David Dalglish - Blood Of Gods

“Has it begun?” Ahaesarus asked.

“It has,” said Howard, gesturing to the huts that rested where the storehouses once were.

Down below, people were exiting their crude shelters and trembling against the night’s cold. Three men worked their way around each chalet, alerting those inside that their grim duties were about to begin. He also spotted a group of Wardens, including Judarius, marching across the frozen land, heading for the darkened area of festering death. Confusion abounded among them; what Ashhur had ordered them to do this night was unusual to say the least.

“Did you get what you needed inside?” Howard asked.

“I did.” Reaching beneath his cloak, Ahaesarus removed a clay jar filled with a salve Azariah had made for him. “Smear it on your hands. It should protect you from any sickness you touch. A little bit beneath your nose will also help with the odor.”

Howard cocked his head. “You wish me to join you?”

“Of course. We all must do our part,” Ahaesarus said, and he pointedly stared at King Benjamin when he spoke.

Howard turned to Benjamin. “Go to bed, boy.” And Benjamin did, casting a nervous glance in Ahaesarus’s direction on his way out. Once he was gone, Howard relaxed.

“I’m tired of playing nursemaid to such a brat,” he said. “Thank you for the invite. Getting my hands dirty will alleviate my frustrations.”

“I thought you enjoyed being his mentor now that Isabel is no longer. . a viable option.”

To that, Howard let out a humorless laugh. “Isabel had her claws in him for over a year. Making the boy unlearn what she taught him will take time and energy, and I doubt I will have enough of either before entering my grave.”

Hearing Howard speak so surprised Ahaesarus to no end. The man had been the house steward for more than twenty years. He assumed if any would be on her side, it would be Howard.

“Sir Howard, what of Isabel?” he asked, hoping to draw more out of the man. “I have not seen her since Ashhur banished her to her room.”

He shrugged. “Who cares? The bitch and her husband can rot in their bed, for all I care.” His gaze shifted up, staring into Ahaesarus’s eyes. “And please, never call me ‘Sir.’ I loathe that title.”

Ahaesarus was taken aback. “I thought it was what you wished to be called?”

Again Howard laughed. “Absolutely not. That was Isabel’s doing. She was the one obsessed with the Wardens’ stories of knights and honor and centuries of glory. I asked her once if we should perhaps take up jousting, for entertainment. In my youth, my friends and I would pretend to be the knights from those stories.” His lips bent into a frown. “When she heard that, she laughed. ‘Does Howard think he’s a knight?’ she asked. I’m a steward, as my father was before me. A servant in her eyes, and obviously those of our brat king as well. Servants aren’t warriors. She made sure to remind me of that daily.”

Ahaesarus placed his hand on the man’s arm. “I am sorry, Howard. I never knew.”

“You never asked,” Howard said, shrugging off the hand.

The Master Warden and Howard descended the high hill, falling in behind the ninety-six men who had been awakened. By the time they arrived at the corpse pit, Judarius and his fellow Wardens had removed the long boards that formed a ramp leading up to the top. Within, bodies were stacked atop bodies, some fully intact, some missing an arm, a leg, even a head. The men lined up as Ahaesarus placed a glob of Azariah’s salve in each of their hands. Their collective misting breath formed a cloud above them.

“Why are we doing this?” asked one of the men.

“Because Ashhur requested it of us,” Ahaesarus replied.

“But why ?”

“Do not question, just do ,” the Master Warden said. He turned to Judarius, nodded. “Break open the wall.”

Judarius lifted a great maul he’d had custom built over the past month, solid wood with an enormous steel head. Walking over to a wall of the pit, he braced himself, swung, and smashed it in, exposing the piles of the dead. Another swing and the hole grew, granting them a wider entrance. The men slowly surged forward, clearing out the smaller pieces of rock, unblocking their path, and then they began the work Ashhur requested.

In teams of two, they wrestled bodies from the pile and carted them to the wide empty area in front of the bunker. The corpses were stiff, the bloat all but gone, and their flesh felt slick. Ahaesarus was beyond thankful for the cold, for it had kept the bodies from reaching a far more grotesque state of decay. Removing them from the carts, the men placed them on their backs, shoulder to shoulder in the snow. Ahaesarus worked with Howard, and was impressed by the man’s resolve. He would always look at the face of the man or woman they carried, offering a softly worded prayer before lifting the legs while Ahaesarus took the arms. Never once did he grow green from disgust, nor did he panic or dump the contents of his stomach on the ground, as many of the others did. He remained stalwart and tough, a pillar of strength among much weaker men. Though there was silence between them as they worked, the Master Warden’s opinion of Howard grew.

For five hours they toiled, hauling corpse after corpse out of the pen and placing them in three rows in front of the protective bunker. During the last hour Ashhur descended the wall, joining in with his children, lugging eight cadavers at a time. The god remained quiet, a downtrodden look on his face, which greatly concerned Ahaesarus.

They finished as the sun was climbing the eastern horizon, sending shoots of yellow and crimson above the walls. Howard’s shoulders were slumped, though his eyes were still alive with determination. Judarius led the Wardens to the low wall surrounding the area where the corpses had previously resided, while the rest of the workers began trudging back to their families, with heads hanging. It was only at Ahaesarus’s prodding that Howard joined them.

“Get some rest.”

Howard sighed. “I will. And Master Warden. . you have my thanks.”

“And you mine.”

Before he could leave, Ahaesarus reached out and grabbed him by the shoulder, holding him still.

“Howard. . do not lose hope, and do not diminish your own worth. With you at the king’s side, there is still a chance he could grow to be as fine a man as you are. Our kingdom would be blessed by such a fate.”

The Master Steward hesitated, and then he smiled.

“Blessed indeed,” he said, and then began the tiresome climb up the icy hill to Manse DuTaureau. Ahaesarus felt as tired as Howard looked, but he knew he should join his fellow Wardens in dismantling the rest of the low wall.

“Howard is a good man,” said a powerful voice from behind him. “Only I fear he wrestles a darkness within him.”

Ahaesarus turned around. Ashhur stood there, his long golden hair fluttering in the cold breeze. Brown blood and sticky yellow fluid tarnished his white robes, staining the image of the mountain on his chest.

“Then he is no different from all others who walk this land,” Ahaesarus said. He pointed at the corpses. “Even you, your Grace.”

His words sounded harsher than he meant, but before he could apologize, Ashhur sadly shook his head.

“I fear you are right, my friend. My children think our enemies evil men, but the works of evil men are cracked and small and easily seen. It is when a good man succumbs that the earth truly trembles.”

Ahaesarus frowned.

“My lord. . what is wrong? Has something happened?”

Ashhur ran a hand through his golden hair. “Bardiya has been broken. His soul cries out to me in anguish, in hatred, in self-loathing.”