Sins of the Fathers- The Complete Trilogy Read online

  “He was offering you the chance to surrender!”

  “To surrender and leave him with the Eye!” Amrath’s gaze was like a green flame, his confidence in his own cause like a physical force, undeniable. “You don’t fully understand the significance, and I won’t do you the evil of explaining it. A warrior needs his sleep, eh? But even a simple warrior like you can appreciate the madness of his command to slay the entire continent!”

  Xanthius looked away, not wanting his eyes to reveal all of his thoughts. “I did not obey that command,” he said softly.

  “He gave it, Xanthius! To everyone! The damage was done the minute they all knew. Surely you have to see what that thing did to him!”

  There was no arguing that point. “Tell me you destroyed it.”

  Amrath sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, looking suddenly older. “I don’t think it can be destroyed. Yorn was able to pry its eyes out and cut the thing in half along a seam, but beyond that, it was impervious to everything we tried.”

  “Can it be reassembled?”

  “With terrifying ease.”

  Xanthius pounded his fist into his hand in frustration. “We are cursed by the gods themselves!”

  “Aye,” Amrath said. “More so than you realize.”

  Xanthius raised an eyebrow at this, waiting for more.

  Amrath looked for a moment as if he thought Xanthius was toying with him, then shook his head vigorously. As if he were denying a bad memory. “Those mad fools in Torium were trying to kill a god, to steal his power. They almost succeeded, would have if we hadn’t attacked them. They may still, in the long run.”

  “Gods visit Torium regularly, eh?” Xanthius sneered.

  “Once was enough.”

  Xanthius tried to take this in stride and give no further insult, but Amrath’s frown suggested this effort had not been entirely successful. “Sorcery is difficult enough for me to accept, and I have seen it with my own eyes,” Xanthius admitted. “I respect your and the Ilawehans’ beliefs, but I do not share them.”

  Amrath was obviously offended, but that seemed a fairly normal state for Meites. They squabble like children. The sorcerer scowled at him a moment, his lips pressed hard together. “Then you are a fool,” he declared.

  “This would hardly be the first time I was pronounced such.”

  Amrath opened his mouth to deliver what Xanthius expected to be a significantly more artful insult when the sounds of a struggle outside interrupted their conversation. A dark hand pulled open the tent flap, and a man came hurtling through the opening and collapsed in a heap, face down on the floor, long dreadlocks splayed about his head. The noose had been cut from the pole, but it was still tight about his neck, and his hands were bound behind him as well. Husam strode in and delivered a savage kick to the downed man’s ribs.

  Instead of screaming, the prisoner turned his gaping, empty eye sockets toward his captor and let out a deep, sinister laugh. “That which does not kill me.” His voice was deep and gravely, made even more so by the noose.

  Husam grabbed the end of the rope and jerked the prisoner to his feet. They were almost the same height, though Husam was thick and hale, a stark contrast to his gaunt, ashen captive.

  “The day is not yet done, Monster,” Husam growled as he shoved the man forward. “Amin al Asad,” he announced, then, with less enthusiasm, added, “of the Ilawehans.”

  The prisoner turned his head toward Husam, his features twisted in fury, “Kafir! Traitor! How dare you name me such!”

  Husam returned the glare, then nodded quick assent, and announced, “Amin al Asad, of Elgar.”

  Al Asad held Husam’s gaze briefly before returning the nod, then turned back to face Xanthius. “The name of a dead man,” he muttered. “I am Carsogenicus now.”

  Amrath feigned wonder and admiration, spreading his arms wide to the prisoner and plastering on a false grin. “Amin al Asad, Carsogenicus, Odio Sinistera: the list keeps growing. Have you thought of any new names while you were swinging?”

  Husam kicked Carsogenicus again, this time in the back of his leg. “You will not escape justice by changing your name, dog. Ilaweh will know you, whatever you call yourself.”

  Al Asad staggered but kept his footing. He turned and spat in Husam’s face. The huge warrior reached for his sword, but Xanthius raised a hand to stop him. If ever a man deserved to be tortured or murdered, here stood the one, but such things were barbarism. At some other time, one might risk descending into a touch of brutality but not here, not now. Civilization was but a candle flickering in the wind. The slightest of breezes could put it out for a thousand years. This fiasco had to carry at least the thin veneer of a trial, or they were simply playing al Asad’s game. That had already happened far too many times.

  And I intend to burn him alive and call it justice. The world has gone mad these last few years. “Amin al Asad, you have been found guilty of treason and crimes against humanity. For these crimes, you have been sentenced to death.”

  Carsogenicus laughed again. “You seem to be having some problems carrying out the sentence.”

  Amrath’s smile was gone now. “Rest assured, we have plenty of ideas.”

  “You talk as if you are the victor here, sorcerer.”

  “You’ll be dead soon. I think that counts as at least a small victory.”

  “My life has meant nothing since Alexander drove me out. I merely had debts to pay.” Carsogenicus raised a hand to Amrath and clenched into a fist. “I have torn from my enemies that which they most loved, as they once did to me and my men.” He swept them all with his impossible gaze, his empty sockets like cold, black holes in the fabric of the world. “I am the victor here. I welcome oblivion. I take your honor and your pride with me as sweet spoils.”

  He grinned at Xanthius, exposing bloody teeth. “The great Imperator Xanthius, guilty of war crimes, sentenced to death. They hate you even more than they hate me. Now you’re a traitor for defying the Senate. How does that sit with the great and honorable hero of Laurea?”

  Xanthius ignored the barbs and the question. Engaging in conversation with this man was not merely pointless, it was dangerous. “Have you anything else to say in your defense, anything that might sway the judgment of this court?”

  “I deny this court. The Senate has ruled.”

  Amrath snickered, then laughed out loud. “The cowards behind the wall haven’t the authority to rule a cabbage patch. The Council of Twelve is the true authority of Laurea, by right of conquest.”

  Carsogenicus chuckled again. “You, too, are conquered now, Meite.”

  “By Xanthius, not the Senate. My allegiance is to him.”

  “Xanthius wields the sword, but he lacks the will to swing it. He is a groveling toad in the end.” He turned to leer at Husam. “As I always told you.”

  Husam’s sword flashed in the light, too quick for Xanthius to countermand, and buried itself in the prisoner’s shoulder.

  Carsogenicus, instead of crying out in agony, calmly turned his head to look at the wound, a dark, malevolent grin spreading across his face. The muscles in his arms bulged with sudden effort, and the rope binding his wrists parted with a snap.

  Gods! I had no idea he had that sort of strength!

  Carsogenicus grabbed Husam’s blade and held it in place, cackling as black blood oozed from the wound, bubbling and eating at Husam’s weapon like acid, sending tiny streamers of smoke into the air as it worked at the metal.

  “I gave you this blade,” Carsogenicus hissed at Husam. “A poor strike, brother, but your hate is strong. Why did you turn from us? From me?”

  Husam struggled with both hands to free the sword, but Carsogenicus held it fast with a grip of iron. The weakened blade parted with a snap, and Husam staggered backward, breathing heavily. “You turned from me, brother,” he growled and tossed the useless hilt to the ground.

  “Elgar loves you still. A hate such as yours cannot be denied, even when turned against him.”


  Husam spat in Carsogenicus’s face. “I serve Ilaweh now. I renounce Elgar. I renounce you.”

  Carsogenicus flashed a cruel smile as he wiped the spittle from his face. “How can such righteous fury be anything but Elgar’s?”

  “I deny you!” Husam roared.

  Carsogenicus turned his back to Husam. “You delude yourself. You are one of us still.” Husam cried out and rushed toward Carsogenicus, his face twisted in fury.

  Amrath cocked his head, and the very air between the two men rippled as an invisible wave of force exploded between them. Husam stopped mid-charge and rebounded as if he had tried to tackle a brick wall. He fell in a heap, cursing, as Carsogenicus staggered and dropped to his knees.

  “Enough,” Amrath commanded. His eyes were cold, merciless, almost inhumanly bright and alive. He regarded Carsogenicus as he might a bug pinned in a collection. “Don’t make the mistake of assuming that because I choose to sheathe my sword, I am unarmed.”

  “The much-vaunted will of the Meites,” Carsogenicus sneered as he rose to his feet again. “So why do you stand here trembling like a cringing lapdog, taking orders from the great Xanthius, while the fools within the wall spit on you?”

  “Mei hates waste. This war is over.”

  “Liar! I know you, rabble-rouser. You broke the both of us from their prison for a reason. You are not here to kneel.”

  Amrath shrugged, inscrutable. “I am here because Tasinal sent me.”

  “More lies!” Carsogenicus pointed an accusing finger at Amrath. “Tasinal is your creature, not the reverse.”

  “He is the leader of our order.”

  “A puppet leader,” Carsogenicus said. “And you pull his strings. What’s your game, sorcerer? Do you work for the fools inside the wall? Perhaps you were allowed to free us. Perhaps they asked you to carry out their sentence so they could avoid the blame?”

  Amrath shook his head, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “A fine attempt, that tale, but flawed at the core. My fight is with those spineless vermin hiding behind that wall, as it has always been. Now that they have made an enemy of Xanthius, I would suddenly befriend them instead of allying myself with him? Preposterous.”

  Xanthius gestured to Amrath to stand aside. If there were but one truth about Meites, it was that they would argue until the end of time, at least until one or the other decided bloodshed was in order. The will of the Meites is indeed the stuff of legend, but Carsogenicus could provoke a saint. The sorcerer nodded and stepped back, and Xanthius moved to stand before his prisoner.

  “Amin al Asad, for your villainy, I hereby sentence you to death by fire. Have you any last words?”

  Al Asad turned from Xanthius to Husam. For a brief moment, the hate faded from him, leaving only a gaping chasm of pain and sorrow. “Will you light the flame yourself? Do you not owe me that at least?”

  Husam clenched his jaw, biting back more words, and nodded.

  Carsogenicus seemed to relax at this. He turned his eyeless gaze back to Xanthius. “I have been cold for so long,” he said, his voice almost wistful. “You can’t begin to imagine how it feels.” He wrenched the broken blade from his shoulder with a grunt and cast it down. A trail of black droplets followed it to the ground, and where they fell, the dirt smoked and crackled in protest. “I welcome your flame, Imperator. I would be warm one last time.”

  Outside the Praetorium, Xanthius’s men bound the Monster to the central pole of the gallows, then tore down the rest and used the wood to build a pyre. Husam stood in brooding silence, observing, unlit torch in hand, as the banners of Xanthius’s legions flapped in the growing wind. An ill wind, it feels. The gathering shadows hid Husam’s expression, making him seem a huge, man-shaped pool of ink blotting out the last rays of the rapidly setting sun.

  When the pyre was ready, Xanthius called anyone within shouting distance to attention as witnesses, and Husam did as he had promised. He lit his torch from the large brazier outside the praetorium and laid to the mound of wood as Carsogenicus stood mute, refusing to even meet Husam’s gaze. The silence, Xanthius thought, seemed to cause Husam even worse pain than being cursed as a traitor. For all his rage and talk earlier, Husam was clearly shouldering a burden that was almost more than he could bear. There had been something between those two once, though it was difficult to know truth from rumor. Some claimed they were brothers, others that they were lovers, but whatever the case, clearly, the bond had been strong. And Husam now ended it with fire.

  Amrath stood alongside Xanthius, sniffing the air, his lips pressed in a thin frown. “I don’t like this.”

  Xanthius nodded. “Aye, it is ugly business, but we do what we must.”

  Amrath’s eyes narrowed as he shifted his gaze toward Xanthius. “I could dance a jig to see that bastard burn,” he snapped. “Look there.” He pointed to the line of trees just beyond the praetorium. Xanthius turned, following the gesture, and barely suppressed a gasp.

  Xanthius felt himself slipping into some surreal, half sanity. How could this be? But in the end, the mind of a soldier does not have the luxury of denial. The word ‘crow’ bubbled in his thoughts, over and over. Such a small word. It doesn’t actually apply to this. They were everywhere, thousands even hundreds of thousands, covering the trees like black snow, silent, unmoving. Watching.

  “How—”

  “In the normal way,” Amrath said softly. “They’ve been pouring in since the gallows were struck. Just damned quiet about it.”

  “And you didn’t see fit to mention it?”

  Amrath stared at the mass of birds, his brow furrowed. “It seemed normal at first. And then mesmerizing. Then sinister. I decided to talk about it at ‘sinister.’”

  “It’s unusual,” Xanthius allowed, already recovering from the shock. “But they carry no swords. I see no reason to fear them.”

  “Don’t be foolish. This is dark sorcery, make no mistake.”

  “I see only one sorcerer,” Xanthius said.

  Amrath’s eyes widened in anger. “Will you let him provoke us even from the flames?”

  Xanthius chuckled. “A jest, Amrath. You said it yourself, we could use some good humor.”

  “This is not the time.”

  “You should have been born a woman, Amrath. It would suit your moods better.”

  Amrath glared at his old enemy briefly, then softened. “And you should have been born a mole. It would suit your vision better.”

  Xanthius shrugged. “Fine. I confess, it’s disturbing. But what would you have me do? Order an advance on their position?”

  “I would not dare.”

  Xanthius raised an eyebrow at this. “An unusual stance for a Meite.”

  “It is an unusual circumstance.”

  “You have not seen things like this before?”

  “If we could charm beasts, we could charm men. Free will is precious, aye, but perhaps it’s more the pity. What would the cost of a few minds be compared to the blood we’ve shed?” He swept the idea aside with a wave of his hand. “This is something else, something…primal.”

  “The Torians?”

  “I think not. I suppose their methods could produce a beast master, but why would one be here? And in any event, Torium was in no condition after….” Amrath let the comment hang. “As I said, I will spare you the details.”

  Xanthius snorted. “More gods nonsense?”

  Amrath waved a hand toward the army of crows. “Explain it to me, then.”

  Xanthius stood a long moment, watching them, considering. “In Prima, I once survived an earthquake.” He stroked his chin. “There’s no warning, you know. Suddenly, the land just swats men and their works aside like gnats. There is little you can do. You live or die according to your luck and your reflexes. This seems like that.”

  “Yes,” Amrath murmured. “Implacable. Elemental. That is just how they felt, in Torium.”

  Xanthius sighed and clasped his hands behind his back. I will try to be open-minded. “You truly believe you saw g
ods there?”

  “Aye. I know we did.”

  “But even if I accept that there are gods, why would they be here?”

  Amrath, suddenly haggard, turned a weary gaze to Xanthius. “For the third time, I tell you, I would spare you the nightmares.”

  “And you should stop with such foolishness. I am not a child.”

  Amrath looked back at the army of crows, his brow furrowing. “Why would gods walk the earth?” he asked softly. “When would they? It is not the beginning. What else can it be?”

  Xanthius stood in grim silence, staring at the sorcerer, his jaw clenched. “Madness.”

  “Find me another answer then, if you can. I would welcome a pleasant delusion to warm me against cold certainty.”

  Xanthius pondered the question for a while, the rational part of his mind rejecting notions of gods walking the earth, of the end of the world. And yet, as he watched the silent, unmoving crows, he knew this was beyond his experience. Amrath was the closest thing at hand to an expert on such things.

  “I have seen no gods,” Xanthius said at last. “But if I do, and they would make war on me, I will oblige them.”

  “Bold,” Amrath said, smiling. “Futile, but bold.”

  “If I am to die, I would as soon have it be as I have lived.”

  “Aye,” Amrath said. “It is the same for me.”

  Al Asad’s cry cut through the night, drawing their attention back to more immediate concerns. It was not, Xanthius noted, a cry of pain. It was long and low, a rumbling moan of release, almost sexual. The wood had taken some time to truly catch, but now the fire was blazing, the flames just beginning to lick at the Monster’s flesh. His sandals were smoldering, and his ashen skin was darkening to an almost healthy color.

  “The road to oblivion is warm!” Carsogenicus shouted. “This is no punishment! This is a reward!”

  One of the witness soldiers, an Ilawehan, hurled a curse at the condemned man and followed up with a stone. The rock hit Carsogenicus in the forehead with a dull thud, splitting the skin. White bone peeked from the ragged gash. Black, dead blood ran down his cheeks like tears and dripped into the flames, popping and spitting as Carsogenicus cackled like a madman.