When the Villian Comes Home

by Gabrielle Harbowy

  “I understand well enough.”

  “Your understanding must have aided Gorick immeasurably.” Khrandor smiled at Brennan, relishing the way it made the man recoil. “Master Resivak, is that profit sharing not to your liking?”

  “But, sir, lord, I thought that since Idren is your hometown—”

  “If I give you special treatment, every damn place I’ve lain my head these last thirteen years will want special treatment. I will review the accounts and see if the wage can be increased, but for now, things stay as they are.”

  “Khrandor,” said his brother, still pinned on his knees by the mercenary.

  “I said, now.”

  “Yes, milord,” said Resivak.

  “Are you going to let him bully you into that? You know that if they keep those wages we’ll never make it through winter!”

  “Brennan, do you not have the courage to question me directly?”

  Khrandor crossed the marble entryway, boots clicking on stone.

  Brennan flattened his mouth into one line and studied his worn shoes.

  Khrandor continued. “Perhaps you’d like to offer me some of your wise council? Perhaps you’d like to tell me which tree to hide in so that you can spear me down like I did with Gorick? Was that the war counsel you gave him?”

  Brennan remained silent, but his fists clenched.

  Brennan was easy to control; he’d be even easier to break. Khrandor stood a little too close, talked a little too softly in a voice that would echo down the man’s spine. “It’s funny how the tables turn, isn’t it? Once you beat me. You nailed my pants to the meeting tree in the square. And now, look at where you are. You stood on the wrong side of Gorick’s battlefield, didn’t you? Tell me, did it give you pleasure to leave me half dead beneath the pine? Did it?”

  “It was a long time ago—”

  “I still have the scars.” Khrandor circled him. “Do you know that my right knee has ached in cold weather ever since?”

  “No...I didn’t—”

  “I will take what I want, Brennan. And not you, not Prince Gorick, not Prince Rajan will stop me. Do you understand?”

  Brennan nodded, slowly. His fingers twisted on the hilt of the notched blade that he still carried.

  Swing it at me. Hurovan called his name. Khrandor held a hand up, and heard the jingle of mail as the men restrained his brother. Khrandor continued circling Brennan, lowering his voice so only his victim could hear. “Do you know where Kassandra is?”

  “Leave her out of this.”

  “So you do know where she is.”

  “I said, leave her out of this.”

  “Why? She’s a grown woman now, why are you protecting her? Did you marry her?” Khrandor swallowed his revulsion, not letting it disrupt his interrogator’s smile. He was close now, he just had to nudge Brennan over the edge. Khrandor dropped his voice to a rotten, insinuating whisper. “I will take whatever I want. Kassandra. The mines. All of it. I will take what-so-ever I want.”

  Brennan spun, raising his blade. Khrandor stepped inside the swing, batting Brennan’s arm away and landed a punch in the man’s neck. Brennan’s blade clattered to the ground as his hands grasped at his throat. He doubled over, wheezing. Steel sang from sheaths behind him. Khrandor grinned. These were good men, but he’d wanted Brennan’s blood for many years. He laced his fingers behind Brennan’s head and kneed him in the face three times. A wonderful lightness filled Khrandor’s heart. No interrogation had ever been so sweet. Khrandor held Brennan up with his left and pummeled him with his right. Bones crunched, blood splattered. For the first time since setting out for Idren, Khrandor laughed. He should have come back years ago to crack his gauntleted knuckles against Brennan’s bones. He let Brennan’s body fall to the floor, kicking the crumpled mess once for every nightmare where he’d relived the beating under the tree. Blood pooled on the marble. Exhilaration sang through Khrandor’s muscles. His smile beamed.

  He turned that grin onto the villagers. They flinched. Joy loped through his body like a wolf. He wanted to dance. “Get this bloody mess out of my brother’s house.” Mercenaries threw the broken body down the stairs of the front veranda. “Now, before we were so rudely interrupted, I think we were talking about drawing up the documents for the mines. You’ll have those for me tomorrow, Master Resivak?”

  “Yes, milord. I’ll have them for you tomorrow morning.” Resivak said to the floor.

  “Wonderful. And tonight, we burn that bastard.” The villagers fled the house. Hurovan was locked in his room. Khrandor took the account ledgers, the keys to the mines, and stationed some of his most trusted men there. That evening, over half the village turned out for the burning. Khrandor stayed long enough to ensure they went through with it. Once the pyre burned well, he stalked back inside. He would keep no vigil.

  “Khrandor.”

  He knew that voice. It had called him out of nightmares for years. When things were blackest, he’d awake, thinking she would be there next to him, red hair pooled on the pillow, but she was never there. “Kassandra.”

  “Why did you beat my husband?”

  His eyes followed the shape of her body in the flickering shadows from the pyre outside. Her beauty at fourteen had blossomed into a woman more ravishing than he’d imagined. Her face had lost none of its shape; her fiery hair was still long. He guffawed. “Husband? Brennan? Time has been good to you, but it has not made you wise.”

  The corners of her mouth flicked up, then back into her frown. “Why did you do it?”

  “Why did he beat me all those years ago? Remember when he beat me under our tree? Remember when he tried to burn me at midsummer’s eve? Remember when he pushed me into the stream in winter, and I fell beneath the ice? The real question is why do you stand up for him now, and why in the name of the gods did you marry him?”

  “Because you left me.” She sighed. “And because his family offered an amazing bride price to me and my father. It let Papa spend his last years in peace.” Tears pooled in her eyes.

  “I begged you to come with me! I begged you!”

  She looked down, wiping her eyes. She swallowed. “I didn’t think you were actually leaving. And...I was scared. I’ve never been out of this valley. I didn’t know what Papa would do without me. I’m sorry.”

  Khrandor crossed the room, put his finger under her chin and lifted her gaze to meet his own. “Come with me now. Leave all this behind. I have a beautiful castle, in the south, where it’s warm. You can have anything you want. You will be queen of the world.”

  “No.” She pulled away.

  “No? Would you rather stay in this icy hell waiting for winter’s bane to find you? You’d rather stay with that lout of a husband you have? Had I known that, I would have killed him and settled your choice for you.”

  “Khrandor! That’s why I won’t go with you. I refuse to live in a world where you relish murder!”

  “Is that what I do?”

  “Yes.”

  He laughed. “Kassandra, someone has to be the leader. I rose to the occasion because the Princes were fools. Tell me, was Gorick any better?”

  “Under Gorick, at least we had enough to eat. You should know. You served him. You were his general.”

  “Gorick was weak! This world only rewards the strong, and I will never be weak again. Come with me. You can have anything you want, anything in the world.”

  “No. The boy I knew believed there was more to life than being the most ruthless person in the world. The boy I knew loved to create things, to build things. All you do is destroy. When was the last time you held a hammer? A paint brush?”

  “Don’t you realize what I am creating? I am re-creating the world. If you want to die in an icy backwater, then hammers and paint brushes are wonderful distractions from reality. But if you want to change the world, if you want to make something of yours
elf, then you need a sword. The strong rule the weak. I’ve seen it again and again. Hell, the man who taught it to me is that bastard on the pyre. The strong rule, and I intend to rule. I intend to make the world I want. And I want you in it. You will come with me.”

  “Congratulations, Khrandor. You’ve become your father.”

  “Bitch!” He backhanded her. She caught herself on the long dining table. An icicle drove through his heart. She would pay for that. He pushed her down onto the table, pulled her skirts up.

  “Khrandor! Stop! Stop!”

  “You will come with me!” He was nothing like his father. He smiled at the way her hands curled into claws, the way her fingernails raked the wood. She tried to push herself up, but he forced her down. Blood throbbed through his loins. “Will you come with me?”

  “Khrandor, don’t do this, please.”

  He pulled his trousers down. “Say you’ll come with me, and I’ll stop.”

  “Khrandor, please.”

  “Come with me.”

  “No! You are no better than—”

  She screamed. Even in his imagination, he’d never believed taking Kassandra would feel this good. Her screams died into growls, then whimpers. The table creaked across the floor. “You will come with me, Kassandra. You. Will.” His hands tightened on her hips as a thunderous joy reverberated through his body, his back arched, his breath caught. Kassandra was unlike any other woman; she could banish the nightmares, banish them forever.

  When Khrandor released her, she sank to the floor.

  At length, she spoke. “Is this the world you want to create, Khrandor? How many lives will you wreck to create it?” She wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth with her sleeve. “I say to you it will not last. One day this patchwork of princedoms will fall apart. You will be alone again. Only this time, no one will come to save you because you’ve hurt everyone who cared.”

  She would be a challenge to break. The interrogator’s grin crept across his face. “You will come with me, Kassandra. I’ll not leave here empty handed.”

  “You have your mines.”

  “I want you.”

  She spat blood toward him. As he dodged, she was on her feet, trying to run past. He caught her and dragged her upstairs. She struggled as he tied her to his bed. Every time she winced as he pulled the ropes tighter, his heart hammered in his loins.

  “Let me go, please. On all that is holy, let me go.”

  “There is nothing holy, my dear.” Khrandor dropped his clothes on the floor. “Say you’ll come with me, and this will all stop.”

  “I—” Her eyes caught the dagger in his hand. She tried to shy away from the point.

  Khrandor’s heart danced. He’d tortured plenty of women, but it had never been so luscious as this. “You will come with me, my dear.” He sliced through her dress, marveling at her exposed body. So beautifully vulnerable. So beautifully afraid. So ripe to be broken. He traced the curve of her breast with the point of his knife, careful not to cut her. Not yet.

  “Khrandor, please. Let me go. Please.”

  “Only when you agree to come with me.” He lowered his body onto hers, relishing the feel of her trying to squirm away from him and not finding any escape. “Sweet Kassandra.”

  He smothered her screams with his mouth as he forced his way between her legs.

  5

  It was nearly dawn when Khrandor went downstairs to find Colonel Girath. He and the men slept in the entryway. “Sir?” The colonel said.

  “We leave now. Saddle the horses.”

  “The documents?”

  “We have no need. Commander Regen is controlling the mines and has the keys. I have the prize I came for. Best we leave before these people cause us trouble.”

  They rode through the dozing town. Gray light pooled behind low clouds that wreathed the mountains, threatening snow. Khrandor’s heart leapt as they rode south, imagining his return to the sunlit, white castle walls, the banners flying high. He glanced at Kassandra. She’d resisted and cursed him until deep in the night when he resorted to pain. Now, she obeyed his every demand. Even in his old riding clothes, she was beautiful. Dark circles bruised her eyes. The welts he’d left on her back would sting against the heavy wool, but would heal without scarring. She sat the horse awkwardly, every step of its gait pressing into a different part of her soreness. He smiled. She said nothing, shoulders hunched forward, mouth pressed into a firm line. She stared at her hands tied to the pommel of the saddle. With the gold mines to fund the army and Kassandra to chase away the nightmares, he’d be invincible. He envisioned Prince Rajan fleeing before him.

  Pain shot through his left shoulder, shattering his reverie. Kassandra’s face was next to his, tears in her eyes, mouth frowning in savage determination. The hilt of a dagger protruded from beneath his shoulder blade. It burned as she pulled the knife free.

  “Sir!” The men were slow. They circled the horses; their steel sang.

  “I will not go with you!” she screamed. The swords kept her from advancing on him again. He noticed her hands had come untied, and she held the old dagger he’d always kept under his mattress. Her horse pranced sideways, uncertain, neighing at the swords arrayed against it. “You’re a sick man, Khrandor, no better than your father!” She looked around, as though she expected something to happen. Worry crossed her features. Khrandor’s vision swam. He tried to put pressure on the wound, but he couldn’t reach it. Blood trickled down his back.

  “Kassandra. I love you.”

  “You have no idea what that means.” She glanced to either side of the road.

  One of the mercenaries grabbed her from behind. She twisted out of his reach. “No!” She plunged the knife deep into her stomach.

  “Kassandra!”

  Khrandor spurred to her, jostling his men out of the way. He caught her as she fell, but they both tumbled to the ground. Shouts erupted on either side of the road. A wild arrow sailed overhead. Khrandor tried to stop the blood that soaked rapidly through her clothes.“Attack!” shouted Khrandor, waving one arm. “It’s an ambush, you fools!”

  As the horses wheeled and steel sang against steel, Khrandor held Kassandra, wiping sweat-matted hair from her face. All he had ever wanted was to see her brown eyes smiling at him in the morning, to hear her laugh in the evening, to fall against her lips as the moon rose, and to discover safety from the inevitable nightmares in the circle of her arms. Thirteen years. Thousands of leagues. Rivers of blood. And yet, she would choose death over him. A constriction burned at the back of his throat. His eyes stung. He was certain this was his own death, finding him at last, just as she foretold. He found it hard to breathe around the blockade in his throat. But instead of dying, he convulsed, and wept, rocking back and forth.

  “Sweet Kassandra…please…” He rocked back and forth as his tears fell on her pale brow. She was right: he had become his father. Merciless, sadistic. “Kassie, I won’t hurt you again. Kassie, I’m…I’m sorry.”

  Her eyes flicked to him, recognizing the old name. She touched his face. “Too late for that, Khran. I’d hoped...you’d be different. Was going to warn you...” She convulsed.

  “No, no, please, by the gods, Kassie, Kassie!” He shook; all his fear, all his terror, all his hatred streamed down his face. “No, please. Kassie, I’m so sorry, I’m so...”

  He touched a soft, loving kiss against her perfect lips as her heart shuddered and stopped.

  CLINT TALBERT started writing at a very young age—when he’d read all the King Arthur stories in his backwoods Texas library—because he figured the world needed more Camelot. He lives on the ocean in California with a very cute Boxer puppy. This is his first fiction sale (of many, hopefully). His debut novel, Last Stand of Darwony, is forthcoming from Barking Rain Press. Follow along with his progress at www.cmtalbert.com.

  BROKEN CLOUDS

  Ra
chel Swirsky

  Alex walked home through light rain that was almost soundless as it silvered the sidewalk. The whole world seemed colorless: overcast sky, grey drizzle, endless cement.

  The empty, grasping ache in her abdomen gnawed at her, not just because of the pain but because of the frisson of loss that accompanied it. She was like a glass with the water poured out, a vacant vessel.

  Would it ever stop? Did anyone ever recover from having the magic torn out of their flesh?

  Her house came into view as she turned the corner, its dilapidated single story dwarfed by the apartment buildings on either side. It always seemed to be cowering, as if the neighboring giants might decide at any moment to crush it into oblivion. Its faded wood siding was the same grayed-out blue as the rainy sky. Battered shutters held tight against wind and water.

  Rain had swollen the doorframe. Alex grunted as she put her weight into tugging it open. Hinges screeched. Slanting rain pooled inside the threshold.

  Alex squished into the entranceway and pulled the door closed behind her. She abandoned her boots and threw her messenger bag beside them; its sodden contents were worthless now.

  Her socks left a trail of wet footprints as she made her way into the kitchen. Alex’s older sister, Jenny, sat at the table, cutting coupons out of the newspaper, the way no one did anymore except for Jenny. She wore a loose t-shirt and jeans, cozy and cheerful despite the weather. Jenny was that kind of person. She woke up happily at dawn and hummed through her daily routine.

  Jenny smiled as she looked up. Green irises swirled with hints of yellow, summer grass dappled with dandelions.

  The empty place inside Alex ached.

  Jenny held up a coupon. “Good deal on gardening supplies. Two bags of soil for the price of one.”

  She chuckled as she returned the coupon to the pile. Alex and Jenny didn’t have a garden. A lot of coupons were like that. They offered deals on stuff you didn’t need, hoping you’d suddenly be inspired to buy a blender when you really just wanted the 20% off on microwave dinners they were offering two rows down. Jenny clipped them all, though, just in case.