Hardt opened his mouth, an argument maybe. He didn't give it voice.
"You've met the Emperor. You've had that pleasure?" I waited for Hardt to nod. "He won't let me go. He'll chase me. I will not give him the chance." I turned back towards the stairs. "Aras Terrelan dies today."
Chapter 29
Evidence of my curse streaked the halls of the Red Cells. Blood mostly, a severed limb or two, dropped weapons the evidence of swift and fruitless battle. No bodies. Not a single member of the Grave Watch survived my curse. But it spread farther than just the dungeon. We found the door leading outside hanging open. It was gouged as though from nails biting into it, and slick with blood. Outside, the true impact of my curse was revealed. The chaos had spread beyond my intentions. Far beyond them.
It was night, and I was glad of the darkness. I'm not sure how I would have reacted to the light of day after so long underground. Things had changed since my time in the Pit. I no longer saw the sky as freedom, and I felt more at home in the dark. Lursa was dominant, her cracked, red bulk glaring down at us all. The air split with screams, sounds of battle, a fire raging somewhere close by, smoke billowed up into the night sky.
"What did you do?" Hardt asked. He had found a body. The hands and mouth were bloody, an odd decaying rot already starting to show, veins turned black and standing out proud along the arms and neck. Signs of my curse. The head was split open.
You made them fear us. Ssserakis wasn't wrong. I could taste the fear on the air along with the ash. It was intoxicating.
"I… uh… don't really know. Just stay close to me. Behind me. And not too close." Ssserakis stretched out my wings to their full span for the first time and even I marvelled at their size. They weighed nothing, made from my own shadow, yet they dwarfed me somehow. Thick and jagged. More like the legs of winged spider than any bird I had ever seen, jagged talons along the length of each one. They crouched around me, ready to protect as quickly as attack. I needed them. With only one arm and no magic save for the Necromancy that was already wreaking havoc, I would have felt quite vulnerable if not for my wings.
A soldier wearing a bloodied Terrelan uniform ran past, not even sparing two escaped prisoners a glance. Two other soldiers chased him, snarling and bloody. One of the chasers slowed to a stop and stared at me. Dead eyes. There was something approaching intelligence in them but locked behind the orders I had given. I didn't recognise the man, but he was wearing the colours of the Grave Watch. He took a lurching step towards me and his mouth twitched.
"Release… me." Blood and saliva and bits of flesh fell from his mouth as his spoke, his voice guttural and barely terran anymore.
Never! Ours to control. A spreading curse converting all to our cause. I never even considered such a thing. I could hear the approval in Ssserakis' voice. It should have made me sick, but my rage would not allow any compassion. Not towards these people. Months of torture had beaten the compassion out of me.
"You have your orders. Go."
The cursed man twitched, fighting against my will. He lost. His body, the curse already clearly standing out in his veins, turned and ran off, looking for more victims.
I heard Hardt shift behind me, but he said nothing. That should have given me pause. Revealed to me how broken Hardt was, that even he would not argue at the massacre taking place on my orders.
We moved towards the palace, skirting the edges of buildings. Other soldiers passed us, some under the influence of my curse, and fewer of them still alive. One man veered away, screaming about the Corpse Queen having escaped. We could see the fires now, a large section of the city seemed to be on fire, the flames spreading, building to building, in the chaos.
"The gate…" Hardt pointed to the where the palace gates were open. Beyond them were fires and screams and my curse running amok, multiplying with each death. How far would it spread? I never considered the extent. Juntorrow paid a heavy price for my single callous act. Above the gate, a wooden post sat, an arm made of stone nailed to it.
They deserve the pain and fear. I did not agree, but in that moment, I could not find it within myself to care. The people of Juntorrow had begged for my corpse. They hated me. Assaulted me. And now they would die because of me.
I am not proud of the decisions I made that day. But I cannot change the past. I was broken and not thinking clearly. These are not excuses. Nothing can ever excuse what I did. Nothing. I offer the words as explanation only.
We rounded a building and the palace steps came into view. The great doors were closed, dozens of my Cursed hammering in an attempt to break it down. Bodies littered the courtyard in front of the steps, some broken things, others charred beyond recognition. From the highest balcony, a man watched the carnage below, flanked by guards and Sourcerers both. Emperor Aras Terrelan. He saw me then and it was obvious he recognised me. I could not hear his voice, but I saw him pointing and I was easy to recognise. A small woman with a savage snarl and one arm, great black wings curling protectively around me.
More of my Cursed lurched into view, they barrelled towards the others, hopelessly assaulting the palace doors. It would take more than a few dozen dead beating their fists upon that metal barrier to break through.
"Watch out!" Hardt's cry was too late as a bolt of lightning ripped through the air toward me. Ssserakis shifted my wings to protect me and I felt the pain of my horror as the energy burned our shadow. The Sourcerer was an Arcmancer, and stood at the entrance to a large building, not part of the palace. Some of my Cursed lay at his feet, smoking ruins that had once been men.
"Don't protect me." My words were meant for Ssserakis, but Hardt took a step back all the same.
Are you sure, Eskara? You have no Sources.
I shrugged and my wings furled behind me. I placed the lantern I was carrying on the ground and stepped past it, holding up my right hand and giving the gesture to the Sourcerer to try again. He was an ageing man, grey of hair and a face just starting to droop from his long years. He wasted no time and let loose another blast of lightning toward me. I didn't try to avoid it.
Memories flooded me, or more the impression of memories. I had a feeling I knew the Sourcerer though it was nothing specific. It was not like Tutor Elsteth's Arcstorm; I recognised it as hers' because I knew her. This man was alien to me. But I felt suddenly as I had known him all my life. His emotions, his memories, all a jumble. And then gone.
I felt the Arcstorm roar into life inside me once more. My eyes flashed, the storm inside and raging. I was breathing heavily as I came around. Still night, still in the courtyard before the palace. Energy crackled around me, tiny bolts of lightning sparking between the talons of my wings. I looked up at the Sourcerer and grinned, savage and feral, and full of malice.
"Thank you. I needed that," I said.
Now?
I nodded. "Now." I leapt and with a single beat of my wings, I flew towards the Sourcerer. He let loose two more bolts of lightning and I felt him once more. I saw him as a young man, proud of his magic, and then a flash of him cradling a child, face ashen and still. There was no context to the memories. No idea what they truly meant to him, and why. Each blast of energy hit me, and I absorbed it, the storm inside raging ever stronger and more violently. I slammed into the man, carrying him back inside the barracks. My wings crashed through the bricks, scattering stone around us, and the talons stabbed into the man's chest and abdomen. He was already dead by the time I slammed him against the far wall and when I withdrew my wings, his body slid down to sitting, a large blood smear behind him, more of the stuff leaking out through his wounds.