Of Gods and Warriors ✓

Chapter 53

He was dying again.

Or rather, reliving death.

Reylan had used his ring on him numerous times before, sometimes when he'd failed to heed his command, other times-- for twisted fun. But the agony seizing his very soul now was beyond any pain he'd ever experienced.

His senses were on fire, every bone in his body aching as though mauled by a spiked mace, head about to burst open from an immense pressure that throbbed in his nerves, and oh, the never-healing arrow wound near his heart. An invisible, serrated blade thrust into it and with every twist, blood gushed, soaking his shirt and seeping through armour.

On hands and knees, leaving a trail of sorcery-corrupt blood in his wake, Pertheran crawled away from the avenue, away from the carts and possibly, out of sight of the cursed tower looming over them all like a malevolent phantom.

Yet at the back of his mind, the certainty of doom sat firm and unyielding like the glaciers of the northern mountains. He knew, from the moment he'd unlocked the Midaelian's cell, this would not end well for him. Sooner or later, he'd be apprehended for what his fellow undead would deem as a heinous crime-- treason.

Pertheran's mind was made, even as his vision blurred from the savage onslaught of pain. He would hide in the bushes for the rest of the day. A search would commence, no doubt, and by the time disarray churned up the castle in pursuit of the traitor, the old man would be well beyond these castle walls.

Cheek pressed against the dusty ground, he felt the wagons set into motion again, slowly wheeling away out of the main entrance, one by one. A slow smile crept across his face.

I have no regrets.

His pain rose, intensified to a new level he never knew existed. A thousand branding irons seared his skin, red-hot blades plunging into his arrow wound, and ice-cold chains twisted around his throat. An involuntary scream left his lungs, inhuman and alien to his own ears. All attempts to stay hidden falling away, Pertheran screamed and flailed.

Chains shot out of thin air and dragged him out of his hiding spot, through the back gardens and threw him across the avenue, at the shade of the sorceress's tower.

The ground was trembling beneath him again, but this time it was not the cart wheels, but scores of heavy boots moving in sync, rushing up to where he lay in a pool of blood, not too far from the wagons. Pertheran rolled onto his back, and found himself staring up a dozen, gleaming spears. Castle guards-- his fellow Vasaen folk, towered over him.

Yet over all their noises, thundered another pair of footsteps.

"Out of the way!" bellowed General Reylan's voice. The guards parted to either side as the man strode forward, blue-grey eyes ablaze. He seized his collar, yanking the young man to his feet, trembling in a silent rage.

The Royal Sorceress stood afar, arms crossed and expression stoney.

"What have you done?" he asked through gritted teeth.

Pertheran simply stared up at him, the pain becoming a distant roll of thunder he didn't pay heed to any more. The general and the sorceress knew he had committed an act of betrayal.

Yet they did not know what exactly it was.

"So sorcery has its limits after all, right General?"

Behind them, the carts were moving. Pertheran needed to buy time.

"What have you done?" Reylan's grip tightened, so much so he found it difficult to breathe.

"Why ask me? Doesn't that foul magic get more specific than just a reminder?" Pertheran laughed at the man's face even as he struggled to catch his breath-- the man who had denied him the swift release of death, used him as a weapon at times, and plaything the others, by inflicting pain, reminded him time and again to whom he owed this blessed second chance at life.