The King of the Vile (17 page)

“They are spoiled children,” Judarius said with contempt. “I witnessed sin and performed my duties accordingly. We are Ashhur’s divine wardens, yet they treat us like miserable sinners no different from them.”

“Talk like that isn’t going to help,” Harruq said, grinding his teeth. “The people want a trial. They need to believe your kind will be held to the same standards as you hold them.”

“But we don’t hold ourselves to the same standards,” said Azariah. “We hold ourselves to a
higher
standard.”

“Then you have nothing to worry about! Let me show the city that you aren’t above them, that an angel cannot kill a man and get away with it without at least a trial. If Judarius is innocent, then there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“This is preposterous,” Azariah argued. “What angel would commit murder? We do not kill without reason. We are this city’s protection, its guardians in the sky. We endure their scorn, their fear, their unjustified hatred, all in hopes of spreading Ashhur’s teachings, and now you would have them drag us down to their level through pretty ignorance? To put Judarius’s fate in the hands of frightened children?” The angel stomped his foot into the stone, cracking the floor of the throne room. “No. We will not allow it. If you insist upon a trial, then
we
will be the ones to hold it. That is the only way we will agree to such a farce.”

“You are not the one to make such a decision,” Ahaesarus said. “Our city is in chaos, armies invade from both north and south. We cannot afford such distractions. Give humanity their trial. If Judarius is innocent, he has nothing to fear.”

“To submit ourselves to mankind’s courts will forever alter how we may serve Dezrel,” Azariah argued. “You’re right. I am not the one to make such a decision, and neither are you. We have already summoned a conclave of all angels for three days hence, so we shall put it to a vote then to decide who shall judge Judarius—mankind, or our own tribunal. Once these matters are concluded, and the city has regained some semblance of order, then we may look into other threats.”

“Listen to me,” Harruq said, fighting to remain calm. “I am telling you this for your sake. The people need to feel like humanity still controls its own fate. They need to believe we have the capacity to govern ourselves. If they come to view you as their jailors, and not their protectors...”

“We are their guardians,” Azariah said. “With all the responsibilities that entails. We will at least discuss allowing them a trial, Harruq. It is far more than they deserve.”

He nodded at Judarius, and the two spread their wings to fly away. Ahaesarus grabbed Judarius by the shoulder, keeping him still.

“Wait,” he said. “Tell me you did not murder that man. Let me hear the truth. That is all I ask.”

Judarius pulled his shoulder free.

“That man deserved death, and I gave it to him. Now let me go. I have work to do.”

With a gust of wind, he soared to the ceiling window. Azariah bowed and followed after. Harruq shook his head as he watched them go.

“Did he lie?” he asked.

“No.”

Harruq laughed. It was the only reaction he could give.

“That’s not much comfort,” he said.

“No,” Ahaesarus said softly. “It isn’t.”

“Azariah mentioned you were already preparing a conclave,” Harruq asked. “Does that mean you’ll finally decide to fly north to help?”

Ahaesarus sighed.

“I hope to address that concern, but that is not the real reason,” he said. “The conclave was actually called so we may hold trial.”

“A trial for who?” Harruq asked, face twitching.

“Given your prior relationship, we did not wish to tell you until the day of the proceedings. Azariah felt this would prevent you from taking rash measures. The trial is for the man responsible for the fall of Avlimar. Before the entire conclave of angels, he will be judged and sentenced.”

“The fall of Avlimar?” Harruq said. “You mean—”

15

A
voiding the road made his travel all the more arduous, but with the Kerran army so close, Alric knew he couldn’t afford the risk. The tall grass slapped his thighs, and bugs constantly buzzed in his ears, but at least insects wouldn’t imprison him.

There were still several hours left in the day when he reached a slender stream he had to cross. Alric stopped walking. He was exhausted, and the thought of trying to sleep in wet clothes set him ill at ease. He’d cross in the morning so he had the while day to dry off.

He unrolled the thick blanket he’d purchased with the coin Beatrice had given him and collapsed, staring at the distant army. After leaving Beatrice’s cabin, he’d traveled west for several days until he found the main road north out of Scatterbrook. Not long after, he’d spotted campfires. He’d kept ahead of them for a while, but day after day of checking the distances and avoiding scout patrols had worn on him. As he leaned back and closed his eyes, he decided it best to let them pass. He could always travel to Mordeina in their shadow.

The sound of footsteps through the grass awoke Alric from his nap. Stirring, he reached for his rucksack. When he looked up, he was surprised to see it wasn’t soldiers of Ker that stepped into his little campsite but a woman. Her hair was stark black and hung down to her waist, her dress plain and brown, clinging to her slender form. Despite the scars all across her arms, despite how her eyes looked like solid black orbs, she was undeniably beautiful. Alric started to apologize even though he had no idea what he was apologizing for.

“Oh,” Tessanna said as she spotted him. “I see we’re not the only ones wishing for some privacy.”

“It’s nothing,” Alric said, confused by her mention of ‘we’ since he saw no one with her. He stumbled to his feet, slinging his pack over his shoulder. “I’ll go.”

“No, please stay,” the strange woman said, and she crossed her legs and sat on his blanket. “It will be nice to have company other than boring soldiers and fanatical paladins.”

Alric looked past her. The army was less than a quarter mile away, their camp filling the road and the clearings beyond. The proximity filled him with unease, but so far he had no reason to run. He sat back down.

“So, you’re traveling with them?” he asked.

The woman nodded.

“For now.”

“So are you, uh, a follower?” Alric said, trying to be tactful and failing miserably. The woman raised an eyebrow at him. “You know, a camp follower.”

At that, the woman laughed, and she seemed genuinely amused.

“Many of them wish, I do not doubt,” she said with a smile. “Why do you think I am one of the prostitutes?”

Alric’s face flushed red. How in the world could he answer that question without making himself look like an even bigger jackass?

“I don’t know,” he said, picking burrs off his blanket. “You’re beautiful enough to be one.”

The woman giggled as if she were a little girl.

“I’m flattered. No, I am not a camp follower. I travel with my husband, who is very important to King Bram.” She offered him her hand. “Tessanna.”

“Alric,” he said, accepting it and softly shaking once. The name sounded familiar, and though he tried not to, he found himself staring at her strange eyes.

“So,” she said, “I have told you why I am here, but why are you?” She leaned in closer. “Are you hiding from the big, bad men from Ker?”

It was his turn to chuckle.

“In a way, yes,” he said. “I’m traveling to Mordeina, and would prefer to avoid any...complications.”

“King Bram is certainly a complication,” Tessanna said, and she looked over her shoulder at the camp. “Though for good or ill, I cannot decide.”

She fell silent, and Alric steadily grew uncomfortable. Something about this Tessanna felt otherworldly. He decided it was because of the eyes, those eyes whose irises looked blacker than coal. Just a strange gift at birth, he told himself. Nothing to be afraid of.

“Would you like something to eat?” he asked, unable to handle the silence any longer. He opened his rucksack and started leafing through its contents, trying to be polite. “I don’t have much, and what I do have certainly isn’t the most pleasant to the tongue, but it’s still food.”

Tessanna shook her head.

“I don’t eat much,” she said. “Go ahead if you wish, though.”

“Oh.” He closed the rucksack and settled down onto the blanket, fighting for anything casual to discuss with the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on.

“So where are you from?” he asked.

“A little village outside of Veldaren,” she said. She leaned over, and her hair fell so that it was like she’d drawn a curtain across her face to hide. “After that, Veldaren, then a little cabin in the woods outside Veldaren, then Mordeina, and then in Ker, a house not far from the Corinth River. We...we never seem to keep a home for long.”

“I’m sorry,” Alric said. He’d met several refugees from the east since the war, and all of them had worn a sort of hollow expression. The war, the death, the destruction; it’d been like it scooped out an important piece of them that remained empty no matter how much time passed. Tessanna’s shoulders shuddered, and he realized she was crying. Immediately he felt guilty and incompetent. Asking a simple question? He couldn’t even get that right! He cleared his throat, ready to say he was sorry.

“Don’t apologize,” she said, her voice cold and lethal. “I have only myself to blame. I tore open the gate. I brought forth the war god. Every home I have lost, it has always been my fault. At least I found vengeance in the end. At least together, my lover and I burned the prophet to ashes. That’s something, isn’t it, Alric? That must mean something.”

No more confusion as to how he knew her name. Alric stared at the daughter of the goddess, suddenly terrified. This was the sorceress who had ripped open the portal allowing Thulos to march into Dezrel alongside an army of war demons. Because of her, all lands east of the Rigon had fallen. Because of her, hundreds of thousands had died.

She looked up at him, peering through her dark hair with those black eyes. Tears ran down them, but whatever sorrow she felt didn’t reach her voice.

“So where are you from?” she asked, chipper, smiling so sweetly.

“Greenbrook,” he said. “It’s one of the border farm towns in Ker.”

Tessanna bobbed her head. “You’ve traveled far. Why go to Mordeina?”

Alric couldn’t wrap his head around the situation. The dark angel of Celestia wanted to know why he traveled to Mordan’s capital. Could he tell her?
Should
he tell her? Alric had heard tales of her and her lover redeeming themselves and pledging to Ashhur, but he’d heard other tales as well, of a more vicious sort.

“I’m not sure you’d believe me,” he said, nearly laughing at the ludicrousness of it all.

Tessanna slid her fingers along the pale gray cloth of his blanket, fingernails scratching the rough fabric.

“I have seen the breaking of the world,” she said. “I have glimpsed the stars in the abyss and heard the whisper of the goddess. There is very little I cannot believe.”

Alric sighed. For such a powerful, storied person to stumble upon him while he slept, he had to assume at least the possibility Ashhur had sent her his way. So he swallowed down his nervousness and told her.

“I go because Ashhur wants me to go to Avlimar,” he said.

Tessanna didn’t even bat an eye.

“How do you know?”

“Dreams,” he said. “Every night, always the same one.”

“How do you know they’re from Ashhur?”

“I just...do,” Alric said. It was a question he’d never considered.

Tessanna slid closer on the blanket, and she pushed away her hair from her face.

“If you’d let me, I can see them,” she said. “If you want me to. I won’t make you. It won’t hurt, I promise.”

Alric chewed on his lower lip. The few people he’d told of his dreams had always assumed him delusional, or troubled, or flat-out lying. To have someone able to see them as well, to understand the overwhelming anger come the end when the shadow king put on his crown...

“You swear it won’t hurt?” he asked.

Tessanna smiled shyly at him.

“I promise.”

Alric nodded.

“Do it.”

She reached out with thin, pale fingers, settling them against his temples. She closed her eyes, and Alric felt a strange tingling travel up his spine and into the base of his neck. Wisps of black smoke wafted from her fingers. Her grip on his head tightened, her tiny mouth locked into a frown. Alric grew more and more nervous as the woman’s whole body began to tremble. He didn’t dare touch her, didn’t dare break her concentration. In the realms of magic, he was a babe, while she a master.

And then, just as quickly as it began, Tessanna pulled away. Her eyes opened, and he saw startling clarity in her gaze.

“You see them too,” she whispered.

“Too?” he asked. “You mean...”

“I have,” she said. “Glimpses and echoes of the future you will set in motion.”

Tears ran down her cheeks as she looked upon him with a mixture of sadness and pity.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I could have spared you. I could have prevented this if I wasn’t such a coward. If I’d only been the angel of destruction Celestia wished me to be. But Qurrah begged me not to, Alric. He begged me, and I couldn’t refuse him, not after all he’d sacrificed for my sake. Because of it, now you must suffer in my stead.”

Alric sat before her, and he felt so confused, so helpless.

“I don’t understand.”

“You don’t need to,” Tessanna said, smiling sadly at him. “Just follow the dream to its end.”

“But why? What am I, Tessanna? How do I matter in all this?”

She gently stroked his face.

“Ashhur will awaken in a blaze of fire,” she whispered. “And you’re to be the spark.”

They both turned at the sound of someone clearing their throat. Alric’s entire body tensed at the sight of the half-orc in faded robes. His face was a soft gray, his hair a brown so dark it approached black. He carried blankets in his arms and a sack over one shoulder.

“Am I interrupting?” he asked.

“Not at all, Qurrah,” Tessanna said, rising to greet her husband. Alric stared at the couple as she kissed his cheek. First Celestia’s daughter, and now the great traitor of Veldaren? Perhaps he should have endured the wet clothes and crossed the stream when he had the chance.

Qurrah set down his blanket, unrolling it so he and Tessanna had a place to sit. All the while he kept an untrusting eye on Alric. It seemed fair enough. Alric didn’t feel ready to trust him, either.

“So who is our guest?” Qurrah asked as he sat down.

“This is Alric,” Tessanna answered. “He’s on a mission from Ashhur.”

“Oh really?”

Alric chuckled.

“She makes it sound silly when she puts it that way.”

He’d expected Qurrah to scoff, but instead he leaned closer, resting his chin on his fist.

“I thought Ashhur slumbered,” he said, his brown eyes sparkling with intelligence. “Isn’t that what the priests and angels say?”

“I’m not one to contradict them,” Alric said. “All I know are the dreams he sends me.”

“Dreams?”

“Dreams. Visions. Whatever you want to call them. I see them every night, leading me to Avlimar.”

“Avlimar has fallen,” Qurrah said. “Your dreams lead you to a graveyard.”

“Hush now,” Tessanna said, cuddling against him. “Don’t be so harsh. Can’t you see he is troubled?”

She spoke about him as if he were a child, and it angered Alric more than it should.

“I can’t explain it,” Alric said. “And I won’t try to. Ashhur wants me to go to Avlimar, and so I will.”

Qurrah stroked Tessanna’s hair as he stared at him.

“Some would call you a man of great faith,” he said. “And some would label you a self-deluded fool. Both tend to mirror one another. How do you know which one you are?”

“I don’t,” Alric admitted with a sigh. “And that’s what terrifies me every night when I lay down to sleep. It, and the dreams.”