it. Knowledge is power. Knowledge shared is power lost. There must be a price. Pain is the cost. Now drink."
"No."
"Then die." The shadowed form glided away. "And the oathbreaker will die as well."
"Nooooooo!" Khrys flailed for the glass, clasped the goblet, and drowned the disgusting brew in a single gulp. The pains from before seemed sweet as new tortures coursed through his body. His heart pulsed in despair, ready to bursting. Hot irons, agony, pierced his brain. Fire crawled beneath his skin. Through the pain, he knew that the Nameless One experienced all this and more as the darkness pulled him under.
Conversation intruded upon dark dreams. Khrys awakened to a new world, brighter, crisper. Dust motes and bits of coral from the coast drifted with sunshine gushing through windows as the scents of the sea filled his nostrils.
Rise, little brother. The voice of Dread Lord Borislav Vinograd invaded his thoughts as he spoke behind him, "We will attend the ceremony." Khrys clawed to his feet.
"He doesn’t look well, I fear," a voice simpered. Khrys stood and faced the Black Eunuch considering him, plump hand massaging an ebony cheek.
"We are well," Khrys masked confusion at the admission. We?
You are one of us, little brother, an unknown invader spoke in his mind. No. He knew him, though they never met. Gyuri Collias, a baker’s son from a minor village in the southeast who survived a cruel famine when the Dreadknights came to restore order.
We sense your loneliness. Hazm Hatem growled, distant cousin of the eunuch, and hero from the Isle of the Dead.
Khrys felt Uthmaa’s eyes lingering on him and controlled his awe as the Black Eunuch turned to depart. "I hope you wash and dress him. Today is a big day for the empire."
As he left, Khrys studied the pale tunic and olive hosen he wore yesterday, now stained with grime and sweat and blood. Memory flooded his consciousness as fingers inspected his broken jaw. The pain lingered, but the wound-
"You heal faster than normal now," Borislav explained as he summoned a servant, "a uniform for Dreadknight Gurav." The Dread Lord sipped from a chalice. "This is a boon for the pain you will always carry. Now bathe, you need it.
Khrys felt it as time flowed unending, an intense throbbing that never ended, power coursing through muscles, corruption swimming in his blood, life and death. Knowledge of ancient times, before the empire, before the Dreadknights, seared his mind with images as he washed. The Endless Night, famine, war, plagues, curses, betrayals, humanity annihilated to the brink of extinction. He saw, no became, the Nameless One, the Great Betrayer, the Peacemaker, Dreadbane, Keeper of the Covenant, the first Emperor.
He exited the wide tub and dried, allowing a servant to dress him in the black robes of his profession. "Master. I see the importance of the ceremony. However, you know my feelings. Will you help me find another path?"
Borislav responded with a distracted headshake while donning midnight armor. "Things have changed since your initiation, little brother. We march not to a celebration, but to a war."
"What!" It was the worst of his fears. No help for his love, and his duties threatened his attendance.
Rather than rebuke his disobedience, Borislav hinted at a smile. "I told them you were strong." The shadow smile faded in disappointment, "but I see knowledge has not sharpened your intellect. Did you not hear the Halfman? The ceremony is today. Your duty begins today. Now kneel." He stormed toward Khrys with a greatsword sheathed in supple leather adorned with bloody garnets. "The emperor is the light." He unsheathed a mighty two-handed blade of obsidian that drank the light as Khrys knelt. "With every light, there is shadow." He touched Khrys’ right shoulder with the heavy blade. "We are the shadow, the sinners, the committers of atrocities, the knives in the dark." He blessed Khrys’ left shoulder with the sword. "We are the shades that protect the light from the encroaching darkness." Borislav grounded the blade, "rise and begin your service, Dreadknight Khrys Gurav."
Dazed by the abruptness of this simple knighting, Dreadknight Gurav lumbered to his feet. His commander gave him no respite. "You spent three days and four nights in your struggle. The situation has changed." Borislav droned on as if he spoke a normal occurrence. "Show me the power of knowledge, little brother. What do you know of the Jetov Accords?"
The answer came in an instant, as if he lived the moment. "Bel-"
"Never speak His name, though it is a part of you now."
"Very well. The Nameless One sought power against the Dread. Marrinae sought to stop him. They fought before a magical seal- no a gate. He defeated her and broke the seal. Monstrosities stormed out and fought for him, but they required a price, as humanity imprisoned them in the first place. Marrinae became that price. Jetov- he was a squire- I think, keeping the Nameless One’s mount from running away when the seal broke."
Borislav chuckled. "He was a thief trying to steal the horses, so afraid of the beasts that stormed from the seal that his feet couldn’t move.
"You learn quickly, but not well enough. Marrinae sacrificed herself when the Old Gods demanded blood. She loved the world as much as our Master, but refused to stain her precious honor to save the world." Borislav spat on the marble floor. "The Old Gods fed on her honor and were satisfied. There you have it. This day is not a commemoration, but payment for continued service."
He pointed a gauntleted finger at the new Dreadknight. "It is time for you to do what is necessary over what is right. We have an appointed sacrifice, a priestess anointed in the essence of Marrinae. However, she lacks honor does not love the people.
"Your woman does not go to her death honorably. If the Old Gods do not accept our tribute, blood will flow. Allies of the light will kill one another as the silent darkness waits. We will face another Endless Night, this time with no Nameless One, no Marrinae and her Hundred Knights, no Haldaorf and his Barbarian Horde. No heroes will come to save a world not worth saving."
Every word became a miasma of hate and fear and self-loathing churning Khrys’ insides. Borislav did not need to continue, but the pitiless mountain rumbled onward. "You will convince your wife to find her honor. She must die for the empire to live. She must die with love in her heart, or the world will burn."
All he had to do was become something he despised. A man with power, abusing those without.
Tribute
Armored from the neck down in midnight armor, Dreadknight Khrys Gurav marched through viperous crowds screaming for death as his new brothers witnessed from the shadowed fringes of the mob. Sobs from afar overpowered the din.
As he stepped on the platform, the wails ceased. Tears streamed from his wife’s golden eyes, now rimmed with dark circles and irritated. Leather armored guards chained her wrists and ankles to an eyebolt sized to hold a wild boar. Did they think her an animal? Ivory robed priestesses supervised the operation with grim faces. He approached, a sister ordered the guards to arrest him, but the guards fled before the sight of his ebony mail with small spikes protruding from pauldrons to vambraces.
A sister, tall as a man with russet braids tied in two loops, barred his path as pale fists rested on slender hips. "This is not your place, Dreadkni-"
Khrys interrupted her with a gauntleted backhand. The sister flew from the stage to the crowd below. A pair of Marrinae worshippers moved to stand in her place. He unsheathed a sinister, obsidian greatsword. The duo stared at each other for a moment before fleeing his presence.
Free from distraction, he hesitated before the diminutive woman garbed in an opaque gown barely obscuring the womanhood beneath. A salty breeze caused silk streamers tied to simple armlets to float behind her. As her pale hair took flight, she reminded him of the fairies in the stories when he first learned to read.
But this is no story, little brother, Borislav whispered. You are no hero, and her no princess to be rescued. You are a Dreadknight of the Uliusnela Empire, and you will do your duty, though your soul burns for it.
"Khrys," Celine reveled in an exhausted whisper. "You came for me.
I knew you would." Fear-filled eyes studied his armor. "I remember you praying to the Nameless One. I thought He made you abandon me, but He gave you the power to save me." Insignificant breasts heaved as if she ran for leagues. Tears of relief sprinted down an elongated face. "Can you cut these chains, husband?"
The title cut him far more than her misguided faith. His mind understood the importance of this mission, so why did his body not obey? Why did no words flow from his lips? Would he break an empire over a pair of eyes that shimmered like a sunset atop the sea? Doubt froze him. Was this the only way?
"Husband?" the whisper seemed a scream from atop the highest mountain, heard above the raucous horde screaming for an execution, above the forceful whispers of his master reverberating through his skull.
Quivering legs crossed the space between them and the crowd silenced as a Dreadknight embraced a priestess. He resolved to admit the truth, to kill his wife, for the world. "They sent me to convince you to do your duty, for the empire. Not save you, my wife." My soul is as black as this damned armor. Master was right. The stories are never this cruel.
Celine’s body stiffened at his touch, "You’re just like him," her dry throat rasped. "I prayed and prayed that you would find me, but you’re all alike." She spit in his face. "Run and tell my father how he won. I hate him. I hate you." The weeping