The King of the Vile (26 page)

After a minute, he had Deathmask’s left hand free, and he moved on to the right. The man’s fingers were swollen, puffy bruises growing from where the hooks had been embedded in the soft flesh of his fingertips. Thankfully no bones appeared broken. Roand probably considered such basic tactics as beneath him.

Once both his hands were free, Tarlak turned his attention to the chains, which were easy enough to slide around Deathmask’s body until he was free. He got a good look at the many more burns that covered his chest and legs in the process. Apparently Roand had gotten bored with only assaulting the face. Scars were visible through burned gaps in his clothes, and a few looked incredibly recent.

Tarlak removed the last of the chains. “At least he left your genitals alone.”

“What?” Deathmask asked, still sounding delirious.

“Don’t mind me,” Tarlak said. “Just talking to myself to keep the nerves calm.”

The only thing left were the manacles. Magic had closed them, so Tarlak had a feeling magic would be required to open them as well. He cracked his knuckles and waggled his fingers. He’d feared everything would feel foreign and weird, and in the back of his mind it did, but so far his motor skills seemed to function perfectly. Given the intricate movements required for spellcasting, this was an incredible relief.

Tarlak touched the manacle holding Deathmask’s left arm and murmured a basic unlocking spell. The metal sprang open the moment he finished.

“All right,” he said. “We’ll have you out of here in...”

The door opened behind him, and Tarlak’s shoulders dropped as he sighed and turned about.

Roand stood in his doorway, a comical look of bafflement on his face. He held a silver plate with a wedge of cheese and a few thin slices of bread.
A midnight torture snack?
Such a mundane act made the wizard seem all the more demented.

“Cecil?” asked Roand, cocking his head to one side.

“Not quite,” Tarlak said. “I told you I’d escape, didn’t I?”

Roand calmly entered his room and he set his plate on a small table. His surprise was quickly replaced by amusement.

“You transferred your consciousness to a new body, letting your old one be destroyed,” he said. “I must admit, I never anticipated such a strategy. You are to be commended.”

“By ‘commended’, you mean ‘allowed to go free without repercussions’, right?”

Roand shook his head.

“Disrespectful humor to counter fear while in my presence,” the Lord of the Council said. “What did I tell you I felt about that?”

Tarlak cracked his knuckles.

“That I should instead act like a proper wizard,” he said. “So to follow your example, that’d mean burning your body in a hundred places. Let’s start with that, shall we?”

Attacking a wizard whose nickname was ‘the Flame’ with a fire spell might have been crazy, but Tarlak was cranky and at the end of his rope. Roand would think it little more than an insult, which was exactly the point. Fire burst from Tarlak’s palms, a thick beam that swirled with smoke. Roand clenched a raised fist, a whisper of magic escaping his lips. A shield shimmered around him, orange in color. When the fire beam hit, it dissipated as if it’d never existed.

“Cute,” Roand said.

He countered with his own beam of fire, this one thrice the size of Tarlak’s. Legs braced, hands outstretched, Tarlak summoned a magical shield against the blast. When it hit, he let out a cry. His entire body shuddered and an immediate ache filled his head. Karak help him, the heat, the
power
...

At last the beam ended, and the moment it did, Tarlak dropped to one knee, hands a blur. A thick sheet of ice spread from wall to wall. It lasted a mere moment before a blast of pure, invisible force punched straight through its center. Shards of ice shattered against another of Tarlak’s shields. With Deathmask behind him, he couldn’t dodge, lest the captured man be burned or impaled. A terrible predicament, really.

Tarlak shifted to one side, hoping to reduce the risk of potential collateral damage. The rest of his ice wall melted away and Roand stepped forward. Fire seemed to burn from every inch of his body. It set his carpet aflame, but did nothing to his skin and clothes.

“It need not end like this,” Roand said. A circular shield of flame swirled into existence before him, holding firm against the several bricks Tarlak ripped out of the walls and flung at him. “You’re a stubborn man used to following his own will. Adapting to the towers will take time, time I’m willing to give you. You’re not the first to attack me, and if you stand down, I will pardon you of this crime.”

“I’d rather you curse me and call me foul names,” Tarlak said, mind racing. He needed to slow Roand’s approach before he ended up a blackened husk. “Must you remain so boringly calm?”

 He slammed his hands together, fingers interlocking. A sudden windstorm shoved Roand backwards. The wizard struggled to remain where he stood, but Tarlak only increased the power. At last, Roand countered by sending a barrage of fire bolts that Tarlak had to end his spell to block.

“I speak no insults because I have no desire to inflame you,” Roand said as he regained his balance.

“Is that another pun?”

At last it seemed he’d inspired a bit of anger in the Lord of the Council. Roand opened his mouth and let out a thunderous cry. Fire roared from his gullet as if from the belly of a dragon. Tarlak summoned another barrier, but the fire forked, fully surrounding him, and then collapsed against his shield. Tarlak clenched his teeth as he fought to keep the flames at bay. Not just the carpet burned now, but the paintings and shelves as well. Despite his shield, Tarlak felt the heat on his skin, felt sweat beginning to run down his neck and face.

As quickly as it began, Roand ceased belching fire. Before Tarlak could recover, he hurled molten balls of stone from his palms. Tarlak’s shield barely held. The impact created a shockwave, one that cracked Tarlak’s mind like glass. He rolled across the floor, coming to a stop at Deathmask’s feet.

“A new age approaches for Dezrel,” Roand said. The fire surrounding his body vanished, and he straightened the sleeves of his robes. “You could have ruled with us instead of dying without reason.”

“Ruled?” Tarlak asked, rising on unsteady legs. “Ruled what? These two little towers? What do I want with a few piddly apprentices under my thumb?”

“Not these towers,” Roand said. “An entire nation, granted to us by Azariah himself.”

Tarlak froze. “An entire nation?” he said. “And Azariah would give you this...why?”

“Because I have personally trained him in the arcane arts. Because I helped him bring Avlimar crashing to the ground. And mostly because he knows he cannot accomplish his own goals without allies such as myself.”

Tarlak felt like he’d been hit in the head with a club. Azariah arranged Avlimar’s collapse? But why? How did that make one lick of sense?

“So you help Azariah, and in return he gives you...parts of Mordan?”

Roand shook his head.

“Mordan will remain under the angels’ rule. The nation of Ker, however...their entire army marches north toward Mordeina, leaving her so very vulnerable. Ker, whose queen believes we will protect her. When their army crumbles, we will finally leave these towers as we should have decades ago. We cannot yet save the entire race, not the poor souls trapped in Mordan, but at least we might create a new kingdom. Azariah has promised us freedom from the angels, from Ashhur’s rules, and from Karak’s meddling inanities. Two kingdoms, each bettering mankind in their own way. It harkens back to Dezrel’s earliest days, if you think about it.”

“Yeah,” Tarlak said. “Because that went so well the first time.”

“We need only to be patient,” Roand said, shaking his head. “The angels cannot procreate. Their numbers will steadily dwindle, and once they are too few, we will invade. At last, humanity will be free. No gods. No kings. Just the rule of the wise. Under our guidance, we will forge a paradise beyond anything Karak and Ashhur ever created. It is a goal so noble, a future so inevitable, I cannot fathom how you don’t see it as well.”

“Maybe because he’s not an idiot,” Deathmask called from the wall. His free hand weaved through the air, and a single bolt of shadow flew across the room. It was small and weak, but surprise was on his side. Roand’s shield came up too late, and the bolt hit him in the chest. The impact sent him stumbling back a step. Jumping on the opportunity, Tarlak pressed his hands together and let loose a torrent of lightning.

“
Enough!
” Roand cried, arms whirling. A funnel of flame surrounded him, and when the lightning hit, it swirled into the funnel, becoming part of it. A terrifying mixture of fire and lightning now his shield, Roand flung fireballs from within, which Tarlak detonated with a focused burst of magic. The flame enveloped the room, licking the stone walls and consuming the bookshelves. Smoke covered the ceiling, growing thicker by the moment. Tarlak flung a single shard of ice at the glass doors before the balcony. They shattered, and fresh air blew into the room as smoke poured out.

“I offer you power, and you respond with insults,” Roand said. Tarlak caught sight of a ripple in reality, and he blocked too late. It flung past him, an invisible force smacking Deathmask in the forehead. The power drove his head against the wall with a sick, wet sound. Praying the man was still alive, Tarlak made his new fingers dance. Ice flew in thin, pointed shards, but they could not pierce the swirling barrier. Attempting a new tactic, he cast a spell to polymorph Roand into a mudskipper, but as expected, the wizard had protections in place within his rings and necklaces.

Damn,
thought Tarlak as he dove to the floor to avoid a spear made of solid flame. It hit the wall and exploded, adding more fire to the already burning room. Tarlak coughed up smoke, the heat becoming torturous.

“I offer you a home, and you attempt to destroy it.”

The funnel around Roand broke apart, becoming a wave that rolled toward Tarlak. Panicking, he flung his arms up and summoned the strongest shield he could manage. The magic slammed against it, and immediately Tarlak knew he’d made a mistake. The strain to keep it intact broke him. His knees turned to water, he went momentarily blind. He kept the fire back, but some of the lightning pierced through, lashing his skin. His body shook with random muscle spasms as he collapsed to the ground. The carpet beneath him burned, and he rolled onto his back to smother it.

“Such a pity,” Roand said. He kicked Tarlak in the face. Tarlak groaned, blood spilling from his nose. He rolled back onto his stomach and he received another kick to the neck for his efforts. Coughing and gagging, he dragged himself closer. Roand frowned down at him, looking like a disappointed parent.

“You had great potential,” Roand said, shaking his head. “A shame your stubbornness and morality pushed you away from a wiser life.”

“You’re right,” Tarlak croaked, hand dipping into his pocket. “Such a damn shame.”

Before Roand could step away, Tarlak shoved the object he’d taken from Roand’s desk against the wizard’s ankle: one of his precious ruby imprisonment pendants. As the gemstone touched Roand’s skin, the chain looped around and clasped shut of its own accord. Warmth spread against his palm as the magic within the ruby activated. Tarlak heard Roand cry out, knew he prepared a spell, but Tarlak gave him no time. Just as quickly as he’d applied the pendant, he ripped it off with all his strength. The silver clasp broke. The pendant flared. With a sound like thunder, Roand’s body vaporized, his body turning to brightly glowing embers that faded into ash and dust.

Tarlak collapsed onto his back. His limbs were sore, his ears rang, and he bore a myriad of burns, but that didn’t matter, not in the slightest.

With the room still burning around him, Tarlak laughed his ass off.

“I’m still here, in case you’ve forgotten,” Deathmask said from the wall. He sounded groggy but otherwise fine.

“Right, right,” Tarlak said. He rolled onto his stomach, then pushed himself to his feet. “I think it’s time for a hasty retreat, Deathmask. What do you say to that?”

Deathmask grinned as the last three manacles opened one after the other.

“To that, I say amen and hallelujah, let’s get the fuck out of here.”

23

J
essilynn looked to the orange sky, but she saw no wings.

“Where are you?” she whispered. They were out of time. The goblins had finished their battering rams, and the rest of the beasts roared and cheered from beyond the wall, whipped into a growing frenzy. The attack was about to begin. Despite the walls and the hundreds of armed soldiers rushing across the ramparts, Jessilynn feared they would not last the night.

“Where will you make your stand?” Dieredon asked. Together they overlooked fields swarming with beasts of the Vile Wedge.

“Here at the gate,” Jessilynn said. She pointed to where the goblins were lining up the battering rams. “So long as they have to climb the walls, we’ll maintain our advantage. If we have to fight them on open ground...”

“Then we’ll defeat them on open ground,” Dieredon said. “We’ve committed to battle, so do not waste time doubting. Our strength will lead to our victory, and their defeat. That is all that matters.”

Jessilynn grinned, pretending she wasn’t scared for her life. “You make it seem so simple and easy.”

“It is,” Dieredon said, patting his bow. “Stick the sharp end of the arrows into the bodies of our enemies. Repeat until they’re all dead or dying.”

“You sound like Jerico,” Jessilynn said, laughing.

The elf shrugged.

“I was thinking Harruq,” he said. “Truth be told, I wouldn’t mind having that idiot half-orc with us right now. If
he
was standing before those gates...”

A communal shout shook the air, the thousands of beasts roaring, shrieking, and howling. It washed away whatever little relaxation Jessilynn had gained, and she spun about anticipating a charge. None came.

“Soon,” Dieredon said, removing his bow from his shoulder. “Very soon.”

Soldiers lined the entirety of the wall surrounding the castle, which left them painfully thin given the lengthy distance they had to cover. A mere ten men joined Jessilynn and Dieredon above the gate, all ten wielding bows. Soldiers continued to slowly filter in, those who’d slept now woken and sent to the wall. The only large grouping of soldiers was right before the gate, a collection of forty, half of which weren’t soldiers at all, but volunteers who’d fled to the castle for protection. Daniel Coldmine stood among them, already hoarse from hollering orders.

“Nothing gets through!” he shouted. “Moment that door starts to crack, you start shoving your blades in the gap. Between your swords and the archers above, we’ll have them terrified to come near this damn gate!”

Jessilynn was thankful for his fire. Though she knew she should be an inspiration to the defenders, she didn’t know what to do or say. She just wanted the fight to begin.

“I watched these beasts tear down my towers,” Daniel continued. “Again and again, they cross the rivers, terrorizing innocent folks, and it’s about time we bloodied their noses for it. Ten die for every one of you, you hear me? Any less, and I’ll hunt you down in the Golden Eternity to berate you for not giving it your all. You hear me, soldiers? You want me haunting your ass for the next million years?”

“No, sir!” cried those below and above the gate, and Jessilynn found herself shouting it as well. His confidence warmed her heart. It wasn’t that Daniel wasn’t afraid. She’d bet plenty that he was. It was that he didn’t care. Mind on the task at hand, with anger and pride overcoming weakness and fear. Her own confidence grew.

“They’ll struggle to get their ten,” Jessilynn shouted down at Daniel. “Not enough beasts will reach the wall, not with my arrows stopping them.”

“Will they now?” Daniel shouted back. “That’s a sight I’d love to see!”

Jessilynn smiled. Seeing the kindled hope in the soldiers’ eyes urged her on. “You’re right,” she shouted. “How about I show those monsters what they have to look forward to?”

She drew back the string of her bow, and as an arrow of light materialized between her fingers, the soldiers let out a cheer. Aiming blindly into the distant horde, she let the arrow fly. A flash of light marked its passing, and the cheers grew louder.

“Two dead with one shot,” Dieredon said, making a show of peering into the distance with his elven eyes. “And at least five more nearby that just shit their fur.”

Jessilynn laughed and fired three more arrows. It felt good to be on the attack for once, to believe that her enemies should be afraid of her and not the other way around. Shimmering, ethereal arrows slammed into the distant enemies, their impacts marked by tiny explosions of light.

Her laughter died as the horde roared back. The stampede began, thousands barreling toward the wall in a gigantic wave of feathers, claws, and fur. The ground shook.

“Focus on bringing the battering rams down,” Dieredon said before putting two fingers to his mouth and whistling.

“Where are you going?” she asked. She could barely hear herself over the growing commotion.

“To keep them off of you,” he said.

Sonowin flew down from the sky. The elf hopped over the wall, landing on the winged horse’s back as she zoomed by.

“Until the rising of the sun,” he shouted over his shoulder.

The horse rose into the air, Dieredon’s arrows already flying toward the charging army. Jessilynn readied her bow, and she saw that the other archers atop the flat space above the gate were staring at her. It took her a moment to realize they were waiting for orders. Her orders.

“Keep them off the walls,” she told them, an arrow of light glimmering in her hands. “Leave the battering rams to me.”

“Are you sure you can kill so many?” an archer with a milky right eye asked. “Any beasts carrying it will be replaced by more as they die.”

Jessilynn sighted the nearest of the four battering rams, each carried by a dozen of the vile creatures.

“I’m not aiming at the ones carrying it,” she said.

Her arrow sailed through the air, the holy projectile slamming into front of the first battering ram. Upon contact the carved face of a snarling wolf exploded into shrapnel. The two wolf-men nearest the front cried out, one falling to the side and clutching its eyes as it bled. Jessilynn did not relent, firing three more arrows at the ram. The wood broke further, long cracks spreading along its entire length. Switching aim, she fired two more along its upper half, right into those cracks. The final shot broke it completely, the battering ram splitting into three pieces. The beasts holding it let it drop to the ground, howling as they charged the wall empty-handed.

The archers beside Jessilynn let out cheers at the battering ram’s destruction, but Jessilynn didn’t share their jubilation. It’d taken six shots to destroy the ram, and three more rams remained, each racing toward the front gate with reckless abandon. Six shots, without distraction, without having to defend herself. As the first of the vile creatures reached the wall, she feared taking down the other three would not be so easy.

“On the walls,” the archer with the milky eye shouted. “Shoot only the ones on the walls!”

The archers plunged arrows straight down into the faces and shoulders of the climbing beasts. It was the wolf-men that were focused on the front gate, hundreds of them colliding with the stone, thick claws digging in as if climbing a tree.

From her peripheral vision, Jessilynn saw bird-men rushing the length of the wall north of the gate. She assumed the goat-men to be along the south, but wondered how they planned to climb the wall without.

Screams and howls of pain joined the angry cries of the attackers. Soldiers with swords and spears remained at ready along the farther reaches of the wall, hacking down at the beasts who’d reached the top. Jessilynn saw one wolf-man shrug off a spear to the shoulder, fling itself into the soldier, and send them both tumbling off the other side of the wall. Praying both died quickly from the fall, Jessilynn fired arrows as fast as her arm could move. A second battering ram splintered from her barrage, with several of the wolf-men dying with it as her arrows ripped through them.

As Jessilynn brought her aim to the third, another wolf-man made it to the top of the wall. An archer screamed as claws dug into his legs. The wolf-man swung its arm while still clinging to the wall, sending the man tumbling down to the swarm below. He struck ground headfirst, and for that, Jessilynn was thankful, for a trio of wolf-men ripped him apart the moment he landed. Two other archers plunged arrows into the beast’s neck. It fell, but the diversion allowed another to leap to the top, snarling with hunger.

Jessilynn turned her attention away from the battering rams to assist the other archers, but before she could fire, an arrow sailed down from the sky and pierced the wolf through the throat. Sonowin banked low, and Jessilynn heard Dieredon shout at her even as he loosed more arrows.

“The battering rams, Jess! The rest are mine!”

Sonowin swooped over the invaders. Dieredon twisted sideways and fired arrow after arrow into the backs of the climbers making their way up the wall. Jessilynn berated herself for losing focus; lifting her bow, she gritted her teeth as the nearest battering ram reached the gate and slammed into it at full speed. She heard a deep thud, felt the gate rattle beneath her. Jessilynn fired three arrows in rapid succession, making sure each shot also passed through one of the wolf-men. The ram dropped to the ground, the remainder unable to heft its weight and therefore sparing the gate a second hit. Jessilynn gave them no chance to recover, three more arrows hitting the same spot, breaking the ram in half.

A scream spun Jessilynn around. Two wolf-men ascended the wall simultaneously, one howling with victory, the other diving atop an archer and ripping into her chest with such ferocity Jessilynn saw rib bones poking through flesh and clothing. Both had Dieredon’s arrows embedded in their fur. Jessilynn pulled back the drawstring as one leapt toward another of the archers. Her arrow caught it mid-air, ripping off an arm and blasting it over the side of the wall. Jessilynn turned to the other, but she never had to fire. Two arrows from Dieredon pierced the beast’s in the spine.

Another heavy thud as the next battering ram connected with the gate.

Persistent dogs, aren’t they?
Jessilynn thought as she spun back around, needing no reminder from Dieredon as to what her task should be. Only one battering ram remained, and once it fell, the soldiers on the ground could rush atop the wall to aid in the defense. Jessilynn held her breath as she blasted into the ram again and again. Ignoring the cries of the dying, the hail of arrows all around her as Dieredon kept her safe, she let Ashhur’s power fuel her. The ram fell to pieces, having managed only three good hits on the gate.

Jessilynn’s excitement lasted only long enough to see the wolf-men abandon the rams and instead begin raking their claws against the gate’s thick wood. It’d take time before they’d make any progress, but they’d get through eventually.

Jessilynn ran along the wall, weaving through corpses of both men and beast in search of a better angle. So few soldiers remained, and with each death, the way grew that much easier for the rest of Manfeaster’s army. Bodies piled up at the base of the wall, providing steps for the next wolf-man that moved to climb.

A hundred feet down the wall, Jessilynn had her angle. Two soldiers fought alongside her, stabbing with long spears at beasts attempting the crest the parapets. Trusting them to keep her safe, she blasted into the wolf-men hacking at the gate, careful to aim so she didn’t hit the gate itself. The last thing she wanted was to open the way for them. Jessilynn’s arm ached, but she refused to relent, even when one of the two guarding her was yanked off the side screaming.

Not yet,
Jessilynn thought as the wolf-men dragged their muscled bodies over the wall.
We don’t die yet!

Dieredon landed between her and the nearest beast, wielding his enormous bow like a staff. The string had vanished, and two long blades jutted out from either end. The elf leapt about, a whirling storm of death against all who tried the climb.

“Arrow after arrow!” he cried as he cut open a fur-covered belly, leapt two steps back, and then flicked the bow into an upright position. The drawstring reappeared, and he buried an arrow into the wolf-man’s bleeding guts. “Arrow after arrow!”

Jessilynn prayed Ashhur continue to give her the strength. Wolf-men surged toward the gate, and so she built a second gate with their dead. They had no way to hide, no way to protect themselves. Arrow after arrow, she destroyed them. Arrow after shimmering arrow, she killed those who would slaughter the innocent lives beyond the wall.