Dawn of Swords (64 page)

“What are you talking about?” asked Thessaly.

“My daughter!” he screamed. “My daughter was manipulated by devious forces that wished to wrong my family through
her innocence
. My entire purpose for returning to Veldaren was to clear her name, to free her from a fate worse than death, and now that I have been found worthy of life, I decree that she has been, as well!”

“Well, I.…” Soleh began.

She was cut off when Clovis began to laugh, a deeply resounding, almost maniacal cackle that echoed throughout the cavernous chamber.

“Her innocence is not yours to decree,” he said, venom seeping out with every word he spoke. “Karak’s law is true, his law is final, and you yourself carried out the verdict against her. Your god is infallible,
Lord Commander
. Are you claiming otherwise?”

“No!” shouted Vulfram defiantly. “I am saying that
men
interpret the laws of our divine deity, and men
are
fallible! My daughter is but a child.” The words were like knives as they left his mouth. He wished he could scale the smooth stone and strangle Clovis where he stood.

Clovis shook his head. “So foolish, Vulfram. So vain and foolish.” He then stepped around Thessaly and approached the two Sisters.
The one closest bowed and backed away, and he placed his hands on the second one, moving her to an open area of the platform not blocked by the sandstone balustrade. His fingers laced around a piece of wrapping that dangled from the side of the Sister’s face, and slowly Clovis began to unwind it. The wrappings peeled off like petals from a rose, gradually revealing the face hidden beneath.

Vulfram gasped. His heart leapt into his throat.

It was Lyana up there, her eyes wide and glassy, the hair shaved from her head. Her face was expressionless, her jaw rigid, even as Clovis removed the cloak from her shoulders, even as he unwound the coverings from her chest, her midsection, her hips. It all fell to the ground like the molting skin of a snake, until his daughter stood naked before him, her youthful body firm but scarred at the sides—the marks of the whipping Vulfram had given her on that fateful day. She did not move. She did not speak. For all he could tell, she did not breathe. She simply stood there as if in a trance, staring out into space, gazing over and beyond him.

“No,” Vulfram moaned. “Oh, Lyana, no.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard his mother shriek.

“This is the child you so seek to reclaim,” Clovis said, taunting him by peeking over her shoulder and leering downward at her supple breasts. “This child who sinned knowingly against her god, who broke the most sacred of laws, all to keep her name from being sullied.”

Vulfram shook his head in defiance.

“Oh, but it is true,” said Clovis. “The girl admits it herself.”

“She does not!”

Clovis waved a hand in front of Lyana’s face. Her eyes did not even blink.

“Go ahead, Sister,” he said to her, his voice just loud enough for Vulfram to hear. “Tell us why you have entered the order.”

“I have sinned against my god,” she said, and Vulfram’s whole body quaked. Her voice didn’t sound like her own any longer, as
if some strange, emotionless being had crawled into her skin and taken over. “It is my life’s regret, one that I will spend the remainder of my days attempting to absolve. The child that was inside me deserved life, and I denied it that life. This is a fate I accept willingly, and as such I have given up my name forever. I am only Sister now, and Sister is all I will ever be.”

“NO!”
wailed Vulfram, falling to his knees in the dirt.

“You see, it is done,” Clovis said as he removed his cloak and covered Lyana—or the impassive being Lyana had become. “There is no innocence for you to prove, for the Sister has freely admitted to her wrongdoing. Her life is what it is now, one that belongs to her god and whoever wishes to purchase her services.” Before he wrapped the cloak around her entirely, he reached over and pinched one of Lyana’s nipples between his thumb and forefinger. Lyana winced slightly, but remained otherwise motionless. “And to be honest, after seeing what she has to offer, I might be the first to do just that. Gold may not be able to buy happiness, but it can buy a few hours of contentment.”

“You bastard!” Vulfram heard his mother proclaim, but he didn’t look at her. His eyes were locked on the show that was playing out for him, to taunt him, to
toy
with him.

And in that moment, he knew it had been Clovis all along.

“Fuck you!” Vulfram screamed. His trance broke and he charged the wall of stone, beat his fists into it. He broke a bone in his right wrist as it slammed against the rock-hard surface, one to match the broken bone in his left hand, but his rage was so complete, pumping through his veins so strongly, that he hardly noticed.

Glancing up, his eyes met Captain Gregorian’s. The man’s expression was queerly conflicted but hard, which made Vulfram all the angrier. None of them would listen to him. Not that bastard Clovis, not Gregorian, not his mother, who was leaning against the balustrade weeping, while his supposed murder weapon dangled from her fingers, and certainly not his brainwashed daughter and
her handler. Not even his god would hear him out, it seemed. His god. His god.…

He backed away from the wall, kicking it for good measure, and ran toward the gate.

“Karak!” he bellowed, desperately seeking out those glowing eyes in the darkness. “Karak, why have you done this?” He slammed into the bars. When he saw the figure of the deity lurking in the back, he reached his ruined hands through the gap. His fury turned to sorrow, and he began weeping. “Why have you forsaken me, my Lord?” he cried. “Why…have you…
FORSAKEN ME?
”

He spit through the bars, and those glowing eyes flickered. From behind him came the roar of a lion, followed by another, then the sound of thudding paws. That was when the cacophony of pain began. Teeth bore into Vulfram’s sides, his neck, his thighs. He was ripped backward, his elbow catching on the bars on its way through, shattering his forearm. Lilah threw him to the ground with a thud, her jaws clenched tightly around his midsection. One of her massive paws raked down his shoulder, the claws shredding his flesh, and try as he might to beat her off with his flopping, useless arm, it was no use. Kayne leapt in front of him, swiping at him so powerfully that he severed the broken arm that Vulfram held up to defend himself. Blood erupted in a geyser from the stump, splashing the ground, the lions, his face, everything. In the distance, his mother’s screams were unending.

Vulfram felt a moment of agony, then nothing, as he watched himself being devoured by two beasts that he had called brother and sister. It was as if the part of his mind that allowed him to feel pain had been shut off, replaced with a hollow sensation that was almost blissful in its emptiness. When Lilah lifted her head, a tangle of his dripping intestines dangling from her maw, he felt not fear or loathing, but an all-encompassing love. He tried to tell her that, to whisper how much he adored everyone in that room, even Clovis and Gregorian. But Kayne’s jaws clamped down around his neck,
tearing out his throat, ending his words a second before they came out, and his life a moment later.

Soleh watched in horror as her son was devoured by the Final Judges. Her gullet was in agony from shrieking, and her pulse throbbed in her temples. She felt like she might die herself at any moment. She didn’t want to keep watching as Kayne and Lilah tore into Vulfram’s midsection, lapping up his blood as if he were just some common blasphemer and not a man who had been raised alongside them, but she could not tear her gaze away. Her shock locked her in place, and she watched helplessly as Karak appeared, stepping through the Arena’s gate, shooing the lions away. The Judges skulked off, licking blood from their chops, while Karak knelt over her son’s unmoving body. For a moment she thought she was imagining his presence, for he looked distraught, disbelieving, and she had never seen him this way before.

She caught movement from the corner of her eye and looked up. It was Clovis, guiding the two Sisters—one of whom was Soleh’s
granddaughter
—toward the stairs leading out of the Arena. The sight of the man, and the memory of how he had taunted Vulfram into his eventual death, destroyed the last shreds of her sanity. She glanced at her hand, which still held the strangely familiar, blood-soaked blade that had been used to murder the young lovers. She gripped the handle tight, felt its killing weight.
Vulfram will never hold his daughter again
, she thought.
He will never see his wife. He will never again stand proud by my side.
These thoughts darted through her mind, swirling the cocktail of sorrow and rage that was quickly building up inside her.

A savage roar left Soleh’s throat, and she brought up the knife and ran. The Highest turned at the last moment, his eyes bulging in surprise at the sight of her. She saw her reflection in them for
the briefest of moments; she looked like a demon from the Abyss, her mouth hanging open, her hair like writhing snakes, her flesh stretched and pale. Clovis brought his hand up, trying to push her away, but she had surprise on her side. She barreled into him with her shoulder, driving him backward while the two sisters scampered out of sight.

“You did this!” she shrieked. “You killed him!”

Voices shouted at her, from beside her and from below, but she ignored them. She thrust the knife at Clovis, the first time she had done any such thing in all her life. The Highest was much stronger than her, and he was able to knock her strike off target. But the weapon found purchase in his flesh nevertheless, the ultra-sharp blade sliding through his black leathers and piercing his side. Clovis let out a scream of pain and thrashed, knocking her away. He pulled the knife free of his side, which spurted blood.

The Highest collapsed, frantically kicking himself across the floor while staring at the blood that covered his hand. He tried to draw his own dagger, but its hilt caught in his belt. Soleh, her mind white-hot with fury, charged once more, knife raised above her head with both hands, ready to plunge it directly into the murdering bastard’s heart.

Hands grabbed her from behind, spinning her around. She reacted on instinct, swiping out with the blade, bent on death. Her attacker slid to the side, the faintest glimpse of four diagonal scars flashing before her vision. That was when Soleh felt a great pressure in her midsection, a tugging sensation that gradually worked its way beneath her ribcage. A sound like tearing parchment reached her ears and she grew dizzy. She glanced down to see Captain Gregorian crouched below her, arm stretched out, his shortsword deep inside her lower torso. The man was clearly dismayed. Her dizziness grew and she stumbled forward, driving the sword even deeper beneath her ribs, ever closer to her heart.

The last thing she heard before she collapsed, and her eyes closed forever, was the sound of her god screaming.

The sound was loud enough to shatter the fabric of reality. Clovis held his head, trying to block it out while attempting to stem the flow of blood that leaked from his side. He watched as Soleh slid down on Captain Gregorian’s sword until its tip exited her back with a plop. The bloody knife fell from her hand, clattering to the floor. The screaming from below abruptly stopped.

Captain Gregorian hefted to the side, removing Soleh from his blade. Her body flopped to the ground, her head teetering for a moment before falling still. The Captain stood over her, his agonized expression making Clovis quite nervous. Not wanting to think too much about what it might mean, Clovis forced himself to sit up and then stole a glance toward the balustrade, trying to catch the eye of his god. He saw nothing through the sandstone slats, only the bumpy rise of the Judges’ cages of rock and steel.

“Captain, bring her to me,” he heard Karak say. The god’s voice hitched, suffused with sorrow.

“Yes, my Lord,” replied Malcolm. Then the Captain closed Soleh’s sightless eyes, gently kissed her forehead, and lifted her dead weight over his shoulder. He did so with great ease, as if the Minister of Justice were but a child. He left the platform with thudding footsteps.