Heirs of the Fallen: Book 04 - Wrath of the Fallen (13 page)

Leitos shoved through the throng and climbed up on a table in the center of the hall. Everyone stood rapt, waiting. “The Faceless One was a myth,” he began. “I should say, the Faceless One was as real as the dead flesh worn by any Mahk’lar. I destroyed him, only to reveal our true enemy—Peropis, the Eater of the Damned. She is aware of the threat we pose, and she means to not only end humankind, but to enslave our souls within Geh’shinnom’atar. We must stop cowering in the shadows, striking soft blows here or there, and bring open war to our enemies. We must eventually conquer the port city of Kula-Tak, Peropis’s seat of power in Geldain. If we fail in taking Geldain and Kula-Tak, we may survive for a time, but eventually she will destroy all humankind.”

“Fool!” Robis bleated. “You turned the demon-whore’s attention on us, and now expect us to go to war for your mistake—”

Damoc’s open hand cracking across the youth’s face cut off his shout. “Shut your dung-gobbling mouth! You have no voice here! Besides that, did you actually believe we had escaped Peropis’s attention?”

“Fool, am I?” Robis snarled, backing out of reach with one hand clutched to his reddening cheek. “You are the fool! All of you are, if you would follow this ... this bringer of death!”

“Be still!” Damoc roared.

“Let him speak,” Leitos said tonelessly. “It’s best to cut all tethers to anyone who is half-hearted, those unwilling to sacrifice everything, even their own lives, if necessary. Single-minded fearlessness and strength are needed to throw the enemy’s yoke off our shoulders. Anything less, any wavering conviction, any hesitation when the blood runs thick and deep on the field of battle, and when the screams of the dying fill the air, will only hasten the annihilation of humankind.”

Belina cringed with all the rest at Leitos’s underlying accusation that some of them were unwilling to fight.

“Open your eyes,” Robis said, waving a hand over the few Yatoans able to stand, and all the rest who had propped themselves up on elbows to hear Leitos speak. “Can’t you see? Or do you
refuse
to see? He came to our camp not so long ago, and already we have lost most of our warriors. How many do you think will survive if the clans try to steal all of Geldain from Peropis and her demon-born armies? None, I say. We will all die!”

“If we do nothing, we are already dead,” Leitos said simply. “You, Robis, proved yourself in the battle to take Armala. But I mistrust your fear. You would never sacrifice for another, let alone all humanity, and so you are useless.”

Disapproving murmurs filled the gathering hall. Leitos absorbed them all, his face expressionless.

Eye bulging, Robis shouted, “Wars are fought with armies!”

Now the murmurs became shouts of agreement.

Leitos gazed over the gathered, his features as inscrutable as ever. If it stunned him that so many had turned so quickly, he did not let it show. It almost seemed as if he had expected no less.

Damoc calmed everyone with a gesture. “Much as I would like to stuff Robis in a barrel,” he said to Leitos, “the boy makes a fair argument.”

Leitos conceded the point with a curt nod. “I know where to find those who would stand against our enemies—an army’s worth of fighters. They will need leaders to guide them to victory. I hope the warriors of Yato will provide that leadership.”

Robis edged closer, and Belina saw a familiar cockiness in the set of his mouth. “You
know
of a secret army, just as you
know
we must attack Geldain. Tell us, how do you
know
these things?”

“I know because I walked boldly where others feared to put the first toe.” Leitos said it so smoothly that Belina knew he was hiding something. Not lying, but holding something back. “In the Throat of Balaam, I alone faced the Bane of Creation and—”

“Who
you
claim is actually Peropis,” Robis cut in.

“—and in so doing,” Leitos went on, overriding Robis, “I learned of the true threats that face us, and what we must do to survive.” He fixed his gaze on the sneering Yatoan youth. “Our enemy is the same, whether bearing the name the Bane of Creation, the Faceless One, or the Eater of the Damned.”

No one spoke for a moment, then Robis turned to his people. “I say let this fool chase after death as he chooses. We will hold Yato and Armala. We have no need for the troubles that await us in Geldain. Our war has already been won. Our homelands are safe and free.”

As the cheers for Robis rose higher, Leitos stood still as a statue, dirty and battered, one bloody hand on the hilt of his bloody sword. For the first time since meeting him, Belina saw not the youth, but the unbending figure in her visions, the man of shadow and steel, the bringer of death.
But whose death?
She had never asked herself that. A shiver tingled her spine, and sour bile gurgled in her throat.

A smile gradually spread across Leitos’s face, but it did not reach his eyes. It was no smile at all, Belina saw, but a grimace of disgust. The chatter continued for a while, arguments back and forth about the proper course, until more and more folk began to see his ghastly expression. One by one, they fell silent.

“Join me and fight,” Leitos said woodenly, “or remain here, healing, fortifying Armala, and telling yourselves lies about a future you will never know. I care not which. Whatever your choice, I need it by dawn.”

Damoc raised his hands as Leitos made to leap from the table. “Hold, boy! Surely there is no need for such haste? Besides, it’s not as if you can defeat Peropis and her hordes alone.”

“Oh, but he
can
,” Robis hooted. “After all, he’s the slayer of the Faceless One, who is not the Faceless one at all, but Peropis who, it happens, is not actually slain!” Jeering laughter met this, far more than Belina would have expected from the people who had cheered Leitos when he first arrived.

“I will await your answer,” Leitos said to Damoc, each word hard and cold as ice. “I depart at sunrise.”

“Do you intend to
swim
back to Geldain?” Robis called, earning more derisive laughter.

“If I must,” Leitos growled. He jumped from the table and stalked out of the hall. His response, despite the bitterness of it, only brought more heckling.

Chapter 17

Leitos had no intention of waiting for help from a pack of self-deluded idiots who believed they had won something more than a dead city sitting atop a useless rock in the sea. He had read the unwillingness in their eyes, heard it in their laughter, and knew their minds were made up. And so was his. He had made his choice, and there was no reason to delay.

As soon as he entered his room, he began stuffing supplies into a haversack. It turned out he had much less than what he needed, and the haversack made a pathetic bundle. He would need to head down to the wrecked ships and see what he could find.

“I thought we had until dawn?” Adham asked behind him.

Leitos spun to find Ulmek and Damoc standing with his father. Behind them waited Belina, Sumahn, and Daris.

“I will not be slaughtered with the rest of those witless sheep,” Leitos said. He bit back anymore he might say, but only because these people before him were not enemies deserving his wrath.

“So you
do
mean to swim back to Geldain,” Damoc said, one finger tapping his pursed lips to hide his wry amusement.

Leitos bit back an acid retort. “The
Bloody Whore
and the
Night Blade
still rest upon the reef. Both ships carried longboats. I can rig a sail. And if not that, I’ll row.”

“Before you do,” Damoc said, growing serious, “why don’t you tell us how you intend to raise this mysterious army of yours? A solid strategy will go much further in convincing the others, than scorn and condemnation.”

Leitos snorted in disgust. “From what I saw, they would rather lick Robis’s arse, than do what they must to survive.”

“Enough!” Adham said, stepping forward. “You’ve been behaving like a blood-hungry Kelren ever since you stepped out of the Throat.”

Bewildered by the accusation, Leitos’s gaze shifted from one to another. His father’s discomfiture was scrawled across every face. Did they really think he was behaving any differently than he ever had? More than the doubts, the ridiculous questions, the mocking laughter, it was their unease that put his back up. He was not a wild animal loose in their midst, just a warrior doing all he could to win against a deadly enemy.

“I
am
hungry for the blood of our enemies,” he said. “Mahk’lar, Alon’mahk’lar, Na’mihn’teghul, and anyone who bends a knee to the Bane of Creation, no matter if they believe that being is the Faceless One or Peropis. I hunger to crush those enemies without mercy. If you do not have the same appetite, you should question where your loyalties lie.”

“We all want the same thing,” Damoc allowed, but Leitos heard a hesitancy that he misliked. “All we ask, before agreeing to sail off to attack the whole of Geldain, is that you give us some idea of how you intend to succeed.”

And so Leitos told them of the idea that had taken root soon after he first stepped foot into Zuladah, when Zera still walked at his side. His voice brimmed with more confidence than he felt. After Leitos finished, no one spoke for a long time.

“It may work,” Ulmek said at last. “Of course, your plan needs a lot of luck, but I’m intrigued by the overall notion.”

“Even if it doesn’t work,” Sumahn said, “I’ll march with you, little brother.”

“As will I,” Daris piped, his constant grin nervous but willing.

“We
all
will,” Damoc announced. “As you said, we have no choice, if we are to have a chance of survival. However, I will need to summon all the elders to a Great Council. They must hear what is at stake, and then decide the fate of their clans.”

Leitos mulled that. “How long?”

“A few days ... if that is
acceptable
to you?” Damoc’s wry amusement had moved from his lips to his voice.

“Of course,” Leitos said, a small flare of hope sparking in his chest. “And if you need something more to convince the elders, be sure to tell them that Peropis means to escape the Thousand Hells, along with her kindred. Afterward, she will not just slaughter humankind, she will fill Geh’shinnom’atar with our souls. There will be no hope of Paradise, only everlasting agony.”

Six pairs of eyes slowly widened as he spoke. Leitos chuckled darkly, sharing with them a bit of his own contemptuous mirth.

Chapter 18

Zera came before him, her expression neutral but beautiful as ever. In the sooty murk at her back, more people materialized, then faded, replaced by still others, like bits of spoiled meat bubbling to the surface of a vile stew. Some wore scarred Kelren faces, and others the golden miens of Fauthians. Leitos had killed them all, and they hated him.
Let them hate, for they earned my wrath
.

Leitos reached through shadowed smoke with hands soaked in blood to the wrists. It gathered into large, trembling drops at his fingertips. When those drops fell away, he felt cleansed, unburdened. And why shouldn’t the blood of his enemies bring him peace?

When Zera smiled, a gruel of clotted black fluid bubbled through her teeth. “A slayer pays for stolen lives, until the wind of the ages has scattered the dust of his life.”

“They were enemies,” Leitos said.

“Was I?”

“No. I loved you. I still do.”

“A slayer does not know love.”

“You are wrong.”

“All that you love will perish, slayer.”

Leitos shook his head in denial. His bloody hands reached out. Before he could touch her, Zera crumbled and puffed away on unfelt currents. Behind her, the faces of all those he had cut down became Adham and Belina, Ulmek and Ba’Sel, Sumahn, Daris. Everyone he knew. Wilting, drying, they broke apart, became motes of swirling ash.

“A slayer pays....”

Leitos sat up, eyes darting, cold sweat pebbling his skin. He flung off his thin coverlet. The panted breaths filling his lungs seemed thin, insubstantial. He dropped his feet to the floor, and instantly recoiled from the clamminess of the tiles, so like the cooling flesh of a skinned animal.

A dream
, he told himself, struggling to calm himself. It was not the first time Zera had condemned him in a dream, but he knew that seeing her was just a sign of the guilt he carried in his heart for killing her. That deed, an accident born of fear, was the only blame he allowed himself to nurture. A slayer he may be, but not by choice. Peropis and her minions had forced him to become a killer.

But did she really?
A sly voice asked, and showed him an image of the Fauthian who had begged mercy atop the watchtower several days before. Leitos saw himself poke a sword into the man, forcing him back until he toppled from the tower. He heard the man’s prolonged scream, then the thud of meat and bone impacting unyielding cobblestones.
Did that man die because of Peropis?

“Yes,” Leitos said, speaking vehemently to the silence around him. He thought he heard low, soft laughter.