The King of the Vile (8 page)

“Come to investigate our patrols, Godslayer?” one of the guards asked as Harruq neared. He wore his dark leather armor, and on from his hips swung the two sister blades, Salvation and Condemnation. Harruq shook his head.

“I have important matters to address,” he said. “Let me pass, and say nothing of my being here.”

The soldier, a young man who looked like he was maybe seventeen at most, bobbed his head.

“Of course,” he said. “Lips sealed, I swear.”

Harruq knew the second that man went home, or to a tavern, he’d be spreading the story everywhere. Sighing, he trudged past him, longing for the days when he might travel through cities unnoticed. At worst, he might have gotten a few frowns due to his orcish heritage, but that was it. Distaste he could endure, even anger. Celebrity, on the other hand? The half-orc tapped the hilts of his swords. Being famous could go straight into the Abyss.

The night was dark, but Harruq’s eyes saw well enough in the dim light due to both his orcish and elvish blood. The moon was hidden, but a few stars shone through thin gaps in the clouds, and their light sparkled off the remnants of the shattered city. Walking through the wreckage was a bizarre experience. While the angels had taken much to the steadily growing city of Devlimar not far to the west, and looters had taken plenty more, there still remained massive crumbled structures of silver and gold. He kicked broken pearls seemingly every other step. Marble and gold spires now lay in chunks.

Sometimes, when sleep seemed so far away, Harruq wondered if Ashhur had sent the city crashing to the ground to show the angels what they themselves were in danger of becoming: things of beauty and splendor, broken by the land of Dezrel.

Let’s see,
thought Harruq, remembering his discussion with the lad who’d supposedly spotted Deathmask. The boy’s gaunt features had matched the hunger in his eyes, though Harruq knew it wasn’t food he craved, but something far shinier.
Along the far western side, just after a collapsed spire, there should be a library...

The city’s collapse had certainly been strange. Some places were thoroughly leveled, while others had merely a few broken walls. What had once been paved walkways were now broken marble, but he could still make out their original positions, give or take a few destroyed buildings along the way.

The boy had said the spire blocked the path, and while Harruq hadn’t understood at first, he did when he came upon the enormous and smashed cylindrical construction of silver and gold. It was at least fifteen feet high on its side, stretching across the path and combining with the ruined buildings on either side to create an impassable barricade. Harruq grunted, and decided to climb. Up and over he went, sliding down the other side and landing before a heap of ruined paintings.

Glancing around, he spotted what he guessed was the library. It was a square structure with a collapsed roof. The windows were shattered, and piled everywhere were weather-beaten books. Harruq picked one up and inspected it. The leather cover seemed all right, but the pages were ruined. Whatever knowledge the book had contained was no more.

“Just sad,” Harruq said, dropping the book next to several others and peering at one of the library windows. “Whoever did this certainly deserves what’s coming to them.”

“And what
is
coming to them, might I ask?”

Harruq’s heart thumped in his chest, and he grinned at the welcome feeling. Exhilaration mixed with fear, the drug of battle. How he’d missed it.

“Haven’t decided yet,” Harruq said. “Was thinking maybe drowning or decapitation, but fire might be more fun.”

He slowly turned about to greet Deathmask. The man stood atop the collapsed spire, arms crossed over his chest. A gray mask covered the bulk of his face, his long dark hair covering that which the mask didn’t. His mismatched eyes, one red, one black, seemed to glow in the dim starlight. Though he’d used to wear red robes, now he dressed in the new colors of his reformed Ash Guild: a dark gray shirt and cloak, with both the pants and the shirt’s sleeves colored a deep black.

“What about all three?” Deathmask asked. “Burn him, cut off his head, and then drown it in a bucket of water. Surely an appropriate fate for the bastard who would dare send this magnificent city crumbling to the ground.”

Harruq’s hands drifted to the hilts of his swords. So far Deathmask hadn’t made any threatening move, but the man was skilled. If he wanted Harruq dead, there’d be very little time to react.

“So you admit it?” he asked.

Deathmask tsk’d at him.

“There’s the catch,” he said. “I didn’t say it was
my
head you should do those things to. I’m not the one responsible for this. Part of me wishes I was, so at least I’d deserve the abyss you and your angels have put me through. Alas, fate is cruel, and I am innocent.”

“Where is Veliana?” Harruq asked, scanning the debris. “We’ve captured the rest of your guild, all but her. I know she’s with you.”

“Just keeping an eye out for intruders,” Veliana said, again from behind him. He turned to see her idly lying in the empty window of the library, hands crossed behind her head. Her dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she winked with her good eye. “Can’t be too careful when you’re the most wanted couple in all of Dezrel.”

Harruq’s hands tightened on his swords. He could take Veliana in a straight fight, but not with Deathmask interfering. He’d have to play this very carefully.

“If you’re not responsible, then why did so many angels see you in their city hours before it fell?” he asked.

“I was never in their city,” Deathmask insisted.

“So the angels are lying?”

“Not lying,” Deathmask said as he paced along the top of the spire. “Fooled. Sure, they saw me there, but that doesn’t mean it was
me
they saw. It could be anyone. Illusion spells aren’t the most difficult thing to acquire, you know.”

“If you’re not responsible, then who is?” Harruq asked, forcing himself to stay calm. Deathmask had the high ground, which meant he’d have to take on Veliana first, and hope Deathmask’s concern for her safety would stop him from casting a spell.

“I know who I
think
is responsible,” Deathmask said. “But you won’t believe me.”

Harruq glanced over his shoulder, not liking how Veliana had drawn her daggers. “Try me.”

“The Council of Mages would be my guess,” said Deathmask. “They’re certainly powerful enough, and bear me no good will after banishing me years ago. As for
why
, well, they’ve never been a fan of either god, considering them unnecessary blights upon the world, and I have a feeling the war that tore Dezrel asunder did little to change that perspective.”

A plausible scenario, Harruq had to admit. When the second gods’ war ended, the Council had sent only the most cursory of acknowledgments. They didn’t promise Antonil any wealth, or advice, or aid in rebuilding. Just a few sentences on a scrap of paper thanking him for defeating Karak’s followers.

“If that’s the case, turn yourselves in and plead your case,” Harruq said. “All you have to do is swear you had nothing to do with it, and the angels will know immediately.”

Deathmask slowly shook his head. “I will not. I don’t trust them.”

“Why not?”

“Because there’s the chance the angels did this themselves.”

Harruq froze. The angels felling their own city? That was insane...wasn’t it?

“As you’re probably realizing, things aren’t quite as simple as you’d like to pretend,” Veliana said, sliding out the window. “So just...oh shit.”

Harruq tensed when he heard the sound of wings. Atop one of the crumbled buildings landed an angel of Ashhur, golden armor glittering in the starlight. He carried a long spear in one hand, a shield in the other, and he looked ready to use both.

“Deathmask and Veliana of the Ash Guild, I am Syric, Ashhur’s loyal servant. Surrender yourself now for trial and judgment.”

“You led them here,” Deathmask said, glaring.

“Not on purpose,” Harruq grumbled. He faced the angel. “Greetings, Syric. I’m Harruq, steward of the realm. I’m sure you’ve heard of me, maybe seen me kill Thulos, perhaps? I’ve got this situation under control, so, just, fly away now.”

He felt maddeningly impotent making such a request. His position of power never seemed to matter when dealing with the angels. As expected, the angel only raised his spear. Harruq clutched the hilts of his swords, palms sweating. His heart hammered in his chest as a second angel landed, his enormous two-handed sword already drawn.

“Do not resist,” Syric said. “Shoa and I will use force if we must.”

Veliana’s daggers twirled in her hands. Harruq kept an eye on Deathmask at all times, waiting to see how the dangerous man would react.

“Surrender,” Harruq said, desperately hoping he’d see reason. “If you’re innocent, you’ll be in no danger. I give my word.”

Deathmask faced each of the angels in turn, then reached up to remove his mask, revealing a face horribly scarred by fire. He stared at Harruq, almost pleading, and it was strange to see such honesty from the man.

“I fought alongside you, Harruq. I bled with you. I overthrew Melorak and his cult, I freed the people from Karak’s oppression. Remember that, and trust me now. I did not destroy Avlimar.”

Harruq realized the angels should have immediately sensed whether it were a lie or not, and he turned to Syric.

“Is he telling the truth?” he asked.

The two angels shared an uncomfortable look.

“Sorcery,” Syric said. “He masks his involvement, or protects it with clever language. We know his guilt is as certain as the rising sun.”

“So be it,” Deathmask said, pulling his mask back over his face. “You two had your chance.”

“No,” Harruq shouted, and he drew his swords. “Syric, Shoa, both of you stand down, that is an order. Let them go unharmed.”

The angels stiffened as if he’d slapped them across the face.

“Who are you to order us?” Shoa asked.

“The steward of the realm,” Harruq said.

“The human realm,” Syric said, and he turned to Deathmask. “This is your last chance. Surrender, or die. We will not ask again.”

Deathmask laughed. “Come and try, angels. You won’t be the first of your kind I burn to cinders.”

With a sudden burst of wings, the two lunged from their perches, Syric charging for Deathmask, Shoa for Veliana. His mind a stream of curses, Harruq dashed toward the collapsed library. Veliana had been prepared for an attack, but she appeared caught off guard the angels’ speed. She dashed to one side, only to have Shoa already veering in that direction, cutting her off while swinging his enormous blade.

Before it could slice her in half, Harruq flung himself in the way, both his blades blocking the swing. The hit jarred his arms, and he let out a growl as he dug in his feet.

“You would fight me?” Shoa asked as he pushed forward, knocking Harruq back a step. “Even after all we’ve done?”

“Your choice,” Harruq said, ducking an attempted elbow to the face and then crossing both swords into an X to block a downward chop. “Fly away, damn it, before it’s too late!”

Veliana spun around to Shoa’s back, and the angel had to retreat to protect himself. His sword looped about in wide circles to keep the two of them at bay. Veliana twisted and ducked, narrowly avoiding every swing. Harruq kept his distance, waiting for the right moment to attack. He wouldn’t win a match of pure strength, but if he could utilize their numbers advantage to find an opening...

Veliana dropped into a roll beneath the angel’s blade, then came up striking. Shoa retreated, and that’s when Harruq rushed him. Salvation and Condemnation hammered into the angel’s weapon, every bit of his strength poured into each blow. No chance for the angel to recover. No way to retaliate. Veliana saw the opening and went for it, but she wasn’t fast enough. With a gust of air, the angel beat his wings and soaring into the air.

“Vel!” Harruq heard Deathmask scream, and immediately the woman pulled away to race to her guildmaster’s aid. Harruq spared a glance, saw the disgraced mage frantically dodging Syric’s spear. The angel was bleeding from multiple wounds but still fought on unimpeded. Harruq’s brought his attention back to Shoa and braced for an even harder fight. With Veliana out of the picture, the angel could face Harruq without distraction. A flap of his wings and he swooped down, crashing into Harruq. The half-orc skidded across the walkway, refusing to back down, and once the angel landed to his feet, Harruq stole the offensive.

“Is this it?” Shoa asked as his enormous blade shifted and danced to block each and every hit. “Is this the strength of the fabled Godslayer? How could Thulos have fallen to one such as you?”

“I’m not trying to kill you, you bastard,” Harruq said. “Now fly away before someone gets hurt.”

Shoa swung in a wide arc, and it would have cleaved Harruq in half if he’d leapt backwards a half-second later.

“Then try harder!” the angel screamed. Harruq couldn’t believe the fury he saw in Shoa’s emerald eyes, the rage revealed in his sneer. Why such hatred? Did they care so deeply for Avlimar’s fall, or was it merely that someone had dared challenged their authority?

The angel demanded he try harder, and so Harruq did. When the enormous sword came arcing down, Harruq met it with his own. The sound of steel hitting steel was like an explosion, but this time it was the angel who found himself overpowered. Step by step he retreated as Harruq tore into him, matching the angel’s savagery. Every shred of frustration, he released. Every fear, every worry, he let fuel his swords. Godslayer, they had called him. As Harruq roared, he let himself become the furious monster that had accomplished the deed. The red light around his black blades flared with power. Shoa lifted his sword to block, but the heaven-forged blade shattered against the twin strikes.