Mad God's Muse

by Matthew P Gilbert

  Kariana looked at the mirrored ceiling, then down at the marble floor. “I lost the Eye.”

  Sadrik’s eyes bugged so profoundly that Kariana thought surely his head must be about to explode, and how would she ever clean up that mess? Well, the question was really how her slaves would clean it, since Sadrik was certainly about to murder her.

  “You what?” he managed to choke out. “How?”

  “It was Aiul! He took it when he was…you know, invulnerable and really scary!”

  “Mei! Well, then there’s no point being angry at you about it, I suppose.”

  “You’ll find a way, I’m sure.”

  Sadrik shot her a sour look. “It is your fault in the end. You should have let him stab you in the throat. It would have saved me quite a bit of trouble.”

  Kariana pulled the dagger from her blouse and held it out to him, smirking. Sadrik slapped her hand aside. “Killing you now wouldn’t solve a thing would it? It would just be one more mess for me to clean up!”

  Kariana tittered as she returned the blade to its hiding place. “I know. Isn’t it ironic?”

  Sadrik stood glaring at her. Oh, he’s boiling. I could swear I smell smoke! “Tell me what happened,” he said. “Exactly, do you understand?”

  Kariana put the knife and the pose away and grew serious. She told him about Aiul taking the Eye, in as much detail as she could recall.

  Sadrik’s constant sneer was gone now, replaced by dead seriousness. “Caelwen knows. You and I make three. Who else?”

  Kariana didn't really want to have this discussion, but there was no way to avoid it. “The Big Three. Maranath, Ariano, and Prandil.”

  “You count that as a bad thing, hmm?”

  Kariana rolled her eyes. “Hello! They’re Meites! They can’t be trusted.”

  Sadrik responded with a grunt. “Is that so?”

  Was there just the faintest hint of mockery in his eyes? Kariana thought so, but then, there was usually even more. “Well, would you trust them?”

  Sadrik laughed out loud. “Absolutely not. So why did you tell them before you told me?”

  “Caelwen told them while I was unconscious. He didn't even know enough to understand he shouldn’t, and they worked it out from what he described. They've had me pretty much on a leash since then.”

  “You do realize they have just returned?”

  “Yes. I hear they are with Polus. That’s why I called you here. And you took your sweet time!”

  Sadrik shrugged. “I have a life, Kariana. On occasion, I am actually doing something other than waiting for you to call me screaming for help.” He slammed his fist against his leg in frustration. “Keep this as secret as you can, do you hear me? And try not to do anything stupid for a few days! Mei, I need time to think!”

  “I didn’t do anything stupid this time except not get stabbed!”

  Sadrik cast what was obviously meant to be a terribly severe look at her, but it was spoiled by a slight trembling of his lower lip. “Yes, well, see that you don’t make that mistake again,” he snickered.

  “You are so mean to me!”

  “It is my birthright.” He flashed her a brief, genuinely kind smile, and turned to leave. He reached to open the door just as someone knocked from the other side.

  Sadrik turned back to her. “Which of your toys is this?”

  Kariana shrugged. “I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

  Sadrik opened the door. Narelki stood outside, looking, as always, well groomed and in complete control. But there was something about her that made Kariana think there was trouble.

  Narelki looked up at Sadrik and gave him a cool nod. Sadrik answered her gesture with a look of mild disdain. Narelki’s face grew slightly more stiff than normal, but she said nothing as Sadrik slipped past her and departed.

  The look was disturbing, like they had some kind of shared secret. Kariana felt her stomach flop around a bit. Surely Sadrik wouldn’t betray her? No, that would be ridiculous. If he were her enemy, he would be much nicer to her. But perhaps he was fucking the old hag? It was a rather revolting thought, but then, she had been noticing Prandil of late. Perhaps Sadrik had similar thoughts about Narelki? Kariana shuddered and forced the image out of her mind. She focused on how truly annoyed she was with Narelki, which helped immensely. “What are you doing here? You’ve waited too long, and you’ve botched everything.”

  Narelki looked out the door to verify no one was nearby, then closed it. When she turned back to Kariana, her eyes were cold chips of diamond. “Save your imperious tone for the weak. You're a sniveling little girl weeping over being spurned or pouting at her disappointment. I doubt this alliance will last long, unless you grow considerably tougher.”

  Kariana’s hand fluttered over her breast. Narelki saw the gesture and smiled like a cat about to pounce. “Oh, by all means. You'll lose, but it's the trying that counts.”

  Kariana jerked the dagger from her blouse and pointed it at Narelki like a spear. “Bitch, Prandil isn’t here to protect you this time!”

  Narelki’s eyes widened in amusement and appreciation, and she struck a fighting stance. Shit, she knows how to fight? They never taught me any poses like that. Narelki beckoned Kariana forward with a hand gesture. “Let’s see what you have little girl. I promise not to kill you. This time.”

  Kariana charged like a bull, aiming the dagger for the older woman’s heart. Narelki calmly stepped aside and grabbed Kariana’s wrist. She twisted and pulled, using Kariana’s own momentum against her, and slammed her face-first into the wall to become, for the moment, one more player in the scene depicted on the tapestry. Kariana felt her body melt, and she slowly collapsed in a heap. The dagger dropped from her fingers clattered to the marble floor.

  And I thought Maralena Prosin was a challenge.

  Narelki, apparently just noticing the new tapestry, laughed out loud. “Oh, that scene suits you well, dear! Head down and ass in the air!” She grew somber again, and spat, “It’s too bad you didn’t show this sort of mettle before Aiul made his mess, or we’d be family by now. Get up, fool.”

  Kariana staggered to her feet and wiped blood from her nose. She gave Narelki a nod of surrender. “Well, that didn’t go like I had planned.”

  “It went like I planned. Remember that and you'll bleed less.”

  Kariana sat on her bed and turned her nose up to stanch the steady drip. “Prandil beat me the first time, not you.”

  Narelki nodded agreement. “A fair point.”

  “Besides, I do believe I mentioned before how no one ever trained me to rule. You all left me to sink on my own. Don’t blame it all on me.”

  Narelki, still in a combative stance, clenched her fists and actually growled. “You are being trained this very moment! Are you submitting or are you buying time, child?”

  “Oh, definitely submitting.” On the field of arms, at any rate. “I have no idea how I am going to get this blood out of my robe!” Kariana took a tissue from her nightstand and lay back on her bed. “So, did you come here specifically to give me a beating, or was there something else?”

  “Now that you mention it, yes. Maranath and Ariano have returned.”

  “Yes. As I said when we started this conversation, you’ve screwed everything up by waiting too long.”

  Narelki laughed. “I’m not an idiot like you. I had no intention of moving forward with a doomsday scenario until it was verifiably doomsday. They might not have found him, you know.”

  “Well, they did. They're with Polus right now looking for some men to capture him.”

  “And so I am prepared to move forward.”

  Kariana sat up in her bed. “They’re together! It’s suicide!”

  “Suddenly you’ve lost your nerve?” Narelki shook her head. “And your senses, it seems. You don’t really think they will leave things to underlings, do you? They'll be off again soon, and for the moment they're looking to capture him, not kill. Now is the only chance we have.”

  Karia
na lay back on the bed again. “I suppose so. But what if Prandil goes with them?”

  “One way or another, he won't.”

  Davron entered his reception room and prepared himself for the coming battle. He was uncertain as to whether it would be mental or physical, but conflict was inevitable, and the thought of either invigorated him.

  The reception area was filled with books for some reason, stacked on shelves around the periphery, though Davron had never really understood why. Reading material for guests was something the slaves managed. Supposedly, visitors appreciated the stuff. Davron paid for the things they told him were necessary, but he had no interest in them beyond being a gracious host.

  Rithard lounged on one of the several low, plush couches, reading some dusty tome or another. “Put it away,” Davron ordered. “Time to face your destiny, boy. Either you're about to get a reprieve, or we die in a legendary battle.”

  After a moment of defiance, Rithard closed the book and laid it on the low table in front of him. “Explain.”

  Davron gestured to the door as Ariano and Maranath entered. Pathetic. Ragamuffins. No sense of style. He gave them an imperious look, hand on hilt. “Are you here for parley or glory?”

  Ariano's face twisted as if she were about to snarl some curse, but Maranath held up a hand. “Parley,” he said.

  Davron looked at them a moment, taking their measure. Ariano was clearly at the edge of violence, and Maranath, despite his calm demeanor, was close as well. Hardly unexpected, but they will restrain themselves in my home. “A truce, then. Say what you will.”

  Maranath put bony hands on bony hips. “You made quite a mess of things with that stunt you pulled. We're going to need your help cleaning it up.”

  Davron snorted at this. “You spend your lives telling the rest of us how inferior we are, and now you come groveling to me? And worse, you claim it is my fault!”

  Ariano pointed an accusing finger at Davron and shouted “It most certainly is your fault! Are you denying you imprisoned Aiul?”

  “Are you denying you killed Sadrina and Maralena?”

  “I damned well did kill Sadrina,” the old sorceress said with pride. “I make no apologies.”

  Maranath laid a hand on Ariano's shoulder and gently pulled her back. “Neither of us had anything to do with Maralena, however,” he said, clearly struggling to keep his voice calm and conciliatory.

  Davron was not fooled. Everyone fears her. The fools have no idea which of them is the real threat. “It was clearly Meite work.”

  “Be that as it may, it was neither of ours.”

  Davron scowled at them. “I didn't say it was bad work. But if you'd hold my feet to the fire for taking matters into my own hands, I expect you to present the two from your camp to stand trial with me, or admit I've done nothing you wouldn't do yourselves.”

  Ariano sneered. “Aiul was hardly worthy of such action.”

  “Was he not? He conspired with foreigners to attack Nihlos, and you would have set him free.”

  Maranath slammed his cane against the floor and shouted, “Now see here! I am the one who sentenced him to the pit!”

  “You sentenced the Southlander to death. Yet you came here and freed him without so much as consulting me! You violated my home, Meite!” His grip tightened on his blade. Hopefully, his face was a mask of righteous rage. “House Noril, your eldest, truest allies!” He slammed a fist against his chest to emphasize the point. “Warriors and sorcerers have always been united against the politicians, and you betrayed us!”

  In sudden fury, Davron kicked the low table, sending it flying past Rithard, the book atop it spinning off in a flutter of pages, to land with a thud. Rithard scowled at this, but had the good sense to keep his mouth shut.

  Davron stepped toward the old sorcerer, took him by the shoulders, and looked him the eye. Not so confident anymore, eh, old man? There's a lot of doubt and shame in those eyes. You know just what you did.

  “You betrayed me, Maranath.” The point made, Davron stepped back and clasped his hands behind his back. A victory, I should think.

  Ariano looked back and forth between them, as if she were trying to decide if there was to be a fight or not. Maranath, ashamed, put a hand on her shoulder and again gently pushed her away from Davron. She allowed it, but she was clearly unhappy with his decision.

  Shaking his head in regret, Maranath slowly lowered himself to a knee and bowed his head. “You speak truth. We made a terrible mistake.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “No. I made a mistake. And worse, I did not see it until you made me look at it.”

  Of all possible outcomes, this was the one Davron had never considered. To fight Maranath, to pry a concession from him, that would be well, but to have a powerful elder kneel before him and beg pardon? It was all terribly wrong, and worse, it was being witnessed by their juniors. Davron turned to Rithard. “Get out! You did not see this!”

  Maranath, despite being on one knee, spoke with authority. “Let him stay. I am not ashamed. This is no submission to your power. It's a submission to propriety. We gave you genuine offense, Davron. You have the right of it, and I know it. It does me no harm to admit it. It would harm me if I didn't, knowing I am in the wrong.” Ariano, standing behind Maranath, nodded at this. I will never understand these creatures. They are all mad.

  Davron, very uncomfortable with the situation, beckoned Maranath to rise. “Kneel before me no longer, Maranath. The point is made, on both our counts. I would not see you this way.”

  Maranath rose to his feet again and looked Darvon in the eye. “Very well.”

  Davron focused on Ariano, trying to judge her mood. “And you?”

  For a moment, Davron thought she would fight, even though she had just agreed with Maranath that they shouldn't. The moment passed, and Ariano’s face grew pinched. “It is so. We treated you poorly. I apologize.”

  “I accept your apology. Peace, then?”

  Maranath nodded. “Peace.”

  “Peace”, Ariano agreed.

  Davron raised his hands in a magnanimous gesture. “Then what would you ask of me, friends?”

  “We need fighters,” Maranath said. “A lot of them.”

  An odd request, from powerful sorcerers. “For what purpose?”

  “We intend to capture Aiul,” Maranath told him. “But we have learned there may be a large group of Elgar cultists with him.”

  “You have my attention. How many?”

  “If Ariano's tracking of them is correct, our best guess is a hundred, perhaps two.”

  Davron rubbed at his chin, thinking. “Poorly equipped and trained, no doubt, but in numbers, still dangerous. I can provide two hundred men on short notice. More will take time.”

  Ariano shook her head. “Time is something we lack. We'll take the two hundred and hope it's enough. If not...” She shrugged.

  “War is risk,” Davron agreed. “I will place my men under Caelwen's command. Don't let your egos cloud your minds into thinking you're military tacticians.”

  Ariano was clearly displeased. “What sort of fools do you take us for?”

  Maranath smiled. “He takes us for Meites, dear. We're rather well known for making impulsive decisions, hmm?” He turned to Davron. “We've some other business to tend before we head out. We'll meet you back here in, say, two hours?”

  “Done.”

  Narelki had not been in Prandil’s private quarters for many years, and it troubled her to be here now, for more reasons than she cared to contemplate. Chiefly, it was that she was here to deceive him, but it was more than that. It brought back too many old memories, pieces of the past that both of them had cast aside.

  Prandil raised his glass of wine in toast, and said, “To old friends and fond memories. It’s been too long.”

  “It may be longer, still,” she murmured. “It should have been you calling out to me. But clearly other things occupy your mind.”

  “Be reasonable,” he purred, stroking her with his w
ords. “I could write you a poem,” he offered, grinning.

  “That might get you into my bed,” she said softly, allowing herself a ghost of a smile. “But it will hardly make all well between us. It seems you’ve lost your taste for me.”

  “Oh, no,” Prandil assured her with a hungry look. “Not at all.”

  “It’s been years.”

  “A taste for one thing doesn’t preclude delighting in others as well. One can only eat so much at a time.” He raised a hand to her cheek and stroked it softly. “Besides, I do believe it was your turn.”

  He was good. He always had been. Refusing to take the blame for their split, even as he carefully avoided pushing it back on her. Even now, he was a match for her better judgment. She had to forcefully remind herself just what sort of person she was dealing with, what was at stake. It was all too easy to allow him to gull her into acquiescence.

  She gave no answer, simply looked past him, studying their reflection in his full-length mirror. His charm was obvious, even in a simple reflection. The confidence in his eyes, the way he stood as if he were the central character in the history of the world, it was enough to make her swoon like a virgin. But then, they all had that bearing, even Maranath. To be a Meite was to view the world as one’s plaything, to see oneself as a god. Time bore down on their flesh, but their souls seemed immune to its passing. The light in their eyes never seemed to dull with wisdom and pain. If anything, it grew ever more intense as they sensed their final grains slipping through the neck of the hourglass.

  And yet it was a fragile state. For someone standing atop the world, a fall from grace could prove disastrous. Seeing herself beside him, her own years weighing upon her shoulders like stones, her eyes dim and troubled by truths that he and his kind denied, she hated him, even as her heart sang with giddy, childish passion. It was unfair that the universe would reward fools like the Meites, and deny those who saw things as they truly were. Damn you! Damn you all!

  “I’m not a commoner,” she said with a scowl. “I’ve hardly been celibate, you know. It has nothing to do with other women. Just that you prioritized me out of your life.”