The King of the Vile (11 page)

“Just in time,” Beatrice said. “Rabbit’s ready.”

She’d cooked it over the fire and seasoned it with herbs from her garden. Alric tore into the meat. It tasted even better than the stew she’d cooked the day before. When he finished, he returned to his task with the firewood. With him planning to leave the next morning, he wished to do all he could to pay her back for her generosity. If he had his way, she’d not need to split another log for the rest of the year.

Come supper, Alric felt exhausted but whole. That a day before he’d fantasized about eating grasshoppers seemed insane now, a distant past of another man. Inside the cabin, he sat on the floor beside the fire, relinquishing the rocking chair to Beatrice. He had a few pillows and a blanket, and he used them to brace his head and relax, letting the flame’s heat wash over him. For a long while, the popping and crackling of the fire was the only sound in the cabin.

“You screamed last night,” Beatrice said, breaking the silence. “Not loud, and not long, but it woke me. You were afraid, Alric. Mighty afraid. I almost woke you, but by then you’d stopped.”

She glanced his way quickly before returning to the fire.

“What demons are you running from?” she asked. “Because it don’t seem like you’re running fast enough.”

Alric held down a groan. The woman wouldn’t let up, would she? But what was the point in telling her? She’d only mock him. A hard woman like her, she’d call him crazy, or worse.

“I’m not running,” he said. “I’m...traveling to Mordeina.”

“What for?”

He breathed in, let out a long sigh. To the Abyss with it. Beatrice couldn’t say anything any harsher than what his wife had told him.

“Ashhur wants me to go there.”

Beatrice halted her rocking for the slightest second.

“Oh really?” she said. “And what for?”

Alric turned so his back was to the fire and, conveniently enough, he could no longer see Beatrice’s frown.

“I don’t know.”

“Then how do you know Ashhur wants you to go to Mordeina?”

“The dreams,” he said. “Every night, I have the same dream. I think I’m in Avlimar. Everything around me is golden and beautiful. There’s a crowd of people, and they’re angry and afraid. Something is happening, an announcement, maybe a coronation. All I know is that it’s important I be there.”

Beatrice coughed to clear her throat.

“They’re only dreams,” she said. “And I can tell you right now that they’re nonsense.”

Alric did his best not to act defensive.

“How could you know that?” he asked.

“Because,” she said, “you say you’re in Avlimar? That can’t be. Haven’t you heard? Avlimar fell.”

The news hit him like a cold slap.

“Are you certain?” he asked.

“Very. I don’t go to town often, but last time I did, that’s all anyone was talking about. That, and the angels. Avlimar’s in ruins, so if you’re going there, it’s not a coronation you’re seeing in your dreams, but a funeral.”

Alric tried to tell himself it didn’t change anything. He only partly succeeded.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I still have to go. I still have to try.”

Beatrice scratched at the side of her face and frowned at him as if he were a disobedient child.

“Look, what you’re wanting to do isn’t wise,” she said. “Unease is spreading everywhere, reaching even my ears. This isn’t a safe time to be a stranger in Mordan.”

“Except I’m not a stranger here,” he said. “I was born and raised in Mordan. I didn’t leave until just after the angels began policing the lands.”

Beatrice let out a surprised grunt.

“What made you leave?”

Alric let his mind wander into the past, faces and forgotten places flashing before his eyes.

“His name was Nick Adams,” Alric said, letting his mind wander to the past. “A neighbor of mine. No one liked him. He had a weak soul, spent more time in the day drunk than sober. He couldn’t be trusted to repay his debts, and unless you dragged him kicking and screaming, he wasn’t one to help out even if a storm blew over your barn or a fire burned up half your crops.”

Alric drummed his fingers atop the floor of the cabin.

“His wife, Susannah, she was a pretty thing. Real pretty, and deserved better than him. She deserved
me
, that’s what I told myself. So if I saw her at the market, or walking by my home, I’d make sure to say hello, flirt with her a bit. Never when Nick was around, of course. I’ll spare you the rest, but let’s say we started sleeping with one another, until Nick found out.”

He paused, remembering that moment. Alric had prepared himself for a confrontation, looked forward to it even. He’d let Nick rant and scream about how she was his wife and then throw that fact right back in his face, tear down the man, tell him if he couldn’t keep his wife happy then he had no claim on her. But it didn’t go down that way.

“Nick came to me when he found out,” Alric said softly. “Crying like a child. ‘Don’t take her from me,’ he kept saying. He’d change. He’d do better. Susannah was everything to him, and if I walked away, he’d make everything right with her.”

“What happened then?” Beatrice asked.

Alric swallowed down his shame and continued.

“I refused. I mocked him. Insulted him to his face. Told him Susannah was mine, and if he didn’t want me having her, then he better do something about it. And so he did. He swung a punch at me. Just a single, stupid punch. But while he had his fists, I had a knife, and so I...” Alric wiped away a few tears that had built in his eyes. “And so I killed him. Didn’t mean to. I just wanted to win. I wanted Susannah to be mine, and I wanted this drunk oaf to get the abyss out of the way. I plunged that dagger into his stomach, and I didn’t even think twice about it. Not until he was dead. Not until I realized what I had done.”

Alric sat up, wrapping himself in his blanket. It’d been so long since he thought of that moment. He’d tried to block it out, pretending it’d never happened, but still he saw Nick’s face right before he died. Still crying. Still heartbroken.

“The town called for an angel when they found the body,” Alric continued after composing himself. “I went up to him the moment he landed and told him everything. Didn’t try to hide a thing. Told him of me, and Susannah, all of it. And then the angel gave me the chance to repent. Right there. I was expecting to lose my head, but I didn’t. He forgave me, declared me innocent, and flew away. A few weeks later, I packed up all I had and crossed the Corinth to make a new life in Ker.”

“Did the people run you out?” Beatrice asked.

“No,” Alric said. “They didn’t. I wish they had. Instead they didn’t care. Even Susannah, I think in time she might have moved in with me. But I couldn’t stand it. I killed a man, felt his blood spill across my hands, and no one cared. No one blamed me. No one hated me for it. Nick had no other family, hardly any friends. It all felt...wrong. I guess traveling to Ker was my own little exile, and now I feel like Ashhur’s called for it to end.”

Beatrice resumed her rocking, the creaking of the wood seeming to carry new tension.

“I think you’ve got nightmares because you’re letting your guilt eat you alive,” she said. “You won’t find anything in Mordeina, Alric. You won’t find anything in Avlimar’s ruins, neither. It’s been a long time since I had a man around this place. Not since Johnathan died eight years ago. So long as you’re willing to work, you can stay.”

She rose from her chair and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t waste your life fleeing nightmares. They drove you hungry and cold to my doorstep, and should you leave here, they’ll strip you down to your bones as you continue running. It isn’t worth it. Ashhur’s not calling you nowhere. You’re not a prophet or a priest, just a simple, frightened man who still hasn’t forgiven himself.”

She left him to sleep, not that sleep came easily, or was comforting when it did.

Alric left the next morning, carrying a basket of food and a handful of silver coins.

“You should think of coming with me,” he said. “King Bram’s army will march over the Bloodbrick soon. I know it in my gut. Invading soldiers don’t tend to be too kind to the fields and homes they pass by.”

“I’ll be just fine.” Beatrice told him as she stood in the doorway to her home. “It’s you who needs to be careful.”

She went inside and shut the door. Alric took a deep breath and took his first step west. It wasn’t until Beatrice’s cabin was long out of sight that he dared spare a look back.

“What in Ashhur’s name am I doing?” he wondered before continuing on, telling himself the dreams left him no choice, telling himself this was right.

9

Q
urrah knew King Bram’s army would invade long before the soldier arrived bearing the news. Excitement filled the air, unlike the previous few days of dull boredom.

“Does the king wish me to be at his side?” Qurrah asked the young soldier.

“I...he did not say,” the soldier answered.

Qurrah chuckled

“Thank you. Go on and join the rest in preparing.”

The man saluted and dashed away from the small camp Qurrah and Tessanna shared at the army’s outskirts. Qurrah turned to Tess, who sat with her head resting on her knees.

“Will we join Bram?” she asked.

“It’s either us at his side, or Karak’s paladins,” Qurrah said, shrugging. “I’d rather it be our voice whispering in his ear instead of theirs.”

“And if it’s both?”

With a snap of his fingers, their fire dwindled down to embers.

“Then we’ll shout instead of whisper,” he said. “It isn’t wise to ignore either of us, and Bram will learn that soon enough.”

Tessanna rose to her feet and smoothed out her plain dress. She seemed remarkably calm given the circumstances.

“You’re trying to stand in a river, reshaping its flow without being pulled along with it,” she said. “You’re not often a fool, Qurrah, but I worry you play the part in this game.”

“Angels from Mordan tried to kill us despite vowing to never enter Ker’s lands,” he said, struggling to keep his anger subdued. “If we’re ever to be safe, Bram needs to solidify his kingdom’s independence. I don’t care to stop this war, only ensure Karak is not the one who benefits. The angels have overstepped their bounds, and if Bram is right in claiming Harruq has death warrants on our heads, I wonder how much power he even holds anymore.”

Tessanna listened, her expression as passive as stone. Qurrah stopped talking, and she pulled him closer by the front of his robes and kissed him. It was mechanical, lifeless, and he was glad when it ended.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice lacking any conviction. “Do what you want. I’ll be with you always.”

It would have been better if she’d yelled at him, even threatened him with harm. Sighing, Qurrah wrapped his arms around her, kissed her forehead.

“I only ask that you trust me,” he said softly. “The world is changing, and I’m not sure whether for good or ill. All I can do is what I think is right.”

“That’s all we can ever do,” Tessanna whispered. “But sometimes what we think is right reveals itself to be so terribly wrong.”

Qurrah knew immediately what gave her pause. Even years later, the ghost of Aullienna still haunted them both. He took his wife’s hand. “Come along. I want to be there when it begins.”

They hurried into the bustle of the camp. At King Bram’s pavilion they found the flaps open. Bram was speaking with several of his generals as they stood over a circular table containing a map of Mordan. The queen was with them. If time and pressures of ruling had aged Bram, they seemed to have completely ignored Loreina. She was smiling, her youthful eyes seeming eager for battle. A pearl-white dress tightly clung to her slender body and her hair was carefully braided, wrapped around her neck like an ornate necklace.

“Might we join you?” Qurrah asked.

Bram looked up from the table and smiled warmly.

“You are always welcome,” he said.

“Thank you,” Qurrah said. He and Tess stepped inside, and he glanced at the generals. “Might we have a word alone?”

They turned to their king, who nodded.

“Go see to your men,” Bram said. “We march within the hour.”

They filed out, leaving only Bram and Loreina. The queen clung to his side, her arms wrapped around his. Her eyes lingered on Qurrah, and he couldn’t shake his constant unease. The queen’s presence unnerved him more than the dark paladins. At least Karak’s followers he could understand.

“You said you’d march into Mordan when the right time presented itself,” Qurrah said. “I take it that time has arrived?”

“It has,” Bram said. “Are you ready?”

“We are,” Tessanna answered for him. “When angels crash into your ranks from the sky, crushing your numbers with but a thought, will you be?”

Loreina squeezed her husband’s arm tighter, and she grinned as if Tessanna were a little girl telling jokes.

“There will be no angels, not according to what I’ve learned,” she said. “The creatures of the Vile Wedge have poured over the Gihon, united under a self-declared King of the Vile. They’re conquering the North, with apparent plans to form themselves a nation of their own.”

“Is that so?” Qurrah asked, not sure whether or not to believe such an outlandish claim.

Bram tapped the map and nodded.

“With them forced to respond to such a threat, we can march on Mordeina without resistance for days,” he said. “Hard-pressed on two fronts, and with their king dead and the bulk of their armies crushed, Mordan will never be more vulnerable than she is now. We cannot afford to delay any longer. Angels crossed my border and killed my men. It’s time we repay them for their crimes.”

Qurrah stared at Loreina. “There are many miles between here and the North. How do you know of the beast-man invasion?”

“That’s my little secret,” she said with a smile. “I’m sure you have a few of your own.”

“Come,” Bram said. He patting Qurrah on the back. “Join me on the front lines. Let’s find out just how committed Mordan’s troops are in defending the Bloodbrick.”

They left the queen in the pavilion and traveled north through the encampment. Soldiers saluted and bowed, eagerness on their faces. They didn’t fear the coming campaign, and Qurrah could only assume it was because they’d not witnessed the ferocity of the angels firsthand. If they had, they’d realize this invasion would be met with devastating resistance no matter what their king told them. Qurrah glanced at Tess, still holding his hand. Granted, that was what they were for, wasn’t it? To be equalizers? The slayer of angels so Ker might remain free?

A fool, Tess had called him, and as he stopped beside the king, he wondered if she might be correct after all.

Ahead of them was the Bloodbrick, heavily guarded by the gathered might of all of Ker. On the other side, the token force King Antonil had left behind when he’d marched east awaited. Qurrah saw two hundred, maybe three hundred soldiers at most, rushing to prepare for battle as Bram’s army approached. They were so badly outnumbered. Qurrah couldn’t imagine them putting up much of a fight; hopefully they’d surrender, preventing needless deaths. A beam of light then shot into the air from the center of the Mordan encampment, lingering for a few moments before fading away as if it had never been.

“Calling for angels,” Bram said. Qurrah nodded. He’d used one of those magical cylinders to summon a flight so he might visit Azariah in Avlimar. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. The entire nation is filled with coddled children expecting Ashhur’s angels to do all their dirty work for them.” The king smirked. “They’re about to receive a painful lesson on their folly.”

As the soldiers formed ranks, Qurrah spotted Xarl making his way through the crowd. He frowned, and had to bite his tongue to keep silent as the dark paladin joined King Bram’s side. The remaining nine of his order lingered behind, watching. Xarl smiled wide, dipped his head in respect.

“What a beautiful day,” he said. “Do we at last march to war?”

“We do,” Bram said.

“Then the day only grows in beauty.”

“I would expect your kind to revel in war,” Tessanna said. “Will you sing songs of praise as you murder and kill?”

“In all we do, we praise Karak,” Xarl said. “And why should we not take joy in the first step toward freeing Dezrel from tyranny?”

“Enough,” Bram said. “I won’t sit here and listen to you three bicker. Is there something you needed, paladin?”

Xarl gestured to his fellow paladins. “We come ready for battle, and I ask that you grant us the honor of leading the charge across the Bloodbrick.”

Qurrah’s immediate instinct was to ask Bram to deny them, but he knew such a request was pointless. The king would not let Qurrah’s opinion sway him. If anything, he’d let the paladins lead just to show Qurrah his place. Clenching his jaw, Qurrah waited for an answer. Bram turned to the bridge, narrowed his eyes, and stared at the steadily forming ranks of Mordan soldiers.

“The front lines are yours,” Bram said. “Though this means you are part of my army, and I expect you to obey orders. Is that acceptable?”

“More than acceptable,” Xarl said, his smile somehow spreading even wider. “Your soldiers will be inspired by our bravery and skill, I assure you. With our aid, even the angels pose no threat.”

That was clearly what Bram wanted to hear, and he dipped his head in respect. Shouting out a command, Xarl drew his sword and led the dark paladins toward the bridge.

“You let them take the glory for themselves,” Qurrah muttered.

Bram gestured to the pitiful defenses guarding the other side.

‘There is no glory here,” he said. “If Karak’s paladins want to bleed in place of my men, they are welcome to do so. I won’t sacrifice soldiers’ lives out of pride and cowardice.”

Qurrah was fuming, but the argument was clearly over, so he shut his mouth. Keeping to the king’s side, he watched as the paladins formed a line ten wide at the first brick of the bridge. Already they were singing, their weapons wreathed with black flame. Kerran soldiers gathered around them, laughing and shouting curses at their enemies. It was a crude display, but the rest of the army appeared to enjoy it. Anything to take away their fear, Qurrah supposed.

Sir Ian approached from the front lines, looking frazzled and nervous.

“Are we prepared?” Bram asked, clapping his old friend on the shoulder.

“We are,” Sir Ian said. “All we await now is your order to begin.”

Bram hesitated, the gravity of the situation finally settling in.

“There is no return, not from this,” said the king. “Send forward my soldiers. It is time we pay the blood price for our freedom.”

“What we do, we do for the sake of all mankind,” Sir Ian said, bowing. “Whatever the price, we will pay it gladly.”

The knight turned and began shouting orders. The paladins at the front heard, and they released one last cheer before stampeding across the bridge. Bram’s soldiers followed in a frightening tide of armor and blades. A handful of archers from the other side fired, but their arrows a nuisance at best. The dark paladins led the way at full sprint, unafraid of the arrows, unafraid of the hundreds standing against them on the other side. Qurrah felt a naive hope that they’d be crushed, but he’d seen the power of Karak’s paladins many times before, and knew exactly what would happen the second the battle began.

It took less than a heartbeat. The dark paladins arrived, heralding a flood of Kerran soldiers, and the Mordan soldiers broke. Qurrah watched the dark paladins tear into their foes, flaming weapons easily punching through the chainmail. Most of the opposing soldiers flung down their weapons and fled, and to Qurrah’s relief, the paladins did not give chase. The more lives spared the better, at least in Qurrah’s mind.

He glanced at the king. “It seems such a contradiction.”

“How so?” Bram asked.

“To keep yourself free from the rule of gods, you ally with warriors of a god,” Qurrah said, gesturing to the battlefield. “Or is it only Ashhur’s rule you fear, and not Karak’s?”

“It is no contradiction,” he replied with a chuckle. Thankfully he didn’t seem offended. “We currently have the same goal: to remain free from the control of the angels in the north. Right now the ends are all that matters. When they have served their purpose, I will cast them aside.”

Qurrah watched their leader, Xarl, rally his paladins. The man lifted his enormous sword above his head, crying out victory as black fire wreathed his blade. The name of Karak echoed across the bridge.

“I do not think their kind is cast aside so easily,” Qurrah said.

King Bram shook his head.

“I survived the invasion of a god. I do not fear a few of Karak’s deluded followers.”

Lifting his arms above his head, Bram let out a cheer, the smile on his face ear to ear. The Kerran soldiers cheered with him. Qurrah watched him as the army began to cross the bridge. Even when Karak’s priests had risen to power throughout Dezrel, emboldened by Thulos’s arrival, Bram had steered his nation through the dangerous waters with superb skill. With Mordan in chaos, from angels, beasts, and their dead king, it seemed Bram was destined for another skillfully earned victory. Except no matter how wise the course, Qurrah couldn’t shake his mounting feeling of dread.