the
Temple, he fought on the beaches, in the mud, cutting down enemies, washing his
hands and soul with blood, learning of the madness of war, the madness of the
woman he loved . . . the woman he had to spurn.
Korvin opened his eyes and looked at Amity again, and that same fear
clutched his old warrior's heart.
Clerics began climbing the stairs toward the dais, interrupting his
thoughts. They wore crimson robes fringed with gemstones, and they held staffs
carved from ancient reptile bones dug from underground. Bronze masks hid their
faces, shaped as horned demons. Around their necks hung amulets shaped as hands
with four fingers, the index finger nearly twice the length of the others—sigil
of Adon, the Sky God. Each cleric had cut off a finger from his own hand, an
attempt to grow closer to his god.
As the Adonite clerics stepped onto the dais, Amity knelt before them.
For a moment, Korvin stood stiffly; he worshipped no god but the Draco
constellation, the stars of Requiem.
Amity turned her head and glared at him. She gestured with her eyes: Kneel!
With a grumble, Korvin bent the knee, though he thought only of his
stars, bringing their light into his mind as the clerics approached.
One of the clerics stepped toward Amity. He wore a crimson mask shaped like
a lurid face, eyes large, jaw unhinged, tongue dangling. The mask's horns
curled, and the symbol of Adon, a four fingered hand, was painted onto the
brow. The cleric's own hands, their little fingers removed, held a crown molded
of finger bones worked together with golden wires. The cleric came to stand
behind Amity, holding the crown above her head.
"Hear me, Amity of Leonis!" he called out. "Five thousand
years ago, the wise Adon, Warrior of the Sky, rode his flaming chariot into a
desert, a land of rock and thirst and pain. When he pressed his holy hand
against the mountains, rivers gushed forth, and the grasslands grew, and trees
gave forth fruit. With his holy hand, he shaped the wet dirt, and he formed men
and women to toil in the fields. Adon himself blessed the first king and queen
with his holy hand. Now a new queen rises! Now a crown of cleric finger bones
will bless you as Adon blessed our forebears." He began to lower the
crown. "I bless you, Amity of Leonis, and by the glory of Adon, I name you
Queen of—"
"Queen of Filth!" rose a shout from the crowd. "Queen of
Whores! Queen of Reptiles!"
The cleric hissed and stepped back. Amity growled. Korvin stared into the
crowd, and his throat tightened, and he grabbed the hilt of his sword and drew
a foot of steel.
A man came walking through the crowd toward the stage. People stepped
back before him, forming a path, bowing their heads. He was easily the largest
man Korvin had ever seen. The brute towered over the rest of the crowd, over
seven feet tall. His muscles bulged and rippled. He wore nothing but a
loincloth, and he carried a mace and a round shield. A scar crawled up his
cheek, through one empty eye socket, and across his bald head, the groove a
deep canyon.
Korvin was a large man, but looking at this beast, he felt as small and
frail as a stooped elder. Still he forced himself to step forward, and he
shouted down from the stage, "Who are you to challenge your queen?"
The
brute below laughed. Several griffins walked behind the giant, wings folded
against their flanks, and on their backs rode warriors with shaved heads, bare
chests, and round shields. All the men's shields, Korvin noticed, sported a red
fist.
Amity
cursed under her breath. "Shafel," she muttered, then raised her
voice to a shout. "Shafel, leave this place! Your master is dead. Serve me
or die too."
Korvin
sneered. Shafel. He had heard that name before. Back in the war years ago,
legends had spoken of a giant among the troops, a beast who snapped spines in
his great hands, who cracked skulls and feasted on the innards, who stood twice
the height of most men, whose skin was thick as armor. They had said that
Shafel was only a
Temple, he fought on the beaches, in the mud, cutting down enemies, washing his
hands and soul with blood, learning of the madness of war, the madness of the
woman he loved . . . the woman he had to spurn.
Korvin opened his eyes and looked at Amity again, and that same fear
clutched his old warrior's heart.
Clerics began climbing the stairs toward the dais, interrupting his
thoughts. They wore crimson robes fringed with gemstones, and they held staffs
carved from ancient reptile bones dug from underground. Bronze masks hid their
faces, shaped as horned demons. Around their necks hung amulets shaped as hands
with four fingers, the index finger nearly twice the length of the others—sigil
of Adon, the Sky God. Each cleric had cut off a finger from his own hand, an
attempt to grow closer to his god.
As the Adonite clerics stepped onto the dais, Amity knelt before them.
For a moment, Korvin stood stiffly; he worshipped no god but the Draco
constellation, the stars of Requiem.
Amity turned her head and glared at him. She gestured with her eyes: Kneel!
With a grumble, Korvin bent the knee, though he thought only of his
stars, bringing their light into his mind as the clerics approached.
One of the clerics stepped toward Amity. He wore a crimson mask shaped like
a lurid face, eyes large, jaw unhinged, tongue dangling. The mask's horns
curled, and the symbol of Adon, a four fingered hand, was painted onto the
brow. The cleric's own hands, their little fingers removed, held a crown molded
of finger bones worked together with golden wires. The cleric came to stand
behind Amity, holding the crown above her head.
"Hear me, Amity of Leonis!" he called out. "Five thousand
years ago, the wise Adon, Warrior of the Sky, rode his flaming chariot into a
desert, a land of rock and thirst and pain. When he pressed his holy hand
against the mountains, rivers gushed forth, and the grasslands grew, and trees
gave forth fruit. With his holy hand, he shaped the wet dirt, and he formed men
and women to toil in the fields. Adon himself blessed the first king and queen
with his holy hand. Now a new queen rises! Now a crown of cleric finger bones
will bless you as Adon blessed our forebears." He began to lower the
crown. "I bless you, Amity of Leonis, and by the glory of Adon, I name you
Queen of—"
"Queen of Filth!" rose a shout from the crowd. "Queen of
Whores! Queen of Reptiles!"
The cleric hissed and stepped back. Amity growled. Korvin stared into the
crowd, and his throat tightened, and he grabbed the hilt of his sword and drew
a foot of steel.
A man came walking through the crowd toward the stage. People stepped
back before him, forming a path, bowing their heads. He was easily the largest
man Korvin had ever seen. The brute towered over the rest of the crowd, over
seven feet tall. His muscles bulged and rippled. He wore nothing but a
loincloth, and he carried a mace and a round shield. A scar crawled up his
cheek, through one empty eye socket, and across his bald head, the groove a
deep canyon.
Korvin was a large man, but looking at this beast, he felt as small and
frail as a stooped elder. Still he forced himself to step forward, and he
shouted down from the stage, "Who are you to challenge your queen?"
The
brute below laughed. Several griffins walked behind the giant, wings folded
against their flanks, and on their backs rode warriors with shaved heads, bare
chests, and round shields. All the men's shields, Korvin noticed, sported a red
fist.
Amity
cursed under her breath. "Shafel," she muttered, then raised her
voice to a shout. "Shafel, leave this place! Your master is dead. Serve me
or die too."
Korvin
sneered. Shafel. He had heard that name before. Back in the war years ago,
legends had spoken of a giant among the troops, a beast who snapped spines in
his great hands, who cracked skulls and feasted on the innards, who stood twice
the height of most men, whose skin was thick as armor. They had said that
Shafel was only a
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