Wrath of Lions (6 page)

“And why not?”

“They are dead.”

“Who are? Oris and Alexander?”

“All of them. The entirety of Erznia.”

Velixar’s eyes widened, and he took a step back. All of Erznia…dead? But why? His anger began to churn once more, but he held it in check. He thought he knew who was responsible, but he had to go through the charade, had to find out for sure.

“They fought back?” he asked, knowing that not to be the case.

The captain shook his head. “They didn’t. We fell on them before they had the chance.”

“Before
who
had a chance to react?”

“Every man, woman, and child.”

His fury boiled over, but he refused to release it. Yet. This captain who was so brazen in his defiance would be made to understand who had the power. Velixar stepped forward and grabbed Handrick
by the front of his mail, pulling him close. The armor’s rings cut into his fingers the tighter he gripped, but he felt no pain.

“
Why
did you kill them?” he asked. “I gave orders that none were to be hurt, and yet your men slaughtered the entire settlement? Does that sound acceptable to you?”

“The orders were changed,” replied the captain.

Velixar laughed, though the sound was without a hint of humor.

“Changed by who?”

“Highest Crestwell,” said the man proudly. “Or whatever our Highest has become. He joined us on the road and took command over our unit.”

Velixar’s eyes narrowed. “You know
exactly
what Clovis has become, Captain. I told you
explicitly
that the beast is neither to be trusted nor heeded. You follow
my
commands, not the demon’s.”

“I guide my men the way I see fit,” replied Handrick “The demon may have altered our Highest’s form, but Clovis still lives.…”

“He is not the Highest—
I
am!” Velixar roared. Admirably, Handrick managed not to tremble before such an outburst, though it seemed to take him a moment to gather himself.

“Perhaps,” he said. “But Clovis declared the citizens of Erznia blasphemers, and I agreed. They were to be punished, no different from how we punished those in Haven.”

Amazingly, the captain’s fear seemed to be diminishing, replaced by stubbornness and pride. Velixar could never let such defiance go unanswered.

“You did this even though your god ordered you otherwise,” he said.

“Karak gave me no orders.”

“
I
gave you the orders. I speak for Karak in our Divinity’s absence.”

“Like you spoke for Ashhur? Will you betray Karak as well?”

A deep throaty noise rose in Velixar’s throat.

“Watch your words, mortal,” he said.

Captain Handrick shoved him backward with one mailed fist, moving his other hand to the hilt of his sword. “You are no god,
Jacob
. And you could never take the place of the Highest. You are a delusional turncoat, and you can perish just as easily I can.”

The man went to pull out his weapon, but Velixar was quicker. One violent swing batted Handrick’s sword arm aside, shattering bone. A shriek left the captain’s throat as he stared at his flopping appendage. Velixar grabbed him around the back of the neck with his left hand, then latched onto his lower jaw with his right, his fingers beneath the captain’s chin, his thumb pressed against the inset of his lower teeth. Handrick struggled, but his strength was no match for his opponent’s.

“You sealed your fate,” Velixar whispered in his ear. “You shall never utter that accursed name again.”

With one mighty tug, he tore Captain Handrick’s lower jaw free from his face, ripping tendons and crushing bone and cartilage. The tongue severed from the lower palette and flopped against the captain’s chest in a great spray of blood. Handrick tottered backward, eyes bulging as he desperately swiped at the empty space where his jaw had been, gripping his flopping tongue like it was a slithering worm. He collapsed onto the floor, his whole body quaking, a red stain spreading from his chest all the way down to his belt. A wheezing gurgle was the only form of protest he could offer.

Velixar tossed the mess that had been the man’s lower jaw aside, closed his eyes, and spoke a few words of magic. The spurting blood vessels sealed themselves as the gaping wounds were gradually covered by a layer of new flesh, creating a wrinkled divot in the middle of which was the black cave of his throat. The teeth of his upper jaw hung over the cave like yellowed stalactites. In a matter of moments the captain stilled, his breath coming in short rasps as his dangling tongue still waggled in his hand. Velixar knelt before him and placed a hand on his shoulder. Handrick’s eyes lifted to him, overflowing with soundless terror.

“As I said, you will never speak that name again,” Velixar said. “Nor any other for that matter. You have disgraced your god, your kingdom, and your title, and so I leave you as the helpless, ugly bastard you have proved yourself to be. You have two choices, Captain: you can either learn to live like this or you can take your own life. It is your decision. If I were you, I’d choose the latter.”

He stood up and turned away as Handrick began to sob. Lanike appeared on the stairwell, drawn out of her quarters by the sounds of conflict. Her hand rose to her mouth when she saw the horror below her. Velixar looked up at her and smiled.

“Lanike, my dear, please assist the good captain with anything he might need. And as you can see, there is some blood on the floor. Please clean it before I return. I feel it is time to pay our god a visit.”

Traversing the miles to Karak’s private temple took the rest of the afternoon. Velixar walked the entire way, his heavy black cloak draped over his head, his face hidden by the darkness inside his cowl. No one accosted him on his journey; those he saw in the streets gave him a wide berth, often crossing to the other side of the road when he came within sight. Even the thieves and other unsavory individuals let him be. His legend had grown since he’d return as the dark-cloaked confidant of Karak. He was the undying punisher of the blasphemous, the tamer of demons.

He spent his walk in a sour mood, reflecting on the beast sharing Clovis Crestwell’s body and its apparent disregard for Velixar’s plans. Darakken had been more burden than help in the months since its awakening. It was a base creature, bred for violence, and its colossal appetite required constant nourishment. Ironically, this was perhaps its most useful aspect, as its voracious appetite had helped clear out the dungeons. Several times the demon had dropped to its knees before him, begging to be released of the chains of a
shared body, pleading to be made whole once more so its true form could roam free. Velixar always denied it that wish. “When the war begins,” he would tell the beast, “when Celestia descends from the heavens to assist her lover, Ashhur, in battle, only then will I free you. Only then will your true purpose be needed.”

The city proper disappeared behind him, replaced by fields of turned and muddy soil. There were still patches of snow and ice, sparkling beneath the glare of the descending sun. Few resided here, but he could see the progress that had been made in expanding the city, before preparations for war had taken away all the craftsmen. Incomplete stone foundations dotted the road, and a few rough shanties had been erected. He saw a group of five women huddling inside an open-faced tent, warming their hands over a quaint fire while their children wailed behind them. Their faces were dirty, their teeth rotting from their jaws. These were the downtrodden, the lazy, who accepted their lives of squalor and filth without pursuing something more, something better. When the war was over and the soldiers returned to their civilian lives, construction would continue, and these creatures would be pushed out even farther, until they were forced to leave Veldaren’s boundaries altogether.

They were agents of chaos, and Velixar felt no pity for them.

He finally arrived at Karak’s black-bricked temple and scaled the steps, passing between the twin statues of onyx lions, mirrors of the ones guarding the gates to Veldaren’s castle. He rapped on the heavy, oaken door, noting that the three dots that had always adorned it, representing the three gods, had been sanded away. The door was now smooth and black, ominous in its emptiness. When none answered his knock, he shoved the door open and stepped inside.

Just like the unused throne room of the Tower Keep, Karak’s monastery had been cleaned out. The plants that used to line the walls now resided in the courtyard behind the temple. The pews that had filled the center of the room had been disassembled and
used as timber for ax handles, bows, wagons, and other such items the army required. In their place a giant map of Dezrel had been painted on the floor by the god himself, a painstakingly detailed atlas showing every hill, valley, township, and holdfast both east and west of the Rigon River.

It was there he found his towering god, bent at the waist and hovering over the map, his giant feet following a path north along the great river that split the land in two, his glowing yellow eyes narrowed in concentration. Velixar said nothing as he approached. He stood in the god’s shadow while torchlight flickered all around them. Karak was twice Velixar’s height, and his hands were large and powerful enough to crush his head by simply making a fist. Most men were awed by his mere presence, forced to their knees by the Divinity’s might. Velixar was not most men. When he bowed, he did so because he wanted to.

“My Lord,” he said, dropping to a single knee before the deity.

“Velixar, my son,” replied Karak in his booming voice. Rather than looking up, the god continued to trace lines over the huge map with his eyes. “I am glad you have come.”

“Is that so, my Lord?” he replied. He rose to his feet once more and stood by Karak’s side, where he should have been standing since his creation. Though he had been made by both brother gods, Velixar was convinced that Karak’s path of order and discipline was the better.

“It is. I have put much thought into our last discussion and have come to a decision.”

“Which is?”

The god’s finger, as big as Velixar’s forearm, pointed down at his feet. “I have near twenty thousand fighting men in my service, and my brother’s Paradise is expansive. Our men are to be divided into four separate factions. One faction will head south, pass through the delta, and fall on my brother’s Sanctuary.” His finger moved north along the river. “One will cross the river here, across from the west’s
largest eastern settlement.” Again the giant finger moved north. “The third will join with our allies in Dezerea.” This time the finger traced a line to the northwest. “And the fourth shall sail along the Gihon, uniting with those Uther left behind in the northern deadlands, and face the spellcasters who live there. The three southern factions will slowly maneuver across the land, burning the areas where they find resistance, gathering as many converts as they can, and they will finally merge in Mordeina, which I am sure my brother will have fortified.”

Velixar nodded. “And you will heed my advice and leave Ashhur’s dark children alone?”

“I shall. Ker will fall after my brother has perished and his surviving creations have joined our cause, swelling our numbers. I fear you are correct about the risk they pose should their current desire for neutrality be broken. Once we have victory over Ashhur, I will leave them no choice but to bend the knee.”

“Will you spare them if they do?”

Karak nodded. “Most, yes, but there are few who are too dangerous, their thinking too stubborn. The giant Bardiya, for example. Let those who would cling to Ashhur’s simple-minded weakness find order in the life beyond instead.”

“A wise choice, my Lord.”

Karak stood to his full height, his majestic black platemail shimmering in the torchlight. He truly was an imposing figure. Velixar couldn’t understand how any man, even Bardiya Gorgoros, Ashhur’s greatest pupil, could deny him.

When the god looked down on him, his expression shifted to bemusement. “Why have you come, my son?” he asked. “I see something troubles you.”

“I bear ill news,” said Velixar. “Erznia is no more.”

“Is that so?”

“It is. The demon Darakken took control of the detachment I sent there. Instead of bringing back the Moris as I requested, it ordered the slaughter of every living being.”

Karak’s expression darkened. “All of them?”

“Every man, woman, and child, according to Captain Handrick.”

“And the captain let it happen?”

“Not only that, he
relished
it. He arrived at the keep this very afternoon, gloating. I taught the man the lesson he deserved, but even that will not bring back the lives lost, lives that would have been valuable to our cause.”

The air seemed to grow hot, and Karak’s arm shot out. He smashed his fist into the floor, disintegrating the painted depiction of one of Neldar’s southern townships. An angry roar left his lips, and the vibration knocked Velixar back a step.

“This
will not do
!” the god shouted, gazing at him with eyes that seemed capable of burning out his soul.

“I understand, my Lord,” replied Velixar, breathing deep to stay calm in face of the deity’s wrath. He dropped to both knees. “I like it no better than you, but please understand that all is not lost. As much as you love your children in Erznia, the fact remains that they have ignored your edicts for months. I sent Handrick there to force their complicity. Darakken is a simple beast, one that understands only death, destruction, and loyalty to you. It simply doled out punishment in the only way it knows how.”