Chains of a Dark Goddess (21 page)

With Amrasi’s help, he lifted the slab off Sergeant Ovikian and animated him as well, with only half the energy he’d used on Amrasi but still much more than he would need to make a regular corpse into an undead warrior. The Akythiri Mechanism buzzed and pulsed energy through the throbbing wires threading beneath Breskaro’s skin. 

The animated corpses went about removing the sarcophagus lids from their brethren so that Breskaro could drop his strength spell.

The raised Valiants were eerily quiet, the dead not needing to chatter amongst themselves. And while the reflexes of the priestess Breskaro had raised had been poor, these animated corpses moved
almost
as well as they had in life but with unflagging stamina and strength.

Some were missing arms and hands. A few eyes were missing. Two limped, one with a shattered kneecap and the other with a severed hamstring. But they were all functional, no matter how gruesome. Unlike with Breskaro, they had been buried in nothing more than silk togas. They would need weapons and armor. 

The raised Valiants knelt in submission, their eyes locked onto him. Breskaro explained their chain of command then pointed at the statues of him and Seshalla.

“Tear them down. Quietly as possible.”

~~~

Thirty-seven Issalian rangers massed outside the doors of the Grand Mausoleum of the Valiants. Captain Foria had complained to his second how he thought this was overkill, doing the work of the guards but then he heard a mass of footsteps inside, followed by a muffled crashing of stone.

Captain Foria arranged his men to ambush the enemy when they exited the mausoleum. As the doors began to creak open, he readied his sword.

“Steady now,” he whispered to his men. “Steady. Wait for—”

Foria never finished his order. With a cracking thump, a lead bullet struck him in the temple. He fell limp, a clatter of armor and weapons.

Foria’s men turned to see where this attack had come from and saw a group of ragged but armed men riding full-tilt toward them. As they spun to face them, the doors of the mausoleum swung open and the mass of undead Valiants surged outside.

Terrified and out-flanked, they tried to flee. Carnage followed as Breskaro’s Undying Valiants and the Knights of the Dark fell upon them. The undead battered relentlessly with their fists, while the Rrakans used the mounts to their advantage in cornering the rangers and riding them down. Breskaro sliced a path through the midst of the enemy, his eyes alight with emerald balefire. 

The Temple of Saint Norvus awoke to the screams of the dying, then the town of Iori. Priests, guards, and soldiers ran to help and the battle grew larger. None of the clerics here possessed the crystal matrixes Ilsimia had used. The crystals were rare and few, and the Matriarch only gave them out to those she felt most needed them.

Breskaro enhanced his voice with a spell and shouted over the din of combat and cries of surprise: 

“All those who would live, flee now! Take your children and go. Any who remain will be put to the sword or torn to shreds by the hands of the undead! Flee, for I, Breskaro Varenni, shall raze temple, town, and mausoleum.”

Many fled, but some died bravely. A few Valiants were injured but it didn’t stop them. Seven Issalian soldiers rushed toward Breskaro. 

With a yell he cast the
spell of Torment’s flame
. It was his first live test using the hellfire spell. Three soldiers fell, clutching at their chests and stomachs, dying in excruciating pain as spiritual flames consumed their insides. One of the other four fell after being struck by a sling stone. The remaining three met Breskaro’s sword and were made short work of.

The resistance faltered and fled. Those wounded remaining were finished off.

“Larekal,” Breskaro commanded, “burn this village. Set fire to everything save the warehouse behind the temple.”

“Yes, master.”

“See that horses, arms, and armor are gathered for my Valiants.”

Larekal looked at the undead men with disgust and replied simply, “I will, master.”

Breskaro glanced at Esha who was running up to join them. “Larekal,” he said, “let the women and children go. Except the priestesses. Bring them to me.”

Larekal rushed off and Breskaro turned to Amrasi. 

“Captain, gather all the priests and priestesses you can find. Put them to the sword and crucify the bodies. Nail them to the walls of the temple warehouse. Gather all the slain soldiers and guards here in front of the mausoleum.”

Breskaro whistled and Nightsoul charged down the hill. Esha stood beside him, watching the massacre.

“This isn’t the sort of thing you should see, little one.”

She shrugged. “It’s got to be done, right? And they deserve it, don’t they?”

Breskaro wouldn’t meet her eyes. “It needs doing
for me
. And for Mûlkra.”

“I don’t like the dead soldiers. They’re creepy.”

“And I’m not?”

“No, because you are
you
. I like you, master. The soldiers, they aren’t themselves. It ain’t right. It ain’t natural.”

Chapter 30

Kedimius, Ilsimia, and the twenty men accompanying them, from Sir Fortrenzi’s estate, rode as fast as their horses could take them once they saw the glow on the horizon and smelled burning wood, and burning flesh. Eventually, the cries of the dying reached them. Tracking Breskaro hadn’t been easy, and his company seemed to move impossibly fast over difficult terrain.

It was an hour before dawn when they crested a hill and looked down upon a town and a temple engulfed in flames. Only the mausoleum and the warehouse behind it stood unmolested. A trail of refugees streamed away from Iori in the opposite direction from Kedimius and Ilsimia. 

A small army was donning armor and mounting horses, following the orders of Breskaro who was walking along a row of fallen soldiers. A faint light was emanating from his hands as he hunched over the corpses.

“Do you see that glow?” Kedimius asked.

Ilsimia nodded. “There must be a hundred and twenty with him.”

“Aye,” said Kedimius. “But where did they come from?”

“I don’t know, but there’s something not right about them. The way some of them move, it’s like the two in—”

Kedimius and Ilsimia looked at each other, their eyes wide with fear, their expressions frozen. When they looked back, they saw a man on horseback raise a banner. The old, original standard of the Valiants. A banner everyone had thought was lost. It was said that all who rode in the company of that banner were blessed by Seshalla and given greater might in arms.

“Goddess save us,” Kedimius whispered. His voice and hands trembled. “Save us from this evil.”

The men with them stirred and looked as if they were ready to flee.

“We can’t take them on,” said Ilsimia. “We’re far outnumbered. And Breskaro is not as wounded as we thought, or else he is recovered. We should ride as fast as possible to Issaly and notify the Matriarch.”

“Wait,” he said. He dug through his pack and pulled out a clean linen shirt. He took a lance from one of the soldiers and tied the shirt to it. “I’m going down there.”

“Why?” Ilsimia asked.

“To find out what he’s doing.”

“Ked, this is crazy. He’ll kill you. He’s not your mentor anymore. He’s a monster, an abomination ... and your enemy.”

“He didn’t try to kill me before. And I think he’ll do the same here if I go in peace. The risk is worth it if I can figure out what he wants. Maybe convince him to turn away from this madness.”

She put a hand on his arm. Her eyes were swelling with tears. “You’re going down there to find out about
her
, aren’t you?”

He kissed her lightly on the cheek. “I love you. I’ll be back soon.”

As he rode away, Ilsimia murmured to herself: “You could be a hero of your own, Ked, a man without equal, if you could break away from that cursed man and his daughter. The mere memory of them poisons you.”

~~~

“Lone rider coming toward us, my lord!” Amrasi shouted mechanically. “Carrying a white flag.”

“Should I take him out, master?” said Esha. 

“It’s Kedimius. I’ll deal with him.”

“Could be a trap,” said Larekal.

Breskaro flicked Nightsoul’s reins. “Come with me, Captain Amrasi. Esha, sneak out and cover me in case that priestess of his tries something.”

Breskaro rode out and met Kedimius. They drew rein a dozen paces away from one another. With wide eyes, Kedimius looked at Captain Amrasi. 

“M-Master, we must speak.” He nodded at Amrasi. “It — It is good to see you ... again, Captain.”

“I know you not,” said Amrasi dully.

“The Valiants have no memory of their former selves,” said Breskaro. “They are like me and yet not like me. Their souls are in Torment or Paradise. Oblivion. I have no idea, but they’re not here. What you see is instincts, base nature, and ingrained skills from life.”

“Master, why are you doing this?”

“I have told you already. To save Orisala.”

“She lives? She truly lives? Is she ... Is she like you?”

“She’s not undead. But she is in dire need. Only I can save her. You
could
help me though.”

“You know I’d do
anything
to help Orisala. Anything save this
evil
.” He pointed at the carnage and fires in this distance. “This is not the way.”

“This is what I must do. It’s the
only
way. To save Orisala, I must serve Harmulkot and save Mûlkra.”

“
The dark goddess
!” Kedimius cried. “Have you lost all sense of honor? Of decency?”

“Yes, I have. I came from death to save Orisala. I would do
anything
to save her from the fate she is in now. I would expect you to do the same.”

“You can kill priestesses and burn shrines, but to what end? You can’t stop the Fourth Crusade from starting. You can’t defeat the Imperial Army. Their numbers will be many. Your numbers are few.”

Breskaro laughed with a voice that was like dirt thrown on a grave. “My numbers will grow and I refuse to fail. Come with me. Join me and help save Orisala.”

“Master Breskaro, there
has
to be another way to—”

“Are you with me? Yes or no?”

“Master, I can’t—”

“Then go, Kedimius. Just go.” Breskaro shook his head. His eyes dimmed. “I don’t want to kill you. I don’t want to see you die because of all this. The service of Seshalla is only a waste of your life anyway. Flee this land. Take your priestess bitch and make a new life for yourself. Ride out east to Hareez or west to the Kingdoms of Rust.”

Breskaro wheeled Nightsoul around. “When next I see Orisala,” he growled, “I will tell her that you chose another. That the love you once shared is gone.”

Breskaro rode off, Amrasi in his wake.

Kedimius stared after them, wringing the reins of his horse. He said a prayer to Seshalla but his voice faltered and the words died halfway through the second verse. He whispered Orisala’s name and blinked back tears. Then he returned to Ilsimia.

“We must race back to Issaly and report to the Matriarch,” said Ilsimia. “We cannot waste any time.”

“What?” Kedimius replied, staring off in the distance. “Oh … yes. We must meet with her as soon as we can. And we must take General Togisi with us.”

Chapter 31

The Grand High Temple of Seshalla, heart of the Issalian Empire, towered above the clay-tiled rooftops of Issaly: a dome of gleaming marble adorned with twisting minarets, countless statues, and banners of white trimmed with crimson. It was so massive that clouds would form inside at the ceiling, and rain would sometimes fall. From the center inside, a platform bearing a throne of oak and gold would rise up from below, as if birthed from a womb. The platform rotated throughout services. From here the Matriarch, Most High Priestess of Seshalla, preached to the faithful. Since the Matriarch was also the head of the Empire, she held public audiences here as well, with the private ones held in chambers below the main floor of the dome. 

Today the Matriarch had denied the ranks of tedious courtiers, civil servants, and powerless senators a chance for an audience. She had a more important matter to deal with, the instruction of her new heir, the old one having been
dismissed
the night before. 

The Matriarch was a thin woman of sixty years with white hair, a broad nose, and an unusually pale complexion. Thin except for her large belly. Doctrine said that she was eternally pregnant with the spirit of the Goddess, as all her predecessors had been. 

She was the greatest Matriarch of the last century. Her rule had seen a resurgence of faith and prosperity, crusades and victory. She had embraced the military and the clergy, the merchants and the peasants. She had won many hearts and kept knights and noblemen focused on conquering the pagans that surrounded their homeland. 

Her newly chosen successor, a seventeen-year-old priestess named Llia knelt before her and took the sacred
Oath of the Maiden
, confirming that she would be the next Matriarch in line. Llia spoke the words with calm authority and precise annunciation, exactly as the current Matriarch had when taking the oath. Llia, like her predecessor, had been groomed and carefully selected.