The Mad God's Muse (The Eye of the Lion Saga Book 2) (31 page)

Sadrik looked back at her, eyes
wide, shaking his head in denial. “Not me, grandmother.”

Ariano’s voice took on
the strange, harmonic tone once again as she replied, “I am no
relation to you, boy!”

Maranath laid a calming hand on
her shoulder. He couldn’t let this get out of hand, not now of
all times. “I feel it, too. It’s not them. It’s
something else, something very strong.”

It was like a weight pulling,
dragging him down, hardening the world. He turned slowly, trying to
get a sense of direction. The other three followed his lead, and all
four found themselves facing the pitched battle going on amongst the
Elgies.

Maklin spoke for everyone:
“Mei!”

Aiul shook his head, struggling
to clear his thoughts. Killing Logrus was still very much on his
mind, but Logrus was not convenient. He would kill him later,
perhaps, if he were not too tired. For now, there were other, more
pressing matters to attend.

Aiul brought the fist-shaped
mace down on the head of yet another Elgie, bashing the skull into a
shapeless, bloody pulp. More Elgies swarmed around him, in fives and
tens as they were able to gather and attack, but their numbers were
meaningless against the juggernaut. He hurled the heavy mace about
him as if it were a bamboo stick, cutting a swath through them as
they approached. He had reach on them, and his speed and stamina was
inhuman. None could get close enough to scratch him without being
cut down.

Oh,
this is the gift Elgar promised!
His soul sang with the
knowledge.
Unlimited vengeance!

Ariano cried out, “Great
Tasinal and Amrath! Look!” She slapped the back of Maklin’s
head and pointed at Aiul. “Look at what he's wearing!”
Maklin turned on her, hand raised to strike her back, and froze, the
anger on his face fading to shock as he saw what she was pointing
at. He slowly lowered his arm and gaped in astonishment.

Maranath was certain he already
knew what Ariano was excited about, but his gaze was drawn to it,
even so. The small amber sphere dangled from Aiul’s neck by a
simple thong, swaying back and forth. To Maranath’s surprise,
it was glowing, lighting Aiul’s face from beneath, casting
shadows that made him appear demonic.

I didn’t know it did
that.

“His
hair,” Ariano murmured. “Why is his hair
white
?”

Maranath
merely shook his head.
Not a clue.

Sadrik leaned toward Maklin and
tapped his shoulder cautiously, wary of being caught in the
crossfire between him and Ariano. “Is that the Eye of the
Lion?”

Maklin shot Sadrik a brief look
of annoyance before turning back to Aiul in fascination. “No,
you idiot, that’s a cheese sandwich.”

Maranath couldn’t help
but chuckle at this. Maklin was an old friend, with emphasis on the
‘old’ part. They had all grown more cantankerous as they
aged, but Maklin had
started
that way. “It’s a
piece
of the Eye,” he told Sadrik “The one from Nihlos. Can
you feel it?”

Sadrik nodded, looking slightly
ill. “Like a boot on my neck.”

Maklin turned back to face
them, his jaw set. “You won’t have it, you know! You’ll
have to go through us!”

Maranath was, for a Meite, slow
to genuine anger. The sharp words, the grandiose pronouncements, the
shouts and insults and bickering, such things were mundane, part and
parcel to the craft. It was rare that he found himself provoked to
more than wry, cynical amusement, rarer still when he found himself
motivated to abandon barbs for genuine threats.

Now, though, he was truly
angry. Suddenly, things were clear. His old friend suspected him of
treachery, and had come here to capture him. Such arrogance, and at
such a critical moment! It was infuriating!

“That is enough!”
he roared. The earth beneath their feet trembled as Maranath
clenched his fists repeatedly, gritting his teeth and pinning Maklin
with his gaze.

Maklin glared back at him,
unshaken. “I don’t
want
to fight you, Maranath. And not because I'm afraid of you. You’re
like a brother to me!”

“A brother you condemn
without trial, without even allowing him to speak?”

Maklin shook his head in
vehement denial. “Oh, that’s hardly the case! You had
ample
opportunity
to speak! Or did you forget where I lived?”

Maranath’s anger faded as
quickly as it had come upon him. He felt a grin spread across his
face. “The last time I remember you paying
me
a visit
was—”

Maklin’s eyes bulged.
“You shut up about that! It was a long time ago!”

Sadrik raised an eyebrow in
curiosity. “Oh, no, do tell. I have the distinct sense there
is a woman involved.”

Maranath laughed aloud. “A
long time indeed. It must be fifty years!”

Maklin shook his finger and
stammered, “Now don’t you think to change the subject
with blackmail, Maranath!”

Ariano punched Maranath in the
arm and gestured at Aiul, who was even now vanishing into the mob of
combatants and smoke. “You senile fools are wasting time! He’s
getting away!”

Maranath nodded and raised a
hand to her, begging patience, but continued talking to Maklin. “In
fifty years, you couldn’t visit me once, and you’re bent
out of shape that I am up to something without consulting you?”

“Up to skullduggery!”

Maranath shook his head,
feeling his muscles relax. “No, old friend. I swear before
Mei, it is not so. Will you trust me long enough to sort this mess?
I promise you, you’ll know everything as soon as there is
time.”

Maklin scowled back at him,
working his jaw as he considered.

Ariano howled in dismay, “I
can’t see him anymore!”

Maklin stamped a foot on the
ground in annoyance. “Fine! But as soon as this mess is
cleared, you’re going to tell me everything, and if I don’t
like it, we'll have some sorting of our own to do!”

Maranath accepted Maklin's
temporary surrender with a relieved sigh. “Good enough.”

Logrus blinked and wiped tears
from his eyes. The smoke was thick here, and yet here was where he
had to be. Aiul was nearby. He could feel it.

It was hard to tell one man
from another, one
thing
from
another, even. Figures darted back and forth in the haze, appearing,
disappearing. Logrus almost struck a killing blow at what turned out
to be a tree.

When at last he found Aiul, it
was by nearly tripping over him. Aiul was hunched down in a crouch
and staring at the empty ground beneath him, mace across his knees,
breathing in ragged gasps. He was alone in the smoke and chaos. It
would seem he had won his battle, for the time being at least.

Logrus settled beside him and
crouched as well. “You’ve taught these fools a lesson,
eh?”

Aiul snorted, but said nothing.
Perhaps he was wounded? Logrus took a closer look. All seemed well,
but who could say for certain? They were both covered in blood.

Logrus waited with him a while.
It would be good if Aiul would be silent more often. Company was
better than Logrus had expected, but the talk grew tiresome at
times. “We must go,” he said at last. “Time is
short.”

Aiul shrugged. “Go,
then.”

“And you.”

Aiul let his weapon drop to the
ground. “No. I think I’ll just sit here for a while.
It’s nice here.”

Logrus half-grunted,
half-chuckled. “Smoke, chaos, and carnage. Nice? You will die
here.”

Aiul looked up, his
blood-streaked face oddly serene. “That’s the notion.”

“We have work. Die later,
when it is done.”

Aiul voiced a grim chuckle.
“Death is the end. All gone, like it never was. Why should I
care about our ‘mission’? Why should I care about
anything?”

“Do we truly argue the
meaning of life on a battlefield?”

“Yes!” Aiul stood,
eyes blazing, and grinned ear to ear, his face almost glowing with
inner madness. “Where better? Life, death, struggle,
surrender, it’s all here. Make sense of it for me, holy man!”

This was ridiculous. Clearly,
Elgar had sent these fools to allow them to escape. Delaying with
philosophical debate was ludicrous, and yet this was how Knights of
Flame behaved: as children.

Children are predictable and
easily led.
“You want my thoughts?”

Aiul opened his arms wide, his
smile dripping sarcasm. “Oh, I await your wisdom, Great
Teacher!”

Logrus’s fist moved like
lightning, striking Aiul squarely in his sneering, waggling mouth.
Aiul staggered and fell over on his ass.

Logrus turned on his heel and
ran as fast as his legs would carry him.

Aiul would follow.

Ahmed stabbed at an Elgie with
his right hand even as he reflexively blocked a blow aimed at the
man to his left. His comrade turned cold blue eyes toward him and
gave a quick nod of thanks, then turned back to his own nasty
business. Ahmed couldn’t help but note the pale, angular face
of his ally, the short bit of yellow hair protruding from his
helmet. Nor could he help what he felt about it, the distinct
sensation that he was fighting side by side with beasts.

He ground his teeth in
frustration. It was wrong, this feeling. It was an evil thing. His
head knew it, and so did his heart, but his gut disagreed. Which to
follow? A man might easily be torn in two from such struggles. How
could such a thing even be? How could he know so clearly that his
thoughts were wrong, and yet still think them?

Yazid
seemed to speak to him from the grave.
There
is evil in you, as there is in all men
. Why are you
surprised?

It was a sobering notion, an
unpleasant one that nagged at him as he fought. And yet, perhaps it
was a good thing after all. He could
see
evil. Was it such an
odd thing that he could recognize it in himself as well, even an
evil so common and banal? How many men must go through life blind to
their own sins?

One thing was certain: he must
fight this evil with as much dedication as he would any other. He
could not slay himself, but he could certainly see that he did no
harm. And perhaps someday, he could find a way to purge himself of
it.

Things were not going as he had
hoped. There were many Elgies, too many by far. There were scarcely
twenty Nihlosians still standing, and three of his own had fallen.
The Elgies, by design or fortune, had managed to flank them, and
Sandilianus had called their forces into a tight, fighting circle.
They were pressed from all sides, and the fighting was more
difficult now. The cultists seemed less frightened now, less stupid.
Perhaps that was simply because the worst of them had already been
killed.

What was left, then, was a few
less than forty men against a hundred. As good as Ahmed knew his
fighters to be, it looked grim. They were soldiers, not gods. For
the second time since the sun had risen, Ahmed resolved himself to
his death. It seemed to be a regular thing for him of late.
Eventually, he was bound to be right. Yet it was also the second
time that day that he was proved wrong on that matter.

He felt the ground tremble
beneath his feet and tried to work out what it could be. Surely
these fools had no artillery? Even as he puzzled over this, he saw
in the distance a massive, ancient oak stagger, then slowly keel
over into the midst of the throng of enemies. It burst into flames
before it hit the ground, and came hurtling horizontally through
their ranks like some great flaming scythe, smashing dozens of them
before settling barely twenty paces from his own position. Flaming
Elgies ran in every direction, some on foot, others flying from the
blow.

The tree had cleared a wide
path through their attackers. Ahmed struggled not to gape at what he
saw there now. Four figures, three men and a woman, three old and
one young, strode purposefully toward him through the chaos. Short,
squat creatures no more than three feet tall surrounded their party,
things that looked for all the world to be composed of rocks and
pebbles dancing in the air, playing at the shapes of a men. The rock
soldiers heaved about them as the party advanced, using the very
stones that composed them as weapons to smash Elgies aside who came
too close.

As the Elgies began to regroup,
the old woman let out a piercing wail, her voice unearthly and
strong, full of depth and harmonies that made the dirt beneath their
feet dance in agitation. Elgies close to her clamped their hands
over their ears, silently screaming as blood burst from their eyes,
noses, and ears.

Ilaweh is great! These are
sorcerers!

For the life of him, Ahmed was
unable to decide if this was a good or a bad thing.

Maranath realized the ground
beneath another tree was terribly wet and muddied. It must have
rained cats and dogs here, and recently. It was amazing, really,
that the thing still stood at all. In fact, even as he observed the
precariousness of the situation, the tree keeled over, crashing down
amidst the throngs of idiots to a chorus of shrieks.

It was more difficult to simply
believe, though. The world seemed harder, reality more solid than
the usual tapestry of lies. On a good day, 'real' was whatever he
desired. He could twist the weave as he liked, limited only by his
creative interpretation, the momentary choice of how he preferred to
see things. But today? Today, it was stiff and unwieldy, resisting
his will. Such was, to be certain, at least partly the influence of
the Eye, but Maranath had the nagging suspicion that there was
something else at work.

Not all those of great will
applied it in the same way a Meite would. Some were insufferably
provincial in their thinking, doggedly clinging to tradition, to
rules that need not apply. What a terrible waste, to throw in with
all of the useless fools of the world, the sheep and followers not
strong enough of soul to recognize the world was truly their oyster.