THE UGLY TRUTH

The Ugly Truth (Part 2)

   Molo ran toward the tent and was nearly knocked down by a large group of wedding- goers stampeding out of it. He spun, twisting his body to avoid being trampled, and ducked in through the bright yellow flaps that covered the entrance.

     Inside, the wedding tent looked more like a slaughterhouse. 

     Normally, a female of Royal station selected her three Consorts, one from each of the main schools of the Goa. During the Ordering ceremony the chosen three would spar, contending with blades, skill and wits until a marital pecking order had been established.

     Master Kani, who was officiating at the ceremony, stood atop the wedding dais beside Queen Omune. King Ra-suldor, a former Consort himself and M’kele’s sire, stood protectively in front of them. Molo reflexively glanced away before catching himself: The Royal Family’s faces were unveiled. He could see the terror in their eyes. 

     Princess M’kele stood between Ra-suldor and Master Kani, her face shorn of the familial veil all of Noble birth wore to shield their beauty from the hungry masses. Her eyes found Molo as he entered the pavillion, and Molo’s world turned on its ear. Disoriented, he staggered backward and sat down on his rump. 

     The handpicked warriors of the King’s Shield lay in a loose circle around the Royal Family. Each of the King’s guardsmen had been beaten into unrecognizable lumps of blood and bone. Only the three ‘Consorts’ stood fast, their weapons leveled at the intruder in their midst.

     A  giant loomed in the center of the room.

     “Zuvembie!" someone screamed.

     Molo recognized the undead giant and nearly screamed himself.

     The wedding party bolted for the entrances. The guests fell over themselves trying to avoid the zuvembie's crimson stare: It was common knowledge that the eyes of the undead held the power to steal human souls, thereby enslaving them to the will of whatever dark master they served. 

     Worse yet, people in Ghoval still whispered about Koto 'Gorefist' and his infamous 'Rain of Blood.' In life, as the Governor of Nantan, Ghoval's neighbor to the north, Koto's solution to a months- long gang war had been to dismember all suspected gang members along with their families, and fling their remains from the walls of the Governor's Palace while his personal orchestra played the Nantanese National Anthem.

     Molo shuddered. When a zuvembie was created from the body and soul of a violent man, the result was an evil magnified ten-fold.   

     The three Royal Consorts crouched and moved into an attack formation. Each of them was skilled in one of the three principal martial arts of the Goa school. Each had been raised by Masters of those arts. As Consorts, they were far more than well- bred fops; they had been trained to be the last line of defense for Princess M’Kele.

     Consort Leng leapt toward Koto Gorefist. A Master of Den Soma, the Slicing Hand, Leng swept a disarming strike toward Koto's forearm, intending to sever it. A moment later, however, Leng screamed, and blood spouted from the stump where his muscular right arm had been.

     The ambassador from Senea, the "City of Stone and Sand," uttered a squawk of terror and soiled his rainbow- hued robes of state. Leng was officious and cruel. He’d once beaten Molo for daring to watch him during one of the many practice bouts the students of the Goa were forced to endure. Leng was exceedingly handsome however, and his skill beyond dispute. Molo had watched him cut through iron bars with his bare hands. Now Leng's right arm lay in a pool of blood, his fingernails scratching convulsively at the floor.