A Whisper After Midnight (37 page)

“Some mistakes happen for reasons we don’t understand. Chadra is no more. You merely delayed the inevitable. I feel sorry for you, Inaella, I really do.”

“Save your pity, snake,” the raven-haired woman said.

Ingrid moved closer and sat on the edge of the bed. “Poor, poor Inaella. Where have all your servants gone? Your attendants to dress you and ensure you meet your schedules? You claim to know me? I know you as well. A broken aristocrat without lands, title or peasants to boss around. You are everything wrong with this kingdom. It’s time for a new order to rise out of your ashes. An order that will reshape Delranan into what it should be. Who knows, perhaps you’ll even live long enough to bear witness.”

Ingrid tossed her long, blond locks back over her shoulders and stormed off, leaving the stricken Inaella lost in the quagmire of her own contempt and self-loathing. Words wouldn’t come. In the end it was all she could do to collapse back into her dirty blankets and sweat and wonder what went so terribly wrong?

Fuming, Ingrid didn’t understand why she felt hollow. Rebuking Inaella should have been satisfying. She’d been waiting patiently for this moment since Joefke died. He was only a second cousin and not very likable but he was family. She couldn’t tell the council this. They never would have allowed her to take his place, fearing ulterior motives and a possible play for control. Truthfully she never had designs towards sitting on the rebellion council. Rising through the ranks was hard but won through constant struggle with the enemy and careful planning.

She wouldn’t be where she was if not for the dedication of those who mattered the most: the people. Ingrid figured it was time for the aristocratic class to fall. They’d had their chance to govern the kingdom and made a royal mess of it. Delranan more than likely would never recover. A sad fact but one she was prepared to live with so long as what rose from the dust was better. The plague’s unexpected arrival was blessing and boon. So many good people had died that the kingdom was left with barely half of its population. She kept busy to keep from crying. None of her family, that she knew of, survived. The last of her name, Ingrid vowed to keep fighting until death or victory.

Inaella didn’t know nor would she ever that Ingrid had discovered the identity of the one responsible for selling out their headquarters. She took a team of personally dedicated fighters and hunted the man down. He died lost in his own screams. She had watched it emotionlessly even as he begged and pleaded for his life. His claims that he only did it to protect his family fell on deaf ears. Once he lay dead and broken in the gutters Ingrid took her fighters and killed his family. There was no room for weakness in the new rebellion.

Armed with righteous fury, Ingrid presented her offer to the remaining rebels. Her impassioned plea struck the right chords. All but a handful of the older, more devoted rebels left with her. Inaella’s rebellion was dead. She briefly contemplated turning the secret hideaway in but thought the better of it at the last moment. She wasn’t a savage after all. Ingrid ordered all of the weapons lockers emptied, food stores and supplies removed. They left just enough to keep the leftovers in supply for a few days. After that they needed to look after themselves. They weren’t Ingrid’s problem any longer.

She had a rebellion to fight.

Execution

Argis barely had the strength to lift his head. He’d lost muscle mass, strength, and will during his incarceration. He refused to eat or drink, hoping death would come quickly and save him the pain Harnin deserved. It had been days since guards came to shovel out the muck. His cell was rank. Fetid. Rats came every so often to nibble on his toes and shins. He didn’t care. Argis was as close to broken as he’d ever been.

“You’ve looked better.”

Argis started to laugh but it hurt too much. “Come to gloat, One Eye?”

“Yes, in fact I have. You’ve given me more trouble than you’re worth,” Harnin sneered. “I should have done this years ago.”

“You always represented the worst of us, Harnin. Badron couldn’t see it, even though we tried to make him.”

Harnin stared back at the former lord. There was a time he considered Argis a friend. They’d shed blood together, broke bread, and drained endless flagons of mead. Harnin had few friends in life. They’d grown close during the Spring Campaign twenty-two years ago. Argis blocked a swing by one of the wild men that would have cleaved Harnin from neck to gut. Harnin frowned at the memory. There was no place for foolish sentiments in the new kingdom.

Instead of friendship he found only disdain. Argis was one of their best. A king in another kingdom. He lacked the fear required of most kingsmen, seldom lacking the patience to tell Badron those things he didn’t want to hear. Every kingdom needed advisors like Argis. Harnin despised him for that. Every petty argument pushed Harnin that much further from Badron’s favor.

Harnin spit. “Badron’s a fool. He made his destiny and abandoned Delranan by doing so. This kingdom should have been mine. Even his father knew it. Bahr was the smart one. He left as soon as he could and made his own life. I should have killed both of them when they were still boys. Perhaps we wouldn’t be in this situation?”

“You betrayed the king,” Argis insisted.

Harnin laughed. “You dare accuse me of betrayal? It was you who left the forgotten door open so our enemies could sneak in and kill Badron’s son. Your selfishness set us on a course to war, Argis. Not mine. I merely capitalized on your mistakes.”

“My only mistake was not killing you that night. You are a snake.”

Shaking his head, Harnin leaned closer. His nose crinkled at the overpowering stench. How anyone managed to stand such rot was beyond him. “I saved your life, you know?”

It was Argis’s turn to laugh. “I’m better off dead.”

“Yes, you are. What you don’t know is that a plague has taken over the kingdom. Thousands are lying dead in the streets, rotting as we speak. Rumor has it your precious rebellion was most stricken. Does that distress you?”

Wet strands of hair clung to his face. His broken nose itched suddenly. He refused to believe Harnin’s taunts. Enough harm had already been done thanks to the One Eye’s lies. He refused to believe that everything he had worked for, everything he’d risked over the last two years was wasted because of a random illness. So many friends… He let the thought fade. Death awaited them all; it was merely a matter of how that separated each other.

He’d seen the results of a plague once before. The results were devastating. Worst was the smell. Years had passed and he remembered the smell vividly. Argis wanted to weep, knowing even Harnin couldn’t conceive such hatred. No tears came. He’d used them all. Argis was a useless husk of what he wanted to be. For a moment only he thought his act of betrayal was the wrong decision. But no. Badron would have found another reason to go to war and many more would still be dead. The sad realization that he hardly mattered finally broke his spirit.

“A plague would have killed your people as well,” he said through coughing fits. “You’d lose just as much.”

“Sadly no. I was forewarned and able to protect the great majority of my forces. You should know better than that, Argis. Rulers always have private sources of information,” Harnin gloated. “You know what I speak of. He’s been in here. I can smell his taint even above your own piss and shit.”

“The demon,” Argis whispered.

Harnin shrugged. “Hardly what I’d call a demon though he does display rather vulgar traits. Regardless, he serves his purpose and has given me a new outlook on life.”

“How could you betray Delranan to work with a monster?”

“Would it surprise you to learn that Badron has been under the influence of another of these beings? They warped his mind. They must have convinced him to go into Rogscroft at the onset of winter. Only a fool would take his army across the mountains and get cut off once the snows piled up. But then, Badron always was impetuous.”

“The pair of you are fit for each other. Can’t you see? You’re both working towards the same agenda. Rulers! Ha!”

Harnin slapped Argis, knocking a tooth loose. “Mind your tongue before I have it cut out! I am nothing like Badron. Nothing! His family has led this kingdom into the ground. It has fallen to me to raise it up again. Don’t you understand you are on the cusp of witnessing true greatness?”

Argis spit a wad of blood. “Greatness and madness are close cousins, Harnin. You could have been so much more than the shadow you’ve become.”

“Perhaps, but none of that matters now, does it?”

Argis shook his head. “No. I don’t suppose it does. Have you come to kill me?”

“No. Well, not me personally. I have someone special for that. Your time is expired, Lord Argis. Tomorrow you will be taken to the main palisade and executed in front of as many survivors as we can round up. Your rebellion is finished. Your treason is finished. You are finished. I win, my friend.”

The door creaked shut with enough violence it left Argis’s ears ringing. Only when he was certain he was alone did he break down and sob.

Dawn was bleak, fitting of the day’s task. Dark and troubled clouds clung like a pall to Chadra. Freezing winds blew in from the east and distant Murdes Mountains. Heavier clouds rode low, threatening snow or worse. It was the middle of winter and the northern kingdoms were buried under feet of snow and thick ice. Crows landed on the crenellations and leering gargoyles as if anticipating a feast.

The soldiers of the Wolfsreik reserves were in their finest uniforms. Every weapon was new and impeccably sharpened. Boots were polished to high sheen. Dents were banged out of armor and helmets. They marched up from the barracks in ranks of two, their dark uniforms in contrast to the mild wooden walls of Chadra Keep. Pennants fluttered in the wind. Some tore, leaving jagged stains on emblems.

Harnin followed the soldiers. Dressed in the finest crimson robe and black uniform, his one good eye was red, sore. Late night discussions with Pelthit Re left him fractured in mind and spirit. His flesh was gaunt and obscenely pale. Dark blue veins popped out of the backs of his hands and neck. Patches of hair had fallen out, easily concealed with his hood. Sallow bags clung to his eye sockets, lending him a malevolent appearance. Those nearest cringed away on impulse. If he noticed he didn’t mind. Fear was a ruler’s most powerful instrument.

A crow cawed. Harnin admired the carrion eaters.
You shall have your feast, bird. I want you to pick his bones clean while his precious people watch in horror. There shall be no new dawn for Argis
. Reluctantly he took his gaze from the crow and settled on the massive X-shaped rack dominating the center of the palisade. He’d carefully detailed Argis’s torture and execution to the master torturers. A traitor’s death was too simple, too nice for one of Delranan’s former lords. Argis needed to suffer so much it carried over to the afterlife.

Hundreds of civilians had been rounded up and marched up the slope to Chadra Keep. Several coughed and sputtered with the lingering plague symptoms. Harnin cared less. They were all expendable at this point. He figured at least half were willing participants in the rebellion. The thought of turning his Wolfsreik loose on them the moment Argis’s head sailed over the wall tempted him. He reluctantly decided against it, knowing the psychological damage of having one of their staunchest symbols carelessly tossed into the crowd would leave the pitiful remnants of the rebellion in utter shock.

The idea of crushing so many dissidents put a wry grin on his face. A bell chimed once and the crowd hushed. Harnin turned back to the entranceway. Four guards pulled and shoved Argis outside. The former lord immediately tried to shield his face from the blinding light. Weeks of captivity left him diseased, so weak he couldn’t stand on his own. The guards laughed, shoving him to the floor and kicking him repeatedly when he wouldn’t rise.

Harnin pursed his lips. Conflicting thoughts kept him silent. Much of his hatred fled as he looked on what Argis had become. Confronting the traitor in the quasi darkness of the dungeon was one thing. Seeing him exposed in broad daylight was vastly different. Killing him was a definite mercy. Still, he couldn’t help but feel the pull of old emotions. They’d been friends once. Harnin ignored the niggling in the back of his mind. Keeping Argis alive was dangerous. The Man needed to die for several reasons. Harnin straightened his back and clasped his hands in front of him. Steeling his gaze, he watched as the guards hauled Argis back to his feet and kept moving him forward.

A loud gasp rose from the crowds as Argis came into view. The strange combination of sickness and madness washed over them. Few could believe the degeneration Harnin had not only allowed, but condoned for the former lord of Delranan. Many already knew how far the One Eye was willing to go to achieve total victory. The kingdom quickly swooned under this new dictatorship. More than one onlooker wept for Argis as he fell again. The crack of whips was crisp, bitter on the morning wind.

Harnin ignored the crowds. People were little better than cattle. Their time was fast approaching. His eye never left Argis. Every jolt of pain, nuance of suffering was noted. He wanted to savor it. But there was no joy to be found. Every emotion seemed hindered, as if the Dae’shan lurked just out of sight. A fleeting shadow in that special space between light and dark. So long as Pelthit Re and the others remained, Delranan would never be recreated in Harnin’s image. But no matter how he tried to rationalize it, Harnin couldn’t find a way to remove the Dae’shan threat and make the kingdom his again.