The Sins of Acheryn

The Sins of Acheryn

  W.E. Linde

  Copyright 2013 W.E. Linde

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  Never before had the gods wrought such pitiless retribution on the kingdoms of men. With timorous hands do I write of the destruction of mighty Acheryn, the seat of kings and the font of power that once forced countless nations to bend knee or else face extinction. Great Acheryn! How mighty you were, rising from the land between the rivers Havanel and Lithiel, and crowned to the north by the eternal granite giants of the Mehendir Mountains. You rose in strength and majesty, and quickly cast your yoke over the shoulders of those not of your blood. The home of cruel and violent clans became the throne of merciless kings who sent forth armies to enslave those who dwelt in peace in lands near and far.

  Of the transgressions that led to the utter annihilation of that city which claimed its equal with the domiciles of heaven, the sin of pride was the most appalling to the Divine. Her greed and violence sustained her like blood to a mortal man, but her pride set her sins before the gods as though a perverse and mocking sacrifice.

  As her power swelled over the centuries, she gloried in her own might. Who could challenge the City between the Rivers? The noble King of Thantia fell beneath the hooves of the princes of Acheryn. The Duchies of the Coast, with their armadas of ironwood warships, were left smoldering under a crimson moon. The smaller kingdoms were easily devoured, their riches drawn to the heart of the great empire wherein dwelt avarice unchecked.

  In arrogance, the Kings of Acheryn put to the sword her own priests, who warned that the unmitigated cruelty of her princes could displease the gods. Their temples were desecrated, and the priesthood was replaced by covens of necromancers. Diabolic symbols were placed on the altars that exalted the power of the people of Acheryn and their mastery over the worlds of flesh, blood, spirits and demons.

  I do not know if Acheryn was destroyed by the gods, or if the divine powers stepped aside and allowed the malignant powers of hell that she courted to finally consume her. But judgment did come, and the blackness that now rules over the ruins of the city ensnared me as well.

  As a Watcher, it was my task to live atop a cliff that overlooked my village. Whenever I spied the steel grey banners of the nobility of Acheryn approaching, I was to sound a horn, so that the people could pour into the streets and pay homage to the princes as they passed. If I failed in this task, I was beaten with steel-tipped whips until my flesh split and the floor of my home was slippery with my own gore. But they would never slay me, preferring instead to torment me for as long as my body would allow. I would be permitted to recover in the care of the village healer, and then resume my duties as Watcher. When I did return to the cliff dwelling, there was always a dear friend or one of my family on display before the entrance, slain in a vicious manner as a further reminder of the costs of my failure. Thus I would try the more to never err, to never sleep, until at last over the years I had no more family or friends among the living.

  * * *

  It was in the midst of a harsh winter night that I chanced to sleep after praying to any god that would hear me that the bitter cold would deter the princes of Acheryn from traveling through my village that night. Terror tore me from my slumber as the sound of heavy hooves boomed through the icy blackness outside. I dashed from my home, horn in hand, to try and announce the arrival of the unknown nobility. I leaned over the cliff, to see if the rider had yet passed my position.

  The night sky, unmarred by any clouds, was afire with the hosts of heaven. I had never before seen the stars burn with such ferocity. Their light illuminated the land all the way up the lone road that wound through the frozen meadows and solid winter streams which lay between my village and the walls of Acheryn. I could see the great city in the distance, and the lights cast by her challenged the brightness of the sky.

  Then at once I heard again the thundering of heavy hooves, but the sound was immense, and came from all about. Yes, even from the void before me beyond the cliff it came. It rattled my bones with every blow, and I feared the cliff would collapse beneath me. I cowered, and suddenly felt as though madness had taken me.

  A great beast, seemingly made of the blackness between the stars, rode across the sky. A life-smothering cold billowed out of its nostrils, and about its neck was a scintillating mane of celestial clouds. Only hateful, star-like eyes that shown like burning rubies stood out from the abyssal darkness that formed the rest of its body.

  Atop the awful beast was its master, if such a thing had a master. In proportion to the horse-beast, the Rider was slender and tall. It wore a celestial armor that was black like the beast that bore it, but the heavenly bodies were perfectly reflected upon the breastplates and mailed gloves.

  The thing - whether god or demon, I can not say - swept across the sky, until it reared up over Acheryn. It hovered, filling the heavens as it silently looked to the city and its denizens below. At length, the Rider reached out to the sky, and seemed to seize a star. Within its mailed fist, the star shattered, and the burning residue wafted to the earth. Like embers, the remnants of the star rained down, bright as it left the fist, but then vanishing from sight before touching the city.

  The great Rider then reined its horse. I thought I heard trumpets peal, and the earth shook. The violence became so great that I fled into my home and offered prayers. As I recoiled, I thought a voice whispered to me. The language was alien, beautiful, and terrifying. I halted my supplications and listened.

  The land ceased its tremors. The voice spoke again.

  "Greed. Violence. Pride. Three sins. Three judgments."

  I knew no more that night.

  * * *

  I awoke the next morning to an unwholesome stench. The wind came from the north, the direction of Acheryn. It became so pungent that I left my hut on the cliff and wandered to the village below. Most shunned me, for to know me might invite death from the princes. But I did learn from talk in the square that a sickness had erupted within the city of the king. Great sores and bloated wounds greeted the denizens of Acheryn as they awoke that day, and many were unable to rise from their beds.

  The evil tide grew worse. The plague fell hardest on the children. Seven days after the affliction spread, the men and women found their strength had returned, although the scars of the sores remained. But the children, all of them, remained desperately infirmed. With no priests to turn to, the king and his princes sought the aid of sorcery, but to no avail. Seven days more, and the mourning of the mothers of Acheryn filled the land between the rivers.

  The men did not wail. Instead, they turned their wrath to the peoples and villages near the city. In hellish fury they rode out to inflict pain on those who had not been touched by the pestilence.

  Upon the cliff, I listened with despair as the princes of Acheryn took their vengeance on our children. Mothers and fathers plead for mercy, but were torn apart. To justify their cruelty, the princes said the necromancers had spoken with the shades of their children, who demanded the lives of the weak sons and daughters of their vassals to serve them in the shadows.

  I looked to the sky, and prayed for the second judgment.

  * * *

  The new day brought with it the mourning of the death of our innocents. Yet it also brought more. The molten face of day was as of blood, and looked swollen and distorted, as though viewed through inferior glass. As the sun traveled its course, it looked to swell ever more, until it was terrifying to behold. At noon, it ceased its travel. We in the village fell to our knees, but from within the city we could hear terror consuming the people. None fled its walls, however. The way was barred.

  The land burned as an oven. The sleeping farmlands turned black, and the froz
en streams retreated under the unholy heat. Livestock perished within hours. The leafless trees of the forest and meadows withered.

  Seven more days passed, and the sun finally moved on and set. My village was empty, save for me. I would have fled as well, but something bade me stay, something I could not refuse. So I remained in my hut, where I would sit on the cliff and watch the crumbling city of Acheryn. The malicious odor of death poured out all the greater. I did not sleep that night, but turned my face to the heavens. The stars swept across the sky in their natural paths, and I watched them with awe and terror as I wondered what form the third judgment would take.

  * * *

  I watched with morbid apprehension as the sun crawled into the sky the next morning. When it passed the midday, I heard a low rumble in the earth. The clamor increased, and then I beheld the two rivers that flowed on either side of the city, which had become shadowy threads of water when the sun had punished the land, surge to life. Mad walls of water flooded the riverbeds, coursing through the earth's veins and washing away some of the sickly reek of death.

  But if the waters seemed to promise healing, that hope perished before the final judgment. The waters continued to rise, and within minutes the Havanel and Lithiel had burst their banks. The flat pastures, the low rolling hills, and the meadows were swallowed, and I beheld Acheryn as an island. There was now only one river, and the entire valley continued to vanish beneath an unearthly green sea. Beyond the city, standing as though a presiding judge or executioner, loomed the eternal Mehendir Mountains.

  The waters rose for seven days. The ancient valley that Acheryn and all the surrounding people once dwelt within had died. I sat on my cliff, trapped by the water, but not truly desiring to leave.

  Two days after the water crested, I spied a stone spike poking from the water, and I knew it to be the greatest of the towers of the castle that was now the king's tomb. Seven days after the rivers roared back to life, the waters had returned to their banks. Acheryn was laid waste. As I stood upon my cliff and watched, the great tower of the king's castle fell, casting man-sized stones across the ruins surrounding it.

  But I knew the judgment was not complete.

  * * *

  At the height of her power, the men of Acheryn sent adventurers out to the lands she had not conquered. These great warriors would sail the seas, or travel beyond the reaches of the eastern and southern mountains, seeking fortune and glory to edify their names and the name of Acheryn. Many of these men would never return. But those that survived would reappear at the ports of the Coastal Duchies, or emerge at the massive passes that flowed out at the feet of the mountains. Carrying foreign treasures and tales of adventure, these men would join the nobility of the king's courts.

  Two years passed since the desolation of Acheryn. Nothing lived therein, and simple terror deterred me from ever entering. But carried on the winds that traveled over the dead city came whispers of the hidden wealth within. The plunder of centuries remained somewhere in the halls of the city, waiting for the courageous to claim it. I heard these winds, and shuddered. The words were intoxicating, but the soulless breaths which formed them promised only torment and death.

  But the sons of Acheryn were not gifted with wisdom. Their eyes saw only that which exalted them, and sometimes the whispers that rode the winds would reach the ears of a wayward adventurer. The lust for treasure and the lust for vengeance both came easily to their hearts.

  * * *

  One day I heard the stirrings of birds, followed by the near forgotten sounds of a horse as it stepped over the long unused road that led from the abandoned village beneath me to my home. I walked to the cliff, and peered down at the discarded cottages of the village.

  "Why does a Watcher remain to serve a dead city?" called a voice. "Is your loyalty so great?"

  I felt sorrow, such as I had not felt since the day the children of the village were slaughtered, settle upon my shoulders. I looked up at Acheryn. In the distance the city looked skeletal, evil. It was calling.

  I turned to face the voice. Before me was a powerful man, wearing a traveler's tunic of coarse brown threading, and weathered blue boots. About his waist was a belt and scabbard, in which a gold-hilted sword was resting. The man was handsome, black haired and fair skinned, like all the men of Acheryn. Within his granite eyes lived contempt and haughtiness.

  "I serve you, my lord," I rattled. I realized then how old my voice was. To the young lord I appeared as a disheveled hermit, bent and ruddy. He laid his horse's reins on a rotting post and approached me.

  "Lorhgan stands before you," he announced, "called the Bold by those who worship me, and those who wish me dead. I am a son of Acheryn, and I have come back to claim her."

  The wind-words rustled in the trees, and I heard laughing with them. I nodded to the lord.

  "Death is the ruler of Acheryn now, Lorhgan the Bold. Will you sup with her?" To my wonder, the assault I expected did not come. The adventurer simply regarded me a moment, and then he moved to stand beside me at the cliff. His eyes were drawn to the city. I have no doubt that he did not see the dwelling of the dead that I beheld. In his eyes, he would see nothing but hidden glory.

  "I have traveled the unknown seas," he said, to the city as much to me. "I have vanquished the spirit-masters of Halenia. The nomads of Bethsentha sing of my victory against the Wasters of the Ahmand Desert. Whatever dwells within those walls holds no terror for me." He turned, and returned to his horse. "I will sleep here tonight. I will leave for Acheryn before the sun rises."

  My body quaked as words that were not mine escaped my lips.

  "It will be as my lord commands."

  * * *

  I knew what Lorhgan 's anger, just before dawn, meant. An unknown beast had slaughtered the warrior's horse during the night. He swore oaths, and in his fury commanded me to be his armor bearer. So we departed, him wearing his sword and mail. I carried his shield.

  "Be careful with that device," he warned me. "That shield bears powerful enchantments. It will burn like fire at midnight when I do battle, and many an enemy will turn and flee at the sight of it." The braggart's words began to flow more freely then, as he sought to pass the while with stories of glory won and foes defeated.

  "I pulled this sword," he said at one point, laying his hand on the golden hilt, "from the hoard of the Lich Prince of Vendar. It looks to be made of gold, but it is stronger than steel!" As he spoke, we finished climbing a low hill, and behold! the city was before us.

  The whispering wind-words rose again. The crafty call of the dead turned my stomach sour, and I felt a mounting desire to flee. But Lorhgan 's eyes sparkled with avarice.

  "I hear you call, my lady," he said to the rotting gates of the city. He no longer took note of me, except to take his shield hanging from my back. As in a trance, he stepped forward, under the shadow of fallen towers, and entered the gates. My body began to shiver and quake again, and I turned to flee. But once more, as happened countless times over the years since the devastation of the city, a haunting, unspoken command bid me to stay, and to follow.

  I dropped the rest of the lord's load, gathered my tattered robes about me, and entered the dead city. The stone bones of buildings spread out about me, most of which had been torn asunder by the powerful currents of the flood. Even before the awful judgment that I witnessed years ago, terror had ever kept me from entering Acheryn. My eyes had only seen from afar the mighty works and majestic halls that were once filled with life. Despite this, I knew with unnatural certainty where Lorhgan had gone. An unclean chill spread through me as I spied the thick, ugly tower that rose from what certainly was once a holy temple. Leering out from behind thick ivy tendrils that had overgrown it were the carved images of the dark gods and demons who had granted the necromancers power.

  The once massive doors to the temple no longer stood, and the entranceway to the darkness within issued a curious breeze that slid out over the long, wide stairs that led up from the street, and o
ut to the world. It was on this breeze that I heard the words which ceaselessly beckoned the foolish children of the city.

  With dread I climbed the stairs, every step more horrifying than the last. I had nearly attained the top when I heard the scream of Lorhgan from within the blackness. I paused only a moment, then felt compelled to enter.

  The inner temple was a vast chamber of purple marble floors and gray columns thicker than a man is tall, some of which were broken in jumbled piles. Half-rotten tapestries hung along the walls like loose rags covering a corpse. My eyes, having adjusted to the darkness, saw moving forms toward the far end of the room that would hold the desecrated altar.

  Lorhgan stood in the center of the temple chamber, sword at the ready. He spun at sounds or movements that I did not note, and thrust and slashed at enemies that were not there. But something was there. Shadows flitted near to him, rose up before and behind him, and then vanished as a fiery brilliance flared from the adventurer's enchanted shield. When this happened, the entire room was filled with light, and I saw on his face an inexplicable resolve. No fear was there that would suggest he was the one who screamed moments before.

  I stepped further inside, though why I did so I could not understand. It was then that Lorhgan espied me, and suddenly his face contorted with wrath.

  "Watcher!" he bellowed. "You beguiled me! You brought me to this place of evil!" He attacked another phantom, then strode toward me. His eyes were ablaze with hate, and I knew then he would murder me. I opened my mouth to plead my innocence, but the words that came out were not my own.

  "Scion of greed and boastfulness, ever have you sown the seeds of violence. But now the harvest is come!" I lurched forward, but the terror within me was shunted behind a glass prison as I watched my hands rise of their own volition.

  Lorhgan's rage had completely overtaken him. He raised his powerful arm, and with all his might brought down his golden blade that was harder than steel. I felt it bite my chest, and with little interest noted that a spray of blood and bone erupted as the sword finished its course. The warrior raised his arm again, and this time he shore through my face. My very jaw was torn away, and fell like wet meat to the marbled floor. I felt my body move forward then, and my once frail hands seized my enemy's shoulders.