The King of the Vile (13 page)

Harruq felt the first tinge of panic.

“It’s just a few paladins,” he said. “They aren’t going to win a war on their own.”

“Jerico and Lathaar are but two,” Ahaesarus said, “yet what army would not tremble when facing their combined might? If dark paladins fight alongside Kerran soldiers, then it is a conquering force we must consider before we send our combined might in the opposite direction.”

“And what of Devlimar?” Azariah added. “What assurances do we have our home will remain safe during our absence?”

Harruq wanted to scream, but the angels were not Lord Richard. There’d be no head-butting an angel, no matter how appropriate it felt.

“That’s what guards are for,” he said, patience straining.

“Already you give us guards, and they accomplish little.”

“Then I’ll station
more
guards,” Harruq said. “This is insane. Is your new home really that much more important than the people dying in the north?”

“We have all seen the sacrifices you and your friends made in the defense of your homes,” Azariah said. “Why are we not allowed to care for our own?”

“I did it for the people there,” Harruq said, growling. “Not the damn buildings.”

“The last piece of Ashhur’s perfection in this world is steadily being broken down and stolen. Perhaps you cannot understand, but that loss hurts us deeply.”

Harruq felt the last of his sanity breaking. The angels weren’t going to help? How could they not? After everything they’d done, everything they’d sacrificed...

“Harruq is right,” Ahaesarus said after a long, uncomfortable silence. “The people are what matter most. We should fly north to aid against the beasts of the Wedge.”

“Karak is our enemy, not the mindless creatures of the first war,” Judarius said. “I say we accompany the army south.”

They all turned to Azariah, Harruq desperately hoping the angel would see reason. Whichever side the wise angel joined would be the winning argument. Those hopes died with the shaking of Azariah’s head.

“Devlimar will be finished within a few days,” he said. “We have spent too long bleeding and dying for those who would reject our help. For once, we must look to ourselves, and ensure our own spiritual needs have been met. We must rebuild Devlimar. We must cry up to the heavens for Ashhur to hear us and answer. Let him provide us with the proper path. Until then, we are lost sheep, and whichever way we go may be wrong.”

Ahaesarus turned to the smaller angel, and Harruq was surprised by the anger he heard in his voice.

“We do not have the time to...”

“We do,” Azariah insisted. “Convene a council if you must, and we will vote on the matter. Or would you tell our brethren you feel it wiser to act with haste instead of seeking Ashhur’s wisdom?”

The comment must have stung Ahaesarus deeply, for the angel looked away, dismayed.

“You can’t,” Harruq said. “You won’t, but...but why not?”

“Once the council convenes, we will inform you of our decision,” Azariah said with a bow. “Until then, we have work to do.”

Azariah took flight, exiting one of the enormous windows. Judarius followed. Only Ahaesarus remained, and he stared after his departed brethren. Harruq felt his legs going weak, disbelief settling in.

“I don’t understand,” he said.

Ahaesarus shook his head.

“Neither do I,” he said softly.

With a great burst of air, the angel spread his wings and flew away. Once he was gone, Harruq lowered his head, sucked in a deep breath, and screamed as loud as he could.

“FUCK.”

He dropped to his rear on the carpet, resting his head in his hands. The angels had been the one faction he thought he could rely on, the one shining beacon of sanity in an insane world. Not anymore.

Footsteps behind him reminded Harruq of Sir Daniel’s presence, and he turned about, his neck and face flushing.

“Sorry about that,” he said.

Sir Daniel shook his head and gestured to the window the angels had exited through. “You have nothing to apologize for. Those fools, on the other hand...”

“Not sure what else there is to do,” he said. He rubbed his eyes against an oncoming headache.

“There’s not,” Sir Daniel said. “Which is why I’m leaving.”

Harruq lifted an eyebrow. “Leaving?”

The knight offered his hand, and Harruq slowly stood and accepted it.

“I’ve done what I can, as have you,” he said. “But if nothing can be accomplished here, then I’m going to fly Sonowin to the castle to aid Arthur. I may be only one man, but I will still do what I can.”

Harruq pumped the knight’s fist, then stepped back.

“Don’t quit on us yet,” he said. “Aid will come, I promise. Just...give me a bit more time. A whole lot of strange is going on, and I need to figure out what it is so people can start behaving like they should.”

Sir Daniel nodded.

“I won’t tell Arthur he’s abandoned,” he said. “But I won’t lie to him, either. For now, we must stand on our own. Good day, Steward, and may Ashhur help you in the days to come.”

“Thanks,” Harruq said. “I think we’re going to need it.”

Sir Daniel bowed low, then marched down the carpet and out the double doors. Slowly, Harruq approached the throne as if it would eat him. He stared down at the empty seat and couldn’t help but wonder if it’d be better if it
remained
empty. Tilting his head to the ceiling, he shook his head.

“Are you watching?” he whispered. “Do you see what’s become of us without you?”

Harruq expected no answer, so when he felt a cold wind blow, heard a soft whisper breathe his name, it chilled him to the bone. It was a voice from his past, a voice of nightmares and loss.

11

L
athaar sat in his room and stared at the letter on his desk. It was a simple letter, only three sentences long, sent by a farmer from a village near the Bloodbrick.

“Damn it,” Lathaar slammed a fist against the desk. “Ashhur damn it all, not again.”

He grabbed the small piece of parchment and hurried from his room. He had to find Jerico, had to react before things spiraled out of control. Lathaar raced down the stairs of the Citadel two at a time. The students should’ve still been outside performing their morning exercises, with Jerico overseeing them to make sure no one decided to take things easy or pretend their fifth sit-up was actually their fiftieth.

When he reached ground level, he shoved open the heavy doors, climbed down the five stone steps to the ground, and rushed around to the west side of the tower. Sure enough, the thirty students were in scattered groups, performing their stretches and other assorted exercises. Jerico stood among them, looking tired and bored.

“Come to join us?” Jerico asked when he saw Lathaar approaching. “Sparring won’t begin for at least half an hour, but I’m bored enough to...”

He trailed off, frowning and crossing his arms. His voice lowered. “What’s wrong?”

Lathaar handed him the letter. Jerico read it, and his frown deepened.

Ker declared war on Mordan. Already crossed the Bloodbrick. Karak paladins fight alongside them.

That was it, but that was all they needed to know. Jerico lowered the letter and sighed.

“Well,” he said. “It looks like things are about to get interesting, aren’t they?”

“I’m not sure ‘interesting’ is the word I would use,” Lathaar said. “What do we do?”

“What
can
we do?” Jerico asked with a glance at the students. “They’re too young to fight. The two of us alone won’t be enough to defeat an army, nor do we need to. The angels can handle any threat Ker poses.”

Lathaar shook his head. “Karak’s paladins are finally on the move. We can’t ignore this. Whatever they’re planning, it isn’t good. We both know that.”

“Jerico!” called one of the younger paladins. The boy looked deathly white as he rushed over. Lathaar frowned, wondering what could possibly have spooked him so.

“What’s the matter, son?” Jerico asked.

In answer the boy pointed north, just beyond the Citadel.

“There’s...there’s an army coming,” he said.

The two paladins exchanged a look.

“They wouldn’t be coming from the north,” Lathaar reasoned, cutting off the thought that Ker’s army had turned their way at the dark paladins’ behest.

“Then who?” Jerico asked.

Together they rushed through their ranks to the corner of the Citadel. Before they were even to the other side, Lathaar could already see what had spooked the boy: a swarming mass of creatures, at least three hundred strong. They were too far away to make out individually, only that they were a mixture of gray fur and pink flesh. They rushed southward alongside the western bank of the Gihon River. Lathaar’s head grew light, the air in his lungs suddenly too thin.

First Karak’s paladins, now this?

“What in the abyss is going on?” he wondered aloud.

“I don’t know,” Jerico said. “Get the students inside. We need those doors barred at once.”

The two ran back to their students, shouting orders. Lathaar failed to keep the panic from his voice as he urged them on. In a scattered line the students ran to the front of the Citadel, rushing up the steps and through the thick doors. Lathaar slammed them shut behind him. They’d been reinforced with battle in mind, and together he and Jerico dropped the heavy iron bar into place.

“Everyone to your rooms,” Jerico called behind him. “All of you move it, right now!”

“How much time do we have?” Lathaar asked as the students filed up the stairs.

“Time enough to put our armor on in case those doors don’t hold,” Jerico answered.

Both had rooms on the second floor, and they helped one another strap on their platemail. With each piece, Lathaar’s insides hardened. How long had it been since he’d fought in battle? Five years, closing in on six? Ever since Thulos’s death, he’d done little but train and teach. The world had felt legitimately safer, but that safety was now revealed a lie.

“Ready?” Jerico asked as he slid his left arm through the buckles of his shield.

Lathaar tightened his belt, then slid his long and short swords into their respective loops. Their weight was comforting, and he wondered if he should view that as a blessing or a curse.

“Ready,” Lathaar said.

They climbed to the third floor armory, which had eight windows facing all directions. Lathaar moved to the northern window, Jerico the northeast. Together they watched the small army approach, only minutes away.

“Goat-men,” Jerico said. “That’s new.”

“It is.” The creatures had humanoid arms and chests, their faces long, their nostrils flat. From their heads curled long, thick horns. Their legs were backward bent and covered with fur, much more resembling a goat’s.

“What are they doing across the river?” Lathaar wondered.

“It’s a small group,” Jerico said. “Perhaps they sneaked past the patrols?”

“Or Tower Violet has fallen,” Lathaar said, referring to the southernmost building that was part of the Wall of Towers. Hundreds of soldiers and boats patrolled the Gihon from there, ensuring no creatures of the Vile Wedge escaped to terrorize the west.

“Tower Violet,” Jerico said, shaking his head. “Or the entire Wall.”

“We won’t find out up here,” Lathaar said. He headed back for the stairs. “Let’s go. The doors won’t hold them forever.”

Lathaar prayed to Ashhur with every step he took. At the bottom of the stairs, he leaned against the wall on one side of the door, Jerico taking position on the other. And then they waited.

And waited.

“What in the world is taking them so long?” Jerico asked. They should have easily reached the Citadel by now, yet they heard no battle cries, no
thump
against the doors. With those thick, sharp horns of theirs, they could have gorged into the wood until it broke, but so far, relative silence. After another minute, Lathaar gestured up the stairs.

“Go see what’s going on,” he told Jerico. “We’re clearly missing something.”

Jerico vanished up the stairs, returning moments later. By the confused look on his face, Lathaar could only assume the worst.

“They’ve surrounded us,” he said. “And it looks like they’re settling in. This isn’t an attack. It’s a siege.”

Lathaar tapped his fingers against the hilts of his swords and shrugged.

“Very well then,” he said. Grabbing the bolt locking the door, he yanked it open with a loud screech.

“What are you doing?” Jerico asked.

Lathaar grinned.

“I’m going to go greet our guests. Keep ready at the door. You might need to shut it very, very quickly after I come back inside.”

Jerico pushed the door open.

“I always thought
I
was the reckless one.”

“You’ve clearly rubbed off on me. Consider it your fault if I die.”

Lathaar exited the Citadel to a wave of guttural cries. The goat-men raised their arms, clapping their long fingers together and shouting. They formed a solid perimeter about the Citadel, but the majority was bunched before the door. Lathaar noticed how their skin had a leathery look to it and was covered with thin, fine hairs. Their wide eyes stared at him, most yellow, some red or orange. To his surprise, he saw many wielding crude weapons, thick clubs and sharpened stakes. Even worse were the ten near the very front, facing him while holding swords and axes. The beast-men were primitive creatures, incapable of such craftsmanship. Lathaar felt even more certain Tower Violet had fallen.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw many of their students peering down at him from the upper windows. He waved at them, smiling. If he might ease their minds with false confidence, then he was more than willing to try. That done, he turned back to the waiting goat-men. Keeping his swords sheathed, Lathaar approached the creatures, hands held out to either side in what he hoped was a recognizable symbol of peace.

“That’s far enough, human,” said a goat-men carrying an ax. This one was taller than the others, and wore a set of tattered, warped chainmail. Its voice was deeper than Lathaar expected, and far more intelligent. Jerico had told him all about his fights against the wolf-men, and how clever they could be, but hearing it in stories and hearing it in reality were two completely different things.

“Welcome to our home,” Lathaar said, standing in the middle of the gap between the Citadel and the surrounding army. “A shame you didn’t give us notice beforehand. We could have prepared a more proper welcome.”

The leader’s eyes widened, and it panted in what was either laughter or anger.

“Our king has sent us to destroy you,” it said. “You may choose how.”

“Your king?” Lathaar asked, not liking the sound of that.

“The King of the Vile!” the goat-man cried, and it hefted the ax above its head. The rest joined in, deep, trembling roars akin to vicious bulls. Lathaar let the sound wash over him, and he had to clench his fists to keep them from trembling. He would not show fear, not to his enemies, and certainly not with his students watching.

“You said we have a choice in our destruction,” Lathaar said calmly, as if they were discussing the weather. “Care to tell me what those choices are?”

The goat-man leader stepped forward with a rattle of chainmail.

“No one will come save you. All the lands fall to our king. Come out. Fight us, and die like warriors. Or stay in your stone home and starve. We will not attack. We will not throw away lives on your doors and steps. Come to us and die, or stay within and die.” The creature’s lips pulled back to reveal thick yellow teeth. “Your choice.”

The goat-men chanted, swinging their weapons or stomping their feet. “Fight! Fight! Fight us!”

Lathaar let them go on for a bit, forcing the smile to stay on his face. If the creatures of the Vile Wedge had crossed the Gihon united under a king, then hope for aid was painfully low. Thousands of soldiers had marched east with King Antonil, and though the angels still protected the land, they were spread far too thin. With King Bram invading from the south, pressing Mordan from both fronts, which direction would the angels even choose to defend?

“A fine offer,” Lathaar said when the commotion died down. “If you’ll give me a moment to discuss it with my friend, I’ll come back with an answer.”

The leader gestured to the Citadel. “Go. We wait.”

Lathaar turned his back to them, keeping his walk calm and his back straight. He wouldn’t let the creatures think him fleeing. When he reached the doors, Jerico stood leaning against the jamb, his arms crossed.

“I heard every word,” he said. “Get in here.”

Lathaar entered, Jerico shutting the door behind him. Lathaar leaned against the wall and sighed.

“Well?” Jerico said.

Lathaar shook his head. “I don’t know. If they attacked us we could hold, killing their numbers advantage with both the doors and the stairs. But out there, in open fields, we’d have no chance. There’s too many, Jerico. It’s not worth the risk. I say we wait it out.”

“Wait it out,” Jerico repeated. “While paladins of Karak march alongside Ker’s soldiers toward Mordeina?”

“What other option is there?”

Before Jerico could answer, they heard footsteps on the stairs. Both turned to see several of their older students coming down in a group. They held their weapons, swords and maces and shields. The weapons’ glow was so soft, so faint in the daylight. The weakness of their faith bothered Lathaar terribly, and he felt the blame lay solely on his shoulders.

“We want to fight them,” said the eldest student, a tall, dark-haired boy named Mal. “All of us. We’re not scared.”

The cracking of his voice said otherwise. Jerico looked back, and Lathaar shook his head.

“No,” he said. “We’re not sending children out to die.”