by John Marco
"Now I'm curious," quipped Vorto.
"You there!" called Kye across the courtyard. "Is this surrender?"
Still the Gothans said nothing. They were fifty yards away at least, and Vorto wondered if they had heard the question over the wind.
"My God," grumbled Vorto. "They surrender as poorly as they fight."
And then the spiked gate of Lokken's castle began drawing upward. The Gothan guardians parted like waves, revealing the murky insides of the keep. Vorto and Kye both strained to see past the gathering snow. A small figure emerged from the darkness. Thinking it was the duke, Vorto's heart leapt with excitement. But then he saw the crimson uniform of the Gothan military and knew the man wasn't Lokken. This soldier was old, far older than the duke, and slightly stooped. He walked past the guardians of the fortress without regard, heading straight for Vorto and his army.
"What's this?" asked Vorto. He drew himself erect, then handed his battle axe to Kye. "Who are you?" he demanded of the soldier. "And what business have you with me?"
Without ceremony, the soldier stopped mere feet from the general of Nar.
"You are Vorto?" he asked pointedly. "Old man, I asked you a question," warned Vorto. "Do you speak for Lokken?"
"I speak for the duke, yes," replied the soldier. "I am Larius, Counselor-at-Arms for the Walled City. You are Vorto, are you not?"
Vorto smiled. "I am your master and lord high executioner, dog. Servant of Heaven and Archbishop Herrith." The general glared down hard. "Where is your duke?"
"The duke awaits you in his throne room," said Larius. "I am to take you there."
"A personal invitation? Oh, how gracious. I accept, Gothan. Take me to the pig."
Colonel Kye cleared his throat. "General . . ." "Be fearless, Kye," said Vorto. "We are in God's hands. Counselor, lead on. Kye, you come with me."
Larius of Goth made a disdainful face but said nothing more. He turned his back on the legions and headed again for the fortress gates. Vorto followed, as did Kye, with the ten soldiers that shadowed the general everywhere in tow. When they reached the gates, Vorto and his entourage dismounted, handing their horses off to the Naren infantry. The soldiers of Goth eyed them balefully. Vorto watched Larius disappear into the fortress. Inside, the great hall was lit with torches and lined with perfectly positioned soldiers, all in uniforms of bright crimson. They had their swords drawn and held erect at their sides, so that they looked more like toys than things of flesh. Vorto hesitated at the threshold.
Larius paused to regard him.
"Come, General," ordered the soldier impatiently. "They won't hurt you. They have their orders."
Vorto stepped unflinchingly into the hall, spurred on by the insult. Colonel Kye was equally deliberate. At the far end of the hall was a set of open doors. Larius led the intruders through the hall, and when he reached the doors he stepped aside. "The duke," he said.
Vorto stepped into the room. At the other end of the expansive chamber he saw Lokken, sitting upon his modest throne. At his right hand was the austerely beautiful Kareena. Her eyes flashed when she glimpsed the general. At the feet of the duchess were two small girls, Lokken's daughters, looking stricken and confused. The duke himself seemed surprisingly composed. There were no guardians in the chamber, no soldiers of any kind. Only Lokken and his brood. Vorto strode noisily into the chamber, his armor dripping Gothan blood. When he came to the small dais he paused, choked up saliva, and spit the wad in Lokken's tranquil face. With perfect composure, Duke Lokken wiped the spittle away.
"So," grated Vorto. "This is where the king sits, eh?"
Lokken said nothing.
"Oh, you treacherous thing. You are abhorrent in the eyes of God! How is it you dare defy the will of Heaven?"
Still the duke was silent.
"Say something, you arrogant maggot!"
But it was Kareena who responded. She lunged at Vorto, screaming, her nails raking his face. Vorto hissed and caught her arm, twisting it and driving her to her knees. His other hand slapped her face, splitting her lip.
"No!" cried Lokken, leaping from his throne. He grabbed his wife and drew her into his arms.
"Control your woman, Lokken," warned Vorto, "or I will take her back with me and teach her manners myself."
"Don't you touch her!" Lokken seethed. He rose to his feet and faced the towering general. "You're here for me, butcher. Me alone."
Suddenly Vorto understood. "Is that why you surrender? To spare your family, dog?"
Lokken grimaced. "Yes. Spare them, and no one else dies today. I can kill you now just with a word, Vorto. But I won't. Not if you agree to spare my kin." "It is for Heaven to judge, not I." "Spare them," Lokken begged, "and you can walk out of here alive. With your men."
Vorto's eyes narrowed. "Threats from a traitor. How horrible to hear."
"I'm no traitor," said Lokken. "I am loyal to our emperor and his memory. You're the usurper, Vorto. You and your bishop. Call it what you will, but I fly the flag of Nar."
"Oh, yes," crooned Vorto. "The flag. You're keen on flags, aren't you, Lokken?" Vorto turned to his waiting men. "Take him," he ordered. "The females, too."
At once his waiting legionnaires seized the royal family of Goth, dragging them after Vorto who was exiting the chamber.
"Not my family!" the duke cried as the men took hold of him. "God, not them!"
"God doesn't hear you," said Vorto over his shoulder. "Not them, please!"
"Not them," agreed Vorto. Outside the chamber he found the worried Larius again. The man looked about to faint. "Counselor, your master has something to tell you."
"Duke Lokken?" gasped Larius. "Tell him, Lokken. About our agreement . . ." Lokken looked relieved. He tried shrugging off the grasp of the soldiers, but they wouldn't yield. All the Gothan guardians watched their duke, their jaws slack. Duchess Kareena was in tears, as were her two children.
"Safe passage," said Lokken at last. "For all of them. If they let my family live, all of you will let them go. Promise me, Larius."
"My Duke . . ."
"Promise me!"
"Promise him," urged Vorto. "Or they all die right now. And even if you kill us, my legion will burn Goth to the ground."
"My Duke, it's your death. . . ." Larius begged. "Don't make me do this."
Duke Lokken finally shook off his captors. When they tried to seize him again, Vorto put up a hand to stop them. He let the duke go to his man and clasp his hands firmly on the soldier's shoulders.
"I die," said the duke. "You hear me? I die. And no one else after me. Now promise me, my friend. Safe passage for these Naren beasts. It's my last order. Will you carry it out?"
Larius' expression collapsed. "I will, my Duke. My . . . friend."
"No archers, no cavalry," pressed Vorto. "Nothing 'til we reach the gate, old man. Is that understood?"
"Aye," said Larius. "I hear you, Naren."
"Good for you." Vorto smiled sharply. "Then, to the tower. I want to see these flags of yours up close, Lokken. Take us there. Now."
Once again the soldiers tried to take hold of him, and once again the duke shrugged them off.
"I won't drag you if there's no need," said Vorto. "Or your bitches. Let's go."
Lokken took hold of his young wife's hand. "My love," he choked. "I'm so sorry I did this to you." He went down to his knees to his crying daughters, who looked to Vorto like twins of no more than four. The children didn't seem to know what was happening. He kissed them both on the forehead, wiped away their confused tears, then stood to face his executioner. "I'm ready."
"Take us to your flags," Vorto ordered. "Your family can watch you die, or they can wait here. I don't care which."
Kareena would not let go of her husband. "I want to be with you," she pleaded.
"No." The duke's voice was icy. He spared her one last kiss--one last, long look--then went down the corridor. Vorto and his men followed. Larius tried to follow too, but Kye kicked at him. "Just the duke," snarled the colo
nel. With a bravado that impressed Vorto, Duke Lokken never wavered. He led them directly to a spiral staircase within a tower of gray granite, a dark place lit with sconces which sent up an oily smoke. As they disappeared into the spire, Duchess Kareena uttered a wailing, agonized sob. But Lokken remained as unbending as steel. Without a word he guided the Narens up the stairs. When he came to the top of the tower he pushed open the door and let an icy breeze blow in.
They were atop the tallest spire in the city, with all of Goth burning at their feet. Vorto stepped out onto the roof. In the center was the flagpole that had caused them all such grief. And at the top of the pole, hideously aglow in the coming dawn, were the two offending flags of Goth. The old flag of Nar made Vorto shudder with disgust. He stared at it for a long moment, then bowed his head and prayed.
"Dear God, Lord of all things, give me strength to destroy this travesty. God of mercy and light, be with us, Your servants."
No one else prayed with Vorto, but all except Lokken inclined their heads. When he was done praying, Vorto sighed and looked at the duke.
"I give you one chance to redeem yourself, Lokken.
Here and now, will you renounce the Black Renaissance? Will you accept Heaven as your salvation? Your lord Biagio is a sodomite and a devil. He lies with men and defies the church of Nar. For your soul, Lokken, renounce him and his works."
Lokken stared at Vorto, and then the duke was laughing, shaking his head in disbelief.
"Mad," he declared. "You are truly mad. Oh, I pity you, Vorto. I pity all of Nar. You're under a spell, can't you see? You've fallen for a myth."
"God and Hell are no myths," said Vorto. "Save yourself from the eternal burning. Renounce Biagio so your soul may rest."
The duke was resolute. "If there is a Hell, then I would gladly burn there. Better that than to grovel to Herrith's church."
It was the answer Vorto expected. "So be it." He went to the flagpole, undid the knots, and quickly lowered the flags. Lion's Blood came down first, and this the general crumpled into a ball and threw off the ledge. Taken by the wind, the crimson standard of Goth drifted out of sight. Vorto went back to the pole and cut down the Black Flag. It was the most unremarkable standard in the Empire, nothing more than a field of black fabric, but it held generations of evil in its stitching.
"Bind him," the general ordered. At once his soldiers cut off lengths of rope and tethered the duke's wrists behind his back. As they worked Vorto mumbled over the Black Flag, praying in High Naren to exorcise its unholy powers. Then he grabbed hold of the flag and tore it in two. Lokken watched the destruction, unmoved. Vorto stuffed the two halves in the duke's lapel.
"You want to fly your flags, Duke? You want to defy Heaven? Then fly your damnable flags!"
Colonel Kye pushed the bound Lokken toward the flag pole. Two more soldiers made a noose of the rope and looped it around Lokken's neck. They gave it a quick jerk to tighten it, bringing the duke to his toes.
"No regrets, Lokken?" taunted Vorto. "None at all? There's still time, demon. But the clock is ticking fast away. Tick tock, tick tock . . ."
"Damn you and your bishop both, butcher. I will see you in your Hell!"
"Yes, yes," agreed Vorto. With a wave of his hand he ordered the legionnaires to tighten the rope. Lokken's pale eyes protruded from their sockets and his tongue darted out for air. He held his breath halfway to the top before letting out a belching cry. His feet kicked the rest of the way, and when at last he reached the top, Duke Lokken of Goth was dead. Vorto looked up at him, satisfied. Now all the Walled City could see his folly.
"God have mercy on you," said the general quietly. But it was no less than the heretic deserved. Someday, Vorto pledged, he would do the same to Biagio, and then at last Nar would be free of its dynasty of tyrants. Weary to the bone, General Vorto turned to his loyal colonel. "Kye, come. There is still work to do."
Vorto left the rooftop first, eager to be gone from the dead duke's bulging gaze.
General Vorto quietly led his legion out of the Walled City. True to his promise, Larius called back the archers from the towers and the tattered remains of Gothan infantry. Their city was in flames anyway, and all hands were needed to stem the growing fires. General Vorto rode resolutely past the astonished faces of the civilians, enduring muttered insults and the tearful, spiteful looks of children. The sun was higher now, bright and burning away the earth's snowy sheen. And the wind had fled with the night. As he reached the city gates, Vorto looked to Heaven for guidance. Beyond the staggered clouds he saw the gray-blue sky. God was speaking to him, as He had been for months now. On the dying breeze he heard the Lord's breath. Vorto nodded, understanding.
When he was safely clear of the city, Vorto called over Colonel Kye. His second trotted closer, then closer still when he heard Vorto whispering.
"Kye, it's time. Get the men away from the city. But leave the ram. Keep it near the gates to block it."
"The ram?" Colonel Kye looked over his shoulder to where the giant weapon waited, still blocking a good portion of the ruined portal. On either side of it men and horses squeezed through. "We're leaving it behind?"
"We're leaving it exactly where it is. Gather the lieutenants. Have them ride for the launchers and tell the gunners to make ready."
Colonel Kye seemed stricken. "General . . ."
"It is the will of God, Kye. This place reeks of evil. It must be cleansed."
"General, you promised Lokken you'd spare them. His family . . ."
"His family bears the same taint he did," said Vorto firmly. "And so does all of Goth. We came here to stop the Renaissance, to stomp it out like a fire. I won't leave the job half done."
Kye's expression hardened. "Sir, may I speak freely?"
"You always do," snapped Vorto.
"Sir, this is genocide. It's murder."
"Murder?" Vorto flared. "Who said anything about murder? This is salvation, Colonel, make no mistake. The Black Renaissance is a tumor. If you had a disease in your flesh, would you not carve it out? This is what we're doing here. We're saving Nar. Stop being a dullard, Kye. See the truth for once!"
Silenced by his general's implicit threat, Kye merely looked away, toward the hills around the city where the deadly launchers awaited their orders.
"Wait until we're clear," said Vorto. "Then send up the signal rocket."
Kye nodded sullenly and trotted off, but Vorto called after him.
"Kye . . ."
The colonel turned to face Vorto. "General?"
"It's not easy to do the work of Heaven, Kye. No for me, not for anyone. Pray for strength. He will provide."
"Yes, General," replied Kye dully.
The colonel rode away.
Duchess Kareena of Goth, newly widowed, stood on the rooftop of the fortress tower, watching her dead husband pendulate in the breeze. The tightness of rope about his throat had turned his face a curious purple, making it scarcely recognizable, even to the woman who had borne him three children. The tower roof was cold. Except for a few stray flurries, the snow had stopped falling. Larius drew his dagger and began cutting his dead master down. Good Larius, the only person in the world Kareena could bear to be with for this gruesome task. Downstairs her daughters were weeping, inconsolable. Her only boy was probably dead, a casualty lying blood-soaked on the wall. Kareena trembled. Somehow, she had tamed her tears, but a terrible fog had descended, drawing out the time of things. She was in her twenty-ninth year and had never thought she could love this much-older man, but now that he was gone she wondered what life there could possibly be without him.
Around the city, Vorto's army had retreated as promised, a fact that astounded Kareena. She hadn't expected the butcher to be good to his word. As morning flooded the valley, she could see them riding away, satisfied to have murdered her husband. The duchess stifled a sob and went to the flag pole, helping Larius draw Lokken down. His body had gone cold. Kareena cradled him and lowered him to the ground, cursing as she fought to free the n
oose.
"Oh, God," she moaned. "My husband . . ."
Lokken's eyes were wide. Unseeing, they stared at her. Larius put a hand over them and closed the lids. The old soldier knelt, kissed his master's forehead, then backed away, leaving his mistress to grieve. Kareena held Lokken's head to her bosom and rocked him. Was she leader of Goth now? she wondered. Would Vorto return for more vengeance? Kareena stroked her husband's head, brushing strands of hair from his lifeless, distorted face. Larius walked over to the edge of the rooftop and looked out over the city. Wet snow blanketed the horizon, punctuated with fire and smoke. Far below, Kareena heard the wails of her people, the aimless, bewildered cries of children and their mothers. Soldiers moved through the avenues, fighting back the fires with blankets and bucket brigades. Kareena closed her eyes and mouthed a prayer--not to the new God of Nar but to the old, when God was mild. Before the death of Arkus, she had loved the church. She had even made a pilgrimage to Nar City to see the great Cathedral of the Martyrs and to hear the words of Herrith. But in the ruins of the old Empire, something had gone horribly awry.
A sound in the distance halted Kareena's prayers. A popping in the hillside, followed by another and another still. Kareena craned her neck to see. The sound was all around her suddenly. Panicked, she laid Lokken down and hastened to Larius' side. The counselor was scanning the horizon.
"Larius? What is it? What's that sound?"
"My lady, I don't know. Cannons?"
"Cannons? Oh, no, that can't be."
"I don't see flashes," agreed Larius. "But the sound--"
Overhead an object whistled past. Larius grabbed his mistress and pulled her to the ground. Kareena screamed as another missile hissed, slamming into the tower wall. There was a sound like exploding steam, The far-off popping in the hills intensified. Kareena pulled free of Larius and ran to the stone railing.
"What is it?" she screamed. She put her hands to her ears to banish the sound. "Larius, what . . .?"