The Dead God's Due (The Eye of the Lion Saga Book 1) (2 page)

“He was offering you the
chance to surrender!”

“To surrender and leave
him with the Eye!” Amrath’s gaze was like a green flame,
his confidence in his own cause like a physical force, undeniable.
“You don’t fully understand the significance, and I
won’t do you the evil of explaining it. A warrior needs his
sleep, eh? But even a simple warrior like you can appreciate the
madness of his command to slay the entire continent!”

Xanthius looked away, not
wanting his eyes to reveal all of his thoughts. “I did not
obey that command,” he said softly.

“He
gave
it, Xanthius! To everyone! The damage was done the minute they all
knew. Surely you have to see what that thing did to him!”

There was no arguing that
point. “Tell me you destroyed it.”

Amrath sighed and ran his
fingers through his hair, looking suddenly older. “I don’t
think it
can
be
destroyed. Yorn was able to get the eyes out and cut the thing in
half along a seam, but beyond that, it was impervious to everything
we tried.”

“Can it be reassembled?”

“With terrifying ease.”

Xanthius pounded his fist into
his hand in frustration. “We are cursed by the gods
themselves!”

“Aye,” Amrath said
with a nod. “More so than you realize.”

Xanthius raised an eyebrow at
this, waiting for more.

Amrath heaved a great sigh,
then shook his head, looking older still.
He’ll be dead
within the hour at this rate.
“Those mad fools in Torium
were trying to kill a god, to steal his power. They almost
succeeded,
would
have if we hadn’t attacked them. They may still, in the long
run.”

“Gods visit Torium
regularly, eh?” Xanthius sneered.

“Once was enough.”

Xanthius tried to take this in
stride and give no further insult, but Amrath’s frown
suggested this effort had not been entirely successful. “Sorcery
is difficult enough for me to accept, and I have seen it with my own
eyes,” Xanthius admitted. “I respect your and the
Ilawehans beliefs, but I do not share them.”

Amrath was obviously offended,
but that seemed a fairly normal state for Meites.
They squabble
like children.
The sorcerer
scowled at him a moment, his lips this pressed hard together.
“Then
you are a fool,” he declared.

“This would hardly be the
first time I was pronounced such.”

Amrath opened his mouth to
deliver what Xanthius expected to be a significantly more artful
insult, when the sounds of a struggle outside interrupted their
conversation. A dark hand pulled open the tent flap, and a man came
hurtling through the opening to collapse in a heap, face down on the
floor, long dreadlocks splayed about his head. The noose had been
cut from the pole, but it was still tight about his neck. Husam
strode in behind him and delivered a savage kick to the downed man's
ribs.

Instead of screaming, the
prisoner turned his gaping, empty eye sockets toward his captor and
let out a deep, sinister chuckle. “That which does not kill
me….” His voice, like his laugh, was deep and gravely,
made even more so by the noose.

Husam grabbed the end of the
rope and jerked the prisoner to his feet. They were almost the same
height, Xanthius noted, though Husam was thick and hale, a stark
contrast to his gaunt, ashen captive.

“The day is not yet done,
Monster,” Husam growled as he shoved the man forward. “Amin
al Asad,” he announced, then, with less enthusiasm, added, “of
the Ilawehans.”

The prisoner turned his head
toward Husam, his features twisted in fury, “Kafir! Traitor!
How dare you name me such!”

Husam returned the glare for a
moment, then nodded quick assent, and announced, “Amin al
Asad, of Elgar.”

Al Asad held Husam's gaze a
moment before returning the nod, then turned back to face Xanthius.
“The name of a dead man,” he muttered. “I am
Carsogenicus now.”

Amrath feigned wonder and
admiration, spreading his arms wide to the prisoner and plastering
on a false grin. “Amin al Asad, Carsogenicus, Odio Sinistera:
the list keeps growing. Have you thought of any new names while you
were swinging?”

Husam kicked Carsogenicus
again, this time in the back of his leg. “You will not escape
justice by changing your name, dog. Ilaweh will know you, whatever
you call yourself.”

Al Asad staggered, but kept his
footing. He turned and spat in Husam’s face. The huge warrior
reached for his sword, but Xanthius raised a hand to stop him. If
ever a man deserved to be tortured or murdered, here stood the one,
but such things were barbarism. At some other time, one might risk
descending into a touch of brutality, but not here, not now.
Civilization was but a candle flickering in the wind. The slightest
of breezes could put it out for a thousand years. This fiasco had to
carry at least the thin veneer of a trial, or they were simply
playing al Asad’s game. That had already happened far too many
times.

And
I intend to burn him alive, and call it justice. The world has gone
mad these last few years.
“Amin al Asad, you have
previously been found guilty of treason and crimes against humanity.
For these crimes you have been sentenced to death.”

Carsogenicus laughed again.
“You seem to be having some problems carrying out the
sentence.”

Amrath’s smile was gone
now. “Rest assured, we have plenty of ideas.”

“You talk as if you are
the victor here, sorcerer.”

“You'll be dead soon. I
think that counts as at least a small victory.”

“My life has meant
nothing since Alexander drove me out. I just had debts to pay.”
Carsogenicus raised a hand to Amrath and clenched into into a fist.
“I have torn from my enemies that which they most loved, as
they once did to me and my men.” He swept them all with his
empty sockets, black holes that somehow still had vision, and
declared, “
I
am the victor here. I
welcome
oblivion. I take your honor and your pride with me as sweet spoils.”

He grinned at Xanthius,
exposing bloody teeth. “The great Imperator Xanthius, guilty
of war crimes, sentenced to death. They hate you even more than they
hate me. Now you’re a traitor for defying the senate. How does
that sit with the great and honorable hero of Laurea?”

Xanthius ignored the barbs and
the question. Engaging in conversation with this man was not merely
pointless, it was dangerous. “Have you anything else to say in
your defense, anything that might sway the judgment of this court?”

“I deny this court. The
senate has ruled.”

Amrath snickered, then laughed
out loud. “The cowards behind the wall haven’t the
authority to rule a cabbage patch. The Council of Twelve is the true
authority of Laurea, by right of conquest.”

Carsogenicus chuckled again.
“You, too, are conquered now, Meite.”

“By Xanthius. Not by
these upstarts. My allegiance is to him.”

“Xanthius wields the
sword, but he lacks the will to swing it. He is a boot licking toad
in the end.” He turned to leer at Husam. “As I always
told you.”

Husam’s arm moved like a
stroke of lightning. His sword flashed in the light of the candles
and buried itself in Carsogenicus’s shoulder. Just as quickly,
Carsogenicus caught the blade and held it in place, cackling in
glee. Cold, dead, black blood oozed from the wound, and the blade
began to smoke.

“A poor strike, brother,
but your hate is strong. Why did you turn from us? From
me
?”

Husam struggled with both hands
to free the sword, but Carsogenicus held it fast with a grip of
iron. The blade parted with a snap, and Husam staggered backward,
breathing heavily. “You turned from me, brother,” he
growled, tossing the useless hilt to the ground.

“Elgar loves you still. A
hate such as yours cannot be denied, even when turned against him.”

Husam spat in Carsogenicus’s
face. “I serve Ilaweh now. I renounce Elgar. I renounce
you
.”

Carsogenicus wiped the spittle
from his face with a smile. “How can such righteous fury be
anything but Elgar’s?”

“I
deny
you!” Husam roared.

Carsogenicus turned his back to
Husam. “You delude yourself. You are one of us still.”
Husam cried out in fury and rushed toward Carsogenicus, his face
twisted in fury.

Amrath cocked his head, and the
very air between the two men distorted as an invisible wave of force
exploded between them. Husam stopped mid charge and rebounded as if
he had careened into a brick wall. He fell in a heap, cursing, as
Carsogenicus staggered and dropped to his knees.

“Enough,” Amrath
commanded. His eyes were cold, commanding, merciless, almost
inhumanly bright and alive. He regarded Carsogenicus as he might a
bug under a magnifying glass. “Don’t make the mistake of
assuming that because I choose to sheathe my sword, I am unarmed.”

“The much vaunted will of
the Meites,” Carsogenicus sneered as he rose to his feet
again. “So why do you stand here trembling like a cringing
lapdog, taking orders from the great Xanthius, while the fools
within the wall spit on you?”

“Mei hates waste. This
war is over.”

“Liar! I
know
you, rabble-rouser. You broke the both of us from their prison for a
reason. You are not here to kneel.”

Amrath shrugged, inscrutable.
“I am here because Tasinal sent me.”

“More lies!”
Carsogenicus punctuated his accusation with a pointed finger.
“Tasinal is
your
creature, not the reverse.”

“He is the leader of our
order.”

“A
puppet
leader,” Carsogenicus insisted. “And you pull his
strings. What’s your game, sorcerer? Do you work for the fools
inside the wall? Perhaps you were allowed to free us. Perhaps they
asked you to carry out their sentence so they could avoid the
blame?”

Amrath shook his head in
genuine amusement. “A fine attempt, that tale, but flawed at
the core. My fight is with those spineless vermin hiding behind that
wall, as it has always been. Now that they have made an enemy of
Xanthius, I would suddenly befriend them instead of allying my self
with him? Preposterous.”

Xanthius gestured to Amrath to
stand aside. If there were but one truth about Meites, it was that
they would argue until then end of time, at least until one or the
other decided bloodshed was in order.
The will of the Meites is
indeed the stuff of legend, but Carsogenicus could provoke a saint.
The sorcerer nodded and stepped back, and Xanthius moved to stand
before his prisoner.

“Amin al Asad, for your
villainy, I hereby sentence you to death by fire. Have you any last
words?”

Al Asad turned to Husam. For a
brief moment, the hate faded from him, leaving only a gaping chasm
of pain and sorrow. “Will you light the flame yourself? Do you
not owe me that, at least?”

Husam clenched his jaw, biting
back more words, and nodded.

Carsogenicus seemed to relax at this. He turned his eyeless gaze
back to Xanthius. “I have been cold for so long,” he
said, his voice almost wistful. “You can’t begin to
imagine how it feels.” He wrenched the broken blade from his
shoulder with a grunt and cast it down. A trail of black droplets
followed it to the ground, and where they fell, the dirt smoked and
popped in protest. “I welcome your flame, Imperator. I would
be warm one last time.”

Xanthius’s men built the
pyre with wood scavenged from the makeshift gallows. Husam did as he
had promised, laying torch to the mound as Carsogenicus stood mute.
The silence, Xanthius thought, seemed to cause Husam even worse pain
than being cursed as a traitor. For all his rage and talk earlier,
Husam was clearly shouldering a burden that was almost more than he
could bear. There had been something between those two once, though
it was difficult to know truth from rumor. Some claimed they were
brothers, others that they were lovers, but whatever the case,
clearly, the bond had been strong. And Husam now ended it with fire.

Amrath stood alongside
Xanthius, sniffing the air, his lips pressed in a thin frown. “I
don’t like this.”

Xanthius nodded. “Aye, it
is ugly business, but we do what we must.”

Amrath’s eyes narrowed in
annoyance as he shifted his gaze toward Xanthius. “I could
dance a jig to see that bastard burn,” he snapped. “Look
there.” He pointed to the line of trees just beyond the
praetorium. Xanthius turned, following the gesture, and barely
suppressed a gasp of astonishment.

For a moment, he felt himself
slipping into some surreal, half sanity. How could this be? But in
the end, the mind of a soldier does not have the luxury of denial.
The word ‘crow’ bubbled in his thoughts, over and over.
Such a small word. It doesn’t
actually apply to this
. They were everywhere, tens, even
hundreds of thousands, covering the trees like black snow, silent,
unmoving.
Watching
.

“How--“

“In the normal way,”
Amrath said softly. “They’ve been pouring in since they
struck the gallows. Just damned quiet about it.”

“And you didn’t see
fit to mention it?”

Amrath stared at the mass of
birds, his brow furrowed. “It seemed normal at first. And then
mesmerizing. Then sinister. I decided to talk about it at
‘sinister.’”

“It’s unusual,”
Xanthius allowed, nodding, already recovering from the shock. “But
they carry no swords. I see no reason to fear them.”

“Don’t be foolish.
This is dark sorcery, make no mistake.”

“I see only one
sorcerer.”

Amrath’s eyes widened in
anger. “Will you let him provoke us even from the flames?”