BETRAYER: THE RISE OF AZGHARÁTH

by Jeff Shanley

darkness. It was a voice of pure thought, the voice of a White Wolf. And I fumed.

  “I am Azgharáth Redborn, Bloodwreaker and High Lord of Kânavad. I am the Exalted One of Ak’horos, and I command you to step into the light and accept your fate, Elder One.”

  The White Wolf stepped forward, and just by his green eyes I knew him to be Æku. Not as prestigious a prize as Íne or his Lifestone, but good enough. He circled me as he spoke, and his green eyes pierced the darkness.

  You walk with One who is damned, Bloodwreaker, said Æku, and in doing so you have damned yourself. You have been tainted by the shadow of Ak’horos, and in your own depravity have found it in your heart to justify the atrocities you have committed at His behest. You are a kin-slayer, Azgharáth son of Mênecoth. And you have spilt the blood of the Eldest on this land and defiled his body. You are the worst that anyone can become. This is what the Shaper feared, and what your father feared…

  I stood and stared the White Wolf down. His words fell on hollow ears, all of them. Except one:

  Betrayer.

  At this I was enraged, and I lashed out at Æku. He howled and flung me aside, but I transformed and pursued him still. Æku fled from my sight, but with my keen sense of smell I found him and cornered him. He snapped at me, and bared his teeth. I roared and lunged for him but he bit me, and that bite burnt me like naught I have ever felt before. It felt as if a fire was tearing me asunder from within. I writhed in agony while Æku circled me, but the pain went as quickly as it came. And another great deity of my people’s feeble religion was about to meet a very mortal death. I took his neck in my hand.

  “I will do you the honor of leaving your body whole, Æku,” I whispered in his ear. “But let it be known to you that I did not betray my people. That was all your doing.” And with that I snapped his neck, and the White Wolf fell back, dead. What happened next, however, astounded me.

  Æku’s body dissipated, like dust in a breeze, and all that was left behind was a single, glimmering stone. My faith in Ak’horos was renewed, and I took it into my possession. It was about the size of a large pebble, made of some crystalline adamant, and shone of its own power with a soft golden radiance. By all meanings of the word, it was beautiful.

  “I have one of which you ask for, Master,” I said to myself.

  Good. One is all you will need to vanquish Manakh. His armies will tremble at the power you wield, and Mānakhašu will fall. The city shall rise again in my name and yours, and its white walls shall run crimson and black with our might and power. I can see them trembling, Servant. Oh, how they tremble at your name.

  SEVEN

  It had been nearly three thousand years since my crusade began. My armies and I marched on all of Kânavad, slaughtering those who would oppose us, running the ground red with their blood. And I reveled in it all. I, Kalahoth, and Ecálos and Ekannar, we all led mighty campaigns against Mānakhašu’s vast armies. And I felt my father’s fear deepen. The darkness had begun to spread over the land, as an infectious pestilence that devours all that it sees.

  “I will shake the foundations of Mānakhašu to their very core!” I boasted to my men, and they roared their approval. Quite literally.

  “We shall march on the Kingfather’s lands, take from him what he took from us, all of you who live lives that are not your own: you live in servitude to the Elder Ones! But I say to you, my brothers, I say to you: No longer.

  “When the dust settles on our holy crusade against the Kingfather, our race will stand above all others. White Wolves are of no significance to us anymore, nor is the Shaper who they would have you believe in. WE are the masters of Kânavad! And I will take you to Mānakhašu, and together we shall remake it, as it should be!

  “Go forth and kill all who stand in your path. All who beg for mercy give none to them. They had their chance at Padakis; we gave them the opportunity at Bazôkaš. And each time they did not come, they did not join us. That is treason against their rightful ruler, their High Lord. You fight for me, now prove your worth!”

  I had a million at my command, and we marched south. We chanted battle songs and challenges, and built up our own lust for blood. We halted only when we had reached the outskirts of Mānakhašu. I looked, and with my keen sight I saw that barely a hundred thousand soldiers remained to defend the outlands of the city. Such fools.

  “What is it, Father?” Kalahoth asked me.

  “Do you feel that?” I said. “Fear, my son; the air is permeated with fear.” Kalahoth smiled and his red eyes flashed with hunger.

  “Yes, I feel it, Father,” he said to me. There was such passion in his voice that day, so much to be proud of when a father looks upon his son in such a way as to see a better embodiment of himself.

  “No doubt our great Kingfather has holed himself up in his throne room,” Ekannar sneered. I laughed as well, and in that moment ordered the attack. My army of one million werewolves, fighting for my honor, laid waste to Manakh’s hundred thousand in a matter of minutes. They had no spine, I remember thinking, and I laughed at those who tried to fight back. The end was in sight, and the onslaught was unstoppable.

  “Burn them all!” I commanded. “Leave none alive to crawl back to their hovels, begging mercy for them or their families. For they will find none.”

  And I took the Lifestone of Æku in my hand, and it burst forth with gold fire, and consumed my enemies in their despair and folly. I recalled my hand, shocked at the power I wielded, and yet amazed by it. My enemies fell back, crying to the heavens, pleading to the Shaper for deliverance, but there was none for them. I entered the High Gates of Mānakhašu, relishing in my conquest of the city. My men tore down buildings, slaughtered innocents on the steps of the citadel, and their crimson blood soaked and seeped into every crag in the white stone of that place, so as to never be washed away by the rains or sands of time.

  I ascended those steps, clad in black armor and a robe of regal make: black velvet, upon which was inlaid my symbol, the new symbol of Kânavad: the Red Claw. I heard the screams around me, but they did nothing to dissuade me from my birthright. Given to me by Ak’horos the Mighty, in whose name I had been blessed with powers beyond reckoning, I ascended those steps to meet my father. My men howled, and their howls melded behind me, praising their king, exalting their High Lord.

  Azgharáth.

  Až’karhôda.

  Redborn.

  Bloodwreaker.

  Me.

  My father caught me by surprise, and met me at the summit of the mountain. He stood unwavering, an ornate crown of gold and bronze on his head, in the style of the kings of Bavhælund. His robe was yellow, embroidered with silver. He looked upon me not with the fear that I had hoped for, but with sorrow. From my robes I pulled out the head of Íne, and tossed it at his feet.

  “A gift for you, Father,” I spat. “From the Eldest One himself. In the end, almost none of us are truly immortal. Almost none.”

  “You think I will simply let you kill me as your brothers did?” Manakh asked. The insolence!

  “They died of their own weakness! They died because they did exactly what you did: they shunned the Redborn. No more, Kingfather. The Redborn, the Bloodwreakers, we have now taken this land as our own. An Empire of Werewolves I have created, where we are the ones who are worshipped as gods, not wordless beasts who cannot even defend themselves.” And with that I pulled out the Stone of Æku, and held it in my hand.

  “You…” Manakh stammered, “You have betrayed us all.” There was that word again. Betrayal, betrayer. Such impudence.

  I backhanded the Kingfather, and he flew back so violently that I feared I would not be able to kill him, as I desired. His crown fell from his head and clanged loudly down the steps of the citadel before landing in a puddle of his own people’s blood. I smiled and descended the steps and picked the crown up.

  I rejoined my father and righted him on his feet, and placed the crown on his head. Crimson streaks ran down his face, and finally I saw the fear
in his eyes I had been so longing to see.

  “Do you feel that, Kingfather?” I said. As I removed my hands from the crown, I licked my fingers clean of the blood. I drew close to his ear, and I whispered to him:

  “You could have prevented all of this, Manakh. That is the true tragedy of your story: You ruled a great land once, bedded many beautiful women, but when all the power of the world was laid at your feet you cowered before superstition and dogma at the birth of your own son.

  “But that son grew strong, Manakh, and was blessed with another power, greater than that which you could ever imagine. For the Mighty Ak’horos blessed him with the powers of the Redborn, and as I have done his will, he allows me to do mine. And my will is nigh complete.”

  I drew back, and fell on all fours. My body swelled and matted black hair sprouted. My teeth elongated to fangs, and claws extended from my fingers. I panted and growled, surging with power through every vein in my body, soaking it into my core. My eyes, bloodred and golden, shone out from the mass of black hair that now covered my body. I stood before him a mighty werewolf, pack leader of the Bloodwreakers, and soon High Lord of all Kânavad.

  Fight me, I commanded him. Manakh shook his head. I barreled into him, and he was thrown back near to the edge of the steps. He stood, and righted the crown on his head.

  “You will have to kill me, my