The Blood Prayer

By Jared Millet

The end of the world begins with a celebration.

Led by the greatest heroes of the age, Majadan’s army has driven back the hordes of the Madlands – or so the city’s protectors believe. In welcoming their soldiers home, they allow a foe inside the city gates more powerful than any they could imagine, an evil dark enough to end history itself, greeted with cheers and open arms.

Aust is a young man fleeing from his past, hiding in plain sight as a minstrel for a mercenary guild. His knowledge of Majadan’s secret ways has saved his life before, but this time he isn’t on his own. When the powers of Hell are set loose in the streets, Aust becomes a guide for a desperate band of survivors:

Eris, a warrior fighting to prove her worth; Vandal, a soldier without a cause or country; Jago, a man-wolf caught in a fight not his own; Moth, a nomad girl who is not entirely human; and Jenin, an elemental priestess from the Wild.

When confronted by an enemy that cannot be defeated, they will each be forced to choose between their honor and their lives. The world they know has drowned in blood and fire. The battle for the city of Majadan has begun.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jared Millet
• Release date: May 31, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005797973

Jared Millet

Jared Millet spent over twenty years as a librarian before leaving the public sector to write full time. His work has appeared in multiple magazines and anthologies, with even more stories to come. His travel writing, including tales of ten months circumnavigating South America, can be found online at TheEscapeHatch.net.

Book preview

The End

Kneel, said the vampire, flexing its wings. Kneel and worship Her Radiance, Queen Zûr, Sovereign of the Night Road, Consort to the Living God Zet, and Empress of Mrava.

Our captors had brought us to the steps of a looted mansion. Its garden had been stripped for kindling, and the house’s windows were dark and hollow. The first brush strokes of dawn painted the clouds, and in the stillness I could almost pretend that the smoke rising from the city was that of morning hearths and not burning corpses.

I still couldn’t believe that Majadan had fallen. The crossroad of the world, the jewel of Kechea, the bulwark against the horrors of the Madlands – reduced to a charnel house in a single night.

I consoled myself that some of the people we’d fled with had escaped. My friends and I, on the other hand, were dead and probably worse. It wasn’t out of mercy that the invaders hadn’t killed us. Together, my fellow captives and I knelt as spoils for the Wight Queen.

Who have we here? asked the undead sorceress. Her skin was as pale as ice, her voice the echo of some long-dead songbird. Her gown had the sheen of metal, and her eyeless silver mask reflected the bonfire behind us.

Mercenaries, Your Radiance, said the vampire. At any other time, I’d have laughed. For some of my companions that may have been true, but I was just a lowly musician.

Our orders were not to take prisoners, said Zûr. Her voice held a trace of disappointment. She evaluated each of my companions in turn, until at last she came to me.

I don’t know what to make of this one, she said. My heart squeezed as she stepped into my mind, pushing my memories around like furniture. Pinpricks of moisture beaded on my scalp, and for the second time that night I felt the urge to wet myself. Then, out of nowhere, I felt the urge to kill.

By the Old One, Zûr gasped. A killer! A newborn killer, his first blood not an hour ago. Sweet devils, what a gift. Lord Zet’s orders be damned, I’m keeping this one.

I felt something shrivel inside me. It’s not that I didn’t want to live, but I hated the thought of being spared for what I’d done. I hadn’t killed in self-defense, as so many had that night. I’d committed an act of hot-blooded murder. It was better that I die with my friends.

Oh, you’re not going to die, little one, she said, plucking the thoughts from my brain. Not for a very long time.

All right, but please–

She slapped me into silence.

You will not speak unless I tell you. Can you read and write? Answer.

Yes, Your Highness.

She struck me again. The correct form of address is ‘Your Radiance’ or ‘Your Glory.’ Do you understand? Answer.

Yes, Your Radiance.

Good. She considered me for a moment. "You were a minstrel. You fancy yourself a storyteller, even. Excellent. This is what I want.

Tell me of this night – what you’ve seen, what you’ve heard. I want every slice of pain, every cry for help, every shred of loss. I want to know what it felt like when you learned what kind of man you really are. I could rip it from your mind, but I want it from your heart. I want it written down as a testament for all time.

She traced her fingernail across my face. Her laughter was music in a graveyard.

Tell me all you remember, little man, and I promise to make you immortal.

Chapter I

Last Light

I remember running. Six bells had sounded at the temple of Koron. The last note still pealed as I clattered down the stairs outside my tenement. I’d thrown my clothes on in such a hurry that nothing felt like it was on straight. My lute flapped against my back like a hammer, held there by an old leather strap.

To the west, the city’s temples, markets, and houses faded in a sea of haze. Beyond them, the sun kissed the towers protecting the harbor. A cannon sounded from the nearby Military College, followed by a cheer. That wasn’t good for me. I was supposed to be at the guild hall by nightfall, not an easy feat if the streets were already crowded.

I reached the bottom of the stairs, but before I could take off down the road, my landlady’s voice called out from her kitchen.

Aust, said Mama Nehir, have you eaten?

No, ma’am. No time.

Then wait a minute.

I couldn’t afford to stop, but I did. No one said no to Mama Nehir. She appeared like a conjurer out of a cloud of oven-smoke and pressed a warm bundle into my hands.

Take some cakes. Those ruffians at the guild won’t feed you. Eat before you drink, and bring me back my bag.

Aust! Whatcha doin’? A yard-high streak of yellow hair and bare feet shot out from the kitchen door.

Going to work, Reena, I said, shifting my lute and doing my best to straighten my shirt and jacket. I checked once again that I had the enchanted Coin in my pocket that would grant me admission when I got there.

We’re making spice cakes!

Reena careened around me, about to explode like a mortar shell. She didn’t have parents and was too fair-skinned to be of Kechean descent, but Mama Nehir and the other tenants had taken her in.

Stop jumping around, Nehir said, to no use. There’d be no calming Reena tonight.

Are you going to watch the parade? I asked.

I’m gonna see Aidan!

Maybe you should toss him a spice cake.

Do not put ideas in that child’s head, said Nehir. Now run before you really are late.

I did my best performer’s bow, turned from her door, and bumped into a brunette in a dark purple dress.

Aust! she said. Her face was flushed from running. Why are you still here? You’re supposed to be at the guild hall.

The brunette was my business partner Beatriz. She sang to my accompaniment, and though sometimes other performers joined in, we were usually a two-person act.

I overslept, I said. "Wait, why are you here? We’re both supposed to be at the hall."

That’s what I came to tell you, she began, when Reena bounced out of the kitchen and into Beatriz’s skirt.

Hey, Bee! You goin’ to the parade?

Yes, honey, now go help your Mama. She shuffled the girl back into Nehir’s kitchen, then looked at me with apologetic eyes. I crossed my arms and gave her the sternest glare I could muster.

You’re going to hate me, she said. I can’t go with you tonight.

What are you talking about? The army’s coming home and there’ll be a packed house. What am I supposed to do, entertain them by myself?

Don’t be mad. She held her breath, then let it all out at once. I’ve been asked to sing at a reception for Lord Caius!

I took me a moment to digest that before my brain started working again. Oh my gods. Is he going to sponsor you?

He might. Her eyes looked like they might pop. She let herself smile, then her smile broke into a grin and she hugged me. A lord’s sponsorship meant access to a world of opportunities. Goodbye street performing – Hello, high society. She squealed as I hugged her back.

Oh gods, she said. All I want’s an audition. A shot at the opera. Just a chance to get in the chorus! I couldn’t be mad at her. For a chance like that, I’d have ditched me too.

Are you kidding? I said. You’ll knock ‘em dead.

You’re not angry?

Gods, no. I wanted to be, but didn’t say it. Beatriz had waited for this chance her whole life. How could I ask her to sing for drunk soldiers when she could perform in front of nobility? If only it hadn’t been tonight. What the hell would I do without her?

And you know what else? she said in a giddy voice. Verex Vraille is going to be there.

My jaw dropped. Vraille was Aidan Arkwright’s chief advisor, an honest-to-gods Hero from the war against the Wight Lords. Envy started gears turning in my mind. She and I were a team. Who was some lord from the Trade Council to break us up?

To hell with the guild hall, I said. I’m coming with you. We can open with Lenorian’s third aria, then follow with… I stopped when she turned away. What?

The reception’s at the Lyceum.

The Lyceum: the world’s greatest university, devoted solely to the study of magic. Just hearing the name put a knife in my gut. At last, I remembered to speak and said, Oh.

"Look, why don’t you come? she said. It’s been ten years since it happened. No one’s going to remember–"

No. I shook my head. We made a deal to be at the guild hall. One of us ought to show up.

She opened her mouth as if to argue, but didn’t.

You’re really not mad?

Maybe some. I felt like a rat for being bitter. Look, this is your shot. Forget about me and go kill ‘em.

You’re a great friend, she said, taking my hand.

Yeah. Don’t tell anyone.

I’ll see you tomorrow and tell you how it went. And next time I sing for Lord Caius or anyone else, I’ll make you come along. Deal?

I don’t know, I said. If I have to sing at the guild hall tonight, they might run me out of town.

Don’t, she said in all seriousness. Aust? Promise me you’re not going to sing.

"Oh, come on. I’m not that bad."

You’re… Mama Nehir! Tell Aust his singing is that bad.

Your singing is legendary, it’s so bad, she shouted from her kitchen. Now don’t you two have somewhere to be?

A silence fell between us like a weight.

Well, said Beatriz, have to get ready.

Good luck.

Beatriz hesitated, then grinned like a madwoman and kissed me full on the lips. She never kissed me, or anything else like that; it was one of the unspoken rules of our partnership. I stood there like an idiot as she took off down the road. She turned once and waved, then vanished into the crowd.

That was the last time I ever saw her.

†

I ran in the direction of Karezon Road, the widest boulevard through the city, and prayed that it was still open to traffic. I’d fooled around too long, and if I didn’t get to work on time, the guild hall’s barkeep might hire the first musician to walk past his door.

The lute almost slid off my back every time I ducked around a food cart or dodged some shambling drunk. The thickening crowd among the press of street vendors didn’t make it look good for my chances. When I came to within a block of Karezon, the street I was on had become so packed I had to squeeze through the mob to make any headway.

Half a block farther, I gave up. The people ahead of me were crammed shoulder to shoulder, and when I hopped to look over their heads, I saw that Karezon itself was a sea of hats, helmets, and hoods, and none of them were moving. The crowd was filling in behind me as well, so I forced my way back before becoming trapped.

At the first clear intersection, I stopped to catch my breath. The sky had turned purple and my time was running out. Somewhere behind me, a group of street musicians sprang into their first number for the evening. Without wasting another second, I kicked away from the curb and sprinted northwest along Allender Boulevard.

Allender ran mostly parallel to Karezon and wasn’t (thank the gods) as crowded as the cross-streets, though food sellers that normally would have gone home by now were still open for the evening’s festivities. After several blocks more, the tenements on either side of the street gave way to nicer-looking homes, and the merchant carts crowding the lane were replaced by carriages. People stared at me as I ran with my lute flapping behind me like a cape.

Ahead were a knot of watchmen on horseback. I slowed to a trot and flashed them a smile. Beyond them, a lane of shade trees divided the road, and the windows on the houses had glass panes instead of shutters. Those horsemen were probably stationed there to keep riff-raff like me away from the empty homes of the well-to-do. I turned left and acted like I couldn’t feel their eyes on the back of my neck. I wanted, I needed to run, but I didn’t want a suspicious constable holding me up.

Someone called my name from a bakery on my left. I waved and kept moving, but didn’t look back. I wonder now who that was. Shadows erased the letters from the signs of nearby shops, and a man with a taper on the end of a pole lit the lamp on a street post in front of me. If the lamplighters were out, then I was already late and possibly out of a job.

I ducked through an alley to the right and took off at a sprint down Seiapeus Street. The buildings in that neighborhood leaned against each other for support, and the upper floors seemed to have been tacked on as an afterthought. The sky was nothing but a red scar between rooftops. I jumped over a hole, stumbled on some loose cobbles, and twisted around a pack of dirty children playing trogs and warriors, each a younger version of myself.

I slipped through another alley and came out on Blazon Street. Two blocks away was the intersection with Karezon, on the corner of which stood the guild hall I was heading for. To get there, I’d have to reach the other side of Blazon and claw my way through fifty yards of revelers.

I slid around a party of sea-elves, excusing myself as I bumped into each. One, a Shi’El princess with lemon hair and cold eyes, clutched her purse as I squeezed past. I didn’t take offense – I knew how I looked, covered in street dust and sweat.

Ahead, a lamplighter’s pole bobbed left and right. I bumped into a Jundman with braids in his beard, accidentally making him step in a lump of manure. Sorry I said as I hopped through a parade of six well-dressed children and their governess. Sorry, I said again, stumbling into a horse that nipped and trotted sideways as I danced around it. Sorry I said to the angry, black Kharsi sitting on the horse’s back. Two curved knives hung from his belt. I shrugged, smiled, and ducked away.

Down the center of Blazon Street, the crowd moved like treacle. I held my lute over my head so I could squeeze through more easily. Ahead on the left, a team of carpenters were finishing a hurried new balcony on an inn’s façade. Many such places had built additions in the last week so their guests could watch the returning war heroes without rubbing shoulders with us groundlings.

A ring of guards around the construction held the crowd at bay, but when one of them glanced aside I darted around him and ran through the scaffolding. In a breath and a half, I was under and through, racing toward the guild hall on the next street corner.

There was a gap two feet wide between the building and the crowd. Lute held high, I dashed through the pools of yellow light that bled from the hall’s stained windows. I grabbed the pillar at the end of the building and whipped around beneath the signpost.

The placard hanging from the post above my head bore the sigil of the Blades of Calesta, one of the many mercenary guilds whose meeting halls were on Glory Street, this last stretch of Karezon before the road led into the Theotrium. Carved beneath the coat of arms was an admonition from the hall’s proprietor, which stated, simply, No Fucking Elves.

I paused for a breath. The Coin in my pocket hummed with quiet power as the wards inside the door acknowledged my right to enter. As soon as I felt collected, I swung through the door, stubbed my foot on a bench, wobbled, and struck a pose for my employer.

You’re fucking late, said Gim. Where’s Beatriz?

Not coming. I’ll set up on the stage.

Not coming? It’s just you? I could’ve hired another singer an hour ago! He glared at me with icy blue eyes that made the rest of his face look redder than it was.

Relax, I said. Once the army comes home, everyone’ll be too excited to care. I’ll have to earn all my tips before then.

Well, don’t expect a cut of the bar tab. I’m not paying for half an act. Gim grabbed an empty mug off a table. You’re not going to sing, are you?

What an ass. I took my spot in the tavern’s corner, but if Gim was serious about stiffing me then I might have been better off joining the crowd outside. No one was going to pay attention to a lone minstrel once Aidan’s army came home.

†

I’d seen Aidan Arkwright in person once, when he was going from guild to guild recruiting for one of his adventures. I’d been new to my trade and could barely string two chords together, so while Aidan was in the room, I didn’t make a peep. Gim had screamed at me to get back to work as soon as the brash, young general left.

Majdani pretend to be jaded by heroes, but the truth is that we adored them. Our streets bore their names and were filled with their statues. The city itself had been named after one: Jane Majh-Dan, the Morgrae warrior who rescued the Tasnan Empress from the Madlands two thousand years ago.

Of all our heroes, Aidan Arkwright was special. We didn’t even call him Arkwright – he was Aidan, as if we knew him personally. There were plenty of people who swore they remembered him playing in the street as a boy, or working on the river docks as a young man. He wasn’t Majdani, or even Kechean. His father was Adelphian and his mother was from Jundland. Like Reena at my tenement, his hair was gold and his skin was fair.

But none of that mattered. He’d been born in Majadan, raised in Majadan, and that made him one of us. When he ended the war between the Sultans of Kharsuum, the tale that spread through the city was that of a local boy made good. When he overthrew the Pirate Duke of Sarkavad, he shared his portion of the bounty with every craft hall and merchant guild in the city. From then on, whenever he returned from his expeditions, we Majdani threw a party as if the Empress