The God King (Book 1) (Heirs of the Fallen) Read online

  When the flood of life became a trickle, he severed the flow. It was enough, he thought, and opened his eyes. The sea of silver over his Chosen had gone to a leaden gray, and many of them had fallen to their knees, heads bowed. Dismissing them for now, he turned to face the chasm. It was all he could do not to give a victorious shout.

  Stretching across the mile-wide gulf, the tough old roots had grown a thousandfold, forming a lush bridge of densely entwined branches and vibrant foliage no less than a hundred paces wide, and twice as thick.

  Uzzret was down on his knees. He had pissed himself. When he saw what Varis had done, tears squeezed from his eyes. “Master!” he cried weakly. “Oh, Master!"

  Varis dismissed the fawning idiot to look again at the Chosen. They were weak, but they could walk well enough.

  “Cross!” he called.

  At his command, the weary army pressed forward.

  It took hours to get everyone over the bridge, but when the last one strode clear, Varis drained its life, and returned it to his Chosen. The bridge remained, but was rotted and sinking in the middle. The first storm would sweep it into the gorge.

  Still gazing at his creation, Varis promised himself that, in time, he would learn to shape the very stones of the earth, and more. In time, he would become truly immortal, and he would wield the Powers of Creation as had the Three before him. When that day came, Peropis would suffer for holding back on her promises.

  For now, he needed to reach Ammathor.

  After climbing back into the saddle, he led his army east faster than any army had ever traveled. At this pace, he was only days from claiming the first of many crowns to come.

  Chapter 18

  Under a dark gray sky, Kian led his company along the faded ruts of an ancient supply road running toward Ammathor. No one was saying much, except Hazad and Azuri.

  “I thought the desert was supposed to be hot,” Hazad groused, fiddling with the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. No one had any cold weather clothing, and wrapped as they were in every spare bit of cloth they could find, the company looked like a troupe of vagabonds. “It feels like winter.”

  “It’s midsummer,” Azuri said, breath steaming.

  “The frost in my beard these last two mornings doesn’t seem to care what season you think it is.”

  “Just a cold spell,” Azuri assured him. “It’ll warm up again. You’ll see.”

  Kian wasn’t so sure, and the tense look in Azuri’s eyes said he wasn’t sure either. The cold had settled in a few days earlier, and showed no sign of surrendering its hold. Having the sunlight blocked by dense smoke and falling ash didn’t help. The only indication that the sun still existed was the faint, muddy red disk sinking behind them.

  Turning his mind from the cold, Kian tried to guess how long it would take to reach Ammathor. He quickly gave up. There was no telling, not with the way the lands had changed.

  As far as the eye could see, the desert had been transformed into more of a wasteland than it had ever been before. They often had to ride around great chasms that had not been there before. In other places craters pocked the land, creating impassible areas of blasted rock and broad flats covered in something that resembled crumbly green glass. Ellonlef said the Tears of Pa’amadin had made the rough holes and the glass, a claim no one disputed.

  He looked sideways and found her riding with her head bowed, as if in prayer. He couldn’t fault her for that, though he had never understood those who prayed to the Silent God of All, whose very name told that he was not given to answering.

  Ellonlef looked up and gave him a secretive smile. Kian nodded, then turned back to the lifeless face of the desert. It seemed she had warmed to him. He wished she would go back to treating him like an uncouth mercenary, a man who only cared for himself, someone far beneath her station. But she won’t. She knows I saved her life, even if she doesn’t understand how.

  He remembered the cramped space under the outcrop, how it had collapsed on them with an explosive roar. In the flickering light, he had seen a stone crush her face—

  Kian pushed the images aside, tried to drown them with a drink from his waterskin. He almost gagged on the sour grittiness of the water they had dug from the ground at dawn. When his throat stopped convulsing, the memory of Ellonlef’s bloodied face remained in his mind’s eye.…

  ~ ~ ~

  In the darkness, she glowed with a weakening silver radiance. By some instinct, he knew that when the glow was gone, she would die. What nearly broke his mind was the feel of her blood, a terrible wet heat, pouring over his hands as he lay on top of her cradling her crushed head. He couldn’t let anymore in his company die.

  He strained against the smothering layer of falling rock, holding it off her. He whispered words of comfort and strength against her ear, willing her to hear him. But she went still, the silvery glow enshrouding her dimmed further, and despair wrapped around him like a great black wing.

  Over long seconds, a cool tingling sensation began coursing over his skin. He had felt that before, at the temple. The coolness gave way to a searing heat that stole his breath and invaded his bones, and he thought, This is the essence of life … my life.

  Without understanding how, he fed a portion of his life into Ellonlef, and in doing so, he felt his strength failing. But he refused to stop. Almost at once, her radiance blossomed before his eyes like a silver rose, and he fell into an exhausted stupor.

  After Hazad and Azuri freed them from their stony tomb, Kian wiped away a crust of blood and dirt from Ellonlef’s face. There was no wound underneath.

  “Looks like your skull spared hers,” Hazad said, indicating the gash on Kian’s brow.

  “It did at that,” Azuri added, absently brushing the dust from his clothes. “It’s nothing short of a miracle that either of you survived.”

  “It’s a miracle any of us survived,” Kian said forcefully, as if trying to deny that he had given Ellonlef back her life, in much the same way that Varis had given back the lives of the folk of Krevar. Just the thought that he shared something so sinister and powerful with Varis made him want to vomit.

  That fear hadn’t subsided until Ellonlef had come awake and gone to help the Asra a’Shah warrior with the mangled leg. When she snapped at Kian about fetching and carrying, instead of worshiping him as some kind of Life Giver, he knew that whatever he had done for her was different than Varis’s deeds.

  Not being able to help the dying Geldainian tempered Kian’s relief. He had desperately sought the powers of dead gods within himself, but instead of odd sensations of cold heat, he felt hollowed out, empty.

  Deep down, despite the mercenary’s death, Kian hoped he had purged the Powers of Creation from himself, for lesser powers than those wielded by gods had a way of destroying men’s souls….

  ~ ~ ~

  Kian suffered another drink of tainted water, but failed to set aside the memory of Ellonlef’s death and rebirth. That’s what it was, he admitted to himself. She was reborn through the strength of my life, and the Powers of Creation within me.

  “It’ll be getting dark soon,” Azuri said.

  “We should set camp,” Hazad put in. “Get a good hot fire burning, maybe have Ba’Sel hunt up some more of those tasty lizards for roasting.”

  Azuri’s lips curled. “Left to your own devices, you’d eat steaming dung straight out of a sheep’s arse.”

  “Those lizards weren’t so bad.”

  “They were lizards, you great oaf!” Azuri snapped. “Men were not born to eat such things. It’s unnatural.”

  “And men were not born to primp more than women,” Hazad countered.

  While they went at each other, Kian searched the hazed desert and saw a ridge of broken hills not far to the east. “Unless we are lost, the ruins of Salev lie just beyond those hills.”

  Hazad nodded. “I do remember those two pillars up ahead. Used to be an archway, or some such.”

  “Or some such?” Azuri scoffed. “What else would
they have been?”

  “Keep at me, pretty man, and I’ll rip your leg off and beat you to death with it.”

  “That sounds unpleasant,” Ellonlef said, coming abreast of the trio. Kian stifled a laugh at the abashed looks on his companions’ faces.

  Ellonlef turned her eyes to Kian. “I hope we’re halting soon?”

  “Very soon, Sister,” Azuri answered.

  With a tired nod, she heeled her mount forward.

  Deciding her company had to be better than a pair of bickering fools, Kian kicked his horse into a trot and joined her side. She glanced at him, but said nothing.

  They rode in a comfortable silence until halting between the two ancient stone pillars. The road dropped into a deep canyon less than half a mile across, climbed back up the opposite side, and continued on through a terrain of hills and rugged plateaus.

  “The lowlands of the Kaliayth are behind us,” Kian said. “This road climbs all the way to the feet of the Ulkion Mountains.” And then to the last place I want to go. He hated that he should continue to think of himself over an entire realm, but Aradan and her people had never given him anything he had not earned, and only then after serving it up with large measures of grief. The only thing he hated worse was the shame he had felt when Ellonlef had berated him.

  “So the going will be harder,” Ellonlef said, wincing as she shifted in the saddle.

  Kian knew how she felt. His own arse felt as if a carpenter had been at it with a wood rasp. He decided to keep that to himself. “Aye, but I guess the hardest part will be arriving in Ammathor. I’m not so sure King Simiis will be happy to hear from the mercenary who spirited his grandson away, whether or not his grandson paid for the privilege.”

  “King Simiis is a fair man,” Ellonlef said.

  “Oh, I’m sure he is,” Kian said, sure he’d never come across a truly fair king. “But I’m also going to have to tell him that his grandson wants to steal his throne.”

  “What if Varis is already there?”

  “He won’t be,” Kian said. He hoped he was right, because if he was wrong, he didn’t know what to do.

  Waiting for the rest of the company to catch up, Kian searched the base of the far canyon wall. He pointed out telltale remains of scorched brick houses. “Raiders,” he said, “maybe Tureecians, maybe Bashye, no one really knows, razed Salev over a hundred years ago.”

  “It’s not much of a shelter,” she said.

  “No, but it’s better than nothing. And if I remember right,” he said, pointing out a few patches of green, “those are fig and olive trees. Might be picked over by birds, but they’ll have left something behind.”

  “Trees,” Ellonlef said, eyes widening. “That means there’s water, too.”

  “Aye, but we’ll still have to dig for it. Bashye have a nasty habit of spoiling any wells they find with wild goat carcasses.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “Helps weaken any merchants fool enough to cross the Kaliayth. When their guards have to spend more time digging than guarding, it leaves them open to attack.”

  “Then why cross the desert at all?” Ellonlef asked, mystified.

  Kian rubbed his fingers together. “Gold speaks with a powerful voice, and a merchant can save a lot of time and coin by crossing the Kaliayth, instead of taking the long way around.”

  “Only if he survives.”

  “Aye,” Kian said, nodding grimly. “That’s why they’re always eager to hire the likes of me.”

  “So you are more a bodyguard than a true mercenary.”

  “No,” Kian said. “When a man buys my sword, he intends that I should make open war on his enemies, not just protect him from attack.”

  Ellonlef sat very still, saying nothing more, and Kian wished he had lied to her.

  When the rest of the company caught up, Kian said to Ba’Sel, “Send scouts ahead, but take no chances. If they come under attack, have them retreat. If it comes to it, we’ll hold the high ground and fight here.”

  Within the hour, the Asra a’Shah scouts returned with word that the ruins were safe. They had also taken enough quail to feed the company for the night.

  With a hungry peek at the birds hanging from their saddles, Ellonlef said, “Perhaps we should stay for a few days.”

  Kian was about to disagree, but Hazad butted in. “I favor that.”

  “As do I,” Azuri said. “A bath would be welcome, as well.”

  Ellonlef beamed. “That’s a wonderful idea.”

  “We leave before first light,” Kian said. “As always.”

  Hazad sat straight in the saddle. “While I’m sure I could keep on, the horses are in sore need of rest, water, and proper graze.”

  Kian scrutinized the faces around him. Even the Geldainians, men known for incredible endurance, looked beyond tired. Truth was, he could do for some rest and proper graze himself. It would also give him time to think on how to deal Varis.

  “Alright,” he said grudgingly. “But we’re staying no more than tonight and the next.”

  Chapter 19

  After a meal of roasted quail, figs, and all the water they could drink from a hidden well Azuri had found in a burned out hovel, the camp settled down to rest. Kian slung his spare bow over one shoulder, added a quiver of arrows to his hip, and moved off to take first watch.

  Darkness lay thicker for the smoke blocking the stars, and except for the yipping howls of jackals on the hunt, the night was absolutely silent. And cold. Kian wrapped his improvised cloak—a blanket with a hole cut in the center for his head to poke through—tighter around his shoulders. Still shivering, his fingers and toes going numb the longer he stayed still, he began walking along a dry streambed.

  He had not gone a hundred paces when he saw a faint blur up ahead. He halted, trying to decide if he ought to poke an arrow into the intruder, or get closer before he attacked. His hand fell to his sword hilt. Careful to make no sound, he crept behind a pile of rocks that had fallen from the canyon’s wall.

  The pale shape moved closer, silent, ghostlike. He’d never held with tales of spirits, but then, not so long ago, he hadn’t believed that demons could walk amongst the living.

  His heart began beating hard as visions of Fenahk and Bresado came alive behind his eyes. He dropped lower, tensed to launch an ambush.

  After a time, he heard the whisper of feet moving over sand. Spirits didn’t make such sounds, at least not in any story he had ever heard.

  As the shape moved by, he rose up, sword poised to strike. The figure spun with feline grace, and in the gloom Kian saw the faint glimmer of a dagger coming to bear, and he knew the face hovering above it.

  “I almost cut your fool head off, woman! What are you doing out here?”

  Ellonlef sheathed the dagger. “I was collecting figs. If you wanted to join me,” she said, laughter in her voice, “you only had to ask.”

  “Scavenging figs in the middle of the night?” he said, wondering how she had managed to slip by him in the first place.

  “Unless you mean to run me through for my crime, why don’t you lower your sword,”

  With an irritated shake of his head, he slammed the blade into the scabbard. “You should’ve told someone you were going to go frolicking about in the night.”

  She laughed openly now. “Are you my father, demanding obedience from a wicked daughter?”

  Kian’s tongue withered. What came to mind had nothing to do with fathers and daughters. It had been a long time since he had been in the presence of a woman, and a fine-looking one at that. “Of course not,” he said, his voice rough. “But you should’ve told someone—me at least—of your intentions. These are dangerous lands.”

  “Forgive me.” She hardly sounded repentant.

  “Yes, well, I should get back to my watch.”

  “Would you like a piece of fruit?” she asked, before he could turn away. “They’re sweet. But, now that I’ve dropped them, they’ll also be sandy.” Not waiting for an answer, she knelt a
nd began collecting her bounty.

  Kian peered around, but saw no signs of trouble. Nevertheless, he felt it stalking him, same as he had since Varis came out of the temple.

  He glanced at Ellonlef, sighed, and joined her in gathering figs. Using a fold in her robes like a basket, they piled up the withered fruit. The last one, he kept for himself. He dusted it off and popped it into his mouth.

  “Been too long since I have tasted anything so sweet,” he said. “At least since we departed Ammathor.”

  “When did you leave the King’s City?”

  Kian found another fig and nibbled it. “Four months, or there about.”

  “A long time to live rough,” Ellonlef said, sampling a piece of fruit.

  “I’ve been on longer journeys. Merchants are the worst for wandering about looking for likely buyers. And after they pay you for two months of protection, they do their best to squeeze four months of work out you.”

  They were silent for a time, then Ellonlef said, “I wonder if Ammathor still stands?”

  Kian chuckled wryly. “You’d be the one to answer that. All I am is a man with a sword.”

  “You’re more than that,” she said quietly, then rushed on. “All I have are guesses. At one time, my order studied all there was to study. But since the First King, Edaer Kilvar, employed our services a millennia gone, we now mostly learn about the deeper workings of Aradan, her people, and her enemies. Varis, I fear, will prove to be the greatest enemy Aradan has ever faced.”

  “Then he cannot be allowed to live,” Kian said, thinking too late he should’ve put that differently.

  “I agree,” Ellonlef said.

  “You do?” Kian asked, startled.

  She nodded. “I saw how Varis raised the dead, those which he must have killed in the first place. That act was no mere crime, but a display of evil cunning the likes of which the world has never seen.”