The King of the Vile (16 page)

“I’ve spent years learning from the masters,” Cecil said, steadily approaching with his hands out at either side. “Years reading texts, memorizing spells, practicing the movements and incantations. But you...you never stepped foot inside these walls. You don’t
deserve
to claim a seat on the Council.”

He pushed his wrists together, and a massive stream of fire rolled forth like from the mouth of a dragon. Tarlak summoned another shield and the fire wrapped around him, unable to penetrate, but the shield wasn’t nearly as strong as Tarlak preferred, and sweat trickled down his neck. It seemed Cecil had a thing for fire. Having Roand as a mentor for so long probably had something to do with that.

“Texts?” Tarlak said, ignoring his growing headache. “Practice? I’ve fought real battles while you stuck your nose in a book, Cecil. Forgive me for being unimpressed.”

Pride pushed him to ignore caution and counter Cecil’s spray of fire with one of his own. His shield dropped, replaced by a deluge of flame. The spray was brighter, wider, and it pushed back Cecil’s as if it weren’t even there. Cecil panicked, dropping the fire to summon a shield. Tarlak watched the fire swarm about the apprentice’s body. If he pushed harder, he could break through, reducing the man to ashes, but he didn’t. Cecil was in over his head. If Tarlak could convince him of that, there’d be no reason for anyone to die.

Tarlak killed the spell. Cecil fell to one knee, gasping for air.

“You’re right,” Tarlak said softly. The two were only several feet apart, each having approached the other while unleashing their spray of fire. “I’ve not recovered all my strength, but I’ve recovered enough. I once matched spells with Celestia’s daughter of balance, a woman who could level a mountain with her mind. Do you really think you could do the same, Cecil?”

“I don’t care what you’ve done,” Cecil said, voice growing louder and louder. “I don’t care!”

He slammed an open palm to the bridge, and blue mist rolled off in waves, forming writhing tentacles that ended with dozens of sharp spikes.

That’s a new one,
thought Tarlak as he backed away. Tentacles lashed at him, and he ducked one, then sidestepped another. He dodged a third too late, and the blue tentacle ripped through his robe, leaving a shallow wound across the ribs. Pushing his wrists together, words of magic raced off Tarlak’s tongue. An invisible shockwave knocked Cecil to his rear. The tentacles shimmered, the power holding them together broke. The mist wafted into the air and faded.

Tarlak held his wounded side and checked the hand to see blood coating his fingers and palm.

“That’s just rude,” he said, turning his attention back to Cecil. The apprentice had risen to his feet, wavering unsteadily. A smile was on his face.

“I drew blood,” he said. “Did Celestia’s daughter ever accomplish that?”

Tarlak chuckled, thinking of the dangerous, unpredictable Tessanna.

“She didn’t draw blood,” he said. “She
used
it.”

He flung his hand toward Cecil, flicking the blood off his fingers. Taking a trick from Deathmask, Tarlak snapped his fingers just before the drops splashed across Cecil’s robes. The blood exploded into flame, tearing holes in fabric and blackening skin. Cecil dropped to the bridge and rolled perilously close to the edge before stopping. A low moan escaped his mouth. As he pushed to his feet, there was a feverish look to his eyes.

“A neat trick,” he said “Mind if I try?”

Tarlak realized too late what Cecil was planning. The apprentice pointed one hand toward Tarlak, magic rolling off it, while the other twisted into a few quick shapes. Then Cecil snapped his fingers and blood on Tarlak’s side exploded, the impact knocking him over. Tarlak caught himself before the edge of the bridge, and he screamed at the horrible pain wracking his body. Where he’d been cut was now a blackened mess.

Gods damn it,
thought Tarlak.
Haven’t I been burned enough?

Tarlak’s strength was already waning, and after such a hit, he struggled to focus through the pain. He knew Cecil was approaching and he had to react. Rolling onto his back, he began to cast a spell. Cecil’s boot pushed down on his throat, silencing it. The apprentice leered down at him.

“Is that all you have?” he asked, fire burning about his hands, the beginnings of another spell on his lips.

Tarlak’s fingers danced as he focused his mind elsewhere. Cecil laughed, nearly ecstatic with joy. He pulled his boot off Tarlak’s neck to kick the wounded side, and it took all of Tarlak’s concentration to keep his fingers moving. The heel then pressed back down on his throat, denying him breath.

“Go ahead,” Cecil said. The fire on his hands became daggers, and he held them ready to throw. “Try. Try to cast a spell.”

Tarlak tried to answer, but the boot prevented him. Cecil acquiesced, lessening the pressure so a few words could escape.

“I already did, you asshole,” Tarlak said.

From far beneath the bridge, a chunk of earth flew from the riverbank. Before Cecil could realize what Tarlak meant, the boulder slammed into him, lifting him into the air and flinging him over the side of the bridge. Tarlak lunged after him, hanging half-over the bridge as he waved a hand. Ice spread from the side of the bridge, forming a swirling tendril that caught Cecil where he flew. The ice wrapped about Cecil’s body, trapping him.

As cheers roared from both towers, Tarlak slowly rose to his feet. His head pounded, and he struggled to breathe.

“I think I won,” he said as Roand floated closer on his fiery disc.

“Not yet,” Roand said, voice low, just for the two of them. “These duels are to the death, Eschaton. It’s the only way to keep the apprentices from wasting the time of masters.”

Tarlak did his best to keep his face passive, not wanting anyone else watching to know the purpose of their discussion.

“He doesn’t need to die,” Tarlak insisted.

“No,” Roand said. “But if I’m to believe you’ve cast aside your foolish beliefs in Ashhur, he does.”

Tarlak glanced at the trapped Cecil. The apprentice looked like he’d been knocked unconscious by the hit from the boulder, his head drooped and his eyes closed. Just a foolish man, Tarlak knew, warped by his time in the towers.

“And if I refuse?” Tarlak asked.

Roand shrugged.

“Then I’ll activate the pendant around your neck.”

Tarlak shook his head, hardly pleased with that potential outcome. An idea struck him, and he did his best to keep his expression passive.

“Sorry, Cecil,” he said. He snapped his fingers, spreading ice all around Cecil’s body, sealing him inside like a cocoon. When it was finished, he stomped a foot against the icy thread attaching the cocoon to the bridge. It shattered, and the cocoon fell to the river, landing with a loud splash.

Tarlak turned to the Masters’ Tower and bowed low.

“Have I proven myself satisfactory?” he asked, projecting his voice as loud as his wounded side allowed.

Their applause was a definitive ‘yes’. Roand floated off the disc and onto the bridge, and he spared a glance down to the Rigon River.

“It seems you’re in need of a new apprentice,” Roand said. “I’ll assign you one shortly.”

“Thanks,” Tarlak said, clutching his side as he walked toward the door of the Masters’ Tower. “Let’s hope this one doesn’t suffer a similar fate.”

Roand chuckled, and he smiled as if it were the funniest thing.

Laugh, you lunatic,
Tarlak thought as the tower door opened, and several other wizards greeted him with enormous smiles.
Laugh, each and every last damn one of you.

14

“A
dmit it,” Aurelia said as she walked through the marketplace, little Gregory’s hand in hers. “It feels great to get out of the castle.”

Aubrienna bounced atop Harruq’s shoulders, legs wrapped around his neck, hands gripping his hair.

“It’s also slightly painful,” Harruq said. Aubby tugged hard on his hair to stay upright as if to prove his point.

“You’ve been beaten, stabbed, and smacked around with magic,” Aurelia said. “I think you can handle a little bit of hair-pulling.” She stopped at a stall selling assorted necklaces. Aubrienna leaned forward, straining to see, while Gregory stood on his tiptoes and eyed the nearest few sets.

“Handle it? Sure. Like it? Nope. That’s more your thing.”

Aurelia smacked his shoulder.

“Behave. We have children with us, and in public.”

“Would the little king like a necklace?” asked the squat lady running the stall. Her face was caked with paint, her lips a powerful shade of purple. Gregory shied away, and Harruq winced. The boy was still young, but acting so timid would not help the strained trust the people held in him.

“Go on, Gregory,” Harruq said, hoping to coach the child out from his shyness. “Pick one you like.”

Gregory peered around Aurelia’s leg, giving the strange lady a wary look that would have amused Harruq under most circumstances.

“I’m not sure yet,” he said.

“I like that one!” Aubby shouted from above, lunging forward and pointing. The act nearly sent her tumbling off Harruq’s shoulders, and he had to grab her by the legs to keep her stable.

“I’m sure the necklace is very pretty,” Harruq told his daughter, “but let’s not go diving headfirst to the ground for it, eh?”

Aubby laughed, kicking her feet together beneath his chin. Harruq grinned; he had to admit, being in the open air, surrounded by people, did help his spirits. Sure, they gave him wary looks, and the crowd would grow chilly when an occasional angel flew over, but overall it was fun to pretend things were back to the way they’d been in Veldaren, when the only responsibilities he had were to his family and not to an entire nation.

A scream from far down the road jolted his thoughts. The market was built into the side of the hill leading up to the castle, and he saw a gathering crowd of men and women farther down the way. Shouts grew louder, more numerous. From within the crowd, Harruq spotted the white feathers of an angel’s wings, but nothing more than that.

“What’s the matter?” Aurelia asked.

“I don’t know,” Harruq said. “But whatever it is, it’s going sour fast.”

He pulled Aubrienna off his shoulders and placed her before his wife.

“Get them to the castle,” he said. “I’ll find out what’s going on.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” Aurelia asked.

“I’m supposed to be in charge of this city,” Harruq said. “I might as well act like it.”

“What about your swords?”

Harruq shrugged. He’d left them in the castle, along with his armor, figuring neither would be needed.

“I got my fists,” he said. “If need be, I’ll improvise.”

He hugged his wife, kissed his daughter on the forehead, and started jogging down the hill. Behind him, he heard the telltale hiss of a portal opening, and he breathed easier. The gathering crowd filled the entire street from side to side, and he heard cries for guards. People were flooding in from all directions, and Harruq sensed the rumblings of a potential riot as a lone accusation echoed like a chant.

“Murderer, murderer, murderer.”

The crowd’s numbers had swelled to well above a hundred when Harruq heard another shriek of pain pierce through the streets, the stalls, and the people. The reaction was both immediate and terrifying. Those in the outer ring fell back, scattering in all directions. Harruq used his size and strength to shove his way through. One young man tried to push Harruq aside, and when he failed, he swung at his jaw. Harruq caught his fist and held it in the air. The frightened man gaped, his anger quickly replaced with fear.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” he stammered.

“Sure you are,” Harruq said, tossing him aside. The crowd spread out, about fifty now screaming and throwing stones from a wide ring. In their center, enormous mace held before him, was Judarius. At his feet lay the dead body of a man whose face was crushed to a pulp. Two others lay nearby, sobbing, one with a crushed arm, the other a knee bent completely the wrong direction. The crowd refused to get any closer, and they hurled their accusation along with their stones.

“Murderer!”

Judarius kept his mace raised and his body hunched, letting his armor and weapon reflect the projectiles.

“Get back!” the angel shouted, not that any listened. Harruq pushed through the ring, and he screamed Judarius’s name until the angel lifted his head.

“What are you still doing here?” Harruq shouted. “Get to the castle!”

Judarius spread his wings and he jumped into the air. Before he could fly, the crowd surged toward him. One brave woman lunged ahead of the others, her arms wrapping around Judarius’s leg. Two others grabbed hold of his arms and neck. Still baffled by what was happening, Harruq tried holding back those near him to keep Judarius from being overwhelmed. His efforts were in vain as Judarius took his mace and swung, smacking the woman in the face. Blood blasted from her nose and mouth, and she collapsed to the street with an aching cry. Judarius dropped to his feet, swinging his mace in a wide circle and screaming.

“I said get back!”

With his free arm he grabbed the man holding his neck and tossed him aside like a rag doll. Harruq elbowed someone in his way, pushed a woman aside, and then grabbed the last person hanging onto Judarius.

“Enough!” Harruq screamed, rolling the man across the ground. Judarius hefted his mace, and seeing no one charging, again unfurled his wings. Screams followed him, accusations of murder and butchery, but Harruq knew that’d have to be settled another time. The angel soared into the sky.

“Leave him be,” Harruq ordered as their hatred turned toward him. “Do you want to die?”

“They murdered my son!” an older man shouted back. “We saw it, we all did!”

Harruq looked to the dead body. Blood and gore was all that remained of his face.

“He must have done something wrong,” Harruq said, but there was no conviction to his defense.

Others quickly shouted him down. From all around him, Harruq heard more shouts of murder, and just as worrisome, he heard the flutter of angel wings. Amid the unrest, most began to flow toward the castle, but the older man approached Harruq, recognition in his eyes.

“You,” he said. “You’re the steward. You can do something about this. You have to. You have to.”

Harruq opened his mouth, but no words came out. Nothing made sense. He didn’t know what was happening, what was true, what promises he could make. The older man grabbed him by the shoulders, crying now, hands trembling, voice shaking.

“They murdered my son,” he said. “My son, don’t you hear me, my poor son...”

“I hear you,” Harruq said as he looked to the castle. Accusations spread like wildfire, the pent up rage releasing in a sudden, violent fury. Not two hundred feet away, a stall was smashed to pieces by four men, and an angel landed, attempting to prevent the theft. Before the four men could retreat, one lay dying, and two others bleeding. Already smoke began to rise from throughout the city.

The grieving father looked to the corpse of his son, then cried into Harruq’s chest.

“I hear you,” Harruq whispered again, having never before felt so weak and useless in all his life.

Several hundred people gathered before the closed gates of the castle, chanting for a trial. Harruq had to shout and wave at the guards until they noticed him, then rush through the opening they made with their shields. Once inside the entryway, he found Sir Wess waiting for him, looking pale and nervous.

“I’m glad you’ve returned safely,” Sir Wess said. “We’ve received reports of riots from all four quarters, plus the outer ring. I’ve sent out squads to confirm our guard stations are still secure, but beyond that, I’ve been waiting for your orders.”

“Get them out there,” Harruq said. “Every soldier you have, get them onto those streets ordering people to their homes. We’ve got to keep them from burning this whole damn city to the ground.”

“What of the angels?”

Harruq stopped halfway toward his throne. “What of them?” he asked, turning to glare at the knight.

“The angels think they’re helping to calm the riots, but they’re not,” Sir Wess said, not backing down in the slightest. “You need to get them out of Mordeina immediately.”

“How?” Harruq asked. “By ordering them?”

“You’re steward, and act in the name of the king.”

“Don’t you get it?” Harruq shouted. “I’m king, but I’m not
their
king. I have no authority over them.”

“They live on our lands now,” Sir Wess said, voice dropping as he stepped closer. “Which means they must obey our laws even as they enforce them. You do have authority over them, Steward. Now act like it.”

Harruq’s jaw tightened, but before he could respond, he heard the flapping of wings. He glanced up to see two angels flying through the tall window of the throne room: Azariah and Judarius.

“See to your men,” Harruq told Sir Wess as the angels landed. “You have a long day ahead of you. Do whatever you can to protect the lives of the innocent.”

“As you wish,” the knight said. He bowed low, and glared at the angels as he exited the throne room. Harruq spun in place, gesturing to the other guards.

“All of you,” he shouted. “Out. Now.”

Once they were gone, Harruq marched up to Judarius, and it took all his control to keep his fists at his sides instead of pounding them into the angel’s face.

“What in Ashhur’s name happened out there?” he asked.

“I dispensed justice,” Judarius said, as if it were obvious.

“Justice?” Harruq asked. “I watched you smash a woman’s face in for grabbing your leg. Was that
justice?
”

“I was defending myself,” the angel said, growing angrier. “I have that right.”

Harruq flung up his hands. “Perfect. Just perfect. It’s bad enough your kind stormed into homes in the middle of the gods-damn night to slaughter those you once forgave, but now you perform your executions in broad daylight? Do any of you,
any of you
, have a clue how precarious our peace has been?”

Harruq stopped as a third angel flew in through the window and landed beside the others.

“The riot has spread throughout the entire city,” Ahaesarus said. “For now, my angels are focusing on maintaining the fires. Anything else is proving too dangerous. I have never seen the people so angry before.” He looked to Harruq. “Do you know the cause?”

Harruq waved a hand at Judarius.

“They say your commander here killed a man without reason, and in full view of a market crowd, no less.”

Ahaesarus’s face reddened.

“That is preposterous,” he said. “We have sworn our lives to mankind’s protection. Surely they do not think—”

“Have you seen the fires?” Harruq interrupted. “Heard the chants for trial? Yes, Ahaesarus, they do. They think it very much so, and we need to do something about it before the entire nation descends into anarchy!”