Scourge of the five king.., p.15
Scourge of the Five Kingdoms, page 15
Kir’Lor shook his head at the ominous sign. Kraw were scavenging carrion-eaters, and soldiers had come to associate the creatures with death. After battles, legions of the vile animals would descend on a battlefield and feast on the remains. Kraw did not un-nerve Kir’Lor or the Grang as they unnerved the man races. Nevertheless, after having spent so much time on the Consul, Kir’Lor knew that he had internalized many of the irrational superstitions of men. Kir’Lor hated himself for wanting to postpone everything and wait for some sign or omen signaling that it was safe to proceed. He shook his head again, this time not because of the bird but because of his ridiculousness.
Suddenly, the kraw turned, met Kir’Lor’s eyes, let out a sharp cry – ‘kaw!’ – and then took flight. Kir’Lor scowled at the ascending bird for a few seconds before checking the missive one last time. Then he issued orders to Commander Kali to get lunch. He decided that he should have lunch before sending the messenger because if he was walking into a death trap, he wanted to die with a full belly.
Kir’Lor, Kax, and Commander Kali ate lunch in silence. Afterward, they stretched out in the shade of the tents.
“You were right. We have to parley,” Kax said, breaking the silence. “Even if we cannot negotiate anything, we can at least gather some information about them.”
“Yes,” Kir’Lor said. “It’s just that none of this makes sense.” Both Kax and Kali shifted uncomfortably. Neither of them spoke. “They don’t behave as an invading force should. They don’t plunder. They don’t attempt to occupy taken lands. They don’t even make an effort to destroy lands and crops they abandon.” Kir’Lor scratched his lower mandible and looked at Kax and Kali in turn. “They just slaughter and leave. What are we missing here?”
“This parley could end up deciding the war,” Kax said.
“A bit overdramatic, but one can hope,” Kir’Lor said, a smile on his face.
Kax snorted, and they continued to bathe in the sunlight in uneasy silence.
Kir’Lor decided he should check on the messenger’s status and was about to give the order to Kali when a commotion came from near the mouth of the valley. Kax was first to his feet, bastard sword in hand, eyes locked on the disturbance. Kir’Lor and Kali were only slightly behind the old Grang.
One of the Gauntlet members came running at a full sprint, barely sketching a salute before delivering his report. “Sir, they’re approaching through the valley, but they are flying the flag of peace!”
“How many?” Kir’Lor asked.
“One ahead of the rest carrying the flag, one mounted, and eight more between the mount and the flag bearer, sir.”
“Ten...” Kir’Lor said, voice hoarse.
“Yes, sir.”
“Have the Grang stay alert but stand down,” Kir’Lor ordered shakily. “The Scourge party is here to parley.”
The Gauntlet lined the sides of the valley mouth in the traditional Grang way – fully armored and ready for combat – showing respect for a foe while, at the same time, being prudently prepared to slaughter them. Many Grang in Kir’Lor’s Fist had fought the Scourge and had developed a begrudging respect for them.
The Gauntlet’s weapons rhythmically clanged against plate-mail as the Scourge flag-bearer exited the mouth of the valley. A light breeze blew into the valley from behind the zombies, and the fetid stench of the creatures hit Kir’Lor’s party like a physical blow. The rhythmic beat faltered for a moment but quickly recovered. Kir’Lor eyed the flag-bearing zombie. It had once been Arzan and was in relatively – fresh – condition. Other than a few bruises, torn clothes, and skin discoloration, one could easily mistake the thing for a living man returning from a hard day on the battlefield. The other eight, in considerably worse condition, followed behind. Four of the honor guard were Xandran, and two were Arzan. The other two were so badly decayed and damaged they were unrecognizable. The Scourge representative brought up the rear, riding a huge skeletonized beast that may have once been a horse.
The Scourge were disgusting abominations, but the Scourge representative was different. Just looking at it made Kir’Lor’s bowels turn to water. He had experienced fear before, but this was very different. Sheer and utter terror coursed through his veins, and no amount of mental exercise could stop it. His eyes flicked to Kax and Kali. Their eyes were tight with determination and something else. What was it? Abruptly, Kir’Lor realized that it was determination as well as confidence in his leadership.
“This isn’t natural,” Commander Kali whispered as they watched the Scourge settle just beyond spear range. Kir’Lor heard Kax murmur agreement.
“Abominations, yes,” Kir’Lor said. He took in the details of the mounted Scourge. Its body, completely skeletonized, did not look like something that had crawled up from the grave. Instead, its bones were bleached to a radiant white. Almost beautiful. A cloak blacker than the moonless night draped over its shoulders. Bracers, as black as the cloak, obscured the white bones of the creature’s arms. Kir’Lor saw ragged flesh about the creature’s neck, but a black helmet with horns curled like a mountain ram’s covered the face.
“Just remember that they came to us asking for a parley,” Kir’Lor said. When Kax and Kali made no comment, Kir’Lor added, “Perhaps this war has been equally difficult for them.”
The skeletal Scourge dismounted, took three huge strides from its escort, and spoke in a surprisingly gentle and inviting voice.
“I seek Warlord Kir’Lor.”
All eyes turned to Kir’Lor, who had to will his legs to walk him to meet the giant between his Gauntlet and the Scourge honor guard.
“I am the First Fist Warlord Kir’Lor,” he announced, stopping about four or five strides away from the creature.
“Well met, Warlord,” it said in its silky smooth voice. “I am called Zaid in your tongue.”
“It is a pleasure to finally meet one of your kind who can speak,” Kir’Lor said, struggling to keep his voice smooth.
Zaid let out a throaty laugh and gestured back at his escort. “I assure you, Warlord, these creatures are no more my kind than you are. I can appreciate your frustration, though. What is the idiom in your tongue? ‘A silent war is a difficult war.’ This is it, is it not?”
Kir’Lor, caught off guard by the tangent, did not trust himself to speak and instead nodded sagely.
“As you may have gathered,” Zaid said, again gesturing toward the zombies, “these creatures – what is the word for them in your common tongue again?” Zaid tapped its helmet where its chin might be in a thinking gesture. “Ah, yes. My Scourge and I are not the same, but we do serve a common master. Ta’Lin.”
Ta’Lin. That name tugged at Kir’Lor for some reason. The name brought up memories of his time at the Academy. He knew he had heard it before. He simply could not remember the context. Most likely, he had read or heard it during his studies of the languages. Perhaps one of the dead tongues?
Zaid cocked his head to one side, studying Kir’Lor from beneath his helmet.
Zaid seemed to notice something in Kir’Lor’s expression and asked, “Do you know ancient Nawahl?”
“I studied the basics of the language many years ago.” The question caught Kir’Lor off guard, and he accidentally answered automatically.
Again, Zaid laughed a throaty laugh. “Excellent! I understand that Grang are not known for their scholarship, but my master was right about you, Warlord. You are indeed unique!”
A chill ran down Kir’Lor’s spine. Something about this thing and its master sitting down and having a conversation about him made his blood run cold.
“Flattering as that is, Zaid, what does my expertise in language have to do with our war?” Tired of being on the defensive, Kir’Lor decided to assert himself. He needed to take control of this encounter as quickly as possible.
“Warlord, ancient Nawahl relates to everything. The Nawahl of today are but a shell of their former selves. So much knowledge forgotten. Nawahl magicks lost.…”
The softness in Zaid’s voice startled Kir’Lor. Zaid almost sounded sad.
“Yes, much is lost. I am still confused, though. How is this related to our war?”
“If you look at my master’s name, Ta’Lin, you’ll see that all creatures have some iteration of his name in their beliefs,” Zaid said casually. “For your kind, Ta’Lin might translate as the hand of Vis.”
A sudden spell of lightheadedness washed over Kir’Lor, and spots danced in his vision as he processed this. Vis was the Red God’s cousin. The Red God loved Vis above all others. The Red God loved Vis because Vis understood the Red God like no other.
The Red God – war. Vis – death. Two sides of the same coin. In a moment of clarity, the ancient Nawahl expression came to him — it meant death’s right hand.
“I see you now understand,” Zaid said. “The truth is always in plain sight, is it not?”
“So death has started a war with the Five Kingdoms?” Kir’Lor asked.
“It is a bit more complicated than that. But, simply put, you are correct.”
“What are their goals? What do they want?” Kir’Lor asked.
“I am but a piece on his game-board,” Zaid said. “I have simply come here to warn you. The Five Kingdoms will fall. That is not in question.”
Kir’Lor frowned but did not speak. The Five Kingdoms might prevail, but it could just as easily fall. He had seen the inner workings of the Five Kingdoms with his own eyes. The corruption, petty bickering, and general dysfunction were toxic.
“Every era comes to an end. The Five Kingdoms is at its end,” Zaid said without a hint of anger or malice. “An era ends, and a new era begins. People will need leaders to rise and rebuild from the ashes. Leaders who know that the key to the future is to forget the past. My master believes you to be such a leader, Warlord.”
Zaid reached into its cloak and produced a black lacquered box. He handed it to Kir’Lor.
“Ta’Lin will contact you. This war is lost. There is no need to waste your potential trying to protect something that is already as good as dead. It is time to evolve, Warlord.” With that, Zaid turned and walked toward his steed. “Don’t allow people like your father to hold you back. It is time for you to rise and meet your destiny. Rise and become a son of Vis.”
With that, Zaid mounted its steed, pulled it around to the mouth of the valley, and broke into a gallop. Zaid’s escort ran after him without as much as a glance back at the Grang. Kir’Lor just stood there, dumbfounded and holding the box, wondering what in the seven hells just happened.
17
HAZ-AR
“Many know of me, Dr. Luv,” Haz-Ar said, running his fingers through his hair. “What makes you so special?”
“Well, I must be lucky because most of your former colleagues are not alive to be hired,” Dr. Luv said, eyes glinting.
Haz-Ar sat down at the reading table in the den and folded his hands in front of him.
“Ok, now I’m curious,” Haz-Ar said. “Since you refuse to tell me much about your employer, tell me about the job.”
Dr. Luv tugged on his thin mustache in thought. “It is a safekeeping job. My part is only one cog in my employer’s operation. Your job is to meet with a pair of Xandrans and take some magikal artifacts off of their hands,” Dr. Luv said.
Haz-Ar harrumphed and tapped a finger against the table. “So, they want me to ferry some artifacts for them?” Haz-Ar said.
“From what I have gathered, yes. Look, I know what you’re thinking. This isn’t that. This is something else, something big, Darkmare.”
Haz-Ar opened his mouth to speak, but Dr. Luv spoke over him. Dr. Luv said, “There are some heavy-hitters involved. Pull this off without a problem, and you will be a legend.”
Haz-Ar listened as Dr. Luv continued to ramble, concern creasing his features. Dr. Luv frequently dealt with the scum of the Five Kingdoms, and, as far as Haz-Ar knew, danger rarely phased the doctor.
“So, what exactly are these artifacts?” Haz-Ar interrupted.
“That is the thing, Darkmare. They don’t even want all of the artifacts. They want just want one particular item from the lot.”
“And where are these artifacts from?” Haz-Ar said, making an impatient gesture with his hand.
“Xandra. Everything’s from Xandra,” Dr. Luv answered.
“What artifact do they want?” Haz-Ar asked.
“A relic from the Mad Sultan’s era. I mean, most of the artifacts are from that time,” Dr. Luv said with a shiver. Haz-Ar’s mouth twitched. Sometimes he forgot that Dr. Luv was indeed a Xandran.
Haz-Ar raised both eyebrows and gestured for Dr. Luv to elaborate.
“Apparently, it has something to do with the prophecy of the Daughter,” Dr. Luv said, touching his forearm tattoos, something Orators did when asking the gods for protection. Haz-Ar also forgot that Dr. Luv often showed that he was genuinely religious as well.
The Monogoth cult’s prophecy of the Daughter came about during the Mad Sultan’s rule. When the Mad Sultan started rounding up his political enemies, he also outlawed the Monogoth religion. The punishment for illegal worship was, of course, death. The Mad Sultan, however, added a twist to this by killing citizens and then resurrecting them for his army dedicated to Giltine, Goddess of death. Some scholars believe that the prophecy of the Daughter was created out of the necessity to keep hope in the followers of the Monogoth cult. Other scholars believed that prophecy the Daughter was created by the One Goddess for self-preservation. Haz-Ar had always felt that the relationships between worshipers and gods were a bit of a chicken and egg problem.
Haz-Ar knew only tidbits about the prophecy. He knew that the Daughter would be born in a time when the Monogoths needed her the most. Her coming would signify a change of power. The Monogoths would go from the minority to the majority with her presence. He also heard she would be born to simple, salt of the planet folk. She would also be born with a perfect birthmark of the Eye of the Goddess mark on her left buttocks. The prophecy was very vague about many things. How, exactly, would she lift the Monogoths to power? What would she look like? No one knew. The only thing that everyone seemed to agree on was that a wave of violence would sweep Xandra once the prophecy was fulfilled.
“So how am I to know which artifact is the one your employer wants?” Haz-Ar asked as if he had already agreed to take the job.
“I asked that same question,” Dr. Luv said.
Haz-Ar waited for Dr. Luv to continue speaking, but Dr. Luv just stood there, licking his lips and dry-washing his hands.
“And?”
Dr. Luv was startled and cleared his throat. “Well, they claimed that you would know when you delivered the package.”
That brought an uncomfortable silence to the den until Arcanus fumbled and dropped a book he had pretended to be skimming while Haz-Ar and Dr. Luv were talking. “Excuse me,” Arcanus mumbled.
“Well, how much are we making? I have an extra mouth to feed now, and it has to be worth enough ducats to make sense,” Haz-Ar said, clapping his hands together.
“You will be paid five thousand ducats. One thousand of it upfront,” Dr. Luv said.
Haz-Ar blew out a soft whistle and, trying to appear unimpressed by the amount, said, “That wouldn’t be a bad haul. I knew my reputation would one day be worth something.”
“Darkmare,” Dr. Luv said anxiously. He met Haz-Ar’s gaze, eyes entreating. “You know I can’t tell you about my employer.”
The unsaid ‘but’ hung in the air like a festival night flower blooming in the sky.
“These guys are deep,” Dr. Luv said, looking from side to side as if his employer was in the room listening to them at this very moment. “This goes deeper than just ducats and artifacts. This is not only political. It’s also religious. We’ve both been in the game long enough to know the only thing deadlier than politics is religion.”
Haz-Ar looked at the Xandran, trying to figure out if he was sincere, joking, or playing some angle. Haz-Ar decided that it was most likely a bit of all three. He smiled, it had been a very long time since his last real job, and he needed something spectacular to keep people talking about Darkmare exploits. The more people talked about him and feared or misunderstood him, the more likely people were to let him be – or to hire him for high fees.
“It almost sounds like you are trying to talk me out of this job, my good doctor,” Haz-Ar said. “So, I’ll take it! You can tell me the details of who and where to meet my contacts in the morning. You must be tired from your travels. I will have my butler bring you to the guest room along with some refreshments.”
“As long as it is something besides this bitter piss Ramons call wine.” Dr. Luv said with a lopsided smile, taking his dismissal gracefully.
“Of course, of course,” Haz-Ar said, turning his head towards Arcanus. “If you could be so kind as to call the butler, Arcanus.”
Arcanus stood there with a look sullen look on his face. He probably did not like being asked to do such menial tasks, but Haz-Ar couldn’t be concerned with what the spoiled lordling wanted. Haz-Ar arched an eyebrow, and Arcanus moved away from the bookcase and tugged the bell cord in the corner of the den.
Moments later, the butler rapped on the door three times before opening it, announcing his presence.
“Master Luv,” he said in his stuffy, prim voice. “If you would kindly follow me?”
“After you, sir,” Dr. Luv said as he stood and moved toward the door.
“You may address me as Dr. Luv. You look like the sort who could use an elixir to help with your nighttime performance. I happen to have just the thing for...” Dr. Luv said as he followed the butler into the hallway. Haz-Ar chuckled. Dr. Luv was always selling.
