Rise of the Blood Royal

by Robert Newcomb

  Khristos found the place unremarkable. The brook emptied into a deep pool about ten meters away, and one of its banks was a high hill covered with dense foliage. As the innocuous stream burbled along, the trees lining the bank swayed in the wind and the moonlight gently caressed the water, grass, and foliage.

  Khristos turned back toward Failee to see that a strange expression had come over her face. He was about to speak when she quickly raised her arms.

  The twin azure bolts that streamed from Failee’s hands were among the brightest he had ever seen, and they gave him no time to react. As they hit him, he was caught up in a wizard’s warp and lifted high into the air. The gleaming light that surrounded him held him tightly in its powerful embrace, allowing him only the ability to move his head and blink his eyes. He tried to cry out, but words wouldn’t come. He tried to call the craft and break her spell, but her gifts were too powerful. As he hung imprisoned in the glistening azure light, he saw that Failee’s face had become menacing.

  “I have a mission for you, Khristos,” she said, as she continued to empower the strange spell. Lowering her hands, she stepped closer and examined him approvingly, much as she might regard some fine object of art.

  “It is of the utmost importance to me and it will require much sacrifice on your part,” she said. “Because of that, I have taken away your power to resist me. You see, you have no choice in the matter. But once you hear me out you will better understand my motives. You might even agree with them.

  “As I confided to you in my tent, I might soon lose this war,” she continued. “I have no real way of taking the newly found artifacts from the wizards, save for defeating them outright. And if they are already on the path to becoming more powerful, that seems unlikely. If my sisters and I are defeated, I want the wizards and all other persons of right-leaning blood to suffer mightily for daring to oppose the Vagaries. That is why I have brought you here, Khristos. Should the war be lost, you and thousands of creatures who shall become your servants will wreak my revenge.”

  Returning to the wagon, Failee again raised her arms. The canvas flew away to reveal numerous earthen vessels. She used the craft to lift them gently into the air and deposit them one by one on the riverbank. A shudder went through Khristos as he tried to imagine what they might hold. Turning, the First Mistress again faced him as he hovered helplessly in the night.

  “We shared some tender moments, you and I,” she said. “But now they are finished. You must be wondering why I chose you for this, rather than some other wizard or sorceress. The answer is simple. You have come to love me, Khristos, and too much, I’m afraid. That makes you the logical choice. From the moment I first learned of the Tome and the Paragon, you became no more to me than a means to an end.”

  Fearing for his life, Khristos again tried to scream. But as before, his voice was gone. All he could do was stare in horror at the determined First Mistress as she stood there in the moonlight. Then she detailed her plan for him.

  If it became clear that the war was irrevocably lost, she would return to this brook and commit suicide, releasing her blood into the water, Failee said. That would activate the final part of the spell and release Khristos so that he could start his grisly mission. Khristos would rise from the water a new being. His existence would have but one goal, as would the lives of the evolving creatures that would serve him. As he listened he silently begged her to stop, to change her mind, to abandon this madness. But she did not. When she finished her tirade she turned and walked back to stand near the many earthenware jugs.

  Failee levitated the first of the vessels into the air and caused it to float to a place directly over the deep pool. Suddenly the plug flew out and landed on the dewy bank. Then the jug tilted toward one side, emptying its haunting contents into the water.

  The bright azure fluid coming from the jug was slimy and slick-looking. Holding thousands of Blood Viper embryos, it caused the pool to churn and glow. One by one Failee did the same with the remaining jugs. After returning each jug to the wagon bed and again covering them with the canvas, she turned to look at Khristos. For the briefest of moments he thought he saw hint of sadness cross her face. Lowering her hands, she walked down the riverbank to where he hung in her carefully crafted warp.

  “Goodbye, Khristos,” she said quietly. “We shall never meet again.”

  At once Khristos floated out over the pool. Again he desperately tried to break the sorceress’s spell, but it was no use. As he entered the cold brook water there was nothing he could do but succumb to Failee’s trickery. Little by little the water rose until it covered his chin, his nose, his vision. His last view of the world was of Failee’s cold, beautiful eyes staring at him.

  As Khristos submerged, the brook again churned and glowed with the color of the craft. Then the water settled down, showing no trace of what had happened. After staring at the brook for a time, Failee turned and mounted the wagon. Clucking to the horses, she started back to her war camp.

  In the end, Failee’s war would take her far afield, never giving her the chance to return to this brook or to send an emissary of left-leaning blood to do her bidding. Little did she know that her spell would intern Khristos and the vipers for centuries, only to be activated by a common hunter whose endowed blood meant nothing to her. Nor could she have known that when Khristos and his servants were finally liberated, Gracchus and the Pon Q’tar would intervene and set the Viper Lord on a parallel but different course.

  As the centuries passed and the spell held its sway, the newly minted Viper Lord came to understand Failee’s need for revenge, and his heart softened against her treachery. He still loved her, he realized, and he always would—despite how she had used him.

  So much for what my life might have been, Khristos mused as his mind returned to the moment at hand. There had been no report of the Jin’Sai, but he knew that it would soon come. And so I again wait in darkness with my many servants, he mused. But this time my prey is far more important. Come to me, Jin’Sai, he thought as the azure waves pounded against the shore.

  Come to me and meet your fate.

  CHAPTER XXV

  “THE NATION WILL BE DIFFICULT TO CONTROL IF I AM not victorious,” Vespasian said sternly. Taking a deep breath, he looked Tribune Flavius Maximus squarely in the face.

  “You must understand that,” the emperor added. “In the end there may be little glory in this task that I offer you. Should we fail to secure the Shashidan mines, the depleted state of the treasury might well give rise to a revolt. Only two legions will remain here in Ellistium with which to enforce martial law. Moreover, all the Pon Q’tar and Heretic ranks go with me, for I will need them in the field. That leaves only you and a handful of other tribunes who can employ the craft. I do not envy you this job.”

  Turning away, Vespasian resolutely folded his arms across the breastplate of his dark blue dress armor and looked around the room. He would be leaving the palace soon, perhaps never to return. He would miss it.

  Vespasian stood in his private office. Broad and spacious, the room was magnificently decorated. Massive oak doors lay in the far wall, closed for the moment and guarded by two centurions on the other side to ensure privacy. The floor was made of highly polished onyx and alabaster checkerboard squares, and in its center was inlaid the letter V in solid gold. The walls were tall, with fluted pilasters between the many colorful frescoes. A wide skylight let in air and sunlight. Vespasian’s elaborately carved desk stood nearby, its top littered with parchments, beeswax plaques, styli, and abaci.

  Vespasian turned and walked out onto his balcony, thinking. His legions and armada were ready and the momentous day had finally arrived. The forum lay before him, its beautiful columns and majestic buildings glistening in the midday sun.

  Looking down at the impatiently waiting throng, it seemed to him that every single Ellistiumite had come to this spot to cheer the war procession’s departure from the city. The sun was high and the day hot, and the eager spectators had
already waited for hours. Turning back to look at Flavius Maximus, Vespasian realized that the citizens would have to wait longer still, for he refused to leave the tribune in control of the capital until matters were clearly understood.

  “What say you?” he asked sternly. “Are you up to the task? Will you and your two legions fight to the death if need be to maintain control in my absence? If not, simply tell me and I will appoint another in your stead. I will attach no shame to your decision should you decline. But I must know that whomever I leave in charge can be relied on.”

  Putting down his wineglass, Flavius rose from his seat at the meeting table he shared with Persephone and Lucius Marius. Without hesitation he walked to his emperor. Thumping his clenched right fist against his chest, then opening his palm and thrusting it forward, he gave Vespasian his best military salute. Vespasian eyed him warily, wondering whether the show of loyalty was a bit too hearty.

  “You have my devotion unto death,” Flavius answered. “Surely you know that. We have fought in many battles together, and I wish I were going with you yet again. But we each know that a soldier cannot choose where he fights. I have every confidence that you will succeed in taking the Shashidan mines and return home in triumph. Seeing our forces parade back through the forum with countless wagons full of Shashidan gold will indeed be a day to tell our children’s children about.”

  Thinking about how his course had come to be set, Vespasian thoughtfully walked farther out onto the balcony, this time allowing the adoring crowds to see him. At once thunderous cheers arose and thousands of flower petals filled the air like so many snowflakes suddenly in a blizzard. Despite having secured the public’s badly needed confidence, Vespasian remained worried, ever calculating.

  My subjects desperately want this campaign, Vespasian thought as he waved back at them. And why wouldn’t they, after the Suffragat took such pains to persuade them of its righteousness. But what do civilians know of war? Just one day on the battlefield would change many minds, but there can be no going back now. As he watched the crowd, his thoughts drifted back to the difficult Suffragat meeting that he had overseen yesterday.

  The ordeal of choosing a tribune to rule in Vespasian’s absence had been politically charged and time consuming. The Pon Q’tar had wanted a man named Magnus Attilus to oversee Ellistium in Vespasian’s absence, and in many ways Attilus would have been a good choice. Attilus was mature and wise, a brilliant field commander and a powerful craft practitioner. He might have served well, and he had been on Vespasian’s list of choices.

  But in the end Attilus was the Pon Q’tar’s man through and through, and because of Vespasian’s growing concerns about Gracchus’ motives, the emperor had finally rejected him. As expected, the Pon Q’tar immediately voiced an outraged protest. The Suffragat had then bickered for hours like maids at the market until Vespasian became disgusted and finally used his power of official decree to proclaim Flavius as the new Imperator Tempitatus, or temporary ruler. Flavius was well aware of how he had come to be chosen, the emperor’s defiant act further cementing his well-known allegiance to Vespasian even more.

  Hoping that he had chosen wisely, Vespasian took another deep breath, then turned to again look at the man who would serve in his stead. If there was ever a stalwart tribune, it was Flavius.

  Short, stocky, and sturdy as a marble column, Flavius wore a neatly trimmed red beard. Dark blue eyes and a flat, crooked nose that had been crushed twice in battle highlighted his imposing face. His hair was red, close-cropped, and thinning slightly at the temples. As he stood before Vespasian he looked splendid in his dress uniform, complete with golden breastplate and matching gauntlets, greaves, and blood-red cape.

  Flavius was a devoted family man with a loving wife named Atia and three sons of fully endowed blood, each of whom was a centurion in the famed Twenty-fifth Legion. Vespasian knew that watching their sons go would be hard for Flavius and Atia, but their loyalty to the empire was unswerving.

  He looks every bit the commanding emperor, Vespasian thought as he studied Flavius. That is good, for his lot here will not be an easy one.

  Vespasian glanced over Flavius’ shoulder to give the First Tribune a questioning look. Lucius took another sip of wine, thinking. After placing the wine goblet back atop the table he nodded, signaling his agreement. Vespasian looked back into Flavius’ eyes.

  “Very well, then,” he said simply. “It is done.”

  Walking to his desk, Vespasian took up a rolled-up parchment and a gold ring, then walked back to stand before Flavius. He handed the parchment to the new Imperator Tempitatus. Flavius accepted it gratefully.

  “This official decree holds my and Gracchus’ signatures,” Vespasian said. “It is also marked with my seal, further proving that I have appointed you to your new station. In the absence of the Suffragat it additionally empowers you to declare martial law and to do away with the right to trial should you see fit. If a revolt arises, immediately set an example by executing several of the suspected rabble-rousers. Their guilt or innocence is unimportant—nothing deters anarchy like very sudden and very public killings. Make their deaths slow and gruesome before giving their bodies to the usual lot of corpse collectors and bone grinders.”

  Vespasian then handed the gold signet ring to Flavius. It was a gorgeous piece of jewelry, produced overnight on the emperor’s order. The letter F was deeply inscribed into the face of the ring. Vespasian watched as Flavius reverently placed it onto the third finger of his right hand.

  “Guard that ring with your life, just as I guard mine,” Vespasian said. “It is the only way that I will know that your messages are genuine. Most of your communiqués will be by mental communion with Gracchus. But if you wish to tell me something in secret, send a parchment containing your seal by messenger bird. It will take longer, but I will have no doubt of its veracity.”

  Flavius gave Vespasian another crisp salute. “All will be as you order,” he said. Then he stepped nearer and placed one hand atop Vespasian’s shoulder. “And I thank you for this honor,” he said softly.

  Vespasian gave a short laugh. “Don’t thank me yet, old friend,” he said wryly. “The time for that will be if I come home laden with Shashidan gold.”

  “You mean when!” Lucius laughingly shouted.

  Vespasian looked over to see that the First Tribune had risen to his feet. Taking another slug of wine, he smiled broadly, then sauntered past Vespasian and Flavius and out onto the balcony. The impatient crowd promptly roared again, this time so loudly that it nearly hurt everyone’s ears. Smiling, Lucius turned back to look at Vespasian.

  “Now that the formalities are over, it’s high time we got going!” he said with a wink. “Those poor civilians waiting down there are starting to wilt.”

  Vespasian nodded at Lucius, then looked at Persephone and reached out to her.

  “My love,” he said simply.

  Persephone rose from the table to take her husband’s hand. As she did so, Vespasian stretched his other hand out toward Flavius. The Imperator Tempitatus responded by slapping his palm against the inside of Vespasian’s forearm and grasping it firmly, signaling the common greeting between devoted legionnaires.

  Vespasian smiled. “Walk out with us,” he said to Flavius. “I want the people to see you standing by my side in your new role. It will help to cement the transition.”

  Vespasian raised one hand and called the craft. As the massive doors parted and Persephone, Lucius, and Flavius passed through, Vespasian paused for a moment to take a last look around the room in which he had agonized over so many difficult decisions. For better or worse, from this day forward all of his choices would be made in the field. Finally he turned and followed the others out.

  In the end it would take hours for Vespasian’s lead chariot, Persephone’s personal litter, the litters of the Pon Q’tar members and Julia Idaeus, and the two valiant legions that would return to serve under Flavius’ command to navigate the broad forum and wend their way am
ong the thousands of adoring citizens. Trumpeters and drummers heralded Vespasian’s departure while untold multitudes of colorful handkerchiefs waved and thousands more flower petals rained down from windows and balconies. In two days the procession would link up with the remaining twenty-eight legions awaiting them at the fountainhead of the Six Rivers, near the boundary of the Borderlands. From there the Pon Q’tar’s azure portals would transport them the thousands of leagues to where the fighting would start in earnest. It would be a campaign like no other, and regardless of its success or failure, it would forever change the fate of Rustannica.

  As Vespasian guided his two white stallions through the forum and toward the city limits, even now he worried about the great venture that he had birthed. Little did he understand the ever-rising danger of what he had set in motion, for there were forces awaiting him the likes of which no Rustannican emperor had ever seen.

  Deciding to meet his destiny head-on, Vespasian grimly slapped his reins across the stallions’ haunches.

  CHAPTER XXVI

  FROM HIS VANTAGE POINT ON THE CAVE FLOOR TRISTAN looked up to watch ever more Minion warriors walk down the stone steps and enter the Caves of the Paragon. The torches they carried cast macabre shadows across the cave walls, reminding him of how eerie this beautiful place could be.

  Wigg, Scars, Tyranny, Astrid, Phoebe, and Jessamay stood nearby, each of them stunned into silence by this wondrous place. Tristan had come here several times before and he knew what this first chamber looked like. But some members of his party had never visited here, and amazement registered on their faces. Despite Tristan’s familiarity with the Caves, their magnificence again took his breath away.

  The journey to the Caves had been uneventful, but Tristan and his group remained unaware of how to find the Azure Sea. As a precaution, each warrior carried a supply of food and potable water strapped across his or her back, in case the search became protracted. But Tristan still hoped that they might somehow find the sea without great difficulty, allowing them to soon be on their way to Shashida. Looking around again, he recalled what he knew of this sacred place.