Cinders of the Past: A Tyrant's Night in Drubain

Disbelief washed over Luren like cold water. Trains of carts entering and leaving the city took up most of the road leading into Drubain. Luren and his companions, Ethenial and Renaul, were forced to walk on the side of the road. He turned to the two former King’s Daggers, “Are you sure it’s Drubain we’re traveling to?”

Ethenial shrugged. “We’ve been out of the know ever since we left the Daggers. The last thing we knew of the city was that it was an infested mire of monsters and cultists. I suppose we’ll see when we get there.”

The trio followed the line of carts into Drubain. Although it was faint, Luren noticed the smell of copper and mildew and shifted the backpack on his shoulders. His crimson helm, the sole content of the pack tilted and pressed into his back through the bag. As Luren surveyed the city streets, he was quick to notice the lack of guards but plenty of Renaians standing in their place brandishing clubs or resting their hands on their daggers. He felt a large, meaty hand grasp his shoulder. Luren turned to find a Renaian man eying a parchment then looking him up and down. “Can I help you, outsider?” Luren said.

Ethenial and Renaul turned, their hands disappearing beneath their cloaks. Luren held up a hand to stay their weapons.

The Renaian man did not break eye contact with Luren. “You match the description of one ‘Luren’ friend of Crethan. Is that name familiar to you?”

“Friend may be a strong word but yes, we are of a favorable disposition to one another.”

“I thought so. You’re to come with me. Kurst wishes to speak with you.”

That made Luren’s eyebrows rise. “Kurst? He’s here?”

“No one else could make this place safe. Now people can sleep easily in Drubain.”

The city was fine under my rule. “It went to shit after you lot ‘saved’ it.” Luren muttered.

The man’s eyes narrowed. “What was that?”

“Nothing. I’ve been eager to meet with this Kurst ever since I first heard of him. Take us to him, please.”

The man nodded and led them through the streets. Luren watched a group of Renaians leaving a house, their arms filled with plunder - food, alcohol, silverware, and money. The group noticed Luren and glared. He returned the look as he passed. Luren found that they weren’t the only group making rounds. A knot twisted itself in his stomach. “Am I to take it that you’re with the Saint’s Swords?”

“Not officially. But we’ve been organized, armed, and trained by them. Keeps us safe from the savages living in this place.”

They eventually found themselves standing in the courtyard of a large warehouse. Several of the nearby Renaian guards flanked the trio. Their guide turned. “You can hand over your weapons now.”

Luren smiled. “We’re not going to do that.”

The guide scowled, “I don’t think you understand. We’re taking your weapons, so you can either hand them over or I’ll tear them from you!” The man’s voice drew the attention of more Renaians.

Luren raised his hands away from his blade. “Feel free to try.”

The guide stepped forward and grabbed the weapon. The flesh of his hand blackened and peeled away from the bone which also began to blacken and peel to the sound of gnashing teeth that belonged to an unseen demonic swarm. Terror and pain escaped the man in a series of screams and yelps as he soiled himself. He fell to the ground writhing like a maddened animal as he was eaten alive. Within moments, there was nothing left of him. Weapons were pointed towards the three men. Luren rested his hand on the hilt of his sword.

Two Renaians approached with their longswords drawn.

Luren examined the pair. Now these are holy knights of the Saint’s Swords. He tightened his grip on his weapon.

One stepped forward, a scowl forming behind his trimmed beard. He raised his blade and shouted, “You’ll die for that you bastard.”

The front door slammed open before the pair could come to blows. An order was barked from the entrance, “Fald’Arn, Dua’Kanta. Stay your blades. That man is precisely who we need.”

Luren turned his dark-eyed gaze towards the bald, clean shaven, black skinned man standing in the doorway. He was younger than Luren would have expected, perhaps nearing thirty. “Kurst Dainbarr.”

Kurst offered a small nod. “Luren. Let’s speak in my office.”

The three men followed the holy knight into the building and through the bustling halls filled with Renaians, gang members, and children. Multiple eyes fell upon the trio and many murmured as the trio walked by. As they entered Kurst’s office they found a woman, garbed in the colors of the King’s Daggers leaning on the windowsill. She turned; her bright blue eyes regarded Luren with cool disdain from behind the bangs of her red hair. Her demeanor changed as soon she spotted Ethenial and Renaul. Her tempered flared. “What are these two traitors doing here?” She drew a pair of daggers.

Ethenial perked up, the wrinkles on his rough face disappeared. “Vellemy! It’s been too long.”

“I see introductions won’t be necessary,” Kurst said as he sat as his desk.

Luren turned to Ethenial. “You know this woman?”

“I raised her. Taught her everything she knows about, well, everything.”

“Only to abandon me and the rest of the Daggers you bastard!”

Kurst cleared his throat. “While I’m sure this little reunion must be emotional for you, we have a far more important matter to address.”

Turning back to the holy knight Luren said, “And that is?”

“The cult of Arnek Relan.”

Although he couldn’t deny his desire to rid the world of those madmen, Luren couldn’t shake his hate for the holy knights and the rest of the Renaians. “They’re your problem now, not mine.”

Kurst’s lips curled into a deep frown. “I know you wouldn’t just leave them to run rampant. You want to help. Or was Crethan’s assessment wrong?”

“Crethan’s correct.”

“I thought so,” Kurst grinned. “He is a good pet, isn’t he? You should be proud of how well you’ve trained him.”

Luren felt sickened by the truth in Kurst’s words. He did train and treat Crethan as one would a dog. “You speak of him as if he were an animal.”

“I’m speaking to the Crimson Tyrant as the monster that he is, no matter what he may tell himself.”

“The Crimson Tyrant?” Vellemy stepped forward. “Kurst, what do you think you’re doing. This man, no, this bastard, needs to die. But you’ve decided to work with him?”

“No.” There was a chill in Kurst’s voice, calculated and hostile. “I’ve decided he will work for me. He was a tool for the Primeval Gods, now he will be a tool for good, a tool for us.”

“Kurst, as a representative of Kaydhen and her king, I demand that these three be executed!”

Kurst stared razor sharp daggers at Vellemy. “Demand? You demand nothing of me, woman. Your pig king and by extension you are subjects of the Saints’ Swords and Renaia. Remember your place and never have an outburst like that again.”

Vellemy bowed her head, though her face turned a deeper red than her hair.

“And should I refuse?” Luren interjected.

“The three of you will die.” To prove how serious he was in his threat, Kurst reached below himself and placed a large war hammer whose polished, steel head was shaped like a ram’s on top of the desk.

Luren’s flesh prickled at the familiar sight. He stared at the ruby eyes glaring up at him. The phantom pains of shattered ribs and obliterated organs swirled through Luren’s body. “So, you were able to find this but not me in the rubble? Looks like the gods favor me instead of you and your little friends after all.”

“We’ll see how true that is when I bash your skull in with this hammer.”

“You think you can kill me with this? The last man who tried is dead. How well do you think you will fair?” Luren said, letting his gaze linger on the cold, blessed, steel weapon.

“You’ve been wasting away in some backwater for what? A decade? From what Crethan has told me, you fight like it too. I know I could kill you, Tyrant. But why should I let this opportunity go to waste?”

The confidence in which Kurst spoke with was enough to convince Luren that he would lose this fight. Ethenial would likely be too occupied with Vellemy. Even if Renaul helped me and not Ethenial, it would mean the death of us both. Luren’s hands curled into fists. “You know, there’s something humorous about you calling me ‘tyrant’ when you have your thugs going door to door taking all but the barest of necessities from the people living here.”

Kurst shrugged. “They no longer pay taxes for the city guard, and we need everything we can get.”

“I didn’t realize the Saint’s Swords were losing money. Surely you could have afforded to fund this little venture of yours instead of pillaging the city you came here to protect.”

“Bringing enlightenment to a shit hole continent and the ignorant savages that call it home is a costly venture. Everyone has a cost to pay.”

And what cost will you be paying, I wonder? Luren wanted to ask the question, but felt it would, at worst, harm the current situation further rather than help it. Luren bit his tongue.

Shifting in his chair, Kurst said, “If we are talking about payment for bettering a land that doesn’t deserve it, then let me propose a reward for you.”

Luren raised his eyebrows. “For me?”

“Should you perform well and not vex me too much, we may discuss how to save your sister from the demon possessing her body.”

Disbelief struck Luren like an avalanche. “Exorcising an elder demon is impossible. The only way to free a possessed person is to kill the body.”

“Believe me or don’t. But fail or otherwise upset me and I’ll give you the little whore’s head before I take yours.”

He can’t possibly have a way to exorcise an elder demon. Still, if there’s even a chance to save Elentia without killing her, I have to take it. “How do you plan to handle Arnek Relan’s cult?”

A grin formed across Kurst’s face. “I have a way of meeting with the group. You will contact one of their members who will lead you to their leader, a man named Turek Delarn. He’s an… eccentric sort.”

“Eccentric?”

“He loves his work.”

“Sounds familiar,” Ethenial said as he eyed Kurst.

“Your friends will have the task of following you and supporting you in whatever situation you may find yourself in. As you can only be killed by special means,” Kurst motioned to his hammer. “I don’t think you’ll have much to worry about. For now, find a place to relax, you’ll head out when evening draws near.”

***

Luren and his two companions had opted to wait out in the courtyard. Vellemy, to their disappointment had joined them. She said nothing to them for several hours and instead glared at Luren with her hands gripping her daggers. Luren had tried explaining that her weapons would be useless, but she ignored him. As the sun set behind the trio and into the young woman’s blue eyes which seemed to shine brighter than they were, but the fury in them were a painful reminder of his not so distance past.

“There’s quite a bit of hatred in your gaze,” Luren said.

“I’ll bet you’ve seen it often enough.”

Luren’s lips formed into a sad smile. “In the people I saved not so long ago.”

“Did you kill them for it?”

“No, I was chased away by a… child.”

Vellemy’s brow furled in disbelief. “A child?”

“He had an arrow knocked and aimed in my direction.”

“If you say so.”

“How about you tell me why you’re so determined to glare at me. Most people would have given up or tried to stab me already.”

“You’ve tormented my countrymen for decades and you’re a cancer to this world,” Vellemy’s voice was flat.

Luren winced but managed a grin. “Well, at least your damnation is less dramatic than other peoples.”

Ethenial cleared his throat then said, “Her parents were loyalists to you. They had a choice, either execution or give up their only child to the cause. Though it’s a shame she gave herself entirely to Kaydhen and Renaia instead of seeing how twisted it was to rip a child from her parents and turn her into a killer.”

“Don’t act as if you had some sudden shift in morality. You're no monk, you still kill. Only now you've turned your back on our people while I’m still fighting to do right by them.”

“If you wanted to do right by them then you’d abandon this foolish venture with the holy knights and their puppet king. It’s going to be the death of you, and I suspect it will be one of the knights who does it.”

“Still at each other’s throats I see,” Kurst said as he approached. “Luren, you’ll be heading for an alleyway next to Barr’s Bakery on Pie Street on the north side of the city. When you speak to the man say the words ‘Truth in suffering’ and he will take you to their nesting ground.”

“And Renaul and I are to follow at a comfortable distance,” Ethenial said.

“Correct. Now off with you, I want to wake up to good news tomorrow.”

Luren was happy to leave and put some distance between people who wanted him dead, even if it meant going to another group of people who wanted the same. He took the time to take in the city, examine it, appraise it. Gangs roaming free to steal and murder, monsters who once protected the people are now terrorizing and killing, some things change. Luren eyed the run-down houses and the beggars in the street. But some things stay the same.

It wasn’t long before Luren found Pie Street. It was the only street in the city that didn’t smell like unwashed bodies and the stench of profane rituals and magic. It even made Luren’s mouth water. He found Barr’s Bakery nestled between other shops at the center of the street. He peered into one of the alleyways to find a hooded, overweight man standing at the end of the alley looking back at him. Luren waved a hand. The man did not reply.

Luren approached then said, “Truth in suffering.”

A yellow toothed smile appeared from behind the man’s bushy, brown beard. “Then we will find truth and suffering aplenty. Come, we may speak freely in the sewers.” Barr turned and lifted a sewer cover behind him.

Luren watched the large, round man struggle to his knees and into the manhole. He followed and closed the hole before descending the ladder. A torch soon lit the sewer around him. “Do all of you just wait in shadowy alleyways waiting for new recruits?”

Barr let out a laugh that echoed through the sewers. “No, not all of us. But plenty enough. The rest of us are working diligently on other tasks.” He began traversing the walkways above the sewage.

“That’s heartening to hear.”

“Indeed! We’ve recently learned some details concerning the knights who have arrived and stirred the Renaian populace into an armed force. They’re led by some fool named Kurst. Turns out his little plan is going to backfire. Too many people are getting fed up with outsiders intimidating them and stealing. We’ve had a surge in new recruits thanks to them. Several hundred in the city in fact.”

Luren stroked his jaw. “Seems like we’ll be in a prime position to take the city back.”

“What a day that will be.” Barr said.

They soon arrived at a section of the sewer guarded by a dozen cultists. There was a door waiting for them. “Step on through,” Barr said.

Luren eyed the thirteen men standing around him then nodded. He opened the door and stepped through into a large chamber. Luren gaped as he found one hundred men, maybe more sitting on stone benches lining the room. The door shut behind him.

A hand clasped Luren’s shoulder. He turned to the burned husk of a man flashing a wicked grin at him. “Welcome!”

“Hello,” Luren said. “Who is it that I have the pleasure of speaking with?”

The burnt man gave a deep, if over the top bow. “Turek Delarn, proud leader of this gathering.” Parts of the man’s blackened flesh cracked and bled.

“My name is Luren. Forgive my asking, but do you greet everyone like this?”

Turek leaned in close to Luren and whispered, “I know who you are, Crimson Tyrant. Godly favor has given me many insights. Such as the ability to know who wields great and terrible power. They all shine in accordance with which power they serve, you see. And you, you shine brighter than even Arnek Relan himself when he lived. You could only be, the infamous Tyrant.”

“What is it that you plan to do then?”

Turek Delarn stared at Luren with a darkness that unsettled the infamous ruler and sent a chill up his spine. Suddenly Turek’s expression broke into something less unsettling. He said, “I want to be friends.”

Luren blinked. “But my power is that of a rival’s, not Sulfuryon’s.”

Turek shrugged. “Yet it is a common enemy that controls our land. It would be better for ourselves and for the people of Kaydhen to work together in beating back the Renains.”

“And how do you propose we do that?”

Smiling, Turek said, “I will allow Sulfuryon to possess my ruined body in order to open a rift into the realm of punishment to bring Arnek Relan back as an elder demon.”

Luren had no words for the madman.

Turek patted Luren on the back. “Just watch my new friend.”

The burnt cult leader shambled to the front of the room. What he began to do, horrified Luren. With incinerated fingers, Turek grasped his burnt flesh and peeled it from his body. The man howled in pain. The many other cultists in the room produced blades and began to skin themselves. Their joined screams became a choir of unholy suffering. The stench of copper and mildew permeated the air and clung to Luren’s clothes and skin. Sulfuryon’s power reached out to several of the Primeval God’s followers and as thanks for their sacrifice, lit them ablaze in the flames of punishment. Turek’s screams and cries turned to a deep, inhuman laughter, punctuated by the sizzle and crackle of burning meat. Turek extended a hand. The flesh that had been carved from more than a hundred bodies slithered across the room and began to coalesce. It ignited in a red flame and with a loud snap, a hole in the fabric of reality was burned into existence.

Luren felt a tendril of Sulfuryon’s power reach out to him, caressing the walls of his mind. He bore witness to a vision of himself wielding a cleansing flame that would wash away the Renains and all of his enemies from Kaydhen. His kingdom rebuilt and brought to greater heights. Perhaps the most enticing was of Kurst Dainbarr trapped in a pit filled with unending suffering as his body was torn apart, burned and devoured endlessly. But of all his wants, Luren saw nothing of what his heart yearned for. There was no vision of his wife or children, for whom he built a nation, for whom he became an Undying, for whom he feels the greatest guilt, and for whom he now suffered a hole in his heart which will never fill. He felt the tendril recoil. Lurne drew his blade and ran his bare hand along the edge. The black blade bit his flesh and drank deep gulps of his blood. He held his blade out and conjured forth a swarm of locusts who began to devour the cultists in the room. Most of the room was covered in demonic locusts, but in its center was the possessed Turek Delarn. Any of the locusts that came too close to the man died instantly and withered to ash.

Sulfuryon doesn’t fully possess him. A Primeval God would be too much for any mortal body to contain. He’s just a little puppet. Luren swung his blade and within an instant the swarm was called back into his sword. Nothing remained of the cultists in the room, not even their clothes. The faint sound of battle could be heard just behind the door. Luren dropped his pack to the ground and retrieved his helmet. Crimson armor materialized on his body as he placed the helm on his head.

“Are your preparations made?” Turek called back to him in a voice that was not his own.

Luren planted his feet and raised his blade in response.

A soft chuckle escaped the cult leader. Turek turned. His eyes were pits of fire; bone showed where he had peeled the flesh from himself. From his hands two blades formed from Sulfuryon’s fire erupted into existence.

Luren knew that these flames would not only be able to harm his undying body, but it would cause unfathomable pain to his soul. “Come then, servant of Sulfuryon.”

The two combatants leapt towards one another. Their unholy blades clashed and sang a song of terror and pain. Luren slashed with his longsword, grazing the uncovered breastbone of the cult leader.

In response Turek lashed out with a flurry of swings. Luren dodged most with ease. However, the lack of practice for the past ten years became apparent as not once but twice did the flames strike Luren and sent him tumbling over a nearby bench.

The crimson armor absorbed much of what would have been crippling blows, but Luren still felt a ringing pain deep in his soul. He fought the urge to vomit as he forced himself to his feet, ready to meet Turek’s continued assault. It seemed to Luren that for every two strikes he avoided there was third that was able to land on him.

A fire burned Luren’s stomach. He slammed his helmed head into Turek’s face, sending the cult leader reeling backwards. Ripping his helm off, Luren dropped to his knees and vomited a mixture of bile and dark blood. His head spun and all his muscles spasmed and cramped. Luren forced himself up, though his body would prefer to curl up and die. He leaned against the nearby wall for support.

Turek rose from the ground. His nose was shattered. “You will die here, Luren. We could have achieved so much together.”

With his back to the wall, Luren took several deep breaths. Luren readied his sword.

Turek moved closer, but before he could raise his weapon to make another attack a crossbow bolt pierced the side of his throat. Stunned, Turek released one of his weapons and grasped at his wound.

Using the last of his strength Luren rushed forward and pierced Turek’s heart with his black blade. The cult leader’s body shuddered as his soul and Sulfuryon’s power fled the ruined shell. Luren pulled his sword free and shoved Turek’s lifeless body to the ground.

Luren turned to the door and said, “Good timing, Renaul.”

Both Ethenial and Renaul were covered in blood, not all of which was their own, Luren suspected.

Renaul nodded, “Glad I was able to make it in time.”

“I don’t think we can pat ourselves on the back just yet,” Ethenial said. He stuck a finger towards the front of the room. “What is that?”

Luren turned to the portal that Turek had conjured. “Something that needs to be destroyed.” He limped forwards, tightening his grip on his sword. “You offered me everything you think I wanted. There was a time that I would have accepted. But without my family. What good is any of it? Can’t answer can you, you bastard.” He swung at the portal; his sword slashed through the magical tear. Red flames belched out and engulfed the black blade then fizzled into nothingness as the portal collapsed.