The Corpse King



  THE CORPSE KING

  A Tale of Eisengoth

  by Christopher Kellen

  Copyright 2011 by Christopher Kellen

  License Notes

  Original Cover Art by

  Zoe Cannon

  and

  Christopher Kellen

  Acknowledgments

  As usual, I'd like to thank the Great Bay Writers' Group for their keen insights into both my work and my intent. Thank you to Zoe, who keeps reading draft after draft without complaint and never hesitates to tell me when I've got it wrong or done something boneheaded.

  Also, thanks to Dave B. whose last-minute fresh eyes on the story revealed more awkward word choices and sentence constructions that would have otherwise made it into the final release. His contribution shall not be forgotten.

  For Dave K. – my first real fan.

  Contents

  First Page

  Midpoint

  Author's Note

  About the Author

  It was still raining.

  Thunder echoed in the distance, though it was barely audible over the sound of huge raindrops splattering against the ground all around them. Lightning flashed in the sky, muted by the heavy mist and thick clouds that filled the air.

  Despite his heavy riding cloak, D'Arden was soaked to the bone. The horse he rode on was likewise drenched, and the wool blanket beneath his saddle was giving off a powerful stench that made the young Arbiter a bit nauseous. The poor beast plodded on with its head down, mane matted against its graceful neck.

  "We're almost to…" his mentor called from the horse ahead of him, but Havox Khaine's last words were swallowed by a particularly insistent roar of thunder. D'Arden strained to hear him over the sound, but it was useless.

  "To where?" he shouted back, trying to be heard over the deluge.

  Khaine waved a hand, not looking back, seeming to acknowledge what D'Arden had said. After a moment, though, it became clear that Khaine hadn't actually heard a word. D'Arden shivered under his cloak, grateful for what little warmth the horse's body was providing, even if the smell was unbearable.

  Though it was nearly impossible to see, the road was sloping gradually downhill. From the geography lessons Khaine had been feeding him along the way, he knew that they were along the western edges of the vast Aztenda mountain range. The Aztendas stretched from southwest to northeast across the Old Kingdoms, and the Arbiters were about as far southwest as it was possible to get and still be within sight of the peaks.

  D'Arden had never imagined that they would be traveling so far from home. It had been nearly two years since he had passed the final tests required to be moved from the ranks of the acolytes and named a true apprentice. He was required to spend five years as an apprentice to one of the Masters – which often involved traveling as far and wide as possible to gain a grander vision of the world – and he was truly honored that they had named Havox Khaine as his mentor. All Arbiters grew up with no idea of who their birth parents were, and thus one formed connections where they could be found. Khaine had been something of a surrogate father to him, over the long years of his novice training. It was widely expected that one day Khaine would be asked to take the Grand Mastership by the Council of Masters, and it was a great privilege that D'Arden had been chosen to learn from the best.

  He looked up, and the dripping-wet hood of his cloak clung to his forehead, obscuring his vision. He raised one hand and pushed it out of the way, clawing dark strands of sopping hair from his eyes.

  There were lights ahead.

  They were dim, yellow things, and they seemed to be bobbing up and down. He blinked in astonishment; it took a long second to realize that the lights were not moving – it was him. He was so cold and wet that his legs had gone numb, and he could barely feel the motion of the horse beneath him any longer.

  The ground was beginning to level out at last. Through the rain, he could barely make out the dark shape of another hill rising up before him, though it was some distance away. He refocused his eyes, and could almost make out the edges of a wooden gate beneath the floating yellow orbs.

  Shelter. At last.

  Blinking rain out of his eyes, he nudged the horse with his knee, prodding it to go faster. It reluctantly picked up its pace and almost, but not quite, broke into a trot. Even though they'd been maintaining a slow pace through the rain, they had been riding for hours, and the horses had been bearing their burden for nearly an entire day. Warmth and shelter from the rain was all any of them wanted, D'Arden was sure.

  The gate grew larger as they approached, but then seemed to stop growing, and D'Arden felt his elation beginning to ebb. It was a gate, all right, but it wasn't much. As the details became clearer, he could see that it was barely maintained, and although it didn't actually hang open, the hinges appeared as though they might give way at any moment.

  There were lights burning, though, which meant that someone lived nearby. D'Arden and Khaine hadn't passed any other travelers along the road through the foothills… so whoever it was that lived behind the gate might not take too kindly to strangers. Even if they were Arbiters.

  Perhaps especially if they were Arbiters.

  As they closed on the gate, D'Arden felt disappointment grow to eclipse any other feelings he'd had. They'd encountered nothing but falling-down villages along this winding mountain road for the past month. Sometimes they'd found nothing at all, and were forced to make camp beneath what few trees were scattered about atop the hills. The locals had been unfriendly at best, and sometimes openly hostile, he'd discovered, though few dared to act on their hostility when staring through the cobalt light of Khaine's manna sword.

  This little village looked to be no different from the others; it had a gate, at least. He could see the thatched roofs of tiny houses beyond the vines growing around the gate, barely darker against the near-black sky. Lightning flashed again, illuminating a tiny community of perhaps ten buildings behind the gate; all was dark, there was no smell of smoke in the air, just the wet scent of the pouring rain.

  "You don't suppose this place actually has a hostel?" D'Arden asked, but was almost completely drowned out by the pounding raindrops.

  Khaine lifted one hand to his bearded face. "Ho there!" he called out. "Travelers at the gate!"

  There was no answer but another distant rumble of thunder.

  "Is anyone there?" Khaine called out again.

  Nothing.

  Despite the water coursing down the back of his neck, D'Arden felt the hairs along his spine prickle. Even in the pouring rain one could expect to occasionally catch a glimpse of some wildlife taking cover, or to hear the occasional call of a bird in the distance. There was nothing now; no sound at all but the rain and the occasional peal of thunder.

  Khaine turned back to look at D'Arden. "The road goes straight through the village. We'll either have to stop here or go on around, and it's too late to keep going tonight. No choice but to claim the Right and go on in."

  D'Arden nodded, though the idea of the Arbiter's Right bothered him. As the named and appointed guardians of the manna, the Arbiters claimed a right of hospitality anywhere that they chose. This was often resented by the common folk, who generally saw the travelers with the blazing swords not as defenders, but as strangers who sought to stir up trouble and kill anyone who got in their way. He and Khaine had only been forced to invoke the Right occasionally during their two-year sojourn, but it had never once been taken well.

  Khaine stepped forward and pushed the gate open.

  It didn't take any more than a touch. The decrepit wooden beams simply swung inward with no sound that could be heard over the deluge of rain.

  "Must not be many bandits in these parts," Khaine said, flashing D'Arden a s
mile.

  D'Arden returned it, somewhat uneasily. Something about the village set his teeth on edge, though he could not quite place what it could be. He considered speaking up, but chided himself on the thought. Khaine's vast experience in these matters held far more weight than his own intuition.

  Together, they rode their horses into the circle of decaying buildings.