Wrath of Lions

CHAPTER 8

Velixar ignored those around him as he stared at his own reflection. He was pleased with what he saw. He looked like the leader of men he’d always known he was meant to be, his long black hair greased and tied back from his scalp, his face dashed with fine powder that lightened his usually tanned complexion. His clothes-horsehide breeches sun-splashed to a golden brown and a pale blouse bearing Karak’s sigil beneath a heavy black doublet woven with metal rings-had been specially made for the occasion by the Castle of the Lion’s most talented seamstress. The sword hanging from his hip was also custom made-the steel strong but nearly weightless, the pommel carved from moonstone in the shape of a yawning lion, fashioned so that his fingers were engulfed in the lion’s mouth when he clutched it. He’d dubbed the blade Lionsbane, a fitting name for a sword that would help bring about the victory of his god.

Velixar stepped back from the mirror. He was in Tower Honor’s rectory, where each day servants prepared the Highest’s garments, stirred the ceremonial wine, and copied onto parchment the articles of Karak’s law that were to be read before the royal court. Large tomes of law were stacked on an oaken slab engraved with claw marks and red roses. The space was large and lavish, each countertop holding jar upon jar of incense, and the walls hung with portraits of Karak. The cupboards were filled with spices, carafes of wine, and clay ewers packed with ryegrass and fennel. The windows were stained glass, each depicting a scene of the gods’ arrival in Dezrel. The floor was solid marble, the swirls of dark brown, black, and crimson playing across the expanse like dust in a high wind.

The rectory teemed with activity, the servants bustling to and fro, lighting candles, creating bouquets of flowers, fixing the hair of the young girls who would be carrying bouquets. It was like they were gearing up for an extravagant wedding, but in truth, the preparations were for the ceremony to present the new Highest to the people. Though many in the ruling class knew of Velixar’s position, it had never been announced publicly. His time in the sun was about to begin.

The door to the rectory swung open, and the servants stopped what they were doing, bowing low when Oscar Wellington stepped inside. The soldier’s mail rattled with every step he took. Oscar was young and eager, and each time Velixar looked into his eyes, he saw only loyalty. He had been second in command of the Palace Guard when Velixar handpicked him to take command of Harlan Handrick’s unit. The jawless man had hung himself in a back alley. A lowly death for a lowly cretin, he’d thought. No loss. Velixar had randomly selected fifteen other men who had taken part in the decimation of Erznia and gutted them in front of the castle. Now their bodies hung beside those of the other traitors. It was a hard lesson, but one the rest of the fighting men needed to learn. According to what Oscar had told him in the weeks since he’d assumed command, they had. Velixar’s orders were to be followed, always and forever.

Oscar dragged Lanike Crestwell into the room behind him. The noblewoman appeared flushed and frantic, her cobalt, sapphire-encrusted dress askew. Curls from the mop atop her head drooped into her eyes. He could tell she wanted to brush them away, but Captain Wellington held both her wrists.

“Here she is, Highest, as you requested,” Oscar said with a bow, shoving Lanike toward him.

Velixar caught her by the shoulders, keeping her upright. The woman’s teeth rattled as she stared up at him. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and he noticed a few of those loose curls were sticking to a small gash on her forehead.

“You hurt her?” he asked, leveling his gaze at Oscar.

The young captain appeared unflustered.

“We did not, sir. She tried to get away when we took her from the keep. She slipped on the cobblestones and struck her head. Not a hand was laid on her other than to pick her up and haul her here, I promise.”

He sensed no lie in the man, although it was hard to tell for certain. His ability to read the truth, a gift from Ashhur, had been slowly fading ever since he turned his back on the god in the delta. In its place, his ability to traverse the shadows was growing in potency, though it was nowhere near as strong as he would have liked it to be.

He forcibly moved Lanike to the side. “Very well, Captain Wellington. Shall I see you at the rite?”

“Of course you will, sir. The whole of Veldaren will be there, and my unit will be front and center, marching you through the city and cheering you on.”

“They will not be your unit for much longer,” he replied.

Oscar appeared confused. “Is that so, sir?”

“Yes. The unit will remain in Neldar, under command of the acolytes, to scour the kingdom for those who have not yet volunteered for service.”

“Am I not to stay with them?”

“No, Oscar, for I have need of you. You are a man deserving of the title and privilege of the Highest’s Right Hand.”

The young soldier froze for a moment, then beamed.

“Thank you, Highest. Thank you!”

The servants hurriedly climbed to their feet and continued with their preparations as Captain Wellington stood, offered a sturdy bow, and then swept out of the rectory. Velixar felt a swell of pride as he watched the young man go. Deep down he knew he’d made the correct choice.

He heard whimpering beneath the clamor of hustling feet and clanking pottery. Turning to the side, he saw that Lanike Crestwell was slowly moving toward the rectory’s side exit, her hands held before her, her head down. Her wild auburn curls blocked her face. She looked like a woman who thought the whole world would disappear if only she could blind herself to it. It was pathetic.

“Come over here, Lanike,” he said. She froze, her body shaking, and then shuffled forward, the soles of her feet never truly leaving the ground. Velixar reached out and swept the hair from her eyes. Taking a handkerchief from the inside pocket of his armored doublet, he spat on it and proceeded to wipe away the tears from her cheeks and the dried blood from her forehead.

“All of you, leave,” he said, raising his voice, and the servants scurried away. He returned his attention to Lanike. “Why did you run?” he asked.

Lanike opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Her sprite’s face caved in on itself in despair, and she broke down completely.

He clutched her chin firmly in his fingers and lifted her gaze to his. “There is no need for dramatics, Lanike. Tell me why you tried to run.”

“I…I…I didn’t want to come,” she said, her voice cracking.

“And why not? Do you not want to see my coronation?”

She shook her head wildly. “No, Velixar. I don’t wish to see…him.”

He knew of whom she spoke. A soft chuckle rattled his throat.

“But he is your husband, Lanike. Do you not love him?”

“No,” she said, her words gaining strength. “No, he is not my husband.”

“Oh, but he is. He is still the one who created you, the one who loves you with all his heart. And he always will be.”

She brought her trembling hands to her mouth, covering her face with them.

Velixar sighed. Here was a member of the vaunted First Families, set upon Dezrel to guide the children of her god with strength and honor, yet she cowered with fear. She was as useless as the rest of them. Yet despite that fact, he couldn’t help but feel for her. With her nymphlike features and agelessness, she still looked like a child, innocent and frail. His fingers gently touched her neck, feeling the softness of her flesh, and those urges he tried so hard to repress resurfaced. A painful face, a damned name he’d sworn never to think of again, entered his mind.

Brienna…

His pity turned to anger, and he quickly drew back his comforting hand and slapped her face. Lanike’s head snapped to the side, snot and spittle flying from her nose and mouth.

“Stop your sniveling,” he told the weeping woman. “You will attend the ceremony, and you will stand at your husband’s side as our Lord presents me to the populace. You will do it, and you will not complain.”

Lanike shrank from him. “Yes…yes, Velixar,” she murmured into her fists.

He swept her hands away, and she gawped at him, wide eyed. “Cease your muttering,” he ordered. “What is it? Do you wish to be free of this? Do you wish to do no more than sit in your room and mourn the loss of your former life like a broken child?”

She nodded while sniveling.

“You will not.” He grabbed her by the front of her dress, ripping the bodice as he pulled her close. “There is so much you don’t know, woman,” he told her. “You don’t realize how important you are to the realm. Your husband is key to everything, and you are the only one who can still reach that shredded sliver of humanity lingering within the beast. Whatever happens, you will live, you will endure, and you will stay by my side when we leave tomorrow to crush the people of Paradise.”

He released her, and Lanike stumbled backward. She ran into one of the countertops, spilling a jar of incense, which tumbled to the marble floor and smashed to bits. She kept herself from falling, hands braced on the counter, knuckles whitening, staring at Velixar in horror.

“Does this surprise you?” he asked. “In a way, it’s almost romantic. Every day, Clovis looks on as the demon inside him warps his body, works his limbs, fills his stomach with raw meat. His hands butcher anyone we place within them, and their flesh is shoved into his maw, feeding the beast. It takes tremendous control for him to sway Darakken’s desires. Even when given his own daughter, he was unable to deny its hunger.”

He rubbed Lanike’s face with the side of his hand.

“That he can control it for you shows just great his love is for his little wife. Like I said…romantic.”

“My poor Thessaly…” Lanike whispered, trembling. “Tell me you lie.”

“I never lie,” said Velixar with a sigh. He stepped closer to her, grabbing her arm and yanking her off the countertop. “Your husband understands what will happen should he fail. Too much rides on the power of the demon. Too much, and therefore I have done everything I can to ensure its obedience. And if it doesn’t obey, well…I will sever all ties that bind him to the beast. The first one to fall prey to it will be you, Lanike. It’s that twisted fate that gives your husband the power to resist. Imagine what would happen if the worst came about. Imagine what it would be like for him to helplessly inhabit the body of a monstrous creature fucking his beloved wife with its twisted cock, tearing her body apart with its jagged teeth.…”

The woman slipped from his grasp, mouth ajar but unable to speak. Without another word to her, Velixar called one of his handmaidens back into the room.

“Get her cleaned up,” he said. “I want her ready for the rite in half an hour.”

The handmaiden led a still horrified Lanike from the rectory. The woman leaned on her as if the muscles in her legs had turned to jelly. Velixar turned away in disgust, then caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Some of the powder had rubbed off his cheeks. He reapplied it, took a deep breath, steadied his nerves, and marched out of the room toward his destiny.

The streets of Veldaren were packed with onlookers beneath an overcast sky. The people stared-women, children, and the elderly-their faces drawn and pale, their expressions blank, much like those of the corpses Velixar had ordered hung from the castle walls. Captain Wellington led a small brigade of troops, fifty in all, down the center of the road. The bannermen in front held their flags high, the lions emblazoned upon them roaring down at the populace. None of the onlookers seemed to notice the banners at all; instead, their gazes were fixed on Velixar, who marched at the rear of the procession, feet landing in time to the beat of the war drum. He was disappointed by their reaction to him. They had no love for him, and no fear either, just simple uncertainty. None of them understood his motives; none realized what he had done to help them realize their potential.

Let them be skeptical, he thought. Karak knows, and that is all that matters. When Paradise burns, they will understand, and they will bow in appreciation.

Lanike walked in front of him. The handmaidens had done an admirable job of making her presentable; her hair was styled in an elegant sidelong swoop, her ripped cobalt dress replaced with a flowing white gown that made her look like a spirit of the wind. She walked with her shoulders held back, a prideful posture, but Velixar knew it was a façade. He saw it in the way her right leg shuddered beneath her weight, the way her left shoulder sagged ever so slightly. It seemed the only thing holding the woman together was the hand of the young soldier who marched beside her.

The most important being in all of Neldar. What a twisted joke.

The procession turned, and Veldaren’s central hub came into view. Smallfolk were replaced with countless soldiers, their armor unblemished, their spears held high in one hand, their swords crossed over their hearts with the other. The great fountain loomed at the end of the column, the waypoint of traffic moving in all four directions throughout the city, its gray likeness of Karak standing rigid in the center, rising ten feet tall. Behind the fountain stood the god himself, standing on a dais that had been raised for just this event, resplendent in his sacred black platemail. His glowing golden eyes met Velixar’s, and the god smiled.

Captain Wellington segmented his charges to either side once they reached the end of the line. Finally the whole of the dais could be seen. A throng of people stood atop it, clearly intimidated by the size and presence of their god. There was King Eldrich, his bodyguard, every member of the Council of Twelve, six Sisters of the Cloth, twenty red-cloaked young acolytes, and Joben Tustlewhite, the castle cleric whom those around the castle called “the mumbling priest.” Also standing there, fully dressed this time in a draping gray robe, was Darakken in its Clovis Crestwell disguise. When Velixar squinted, he noted that the eyes of the beast were only slightly tinged with red, which meant Crestwell had assumed at least a semblance of control. Good for you, Clovis, he thought.

He almost laughed aloud when he saw Lanike pause at the bottom of the stairs, staring up with her mouth hanging open at the bald thing that used to be her husband. Her hand trembled as she grabbed hold of Joben, who had offered his assistance. Her feet were unsteady, even when they reached the top of the platform. Joben led her to her husband’s side, but she refused to look at him. Even when Clovis’s bulging arm draped over her shoulder, she did nothing but stand and shudder.

Shaking his head, Velixar climbed the dais. Once he reached the top and stopped, awaiting the signal to kneel, he heard the crowd below, smallfolk and soldiers alike, pressing in toward him. He knew that if he were to turn around, he would no longer see the road, just a never-ending sea of watchful eyes. The thought filled him with pride, and it took great effort to keep from swiveling his head for the tiniest of glimpses. Instead, he kept his stare fixed on his chosen god, ignoring the white noise of the crowd.

Joben stepped away from Lanike, nodding to his acolytes before taking his place by Karak’s side. He spoke a few words that Velixar couldn’t hear. Karak then held out his hand, and the cleric took whatever was in it. Clenching his fingers around the object, he cleared his throat. When he spoke, his voice easily rose over the noise of the crowd.

“Citizens of Veldaren,” he said, his usual mutter suddenly magnified tenfold. “We come here today on the brink of war. Our very way of life is threatened by the cretins of the west, by the brother god who heinously tossed aside his pact with our Divinity. So many of our good men perished that day to Ashhur’s rage, men who were sons and fathers, men who died well before their time. It is past due that we avenge their deaths.”

The murmur of the crowd rose slightly in volume.

“But today is also a wondrous day. With dark times ahead, let us bask in the light of new leadership that will help lead us to heights we have never dared dream possible.”

With that, Joben nodded to Velixar, then bowed and backed away. Velixar’s heart raced as he dropped to a knee before his deity. The glow of Karak’s eyes was like the explosion of twin stars. The god stepped forward, raising his hands to his creations.

“My children, I come to you today as the father you have always wished me to be,” Karak said, his voice many times louder than Joben’s. “I have been apart from you for too long, but my forty years in seclusion were spent wisely. While I was away, you blossomed from the infants you were into the capable men and women you are now. You have built a great society that will be written about in the tomes of legend. You are the mighty, you are the worthy, and it is for you that I lead our brave fighting men to war. For a poison has infiltrated our kingdom, a poison spread by my brother himself. He thinks you are still children! He lords over his Paradise, refusing to allow his people the simple freedoms a human life warrants. However, those poor souls are not your enemy! They are like you, people of flesh and blood and a desire for liberty, who have been denied that freedom by the very god who created them.”

The crowd grew deathly silent. To Velixar, it sounded as if no one even breathed.

“We embark on this great conflict,” Karak continued, “not as invaders, but as liberators. We will free this supposed Paradise of my brother’s tyrannical reign, and we shall spread our virtues of order, responsibility, and honor throughout Dezrel. By the time we are through, all of humanity will be united, a true brotherhood of man in which no further war is ever needed.”

A single female voice shouted, “Praise Karak!” It stood alone for a brief moment, but a buzz slowly gathered as more joined the first. In a matter of moments the whole of the hub was awash in the united voices of the populace chanting, “Karak! Karak! Karak!” Once more, Velixar wished for a momentary glimpse of the spectacle.

The deity held his arms out wide, and the throng abruptly silenced.

“This will be no easy venture,” he said, his words rumbling throughout the street, echoing off the gray stone buildings. “There will be sacrifice, there will be horrors, and many of our brave men will perish. For though we seek to liberate those in Paradise, many will not freely toss aside the shackles they wear. Those shackles are all they have ever known, and it will take force to break them.”

It was then Karak’s eyes fell to Velixar. “In any great conflict, even greater leaders are required, both in spirituality and in the ways of war.” He held out his massive hand. “It is now that I present you, my people, with the First Man created in all of Dezrel, by the hands of both my betraying brother and myself. He who kneels before you is my greatest servant, Velixar. He speaks my truth, and he lives it.”

The deity reached beneath his black plate and drew out a shining metal disk attached to a silver chain. It was a pendant, and it swung from side to side in front of Velixar’s eyes. Sculpted upon it in bas-relief was the image of a lion standing atop the crest of a mountaintop. Velixar knew that adornment well. It was the very same pendant Ashhur had worn over his heart since the first day he could remember.

“The greatest servant in all of Neldar has served as Highest of Karak for months now, and he has served me well.” The god’s eyes flicked to the side. His holy lips rose in a grin. “However, I have come to the realization that he should no longer wear such a title.”

What? Velixar’s heart leapt in his chest. He tried to keep the sudden anger he felt from flushing his cheeks and making his eyes burn red, but heat crept up from beneath his collar. He clenched his fists tightly, fingernails digging into his palms.

Noticing his reaction, Karak’s smile grew all the wider, almost playful.

“For Highest is a human designation,” he said, as if the pause in his speech had never taken place, “and Velixar has advanced beyond humanity. He is the embodiment of an ideal, the embodiment of all I stand for. He is now a brother to me, much more so than my true brother ever was. Unlike Ashhur, Velixar shares my vision of a world without chaos.”

A sharp exhalation left Velixar’s lungs, and all his previous anger disappeared. He was too shocked to speak, to rise, to even breathe.

“It is because of this newfound brotherhood that I present to you, Velixar, the pendant Ashhur and I once shared. You shall wear it around your neck with pride, as it is now yours, and with new ownership comes new meaning. Where once the symbol carved upon this pendant was meant to portray a pact of peace between my brother and I, it now represents the shape of the world to come; that of my children winning victory over the blasphemous ideals of the west, that of the lion climbing to the top of the mountain and claiming it as his own.” He bent down-quite far, given his immense size-and draped the pendant over the still kneeling Velixar’s head. “This is the most tremendous gift I could give a man. Now rise to your feet, Velixar, and face your people. Rise to your feet, High Prophet of Karak!”

The deity touched his cheek, and a sudden surge of power rushed through Velixar. His mind in a numb daze, he stood. Karak grabbed both his shoulders, stooped over, and kissed him atop the head. The crowd behind them roared, a thunderous applause that swallowed him in a warm, pulsating embrace. Karak nodded to him, and he finally turned to face the people.

Countless common faces stared up at him, awash with hope and exhilaration. A litany of arms pumped into the air, thrusting forward in a single repetitive motion. All the while the throng chanted, “Velixar, Velixar, Velixar,” just as they had shouted Karak’s name only moments before. He glanced down the dais, where the king and the Council of Twelve were clapping. Darakken was gazing at him, its eyes an unnatural red, and Lanike had her head bowed next to it, her hair dangling in front of her face. He turned away from them and faced his congregation once more.

“I serve you!” shouted Velixar. “Forever, for Order, for Karak!”

High Prophet. His High Prophet.

Then and there, nothing could have kept Velixar from smiling.