by J B Drake
Baern turned to stare at the storekeeper square, as did the others.
“You know what that thing is,” Baern said, “don’t you?”
Mardaley nodded as a ragged sigh escaped his lips.
“What’s his name?” Marshalla demanded, her voice quivering.
Turning, Mardaley smiled at her. “His name, my dear, is Tien’razul.”
“Who the—” Baern began.
“No!” Anieszirel interjected, shaking her head as she spoke. “Mardaley, have you gone mad? It can’t be!”
Mardaley fixed the chronodragon with a tired stare. “There is no mistaking that aura. You felt his power same as I.”
“Well…yes, but—”
“Who else could it be?”
“It could be one of Vadisik’s vassals. He—”
Mardaley shook his head. “No vassal can wield that much power. No prince’ll allow it.”
“Alright, so,” Anise said, “Vadisik I know, he’s one of the demon princes. But who is Tien’razul?”
Silence fell upon all gathered as chronodragon stared at storekeeper, neither moving.
“Who is Tien’razul, Mardaley?” Baern repeated.
“It can’t be him,” Anieszirel replied with a shake of her head.
Sighing, Mardaley turned to Baern.
“Tien’razul is a fallen demon, Baern.”
The Magister frowned. “A fallen demon? How can a demon fall? You can’t get any lower than demons.”
“Tien’razul did,” Anieszirel muttered as she frowned.
“You know him as the Beggar Prince,” Mardaley added.
The silence returned, but it was soon broken by Anise’s mocking laughter.
“Oh, come now,” she said, “that old myth?”
“Myth?” Anieszirel sneered.
“Kin-Slayer, we—”
“Don’t call me that!”
“We’ve heard the tales of the Beggar Prince, of course,” Baern said before Anise could draw breath. “Not just us personally, mind, it’s a tale the Tower has come to hear over and over, down the aeons, mainly from whatever demon or devil happened to cross our paths.”
“The Tower’s investigated it, of course,” Anise added, turning to Mardaley, “how could we not. But we’ve found nothing. No texts, no artefacts, nothing. Tower records are detailed, Mardaley, in terms of the extent of our research, research done by a great many people over millennia. Nobody’s ever found anything to support this Beggar Prince’s existence.”
“Even amongst the demons themselves,” Baern continued, “some of them know little more than the myth.”
“Yes, that too,” Anise nodded. “So, with nothing concrete, we long since concluded it was just that; a myth spun by demon-folk.”
“The Beggar Prince is real, Anise,” Mardaley replied, “and he is in my sitting room as we speak.”
“Who is he, Mardaley?” Maline asked.
Turning, all three stared at Maline. Beside her stood Marshalla, and both stared at the three with quite some trepidation.
Mardaley sighed. “It is not a happy tale, Maline.”
“Still want to hear it.”
“Very well,” Mardaley nodded, gesturing to the kitchen chairs. Holding his peace, the storekeeper watched as Maline and Marshalla sat, then began his tale.
“The tale I’m about to tell you dates back to a time before the Tower’s existence. It was a time before a great many things existed, actually. The world was young, Maline, as were the gods.”
“Beggar Prince was a god?” Maline exclaimed.
Smiling, Mardaley shook his head. “No.”
“He fancied himself one though,” Anieszirel added as she glided into a chair opposite Maline.
“What was he, then?” Marshalla asked.
“A demon,” Anieszirel replied.
“A demon prince to be exact,” Mardaley added. “Hazuel has always been a god who saw strength as a creature’s defining trait.”
“Who?” Maline asked.
“God of the Netherworld.” Mardaley frowned. “Lord of all Hell. Don’t you know who that is?”
Maline frowned in turn.
“You mean Tethos?” she said.
“Hazuel is what humans call him, Maline,” Baern said.
“Ah!” Maline exclaimed, nodding.
“It’s also the name he prefers,” Anieszirel added.
“What?” she said when all eyes turned to her. “So I’ve met a god or two.”
“Anyhow,” Mardaley sighed. “To Tethos, the weak must always bend to the strong, and the only way to free yourself from the bonds of your oppressor is to overthrow them and oppress them in turn.”
“And that’s one of the nicer descriptions of that foul god,” Anieszirel added.
“Yes, well,” Mardaley continued, “as you can imagine, this view on life means the demons of the Netherworld are in constant strife, always looking for a means to better themselves at the cost of others. And thus maintaining order of any kind can be…challenging.”
“So Tethos divided the demons into Houses,” Anieszirel continued.
“Heard about those,” Maline nodded. “Some of them Houses got them bigger demons in, others only got them smaller ones.”
Mardaley nodded. “It’s a bit more complicated than that, but essentially, yes, the demons are bound to a House, and every House answers to a prince, either directly or by feudal right, and it was the princes Tethos tasked with keeping order in his realm.”
“But even they warred,” Anieszirel said, “sometimes openly, at least till Tethos showed his displeasure, then they would stop, gather their strength, and war all over again.”
“Yes,” Mardaley said, “the warring was constant. And soon there came a time when Tethos, tired of always having to show his displeasure, chose to raise the most loyal of the princes up and name him a prince amongst princes.”
“Tien’razul,” Marshalla muttered.
“Yes.” Mardaley nodded. “Tethos gave him dominion over all the other princes. And to ensure he was able to keep them all in check, he granted Tien’razul power enough to allow him stand alone against the combined might of all the other princes.”
“And it worked, for a time,” Anieszirel said. “He ruled them all with fear and wrath…pretty much what you’d expect from a prince of the Netherworld.”
“But he got arrogant,” Mardaley continued. “In time, he saw himself as the rightful ruler of the Netherworld. It was this thought that led to his downfall.”
“He tried to rally the other princes,” Anieszirel said, “to lead them in revolt against Tethos. But they betrayed him.”
“Not that I blame them,” Mardaley continued. “For all his wrath and fury, he is still just a demon, and Tethos is a god.”
“And demons are demons,” Anieszirel smirked. “Not exactly the most reliable bunch.”
Maline smiled. “So what’d Tethos do to him?”
At this, Anieszirel’s smirk faded as she turned to hold Mardaley in a pointed stare. Mardaley stared back at the chronodragon for a spell before turning to Maline, a sigh upon his lips.
“For his treachery,” Mardaley said, “Tethos sealed him in the deepest depths of the Netherworld. Then, Tethos dissolved all the Houses loyal to him and decreed that his name never be spoken again by any in his realm. Those few over the aeons who have done so have…well, things haven’t gone too well for them.”
“And he is still sealed there,” Anieszirel continued, her gaze still upon Mardaley, “to this day.”
“Look, Ani—”
“No, Mardaley. This is Tethos we’re talking about. When that god says forever, he means forever! There’s simply no way Tien’razul could’ve found a way out of his prison. And even if, by some miracle, he did, are you truly telling me he was able to escape his prison and the Netherworld without Tethos knowing?”
“You can’t—”
“It’s not him!”
“Why you so sure it’s him, Mardaley?” Marshalla
snapped. “What you not telling us?”
Frowning, Mardaley turned to Marshalla. “Meaning what, precisely?”
“That thing knows you,” Marshalla snarled. “He talking like you and him known each other from way back. What you not telling us, hunh?”
“Marsha, stop,” Maline said softly as she placed a hand upon Marshalla’s shoulder.
But Marshalla shook her dear friend’s hand off her. She was far from done.
“Who you really, Mardaley? How come it knows you?”
“Marsha, stop,” Maline repeated, her tone taking a keener edge.
But again Marshalla ignored her.
“What you been hiding from us?”
“Marsha!” Maline barked.
“He knows that thing, Maline!” Marshalla exclaimed, turning to her friend. “He known that thing been in Tip all along! He been pretending!”
“Marsha, that a terrible thing to say!” Maline shot back. “Mardaley your friend. He been your friend since…since—”
“Then, what he lying for? Why he not telling us who he is, what he need to lie to us for if we his friends, eh? You tell me that!”
“He not the only one lying though, is he?” Maline snarled, her face darkening with each uttered word.
Marshalla stared at her friend in silence, Maline’s words lost on her.
“You was talking posh in there, Marsha,” Maline continued, her gaze unchanged. “Talking posh like it was your real voice.”
“I…” Marshalla began, but words failed her, and before long, her eyes fell to her feet.
Sighing, Maline drew Marshalla close and hugged her tight.
“You got your reasons, pet,” she said at last, “don’t hate you and don’t blame you. Everybody got secrets.”
Then, as she and Marshalla parted, Maline stared deep into the girl’s eyes.
“But if you got to keep them from me,” she continued, “after all we done together, why you can’t let Mardaley be? Or you saying you and me not friends anymore?”
At last, Marshalla stared at her friend. There were tears in her eyes again, and as she raised her head, they ran free.
Sighing, Maline leant forward and wiped her young friend’s tears.
“It’s okay, pet,” she said. “It’s okay.”
“I was just trying to keep Tip safe, and…”
“It’s okay, pet. It’s okay.”
“That thing said you’d been taking measures to hide Tip from him,” Baern said after a spell.
Marshalla nodded. “Only reason we came to Merethia. Thought he’d never find us here. Look how that turned out.”
“And you never once thought he could be in the boy?”
Marshalla shook her head. “I thought someone was hunting Tip, that’s it!”
“What do you mean, hunting Tip?” Mardaley frowned.
Sniffling, the young girl turned to the storekeeper. “When Tip and I first met, he’d just gotten off of a boat. Only everyone else on the boat was dead.”
“Dear gods,” Maline gasped.
“Were they friends of yours?” Mardaley asked.
“Only some,” Marshalla replied.
“This Corwil fellow?”
Marshalla nodded.
“I see.”
Once more, the young girl nodded. “We thought some mage had boarded the boat with familiars and slaughtered everyone, but had somehow missed Tip. So stupid!”
“So you took Tip and fled to Merethia to escape him.”
Again, Marshalla nodded.
“I see. And the other name…Brass?”
“He owned the boat. Vilest excuse for a human you’d ever meet. Had to go free Tip from his clutches so we could flee. Only, the whole place was a slaughterhouse when I got there, and I was very nearly slaughtered myself. I never saw the blasted mage, and it never dawned on me why. So stupid…”
In the silence that followed, all within the kitchen stared at Marshalla, their hearts aching for the child.
“Well, whatever that creature is,” Baern said, “Tien’razul or some other foul demon, the fact still remains it wields power unlike anything any of us have encountered before.”
Anise shook her head as a frown twisted her lips. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt such fear before. And that’s with Kin-Slay…Anieszirel’s courage boon.”
“Yes,” Baern sighed. “So what do we do?”
“What do you mean?” Anise asked, turning to stare square at the Magister as her frown deepened. “Surely the answer is obvious. We must warn people. We must warn the Tower!”
“Gods, girl,” Maline groaned, “when you going to shut up about your precious Tower?”
Snarling, the Archmage rounded on Maline. “I’ve just about had enough of you, you snide little bitch!”
“What you call me?”
“Deaf as well, are you?”
“Anise! You can’t—” Baern began.
“I can’t nothing!” Anise shot back, spinning to face the Magister as she sprang to her feet. “Ever since I got here that worthless cow’s been at my throat! Well, enough!”
Then, she rounded on Maline once more. “Yes! I intended to tell the Tower of Kin-Slayer’s freedom! Yes, it would have meant damning Tip to a fate worse than death! And no, I will not apologise for that, gods damn it! I am an Archmage of the Shimmering Tower! I owe the Tower a duty to—”
“Duty?” Maline sneered.
“Yes, duty!”
“Look at miss high-and-mighty talk about duty like she knows what it is!”
“As if you have any idea yourself!”
“Alright, enough!” Mardaley warned as he rose.
“Oh, shut up, you!” Anise shot back.
“What did you—”
With her anger unabated, Anise waved his words away as she rounded on Maline once more.
“I care not one whit what you think of me, you brainless little cow! I am an Archmage of the Shimmering Tower, and you are nothing more than a worthless gutter rat whoring herself to some idiot shopkeeper for a loaf of bread! My loyalty is to the Tower, woman, and loyalty is a word a diseased whore like you would never hope to understand!”
The silence that befell them all was deafening. As Anise’s anger abated, her own words echoed in her ears, and as they did, her heart filled with shame. But her defiance stood strong, and even as her heart wilted, she stood tall, glaring at the woman that was Maline, a woman who was clearly near tears.
“You speak of loyalty,” Mardaley said, his voice quivering, “as if you know what that word means.”
“Mardaley, please,” Baern pleaded, “let’s not—”
“Let’s not what, Baern?” Mardaley glared at him. “Let’s not what? Your little apprentice here insults my guest in my own home, insults me—”
“I’m not his apprentice,” Anise interjected.
“No,” Mardaley snarled as he rounded on her, “what you are is an ungrateful fool.”
“What did you call me?” Anise snarled, her anger mounting once more.
“I called you an ungrateful fool, Anise. You speak of loyalty as if you know it well, but you’re too blind and too stupid to see that your actions will rob you of the only true friend you have in this world.”
“Oh, so, now, you’re my friend?” Anise sneered.
“Truly, I find your stupidity astounding,” Mardaley shot back.
“Mardaley,” Baern replied before Anise could speak. “If you’re thinking of saying what I think you’re thinking, know that you will be breaking an oath you swore to keep till the end of time.”
Mardaley turned to his dear friend.
“Your apprentice wishes for the truth,” he replied, his anger undimmed, “and you yourself said tonight is not a night for secrets.”
Baern shook his head, his eyes widening. “Mardaley, don’t do this.”
“No more secrets. Your words, not mine.”
“What secrets?” Anise asked, her eyes darting from one to the other.
Turning to
her, Mardaley moved to speak.
“Don’t do this!” Baern pleaded.
“What secrets?” Anise demanded.
“During your exile,” Mardaley replied, his lips twisted into a snarl, “when Baern came to bring you back to the Tower, did you ever ask yourself under whose authority he was acting?”
Frowning, Anise looked from Baern to Mardaley. “What do you mean under whose authority? He is Magister, of course the—”
“The Tower washed their hands of you, Anise. Not that I can blame them, after all those children you killed.”
“You killed children?” Anieszirel exclaimed.
“I…” Anise began, blood draining from her face. But she had no words.
“Yes, she did,” Mardaley said. “Killed them in their beds! It was enough to make even her own parents wash their hands of her!”
“My parents?” Anise exclaimed.
“Surprised? First, you nearly kill Arenya, then you go and slaughter innocent children.”
“I didn’t slaughter them!” she yelled. “I just…they were…”
“They were…what?” Mardaley asked as he cocked his head to the side.
The Archmage couldn’t speak.
“They were what, Anise? Hrm?”
Still, Anise could not respond.
“The only person in this world who though you were worth saving is that man right there.” Mardaley pointed to Baern.
“Even I couldn’t talk him out of it,” he continued, “and believe me, I tried. And yet here you are, ready to piss all over everything he’s worked for, for loyalty.”
That last word burned Anise’s ears, and it showed.
“You talk as if Kin-Slayer is some sort of monster…” Mardaley continued.
“Stop calling me that!” Anieszirel snarled.
“…but she’s only taken a life when someone dear to her was threatened. Can you say the same?”
“I didn’t slaughter them,” Anise said, her voice barely more than a whisper.
“Yet, here you are,” Mardaley said, ignoring her words, “an Archmage of the Shimmering Tower, ready to rob Anieszirel of something Baern risked all that he had to provide you. And all for loyalty.”
“I…” Anise began, but as her words died in her throat she turned to the Kin-Slayer.
