The Final Decree [Chp 4]

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Here is another early chapter of The Final Decree. I hope you guys continue to enjoy!

CHAPTER FOUR

Rylion turned his attention to the god-king’s Scourge and frowned, seemingly unimpressed, almost dismissive. Without saying a word, he removed his heavy chain-mail cloak and threw it over my shoulders. The garment was too much for my frail frame, and I almost tumbled over.

“This won’t be enough,” I whispered. “The Scourge knows me. I must hide.”

Rylion glanced around at our barren surroundings. “I want to help you, but we might draw attention to ourselves if we leave now.”

What could we do? If he couldn’t come up with a plan fast enough, I would have to.

“The cart,” I muttered. “Maybe with the weapons. Please.”

Rylion walked to the back of the cart.

“Wulf,” he called out. “Come here.”

His brother hustled over, a slight smile on his face. “Yes?”

“Stay here and tie the weapons down but don’t finish with the task until the Holy Guard has left.”

“Why?”

Rylion motioned me onto the cart. Then he pulled the weapons close—the long chain, three swords, a pike, a quiver of arrows, and two spears—and gently pushed me back until I was sitting next to them. He used his cloak to cover me completely, with only the weapons sticking out at either end.

“Is this what you meant?” he asked.

I replied with a single nod.

“You mean we’re to hide her?” Wulf whispered.

“Don’t let the soldiers know,” Rylion said. “She’s small enough to fit in among the weapons.”

Wulf stared. “Perhaps…”

I hated my smaller frame for a myriad of reasons, but I supposed the ability to hide made it an advantageous trait at times. The faint musk of blood irritated my nose, however. It only became worse as Wulf tied one end of the cloak and then started with the other.

I peeked around the other edge of the cloak, trying to keep an eye on the Holy Guard’s activity.

“Do you need assistance?” the tall woman asked.

“Thank you, Caprice,” Rylion said. “Please help my brother tend to the equipment. I’ll be right back.”

I had never spoken with Caprice before, but the prayer she had offered to the dead Forsaken still rang in my ears. She took a seat on the edge of the cart, dignity in her posture, her white robes cleaner than the rest. She fumbled with the ties Wulf made, undoing everything so she could do it all over again.

The chainmail cloak weighed me down, and I soon found it difficult to breathe deeply. Restless energy flooded my veins. I wanted to get up and run, but I remained motionless, as Rylion wanted. The whinny of our horses didn’t help my mood. They grew ever more anxious as Alexavier and the Holy Guard drew near, and everyone knew why. The Holy Guard didn’t ride normal stallions or mares—they rode twisted hybrids, the offspring of horses and the Forsaken.

Sinister Beasts, or so they called them. Abominations.

A shudder ran down my spine when I contemplated such a breeding session.

The sinister horses had black coats and sharp cloven hooves, much like deer. And their faces… it took a man with a strong amount of willpower to look at them. The Sinister Beasts had two sets of eyes. One set was normal in every regard for a horse, but the second set was a pair of humaneyes. They stared with an unblinking intensity that sent shivers down the spine.

The beasts stood a foot taller than most horses, and their breath smelled of raw flesh, no matter their diet. Truly, they were terrible creatures unfit for the world.

Alexavier spurred his fell mount toward the cart, and I held my breath. His full-plate armor, styled with the god-king’s heraldry of thorns, refused to reflect most of the setting sun’s light. It was crafted from King’s Stone and then dipped in black oxide, muting all reflection and giving his armor a matte ebony finish. Same with all the Holy Guard’s armor. The men appeared to be shadows of warriors—dark apparitions that followed the god-king’s will.

Despite his attire, Alexavier and I shared a handful of physical traits. His black hair, tied back and visible without his helmet, was the same coal shade as mine. Even his bronze skin was the same hue as my own. But his dark eyes matched the inkiness of his pupils, and he had the physique necessary to wear his metal armor.

To my surprise, Alexavier urged his animal to a halt and stared straight down at Rylion’s father.

“Osmund,” he said. “I did not expect to see you on these back roads. What a pleasant surprise.”

Osmund straightened his belt and gave Alexavier the once-over. He sneered at the Sinister Beast and then met Alexavier’s gaze with a glower. “I live in the town of Ludlow. I have for some time. It’s you who is out of place here.”

“You reside in Ludlow? That backwater slum? My, how the mighty have fallen.”

“And here you are, running down men without a second thought.”

Alexavier narrowed his eyes. “That man would’ve become a monster. And it’s the god-king’s will that I slay all monsters. Surely, you don’t want innocent people harmed, even by accident.”

The nearby merchants nodded at the sentiment, but no one uttered a word.

Rylion walked over to his father and took a position at his side. He offered Alexavier a nod, but he kept his words to himself. No greeting. No smile. The tense atmosphere thickened with each passing moment.

“We’re ready to leave, Father,” Rylion said, breaking the silence. “Once we finish securing all our weapons, and Steen finishes tending the animals.”

Osmund and Alexavier stared at the back of the cart. I made an art of stillness as I held my breath, even while Wulf took his time tying the ends of the sharp weapons with thick cloths. Alexavier’s gaze lasted half a second before he returned it to Osmund. He dismissed Wulf and Caprice tending to the weapons as unimportant. My panic waned, but I refused to take even a shallow breath.

The rest of the Holy Guards dealt with the corpse of the cursed man like most would. They stabbed and defiled it before readying a quick fire on the side of the road.

Alexavier offered a forced smile. “You’ve grown old, Osmund. You should have stayed in the god-king’s service.”

“I’ve grown wise, boy,” Osmund said with a grunt. “The same can’t be said for you.”

Alexavier clenched his jaw. He was old—older than me, at least—but he had retained a youthful appearance, whereas Osmund had the gut and gray beard hairs of a man his age. And I knew Alexavier well enough to have experienced his hubris. He wouldn’t care for Osmund’s disrespect.

“I see you’ve taken to the role of backwater peasant quite well,” Alexavier said. “But I would have the tongue of a peasant who didn’t address me as Knight Captain Alexavier Lowell, Scourge of the God-King Eliezer. So know your damn place, Osmund, or I might be forced to put you in it.”

“My father meant no disrespect,” Rylion said, interjecting himself into the conversation. “We’ve had a long day and we’ll be traveling through the night.”

Alexavier examined Rylion’s bloodied armor. His sinister horse didn’t whinny or nicker—it snarled and shook its head, its human eyes drawn to the splatters of crimson as well.

“You help your father hunt the Forsaken?” Alexavier asked.

“That’s right.”

“Perhaps you can help me. I’m looking for a young woman. Thin. Black hair. Someone who looks like they hail from the capital city.”

“What of her?”

“She’s cursed.” Alexavier pulled a piece of parchment from a satchel hanging off his mount’s saddle. “And she’s dangerous. God-King Eliezer will pay ten times the standard reward for her corpse. Look here. Can you read? It’s a message from the god-king himself.” Alexavier handed the parchment over with a flick of his wrist.

Rylion took it. “I see. Dangerous, you say?”

“That’s right. She killed five of my men.”

“Of the Holy Guard?” Rylion asked, surprise in his tone. Wulf glanced at his brother. Osmund grew tense. He folded his arms over his chest, and his frown deepened.

“Yes. Men of my Holy Guard.”

“Because you were hunting her?”

“Because she is unstable,” Alexavier said. “Don’t think to pity her. Beware those who know remorse, boy. Good men have no need for the emotion.”

“Of course,” Rylion intoned. “And what name does this woman go by?”

“If you can get her to speak, she would introduce herself as Artemisia, but the woman is quiet. You’ll know her by the curse mark over her heart and shoulder.”

I held Rylion’s cloak tightly. Perhaps I should have taken a false name, or maybe conducted myself as a mute. Either way, I couldn’t take back my actions. I had told Rylion my true name, and now they knew a fraction of my crimes against the god-king.

“I don’t know the woman you seek,” Rylion said as he handed back the parchment.

His lie on my behalf stilled my thoughts and slowed my breathing.

Alexavier exhaled. “If you do find her, I guarantee there will be a position on the Holy Guard waiting as a further reward. You have the look of a warrior I could rely on.”

“Thank you, but I’m content in Ludlow.”

“Only fools are content in a place such as Ludlow. Do not scorn ambition.”

“If I find the woman you’re looking for, I’ll keep your offer in mind.”

“Good,” Alexavier said as he urged his mount away from the cart. “Finish that,” he shouted to his soldiers. “We’ve spent far too much time here.”

The soldiers hastened their actions, and the few who weren’t busy joined Alexavier as he rode by the cart. The Holy Guard had just killed a man for being cursed. They didn’t wait for a person to become one of the Forsaken. If Alexavier had known Osmund harbored so many cursed individuals, I assumed the encounter would have turned bloody.

Steen urged the horses toward Mount Regel. The Holy Guard left in the opposite direction, but I couldn’t watch them go for long, not while wrapped in the chainmail cloak. I waited for several minutes afterward before sitting up and removing my cover. Wulf smiled and Caprice brushed off some of the dust from the cart.

A chill breeze washed over the land. Plants curled in on themselves and woodland creatures scurried into warm dens. I huddled in Rylion’s cloak. The blue fabric was ripped—no doubt by the Forsaken—but the chain mail of the garment was completely intact. No harm. Not a single link dented or scratched. I squinted to get a better look at the material, but it was much too dark. Something about it wasn’t normal…

“We shouldn’t be travelin’ these roads at night,” Lydia said, startling me. She walked to the back of the cart, an earthen quality to her braided hair. She wore dirt-stained pants under her skirt.

She continued, “Don’t you know about these parts?” Her voice had a thick molasses quality about it. “Brigands watch the mountain roads. They like findin’ merchants after the Forsaken run ’em for a chase.”

We weren’t merchants and we didn’t look helpless. What was she afraid of?

Thea walked up to the group, her small frame trembling under the many layers of her clothes. Then she turned to me and offered half a smile. “Hello.”

I nodded but said nothing.

“I need to apologize,” she said. “I thought that because you wore Bryn’s old robes, you were a man. Terribly silly of me. My name is Thea Yellahjar.”

“Of course I’m not a man,” I drawled.

“Well, yes, I see that now, but…”

Silence.

Even Wulf rubbed at his neck, like he couldn’t decide the etiquette for the situation.

It grated on my nerves. No one had anything to say after that? I moved back onto the cart, squeezed my body between barrels, and rested my head in the corner. It was uncomfortable, but I would rather sleep and I couldn’t do it out in the open. Vulnerability bred anxiety within me.

Wulf returned to his brother’s side. Caprice, Lydia, and Thea muttered between themselves. No doubt I was the topic of their conversation.

It didn’t matter. Alexavier marched farther away with each second. I hoped I would never have to see him again.

***

The rustling of feathers woke me.

I opened my eyes and sat up. In an instant, I spotted the birds. So many birds. Dozens flew overhead in a large group that swirled and shifted with the wind, their cloud of shadows blotting out the morning sun. Some were large, some bulbous, others small. For a moment, I thought I was dreaming—a handful of birds that had six legs or three-part beaks—but the cold air stung my nose and I knew I was awake.

The birds were Sinister Beasts, offspring of a Forsaken and an animal. All of them.

Shifting out of Rylion’s cloak, I made my way to the edge of the cart. Snow covered the road and the wheels occasionally slid, but the horses walked with a steady confidence, as though they had traveled this path before. I stepped down from the back and struggled to keep my balance. The packed snow had become slick ice.

The cart continued on without me as I struggled to remain upright. I turned my head and saw Wulf, Rylion, and Caprice trailing far behind the cart. I waited for them, baffled by Rylion’s decision to keep his heavy armor on, despite the harsh weather.

When they reached me, Wulf smiled. “You’re awake.” He motioned to Caprice. “I never managed to introduce you to Caprice. She’s a priestess of the old gods from the Kingdom of Saileer.”

Caprice gave me a quick nod.

She hailed from a different kingdom? And worshipped the old gods? An odd combination I had never seen before. She must have been cursed, like Steen and Thea. Most god-kings and god-queens prohibited their citizens from leaving their kingdoms.

Cawing and crowing overhead cut the conversation short. A few sinister birds swooped close, hissing with unrivaled bloodlust. Some looked like crows, others like vultures—so many different breeds—all of them swarming together. I would hate to be the target of their mass attack.

“We’re on the right track,” Caprice murmured, her eyes on the sky. She brushed her long hair back with her slender fingers. “There are more birds here than a week ago.”

“Hm,” Rylion replied.

“Your father suspects she’s up near the evergreen forest, drawing all the birds with her musk.”

“I hope he’s right. We should find her before the beasts pour off the mountain.”

I rubbed my arms through my robes and increased my gait in order to keep up with the others. For a long while, we didn’t speak. My stomach churned, rumbling in a foreign language. I ignored it, but felt every syllable.

“Do you know much about the Forsaken?” Wulf asked me. “You studied for all those years, after all.”

“I do,” I said, holding back the chatter of my teeth.

“Do you know why this is happening? I’ve never known a Forsaken to mother so many terrible offspring. And the birds… They defied their migration to stay and mate with her. Their frozen corpses dot the forests.”

“The Forsaken take on aspects of the sin,” I said, keeping my gaze down toward the snow. “The Forsaken you fought on the road had many legs and hands. Perhaps it once was a thief—greedy and grasping at things without permission. It attacked the merchants, after all, and it had an agile swiftness to its movement.”

“What do you think of… the Forsaken we’re hunting?”

I stared up at the birds. “She mates frequently, and with any bird, regardless of its breed. Her sin must be of a sexual nature. Adultery, if I had to guess. Perhaps she was a whore.”

“Enough,” Rylion said, his tone thick with anger.

I turned to face him, but he didn’t return my gaze. His attention remained straight ahead, his jaw tight. Wulf glanced over at his brother, anger plain on Rylion’s face.

“It wouldn’t hurt for me to know,” Wulf said. “I can handle it.”

Rylion shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Well, it matters to me. You and Dad won’t talk about it. All I have is speculation.”

“I said it doesn’t matter. We’ll discuss this no further.”

Wulf grabbed his brother’s shoulder and forced him to stop. “Why do you hide this from me?” His whole body tensed, and the snow around us shifted with the rage—flurries swirled about. The two brothers, while similarly tall and athletic, seemed different in that moment. The small curls of Wulf’s hair were tipped with cutting ice, and Rylion tensed his broad shoulders, as still as snow.

Caprice and I stopped, then I moved away, distancing myself from a conflict that wasn’t mine.

Rylion glowered but didn’t say a word. When met with silence, Wulf released Rylion and stormed down the road, his breath coming out in harsh, misty rasps.

Caprice rubbed her elbows and then continued onward. She motioned with her head, indicating I should follow, but I didn’t know her, and I certainly didn’t trust her. I preferred Rylion, even if he was troubled and angry. Perhaps Caprice sensed my reluctance. She turned away and continued on without me.

I lingered back with Rylion until everyone was out of earshot.

Rylion didn’t move. He stared at the snow—which had calmed—and I walked to his side.

Finally, he acknowledged me with a hard gaze. “Can I ask a favor?”

I held his scarf tight. “Anything.”

“You haven’t even heard my request.”

“Alexavier would have gutted me, and although you could have gained a substantial reward for turning me in, you didn’t. Is it such a surprise that I would grant you a favor?”

Rylion half-smiled. “My father has told me a great number of stories that involve Alexavier, the God-King’s Scourge. I’ll trust my instinct over Alexavier’s word. I don’t think you mean us harm.”

“What is your favor?”

“Don’t indulge my brother’s curiosity. If he asks you about the Forsaken, especially the one on this mountain, feign ignorance or refuse to answer, I care not which.”

The fell birds circled overhead. I stood closer to Rylion and shivered. “I won’t speak to him about the Forsaken. But…”

“Yes?”

“Why?” I asked.

Rylion heaved a heavy sigh.

I shook my head. “Forget I asked. It’s none of my business.”

“You’ll know soon,” he intoned. “And I should have told you by now. The Forsaken we’re hunting is my mother.”