by Thomas Green
Miranda stared at him in disbelief. “That’s it? No comment on anything? You should trial me, have me executed or expelled or at the least demoted for heaven’s sake!”
“And why the fuck would I do that?” Lucas shouted in a voice that made their blood freeze. “I don’t give a shit about your resignation or your need for repentance. Nashimaeal is dead, and nothing can change that, but now, our army is exhausted, and we are poorer than a monkey whore until we dig up that treasury. Why the goddamn hell would I trial the best head of special forces I have had in almost a century?”
The silence was his only answer.
Lucas took a long swig from a bottle of wine before he continued. “Yes, you fucked up. We all sometimes do, so what do you expect me to do about it? We lost at Cinderwell because Merewen ignored the bandit band slaver’s had recruited. Nashimaeal is dead because he chased Miranda off to have a duel. I missed that secret tunnel in the Illysaeas arena, so Luna’s death is on me. We all screw up from time to time. We are only humans, so learn to live with it!”
Merewen chuckled. “Worst motivational speech ever.”
“You say that every goddamn time, you brat. I am the great general, so I get to talk. You, on the other hand, get to shut the fuck up and listen, because I am not done yet.” Lucas waved Merewen off with his hand.
She snickered, and Lucas took another set of gulps. “Anyway. Before I drink myself unconscious over losing the best friend I ever had… Elias! Sail your fleet to Xona and prepare for a long campaign. Our next target is the leader of the Storm Pirates, Ur’Thul’Gar. I’ve had enough of him disrupting our whale hunting. Upon my command, be prepared to annihilate them to the last.”
Elias bowed. “Yes, general.”
“Merewen! Dig up the treasure and prepare the armies for a long campaign. Upon my command, you are to retake Cinderwell and then proceed north, where you are to chase out everyone who’s not our or Alnil’s follower toward the east. Oh, and find paths to cross the Frozen Peaks, with horses.”
Merewen nodded.
Lucas pierced Miranda with a glare. “Miranda! After I wipe my ass with your resignation by tomorrow morning, you will head to Xona to tell the high priest council they are senile old farts and I will not promote any of them. Afterward, find me a new archbishop. The requirements are youth, correct world philosophy and combat proficiency.”
“Thank you,” Miranda whispered, barely holding back her tears.
“As for myself, I am heading east, alone and I am going on a rampage, so I will turn the lands between Illysaeas and the Central Plains into a graveyard. With that, I will set us to kill Ebilezerhar and Kayleanne.”
Merewen arched an eyebrow. “Three demon princes at once?”
Lucas smiled. “They keep their forces too close to be picked apart one by one. In addition, Archbishop Nashimaeal will be proclaimed a martyr and a saint. All three of you will use his martyrdom to find new recruits. Bring in everyone who can hold a weapon because the next campaign will be the Holy War to avenge him. And we need to sell this narrative well to cover whatever atrocities we might commit.”
Merewen scoffed. “That is the last thing he would want.”
Lucas grinned. “I know. He has been consistently vetoing this plan of mine for the past three decades. Yet we cannot tell our followers that demons killed the beloved archbishop and we are doing nothing about it, can we? Plus, I believe there is no better decoration for his tomb than the demon prince’s skulls.” Lucas’s voice turned weak, and his unwounded arm went slack by his side, dropping the wine.
“Oh, look at that.” Merewen laughed. “Someone suppressed his poison resistance to get drunk while forgetting he has half a dozen poisoned needles struck into him.”
Lucas focused on speaking as he pierced her with a glare. “Remind me, why haven’t I fired you yet?”
Merewen shrugged and turned to Elias. “I believe the great general is in an urgent need of a healer.”
“Indeed.” The admiral raised his cup with a sad smile. “To Nashimaeal.”
“To Nashimaeal.”
44
Raven
The time for the final match of the Grand Tournament had come. Raven put on his armor, sheathed his blade, picked up a throwing spear and headed to the arena. Not caring for the recent battle, Prince Stallington wanted his finals, and so no changes to the schedule were acceptable.
The cheers of the crowd made the entire complex tremble. As if the nightmare of the siege of two days ago had never happened, the tribunes were packed to the limit.
Raven entered the arena and gazed upon the crowd of fans.
Prince Stallington was already sitting on his throne. The gate at the other side of the arena opened, and single, massive Urushnii entered.
Tal’Sec, the leader of the team of Ghalkel. Raven did not remember seeing any Urushnii among the corpses, so he has come alone to save his team from his blade. He couldn’t help but feel impressed.
Raven gazed upon Stallington. The prince was beaming and had no any extra security or protection. Raven wished he didn’t make his choice. Raven closed his eyes and focused. The announcer introduced them both, visibly surprised by only one man coming for team Ghalkel. Raven gripped his spear, long and heavy.
The countdown started the match. Upon the command to fight, Raven pushed out his aether and stopped time. All around him froze in perfect silence. He walked through the arena to stand a few dozen feet before the wall under Stallington’s throne, weighing the spear in his hand. He had no desire of throwing the spear, no care for the title he would obtain, but respected Jonathan’s choice. After all the years, to fulfill his last wish was the least he could do for the closest thing to a father he ever had.
Raven stretched out his aether to neutralize the protection barrier, unfroze time, stepped forward and launched his spear. It boomed through the air, and the crowd fell silent.
Prince Stallington sat upon his throne with Raven’s spear piercing his heart.
Farewell, father. A tear slid down Raven’s face. He bit back the sadness and shouted. “Confirm my fulfillment of Act 5791C.498Z!”
A murmur ran through the tribunes while Tal’Sec stood still, observing. A well-dressed man talked to the guards around Prince Stallington before he examined the prince’s body.
The man peered at Raven. “I confirm the death of Prince Stallington by Raven’s spear. As per the issued challenge, from this moment forth, all properties of Mr. Stallington belong to you, and you shall henceforth bear his title of the prince, Prince Raven.”
Raven sighed, sadder than he thought possible. He turned to the referee. “Announce the change of the final match format to ring instead of death-match. The ring is to be the central segment of the arena.”
The referee bowed and announced the change, making Raven and Tal’Sec step to the center of the arena.
Raven pierced his opponent with a stare. The Urushnii came here alone to save the lives of his teammates, to protect them from Raven. For that, he didn’t have to die here today.
Beneath the crushing silence of the tribunes, Tal’Sec bowed and stepped outside the ring, forfeiting the match.
***
A few days later, his guards brought Raven to the meeting of the city council. Ignoring the awkward looks, he took the head of the table.
An older man, Lord Ricochieu, stood and spoke, his voice calm and clear. “I hereby start the meeting of the city council. First of all, I have the honor to welcome the newest member, winner of the Grand Tournament and the official ruler of Illysaeas, Prince Raven.”
All nine members of the city council stared at him in an awkward moment of silence.
Raven gazed at the council members. He remembered all of them, for they frequented the front rows of the tribunes. No matter how he looked, all he saw were his followers, his worshippers. He rose to take the word, feeling more calm and confident than he ever thought possible. “Have four things I would like to go through. First, all forms of slavery a
re to be banned and be henceforth punishable by death. Any current slaves are to be released and given gold to start a new life. I have already put this in motion with all slaves I had inherited from Mr. Stallington.”
The city council stared in amazement.
Lord Ricochieu, the head of the council, smiled. “Xona, Grimdawn, Nurnfell, Slupsey, Ulyssalom, and Sonenheim have all done the same. The other city-states shall likely follow. This is a wise course of action, so I believe we can vote straight upon it.”
The motion passed unanimously.
Raven cleared his throat. “Second, all forms of demons, their mutations and followers are to be hunted down and killed. While I have already instructed the heads of the city garrison, city’s armed forces and of the monster hunting guilds present within the city, I would like to ask you to instruct your private guards to do the same so we can avoid unnecessary conflict.”
“I am sorry to interrupt, but have you coordinated with Count Salazar upon this matter? This act is eerily similar to the one the Council of Xona passed after the arrest of Mr. Leker,” one of the council members asked.
Raven nodded. “Yes. Salazar sent me the text of his acts for inspiration, and I have them here.” Raven put two rolled-up parchments onto the table. “Also offered help in case the remnants of the Union cause any trouble, but I don’t think we want it unless circumstances force us.”
The council agreed.
Raven sipped from a glass of water before he continued. “Third, lord of Ulyssalom sought me earlier today. He said he was afraid of the growing influence of Xona and would like to strike an alliance with us. I am up for it but told him that someone from the city council would meet him to discuss the issue further as I have little insight into these matters. He stays at the Golden Bell inn.”
“I shall invite him to a meeting here tomorrow if all agree, I believe this is a good chance we should not let slip,” Lord Ricochieu concurred. The rest of the council agreed.
“Last, I will head out into the world. As of now, I am taking a leave of absence from this council, without replacement, and hand over all my properties and men into the safekeeping of the city council until my return.”
Lord Ricochieu laughed. “I hope you did not expect us to disagree with this one.”
Raven smiled. “I did not.”
***
Raven stood in his room in his mansion. The decorated chamber with a tall ceiling still made him uncomfortable. He donned his gambeson and chain mail, which his servants washed clean. A gentle scent of flowers oozed out of the cloth, a sharp change to the smell of dried blood and sweat his nose had grown used to.
A voice echoed through the door. “Sorry, sir, but we had found something you should see.”
Raven opened the door. The guard bowed and presented him a sealed wooden casket. Etched upon the lid was For Prince Raven.
Raven took the casket out of the guard’s hands and closed the door behind him. He sat by the table and pried the cask open. Inside lay a set of rolled up parchments. Raven grabbed the one at the top and started reading:
‘The fact that you are reading this means I am dead. It’s been about time you completed my challenge, but you have always liked to slack, haven’t you? Take this as the final scolding I will ever give you.
The title of the prince was meant for only the strongest. I have long since reached my summit and entered my decline, so I am no longer worthy of the honor. As I have chosen you to bear my title forward, I pray you live up to it. And because I am still an annoying old man, I have my last request for you.
At the bottom of this casket, you will find the amulet you wore the day my men captured you in the street. No matter what scholar I presented it to, none managed to name the metal it is made of. The only hint to its origin I had ever received was from an Alnil priest, who told me to seek an island in the middle of the Lake of Dreams. There is no island on that lake, but perhaps my failure in finding it meant merely that I was unworthy. You aren’t, so I want you to complete this journey, the one I couldn’t do.
With love,
Jonathan Stallington’
Raven wiped his tears with the back of his hand and reached into the casket. At the bottom, he found an amulet of Alnil on a simple chain. The metal was cold upon touch, gray and matte. He put down the cask, opened the chain and placed it around his neck.
Raven’s vision shifted. He saw himself standing in front a mirror, watching his face, the image of divine beauty his aether used to create. Behind him stood the sapphire-robed woman and put the amulet around his neck. She smiled and said, “See? It fits you well.”
She pecked him a kiss onto the cheek, and his vision returned to reality.
Confused, he left the room. He grabbed the prepared backpack and found the horse his servants readied for him. Without looking back, Raven walked out of the mansion.
45
Miranda
Miranda did not want to return to Illysaeas. She really, really, really didn’t want to go. For as long as she wouldn’t enter that room, she could give herself false hope.
The two-day trip to Illysaeas took her over a week, and that was only due to her running out of the booze she stole from Elias’ ship and the nearby villages. She barely slept at all, for whenever she closed her eyes, the nightmares of dying Nashimaeal jerked her back awake.
And when these nightmares loosened their grip, the ones of dying Luna replaced them. She remembered every detail, every torn muscle, the bloody foam by her mouth, the pulsating black veins and the black, poisoned eyes. She remembered and saw them every time she dared to attempt to sleep.
Hence, alcohol became her sole source of relief, and Miranda kept drinking until she passed out. Now, she stared at the bottom of the last bottle as she lay among the ashes of the burned forest in sight of Illysaeas’ walls. She wished someone taught her how to deal with these things.
Her horse huffed above her, unhappy from having nothing to graze. Miranda threw the bottle at the horse but missed the beast by three feet. The horse released a mocking neigh.
Miranda shook her head. Who was she kidding? Luna was dead. She couldn’t save her. The girl trusted her, believed in her… and she failed her. Miranda lost too many agents in Cinderwell, so she didn’t have enough men to find the tunnel beneath the arena. Lucas may have taken the blame upon himself, but that did not change the reality.
Miranda stumbled to her feet, wobbled to the horse and caught herself by the saddle. And Lucsa sent her on a non-combat mission, so she didn’t do something stupid… something suicidal. Father. The word haunted her alongside everything else because it denied everything she thought she knew about her origin and race.
Her third attempt got her to the saddle. She entered the town, and the beast navigated itself to the Palai barracks.
Miranda fell from the saddle, sneered away soldiers who came to help her and crawled up to her feet. With wobbly steps, while leaning onto the wall, Miranda scaled the stairs to the top room.
The doors were closed but not locked, exactly how she left them. Her heart wanted to give out its service at any second while her legs were heavy, stomach clenched like a fist and head spinning. She slid into the chamber.
Her eyes were hazy with tears, burning and wanting to burst. She stumbled to the bed. Luna’s body lay within, motionless, exactly how she left her. Miranda took off her glove and put her finger in front of Luna’s mouth and nose.
No breath. Miranda collapsed to the ground, leaning onto the bed frame. So much for miracles… Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I am sorry Luna… so… so… sorry. I missed the tunnel under the arena because I didn’t send enough men to find it. Now you lie here because of it. You are dead because of me… because I was careless. I would have had enough men if I didn’t lose them in Cinderwell… where I attacked a man I was told not to… I was proud, too proud of my strength, so proud I couldn’t imagine I would ever lose a fight.”
Miranda drew in through her nose, trying to keep her weepi
ng silent. “Nash is dead… which is on me too. I wanted to avenge you, avenge you to lift the blame off me. I left Nash alone in there… and he died. Died because I was too busy killing everything I saw instead of being there to help him. You know what the worst part is? I knew it was pointless. I knew it wouldn’t help… but I did it anyway, I failed to stop myself.”
She huddled against her knees. “And guess what? I failed at that as well because Lucas killed everyone himself. Now... there is nothing left. You are dead, Nash is dead, and I have nothing to show for it. All I have is my blame and emptiness. I am sorry… so… so, sorry.”
A hand gently descended onto Miranda’s hair. “I don’t blame you,” Luna whispered.
Miranda turned her head in disbelief.
Luna formed an awkward smile. “I thought it would be fun to play dead for a bit… sorry.”
“H… how?”
Luna shrugged. “All I remember is a devil made of darkness.” She caught Miranda by her shoulder and pulled her into the bed. Miranda dug her head into Luna’s chest and wrapped her arms around her while Luna held her in a firm hug.
Luna’s lips curled. “You stink like a rotten horse marinated in cheap booze.”
Miranda exploded into tears. “Please… just… hold me.”
46
Luna
Four weeks after she recovered, Luna sat in the seediest inn of Xona, staring at the dozens of empty bottles before her. She tried to form a sentence, but her mouth failed her, and an incoherent mumble was all that came out. She did not let such trivialities discourage her and pointed at a full bottle beyond the innkeeper.
The old man gave her a pitying smile. “You’ve had enough, lass.”
