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“My children! Where are my children?” The woman tried to reach Pedric Karst, newly-crowned King of Kurnsbur, but his men held her back. She beat at their arms before crumpling to the ground in a heap. She looked at Karst through a curtain of lank, black hair. “I know you’ve taken them, you monster!”
Karst kicked his horse’s flanks and trotted away. He didn’t care what happened to the brats of Malgog filth. When they were well clear of her, he slowed to a trot. Down a steep embankment, the Igiranin River wended its way south toward the lands of the Black Mangrove clan, the only barrier to his establishing a port city. He dismissed the thought with a shake of his head.
“What did happen to her children?” he asked Jakom, who, along with Arlus rode alongside him.
“They were needed for the temple, Majesty.” A hint of bitterness touched Jakom’s voice.
Karst considered this. Instituted by his father, Rimmic Karst, the temple had operated outside of his writ since he’d seized control of northwestern Lothan and united it with his family’s duchy of Kurnsbur in southeastern Galdora. He supposedly ruled here in Salgo, the new city that would be the capital of the new nation of Kurnsbur. Commoners bowed their heads when he passed, yet the priests looked down their noses at him. It was time for that to change.
“I think it’s time I paid a visit to the temple.”
“I don’t think they would welcome that.” Jakom kept his eyes fixed on a spot in front of them, but he couldn’t stop his ears from turning red.
“What are they going to do? Bar my entry?”
“They have a force of guards who might do just that.” Jakom raised his hand to forestall Karst’s protest. “Remember, Majesty, your father established the temple as an independent entity. Those who answer to a god cannot answer to civil authority as well.”
Arlus rode up beside him and pointed to a place where the river narrowed. “The perfect place for the bridge, no? Less distance to span.”
“Don’t change the subject. I want to know what is happening in the temple.” He felt his temper rise and his hand went to the hilt of his sword without thought.
Jakom noticed and his eyes widened. “Forgive me, but is that necessary? You know I serve faithfully, but your father has made it clear that you are to lead the nation and the military but leave the temple to its own devices.”
Karst took a deep breath and got his temper in check. He wondered if his father had set him up as a puppet leader. That seemed to be Rimmic’s plan, but Pedric had other ideas.
“Let me make myself perfectly clear. My father is not in charge. I am. Is that understood?”
Jakom nodded. “I just don’t think it would be wise to interfere with the temple. The work they are doing is important to your father’s, I mean, your plans.”
“All the more reason I should know what they are doing.” He wheeled his horse about and put his heels to its flanks. A warm sense of satisfaction surged through him. Finally, he was taking control.
The temple was a circular, terraced structure of mud bricks, rising to a peak nearly two hundred hands high, easily the tallest structure in Salgo. Flowers, shrubs and fruit trees grew in the terraces, and a few temple servants tended them. The ever-present column of white smoke poured from the chimney at its apex. Karst grimaced. It was a far finer place than his own quarters—something else that would have to be remedied soon.
He dismounted, tied his horse off, and signaled for his men to follow. Striding forward, he drew his sword and held it low at his side. Padin, Danlar, and Arlus immediately followed suit. Behind them, a cluster of soldiers followed along, looking darkly eager for a fight.
“Your Highness, surely weapons are not needed?” Jakom drew his own sword and hurried to keep pace.
“Not if the guards don’t try to stop us.” Karst turned to Jakom. “You almost sound frightened. Do I need to replace you as my personal guard?”
“No. It’s just that, it’s not the guards that frighten me.” He grimaced, glanced at Karst, and then hurried on ahead. “Make way for His Royal Highness, Pedric Karst, King of Kurnsbur!” he bellowed.
One of the guards lowered his spear and took a step forward before backing off. Two temple guards against twelve armed men would stand little chance.
Karst scowled at the guards. “Have you forgotten how to show proper respect?” Each man dropped to a knee and lowered his head. “Disarm them,” Karst told Jakom and Padin, and they hurried to obey.
“You may rise.” The guards stood and eyed him warily. “I wish to see the high priest. Lead me to him.”
“Your Highness, he is leading worship at the moment and cannot be disturbed.”
“I have not yet had the chance to worship in our temple. It is time I rectified that. Lead the way.” He put steel in his words and emphasized them by pointing his sword between the man’s eyes.
Both guards rose and stalked into the temple.
“Kill anyone who offers resistance.” Karst sheathed his sword and tried to suppress his jangled nerves. It would not do to appear afraid. He was king here.
Candles set in alcoves offered faint light within the dark corridor. The passageway circled the base of the structure, winding inward. They passed a few closed doors and a narrow staircase but encountered no guards, nor anyone from the temple.
The deeper they penetrated, the more oppressive the darkness grew. Karst imagined he could feel its weight pressing down on him. The stale scent of wood smoke and something more acrid hung in the damp air, and he felt a throbbing, pulsing vibration all around. He wanted to ask if anyone else felt it but feared it would be seen a sign of weakness, so he kept his silence.
Finally, the corridor ended at a barred door. Here, a single guard waited. He looked at Karst with a bemused expression but lacked the temerity to challenge him. Finally, he dropped to a knee and averted his eyes.
“I would see Malaithus.” Karst poured all the authority he possessed into the words.
“I fear that is impossible. The High Priest is in worship right now and cannot be disturbed.” The guard did not look at Karst, but his voice was strong.
Karst turned to Padin. “Bring me his head.”
“No!” The guard sprang to his feet. “I mean, His Holiness has given us strict orders. Anyone who disobeys is...” He blanched.
“Is what?” Karst asked.
“Your Highness, you will have to see for yourself.” He turned, removed the bar from the door, and opened it just enough for one man to slip through at a time.
Perhaps fearing an ambush, Jakom entered first. Padin and Danlar followed. Karst took a moment to set two of his men to watch over the guard and make certain he did not raise an alarm, before entering the chamber with the remainder of his men bringing up the rear.
The sanctuary was thick with the same smoke that poured from the top of the temple. Karst wrinkled his nose. Here was the source of the acrid smell he now recognized as burnt flesh. Beams of light from windows high above sliced through the haze, revealing a ring of priests lying prostrate on the floor, encircling a fiery pit and a stone altar. The high priest stood with his back to the door. A child lay bound on the altar and two more lay weeping nearby, their wrists and ankles tied with thick rope. A single guard stood over them, his attention fixed on them as if he could not bring himself to look at what transpired on the altar.
As a drummer, hidden somewhere in the haze, pounded out a primordial beat, the High Priest, Malaithus, raised an obsidian knife and plunged it into the chest of the child on the altar. The priests all around him began a rhythmic chant which was soon picked up by a large chorus of voices.
In the haze, Karst had not noticed the peasants seated around the outer wall. They swayed to and fro and chanted in a monotonous rhythm. He considered the scene. He and his men could deal with a handful of priests and guards, but a hundred or more zealots maddened by religious fervor could be dangerous if something set them off.
The priest removed the child’s heart and held it aloft, blood streaming down his arm. As the chanting rose to a crescendo, he hurled the heart into the fire. The congregants roared in ecstasy as the flames turned icy blue.
There was a sudden, oppressive weight in the air. Karst staggered and put his hands to his head. He felt like something was squeezing his mind, beating down his will. All around the worshipers were falling face-first onto the packed earth floor. He dropped to a knee and gritted his teeth, fighting to maintain control. What was happening to him?
The chanting sharpened into a single word that echoed mournfully through the sanctuary.
“Wake... wake... wake...”
“My Lord.” Jakom’s voice shook. “What is that...thing?”
Karst forced his eyes open and looked up at the roiling cloud of smoke. Terror silenced his scream.