CHAPTER TWELVE
Rogan awoke in flight, angry at himself that he passed out, even more enraged that he couldn’t see Algeniz nor Javan. The horizon glowed, indicating that the sun would soon rise. Only one of the creatures carried him now. The other must have taken off while he was unconscious. His captor flew slower, descending as they swept in over the capitol city, near to the top of the outlying homes. Rogan spied the temple of Rhiannon in the distance and recalled what Javan had said about the demon imprisoned there. Was he being taken to feed Bon Deux’s pet, rather than back to the palace dungeon? Perceiving this as his possible fate, Rogan set about in planning an escape.
Getting used to the rhythm of his captor’s wings and gait, Rogan wagered his weight could displace the beast if he swung himself up at the precise time. As the temple grew closer, he gauged the drop to the closest roof. Then he grabbed the creature’s ankles and swung his legs up. The monster squawked in surprise. Rogan pushed off with his hands, tearing free from its clutches. The thing snatched at him, but he fell fast, impacting on the thatched roof of a domicile. He flipped in midair, but ended up taking the brunt of the fall on his left shoulder. His weight sent him crashing through the roof, but not completely onto the floor of the home. So heavy and reinforced was the thatch and boards under it, Rogan became hung up, boots still outside in the air.
Arms swaying like pendulums, Rogan cursed and tried to focus on the dim light. The hearth had lowered, but an oil lamp soon flared, held by a boy of almost ten years, who sat up on a bed mat and gaped at the hairy brute as he swung back and forth.
“Boy,” Rogan ordered as he tried to work his legs free, “bring me a weapon!”
Blinking, the child leapt from the bed, obedient to the words, but paused when something slammed into the roof. Kicking and cursing, hair across his face, Rogan shouted as the roof sagged around him. More thatch spewed down, and then Rogan came loose, falling near the hearth. He groaned and growled in both pain and anger. Quick to his knees, Rogan barked again for a weapon. This time, the child didn’t move, paralyzed with fear.
Staggering, happy to have something solid under his boots again, Rogan climbed to his feet and glanced around. The house was divided into three rooms. Determining that his present location contained no weapons or anything of use, he sprinted toward the next room. The creature squealed outside. Trembling, the boy trotted after Rogan.
The next room held a table and four chairs. In the corner was an oblong wooden case with a glass covering. Rogan looked at the boy and sighed. He gave the glass front a hard kick and the cover shattered. Pulling out a two-edged broadsword with his right hand, Rogan grabbed the wooden handle of another weapon and drew it out. It was a flail sporting two lines, each having a spike ball on the end. He had little time to contemplate any of the weapons, as the winged beast dropped down through the hole in the roof.
“Stay here,” Rogan said.
The boy nodded, but when Rogan rushed back into the first room, the boy followed, screaming when he saw what was there.
The creature’s wings scraped across the ceiling. It swiped at the terrified child with one clawed hand, but Rogan elbowed the boy in the head, sending him to the floor and out of range. Thrusting the sword, Rogan speared through the membranous wing and nailed the monster to the wall. Releasing the pommel of the broadsword, he grabbed the flail with both hands and reared back. The beast’s eyes widened as Rogan whipped the double spiked balls at its cranium. Despite scoring a direct hit, the weapon did little more than knock the beast senseless. Hissing, it pawed at the sword hilt sticking out of its pinned wing and then glanced around the room, as if unsure of what to do next. Rogan swung the flail again. This time, he dented the creature’s head. Encouraged, he thought of Erin and Teran and Rohain, shouting their names as he worked the flail over and over until he smelled brains. He didn’t stop until the thing’s pulped head ran down its broad shoulders.
Panting, Rogan turned to the stunned boy and asked, “Who are you?”
“Rogan,” the child replied.
“What?”
“My name is Rogan, named after the great king my father once fought for.”
“Where is your father now?”
The boy shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s a bad time. He’s a palace guard and he drinks too much. My mother died, after the men from the south came. He spends most of his time at the inn, when not on duty.”
Frowning, Rogan nodded. “Why does your father keep steel under glass? Wodan gave us steel to use, not keep on a shelf.”
“He says they are old collector’s items.”
Grunting, Rogan wrenched the sword free from the wall. The creature’s corpse slid down to the floor.
“They still work,” he said. “I’ll borrow them for a bit.”
“My father will ask who took them. Who are you?”
“Would you believe me if I told you I was the former king of this land, Rogan, son of Jarek?”
“No,” the boy admitted. “They said King Rogan escaped a few days ago, and fled north. Only a fool would come back to Albion after that, and King Rogan was no fool.”
Rogan tousled the boy’s hair. “Does your father keep any wine or whiskey in this house?”
The boy showed him a cupboard where the wineskins were kept. Rogan unscrewed the end of the skin, marveling at the craftsmanship. Taking a long draw on the wine, he opened a wooden box on a shelf beneath the cupboard. Raising an eyebrow, Rogan took out a cigar bit the tip off. Then he lit the cigar from the fireplace.
“Are you in trouble?” the boy asked. “What is that monster?”
“That monster is one of my many troubles.”
The boy’s eyes widened. “You are King Rogan, aren’t you?”
Rogan winked.
“What are you going to do?”
Rogan puffed the cigar. “What I want to do and what I can do are two different things.”
“What is it you want to do?”
“Kill the world, find my friend Xuxan, and go fishing.” He stood, and nodded. “Thank you for the weapons and your hospitality. Sorry about the roof.”
“If you really are King Rogan, then you shouldn’t be here. You’ll die if they catch you.”
“No,” Rogan replied, walking to the door. “There’s too many people I have to kill before I leave this place.”
* * *
Algeniz was surprised when she awoke unrestrained and not in a cell, but in her nightclothes and her bed. Two armored guards stood to either side of her door. One of them was an Albion regular whom she’d seen around the palace before the uprising. The other was one of Karac and Karza’s men. Upon seeing her stir, the former opened the door and informed someone else in the corridor that the princess was awake. After the door closed again, Algeniz heard booted feet marching down the hall.
Glancing around, Algeniz studied her room. It felt strange to be there. Her toys and books and clothes seemed alien and unfamiliar. She wondered where her father was. In the dungeon? Dead already? She thought of Erin and her unborn child, sacrificed to the heathen god of Papa Bon Deux. Struggling not to cry, she turned her attention back to the guards, and slid out of bed. The floor was cold beneath her feet.
“I have to make water,” she informed them.
The guards stared straight ahead, ignoring her.
Algeniz drew herself up to her full height. “I said, I have to make water!”
“You are not to leave until King Karza arrives.”
“I’ll piss on the floor, then.”
The black guard shrugged. “And you’ll clean it up … with your tongue.”
She heard echoing feet returning. Soon, the door opened and Rohain entered the room, accompanied by two warriors in royal armor. Rohain himself wore King Rogan’s regalia dress armor.
Karza, she thought. I have to remember, he’s not my brother anymore. He’s Karza.
“Hello, little one.”
Algeniz took a deep breath, trying very hard not to show them she was afraid. “Has my destiny finally arrived? Here to try cutting me up on the altar again?”
“I have good news for you.”
“Oh, you are dying of a dreaded sickness and the worms will feast on your eyes soon?”
Karza scowled with Rohain’s face.
“You said good news,” Algeniz pressed. “Don’t play games with me.”
“I understand. You see little reason for you to still be alive. The boon of your life should make you pleased.”
Algeniz looked to the window, affixed shut and secured with two recently installed cross bars. The sun rose over the city. She picked up an ivory haired doll and clutched it to her chest.
“I’m beyond usefulness to you. Sacrifice me if you must. I am too little for my womb to do you any good. If I am going to die, get it over with or get out.”
“You have spirit,” Karza murmured. “In time, you could produce great offspring.”
“I know why you have barred the windows. It’s because I would sooner cast myself out the window than produce anything more than puke for you.”
“Oh, not for me. But perhaps Karac will bed you when you are of age.”
“Karac’s dead. I saw it myself.” Algeniz stroked the doll’s hair. “My Uncle Thyssen cut his hand off. He cried like an infant and ran away. Then a pack of … things … tore him apart.”
Karza crossed the room in four quick strides and seized her by the neck. His broad fingers encircled her throat. He lifted her off the floor with one hand. Algeniz dropped the doll. Karza stomped it beneath his boot heel. Spittle flew from his lips.
“You lie.”
Algeniz stared at him, unblinking and unafraid. Then, slowly, she shook her head. Karza held her there for a moment, shaking with rage. Algeniz refused to break her stare, even as her lungs began to pound. Spots danced in her vision, and she heard a roaring in her ears. Then, Karza threw her onto the bed. Fists clenched, he stood there, seething. Algeniz drew breath. Her throat felt raw.
“You do have spirit,” Karza said again, his voice low and thick. “I wonder if you get that from your mother or our father? Your mother was a powerful woman to tame Rogan. It’s a shame you slew her in your birth. That must’ve driven a wedge between you and Rogan, no?”
She glanced down at her shattered doll. “You act as if my mother was the first woman to die in child birth. Leave me alone and save your mind games for weaker children. My father was cut from his mother by my grandfather, Jarek. He was tame long enough to give me life, as well as you. If I wanted him to be a simpering wet nurse, by Rhiannon, he wouldn’t be Rogan, now would he?”
“You believe you have his strength?”
“I believe I have my father’s Kelt blood. I believe that I will live again, as surely as my slain siblings. Kill me, Rohain … or Karza, and I will go back to Wodan, the god of my father. I will impart him to leave his mountain and fight your damned Damballah. I doubt if he would listen, but I would hate to get his full attention. My desire is to only direct it to you.”
Karza roared with laughter. “Does Wodan watch over your father? You heard he fell to his death with the creature carrying him?”
“A better death than that of your brother, Karac.” Algeniz shrugged. “If true, then it’s just another adventure ended.”
“Adventure?”
“That’s all my father’s life has been. One adventure after another, whether wandering as a boy or battling under the sword of some foreign power, he stumbled through a life filled with adventure. I’m sure to him it was fun and exhilarating to die in such a fashion. The only other thing he ever desired was to be a king.”
Karza grinned. “But now I am king.”
Algeniz turned toward the window again. “And you will discover what he did later in your life. The warrior’s heart can only be quelled so long. Either you give in, become soft, or pretend to enjoy the politics, the Imperial advances and go hunting every beast of the field. My father was caged here. His long adventures away from Albion and visits to foreign lands were thinly disguised adventures. He sought his end. Whenever a battle came up or an adventure dawned, I knew there was a possibility he would never return. Even as a toddler, I understood him as none of my siblings. He left me a good life.” Her eyes narrowed and returned to Karza. “But you have upset all of that, haven’t you? Over some savage desire to be him, you have invaded my life, haven’t you? You have his frame, his power and even his crown, but you cannot be Rogan. Still, you never answered my wonder.”
“Why you are alive?” he asked. “Because I wished to have this talk with you first. I wished to gloat before we fed you to Papa Bon Deux’s pet. I wanted you to experience your room and your things and your former life one last time before I took it all away. Now we shall go to the temple of Rhiannon!”
Algeniz swung her legs out of bed. “Whatever shall I wear?”
* * *
Javan stirred from unconsciousness, aware of someone lightly slapping his cheeks.
“Stop it, Zenata,” he murmured.
“Soon everything will stop,” a voice whispered. “The end is near. You must repent. But first you should be free.”
Blinking, Javan opened his eyes. At first, he couldn’t focus, but as his vision cleared, he saw that he was in the castle dungeon, tied to a chair with heavy ropes. A thin, scraggly, unkempt boy leaned over him, working at his knots.
“What time is it?” Javan slurred.
“After sunrise,” the boy replied. “I know that because there is a little mouse that creeps through here every morning after the sun comes up. Hold still, now. These knots are tricky. The guards joked that they weren’t going to waste chains on you like your uncle. They said you lacked his strength, and rope would suffice. I’m glad to hear of your Rogan’s escape, by the way.”
“Who are you?” Javan asked.
“My name is Jasper-Thal. Your uncle was imprisoned here with me. I watched them take him away, but I have heard he escaped and fled.”
Javan’s expression darkened. “He has since been captured again. Have you seen him? Do you know where he is being kept?”
Jasper-Thal shook his head. “I am afraid that until recently, I have not been clear of mind. I was sent here for being a heretic, and it made me crazy. I worship the one true God, who will soon drown this world with a great flood.”
“I follow Rhiannon.”
“As do many in this city.” Jasper-Thal grunted, tugging at the knots. “After you were brought here, while you were still unconscious, my God sent an angel to visit me. He freed me from my chains and dissipated the fog that had crept into my head. I know you’ll say that was just a dream, but I have faith.”
Javan felt the ropes go slack and fall away. He shrugged out of them with some difficulty. His arms and legs felt as if they were being pricked by hundreds of needles. He wiggled them, trying to get his circulation back.
“I don’t care if you are devout, touched by your deity, or just crazy,” Javan said. “All that matters to me is that you helped me free myself. Now, let me see about freeing us both from this cell.”
* * *
Thyssen’s forces marched in attack formation, intent on invading the city proper. The armies of Thule and Cramond had sent messages via ravens of their advance from the north.
“Let them chew on that rugged terrain,” Thyssen said. “They can play with the forces Karza sends up there while we liberate the capitol.”
“I want it to start,” Boone said.
Thyssen frowned. “Settle yourself, soldier. You won’t once it starts. This will be high butchery, not just warfare. No prisoners.”
“That sounds delightful,” Andraste purred.
Thyssen turned to the Pryten queen. “All of yer fighting folk and little beasty bastards better show their mettle when the time comes or we are all fucked.”
She nodded. “Your kindness amazes me.”
Thyssen regarded his oldest son. Boone sat up straight in his saddle, staring straight ahead as the sun rose over the hills.
“You remember how mad you got as a youth?” Thyssen asked. “When I sent Javan off to university while you joined the army?”
Boone nodded. “I do, General. I wanted an education, as well.”
“Aye, you did. And you got one. Life and war are educational. Yer about to put that education to the test. Ya got the balls?”
Boone saluted. “Yes, sir.”
“Good.” Thyssen said. “Yer going to need them. It’s gonna be a long day. We shall see the capitol before nightfall, but I reckon we’ll be fighting and dying long before then.”
As they rode, the clouds began to thicken and cluster overhead. Xuxan sniffed the air and glanced up at the sky.
“It’s going to rain,” he muttered.
“Yes,” Andraste agreed. “Blood.”