The Ardoon King

by Samuel Fort

  Chapter 42: Denver International

  Inside Denver International Airport, Disparthian watched the incessant snowfall with an increasing sense of dread. He and his squadron were trapped. The airport was now enveloped by four feet of snow, with drifts on the north side of the concourses as high as the abandoned sky bridges. The wind howled angrily, occasionally sending a gust that shook the ubiquitous glass panels so violently they seemed certain to crack. None had, of course. The panels were designed to withstand such forces.

  The airport’s interior provided plenty of natural light, and it was beyond roomy, which meant that the entire squadron, to include horses, could be protected from the storm’s fury. The horses were tied to chairs in the various ticketing areas and tended by a few Peth who spent much of their day shoveling excrement off the tiled floors to a designated area on the curb. It was an unpleasant situation yet better than the alternative of allowing the important beasts to freeze to death outside.

  Stranded, Disparthian had several concerns, foremost among them the fates of Ben and Fiela. It was cold comfort that the fate of the king, at least, was beyond his control. Even absent the snowstorm there was almost no chance that either his forces or Fiela’s would have arrived in time to save Ben or Vedeus if they had not already been saved. True, if the king was dead, Steepleguard would be thrown into chaos as the rival nobles fought for control, using the mark against the senior queen for leverage. That was a headache for another day.

  The fate of Fiela and her Red Guard was a more serious concern. Disparthian had been dispatched specifically to shadow Fiela’s squadron and provide whatever assistance it might require. That plan had gone awry almost from the outset. The storm blinded his scouts, concealed tracks, prevented radio communications, and made movement impossible. Towns in western Nebraska were separated by many miles, which meant the junior queen and her hundred plus Peth could be stranded in the open without either buildings or trees for shelter. The simple act of lighting a fire would be almost impossible given the powerful, frigid winds.

  In short, Fiela was the Peth lord’s responsibility and he was failing her in dramatic fashion. She might be dead already. His complicated plan was in ruins and he realized now that he should have simply told the girl the truth and traveled with her to the site of the Nebraska disaster. Games like the one he had orchestrated were doomed to fail.

  Of far lesser concern was the fact that he and his squadron had found nothing unusual at the airport, which meant the trip her had been a wild goose chase. Whatever he was supposed to find was well hidden or did not exist at all.

  The only find to date were hundreds of frozen corpses, travelers stranded by the apocalypse he himself had helped orchestrate. The number of families was particularly disturbing. There were a great many children lying dead next to one or more parents. Their colorful backpacks were decorated with cartoon characters with wide, laughing eyes that seemed to mock Disparthian.

  Look what you have done! Were these children not worthy foes? Rejoice in your triumph!

  He had ordered his troops to remove every corpse. The bodies were taken to a parking garage, where their stacked, rigid bodies formed a grotesque funeral mound, a monument to the Ardoon dead. It was little consolation to Disparthian that most of the Nisirtu had suffered the same fate as the Ardoon, though their deaths were more akin to suicide than murder.

  You tried to save as many as you could. You defied the Council and tampered with the scripts. You saved tens of thousands of lives!

  And took a few billion more. But hey, who’s counting?

  He wondered a lot about suicide. How best to do it, and when, and where. He wondered what waited for him on the other side. A Nisirtu heaven or an Ardoon hell or just blackness? He would, he thought, have killed himself long ago if not for his affinity for his new superiors. Lilitu could be cruel, yes, but as Nisirtu rulers went, she was a model of compassion and charity. Most importantly, she was loyal to those who were loyal to her, and came from a family, the Sargons, whom Disparthian greatly admired.

  Bullshit, said his inner voice. She was your lover. Isn’t that why you are loyal to her? Isn’t that why you helped her regain her throne? Why haven’t you told your buddy Ben about that? About the things she used to do for you, and you for her. You and the king could compare notes…

  Disparthian, resting in a chair in one of the terminals’ waiting areas, closed his eyes and gritted this teeth, willing the thoughts to go away. The past was a very dangerous thing. It was dead and needed to stay dead, like everything else in this new world. If the dead could rise, he was in a lot of trouble.

  “Lord?” came a voice. “Lord, we’ve found something.”

  Disparthian opened his eyes and looked up. Lieutenant Demit stood over him.

  “What?” asked Disparthian, brushing a hand across his face.

  “A door, hidden in the subway,”

  “What do you mean, ‘hidden?’”

  “It was concealed. Camouflaged. I’m sure it would be invisible if you were in one of the moving subway cars. If you are standing in front of it, with flashlights, the seams are evident.”

  Disparthian narrowed his eyes. “Show me.”