Chapter eighty-three

Tlaxapec

So, now he came, the new God of Death. He stood in front of Greycloak’s temple and all the secret ways, all the traps and guardians, were revealed to him. He was now a red being, a shape only; an embodiment of the morgue, with wings wider than his stretched out arms.  He was a creature of incarnadine fire. He found the Priest quite easily, he was washing some clothes in one of the disused halls.

‘Do you know who I am, mortal?’ asked Kratos

The Priest put down his washing, but otherwise scarcely moved.                                    

‘You are Archwitch Kratos, the world’s Great Adversary’

‘You lie, I am not that anymore. I am the great god Kratos, surnamed God-Slayer. I have come to kill your god’

The Priest took several steps back in horror

‘Help us, Master’ he whispered, a reflex he instantly regretted

The Grey Wanderer appeared, summoned involuntarily by his priest. He stood in his grey shabby clothes, leaning on a stick. The Priest looked up him, appalled. The flame that Kratos had become burned darker. 

‘You called for me?’ asked the Grey Wanderer.

The Priest shook his head. His voice was high and strained.

‘No – I had no intention of doing so’

‘I come at need – not by request’

‘You are in dreadful danger’ shouted the Priest.

The Grey Wanderer smiled softly.

‘So it seems’ he said

He studied the red creature carefully.

‘You have come to murder me because you were unable to murder the Lady; is that the case?’

Kratos’s god-voice sneered.

‘That is the case, but I have no time to discuss it’

He began to chant, a dark hollow chant, made up of all the elements of necromancy; the Grey Wanderer could feel that it was a tremendous achievement. He was not afraid to die.

The Thief and the strange dirty man, once Baron von Eisen, Grandmaster of the Crimson Flames, entered the hall. The dirty man waited for a second, his eyes fixed on the new god’s form, then something snapped. He recognised the spirit, even in its new god-trappings.

‘Balliwick!‘ he screamed, ‘you evil bastard!’

He grabbed a cup and threw it at Kratos’s head. It struck the red shape with a blow that sent the new god staggering back. It had no power to hurt him but it stopped his curse. The Priest grabbed a bottle from his bag and threw it on to the floor. It shattered and foamed up a billowing cloud of smoke that engulfed everything in front of him. Kratos was completely hidden from view. The Priest turned to the old grey shape.

‘Escape!’ he hissed, ‘let me deal with this’

The Grey Wanderer hesitated, and shook his head.

‘I cannot simply abandon you…’

‘Yes you can. He will destroy you’

‘He will destroy all of us – I must fight’

The Priest smiled grimly.

‘Thief – bring me the helm’ he barked

The Thief hesitated.

‘Do as I say’ shouted the Priest, ‘we have no time’

The old grey being watched the Thief in horror.

‘No – that will kill you’

 They both knew that no ordinary mortal could survive inside the cloak.

‘Exactly – and then you will have no need to protect me…’

‘No, no’ moaned the Grey Wanderer. He watched as the Priest clambered inside the helm. There was the unmistakable smell of burning flesh; like a pig on a spit.

‘You’d better go’ hissed the Thief, ‘or he will have sacrificed himself for nothing’

The protective cloud was dissipating. There was nothing to stay for. The Grey Wanderer disappeared without noise or gesture.

Kratos walked through the dispersing smoke. He laughed.

‘In your helm; all ready to duel with me. How delicious!’

The cloak burnt the Priest’s skin horribly. He could feel the stench of death building up inside the mantle.  No ordinary mortal could survive inside the helm, but that was fine, the idea was to die. What mattered was the timing.

He took two steps forward and began chanting. It was his favourite chant of healing, that brought new life to weary limbs, but amplified by the cloak it resonated in a suitably daunting manner.  It also stopped the pain of dying being unbearable; he was determined that he would not cry out.

Kratos smelt the air suspiciously and began chanting too, an unravelling spell of witchcraft more powerful than any spell cast before in that time, but totally wasted. The tendrils of the chant searched inside the helm for a divine presence, but all it found was the expiring priest, and it had no power over him.

 The smoke was now clear. Kratos was smiling; the sort of smile that a hunter shares with a hind.

Inside the mantle, the dying priest allowed himself a little satisfaction. However potent the Archwitch might be he was easy enough to fool. The Priest was content to give up living. It was time for the false god to die; so that the true god could stay alive. Perhaps, still, his master would save the world.  He died with that half-hope in his mind, but it was better than nothing.

‘I was expecting something… a little more spectacular’ Kratos mumbled to himself, ‘but never mind; ‘twill suffice’  

He snapped his fingers and barked out ‘crebachu’. The mighty helm, now without the power of a sentient mind, curled up into a black ember, like a long cold charcoal in the bed of an abandoned fire.  

The others had long gone; Kratos had no idea where, but he didn’t care. They were only mortals. He waited for a moment while the scarlet fire inside him went out. He returned to his human form. He had destroyed an immortal being.

He left the temple in exultant triumph. He could destroy them all now; in his own good time.

***

The Thief knew the way but he did not know how. It seemed that the inner labyrinth was all too happy to give up its secrets. They went back and forth, but he had no idea what prompted the movements.  

At first he was convinced that Kratos had followed them.  Every few steps he looked around. The strange, filthy, man walked with him, but he clearly had no idea what was going on.

He forced himself to stop and wait – better to be killed immediately than caught like a rat in a maze.  But no-one was pursuing them.  All that was there was the shifting corridors of the temple complex, now made simple to his understanding.

They came to where the snake-elf lived. She seemed to have been waiting for them. She stood there in a pure white toga; the thief knew, with a sort of strange thrill, that she would never have to wash it.

‘Come closer, children’ she said, ‘you have nothing to fear from me’

The Thief stepped forward. How he had found his way through the labyrinth to her he was uncertain; but he knew this was where he wanted to be.

‘I seek help’

She laughed, but it was a sober laugh.

‘What help could I possibly give you, mortal?’

‘I am lost’

‘Evidently’ she said, ‘do you seek the way out?’

‘No – it is not that.  I have lost two masters and I seek a new one’

The snake-elf smiled

 ‘Are you offering your services, barbarian?’

The thief nodded.

‘Yes, my Lady’

‘And your companion?’

The Dirty Man took a few steps forward. He seemed as if about to speak, but he said nothing. Parwada smiled.

‘Words fail you…’ she said, ‘…that is an acceptable response…’

He blurted out, ‘Are you a god?’

She shook her head, but the smile still lingered in her face.

‘No – I was made by one and taught by another. I am no god, but I do have power…’ 

‘I do not seek power…’ the Dirty Man murmured

‘I know’ said Parwada, ‘but I think you will stay here anyway’

The Dirty Man said nothing, but his head bobbed just enough for the naga to be satisfied.

She waited a moment.

‘What are your names?’ she asked her new followers.

The Thief frowned

‘I have no name that I want to keep’ he said

‘Good’ said the snake-elf, ‘then I shall call you Ena, as you are the first of my followers’

She turned to dirty man, who  replied hesitantly. Every word caused him pain.

‘My old name is gone; I do not want it back’

Parwada nodded kindly.

‘I know who you are and I am happy to give you a new name. I will call you Kyron, as that is the beginning of your role’

‘I do not understand’ mumbled Kyron

‘You will soon…’

They stood there is silence, the two men waiting for the snake-elf to speak again.

‘What would you have us do, my lady?’ asked Ena, eventually, needing to break the silence.

‘Wage war on evil. Specifically, we will move against the Cloaks – their evil has been proven time after time’

‘But how will we do that?’

‘Leave that to me – you just need to do as I command’

Ena nodded and bowed – he was so happy to be serving again.

‘And in any case, now I have the perfect weapon delivered into my hands’

‘What is that?’ asked Ena.

Parwada pointed to the dirty man now named Kyron.

‘Here he stands: the future ruler of the benighted and at present erroneously-named Tlaxaca:  the King of Eddorre’

Kyron moaned ‘no’ and went down on to his knees. Unwanted memories come flooding back into his mind.

‘Please, my lady, not that name; I thought to escape it’

‘No-one can escape their destiny’ said Parwada softly, ‘and we will get you back your kingdom’.

Kyron said no more. He looked up at her with his scared, pleading, eyes. She stared back at him without pity.

‘Whether or not you think that you want it’