The Dead God's Due (The Eye of the Lion Saga Book 1) (18 page)

Aiul laughed nervously. “I
have a desperate plan. I don’t really expect us to survive.
Does that qualify?”

One of the Southlanders laughed
out loud. “A foolproof plan would be too easy!” he said
with a grin. “We are escapees! We
should
have a desperate plan!” More laughter rippled through the
group, and Brutus, smiling, nodded for Aiul to continue.

Aiul cleared his throat,
feeling awkward and self-conscious to dictate strategy to them.
“She’s a libertine, and she spends much of her free time
in debauchery.”

“What sort of
debauchery?” Brutus asked.

“She is fond of orgies,
wild affairs with drugs and drink,” Aiul told him. “They
are regular things with her. One is on this very moment.”

Brutus nodded, a grim smile on
his face. “Drunk and naked.” The rest of the
Southlanders nodded to each other in approval.

“Yes,” Aiul said,
less nervous, now, to see that they approved of his assessment. “But
there is still the matter of the guards to contend with, and they
will be neither drunk nor naked. We need a distraction, something to
draw their attention, thin their numbers somehow. If we release the
prisoners here, it would cause enough chaos that they would have to
send some of the palace guards to assist.”

Brutus and his men shouted
roars of approval and pounded their fists against their chests in
applause. “Aye, this is an evil place!” Brutus said. “It
would be unseemly to take our own freedom and leave these poor
wretches here to suffer! If it helps our cause, so much the better.”

He turned to one of his men,
the joker, and said, “Sandilianus, find us lots to cast or
draw.”

“Everyone?” the man
asked.

“Aye, except for this
one,” he said, indicating Aiul. “One of us must return
to Xanthia and bring what knowledge we have to the Prince.”

Fear struck Aiul like cold
water at this. “You must make certain he understands that we
are not all evil, that we are oppressed! We do not need to be
destroyed, we need to be liberated!”

“That is just what we
will tell him,” Brutus promised, laying a hand on Aiul’s
shoulder to steady him. “That is why one of us must escape.
Otherwise, he will know only that we died here, and draw conclusions
that may be bad for your people.”

Sandilianus was moving amongst
the men now, his hand full of straws. He approached Brutus and
waited as the Tribune made his choice, then continued on. Brutus
opened his hand and looked at the straw, cursing under his breath.

“I’m sorry,”
Aiul told him. “But there is honor in dying fighting, isn’t
there?”

Brutus gave him an annoyed look
and revealed his choice to Aiul, a very short straw. “I
thought you understood our ways, doctor. Is it not enough that I
must flee my enemy? Will you rub my face in it, too?”

“I’m sorry,”
Aiul said, staring at the ground. “I didn’t understand.”

“I know,” Brutus
said. With resignation, he held up the straw and called out, “No
point going further. Sandilianus, this is the lot, yes?”

“Aye, sir. You are the
one.”

Brutus slammed his fist into
the stone wall and winced at the pain, trying to master himself. “I
know I said I would walk with you into the pit and cut off the balls
of Talifa, but Ilaweh has chosen otherwise. Sandilianus, you are in
command now, and I must be gone. There is no time to waste.”

Sandilianus stepped forward and
grasped Brutus’s forearm. “Ilaweh be with you.”

Brutus returned the gesture.
“Die well, brother.” Without another word, he turned and
sprinted up the stairs. The rest of the Southlanders watched him go
in silent, pained sympathy.

Sandilianus looked about a
moment, waiting, then shouted, “Why do you delay, fools?
Release the prisoners! We are to war!”

The Southlanders shouted, “To
war!”, and rushed into the cell block. Their battle cries and
laughter were channeled and echoed back, in much the same way the
screams might be on some other day.

Aiul nodded in satisfaction
that he had once again managed to turn the enemy’s weapons
against them. By the time it was done, they would have an army of
willing accomplices.

Perhaps
there is a chance of success
after all
.

Aiul worried, as he and the
Southlanders made their way up the stairs within the prison, that
they might encounter guards, and indeed they came upon many, but
none had the time or inclination to spare a second glance at Aiul
and his band of cloaked commandos. The guards were disorganized,
often alone, occasionally in small groups, and running, rather than
marching, shouting alarms. Most were only half equipped, some still
struggling into their mail shirts or adjusting sword belts as they
rushed toward the prison. One unfortunate lost his footing on the
stairs and tumbled head over heels to the ground level.

The new leader of the
Southlanders, Sandilianus, grunted at this, a smile softening his
sharp features for a moment.
He looks so different from that
Brutus fellow, yet so different from us, too.
“He will be glad he had his helmet on, I think,” the
Southlander said with a shake of his head, and Aiul chuckled in
agreement.

They exited the prison at the
first level of Nihlos above the ground. There were guards here, but
they were as distracted as the rest they had met on the stair, and
no one challenged Aiul or his company.

Looking at the ground level
from above, it was not hard to see why. The escaped prisoners, as
Aiul had expected, had thrown the entire city into turmoil. The
commoners had taken the opportunity to riot, and the guards were
engaged in a running battle with them. The streets below were dotted
with fires, and smoke filled the air. Commoners were running back
and forth throwing rocks as guards marched forward with shields and
truncheons, cracking heads.

Soon, the palace gates loomed
before them, closed now that night had fallen. Demonic faces leered
from the empty battlements, gargoyles that for some reason Aiul had
never noticed in the light of day. Five guards, bleary eyed and
surly, cast glares at them as they approached, clearly unenthused
with their duties. Aiul could barely contain his elation. There
should have been at least twenty men here!

One of the guards leaned over
the ornate railing of the bridge to peer at the streets below. “I
hate being stuck up here.”

The sergeant in charge called
out to them, “The palace is closed. Come again on the morrow.”

Aiul raised a hand and waved.
“You mistake, me, sir. I am Aiul of House Amrath. I have been
invited.”

The sergeant nodded, then cast
a wary eye toward the hooded Southlanders. “And these?”

Aiul rolled his eyes and
shrugged. “You know her tastes. Best not to ask. She wants
them to remain hooded and cloaked until they arrive for her
pleasure.” He gave a slight shudder. “I do not think
they are clothed underneath.”

The guard looking over the rail
dropped a coin over the edge. “Mei! Missed him!”

“Watch your language,”
ordered the sergeant, punctuating the remark with a cuff to the
offender’s head. He gestured toward Aiul. “They’ll
chop your head off, you say that around the wrong people.”

“It’s fine, really.
I’m often guilty of the same sin,” Aiul told him.
Open
the damned gate, fool, before this comes apart!

The sergeant shrugged. “Let
them in.”

Aiul felt relief wash over him
like a warm shower.
We made it.

“Hey!” another of
the guards called out, as Aiul and the Southlanders approached.
“Have you guys been down in the fires?”

The sergeant raised an eyebrow
and held up a hand to halt them. “Just a moment, sir.”
Aiul felt his stomach sink as he saw one of the Southlanders quickly
pocket a dark hand.

They stopped as asked, and the
sergeant looked them over more carefully.
Mei, he senses
something.
By this time, the rest of the guards had grown
interested as well, and were pushing forward to have a look. “Lower
your hoods,” the sergeant ordered, his eyes narrowed in
suspicion.

Aiul waved a hand imperiously.
“The empress commanded these men remain hooded. If she hears
of you countermanding her order--!”

The sergeant was having none of
it. He stepped forward and reached for Sandilianus’s hood.

“Sword! Sword!!”
one of the guards shouted, but he was far too late to warn anyone.
Sandilianus’s blade cleaved through the sergeant’s neck,
sending the man’s head to the ground. It bounced, then rolled
off the side and into the chaos below as the sergeant’s body
collapsed.
Mei, what must the fellow it landed on think?

Again, it was almost too quick
for Aiul to follow. The Southlanders moved with the speed and surety
of lions striking at deer, and with similar results.

Aiul stared at the dead men on
the ground before him, knowing that he should feel some pity for
them, some remorse at having a hand in their deaths, but he could
find not a drop of it in his soul. They stood between him and
Kariana. He was glad that they were dead.

“Follow me,” he
told the Southlanders. “She is within.”

They paused briefly outside the
ballroom’s massive doors. The music and laughter from within
were loud, even with the doors closed, a point in their favor, but
against the guardsmen who had stood the watch. Their corpses lay in
heaps to the either side of the doors, limbs splayed at odd angles,
in pools of rapidly cooling blood.

Aiul looked up and up to the
top of the doors, noting how they curved inward as they rose toward
the dark ceiling some twenty feet above. They were almost pointed at
the very top.
Little things seem so much more important when you
suspect you’re about to die. Or when you don’t want to
look at what you’ve done.
“This
is it,” he said softly.

Sandilianus gave him a curt
nod, then spoke to his men. “Once we enter, we bar the door
against reinforcements. Kill no one who does not offer battle, but
those that do, finish quickly.” He turned to Aiul. “At
your signal.”

Aiul waved an arm at the door.
“Now seems as good a time as any.”

The doors burst open on a scene
of pure debauchery. The throne room had once been considerably more
austere, and host to many regal parties, but it, like everything in
Nihlos, had devolved over time. Kariana had modified it to her own
tastes. The smoky, patterned marble was original but the lush
carpets and throw pillows were new, most occupied by one or more
intoxicated, naked bodies. The walls were decked with rich
tapestries made by the finest artisans, depicting scenes much like
the one they decorated. Alongside the racy images hung her favorite
toys, many and varied whips, cuffs, and razors. About the room,
candelabras cast warm, flickering light and released pleasing scents
to fill air already thick with sighs of pleasure. Bars, for serving
various intoxicants, circled the centerpiece of the room, a great,
heated bath that currently held at least a dozen revelers. Mirrors
lined the ceiling above a likewise enormous bed. It that stood on a
dais where a throne might, had she been a more mundane ruler.
Kariana, herself, lay on the great bed, naked, cooing and smiling at
several well built, equally naked suitors who teased and tempted
her.

Southlanders rushed into the
room, shattering the bliss and reverie of the occupants like a
brickbat hurled through a stained glass window. Screams and curses
vied for supremacy with confused mumbling, as naked, drugged
revelers struggled to disentangle themselves and rally against the
threat.

Kariana’s eyes bulged in
shock as she sighted Aiul amongst the Southlanders. “Aiul!
What are you doing?” she shrieked.

“What I must, Kariana!”

One of her several partners
grabbed her and hurled her over the side of the bed, shouting,
“Assassins!” From across the room, Aiul saw hands grab a
pull cord and begin jerking it in desperation, setting an alarm bell
ringing.

Most of the room’s
occupants were in no condition to fight, but a few were at just the
right level of intoxication to be foolhardy. While the others fled
to cower against the walls, the bravos, a dozen in all, lunged for
their discarded clothes and found their weapons.

It was a bloody, brutal fight.
Most of the naked warriors were cut down before they could bring a
weapon to bear, as the Southlanders took possession of the room.
Four of the defenders managed a few, halfhearted swings before going
down, one even being fortunate enough to put a huge gash on
Sandilianus’s forehead.

And then it was done. The
Southlanders still stood poised for battle, sweat trickling over
their rippling muscles, eyes darting back and forth looking for more
enemies. The corpses of the fallen twitched in death spasms. Some of
cowering revelers whimpered and begged for mercy. Others stared
about in confusion, absently wiping away blood that had been
splashed on them during the battle. A few were struggling to clothe
themselves, as if their nudity were the most pressing concern of
all. Behind the great bed, Kariana’s lover still jerked at the
bell cord in furious spasms, the ringing seeming much louder to Aiul
now that the battle was over. Kariana herself was staring at him in
shock, seemingly unable to believe what was happening.

Sandilianus wiped blood from
his eyes, then turned to Aiul and pounded his fist against his
chest. “By the grace of Ilaweh, we are victorious,” he
announced. He gestured toward the bed. “Your prize, doctor.”

Aiul stood a moment, uncertain
of what he should do. He had never really expected to succeed, and
now that he was here, the doctor pleaded with him to preserve life,
to have mercy. But the husband would not hear of it, and the jagged
thing could not even understand what the doctor proposed, much less
agree. Aiul hefted the mace and stepped forward. There could be only
one conclusion, now, he knew.