David Dalglish - Wrath of Lions

“What do you have to say?” asked Karak.

He lifted his eyes to his god, rose to his knees, and held his arms out in supplication.

“I beg you to allow me to atone for my sins, my Lord,” he said, pleading, “I was weak and deserve to be punished.”

“And what should that punishment be? Your life?”

“My life is already yours to do with as you choose, my Lord.”

He closed his eyes and waited for Karak’s deathblow, but it never came.

“Rise, Prophet,” said the god. “Come to me.”

Velixar stood on rubbery legs and crossed the short expanse between them. Strangely, he felt the might inside him growing stronger with each step he took toward Karak. The deity stared down at him, a frown stretching his face.

“Disobedience of my law is the first step toward chaos,” Karak said. “I told you that if these men are to crush our opponents, they will do so at my side. That includes you, Prophet. And yet you disregarded my word and went out on your own.”

“I am sorry, my Lord.”

“Your admission of guilt means little, Prophet. You have sinned against me, and now must pay the price.”

Velixar cringed. “I accept your judgment.”

“Good.” Karak raised his head, his voice booming across the entire camp. “Failure to abide by my law is blasphemy, and the penalty for such a sin is harsh and unyielding.” He looked down at Velixar. “Prophet, your punishment is death.”

Velixar felt his entire body freeze, his heart stop, and the air in his lungs come to a halt.

“My Lord…” he whispered.

“However,” Karak said, “you may offer me a sacrifice in your stead. Turn to those who accompanied you in your betrayal, use your power, and destroy them.”

Velixar’s head shot up and he stared at his deity with confusion.

“What? But why?”

“This is not a time for questions, Velixar, but decisions. Kill those who joined you in disobedience. Let their deaths be a lesson to all.”

Velixar hesitated a moment, then gradually turned to look at Captain Oscar Wellington, who was standing in line with the rest of the surviving men who had rode out with him. The captain’s expression was filled with shock and betrayal. His hand lowered to the hilt of his sword, but he did not have time to yank it from its scabbard. Other soldiers encircled them, weapons drawn. The injured were hefted from the ground and thrown to the front of the line, where they cringed, begging for mercy. One of the men tried to flee, only to have the tendon on the back of his ankle sliced from behind. He too was tossed, wailing, into the place of judgment.

“Bastard,” Wellington muttered. He stepped forward, head held high. It saddened Velixar to see the strength the man portrayed, knowing what he had to do. It was either their lives or his.

In the end, it was no choice at all.

Without a word, Velixar brought his hands up. The power inside him flowed from his pores, shadows swirling around his hands as he lifted them, facing the thirteen who had survived his failed mission. The other soldiers backed away, shouting in fear at the display of dark magic. The tendrils of pulsing darkness then surged forward, pouring into the mouths, noses, and eyes of Captain Wellington and the rest of his men. Their mouths opened, but they could not scream; their eyes bulged, but they could not see. The shadows crushed them, both inside and out, snapping bones, liquefying organs. Soon their bodies were formless masses, empty shells of flesh encased in armor. Velixar dropped his hands, the shadows retreating back into him, and what remained of Captain Wellington and his men collapsed with the clank of steel and the thud of flesh on flesh.

“So be it,” said Karak. He addressed the camp once more. “It is done. Order has been served. Burn the bodies and carry on. We are done here.”

With that, the deity turned and disappeared inside his massive pavilion. Velixar stood horrified, watching as the soldiers built a large pile of wood, then stripped the armor from the corpses and tossed the remains atop it. The bonfire was lit, and the flames filled the burgeoning night sky. The soldiers stood around the fire for a few moments, their heads bowed in reverence, then went about their business. They gave Velixar a wide berth, glancing at him with fear in their eyes.

He took a deep breath, gathered his courage, and swept into Karak’s pavilion. There he found the god sitting in the center of the huge space, legs crossed, hands on his knees. While sitting, the god’s gaze was level with his own, and those divine eyes snapped open when Velixar cleared his throat.

“Leave me, Prophet. Your tent was erected by the hawk carriage. Go there and think on what you have done.”

Velixar shook his head, willing himself to be strong. “Those were good men,” he told his god. “They were the best of the lot, the most brutal and loyal. It was a useless loss of life.”

Karak sighed.

“I expected more from you, Prophet. More knowledge, more understanding . Humans cling to their own lives above all else, and after that show of force, they will be more inclined to resist their chaotic impulses. None will betray me if they know it will mean their death.”

“You did not have to kill them. There are other ways to teach a lesson.”

“ I did not kill them,” said Karak, tilting his head. “ You did.”

“I…” Velixar began, but words failed him.

“You think you understand so much, Velixar, yet your pride will be the end of you. You have lived a little more than a hundred years, while I have existed for an eternity. Do not begin to think you know as much as I do.”

What game is this, wondered Velixar. What trick?

“You told me to execute them,” he said.

“I did, but the choice was yours. I am not blind to your selfishness, Prophet. I gave you a choice between killing the men who loyally followed your orders and sacrificing your own life. You chose to preserve your life, your power , and let others suffer the consequences of your failure. Consider that a lesson.”

“A lesson of what?” he asked. “That I am worth more than a few pathetic soldiers whose bones will be dust before a single gray hair sprouts from my head?”

Karak’s face seemed to darken.

“The lesson is that you fear death as much as any human. The lesson is that whenever you betray me or ignore my wisdom, people will die. With me you are powerful, Velixar. Without me, you are nothing.”

“ I am nothing?” he exclaimed. His anger grew, and with it his audacity, however misplaced. He began to shout without thinking. “I know things, my Lord . I have knowledge you wish to keep hidden, about you and Ashhur and your long, sordid history. You speak of failure? What of your failure, the one that led to the creation of humanity on this world? Yes, I know how you came to be, who you and Ashhur were before. I know of Kaurthulos’s destruction of countless worlds-and he attempted to do the same here in Dezrel. Darakken, Velixar, Sluggoth, they were your creations, weren’t they?”

“That was before we became who we are now,” Karak said softly.

“Before you split into pieces,” Velixar said. “Before you became Karak and Ashhur and countless others. I’ve seen your failures in the demon’s memory; I’ve seen how your brother, Thulos, another aspect of your fragmented former self, slew the other gods and began his conquest. Celestia saved you from ruin and brought you and Ashhur here to redeem yourselves from your misdeeds. You two fled here from your own mirrored reflection, and yet you would call me nothing? I have seen it all, Karak.”

Karak said not a word. Feeling emboldened, Velixar continued.