Chapter 5, Heg



The streets of Grylot-Zeh have been laid waste. Its houses and shops were tossed in vain as we searched for the codex, and for the Zealot and his soldiers. Stunned peasants looked on as we sacked the town, some in tears, others in mortified silence. Several times, our troops met resistance from the Zealot’s soldiers. An occasional firefight still breaks out as more pockets of the parasitic scum are flushed out, but for the most part the Wolf owns the town. The Zealot and his fanatics have retreated.




While most of the townspeople cower inside their dwellings, one group remains in the old marketplace. Three of them throw up their hands to indicate that they are unarmed. As we approach, old Zyrn brandishes an ax that he picked up from a woodcutter’s stall several blocks back. They are clearly terrified; the younger oquichtli wets himself in fear. Only the proud matriarch meets us defiantly.




“Where is it, crone?” the Wolf demands. “Where is the codex?”




“You come too late, Wolf. You won’t find what you’re looking for here.”

“We shall see about that. Kelend, give the order to put the town to the torch.”

The one-eyed lieutenant grunts his acknowledgement and moves off to carry out his orders. He hasn’t taken two steps when the matriarch cries out “Please don’t.”




Without taking his eyes off her, the Wolf draws one of his twin falchions fluidly, leveling it at the old cihuatl’s throat. “Talk, then. Who are you?”

“I am Tanfyn.” she replies. “I am one of Grylot-Zeh’s elders. These people are my family. Please, spare our people.”




He snarls, driving the blade forward until its tip breaks the skin of her neck. “You are harboring my enemy and holding an artifact that belongs to my people. As your town has surrendered, all your property is rightfully mine and your people are our chattel, to enslave or slaughter as we see fit. Give me one good reason to spare you. Tell me where the codex is.”




The old oquichtli, the one standing behind the stand of dried goods, has had enough. “Curse you, Reavers! You will pay. You will pay for all the wrongs you’ve caused! All the widows and orphans you’ve made. It’s as the Zealot has said; Tromeh will strike down the wicked. He sees all…”




Before he can say another word, Zyrn takes two steps forward and hurls the ax with a speed and strength that belies his age. It spins end over end, striking the hapless peasant square in the chest. He collapses heavily to the ground.

“Father!” the young oquichtli shouts. The young cihuatl bursts into tears.

Zyrn shrugs. “I can’t stand fanatics.” he mumbles.




He rounds the stand, kneeling above the fallen peasant, watching his life’s blood rush out of his chest.




He stands again, the peasant’s cap now on his head. “I like it.”, he says. “I think I’ll keep it as a prize, to remember this cesspool of a town by.”




Tanfyn begins to weep. “Please spare us, Wolf. I’ll tell you what you need to know. Don’t kill any more of my people.”

“You had your chance.” he snarls. “Zyrn only killed your husband because he defied us. But you still have to learn your place. Heg?”




Ever the dutiful soldier, I grab the younger cihuatl, Tanfyn’s daughter. Wrenching her hands behind her back, I shove her forward, pushing her face down onto a cask of dried beans. Old Zyrn smirks. “Let me know if you need someone to show you how it’s done.”

“Thanks. I’ve got it under control, old-timer.”




Tanfyn weeps uncontrollably. “Please. Make him stop.”

“No.”, the Wolf says grimly. “Watch. If you look away, I’ll open your throat. You must learn the price of defiance. Kelend, shoot the pilontli if he tries to intervene.”