Death's Knight 3

 

Chapter 3

 

Ralthur Kron waited in his cellar after his household had gone to bed, with a bag of clothing and a few favoured possessions. He had a lamp with him. Suddenly, a flagstone in the floor lifted and moved to one side, and he looked down into the grinning blue face of a trógling.

“Ralthur Kron, I presume?” said the trógling.

“I… yes. Are you my guide?”

“Yes, I’m Kaz. You can douse your lantern and leave it somewhere innocuous, like the top of the steps.”

“Won’t I need it to see?”

“You won’t be seeing. What you can’t see, you can’t tell.”

“I am not about to betray the secrets of friends; I am now a glyph-lord of a god of truth.”

“Get off your high horse, Ralthur, you wouldn’t be doing this if Harkon did not trust you,” said Kaz. “But any man may be tortured beyond endurance.”

“You are insolent!”

“I’ll go away, then, and leave you to the Inquisitor who is due to arrive tomorrow,” said Kaz, starting to climb back down the hole.

“No! I… I want to come, but you don’t seem to know how to address a glyph-lord.”

“I address equals as an equal, Ralthur. Shift some of your preconceived ideas from your moon-ridden head; I’m no slave you can push about. I earned my glyph status without having the easy path of the worshipper of a second-rate godling with delusions of adequacy.  I accept you as an equal because my god asks me to do so and because Harkon asks me as a friend to do so, but don’t throw your weight around at me, or anyone else. Such imperial manners are not tolerated amongst the sword brothers of Alethos.”

“You are the one who is subject to prophecy?”

“Many of us are in such interesting times. Now, ditch the lamp… oh, put the damn thing out, and I will put it at the top of the steps. A fine thing it would be if I let you kill yourself for not being able to see in the dark. Rynn will guide you down the hole; you may want to sit down and edge towards it on your backside,”

Ralthur Kron found the absolute darkness terrifying, and being manhandled down a hole even more so. He reminded himself that he should trust in Alethos, and have courage to do what had to be done.

Many twisting passages later, some with the sound of running water, and being told to walk bent on a narrow ledge, he was led up into starlight.

“Well done; you survived the ordeal better than many,” said Kaz. “You have a room next to Harkon.”

Ralthur Kron was an austere man, and had not taken advantage of the luxuries available to a governor, so he was not disappointed in his austere quarters, with a largeish room with both bed and bedroom furniture divided off by a curtain from a day room with chairs and a large desk.

“I can hardly believe it!” he said.

“Believe it,” said Harkon. “Drill at dawn.”

 

oOoOo

 

The High Inquisitor arrived just before noon, having been harried on the road by a number of hit-and-run attacks. He was austere to the point of being ascetic with burning eyes, and was put out to find that Ralthur Kron had left a letter of resignation and had left.

“Seize one hundred citizens, and let it be known that if the rebels do not give themselves up, they will be responsible for their death by crucifixion,” said the Inquisitor, whose name was Lazur Kron, and who was a kinsman of Ralthur, and loathed his cousin, Ralthur, whom he considered soft.

One hundred random city folk were duly rounded up. They included the parents of one of Kaz’s friends, Evgon. Evgon was a cheerful youth with a guileless face and curly hair, and until recently had been slightly chubby with puppy fat. He was Kaz’s quartermaster.

“My parents will gladly die for the cause but why should they?” said Evgon. “They aren’t warriors. And there are children in that group! But how can we rescue a hundred from the murder-poles? We managed one at a time, but a hundred? I can’t see how.”

“So, we’ll remove them before they crucify their hostages,” said Kaz, grimly.  

“They will keep them securely somewhere, and where isn’t apparent,” said Ralthur. “And then, they will be guarded by hundreds.”

“If we could guarantee to get the Polloni and Solosi onboard, we could tell them we deliver the uprising in a frontal assault,” said Kaz. “But we can’t guarantee their discipline.”

“Blasted Knights of the Clear Starlight,” said Harkon. “Hearts in the right place, brains in their weapons.”

“Not to mention their bad poetry,” sniggered Kaz.

“And our job made harder because of that fool, Miklos Wolf-Foe,” snarled Vulk.

There was a growl of approval.

Not all Alethosi had welcomed the chaos-cured Lycoids at first, but showing themselves to be disciplined and valuable warriors, which had been the concern had allayed many misgivings.

It had, however, been Vulk and Polia who had snatched some of the child hostages away from the Selenites when  Miklos Wolf-Foe had confronted the Selenites who were grabbing people, and started off on his cultist poetry.

“Cursed by chaos, shunned by light

Whimper now at my despite!

Turn and flee from my demand

Or I will kill you where you stand!”

He had been rapidly taken into custody, and was being held with the rest of the hostages.

“He will make trouble when we rescue them,” said Protasion. The worshipper of Pollonis, god of light and truth, was a hothead. He had challenged Vulk before Vulk had been cured of his lycanthropy, and Vulk had bitten his finger off. It had not made Miklos any sweeter in disposition. He had tried to make trouble by reporting Vulk to Commandant Pythas, who had told him to stop telling lies about his initiates.

Miklos, who had been close to becoming a Glyph Lord had been stripped of his rank as senior initiate when Pythas complained about him telling lies.  Miklos had needed to talk fast not to be stripped of his initiateship entirely, but it was held that he meant well.

“We’ll have to truss him up the moment he makes trouble and dump him in his own temple,” said Kaz. “And make sure he sees nothing he can give away. They do not know, yet, that we use the sewers and drainage, nor do they have sufficient respect for trógling to have any idea that we have been taught stone-manipulating cantrips to enable mining. However, I’ve a mind to do what we did when we rescued a camp of Plainsfolk slaves,” she added.

Svargia sniggered.

“And that freaked them out, no end,” she said. “We cut through the back of the compound when the guards were distracted, and Kaz drew a circle on the floor of the hut, with made-up Runes, and the Selenites thought it was some strange Steppe magic.”

“It conceals what we really do, very nicely,” said Kaz. “A runic gate opened somewhere. And just scuffed enough to send the scholars insane.”

“Now we have to find out where they are kept,” said Harkon.

“The Selenites keep trógling slaves,” said Kaz. “Do you suppose they can tell one trógling from another?”

“One with long, lustrous hair? Yes,” said Harkon.

“Then I’ll cut it off,” said Kaz. “It’ll grow back. If Alethos wants it long, he’ll accelerate its growth out of pique.”

Harkon chuckled. He could well imagine that.

“Make a wig from it, to wear when being yourself, in case he doesn’t,” he warned.

“Good idea,” said Kaz. “Right, no time like the present; Lelyn, will you shave it short, and see to having a wig made?”

“Of course,” said Lelyn. “You’ll need to bind your breasts; you have quite apparent female assets these days, few enslaved trógling are well-enough fed to be as obviously female as you are.”

Kaz nodded.

It was one reason trógling were often overlooked; tending to have large heads and eyes in proportion to their bodies, and very little inside ragged tunics to identify them as male or female, they were treated very much as if they were particularly stupid children, a view not dispelled by a tendency to speak in simple sentences with little grammar appreciation, through a lack of parental care on the part of Darkling parents of Trógling, and a lack of ability on the part of trógling nurses.  Those who eavesdropped, like Kaz, learned more complex grammar.

“And if any of my household slaves realise you are not one of them – as they will?” asked Ralthur.

“I’m planning on stealing them at some point, anyway, because slavery is wrong,” said Kaz.

“They aren’t all troglings,” said Ralthur.

“Trógling,” said Kaz. “Are humans too stupid to hear the difference between ‘o’ and ‘ó’ or something?”

Ralthur spluttered.

“Most of them? Yes,” said Harkon. “Or, rather, don’t care. Be fair, Kaz; a lot of Toróg traders have rather thick accents.”

“Oh, fair point, I suppose,” said Kaz. “I don’t expect humans to get the thirteen different nuances on the letter ‘o’, with or without a lengthening diacritic, because you don’t have darksense to read how the tongue and teeth are held.” 

“And I thought I knew darktongue pretty well,” said Polia. “What are you going to do about the other slaves?”

“Tell Ralthur’s that I came with the inquisitor, and permit any he brought to assume I came with the house,” said Kaz.

“Could work,” said Harkon.

“Should work; slaves do not, on the whole, question things,” said Kaz.

 

Kaz slipped back into the governatorial residence through the entrance to the sewers they had opened to rescue Ralthur. She was dressed in a simple tunic of rough cloth, like most slaves, her hair uneven and short, and a single earring showing the sigil of the house of Kron. She had questioned Ralthur carefully on what his slaves wore, and was pleased that he knew that they had a winter and summer uniform, and a sufficiency of tunics to be clean, even if the quality of the cloth was not good.

“I can give respect to a man who notices his slaves and cares enough for their welfare to be sure they are appropriately clad,” she told him. She had compromised, as he doubted that his cousin would notice save to be disgusted by a dirty slave. His household comptroller probably saw to outfitting slaves.

She slid up out of the cellar, carrying a bottle of wine. The vintage was sufficient that any discerning man would consider sampling it, even if it had not been sent for. A towel over one arm, and a goblet on a tray with the bottle, she informed the resident kitchen slaves that his excellency needed his wine now.

“He has guests,” said the human cook. “The commandant of the garrison, and the high priestess of Selen.”

“I take more goblets,” said Kaz, in the rough, simplistic speech style of most trógling.

 

 

“I did not ring for wine,” said Lazar Kron, sharply.

Kaz managed to cringe. She dropped into the flat-footed squat with face turned down which was the submissive position of trógling to their masters.

“Is standing orders,” she said.

“Oh? Very well then,” said the Inquisitor. He went on, ignoring Kaz, and speaking to his guests, “I have made the proclamation that the hostages will be crucified at noon tomorrow, but I want the crosses in place by dawn, so if there is any trouble, we can begin early.”

“As you order, my lord,” said Clodus Mils, the garrison commandant, taking the wine from Kaz. “The hostages are a noisy bunch, but they were subdued enough when confined in the arena near the wild animals.”

“Good,” said Kron. “My lady, have you anything more to add?”

“Not substantial, your excellency, but I suspect there will be a rescue attempt.”

“They will find it hard, not knowing where they are being held,” sneered Kron. “But if they attack the garrison, they will be cut to shreds, and we will crucify the townsfolk anyway, to show we mean business.Mils has dug pit traps by the main gates, with stakes set within them; the defenders will permit them to overcome the gate guard, and rush in, and the ground beneath their feet will give way and the front-runners will be slaughtered.”

“I have doubled the guards on the arena,” said Mils. “And the hostages are kept in half a dozen separate cages. Opening one would be hard, opening all would be impossible, and moreover, there is an area where wolves for the arena are being kept through which any rescuers would have to pass.”

He accepted a refill from Kaz.

“I will be sure to pray for our Lady of the Night’s blessing,” said the priestess, Allenna Dren.

Kaz left with her tray, the guests declining more than a single goblet full by replacing their goblets on the tray. Unhurriedly, she left the used goblets in the kitchen, and drifted down to the cellar, and away through the wall. She was massively magically powerful for a trógling, and had no hesitation in using as many cantrips as were needed. Other trógling would not suspect one of their kind throwing magic around with such apparent profligacy.

 

Her friends eagerly awaited her report.

“The wolves in the arena will follow other wolves,” said Vulk.

“So I hoped,” said Kaz. “It won’t be easy, but it won’t be impossible.”

 

Death's Knight 2

 

Chapter 2

 

“If you are ready to recognise the apostasy of Thanus, and take two gifts and two geasa of Alethos, he is willing for you to become one of his glyph-lords,” said Harkon. “You’d be subordinate to me.”

“I’ll take it for a truth more palatable than the supposed truth of riddles,” said Ralthur. “But if I leave with you, they will be alerted.”

“You won’t,” said Harkon. “You will go about your business during the day, and go to bed, perhaps having emptied a number of bottles whilst alone in your study, and seeming to be drunk. When the house is quiet, go into the cellar, and wait.”

“I can do that,” said Ralthur.

“Now, let us pray,” said Harkon. “Alethos come to us we beseech you, and receive into your care one who wishes to leave the lie he has been taught for the truth of your wisdom. Let it be done.”

Harkon and Protasion were used to standing on the god-plane in services to be closer to Alethos, but Ralthur had only ever seen his god in a blurred sort of way, as Thanus was not as powerful as Alethos. Ralthur, therefore, was surprised, shocked, even, to be approached by the powerfully-built god, with curly brown hair, laughter in his eyes, and a friendly expression.

“Harkon has asked for me to take you,” said Alethos. “Will you serve me faithfully, using your skill to protect the weak, uphold honour and truth, and act with valour, accepting death as a part of life?”

“I will,” said Ralthur.

“I gift you with the ability to sense those of ill-intent, and, too, to sense the undead,” said Alethos. “As your geasa, your curved moon-sword shall be straightened, and you will be unable to use another, as a reminder that you give up your allegiance to the moon, and take the straight path.  You will use no weapons which are not bladed, as a symbol of cutting your ties.”

“Let it be done,” said Ralthur.

He felt the searing on his chest as the glyphs of Thanus burned away, to be replaced by those set by Alethos; the same glyphs, yet somehow feeling more powerful.

There was a light chime.

“Oh!” said Protasion. “That’ll be that prophesy in those ancient writings, that the honourable one shall walk the path of truth. There’s a lot of prophecy going round.”

Harkon groaned.

“We were stopped on the way by a Sun Seer,” he said.

Ralthur nodded comprehension; some worshippers of Solos, god of the sun, worshipped by following the sun with their gaze, day after day until they lost their sight.  Of these, the most devout learned to see with an inward eye.

Those who did not, were quietly cared for, but secretly despised.

“He pointed at Harkon, and said ‘The fairest judge will be revealed, and he shall be tested by those who have taken the bait; and on his reply shall stand the future.’ So, no pressure at all,” sniggered Protasion.

“It’s tease Harkon day,” said Harkon, ruefully.

“It ties in with one of the ones we read,” said Protasion, “‘Those of the gods who are able will gain power when the judge of the three fools brings wisdom, and she who embraces his wisdom will gain in many ways.’”

“I’m not even thinking about it,” said Harkon. “I’m more concerned with helping Kaz with her prophecy.”

“Who is Kaz and what is this prophecy?” asked Ralthur.

“The Daywalker brings in a new dawn, with joy for the cursed, and the ending of curses, the healing of the land and the moon. The Daywalker brings death, and truth, and life, andlove; and she shall be cursed to live forever and desire Death; but the curse shall become a blessing, indeed,” quoted Protasion.

“That sounds most uncomfortable,” said Ralthur.

“That’s why we’re stealing you back for Alethos,” said Protasion. “We need all the support we can get.”

 

Selen jerked.

“One of my puppets lost one of his senior worshippers!” she cried. “How could this happen?”

Daze, her brother and consort shrugged.

“Mortals die,” he said.

“If he had died, do you think I would care?” growled Selen. “His power goes to someone else and I cannot see whom!”

“Well, send spirits of retribution,” said Daze.

“I… yes,” said Selen. “Something is going on. There is an organised campaign against us.”

“We will crush them,” said Daze.

 

Ralthur cried out as the spirits of retribution swarmed over him to try to wrest from him the powers gained in the service of Thanus. Protasion and Harkon joined him in the unseen battle of the spirit plane, and it was the spirits of retribution who found themselves torn apart, and their magic and powers absorbed by those who fought them, heroes in the making.

 

oOoOo

 

“I told Ralthur you would be there in the early hours,” Harkon told Kaz.

She nodded.

“I don’t see how Selen obtained the copy-cat gods,” she said.

“I don’t really understand the process myself,” said Harkon. “Why not ask Alethos? He likes an excuse to spend time with you.”

Kaz flushed, her blue skin going a delicate purple colour. Her thoughts, heard by Alethos, had the god materialising in his familiar form as a warrior with no distinguishing features to mark him out as anyone in particular, save the iron sword buckled to his belt, which never left him. Kaz ran to his arms.

“I always jump when you just appear, my lord,” said Harkon, humorously.

“What, would you prefer that I ascended from a hole in the floor with the fumes most people associate with hell?” said Alethos. “Or descend on clouds with a harpist?”

Harkon laughed.

“No, and it is good to know how close you are,” he said. “And it is good to remind me that in troubled times I should be jumpy.”

“Aware is better than ‘jumpy,’ you know,” said Alethos. “I take it you wanted me in particular?”

“I want to bombard you with questions,” said Kaz, seating herself on Alethos’s knee as he took his ease on a canvas chair.

“Nothing new there,” said Alethos. “Ask, beloved, and I will do my best.”

“I was wondering about the Selenite gods, those that copy the real ones, and wondering how they came about, and how they can be real gods.”

“Basically, to be a real god, you have to be worshipped and to have the understanding of manipulating glyphs and runes to set up a place to store the power of the worship,” said Alethos. “And yes, technically that makes you a godling with those trógling who see fit to worship you for rescuing them, as I had to show you in a hurry how to handle the extra power so it did not burn you from the inside out. And this is what happens to many incipient godlings; they are worshipped, and die from the power their bodies cannot cope with assimilating. You have a store of magic on which to draw, but are not personally as powerful as you need to be to take your place as goddess of trógling. Your questing and increased dealing with the spirit world will allow you to increase your magical heart, the kormajeia, which is a metaphysical organ all sentient beings have, which permits the casting of cantrips at the lowest level, through to the use of glyph magic at the highest.”

“But is not glyph magic reinforced by the power of the god who gives such spells to their initiates and above?” asked Kaz.

“It is, but the time will come when you will learn to cast it for yourself,” said Alethos. “And will doubtless make your own glyph-based spells for your followers. Your path to herodom is to understand glyphs for yourself, and to take their use unto yourself. Your magical heart, like your heart, increases in stamina, if you will, through exercising it. Matching your magic with that of others, or of nature, enables you to increase it, even as wrestling, running, and matching yourself against the world increases your bodily heart, so that you may run further, fight longer, and so on.”

“Oh!  Now I see it,” said Kaz. “That makes perfect sense. And so the Selenite pantheon had all increased their magic thus?”

“Yes,” said Alethos. “And along the way, in the intimacy of matching your pure magic to those of others, you will also gain the knowledge of those you overcome, and work with those glyphs you assimilate personally to form your own glyph-spells, or learn to grant those you have been gifted by me, by learning intimately how they work. Though not necessarily as well,” he added. “Harkon knows the mystic sword spell, which, if successful, cuts the lifeline of the one he uses it on. He can use it whilst he has magic to cast it. Other gods of death… well, all right, Tor, berserk god of the Toróg, stole its use from me when we battled and he wounded me; the wound you healed, dear one. But he can only grant its use cast by rote, and with his power, such that his followers have to pray and sacrifice permanent magic for the use of it each time.”

“I plan to use it on bloodsuckers,” said Harkon.

“And I am more than happy to back your magic with mine for that,” said Alethos. “They are unnatural and an abomination.”

“So, what about Thanus?” asked Kaz.

“He knew the spell, but the use he can give is, like Tor, only granted once, and it is not as effective,” said Alethos. “If Harkon matches power to cast it on another, even if they overcome him, unless they are very strong or very lucky, then their magic can ‘bleed’ like a wound to the magic heart.  Followers of Thanus have to overwhelm an opponent’s magic for it to work at all, and it either kills or does nothing. A loss of a lot to the caster if used injudiciously.”

“Well, serve them right for stealing it so dishonourably,” said Kaz. “I don’t think he had your blessing to be a god? Or have I misunderstood?”

“If he had sought his own path within my cult, and become an associated or subordinate god, providing me with a pantheon other than my sister, and now, my beloved, I would have endorsed his efforts and aided him,” said Alethos, sadly. “One of my brightest and best warriors, like Harkon; but inclined to brood. And one of his quests led him to meet Selen, and he fell in love.” He sighed. “I did not then understand how much this can mean, but I warned him that she would use him and discard him. We fought; I held back, but he called it a victory and used it to sever ties, and go his way under her tutelage. I doubt he received much from her in his fawning sycophancy, and I regret his loss from my side. But love blinds all, and I understand better now, and have some sympathy.”

“But if he loved her truly, he would acknowledge her faults as well as her virtues,” said Kaz.

“What are my faults, dear one?” asked Alethos.

“When wearing human form you are grumpy before breakfast,” said Kaz. “And I fancy you are still a little used to being unchanging and unchangeable, though you have learned flexibility.”

“And that is down to you, my love.”

Harkon quietly made himself scarce as Alethos gently kissed Kaz; hands wandered.

There was a loud, discordant clang! And the lovers were thrown apart.

“Have you no sense, Alethos?” the woman glaring at him cycled through- or was, simultaneously – a girl about Kaz’s age, a mature and lovely woman, and an old crone whose face looked made for serenity but was currently as annoyed as her other aspects.

“M… mother…” said Alethos.

“Don’t you ‘mother’ me!” said Fate. “You know you are supposed to remain apart until the cursing, or the world will be wrecked  by your undue influence on her!  And Daykaz is vulnerable to your charisma!”

“I… I’m sorry, mother,” said the principle deity of death and truth, looking sheepish.

“It was my fault as much as his,” said Kaz. “It’s hard to have so little contact.”

“I know, my dear, but it was getting out of hand,” said Fate. “And I am not supposed to intervene like this.”

“We’ll do better,” said Alethos.

“Make sure you do!” She vanished again.

“This is why there are mother-in-law jokes?” said Kaz.

“I was at fault,” sighed Alethos. “I need to step back and let you grow.” He smiled. “And I had not finished telling you about how mortals can achieve immortality.  You will be cursed. It can be bestowed by the most powerful, like Solos, but Solos can be whimsical. One of his daughters once begged for immortality for her mortal lover, and Solos did not like her lover, so he made him immortal but not ageless. In the end, he killed himself. In a fit of remorse, Solos set him amongst the stars as the constellation ‘Old man.’  There, too, when you look into the band of stars which is the fountain of forever, you see the nebular with the griffin’s head; Tor killed the griffin whom Solos was accustomed to ride, and in grief, he set him amongst the stars forever. This sort of immortality has an awareness but very little ability to interact, though the stars and constellations play their part in showing paths to the seers, as they dice amongst themselves over the fate of mankind. Heroes quest for possession of glyphs of power; once in control of both ‘death’ and ‘life’ one has control over one’s own ageing and lifespan. They are not so contradictory, for life is more meaningful with the risk of death, and death is sweet when you have lived a full life. You will need to control the glyph of ‘fertility’ as much as ‘life’ to aid your people. But do not worry; you will have all the aid you need, because my mother found a way to cheat the weave for you, and make that curse a blessing for both of us.”

“Does she do that often?”

“Oh, yes; my mother is a romantic. She goes out of her way to add patterns to the weave which will benefit the lives of those destined to be part of the greater web.  I sometimes understand the cryptic utterances which pertain to those I hold dear, but I don’t always explain. It is better that they find out for themselves. I did pass on that the curse for you would not be as onerous as it sounded, for I am sure you were quite terrified to hear it.”

“I was. Living forever and desiring death made me think of the fate of a trógling who annoyed his master, who would have his legs and arms cut off nightly to eat them, and have them magically regrown overnight. Sometimes he would remove all the skin and all the flesh first.”

“The sons of Tor are gross,” said Alethos, in disgust.

“I killed the trógling,” said Kaz. “It was all I could think of to do, at the time. We were visitors, my mistress being a merchant. I watched as he was butchered and the meat prepared for my mistress to share, and I found an excuse to visit the healing caverns, and got his story. I put a poniard through his ear into his brain – he was more than happy to agree to it – so the cause of death was not immediately apparent, and was thought to have been weakness and blood loss.”

“You were death’s agent even then,” said Alethos.

“It helped me understand that death can be a friend,” said Kaz.

 

maps and glyphs for Kaz

 

Death's Knight 1

 hi all; still not doing so great, stressed out over our gas problems. still waiting for a water heater replacement. I've lost track of how long it's been. 

Anyway, this is the first of two sequels to Fate's Pawn 

 

Chapter 1

 

Kaz, Harkon, Svargia and Alcippe lurked under the cover of a net woven with silk vegetation as the Selenite militia practiced their favourite form of execution, that of crucifixion, on the outspoken plainsman, Kurihor Horsemaster.

“I hate having to wait,” said Svargia, in agonies of concern for her kinsman.

“Better to do it properly than not do it at all by dying with him,” said Kaz, grimly. “They’ve got fifty men out there if they have a dozen. They know the plainsfolk would rush them and get him down if they could.”

“What if your plan doesn’t work?” asked Svargia.

“We chalk it up as another score to settle with the invaders,” said Kaz. “Alcitha, how long does that breathe-easy spell last?”

“An hour,” said Alcitha. “I don’t even know if it will work to overcome the drag on his lungs from being hung like that.”

“That’s why I’m using the work cantrip, lighten load on his body, to help him push up. And he should be aware that he has spells helping him, and unless he’s a complete idiot, he won’t give it away. Alethos showed me how to store power within me, and Harkon’s letting you use his power storage gem. We just need him to get to a point that most people have died, so the troops go away and leave him be.  No officer likes his men to sit around dicing and lollygagging when they could be performing meaningless tasks of a menial nature to emphasise the inherent superiority of the dumb ass who gives orders over the peasants who perform them.”

“Your prejudices are on display again,” said Harkon.

“I don’t like the self-appointed aristocracy, especially the Selenites,” said Kaz.“Besides, it is anathema to me that they should pervert the ‘death’ glyph in this way, with a bar across the top of it for the arms to be stretched out.”

Harkon gave a soft chuckle, thinking that his tiny, blue-skinned friend had come a long way from the frightened, but determined ex-slave who had demanded to show she could be a warrior. Now, she was a Glyph-Lord of Alethos, god of Death and Truth, bound by prophecy, and her own iron will strong enough to rescue her people, the cursed race of tróglings, from their kinsfolk, the often-cruel Toróg.

“Some call that perversion of the glyph a new glyph, that of ‘Murder,’” he said. “But you are right.”

“It’ll be a serious blow to the Selenites,” said Kaz. “Rescuing a rebel leader, and carrying on the fight against their occupation. We have to break the power of Selen and her brother-consort, the Trickster to break the curses of chaos. And just because we have hundreds of freed trógling, and many wolfingas who used to be Lycoids, doesn’t mean we have enough of an army.”

The tiny trógling, those who were willing to fight, made a formidable night cavalry, riding ex-werewolves who had either chosen wolf form, or who could shift at will. Kaz herself had a wolf-friend, Konisia. But it was not enough against the might of the imperial army.

“That’s why we’ve got a heap of hidden bases,” said Svargia. The wolves had been very helpful with that, scenting the tracks of brigands to take their dens from them as well as making travel safer for ordinary folk.

“Yes, and those scrolls Protasion translated from the temple in the Deadlands were extremely useful in outlining this ‘kryptene’ or ‘hidden’ warfare,” said Kaz.

“The followers of Pollonis would never be able to do it,” sniggered Alcitha. “They interpret warfare and honour in the most straightforward way possible.”

“So long as we don’t dishonour ourselves with atrocities, whatever the Selenites do, it’s a valid tactic,” said Kaz. “And I did ask Alethos as well as believing that he wouldn’t have permitted his temple library to have such documents if it wasn’t.”

“It certainly has them rattled,” agreed Harkon. The Selenite army never knew when their supply trains would be attacked, their supplies, even under guard, ruined, their pay-chests raided, or would have to fight off night attacks which appeared seemingly out of nowhere, and disappeared into nowhere.

 

The watchers waited out the long hours until the officer in charge of the detachment ordered his men back to their barracks. As soon as they had withdrawn, the leafy net was swiftly folded up and stowed in a backpack, and the four ran to the cross on the hill. A sharpblade spell on an axe brought it down, and Harkon, from a mining community, used the mining cantrip ‘powder mineral’ on the heavy nails, a means used to extract ore from rocks. This caused less damage to Kurihor than trying to extract them. Alcitha, a Glyph-Priest of Alethos, and associate priest of Latrika, sister to Alethos and a goddess of healing, quickly healed Kurihor.

“Not that I’m complaining, but who are you?” he asked.

“A more organised resistance than you have,” said Harkon. “This way.  And you rabble, disperse. You can get word of him through Vulk.”

The plainsfolk who had come to give their support to their dying leader were ready for a quarrel.

“GO!” snapped Kurihor. “They kept me alive. Let us trust them.”

“So I should hope, cousin,” snapped Svargia.

“Little Svargia?”

“I grew up,” said Svargia.

The plainsmen dispersed, suspiciously, but this well-co-ordinated rescue was beyond what they might have hoped to do. The cross was, meanwhile, on fire, from a spell or two from Svargia, and would be reduced to ash ere long. It would cause the Selenites a headache over whether their prey had escaped, or been given a funerary pyre by his own people.

 

Kurihor followed his rescuers into a storm drain, and found he must trust to Svargia to lead him, as the others plunged on through the darkness without apparent concern. Kaz, of course, relied on the darksense, the sonar which was a part of her people; the others were using rings of night-seeing, booty from the minions of a bloodsucker. Kurihor did not know this, and fought terror over being lost in the dark, with occasional flashes of light from drains above.

It had not taken long for half a dozen trógling to map the entire city drain network, and to add extra passages, and back routes into – or out of – strategic points. The Kryptowarriors could leave the boiler-room below the temple complex of Alethos, and emerge at any point in the city, or leave it, via storm drains, and drains into the wharfs on the river. There was also a hidden door into the Selenite barracks. So far it had only been used to introduce a few plagues of mice in their grain; but it was there against need.

 

It was not long before Kurihor was hiding in plain sight with other waiters in the inn ‘A Taste of the Steppe,’ run by Crooknose, the huge, broken-nosed proprietor of the Tribe of the Wild Falcons, who had adopted Kaz and her friends as members of his tribe for having rescued kinsmen from slavery. He provided succour for slaves passing through on the way to freedom in a recently-added complex of cellars.

“I owe you,” Kurihor said. “Perhaps we can work together.”

“Perhaps,” said Kaz. “But only if you and your people take my orders; I’ve an overall schedule for dismantling the Selenite empire and I won’t put up with a bunch of amateurs. What you and your people do to cause trouble for them is up to you, and we’ll get you supplies at need, but I prefer you knowing nothing about us.”

“I would not give you away!” cried Kurihor.

“Not deliberately, no,” said Kaz. “But your people don’t have the highly trained discipline our people do. Good luck; and good bye.”

She had vanished by the time Kurihor had mustered even half an answer.

It had been why Kurihor had been taken essentially blind through the drains; what he did not know, he could not give away.

Only a small, select group knew all the tunnels.

Harkon, Glyph Lord-Priest of Alethos, on the road to herodom; Glyph-Lords Kaz, Zalmox, and Svargia; Glyph Priests Alcitha, Protasion, and Lelyn, and initiates Evgon, Kuros, Polia, Vulk, and Rynn, another Trógling. Even Lord-Priest Pythas, Commandant of the Temple, and his wife, Priest-Lord Arana, parents of Lelyn, did not know more than a few basics.

 

It had begun, the unravelling of an empire based on interlopers and gods who were barely gods but powerful heroes aping those who had stepped into the niches of power within the land.  So far, most Selenites barely noticed it, murmuring only that some of the natives were restive. They did not feel the growing feeling that something was afoot.

Ralthur Kron, Governor of the City State of Mesolimnos, felt it, and was disturbed. Born into a noble Selenite family, he was raised to be a governor or general, according to his talents.  He was governor, but a martial governor, worshipping Thanus, warrior-champion of the red moon, who was apostate to his former god, Alethos, out of helpless, and indeed, hopeless love for Selen. And Ralthur Kron wondered what was to come. A Glyph-Lord of Thanus, he carried his concerns to his god in prayer… and received no answer.

What he heard was a young, clear voice singing a hymn of Alethos; and what he felt was his own god flinching before it.

Truth is a tongue which fears not to speak

Truth is a sword which protects the weak

Death is Truth in the beauty of Time

Death is the rebirth now made sublime

Alethos guide us always onwards

Truth will lead us through the flame

Alethos lead us ever forward

Death will guide us without shame

 

Truth be my words without shame or fear

Truth be my being whilst I am here

Death be my goal, my reason to strive

Death be all that keeps me alive

Alethos guide us always onwards

Truth will lead us through the flame

Alethos lead us ever forward

Death will guide us without shame

 

Truth be the flame that burns in my heart

Truth to the end from the very first start

Death I embrace with fervour and joy

Death shall take me wholly, not destroy

Alethos guide us always onwards

Truth will lead us through the flame

Alethos lead us ever forward

Death will guide us without shame

 

Ralthur Kron shivered.

He knew many Alethosi; got on well with their Glyph-ranked members. But he feared death as he suspected none of them did.

It was a stray, and heretical thought which touched him, wondering if Thanus feared death. 

Ralthur Kron counted the Alethos Glyph-Lord/Priest Harkon as a friend. Harkon had once saved his life, when he had been set-upon by Marsh-Creepers, colloquially, and, in Ralthur’s opinion, inappropriately, known as ‘Ducks.’ The semi-intelligent chaos creatures were vicious, with sharp teeth in their ‘beaks’ and they carried spears. His bodyguard had fled, and the only one to stand with him was a youth, named Protasion, who was travelling with an armed band to go on to university. Harkon had turned up and saved both of them, and Protasion had abandoned his plans to go to University, to instead join the cult of Alethos. Where he was, Ralthur knew, doing very well.

The encounter with the creatures of chaos had shaken Ralthur’s faith in the Selenite pantheon, but his family expected him to rise as governor, and that meant accepting the pantheon in which he had been reared.

“Alethos, if you can hear me, let me speak to Harkon,” he muttered. “I dare not paint a target on him by sending for him.”

 His secretary came in, an officious fellow named Quirinus Lex.

“There is a young local patrician here to see you, by the name of Protasion Chrysandos,” said Lex.

“Ah, I know him,” said Ralthur Kron. “I will see him.”

“Will you have me detain his bodyguard?”

“Thanos’s bollocks, Quirinus, have you no manners at all? It’s hard to recall that you have a second name when you ask something that crass,” said Ralthur.

“He’s a tough-looking customer,” said Lex.

“I’m not effete,” snapped Ralthur.

 

Protasion was not dressed in his accustomed armour, but in the elaborately-draped chiton, which fell to just below the tops of his ornate boots, the clothing of a man of affairs, with a lined chlamys over it, caught at one corner with an elaborate, and expensive, clasp, showing the heraldry of his family. His bodyguard was, indeed, a hulking brute, in cuir-bouilli armour, and a well-used sheath holding his sword. He sported an eyepatch.

Ralthur suppressed a gasp, and waited until Lex had left, inviting his guest to sit.

“Harkon! Have you lost an eye?” he asked, in a whisper.

Protasion spoke up.

“My father has charged me with discussing the matter of taxation. Will you permit me to raise a privacy cantrip?”

“Of course,” said Ralthur. Discussions of a quid pro quo were common enough in the paying of taxes, and though he was, himself, scrupulously fair, there were those who were ready to take bribes.

With the cantrip in place, Harkon pushed up the eyepatch, revealing a second, good eye.

“People look at deformities more than physiognomy,” he rumbled.  “I count you a friend; we have met socially since our first meeting, and you are an honourable man. Alethos informs me that you might be ready to leave the apostate, Thanus, and come into his service.”

“I… I have thought of it; but I fear to speak out loud lest Thanus hears…”

“Protasion and I are both priests; either one of us constitutes a temple to Alethos within a considerable radius, so, permit me…” he drew his sword, and laid it on Ralthur’s desk. He and Protasion made gestures familiar to Ralthur.  “We are now in an inner sanctum of a temple of Alethos,” went on Harkon. “Change is coming, and you will have to choose sides.”

“I hate chaos,” said Ralthur. “And I have thought, many times, that the Selenite pantheon is made up of pale copies of true gods.”

“That is the truth,” said Harkon. “Why now?”

“I’ve been trying to reconcile my upbringing with what I see, and what the cultists did in the Empire are nothing compared with stories I’ve heard out here. And it’s a sort of insult to copy the remits of the existing gods.”

“Yes,”, said Harkon. “You know we’re in quiet revolt?”

“Yes, and I received a directive this morning,” said Ralthur. “I was told to seize twenty random citizens, and give the rebels a day round to give themselves up, or have those citizens executed.”

“Has anyone else seen this directive?”

“No, not yet, it was sealed, and I have not shown my secretary. I suspect him of worshipping D… the Trickster,” said Ralthur, remembering that most people did not like to say the name of Daze. 

“Good; burn it now,” said Harkon.

Ralthur struck a spark and set light to the document.

“What next?” he asked. “They’ve tripled the guard on me lately; I think Quirinus Lex spies on me. But they doubt my loyalty, and this order is a test.”