The Mad God's Muse (The Eye of the Lion Saga Book 2) (15 page)

Logrus was unprepared for what
he found in the black lodge. Not many things were truly unsettling
to him, certainly not a few corpses, but the grim tableau before him
seemed to whisper of dire events to come.

Aiul, looking as if he had
bathed in blood and viscera, sat upon a throne of skulls, his head
tilted so low that his chin touched his chest. His long, thin
fingers curled like talons over the hilt of a great mace, propped
against the throne as if it were a scepter. The weapon’s head,
shaped to depict Elgar’s symbol of war, was likewise crusted
with red. The Nihlosian’s sunken, haunted eyes rolled upward
beneath his furrowed brow, glaring at Logrus through a screen of
matted, gore-streaked hair. Dust and ashes, stirred by Logrus’s
swinging of the curtain, circled Aiul’s head, the motes
winking and glinting in the light from the door. About the mad king,
his subjects lay in silent supplication, their broken bodies needing
no explanation.

Logrus raised an eyebrow as a
question, but Aiul, he remembered, preferred many words to few. “Are
you king of the dead, now?” he asked.

“Of these dead,”
Aiul mumbled. “You
did
say to kill a few of them.”

Logrus nodded. “Why this
one?” he asked, pointing at the woman by the door.

“I didn’t kill
her,” Aiul sighed. “They did.” He stared at the
floor again, shamed. “She wasn’t hurt that badly, when
it was over. I could have saved her, but….” He trailed
off.

Logrus pushed at the woman’s
arm with the toe of his boot, to expose a ragged tear in her wrist.
“I think you could not have saved this one,” he
declared. “This was done by teeth. Her own, I would guess.”

“You knew,” Aiul
declared. He stared accusation at Logrus, his eyes glinting with
undisguised hatred.

Logrus shook his head in
denial. “You are of the other order,” he said with a
shrug. “I do not know your rituals.”

“I killed him,”
Aiul chuckled, his voice stronger now. He pushed himself up with his
arms and stood on still weak legs. At Logrus’s blank look, he
added, “Your Dead God is truly dead, now.”

Logrus rolled his eyes at the
madness of such a statement.

“Look for yourself,”
Aiul told him, gesturing to the corpse of a tiny girl. It lay where
it had fallen, its head an unrecognizable wreck of flesh and bone.

“He wears bodies as you
or I wear clothes,” Logrus shrugged.

“You’re a fool,”
Aiul told him.

Logrus shrugged again.

“You’ll see!”
Aiul snapped.

“King of the dead, slayer
of gods,” Logrus sneered. “If this was a test, I’d
say you passed. No normal man is so arrogant. Or deluded.”

Aiul started toward Logrus,
gathering the mace for a mighty swing, but Logrus was faster. He
snatched a candlestick from the wall and hurled it at Aiul with
deadly accuracy, catching him squarely in the crotch.

“I am no weakling
cultist,” Logrus told him. Aiul, on his knees and retching,
had no reply. “I think it is necessary to kill you.” He
reached for one of the cultist’s blades and advanced toward
Aiul.

“It is not necessary,”
a voice whispered from the floor. Logrus turned to see the foreign
woman’s corpse stirring, dead lips twisting as it hissed, “You
must have patience with him. He does not understand.”

Logrus fell to his knees and
lowered his gaze to the floor as the dead woman rose to her feet.
Her cold, black eyes seemed to warm a bit, the ghost of a smile
flickering about her lips as she regarded him.

“I understand well
enough!” Aiul gasped. Defiantly, he rose and glared at Elgar.

“Do you?” Elgar
asked, her eyebrows rising in amusement. “Tell me what you
have learned, then.”

Aiul sputtered in amazement, at
last managing to shout, “I see what your servants do, monster!
What you would have
me
do! Is that not enough?”

Elgar shook her head patiently.
“You have done what I wished, scion,” she said. “You
were slow to act,” she noted. “But the first lessons are
difficult. I am pleased with the final result.”

“Are you mad?” Aiul
gasped. “I killed your people!”

“Not my people,”
Elgar denied.

“Then who are these lying
here on the ground?” Aiul sneered.

Elgar’s black eyes grew
cold again as she regarded the fallen cultists, her delicate
features twisting into a mask of hate. She spat upon the corpses.
Where the spittle fell, it smoked and bubbled, eating into the flesh
and cloth and stone like acid.

“I do not kill for
amusement,” Elgar said in his own voice. “I kill for
hatred, for vengeance.” He raised his hands before his eyes
and regarded them, turning them back and forth. “What reason
was there to hate this flesh I now wear?”

Aiul’s eyes fairly bulged
as he tried to reconcile the situation. “But you stood by!
Your people tortured them and you did nothing!”

“
You
did nothing,” Elgar rumbled. The building shook and vibrated
with his words. “I am constrained by the order of things. I
told you as much, but you did not listen. They are not my people”

“They use your name!”
Aiul shouted. “They follow you!”

“Jackals follow war,”
Elgar said. “Maggots revel in the aftermath. Which side do
they serve?”

Aiul began to tremble, and his
breath seemed to stutter in his chest. Logrus almost felt sorry for
the Nihlosian. He seemed less a bad man than simply a poor
combination of ignorance and arrogance.
Both, I think, will be
reduced in you this day, demon man.

Aiul sank to his knees, sobbing
quietly. He knelt there a few moments before mastering himself and
rising again. “So I am a fool,” he sighed. “Why
did you not explain? If I had understood….”

“I am constrained by the
order of things,” Elgar said. “I can only point the way.
Faith is the key.”

Aiul nodded, saying nothing.

“My Lord, I have
questions,” Logrus said, his voice low and full of respect.

“You wonder about your
master,” Elgar said.

Logrus nodded.

“I have taken him to me,”
Elgar said. “And many others. Few but the two of you remain.”

“Am I to know why?”
Logrus asked.

“I am weak, child,”
Elgar told him. “I am dying. You know this. I needed the power
I lent them, to bolster you. You must undertake a dangerous quest,
or all is lost.”

“I will do as you ask,
Lord,” Logrus told him.

“And you, scion?”
Elgar asked. “Will you, too, serve me?”

“I will do what I must,
to have my vengeance on Nihlos,” Aiul hissed. “But I
will not do it for your sake. I do not care if you die.”

“It is your vengeance
that will aid me,” Elgar said. “But you will need
weapons.” She chuckled briefly. “Weapons such as can
only be found in Torium.”

Aiul gasped at the name of the
forbidden city, and rose to his feet. “Madness! That place is
death! Even Alexander gave it wide berth!”

“Nevertheless, you must
go there,” Elgar said. “You must claim my blood, and the
Book of the Gods. Only then will you be able to strike at your
enemies.”

“There must be another
way!” Aiul shouted.

“There is no other way,”
Elgar said. The corpse that he wore dropped to the floor, lifeless,
as he withdrew from it.

“We will die there,”
Aiul muttered to the lifeless body.

“We must prepare for our
journey,” Logrus said, rising.

“We’ll need a
shovel,” Aiul told him.

“Eh?” Logrus asked,
confused. “Why?”

“The better to dig our
own graves with,” Aiul answered.

Ahmed and his men had made for
open sea as a first destination, well beyond the reach of any of the
other vessels in Brust, and held position. He had decided it would
be a good time to give the men a day of rest, and Sandilianus
agreed.

It is good. I need time to
think.
Ahmed had yet to broach the most difficult subject with
his second, the question of where to go and what to do next.
Sandilianus had been pretty clear on what he thought of the prophesy
months ago, when Brutus had thrown Ahmed an honorably-earned
beating. The elder soldier would obey, but he did not believe, not
in the way Ahmed needed. In the end, the price to turn doom aside
might be all of their lives. A man needed to be more than loyal to
pay the ultimate price. He had to be unwavering, convinced of the
truth. Sandilianus could prove difficult to sway that far, perhaps
impossible unless Ahmed's reasoning and persuasion skills were
flawless.
This cannot end as it did with Brutus! I will not fail
us again.

In the mean time, there was
much to learn. The sun was already sinking, and only a few hours of
daylight remained. Ahmed walked along the starboard side of his new
ship, examining each of the captive sailors as he passed, looking
for some sign of…what, exactly? Whatever Sandilianus had
sensed, the unformed evil that had yet to surface. Sandilianus, on
the port side, was doing much the same.
So,
he does not know yet, either. At least I have learned that much
about him
.

“Have they a leader?”
Ahmed called.

Sandilianus crossed the deck to
join him. “No signs of one. I suspect he was among the few who
leapt overboard before we could secure the decks.”
Sandilianus’s face grew thoughtful, then sly. “Or else
he is hiding here, still.”

Ahmed raised an eyebrow in
appreciation. “Aye. If he were here, and we were so inclined,
it might go badly for him. Have the men do a search. There is much
we might discover.”

Sandilianus thumped a fist
against his chest and departed to carry out his orders. Ahmed
continued his tour, examining the men and machinery, at last
reaching the bow where he had started. He looked back along the
deck, trying to take in the whole picture, connect the strands of
information that he had. Beside him, one of the captives was
squatted on the deck, busy doing something with rope. Ahmed
considered asking the man what it was. Perhaps it, too, might
somehow be important, but he decided it was merely distraction.

He knew that the small brown
men ran the ship, the same men sold as slaves in Aviar. The ship was
a Gruppenwalder vessel. The Gruppenwalders were notorious for their
greed. They would sell their own mothers for the right price. Yet
there were no Gruppenwalders here. Why would the brown men have such
a ship? They could have bought it, but why? Why would they need a
vessel capable of crossing the ocean? To trade? But they had
nothing!

Ahmed ground his teeth as it
all fell into place for him. Of course they had something to trade:
their brethren, their children. Fury welled in him, demanding an
outlet. Ahmed provided one by kicking the man with the rope solidly
in his backside, sending him sprawling.

The roper looked up at him in
fear and confusion. “What did I do?” he asked, his
accent so thick that it was barely intelligible.

Ahmed considered explaining,
but what would be the point? It would be far more satisfying to
simply give this coward a beating. Perhaps he would sell the lot of
them to the slavers once they reached Aviar. It would be just, and
Ahmed could use the money.

Sandilianus’s shout rang
across the deck, interrupting Ahmed’s dark musings and turning
all heads aft. “Ahmed! We’ve found something!”

The man Sandilianus marched
into Ahmed’s cabin was tall, an inch or three over six feet.
But thin. My arm is nearly as
big around as his leg.
Blonde hair, blue eyes, high
cheekbones, all made Ahmed feel ill. The man regarded him with an
air of resignation, and offered no resistance.

“Who is this animal?
Their Gruppenwalder contact?”

The prisoner’s eyebrows
arched in confusion, and Sandilianus shook his head in frustration.
“He is
Nihlosian
!”

Ahmed had to struggle to keep
his jaw from gaping wide. This was the last thing he had expected.
He searched for words, at last finding some he was proud of. “You
will have trouble making me believe you saw this through the
spyglass.”

Sandilianus stared back in
confusion for a moment, then chuckled as he made the connection.
“Ah, my ‘leadership lesson’. No, this one was no
part of that, but I see you have already worked out what I suspected
there. These dogs sell their own as slaves.”

Ahmed nodded, watching the
Nihlosian man’s face for clues. “And you?” he
asked the man. “What is your part in this?”

The Nihlosian shrugged. “I
swab decks.” He scratched at his chin with dirty fingers, and
offered a roguish smile. “Coil ropes, polish bright work. Oh,
and fight. I used to do a lot of that, but it’s less as the
fools wise up and stop trying me.”

Ahmed had just the perfect
words come to mind to call the man a liar. The problem was that he
did not believe them. “What is your name?”

“Eleran.”

Sandilianus cuffed Eleran in
the head hard enough to stagger him. “What
house
,
dog? We are not as ignorant as you think.” Eleran moaned and
sank to his knees, sobbing, held up only by Sandilianus’s firm
grip on his collar.

Ahmed kept his face placid,
seeing no reason to admit that he, for one, was indeed that
ignorant. “You fold easily for one who claims to fight often.”

“I’m better when
I’m sober,” Eleran mumbled, and Ahmed suddenly realized
the man had not been sobbing at all. He was shaking with barely
contained laughter! “We’ve been in port here for a week.
I used to have some money, but it’s gone.” He looked up
at Sandilianus and pursed his lips in a kiss. “I don’t
remember what it was like to be sober. So fuck you.” He
erupted into a fit of giggles.

Sandilianus released him and
let him fall in a heap. “You’re hardly my type, dog. And
you didn’t answer my question. What house?”

Eleran oozed slowly to a face
down position on the floor, then, with clear effort, levered himself
onto his back. “House? You’re an idiot. Why would I be
piss drunk and swabbing decks in this shithole if I were a fucking
noble?” He pointed a finger at Sandilianus. “I’d
just tell one of my slaves to chop off your head. So obviously,
you’re
the
one that’s confused, and you can see now how that’s a
good thing. I’m sure you’re very fond of your head,
after all.”

Sandilianus raised an eyebrow
in appreciation. “Ah. You are that sort of culture. I am
afraid I did not have time to absorb it all. I was fairly busy
fighting for my life in one way or another.”

“Yar, they’re
bastards. That fucking guy Caelwen—“

“You
know
him?”

Eleran squinted at Sandilianus
a moment, then nodded. “In a manner of speaking.” He
raised himself to a sitting position and scooted backward to lean
against the bulkhead. “In that he arrested me more times than
I can really remember. Probably because his repeated blows to my
skull caused brain damage. The fuck.”

Ahmed caught Sandilianus’s
eye and grinned as the soldier returned a sour look, then turned
back to the Nihlosian. “So you are an outlaw, then?”

Eleran shrugged. “Exile
is a better word. As in, ‘If you come back we’ll kill
you.’ It was nothing formal.”

“And what did you do to
earn such hatred?”

Eleran chuckled again. “Fought.
Stole. Drank. And definitely fucked the wrong woman.”

Sandilianus nodded in sympathy.
“Women can be quite cruel. I have no truck with them,
personally.”

Eleran gave Sandilianus a
confused look, then shook his head. “I don’t think you
understand.”

Ahmed waved a hand. “We
understand well enough. Our ways may differ, but we know women
complicate things. I am more concerned about the business of this
ship. How long have you been aboard?”

A look of intense concentration
came over Eleran's face for a moment, as if he were performing
complicated math in his head. “Almost two years. And, yes, I
know what they’re up to. I don’t care. I can’t
afford to.”

“How does it work?”

Eleran scratched his head and
yawned, bleary eyed. “They have a route they run, a bunch of
small towns and villages. They catch people alone or in small
groups, and eventually fill up the ship. They meet some other people
on an island a long way out and trade people for gold. Then it
starts all over.”

“And you help them?”

Eleran shook his head
vigorously. “I swab decks, set sails, haul ropes, whatever
they tell me, but I just do labor. I wouldn't take part in the rest,
and they wouldn't trust me to do it even if I would.”

Ahmed nodded, satisfied. “I
plan on selling these dogs to the slavers myself when we reach
Aviar. It would serve them right. But what shall we do with you?”

Sandilianus stroked his beard
and offered a cruel smile to their prisoner as he waited for Ahmed
to continue.
You really are
the perfect second in command
.

Eleran shrugged again. “Well,
I don’t suppose you feel like giving me a lot of money and
booze and sending me on my way?” he said with a giggle.

Ahmed shook his head and waved
it aside. “Put him back to work. We will let the prince decide
his fate when we reach home.”

Sandilianus gave Ahmed a fiery
glance that he quickly, almost ruthlessly forced back to a blank
expression, then gestured for Eleran to show himself out. The elder
soldier watched until he was certain Eleran was well and truly gone,
then spun on Ahmed, cold fury in his eyes.

I am out of time. Ilaweh,
give me strength and wisdom. The battle is joined, and everything
hangs in the balance.

Sandilianus drew in a breath
and ground his teeth a moment, his fists clenched by his sides, his
eyes dark with anger. “So you are giving up on the prophesy,
going home?” he hissed, struggling to keep his voice low
despite his sudden, shocking rage. “
Now
,
after
everything
?
”

Aye, it would not do well
for this conversation to be overheard.
Ahmed
said nothing for a moment, but raised an eyebrow as he considered
his second's unexpected reaction. “Never. You misunderstand
me. To be honest, I've been working on how to get you on board
without a fight. It's one I'd surely lose.”

Sandilianus's
anger faded as quickly as it had come, and he sighed in relief.
“Good. I was certain I was going to have to beat you into
staying!” he chuckled. “And even if I was of another
mind, I am not that stupid.”

Ahmed
raised an eyebrow at this. “I do not understand.”

“Ah,
you never heard this story! I forgot, you were back on the ship.”
Sandilianus smiled wistfully at the memory. “Brutus quarreled
with Yazid over such matters, and Yazid decked him with a single
punch.”

Ahmed
nodded, remembering Yazid's discipline. “I do not doubt it. I
heard as a child that he once laid out a bull the same way, and I
believe that, too. I have been on the receiving end of his blows.”

“Oh,
I take nothing from Yazid. He was as fine a fistsman as I have
known, but as Brutus told the tale, it was the hand of Ilaweh
himself that struck him down.”

Ahmed
felt a sad smile on his lips. “A pity the lesson didn't stay
with him.” He shook his head at the waste of it all.
Too
many dead on account of stubborn pride. But perhaps it was necessary
to get us where we are.
He would leave it to Ilaweh to judge
such things. He had plenty to occupy him here and now.

He
had been expecting a war with Sandilianus, only to find they had
been allies all along.
If only all wars could end so cheap.
“I
assumed you would stand against me, too. You sided with Brutus
before.”

Sandilianus's
gaze wavered momentarily toward the floor, an uncomfortable look
crossing his face and quickly passing as he recovered eye contact.
“I took no side, as I recall. I did my duty and cheered the
fight, and kept my mouth shut like a good soldier.”

Ahmed
felt true surprise at this, along with some anger. “You
believed and did not side with me? We might have saved many lives
together!” he nearly shouted.

Sandilianus
shrugged and shook his head. “I doubt it. I knew Brutus well.
Very
well, you understand, yes? We would not have changed his
mind, not short of Yazid punching sense into him again. All we could
have done was lose his respect.” He looked at the floor again.
“Perhaps I was weak, even so. Maybe I had carried enough
beatings and didn't want another. Maybe I didn't want a man who was
my occasional lover to think me a fool. I don't know the truth of
it. I don't think much about motivations. I follow orders. All I can
say is it didn't seem the right time to speak.”

Ahmed,
too, hung his head. “Ilaweh as my witness, I had no idea what
Brutus was to you. I must have cut out your heart with my words.”

Sandilianus
waved a hand, dismissing the notion. “I was numb to
everything. I had just seen Ilaweh intervene and force us back on
course, and the price we paid.” Sandilianus paused and looked
back up at Ahmed, an almost pensive expression on his face. His next
words were nearly a whisper.

“And
I had just seen a man rise from the dead. At that moment, I knew it
was all true. Everything those sorcerers told me.”

Ahmed
chuckled at this. “I was unconscious, that's all!”