The King of the Vile (18 page)

The half-orc stared at him. Alric kept his head up, refusing to wilt before that gaze.

“Ashhur gave me back my life,” Qurrah said after a moment. “I owe him everything, yet I now dwell in his silence. I envy you, Alric. To hear his voice, even in a whisper, even in a dream, is a gift denied to me. I only pray that in the days to come, I find no reason to pity you instead.”

Such an admission, even one tinged with warning, was unexpected from such a dark figure, and Alric struggled for the right words to respond with. Before he could, a female rider casually loped toward them on a spotted brown horse. Alric pointed over the couple’s shoulder.

“Someone’s coming,” he said.

Qurrah and Tessanna both looked. Upon spotting her, Qurrah swore softly.

“Do you know her?” Tessanna asked.

“I don’t need to,” Qurrah said. “Do you see those robes? She’s from the Council. That’s all I need to know that I’m about to become very annoyed.”

Alric stood there dumbfounded as the rider closed the distance and came to a halt. She had an unfriendly face, nose too long, eyes narrow, mouth locked in a permanent frown. Long silver earrings dangled far past her neck, jangling from the ride.

“Qurrah and Tessanna Tun?” she asked.

“We are,” said Qurrah.

“I am Anora of the Towers,” she said, “and I come at behest of the Council to offer my wisdom and guidance to this campaign.”

Qurrah raised an eyebrow.

“I did not think King Bram was in need of counsel.”

“I had heard that too,” Anora said sharply. “But my opinion differs. You are his current counsel, are you not? That is why I came to greet you, but you seem so very far from the king to hold such a role.”

Qurrah’s right hand tightened into a fist, and Alric feared a confrontation would break out. Tension filled the air.

“Why have you really come, Anora?” Qurrah asked.

“I told you,” said the wizard, “I have come to offer my guidance to King Bram and his invasion. The Council has eyes everywhere, and surely you can understand our preference that all of Dezrel not become a theocracy. I would think we would be allies, Qurrah Tun, not enemies.”

Alric could tell that was certainly never going to happen. Tessanna slid between her husband and Anora and stared up at the wizard.

“My lover and I would like some peace,” she said. “It gets so bothersome surrounded by soldiers and noise all day. You’ll understood soon, I’m sure.”

Anora tugged on her horse’s reins.

“What bothers me are those who do not understand their place,” she said. “Bram does not need you anymore, neither of you. If you were wise, you’d go home, and leave things beyond your understanding alone.”

Tessanna rose to her feet, and she smiled so sweetly at their uninvited visitor.

“Remember who you threaten,” she said “If you are not careful, I may have to unfurl my wings.”

Anora smiled right back, and Alric thought the expression looked wrong on her face.

“I will remember that,” the wizard said. “But before I go, you might want to return to the camp. Karak’s paladins have captured a few prisoners I believe you’ll be interested in.”

“Why tell us?” Qurrah asked.

“How many times must I tell you?” Anora asked. “I am here for guidance, not confrontation.”

With that she rode off. Alric was baffled as to what had just transpired. Qurrah and Tessanna seemed to understand more, and they shared a look with one another.

“Forgive us, Alric, but I fear we must be going,” Qurrah said, rising to his feet.

“It’s no bother,” Alric said.

Qurrah hesitated, and him a look Alric couldn’t read.

“Since you travel to Mordeina, would you deliver a message to my brother for me?”

“I suppose.”

“Thank you,” Qurrah said. “Please, tell him...tell him I’m not his enemy. No matter what he hears, I will always be there for him.”

“Sure, sure, I’ll try,” Alric said. The half-orc hurried away, seemingly embarrassed. Tessanna blew Alric a kiss goodbye and joined her husband in returning to the camp.

16

F
or three days, Lathaar and Jerico had remained just ahead of the invading army from Ker. It was on that third day, when the sun was high in the sky, that a rider came thundering down the road atop a black horse. There was nowhere to hide, the nearest village several miles ahead and the surrounding fields had already been harvested ahead of the coming winter. The two paladins stood tall and greeted the approaching paladin of Karak with the respect they felt he deserved.

“Come to die?” Lathaar asked, swords crossed before him, naked steel glowing with light.

“Or maybe get your ass a solid spanking before running home to Karak?” Jerico added, his shield raised. The dark paladin pulled back on the reins, stopping beyond the reach of their weapons. He was a younger man, his freckled face lined with scars, either side of his neck sporting a roaring lion. Strapped to his back was an enormous ax. He stared at the two as if surprised by their comments.

“I expected something more...noble from the two of you,” said the dark paladin.

Lathaar chuckled.

“You’re part of a doomed invasion soon to be crushed by angels. Perhaps you should get used to disappointment.”

“Or perhaps I should expect only the worst when it comes to Ashhur’s followers,” the dark paladin said, sitting up taller. “My name is Umber, and I come at behest of my master, Xarl, high paladin of the Stronghold.”

Lathaar found this hard to believe.

 “I question how your master would even know we were here,” he said. “We’ve seen no one of your kind during our travels.”

Umber grinned at them.

“No, but we have seen plenty of
your
kind.”

Jerico softly swore.

“You lie,” Lathaar said, more hoping than believing.

Umber shook his head and backed his horse up a step.

“Where the mother duck goes, the ducklings tend to follow,” he said. “And trust me, Lathaar and Jerico of the Citadel, those ducklings broke very, very easily.”

The ugly amusement on his freckled face was almost enough to send Lathaar lunging at him, ready to tear him to pieces with his blessed blades, but Jerico’s hand on his shoulder kept him still.

“What is it you want with us?” Jerico asked.

“It’s simple enough,” Umber replied. “Come greet my master. We’ll be awaiting you to the south, traveling in King Bram’s vanguard. I trust you’ll come, because otherwise, well...” Another sick grin and shrug of his shoulders. “Otherwise, we’ll have to amuse ourselves with the little paladins instead.”

Umber turned his horse about and snapped the reins. Neither Lathaar nor Jerico said a word as he rode away, up and down the gentle slopes toward the distant gray mass that was the Kerran army.

“What do we do?” Lathaar asked.

Jerico buckled his mace to his belt and flung his shield over his shoulder.

“We go,” he said.

“There’s only two of us, and they have an entire army behind them. What do you think we’ll accomplish?”

“I don’t know,” Jerico said. “But we won’t leave our students there to die.”

“As you wish,” Lathaar said. He sheathed his blades. “We’ll go, and pray for a miracle.”

“This is the land of miracles, after all,” Jerico said, and whether he intended it or a not, a hint of sarcasm colored his words.

Lathaar stared at the smoke drifting on the wind above the approaching army. “Perhaps once, but it’s hard to believe it still is.”

The two followed the road south, each step seemingly heavier than the last. The distant army of Ker grew clearer as the minutes passed. Though they had thousands of soldiers, Lathaar wondered how they intended overcome Mordeina’s great walls.
Perhaps that’s not their goal.
If it was angels they wanted to kill, then the winged protectors would no doubt come right to them.

And if paladins of Karak had joined the army of Ker...

It should have been a ridiculous thought, given Bram’s distrust of the gods, but the ten paladins waiting at the forefront of the vanguard proved it true. Their black armor shone in the sunlight. Kneeling before them, hands bound, mouths gagged, were four of their oldest students from the Citadel. Their faces were bruised, eyes swollen, hands cut. Lathaar’s chest filled with sorrow and rage.

A dark-skinned paladin with long brown hair stood among the bound youths, and he stepped out from the line and rubbed a hand lovingly through young Gareth’s hair.

“That’s close enough,” the paladin said. “For now, we only need to talk.”

Lathaar and Jerico halted in the center of the road. Beyond the paladins, Lathaar noticed how the army of thousands had stopped as well. Did the dark paladins commanded that much power in King Bram’s army?

“We’re here,” Lathaar said, keeping his voice calm. About thirty feet separated him from the dark paladins, and the urge to cross that distance with blades drawn was nearly overwhelming. “I assume you are the Stronghold’s new puppet master, Xarl?”

“I am,” the man said. “I must admit, it is so
exciting
to finally meet you two. The mighty paladins of Ashhur, towering men of might and power, stories of whom have reached even our walls over the passing years.” He smiled. “To be honest, Jerico, I expected your shield to be bigger, but I guess you’re used to hearing that, aren’t you?”

“Especially from the ladies,” said Umber beside him.

The rest of the dark paladins laughed.

“I’m going to kill him,” Jerico muttered.

“Get in line,” Lathaar whispered back.

Xarl patted the top of Gareth’s head, then playfully slapped his face.

“Gareth here was kind enough to tell us they were trying to catch up to you,” he said. “So now that you’re here, let’s lay things out nice and simple. No lies, no insults, no posturing or making grand speeches. Just the truth.”

“And what would that be?” Lathaar asked.

Xarl drew a long sword from his hip. Black fire roared to life around the blade, and he slowly put it atop Gareth’s right shoulder. The boy screamed into his gag as the fire burned through his bloody shirt and into his flesh.

“Lay down your weapons, fall to your knees, and accept your deaths,” Xarl said. “Otherwise the children will die in your place while you watch.” The fire burned deeper into Gareth’s shoulder. “The choice is yours, now make it.”

Lathaar’s vision ran red as he watched Gareth slump over, tears running down his face as he whimpered. Xarl pulled free his blade and stalked behind the other three prisoners. His violet eyes never left theirs. Without even looking, the dark paladin stopped behind Mal, whose normally thin face was lumpy and swollen from bruises.

“Maybe hearing their screams will help you decide,” Xarl said as he pressed his blade against the back of Mal’s neck.

Mal howled as he burned. Lathaar’s feet remained rooted in place, his whole body shaking with rage. Xarl grabbed Mal by the hair to hold him still, the grin on his face full of white teeth and sick pleasure. Lathaar had felt that fire firsthand many times, and he knew it didn’t burn like normal fire. Skin blackened far slower than it should have, all so the pain one experienced could drag on and on.

Jerico shifted closer and lowered his voice. “We have to surrender.”

“We surrender, they kill our students after we die,” Lathaar said.

“If we don’t surrender, they die anyway!”

Mal’s screams pierced Lathaar’s mind. He’d give his life to save the boy, to save any of the three. But to offer himself up to the dark paladins, to die after all he’d done? Was that how his life must end? They’d crushed Karak’s army. They’d defeated the prophet. The times of sacrifice were over...weren’t they?

“Lathaar,” Jerico said. “We have no choice.”

That was the worst part of it. They did have a choice. One meant cowardice, and one meant death.

“Still not come to a decision?” Xarl asked. He pulled the blade away from Mal’s neck and moved down the line until he hovered over Samar. He patted the youngster’s, then skipped both him and Elrath to return to Gareth.

“Maybe you think I’m lying,” Xarl shouted as he kicked Gareth in the stomach to make him roll onto his back. “Let’s put that to rest right here and now.”

Before they could say a word, before they could realize what was happening, Xarl plunged his sword into Gareth’s neck. The steel hit bone and slid to one side, ripping open the throat further.

Lathaar screamed and the dark paladins laughed, some cheering, others calling for Lathaar to come fight and die. He almost did. Jerico leapt in his way, shoving him in the chest.

“We have no choice,” Jerico said, grabbing Lathaar’s face with his hands and forcing their gazes to meet.

“I can’t,” Lathaar said.

“We give ourselves over, and the other three live,” Jerico said. “What else can we do?”

Lathaar felt tears building in his eyes.

“You don’t understand. I can’t. I can’t bring myself to give him that victory. We can kill him, Jerico. You know that. You know we can, if given the chance.”

Jerico swallowed hard.

“The moment we attack, they’ll execute our students,” he said. “And if we don’t attack, then we’ll stand here and watch them die. Are you willing to do that, Lathaar? Are you willing to endure that horror just so you can one day meet them on the battlefield? Because I’m not.”

“I want a decision, paladins!” Xarl shouted, pacing and smiling like a serpent about to strike. “Three lives for two, that’s more than a fair trade. It would have been four, if you’d not been so tardy in making a decision.”

Three lives for two
, thought Lathaar.
Three lives for two.
He’d risked his life for others a hundred times before, how could he not do it again?

Xarl kicked Samar in the spine, knocking the red-haired boy onto his stomach. Putting a boot on the small of Samar’s back, Xarl lifted his blade up for a thrust.

“You’re running out of time,” the dark paladin shouted.

Lathaar opened his mouth to answer, to beg for Samar’s life, but a loud
crack
silenced him. A burning whip wrapped around Xarl’s blade. The dark paladin spun around, looking as shocked as Lathaar felt to see Qurrah Tun and his bride Tessanna approach.

“That is enough!” the half-orc shouted. Lathaar was stunned by the power in his voice, raw anger overwhelming each word. Seeing the couple allied with the army of Ker soured Lathaar’s mood even further, but at least it seemed like his students might have a chance.

“This matter doesn’t concern you,” Xarl growled. “Go roll in the grass with Celestia’s whore while we deal with Ashhur’s faithful.”

The way the man said it, so calmly, so pleasantly, made him seem all the more vile. Shadow swirled about Tessanna’s hands, and he wondered if Xarl would ever get the chance to speak again. Xarl pulled his sword free of Qurrah’s whip, and the other paladins readied their weapons. The soldiers who’d been watching rapidly retreated, wanting no part of such a potentially deadly battle.

“Insult her again,” Qurrah said, and though he whispered, it sounded as if his words traveled for miles. “Call her a whore, just one more time. Give me reason to rip the bones from your flesh while you scream.”

The paladins tensed as magic flared around both Tess and Qurrah’s hands. Lathaar shot a look at Jerico, and his friend nodded. Should battle begin, they would race into the melee to save their students.

“Is it permission you seek?” Xarl asked, pacing before Qurrah with a smile on his face. “If so, then you have it. If you wish me dead, then try. Let us see the power of the greatest traitor Dezrel has ever known. Karak will exalt me for eternity for sending him your soul to burn.”

Before it could come to blows, a man pushed through their ranks. His skin was tan, his face scarred along the right eye, and he wore a crown. King Bram, Lathaar assumed. The man certainly commanded the respect of a king as he roared for everyone to stand down. Beside him, observing silently, was a frowning woman with a long nose and dangling silver earrings.

“What is going on here?” Bram demanded.

“Matters of the gods,” Xarl said. “Of no concern to you.”