Hammers in the Wind (19 page)

Dorl Theed thought for a moment. “I want to know that we are doing this for the right reasons.”

“Those being?”

“I don’t know yet.”

Nothol edged his horse forward. “Now who’s infuriating?”

Dorl rode on ahead, eager to escape the inevitable argument. He often figured this was the real reason he’d never taken a wife. He hated arguments and was hardheaded enough to start a fight every day. Besides, he preferred the freedom of being a sell sword. The term “mercenary” was much too severe for his tastes. He was a simple man with simple tastes. He loved cold ale, warm women, and the opportunity to test his skills against a worthy opponent. Dorl decided to take the rest of the winter off and head south. With or without Nothol.

They’d worked together for the better part of a decade. Their meeting was accidental. Two men hired by the same man to do the same job in the event one failed. They were secretly instructed to kill each other upon completion of their task. After an in-depth conversation the pair turned on their employer and ensured he’d never stab another in the back. The bond they formed since then was unshakable. Both knew the other had his back in a bind, in good times and bad. Dorl Theed considered this a bad time. He silently made up his mind to confront Bahr once they rejoined. He needed answers.

Badron stirred awake with a feeling of dread. His bed chamber was cold, almost to the point of freezing. He squinted at the fire, the burning embers gently cackling. He shivered. It felt as if the fire had never been lit. The king was more concerned than angry. He shuffled out from the covers and donned a thick bear skin cloak. Then he noticed the sweat on his forehead. Ill suspicions formed in the dark corners of his mind. Nothing was right. Badron went for his sword, all the while wondering if this was but a dream.

He froze in midstride. The shadows behind his wardrobe were darker than normal, more malevolent. His eyes had to be playing tricks. For a moment he thought he saw one of the shadows move. His heart beat faster, louder.

“You have no need of that sword with us, King.”

The voice was cold and raspy, capable of inspiring his deepest nightmares. Badron stumbled backwards. He tripped over a stool.

“Relax your mind, King. We only wish an audience.”

The shadows split. Two distinct forms emerged from the darkness. Both were human in shape though he believed them demons from the pits. Pale eyes glared out to him. They twisted his stomach.

A vicious laugh, the sound of a blade slicing meat mocked him.

“No. This is no dream. We are very much real.”

Badron fought back a whimper and summoned what courage remained.

“He whimpers as a frightened child. He is not the one,” rasped the second figure. “We should kill him now and find another. He is not strong enough.”

Badron’s mind screamed.
I don’t want to die!

“The masters have chosen him. There is no time to find another.”

Warm urine ran down his leg. Badron recognized the servants of death come to collect his soul. The gods had finally abandoned him to torment and despair.

“King, I would have you sit and listen, for we come on urgent business that must be concluded with you. Will you hear us out?”

There was urgency in the fell voice, an almost desperate need to fulfill some suppressed desire. Badron found the end of a glimmer of hope.

“Hope. Yes, there is much to hope for. For all of us,” the shadow rasped.

How can these devils know my mind?
Badron slumped onto the stool and found the will to speak. His words were weak, shaky. “Wh…what is it you want from me? Who are you?”

The larger shadow eased, almost glided, closer. “Ah, the king has a tongue after all.”

“Yet it lacks strength. There is no fire in his soul,” said the second.

The shadow turned his pale eyes on Badron. “He is what we are required to… recruit.”

“Recruit?” Badron asked.

The second shadow ignored him. “He is but a shell of flesh. The soul is dead. As he should be.”

“You forget your place, Kodan Bak. I am the voice of the masters.”

Kodan Bak shrank back. “As you say.”

Their argument bolstered Badron’s confidence. His heart slowed. His eyes ceased to wander nervously. It was time to learn more of these beings while he had the chance. He might yet be able to meet the dawn with his life.

“Yes, recruit. Have you ever paused to wonder where the darkness in your heart, the blackness of your soul comes from? Why events happened as they did in your life?”

“Yes,” he found himself stuttering back.

“Perhaps we can give you answers. We hold the truths to certain….secrets.”

Badron frowned. “Secrets? You speak in riddles.”

“Finish him now before he becomes a greater liability,” Kodan Bak hissed.

Shadows swirled around him in suggestive anger. Amar Kit’han was more dismissive of the building threat to Badron’s life. It was that subtle confidence that sapped the warmth from the king’s veins. He’d never been more afraid in his life.

“Unfortunately such is a character flaw amongst our kind,” Amar almost apologized. “Consider it a price for immortality, or servitude.”

“What are you trying to recruit me for?”

“Your wife died in childbirth, an event you have reduced your daughter into tones of hatred.”

Kodan Bak added, “Were she to die tonight not a tear would be shed.”

“Indeed. The horrors in your dreams would lessen. Perhaps assuage the guilt over the death of your son as well.”

“Murder is more appropriate,” Kodan corrected.

Badron easily became confused as they continued their game. His heart ached, but from love or the urge for revenge he wasn’t sure.

“My son was everything to me after Rialla’s death,” he whispered.

“The fallen prince. Your dreams center on vengeance for blood spilled.”

His eyes narrowed. “You know more than you should of the goings-on of my household. You speak with forked tongue while I do not even know what you are.”

A laugh. It was a most horrible sound. “That is the limit of your request? A name?”

“Sorrows are often the definition of the man. This one knows great pain. It would be well in our interests to release him. Very well, King. A name. Though I caution you, names hold power. I am Amar Kit’han.”

The shadows swirled, parting just enough for Badron to glimpse his confronter. Amar Kit’han had skin the sickest shade of grey, almost pale in its vileness. He had no lips or eyebrows. It was like looking into death’s grim face. He could see the bones pressed against what little flesh remained. Badron wanted to run, for there was terror in those pale eyes.

“Perhaps you now understand a little more of our nature,” Amar suggested as the shadows concealed him again. “I sense you have more questions aching to be answered. By all means ask. I would not keep you from knowing the true depths of your soul.”

“What manner of demon are you?” Badron asked.

The shadow rippled. “Demon? We are anything but. There is no vested interest in your prolonged suffering. Rather the opposite. I offer you the chance of a lifetime. End this pointless agony and rise above your fathers. Take the opportunity the gods have decided to give you.”

“The gods have long gone and whatever potential I had was squandered with the end of my bloodline. Do not think I am ignorant to the venom in your words. You seek to entice me with lofty dreams while you have yet to answer my questions.”

Amar Kit’han held out his robed arms. “I was mortal once, just as you. Young and naïve as you are now. In fact, my story is much the same. I too lost everyone I loved and, for a time, wallowed selfishly in my own regret. I was lost and did not know which way to turn. I contemplated suicide. Then my masters found me and offered mercy to my pain. I became a new man; youthful and invigorated with new purpose. That is all I wanted.”

Badron caught himself fanning the briefest flicker of a new dream. The dawn flared hotly in his imagination’s eye. He stood upon the break of the wave as it drowned his enemies all in the name of holy vengeance. Rogscroft would be the beginning of his ascendency to the throne of the world. Badron the Invincible they would call him. Every citizen of that wretched town would be a slave to his whim. Stelskor and his kin would be wiped from the memory of Malweir.

Amar Kit’han flashed a fanged smile deep within the comforting shadows. “You begin to see the truth of my words.”

“Yes,” came Badron’s whispered reply.

Kodan Bak remained unimpressed. “He is not what our masters seek. He does not have the strength to become one of us. There is weakness in his heart.”

“Us? There are more of you?” Badron suddenly asked.

“We were once a large order, close to becoming an empire. But that was long ago. Time has been unkind to us.”

Badron felt the veil of fear slowly dissolving. He had no desire to become one of these hideous manifestations, whatever they were, but saw there was opportunity here. A chance to fulfill the dreams once set for his son. He smiled. Anything to keep his legacy alive. Badron found new strength and rose. The greater part of his mind begged caution, but that voice was strained, distant. Curiosity edged closer. He had to know more. Desire tickled his veins.

The subtle transformation did not go unnoticed. Amar Kit’han watched with rapt fascination. He was amused at how easily the king had fallen under the sway of their arguments. To be fair, the outcome was never in doubt. Aging men like Badron tended to do anything to hold on to power for one more sunset. All it took was the proper sort of manipulation.

“All we ask is for a little of your time,” Amar pressed.

“Time?” Badron asked skeptically. “What is time to a self-described immortal? I would think you immune to its trappings.”

“We suffer from certain… limitations.”

“Kill him now, Amar. Be done with this sad waste of flesh,” Kodan bit. His patience was expired.

Amar Kit’han spun on him. The shadows swirled fiercely around him. Violent energy played dangerously off of the walls, chipping paint and spreading cracks through the structure. Badron was forced to steady himself as the two ethereal monsters readied to battle. “Speak again and it will not be pretty.”

Kodan Bak withdrew deeper into his shadows and retreated to the corner of the room. A low animal growl accompanied the glare of pale eyes.

Amar returned his attention to Badron. “The time has come for your decision. My masters need your answer.”

Badron thought long. There were far too many variables for him to comprehend being put on the spot like this. His mind swirled. All his life he’d believed fate held something special for him. Was this to be the catalyst? The king swallowed hard, his decision made.

“You speak of time. Time involves action. What is it you expect of me?” he asked.

“Only what you already desire. Attack the kingdom of Rogscroft. Raze the very walls to the ground,” Amar replied smoothly. The Dae’shan drank in the power of the words. They were intoxicating, addictive.

Badron fought back a derisive snort. “There must be more. I am no fool.”

“Indeed there is. It involved the men you sent to bring back your daughter.”

“My daughter? She is nothing to me, a liability perhaps but no more. Those men are expendable.”

“None the less, they pose a danger to your success. Among them is an agent who would bring about your ruin. Your brother incites them to rebellion.”

Brother. Badron’s heart lurched. There seemed no secret these devils could not discover. He began to find the truth in Kit’han’s words. Sudden anger twisted his thoughts. Bahr. Why was that man such a nuisance? Badron decided it was long past time he dealt with his meddlesome brother. Amar Kit’han offered the means.

“What do you suggest I do?” he asked.

Amar smiled unseen. Thin tendrils swirled around the Dae’shan in tender embrace. “Detain them under the auspice of being traitors. Use it as a further cause for war. Execute them publicly and you will cement the validity of your actions.”

The king shook his head. “Surely not all are traitors. Lord Harnin recruited them himself.”

“Think clearly, King. Your brother has had weeks to subvert their minds. More than enough time to twist their thoughts until no shred of loyalty remains. Not one of them can be trusted.”

Badron rubbed his chin thoughtfully. The future was his. He only needed to play it right to reap the benefits. Everything lay with Bahr. He regretted not killing his brother years ago.

“How can I contact you again?” he asked.

“One of our Order will find you when the time is right.”

He snorted again. “I take no comfort in your secrecy. How many are there of your kind?”

“Four, king of Delranan. Just four.”

The shadows thickened and Badron suddenly found himself alone.

“Will he obey?” Kodan Bak asked before Amar had finished materializing from the darkness.

“I can foresee no reason otherwise. Damaged souls are always the easiest to manipulate.” He paused. “You did well. He believes there to be division between us. That will drive him closer to our masters’ will.”

Kodan bowed. “I live to obey.”

Amar Kit’han stared back at Chadra Keep. “We must move quickly. There is much to be done if King Badron is to be convinced properly.”

“King,” Kodan spat. “These mortals cling to lofty titles well beyond their station. It is pathetic. We waste our time with them.”

“The masters will end humanity’s lethargy once they are freed.”

“Much depends on this one man. Such tactics have been done before and have all failed. This is a dangerous game you have begun.”

Amar agreed. “We are naught but the playthings of the gods in the end. It is they who decide fate, not us.”

They walked on in silence, carefully avoiding a patrol or group of drunken townsfolk. Dark dreams haunted their every step. Some called them damned, others cursed. Neither living nor dead, the Dae’shan did as they always had. They scoured Malweir at their masters’ bidding.

“What is our next move?” Kodan Bak asked.

“To Thrae. It is time to incite the Goblins to go to war.”

“Against whom?” he asked.

Amar Kit’han enjoyed the fire of rage in his eyes. “The entire northern region. Only then will the masters be strong enough to break free.”