“You’ll have to explain the distinction.”
“Mine was more directed. Either way, it was all for the greater good.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“I’m not in the habit of giving away state secrets but it relates to blood magic as you’ve no doubt determined. A single city in the Northern Wasteland dies, or at least a large portion of it does, to guarantee millions live.”
“By killing us.”
“You think highly of yourself,” Hellsword said, chuckling. “You and your little nation up north will be wiped out, yes, but the efforts of my experiments here will bring peace to the entirety of the Southern Kingdoms.”
“All because of a damned prophecy.”
Hellsword walked over to what was certainly a chair in the room he was projecting from and sat down on it. It had the appearance of making him look like he was sitting in midair. He leaned back and waved his hands dismissively. “Morrigan’s prophecy is Ethinu’s concern, not mine. It may be true, it may not be, but it’s proven a useful rallying point. The Oghma obsesses over things like fate and free will, never perhaps suspecting that the reason they’re unable to avert it is because individuals like the Lawgiver and his minions are working to make it happen.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Jassmaine.”
“Amongst others. It has made the Oghma stupid and predictable, which is as good as controlling them outright. A few less players to complicate the Lawgiver’s long-term plans for creation. The Trickster’s as well.”
Guilty, the Trickster said.
I tried not to grit my teeth at that statement. “So the Prophecy of the Black Sun isn’t true.”
Hellsword pointed at me. “It doesn’t matter if it’s true. What matters is that it has allowed both of us to become obscenely powerful and direct the course of nations.”
“Not all men crave power. Some simply want to help the world.”
Hellsword laughed. “Beautiful, Jacob, just beautiful. I think we would have been friends if we’d met under other circumstances.”
“I doubt that.”
I walked into the middle of the room and looked around. It was a pleasant chamber with a richly appointed bed, flowers in a nearby vase, a table for writing, and a window for looking out onto the streets below. There was a pleasant Fir Bolg minimalism to everything that I would have enjoyed under different circumstances but felt defiled by Hellsword’s presence.
“What is your goal, really?” I said, not looking at him but aware of his presence at all times.
“To bring peace to the world. To feed the peasantry. To end war. To have justice not just an indulgence of the rich. We could work together to that end.”
I struggled with both my revulsion for him and my desire to believe his sincerity. “You’ll forgive me if I doubt your intentions.”
“You attacked us first. Or have you forgotten Jon Bloodthorn’s murder and the destruction of House Rogers?”
The subject of House Rogers was painful to remember, but didn’t convince me either. “You have a generous definition of who attacked whom.”
“Do I?” Hellsword said, cocking his head to one side. “You were enslaved for two hundred years and upon awakening, you’ve butted yourself into every conflict we’ve been trying to resolve. No one asked you to play the hero. You could have tottered along off to some castle somewhere in the middle of nowhere and been happy but you’ve been plotting our demise ever since.”
“I did totter off to a castle in the middle of nowhere. Others have tried to kill me and mine since.”
“Have they?” Hellsword narrowed his eyes. “I’m simply saying we know Regina is the one agitating for war. Serah has always been tractable in the past—”
I snorted at his description.
Hellsword paused. “All right, that was stupid of me to say. Reasonable, then. I’m just saying give us a chance. Step back, let us finish our work here, and I can sell the empress a peace treaty between the empire and the Iron Order.”
“Despite Bloodthorn’s death.” Morwen and he had been lovers according to some accounts, close friends to all others.
“Despite. Enough blood has been spilled on both sides.”
“Like House Whitetremor.”
“Plotting treason against the nation.”
“Regina says otherwise.”
“Regina was in the Shadowguard a thousand miles away. She had no idea what her uncle was up to.”
“Despite the thousands of people you have killed in your labor camps.”
“Sacrifices necessary to modernize the primitive disease and famine-ridden lands of less-developed nations. Besides, we aren’t working them to death, the majority died because of the summerpox and dysentery. We can’t be blamed for outbreaks in lands where those diseases haven’t been cured.”
“So the poor working conditions are the fault of the people you’ve conquered.”
Hellsword shrugged. “If the armor fits.”
I was not persuaded by any of Hellsword’s arguments. His glib responses to the massive numbers of atrocities that had occurred underneath Empress Morwen’s reign did not reassure me of his good intentions. There was also the fact the Ice Demon had been located in the center of the Fire District for all of his pretensions of having another, more politically motivated, set of targets. There was also the fact—and I had to admit this was a poor excuse for disregarding diplomacy—that I didn’t like him. Hellsword oozed smugness. Yet, could I really turn my back on this opportunity?
It was everything I’d hoped for.
“Tell me why you care,” I said, deciding to give him a chance to convince me.
“Hmm?”
“You carry a sword containing tortured souls, you murder people by the thousands for your magic, and you are, quite frankly, an evil sonofabitch, so tell me why you care. Why do you claim to fight for peace?” I turned around to look at him, square in the face.
Hellsword looked away. “That is a difficult question.”
“Is it?”
Hellsword was silent for a moment then pressed his fingertips together. “Curiosity.”
“Excuse me?”
“Evil does not exist. It is a value judgment that varies from person to person. Even the Trickster was only a monster and tormentor of mankind because the Lawgiver asked him to be. Just because I am ruthless, amoral, and prejudiced does not mean I am incapable of feeling or feel some need to go kick random peasants. Even Redhand, who does enjoy peasant-kicking, does so only because of a need to gratify himself via other people’s suffering.”
“Lovely companion you have.”
“Tremendous sense of humor, though,” Hellsword said, pinching the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache. “But I said curiosity and I meant it. In Natariss, I was born a prince and was second only to the magistar in social position. However, I never stopped questioning the assumptions of our society. Why did only five percent of our citizens know how to read? Why were we using two hundred-year-old spells when the other kingdoms’ magicians were constantly innovating? Why were only magic-users fit to rule and only those of the mage caste allowed to study the mystic arts? Why were the casteless considered vermin unfit for even slave labor? Why were our palaces ruins and why did we retreat closer to our capital every year?”
“Because the Natariss ruling class are a bunch of inbred parasites hated by their subjects?”
“I figured that out fairly early.” Hellsword let go of his face and gave a dismissive wave. “I sought the answer to fixing these problems in other nations out of a misguided sense of nationalism. I soon realized that the problems with my nation were its people and there was no point in trying. I sought to become the greatest wizard in history, gain immortality, indulge myself, and other petty goals for decades thereafter. It was during this time Serah became my lover—”
I clenched my right fist.
Hellsword noticed and leered. “But Serah was nothing more than a plaything. An amusement I convinced to fall
in love with me before I discarded her. I intended to bring her back only when I felt she might be useful in the Oghma. That all changed, though, when I met Morwen. She was the one, not Jassamine, who assembled the Nine. Morwen provided the true answer to my questions. Questions I thought had been answered long ago but, in fact, were mere reflections of my own flaws.”
“And what were her answers?”
“That, we, the people, weren’t fixing the problems. That, we, the Nine, could, ourselves, save the world.”
It was a shocking statement, because I believed he was being sincere. I had some experience with being a frustrated idealist who had sought someone to pledge his loyalty to someone worth following, someone who had a vision of how to make the world a better place. That Hellsword might have been the same way was not so strange an idea to me.
It meant the Nine Heroes might not be so different from us. After all, we had done questionable things in the pursuit of a greater good. But then I thought about Whitehall and the massacre here. Those were not the actions of men and women motivated by the greater good. They were the actions of sadists and bigots looking to justify their crimes.
“I have seen your way of fixing things. It does not impress.”
Hellsword made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “We are building aqueducts, reservoirs, dams, steel mills, and weather towers to help the people. Many of those who have died building them are the very nobility I once called my brethren. We have beggared the empire to make the changes necessary to build a better tomorrow. There is no caste system in Natariss anymore and I was hoping you, of all people, would understand that such change requires sacrifice.”
“What you would call sacrifice, I would call tyranny.”
“Says the man who has wiped out traditional Formor culture and forced them all to follow his own path. No more clans, no more wars, no more genocides, or honor killings. Or would you like to know the numbers killed in your wars of conquest?”
“Fourteen thousand, six hundred and twelve. Being a god, I make sure I know everyone who dies because of my actions.”
“And you dare judge us.”
“Yes,” I hissed, taking a step forward and drawing my sword again. I held it in front of his astral projection. “I do.”
“So there is no chance of peace between us?” Hellsword sounded genuinely remorseful. Was he or was he not trying to play me like a lyre?
I had wanted this or something very much like it for a long time. Since taking over the mantle of the King Below I had hoped for an opportunity to prevent the war between us. A peace envoy from Hellsword after his attempted massacre of the nonhumans here (or Redhand’s—it didn’t matter which) was terribly convenient but such things were usually made under duress. Regina had said she would accept peace with her enemies if it meant the world was better for it, but could the Nine be trusted? Could Hellsword? I knew the answer. At least enough to give mine.
“I want to believe you. I want to believe we could end this. That you are sincere and this is not just buying for time. But the man who would sacrifice all the men, women, and children in the Nonhuman District—those most desperately in need of protection from the strong—is not a man building a better tomorrow for him. I do not believe your offer Hellsword and tell you to leave my presence and know I am coming for you.”
“So be it,” Hellsword said, shaking his head. “You know the funny thing, Jacob?”
“What?”
“You’re not the Black Sun the prophecy speaks of. Regina is. She is the one destined to destroy the world. Think on the fall of House Rogers. Think of the vengeance she wrought and ask yourself if your wife is the world’s savior or its end.”
With that, Hellsword vanished.
I spent the next few minutes casting a spell to prevent him from astrally projecting through the barrier again.
I wasn’t sure it would work.
But it helped keep me from thinking about Hellsword’s words.
I sat on the bed.
And thought of the fall of House Rogers.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The fall of House Rogers was a turning point for us. It all began with the first assassination attempt by Queen Morwen’s minions. Three years into our reign in Everfrost, that event conjured powerful images and smells to my mind.
Blood.
Saltwater.
Foulness.
Scented oils.
The profane and sublime together in an unpleasant confusing mixture that assaulted the senses. Walking through the doors to the royal baths past two frightened Formor guards, I took stock of Regina’s favorite location in the tower. The baths were a ninety-foot-long chamber with ionic columns decorated in succubi, lascivious damned souls, and satyrs. The walls contained various lewd pornography that, apparently, was the current style of art in the Imperial city, but which was very popular with guests.
A sixty-foot-long heated pool with fountain-mouthed gargoyles was the centerpiece of the room but smaller chambers were all to the sides with their own private baths—often used for debauchery during the days of the old King Below.
Bathing was a popular pastime with Imperials, both in this century and my own, with lewdness and spouse-swapping a common activity during them. This was in addition to their social function as a place for gossip, family bonding, and negotiations. Regina, as a child of the empire, considered all of that perfectly natural and was often surprised by what she considered my ‘Fishfolk prudishness.’ Oftentimes, she would spend hours up here with her attendants reading over reports and soaking in the waters pumped from the River of Souls below. It was her sanctuary, as the forge was mine, a place to escape the hardships of ruling a nation.
Today, the chamber was an abattoir.
A house of horrors.
Though I had seen worse during wartime, it was still a sight that shocked me. In a way, I was lucky to be in my wraith form, as I otherwise would have become ill. Waving away the two guards who had utterly failed their duties, I looked at the nightmare that greeted me.
Spread throughout the chamber were thirty black-clad bodies that had their necks broken, holes punched through their chests, bisected bodies, and shattered spines. Members of the Elder School, men and women trained from infancy in the arts of murder, they’d been tossed about the place like broken toys. Their blood and what had excreted from their bowels upon death fouled the water, even as the spells designed to keep the pool clean were slowly erasing the worst of it.
There were three other figures in the room: a headless naked woman with bright-red hair lying in two pieces on the stone walkway beside the sixty-foot-long pool, white-skinned man with long black hair and a broken neck lying naked under the heated fouled waters, and Regina still alive at the other end.
Regina was lying in a pool of blood, ichor and gore covering her naked flesh from her head down to the top of her breasts. The expression on her face was blank and unreadable, though I had seen it many times before on soldiers who had endured truly nightmarish circumstances.
In such circumstances, it was wise not to show too much affection, but give them breathing room. Stepping on the hard cobblestones, I looked away from the wide eyes of the deceased red-haired girl and went to the towel closet. Retrieving a pair of white robes, I put one over the decapitated woman’s body before returning to Regina and offering her the other robe.
Regina only seemed to notice my presence then. Blinking several times, she rose out of the water, her beautiful body dripping with watery blood, and stepped into the robe before tying it around herself. She ran her fingers through her hair, letting chunks of gore and a severed finger fall to the ground.
I kicked the finger into the pool before she noticed it.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice an unearthly rasp.
“Argh!” Regina screamed, spinning around and punching one of the ionic columns. It gave way underneath her newly divine strength, collapsing and causing a chunk of the roof above it to fall. Regina looked at her fist, t
hen down at the thirty bodies, then laughed. It was a bitter, joyless thing.
I kept silent.
Regina walked over to a nearby stone table and sat down on the edge, taking a moment to breathe out. “They tried to kill me. Those bastards tried to kill me.”
“Yes,” I said, having come here from across half the country using methods I would not recommend.
Serah, by contrast, was busy dealing with an outbreak of the Red Cough and couldn’t be brought back. It showed how much she had grown as a person that she chose to stay with the dead and dying wild men than rush back here.
“How?” Regina said.
I slowly took human form, believing she needed the semblance of a living man rather than a dead one. I was used to the pain of the transformation now. “Midori thinks they were brought here by cloaked airship. They bribed some of the Loyalists to the old King Below to let them up here. The garments they wear were enchanted to make them appear as whatever the onlookers expected to see. She is still building a network of informants but recommend we bind elementals and demons to watch the place.”
“I want them found,” Regina said.
“It is already done. They will die tomorrow.”
“I want to swing the sword that cuts off their heads,” Regina said, almost shaking with rage…or was it remorse? I couldn’t tell.
I nodded.
Regina felt her face then looked over at the body I’d placed a white robe over. “I don’t even know her name. One of my attendants for months and yet she was just another face amongst many.”
“Nerissa,” I said, looking over at her. “A Merrow woman. She liked…painting.”
Regina did a double-take. “You knew her?”
“Yes,” I said flatly.
I knew half of Regina’s attendants and many more of the servants besides. Nerissa had come to serve us after being enslaved by wild men fishermen who gave her to their chief. He’d promptly sent her to us as a gift. I’d been tempted to wipe their village out for it but Nerissa had found that palace life suited her. I wish, instead, she’d gone home back to her family in the oceans. Nerissa had been a dreadful painter, a fabulous singer, and a gentle but kind spirit.
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