Chris Northern - The Last King's Amulet

Kukran did not die readily. He kept moving despite his grotesquely broken neck. He struggled among the burning branches, thrashing deep in the heart of the fire. Achieving nothing, he paused and moved again, dragging wood to him as he tried and failed to drag himself free. There was no desperation in his movement, only detached determination. The robes he had worn were already gone and the flesh of him burned with blue and green flames, hissing fiercely, popping and spitting now and again. I watched, determined that he would not get out, seeing that there was no chance of it. Covered in burns, moaning softly from the pain that built to levels I would not have imagined possible, I nonetheless knelt unmoving and watched Kukran's end. He died in stages as less and less of his body functioned. I watched his burning hand sticking out of the fire, close by, scrabbling still, trying to drag the useless body out of the fire. Someone healed me as I watched the hand twitch and twitch and finally, burning out, become still.

I raised my hands before my eyes, seeing the burns but feeling little pain. I touched my face, the nerves of my hands working enough to tell me of the crisp remains of hair turning to dust under them. I ran them over my face and neck. Everything still hurt, my whole body stung but it felt like it was not going to worsen, it felt like the healthy pain of healing flesh, and at least I wouldn't have to shave. I moved away from the flames, the heat hurt my tender flesh. Someone helped me and I glanced to see Larner at my side, helping me to my feet. As soon as I was had my balance he nipped away and brought a cloak back for me. I took a look around. The battle was turning into a rout.

“We couldn't attack him…” Larner started to explain. I locked eyes with him and he faltered, looked away, glanced down. “Best stay with us,” he said.

I shook my head. No. The resistance was faltering, the fight more or less over. There were probably more of our men inside the walls than enemy. The warlord's banner was in the dirt. Among the group on the knoll one figure knelt as prisoner; it was the other Necromancer. Kerral was using a flag to signal to our troops. I didn't much care about any of it.

“I'm going for a beer, and the gods help anyone who tries to stop me.”

He didn't say a word. I fetched my horse, hurt myself as I climbed into the saddle and rode back the way I had come. No one bothered me. Everyone I saw was busy surrendering or running for the keep. The rising sun was bright in my eyes, making me squint and frown. The heat of it hurt more than a little, making me angry. I wanted somewhere shady and cool, somewhere with beer.

I took a sip of beer.

The keep had surrendered to me. I had taken off the illusion ring and tucked it into the pocket of my cloak. God knows what I looked like, fresh burns healing, skin flaking, bald and with burned hair falling off me. I had slipped painfully off the horse at the bridge and confronted the guards as soon as those ahead of me had gotten out of my way, crossing the bridge, panicked and fleeing for some illusion of safety.

“I am Sumto Merian Ichatha Cerulian, patron of the city, and if you want anyone in there to survive you will place yourselves under my protection.”

They didn't have to think about it. That the battle was lost was apparent even from here. The barbarians forget what we are capable of until we remind them every few generations. The guards were reminded. They started talking but I wasn't interested.

“Put some white flags on the walls. Throw your weapons in a pile, there,” I pointed. It was only a symbol but these things are important. “Tell any solders who come here that you are under my protection. I'll be in the vaults. Get out of my way.”

Now, I took another sip of beer. It tasted good.

Sapphire and Dubaku were where I had left them. Dubaku watched over Sapphire, who slept on, oblivious. "Will he live?"

"Yes," Dubaku said.

Good. I had some questions for him, when he woke, but it would just have to wait until then.

A city soldier walked past, glanced in, met my gaze and moved on. There were plenty of people striding about the vaults, glancing in as they passed, and they almost all passed. But not everyone ignored me. Kerral had sought me out, stood in the doorway and said a few words before going away again. As Lentro had started to say, they could not attack Kukran. The amulet inhibited them. That wasn't in the history books and I had silently resolved to do some research and write a more accurate history. I decided I would also write one telling of my experiences and the end of the thing. I only asked him one question. Where was the amulet now? He told me that Hettar had destroyed it. There were witnesses. “We all watched him do it, there was no mistake.”

“We will not suffer a tyrant to live.”

He had nodded and we had held each others gaze for a long moment, and then he left, leaving much unsaid. Maybe another day we would talk; maybe not. However that went, our friendship would never be the same.

I drank. Dubaku watched me. Sapphire slept. A slave found me, bringing fresh clothes. He didn't say much. Nor did I. I had no idea who sent him. I didn't much care to know. He left to find some food for me and I put on the fresh clothes, feeling little better for it. Then I drank some more and wallowed in self pity for a while. I might have achieved much but I had gained nothing. Maybe, if people reported favorably, I might get away with not being exiled. I had failed to rescue Tahal, though he was free, and damned if I knew now whose side he had been on or much cared. I had still lost my first command. Had raised troops without authority. Was still a drunk. – now more so than ever; addicted for life, probably.

Later, another slave sought me out with a letter from Jocasta

I sipped my beer and read the letter. It was brief.

My Dearest Sumto,

My brother and sister are in the camp and I cannot be rid of them. My reputation, of course, is ruined and they are furious with me. I am afraid they are going to be difficult. So long as I share their name I will not be free. I have heard conflicting accounts but understand that you are alive and well. I am very relieved. Give up on nothing you desire. All things can be yours if you are willing to fight for them.

Jocasta

I noted she had signed only her first name and thought about that for a while. Maybe, one day, I would have something to offer her. But that day was not today.

I took another swig, tucked the letter away to think about later, and went back to brooding. I'd lost my armor and weapons. My father would not be pleased about that. But they had to be around somewhere, and like my one carat signet ring, it might be found and returned to me. I couldn't remember who had it; Sheo, or one of the others. The one on my forehead would stay, of course. No getting rid of it. And with it there would always be people who would be able to find me. It occurred to me that if they were friends that might be useful, but it applied equally to enemies.

An old soldier walked into the room, glanced at us, clearly taking in Dubaku, squatting on the floor, and the inert figure of Sapphire and myself, drunk and leaning against a barrel from which I was even then pulling another draft. He shrugged, clearly deciding he had taken drink in worse company, then hunted out a drinking jack and poured himself a beer.

“This is my beer,” I told him.

“I'll buy it from you,” he grinned, pulling out a coin and tossing it into my lap. I let it lay there. “Not a bad haul,” he said, perching on a barrel.

Loot. I didn't know if I would actually get any. After all, I had not been with the army that had actually taken the Eyrie. But, the stronghold had surrendered to me. I could argue a case, and would when the time came. I wouldn't give up. “How much?”