A Prayer of Light and Venom Read online

  When Sorrows swept

  The good King wept

  To see such devils run

  On Angall's Day

  The brave men died

  To rot beneath the sun.

  The fires on green could clear be seen

  With forest all aflame

  As over the hill

  The beasts did run

  To play their Godless game

  King Oligan stood against the Beasts

  His Blazing Knights around

  And when blades had done their butcher's work

  No Sorrow could be found

  The demon's gates

  Those open sores

  Forever bleeding Manticores

  They sealed them fast

  They sealed them tight

  Good folks could sleep right through the night

  And ever more

  Was magic quiet

  The preserve of the Gods

  No spell was heard

  No potion brewed

  No Magus with enchanted rods

  What no men say for fear of death

  The day the magic died

  That Oligan was Sorrow worse

  'Neath golden crown he lied.

  He lied to men he lied to Gods

  He even lied to Beasts

  Witchfinders stern now scour the land

  So on magic He can feast.

  The Song of Tongueless men.

  Outlawed verse.

  1

  "See that Invar? In the distance, next to the beast's lair?"

  Invar strained his eyes through the smoke and clashing swords.

  "What am I looking for, Sir Godwine? All I see is death."

  Hooves shook the ground. Men cried out for mercy and the dying crawled away from drowning in muddy puddles. Flies buzzed around the battlefield. The previous week of rain had softened the red earth creating a mire of fiery clay.

  Screams so loud Invar's ears hurt. Tearing metal screeching as Manticore claws incised lesser knights from their armor. Men shivering vulnerable as mollusks, prized open to reveal succulent defenseless bodies. Invar knew there was no easing your way into witnessing death. It was an initiation as sudden as falling from a cliff.

  Invar Ironbound didn't like the word crusade. It had an awful death-or-glory sound.

  A squire amidst his first battle when a Manticore's venom took his Master's life. A hideous death branding Invar's memory for years. What Ulric Godwine passed to him was a burden he could never set down.

  His Master was a Knight of the Blaze and unyielding zealot bathed in the blood of god. They terrified their own armies, riding headlong at a thousand enemies. Their armor burst into flame with the light of Angall. Creating glorious tales recited to harp song at palace banquets.

  Witnessing glory was horrific.

  Seared flesh stuck to armor like crackling pork. The iron stench of blood assaulted Invar. Innards spattered every shining piece of armor sinking in the mud below. Men staggered through a mire of swamp, guts and tears as they tried to get to the enemy. An enemy no sane man would approach.

  No sane men remained in the war. Rumor was, Knights of the Blaze were not men at all. They communed with holy power from a time when gods walked the world.

  When Invar stared at his Master, he didn't much like the look of his future.

  On the hill overlooking the carnage Invar carried a broadsword as long as he was tall. Blessings of Angall swirled on the metal. He staggered with the weight and wondered how any living man could swing it in battle. A giant of a man in full golden plate stood on the prow of the hill surveying the scene below. When Invar was close the man reached out and plucked the sword from him like tableware. Godwine pointed a gauntlet across the battlefield. Invar saw a fissure in the red stone cliffs where the beasts carved their lair.

  "That little cave there, boy. Nigh hidden in the valley. That's where we have to get to."

  Fear made Invar laugh. He looked across the sea of blades and claws.

  "Master, that's madness. How can we-"

  Sir Godwine raised a hand.

  "Bring me my horse."

  Invar shivered and cursed the blessing Angall had bestowed on him. He had no desire to be like his Master. In truth he thought the Knights of the Blaze madmen. He feared the initiations they had to endure to commune with holy power. He heard the odds when he first arrived at temple. About one in twenty survived the ordeals.

  The death-or-glory philosophy again; the one Invar struggled to enthuse for.

  He didn't mind the glory part. He'd told many a girl in Old Vassonia's brothels about how he would gallop into battle on his dappled charger. In truth in those days of teenage carousing, he'd never been more than a day's ride from the city. From behind he could never see the girls rolling their eyes and counting the silver on the pillow. He'd drunk with friends in taverns and raced horses in the forest with other young noblemen.

  A blossoming birth defect changed everything. A mutation noticed when he was fifteen meant the aristocracy would never accept him. A visit to the barber-surgeon and the leech produced no diagnosis. A painful examination at Angall's temple showed he had the Magus Heart above his liver. So he had been both shunned and honored. Given to the temple of Angall, a life of devotion and war in the name of god and king.

  Nowadays he scrubbed armor free of mud and brushed stinking horses. He carried Sir Godwine's huge shield. He complained about these thankless tasks, craving only swordsmanship training and adoration by the poor.

  As he looked across the battlefield there was nowhere in the world he less wanted to be. He realized he was quite happy polishing armor the rest of his days.

  Too late though. The fanatic he was bound to decided they would ride full tilt through a battlefield. Invar wondered if it might be better to kill himself now.

  The Manticores had come from the East in ancient times. Like all of the Old Races, they were born with the Magus Heart. Now they encroached on civilized lands. King Oligan declared there had been no greater threat to the kingdom in two hundred years. He declared them unnatural beasts, tyrants and eaters of men. Until his knights eradicated them not a single child in the land could sleep safe. King Oligan had led the charge against them in the campaign and suffered grave wounds in the melee from one of their young.

  Now, weeks later, the army had beaten them back to their lair. The King had promised the people when the beasts were extinct he would allow no more unsanctioned magic to curse the world. Sorcery outlawed, warlocks exiled, fleshmancers neutered. If they attempted personal gain from their enchantment clerics would suffer excision. Few people survived that surgery. The King would ensure no unnatural disaster befell the land again. The paladins all carried the Magus Heart but had been given royal dispensation while they carried out the King's work.

  "Master, what could be in that cave that we must ride through this? It is self-slaughter."

  Godwine looked down at the young man. The old paladin's muscled torso a contrast to his craggy face and iron grey hair.

  "Aye, lad that it might be. But our way is to run straight at a problem."

  Invar swallowed and strapped his own sword to his belt. He readied his Master's horse.

  "Has it crossed your mind, sire, that might be the reason why so few of us are left?"

  Sir Godwine laughed. They had different ideas of humor.

  "You know I might not be cut out to be a member of this order, Master? My natural inclination is to run in the other direction."

  "Well of course you do. You're headstrong and need some discipline knocked into you, Invar, but you're not a fool."

  Invar helped his Master climb on the armored horse and he skipped up on the saddle behind him. Th
e size of his teacher was Invar's only bit of luck. He perched behind a living shield. He could not see the maelstrom they rode into.

  Invar's heart reverberated off the metal plate of his Master. His sweat-slick hands could not grip the pauldrons. As the horse cantered he had the fear of falling off amidst the melee.

  "Brace yourself Invar, this will be a rough ride."

  Godwine held his sword high. Invar did the same and almost dropped it in the mud. Godwine shouted down to the raging battle and his sword glowed as molten metal.

  "Illumination!"

  Invar held his own sword aloft and his voice broke.

  "Angall and the...and the king!"

  The horse picked up pace, charging down into the smoke, blood and steel. Within moments the first Manticore bounded close. It made Invar want to let go of Godwine's armor and run as fast as he could back up the hill. He shouted out in terror.

  "The King is right. These beasts are from the pit! We cannot let them reach the cities!"

  Godwine swept his sword in a wide arc as one of the creatures spied them and lunged. A beast as big as their horse. As the jaws came close, Godwine's blade swung around and bit into its scaled neck. A blessed blade and the strength of Godwine's massive arm could not sever the head. It hacked deep and the beast reeled back, raining bright blood over them both. Godwine spurred the horse and they charged through the rising waves of steel. Invar could not look. He winced at the wet crunch of steel against scale three more times as they galloped.

  When Invar opened his eyes he tried to take in the battle around him. The stench was terrible, the clash of steel overwhelming.

  Conscripts and banner men made up most of the army. Spear men and foot soldiers fought in gauntlet and helm with padded jack to keep out the beast's claws. The hundred or so paladins left in the order stood scattered among them like golden statues. Each one of them half as tall again as the foot soldiers that rallied around him. Like moths to a golden flame.

  The ancient order had been called to arms after centuries of quiet meditation. Called by the king to fight the Manticores and other Old Races threatening the realm. Their blessed armor the only thing could deflect the monster's hurled barbs. Not forever though. Many had fallen in the crusade and now only a few remained.

  The relationship between the Knights of the Blaze and the monarchy had always been tense. The order was independent. More secretive and loyal to the holy light than to any royal household. They had been more priestly than martial for centuries. Now once again they carried the blade.

  This was the life Invar was being raised in. A future in a dying order of religious fanatics who galloped headlong into certain death. Temptation sometimes called him to take a knife to his own belly and excise the Magus Heart. To cut himself normal, so he could go back to a life of hunting, drinking and whoring with other spoiled upstarts.

  Invar opened his eyes as the metal clashed around him. Blood spattered his face and he caught the eye of a dying soldier. The man was little older than Invar, and looked up at him with imploring eyes as a Manticore feasted on him. His hands batted the creature's jaws with ever weakening blows.

  Invar tore his gaze away as they drew level with a crooked fissure in the rock wall. Godwine steadied the horse and gestured for his squire to dismount. Invar lowered himself to the ground, his legs shaky and weak. He stared at the abyss before them and the ground vibrated as Godwine's boots thudded down. He pointed his sword at the cave.

  "That's where we're headed lad."

  Invar shivered and tightened the grip on his own sword.

  "What's in there, sire?"

  Godwine chewed his moustache.

  "Hope. Hope that the world can be remade."

  Invar caught an expression of sorrow pass across the old man's face. The dread rose in him.

  "Sire, you mean to stop the war, don't you?"

  Godwine looked at his squire.

  "When trained and inducted into the order, many old secrets will be privy to you. The Order of the Blaze kept books and secret knowledge hidden from all, even the king, for centuries. We formed to stand guard against the return of The Sorrow, but we are men and not all-wise, Invar. We have been fooled, and manipulated, and seduced like all men can be. You will realize that the life of a paladin is a struggle between duty and conscience. Our armor should be gold, but is most often stained red. We don't get many choices. Those we do make are important."

  Invar looked ahead at the blackness and shivered.

  "If we go in that cave, are we coming back out?"

  Godwine patted his shoulder.

  "Two hearts walk in, two hearts walk out."

  The paladin and his young squire strode towards the fissure with a rattle of plate and mail. Sunlight glared down and illuminated Godwine's golden armor like a dying star. As they stepped over the threshold cool air washed over them. But there was an offensive stench beneath. Something feral and rotten. They strode deeper into the gloom.

  It grew black as they advanced into the tunnels but Godwine's armor shone with its own light. Cave paintings upon the rock depicted primitive stick men hunting giant sabretooth lions. Invar pointed to the walls.

  "Are these the ancestors of the Manticores? Have they always encroached upon us?"

  Godwine nodded.

  "Aye, some say so. But it is said they fought alongside men during the war against the Sorrow. Alliances can fade in a thousand years."

  Invar squinted into the dark ahead.

  "The Sorrow was worse than these monsters?"

  Godwine's face shone in the eerie light from his armor.

  "Invar the Sorrow was fear itself. Some men went mad just looking at it. It was a mockery of creation and it damn near killed us all. The order exists only to keep wary eye out for its return."

  Invar felt a shiver. He could not imagine anything more terrifying than these Manticores. The very idea of the Sorrow gave him nightmares.

  "Sire, why are there no guards? We meet no resistance."

  Godwine raised a hand to hush his squire's echoing voice.

  "They have been stood down. Prior to the meeting."

  Invar frowned. He did not understand what his Master could mean, but his stomach lurched.

  "Who are we meeting?"

  Godwine worked his jaw. He stopped and kneeled, drawing the squire into a crouch

  "When you commune with the holy light, Invar, everything is clear. The thoughts and intentions of god feel like the sharp peel of trumpets and the beat of war drums. They are singular in a way a man's thoughts can never be. But a man doubts his motivations, desires, and ambition. A man's doubt is his strength. Without questioning ourselves, our actions, our place in the scheme of things, we are lost. We can think we are servants of the light, but we may be disciples of the dark. Our doubt prevents us becoming tyrants."

  Invar saw sadness creep on his master's face.

  A voice echoed in the tunnel ahead, a sonorous instrument.

  "He is ready for you."

  Invar looked round and two Manticores stood in the tunnel. Their manes bristled with spikes. The claws of their forelegs scored the stone. Invar raised his sword in shaking hand.

  "Get back beast!"

  The creatures did not look at him. They bowed their heads at the paladin next to Invar.

  "Sir Godwine, follow us."

  Invar's sword lowered in time with his jaw. He turned to his Master in disbelief.

  "Sire?"

  Godwine stood to his full height and adjusted his cloak. He squeezed the boy's shoulder.

  "We're meeting the Pridelord. To strike a bargain."

  Invar could not believe his ears. He pointed his sword at the giant beasts.

  "Master they will kill us. They are eaters of men. We cannot trust them. What about the king?"

  Godwine walked through a tunnel as the Manticores indicated. They glared at Invar as he passed.

  "The role of the king is to protect the people, Invar. The role of the paladin order is to safeg
uard the kingdom against the return of the Sorrow. What do we do then, when the king is the threat?"

  Invar did not understand, but he did not want to stand alone with the Manticores. He followed his Master, eyeing them as he passed. He walked into a wide natural cave stuck with stalagmites and stalactites, gaping like the jaws of a deep sea fish. Golden treasures lay scattered the floor lit by flickering torches.

  On a natural outcrop of rock sat the Pridelord.

  Twice the size of his subjects, his mane was a sweeping flame of red. Scales shone iridescent like oil on water, making him a living jewel in the firelight. On his head, nestled among bristling spines, a golden crown studded with emeralds. He sat proud as a lion but his face was unlike the bestial visage of his subjects. An unsettling mixture of animal and man, the eyes burning with pride and intelligence. The cultured mouth was regal, the nose aquiline. He was a prince of monsters. Invar was in awe of the being. Intelligence he could never have imagined burned in his fierce eyes.

  The Pridelord’s golden eyes fixed on the paladin. When he spoke his voice was beautiful to the ear and deep.

  "It seems foolish, all the blood, when we are stood here like civilized creatures."

  Sir Godwine removed his helmet and bowed of his head.

  "I am here, as promised, to honor our arrangement."

  The Pridelord smiled, flashing a mouthful of fangs.

  "So you figured it out, Sir Godwine? The nature of this endless war? Who the real enemy is?"

  Godwine let his helmet clatter to the ground. It looked like an act of despair and the sound echoed around the chamber.

  "A paladin lives his life in definites. We point our sword towards the enemy and we charge. We stand in the light and we fight the dark. It used to be so clear, the line between day and night. Now all is grey."

  The Pridelord grinned with satisfaction. His eyes flicked to Invar and the squire's guts turned to water. He could not meet the creature's gaze. The Pridelord was as magnificent as he was terrifying.

  "And who is this whelp? Your son?"

  "My squire."

  The Pridelord cast Invar a disdainful glance.

  "This is your emissary? You trust this pup with so great a responsibility?"

  Godwine looked at Invar and nodded.