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Everywhere he went men stood in his path. Karst wanted to pull his hair out in frustration. As soon as The Ice King had issued his command, Karst had left to fulfill his mission. Perhaps he should have taken the time to plan, but the compulsion to kill Shanis Malan overwhelmed him. He could think of little else. Even the simplest things, like eating or stopping to rest, were far from his thoughts and required a supreme effort of will to perform.
Though he had hoped to complete the mission immediately, his best efforts had been stymied. The roads leading to the west were regularly patrolled by the enemy so he had been forced to take to the woods. The forest had soon given way to swamps. Not knowing the way through, he resorted to making a beeline toward that distant place where he somehow knew Shanis was. This had led him through some of the worst foulness he had ever encountered.
He had lost his horse in a pool of quakewater and barely escaped with his life. He been stung, bitten, and his skin was afire with nasty rashes from the myriad of plants he brushed up against. He’d never known such misery, but the will of his god drove him forward.
It had not been long before his own army had overtaken and passed him. The soldiers did not know that of course. He kept to the shadows whenever he crossed their path. He had enough left of his own mind to know that in his current appearance they would never believe that he was their king. Perhaps that ought to have bothered him. He vaguely remembered a time in his life when he desired nothing more than to be a leader of men, a ruler. Those things no longer seem to matter. The sheer ecstasy of being the chosen of the Ice King was all he cared about.
He caught a whiff of smoke and the aroma of cooking meat. He didn’t know how far away the fire was. His senses seem to have heightened in the time since he had received his charge. He considered that, day by day, he was becoming less like a man and more like an animal, and his joy at being the chosen one could not completely dampen the feeling of unease this gave him.
He slowed his pace, not wanting to stumble into a precarious situation. Whether the men up ahead where his or the enemy’s, he knew they would not welcome him.
Summoning all the will he still possessed, he forced down the urge to rush forward toward his goal. Instead, he crept along, careful not to make a sound. Soon he heard voices and loud cries. He closed the distance slowly until the swamp opened up into a large clearing. He ducked underneath the cover of the thick foliage and crawled on his belly until he could observe the scene unnoticed.
Close by, a group of men sat around a small fire. Beyond them lay many more campfires and a few tents. In the distance, he could make out tiny flickers that told him this was where the army, what was once his army, had chosen to make camp for the night.
The men closest to him were roasting frogs over the fire. He had always hated frog, but right now his hunger was so great that it seemed like a sumptuous feast. He recognized one of the men immediately—Paden, one of his most devout supporters. Perhaps Paden would share his food?
The invisible hand that drove his actions crushed that thought in an instant. No one could know of his mission. It was his alone. One of them might try to usurp his place and he couldn’t have that.
But he was so hungry and, oddly enough, he realized that he longed for human interaction. He was not suited for solitary life, and he was not a hunting dog, no matter what the Ice King said. No sooner had that thought entered his mind than his head began to scream in agony. He felt as if powerful hands were crushing his skull. Fighting the urge to sick up, he squeezed his eyes closed and focused on his mission. Soon, the pain abated.
He laid there, eyes closed, until the sound of approaching footsteps on the soft ground drew his attention. He opened his eyes to see two temple priests, escorted by a dozen guards, approached the campfire where Paden sat.
“Your god requires your service,” one of the priests said to Paden.
Paden’s face went pale. “Requires me for what?”
“Come with us,” the second priest said.
Paden’s eyes widened in abject terror. He put his hand on the hilt of his sword. It was a measure of his fear that he could summon such resistance when the entire army seemed to have been bent to the will of the Ice King.
“Not me. Find someone else.”
“You have been chosen,” the first priest said flatly.
“But I do not worship your god. I am only here because I hate...” He couldn’t finish the sentence. He pressed his hands to his temples and cried out in pain.
One of the priests nodded and a pair of guards rushed forward. They quickly disarmed Paden, bound his hands behind his back, and hauled him away.
The others nearby looked on with disinterest. Not a one of them raised an objection. As Paden’s protests faded in the distance, they returned to their cook fire.
Something deep inside Karst wanted to object. For the briefest of instants, he thought about grabbing a sword and rescuing his friend. It was the right thing to do wasn’t it? What sort of God killed his own followers?
Once again, the crushing pain filled his head. He fought it, but not for long. Moments later, he was once again a dog on the hunt.