The King of the Vile (36 page)

“Things are far more dire than you let on,” Qurrah said once they were gone.

“Always the observant one, aren’t you?” Tarlak muttered. “Any one of the masters at the Council is a dangerous foe. If they focus their collective attention on any one thing?” He shook his head. “Let’s just say if that happens, I’ll be glad to have a daughter of balance on our side.”

Something about the way Qurrah looked at him worried Tarlak that his confidence in Tessanna might not be so valid.

“Perhaps,” Qurrah said. He turned to his wife, who stared north, toward the distant speck that was the capital city of Mordeina. Her lips quivered, and her hands trembled in her lap. Tarlak frowned, confused, but it seemed Qurrah understood.

“You hear it, don’t you?” Qurrah asked.

Tessanna slowly nodded her head.

“Hear what?” Tarlak asked.

The half-orc lovingly brushed Tessanna’s face with his fingers, then brought his attention back to Tarlak.

“Not what,” he said. “But who. Ashhur’s entire creation has fallen. His attempts at peace have broken into warfare. His loving servants have slaughtered innocents in a night of black wings. Any priest or follower who speaks of Ashhur’s love will have fields of corpses as evidence to deny that love.”

Tarlak reached for the pendant of Ashhur he wore around his neck out of instinct, but it was gone, missing ever since he’d been nearly killed during the ambush at the towers.

“Ashhur,” he said softly. “You hear him weeping.”

Tessanna stood, dark hair falling about her like a shroud. She turned her deep black eyes Tarlak’s way, and he felt naked before them, as he always had since she first set foot in his tower.

“No,” she said. “Not Ashhur. I don’t hear Ashhur. I doubt I ever will.”

She stepped closer, brushing her hand through the illusion to touch the face that had once been Cecil Towerborn’s.

“Hear for yourself,” Tessanna whispered. Her magic flowed into him, and he saw the land turn to shadow, felt his ears open to a realm not of physical matter, nor of magic, but of gods. And in this echo of that world, Tarlak heard. The sound filled his heart with hatred and ignited his blood with a passion to prove every damn syllable wrong. To prove what they’d done had meant something. That it wasn’t a joke. Wasn’t a failure.

Karak, down in his Abyss, laughing.

Epilogue

A
zariah soared over the quiet streets of Mordeina on his way to the castle, his mood remarkably improved since he last left it. The remaining army of Mordan had pledged allegiance, the capital city was solidly in their control, and a weakened Ker now lacked a king, and therefore any realistic chance of challenging them during the tumultuous early years of establishing Ashhur’s rule. Even Karak’s paladins seemed willing to work with him to cull chaos from the land. Such a momentous day, how could he not smile?

But Azariah didn’t smile. Smiling stretched his lips across his jagged teeth and made them bleed. Still, it was a good reminder not to take joy in his accomplishments, not when so much remained to be done. Today alone still carried one last difficult task he must perform...

“May we talk?” Judarius asked, flying beside him.

“Of course,” Azariah said. “Follow me inside.”

He dove to the castle steps and lightly landed on his feet. Blood still covered the steps, but the corpses of both men and angels were gone. Judarius landed beside him, and he cast a disdainful look at the quiet stone structure.

“Why come here?” he asked. “Let us rule from Devlimar and make petitioners come to us.”

“Mankind needs their symbols,” Azariah said. “This castle has been the seat of power in Mordan since we were mere Wardens. I shall meet the public here, as well as release commandments and appoint advisors. This will ease the transition.” The angel smirked. “Besides, I will not have mankind walking through the streets of glorious Devlimar. They are not worthy.”

Azariah stepped through the grand doors, which were shattered from battle. Inside the castle was surprisingly peaceful. Azariah walked across the soft carpet, taking in the grandeur of the high columns, lengthy curtains, and open spaces. He’d thought coming here each day to manage the kingdom would wear on him, but now the prospect didn’t seem so terrible. It wasn’t that the architecture was impressive, not compared to the infinite spirals of silver and gold that decorated Devlimar. It was that the castle was his. Just knowing the structure belonged to him made it seem that much more welcoming.

“We will need to appoint many advisors to handle the coming challenges,” Azariah said as he strolled toward the throne. On a normal day, there’d be lines of petitioners, a dozen guards, and several advisors, but now their muted footsteps were the only sounds he heard. “We’ll also need to divide Mordan into districts and choose its guardians, but that all may wait. What did you wish to speak with me about?”

“Ahaesarus,” Judarius said. “And his eventual return.”

Azariah halted before the throne and turned around.

“His numbers are half ours,” he said. “And how many more might he lose battling the beasts from the Vile Wedge? We also have an army of soldiers he does not, and allies in the dark paladins and the Council. What does he have? Why should we fear his return?”

Judarius crossed his arms over his chest and glared.

“Because he won’t be alone,” he said. “The Godslayer and his wife escaped, along with the boy king.”

“Gregory is king no longer,” Azariah said.

“By our word only, which the people will be eager to ignore. The same goes for the soldiers you think have sworn loyalty to us. They are loyal to their lords, and those lords only follow out of fear. They will betray us the moment they feel we are weak. You know that as well as I.”

“Is that all?” Azariah asked, tiring of the warnings.

“No,” Judarius said. His brother grabbed him by the front of his robe and pulling him close. “No, it’s not, and I don’t like how little fear you show of our opponents. I fought the half-orc and lost, Azariah. We may be angels, but Harruq slew a god. People will flock to him, especially if he protects the boy king. Aurelia’s magic is not to be ignored either, or have you forgotten the power she wielded when we fought alongside her against Thulos? Even worse, I received a report from the Council. Roand the Flame is dead, presumably at Tarlak Eschaton’s hands. Deathmask fled with him as well, giving us two more powerful opponents.”

“My magic is stronger than any of them,” Azariah grumbled.

“But all three combined?” Judarius asked. “And that doesn’t count the half-orc’s brother. Qurrah Tun was beloved by Karak for a reason, and neither he nor his lover were with Bram’s army when we destroyed them. Celestia will not like what has happened today, which means the daughter of balance may soon bring her wrath against us. Should they meet up with the resistance, we will face a force of tremendous power. And to counter them, you’d use cowardly human lords and dark paladins of Karak, who were once our most hated enemy. Listen to me, brother. Your rule is not as strong as you think.”

Azariah folded his wings behind his back and sat upon the throne. His fingertips drummed against the armrests. His body sank into the cushions. Looking out upon the crimson carpet, he realized it looked like a trail of blood that ran from his seat to the doors, and all who entered must walk through it. Another worthy symbol showcasing the inherent risk in petitioning one who held the power of life and death over every man, woman, and child. Power he needed to solidify against such resistance.

“We have suffered too much to let things slip from our grasp,” Azariah said. “Too many have bled and died for us to fail. Ahaesarus, the Eschaton, the daughter of balance...let them come. We will crush their bodies to dust. They think themselves heroes, but they are only defenders of the sinful chaos that created a need of heroes in the first place.” He rose from his throne and put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Walk with me.”

They crossed back over the crimson carpet and out the broken doors. On the steps of the castle, they overlooked the quiet Mordeina.

“How well do you remember Karak’s siege of this city?” he asked.

Judarius shook his head.

“Very well, up until my death,” he said. “Everything beyond is a blur, at least until Ashhur was imprisoned by the goddess.”

Azariah outstretched his hands and began casting a spell. The words of magic flew off his lips, so easy, so comfortable. It was a familiar power, and given where they stood, it felt remarkably appropriate. In the earliest days of Dezrel, Karak had attempted to destroy all of the old Paradise and crush Ashhur and his people. Now they faced similar danger, and not just from Karak, but Celestia, and even misguided followers of Ashhur himself.

The power focused in his chest, vibrating, seeking release by the shouting of a single command word. Azariah let it build. The sensation was intoxicating.

“When you fell, I cried over your corpse,” Azariah said. “I whispered to you the Treaty of the Fallen, asking your soul to be guided on to shining shores instead of this dull, aching existence. But do you know what Ashhur did?”

Judarius shook his head, and he seemed troubled by the question. “I do not.”

Azariah smiled, willing to endure the shedding of blood it caused.

“He bid you to
rise.
”

His word was a whisper, but it floated across the city. Azariah felt a tremendous pull upon his chest. His strength, his power, poured out of him. It sought the vacant vessels that lay throughout the city. No matter the broken bones, no matter the torn muscles and rotting flesh. There would be no mind to feel the pain.

All throughout the city, the corpses crawled free of the piles, organizing into neat rows and columns. They made not a sound, at least not from their lips. Their bones creaked as they walked, their footsteps heavy and wet from blood and pus. In his mind’s eye, Azariah saw them all, and he commanded them with wonderful ease.

“The dead were made to serve, and by Ashhur’s hand first,” Azariah said, arms lifted in triumph as shadows swelled about his fingers. “They once fought to protect the people of this city, and now centuries later they shall do so again. There will be no rebellion, not here. In all places, I shall have eyes. In all corners, I shall have soldiers who will fight without doubt or fear. I will have an army that will never betray my command. Dezrel may kick and scream like a stubborn child, but we shall bring peace to this troubled land, and they shall be the blade I wield to do it.”

He lowered his arms as the effort required to maintain the dead settled upon his mind. It was like a thousand needles digging into his forehead, but he would endure. Velixar had done it, after all, and Azariah had ten times the strength of that rotten lich.

“No matter the cost,” he whispered. “For I have the strength to pay it.”

Enjoy this novel? Want to let others know what you thought? Then please leave a review for me here:
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More series in the world of Dezrel by David Dalglish:

The Half-Orcs:
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Shadowdance:
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The Breaking World:
http://smarturl.it/AMZBreakingWorld

The Paladins:
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to keep up on pretty much any of my updates.

***

Note from the Author:

First off, a quick warning. This note here is likely to ramble a lot, discussing ideas and alternate endings never used, as well as the origins of a few specific characters. Some of you may not care in the slightest, so just scroll to the very last paragraph if you’d rather hear about upcoming works. Hopefully there’s a few of you that might find this interesting. So here we go. Oh, and trust me when I say that all this does eventually come together, and bear relevance to the book you just read.

In the summer between graduating high school and entering college, I wrote about sixty pages on an abandoned novel (abandoned as in ‘a hard drive crash lost me everything’). Its working title was Demonworld. The idea was that a group of heroes from multiple dimensions were all captured and brought to this one world overrun with demons. These heroes would then be forced to battle in a gigantic arena for the entertainment of an assortment of demons, imps, and monsters. Imagine the coliseums of old, except with orcs and fire elementals. Fun fact: Haern’s first incarnation came from this novel, as one of the main characters who were captured and brought into the Demonworld. He soloed a frost giant in the first chapter, because Haern is awesome. Oh, another fun fact: I originally planned on having Haern reveal that he was a woman underneath all those hoods and cloaks, a twist I
almost
used in the Half-Orcs when I shoved him into that series out of sheer impatience.

The plan for the Demonworld book was for the heroes to kill a few scary things, break out into this blasted ruin of a world, and flee. Eventually they would be rescued from the chasing demons by angels, who would spin them a tale about this ancient sword the heroes needed to go obtain from this super-secret area that only the foretold hero could go inside. Well, the twist was the angels were, in fact, also evil, they just hadn’t spent the past century or so living on the ground but instead in the clouds away from the imps and lesser demons, which saved them from turning all ugly and demonic. The sword was actually imprisoning an ancient evil god named Kaurthulos, slain by said sword, and the angels couldn’t get to it because it was protected against evil.

I’ll give you one guess as to the name of the lead evil angel. Hint: it starts with an ‘A’, and ends with ‘Zariah’.

All right, so here I am, drawing the map of this Demonworld, and I’m trying to add in some unique stuff. Some flavor, if you will. And one of the things I added on a whim was a random tower labeled “Lich’s Tower”. Now at the same time, I’d been working on The Weight of Blood for The Half-Orcs, and I was struggling to decide where I wanted to take the series. But I knew the eventually fate of Qurrah Tun...he was to become a lich. And suddenly, I knew what I wanted to do. I would
merge
these two stories together. Harruq’s swords would be the swords that trapped the ancient god, Kaurthulos. Qurrah would be the lich the heroes of Demonworld stumbled upon and learned some of its history. Tessanna would be the one who brought the demons into the world in the first place.

So all this is a very, very long way of saying that I have been planning for Azariah and Judarius to become fallen angels since their very introduction (for fun, take a look at the first thing Azariah ever says to Harruq in Shadows of Grace, or the kind of infamous traitor whose name is not all that well hidden within Judarius’s name). Now what of all this Demonworld nonsense? Am I actually going to go through with that?

Nah. You see, I once wrote in a note that Qurrah’s redemption didn’t just save his life, but the entire world of Dezrel. I also wrote I had no clue it was going to happen. Both are absolutely true. Around the time I was writing The Death of Promises, I still had the (psychotic) plan of having the Half-Orcs Series end as a colossal failure, the world overrun with demons and fallen angels. My plan was to leap forward a good hundred years, introducing some new heroes, and having you readers meet a grown-up Aubrienna leading the resistance alongside her mother and father. When Qurrah knelt before Harruq at the end of Shadows of Grace, Harruq was supposed to slit his throat. Harruq was going to finally give in and do what everyone had been telling him to do, to deny forgiveness and instead kill his brother for all the pain he’d given him.

That moment of spite would doom all of Dezrel. Qurrah wasn’t to die, but instead use Velixar’s spellbook in his final moments to save himself by becoming undead. The ramifications are enormous. Suddenly Tessanna isn’t trapped with Velixar, wishing to escape his control, but instead a willing participant in the carnage. Qurrah doesn’t make his epic stand on the bridge with King Theo White. He doesn’t burn Velixar at the battle in Avlimar. Originally, Qurrah was to escape Thulos’s defeat with Tessanna dying in his arms (dying to Mira, no less, another character who totally went and got herself killed prior to my plans). Qurrah would go east, building his lich’s spire from the bones of the elves he slaughtered as he burned the Dezren Forest to ash.

It all continues to spiral from there, in ways that’d be too lengthy to detail in full. I mean, I could, and part of me wants to. I’ve been writing in the world of Dezrel for nearly thirteen years, which allows for a bit of nostalgia when I look back to when everything was just a bunch of scribbles on a few sheets of paper. But to reward the sacrifices of so many characters with a demon world of death and shadow? No. I can’t do that, not anymore. Perhaps that means I’m losing my edge, or maybe I’m no longer a crazy eighteen-year-old hoping to shock my readers by how I’m totally willing to do something so insane.

But there are still seeds, little ideas from the original Fall that I have used and still plan on using. Much of it has needed tweaking, for as I’ve written more and more of these books, fleshing out the world with series like The Breaking World and The Paladins, I keep finding new wrinkles in Azariah’s original plan. And for once, I see a different future building for my silly little world, one where I can bring the series back to its roots, before it spiraled out from the adventures of the Eschaton into this sprawling war between gods. This means I’ll be bringing this saga with the angels to a close come the next Half-Orc book, aptly titled The King of the Fallen.

For those wondering what happened with the orc army potentially led by a war demon: that’s going to have to wait for another time. Given all the crap I had going on in this one, I decided a tighter focus was better than trying to add in a ninth sub-plot. And as I said, I have emerging plans that go on for several more books, and in hopefully new and fun directions. This means the possibility of an orc empire led by a demon can be given its full attention instead of swiftly dealt with on the side.

After King of the Fallen comes Queen of the Faceless, and I’ll let your imaginations run wild with what exactly that could mean. Not that it’ll take that much to figure out some key elements. I mean, I’ve always had people asking me where Zusa, Alyssa, and Nathaniel ran off to during the events of the Half-Orcs...

To all of you who stuck with me, not grumbling too loudly during the long stretch between this book and The Prison of Angels while I both rewrote and then finished the Shadowdance Series as well as The Breaking World: thank you. To those wondering if there will be a similar lengthy wait: not a chance. As of right now, I’m scaling down my attention to two series, one with Orbit, one self-published. Bouncing between them should still allow one Half-Orc book a year, if not two, so settle in for the long haul. I’m not done with these silly Tun brothers just yet. If that’s all right with you, well, then that’s all right with me.

David Dalglish

December 15
^th
, 2014