Beyond the Bulwarks Read online

  He was a dead man. Nothing could change that now. But when his end finally came, he would greet it with the knowledge that he’d taken Theregond with him. All he needed was an opening, an instant when the King wasn’t ringed with protectors.

  They reached Caerigoth on an evening black with overcast and mists, a desultory wind moaning out of the southwest. Emerging from the treelines below the settlement’s hill, Anzo reined to a halt, breathing in shock.

  The slopes below the walls shimmered with hundreds of cooking fires, the murky fields gouged by the wheels of wagons that crowded together, miniature fortresses of their own. The air stank of unwashed bodies and horse shit and rang with the voices of women, children, armorers, blacksmiths, thousands upon thousands of folk.

  An army was swelling around Caerigoth. No, it was more than that. It was a nation.

  “Things proceed quickly.” Theregond paused at Anzo’s side.

  “Who are they?” Anzo asked in amazement.

  “I put out the call.” Theregond straightened in the saddle, regal in his glee. “The Free Cantons, of course, but also the tribes that had allied with old Grondo are arriving. The Faces will not be long, now that word they have a new lord is spreading.”

  Anzo shook his head. “You cannot possibly feed them all.”

  “No, we can’t. And I have no intention of doing so. Within a week, maybe more, I will give the word for the Vhurrs to move from here. They will live off the land—” he glanced at Anzo “—until they reach the banks of the Lydirian River.”

  Bits and pieces flowed together in Anzo’s mind. “And with the Marovians out of the way, there’ll be no one to harry you, no one to fight for control of the eastern side.” He looked at Theregond. He sensed Zulen behind him, kept his hand away from his weapon. It wasn’t time. “Tell me: was it you that did in them in?”

  Theregond shrugged with a smile of rememberance. “It was more the priesthood’s doing. They infilitrated the Marovians with promises of our Path, began spreading Arshann’s word. I would have rather brought them to our side. But their king and some of their nobles resisted, felt the pull of the Empire more strongly. Small fights began and were encouraged. There was a revolt, but the loyalists stomped it out.” He sighed. “We decided to make a clean sweep of it and unleashed Arshann through those still drawn to His ways. It was messy. But it was complete.”

  An impatient grunt from Zulen got Theregond moving again, spurring ahead with the column rumbling up behind him. Anzo hastened to keep close as they shuddered through bloated camps. Folk scurried to clear the way. Shouts and greetings echoed from all sides, Theregond’s name called in triumph as the King was recognized, spreading through the multitudes. Horns blared from the palisades, were answered by Theregond’s riders. The main gate shivered open and the column spilled through.

  Within Caeriogth, all was shocking quiet. The barracks of the Erevulans remained still and sealed. The buildings of the town crouched in darkness, windows and doors closed. Guards prowled the walls and streets uneasily and shrank back into shadows as if not wanting to be seen. The only illumination in the seat of the Hamrak people, save occasional braziers or cooking fires, came from the great firehall, glittering with dozens of lanterns and torches, lit up like the High Temples in Aurid.

  Anzo dismounted and handed the reins of his horse to a waiting groom, his nerves abuzz in the eerie calm. Absent was the usual Vhurrian clamor of welcome to a returning war party. Even the warriors and priests of the expedition seemed strangley muted, moved with the tension of men set to a task. Anzo tried to find Theregond, had gotten separated from him in the flurry of the arrival. Clenching his blade close, he knew the time would have to come soon. Theregond would learn of Varya and Heathen’s disappearance before long and he wasn’t sure his lies would hold up against that evidence.

  With a jolt, Anzo spotted Durrim crossing the parade ground, swathed in the white robes, the idol of Arshann bouncing at his chest. Anzo started towards the chieftain, body cool, ready for doom. The younger man didn’t see him, was carrying a bundle and striding fast. An Erevulan led a horse across Anzo’s path. Cursing, he sidestepped the pair, leapt past.

  Oh, damn...

  Theregond met Durrim at the middle of the parade ground. The young chieftain handed the bundle to the King and leaned close, a hand on his shoulder, speaking rapidly. Theregond nodded, shook the bundle out and revealed it to be more robes, which he donned as the other continued. Durrim’s gaze flicked Anzo’s direction. Whatever he was saying cut out. Theregond stiffened and looked over his shoulder at Anzo.

  “Hurrying, Weeeasel?”

  Anzo grimaced and glanced at Zulen, hovering at his flank. To his surprise, the Arriak’s weapon was still in its sheath, though Anzo had no illusions about how quickly it could be out and at his heart. “Yeah. What’s it to you?”

  Even more to Anzo’s surprise, Theregond was waving him over. Durrim eyed him, a friendly smile on his face. Is this it? Anzo ground his teeth and started towards them, noted Zulen keeping pace just behind his flank. His pulse hammering in his temples, sweat burning the corners of his eyes, he calculated furiously whether or not he could have his sword point in Theregond’s chest before Zulen slashed him down.

  Aeydon...any of you useless godly bastards...just give me a moment...

  “Weasel,” Theregond called as he drew near, “you owe us a pledge.”

  Zulen was suddenly at Anzo’s side and priests materializing around him. Anzo slowed, halted. His leathers clung to tacky flesh, tremors building in his limbs. He glanced about, knew there was no chance here, and forced himself to relax. “Pledge?”

  Theregond’s eyes crackled with suddenly stoked zeal. “Arshann would hear your petition.” He gestured towards the firehall. “Now.”

  Anzo chanced a look at Durrim, saw no clues in the chieftain’s face. “Now? But I—”

  “Your woman and your comrade can wait. Arshann cannot.”

  Fear that had been until that moment suppressed under murderous concentration hit Anzo in an icy splash. He hid a reflexive swallow. How? How did that big, dumb brute not heed me? Was it Varya? Could she not be moved? Has more happened? He thought of Aehemir hovering over Varya in the dark. Oh, gods, help me...

  “Still hurry...?” Zulen smirked.

  Anzo glared at the Arriak, at the same time welcoming the hate as it burned away some of the panic. “Maybe I am.” He met Theregond’s gaze. “What do I need to do?”

  Theregond waved him on. “This way.”

  With a column of Arriaks and priests formed around him, Anzo followed Theregond and Durrim towards the firehall. Men in white robes, priests, Hamrak and Erevulans, waited at the arched entryway, more lingering in the balcony above. A low thrum began around him, deep in the throats of the followers of Arshann. Candles were being lit, black wax that burned crimson, cast tendrils of vile, caustic smoke into the air. Passing under the arch, Anzo felt not the welcoming gust of warmth from the fire pit but a current of thick, cloying chill. He fought back shivers that began to work their way up from abruptly numbed feet.

  “Stop here.” Theregond paused, turned to regard Anzo. The idol at his breast had taken on the crimson glow. All of the idols had. “Your cloak, your leathers...take them off.”

  Anzo hesitated. A hiss issued from one of the priests. Hands tensed on sword grips. Managing a lop-sided smile that the sweat cascading down his face must certainly give lie to, Anzo unclasped his cloak and unbuckled his sword belt, let the weapon fall to the floor. Thinking only of the motions and not the way his skin squirmed with terror, he undid the ties of his leather vest and shrugged out of the bulk. Casting it to the floor, his chest now bare, he held up his hands—noticed that Zulen had scooped up his weapon. “Enough?”

  Theregond nodded. “There must be nothing between your soul and Arshann, Anzo Severnus.” He folded his arms before him. “Are you ready?”

  Anzo thrust up his chin. “Show me the way.”

  Zulen stepped to Theregond
’s side, held out Anzo’s sword, and spoke a flurry of words. Theregond glanced at him and gave an odd smile. “No. Give it to him. He will need it.”

  Grudgingly, the Arriak pivoted towards Anzo and held out the sword of Enu Mbawa. “Arshann knows you, Weeeasel...”

  Scowling, Anzo snapped the weapon away, girded it back to his waist.

  “Come.” Theregond started into the main hall.

  Anzo followed. The great doors of the firehall boomed shut at his back.

  The chamber was swathed in crimson. Banners of black and blood draped from the rafters. The infernal candles flickered from every corner, every alcove, sputtering, kicking off malevolent sparks and whisps of the gagging fumes. Shadows clenched and twitched in the gulfs left by the gruesome, uncertain candlelight, their blackness seemingly alive and hinting at even darker things reined in but itching to tear free. The feasting tables had been dragged back to leave the floor open. The fire pit had been left cool and untended, piles of ash and cinder only heightening the sensation of deepening cold. The white-clad figures Anzo had seen in the balconies filtered into the hall’s upper tiers, the maddening hum of before building, becoming a deep, undulating chorus. Hands went up, drew back hoods to reveal the spiked, black masks.

  “Arshann...”

  At the name, whispered from the mass of priests now filing into a circle around him, Anzo turned to regard the great statue of Orkall. The scaffolding and canvas were gone, the repairs completed. But when Anzo looked up, he saw with a gasp that it hadn’t been repairs, at all.

  It had been transformation.

  Wild twists of tendril writhed about features that could not even remotely be called human. Multiple sets of eyes bulged from a bulbous skull barbed with horns and chiton. Fangs widened from a huge mouth and a tongue slathered free. With a start, Anzo recognized something of the monstrousness: the mask of the undead Elder Tyrant had pretended to the same.

  Orkall’s face was gone, replaced by the visage of Hell.

  “Arshann,” Theregond breathed from among the priests, face raised to the effigy of his demigod, eyes wavering with something that was both ecstasy and fright.

  “Arshann...”

  The communal murmur from the crowd set the candles to fluttering, as though something unseen stirred the air, moved amongst them. The horrid fumes of the candles twisted above, began to rotate slowly, a whirlwind gaining speed and strength.

  Anzo’s gaze fell to the feet of the statue. Aehemir stood there atop the raised altar, draped in white and red, smiling serenely. In each hand she held a black candle. Priests congregated to either side of her, bunched about what appeared to be crates. A closer examination revealed them to be caskets of stone, pocked with age but splashed with gold, silver, and gems. Anzo licked dry lips. They were obviously from the tomb of the Elder Tyrant.

  Sickness tightened in Anzo’s bowels. Oh...Oh, gods, no...

  There were two caskets. Two.

  “It is time to pledge your future and your soul to Arshann, Anzo,” Theregond’s voice rasped.

  The priests converged around the caskets, levered the lids up and cast them aside with dual crashes. They stepped back, eyes and smiles blazing out from masks. Whimpers and grunts issued from within the sarcophagi.

  Anzo saw a flicker of tattered linen in the nearest. Moving with the numbness of cold and terror he trudged up the altar to the feet of the statue, to the caskets. The priests fell back, muttering. Aehemir watched him, smile so peaceful, so horridly comforting.

  Varya and Heathen lay chained and gagged in the sarcophagi. At the sight of him, they flinched and began twisting wildly against their bonds. Heathen’s muscles chorded with the frenzy of his struggle, blood beginning to flow as steel links bit at flesh. Varya flailed animal-like, matted auburn hair a fan about her pale, starved features. Her eyes caught his for an instant, seemed unfamiliar in their frantic, reckless terror. Teeth sawed against the leather muzzle. Red-streaked saliva beaded at the corners of broken lips.

  “A promise made in blood, Anzo,” Theregond’s voice called. “Arshann will trust nothing less.”

  Anzo turned slightly, looked at the King. He had his arms spread wide. The rotation of the fumes above him continued, reddish and blackish chords weaving in and out, shot through with flecks of ember.

  Durrim, to one side, seemed almost to fight himself. There might have been regret there. Anzo forced him to meet his gaze. “You too?”

  The young chieftain looked away.

  “You paid the assassins.” Anzo nodded, understood. “Your own father...”

  “Arshann will trust nothing less,” Theregond repeated. “It is a path we have all followed.”

  A muffled shriek erupted from Varya. Pivoting to her, Anzo saw she had worked some of her restraints free, was trying to thrash loose. A priest lunged forward to pin her down. She seemed to be screaming at Theregond.

  “The witch first,” Theregond commanded.

  Anzo unsheathed his sword, stood over her. The priest stepped back from Varya and her eyes bulged wide and shivering blue as they regarded Anzo. She shook her head wildly. He could feel the current of the smoky whirlwind above, whipping itself up, churning the air with hellish scents of brimstone and blood.

  Theregond was surrounded by priests and warriors. Anzo couldn’t hope to get close now. He adjusted his grip on the sword, flexed his fingers to loosen the tackiness of skin glued to bound leather by sweat. It would have to be a throw, one last desperate toss of the dice before they cut him to shreds.

  “It’s all right,” Aehemir purred.

  Anzo glanced up at her. She smiled, somehow lovingly. Her jade eyes quivered, sought his own.

  Jade eyes...

  Anzo looked down at the form thrashing in the sarcophagus and saw the frenzied panic in her eyes—her blue eyes! Another look at Aehemir revealed blurriness about her features, as though they were seen through water—water tinged and going luminous with purple radiance.

  “It’s all right, Anzo Severnus. I am here.”

  The candles dropped from her hands. The illusion of Aehemir fell away, revealed the true woman underneath, auburn hair flowing, eyes glowing with purple fire. A squeal from the casket revealed Theregond’s Concubine, thrashing to tear loose and warn her King.

  Well I’ll be a son of a—

  Varya’s hands shot up. Anzo dove for the floor, the hall behind him split with shouts of confusion and alarm. An instant later, lightning ravaged forth from Varya’s fingertips.

  An Arshannian priest was halfway up the altar, rushing Varya with a curved short sword. He absorbed the blast that would have ripped through Theregond, was hurtled backwards in tatters and flame onto the King, who fell with him in a smoldering tangle. The snarling bolts rent amongst the rest, catching men still reacting to the disruption of their ritual, charring white robes, filling the air with searing bits of flesh and bone. They collapsed at the base of the altar, warriors and priests flinging themselves over Theregond, shielding his body as theirs twitched and burned.

  Anzo sprang back to his feet, skin prickling with the fury of Varya’s power, ears shocked to numbness in the thunderous din. A priest was vaulting over the sarcophagus with Aehemir in it, foot stomping her belly and folding her about the impact. Tangled so, he was stumbling even before Anzo’s one-handed slash took his arm off at the elbow.

  A second Arshannian swept around the casket to Anzo’s right. His cruel, hooked short blade sliced across Anzo’s bare ribs. With a hiss of pain, Anzo spun away from the stroke, used the motion to bring his sword around in a wide chop that crashed into the priest’s masked face. Blood and shattered teeth spewed as the man collapsed in a tangle of white stained crimson.

  Varya’s sorcery tore about the firehall, glancing off columns in gouts of splinters that savaged men scattering for the exits. Thunder and flashes of fire crisscrossed the hellishly-lit space, charging the air with smoke, ruin, and screams. An Arriak fumbled to knock an arrow and aim his bow. A fork of purple energy lan
ced through the weapon, crisped his arm to the shoulder.

  His side wet with blood, Anzo slashed and parried, hacked and smote as more priests and warriors, enraged beyond rationality, surged up the altar at him. He disemboweled an Erevulan who tried to tackle him. Spewing gore and entrails squished under his feet, endangering his balance. Another priest rushed Varya, short sword raised. Anzo cut him off at the legs, sent the man tumbling down the short steps to trip up more attackers.

  A hard tug at Anzo’s abdomen folded him to one side. Twisting with the blow, he gasped as unspeakable, steely chill pinched in his guts. Zulen was there, grinning maniacally over the saber he’d thrust past Anzo’s guard into his belly.

  Fiery with a last pulse of adrenaline and hate, Anzo swung his sword about, pommel-first, and smashed in the bridge of the Arriak’s nose. Zulen fell away with a shriek, fans of blood obscuring his devilish features. The tumble yanked his blade out with it, left Anzo sagging backwards onto Varya.

  She caught him with one hand, the other still up, a few lashes of sorcery still snapping serpent-like about her fingers. “Hold on.”

  Howls and frenzy tore from the survivors, rising now from the wreckage Varya had wrought. Steel flickered, eyes smoked, and teeth gnashed as men hunched and clustered below them, readying themselves in a quivering mass for a final, bloody push.

  Anzo slid to the floor, stonework icy against his buttocks while slick warmth washed across his crotch, his pant legs, and the fingers of his left hand, clenching at his lacerated abdomen to hold the guts in. Pain hammered up through his core, followed by dizziness. He gripped his sword feebly, fought to stand, found no strength. With a moan, he looked up at Varya.

  “At least we’re together...at the end...”

  “This isn’t the end, Anzo Severnus.”

  His head lolled, his gaze slipping to the other sarcophagus and Heathen thrashing there. “Can you...get him free?”

  “Don’t worry about him.” Varya knelt beside Anzo, her free hand wrapping about his shoulders, the other waving before the Arshannians as they began to creep up the stairs. The wild play of purple energy reflected in their crazed stares. The vortex of otherworldly fumes lashed above them, began to howl with something more like a voice. It dimpled, expanded down towards them, becoming a funnel.