The Cold Eyes of Death
Pronunciation Guide
. Karzu: Pronounced CAR-zoo
. Zuna: Pronounced ZOO-nuh
. Kitoko: Pronounced KEY-to-ko
. Alongi: Pronounced AH-lawn-gee
. Kushan: Pronounced KOO-shin
. Vazil: Pronounced VAY-zuhl
. Druzina: Pronounced DREW-zee-nuh
. Dovrenya: Pronounced DAWV-ren-yuh
. Hadédé: Pronounced HAH-deh-deh
The laugh in Karzu’s throat died when he saw Lord Vazil and four of the Druzina approaching. He felt his face twitch with anger, while Alongi and Kitoko sat up straighter and fell silent. Karzu felt a hand gently grasp his wrist and was greeted by Zuna’s concerned eyes when he turned to his left side. He gave her an assuring look, just as Lord Vazil and his escort came to a halt, their eyes fixed on him like the arrows of drawn bows. “The Great One requires your presence Karzu”, Lord Vazil said in a formal tone. Alongi and Kitoko looked at each other in alarm, and Zuna squeezed Karzu’s wrist harder than he thought her soft hands could. Karzu blinked in shock as he felt his face twitch again, though this time with something else. He stood so Lord Vazil wouldn’t have to repeat himself, with Zuna releasing him at the same moment. Karzu walked up to Lord Vazil, reaching him just as he turned his back and moved away. As he was led to the Emperor’s palace, Karzu ignored the curious stares of other soldiers gathered nearby, keeping his head forward to mask the unease creeping onto his face.
As the group neared the palace entrance, they passed a double line of Druzina guarding its massive front doors, each man standing firm like the trunk of an ancient tree. Lord Vazil stopped before turning to Karzu, pulling a long piece of cloth from his armored sleeve. After his vision had been obscured, Karzu heard the deep, mournful tune of a horn to his left, followed by a dull rumbling as the doors opened. He felt a gripping in his chest as the doors boomed shut behind him, and his arms were grasped by pairs of invisible hands on either side of him. He tried to keep his back straight, his shoulders square, and his arms tight as they went, but even a fool knew a stick couldn’t hold open a crocodile’s jaws for long. Karzu wondered what purpose the Emperor had for summoning him, as the man rarely saw his subjects in person. He preferred to delegate direct relations to the Dovrenya, his closest advisors. The Emperor was believed to be part of a divine dynasty, destined to rule every nation of the Known World. Such a man would never disgrace himself by encountering those that existed to serve him. The gripping in Karzu’s chest tightened as he heard another door being opened, and Lord Vazil told him to watch his step as he was led up a case of winding stairs. If Karzu had done anything to displease the man to whom all realms bowed, it would be the last thing he ever did.
The ascent to the Emperor’s chambers seemed endless, and Karzu wondered if he lived among the great masses of white clouds that floated through the sky. Just as he began to think he’d walk forever, Karzu was halted, and his ears were seized by the sound of three loud knocks on a wooden door somewhere in front of him. “We brought the Kushan”, Lord Vazil announced. The door opened in response, and Karzu was pulled through the entrance, before being brought down another hall. As he resumed his guided pace, Karzu felt his mind begin to race back and forth. Had he truly displeased the Emperor? How? Hadn’t he done everything that was asked of him? He’d distinguished himself in battle, helped take countless strongholds, brought scores of kings, queens, and rulers to their knees before the Imperial banner, and surrendered his life to the furtherment of the Empire. What more could the Emperor want? What more could he give?
Several moments passed before Karzu was stopped again, and Lord Vazil’s even voice filled his ears. “Remember that you are in the presence of one that is greater than you, and that your life could never be more meaningful than in this moment. You are better on your knees with the Emperor’s guidance than on your feet without it. Do you understand?” Karzu strained to hear him over the rapid pounding of his heart, swallowing hard as if to keep it from rushing up his throat and out of his mouth. “Yes Lord”, he responded with as much obedience as he could muster. A door opened, and a shiver ripped through him so hard and fast he wasn’t sure he’d still be standing if men weren’t holding him in place.
“Enter”, said a low voice from within the room. Karzu was brought forward several paces, the hair on his neck standing so tall he could feel its weight. “Kneel”, said the voice. Karzu was forced on his hands and knees, his eyes darting from side to side as the gripping feeling that started in his chest moved to settle in his throat. He heard Lord Vazil and the Druzina kneel as well, their armor echoing through the room. “I’ve been told you think my Empire would be better served if you were head of the archery unit stationed here. Is that so?”, the Emperor asked smoothly. Karzu’s brow twisted in confusion, before parting in shocked realization. He had indeed told Zuna that he was more capable than the unit’s commander, Lord Ilya, and that he was a better bowman besides. Though he’d said this when the two of them were alone, or so he believed, and meant it half in jest. His eyes narrowed as he thought of Lord Vazil. “Yes, Great One”, Karzu responded. “What makes you a better choice than the man who already holds that position? A man that has led the capital’s archers since before you were born?”, the Emperor asked softly.
Karzu took a deep breath as another shiver shot down his back. “Lord Ilya grows grayer by the day, while my best years are still ahead of me. I only want to serve the Empire as effectively as possible; I can’t do that as a mere foot soldier.” “And why shouldn’t I choose one of the countless other soldiers that outrank you?”, the Emperor asked coolly. “Give me the position and you will see, Great One”, Karzu replied, hoping these words would be enough to convince him. Centuries seemed to go by before the Emperor responded, and when he did his voice was as light as a summer breeze. “So be it. From this day forth you will be Lord Archer of Vimoi, though keep in mind that you still report to Lord Vazil and the rest of the Dovrenya.” Karzu was so taken aback that he struggled to restrain himself from lifting his head in surprise. “Thank you Great One.”, he said in utter astonishment.
The Emperor was silent for several moments before he spoke again, this time barely above a whisper. “Look up”, he said. Karzu’s eyes went so wide it felt as if the cloth was the only thing keeping them in their sockets, and his skin chilled as hard bumps rose along his arms like mountains sprouting from the earth. He heard one of the men at his side turn toward him and remove the blindfold, revealing a smooth stone surface beneath him. He thought his arms and legs might give way, and he was hard-pressed to keep tears from falling to the floor. “Do it”, he heard Lord Vazil say in a hushed voice to his right. Taking a long breath, Karzu slowly brought his head upward. His eyes were met by a man at the far end of the room, sitting on a large throne ornately carved with images of wolves, bears, stags, eagles, and various Ruthenian symbols.
He was dressed in a thick, pale blue overshirt that came to his knees, banded in gold at the arms, and lined in blood red at bottom. The sign of the Ruthenian gods lay in the middle of his wide chest, embroidered in a deep black like Karzu’s skin. An oak brown belt with a bright, sun-gold buckle was fastened around his waist, with his legs covered by trousers of a darker brown that ended in boots of the same color. A large silver signet ring with a purple stone at its center gleamed vibrantly on the second longest finger of his left hand. A crown of bright red iron sat atop his head, its prongs stretching toward the sky in the shape of sharp pikes. His face was extremely handsome and defined, each feature sitting perfectly even on his smooth marble skin. His complexion was contrasted by the silky raven hair that flowed from his head to the tops of his broad shoulders. The brows of his eyes were slick and full, his upper lip was cloaked in a thick mustache, and a neat tuft of hair reached down from his chin. He sat rigidly still in his throne, as if his body had been crafted by the Elysian sculptors of ages past.
But the thing Karzu noticed most were the man’s eyes. They had a fearsome and predatory shape, ready to make prey of anything they caught sight of. What truly unnerved him was their color: a deep, solid black darker than anything Karzu had ever seen before. They were like a moonless night, ready to devour the Known World in the depths of their never-ending shadow. Looking into them was like peering into the unknown, a place rife with uncertainty and fear. He thought he’d be lost in the Emperor’s black gaze forever, until the man leaned forward and spoke in a voice both as soft as morning dew and hard as winter ice. “Do not fail me”, he said. “Never Great One”, Karzu answered immediately. The Emperor regarded him for a while, his dark eyes yielding no emotion. Finally, he leaned back, uttering a single word of dismissal. “Go”, he said. Lord Vazil and the Druzina rose, and the former stepped in front of Karzu with the cloth in hand. As he was led out of the room, Karzu whispered a prayer to Hadédé, the Sky-Maker, begging for grace and mercy. Pleading with the Father of Fathers to protect him from the cold eyes of death.
Under A Dragon’s Eye
Glossary and Pronunciation Guide
. Alba: A continent and country made up of ten distinct territories, or “kingdoms” on the eastern side of the Known World. Formally known as the Ten Kingdoms of Alba.
. Known World: Term used to refer to the world and all the continents and countries therein.
. Gowth: One of the ten territories or “kingdoms” of Alba.
. Callum: Pronounced: KAL-uhm
. Niall: Pronounced: NYE-uhl
. Muireall: Pronounced: MYUR-uhl
. Éadaoin: Pronounced: AY-deen
. Dáithí: Pronounced: DAW-hee
. An t-Àrd Ruigh: A small trading town in Gowth. Pronounced: AIR-dree
Callum’s heart began to beat faster as he readied the question sitting on his mind to pass through his lips, and he sent a quick prayer to the gods for luck. “Could I go with you to the market this time?”, he asked his mother. “I’ll do everything you say, and I won’t draw attention.” He did his best to sound confident, hoping it would inspire her to grant his request. She stopped walking and turned around to face him, shifting the weight of the cloth-wrapped slab of beef she carried. “You know you can’t leave Callum”, she said gently. “I know it’s hard, but it’s for your own good. If the soldiers see you, they’ll take you away, and I’d never forgive myself if that happened.” Callum felt his disappointment get the better of him, taking over everything else. “You don’t know. You and Éadaoin go to the market all the time, while I’m left with the cattle. Father might want to stay here forever, but I don’t.
Your stories about the world aren’t enough; I want to see it and live in it for myself. If you’re so worried about the soldiers, I’ll wear a hood and keep my head down so they won’t see me. Please let me go, mother. My purpose in life must be more than just living and dying in the same place.” He searched his mother’s eyes, hoping something he’d said would get through to her. “Your life will be shorter than half a bull’s horn if you charge into it blind and bellowing.” Callum turned as he heard his father’s gruff voice, with the older man coming to stand at his mother’s side. “I’ve seen the world boy, and its broken men with bigger dreams than yours. You will wait here and do as you are told, because if you don’t, you’ll die sooner than you think. If you want to travel, you can go pasture the rest of the cattle.” A tremor passed over Callum’s face as he felt it twist in anger, the fire of his rage clashing with his father’s cool blue gaze. He held his father’s stare for a moment longer, before turning and stalking toward the cattle pen.
It was dusk by the time Callum returned, though he didn’t care that his father would be angry. The old man was determined to lock him away like one of the herd, but Callum would roam the pen he was given at the very least. As he left the cattle, Callum saw that only one horse walked about the third pen and wondered where his father had gone off to. He made his way to the house, leaving the door open so the soft twilight could ward off the shady darkness until he’d built a fire. He went to the kindling pile his mother had brought back some weeks ago, though his eyes caught on the large wooden chest that sat next to it. Callum looked toward the door, listening closely for any sign of his family returning. When he was sure they weren’t, he knelt and slowly placed his hands on the chest, running his fingers over its smooth surface.
His heart began to race as his father’s past warnings never to go near it came to mind, though this did not deter him. His anger over his father’s dismissal hours earlier had given way to defiance, and disobedience seemed like the perfect act of rebellion. However, Callum noticed the keyhole in the center of the chest and figured his father had taken the key with him. His eyes widened as he remembered the knife he always carried, and he quickly retrieved it from his hip. He wasn’t sure it would work, but years of curiosity urged him to try. He slid the knife’s tip into the small hole as far as it would go, before gently turning the blade as if it were a proper key. Several moments passed as Callum wriggled the knife this way and that, before he heard a sharp, but soft, clacking sound. Dropping the knife, he put both hands on the edges of the chest and slowly lifted the lid. He sat motionless in front of the chest, unable to believe what lay in front of him.
There at the bottom of the chest was the unmistakable shape of a sword. Callum heard his mother describe the weapon countless times in the tales she told him and Éadaoin as children, though he never imagined he would see one in person. It was wrapped in a blood red fabric that looked finer than any tartan he’d ever seen, and was as long as the chest itself, touching its two farthest inner walls simultaneously. Callum reached into chest and unwrapped the sword, pulling the fabric aside until it revealed what lay within. A black leather belt with a golden buckle was wrapped in a neat circle next to the weapon, and the sword’s sheath was the same glossy black as the family’s cattle, its hue deep and brooding. A silver sun with a long point at the bottom was engraved at the top of the scabbard, made up of intricate lines that intertwined so much that Callum couldn’t tell where one ended and another began.
The handle was a deep brown like his mother’s hair, and its length suggested it was meant to be wielded with both hands. He noticed the weapon was covered in several scratches and scrapes, which led him to believe its owner had been an experienced warrior. A slew of questions surged through Callum’s mind as he stared into the chest, his eyes drinking in the sword’s majestic shape and captivating presence. Why did his father have a sword? Did it belong to someone he knew? Who could he know that would have a weapon such as this? Just as he was about to take it in his hand, he felt the air thicken and grow hot, as if he were sitting in the middle of a cookfire. Perspiration gathered on his brow like rain ready to fall, and the ground beneath him was covered in a vibrant white glow that emanated from behind him. Callum stood and turned slowly, his eyes widening in horror as he did. A searing flame had risen from the fire pit, though it burned a ghoulish white. It was so large that it touched the roof of the house, though the thatch did not catch fire. The blaze took the shape of a monstrous face, one with a wide head and a narrow maw. Two thick horns grew out of its forehead, curving back before turning upwards into cruel points. A third protruded just above its flaring nostrils, curled like a bent blade.
Though what left Callum unable to move was the beast’s eyes: they burned brighter than the rest of the blaze, and in their middle sat black slits that he was unable to look away from. He stared into them like a child peering into a door that was ajar, eager to see what lay in the room on the other side. He stood trapped in the flame’s fiery gaze for several moments before it snarled and lunged at him with wide open jaws. Callum flung himself to the side, rushing out of the house and stumbling to the ground not far from the door. He desperately scrambled to his feet, fearing the flame would drag him back at the slightest chance. He rushed toward the horse’s pen, lifting the wood plank that barred it and throwing it to the ground. He jumped onto the horse’s back, struggling to sit upright without falling back to the ground. He squeezed the horse’s side with his legs, urging the animal forward as fast as it could go.
It heeded him immediately, and Callum veered it to the right as he looked back at the house, watching to see if the face would follow. He rode hard until a good distance lay between him and the house and came to a stop near a stream winding through a field of heather like a clear colored snake. He slid to the ground at the water’s edge, as weary as if he had run there himself. He plunged his face into the water, instantly relieved by its cool and fluid touch. He drank several mouthfuls before resurfacing, wiping his face thoroughly on his sleeve. He was gripped by a strange feeling as he looked at his reflection on the stream’s surface, and suddenly knew why the flame’s eyes seemed so alluring. Staring intently into water, Callum realized that his eyes were the same color as the mysterious flame had been. He remembered his hair as well, pale like fresh mare’s milk atop his head. Neither his parents nor his sister had such features, though his mother always said that his coloring meant the gods had blessed him with their favor.
Only one creature came to mind when he thought about what he’d seen in the flames, though his mother had spoken about it just once when he was a boy. She’d told him about the dragons that once ruled Alba, mastering both the sky above, the land below, and everything therein. They had disappeared long ago, and many, like his father, doubted they had ever existed to begin with. However, Callum knew what he saw was very real, though not what it meant, if anything at all. Suddenly, the horse nudged his side, alerting him to the sound of hoofbeats behind them. Callum stood and pulled himself onto the horse’s back, waiting tensely as his father rode up to him. He noticed that the sword and belt rested securely on his waist. “Have you gone mad boy?”, his father said in a voice that almost made him look away. “What possessed you to come out here this late? You know not to take a horse without permission.
The wind would’ve frozen you to death if the wolves hadn’t got you first.” His father’s eyes gleamed in the moonlight, filled with an emotion Callum could not place. “I had a nightmare”, he said sheepishly, knowing his father would never believe the truth. “I came here to clear my mind.” His father looked him over for a moment, as if he didn’t know what he wanted to say or do next. “Why did you open the chest?”, he asked, his voice was calmer than Callum expected. “I just wanted to see what was inside. I didn’t mean any harm.” His father didn’t respond, but looked as if he expected him to say more. “Is it yours?”, he asked as he nodded to the sword. Silence settled like a cloud over them as a cold breeze passed, chilling Callum to the bone. “We should head home. Your mother and sister are probably back by now.” Callum didn’t want to go with him, fearing that the dragon would come again to devour them all. He would rather sleep under the cold winds of the open moor than risk such a fate. Returning would also mean never leaving again, as his parents were sure to keep a closer eye on him from then on.
Though that night was the first time he’d ridden by himself, it was a feeling, and a freedom, Callum didn’t want to give up. He cursed himself for not riding farther away, as his father started the journey back. “How did you know where I was?”, he asked after a few moments. “I didn’t. I figured you went in the opposite direction I came from, because I would’ve seen you if you hadn’t. After that, I just rode until I found you.” Callum nodded again before letting silence fall over them once more. Éadaoin and his mother were waiting by the house’s entrance when Callum and his father rode up, with the former running up to him as he dismounted by the horse’s pen. She threw her arms around him as she reached him, and he responded in kind.
“We were so worried,” she said. “You’re never out this late, and we didn’t know what to think.” Callum rubbed her shoulders as his chin rested on the top of her head. “It’s all right. I’m back now.”, he said. Their father opened the pen, allowing the horses to join their fellows inside. His mother met them halfway as the three walked to the house, bringing Callum into an embrace of her own. “You know better than to run off Callum, especially after what we talked about this morning. What if something had happened to you?” “Sorry mother.”, he said, eyeing the doorway behind her. She sighed and hugged him again. “You’re back now. That’s all that matters.” The four of them went into the house, and Callum looked wearily at the small orange flame that now inhabited the fire pit, dancing to a tune only it could hear.
Some time had passed when Callum opened his eyes, and he looked around to make sure his family was asleep. He rose quietly to his feet, opening the front door and ushering in the moon’s light. He used this to make his way around, taking a cloth sack from the wall to his right and placing a portion of food, another shirt and pair of pants, and his sleeping blankets within. He tucked his knife at his hip, before donning a large woolen cloak and returning to the door. He took a long look at his family’s sleeping figures, before turning to step outside. He closed the door quietly behind him and walked to the horse’s pen. He approached his previous mount, a snow-colored stallion his father had named Dáithí after its swift stride. Once the beast was beneath him, he drove him forward without a second thought.
Though Callum had never been off his family’s land until then, he had watched his mother and sister come back from the nearest town countless times. He knew it was called An t-Àrd Ruigh, and that it was not far away. Callum would go there, get more supplies, and ask directions to the nearest lord’s castle, where he would request to train as a knight. He would make a name for himself, and travel to every corner of the world, having countless adventures along the way. Callum had thought of this plan for as long as he could remember, but now that the time had come, he could hardly believe it. He suddenly felt a twinge of regret, knowing that his family would worry about him. Thinking about the look on Éadaoin’s face after she found him gone was enough to make him consider tuning around, and herding cattle for the rest of his life. However, another thought soon came to dispel any doubts he had and affirm his conviction to leave. What he’d seen in the flames that night had disturbed him more than words could explain, and he would not stay to have it happen again. His mother’s story came back to him, and he remembered what she’d whispered at the end of the tale: “But beware my sweet child, for there is no place in this world, or any other, that isn’t under a dragon’s eye.”
Justin Dorsey was born in Atlanta, Georgia, and is currently a junior English major at Dillard University in New Orleans, Louisiana. After graduating college, he plans to pursue an MFA in creative writing, and aspires to be an author with a focus on fiction. Though his work will center mainly on the fantasy genre, he also has an interest in sci-fi, horror, thriller, and crime thriller. Dorsey has been an avid reader since childhood, and it was the books of his youth that sparked his decision to create literary worlds of his own.