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

  “What did these highborn do?” Kian asked.

  “Wealth is a false power,” Hya said musingly. “True power is wielded by those who carve law into stone, and enforce edicts with iron and fire. In less than a fortnight, the highborn of Aradan set their soldiers to raiding and looting. First they went after the wealthiest merchants and guilds, then set upon everyone else. There was resistance, but it proved futile. After all, what does a merchant or a baker or a seamstress know of swords and blood?”

  “And at the height of the trouble, Varis arrived,” Ellonlef said. “Did he present himself as a redeemer?”

  “A redeemer and a destroyer,” Hya said.

  “What of King Simiis, his advisors, those soldiers who are loyal to him?” Kian asked.

  “As I hear it,” Hya said, “Varis arrived some days ago, and ordered a gathering in the Golden Hall. There, he became a creature of light and power. He froze the doors shut, then declared that he was the destroyer of Geh’shinnom’atar and something he named the Well of Creation. He proclaimed himself Emperor of the coming dawn, as if that has some meaning beyond foolishness. Then he named himself the God of men.”

  “But what of Simiis?”

  Hya’s rheumy eyes wavered. “At a mere touch, Varis murdered his grandfather. King Simiis died with his blood boiling and his skin burned to ash.”

  “And no one resisted him?” Hazad demanded.

  “Would you have?” Hya snorted. “I suppose you would’ve tried, and died for the effort. That aside, Varis now commands obedience through terror, but also with bread.”

  “Bread?” Azuri asked, puzzled.

  Hya chuckled wryly. “Can you imagine a highborn lady nibbling rats cooked over a dung fire? Given the choice between rats or bread, cold or warmth, danger or protection, what do you suppose most people will choose?”

  “Bread,” Azuri said, this time in understanding.

  Hya bobbed her head. “For the promise of bread to fill their empty bellies, they gave up all freedoms. For a mere loaf a day, they willingly turned against those who would resist Varis’s tyranny, those whose actions and words might threaten their small comforts—even if those people were friends and family.”

  “Has that truly happened?” Ellonlef asked, sounding angry.

  “Too often to count, Sister,” Hya said grimly. “Our young king gives no quarter to troublemakers, or to those he deems useless rabble. Each dawn finds the city quieter than the day before. I have it from those I trust that the complainers and the infirm, be they lowborn or high, are taken into the mountains and slaughtered, and their corpses dumped into ravines that feed the River Malistor. Some might argue that kings have always treated their rivals so, but in Varis I sense an insatiable hunger that can be nothing but evil.”

  “He will not stop with Aradan,” Ellonlef said. “He has named himself a god, and a god rules the world, not a mere kingdom.”

  Hya nodded slowly, then turned narrowed eyes on Kian. “Tell me something?”

  “Ask,” Kian said.

  “What secret do you hide?” She peered at him closely. “Perhaps I should say, what secrets, for you have more than one. I can fairly smell them inside you.”

  Kian schooled his face to calm. “Varis stole the Powers of Creation, those once wielded by the Three themselves. In so doing, he loosed Mahk’lar upon the world, creatures of spirit that take and change the flesh of men for their own ends. Some of those abilities came into me. He has learned this, and intends to destroy me before I can kill him. If there is a secret, it is only that I alone can stand against him.”

  If she was surprised, Hya hid it well as she considered his words. After a time, she said, “The world is changed. There’s no denying it. Only time will tell what awaits us. That Mahk’lar have been loosed from the Thousand Hells ... well, that is troubling. I don’t expect you know how to put those demons back in Geh’shinnom’atar, do you?”

  Kian shook his head. “Varis is trouble enough, for now.”

  “Can you help?” Ellonlef asked.

  “Aye, but only if you can abide carrying inside yourself the cold heart of an assassin.”

  Kian’s grin felt stiff on his lips. “I can.”

  Chapter 25

  Deception was not Kian’s gift, especially when using it against his friends. They might understand that he’d not want to kill a man from the shadows, but all would try to dissuade him from an open confrontation with Varis. He guessed Hya sensed something of his intentions, but she had not yet put a finger on his secret. At least, she hadn’t voiced any conclusions.

  So as they talked, he played the part of the conspirator as best he could, listened to Hya’s advice, and offered his own suggestions, as they planned the various elements of Varis’s assassination.

  But he knew it would never come to that. He would meet Varis as a man and an Izutarian, face to face, power of the gods against powers of the gods, and by the coming dawn the outcome of that meeting would be decided.

  At some point Hya suggested they eat, and surprised all with loaves of bread and a wheel of cheese.

  “I’d treat you to toasted rats,” she said in all seriousness, “but a debt to me was recently paid in food. The bread will mold before I can eat it all, and I’ve never cared much for cheese.”

  All were in agreement that the meal was fine, and the cold water they drank was sweet. Kian told himself it was not his last meal, but could not be certain. He felt no apprehension for himself. He knew what he faced. Yet it was hard to watch a guffawing Hazad and listen to Azuri’s predictably sarcastic wit without feeling sorrow. They had stood at his side and he by theirs for so many years that they had become more than brothers. They had become extensions of each other’s character. If he didn’t return, the loss would devastate them both, as it would crush him if one of them fell.

  Ellonlef was another matter entirely. She remained solemn throughout the meal, but he understood that hearing of the loss of her people weighed upon her soul. Still, he marveled at her strength. He was not certain he would have been able to hide his feelings half so well.

  Kian waited until all were sleeping soundly, then arose, taking his blanket with him. The room’s sole firemoss lamp was covered with a threadbare bit of cloth, allowing a little of the lamp’s glow to light his way.

  He made the mistake of looking at Ellonlef, sleeping on a pallet of ratty blankets, with more pulled up under her chin, her dark hair spilling over her brow and cheek. He suddenly wanted to brush his fingers over her skin, feel her warmth, but he couldn’t do that anymore than he could tell her his intentions.

  He froze when he found Hya looking straight at him. “This fight is mine alone,” he said quietly. “If I fail, don’t let Hazad and Azuri avenge me. Tell them it was my wish that they flee Aradan. It matters not where they go, as long as it is far away.” He hesitated a moment, then added, “Should I fail, tell Ellonlef that ... that it pleased my heart to know her.” The words sounded ridiculous to his ears, but at the moment it was the best he could do.

  “May Pa’amadin light your path and bless your sword, Izutarian,” Hya said, and closed her eyes.

  Kian crept from the shop. Outside, under dark skies filling with clouds, the air was bitter and gusty. He cut a hole in the center of the blanket Hya had provided, and added it to his other makeshift cloak. Warm as he was likely to get, he began walking toward Ammathor and the King’s Palace. He would have preferred to ride, but he couldn’t risk his companions coming awake hearing him banging about in Hya’s stable.

  The wind harried him from the Street of Witches and into the heart of the Chalice, which had grown quieter, but was far from empty. As Azuri had said earlier, Kian detected snow on the wind. It was an odor he hadn’t forgotten, even after most of a lifetime spent away from Izutar. It wasn’t a scent he ever expected to find in these arid southlands.

  Light poured from the windows of taverns and brothels. Drunkards staggered by in unruly packs, singing bawdy songs to disinterested whores. F
ilthy urchins scurried amongst the shadows. Like all such children, they avoided cutthroats and worse. Kian made no attempt at concealment. He was just another Izutarian mercenary among the thousands who earned coin in Aradan.

  Soon, the liveliest sections of the Chalice lay behind him, and Kian made his way into the outskirts of Ammathor. For the first time in the history of the city, it looked less appealing than the Chalice. The King’s City could have been a graveyard, what with its empty streets and boarded windows, its citizens fled, perished, or gathered around seldom-used hearths to ward off the cold. He had expected to see soldiers by now, but every narrow lane, street, and alley lay empty, save for starving dogs nosing about heaped corpses.

  Even when the palace came into sight, he didn’t bother with caution. There was no point, not when his aim was to be found.

  Kian halted in the shadows, staring at his destination across the cobbled road that encircled the King’s Palace. In his mind’s eye, he saw Ellonlef’s gaze, so dark and warm ... and slowly fading.

  A skirling wind gusted around him. Castoff rubbish danced low over the ground, carrying with it the mingled scents of snow and despair. You could turn aside, a small voice suggested. Run. Run now, far away.

  Despite himself, Kian listened.

  Hazad and Azuri are your men, they are your brothers. They will stand with you, no matter your decision. Did they not say as much? Ellonlef, too. Run now! Get Hazad and Azuri and Ellonlef, and make a new life for yourself!

  The words sowed seeds of doubt and promise in equal measure. Protecting Varis on his journey was to have been his last task as a hired sword. He’d longed for a hasty end to the mission, so that he might retire to Izutar and live out the rest of his days in peace and contentment.

  Varis’s secret ambitions had changed that. Already the new king had slaughtered many, and his actions doubtless would condemn tens of thousands more.

  “I don’t want to die,” Kian said under his breath, feeling like a boy again, lost and alone. “I want everything to be as it was.”

  Another gust slammed into him, and fingers of ice seemed to claw over every inch of him. Such winds and worse were common in Izutar, the realm of his birth, lands he hadn’t seen in over a score of years. Those winds, along with scratching out a life amid stone and snow, instilled strength and resilience into every Izutarian. As well, it gave them pride, for what other people could boast surviving not just enemies, but also the unforgiving world itself? Such confidence had led his parents to send him away as a child, rather than see him in chains, knowing that if the ruthless existence every Izutarian faced had not killed him in the crib, then he stood a fair chance of enduring anything the world put before him.

  “Even if I run,” Kian whispered, “I’ll never be free.” Despite his offers of peace, Kian was sure Varis would send his hounds, be they men or demons. And he’ll hunt me until I can run no more.

  The truth did not make him feel any better about his likely fate, but he knew, if for no other reason, he could not dishonor the memory of his family or his people by fleeing this bitter duty set before him now. And if that duty earned him death, so be it. Death, after all, was the ultimate fate of every man. Better to choose the path and face all upon it with a strong heart, than to cower and be taken unawares.

  Resolved to his purpose, he flexed his sword hand while he studied the scene before him.

  Guardsmen at the main gate stood over a blazing firepot, stomping their feet against the cold, their fingers splayed above the flames. He would’ve expected to see archers walking the wall, scanning the darkened sprawl of Ammathor, but the wall stood empty. Likely, the cold had driven most of them into the corner turrets. Only if an alarm sounded, would they bother coming out.

  Clad in his beggar’s rags, Kian left the shadows and strolled across the road.

  The flames of the guards’ firepot leaned far over in the rising wind, the tops sheared off in wisps of orange amid swirls of sparks. The guardsmen, more concerned with keeping warm than guarding the palace, had propped their spears against the wall at their backs. They had swords, but Kian suspected that even if they drew them, they would not use them unless he forced them to it. They did not see him coming, staring as they were into the flames and grumbling loud enough to mask his approach.

  One of the guards finally glanced up when Kian halted and loudly cleared his throat.

  “Halt!” the man called needlessly, drawing his companion’s attention. The guardsman was tall for an Aradaner, his face gaunt from recent hunger. His eyes were shot through with red, as if he had found additional warmth from a skin of wine.

  “I am expected,” Kian said calmly, the blustery night air whisking away his steaming breath.

  The other guardsman, silent and unmoving, peered at him. Unlike his companion, his dark eyes were clear, though he looked every bit as hungry. “You shouldn’t have come here, Izutarian,” he said, in no way hostile. They might’ve been two fellow travelers pausing to discuss the condition of the road. The calmness of the meeting proved that Varis had told them he might arrive.

  “I had little choice,” Kian answered with a rueful grin.

  The sober guard considered that. “Suppose not. What choice all of us had was taken away with the arrival of the new king.”

  “Are you loyal to Varis?” Kian asked bluntly.

  The guardsman bared his teeth in more of a grimace than a smile. “Much the same as I’m loyal to all vipers that can kill a man with a bite. Like I said, our choices have grown slim.”

  “Quiet, Vicr,” his companion hissed. “The king’s eyes and ears are everywhere!”

  Vicr nodded toward his companion. “Na’eem, here, he fancies even the shadows are after him.” Though his tone was mocking, his darting gaze suggested he believed it as well.

  Kian could’ve told them of the freed Mahk’lar, but he didn’t have time to spin the tale, all the good it would do them. “Dark days have fallen, lads. Best choice you have left is to trust Na’eem’s fancies.”

  Vicr shrugged. “You might have the way of it, as there’s not likely to be any watchers tonight. Too damned cold. If there are any about, they’re looking for you.”

  “I saw few of anyone alive on my way,” Kian said.

  “Most have fled to the Chalice. If not there, they’ve left Ammathor entire.”

  “As should you,” Kian said again. Go, friends, where I cannot.

  “The king gives us bread and a warm bed,” Na’eem said. “And wine. The road, as we hear it, is beset by armies of brigands and Bashye.”

  “When’s the last time you got bread or a bed?” Vicr snapped. “My belly’s wanted for anything to eat for so long that I’m starting to think you might make a fine meal.”

  Na’eem looked suspiciously at his companion, and took a subtle, careful step away.

  Kian laughed. They reminded him of Hazad and Azuri. “From here to the Qaharadin Marshes, the road is near as empty as the city.”

  Vicr considered that, anger growing in his dark eyes. “So the kingslayer lied about that too?”

  “No surprise there,” Na’eem said with a shrug. “Man who’d lie about food for his men is like to lie about near on everything.”

  Knowing that the conversation had more to do with avoiding duty than offering advice, Kian said, “Whatever you decide is your decision to make, but I need to deal with your king.”

  “You will die,” Vicr said, not unkindly.

  Kian’s smile was broad. “So I have been told.”

  “Better you turn aside now,” Na’eem said, now sounding like the small voice Kian had heard on his way here, “and make what peace you may in the world. Go away, and no one will hear it from us that you were here.”

  “I can no more run than you can stop breathing.”

  Vicr thought about that. “So be it, Izutarian. Just don’t forget we gave you the chance. Not that it’ll matter, in the end.”

  Chapter 26

  After the two guardsmen handed Kian o
ff to a pair of their fellows inside the palace gates, they led him along a path pebbled in quartz. Other guards were in attendance, but none spared him more than disinterested looks. By their gaunt features, hunger was their pressing concern.

  Kian knew he’d taken a grave risk coming to Varis, but one thing above all else convinced him that the new king would not bind or otherwise hinder him. Ellonlef had said more than once that Varis wanted to show he was the more powerful of them. So far, Kian’s gamble had proven accurate. It was the other gamble he worried about. If he was wrong, gambling would become a thing of the past for him.

  While he’d never set foot on the palace grounds, he’d heard that at any time of day or night, you could expect to see highborn strutting about like perfumed peacocks, or taking their ease around bubbling fountains while waited on by naked slaves.

  But now he didn’t see a single lord or lady. Some might be sheltering in the palace from the cold, but Kian suspected that Varis had disposed of most, and the others he had likely sent back to their holdings.

  Indoors, the palace was as dismal and wintry as outdoors. A few firemoss lamps highlighted splendor in all directions, but it was not as magnificent as he expected. Dust and ash coated items of gold and silver, onyx and ivory. The same pall had fallen here that had fallen over the world when Varis stepped out of the doorway of that far-off temple.