A Sliver of Redemption

21

“K eep it quiet,” Deathmask said as he and Veliana watched the wagon roll toward the enormous gates of Mordeina. He glanced back, saw her scarred neck, and then chuckled. “I guess that won’t be much of a problem for you.”

She jabbed him in the side with her fingers.

“Fuck. You.”

He grinned. Her voice was steadily coming back, but still she spoke in broken sentences. Every word was pain to her.

“Watch your mouth, little lady. And keep it down.”

They peered over the small hill, through the heavy grass atop it. The wagon lumbered slowly, as if the oxen pulling it were tired from a long journey. They saw two riders at the front, only one of them visibly armed with a blade. The wagon itself was covered, but the time and size accurately matched their expectations.

“It’s loaded with grain,” Aaron Hocking had told them at their last meeting. “Just the first of many coming in from storehouses along the wall of towers. You want to starve the city? You burn those wagons down to the very last grain.”

Deathmask had volunteered him and Veliana for the task, not that there had been much choice. Time and money, or more importantly the lack of money, had dwindled down their forces. They still had a token force, but they were scattered about the city, killing the stray guard and whispering words of rebellion. Besides, the day he and Vel couldn’t handle a single wagon was the day he hung up his mask and took up farming.

“You want the driver or the guard?” he asked.

“Guard.”

“Take all the fun.” He put on his mask and then scattered ash into the air. “Loop around. I’ll distract him. On three.”

He lifted his fingers, then counted down. On the third, he rushed out, moving silently in his red robes. The sun was setting, the sky a dark blue. With neither of the men up front wielding a torch, he reached the wagon before the driver spotted him out of the corner of his eye. It was that same eye Deathmask hurled a bolt of shadow into. His body convulsed as the power rolled throughout, exploding his brains inside his skull. The guard drew his sword and shoved the body aside.

“Don’t be foolish, just surrender the wagon,” Deathmask called out to him. The guard lifted his sword as if to surrender, then jerked forward. Veliana pushed him off and hopped atop to grab the reins, not bothering to clean her daggers before she slipped them back into her belt.

“Easy,” she mouthed to him.

And then the wagon’s covering collapsed, revealing twenty soldiers inside, plus Haern, who lunged before she could even react.

“Vel!” Deathmask screamed, his hands a blur. Dark lightning arced through the men, killing two. He saw Haern land atop Veliana, his feet blasting the air from her lungs. She tumbled off the side, and Haern followed, his cloaks flapping behind him as he fell.

Deathmask killed another soldier by striking him with his hand, the magic pouring through his armor and into his heart to stop it. He tried to cast another, but something hard struck the back of his head, and he collapsed. His vision darkened, and he fought to retain consciousness. He couldn’t fade out now, not with Veliana in danger, not with her alone against that undead freak that was Haern…

W hen he opened his eyes, Veliana lay beside him. If he’d been a religious man, he might have praised a god that she was still alive. They both lay on their stomachs, their arms bound behind them. He felt more than happy, however, to blame all the deities for such a horrible predicament. As he made a list of spells he could cast without somatic components, he felt something sharp press against the base of his spine.

“I wouldn’t try anything,” someone said behind him. “Melorak’s pet has his eye on you, and he’s a fast one. You’ll be dead before you get off the first syllable of a spell.”

Not good. Not good at all. Haern had a saber against his back. There weren’t enough gods for him to curse. He looked to Veliana, whose look back said it all. They were dead, and they both knew it.

Time dragged on, and in no hurry. Deathmask kept his breathing loud and steady. Veliana knew a little bit of magic, and she was far more nimble. If he kept Haern’s gaze locked on him, perhaps she could think of something, because he sure hadn’t yet. He breathed heavily through his nose, hoping the volume might become a drone they stopped listening to. Some of his spells were just a few syllables, and if he could get one off before a saber ran him through…

For a moment he thought of trying the same trick as before, and faking his and her deaths. He chuckled. Doubtful that would work. Not this time. Besides, Haern was too thorough. He’d cut off both their heads to make sure.

The mood of the men suddenly shifted, and he glanced to his side to see many legs approaching, one in particular wearing flowing black robes ornately decorated with silver and gold.

“Excellent,” he heard the vile voice of Melorak say. “Tell Aaron he shall have his wealth returned in full, and his estate removed from the priesthood.”

Aaron, thought Deathmask, feeling a thorn in his gut. Aaron Hocking? That spineless weasel sucking…

A foot crashed into his side, and he groaned as he rolled over. When he looked up, he saw Melorak glaring down at him with his single good eye.

“Do you know how much trouble you’ve caused me?” he asked. He reached down with a pale hand, his fingertips sparking with magic.

“Not near enough,” said Deathmask. “How about you send your little pet somewhere else, and we can discuss this like civil men?”

Melorak brushed his fingers against his mask. It caught fire and burned. Deathmask screamed as he felt his flesh blacken, the smoke stinging his eyes despite how tightly he clenched them shut. He howled as he flailed against his bonds. A foot pressed hard against his chest, and he could only assume it was Haern’s. Once more he felt the tip of a blade on his skin. His jaw trembling, his eyes hopelessly watery, he did his best to smile.

“That was my mask, you asshole.”

The blade pressed into his flesh. It was quick, in and out, and not deep. Just enough to draw blood and send more pain spiking up his spine. He tried not to scream. He did. Damn body felt like screaming anyway.

“You have information I need,” he heard Melorak say. “You’ve done well, tormenting my guards and fostering rebellion, but it ends tonight. But I know you are not alone. The leader of Ashhur’s priests was never found when I conquered this city, and I know he lives. Where is Bernard, Ghost? Where is he hiding?”

“Why don’t you ask your snake-bellied friend, Aaron?”

Another stab, higher up. The blade scraped against his rib bones on its way out. More screaming.

“I have, but Bernard was not there. Perhaps Ashhur warned him, or he sensed deception. Where are your safe houses? I know your kind. You never would have trusted Aaron with every secret. You’d keep one or two to yourself, as leverage should things go ill. Well things have gone ill, you miserable wretch. If you want a quick death, you’ll tell me where he might have gone.”

Deathmask’s mind raced. Bernard wasn’t supposed to have moved positions, but it wasn’t unheard of, given how careful they’d been. But where could he have gone? Where might he hide that Aaron would know nothing of? And even if he did remember…would he tell? Since when was he so hopeful for a clean death? With his life, a messy, brutal execution seemed more appropriate anyway.

He forced open his eyes. His skin felt like a leathery mask shrinking in on itself. What his face looked like, he didn’t even want to know. Through the blur, Deathmask saw Melorak leering down with his arms crossed, while Haern stood nearby, his foot on his chest, his sword hovering just above his heart.

“Fuck you,” he said.

No sword. No stab. Instead Melorak knelt down beside him and grabbed his neck. In his cold grip, he held up his head and forced him to stare into his red eye.

“You may think you’ll never tell,” he said. “But the dead will always talk to me. You don’t have a choice in this matter. Tell me now, or after I kill you and bring back your ghost. Perhaps I’ll even leave you in that state. You certainly deserve it.”

Deathmask felt a sliver of doubt pierce through his pain. Melorak was most certainly not bluffing. He’d seen the rows of corpses hanging from hooks throughout the castle. The man was a master of death, while he himself was only a dabbler. Should his soul be wrenched back into this world, he would tell everything.

“Go ahead,” he said, making up his mind. “I’ll give you nothing.”

“Not yet,” Melorak said, rubbing a finger against Deathmask’s face. He bit his teeth to hold in the scream. “See, when you’re dead, you won’t feel the pain. Oh, there are ways I could make you uncomfortable, perhaps terribly so, but nothing this fierce. Nothing this intense. ”

Deathmask screamed as Melorak’s fingers dug in so tight he thought he’d claw his face off like a mask. His blisters pulsed with agony. Blood seeped down his jaw and neck. Any thoughts of spells or escape fled. All his mind knew was overwhelming suffering.

Perhaps he passed out. He didn’t know. But Haern no longer stood atop him. He rolled to one side, forcing his eyes open. Veliana was on her back, Haern’s sabers against her throat. She remained strong, refusing to even whimper.

“What of you?” Melorak asked her. He gestured to the soldiers around him. “Would you prefer a clean death? Or should I give you to the men? You’ll be anything but clean afterward. Normally I’d frown upon such lewd methods, but you are the Ghost’s Blade, after all. Out of every sinner in this world, I cannot imagine anyone more deserving of such a fate.”

“Besides yourself?” he heard Veliana ask. He winced when Haern kicked her in the face, probably breaking her nose, but he’d never felt such pride. That’s my girl, he thought. Show them you’re not afraid, either.

“Your wit is childish and unimpressive,” Melorak said. He crouched beside her and gently brushed her hair from her face. With his own robe, he cleaned off some of the blood dripping from her nose. “The time for pettiness is over. You know I cannot let you live, not after how many you have killed. Karak demands punishment, and I must give it to him. But it need not be lengthy. It need not be one of pain and blood. A simple spell, a gentle touch of your breast, and I can stop your heart. Tell me where Bernard is. I assure you, no matter my frustration, I would never let these men defile your corpse after your death. Save yourself from them, from everything. Please. Where…is…Bernard?”

She looked to Deathmask, and in her good eye, a bit of dire humor sparkled.

“You want to know?” she asked. “I think you’re about to find out.”

Sunlight exploded amid them, as if a nova had burst into existence there upon the road. Deathmask thought to free himself, but he’d stared directly into that light, and his mind reeled in confusion. He struggled, but his bonds were tight, and the words to spells seemed slippery in his mind, elusive things he couldn’t grab a hold of. Hands wrapped around his chest, and suddenly he was up and moving, his legs running as if on their own accord. The ground shifted unevenly below him, and he started to fall.

“Keep running,” he heard Veliana say. He clutched her tighter and did his best to resume. He glanced back only once, and through the orange and yellow blobs blotting his vision, he saw Bernard standing between them and Melorak, a halo of light circling his feet. Golden lances slashed from his hands, cutting down guards.

“Help him,” Deathmask muttered as they neared the top of the small hill from where they had spied the wagon’s arrival. “We should…”

“He knows what he’s doing,” Veliana said. “At least, I hope so.”

They half-ran, half-stumbled down the hill. Deathmask felt his vision returning, and his steps grew in confidence.

“North,” he said. “We have little time.”

“Time for what?” she asked.

“Hocking…”

“E verything?” Aaron asked the messenger.

“Due to your cooperation and show of loyalty, Melorak insists we return your estate despite how great Mordeina’s need is for taxes to support its people,” said the young man. The symbol of the lion hung from his neck, small and carved of wood.

“When will I receive payment?”

The messenger smiled as if his patience were already tried.

“In time, we will send appropriate funds from our coffers to your estate. Until then, I bid you good night.”

“Excellent. Tell Melorak I am most thankful for his kindness.”

The messenger bowed and left. Aaron shut the door behind him and then pressed his back against it. At last, it was over. He had his mansion, his wealth, and his reputation, all restored. His house guards wouldn’t have to live like beggars in the nearby homes of farmers. His possessions, which had been ransomed off in the name of taxes and fines, would return. His paintings of distant lands, his family heirlooms, his swords and chests and dressings…all back.

Perhaps he’d been a fool to challenge the priest-king, and a bigger fool for trusting Bernard. They’d sacrificed everything for a hopeless task. There was no point. No honor. As Deathmask had made perfectly clear, they would be no heroes.

He poured himself a drink, one of his few luxuries he’d managed to hide from the collectors. It was illegal now, and therefore exponentially more valuable to the right people. With lord Ewes and lord Gemcroft arrested, and Bernard soon to be executed, he felt he needed the drink more than he might need the extra bit of coin.

“To broken dreams,” he said as he toasted his empty parlor.

“And shattered memories,” came the traditional reply from the door.

Aaron’s glass fell from his limp hand and shattered. Deathmask limped through the door, Veliana helping him along. His face was a blackened, scarred mess, but his eyes were alive, bloodshot and furious.

“But how?” he asked, taking a step back and glancing for his sword.

A dagger flew past his head and thudded into the wall, an inch above where his sword rested upon a table.

“Bad idea,” Veliana said. “And better question is: why?”

She let go of Deathmask and lunged. Before the thought to dodge had even entered his head, he was already falling to the ground, her heel smashing his teeth. Two daggers stabbed either side of his sleeves, pinning him. He turned to the side and spat blood.

“Why?” he asked. “Because somehow Melorak saw me. Whatever that pet assassin of his sees, he sees. His priests came to my home. I had one choice, you have to understand. I either helped them or died.”

He felt himself start to cry, and humiliating as it was, he couldn’t stop. Veliana leered down at him, her scarred eye milky white and hovering so close. Even it seemed swirling with fury.

“We were ready to die to protect you,” she said. “Bernard, Dagan, all of you. If not for Bernard’s arrival and those soldiers’ inability to tie a real knot, we would be dead. You expect us to forgive you for succumbing to what we did not?”

He closed his eyes and shook his head.

“I had no choice. This happens, don’t you see? Kings fall, new rulers take their place. We lost. What does it matter? In time, another will replace the priest-king.”

Veliana chuckled, and her daggers pressed tight against his neck.

“Another?” he heard Deathmask say. “The man is death made flesh, Karak’s new prophet and ruler. He is not some normal usurper. He is not part of the ebb and flow of politics and kings. He is a blasphemy to our world, and must be destroyed. You’ve nearly ruined our only chance at overthrowing him. Damn fool. It’s a shame they’ll be coming for you soon. You deserve hours of torture, if not days. Count yourself lucky I have only minutes to make this worthwhile.”

Aaron’s eyes shot open, and he saw Deathmask kneeling beside him. He tried to rise, but the daggers held him, and Veliana sat upon his knees, locking them down. The only thing he accomplished with his struggles was to fill Deathmask’s face with disgust.

“Such cowardice,” he said. The words burned whatever remained of Aaron’s pride. “You never deserved my aid.”

Aaron winced as the man’s hand pressed against his forehead. It was feverishly warm.

“Lord Hocking,” Veliana whispered. She’d crawled atop him, one hand holding his hand down, the other tight about his neck. “You are a turncoat, lowest of the low. You are less than the worms, and a worm you will become.”

He screamed as she drew another dagger and thrust it into his bicep. When she cut, no blood flowed. Instead he felt a strange numbness spread with each stroke, until by the time she was severing bone it was as if it were the arm of another. Aaron looked to the mage in horror, whose charred face smirked with pleasure.

“At once,” he said, gesturing to the stump at his shoulder. “The pain will come all at once, as will the blood. Time is now your enemy.”

Veliana leaned over and began on the other arm. Aaron squirmed, but she held firm, as if he were nothing more than a nuisance. Unable to stop himself, he watched as her dagger sank into his flesh. The pain dulled, nothing but phantoms of what he knew he should feel. At last she pulled free his arm and tossed it aside.

“Almost there,” she said, blowing him a kiss.

Next came his leg. He felt strangely light-headed, and his struggles were nothing but spastic shakes. It took several minutes before she cut through all of his thigh. When his leg came free, she stood and carried it to his fireplace. She dumped it unceremoniously in the pit, kicked a bit of ash over it, and then returned for the final leg.

“I’m sorry,” Aaron said, or at least he tried. His tongue had grown thick and dry. He still felt phantom sensations from his limbs, the touch of the wood floor, the soft spread of the ash, and the gradual chill overcoming them as the blood within slowly cooled. When she pulled free the final leg, she grabbed the two arms and carried them to the fire. One by one she set them inside, then turned to Deathmask.

“Do you want the honor?” she asked him.

“Many good men died today,” Deathmask said as he approached the fireplace. Every step seemed slow and gingerly taken. Aaron wondered just how badly his face pained him, yet still he hid it. Could he handle pain so well? He had a feeling he was about to find out.

“Not just a good man,” Deathmask continued. “One of the best. Bernard may be dead, sacrificed to save us from the fate you created. My mask has become my own face, and my own flesh will soon rot to ash. But you…you deserve the fire of the Abyss. It’s coming for you, but not yet. Let the angels and demons wait. I have my own fire for you.”

He spat onto the bundle of arms and legs. When he reached down his hand, flame burst about it. When it touched the saliva, it roared to life as if it were lamp oil. Aaron’s eyes widened as he realized he could still feel sensations within his severed appendages. He writhed and screamed as he felt every inch burn and blister. The fire spread, consuming his fingers, his toes, his thighs and arms and elbows. A pathetic, bloodless stump, he screamed and cried.

“All at once,” Veliana whispered into his ear. “That is when the pain will come. Beg for mercy. Beg for it, Lord Hocking. Beg for it, worm. ”

“Mercy,” he cried, his head rolling side to side. “Please, mercy, kill me, I beg you!”

Deathmask reached into the fire and pulled out a handful of ash. A gentle throw and it floated together, once more becoming a mask to hide his face.

“I don’t know the meaning,” Deathmask said.

He snapped his fingers.

The blood burst from every cut across Aaron’s body. He howled until there was no air in his lungs, no sound from his throat. He felt every single cut Veliana had made, slicing, chopping, and cracking his bones and joints. The blood pooled about him. He felt it stick to his face, seep into his clothes, and still the pain, still the burning. It didn’t seem possible. He should have passed out. No one could endure such pain. But he did. While Veliana and Deathmask watched, he sucked in another groaning breath and screamed again.

Veliana placed her dagger above his left eye, its tip dripping blood.

“We’ll make sure everyone knows of your death,” she told him. “We’ll let everyone know the fate awaiting those who betray the Ghost and his Blade.”

The dagger thrust, and in the last fleeting moments of thought remaining, Aaron thanked the gods for the end.

M elorak stood beside the empty wagon, his hands wet with blood. The blood of a priest. Bernard’s blood.

“You were lucky,” he said. “Bear the scars proudly, fool. Ashhur has so few followers left, he must have given you every scrap of his power, and it was still not enough.”

He looked to his dead soldiers, slain by the supposedly peaceful sect of Ashhur. After the blinding eruption of light, he’d seen little, regaining his senses in time to protect himself from a barrage of spells that shimmered gold but stung like fire. Every last one of his guards had died in the onslaught. One on one, Melorak versus Bernard, they had battled. And when he should have had victory, when he at last held Bernard’s robes in his fist and cast a spell that would explode the blood out of his chest, the priest had vanished in a sudden shimmering of silver.

“A cowardly escape,” he said. He’d thought to hunt for him, but the act was pointless. He wouldn’t know where to look, hadn’t even known where to look prior to the attack. But with both the Ghost and his Blade escaping, he knew his last link of discovering their location was gone. Dagan Gemcroft and John Ewes both rotted from chains in their cells. He’d personally cut their throats. He could summon back their souls, but the stubborn rebels would not remain in any safe house they’d used prior to that night. They were intelligent, resourceful, and dangerous.

“This is not over,” Melorak said as he stared at the blood on his hands. “I will find you, priest. Your kind has no place in my world, not anymore. Karak’s time to reign has come. When Olrim returns victoriously, my soldiers will scour every tiny nook and crevice within the city. Be with me, oh mighty lord. Hear my prayer. Let his death be mine, and mine alone.”

He looked to the wagon, where the body of Haern lay still. Bernard had waved his hand, paralyzing him with a single word. Melorak focused, seeing the sparkling chains in his mind’s eye. One by one he broke them.

“Your mission is not done,” he said as the undead assassin stood and retrieved his swords. “This is your last chance. Whatever remnants of you are in there, understand that I will keep you here for eternity should you fail. You’ll hang from the hooks, feeling them pierce your flesh. The maggots will feast, the worms will crawl, and still you’ll await my orders like the obedient slave you are. Find them, and kill them. No rest. No mercy. Go.”

Haern left without a single remark or sign of understanding, only a lifeless sprint that was frightening in its speed.

“Guide me, oh lord,” Melorak prayed to the stars. “The time is almost come.”

He returned to the city, to where his throne awaited. If all went as planned, he’d have his army back in a few months, fresh from the slaughter of the nation of Ker.