The Reborn King (Book Six) (34 page)

So the gods care nothing of evil
, he thought bitterly.
But when I refuse to pray, they send a deluge to torment me
.

When the walls of the Valshara came into view, he stopped and stared at them for more than an hour. All his life he had believed in the principles taught there. Over the years he'd watched good men die fighting in the name of Amon Dähl. Now he was discovering that it was all a lie.

With a violent crackle, a streak of lightning split the sky. It was time. He would now discover if his worst fears were to be realized. As he spurred his horse to a slow walk, deep rumbles of thunder heralded his approach.

The greeting and bows from the sentinels went unnoticed, as did the voices of the people expressing their delight in having the guardian return to Valshara. Nor did he thank the groom who took his horse and gear. His eyes remained fixed resolutely on the door leading into the main temple complex.

“I will see the High Lady at once,” he told the servant who met him inside.

“Would you not prefer to dry off first?” the man asked.

Aremiel shot him a furious glance. “I said at once.”

The servant lowered his eyes. “I will let her know that you’re here.”

“There’s no need for that.” He brushed his way past and stalked down the hall.

With every step he took, his feet felt heavier. He had gone over in his mind what he would say a hundred times. And each time the scene ended differently, leaving him more confused than before. If she knew and
was
involved, what would he do? He still had no answer to that. And even if she wasn't, did that really change anything?

On reaching her door, he knocked and quickly entered before his mother could respond. She was sitting at her desk in her casual robes, reading a book and sipping on a cup of hot tea.

“Aremiel!” She sprang up and rounded the desk, but stopped just short of him. “You’re soaked. Why didn’t you change first? You may be a knight, but you can still get ill.”

Aremiel wanted to speak, but even after pondering for so long over what to say, he still didn’t have any idea how to begin.

His mother’s expression quickly changed from joy to concern. “What is it? What’s happened?”

“Sit down, mother,” he said. “We must talk.”

The despondency in his tone startled her. “At least let me get you something to dry off with.”

She retrieved a towel from her closet. Aremiel hesitated before accepting it, then quickly dried his face and arms.

Velinia sat back down. “Now tell me what is wrong.”

Without a word, Aremiel reached inside his shirt and pulled out the bundle of cloth containing the book and letter. He tossed them both on the desk in front of her.

She opened the book and began reading. After only a few pages she looked up, her face pale and her eyes filled with tears.

“Did you know?” he asked, desperation seeping into his tone.

“Yes.”

Her voice was less than a whisper, yet the single word echoed in Aremiel’s ears like a hammer striking an anvil. His head began to swim and his vision blur. His worst nightmare had just come true.

“How can you be a part of this?”

She shook her head, tears dripping onto the desk. “I’m not a part of it, son. But there is nothing I can do to stop it.”

“What do you mean?” His focus was slowly returning…along with his fury. “You are the High Lady, are you not?”

“This has been going on long before I ascended to the position,” she explained. “And when I first found out, you were but an infant. I was afraid…”

“You were afraid of what?” he demanded.

“I was afraid they would do to you, what they did to your father,” she replied meekly.

“You’re telling me that they killed my father?” His hands began to tremble. His father was an Amon Dahl builder. He had been told all his life that he had died from a fall while constructing a temple in Helenia.

She lowered her head. “Yes. And I was given a choice. Stay silent, or see you suffer the same fate.”

Part of him understood. She had acted out of a mother’s love. But another part of him could not forgive her lack of courage.

“When I was a child, you may have had reason to fear,” he contended. “But I have not been a helpless boy for a long time. You could have told me. I could have done something about it.”

“There is nothing you could have done. They are everywhere. No matter how strong you have become, they would have found a way to silence you.”

“Like they silenced Orias’ parents?” He leaned in. “Did you have anything to do with that?”

“Not the death of his mother,” she replied. “I swear it. But I suspected Morzahn had unearthed the truth, and that it was this knowledge that had sent him into insanity.” She straightened her back and leveled her gaze. “Morzahn sought the
sword
. No one should ever possess such power. He knew this better than anyone. Yet he did it anyway.”

“He didn’t deserve to die!” Aremiel shouted.

“He committed the one crime that is unforgivable by the Order,” she countered.

He sneered. “Yes. It seems that any other crime is simply a part of the routine, with no one there to punish them or challenge their authority. Well, all that is about to end.”

“Son...please.” She knew her child well, and could see the conviction building behind each word he spoke. “There is nothing you can do about this. They’ll kill you.”

“Will they?” He laughed. “Perhaps.”

Rising from his chair, he reached inside his shirt and grasped the medallion of the Order. For an instant he paused. Then, in a single determined motion, he ripped it from his neck and tossed it contemptuously onto his mother’s desk.

She stared at it, pain and panic striving for supremacy in her eyes. “No! I’m begging you. Take your place as guardian. The old
guardian will be gone soon. Once there you won’t need to worry about anything ever again. The gods ...”

“Never speak to me of the gods again,” he hissed. “They have done nothing to prevent this. And yet we give them praise and worship. For what?” He turned his back and strode to the door. “Morzahn was right. The madness must end.”

He paused for just a moment to look over his shoulder. “Tell Orias that I am sorry. I must follow my own path from now on.”

“Son, wait!”

But it was too late. Aremiel was gone.

Althetas – 19 years earlier

The streets below were quiet as Aremiel watched carefully for his prey to emerge from the tavern. The small shop he had chosen for his perch was closed, though unfortunately for the shopkeeper, he did not close early enough. He now lay bound and gagged in a broom closet.

Aremiel's breathing was controlled and his hands steady. In spite of the fact that what he was about to do would almost certainly lead him to the prize he had sought for so long, his training and experience allowed him to keep his focus.

It was regrettable that another knight would have to die. It troubled him each time, even after the scores he had slain. He could never completely rid his heart of the fraternity and kinship he'd once felt when he was one of them. But that was long ago, and he was a different man now.

The Order of Amon Dähl had stricken his true name from the record, and even his own mother had been forced to denounce him. In fact, it was an offense to merely speak the name of Aremiel. But they had given him a new one anyway - one that suited him much better. He had heard it cried out in terror more times than he could easily count by the men and women he was about to kill. It was also spoken with dread in hushed whispers within every temple from the desert to the sea.

The Dark Knight. It was more than a name. It was what he had become.

He shifted his weight and took a deep breath. The Master Builder should be coming out any time now; the man wasn’t much for drinking, and was a terrible gambler. As the Dark Knight, Aremiel had often studied his prey for months before striking. It was a lesson learned from matching wits with agents. Patience was their greatest strength. Twice they had cornered him, and only his prowess with a blade had saved his life – though be bore three deep scars to remind him of his carelessness.

But he had learned the agents' weakness. Arrogance. They had lived in the shadows for so long, they had begun to believe they were truly invisible. And to most people, they were. But not to him.
Sometimes he had to watch a town for weeks before picking them out. Usually the arrival of a knight gave them away, and once they realized this, they abandoned all contact with the Order except via messenger bird.

He smiled every time he thought about the panic it had caused. He had picked off more than a dozen agents before they became aware of what was happening. They tried everything to stop him. He was a fugitive within every kingdom in the land; his description had been given to every magistrate and constable in every city and town. But their feeble attempts to apprehend him were useless. He had made his home in the one place they all feared to go.

Soon he would return there and consolidate his power. Then the earth would tremble. And at long last the reign of the wicked, and the tyranny of the gods, would come to an end.

The tavern door opened and the Master Builder stepped outside. His knight escort was close to his side, his eyes constantly alert and his hand poised ready to draw his sword.

A young one
, Aremiel thought.
A pity. How foolish to send a newly ordained knight to guard the Master Builder.

He watched as they rounded the corner, then jumped down from the roof. The impact jarred his knees, causing him to wince briefly. Age was catching up with him. But soon, age would no longer be a matter of concern.

He followed the duo, running in silence from shadow to shadow. Though the knight was young, he had been well trained. He took a seemingly random route through the city, stopping from time to time to check that they were not followed. But the Dark Knight was far too skilled to be caught by such basic tactics.

When they finally reached the Master Builder’s small house, his escort ushered the man inside and then took a walk around the building as a security measure. But none of this would do him any good.

When the knight returned and followed his charge through the front door of the house, Aremiel prepared to move. Watching from an alley twenty yards away, he waited for a few pedestrians to pass before bolting across the street. Creeping along the side of the house, he made his way to the back. The sound of the knight talking came to him quite clearly.

Experience told him to stay put until he knew precisely where everyone was.  From the sound of the footsteps and the creaks in the floor, he was able to get a reasonable idea of the interior layout. The Master Builder was clearly not in a mood for conversation, and was saying nothing while the obviously now relaxed knight prattled on.

He would prefer for both men to be in the same room when he made his move, so he decided to enter straight through the back door. If he was fast enough, he should be able to take the knight by surprise and end the fight before he could even arm himself.

He drew his dagger and stepped forward. The knight would be in the room just to his left. He took a breath and smashed the rear door in with his the heel of his boot.

Without hesitation, he stormed to the door of the next room. It was slightly ajar, so he ran into it shoulder first and burst through. He was expecting to see a solitary knight caught unawares by the suddenness of the attack. Instead, there stood three knights, each one well prepared and carrying a long dagger.

The younger man was in the center, and flanked on each side by an older veteran. The man on his left the Dark Knight recognized, the other he did not.

Aremiel grinned viciously. “I see I wasn’t as careful as I thought.”

“It ends here, demon,” the young knight said. “You have drawn your last drop of blood.”

“And you think you will be the one who kills me?” he scoffed. “For your bravery, I will spare your life if I can.”

“You will pay for the lives you have already taken,” he spat in return.

The older knight on the left spoke. “Take care. I have seen him fight. He was the only knight in the Order who could challenge Orias.”

“That is why I called for you,” the youthful knight shot back. “I am young, but I’m no fool.”

Hearing his old friend's name sent a tinge of pain shooting into Aremiel's heart. But in an instant, the pain had turned to anger. He could hear the Master Builder’s rapid breathing in the next room. He needed to end this and complete his task. Still, he felt a liking for the young knight. He was reminded of himself as a youth. So full of confidence and resolve.

“I suggest that you prove you are no fool,” he said. “Leave now.” But the young knight said nothing. Aremiel's eyes narrowed. “Such a waste.”

As his opponents rushed forward in a narrow semi-circle, he grabbed a small throwing knife from his side. The steel was painted black, making it virtually invisible against his black armor. It sank into the thigh of the man to his right, who instantly let out a cry of both shock and pain before collapsing sideways directly in the path of the young knight. Aremiel could see the fierce determination in the young man's eyes as he fought to prevent himself from stumbling over his fallen comrade. Somehow, he managed to avoid entangling his feet, and, with balance restored, charged on.

The Dark Knight’s blade flashed as it struck out at his oncoming foe's heart. The young man twisted away, his training guiding his movements. He countered by attempting to open Aremiel’s throat with his knife, but the blade found only air.

In his eagerness to strike, he had stepped beyond his reach. In an amazing display of skill, Aremiel kicked the young knight in the groin while simultaneously plunging his dagger into the injured man’s chest.

The young knight doubled over, his face creased with pain and turning purple. Yet still he was able to thrust his blade upwards. It caught the Dark Knight’s breastplate, but he did not have sufficient leverage to penetrate the armor.

The man now at his rear, enraged by the sight of his companion’s death, roared with fury and stabbed hard at the Dark Knight’s back. But like his younger comrade, his blade also found nothing but empty air.

Aremiel spun around and trapped his attacker's extended arm beneath his own. In a single movement, he then brought his own blade across the knight’s neck. The man let out a ghastly gurgling sound as blood spewed from the terrible wound. He then sank to his knees and toppled over onto his back.

By now, the young knight had recovered sufficiently to regain his stance. Aremiel could see the rage in his eyes and knew that more blood would need to be spilled.

“Come then,” he said. “Join your friends if you must.”

The young knight charged in with speed that was remarkable for a man of such large proportions.  Aremiel jumped to one side and was only just able to avoid having steel sink into his chest. Instinctively, he caught the man’s wrist and countered. But the young knight was ready for this, and pressed hard to one side, causing the dagger to pass behind him. The sheer force of his movement was immense. Both men slammed into the wall, grunting loudly as they did so. The old timbers, unable to withstand such a battering, shattered asunder. With an ear-splitting crack of wood and glass, the pair tumbled completely through and landed in the small area of ground behind the house.

For a second, panic seized Aremiel. His opponent was larger and heavier…and on top of him. But his hand holding the dagger was still free, and at the other man's back. He turned the tip down and struck. The young knight yelped and rolled to one side.

This was all the Dark Knight needed. Going with the sideways momentum, he exerted even more force until able to roll over completely and reverse their positions. Now on top, he still had an iron grip on the young man’s knife hand. After pinning this to the ground, he pressed his own blade to the flesh of his opponent's throat.

“It is over,” he growled. “Drop your weapon.”

The young knight glared furiously. But his situation was undeniable. He had lost…and now he would die. He loosened his hold on the knife and allowed it to roll off the tips of his fingers.

“Some men close their eyes when they know the end has come,” said the Dark Knight. “But not you. No. You have courage. And as I told you - I would spare you if I could.”

“Don’t bother,” he hissed. “I have no fear of my own end.”

“This I can see,” he replied approvingly. “And before you meet that end, I will know your name.”

There was a long pause. “Bevaris,” he finally said.

“It was an honor to meet you, Bevaris. May you live long enough to find a good
death. For today it has eluded you.” With a heavy grunt, Aremiel sent his fist smashing into the young knight’s jaw, dispatching him into unconsciousness.

He rose to his feet and went back into the house through the ruined wall. The Master Builder was still in the next room, sitting in a rickety chair against the far wall.

The Dark Knight chuckled as he entered. “It would seem you ended up finding your true calling after all, didn’t you, Laraad?”

“I have always contended that one’s true nature will surface in the end, Aremiel,” he replied.

He raised an eyebrow. “I thought speaking my name was a crime.”

Laraad sniffed. “As this is to be my end, I don’t think I need worry about the consequences.”

“Your end? Why should that be so?”

“Don’t play games with me,” he said. “We are no longer children, and I have not the patience. Just do what you came here to do.”

“You’ve gained some courage over the years.” Aremiel took a chair from the other side of the room and placed it in front of Laraad. “I would have never imagined that to be possible.”

“And you have become even more arrogant,” he shot back. “I would have never imagined
that
to be possible.”

Aremiel laughed softly. “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I am arrogant. But that does not explain why you chose me as the guardian of the
sword
.”

Laraad sneered. “You think I would choose
you
? I voted for Orias, but was overridden. He was always a man of faith. More so than any of the others…especially you. Whatever you may think of me, I am devoted to the Order. I would not allow my personal feelings about you or Orias to influence the most important decision of my life. He was always the better man.”

“And from what I have heard, you now have your wish. Is he not the guardian?”

“You know that he is,” Laraad replied with disgust. “You know it because you tortured members of the Order for the information. How many innocent men and women have fallen to your wrath? A hundred? A thousand? Or do you even know?”

“I have only done what needed to be done,” Aremiel replied calmly. “You can serve the gods if you choose. But I will no longer be blinded by their lies. The time is at hand for humankind to be rid of them…forever.”

“And will it end there?” he countered. “Once you have defeated the gods, will you simply lay down the
sword
and live your life in peace?”

“Peace? When has there ever been peace? Have the gods brought peace, or do they simply watch the never-ending slaughter from heaven?”

“So that is what you think you will do, is it? Bring peace? How can you be so blind?” He shook his head. “You swim across an ocean of blood and think peace will await you on the other side? I was wrong about you. You are not arrogant. You’re insane.”