Sacrifice (Book 4) (2 page)

The bald head swiveled to take in everything around it, empty eye sockets filled with maggots and coalescing flies formed eerie eyes which scanned the fortress and canyon. A stench and feeling of dread clung about the creature, and even the nearby Uyumaak it passed shrank from it. Archers, trebuchets, and ballistae all let loose at once, but the veritable wall of projectiles simply evaporated into the summer air. The Gagons continued forward until they stood at the platform landing, Jarius calling a halt to the vain bombardment. Gen turned toward Torbrand and Falael, eyes widening. Both lay unconscious on the ground. A tingling sensation flooded Gen’s body, and in a moment he lost a familiar connection.

He could no longer sense the power of Trys.

Startled, he rolled over. Two figures floated just behind him, and in an instant all strength left him. Joranne, young and beautiful, smiled at him. The other figure, tall, dressed in white and looking commanding, regarded him coldly, but not without satisfaction. Recognition pierced Gen’s mind. Here stood Eldaloth’s murderer, the progenitor of horror and death, and his creator. Unlike the creature below, Mikkik radiated beauty, though his person held no glory or brilliancy.

“What do you think of my creation down there, Gen?” Joranne asked teasingly. “At first I thought the heads spiked on the platform a bit much, but now that I see their effect, there can be no doubt that my first inclination was correct. The flies and pus are a nice touch, don’t you agree? Everything horrible the simple race of men imagined Mikkik would be. I thought I would have him sit on a throne of bodies, but. . .”

“Enough, Joranne,” Mikkik’s commanded, voice deep and inviting. “Read him.”

Gen pushed against Joranne’s intrusion into his well-traveled mind, but her power battered away every defense he could throw against it as it had before. Once done, she turned to Mikkik and he absorbed the information without expression.

“As you are aware,” Mikkik continued. “I have stripped you of your power. You are nothing now. As a gift to you for your service in my behalf, I leave you your life, such as it is. You have played your part well.”

“And have a part yet to play,” Joranne added.

Confusion and helplessness rose within him. Had Mikkik really intended for him to do all that he had done? Had he duped the Millim Eri? The Chalaine’s pain spiked for several long moments, and Gen could focus on nothing more. At last it faded, and Mikkik flinched, pulling back slightly and snarling.

“He is born,” the dark god intoned gravely.

“Do you think you can unmake him?” Joranne asked.

“I must, but I cannot approach the creature. Its cries sear me like summer fire. The blood is much stronger than it should be, and I cannot come near it.” His troubled face relaxed after a moment, though doubt left a residue in his eyes. “It is nearly time. Let the parley begin.”

Joranne floated to Gen. “You’ll appreciate the theatricality. Watch.”

With a wave of her hand, she flipped him over and scooted his body forward until his head hung over the precipice. The two warring armies remained at a stalemate in the afternoon heat, an uncomfortable silence born of awe and terror radiating from the fighters of Echo Hold. Joranne concentrated and incanted softly. Her monstrosity hauled itself from the throne and stood at the precipice of the canyon, regarding the castle with a lazy disdain.

“God is born!”

The cry rose from a single voice three times and then swelled as voice upon voice bore it up until it reverberated through the canyon. Soldiers’ faces beamed anew with hope, and handshakes and hugs of congratulations replaced the cowering of moments before.

Wake up, you fools!
Gen thought. With all his might he struggled against the spell that trapped him to the ground. Joranne chuckling at his attempts.

“Not yet, Gen. Soon.”

The monstrosity raised its arms, and dark clouds gathered about the base of the elevated castle, electricity crackling. “Hear me!” it bellowed, voice like black, boiling pitch poured into the air, so loud that every motion halted on both sides of the canyon. “Your revelry is in vain, worthless dogs of weak blood! Your race is a blight. Open your gates, and perhaps I will let the women escape the Uyumaak cook pots!”

“We will not open to you,” Warlord Jarius shouted confidently from the walls above the gate. “Our god will find you, and you will end!”

Gen could just make out Athan standing exultantly at the Warlord’s side. Lightning erupted from the clouds, and at least twenty burned men plummeted from the battlements.

“I will slay you!” the monstrosity said. “I will slay your god as I have before!”

“You will not!” Athan countered defiantly. “For here rules the Ha’Ulrich, one who holds the power of Eldaloth and your undoing! He comes to meet you and send you to your destruction. God is born, and
you
will soon be an unpleasant memory.”

The creature waited a few moments before a laugh pulled out of the Abyss tore from its throat. Joranne crouched by Gen. “Your performance is almost ready to begin.” The creature laughed for what seemed like hours, pulling down smiles and unpinning knees.

“Do you think,” it finally said, “
do you think
I came here in ignorance? I know well what I face.” The impostor Mikkik reached backward, and Gen felt himself yanked from the overhang and pulled downward toward the clawed, outstretched hand. It caught him by the back of the cloak, lifting him high. Gen, paralyzed, slumped like a freshly killed corpse. The soldiers gasped and murmured.

“Yes,” the counterfeit hissed, “yes. You know my servant. Do I not know that your Ha’Ulrich is a coward? That his magic and his mind are weak? Do I not know that he trembles even now to face me? He is no King. Any one of the men on the walls has more mettle than he! Bring him forth! Extend the bridge! Prophecy says he must face me, so let’s see if he can steady his shaky legs enough to walk out to see my face! Let’s see how your faith fares when I turn him to ash!

“As for this one,” it continued, indicating Gen, “he has done his work well and shall have a throne for his service.”

A powerful force flung Gen backward. He landed hard on the engulfing chair on the platform, an unseen hand pinning him up strait. Tears flooded his eyes. Mikkik had won. They could not match him, and the Chalaine would die. No one could see the truth, and even if he were freed, no one would believe him anymore.

Only the healing power of Padra Nolan and the virtue of the Training Stones allowed the Chalaine to shuffle forward next to her husband so soon after the birth of her perfect Child. She wanted to hide away from the world and pull her son to her breast, to stroke his smooth, peaceful face and sing to him. A soft glow surrounded his tiny body, a glow that invited reverence and awe. But almost no sooner than the midwife had placed the tiny infant in her arms did she hear the first grating demands of her enemy. Only the Padra’s steady magic kept Chertanne from diving under the bed.

Minutes later they stood on the street as the retinue of Padras and soldiers surrounded them. Athan and Warlord Jarius joined the group last, Jarius and his Aughmerian soldiers in the lead and Athan coming to stand by Chertanne. Dason joined them. While not permitted to be her personal guard, Athan had allowed Dason to serve in Echo Hold after he took an oath of fealty to Chertanne. He squeezed the Chalaine’s shoulder from behind, and the Chalaine thanked him for it.

“I’ll take it from here, Nolan. Thank you,” Athan said. “Jarius, do not move until I tell you. Padras! This is the time. Raise your wards. Guard the Chalaine and Chertanne at all costs. We must get the Ha’Ulrich near enough Mikkik for him to strike the final blow. Chalaine, take Chertanne’s hand.”

The Chalaine shifted the sleeping Eldaloth to her left arm and took Chertanne’s clammy hand in her right hand. He placed his remaining hand on his sword hilt, clenching it to steady his trembling. Athan incanted and Chertanne straightened.

Unexpectedly, Athan turned toward her. “You should know, Chalaine, that Mikkik has Gen. You will see him when the gate rises. I am sorry. It seems Mikkik did use him, as I feared.”

The Chalaine’s mouth fell open and her heart sank.
Faith,
she told herself.
It will be over soon. Justice will come.
She focused on her Child, a deep, unexplainable love for and attachment to the infant filling her heart with purpose and hope.

“Have them extend the bridge, Jarius,” Athan ordered.

“Extend the bridge!” the Warlord yelled, the baby’s eyes fluttering at the harsh sound. Grating and rumbling filled the air, scaring away scavenger birds and silencing the men on the wall. A thud and sudden silence signaled the end of the platform’s traverse, and the Chalaine looked up, finding that the soldiers of Echo Hold had formed a line around them, kneeling in prayer.

“Open the gate!” Jarius ordered. It rose too quickly for the Chalaine, and she could feel her husband’s shaking despite Athan’s steeling magic. Chertanne nearly fell down upon first seeing his enemy, and the Chalaine gasped. This was not the Mikkik who Aldemar had shown her in vision.
What has happened?
A curse, surely, had stricken Mikkik for his crimes, and the Chalaine wondered at how such a horror had befallen a being once so mighty and glorious. As they marched resolutely forward, she could just make out Gen sitting on a dark throne behind Mikkik.

“Deafen him, Nolan,” Athan whispered. Nolan nodded, and Chertanne looked around in surprise at his sudden loss of hearing.

“Is this
him?”
Mikkik mocked, and the Chalaine understood Athan’s precaution. The Chalaine wanted to turn and run. “And with his lapdogs all around. Come! I will meet you halfway!”

“Hold fast to him, Chalaine!” Athan said urgently. “Your healing touch will keep him alive until he is close enough. Faith, child! Faith!”

Mikkik walked casually forward, unaccompanied by any of his army. Clouds of flies swirled around the bridge, and the Chalaine swallowed hard, pulling her son close. The baby slept calmly cradled in her arm, but as they neared Mikkik, she practically had to drag Chertanne forward.

Mikkik said, “Let’s peel away your vanguard so I can get a look at you!”

Warlord Jarius, his twenty soldiers, and their equipment turned to glass, forward momentum toppling them to the bridge road, chunks shattering away from the impact and into the clouded canyon below. The procession stopped.

“Now, let’s away with meddling Churchmen and their pathetic wards.”

“It’s gone!” Nolan exclaimed. “They’re all gone! We are nothing!”

Mikkik stood twenty feet away. Chertanne’s hand nearly crushed the Chalaine’s. Athan remained rooted and pale. “Nolan,” he said, voice barely controlled. “Get the Padras inside the walls. You are of no use here.” Powerless, the Council of Padras turned and sprinted back inside the gate while Mikkik laughed.

“That’s better. Come, Ha’Ulrich. Come and know your enemy!”

The Chalaine could barely control her shaking, and Athan sweated with the exertion of his steadying magic. The Padra gently pushed Chertanne forward, glass crunching underfoot. Mikkik’s stench overwhelmed them as they approached, and as they neared, a swarm of flies poured from his eye sockets and swirled around them for a few moments before buzzing back inside his head.

“Now I see,” Mikkik rumbled. “It is time for you to die, Ha’Ulrich. You, your woman, and your Child. It is time for me to sit upon the throne of Elde Luri Mora and rule this world!”

“Now, Chertanne!” Athan yelled, but Chertanne did nothing, staring everywhere but at Mikkik, who laughed uproariously.

“Goodbye, Churchman!” Mikkik flicked his hand, and Athan skidded backward through the broken glass until he lay at the gates bleeding and unmoving.

“Goodbye, Protector.”

The Chalaine shrieked as Dason suffered the same fate, armor clanging as he skidded along the stone. Chertanne now knelt, crying on the stones as Mikkik moved toward him, mocking him.

“And now for you, Ha’Ulrich!”

“Chertanne,” the Chalaine yelled, “do this. You can. You can!”

Suddenly, Chertanne’s eyes went vacant and his face slack. He stood quickly and drew his sword stiffly like a puppet.

“Do you think swords are any good here?” Mikkik thundered.

Chertanne stepped forward and thrust his sword into the thigh of the creature. Mikkik bellowed, an orange light glowing from the cracks in his burned skin.