Death of the Immortal King

by Sarah McCarthy

  “Sure,” Lilianna said.

  “No,” Paric said.

  “Paric,” Coralie started, but he cut her off.

  “We’re not bringing on someone we don’t know. Way too dangerous.”

  “I understand your unwillingness, but this is the only way I will agree,” the man said.

  “I doubt that,” Paric said darkly.

  “Come on, Paric. He’s taking a risk, too,” Coralie said. “The least we can do is trust him in return.”

  “You’re being an optimistic idiot.”

  “Hey,” Lilianna said.

  Gird cut in. “I disagree, Paric—”

  “Would you two stop using my name, for Zastros’ sake?”

  The man at the head of the table stood up. “My name is Damion.” He extended a hand. “Let’s call each other friends. Just on the assumption that we have the same ends in mind.”

  Paric glared at him.

  “Let’s hurry up and get out of here, or none of this matters,” Lilianna said.

  “Come on, Paric,” Coralie said. “What are the chances that we randomly picked a boat that had decoy penitents?”

  “She makes a good point,” Damion said.

  “Shut up, Damion,” Paric said. He ran a hand through his blond hair. “All right, fine. This is a stupid, terrible plan and I should never have agreed to it. I’m just going to say I told you so right now, because I sure as hell won’t be able to say it to you once we’re all betrayed and dead.”

  “Noted,” Coralie said, not at all sure he wasn’t right. She glanced at Lilianna, who didn’t seem worried.

  “Well, now I can tell you the secret code word,” Damion said.

  “The what?” Paric asked.

  “In addition to the invitations, there was a secret password. In case the invitations were stolen. Only I know it. If you had gone to the gates without it, you would have been arrested.”

  Coralie’s jaw dropped. Lilianna grinned and punched her on the arm.

  “Huh,” Paric said.

  “It appears,” Gird sniffed, “that it was prudent and not naïve of the lady to bring along the baked goods.”

  Paric looked as if he might murder Gird just for the enjoyment of it, but Coralie cut between them.

  “All right, well, glad this has worked out so well. Let’s get going, yeah?”

  Damion hugged his family goodbye, collected his papers, and they made their way up the dock and down the road towards Kreiss’s central square.

  59

  Lilianna

  The large central square of Kreiss had been completely blocked off. All entrances except one were barricaded, guarded by contingents of soldiers. Together, they joined the crush of people waiting to be let in. The clouds overhead were thicker now, broken by the occasional dazzling sunbreak.

  Why would anyone go to this if they didn’t have someone to assassinate? Lilianna wondered, eyeing the people around her. They looked nervous, excited. Some, like Damion, were clutching invitations. They looked paler than the others, quieter. Others were chattering loudly, eyeing the soldiers, anticipating… what? A show? A hundred executions? Lilianna suppressed a grimace.

  She glanced at Coralie next to her. Her face was serious, her eyes sweeping the crowd. She caught her looking and smiled an uncertain smile. Lilianna squeezed her hand and her grin widened. How long had Coralie felt this way about her? She wondered, thinking back over their whole friendship. Maybe it had been the whole time. Maybe Lilianna had felt that way, too, but had never wanted to admit it. An imaged flashed across her mind, of what they would do when this was all over, if they even lived. Her heart leapt, and she wanted desperately to live through this. She wanted to curl up with Coralie, lay her head on her shoulder, put her arms around her, and tell her everything. Hear everything.

  They were nearing the front of the pack now, the soldiers shouting at the crowd to keep in line. Her heart fluttered again, but for a different reason. It was almost time. She glanced at Paric, who was picking something out of his teeth. He looked completely calm, like he’d done this a hundred times. And maybe he had; this was what he had been sent here to do after all.

  Three people in front of them.

  Lilianna glanced again at Coralie, who was staring fixedly at the soldiers. What was she thinking? Lilianna shook her head. Something useful and intelligent, no doubt. She’d already saved the whole plan, in the first few minutes of returning. Her stomach rolled over. She had already contributed more than Lilianna had, in her first ten minutes. If she hadn’t thought to convince Damion rather than just stealing his invitation, they would all be waiting in line right now to be executed. Stop that, she told herself. I’m contributing. This whole thing was her idea after all, Coralie wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for her. But Lilianna couldn’t quite suppress the feeling that, despite all her efforts, she was still just as useless as ever.

  “Next!”

  Paric handed the man the invitation, whispered the password in his ear, and the man nodded. “You, over there, the rest of you, through that way.”

  Lilianna looked from Paric to the man. “He’s not staying with us?”

  The man was already gesturing to the next group. “The representatives have their own separate place to wait, since they’ll be participating. The rest of you, enjoy the party.”

  Paric gave her a brief nod, and the slightest of grins as another soldier patted him down, missing the tiny poisoned dagger in his sleeve.

  OK. It’s OK. Just a slight change in plans. We won’t be together, but that’s fine. We’ll be in the crowd if Paric needs anything.

  Paric was led off to the right, to where several rows of seats, now half-filled, stood behind a fenced-off area. Various clan leaders, with various levels of anxiety evident on their faces, stood or sat, eyeing the crowd.

  Lilianna’s gaze swept the large square. Not that long ago, it seemed, she had stood here with Aron while he bought her jewelry. Where had that been? Just off to her left, in that corner over there. Where there was now a group of musicians playing a lively festival tune.

  The mood of the place was jarring, incongruous. The smell of roasting meats and spices, candies and pastries, floated over the heads of the crowd, the music jaunty and celebratory, but the faces of the people they passed were tense. Some were wide-eyed, looked like they were soaking in the drama and horror of it all, anticipating the bloody executions. But many looked afraid and were standing close to the enclosure where the clan leaders sat whispering across the fence and eyeing the exit.

  Along the sides of the square were hundreds of soldiers, fully decked out in black armor. A white, stylized face emblazoned on the front. Was that supposed to be Yqtos? The walls around the square were draped in black banners as well, that same white, eyeless face looking down on them. Lilianna shuddered.

  In the center of the square was a raised platform, draped in pure white linen. On this platform stood Jedren.

  He was barefoot and bare-chested. The huge muscles on his arms and back stood out, rippling as he prowled back and forth, scanning the crowd. A single sword was belted to his waist, and the loose linen pants he wore fluttered in the wind as he moved. An occasional smile crept across his face. Again, Lilianna noticed that darkness about him. Latent now, dormant, slumbering in his heart, but there was an immense power ready to be unleashed at any moment.

  At the side of the platform was a large wagon, empty. For the bodies.

  On the other side, a line of soldiers in red stood at attention. Wonder what those are for…

  She and Coralie and Gird wandered through the crowd, getting the lay of the land before everything got started. As they passed the stage, Lilianna looked down, pulling her wrap down further over her face, hoping no one would recognize her.

  On the far side, when she looked up, she saw Kallia, attended by six ladies in waiting, on a raised platform in one corner. She was dressed in white, as well, her dark hair stark against it.

  Traitor. Lilianna thought
. Coward. Kallia’s head turned, and Lilianna looked away before she saw her. Along one wall adjacent to Kallia was a large iron-barred enclosure, guarded by soldiers at regular intervals. Every few feet, a prisoner stood, their arms chained to the bars. These prisoners were guant, haunted. Coralie tugged at her hand.

  Lilianna glanced at her, and Coralie nodded towards one of the prisoners. His eyes were closed, his hands clasped. A peaceful expression on his pale face. His lips were red with spatters of blood that stained his chin and clothes as well. Aron.

  She started towards him, but Coralie pulled her back, shaking her head.

  Lilianna willed him to open his eyes, to look up and see her and know he was going to be all right. This can’t have been part of his plan. What about all that luck? He looked nearly dead.

  She realized the man chained up next to Aron was looking at her strangely. She didn’t recognize him. He had a bare head, a tangled blond beard, and his gaze burned out of a waxen face, a hectic color in his cheeks, but he was the most aware of all the prisoners. He looked the most alive. As Lilianna and Coralie moved past, he continued to stare at her.

  A few feet further on, Lilianna stopped. Yqtos, is that… It was. Kara. Pale and shaking, with tiny handcuffs fitted for her tiny hands, the girl’s shoulders slumped. Lilianna glanced back at Kallia. She wasn’t looking this way. So that’s how it is. You’re much, much more of a coward than I thought. I should have killed you when I had the chance. She grimaced. What was new about that? The list of people she should have killed when she had the chance was growing all the time.

  A meat vendor passed in front of them, nearly running over her foot with his cart. He thrust out a stick of spiced meat. “Best lamb in the city,” he said. “Only a silver.”

  Lilianna’s stomach recoiled in horror, and she glared at him. The rest of Mimros is about to surrender to that monster and you’re selling meat sticks? What’s wrong with you? she wanted to snap at him. But if she did, someone might hear, and it wouldn’t do to look less than pleased with what was happening. She shook her head.

  “No, thank you, we already ate,” Coralie supplied.

  The music ceased suddenly, replaced by a heavy drumbeat. Lilianna turned to the main stage. Jedren stood, his arms crossed, as a slimy-looking man in long black robes and soft black slippers climbed onto the stage. This man raised his arms and shouted across the heads of the crowd.

  “Welcome everyone, to the birth of the true Mimros, under the protection of the one true God.” He lifted his arms, the long sleeves falling back, and closed his eyes. “Praise Yqtos, the Divine Father.”

  “Praise Yqtos,” the soldiers around the edges intoned, their arms crossing their chests, their heads bowed.

  “Praise Yqtos,” the crowd followed suit, muttering the prayer.

  The man’s eyes snapped open and he looked furiously around the crowd. “That is no way to address the divine. Again.”

  “Praise Yqtos,” the crowd intoned again. A few shouted the words. The man seemed satisfied.

  “Welcome, citizens. I am High Priest Ryn, servant of the lord Jedren, scion of Yqtos. Chosen servant of the Divine Father.”

  Behind him, Jedren looked bored. Maybe he’d pay more attention if he knew he was going to die in a few minutes.

  Ryn paused, then turned his eyes to the supplicants, who had all taken their seats. “Welcome, supplicants. Lord Jedren welcomes you. In a few moments, he will be sending you to meet your god, and before that he will ask you to give your blessing and approval to his choice of the next leader of your clan.”

  Horrified murmurs broke out around the crowd. Someone shouted but they were immediately silenced and dragged off.

  Lilianna glanced at Paric. Crap. This wasn’t the plan. He looked unruffled, though. If the plan was for Jedren to execute him, maybe he could still get close enough to use the dagger. She looked at Coralie, who was biting her lip. People were backing away from the center stage, now, but Lilianna pressed forward. If she was going to do something, she needed to be close.

  “Thank you, Ryn,” Jedren was saying. “Bring up the first supplicant.” He cracked his knuckles.

  The man was old, clean-shaven. His clothes were darned and patched, but clean and neat. His knees shook as he ascended the white, linen-draped platform and came to kneel in front of Jedren, his head bowed. That was close. Maybe close enough for Paric. It would have to be.

  “We of the town of Wight surrender to you, Jedren, and to Yqtos.”

  Jedren gave a single nod, gesturing for one of the red-clad soldiers to join them on the platform.

  “This man will be the new leader of your clan. Give him some sign of his authority over your people, and instruct your men, now in front of everyone, to follow him, and to follow me.”

  Fire burned in the old man’s eyes, and he glanced here and there, his eyes darting around, looking for any way out. But he must have found none, because he took a coin from his pocket and held it up to the soldier.

  “Take this as a… as a symbol of your authority over my people.” He looked out, his eyes searching the crowd, pausing, agonized, to look at a young man. “I transfer my authority to him. Do as he says.”

  Jedren nodded. “Good.”

  In one quick motion he unsheathed his sword and swept it through the air, cutting through the man’s neck and severing his head from his body in one quick, clean motion. The body slumped, the head landing a few feet from it. Blood poured out over the white linen. The crowed went silent as a darkness pulsed from Jedren. His veins stood out black against his skin, and he seemed to grow larger, the day to grow darker. Jedren bent and picked up the head, handing it to the soldier, who moved, taking it with him, to stand at the base of the stage, holding the head and looking out at the crowd. It continued to drip blood across the cobblestones. The crowd was so silent that even those tiny, quiet blood spatters were audible.

  The next man had to be brought forward bodily. He was dragged from his seat by two soldiers and hefted across the square; the crowd pulled back, giving them a wide berth.

  They lifted him onto the stage, then forced him into a kneeling position.

  “I refuse,” he said, when Jedren gave him the same instructions.

  “Which town is he from?” Jedren asked. Ryn consulted a piece of parchment. “Braetbridge.”

  “I want it destroyed. I want every man, woman, and child living there sent to Yqtos. If they won’t worship him in life, they can do so in death.”

  “Wait—” the man said, but it was the only word he was able to get out before Jedren sliced his head off. The body was added to the wagon, and the head given to the soldier.

  A woman screamed and tried to run, but the soldiers grabbed her, and her body and that of a teenage boy were added to the wagon.

  The next man surrendered without protest, as did the next, and the next. The pile of bodies in the wagon grew and grew, the crowd growing quieter and quieter. The smell of blood mingled with the smell of food and flowers in a sickening, stomach-churning cloud. Lilianna edged closer to the stage, Coralie at her side.

  At last it was Paric’s turn. He shook off the soldiers who came to accompany him. He was a good foot taller than either of them, and they settled for walking at his side.

  Jedren’s face lifted as Paric approached. He looked the man up and down appreciatively. As Paric ascended the steps to the stage, Jedren’s eyes went to his sleeve, and Lilianna’s heart stopped. He knows. She shook her head. He can’t know. Jedren’s gaze lingered, and he smiled. He knows.

  They went through the same routine. Ryn spoke the same words, Jedren spoke the same words, Paric knelt at his feet. But none of them were paying attention. The crowd had noticed something different, too. A current of energy passed through them. Hope?

  The anticipation in Jedren’s eyes was growing, and he shifted from foot to foot impatiently. Black liquid pulsing through his veins.

  When they reached the part where Paric was supposed to offer the soldier some tal
isman, he feigned reaching into his pocket, then stood swiftly. One foot kicked out, sweeping the legs out from under the soldiers that surrounded him. One hand went to his sleeve as he lunged for Jedren. But Jedren grinned, his large hand already going for Paric’s arm. In one fist he grabbed the man’s forearm, squeezing tight, bearing down so hard it looked like he was going to crush Paric’s arm.

  Paric grimaced but didn’t skip a beat. His free hand was out, yanking the sword that hung at Jedren’s side from its scabbard. There was a collective intake of breath from the crowd and he thrust it into Jedren’s stomach. Jedren gasped, the laughed, spraying droplets of black blood into Paric’s face. He laughed and pushed Paric back. He stumbled and fell.

  The soldiers at the sides of the square didn’t move. No one moved as Jedren pulled the sword, dripping with dark blood, from his belly, a wide stain flowing down his stomach and staining the white linen of his pants. He laughed again, advancing slowly.

  “Good. Thank you for helping give this demonstration of the power of Yqtos.”

  “Happy to assist,” Paric said, leaping to his feet and neatly side-stepping Jedren’s blow. He ducked and spun, kicking out again with his long legs, but Jedren was already two feet from where he’d been. He stomped down on Paric’s leg as it passed, and for the first time Paric gave a grunt of pain. He reached for his sleeve again, but Jedren kicked his hand away, then stepped his bare foot onto Paric’s arm, only a few inches from where the poisoned blade was. He smiled widely, shaking his head at Paric and clucking his tongue. “You think you can defy Yqtos?” He raised the sword above his head.

  Crap. Lilianna, mouth open, breathing hard, looked frantically about her. Where was Gird? They had to do something. She had to do something. But what? She stood frozen, paralyzed with fear. And then to her horror, she saw Coralie leap forward. Lilianna reached out, trying to grab her hand again, pull her back, but Coralie was already halfway up the stage. She lunged for Jedren, but he kicked out with his free foot, catching her chin with his heel, and knocking her down.