James West - The God King

Varis pointed to the doorway. “Your people, Lord Marshal, are not the first to have their very lives drained from their flesh by this treacherous devil, and they certainly will not be the last. This man, along with those who follow him now, and those who will surely follow him later, must be destroyed. An army must be assembled and marched to Ammathor, for this man thinks to begin his conquest of the world by usurping the Ivory Throne. Though an army may not be enough to stop him, I would forewarn Ammathor, rather than let the city of my birth be taken completely unawares, as have been the people of Krevar.”

“Your protector ,” Otaker asked, “he is one of the House Guard?”

Varis shook his head. “No. The man is Kian Valara, an Izutarian mercenary leading a complement of Asra a’Shah hirelings.”

Before Otaker could respond, the prince explained: “With open rebellion more frequent than ever in Aradan, and the danger of Tureecian raiders increasing with every season, as well as the ever-present threat of the marauding Bashye, I wrongly chose men who I believed would be absolutely loyal to the gold I paid them, if not to myself. As it happened, Kian used my outing as a cover for his own diabolical ends. How long he has planned this, or why he needed me along, I cannot say.”

Uzzret abruptly coughed to gain everyone’s attention. “Perhaps this traitorous bastard intended to use you as a ransom?” he suggested, all but panting in his eagerness to provide an answer for Varis.

To Ellonlef, if no one else, the prince’s entire story sounded contrived. There could be some measure of truth in Varis’s words, but it struck her that despite all his professing ignorance, at the same time he seemed to know far more about the intricacies of what was happening than someone who had supposedly been surprised by a mercenary’s actions, and the ensuing results. As a Sister of Najihar, she was well-trained in looking for truths hidden amongst clever lies. While she could not put a finger on exactly what Varis’s secrets were, she knew they were there, and she knew Varis was lying to hide some greater, perhaps damning, truth.

“You may be correct, Magus,” Varis said with a dismissive shrug.

Uzzret bowed graciously, eagerly, as if Varis had bestowed upon him lands and titles. “You are too kind to your humble servant, Your Highness.” He took that moment to glance furtively between Ellonlef and Otaker. “Without you here to lead us, I fear that Krevar would have soon vanished under the shifting sands of the Kaliayth.”

The thinly-veiled slight had no apparent effect on Otaker, but Ellonlef felt rage growing in her heart, tempered only by pity. Uzzret was like a drowning man, searching for any hope, no matter how thin, so that he could escape certain death. It was not death by water that he fought against, Ellonlef knew, but a crushing wave of insanity. Too many tragedies had befallen Krevar over the last few days, and now a plague that was supposedly not a plague but rather the work of a man wielding the powers of gods, was simply too much for Uzzret to contend with. How many others were fighting the same battle, Ellonlef wondered, and what foolishness would those distraught minds gravitate towards, in order to save themselves?

Otaker said, “I have heard of this mercenary, and those reports never suggested he might be capable of such treachery. Izutarians, for all their reckless nature and uncouth ways, are heralded as men of both valor and honor. And, as you know, Your Highness, many serve with distinction in Aradan’s legions.”

Ellonlef sighed with relief. Though grieving, Otaker had not completely lost his wits to remorse. He was bringing to light ideas that flew in the face of Varis’s story.

“I cannot speak to what turned this Izutarian’s heart to embrace this darkness,” Varis said, somewhat defensively to Ellonlef’s ear, “but know that his heart is turned. By his own words-which I overheard spoken to his cohorts-he intends to begin his campaign of domination by subjugating all of Aradan. What he desires after that can only be imagined, but I dare say he will not stop at seizing the Ivory Throne.”

“Why would an Izutarian mercenary want to prop himself up as a king of Aradan and, as you hint, perhaps even an emperor?” Ellonlef asked, thinking this tale was growing more unbelievable by the moment. Men of all stripes were capable of seeking such enormous power, but never in all her studies had she learned of anyone who sought the accession to such authority by initially overthrowing the throne of a foreign land, instead of their own.

“Why does any man seek to rise above himself?” Varis said, evasively. Speaking quickly, he added, “All that matters, here and now, is that we must act with all haste. For Kian, from afar and by means I do not fully understand, has murdered scores in Krevar alone. Who can say what atrocities he has wrought along the rest of the border? If you seek hard answers, I have few enough, and much more speculation.”

Before any could respond, still speaking rapidly, Varis offered the details of his own speculation, which again sounded too much like firsthand knowledge to Ellonlef.

“My guess,” Varis began, “is that Kian intends to strike fear into the peoples’ hearts, using that trepidation to gain control over them. Unless you heed me, tens of thousands, all across the kingdom, shall perish. Be it terror or desire to spare themselves, others will surely align themselves with Kian and his army. I can do little on my own. I need your allegiance, lord marshal, and that of our countrymen, to swiftly build a counterforce greater than Kian’s-an army where fealty is earned through love, not terror.”

“The Magi Order has always provided strong, loyal supporters to the crown under that which they serve,” Uzzret blurted. “While I am not the head of my order, I can promise our support.”

Ellonlef bit back a derisive oath at such shameless bootlicking. It was not hard to do, because her greater concern was that Varis was using his astonishing story and highborn influence in an attempt to maneuver both Otaker and Uzzret to his side.

Otaker said, “My fealty has always been to the Ivory Throne and House Kilvar, Your Highness. But, if even half of what you say is true, then you are claiming that an Izutarian, a barbarian of the north, is planning to bring Aradan under his rule by means of the powers of … of deceased gods . If so, how can such a man possibly be stopped with swords and spears and bows?”

Varis looked at his hands, turning them over and back, his features miserable. “Perhaps what has been done to me is a blessing … perhaps it is a curse. I know not.”

He looked up, dead eyes fixed on Otaker. There seemed to be something behind those white eyes, a sudden understanding of a troubling mystery. That understanding, it seemed, he kept to himself. Aloud he said, “What I do know is that when Kian seized the powers of creation, some measure of that power escaped into the world-and some was given to me.”

Varis’s expression of enlightenment quickly faded, and his voice came as a whisper. “In my ignorance, I could not save the men Kian killed at the temple, nor spare myself this affliction.” Abrupt tears streamed over his scant cheeks. “But it is not too late for Krevar or Aradan.”

Otaker’s eyes narrowed. “What are you saying?”

“I can offer no promises, but in some manner I cannot fully understand, I believe I can restore the life which was stolen from our people.”

Uzzret gasped in shock, then threw himself prostrate before Varis.

Startled by such an unbelievable proclamation, Ellonlef frowned. Magus Uzzret might be ready to hand over his soul at a word from Varis, but she felt an ever-growing distrust for the prince. All that he spoke smacked of half-truths at best, and outright falsehoods at worst. Furthermore, he sounded like a madman. While she had never seen or met this Kian Valara, as Otaker had said the man’s reputation preceded him. He was said to be a hard man, but an honorable one. By the same measure, Varis’s repute had ever been that he was a cruel, selfish, spoiled youth.