Legends of Ahn (King's Dark Tidings Book 3) Read online

The strongest scent of the king was in a deadwood structure that was partially open to the elements, and the ground was covered in piles of dried, dead plants. Bilior would never understand why the humans chose to surround themselves with death, but he supposed it had something to do with their connection to Nihko, Goddess of Death and the Afterlife.

  The Ahn’an were created only of the essences of Rheina, the Goddess of the Firmament and the Realm of Life, and Mikayal, God of the Soul. Thus, Bilior did not possess a connection to Nihko. The humans and the other Ahn’tep bore the essences of all three of the Ahn, who the humans called gods. Ahn’tep souls were hosted in Rheina’s realm for a time, and then they passed into Nihko. Sometimes, the Ahn’tep returned, only to leave again. It was an intriguing cycle, and Bilior occasionally wondered about where they went when they left Rheina, but he would never know. His kind had no Afterlife, no realm to keep his soul separate. Once removed from its body, the Ahn’an returned to Mikayal, becoming part of the whole, an individual no more. Bilior liked being one, and he would fight to keep his self.

  That self was threatened so long as he remained in the Realm of Life. The Ahn had reserved the Realm of Life for the Ahn’tep, and any Ahn’an who did not accede to the will of the Ahn were removed, sent to Ahgre’an. While the Ahn’an were blessed with Ahgre’an, the Daem’Ahn were contained within H’khajnak. The Ahn’an were permitted to stay in the Realm of Life only so long as they did not interfere too much with the lives of the Ahn’tep. It was for this reason that the Daem’Ahn were not permitted in the Realm of Life. The humans called the the Daem’Ahn evil, but truly they were chaos. The Daem’Ahn were composed only of Rheina and Nihko, lacking the soul of Mikayal that would render them alive. Thus, they felt not even the most primitive connection with other beings, and they could not comprehend the need for balance or order or growth. Bilior wondered if the Daem’Ahn saw the soul as an infestation that needed to be destroyed.

  Just as it was possible for the Ahn’an to reside within the Realm of Life, so too could the Daem’Ahn—under the right conditions and against the will of the Ahn. It was to the misfortunes of both the Ahn’An and Ahn’tep that those conditions had been met.

  Bilior decided that he would wait in the structure where the king’s scent was strongest. He eyed the dead plant material but had no desire to touch it. The dry dirt was filled with potential, though. After selecting a few seeds from the soil at his feet, he encouraged lush greenery to grow into a thick patch and then curled his feline body into a ball atop it. His feline aura was happy in this position, although he would have preferred to be higher. He turned his gaze to the dead wood above and found a pair of similar eyes staring back at him from atop a dead branch that had been straightened and smoothed. The furry creature looked back at him and hissed. Bilior sloughed the feline aura, returning to his comfortable self. He released a tendril of power to encourage the feline to come to him and licked his lips in anticipation.

  Rezkin sat in the chair beside the king’s bed. It was dark, and Ionius was asleep, as was the young mistress beside him. He briefly wondered how she could possibly sleep through the cacophony emanating from the old king, but the strong scent of spirits was explanation enough. Rezkin took a moment to rest before the imminent confrontation. Earlier in the evening, he had gone to each of the brothels and the gambling houses and the Burrow and made it clear to Brendish’s men that he was now in charge. Some of them had taken more convincing than others, but after the first several deaths that had been bloodier than necessary, they began to fall in line. His hold would be tenuous and probably would not last long, but at least Grebella was off the hook for the deaths of Brendish and his lackeys. Additionally, since all Brendish’s holdings had been hit by the Raven, no one would focus on the single brothel in which he and the princess had been staying. It was now time for Rezkin to use the evening of unplanned bloodshed to his own advantage.

  “Ionius,” he said.

  The older man did not stir. Rezkin shook the king and then shook him harder. It was reaffirmation of the need to stay vigilant and clearheaded, even in one’s sleep. He slapped the man hard and then barely gained his feet in time as the chair in which he had been sitting was ripped from beneath him and shattered against the wall in a burst of wind. Ionius sat up with a shout and lashed out with another violent gale. The bed curtains billowed, a lamp crashed to the floor, and a tapestry was ripped from its hooks. Rezkin made a mental note to establish a larger focus shield the next time he antagonized a wind mage.

  “Guards! Who dares enter my bedchamber? Guards!” Ionius shouted.

  “You may stop yelling, Ionius. No one is coming. They have all been … incapacitated.”

  “Who is there? Show yourself!”

  “A task made difficult by the fact that you destroyed the lamp,” Rezkin mused. “Again, we find ourselves enjoying the peace of darkness together, Ionius.”

  “You! What are you doing here, Demon, and what have you done to my guards?”

  “I am inclined to believe that your inquiry is made less out of concern for your guards’ well-being than it is for the fact that they are unable to save you from me. I am curious about your companion, though. Are you sure she is alive?”

  “What? Of course, she is alive,” Ionius muttered. He nudged the woman with a firm jab to the ribs, and she snorted but did not awaken. “See? Now what do you want, Raven?”

  “Very well. Let us move past the pleasantries and on to business. You failed to comply with our agreement.”

  Ionius gained his feet and snatched a night robe from the floor. He donned the garment and stepped toward the Raven, shaking his fist in the air. “I gave him that worthless island and my daughter. It is what you wanted. I am king of this land, not you, and I shall not bow to a demon in the dark.”

  “You could have been rid of me, Ionius, but you failed in the simplest task. Everything was arranged, the difficult part done, but you had to add your own stipulations.”

  “Bah! Minor things to get the collectiare and the council off my back.”

  “Lies,” the Raven hissed. “The council was already in line, and you could have rejected the collectiare’s advice. You placed those stipulations to satisfy your own ego, and now you will feel the sting of consequence.”

  “What are you going to do? You agreed to stay out of my kingdom!”

  “It is not what I am going to do but what I have already done. I took a minor thing and have graced you with a mere taste of my abilities. In a matter of hours, I have claimed a slice of your capital city. You leave it be, or I shall claim more.”

  “You expect me to turn a blind eye as you invade my city?” Ionius spat with disgust.

  “It is no worse than what was already there. Only, now you know that it is mine, and you will remember in the future that your deplorables keep the remainder at my behest.”

  “You may keep the filth if it suits you. You are nothing but a gutter-born criminal, a rat. Where there is one rat, there are hundreds, and still they are just rats. Do you know what hungry rats do when they sense weakness? They turn cannibal. I need not spend the time and effort to exterminate you. The other vermin will eventually do it for me.”

  The Raven paced toward the open window where the first lightening of the sky turned black to indigo. “You conveniently hide behind an ill-conceived metaphor when the task becomes too daunting. Much the better for me, but you should remind yourself that I am not, in fact, a rat. I am an intelligent and powerful man like you.”

  “You are nothing like me!” Ionius snapped. “I am a king of rich, royal blood, born of a line of kings that have held this kingdom for centuries. The Maker smiles upon my house.”

  “Oh? And what of your daughter? You have not asked to her well-being,” the Raven said.

  “I have washed my hands of the useless whelp. No doubt you have sullied her virtue and any price she might have brought. She will wed this Dark Tidings, and if he should win the Ashaiian throne in truth, perhaps then she may ca
rry the honor of my royal house again.”

  “I see. That rich, royal blood flows only through the veins of male line then. Tell me, Ionius. How many sons do you really need?”

  Ionius stormed toward the Raven shouting, “You stay away from my sons!”

  The Raven smiled and said, “All in good time, King Ionius.”

  Then, he was out the window, vanishing into the dark as Ionius shouted obscenities that could make the moon blush.

  Chapter 8

  The clouds were awash in gold and magenta, and the first rays of dawn were spreading across the eastern sky as Rezkin slipped into the stables. He could have claimed a place in the house, but he preferred to be alone. The thought crossed his mind that he might have liked the company of Tam or Malcius, or possibly even Tieran. Then, he considered that, if any of them knew what he had been up to that night, they would not want to be near him. The realization troubled him because he could not find fault in his actions. Ilanet, Grebella, and the other women of the brothel were in trouble. His plan was the most efficient and effective method of ensuring their survival in the allotted time, while also furthering his own agenda to save the refugees and take the first steps in creating the kingdom and army demanded by the katerghen so that he could face an impending demon invasion. A few dozen criminal casualties seemed a small price to pay.

  Releasing a heavy breath, Rezkin decided that his concerns were ill conceived. It was potentially a violation of Rule 37—separate from one’s emotions and was inconsistent with the intent of Rule 42—reconsider actions that end in failure. Thus far, his actions appeared to be successful, so it was unnecessary and unwise to second-guess himself. He entered the dark stables cautiously. Now that the women knew he was the Raven, there was the chance that one of them had told someone else. He searched the recess overhead and the first few stalls, poking at the hay with the tip of his sword. When he reached the opposite end where he slept most often, he found a most incongruous sight. There, amongst the golden hay and drab dirt, barely lit by the rising sun, was a black-and-grey striped cat curled upon a bed of thick, green grass. The cat opened one yellow eye and peered up at him. It yawned and stretched, completely unconcerned by the potential predator that had just entered its den. It then turned and sat facing Rezkin expectantly with its tail wrapped around its legs.

  Rezkin did not care for the creature’s behavior or the odd greenery beneath it. “Shoo, go!” he said with a wave of his free hand.

  The cat blinked lazily but remained comfortably perched upon its bed. It meowed a pretty little trill, and then jumped as though startled by its own sound. It smiled. He had spent little time around cats, but even so, Rezkin had never seen one smile. He thought it disturbing. He wondered if sleep deprivation was having a detrimental effect on his mind, and this seemed to be confirmed when a moment later the cat began to change. Its fur appeared to retract into its skin, and its body and limbs elongated to hardened, thin twigs. The yellow-orange eyes of the katerghen stared back at him from beneath fronds of feather-leaves that rattled with the sound of rain. The creature grinned, and Rezkin spied between its tiny razor teeth little tufts of fur.

  Unexpected anger surged through him, and Rezkin snatched the katerghen by throat. The creature’s feet did not leave the ground, but rather his neck and torso elongated to reach Rezkin’s height. An icy fire splashed against Rezkin’s insides as battle energy swept through his veins, and a distant voice warned Rezkin that he had somehow lost control. His thoughts, however, were for one thing only.

  “Where is it? Where is the little cat—the one with black and brown splotched fur?”

  The katerghen grinned again, and then a thunderous boom rocked the stables as Rezkin was thrown into the far wall. He blinked several times, and the ceiling swam into view. He frowned as he pondered in the darkness. His first thought was that the fur between the katerghen’s teeth had been white and orange. Then, his reaction to the katerghen began to dawn on him, and he was confused. It had been as if he were visiting a dream, aware that he was dreaming and yet unable to control the events. Except this had not been a dream. His lungs finally filled with air, and he gasped. When he had finally caught hold of his breath, he realized he was no longer staring at the ceiling. Yellow-orange eyes set in the face of a demonic tree stared back at him from only inches away. The katerghen was sitting on his chest and appeared to be studying him like one would a foreign insect.

  Rezkin coughed once and said, “What do you want, Bilior?”

  He felt as though he were being pulled into the katerghen’s gaze as it said, “Light behind darkness—the curse of thy soul. Fracture thine heart, and broke becomes whole.”

  Rezkin did not move. It was obvious the katerghen could defeat him with a thought. Still, he had no idea what the thing was talking about.

  “We had a deal,” Rezkin said. “A haven, a kingdom, for an army. It will take more than a couple of days to create an army.”

  With the creaking of boughs in a breeze, Bilior said, “Yes.”

  Rezkin sighed under the weight of the katerghen, which seemed to be increasing by the minute. “Then, what is it you want?”

  Bilior jumped from his perch and clung to a rafter for no apparent reason. He swung several times before tumbling to the floor and ending in a crouch just as Rekzin regained his feet.

  “The you needs care—you and yours. Safety was promised. A kingdom, I said. Far away an isle—long left to the dead.”

  “I know the deal—”

  “And so must be reached.”

  “You are here to fulfill your part of the bargain?” Rezkin asked with surprise.

  He had thought that Bilior’s responsibility was already met with the gift of information. Bilior crouched lower to the ground, and his twiggy hair seemed to droop.

  “Safety reached, a kingdom made—the price be paid.”

  “You are saying that if my people and I fail to establish this kingdom of safety, then you will be in breach of contract? You must serve me?”

  Thunder rumbled and the katerghen hissed. “I, I, I—not I. Of the Ancients am I. For the council, I speak.”

  Rezkin could hardly believe his ears. This playful, irritating little creature was one of the rulers of the fae, an Ancient of the Ahn’an.

  “You speak on behalf of the Ancients? I did not make this deal with only you?”

  “For all the we, you did agree.”

  Until that moment, Rezkin had not seriously considered the existence of demons. The katerghen had requested an army to invade Ashai, or at least defend against it. At the time, it had seemed a reasonable price since Rezkin already intended to create one. If Bilior had been sent to strike a deal on behalf of all the Ahn’an, presumably the most powerful, albeit aloof, creatures on the planet, then the demon threat had to be serious. If the Ahn’an were threatened, then so was everyone else. It was the kind of threat that could end the world, and it seemed that the fae had thrown all their eggs into one basket. That basket belonged to Rezkin.

  Rezkin felt a heavy weight settle onto his shoulders. He had left the northern fortress with no more purpose or direction than to find Farson and protect and honor his mysterious friends. In a few short months, he had taken on the burden of usurping a throne, rescuing hundreds, possibly thousands, of refugees, creating an entirely new kingdom, and becoming the savior of the Ahn’an and human races.

  A shriek from the doorway drew him out of his shock.

  Ilanet cried, “What is that?”

  Bilior bounced up like an uncoiling spring and bounded over to the frightened young woman. Ilanet backed away but not fast enough. The creature boxed her into a corner and peered at her as it clung to the top of the doorframe. He licked his lips and looked back to Rezkin.

  “I may eat this?”

  Rezkin sighed and said, “No, you may not eat her. She is one of mine.”

  Bilior’s twigs trembled in what Rezkin thought was disappointment. “A human yours,” he muttered.

  Ilanet p
laced her hands on her hips and looked at Rezkin with a stern countenance that, for some reason, nearly brought a smile to his face.

  “Do not call me yours, Raven. I do not belong to you.” She looked away and said, “Apparently, you and my father have conspired to give me to Dark Tidings.”

  Rezkin furrowed his brow. The princess had not seemed angry with him when he had left the previous night, although she had been quiet after he revealed that he was the Raven. He wondered what had happened to incite her ire. Perhaps the women of the house had said something.

  Bilior watched the princess with rapt attention as she fussed. He tilted his head and looked back to Rezkin. “Raven they call you? This be your name?”

  “No,” Rezkin said.

  “Yes,” Ilanet followed with a huff. “He is the infamous Raven, the criminal overlord of Ashai, possibly the most powerful deplorable ever! He has killed hundreds of people in his bid to build an empire of the most despicable human beings alive.”

  Bilior muttered, “Kills humans, saves keurg?”

  Ilanet looked back at the creature. “What is a keurg, and what are you?”

  Bilior skittered to the ground, thrust his arms out to the sides, and said, “I be a tree.”

  With a dubious look, Ilanet said, “I do not believe you.”

  The katerghen twisted its torso, and an instant later there stood a tree—a small one—in the middle of the stables. The princess gawked and then turned a questioning gaze on Rezkin.

  “Ignore the tree for now,” he said. “I think there will be plenty of time for explanation later.”

  “I doubt that,” she snapped, “since you will be handing me off in a few hours.”

  “Is that what has you so angry?” he asked.

  Ilanet dropped her arms as the wind left her sails. “I am not angry. I am afraid.”

  “I see. You need not fret,” Rezkin said. “Dark Tidings travels with a large entourage and many refugees. There will be nobles from several kingdoms, mages, healers, and plenty of other women. It may set your mind at ease to know that he has agreed to take on a couple of priests of the Maker. You will not be alone.”