Of Gods and Warriors ✓

Chapter 66

"Worry not for me, Your Majesty!" he cried, "but for your invincible army. The ravens are able to rend undead flesh, a feat paralleled by no other weapons except ancient blades blessed by a forsaken deity of old."

He gestured to one of the Vasaen soldiers to step up before the king. The man obeyed, and took off his helm to reveal half his face torn off. Black blood had congealed around the gash, but the wound hadn't healed. King Krugmann watched in horror.

"On the other hand, gathering news from Byton has been difficult, too." Emric crossed his arms with a great sigh. "One good-for-nothing assassin I had, to contact Alfred Henris, but the Guild snuffed him. Information about the blessed blades was the best that I could get out of him before that. Worse yet, Draedona has now chosen a mortal champion to lead the ravens in her stead."

The king slammed his fist on the throne's armrest. "Who is it?"

"Some Midaelian soldier," he said with disdain. "The Goddess's influence is weakened. Poor bastard probably doesn't even know they've been chosen. And so Avalyn has gone to seek them out and destroy the threat before it becomes one. Rest assured. The matter is in her hands and she'll make sure to put an end to it."

King Krugmann rubbed his temples. "That...surely puts me at ease."

"Now, if I may ask a favour of you," said Emric, eye darting around at the petrified faces around him. "Privately, if you please."

Even with the black-blooded immortal abominations present, the king's folk had their attention upon the woefully mortal General Reylan, a lone Midaelian standing unafraid in the palace of sworn enemies of his folk, some of them perhaps wondering how the king was able to put his trust in a foreigner.

But King Krugmann, despite his occasional crude jests and crooked remarks, had always a special liking for this snow-haired warrior, for he now rose from his seat and excused himself from his courtiers. "Very well. I'll be with you shortly."

The king gestured over his shoulder, and started off down a marble-lined hallway, fur-lined red cape rippling behind him. "First, let me take a look at the guests you've brought. A king should be able to provide for his soldiers, shouldn't he?"

Emric chuckled. "That's the beauty of necromancy, Your Majesty. The dead need no sustenance."

A pair of great oaken doors squealed open, flooding them in the pale sun. A strong wind swept across the battlements surrounding the palace courtyards, where the two now walked side by side. Beyond the walls lay Glasswolf city. Elegant manors and blooming orchards of wealthy officials arrayed like a wreath of flowers around the palace, yet unable to mask the squalor of the less well-to-do districts of the city far off. The king spared not a moment to acknowledge it, and leaned his muscular arms on the parapet, facing the vast courtyard below.

Soldiers, all armed and armored, stood there in neat rows in deafening silence, dead eyes fixed ahead of them. Not one of them stirred, nor even turned their eye to a comrade to speak. Such discipline had been achieved not because they were living, breathing corpses, but because they feared the power of the general's silver ring more than death.

Yet there were always exceptions, those who feared nothing. Not even the wrath of the Goddess of Death could touch them. Emric fiddled with his ring, his mind bitter. I'll show you what happens to traitors in Drisia, Perth.

An aura of dark magic hovered in the air surrounding them, pressing upon them from all sides. The mere presence of the Vasaeni in such great numbers began to affect one's mind after a while. Even the palace guards inched away from the silent army fast as they could.

King Krugmann gave a satisfied grin. "What's better than an army that never tires, needs no supplies and drains no healers? Ah, this is perfection, General. You and Avalyn have come like a blessing in my life."