The Birth of Vengeance by Slawomir Rapala	Table of Contents Chapter 2 Chapter 4, part 1; part 2 Chapter 5 appear in this issue.
Chapter 3: The King’s Men

A young man scrambled clumsily up the winding steps to the second floor of the temple. He was dressed in a long black cloak with its hood drawn back to reveal a pale and frightened face. Chased by the loud and coarse voices of soldiers who moments ago swarmed into Sonya’s sacred sanctuary, he turned around frequently to see whether they were following him.

The mercenaries’ steel armor and heavy, booted feet echoed loudly against the stone walls. Their drunken shouts sounded throughout as they ushered the frightened acolytes to the centre of the temple. Others gave chase after the temple whores who were only now emerging from the drug-induced trance into which they were led whenever a ritual orgy was to take place.

The girls threw up their arms and fled with frantic shrieks from the steel-bound arms of the ruthless mercenaries, but the soldiers caught them easily and swung their naked bodies over their shoulders. Exchanging vulgar jokes, they carried them back toward the middle of the temple, where everyone else was being gathered.

Other soldiers busied themselves desecrating the temple décor, the priceless items used in sacred rituals. Amidst the cries of protesting acolytes, stained-glass windows were broken and ancient murals smeared with soil.

The young acolyte managed to climb the last of the steps and burst through the door of his master’s chambers.

“Master Drohen!” he called forth, seeing that the cell was empty. “Master!”

“What is it, Erbert?” the priest emerged from the other room, wiping water away from his face with a towel. He had washed off the white paint which he dressed his features in during each ritual and now appeared like a common man, not the demon-priest the acolytes were used to.

“You know better than to burst into my chambers like this!” he added with scorn, displeased that the student saw him without the ritualistic facial paint.

“Soldiers...!” the young acolyte uttered, his breath short and broken. “In the temple!”

Drohen’s features tightened and a slight crease surfaced on his forehead. He threw the towel down to the bed and walked steadily to the door, passing the frightened acolyte. From the top of the stairs he glanced down to the floor of the temple. Perhaps two dozen mercenaries were running amok in Sonya’s sanctuary, laughing and cursing. They sipped wine from large jugs as they knocked over sacred items, methodically devastating the temple’s interior.

As Drohen watched, the soldiers’ booted feet treaded over holy signs that the acolytes had spent years carefully laying out using grains of sand. His students and the temple whores were gathered in the centre of the great building. They watched the heavily armed soldiers in stunned silence now, unable to move for fear of the blades that hung loose at the mercenaries’ belts.

Anger quickly built up inside Drohen at the sight of this atrocity.

“By what right?!” his voice sounded high over the heads of those gathered below. Distorted by the high walls it rolled through the temple like thunder. The acolytes and the whores shivered, sensing the power behind the priest’s words. Even the mercenaries stopped their looting and turned their heads up.

“This is Sonya’s sacred sanctuary and your soiled feet are unwelcome here!”

Silence followed during which nothing stirred. Drohen’s eyes threw lightening bolts down to the heads of the soldiers.

Erbert peered from behind his master’s shoulder, feeling a surge of confidence racing through his body. Yes, his master would deal with these primitive brutes as they deserved. Was he not a powerful wielder of the dark arts? Was he not Sonya’s favorite servant? Was he not of the Serpent Order?

In the silence that followed, the temple doors suddenly swung open and another warrior entered. He halted a few paces into the building and folded his arms across his chest. His frame was long and clad in an armor similar to that of his comrades. Cruelty peered from his stern stare when he glared up at the small figure of the priest standing atop the steps.

“By what right, you ask?” he demanded.

“Yes, by what right do you barge in here, tread on sacred ground and treat my students like mere beast-kind?” Drohen’s attempt to color his voice with authority fell too short and even he knew it. In his mind he cursed his lowly beginnings that disallowed him from yet learning the secret of using his voice to bend the will of fellow men.

The mercenary’s hand reached for a piece of parchment wedged carelessly between his shirt and armor. He broke the seal and brought the letter to his eyes. A nearby soldier handed him a torch and in its light, the warrior read aloud:

“By the order of our King, the most merciful and noble ruler of the Kingdom of Bandikoy and its outlying provinces, the temple of Sonya is to be destroyed, its leader, a mage going by the name of Drohen, to be banished, and his followers to be dispersed...”

“You can read the rest yourself,” the warrior threw the parchment down to the ground before the eyes of the frightened acolytes. Drohen, too, shuddered and was left speechless for a moment. He quickly gathered his wits and demanded: “For what reason?”

“You should know best how you offended your King,” the mercenary shrugged. “My duty is not to question his orders but to follow them.”

He turned to his soldiers and barked: “Do what your King asks of you!”

The men broke into laughter, amused by their Captain’s mocking words. Again they raised the jugs of wine to their lips and returned to devastating the temple’s interior. They kicked things out of their way, turned over long benches, all the time cursing and laughing. Someone broke a jug against Sonya’s black altar.

Drohen gripped the rail against which he leaned his small frame and shrieked, as if overcome by sudden pain. “You can’t do this!” his voice was desperate.

The young Captain scowled. “Do not presume to tell me what I can or cannot do, priest!” he barked. He motioned with his head and two soldiers quickly climbed the steps to clutch the priest. Erbert shrank back at the sight of this and retreated into the shadows of his master’s chambers.

“C’mon, priest!” the soldiers’ breaths carried the stench of wine. Drohen struggled to break free, but his meager frame was no match for the strength of two professional warriors. They easily dragged him down the steps before the eyes of his baffled and frightened acolytes and threw him down to his knees before their Captain. Was this their powerful master, the acolytes glanced at one another bewildered? How could it be that a group of brutes could command him at will, a priest of Sonya?

The Captain of the mercenaries caught some of their fearful gazes and smiled. He clutched the priest’s by the hair and twisted his head to look at the group.

“Look, priest!” he growled. “Your students are losing faith!”

“The power of Sonya will destroy you!” Drohen tried frantically to break free from the powerful grip, but the Captain held him tight.

“Sonya, hah!” the mercenary scoffed. He looked over the damage already done by his soldiers. “Take a look, priest! Your temple is destroyed and your priesthood finished! Be thankful that the King is merciful and punishes you only with banishment for your foul words! Myself, I would not be content with anything less than death!”

He released the priest and pushed him to the ground. Rage built up inside the young Captain and it was further fueled by the many jugs of wine that he had shared with his comrades prior to raiding the temple.

The Captain threw a dark glare at the acolytes and the few temple whores who cowered in the middle of the hall. A cruel smile curled his thin lips when a sudden thought occurred to him. “The King offers you banishment, but says nothing of your followers’ fate,” the Captain’s words were long and drawn out. The soldiers stopped their looting and turned to look at their leader with renewed interest.

“What do you reckon we should do?” one of them asked. He threw a lewd stare at the naked bodies of the temple whores. The women shrank back and hid behind the acolytes, whose faces suddenly darkened.

“Kill them,” the Captain replied matter-of-factly. Great cries rose to the ceiling as the acolytes turned to flee. They were quickly tackled by the soldiers and pinned to the floor. The women raised their arms to Sonya’s statue, as if asking for aid.

“And the whores?” another mercenary wiped the wine away from his bearded lips. His eyes already studied the shapely bodies of the poor women before him.

“Do as you please,” the Captain said without looking. “Just make sure they’re dead when you’re finished!”

He looked at the priest, who remained completely still on the temple floor. Drohen said nothing, but his tightly clenched teeth and his white-knuckled fists spoke volumes of what went on in his head. With his eyes he wished to offer assurance to his acolytes whose fate was sealed, but none looked back.

“And you, priest,” the Captain motioned for two soldiers to lift him off the floor, “You’ll have the privilege of watching your followers’ throats being slit, your women fouled, and your temple burnt to the ground!”

“You can’t do this,” Drohen’s voice faltered.

“Why not?” the Captain demanded.

“What have we done against you, for you to unleash such fury against us?”

“I’m following orders!”

“There is nothing of murder and rape written on that parchment!” Drohen raised his voice and locked his eyes with the Captain’s. The mercenary’s face flushed with anger. He quickly approached the priest and slapped him with an open hand. Then he clutched his chin and forced him to look into his eyes.

“How I interpret the King’s orders is entirely up to me, priest!” he hissed. “Do not tempt my patience for I will have you whipped and left naked on the desert!”

“Drunken fool!” the priest spat into his face.

The Captain’s heavy hand struck again and left another mark on the side of Drohen’s face. Blood filled the priest’s mouth and he lowered his head, realizing the futility of his resistance. Long black hair covered his face and the mercenary did not see the burning hatred in the priest’s fanatical eyes.

The Captain turned away from the priest and called for his second-in-command.

“Make sure he sees everything!” he said. “Everything, you understand?”

“Sure,” the mercenary shrugged.

“After it’s done, carry him forth to the city gates and throw him out on the plains.”

“Clothes, weapons?”

“Give him whatever he needs. The King is merciful!”

The mercenaries broke into laughter once more and closed in on the acolytes, their burning eyes betraying murderous instincts. The wine they drank numbed them to the pleas and the cries of the victims. Several of them dragged the temple whores away. Cries were soon heard from the other end of the temple and the men wetted their lips lewdly, eager to join in the play. Long blades appeared in their hands as they bent over the pale acolytes.

The Captain was no longer interested in what went on, having given his orders to the second-in-command. He turned to leave the temple, but a sudden cry stopped him.

“Mercenary!” it was Drohen who forced him to halt and turn around. The blades hanging over the acolytes’ necks halted as well.

“What do you want, priest?” the Captain asked, his voice betraying boredom.

“You know so much of me and my followers,” Drohen’s words dripped hatred. “And I know nothing of you.”

“So?”

“Tell me your name at least.”

“Why?”

“So I know whose name to offer Sonya in my prayers.”

The Captain looked over the priest and locked his eyes with his men. They all shared another vulgar chuckle.

“Sure, why not?” he shrugged. “My name is Aezubah. Give my best to your goddess!”

He threw his head back and laughed. Still laughing, he turned and headed out of the temple and into the dark streets of Oyan. Behind him, the blades in the mercenaries’ hands stirred once more. Again the cries of women rose from the dark corner of the temple.

Drohen grit his teeth and closed his eyes when the first of the blades drew a long red line around the gasping acolyte’s throat. But the second-in-command dug his fingers into the priest’s eyes and forced him to open them with a painful groan. The mercenary followed his Captain’s orders obediently.

Proceed to chapter 4...

Copyright © 2007 by Slawomir Rapala