Chapter Forty-Four Ruhlin #2
Such insolence could have only one response.
The Ventra to Silvahk’s left stepped forward, fixing his eyes upon the young Kelven’s stagna, then jerking in surprise when Tremyn cast a handful of sand into his face.
Moving with the speed of one trained to combat all his life, Tremyn darted forward to slap a hand to the Ventra’s forearm.
He screamed as the skin under the Kelven’s grip instantly reddened, the air filling with the sickening taint of scorched flesh.
Silvahk and the other Ventra were swift in locking their gaze on Tremyn’s stagna, sending him to the sand where he writhed with agony.
“Enough!” Ruhlin growled, placing himself between the Ventra and their victim.
Silvahk, scowling in anger, averted his gaze but the other Ventra did not, continuing to torment Tremyn until Ruhlin slammed a fist into his jaw, sending him sprawling.
In response, the contingent of guards instantly drew blades or levelled spears while from the walkways above came the creak of many drawn bowstrings.
Ruhlin turned at a snarl to his rear, seeing Ohtera leaping from the upper tier of cells.
Her feline form was fully in place when she landed, fangs bared and claws scraping the sand.
Behind her, the surviving inmates of the Kelvengyr emerged from their cells, some fearful, others with faces hardened in defiance.
“Don’t!” Silvahk snapped when the Ventra felled by Ruhlin’s punch scrambled upright, blood leaking from his mouth and eyes blazing as they found Ruhlin’s stagna.
He stiffened at the first pulse of pain, hearing the monster wake with an ominous growl.
However, his torment proved short-lived when Silvahk drew a dagger and drove it into his fellow Ventra’s heart.
“No harm is to be done to him!” Silvahk called out. Jerking the dagger free of the sagging Ventra’s chest, he cast his voice at the archers on the walkways. “On the Vortigurn’s order! Fail to heed it and you answer to him!”
The immediacy of their response said much for the continuing authority of their dread king. The archers eased their bows while the Ventra retreated with gazes averted.
“Come with me,” Silvahk told Ruhlin, voice pitched low and tense with concern, “or every Kelven here will die today.”
He flinched when Ohtera lunged at him, stepping back a pace or two.
Ruhlin saw more than just fear of physical injury on the Ventra’s face.
Ohtera’s willingness to do him harm cut as deep as her claws surely would.
They grew up here together, Ruhlin recalled.
Yet he ascended to the ranks of the Ventra while she shunned them.
He saw now how Silvahk hated his role in the Kelvengyr, how his forced affability had been a mask for inner self-detestation.
He was one of them, but also compelled to hurt them every day.
And yet, he did it, Ruhlin reminded himself, squashing the burgeoning sense of pity. Because the Vortigurn told him to.
“Ohtera,” he said, moving into her path as she crouched for another lunge. Meeting her gaze, he shook his head.
“I am fast,” she said, words rendered a wet rasp by her fangs. “You are strong…”
“It won’t be enough.” Reaching out a hand to cup her distorted face, he moved closer, murmuring, “It happens today. Wait for the walls to crumble.”
Although it wasn’t yet noon, the sky above Moon Shadow Tower was dark.
Fisherman’s instinct warned Ruhlin of a brewing storm as he climbed the steps.
Burgeoning wind drove a thin drizzle through the structure’s open summit to bead his skin, although this time the journey was not interrupted by tumbling bodies.
Upon ascending the final flight of steps, he was pleased to find the Vortigurn’s attention turned towards the Citadel rather than his visitor.
The king’s broad back made for a tempting target but Silvahk’s presence, and two more Ventra positioned to either side of the Vortigurn, forced him to contain the impulse to charge.
Also, Ruhlin spied Moyirn’s aged and cloaked form skulking in the shadowed lee of the incomplete stairwell.
Such a degraded figure appeared to present no threat, but Ruhlin knew that to be deceptive.
“Ruhlin,” the Vortigurn said, raising a beckoning hand but not turning. “Come, join me. I have something of great interest to show you.”
Ruhlin could feel the eyes of the Ventra upon his stagna as he moved to the king’s side.
Ruhlin hadn’t seen this pair before, both women with near identical, cadaverous faces that could have been hollowed by either age or sickness.
Any impression of decrepitude was negated by their eyes, bright and unblinking in their regard of the metal ring encircling his collarbone.
The intensity of their scrutiny was such that he knew even the slightest signal of the monster’s presence would cause them to fire the stagna.
The pain would surely be of a far greater magnitude than that suffered in the wuhltra when he had managed to summon enough of the monster’s strength to save Fernhyld.
Any pain can be borne, Ruhlin told himself. I have borne so much already. I can bear more.
Still, he held off attempting to commune with the monster. The king stood two feet clear of the edge, a small distance but too great to ensure Ruhlin could pitch him over before the Ventra did their work. He must wait his chance. This time, he decided, no amount of cowardice will stop me.
“It’s time, Ruhlin,” the Vortigurn said, extending a hand to the east. “All the pieces move to their final squares and the game reaches its conclusion.”
Noticing that he pointed to the sea beyond the Citadel’s docks, Ruhlin raised his gaze to the horizon and was unable to contain a surprised start at what he saw. Sails. A great many sails. And he was sure none of them were red.
“Yes, the new Queen of the Ascarls comes for her revenge,” the Vortigurn said, Ruhlin turning to find him smiling in warm approval.
“There’s only one queen these days, incidentally.
Moyirn orchestrated the deaths of the others, or two of them at least. The third was an agent of his…
” He trailed off into a faint laugh, shaking his head.
“None of which matters at all now, of course. Though I do wonder what became of Aylsa. Such a bright, pretty thing she was.”
Letting out a brisk sniff, the Vortigurn turned about, moving to the tower’s west-facing edge. “And there,” he said, casting a hand to the sparsely wooded fields beyond the Citadel’s walls, “the Tielvik general brings his rabble.”
The gathering cloud made the landscape vague with rain, but a random shaft of sunlight through the clouds illuminated a host cresting a hill perhaps two miles off.
“I assume he’s a friend of yours or some such,” the Vortigurn went on. “This mighty savage with his unbreakable sword.”
Seeing no reason to lie, Ruhlin said, “His name is Guthnyr, and you wouldn’t want him as an enemy.”
“I’m obliged to agree. I had Moyirn send a Ventra to capture this most interesting fellow, but she never came back.
I had to send an army to delay him instead.
Another in a long string of recent failures, eh, Moyirn?
” The Vortigurn levelled a steady, humourless gaze at his most trusted servant.
When the old man gave no reaction, pale features twitching beneath the cowl he wore, the king let out a huff and returned his attention to Ruhlin.
“I imagine they all scent victory,” the Vortigurn said.
“Hearts swelled by the prospect of sated vengeance. Always the way with mundane humanity. Like starved dogs given a whiff of blood. I shall not miss them. But, I think I might miss you, Ruhlin ehs Kestryg. I was never blessed with a son, yet, in you I may have found one. Or at least a worthy heir, not that there’ll be a kingdom to bequeath you soon.
” He smiled, a curiously tremulous expression, and Ruhlin blinked at the sight of tears glimmering in the Vortigurn’s eyes.
“All the years spent crafting this web, weaving all these many, many threads together. And yet, here at the end I find myself pricked by guilt. I suppose it’s fitting.
There should be a price to pay. I am not cruel.
” The voice of the man who had once been Velgard, exiled king of Ascarlia, grew hoarse as he cupped Ruhlin’s cheek.
“I am merely what you are, my son. A greater being trapped in a cage of endless torment. Sadly, we can’t both escape. ”
Now, Ruhlin thought, fighting the urge to flinch from this man’s touch.
Snap his neck! He began to flood himself with anger, feeling the monster stir in response, but the king moved away before the change showed in Ruhlin’s form.
Wait! he told it, striving to contain the transforming fire.
He felt sweat trickle down his neck and was thankful for the concealing drizzle. We have to be sure.
“For now,” the Vortigurn said, casting his arms out wide, “let us watch together. A king and his prince enjoying the grandest entertainment.”
To Ruhlin’s frustration, the Vortigurn kept mostly to the centre of the platform as the spectacle unfolded to east and west. The ships of the Ascarlian fleet now thronged the mouth of the Deep Fjord, sails filled and oars sweeping.
An eastward glance revealed the sight of Guthnyr’s host forming up for battle.
“I must say I am impressed with your friend,” the Vortigurn observed when the rebel army began its advance, maintaining a steady pace and a coherent line as they closed the distance to the city walls.
Ruhlin thought he saw makeshift scaling ladders bristling along their ranks.
“To forge such a motley collection of Morvek and outlaw scum into a true menda.” The king gave a reflective laugh.
“Perhaps you would have had to fight him for the throne one day?”