A Prayer of Light and Venom Read online

"As if he were my own. More than I trust you, Manticore."

  The Pridelord sat back on his haunches and his tail flickered. His lesser brethren sported clusters of thorny barbs but their lord's tail was that of a scorpion.

  "We are not the threat that you thought, tin man. We eat your kind when we hunger, but did not invade. Your leader hunts us. Because he thinks us a threat to his real masters."

  Sir Godwine's fingers clasped his sword tighter. The Manticore gave a low hiss. Godwine slowly relaxed his grip.

  "I do not forgive you for what you are. The boy is right. You are a tyrant and all your kind are predators. It is in your blood to hunt and kill the children of men."

  The Pridelord gave a dismissive flick of his mane. The barbs bristling from it gleamed metallic.

  "Of course it is in our nature. Hens and rabbits gather in parliaments to demonize the fox, never seeing the fox feed its young. "

  Godwine squared his shoulders and snorted.

  "Then you should know that the chickens never mourn the fox's passing."

  The Pridelord laughed, and it was a sound of charm and grace. Invar realized the true power of these creatures was not their claws or barbs. It was their terrible beauty. The creature looked down upon them with the air of a diplomat.

  Invar blurted out.

  "Our king is sworn to eradicate you. You will not prevail."

  Godwine straightened his belt and cast an awkward glance at the boy. He raised his hand to gesture for quiet. The Pridelord’s eyes burned into the squire. Invar could not meet his gaze.

  "Does he always talk like this?"

  Godwine sighed.

  "He will make a fine paladin, but he does not know the world and all its treachery the way we do."

  Invar found his courage from somewhere. He did not plan to succumb to this monster's silky charm.

  "King Oligan will see you dead."

  The Pridelord shrugged.

  "How is your beloved king these days, since his little prick from our youngest? I hear it had quite the effect on his handsome looks."

  The king was almost never seen in public. Only in his full ceremonial armor and elaborate mask. In the weeks since his injuries at the hands of a Manticore he had become a recluse hidden away in the palace.

  "Your king is hell bent on our annihilation. He realized that our little sting is one of the few things in your world that can harm him. He fears and mistrusts every creature with the Magus in his heart, including the sons and daughters of men born with it. He fears what other secret abilities might exist in the world that could threaten him. That could harm his masters. I hope you weren't born with the Magus Heart above your liver, little squire. You know your monarch will have it ripped out once he has no use for you? All you tin men have unnatural light within you, don't you? You all have the Magus. Are you not blasphemers and traitors? Outlaws like me?"

  Invar was more confused than ever. He squared his shoulders before the beast and recited words drummed into him since childhood.

  "We give ourselves up to the service of Lord Angall, and our magic flows from him. It does not serve us and we do not control it. Magic is the preserve of the Gods. We are but conduits. The king protects us. He stands against the wild forces of outlawed sorcery that batter at our walls."

  The Pridelord laughed. It was a beautiful sound like a stringed instrument.

  "Does he now? How noble of him. Hidden in his palace, drawing all magic to him like a beacon. Like the eye of a storm."

  Invar had a horrible feeling of dread in his guts. The torches on the walls played tricks on his eyes. The undercurrent of rotting meat was making him nauseated. Beetles and rats crawled through the fetid straw on the floor. Godwine growled low and bitter.

  "The beast is right. The king outlawed many things. Soon he will outlaw us too. The paladins are a threat to him. We serve Angall and justice before all. He holds no true place for that. We were a means to an end. An end to the threats posed against him. Now we are part of that threat."

  The Pridelord leaned in close.

  "The only thing your king outlawed, boy, is everyone else using sorcery. Access to resources is what makes for power, pup, be it water, meat or magic."

  Godwine knelt beside Invar. In the shadows his face looked more lined and troubled than Invar had ever seen it. He leaned in close and spoke to his squire.

  "Why was the Order of the Blaze formed, Invar, so many centuries ago?"

  Invar recalled the scriptures of the Order. He had recited them hundreds of times.

  "We stand watch against the return of The Sorrow. We look for the plague that scarred the world when Angall and the gods still walked its surface. We watch, and we keep the secrets given to us by Angall's Riddles. We are a light in dark nights."

  Godwine's face became grave.

  "The Sorrow is returning, Invar. It has come back, and we did not see it happening. They have been amongst us, their disciples plotting and planning for years. Dismantling our defenses, destroying everything that might pose a threat. The only thing that drove back the Sorrow before was our last vestiges of magic. It still nearly killed us all."

  Invar shook his head in disbelief.

  "But we would know. The Order would know, and the king would know!"

  Godwine stared deep into his squire's eyes. Willing him to understand the darkest of truths.

  "The King does know, Invar. The agents of the Sorrow seduced our king Oligan Rathratta long ago. I am sorry, boy, but we have been crusading on behalf of the devils that would damn us. Never did the darkness pull off a craftier trick."

  Invar stood and stumbled back, eyeing the paladin and Pridelord in despair.

  "This can't be true."

  The voice of the Pridelord carried over Invar's shoulder. It sent shivers down his spine.

  "You think we are monsters, boy. But we are nothing compared to the oldest enemy. To you the Sorrow is old tales and fables from books. I was there when they invaded the first time, a thousand years ago. I saw what they did to the world. Magic is addictive to the Sorrow. It is honey to them. And our world is a sweet fruit it will never leave alone."

  The Pridelord leapt down off his podium of rock, landing without a sound on four clawed feet. His tail curved high and the barb dripped green venom.

  "One day you will realize the reality of your world. When that day comes you will need my gift. For it can set you free."

  Invar stepped back away from the beast. Despite his regal bearing, the Manticore stank of blood and musk.

  "A gift?"

  The Pridelord reached into a straw covered niche at the base of the podium. He brought out a black egg, bigger than Invar's head. He held it out in something that was somewhere between hand and paw.

  Invar backed away further.

  "What is it?"

  The Manticore cocked his head and regarded the black egg.

  "It is to be my son. It is the last of us, the final unhatched Manticore. We are another of the Old Races come and gone."

  Invar shook his head.

  "Why would I take that?"

  Godwine squeezed his shoulder.

  "Because one day, Invar, the world will be remade, and this may be our hope to do it. We cannot save today, but we may be able to save tomorrow, or many tomorrows from now."

  The golden eyes of the Pridelord burned into Alfred's back but he drew close and whispered to his Master.

  "Me? I'm not even a paladin yet. I have not undergone the rituals; I may not even survive it. Sire, I'm no one."

  Godwine smiled in pity at the burden he laid upon his squire.

  "The King keeps eyes and ears everywhere. You will be someone, I promise you that. But now, today, no one is better."

  The Pridelord placed the egg at his feet and padded around them. It made Invar uneasy.

  "Your king will hunt you until the end of your days. You will safeguard something he now knows how to fear. Your life will be one of pious devotion. Taking care of a creature that will hate you for k
illing its race. That will poison and eat you if it can, that is as you describe, a monster. Yet you will guard what you see as an aberration with your life. That will be your days."

  Invar looked at the egg. It looked like smooth black glass. It did not reflect the firelight as if made of so dense a blackness light could not escape it. His gaze became absorbed in the obsidian and he began to fall into a trance. Only the distant sound of shouting and swords clashing awoke him. He turned to Sir Godwine. The old paladin turned to the tunnels behind them and tightened the grip on his sword.

  "They are coming."

  The Pridelord glanced to the tunnel entrance and his own claws flexed.

  "Your golden host is at my gates. We are few in number and we will lose. We can expect no mercy from the likes of men. My only peace of mind is we have reduced your paladins to a motley band, soon to be extinguished too. Your king would kill you for this treason, Godwine. Your Order of the Blaze reduced to nothing but ashes. "

  Godwine drew a sigil in the sandy floor of the cave and knelt before it.

  "This is the rune of the Phoenix, Manticore. One of the symbols of our order. We will become ashes but many things may rise from ashes. This cave is the last stand for us both. There is no more sunshine for either of us, no new dawn. But for the world perhaps, in days we will never see."

  The Pridelord peered at Invar and brought a huge claw up towards his head. Invar froze as the beast toyed with him like a mouse.

  "You trust this pup with the future of my kind and your own wretched order?"

  Godwine nodded.

  "He is a boy now, but he will grow strong. His strength now is that the king does not see him. He knows I have betrayed him so he will never trust any paladin again. The boy will not even enter his mind."

  The clashing of steel and the screams of men echoed closer down the tunnel now. Invar could see shadows flickering on the walls. Godwine picked up the black egg and placed it in a leather satchel. He gathered a handful of items from his pack and placed them inside, and then thrust the bag to Invar. The Pridelord looked reluctant to allow the tiny human to take ownership of his legacy. For a moment his lips curled back to reveal lethal teeth, but it morphed into a restrained smile.

  "You have thought where to send him?"

  Godwine stood tall by the tunnel entrance, as the sounds of battle grew closer.

  "I have. There is a remote place in the outer rim, an abbey in the shadow of the Torrent. It is a place where many lost and hunted things find refuge. It will mask his presence. Until the time comes to act. "

  The Pridelord padded over to the tunnel entrance and unsheathed his claws.

  "Speaking of acting, don't you think it's about time for our final act, paladin?"

  Godwine looked to the terrifying talons and the golden eyes of the Manticore. He gave the beast a smile and shrugged.

  "Aye, Pridelord. I do."

  The Manticore turned to Invar and pointed to the back of the chamber.

  "Behind the throne, there is a small tunnel, big enough for the likes of you. It will lead you out of the mountain where a fresh horse awaits you. Do not delay."

  Godwine grabbed Invar by the arm and squeezed.

  "Invar, you must take this, keep it safe, nurture it. This map will tell you where to go. This letter will explain all that you must do. Seek out the brotherhood and ask for the man in the letter. He will take you in. He is sympathetic to our cause. I am sorry to have burdened you with this, at so young an age. But it seems almost everything is a compromise with the darkness these days."

  Invar stood there, holding the bag and overwhelmed by the burden that sat upon him.

  "I still don't understand everything sire. It’s all happening too fast."

  Godwine gave his madman's laugh again, echoing in the cavern. It was the last time that Invar would ever hear it.

  "You're going out to the Bleaks where magic still rules. I'd get used to that feeling."

  Invar tried to protest but Godwine shoved him towards the small tunnel behind the throne.

  "Go, go!"

  Invar backed away, as his Master turned and raised his sword. The Pridelord hunkered down and his barbed tail rose up in defence. A desperate gathering of Knights of the Blaze and Manticores piled into the chamber.

  Sir Godwine and the Pridelord became embroiled in the melee. They stared at one another for a moment. Then they both charged at the forces of the other side. Their moment of diplomacy over, they were mortal enemies once again.

  A massive Manticore swiped its claws at Godwine. The barbed tail thrust, dripping poison. The blessed blade deflected the monster's barb two or three times. Godwine staggered back. As he struggled to regain his balance the sting penetrated his throat. Godwine's skin bubbled and liquefied. His flesh ran off his face like butter and his screams choked.

  Invar cried out. The Pridelord glanced askance at him through the falling and rising blades. He smiled. Only then did Invar notice a paladin's blade had impaled the beast through the heart. Invar caught the creature's golden eyes. Something passed between them. An emotion like a riddle Invar would see in his dreams.

  Some survival instinct made his boots move. Before he knew it Invar was running down the narrow tunnel towards a pinpoint of light in the distance. After five minutes the sounds of battle faded far behind him. He emerged into glaring sunlight shielding his eyes.

  Sure enough, there was a strong brown stallion tethered to a burnt tree, watered and fed. Invar approached it, stroking it to gain its trust. He struggled to take in the events of the morning. His first taste of battle, the blood and the flies. His first sighting of a Manticore up close, its stinking breath and yellow fangs. Invar was still coming to grips with his Master's treason.

  King Oligan was in league with the Sorrow? A force that wanted to conquer and feed on the world? It made no sense to Invar. His world was turned upside down.

  He tugged open the satchel and looked at the obsidian egg.

  It terrified him. The potential of it. Stuffed next to it he found an old hide map, a water skin, and a letter waxed shut with Godwine's seal. Invar took a few sips of water and looked out to the bleak scrub land stretching to the horizon. He studied the map.

  Ironghast monastery.

  A refuge for outcasts, it said. Those afflicted with magic. It seemed like the ends of the world. He sat on his horse watching the orange sun set behind the distant red rock mountains. As he spurred the horse, Invar Ironbound realized he still didn't like the word crusade. His was to be a long, secret crusade. He would be hunted for almost fifty years.

  Until the day a boy arrived at the monastery, bringing hope and destruction in equal measure.

  2

  47 years later...

  Old Vassonia.

  Seminary school for the Temple of Angall, Lord of Illumination.

  Alfred rumpled the bedclothes in his feverish dream...

  The chamber beneath the city. The one he never wants to find. The one he always ends up trapped in. Every night the setting of his dreams the same. They are surrounded. Entombed. Mutated limbs batter the door. He can hear them slavering and groaning beyond the stone. Ravenous for warm souls.

  He has friends with him. Some alive and some dead at his feet. A last stand as always.

  He looks down at his armored fist. It grasps a hammer not of this world. The head crystalline and glowing bright.

  The girl is beside him. The terrifying armored crusader with flame hair. She smiles as she readies her sword. She has the eyes of a zealot. He is as afraid of her as he is of the monsters outside. She makes his heart quicken.

  The misshapen fists batter the door again. A monstrous heartbeat shaking the dust in the air.

  The stench of blood and rotting flesh. The hordes on the other side are not living things. They are puppets. Possessed and controlled by a spiderweb mind probing the air around them, old and malevolent. The long reach of the Green King.

  The stone gives way in a cloud of dust. The creatures
pour in like slime. Individual cadavers powered by the curse. Oily tendrils erupt from their mouths, searching the dark for living meat. Aberrations reforged from corpses crawl over them, entire bodies serving as limbs and appendages.

  This is the offence of the Sorrow. It bends the beautiful shapes of life into ugliness. It commandeers nature to sate its addiction, the one thing that nourishes it.

  Magic.

  And like a leech it drains the world.

  "They are coming!"

  He watches the swarm of risen dead pour into the chamber. They slip over each other's decaying flesh in desperation to reach the source of the sorcery. The stench is overwhelming.

  Yet he is not afraid. Not at this moment. And this is strange because he always thought himself a coward. He feels the power rise within him. A searing light blistering the monster's skin.

  The flame haired girl looks across. Her armor is glowing. Her eyes are not human. They have become silver like perfect coins, reflecting the spirit within.

  As the swarm of risen and warped surround them, the girl raises her sword.

  "I'm proud to be here with you, Alfred Sorrowhammer."

  This is how he always knows it's a dream. No one has ever called him anything so grand in the waking world. He feels the battle-lust rise in him. The overwhelming urge to cleanse the poison surrounding them with burning holy light.

  Every night Alfred finds the dream absurd and terrifying. This and the other visions plaguing him, in sleep or waking life.

  Alfred who has never picked up a weapon. Alfred who walks from the sound of raised voices. Alfred who loves wine and song and books. Alfred who knows nothing of outlawed sorcery. Alfred who has only read of battles.

  Alfred who is always...

  Late.

  Late as always.

  Alfred opened his eyes and sat up, drenched in sweat. He was about to become the first acolyte in six hundred years to allow an eternal flame to extinguish. He shot out of bed and slipped on his tangled sheets.

  "Not my fault, not my fault."

  He had slept through the rising dawn. He missed cockerel's crow. He dozed through insistent banging on pots as older acolytes paraded down the hall.