The False Martyr (3 page)

Stretching his mind, he
thought about the walls, the ceiling, the stones that held back the
earth, the stresses they felt, the strain of thousands of pounds,
of thousands of years. Behind him, the demons were coming. They
were through the hidden door, were getting closer. He could not
outrun them. They were too fast. Even with his knowledge they would
find him, would hunt him by simply sensing his fear. He had to stop
them. The Order showed the way.

Shifting the box to his
left hand, Lius reached down with his right. A brick waited exactly
where he knew it would be. He lifted it and struck, slammed it
against the wall high up and to the left. It rang out, but there
was no other immediate change. Lius dropped the brick and ran. He
only had a few minutes, but his mind was on the patterns around
him, tracing the changes he had made, watching the web of reactions
spread out from that one contact.

Turning down a side
passage, he heard the creatures closing. They were incredibly fast.
In a few short minutes, they would have him. He came to a great
round room. The ceiling rose three stories, almost to the surface.
Arrayed in the walls were carved out nooks where the bodies of
ancient counselors were housed, rising in a honeycomb to the
ceiling above. Lius ran to the far end of the room. There were no
other passages leading from it. He was trapped. The creatures were
only a hundred paces away, but Lius felt calm. In the pitch
blackness, he watched the Order, saw the bricks shifting, the
stones splintering where they had held the heavy outer wall that
protected the Eclesia, the Temple of Order and Hall of
Understanding, for a thousand years. Dust began to stream down,
mortar crumbled, stones slipped, creaking, straining, cracking. The
first creature appeared at the far end of the room.

Lius climbed into a notch
in the wall, displaced the skeleton that it housed, held his sleeve
to his mouth, and curled his body around the box as the ceiling
collapsed. In a rain of stones, the far end of the hive fell in and
thirty feet of wall followed it down. Stone rained in like a
mountain collapsing to the sea. The creatures were caught in that
devastation, had no escape, were wiped out.

And when they were done,
when the dust settled, Lius crawled out from his notch, wormed
through the hole he knew would be waiting, and climbed the rubble
to the light. Water fell from the sky, streaming down the shattered
stones. The night was dark, but compared to the catacombs, it might
have been day. He tucked the box in his robes to protect it from
the storm and stumbled through the streets. The Xi Valati had said
to go north. That is what he did.

Chapter 2

The
14
^th
Day of Summer

Eight pyres. Ipid counted
again, but it was too few to mistake
. Ten
thousand defenders had been slaughtered. An entire city had been
reduced to rubble. And only eight Darthur had been killed?
Ipid sat on his horse, watched the dawn light
illuminate the jumbled sticks, the silent bodies upon them, and
shook his head.

A single warrior stood
before each pyre, head raised to the rising sun, back stiff, chest
puffed out, voice bellowing. They sang the same melody that Ipid
had heard the previous night. Just as then, the song described the
battle, words graphic, details cruel in their clarity as they
portrayed the experiences of a single warrior. Unlike last night,
the warriors were not singing about themselves. They sang the parts
of the fallen men, recorded their accomplishments and the
misfortune that had ended them. Focusing on the singers, Ipid felt
his stomach churn at the violence they related but listened,
wanting to know how these few had died, to know what it took to
kill these monsters. Lucky arrows had taken two. A Morg who must
have been part of the defenses claimed another. Four more had been
caught in one of the miraculous fireballs –
by the Order, created by my son!
Only one, a young warrior who had been separated from his
fellows, had been killed hand-to-hand by normal men. And even then,
if the singer were to be believed, he had put down a dozen men
before they dragged him from his horse. Separated and alone, a
young Darthur was worth a dozen defenders. And that was without the
te-am ‘eiruh, the stoche, the hordes of their vassals. Ipid felt
his spirits crashing as the reality of that set in.

Looking across the open
fields that had hosted the battle, he watched the other units of
the invading army conducting their own ceremonies for the dead.
Some had dug graves, others had built pyres, one group had
constructed a small tomb. Clearly the numbers of their dead were
higher than the Darthur, but not by much. Many of them had barely
engaged in the battle and then only when the defenders were in
disarray. Ipid’s only hope was based on what Belab had said about
the stoche. If the creatures had been nearly wiped out by Dasen, it
would mean that the Darthur or one of their vassals would have to
lead the next charge, would have to absorb the casualties that had
been taken here by the creatures. But would they even bother to
charge in the next battle? Or would the te-am ‘eiruh simply destroy
the next city from afar as they had done to Thoren?

In the background, black
smoke still rose in a great column from what was left of the city.
And there wasn’t much left. Not a single building stood. The only
creatures remaining were the crows and rats that hopped or scurried
among the rubble searching for carrion. As far as Ipid knew, not a
person had survived. Arin had said that the city was abandoned, but
that was a convenient lie. Thousands would have stayed in the
besieged city, would have lacked the strength, resources, or will
to leave their homes. And Arin had massacred them just to show that
he could, to illustrate his power and ruthlessness to the
world.

Further down the line of
the river, the village boys and the handful of men who had somehow
survived the battle, worked to dig the mass graves that would house
their countrymen. A hundred worked with picks and shovels to dig
the holes, while the others carried bodies and stacked them in rows
at the edge of the pits. A pair of counselors performed rites over
the bodies, said the prayers that would ensure their return to the
purifying light of the Order. Every once in a while, a survivor was
pulled from the bodies piled around him. Those would go to the lone
surgeon remaining from the city. Standing in the open, without even
a tent to keep the sun and flies away, he stitched wounds, set
bones, and comforted the dying, but far too many of those brought
to him were carried to the pits only a short time later.

Finally, Ipid turned to
the man at his side. Arin’s face was grim as he listened to the
final song fade to an end. He seemed to feel no emotion about what
had happened, held no remorse for the men he had killed, the
families he had destroyed, the vibrant city he had erased from the
world. To him, they were all pieces on a board, sacrificed without
thought or conscious to his incomprehensible ambition.

“
Uhrump!” Arin yelled, the
sound starting low then exploding from his mouth to carry to horde
around him. The warriors echoed him, the sound loud enough to halt
the work in the field below as the men and boys looked up to see
what new horror was to be unleashed upon them.

“
An honorable end,” Arin
started. He wheeled his great steed around so that he faced the
throng behind him. His powerful voice carried over the creak of
leather, stamping of hooves, and mutters of agreement. “An
honorable end and clansmen to mark it, that is the best this world
can provide. These men fought bravely, fell honorably to ensure
that all men in all corners of this world will one day know the
honor, the greatness, that they showed throughout their lives, that
all will know the honor that comes with being Darthur.

“
Yet another nation has
been tested, has been set upon the path toward honor. And now, they
will join us, learn from us, strive to become us. And we must set
the example for them as we have so many others. It is our duty, as
defined by our ancestors for generations, to spread the honor of
the Darthur, to judge, to teach, to purge, until the world, every
village, every man, woman, and child has known the greatness of the
Darthur.”

Arin finished with a
flourish, and the gathered men responded with “Uhrump!” three
times, each louder than the last. When the sound had died away,
after the echoes of the powerful voices had faded, Arin spoke
again. “We go now to our wives, our sons, and daughters. Teach them
your songs, add them to your ilvarna. Make another son to carry
your honor into the new, pure world that we will create. And when
you return, we will test the next peoples, and our honor will
spread. Your honor shall be the light for his dark world, and we
will shine it into every corner.”

The warriors chanted,
“Uhrump!” They repeated the sound as the formation broke down the
middle and allowed Arin to ride through it. The te-ashüte, the clan
leaders, followed nodding and waving at the gathered men like the
politicians they were. Finally, Ipid fell in and tried not to cower
as he rode between the screaming giants.

Still, he was confused.
Were the Darthur now going to retreat back across the mountains?
Were their wives following behind with the rest of the Darthur
nation? Arin had barely mentioned the existence of Darthur women
over the three weeks Ipid had known him. Now, he planned for his
entire army to somehow visit their wives?

Then he saw the te-am
‘eiruh waiting at the bottom of the small ridge where the ceremony
had been held. He felt calm rush over him as they used their
powers. A series of black portals appeared before them. These were
far larger than the one that had transported Ipid to this
Order-forsaken place, big enough for a several men to walk through
at once. And that is what the Darthur did. They dismounted, handed
the reins of their horses to their fellows – even those
exceptionally trained animals seemed to want nothing to do with the
swirling black portals – and walked through.

In all, Ipid watched all
but a fraction of the Darthur exit the field through the portals.
The last to leave was Arin. He stood before the final portal with
Thorold at his side and motioned Ipid toward him. Ipid scrambled
from his horse and approached, praying as he went that he would not
be asked to travel through the portal, to visit the hell that must
be the Darthurs’ home.

“
I go now to visit my wife
and mother,” Arin said when Ipid reached him. “They will tell me
the terms by which your people will be allowed to join us. I think
they will set a high price since we have been gone so long. It will
be up to you to convince your leaders to pay it. Think on that
while I am gone.” Arin paused and looked at the portal.

Ipid was too overcome by
what was happening to say anything at all.
The te-am ‘eiruh can transport an entire army a thousand
miles
, was all he could think. That fact
and its implications overrode any other thoughts he might
have.
Why had they bothered crossing the
mountains and trekking through the forests?

“
Also,” Arin continued, “I
know that you know the boy, that he is close to you. You are not
such a good liar as to hide something so obvious. Perhaps, he is
even your son?”

Ipid tried to look
shocked, to keep from sputtering as he met the
accusation.

“
So it is true.” Arin made
it clear that he had failed, but there was no judgment in his
voice, only consideration. “I have a son of my own. That is why I
tell you this.”
Arin has a son.
Ipid could only gawk, slack-jawed. “As a father,
you probably do not believe it, or you think I am hunting him only
for the power he showed in the battle. But in your heart, you know
better. We honor great warriors – and that is what your son showed
himself to be. Whether it be with swords or magic, a man fights
with what he has. It is his bravery and ability that marks him as
great. That is why the te-am ‘eiruh could join us. They are great
warriors, even if their weapons are different from our
own.

“
No. Your son is wanted
for murder, for the dishonorable killing of an honorable man. I saw
the body. He or his companion dropped a rock on his downturned
head. It is a coward’s way to kill. If Thorold killed a man from
behind with his head down, I would demand his death. You should be
thankful that he will be given any chance at all. If not for the
insistence of Belab, I would demand his head and that of the boy
that accompanied him. And if he does not come to us peacefully, if
we find him on our own, we will not hesitate to have our justice.
Do you understand what I tell you? Think on it long while I am
gone. Think what you can do to save your son. For this is the only
mercy I can offer him.”

Arin paused again and
looked to the portal. “You will be in Wildern in seven days. One of
the te-am ‘eiruh will see to your transport. When you arrive, we
will meet with your leaders. I know that you have influence with
them, Lord Ronigan. Look long on the remnants of the city below. We
can do this again and again. We will continue destroying cities
until you meet our terms. That is not my desire, but it is what
will happen if you resist us. Do you understand?”

Ipid thought back on the
smoking remnants of Thoren, on the great pits being filled with
bodies, on the blood-soaked field, and nodded numbly. That seemed
enough for Arin. He turned away, walked through the portal, and was
sucked into its black embrace without so much as a look
back.