The Accursed Hero

The wasteland was hung with delirium in the heat of the day, and the horizons shimmered like flame. Sun blazed down and reflected from the empty sand and merciless rocks, leaving no place of shelter nor a scrap of shade in which to hide from the blistering heat. Kardan’s shadow was directly beneath him, and so he knew the sun was at a hateful zenith, watching him with an unflinching eye as it awaited his death.

He knew he was not far from that dark kingdom, for only his will kept him moving despite his wounds. None of them were mortal, but he was scored by a dozen of them, the blood long since dried to black crust. His scaled armor was rent and hung from his massive frame, the bronze and horn scales rattling as he moved, the metal searing to the touch. His sandals were coming loose, the ties trailing behind his footsteps to leave traces in the sand of their own. In his right hand he clutched his notched and twisted sword, and in his left hand was his bronze-headed axe, the head still clotted with hair and pieces of bone.

His lips were cracked with thirst, and he resisted the urge to lick them, for his tongue was swollen and dry, with no ease to give. Instead he bit the strips of peeling skin for the pain it gave, and the drams of energy he could take from each small sting. Carrion birds circled over him, sure of meat soon to come, and he cursed them in his mind. The circling shadows would soon bring his pursuers upon him, and then he would have to turn at bay and face them.

He heard them, then, the chariot wheels rattling over the stony desert pan, and he lurched toward a great rock, twice as tall as he was. He put his back against the burning hot stone and lowered his head so that his heavy brows gave his eyes some shade from the noontide sun. He saw the hunters coming through the shimmer of heat, and he wished he could spit upon the ground.

Three chariots appeared over the ridge, and he heard the drivers’ whips crack as they drove their weary horses onward. This land was not gentle to either man or beast, and he knew only the fear of exhausting their beasts had allowed him to outpace his pursuers for so long. He saw the glint of sun on bronze helms and spearpoints, and he saw the skirmishers jump from the backs of the chariots as the drivers moved in and turned to circle him. Behind each driver an archer stood, ready to loose arrows if he was not brought down.

Kardan breathed harder through his teeth, clenching his jaw and letting rage boil sluggishly through his veins. He did not have much strength left, but he would spend it to buy the blood of his enemies. He lifted his battered sword and axe and watched the three skirmishers close in. They carried their little crescent shields and each one had a fistful of javelins, and he knew if he let them they would set barbs in his flesh to make him easy prey for the archers. They moved into range, hefting their long darts, watching him. He had killed six men already this day – they would not take him lightly.

The first of them hurled his javelin, and Kardan leaped aside and then lunged forward. The men shouted and reeled back, seeking to get away from him, but he was still quick as a hungering lion. He caught the first man and his axe lashed out and chopped into his knee, brought him screaming to the ground. Javelins hissed past him and then he brought his sword down and cleaved the man’s skull.

When he wrenched his sword loose, the tortured iron blade bent even more as it stuck fast in the bone. Kardan let it go and snatched up a fallen javelin. He turned just as another missile smote upon his armor and staggered him, though it did not pierce the hard horn scale. Another javelin flew close enough that he felt the wind on his ear, and then he drew back his arm and returned the favor, hurling the weapon with all his massive strength.

The dart flew truly and he heard the man’s death scream as the point punched through his linen corselet and rooted in his chest. An arrow slashed by him and he snarled, grabbed another javelin and kept moving. The world swam before him, his vision going blurry and dark. He fought against the limits of his exhaustion, staggered as the rocky earth turned underfoot.

An arrow punched into his thigh and he grunted, almost fell. The last skirmisher had fallen back while the chariots circled closer. Another arrow came for him and he ducked away, the pain in his leg searing like hot iron. The head had pierced through and he snapped it off and ripped the shaft loose, threw it away furiously. Blood ran down his leg, sluggish and heavy. It was not only his mouth that was dry.

He drew back his arm and threw the javelin, but not at the armored archer or the charioteer, but at one of the horses. The dart slammed through one of those noble skulls and the beast went down, screaming, and it dragged the other animal with it. The chariot slewed aside and almost overturned, hurling the archer from his perch to roll in the dust.

Kardan closed in with all the speed he could muster, limping with blood leaving a trail in the sand behind him. The archer tried to rise and he met the bronze helm with a stroke of his axe, crushing metal and bone, splattering blood on the rocks. The driver cried out and turned to run, even as the other two chariots swirled in for a final kill. Arrows hummed in the bright, dead air, and he saw the shadows of the vultures on the scorched earth.

He heard the charioteer cry out, and then he saw the dark streaks of arrows as he was cut down. The other chariots veered and the horses screamed as the drivers and archers went down beneath a flight of shafts that scythed across them. He saw the last one ride past him, the archer dragging behind it, leaving a trail of blood on the rocks.

Kardan heard horses, and his vision dimmed. He tried to stand upright, but his strength was ending, and he sank down to his knees. His wounds ached, the blood running down his leg was slow and heavy, feeling cool under the burning sun, and then he knew he was finished.

Riders surrounded him, and when he squinted up at them all he saw was dark robes and painted faces. He heard voices speaking one of the desert tongues, and everything seemed to draw farther away, as though he were being pulled down into the earth itself. He felt hands on him as he collapsed, and then he knew nothing more.

o0o

When he woke, it was dark, and he felt cool and eased of his pain. For a moment he was certain he had reached the lands of the dead, but then he felt the pain of barely-healed wounds and he knew he had not yet left his body behind. He sat up, finding himself cleaned and naked save for some dressings on his thigh where the arrow had pierced him. The other wounds had all but closed, and he wondered how long he had been senseless.

Moonlight filtered through a wide window, and silken curtains blew in the soft night breeze. He was on a wide, low bed beneath a white canopy. The air in the chamber smelled sweet, and the white walls were inlaid with little tiles of glass like jewels that made patterns and shapes on the stone. There were no lanterns, and the only light came from the moon shining blue through the windows, bearing the scent of flowers.

He stood, testing his leg, feeling his face, the stubble of a beard freshly shaved from his cheeks. He was clean and whole, felt only a little weak. There was an ewer of clear water on a small pedestal beside the bed, and he took it up and drank from it thirstily, careful not to swallow too much at once. He was hungry as well, but he saw no food. He did not know where he was, nor how long he had been here. Someone can taken great pains to keep him alive. The riders he could only dimly recall had carried him somewhere, and now it remained to be seen if he was prisoner or guest.

Something shifted in the dark close to him, hidden in the shadows away from the moonlight, and he stilled in place, turned slowly to peer into the blackness. He saw something glitter that might have been eyes, but he could not be certain.

“Are you hungry?” came a low but very female voice. His skin tingled when he heard it, as though it touched him.

“I am very hungry,” he said. “Will you tell me who you are, and where I am?”

“You are in the great city of Shendim, jewel of the Kingdom of Meru, and I am Malika, Queen of Meru.” Again he heard something move there in the shadows – something larger than a woman. Kardan was a son of the Hatta, and his race had been warriors for a thousand years. He showed no fear, but he held himself ready.

“I had not thought to find myself in the presence of a queen,” he said. He made no move to cover himself, for if she had wished him clothed, she would have left him clothing. “I thank you for my life, as it was almost ended.”

“Indeed,” she said. “Tell me how you came to be alone and hunted in the wastes. What brought you into Meru?” Again he saw the slight glimmer of what might have been eyes, green like mountain glass. “Sit, and eat, and tell me the tale.”

Servants entered, slaves with their eyes cast down and fear printed upon every line of their bodies. They brought him a robe and a chair, and they set before him a small table and trays laden with bread and fruits, roasted meats and cold wine. Grateful, he seated himself and forced himself to eat and drink slowly, for his stomach had been empty for many days, and he would become sick if he ate too much too quickly.

“I am Kardan,” he said. “I was a slave-warrior of the Uru of Kadesh. I was born in bondage and raised to be a warrior for the Hatta. I have no lineage, and I do not know my ancestry. I was chosen because I was a large boy, and then, when I was cast into the proving pit to fight five others for food, I killed all of them and drank their blood. As a young warrior I was sold to the King of High Ashem, and I served with great loyalty. I was so mighty that I was chosen to guard the King’s son when he went forth to hunt lions before midsummer. I rode in the prince’s chariot, and I was to guard him from all danger.”

“And did you?” the queen asked him, her voice almost a murmur.

“He wounded a lion, and then he leaped from the chariot and followed it into the thorns. He was quicker than I, and though I let the thorns tear my flesh, I could not keep pace with him. The lion turned on him, and rent him apart. I fell upon it and cut out its heart, but the deed was done.” Kardan drank wine, remembering.

“So you had failed, and the king would punish you,” the queen said from her shadow.

“That I would have borne,” he said. “It would have been his right to have me slain in answer for his son, but in his rage he condemned me to a death I did not deserve.” Kardan’s fists clenched at the memory. “He condemned me to being skinned alive, and I would not be accorded a warrior’s burial, but rather be cut into pieces and cast into the desert for the jackals to gnaw. I was imprisoned to await this fate, and while there I learned that he had planned the death of his son in order that he might put aside the boy’s mother and take a new wife. My fury knew no limits when I was told this, and I resolved myself to escape.”

He looked into the dark where the unseen lady watched him. “I broke free of my cell, snapped the spine of my jailer, and escaped into the desert. For seven days they hunted me and I slew a score of those who pursued me before exhaustion and thirst laid me low. I thank you for saving my life.”

“And would you be revenged upon the king of Ashem? Would you wash your sword in his blood and wear his skin as a robe?” The queen’s voice was almost heavy with eagerness as she spoke.

“I would. I would have my vengeance on him, and burn his city to ashes if I could but kindle it all with a single fire.” He felt the rage inside him again, a boiling at the back of his mouth, where he would spit forth words that would kill and mutilate those who stood against him.

“I will help you encompass that revenge,” the queen said. “If you are strong enough and have the courage it shall require. I shall set you upon that path.”

“I fear nothing,” Kardan said. “Neither evil nor death will prevent me.”

“Then look upon me, and I will know if you speak the truth.” A light glowed there in the shadows, and he saw the flame of a lamp spring up, the wick glowing as it burned bright on the feast of the oil it lay in. By the light he saw the queen there in all her hidden glory.

He saw her white-skinned and pale, her face beautiful beyond any he had ever seen, her eyes all dark with no white or color in them. Her hair was a mane of glossy black like obsidian, and her neck and arms were decked with jewels and rings of silver and gold. Her uncovered breasts stood forth upright and flawless, and he felt himself stir at the sight. He stood and went to meet her, his heart beating quick inside him.

Below her hips her body transformed, and he saw rather than legs she had the long, heavy body of a serpent, the white scales flecked with glimmers of color like pearls, the edges dark like blades. She was not seated upon a throne, but rather she was coiled upon herself, the loops of her body moving with a smooth, muscular grace. He saw her tail-tip flick-flick as she slid forward and rose up until she was as tall as he.

He smelled her, the spiced scent of flowers and incense, and he found her no less beautiful seeing her whole and entire. She smiled and he saw her sharp teeth. “Do you still feel courage, warrior? Do you still say nothing shall prevent you? Nothing shall turn you aside?”

Kardan moved closer to her, and he took her hand and pressed his lips to her wrist, her knuckles, her palm. He heard her gasp, and then he gave way to boldness and kissed up her arm to her shoulder, her neck, and then she turned and met his mouth with her own. Her scales ground upon the stone as she shifted forward and looped her body around him, her strength cold and unyielding.

“You are bold,” she hissed against his mouth. “And you have the courage I require. Yes, I will take you into my service.”

“And how may I serve you?” he said, feeling her all around him.

“I too wish to avenge myself,” she whispered to him, and he felt her tongue flicker on the skin of his throat. “And you shall help me accomplish that.” She laughed a little. “But for now, you will serve me in another way.” She pulled the robe from him, and he felt her scales sliding against his own nakedness. “Embrace me, warrior, if you do not fear to.”

“I do not,” he said. He pulled her close, touching her smooth skin, feeling her strength. “I do not fear to embrace you. I will entwine in your coils, and I will feel the jewels of your skin, queen of night.”

o0o

He woke in the morning, light slanting in through the windows, and he felt as if he had slumbered for a hundred years. The bed was rumpled and the silken sheets tangled around his legs, but he saw no sign of the queen. For a moment he wondered if he had imagined it all, but then he saw a woman watching him from the shadows. She was dusky-skinned and had dark paint around her eyes, marks in some arcane tongue marked or tattooed on her arms. She smiled at him when she saw he was awake, and her smile was like the grin of a hyena.

She beckoned him. “Come. Malika says you are brave, let us see the truth of it.”

He stood, naked once more, and as she offered him nothing, he took a scrap of silk from the bedclothes and tied it around his loins. His wounds no longer bothered him, and even the arrow-mark was little more than a fading scar. He wondered at what power could heal him so quickly, but he could not even say how long he had been here. This place seemed like it had been cut away from the world, and days and nights did not follow one upon the other. Perhaps he had slept for a century in truth.

The dark girl beckoned again and he followed her, walking through the nighted passageways of this palace. Even as the sun shone through the windows, the halls seemed dark, as though they were gripped by a night that would never end. He smelled sweet incense and delicate flowers, and beneath it all a trace of blood, the welcome copper scent of war.

She led him to a wide terrace, and he squinted into the sun as it sank behind the far hills. The sky was the color of bronze and then he watched as azure crept in from the distance, and the stars shone down over all. The moon was already in the sky, a filling crescent red as a sickle upon an altar of sacrifice. The terrace became a wide stair, and the steps led down to the waters of a pool thick with lilies and edged with crimson flowers. Red birds stalked the shallows on long legs, and iridescent flies darted in the still air.

Kardan looked for the girl, but she was gone, vanished into the lengthening shadows. He felt a cold wind, and when he looked again something dark was there, close to him. He watched as a shadow became a blackness and then took on a solid form. He saw a man fully a head taller than he, pale-faced and with eyes that seemed to burn. He bore in his left hand a red stone the size of a heart that glowed and pulsed as though alive, and he remembered whispers out of dark legend and felt a trickle of fear in his belly.

“Would you be mightier than a mortal man, that armies tremble at your name?” the figure said, his voice like iron blades.

“And am I not?” Kardan said, half-smiling. “Why do you seek me? Why offer me power when you do not know my will?”

“I know your hatred,” the figure said. “I will trust that more than gold.” He stretched forth the jewel, and red light shone out into the pool and beyond to where the sun set. “Prevail if you can, son of the Hatta. Take the power you will need to tear down a king. Fail and you will be devoured, and no one shall remember you.”

A mist gathered at the far end of the pool, so that the waters seemed to vanish into endless distances, and he heard something roar as though far away. The still pool suddenly surged with waves as something moved in the dark waters. Kardan looked at the tall man, but he simply vanished as though he were black ink poured into water, and he was alone.

Something was coming, and as the sky darkened he saw the mist begin to glow, and the waves lashed at the steps. Weaponless, he faced the unseen and bared his teeth. If they intended him to die, he would disappoint them.

A dark wave lifted the surface of the pool and the hunting birds took to the air, screaming. Water washed over Kardan’s feet, and he waded in, feeling his strength in his arms and in his back. He had killed men with his bare hands before, he would kill again.

The voice of the sorcerer came from above him, and he glanced back to see the shadow there upon a balcony, watching him. “Behold N’rash the Devourer. See the power of he who was old before man spoke or walked upright, before the stars were named. Make his power your own, warrior, or else be unmade.”

Something bellowed, and Kardan turned to see a vast shape emerge from the mist. This was no man, no mortal form. It was a crocodile, ghostly as though it were made from mist, glowing like the moon and so huge it could have encompassed a chariot in its great jaws. He saw its eyes blaze like old stars, and then it rushed forward, mouth wide and sweeping for him with dagger teeth.

Kardan roared his war-cry and leaped to meet it, closing his hands on the yawning jaws and straining to hold them back as the beast’s immense body drove it forward. It lifted him in the air and bore him back, smashed him against a pillar so that he broke it with his body. He lost his grip and fell, then he sprang up and evaded a slashing snap of teeth before he leaped in and hammered blows of his fists upon the scaled, unearthly flesh.

It roared and thrashed, hurling him aside, and then it came for him again. Kardan struggled to his feet and caught up a broken shard of stone in one hand. The ghostly beast rushed him and clamped its jaws on his body, trapping his legs. He felt the phantom teeth bite, but they drew no blood. They branded him with pain but did not pierce his skin.

It heaved him up in the air, and he roared and clutched it with one hand while he stabbed down with the sharp splinter of stone. The blade seared the pale armor of the demon’s hide, drawing for blood like black smoke. It lashed him side to side, battering him against the columns until they snapped, dashing him against the ground. He felt his flesh part and tear, felt blood pour down and it blinded him, covering his face like a mask.

He stabbed until the stone blade was broken, and then he could see nothing, could feel nothing but pain, could do nothing but batter at the thing conjured forth out of dark ages before the mind of man, a thing that was hungry before there were gods. It worked him in its mouth and he felt it drawing him, down, teeth sinking into his muscles and bones. It was devouring him, and he could not stop it.

Desperate, he twisted, and he pulled himself into the hulking body, pulled himself into a cold void inside of it. He could see nothing, but he felt heat, and he reached for it, clenched his hands around something that writhed in his grasp, and he screamed through his own blood as he tore it loose and crushed it.

Then the waters closed over him, and he felt new strength surge through him. His body was no longer constrained by pain, and he pushed upward, broke the surface and felt the terrible strength in his arms, the armor that enclosed him, the sweep of his tail behind him as he climbed the steps and stood upright, opening his jaws to bellow into the dark.

He stood as a shape out of endless night, scaled with armor, his arms heavy and clawed, his head elongated and massive, hunched between his shoulders. Upright, he was twice as tall as he had been, and he felt a heart beating inside him that rang like an iron bell.

“Now you are one,” the sorcerer said from his darkness. “The power of N’Rash given form in earthly flesh for the first time in endless ages. Now you have the strength of armies, and you will be a hammer of my wrath, and of your own.”

Kardan looked up to the star-washed sky and felt the strength in him like a fire. He tore up the stone beneath his hands and roared into the undying dark, and he could not have said whether it was a cry of triumph, or of despair. He was no longer human, and now lashed to the form of something ancient and terrible, he felt the weight of the price he had paid for the vengeance he hungered for. He roared again to the face of the moon, and the moon did not answer.