Death’s Usher: Know Your Enemy

Read Part One here

Read Part Two here

“BEFORE WE MOVE OUT,” Ibnar says, “we need to visit our homes and retrieve our gear.”

“Right you are. Uh…” My stomach plummets. “It’s all in Thomas’s barn. My lute, my rations, my dagger. Everything except the leather armor I’m wearing right now. I can’t go back there.”

Ibnar grunts in frustration. “I have a spare dagger and rations at home, but you must leave your lute behind. Terrible for a bard, but maybe you can buy a new one later, when we’re both safer.”

This time, my heart falls into my feet. My grandfather, Shanur, had been a court musician for our local manor lord. He fell out of favor once he fell in love with the wrong lady: my grandmother. Disgraced and exiled, he could only take his lute, which he named Bianca, after her. He taught me how to sing and play it, saying I was a natural. My vampiric charm adds to my talent. How can I keep up my studies without Bianca? Singing only gets me so far, and I don’t know any other instruments besides the hand drum. I left it back in my rented room at the Pit. I can get another one.

I tell Ibnar none of this. He has his own problems, and he’s not sentimental about his gear, except maybe for his two kukris. If he loses Yersinia or Belladonna, we might be in a world of hurt.

“Stay behind me, but not too close. We’ll go through the town square and into the residential district. If you need help, or if some of my colleagues get suspicious, whistle.” I nod and follow.

As we head back toward Milham’s Ford, I can’t help but think I’m ascending from a lower hell to a higher one. True, we’re not going to Thomas’s place, but one false move on my part will draw other Inquisitors’ attention. I stay about five paces behind Ibnar, eyes straight ahead, feet moving with new purpose. I’m simply one more citizen going home as the sun rises, straight from the Pit.

Unlike most kith in town, Ibnar has a house, not a shack or hovel. It’s one-story, flat-roofed, built out of cheap clapboard. The windows lack panes. Only nobles can afford glass ones.

He signals for me to come inside. I close the distance and slide in before he shuts the door.

What did I expect an Inquisitor’s house to look like? Tall, stone-walled, and full of forbidden relics and knowledge. Not a stuffy one-room space with a fireplace, kitchen, bed, footlocker, washstand, and latrine bucket all in the same living area. It’s cramped, but I guess it’s home to Ibnar.

“Face the wall,” he says, “and don’t turn around until I tell you. I’ll put on my regular armor.”

I’ve seen so many men that the unholy crusader’s “equipment” would be no surprise to me. Still, I do as he orders. When he orders me, I turn back around. The transformation is remarkable. No longer is he a greasy-haired graverobber, but a primped paladin in half-plate. He wields a sword and shield, the former polished to a mirror shine, the latter unscuffed and without gore.

“Ready to leave town?” I nod. “Good. Before I forget, I’ll get a spare dagger out of my footlocker.”

The weapon he offers me is one of fine steel, not cheap iron. I thank him profusely.

“You’re welcome, but enough of that. I’ll take the price out of any coin we earn or steal from the ones we kill on the road to Sudansa. I hope not to have to do it, but I’m a fighter and a hunter. I was born under the sign of the Archer, which has given me much talent in this regard.”

“And I’m born under the Scales, skilled at persuasion and misdirection. In case we have to talk our way out of trouble. By the way, do Inquisitors often provide escort to people in need?”

“No, but they do commandeer prisoners. I’ll have to tie your hands behind your back to make you look the part. As long as we’re in Milham’s Ford, which won’t be long, you’re in my charge.”

“I don’t like it, but all right. What crime have I been accused of?”

Ibnar grins. “A true one. Whoring.”

My one-eighth-undead cheeks flush. “The sentence for that is hard labor for six moons.”

“For the first offense. Fortunately, the work camps lie to the south. Not as far south as Sudansa, but far enough that we’ll be free of this place long before my colleagues catch us.” Ibnar takes a coil of rope from the heavy-looking pack on his back and binds my hands. “There. A perfect disguise. Speak only when spoken to, and if pressed, say nothing. Pretend you’re mute.”

I bow my head and stare at the ground.

“Precisely. Do that around anyone else. As far as you’re concerned, you’re my captive now.”

I knew trusting Ibnar was a mistake. Still, as long as it gets me out of here and on the road…

We leave the house and the village by the back gate, next to our communal garbage heap. Normal kith often gag and cover their noses to block the odor. I’m perfectly fine. A faint scent of the grave lingers on me, undetectable to anyone but occultists, fellow vampires, and High Inquisitors. One of the regular Inquisitors is standing guard. I stare at the ground again, holding my breath.

“State your name and business,” she says. I almost lift my head. Female Inquisitors are very rare. Perhaps she’s a recruit who’s been given a shit post at this shit post. I wouldn’t be surprised.

“Inquisitor Ibnar. I’m escorting this convicted prostitute to the southern work camps. I should be back in three to five days. May we pass, Renic?”

She unlocks the gate without another word. We go through it and breathe sighs of relief.

“Do you know her well?” I ask Ibnar once we’re out of earshot. He shakes his head, then tells me to turn around again. He unbinds my hands and puts the rope in his pack. “That was close.”

“Not really. By the way, we shouldn’t use our real names. How about I call you Lyli? That means ‘night lady.’” When I agree, Ibnar continues, “That’s how I’ll address you from now on. You’ll call me Inquisitor, or, if we’re in trouble, Ovir. As in ‘over here,’ shortened.”

“You got it.” I can’t help but grin once I hear what our new monikers mean.

We stick to the southern road and travel in merciless daylight. As usual, my skin feels like fleas are swarming all over it. My eyes burn and water, but I don’t complain. I follow Ibnar. He must be hot. After a stretch of silent walking, he says, “Tell me a story. A scary one to keep me on my toes.”

“How about the tale of the Exarch and how he came to power? That’s scary. Terrifying, even.”

Ibnar scoffs. “What more can you tell me about him that I don’t already know?”

“Then you narrate. Fill me in regarding his rise. I’ve only heard tavern rumors and speculation.”

“Let me provide the facts. Like all villains, my superior began as an ordinary person, a soldier’s son who learned to fight and kill from his father. He grew up to become a paladin. Yes, holy knights were called paladins back then. They helped kith instead of harming them. They could even lay hands upon the injured and heal their wounds. Long before he became the Exarch, our greatest foe was a paragon of the old order. He fell victim to three flaws. Can you guess them?”

“Ambition, arrogance, and hunger for power?”

“Yes to the first two, but not the third. Not initially. I’ll give you another hint: one of his brothers-in-arms was slain by one of your ilk. A full vampire who drained the woman dry in seconds.”

Orukin and his wolf form pop into my mind. I push the thoughts away. “Revenge, then.”

“Aye. The burgeoning fanatic, named Perrin, couldn’t move fast enough to strike the vampire or chop off his head. Paralyzed with fear and under the spell of a hypnotic gaze, he could only watch the grisly scene. When the vampire was finished, he transformed into a bat and flew away. Perrin drove a tree branch straight through his ally’s heart. Despite his vow of chastity, he loved her.

“Our tortured hero then rose through the ranks faster than anyone before or since. He forgot about helping. He left that to lesser paladins and focused solely on fighting undead. It became his specialty and obsession. Before you ask, he didn’t care about his enemies’ souls. Let them be staked, let them burn, and let them rot in hell. There was only a single hell at the time. Many of my colleagues and I suspected, but could not prove, that Perrin was becoming a monster worse than those he fought. As long as there were no rambling skeletons, raging ghouls or militant liches afoot, his yes-men friends and superior officers were satisfied.”

“Hmph.” My shoulders tense. “When did they catch on? Only when he rose to full power?”

“Don’t be stupid. His turn for the worse came when he founded his infamous laboratory. To this day, no one knows where it is. I’ve heard rumors and reports. ‘Twas said to be innocuous. Perhaps a common library or apothecarium. He brought those he defeated back as specimens, right under the old order’s nose. He stunned them, cut them open, poured healing potions into their reversed guts, vivisected them, and much worse. He ignored their agonized pleas. You wouldn’t think undead were capable of such. Yet here they were at his mercy. He showed them none.”

“If no one found the lab, how do you know about it?”

“Only Inquisitors are privy to such information. I’m risking my rank and my life by telling you.”

I don’t tell Ibnar that Great-Grandmother, as an immortal soul, also knows this.

“Again, several of us noticed his turn from compassion to cruelty. We tried to remind him that love is freedom while hatred is a prison. Unbeknownst to us, he thought the opposite. As do I.” Ibnar’s lips curl into a sneer. “Hate keeps you strong. Alert and aware. It fuels your wrath and heats your blood with a fire no holy light can match. Perrin fed upon his new beliefs. They fed upon him, too. They forged him into a master of the martial trade. In battle, he charged like an ogre. On the streets, he meted out to sinners exactly what they deserved. All the power that Perrin gained as a paladin wasn’t enough. He decided to search for the essence that animates undead. Not merely a necromancer’s parlor tricks, but the blue-black magic of deep space.”

“The Void,” I murmur, swallowing nothing. My mouth’s gone dry as the pavement on this road.

“You have the right of it, but not the full picture. The Void wasn’t considered a hell at this time. It simply existed as space between stars, absolute cold, and the absence of everything. No one paid it much attention. They saw it as a distant part of nature. Perrin saw it as both his enemy and a weapon he could use. He forsook his oath as a defender of the light and pledged himself to total, all-encompassing darkness. Along with his new vow, he took a new name, unknown to all.”

I bite my lower lip hard. My fangs draw blood. Ibnar won’t believe me if I tell him of my vision.

“Every oath requires a demonstration. What did Perrin do? Kill some or all of his former allies?”

“That would’ve been too obvious for a pledge that required such secrecy, at least in the beginning. Instead of putting his sworn brothers and sisters to the sword, he recruited them to his cause. How? By using his natural charisma. His sheer presence made others sit up and take notice. When lesser paladins spoke, kith listened. Whenever Perrin spoke, kith acted and obeyed.”

“And the leaders of the old order? Why didn’t they see through him and arrest or slay him?”

“They thought him a useful zealot. Remember, he was the leading expert at fighting undead. They knew he wasn’t on the ghosts’ and ghouls’ side. He kept the corpses coming, so they didn’t pry. By the time Perrin demanded and announced his theocratic kingship as Exarch, it was too late. His officers cursed themselves for their complacency and blindness. At that point, what else could they do? Serve or die. They chose the former, as did I. The rest is history.”

“So you’re a coward?”

Ibnar whirls around but doesn’t press his sword to my neck or his shield to my chest. His kukris remain sheathed in his belt. “Listen here, fanged one. Everyone wants to survive. You know this. Cowards are at least alive for people to call them such. Heroes are often dead. I made my choice. So have you. I could have staked you back at the charnel house, but I did not. I was curious.”

“What have you found out about me?”

“So far? That a dhampir with a beautiful voice and a smart mouth could get us both killed.”

“So can an Inquisitor with a hateful heart who wants to go to the Void!”

We say nothing for what feels like an eternity. We trudge along. I don’t owe Ibnar an apology. Nor does he owe me one. When the burden of silence outweighs the souls I carry in my shoulder blades, I clear my throat and keep my voice low: “I remember the Exarch’s Horn.”

“Where were you when he blew it?”

“At the Pit. I was scheduled to perform until midnight, and I was absolutely exhausted. My fingers were bleeding from playing the lute for five straight hours. Good thing it was so dim inside that no one noticed my blood was black instead of red. After my last song, everyone clapped and cheered. They were tired, too. We were all ready to go home, but something stopped us cold at what should have been the stroke of twelve: the blast of a ram’s horn. It reverberated through the crowd eleven times. We sat and stood there, not knowing what to say or do. We had no idea what this meant, but we knew something extremely dangerous had happened.”

“Correct,” replies Ibnar. “I was in the barracks at Milham’s Ford, getting ready for lights out. I, too, was exhausted, from patrolling back and forth through the village with nothing to show for it but sore muscles and a pounding headache. When the ram’s horn rang out for the first time, my back stiffened to ramrod-straight. I saluted reflexively, as did the other paladins. We knew who was making the sound, and this struck us at our very core. We had a new master. One some of us loved, but more of us hated. Perrin was the definition of someone to admire or strike down.”

“What did you do once the horn had fallen silent?”

“The one thing we could: swear ourselves as a group to our new Exarch’s service. Dissent meant treason now. Loathing curdled in my guts like spoiled milk. Even as I raised my right hand to the square, I cursed the one who demanded such an oath of loyalty. You don’t know how to fight as I do. You have your dagger, but that’s a survival instrument. My sword, shield, and kukris bring death. Just the same, I despised being one of Perrin’s new attack dogs. I vowed to turn on him as soon as possible. ‘Soon’ became later and later the more I was entrenched in the new regime.”

“Shh! Over there!” I stop and point to some hedges nearby.

Three leather-clad elves and one dwarf woman in scale mail scramble out from behind them and surround us. The men brandish longswords, but the woman wields an axe almost as big as she is.

“Hold,” she commands. “This is our road. You must pay a toll. Five gold for each of you.”

Ibnar doesn’t hesitate. He rushes the dwarf, ducks, and bashes her with his wooden kite shield. She drops her axe. It lands on the ground with a dull thud. He moves in for the kill, lopping off her head before she can make another move. It rolls at least two feet, maybe three, spraying crimson blood everywhere. The male elven thieves drop their swords and hold their hands high.

“Don’t kill us, Inquisitor! Please!”

“Unfasten your purses from your belts. Drop them. I’m taking every gold you have back to our base.”

Two of the elves obey. The third reaches for his longsword. Again, Ibnar doesn’t even blink before unsheathing a kukri and throwing it. It tumbles through the air, end over end, before stabbing the elf squarely in the right eye. He falls backward and hits hot stone, dead on the spot.

“Start running. Or I do the same to each of you.” Ibnar steps over to the elf’s corpse and retrieves his kukri from its bleeding socket. The blade emerges with a wet sucking sound that my keen ears hear from several feet away. I shudder and sniff the stench of piss and shit on the other two highwaymen. They turn tail and rush away, their ill-gotten gains on the ground for us to grab.

I pick up one of the purses. “Ooh, it’s heavy! How did you do that? The kukri throw, I mean?”

“Practice. Military precision beats criminal chaos. Those brigands were small fry.” He snatches the coin pouch from the dwarf’s headless frame. “They trifled with me. Their mistake.”

“Thank you for not killing all of them.”

Ibnar frowns. “‘Twas no act of mercy. We don’t want to rack up a body count. Our goal is to reach Sudansa, not kill every kith we meet on the way there. This doesn’t count toward my quota. Self-defense is not the same as murder. Every judge, lawyer, and Inquisitor can tell you that.”

We divide up the gold. Ten for me, ten for Ibnar. More money than I’ve seen in my life, my second profession notwithstanding. We should be set for meals and beds at any inns we run across.

Before we take to the open road, I hear a keening sound coming from the dwarf’s corpse.

“Help me,” her shade wails. “I’m dead. Marked for one of the hells, but I can’t go anywhere.” Her ghost is restrained by the red-hot chains that bound me, Great-Grandmother, and all the other lost souls in the Milham’s Ford graveyard that lacked an usher to take them to their destiny.

Ibnar looks confused. “Tenet?”

“I beg your pardon. This will be quick. Duty called for you, and now it calls for me.” I kneel next to the body, which is still spraying blood, and bare my shoulders. “Hop on. Or I should say, hop in.”

The dwarf’s spirit sinks into my shoulder blades. I feel her weight added to that of the other souls. She’s extremely heavy. I realize I’m not only carrying her, but many of the travelers she and her bandit troop slaughtered. The burden takes some getting used to, but spirits aren’t physical gear.

When I cover up, Ibnar asks me, “Why were you talking to yourself?”

“You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”

“Try me.”

I give my new ally the rundown of my curse and my new abilities. “I’ve been given a sacred mission by the Master Inquisitor. He appeared to me in a vision. If I stop selling myself and carry these souls to their intended destination, I’ll have worked out my repentance, and I won’t be sent to the second hell.” I pause. Ibnar looks incredulous. “See? You look like you’re talking to a lunatic.”

“Maybe I am.”

“Your soul is gold and green. A mixture of envy and greed.” An idea hits me like a falling boulder. “Could it be that you’re actually jealous of Perrin and what he achieved? That he beat you to a crown of glory and power over this realm?”

“That’s ridiculous. Wipe the blood off your hands and take up your pack. We need to move on before an Inquisitor patrol finds this dead dwarf and her useless axe. We leave it here. Otherwise, it’s evidence for murder instead of self-defense. It’s also too weighty to lug around. Onward.”

We abandon the carnage to an incoming cloud of flies and continue our southern journey.

“I don’t think you finished your story, Ibnar. What happened once Perrin got his hooks in you?”

“The Exarch,” he corrects, clearing his throat, “had three chief priorities. First: to command all the former paladins under the new name of Inquisitors, and a new Law as well – the Lex Mortis.”

“The Law of Death. Five hundred rules that tell us who to be and what to do in every situation.”

“Indeed. Second, to unite all kith: humans, dwarves, elves, ogres, trolls, and lizardmen, beneath his banner. Everyone is equal under the Law, but everyone is also guilty under the Law. Third and most importantly, to establish himself as Prophet, Priest, and King over all of Codiza for eternity.”

“That’s impossible.”

“For a mere mortal, I fear the Exarch is more than that. What results came of his vile experiments on prisoners and undead? I already know that he practices magic against his own Law and then declares himself exempt. What kind of magic? That’s what I hope to learn once we reach Sudansa. As for you? You can talk to ghosts as much as you want, but when fighting starts, I lead.”

“Naturally.” Another thought catches me off-guard. “What about your graverobbing and killing?”

“I work alone. After dark. I won’t interfere with your oath; you won’t interfere with mine.”

“What if you get caught or need someone to toss you healing potions during a battle? I can also serve as a scout because, as you said, you’re blind as a mole in darkness and need a lantern.”

“If I didn’t…You make good points. Still, why put yourself in more danger for my sake?”

“We’re in this together. Wherever you go, I go. Plus, my fingernails can unlock doors and crypts. That’s how I got into the charnel house. Even though I’m against almost everything you’ve sworn to do, I won’t stop you. You want to rescue the Dragon from the Void? I’m behind you all the way. Carrying these souls is exhausting, and what if we can’t breach the Hendecahedron and its inner sanctum?”

“Leave future problems for our future selves.” Ibnar quickens his pace to be in front of me. I huff and puff to keep up. Once he notices I’m beside him, he sighs. “Tenet? You’re right. I envy the Exarch. When he was Perrin, he was my peer, whacking monsters and lawbreakers alike at my side. Now I salute him as my vast superior. It’s disgusting. We bow and lick his boots, having traded our liberty for golden chains. I have bound myself to a new Oath to be free.”

“And your greed and hatred?”

“I won’t let go of either. The mechanisms for reaching the Void are guilt, sin, and a complete lack of remorse. Why am I revealing all this, besides being bored to the eleven hells? The first lesson I learned as a paladin was this: Know your enemy.”

I give an uncertain nod, realizing this statement not only applies to the Exarch…

Silence engulfs us once more. I keep one hand on the hilt of the fine steel dagger in my pocket.

Ibnar seems to be telling the truth, but why else would he turn traitor? He’s hiding something.

So am I, as it turns out.

Credit: Tenet