipping his head in respect.

  “Pleasant mornings and all that,” Harruq said as he plopped down onto the cushioned throne. “After last night’s nonsense, I hope you’ve come with something approaching good news.”

  The thin smile on Azariah’s face seemed to mock him.

  “I come bearing truth. For some that is good, for some not, but it does not change my words. Do you have a moment of time?”

  “I do.”

  “Then please banish your guards. These words are for your ears only.”

  Harruq sighed. Why come to his throne room if they wanted such private talks?

  “Fine,” he said, raising his eyes to his men. “Leave.” Once the soldiers were out the doors, Harruq slumped in the throne. “We’re alone. Care to share what’s so important?”

  “We angels held another conclave just before sunrise,” Azariah said, the gold tint in his green eyes sparkling with life. “After the hatred we faced during the night, the calls for violence, the senseless burning and looting, we felt there was no choice. This ugliness had to be addressed, this thorn pulled from mankind’s flesh before it could fester any longer.”

  Harruq raised an eyebrow.

  “Are you talking about leaving?” he asked.

  “Quite the opposite,” Azariah said. “We have applied Ashhur’s guidance and forgiveness to the people, but we apply it over an archaic system of laws and punishments. It is a bandage atop a broken suit of armor, unable to reach the wounded flesh beneath. If we are to perform Ashhur’s will, then we must perform it upon a populace totally open to us, without artificial constructs of sinful mortals obfuscating the way.”

  Harruq wondered if maybe he should have kept his guards in the room after all.

  “That’s a lot of fancy words saying nothing,” he said. “Care to tell me what’s really going on?”

  “In simplest terms, we will enforce Ashhur’s will above all else,” Azariah said. “Without fear of sinners’ laments. Without questions from faithless doubters. We have walked the streets of eternity. We have beheld the face of Ashhur. With his voice now silent in this world, we ourselves will be his voice. I have been elected to bear this responsibility, and I will not shirk from such a burden.”

  Slowly Harruq rose from the throne, and he felt as if he wore a heavy suit of plate instead of his thin tunic.

  “Above all else,” he said with dread. “You’re declaring yourself king.”

  “If that term aids your understanding,” Azariah said. “This is a new age, Harruq. Dezrel has seen the truth of Karak’s treachery, and they have seen Ashhur’s faithful protecting the innocent. There is no more excuse for doubt, not in a world forged in the ashes of the second Gods’ War. Let us build a new kingdom from the dust, one ruled by Ashhur’s angels, his edicts, and his voice.”

  “Your voice,” Harruq said, ice swimming in his veins.

  “The voice of the elected,” Azariah said. “The voice of the one closest to Ashhur’s wisdom. I was his greatest priest, and in Ashhur’s absence, my role has only grown in importance. Have faith, Harruq. I will bear this crown with no more joy than you currently bear yours.”

  He nodded to Ezekai, who offered Harruq a rolled scroll. Harruq grabbed it, broke the wax seal, and read.

  I hereby call for all to travel to Devlimar before the setting of the sun. During its descent, Ashhur’s announcements will be given, along with a ceremony of great importance.

  “Read that to the people of Mordeina,” Azariah said. “It is vital that as many as possible attend.”

  “Devlimar’s not near big enough to hold all the populace,” Harruq said as he crumpled the scroll in his hands.

  “Then let them stand outside and listen,” Azariah said. “The important matter is that they come.”

  Harruq heard fluttering wings, and several more angels landing entered through the high windows. They perched on the sills like deadly birds bearing armor and weapons.

  Harruq tossed the crumpled scroll at Azariah’s feet. “Am I a prisoner?”

  “Of course not,” Azariah replied, smiling as if all were well between them. “So long as anyone accepts Ashhur’s dominion over them, and commits no crime, then they are free. We will create a blessed land, Harruq, a re-creation of the Paradise from long before Karak and Ashhur warred with one another. Free people, worshipping with open hearts, no more slaves to us than the people are to you.” He gestured to the side doors of the throne room. “So call your guards, call your advisors. Give them your message. As for myself, there is still much to do, and so little time to do it.”

  Azariah and Ezekai flew away, and Harruq called for his guards.

  “Find Sir Wess,” he told them, glancing at the angels who remained behind, lurking at the windows. “I’ve an announcement to make, and for that, I need an audience.”

  Thirty minutes later, Sir Wess had brought several thousand people before the castle entrance. Harruq stood on the steps before them, the scroll Azariah had given him smoothed out best he could. Ignoring the people’s shouts, confused looks, and angry glares, he read aloud the words, each syllable a knife to his tongue. When he finished, he fled to his room.

  “I heard your announcement,” Aurelia said. She stood at the window, watching the crowd below disperse. Aubrienna bounced atop the bed, a stuffed doll of a knight in hand. “What news of theirs is so important they want the whole city to hear?”

  “Azariah’s declaring himself King of Dezrel,” Harruq said. “That’s what.”

  Aurelia turned from the window, walnut eyes widening.

  “Surely not.”

  “Yes,” Harruq said, slumping down onto the bed. Aubrienna promptly attacked him with the knight, but he had no heart for it. The stuffed toy thudded against his chest in vain attempts to stab him with a wood stick. Aurelia sat beside him, and she grabbed his hand and held it.

  “Maybe it’s not as bad as you think,” she said. “With all the violence, maybe they want to start over. And even if Azariah tries, the other angels won’t allow him to take a position he was never meant to have.”

  “I heard him,” Harruq muttered. “I know. This isn’t good. And the angels will let him, Aurry. There’s...there’s something wrong with them. They’re lost, broken, different. You’ve sensed it too.”

  “You’re afraid,” his wife whispered, and leaned her head on his shoulder.

  “I am,” Harruq said. “They’re not our protectors anymore. I was talking with Deathmask in Avlimar’s ruins, trying to find out if there was truth to the claims of his involvement in destroying the place, when two angels found us. I had to...I had to kill one of them. I ordered him to stand down and let Deathmask leave, but he refused. You should have seen it, Aurry. The sheer disgust on his face at the thought of taking orders from a mere mortal.”

  “Why did you never tell me?”

  He shrugged.

  “I’ve managed to dance around the issue, but I figured it was only a matter of time before I slipped up and they caught me in a lie. Last thing I wanted was to land you in trouble, too.”

  “You get in trouble, then we get in trouble, you dumb ox,” Aurelia said. She kissed his cheek. “As if I’d sit and wring my hands while the angels held you for trial.”

  “No, you’d probably blow a gigantic hole in whatever dungeon they tried to ho
ld me in,” Harruq said, laughing. “It’d almost be worth it to see the terror in the eyes of the angels who tried to stop you.”

  Aubrienna, having failed to get her father to play, slid off the bed to where several other dolls waited. As his daughter fought a dragon carved from wood and painted red, Harruq lowered his voice

  “We can’t bring her with us tonight,” he said. “Same for Gregory. We need to find a safe place for the two of them should things turn ugly.”

  Aurelia slid off the bed and free of his grasp.

  “Then let’s get started.”

  The day passed swiftly. Harruq made sure to spend much of it with Aubrienna and Gregory, roaring like an idiot as he pretended he was a dragon. Several times guards interrupted, bearing news of the growing line at the castle doors. Every time, Harruq sent them away. No matter how loudly the people protested, there was little he could do. Even now, angels hovered over the castle, keeping watch. Azariah wanted the ears of the city, and in his glittering home, he would get them.

  Finally, when the sun was just beginning to dip, Harruq rustled the young king’s hair and kissed his daughter goodbye.

  “Guard them well,” he told Sir Wess, who awkwardly held the children’s hands.

  “It seems a foul plan that would have such youngsters hiding in a filthy dungeon,” he said.

  “There’s nowhere safer,” Harruq said. “Make sure no angels see you on the way. And avoid all the windows, is that clear?”

  “Perfectly.”

  Aurelia kissed Aubby on the cheek, wished her well, and then watched the knight lead her and Gregory down the hall.

  “Fucking angels,” Harruq muttered.

  They returned to their bedroom. Aurelia slid on a vibrant green dress, and Harruq realized it was similar to what she’d worn when he first met her all those years ago in Woodhaven. When he reached for his own fine silk shirt, Aurelia stopped him.

  “No,” she said. “Not that.”