Death Rises

by Brian Murray

  The Chosen waited until the last head had disappeared, his eyes hooded and his mouth closed tight. He dropped to his knees, clasped his hands, and said a silent prayer to the Divine One to guide his people to Paradise. Then, without another word, the Chosen walked down the mound to his stallion. He climbed into the saddle and rode away to his palace.

  ***

  When the Chosen reached his room, he looked down at his hands that shook uncontrollably. He fell to his knees, cupped his face in his hands, and silently wept.

  ***

  The following week was a desperate time for the Chosen. He became withdrawn and spent most of his time in his private chambers, ignoring all visitors. He had not revisited the mound and people outside the palace began to worry about his health. Gossip started festering in the city. People even thought the Chosen was dead. He had not shaved and looked a shell of the man he had been a week before. The horrors and stress of the past couple of weeks began to take their toll him. The Dark One had tried to kill his daughters and then there were the heads. When he slept at night, all he could see was an ocean of heads. At the front were those of his daughters. Each head asked him the same question over and over: Why did you not save us? During the nightmares, he would be walking amongst the heads that constantly pleaded for him to help, eyes following him. Then came the beasts and they would start to feed. Rowet would always wake with a start and weep. He decided that sleep was bad, so he had not slept for three days. Black rings circled his dull, weary eyes and he lost interest in everything. He could no longer do it. He could no longer protect his people. He doubted his so-called “friends” would come to his aid. They would be protecting their own people. What were his people to the Rhaurns? Nothing. He felt as though he had failed. Not even his daughters could talk to him.

  Two days ago, just after an argument with Ireen, he had locked the door to his private study and did not let anyone in. She had tried to cheer up her father and he had snapped at her. She said it would be nice to be arranging a wedding soon. He verbally ripped into Thade, attacking his character, leaving his daughter weeping on the couch. Megan shouted at Rowet to stop him, saying he was being unfair. He roared at her, saying she was nothing to him, not even his blood. Now he sat in his room drinking and feeling remorseful and guilty, but he could not leave the safety of the room. And he would not let anyone enter.

  Ireen and Megan grew more and more worried, for this was unlike their father. He had always been a strong man, but this hiding troubled them both. Ireen took a carriage, drove out of the palace, and visited Platos. She would have gone to General Gordonia, but he was not there. Ireen arrived at Platos’s forge and the large gruff man welcomed her in. She instantly broke down into tears and told the smithy that her father had locked himself in his room and no one could get him out.

  “You want me to help, child?” he asked gently, uncomfortable with the teary princess.

  “Yes please, if you can,” she pleaded through her sobs. “He’s not himself. I know he has been drinking and saying things that he would never normally say.”

  “He has been through a lot over the last couple of weeks and the sight of his people dead really hurt my father.”

  “Please come. Try and help me get through to him. Without him, all is lost.”

  “I will come, but my methods will not be pleasant.”

  “Whatever it takes,” she agreed, nodding.

  Together with Ireen, Platos rode in the carriage thinking how the hell he would get the emperor to see sense. Before he realised it, they had arrived at the palace. Platos entered the white building and followed Ireen. They reached the Chosen’s private chambers.

  “Ireen, I want you and everyone else away from here.”

  “No, I want to stay,” replied the young woman stubbornly.

  Platos placed his hands on her shoulders and spoke softly. “You will see him soon, but I do not want anyone, including you, to hear what I am going to say to your father. It will not be nice. Trust me, you will speak with him soon.”

  Tears filled Ireen’s eyes, but she nodded and ordered all of the Imperial Guards to stand down.

  When alone in the corridor, Platos knocked on the door.

  “GO AWAY!” screamed the Chosen, his voice slurred.

  “Open the door Rowet, it is I, Platos,” shouted the master armourer.

  “Not Rowet, the Chosen,” came the voice through the door. “You will receive twenty lashes for your insolence, commoner.”

  “Well, come out and give them to me.”

  There was silence on the other side of the door. Platos lost patience and kicked the door in. It gave way after several mighty blows. He entered the gloomy room; the air was dank and smelled stale. He walked to the window, threw apart the curtains, and opened the double doors, letting in fresh air. He looked around the room and saw the Chosen standing, leaning against his desk with a half-full jug of what looked like Daarina in his hand.

  “What the hell is this?” bellowed Platos. He marched towards his emperor. “Hiding like a whimpering child. Cowering in corners like a whining dog.” He stood in front of the Chosen.

  “You know nothing,” Rowet slurred and lifted the jug to his lips. Platos slapped the jug from the man’s hands and it shattered against a wall. For a moment Rowet stood stunned and stared at the dripping liquid.

  “You will die for that!” stormed the Chosen, pushing past the huge smithy. Platos grabbed the Chosen’s shoulder and spun the man around. When he faced him, Platos slapped the emperor backhanded and sent him sprawling across the floor.

  “Come on then Rowet, kill me!” boomed the smithy. “You’re a disgrace.”

  Rowet rose slowly and wiped blood from his split lower lip. He charged the smithy. Platos swayed to one side and slapped Rowet again, sending him crashing into a wall.

  “Where is my emperor? Where is the man I know?”

  “He is gone,” whispered Rowet, rising onto unsteady feet.

  “Gone, is he?” shouted Platos, letting loose a thunderous left that sent Rowet sprawling over his desk. “Well I can tell you one thing, you whoreson. I want him back. If I have to beat it out of you.”

  “I tell you he has gone!” screamed Rowet hysterically, spit flying.

  “No, he has not, he’s just hiding in this shell of a wench.” Platos grabbed Rowet by the neck and hauled him to his feet. Then he pushed him outside through the opened double doors. Rowet rolled on the ground and rose slowly. He staggered sideways to stop himself from falling again.

  “How dare you curse your daughter?”

  “I did not,” whispered Rowet.

  Platos walked up to the Chosen and shoved him back. The emperor staggered back and hit a wall. Slowly, his legs gave way and Rowet slumped to the floor, sliding down the wall.

  “Do not lie to me, you wretch.”

  “I did not. I would not,” pleaded Rowet, clamping his hands over his ears.

  Platos knelt beside Rowet and clamped his huge hand around his neck. Rowet tried to punch Platos, but he slapped aside the blow and pulled him in close. When Platos spoke, his voice remained nothing more than a whisper, a harsh, cold whisper full of venom. “Now you listen to me. Proud I was of you and now look at you. You do not deserve anything. You do not deserve your daughters. You do not deserve your empire and you never, ever deserved your wife. You are scum. So go and whimper, like a dog. Do not stain my vision with your pathetic image.” Platos looked Rowet right into his eyes. “You deserve nothing!”

  He released his grip and stalked from the man’s garden.

  Rowet curled into a ball and started weeping. “Rena, Rena,” he whispered.

  A voice drifted into his mind. “I am always with you, my love.”

  “I miss you,” said Rowet aloud.

  “And I you always and forever. You are the Chosen. You are my husband. You can and will defend our child. Now rise. Rowet you are a true and honourable man. Get up, my love, and show everyone who and what you are. Get up.”

>   ***

  Platos sat with Ireen and Megan in their room. The door slowly opened and Rowet entered. He had blood trickling from his mouth, down his chin. He stepped forward and the others rose. He opened his arms and said, “Sorry, I am back.” Ireen stepped forward. Her father nodded to her and she rushed into his embrace. He hugged his daughter warmly. He bent down and said, “I’m so sorry. I did not mean any of it. Do you believe me?”

  “I believe you, Father.”

  Rowet looked and beckoned Megan forward. He released Ireen and stepped to the Rhaurn woman. He looked into the woman’s large eyes and smiled weakly. “I am sorry, my daughter. I did not know what I was saying and I regret every harmful word I said. You are my daughter, please forgive me.”

  Tears filled Megan’s eyes and she walked into Rowet’s invitation. They hugged deeply.

  After a while he turned to Platos and stood before his huge friend. “You are a true friend and I thank you for your help. I am a bit sore, but I will not put you to death for striking me,” he said, smiling.

  “Good to see you back, your Highness,” replied Platos, bowing.

  “You will never bow to me again. I owe you too much.” Rowet stepped forward and embraced the smithy. Platos felt a little uncertain at first but hugged the emperor, his friend.

  “I have been hiding for too long. Platos, my friend, will you travel to the mound with me?”

  Platos nodded proudly.

  “Girls, I will be back for supper. I am famished.”

  “We will make sure there’s a feast waiting for you,” said Megan happily.

  “Good.”

  Within the hour the Chosen was clean-shaven and wearing his traditional white leggings and open white silk shirt to walk to the wall. He stopped many times to talk to his people, smiling and giving encouragement. He reached the mound and looked around. He saw Danf and called the young clansman over.

  “How goes it, Danf?”

  “All the better for seeing you well, your Highness,” replied the clansman, bowing.

  “Yes, I had a little problem, but I am now back and ready to fight.” The Chosen, the man known to his friends as Rowet, turned to the mass of creatures and declared, “Dark One, you have failed. I will not break and we are here to stay. I will see my sword cut your head from your shoulders. That is my word. That is my promise.” The Chosen raised his swords and all around the mound, people cheered loudly. The Chosen absorbed the cheers, then turned his back on the beasts and walked down the mound, smiling broadly.

  Platos walked up to his emperor and bowed deeply. “You are back, my friend.”

  “Aye, I am the Chosen and ready to defend my people.”

  “Let’s finish getting ready.”

  The Chosen smiled and the two friends walked to Platos’s forge to finish their plans.

  ***

  During the next few days, the Chosen worked tirelessly, planning and making sure his city was ready for the upcoming conflict. He had meetings with his priests and between them they chose another senior priest. He was a young man, but all of the priests were young now. The death of their senior priest was the second tragedy to strike the Priests of the Chosen; the first was when the Darklord had taken control of Kal-Pharina and hunted down the robed men like criminals.

  More and more men within the city volunteered for defence duty. Women started to prepare hospitals and shelters for the men. Bandages, needles, and other equipment were freely given to aid the defenders. The Chosen had decreed that all food should be given freely to stop hunger and spiralling prices. He asked the suppliers to make notes of how much they had lost in fair trade and he would try and make good their losses. He did not promise they would receive everything back, but said he would try and reimburse them.

  He was constantly seen walking through the streets of the city talking to people, making sure they were holding up well. He joked with the warriors and walked the mound, being seen by all of the men. The warriors respected the man as their emperor, but now they also respected him as their general. He had brought together various clans, some lifelong enemies, and moulded them into one army.

  The day before the Dark One’s month was up, the Chosen walked up the mound and planted his new standard into the ground. It was a copy of the Chosen’s tattoo—an eye, the iris a map of the Empire, a single tear of fire.

  He addressed his warriors. “Warriors of the Phadrine!” The men roared their approval. The Chosen raised his hands for quiet. “We have men from various different clans before me, but from today on we are one clan united and true. We are the Phadrine. We will defend our kin against the evil that waits to attack and they will feel Phadrine steel in their hearts. Some of you will not see the end of this battle, but you will all be remembered . . . ” The Chosen tapped his chest, “. . . and in the hearts of the Phadrine forever. This will be our greatest moment. Tomorrow, we will see what those beasts can do against our elite fighting force. We will be victorious.” He repeated the words. “We will be victorious!”

  The warriors again roared their approval.

  That night, the Chosen invited Platos and his wife to dine with his daughters and him. They enjoyed a rich meal and the talk was light and pleasant. There was tension in the room, but this was not allowed to dominate the evening.

  ***

  The day arrived. The Chosen dressed in his armour, made for him by Platos. He strapped his swords to his back. He left his room and went to see Ireen and Megan. They were both smiling when he entered, but their reddened eyes showed they had been crying. He told them not to worry—he would be back soon. After a while, he reluctantly left the two young women and walked out of his palace. Waiting for him at the bottom of the steps stood his Imperial Guards in their gleaming battle armour. He looked up at the sky. The sun slowly rose in the east—a beautiful day beckoned. He took a deep breath and donned his brushed steel helm with its white plume. He walked down the steps and climbed into the saddle on his white stallion.

  Slowly, the emperor’s procession rode down the winding road that led to the city. He then rode majestically through the city. Many people came out of the house and cheered him as he passed. But this time the Chosen had a grim face, ready for war. From the corner of his eye he saw a small child waving vigorously at him. He turned his head, smiled, and waved at the girl who giggled sweetly. On they rode towards the mound. He made a detour to meet Platos at his forge. When he arrived, the huge smithy kissed his wife goodbye. The Chosen dismounted his stallion, handed his reins to an Imperial Guard, and walked up to his master armourer.

  Platos bowed deeply and his wife curtsied.

  “Good morning,” said the Chosen, smiling at Erykah. “Pleasant day for a walk, would you not say, Platos?”

  “Aye, a good day for a walk,” said Platos, who turned and waved to his wife. The two men walked down the street in comfortable silence towards the western gate. The men reached the mound and the Chosen took a deep breath before he climbed the structure. All around him his men waited and to his right the new standard fluttered in the breeze. Before the Chosen, the Dread all waited with the Dark One standing by the moat with his three bodyguards around him.

  “Nice of you to join us,” sneered the Dark One, his voice resonant and carrying beyond the mound.

  “Well, I thought you may have gone home knowing how futile this would be,” replied the Chosen, his voice strong.

  “This is your one and only chance to surrender. If you do not accept it now every man, woman, and child will be killed. That will be on your conscience.”

  “My conscience is clear,” countered the Chosen. “Is yours?”

  The Dark One hesitated for a moment. “My conscience has nothing to do with this. Prepare yourselves. Prepare yourselves to die.”

  But the Chosen had seen the Dark One falter. “And you prepare yourself. You will feel my blade, you whoreson.”

  The Dark One laughed and he drew the Blade of Yallas from its sheath. “You will feel this after you watch your chil
d die.”

  “You know what, you whoreson? You could talk me to sleep with your hot air. I have not dressed up in my armour for nothing. So, shut that yapping mouth of yours and bring it on—bitch!”

  All around the Chosen his warriors cheered at his defiance.

  CHAPTER 9

  “SO BE IT,” muttered the Dark One.

  The Dread stopped their howling and hissing, and an eerie silence settled over them.

  The Darklord shuffled forward and the robed man raised his arms and started chanting aloud.

  The defenders waited on the mound for the unknown to happen. There were ready. They had been gelled into a fighting unit and now the time for battle loomed. The Chosen stood impassively on the mound watching the Darklord, who continued to chant. The determination in the man’s eyes was evident for all to see. Below him stood the creature who had tainted his son and turned Tucci against his father. The Chosen had not forgotten and would not forgive. He had loved his son. Tucci had shortcomings to be sure, but the young man could have been taught to be a great leader. That evil man had corrupted him and now Tucci was dead, having thrust a dagger into his own heart while the Chosen looked on.

  The Chosen cleared his mind of his immediate hatred and watched what the robed man was doing. He looked up and down the mound at his warriors. The men were evenly spread along the mound, armed with bows, crossbows, spears, axes, and swords. Quivers of arrows were stabbed in the ground for the archers while the crossbow bearers had quivers of iron bolts strapped to their legs. The men holding spears also had large boulders at their feet near the edge of the mound.

  “What the hell is he doing?” asked Platos, voicing the Chosen’s own thoughts.

  “I have no idea, but I guess we will find out soon, very soon.”

  The Darklord continued to chant. Gradually, the view from the mound got hazy as shimmering vapour turned into a wispy mist. The mist thickened and thickened.

  “The mage is trying to block our view,” observed the master armourer. “We will not be able to see what they’re doing.”

  “It seems that way,” replied the Chosen, grimly watching the mist thicken.