“One week Shyctem left him in the earth,” Athryn continued. “No food, no water, no air, no way to move. The throngs stayed to watch, abandoning their farms and livestock for a glimpse of the magician’s body. But when they dug up the corpse, it was no corpse. The previous whispers turned to shouts: Shyctem’s attempts to kill Monos proved the magician more powerful than their ‘Protector’. If Shyctem could not kill one man, surely, he could not be ruler.
“Shyctem’s anger was beyond reckoning. Only cleansing by fire remained, so they assembled a huge pyre. They smeared the tinder with pitch and stacked kindling and brush almost to the top. It stood large enough it might have been meant to burn an entire village. Shyctem himself led Monos, naked and dripping animal fat, from his holding cell and directed the executioners as they secured him atop the pyre.
“Before setting torch to wood, all Monos’ possessions were laid out with him-a few books, some clothing and his sword. Shyctem lit the pyre, touching the torch directly to the Necromancer first before setting the wood ablaze. The conflagration licked at the heavens, keeping the Gods from their sleep. The pyre burned for two days and the bloodthirsty crowd cheered each time a log shifted.
“When the fire was finally reduced to smoldering chunks of log, the people returned to their farms to find their neglected animals dead and abandoned crops rotted in the fields-Monos’ final act of vengeance was not an act of magic. It would be years before Shyctem won the right to call himself ruler, and then he had to do it by force.
“When the fire burned down, the only thing remaining of the Necromancer was his sword, heated so hot they say the steel moaned as it cooled, like a living thing mourning a loss; hence its name. Shyctem ordered the blade pulled from the ashes to have as his trophy. The fire left the steel burned black and the city’s best smith could not restore it. Stranger, the runes scrolled on its blade turned the color of blood. Shyctem took the sword, but it disappeared from his armory only days later.”
Khirro unconsciously rested his left hand on the sword’s hilt. “What happened to the sword?”
“Stolen by the man Shyctem sent to pose as an acolyte of Monos. During his time with the Necromancer, the man experienced power most men do not know exists, and he desired it for himself. He learned all he could before betraying his teacher, fulfilling his obligation to the future king. Once Monos died, he took it upon himself to continue the studies.”
A puzzled look creased Khirro’s brow. “Did they capture him?”
“Shyctem allowed him to live as payment for his service, or perhaps because he could not afford a second embarrassment. The man who had been both spy and acolyte devoted himself to the arcane arts, more so even than Monos. He quietly increased his knowledge and power without intervening in the affairs of men.”
“What became of him?”
“You will see soon enough,” Athryn replied with a humorless chuckle as he pulled his mask back over his face. “His name is Darestat.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
The border guard tried to remain motionless but couldn’t keep from glancing around the small room, unconsciously refusing to look at the pink hole where Suath’s eye once had been. A tic jerked his right cheek occasionally, sweat ran from his temple. Suath had seen men have reactions like this to him before and their nervousness and fear satisfied him. He knew the stories told about him, the names they called him: Suath the merciless, Suath the invincible, Suath the destroyer. Most of the stories were true. The ones which weren’t told were worse.
“They killed a soldier in Tasgarad.” The mercenary’s voice was a low, husky growl. The soldier shook his head. “And three whores in Inehsul. Burned them.”
“I didn’t know,” the guard said, voice quivering. “I didn’t see no one.”
“They came this way. I tracked them within yards of your post.” He pulled a dagger from his boot, fingering its tip as he spoke. “Do you think me a liar or a poor tracker?”
The man’s eyes widened. “N-neither. It’s my fault. I must have missed them.”
“Hmph.” Suath held the blade at eye level between them. “Within the week they passed. What do you remember?”
“Nothing. A normal night. We had a couple of pints. No harm in that. Nothing unusual. Except…”
Suath waited a few seconds for the man to collect his thought and finish his sentence, but impatience got the better of him.
“Except what?”
“I… I heard a noise. When I checked, it was just Shyn on patrol.”
“Who is Shyn? Where do I find him?”
“A right fuck up. A border guard, but none of us likes him. Something weird about him, keeps to himself.” The guard relaxed a little, snickered. “Funny, though. Now I think of it, he’s been assigned to town cause no one wanted him in their tower. He’d disappear for hours at a time. No one’d know where he went.”
Suath squatted in front of the soldier, bringing them eye-to-eye. The guard glanced away quickly rather than peer into the empty eye socket. Intimidation and disgust were precisely the reasons Suath didn’t cover it.
“Why was he here?”
“I don’t know.”
“Because he joined them,” Suath roared, the unexpected volume and ferocity of his voice startling the guard, making him jump in his chair. The man’s eyes flickered to Suath, then away.
“How was I supposed to know?” The guard’s voice squeaked in his throat.
“It’s your job. You’re to halt anyone crossing the borderland without an escort.”
“But-”
Suath grabbed the man by the throat.
“You allowed an enemy of the king to cross the border into Vendaria. Incompetent fool. Do you know the penalty for treason?”
The guard’s eyes bulged, his face turned purple under Suath’s grip as he scratched at the mercenaries arm, kicked his legs. The grip tightened in response. The thrashing and struggling soon ceased, but Suath held on, twisting the man’s throat until he felt his windpipe crushed beneath his fingers. He released his grip and strode from the room leaving the border guard’s body sprawled in the chair. In the anteroom, he walked past five other guards without a look.
“What happened?” one of the soldiers called after him, but the mercenary didn’t answer.
His quarry was close. He’d found the horses they left behind, seen their tracks where they crossed near the guard towers, even noticed one of them had fallen and retraced his steps. He left the tower, mounted his horse and rode into Vendaria with no worry the other border guards would follow to extract revenge for their fallen comrade. They knew him.
They knew to face Suath was to peer into the eye of the reaper.
A circuitous route through dense forest lengthened what would have been a three day ride straight across the open valley. Trees grew so thick in places, they were forced to find their way around them. A river which would have been easily forded the previous week had flooded beyond its banks, precipitating a ride deeper into the forest in search of a safe crossing. The closer they got to the sea, the rougher and more treacherous the terrain became. A week had passed since they crested the hill and looked down on the Vendarian valley, yet Khirro felt no closer to their goal. Their food stores were low and game had been scarce.
“We will have to hunt today,” Athryn said pulling his horse up at the base of a huge cedar. He lifted Maes from his seat and then slid out of the saddle.
“What about the one-eyed man?” Elyea asked. “Can we afford the time?”
“We need our strength.”
“Maybe we lost him,” Khirro ventured.
“Doubtful.” Ghaul pulled the saddle from his mount. “He likely knows where we are going, so didn’t waste time touring the entire Vendarian forest. One person moves faster than five and a half.”
Maes shot Ghaul a look of disdain only Khirro noticed-perhaps the little man paid more attention than he thought.
“I’ll hunt,” Shyn said. “Make a fire and boil some water. I’ll return with food shortly.”