The God King hotf-1 Page 22

  Varis laughed. “He is but a man, Sister, flawed in the way of all mortal flesh. I am no longer a man, but a god-truly a god, now. Whatever infinitesimal power he holds matters not anymore. I grant you, left to his own devices, he will try to kill me, if for no other reason than vengeance for annihilating his pathetic band of mercenaries. If you have any desire to see him live-and I sense that you do-you will convince him to abandon such foolishness. Make him heed my warning, Sister, and send him off to Izutar, or wherever else he may wish to flee.”

  Despite his unreadable gaze, there was a shine of maliciousness when he added what could be no less than a challenge posed as a threat. “Tell Kian when he comes that if he obeys me, I will spare his wretched homelands until he has been long in the grave. That same vow holds for you and your Isle of Rida. Take my offer and, whether separate or together, you can live out the whole of your lives in peace. Refuse, and I will force you to watch the unspeakable ruination of all that you hold dear.” Speaking no more, he tossed a plump waterskin at her feet, and then departed.

  An hour passed before Ellonlef dared to scoot to the edge of her shelter and look out. Varis was gone, but his words repeated in her mind. She tried to deny her complete loss of hope, but as she knew she must tell Kian of Varis’s vow, she also knew Kian would not let the prince’s obvious threat stand untested. In facing the challenge, he would surely perish.

  Chapter 29

  A hitch in his horse’s stride made Kian cringe. He hoped it was a stumble, but over several miles, the animal’s gait grew steadily worse, forcing him to halt on the low side of a broad plateau. The road, more a pair of ancient ruts than a true road, stretched far to the Ulkion Mountains, both under a blood-red sky that spit fine ash over the blasted landscape.

  The scene looked as if it should be hot, like a Madi’yin’s vision of the Thousand Hells, but instead the air had grown ever colder for several days now. At dawn, a thin frost and new layer of ash had mingled together into a dirty blanket to cover sand, stone, and bush.

  Kian dismissed the weather, and all else that had befallen the world. Instead, he focused on finding Ellonlef. Her fate gave him purpose, drove him farther and longer than his endurance had ever been tested.

  Hazad and Azuri reined in, each man looking as weary as Kian felt. The extent of that weariness was illustrated by Azuri’s indifference to the grime coating every inch of him. Their spare horses, taken from the Bashye that had attacked Ellonlef, were filthy and flecked with ash and dirt, as well, but the sturdy desert mounts were holding up.

  “I know what my eyes tell me,” Hazad said slowly, glancing at the wide swath of trampled ground on either side of the road, “but such an army, marching on foot, could not have traveled so far so quickly. Ba’Sel must have been mistaken about these tracks.”

  “He made no mistake,” Kian muttered, eyeing something dark lying on the ground some distance from the road. “In all the world, there are no better trackers than the Asra a’Shah. If Ba’Sel said this is evidence of Varis’s army, then I believe him.”

  Though futile, he wished Ba’Sel and the other Geldainians had remained with them. He did not know what he would find in Ammathor, but in uncertain times, having such deadly warriors as the Asra a’Shah about was desirable. In a way, he envied the Geldainian mercenaries for they, at the least, were making the attempt to get home.

  Kian dismounted and struck off in the direction of the darkish lump. A part of him wanting nothing to do with what waited ahead, but he pressed on. Hazad and Azuri joined him. As he came closer, the reek of corruption seemed to reach out and clutch his throat. With the smell came the drone of flies. Unconsciously, the trio slowed their pace, but kept on until they stood over a tabard and chainmail covered with a gruesome mess. Azuri took up a stick and unfolded a darkly stained bit of cloth. Despite the boil of maggots and putrid wetness, the embroidered silver fist of House Racote was plain. “Do you still have doubts that we follow Varis?”

  Hazad gulped a breath. “No … but this is days old,” he muttered.

  Azuri made to toss the stick toward the road, but it never left his hand. “What is that?”

  Kian followed the man’s stare and found that a wide swath of the desert had a charred look to it. Perplexed, he led his friends in that direction. The closer they came to the blackened area, the more their feet crunched over irregular beads of glass. They had seen similar glass around craters left behind by Ellonlef’s Tears of Pa’amadin.

  They halted while still far from the edge of the scorched area.

  “He slaughtered them all,” a woman’s voice said.

  As one, the trio spun, each brandishing their swords. Ellonlef, sheltering in the scant shade of a leafless bush, disheveled and tattered, gazed at them with eyes that looked as though they had not known sleep for days. Despite her ragged appearance, there was no denying the relief written across her ash-smudged face.

  Kian sheathed his sword and rushed to her side, a relief like he had never known coming into his heart. In truth, what he felt upon seeing her safe was indescribable.

  “Are you well?” he asked, helping her to her feet.

  Ellonlef offered a weary nod in answer.

  He hesitated a moment, then reached out and gently took her shoulders in his hands, turning her this way and that to get a better look. She was tired and filthy, but appeared to carry no wounds other than a fading bruise on her cheek. He wanted to ask her a thousand questions, but when she looked up into his eyes and gave him a tentative smile, her dark gaze glimmering with unshed tears, he kissed her instead. There was no thought on his part, he just did it, and she did not resist.

  When Hazad cleared his throat, Kian reluctantly pulled away from her, wondering if he had lost his mind. By her expression of breathless startlement, Ellonlef might have been considering the same thing. Azuri looked between them with an arched eyebrow, but said nothing. Hazad, on the other hand, burst out laughing.

  After a trio of scowls quieted the big man, he said, “Now that the reunion is out of the way, do you mind telling us what happened, Sister Ellonlef?”

  Kian did his best to behave as nothing had happened between them. Ellonlef shot him a glance that promised they would speak of what had undeniably happened, but later. Then she took a precise step away from him, smoothed a shaky hand over her mussed hair, and began speaking about the demons that had brought her to Varis.

  Kian tried to listen, but could only apply half of his wits to what Ellonlef was saying. The other half focused on how she had felt in his arms, the softness of her lips. Neither could he discount the elation he felt in knowing that she was safe at his side. Normally he was in firm control of himself, but what he felt for Ellonlef had caught him completely off his guard.

  Silence drew his attention. “What is it?”

  “You were not listening?” Ellonlef said in exasperation, but the gleam in her eyes told Kian she was pleased about something. His stern look only seemed to make her happier.

  Shaking his head, he growled, “If I missed something, tell it again.”

  “What it amounts to,” Hazad said with jovial sarcasm, “is that Varis has offered you a vow of peace.”

  Kian arched a doubtful eyebrow. “His conditions?”

  “If you flee to Izutar, he promises not to conquer our homeland until you have lived a long life and died. If you do not go, then he will destroy you, but only after he forces you to watch him annihilate Izutar. The same vow holds for Ellonlef.”

  Kian snorted dismissively, though in the back of his mind rage was building, especially after hearing Varis intended harm for Ellonlef. “Sounds like the cowardly bluster of someone who knows he is already defeated. The only peace I intend to give him will be that of the tomb.”

  “I do not think it is bluster,” Azuri said. “According to Ellonlef, Varis has grown more powerful by far than when we last saw him. I believe he intended that message to be a challenge, a slap in the face, as it were. My guess is that he cannot wait for you to
come for him, so that he can kill you, proving he is the more powerful of the two of you.”

  Kian squinted at the Ulkions, his visage outwardly calm. Inside, the smoldering rage had become an inferno. He recalled a similar feeling when he had first seen Varis step out of the temple. Then, however, that wrath had been tempered by a humiliating fear. Despite that the prince had slaughtered his men and had sent mahk’lar after him, he had forced himself not to consider exacting revenge. His answer had been to run. If not for coming upon Ellonlef fighting the Bashye, he would be in Izutar already, hiding amid the safety of far-off mountains covered in snow and ice and silent forests. He would be there, seemingly safe … though bereft of honor. It was a mistake he had almost made. He had seen once proud men who had turned their backs on what they knew in their hearts was the just course. Bitterness always masked the sorrow of their broken spirits, and he had no intention of becoming such a man.

  Kian looked to Ellonlef, who was gazing at the waiting mountains in the east, and his anger receded. He could not hold fury in his heart with her so near. She was a beautiful woman, made all the more so because she seemed not to know it. He imagined her framed by snow-laden pine boughs of a winter wood….

  He abruptly shook the vision from his mind, but could not so easily erase the feelings for her from his heart. “We are a few days from Ammathor,” he said. “There is no point keeping the prince waiting.”

  “Do not seek him out,” Ellonlef pleaded.

  “As I recall,” he said, more fiercely then he intended, “it was you who set me after Varis in the first place. What happened to saving Aradan in order to save Izutar? You said yourself that Varis will not stop at taking the Ivory Throne.”

  Ellonlef would not look him in the eye. “I have not changed my mind on any of those points, but he has given you a choice. You have a chance to live out your life in peace … as do I.”

  Kian wanted to draw her near, offer the reassurance she seemed to need, but for now he could not. By the gods good and wise, he hoped to one day have that chance.

  “It is too late for turning aside,” Kian said, matching her quiet tone.

  “But Varis gave-”

  “His word?” Kian interrupted gently. “You cannot trust the word of a highborn at the best of times, let alone one who believes he is a god.”

  “He will kill you!” Ellonlef blurted, her dark eyes now brimming with tears. “You did not see what he did to his army, how he destroyed ten thousand in moments. God or no, he holds the power of one!”

  Kian clenched his teeth to avoid saying anything he would regret. As calmly as possible, he said, “The matter is settled. Varis has started a war that I will finish.”

  “He will kill you,” Ellonlef said again, her voice flat.

  Kian grinned wolfishly. “Thank you for your confidence, Sister, but if he could have, he would have done so already.”

  Ellonlef cursed bitterly, then spun on her heel and stalked away.

  “I do believe she is smitten,” Hazad knowingly.

  “The question is,” Azuri said to Kian, “are you?”

  Kian frowned at the question. “I barely know the woman.”

  Azuri raised an eyebrow. “Is that supposed to be a denial?”

  Kian exhaled loudly. “Enough with this nonsense. I have a fight ahead of me, but I do not command either of you to join me.”

  “I will stand with you,” Hazad promised.

  “As will I,” Azuri added, if with somewhat less enthusiasm. He had always been the wisest of them.

  Chapter 30

  As he had after coming out of the Qaharadin, Varis scrutinized his features reflected back to him from the still surface of the water. Instead of a befouled puddle, now he looked into a sleeping crofter’s water trough. When he had first seen the effects of the Thousand Hells upon him, he had been horrified. In truth, that horror had never left … until now. What he saw looking back was the face of a god made flesh. That he had molded that flesh by his own will, only made his appearance all the more striking to his eye.

  A pig grunted nearby, and he glanced around in the early morning light. Beyond the swine’s pen, goats peered at him with their strange eyes, chewing cud. A rooster crowed, as if urging the sun to rise faster, but the small house remained quiet and dark. The crofter would crawl out of bed shortly, so it was about time for Varis to depart for Ammathor. Instead of taking his leave, however, Varis looked back into the trough, captivated by his own beauty.

  The blanched eyes were gone, replaced now by his formerly dark eyes, which once again saw the world in all its natural splendor. As well, his flesh had filled out and darkened to his natural coloring, if with something more, a faint and enticing glow. That is but a fraction of what the Sister of Najihar saw, he thought, recalling her awe. While it might have served him to remain a being of golden radiance, he had decided he would rather look merely human, at least for now. The shadow of the youth he had been was yet visible, but now his strong features were those of a man ten years older. His top-lock was now a blue-black cable of hair, thick as his wrist, and hung to his belt. He smiled at himself, realizing that he could have passed for his father’s brother, rather than the man’s youngest son.

  Eager to begin his life as a supreme ruler, Varis easily hopped the split rail fence and strode toward the road leading into Ammathor, still some five leagues distant. He drew up the hood of his cloak to ward against the abnormally chill air. One day, he meant to ensure that he felt neither cold nor heat. For now, with that knowledge beyond him, he had no choice but to rely on clothing for protection from the elements. Like his image, he had made his present garb: a thick, buttery-soft tunic and leggings worn under dark brown woolen robes; a fine cloak; and sturdy leather boots that conformed to his feet as if they were a second skin. The one extravagance he had allowed himself was a belt of woven gold. All these elements, he had brought forth from nothing, knitting them by will and with the innate power of life. Such creative power staggered him, filled his mind with images and ideas. He was rapidly growing from a man into godhood, and yet he sensed he had far to go. What wonders will I create in after another year?

  The feat of making clothing and recreating himself, he admitted, would not have been possible if Ellonlef had not revealed Peropis’s betrayal-he now doubted that she had ever intended to hunt Kian as she had promised, though he did not understand why she had added that deception to the others. Still, learning just how deep Peropis’s treachery went, had built a consuming fury in him so bright and hot that he had forgotten all her warnings of drawing too much of life’s power inside himself. In an instant, he had absorbed the lives-rather the half-lives-of ten thousand souls.

  That those souls had proven to be demonic, rather than human, made no difference, as far as he could tell. With so much life in him, something had changed, allowing him to hold the force of their lives inside him, rather than cast it all away. The whirlwind of flame and death had come from his mind, created from nothing more substantial than thought. In time, he would explore the full range of possibilities available to him. When he knew enough, he would bring war on Peropis and, he felt sure, Geh’shinnom’atar would quake at his coming. As for Kian, Varis could feel the man somewhere behind him, driven by a pride that would be the man’s death.

  He had not quite reached the dirt road when he heard the rattle of a door’s bolt being thrown, then the squeak of old hinges.

  “You there!” the crofter shouted gruffly.

  Varis thought about ignoring the man, but instead halted and turned. The bandy-legged crofter stood in the doorway brandishing a long cudgel. Years of long hard work had creased the man’s face and bowed his spine, but he still appeared strong. Varis silently stared at the gawping fool, and as he did so, he let his inner radiance shine forth, just a little. Even with the distance, that golden glow spread back along the way he had come, washing over the crofter’s stunned features. The man, cringing back, abruptly wailed in terror and threw himself prostrate in the d
ust.

  Varis left him groveling, and made his way to the road that would take him up through the Pass of Trebuldar and to Edaer’s Wall, then into Ammathor. By nightfall, he would be King of Aradan.

  As he made his plans for the coming day and the rest of his life, he closed on Edaer’s Wall. Though consideration of his coming glory was a pleasant distraction from his walk along the dusty road stretching out under a smoky sky, a league from the wall, his stride faltered. Thinking his eyes were playing tricks on him, Varis stared, grappling with the immensity of the destruction ahead.

  The legendary wall had been built in the decades after the First King, Edaer Kilvar, stormed off the Kaliayth to wrest the throne from Emperor Suanahad’s eldest son. It spanned the entire Pass of Trebuldar, a full league between a pair of craggy peaks named the Two Brothers. Varis’s mind remembered the wall as an unbroken, manmade cliff of sandstone standing a hundred paces tall and half again as thick, sprouting a dozen massive barbican gates and hundreds of catapults. Those fortifications had broken and repelled many invading armies over a thousand years, with nary a scratch to show for the effort. Second only to the Ivory Throne, Edaer’s Wall had always been the ultimate symbol of Aradan’s power and glory.

  Varis blinked away the memory and truly allowed himself to see what remained.

  The greater part of the wall lay in a cluttered heap of shattered stone no more than a third its previous height. Only one barbican gate remained, and from its ramparts the banners of House Kilvar, the crossed golden sword and lance on a field of deep green, snapped in the brisk wind. From the open gate, which was a full twenty paces wide, a small trickle of people were leaving the city. Hundreds more waited to get in. Guards inspected carts, ox-drawn wagons, pannier-laden mules, and the people themselves. From his vantage, Varis guessed only one in ten were allowed to pass-those, apparently, with useable goods. Beyond the crumbled wall, smoke and dust hung heavy over the once shining city, obscuring any fine details of an otherwise bleak picture.