The King of the Vile Read Online Free

closest the man ever came to laughing.
    “Not quite,” he said. “You have consistently practiced the art of magic while simultaneously spurning requests to join our ranks. The Council will convene to determine your fate, Tarlak Eschaton. If we deem your insults against us too severe, we will have you executed.”
    Tarlak let out a cough, and despite the pain, he couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity. They were keeping him alive…so they could kill him?
    “I thought you didn’t want to insult my dear ancestor’s memory?” he asked.
    Roand smiled at him.
    “In everything we do, we’ll be following the rules given to us by Turock,” he said. “In what better way could we honor his memory than that?”
    Tarlak tried to shrug, found he couldn’t. “By letting me live? That sounds like a good one.”
    Roand stood, slowly shaking his head.
    “I assure you, in all that we do, none of it is arbitrary,” he said. “We will judge your worth to the community of wizards, and before them, your life will be weighed. Your charm and skill will mean nothing.”
    “What about having saved the world?” Tarlak said as the master wizard headed for the door. His head had begun to spin, and the pain in his limbs stung with renewed vigor. “Surely that counts for something!”
    Roand’s look was strangely one of disappointment.
    “You think you saved the world?” he asked. “Consider that another mark against you.”

    The wizard left, the door shut, and at its heavy echo, Tarlak closed his eyes and screamed until the pain in his arms sent him back into unconsciousness.

 
     
    2

    “D o you remember when I told you things couldn’t get much worse?” Deathmask asked Veliana as the two huddled in the dingy basement of a vacant home.
    “Yeah,” Veliana said, eyes fixed on the door. They’d stacked a few planks against it, plus scattered broken stones on the floor in desperate hope of making their attackers stumble. A meager defense against the fury of an angel, but it was something.
    “I’ve decided I was wrong.”
    “No shit.”
    Deathmask pulled out a handful of ash from a pouch pocket and tossed it into the air. A whisper of magic and it froze, hovering like a cloud obscuring his masked face. Deathmask wasn’t entirely sure if the angels could know fear or not, but it made him feel marginally better. He was the dark specter, the man in the shadows manipulating the events of the city. He wouldn’t be undone by a glorified turkey wielding a sword.
    “They shouldn’t be able to find us here,” Veliana said, twirling a dagger in her left hand. They were alone in the dark, able to see only because of spells he’d cast upon them, hiding behind an overturned table, its rotting wood their only protection against whoever might attack. And they would be attacked. Deathmask was certain of that. With him carrying the supposed guilt of sending Avlimar crashing to the ground, there would be no respite.
    “They found us before,” he said. “As they did the hideout before that. It’s like they’re getting help.”
    “The whole bloody city is out looking for us,” Veliana said. “Of course they’re getting help.”
    “I meant competent help.”
    “True, that is a rarer luxury.”
    A creak from the other side of the door silenced them. Deathmask clenched a fist, steeling his mind for combat. He would not die here, not like some cornered rat. Not for a crime he never committed. If he were to die in such a way, at least it should be for a crime he did commit.
    The door shook once, then shattered inward. Two soldiers with heavy mauls backed away from the exposed entrance as daylight streamed inside. More soldiers poured through the broken entrance, their shields raised before them, their naked blades reflecting the daylight. As their plated boots kicked aside the rocks, Veliana spurred into action, a soft violet light shining off her daggers as she charged. Deathmask paused a moment to enjoy the sight of her