Long Live Evil, page 42
Rae reached out with her free hand, and turned the handle. She let the door swing open and the light shine through.
Just a little.
The question was, how did she want to live?
She whispered into the light, “I swear I’ll come back. If I can.”
On the cusp of hearing, she heard a response. It sounded like her name. It sounded like her sister.
The Flower bloomed for one night. There were hours of night left still that Rae could use before she escaped. Rae turned her back on the door for now, slipped the flower away for safekeeping, and beckoned the dazed guard. “Want to know your future?”
Real alarm touched the poor man’s face. On this night of sacred storms and oncoming death, people were inclined to believe in prophecy.
Soothsayer, oracle, witch of legend, Rae let her eyes widen and her voice drop low. “I see your fate. It’s terrible.”
She punched the guard in the head with her magic-armoured fist. He slid to the floor with a sad long whimper like a deflating balloon.
Rae made an apologetic face. “Told you it wasn’t good.”
She was still standing over the fallen guard when she heard a crash, and realized the palace gates had fallen.
Rae stooped to steal the guard’s sword, then spun and ran, ivory and blood skirts sweeping the stairs, racing along the battlements beside the seething revolt of the ravine.
She found King Octavian standing on the battlements. His living subjects chanted on the balconies, encouraging him to descend and rise to scourge their enemy. His dead army called for him from the abyss. Courtiers clustered about him, including the prime minister, urgently advising.
Octavian wasn’t listening to any of it. Nor was he rushing to execute Lia.
He stared into the ravine, red light flickering on the quiver of his mouth. In that moment Rae knew he was afraid. She was wickedly glad.
The First Duke, who had once been the great god, was waiting in that abyss. Rae knew the Emperor would win the battle against his father. But oh, she hoped it would hurt first.
“Hear my last prophecy, Your Majesty!”
The purr of her voice was a roar. She began her villainous stalk towards him.
He had no guards left. The courtiers around the king retreated, in fear of the future.
“You will fall a long, long way. The dead are waiting for you, and a man more terrifying than the dead.”
Octavian trembled. Before all the king’s ministers, the treacherous Beauty Dipped In Blood lunged.
“When you finish falling,” hissed Rae. “Tell him I sent you.”
With all her might and stolen magic, she shoved the king off the battlements and down into the dread ravine.
The faithful of the palace broke off their chants and cried out as their king fell. The city witnessed their last king-in-waiting plummet, a ruler one moment, and the next nothing but a dark outline delineated against consuming fire.
Then he was gone.
The abyss screamed as if suffering the pangs of birth. The heavens opened and hell rained down. What fell from the bruise-coloured clouds looked like snow, but the snowflakes were grey and burned when they landed on Rae’s shoulders. The sky wept ash. Pillars of smoke and flame struck the surging clouds, forming a dark shape that cast a vast shadow from the palace to the mountains. It was the shadow of a crowned man.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The End for the Golden Cobra
No ordinary man could have crossed the distance with a mortal wound, but none could describe the Last Hope as ordinary. By the time he reached the hawthorn tree, even his great strength was failing.
He had saved Lady Lia. Was that enough to wipe away the blood on his conscience?
Summer was gone, it was dark, and Marius was tired.
The Cobra had been so surprised to die. In his dying moments, he looked young as the boy Marius had met under the hawthorn tree.
As Marius Valerius’s vision dimmed that was what he saw. The first look, and the last.
The sun rose, but the Last Hope never witnessed its light. As the storm raged and the city burned, he died in the dark beneath a hawthorn tree. Rain slid through the leaves in silver lines, and fell on his cold face like tears.
Time of Iron, ANONYMOUS
Battle raged outside the palace walls. Marius Valerius had received his king’s command.
When Octavian strode into the library to announce the raiders were attacking, it felt like a reverse avalanche. Stone upon stone tumbling off his chest, finally letting him breathe. Marius was made for war.
Scouts were sent, maps unrolled, and Captain Diarmat brought in to consult on the situation. Marius ordered men sent to every palace gate. From the sound without, raiders were trying to break through at several points, and there were already men within the walls trying to let their comrades in. Once one gate was breached, they would flood through. The flood must be beaten back.
He wanted to be outside fighting, but recalled his duty. “Tell me your will, sire.”
Gilded by the fires of burning buildings beyond the palace walls, Octavian’s profile had looked carved in gold. Only the faintest glint of red sparks spoiled the image.
“My Valerius general. Find Nemeth, and take command. You must lead my army into battle. First, I have business with the traitors who sold us to Tagar. Then I must descend into the abyss and claim my birthright. Fear nothing. I will return with lightning in my hands and the dead at my back.”
All through their boyhood Marius always knew Octavian needed someone to believe in him. Marius always wanted to. Fear nothing, his king had said. A good man obeyed his king.
I’m not the coward of the court. You are, a voice echoed in his mind, but that was wickedness leading him astray.
“Before you take command, you must do one last thing to prove yourself to me.”
Marius had bowed. “Sire, anything.”
“Bring me the Cobra’s head,” commanded his king.
With that, Octavian had departed.
Marius’s course was clear. Octavian might have promised to leave the Cobra’s fate to Marius in peacetime, but this was war. The Cobra was a liar and a traitor, a criminal corrupted by dark magic. Even if he were noble, his sins called for immediate execution, and he wasn’t noble.
Days ago, Marius had gone to Octavian with the Oracle’s truth.
Octavian had leaned forward avidly in his throne. “Is the Cobra a corrupt noble of Eyam, or a spy sent by our enemies?”
“He began his life in Eyam on the streets of the Cauldron,” Marius began, and the king cut him off.
“So he’s riff-raff from the streets. He can’t matter at all, and you wasted the Oracle’s answer on him. Pity.”
Marius’s mouth closed on his tale of other worlds. “Yes.”
Oh, the pity of it. But his king was right. By any measurement Marius knew, the Cobra was worth nothing. Disobedience meant damnation and dishonour.
Marius should try and do what was right.
“Captain,” Marius said quietly. “In the Room of Memory and Bone, set by the memorial of the God-child, is a secret passage into the city. Send men you trust through to hold off the raiders. The palace is not all that needs defending. Our people must be protected.”
Diarmat left to execute his orders.
Fire painted the night. The battle raged beyond the palace walls, but the library was quiet. Years ago, Marius had hung his ancestral sword on the library wall. Starving for Blood was the sword’s name, and it had drunk no blood in years. Not since the heir gave up war training and knelt on the ice outside the Ivory Tower, swearing he would be a scholar.
Now Marius stood by the hearth listening to the chaos, reflecting the painful turmoil in his own heart. Across seven years, he heard a child screaming. Deliver me from the monster I might be. Send help, send salvation. Lost gods, find me. Moonshine and firelight twined in shimmering red and silver ribbons on the bared blade.
At last the Last Hope broke his vow, and took down his sword.
As Marius raced towards the Cobra’s manor, the palace gates crashed down. At the noise, Marius’s step checked.
He had watched the raiders from the library windows, blood burning for the kill, yet knowing strategy won wars, not strength. Tagar’s army was made up of two distinctly different factions. There was no cavalry, only a vast quantity of footsoldiers and bowmen. The footsoldiers were dressed in furs, leather and clanking chains, and they shouted war cries not only to heat their blood but to indicate their position to each other. Smoke eddied through the streets, firelight edging Marius’s vision, but these men were not butchering and burning at random.
He’d seen the movements of their own forces through the city. Commander General Nemeth was flinging troops at the raiders to combat their sheer volume. He’d missed that it wasn’t only the Tagar numbers which made them a serious threat.
“The raiders on the ground have a leader,” Marius told his captain. “A leader on the front lines, not behind them. Watch how they move, they’re following someone.” He tilted his head. “Look above to see a different story.”
Bowmen, silent and grey-hooded, glided over the rooftops. No pattern or discipline could be discerned in their movements, each finding the position that suited them best. For some, that position was a place of safety in the shadows.
“They don’t have a leader, or if they do, they don’t trust him,” said Marius. “Send men to the rooftops, and—”
Raiders spilled from the broken east gate in an unchecked flood. Where were the king’s men who should be on guard here?
“Go,” Marius snapped at Diarmat. “Spread the word. Gather our archers, gather pitch and stones. The Tagar army has a weak point. We must strike at it. Lead the soldiers, protect the people, and if you can, come find me.”
He waited until the captain was safely gone, then let his control slip. He dared only let it loose by a fraction, as if he held a rein in bloodied hands. The rein might fly from his grip at any moment.
Seeing Marius posed a real threat, raiders pressed in on every side. The Tagar army had well-trained soldiers, strong and brave. It wasn’t enough to save them.
Their end was brutal, swift, and messy. Marius barely stopped himself from stabbing a guard of Eyam in the back. He blinked, lashes heavy with blood, and realized how far from the east gate he had come.
On sheer instinct alone, Marius had moved towards the Cobra’s manor. The king’s men shouldn’t be here.
Unless Octavian had sent a strike team to make doubly sure the Cobra died. Unless the king thought the Golden Cobra was that dangerous.
Maybe he was.
Marius hesitated another instant. Then he ran, faster than any ordinary man could. Faster than he had ever run before in his life, except once.
The streets roiled with raiders, soldiers and the terrified citizens of Themesvar. An ice raider made the mistake of attacking a pot boy cowering against a wall while in Marius’s line of sight. The raider clawed at Marius’s collar and sleeves, gurgling on blood as he died. Marius tore away his own encumbering sleeves, using them to wipe his eyes.
The Cobra’s doors had been reduced to splinters, the gold handles already stolen. Footsteps marked in blood led up the grand staircase. Marius ran into the Cobra’s parlour.
Soldiers had no time for hesitation or emotion. The Cobra wasn’t in his parlour, but other men were. Marius paused to clean his sword on the golden curtains, before heading into the inner chamber. A magically reinforced door that could only be opened with an enchanted key blocked his path. He broke it down.
The Cobra was in his bedroom, hauling a canvas bag, in the process of climbing out a window. He grimaced when he saw Marius.
“I was just leaving. I have a getaway bag. I did my hair in my getaway bun.”
He offered Marius a tentative smile. Marius didn’t smile back.
“Can’t you let me go?” the Cobra asked, without much hope.
Marius said, “I can’t.”
Eric’s gaze slid over to the horizon, buildings burning against the night. Calculation crossed his expressive face, measuring the drop from the window and the likelihood of escape. Marius caught the Cobra’s eye and shook his head. There was no chance.
Eric sighed and eased the getaway bag off his shoulder, leaning back against the windowsill with an indolent air. His act wasn’t as good as usual, since he was nervous. Marius crossed the lavish, frivolous chamber, and faced the Golden Cobra with his sword in hand.
After a pause, Eric raised an eyebrow. “If you’ve finally come to a decision? Get it over with.”
“This is a solemn moment for me,” Marius snapped.
Annoyance flickered across Eric’s face, brief as a candle flame or a swinging gold chain. The flash of irritation was gone as soon as seen, replaced with what lay behind the many shows.
Quiet and kind, Eric said, “Don’t be hard on yourself later, Marius. If it had to happen, I’m glad it was you.”
He turned his head, baring his throat. The light from burning buildings sparked on the tiny gold hoop in his ear. Even running for his life, the Cobra had stopped for his contraband jewellery.
Marius slid to his knees, and set the blade against his own breast. Above him, Eric recoiled in a shocked-back movement.
“Marius, stop!”
Eric always had to be difficult. It was all right. Marius had made up his mind.
This would have been easier if he had a dagger. He slashed a long line on the skin below his collarbone, and felt the hot blood spill.
“‘First cut for gods lost in the sky, second for fiends in the abyss. Third cut for me, Marius Valerius. Fourth cut for you, Eric Mitchell. By the sword, I swear to be loyal and true.’”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” whispered the Cobra.
He should know Marius never made jokes. Marius shot the Cobra an exasperated glance, remained at the Cobra’s feet, and completed his vow.
“‘I swear to love all you love, and hate all you hate. You will feel no rain, as I will be a shelter for you. You will feel no hunger or thirst while I have food to give or wine in my cup. When my name is in your mouth, I will always answer, and your name will be my call to arms. I will ever be a shield for your back, and the story told between us will be true. Everything agreed between us, I will carry out, for yours is the will I have chosen.’”
A last slash, and it was done. He was dishonoured and damned. Marius bowed his head.
The next minute strong hands closed around his arms, pulling him to his feet.
“Get up right now, I think I’m having a panic attack!” Once he was standing, Eric shoved him. “Explain.”
“The blood oath is the most solemn thing between sky and abyss. It is the sword that cannot be broken, the word that cannot be unspoken. It is placing your shivering soul into someone’s palm, and trusting they will not clench their fist. The oath says for all my days, your life is dearer than my life, and if I can be true to you past death, I will. Anybody who makes this oath lightly is lost.”
Eric gave a strange breathless laugh. “Trust me, that I know. What does that mean? Do you want to be—warriors in arms?”
“Have your skills in war recently dramatically improved?”
Eric laughed again. This time, it sounded more real. “Are we chivalry bros? I haven’t even read the books of chivalry! I don’t think I’ll agree with them.”
“You should read them,” said Marius. “I look forward to disagreeing with you.”
“What are you planning to do?”
Marius hesitated. “Care for you.”
Eric made an expansive and explosive gesture, ending with a hand clawing through his getaway bun. “Give me a second, hang on a minute. I thought the plot was going somewhere completely different.”
The city was being invaded, but Eric had asked for time, so Marius would give him time. Marius dismissed the mention of a plot. Somebody at court was always plotting something.
After a moment, Eric lifted his head, a wicked gleam lighting his eye.
“You’ll care for me? Thank you, oh gracious lord,” Eric purred. “Will you care for my brothel?”
The sky outside the windows went white. Marius thought that was the effect being profoundly scandalized had on his vision, before he realized another explosion of fiendish magic was tearing the world apart.
“Is now the time to discuss—that!”
“Yes!” Eric snapped. “Out in the burning city is a large building full of vulnerable people under my protection. Will you help me?”
Put that way, the matter required urgent attention.
“I will.”
“You will?” Eric repeated blankly.
“I took vows,” Marius reminded him, vexed. “You were there. It just happened.”
The Cobra employed the deep breaths he used to calm himself. The calming breaths went on for longer than usual. “Cool, cool, cool. Let’s go out the window, I think soldiers stormed the house.”
“I dealt with that.”
Octavian had sent a strike force to capture the Cobra. The king doubted Marius’s loyalties. He was right to doubt.
Octavian had broken his word first, but that didn’t excuse Marius breaking his. Oath breaking was unforgivable. Marius had done it anyway.
Eric shook his head, rueful. “I took too long to run. I was waiting for someone.”
“Lady Rahela?” Marius asked sharply. “Lady Lia?”
The snake, or her snake sister?
“Emer,” said Eric.
“Rahela’s maid?”
“How do you know her name!”
“I know fifteen servants’ names now.” Marius had been asking around.
After a wide-eyed pause, Eric shouldered his bag and headed out of his inner chambers. Marius followed, but the Cobra froze in the middle of the parlour.
“Marius Valerius! Why are there twenty dead men in my salon?”
This wasn’t an efficient escape from a war-torn city. Why must Eric waste time with questions that had obvious answers?
“They got in my way.”
The strike force was there to execute the Cobra. It was Eric’s life or theirs.
