The King of the Vile (3 page)

“I assure you, in all that we do, none of it is arbitrary,” he said. “We will judge your worth to the community of wizards, and before them, your life will be weighed. Your charm and skill will mean nothing.”

“What about having saved the world?” Tarlak said as the master wizard headed for the door. His head had begun to spin, and the pain in his limbs stung with renewed vigor. “Surely that counts for something!”

Roand’s look was strangely one of disappointment.

“You think you saved the world?” he asked. “Consider that another mark against you.”

2

“D
o you remember when I told you things couldn’t get much worse?” Deathmask asked Veliana as the two huddled in the dingy basement of a vacant home.

“Yeah,” Veliana said, eyes fixed on the door. They’d stacked a few planks against it, plus scattered broken stones on the floor in desperate hope of making their attackers stumble. A meager defense against the fury of an angel, but it was something.

“I’ve decided I was wrong.”

“No shit.”

Deathmask pulled out a handful of ash from a pouch pocket and tossed it into the air. A whisper of magic and it froze, hovering like a cloud obscuring his masked face. Deathmask wasn’t entirely sure if the angels could know fear or not, but it made him feel marginally better. He was the dark specter, the man in the shadows manipulating the events of the city. He wouldn’t be undone by a glorified turkey wielding a sword.

“They shouldn’t be able to find us here,” Veliana said, twirling a dagger in her left hand. They were alone in the dark, able to see only because of spells he’d cast upon them, hiding behind an overturned table, its rotting wood their only protection against whoever might attack. And they would be attacked. Deathmask was certain of that. With him carrying the supposed guilt of sending Avlimar crashing to the ground, there would be no respite.

“They found us before,” he said. “As they did the hideout before that. It’s like they’re getting help.”

“The whole bloody city is out looking for us,” Veliana said. “Of course they’re getting help.”

“I meant competent help.”

“True, that is a rarer luxury.”

A creak from the other side of the door silenced them. Deathmask clenched a fist, steeling his mind for combat. He would not die here, not like some cornered rat. Not for a crime he never committed. If he were to die in such a way, at least it should be for a crime he
did
commit.

The door shook once, then shattered inward. Two soldiers with heavy mauls backed away from the exposed entrance as daylight streamed inside. More soldiers poured through the broken entrance, their shields raised before them, their naked blades reflecting the daylight. As their plated boots kicked aside the rocks, Veliana spurred into action, a soft violet light shining off her daggers as she charged. Deathmask paused a moment to enjoy the sight of her spinning and weaving, her daggers lashing out for vulnerable spots in the soldiers’ armor.

A special girl,
he thought as fire burst across his palms. She’d ruled the Ash Guild before his arrival, and if the gods were kind, they’d let her rule it long after he died. Standing behind the table, he outstretched his hands and let loose a burst of his power. Twin lances of fire shot from his palms, melting through the chestplates of the two soldiers they struck. The fire swirled within the confines of their armor, burning flesh as the men screamed. Veliana kicked one to the ground, leapt over his body, and spun before the stunned soldier behind him. Her dagger cut a line across his throat, spilling blood to the floor.

Deathmask covered her retreat with bolts of shadow that slammed into the men like boulders. Even from a distance, he could hear their bones break from the force. Veliana summersaulted over a leg sweep, fell flat to the ground, and then rolled toward the overturned table.

“That’s enough,” Deathmask said, his wrists connecting as he gathered his power. White light sparked like electricity before his palms, then vanished as a ball of darkness replaced it. It grew in size, sucking in howling wind. Deathmask let it loose. It rolled through the air with a sound of thunder, the men it touched screaming as their skin turned to ash, as their life force was pulled into the rotating sphere of darkness and light. When the sphere reached the door, it detonated, flinging bodies against walls hard enough to cave in armor.

Deathmask let out the breath he’d been holding. Only ten men lay dead before him. He’d expected more.

“Just a single patrol,” he said as Veliana stood and stretched her back. “Maybe they weren’t sure we were here.”

Rubble blasted inward, making way for an armored angel to duck into the basement. His wings curled about him to fit through the entrance, the daylight adding a golden hue to the white feathers. The angel held aloft a long blade that must have weighed more than Veliana.

“Deathmask of the Ash Guild,” the angel said. “You have this one chance to surrender for trial before I am forced to kill you.”

“And you have this one chance to run away before I pluck your feathers and send you back to the castle well-cooked,” Deathmask countered. “Actually, change that. I’m going to do that no matter what you try.”

The angel tensed, clearly not amused.

“What about me?” Veliana asked. “Can I go free?”

When the angel opened his mouth to answer, she leapt at him, both daggers thrusting. The angel’s speed was incredible as he twisted his enormous blade in the way of her attack. But it’d only been a feint, for she fell short, rolled, and then back-flipped away as his sword slammed the stone. Cracks ran in all directions.

The distraction was all Deathmask needed to cast his spell, and with a bellow he unleashed his fury. Dozens of colorless spiders rose from the shadows at his feet, some scurrying along the ground, others leaping to the ceiling. They swarmed past Veliana and into the angel, whose magical blade swept side to side, failing to scatter them all. The spiders leapt upon him, sinking in their fangs. With each bite their form changed to smoke, pouring into the angel’s body through the bloody openings they created. The angel dropped his sword, tore at his skin, and screamed. The veins in his body became snaking, branching black lines, rippling beneath his flesh. His scream lost power, and with a clatter of armor, he fell dead to the ground.

Frowning, Veliana walked over to the body and tapped it with her foot.

“That’s a new one,” she said.

“I don’t like to use it,” Deathmask said, clutching the table to steady himself. “One slip of concentration, and those spiders go wild, biting at anything nearby.”

Veliana lifted her lone good eyebrow at him. “I’d prefer you not use those spells when I’m in the way of the target,” she said.

“My precious Vel, when have I ever lost my concentration?”

She rolled her eyes but said nothing. Deathmask grinned, using his apparent carelessness to hide how much the spell had taken out of him. It would have been wiser to use something else, but his mood was foul, and he’d wanted the angel to suffer. Once his breath returned, Deathmask headed for the basement’s exit.

“We’ll need to move again,” he said.

“There’s nowhere left.”

“There’s always somewhere. We just have to find it. Besides, it’s not like we can stay here.”

Veliana seemed in no hurry. She stood over the angel, staring down at his delicate features and grimacing.

“Why does the Council want you dead so badly?” she asked.

“Perhaps they don’t like how well I’ve done without them,” Deathmask said, stepping over corpses. “Maybe they’re tired of me acting outside their jurisdiction. For Karak’s sake, maybe they’re just bored. It doesn’t matter.”

“So what
does
matter? Proving our innocence?”

Deathmask reached the door and glanced up the stairs to make sure no soldiers waited at the top. He laughed as he did.

“Innocent?” he said. “We’ll never prove ourselves innocent. The frame is too beautiful. The very witnesses to our supposed crime are angels, and the assassins that tried for King Gregory’s life looked all too similar to myself. No, innocence is not what we’re after, Vel. What we’re after is vengeance for the ones responsible.”

“Assuming we live that long.”

Deathmask turned toward her and offered his hand.

“Is that not always the case with us?” he asked.

She took it, and he pulled her toward him.

“I let the Council meddle,” he said, holding her close. “And this is the price we pay for my foolishness. Whatever game they’re playing here, I don’t want to play it any longer. Avlimar is in ruins, and amid its carcass rises the earthbound city. If there’s to be any stopping it, we need to win some allies in high places, and fast.”

“I thought there’d be no proving our innocence?” Veliana asked, roughly pushing him away.

“There won’t,” he said. “Not in any court that matters. But we can convince Harruq, or at least his wife. That’s a start.”

“How?”

“When a man is murdered, and you don’t know how, what do you do?”

“You check the body.”

“Exactly.”

Deathmask winked at her, then dashed up the stairs. They exited out into the quiet streets of Mordeina, and from there they ran to the nearest alleyway, heading for the hidden places, the crowded mazes and underground veins beneath the city. The whole nation might believe he was the destroyer of Avlimar, but such a feat was beyond even him. But the Council? No, that was an enemy to fear, an enemy clever enough, and ruthless enough, to do whatever necessary to get what it wanted. Deathmask had no doubt they were the ones responsible for the eternal city’s fall. However, knowing it and proving it were two very different things, and right now he hadn’t the slightest shred of evidence.

Come nightfall, though, he’d find it. He banished the ash from his face, pulled aside his mask, and hurried faster along the narrowing streets. Come nightfall, he’d take his first step toward vengeance against the organization that had banished him and stripped him of everything, even his name. Just as amusing to him, he’d do it while hiding in the one place the angels would never think to look.

High above the angels flew, and as they ran, Deathmask kept one eye on the sky at all times. In that way, he doubted he was any different from the rest of the city’s inhabitants.

Harruq Tun stared upon the ruins of Avlimar from a high castle balcony, the people searching through the remains tiny specks at such a distance.

“We’ve had to increase our patrols, and even they are not enough,” Azariah said, standing beside him and sharing the view. The angel’s soft hands, smooth and unblemished, gently tapped the railing. Despite the fading of Ashhur’s magic, he still wore his white priestly robes, and he kept his brown hair cut short around the neck. “The allure of gold and silver is too much. The people scavenge the remains of our great city, and when we turn them away, they come back mere hours later.”

“I can spare a few soldiers to help out,” Harruq said, containing his sigh. “Not many, but every little bit helps, right?”

“We don’t need soldiers,” Azariah insisted. “We need law. The sinful will resist any punishment so long as they continue to draw breath. Declare theft from our fallen city punishable by death. That is the only thing these base creatures will fear.”

“Death?” Harruq said, lifting an eyebrow. “Little harsh, isn’t it?”

In answer, Azariah gestured to the sky, where the city of Avlimar once floated.

“What we had was a piece of eternity itself,” the angel said. “Our remembrance of beauty and perfection. Now the city has fallen, and though we try to rebuild, we cannot. Every brick and stone is taken under the cover of night, smuggled to thieves’ dens and underground markets. The promise of eternity, now bartered and traded like a bit of food or scrap of metal. We must stop it. I defer this to you only in respect to Ahaesarus’s wishes. We must have peace with mankind if we are to perform our required duties.”