“To broken dreams,” he said as he toasted his empty parlor.
“And shattered memories,” came the traditional reply from the door.
Aaron’s glass fell from his limp hand and shattered. Deathmask limped through the door, Veliana helping him along. His face was a blackened, scarred mess, but his eyes were alive, bloodshot and furious.
“But how?” he asked, taking a step back and glancing for his sword.
A dagger flew past his head and thudded into the wall, an inch above where his sword rested upon a table.
“Bad idea,” Veliana said. “And better question is: why?”
She let go of Deathmask and lunged. Before the thought to dodge had even entered his head, he was already falling to the ground, her heel smashing his teeth. Two daggers stabbed either side of his sleeves, pinning him. He turned to the side and spat blood.
“Why?” he asked. “Because somehow Melorak saw me. Whatever that pet assassin of his sees, he sees. His priests came to my home. I had one choice, you have to understand. I either helped them or died.”
He felt himself start to cry, and humiliating as it was, he couldn’t stop. Veliana leered down at him, her scarred eye milky white and hovering so close. Even it seemed swirling with fury.
“We were ready to die to protect you,” she said. “Bernard, Dagan, all of you. If not for Bernard’s arrival and those soldiers’ inability to tie a real knot, we would be dead. You expect us to forgive you for succumbing to what we did not?”
He closed his eyes and shook his head.
“I had no choice. This happens, don’t you see? Kings fall, new rulers take their place. We lost. What does it matter? In time, another will replace the priest-king.”
Veliana chuckled, and her daggers pressed tight against his neck.
“Another?” he heard Deathmask say. “The man is death made flesh, Karak’s new prophet and ruler. He is not some normal usurper. He is not part of the ebb and flow of politics and kings. He is a blasphemy to our world, and must be destroyed. You’ve nearly ruined our only chance at overthrowing him. Damn fool. It’s a shame they’ll be coming for you soon. You deserve hours of torture, if not days. Count yourself lucky I have only minutes to make this worthwhile.”
Aaron’s eyes shot open, and he saw Deathmask kneeling beside him. He tried to rise, but the daggers held him, and Veliana sat upon his knees, locking them down. The only thing he accomplished with his struggles was to fill Deathmask’s face with disgust.
“Such cowardice,” he said. The words burned whatever remained of Aaron’s pride. “You never deserved my aid.”
Aaron winced as the man’s hand pressed against his forehead. It was feverishly warm.
“Lord Hocking,” Veliana whispered. She’d crawled atop him, one hand holding his hand down, the other tight about his neck. “You are a turncoat, lowest of the low. You are less than the worms, and a worm you will become.”
He screamed as she drew another dagger and thrust it into his bicep. When she cut, no blood flowed. Instead he felt a strange numbness spread with each stroke, until by the time she was severing bone it was as if it were the arm of another. Aaron looked to the mage in horror, whose charred face smirked with pleasure.
“At once,” he said, gesturing to the stump at his shoulder. “The pain will come all at once, as will the blood. Time is now your enemy.”
Veliana leaned over and began on the other arm. Aaron squirmed, but she held firm, as if he were nothing more than a nuisance. Unable to stop himself, he watched as her dagger sank into his flesh. The pain dulled, nothing but phantoms of what he knew he should feel. At last she pulled free his arm and tossed it aside.
“Almost there,” she said, blowing him a kiss.
Next came his leg. He felt strangely light-headed, and his struggles were nothing but spastic shakes. It took several minutes before she cut through all of his thigh. When his leg came free, she stood and carried it to his fireplace. She dumped it unceremoniously in the pit, kicked a bit of ash over it, and then returned for the final leg.
“I’m sorry,” Aaron said, or at least he tried. His tongue had grown thick and dry. He still felt phantom sensations from his limbs, the touch of the wood floor, the soft spread of the ash, and the gradual chill overcoming them as the blood within slowly cooled. When she pulled free the final leg, she grabbed the two arms and carried them to the fire. One by one she set them inside, then turned to Deathmask.
“Do you want the honor?” she asked him.
“Many good men died today,” Deathmask said as he approached the fireplace. Every step seemed slow and gingerly taken. Aaron wondered just how badly his face pained him, yet still he hid it. Could he handle pain so well? He had a feeling he was about to find out.
“Not just a good man,” Deathmask continued. “One of the best. Bernard may be dead, sacrificed to save us from the fate you created. My mask has become my own face, and my own flesh will soon rot to ash. But you…you deserve the fire of the Abyss. It’s coming for you, but not yet. Let the angels and demons wait. I have my own fire for you.”
He spat onto the bundle of arms and legs. When he reached down his hand, flame burst about it. When it touched the saliva, it roared to life as if it were lamp oil. Aaron’s eyes widened as he realized he could still feel sensations within his severed appendages. He writhed and screamed as he felt every inch burn and blister. The fire spread, consuming his fingers, his toes, his thighs and arms and elbows. A pathetic, bloodless stump, he screamed and cried.
“All at once,” Veliana whispered into his ear. “That is when the pain will come. Beg for mercy. Beg for it, Lord Hocking. Beg for it, worm. ”
“Mercy,” he cried, his head rolling side to side. “Please, mercy, kill me, I beg you!”
Deathmask reached into the fire and pulled out a handful of ash. A gentle throw and it floated together, once more becoming a mask to hide his face.
“I don’t know the meaning,” Deathmask said.
He snapped his fingers.
The blood burst from every cut across Aaron’s body. He howled until there was no air in his lungs, no sound from his throat. He felt every single cut Veliana had made, slicing, chopping, and cracking his bones and joints. The blood pooled about him. He felt it stick to his face, seep into his clothes, and still the pain, still the burning. It didn’t seem possible. He should have passed out. No one could endure such pain. But he did. While Veliana and Deathmask watched, he sucked in another groaning breath and screamed again.
Veliana placed her dagger above his left eye, its tip dripping blood.
“We’ll make sure everyone knows of your death,” she told him. “We’ll let everyone know the fate awaiting those who betray the Ghost and his Blade.”
The dagger thrust, and in the last fleeting moments of thought remaining, Aaron thanked the gods for the end.
M elorak stood beside the empty wagon, his hands wet with blood. The blood of a priest. Bernard’s blood.
“You were lucky,” he said. “Bear the scars proudly, fool. Ashhur has so few followers left, he must have given you every scrap of his power, and it was still not enough.”
He looked to his dead soldiers, slain by the supposedly peaceful sect of Ashhur. After the blinding eruption of light, he’d seen little, regaining his senses in time to protect himself from a barrage of spells that shimmered gold but stung like fire. Every last one of his guards had died in the onslaught. One on one, Melorak versus Bernard, they had battled. And when he should have had victory, when he at last held Bernard’s robes in his fist and cast a spell that would explode the blood out of his chest, the priest had vanished in a sudden shimmering of silver.
“A cowardly escape,” he said. He’d thought to hunt for him, but the act was pointless. He wouldn’t know where to look, hadn’t even known where to look prior to the attack. But with both the Ghost and his Blade escaping, he knew his last link of discovering their location was gone. Dagan Gemcroft and John Ewes both rotted from chains in their cells. He’d personally cut their throats. He could summon back their souls, but the stubborn rebels would not remain in any safe house they’d used prior to that night. They were intelligent, resourceful, and dangerous.
“This is not over,” Melorak said as he stared at the blood on his hands. “I will find you, priest. Your kind has no place in my world, not anymore. Karak’s time to reign has come. When Olrim returns victoriously, my soldiers
