The King of the Vile (4 page)

Harruq stared at the ruins, which lay scattered across the green fields stretching out beyond the walls of Mordeina. Even from such a distance, the sunlight glinted off the gold, silver, and pearls.

“Theft is theft,” he said at last. “Avlimar’s remains belong to the angels, and any who take them must be punished as the thieves they are. Consider it law. I’ll discuss it with the scribes later today, get it made public, but remember,
my
soldiers carry out the sentence, not angels. Got it?”

Without waiting for an answer, Harruq left the balcony and trudged down the cold halls of the castle.

“There is more we must discuss,” Azariah said, following after him. “Much more. Avlimar’s fall is a sign from Ashhur, and only fools would dare ignore it.”

“I thought Deathmask and his guild were responsible?” Harruq said, eyeing him sidelong.

“Even darkness can be made to serve the light. It is our failures that led to the collapse, and we must study those failures, and from them learn how we may evolve this world into something better.”

“Fascinating,” Harruq muttered. “What does this have to do with me?”

“Because we need your help in making amends.”

Much as he liked the sound of the angels making amends, the half-orc still felt uneasy about what Azariah was trying to get at. He bought himself some time by descending a set of stairs. With the angel’s wide wings, there was no way they could walk side by side, and Harruq dashed down ahead of him. Reaching the bottom, he gnawed his lip and wondered.

Deathmask, guilty of destroying Avlimar? Deathmask, allying with Kevin Maryll in his failed attempt to overthrow the angels and usurp the throne? It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t like him. It was too…obvious. Too destined for failure. But over a dozen angels reported seeing him flee the ruins immediately after Avlimar’s collapse, and several others swore they had seen him sneaking about the floating city days before its destruction, eluding pursuers. Even now, Harruq had angels leading squads of soldiers about the city, arresting members of his guild and searching for any hint of the powerful wizard. Doubtful as it was, he hoped to capture Deathmask alive. He’d love to have some answers.

Harruq’s brief escape from Azariah proved fruitless, for as he stepped into the grand hall before the throne room he found several lords gathered together, waiting for him.

“Greetings, Steward,” the first to notice him said. He was a chubby man with a lengthy black mustache. His blue clothes were tight fitted, his breeches held up with an enormous leather belt. “We’d worried you’d caught ill, so long was your absence.”

Harruq rolled his eyes. He’d fled to his room for an hour so he might have a break from courtly proceedings, and when he’d gone to the balcony for the fresh air, Azariah had spotted him and landed. Caught ill? He wished. Then he could stay in his room all day and night. If he’d been wise, he’d have turned down Antonil’s request to serve as temporary ruler in his absence. Harruq belonged on a battlefield, not a throne room.

“Healthy as ever,” Harruq said, trying to move past them toward the exit. The chubby man blocked his way.

“Please, I’m sure you’re busy doing whatever it is you’re doing, but we must have an audience,” he said. The other lords nodded. Harruq let out a sigh, and wondered what he’d done to Ashhur to deserve such punishment. Behind him, Azariah stepped into the room, and a noticeable chill followed. Harruq was hardly surprised. If anyone resented the rise of angel authority, it was the lords who had seen much of their power in punishing and policing their serfs stripped away. They could no longer act above the law either. There was no bribing an angel, nor lying their way out of sticky situations.

Harruq frowned at the chubby lord, trying to pull up a name to match the face. He failed.

“Who are you again?” he asked.

“Lord Richard Aerling, ruler of the southern lands,” said the lord. If he was offended at not being known, he didn’t show it. “With me are Lord Typh, Baron Usun, and Baron Foster.”

Harruq nodded to each as they were introduced, forgetting their faces and names moments after seeing and hearing them. Gods, he was not meant to be a politician. Azariah took up position behind him, respectfully waiting for a chance to resume his conversation.

“Nice to meet you all,” Harruq said, trying not to be impatient. “So…what is it you want?”

“We’ve come from the south with dire news,” Richard said. “As all four of us own lands bordering Ker, we thought it best if we approached you together when we told you.”

Harruq rubbed his eyes, the man’s high-pitched voice giving him a headache.

“Told me what?”

“It’s very simple,” Richard said. “King Bram has already begun his invasion of Mordan.”

The words struck Harruq like a brick to the forehead.

“That’s, that’s…no,” he said. “I’ve got men stationed at the Bloodbrick, and they haven’t reported any new activity from Ker in weeks.”

“Invasions can be preceded in many ways,” said the other lord, Typh or whatever. The man was incredibly tall, but his mustache wasn’t quite as long as Richard’s.

“Indeed,” Richard insisted. “And the damage a small group of men can do to an unprotected home is equal to a full army. A village under my care by the name of Norstrom has been completely annihilated.”

This time Harruq had no idea what to say. He glanced back at Azariah, found the angel frozen stiff, a frown locked on his face.

“Are you certain it was men from Ker?” Azariah asked.

“Who else could it be?” Richard asked. “Hundreds of people dead. Not a one escaped. That’s a portent of invasion, and we must act accordingly! We’ve begun mustering our soldiers, but we lost many of our troops in King Antonil’s second campaign, may Ashhur rest his soul.”

An invasion? War? Harruq forced himself out of his stunned shell, forced his mind to work.

“Troops?” he said. “What troops do you think we have to spare? Have you not already read the summons I sent you? The North is under attack, and needs every man we can spare.”

“Mere rumors of a few aggressive animal packs are nothing compared to an organized army,” Richard insisted. “The North will endure, but will we? We must strike at Bram before he realizes we’ve discovered his cowardly tactic.”

“You have no proof,” Harruq insisted. “Did you find a banner? A witness? Tracks you could follow? What if Norstrom were attacked by bandits instead?”

The chubby man’s confidence wavered, but only a little.

“I assure you, Steward, my lands are free of any such bandits, something that cannot be said for the North. Believe me, King Bram’s soldiers will be crossing the Bloodbrick any day now, and all you have to stop them are a pitifully few number of men. The time to act is now. All we ask for is a formal declaration of war against the nation of Ker.”

That was it. He couldn’t take anymore.

“Out,” he said. “Get out, all of you. I’m not declaring war, not now, not until Bram marches his army into our lands. When that happens you may send your soldiers to fight, but until then I want your men here. If the rumors of the North are true, we’ll need every last one of them.”

Richard opened his mouth to respond, but Harruq would have none of it.

“I. Said.
Out.
”

He stepped closer with every word, his hand reaching for a sword buckled to his belt. The southern lords left, openly glaring at him. Harruq glared right back.

“Gods damn it all,” Harruq said, blushing when he realized Azariah was still staring at him.

“It does feel like that at times,” Azariah said. “But we’re not abandoned, Harruq. You must have patience. We are here, Ashhur’s angels, and we will protect the innocents with our lives.”

“What about that business in Norstrom?” he asked. “Do you think he’s right?”

A shadow crossed the angel’s face.

“I will look into it,” he said. “Give me time.”

“I’m not sure time is something we…”

The doors, which had been opened partway to let the lords and barons out, suddenly burst open completely. Harruq’s jaw dropped as a white horse flew into the hall, her great wings beating to slow her progress. Harruq drew his sword, but quickly realized that would not be necessary. He recognized the beast as Sonowin, faithful steed of Scoutmaster Dieredon. Except it wasn’t the wily elf riding Sonowin, but a slender man with gray hair who stepped off on unsteady feet.

“Welcome?” Harruq said, baffled.

The man approached Harruq, saluted.

“Sir Daniel Coldmine, at your service,” he said. “Forgive me for such a brazen entrance, but there is no time. The entire Vile Wedge has crossed the Gihon. Blood Tower has fallen, as has the rest of the Wall. At least twenty thousand strong of all manner of creatures march through our northern lands, destroying everything. I come at Lord Arthur Hemman’s behest, to plead for aid. He cannot hold them off on his own.”

Just when Harruq thought the day couldn’t get any worse...

“Twenty thousand?” he said, feeling dumb as he asked.

“If not more.”

His mind reeled, thinking of the men he’d need to summon, the vast stretches of land that’d need to be protected, the effect it’d have on trade. Above all, he imagined the thousands that’d be dying as they scrambled to react.

3

T
he night was young, the stars a bright field above, when Jessilynn heard the first sounds of the monsters’ approach.

They’re here,
she thought, her entire body stiffening.
Keep me calm, Ashhur. I can’t afford to fail.

It wasn’t her life she feared for as the bird-men stalked the outer edges of the quaint home, but the thirty villagers hiding in the cellar, relying on her to save them. Jessilynn lay flat on her stomach atop the thatched roof, careful not to move. Her bow lay to her right, and she kept a hand on it at all times. Its touch comforted her, reminding her she wasn’t helpless, nor alone. Ashhur was with her...and with her arrows.

The soft hoot of an owl sounded. Jess flicked her eyes over to where Dieredon crouched on another rooftop, his wicked-looking bow leaning against his shoulder. His dark green and brown clothes camouflaged him well, and the cloak wrapped around his body seemed to darken, matching the color of the thatched roof. The elf pointed two fingers at his eyes then gestured to the tall grasslands forming the village’s border not far to Jessilynn’s right. She nodded, letting him know she’d seen them. In response, the elf clutched his hand into a fist and shook his head. Not yet, he was telling her. They still must wait.

Jessilynn crouched lower and stared at the tall grass. Its stalks shook and waved as the bird-men passed through them, sickening caricatures of human life. Their faces were long and slender, their mouths contorted into beaks strong enough to puncture metal. Colorful feathers, pointless remnants of the animals they’d once been, covered their arms. Their arms had long feathers, pointless remnants of their bestial heritage, for they could not fly. Where most men would have fingers, these creatures had long, hooked claws capable of shredding flesh with ease. For the past several days, she and Dieredon had stayed ahead of an entire pack of such creatures, warning villages so they might flee to safety.

Assuming anywhere was safe.

When they’d reached their current village several hours ago, they decided the bird-men would need beaten back if the villagers were to have a chance to flee. So they’d prepared their ambush, gathered all villagers into the cellars of the two homes, thirty in hers, another twenty in Dieredon’s, and waited.

“It won’t take them long to discover the hiding place,” Dieredon had told her. “Fifty men, women, and children cowering in fear will release a strong scent they’ll track with ease.”

“Why not spread them out?” Jessilynn had asked, which earned her a shake of the elf’s head.

“I want the people gathered together,” he’d said. “Because then our foes will do the same. When we hit them, hit them fast and hard. The fewer who survive, the fewer we must face another day.”

The grass continued to shift, and Jessilynn watched with steadily growing worry. Something was wrong. Twice before, she and Dieredon had fended off attacks by the creatures, and a third time they’d stumbled upon a raid in progress. All three times, the bird-men had rushed in with reckless speed, hoping to overwhelm any potential defenses before surprise wore off. Yet now they continued to circle, heads low, arms tucked to their bodies, their yellow eyes peering out with caution.

They know something’s wrong,
she thought.
Everywhere else, the people have been asleep in their homes, yet here they’re hiding together.

She glanced once more at Dieredon. So far his attention remained on the tall grass, and if he was worried about the creature’s caution, he didn’t show it. His face was perfectly calm, brown eyes alert, muscles tensed and ready to act. Jessilynn tried to match her teacher’s demeanor. She had to be ready. Even the slightest delay might cost lives, and she’d seen enough death to last her a lifetime. Sadly it seemed she would see far more before the night was done.

Jessilynn’s eyes narrowed as she watched the grass steadily sway from the bird-men’s movements. Something about it seemed...unnatural. Staged, even. They were walking back and forth, back and forth, without ever stepping foot beyond relative safety. This went beyond caution. Grabbing her bow, she slowly rolled over so she could look the other way. Just as she feared, over a dozen of the beasts rushed down the road from the opposite direction. Panic spiked in her heart before she could fight it down. The bird-men had sensed the ambush, and formed one of their own.

You think you have us trapped?
thought Jessilynn as she pulled an arrow from the quiver strapped to her back. A smile flitted across her lips. She was a paladin of Ashhur, and these creatures were about to witness the fury of her god. Rising up on one knee, she lifted her bow, nocked an arrow, and aimed at the nearest of the bird-men. The metal arrowhead shone a soft blue-white, pulsing as if a star were trapped inside. There’d be no hiding after she let loose, and given the number of enemies they faced, every shot must count. Breathing out slowly, and taking extra care with her aim, she finally released her arrow.

Like a falling star it streaked through the night, leaving behind a trail of silver. When it struck the bird-man in the chest, it blasted him backward as if he’d been swatted by a giant. The body rolled, smoke rising from the giant hole in its ribcage.

The creatures squawked and shrieked with ear-piercing volume. From all sides they rushed, crooked legs dashing, clawed fingers flexing. Jessilynn stood, no longer needing to hide. Across the road, Dieredon did the same. With speed she couldn’t hope to match, the elf fired arrow after arrow into the tall grass, dropping several beasts before they could come barreling toward the homes. Jessilynn protected the other way, pausing the briefest moment before each shot to steady her aim. She shot center of mass, trusting the power of her god-blessed arrows. Dieredon might be able to spear an orc through the eye from a thousand yards, but she didn’t need such accuracy when a hit to the chest could shatter ribs and break spines.

“All sides!” she heard Dieredon shout as she dropped a fourth creature with an arrow that hit its stomach and tore out the other side of its body. “Focus on all sides!”

She turned and quickly understood her teacher’s warning. While she wasn’t looking, the bird-men had swarmed from all directions. She increased her firing speed despite the risks to her aim. They were so many, at least fifty by her count, and moving with such speed! She shot down two, missed a third, and then spun left, to where a trio of bird-men had almost reached the side of the home. Jessilynn killed one, but the other two vanished beneath the rooftop. She took a step, hoping to fire straight down, but her foot punched right through the thatched roof. Her leg vanished up to the knee when she fell.

“Dieredon!” she screamed, but the beasts had reached his home as well, and he could not spare a single shot. Jessilynn heard incessant scraping as the bird-men’s sharp claws dug into the home’s wooden sides. They were climbing up.

Jessilynn fell to her back, leg still awkwardly trapped. Her bow lay atop her, and she hoisted it with her left hand while grabbing the drawstring. There was no way she could draw an arrow in time as two of the vile creatures clutched the roof and pulled themselves up, but she didn’t need to. Ashhur was with her. At her touch, an arrow materialized itself, nocked and ready. It shone a pale white, with blue mist curling off its translucent feathers. Jessilynn released, and before the string had even finished snapping forward she was already reaching for it to fire again. The first arrow blasted its target into the air. Chunks of rooftop flew with it, ripped free by the force of impact. The second bird-man leapt toward her, but another blessed arrow struck it, vaporizing its skull.

The headless corpse tumbled backwards, hit the rooftop’s edge, and then tumbled over. Jessilynn tilted her head, saw another trying to flank her. Twisting her body, her trapped knee wrenching painfully, she brought her bow to bear. The angle was awkward, and she could barely pull the string back halfway, but the arrow flew true, sparking with power as it ripped through the beast’s feathered stomach and knocked it off the rooftop to die in the street below. Jessilynn spun about, looking for more, but it seemed they’d abandoned the climb. Confused, she sat up and glanced at Dieredon. The elf had dropped from the rooftop, his bow slung over his back. He wielded two long daggers, dancing and weaving through the creatures as they tried, and failed, to surround him.

A sudden flurry of scratching, coupled with a cracking sound as wood broke, tore her attention back to her own home.
The cellar,
Jessilynn realized. The creatures were tearing open the door in search of easier prey.

Jessilynn dropped her bow and yanked upward as hard as she could to free her trapped knee. Sharp pieces of wood tore into her skin, but she grit her teeth against the pain and ignored it. A little pain and blood didn’t matter. The people trapped beneath her, the people who had trusted her to keep them safe, were the only ones who did. Grabbing her bow, she limped closer to the roof’s edge, stepping carefully despite her hurry. She’d be of no use to anyone stuck in another hole.

The cellar door was fronted with thick stone and had been barred from the inside, but that protection meant little as Jessilynn watched three of the creatures rip enormous chunks of wood free with each scrape. Jessilynn felt her throat constrict. If they could do that to wood, what might they do to soft, human flesh?

She didn’t want to find out. Refusing to draw a regular arrow, she pulled back the empty string, trusting Ashhur to grant her an arrow of far more power. Her first shot blasted the leg off one of the creatures; her second removed its arm and left it to bleed to death. One looked up at her and screeched, the sound so loud it made her nauseous. She put an arrow down its throat as a reward. The creature’s innards liquefied, the arrow tearing out its lower back with an explosion of gore.

Gross,
thought Jessilynn as she turned to the last of the creatures. She’d thought it’d try to dodge, or perhaps run, but instead it ripped into the broken remains of the cellar door. Panicking, she rushed her shot, but the bird-man didn’t dive inside. Instead it grabbed one of the broken pieces and hurled it straight up at her. Her arrow missed wide, punching a crater into the grass, while the hurled plank cracked against her forehead. Jessilynn stumbled, her whole world spinning from the blow. The pain was sudden and vicious, and she felt blood trickling between her eyes and down her nose. Focus, she had to focus. Her left hand clutched her bow tightly as she fought down a sudden urge to vomit.

Forcing herself back to her knees, she looked down to where several more of the creatures had rushed into the cellar. From within she heard the sound of fighting, coupled with loud, terrible screams. People were dying. Her charges were dying. With no way to help them, Jessilynn did the only thing that made sense to her woozy mind at the time: she rolled off the rooftop.

She didn’t scream when she hit the ground, which Jessilynn considered a victory. The impact bruised her arm and stung her neck as her head whipped up and down. The instinct to vomit went from a mild urge to a sudden, unstoppable need. Even as her stomach heaved, and bile splashed across her knees, she rose to her feet and lifted her bow. The three bird-men hadn’t seen her, instead hustling through the narrow cellar door, desperate for their meal.

Hustling through in a nice, even line.

Jessilynn drew back the drawstring, felt an arrow materialize between her fingers. Bits of her earlier meal clung to the string, the smell of vomit and blood overwhelming to her nose. Begging Ashhur to keep her aim steady, she took in a deep breath, let it out, and released. The light arrow shot through the cellar door, and with its passing she heard the sound of bones shattering. All three bird-men collapsed, gaping holes in their chests.

Jessilynn turned and saw Dieredon approaching with blood coating, none of it appearing his. The villagers slowly exited the cellars, stepping around the many feathered corpses.

“They safe?” Jessilynn asked, still feeling like her balance was yet to return.

“For now,” Dieredon said. He glanced toward the grasslands, where several of the bird-men fled in the far distance, and frowned.

“Good,” Jessilynn said, and then she vomited all over his fine, elven boots.