by Pirateaba
“No.”
One of the people in front, a young woman, hurls a stone. It glances off the bars of the cage. A bad throw. But more start throwing stones. The Fearless sits there, not moving an inch. A rock strikes his shoulder, drawing a bit of blood. The crowd cheers. But the Demon doesn’t look afraid. Not at all. A look of irritation flashes over his face and he covers his face with one hand.
“Fearless are a type of Demon. They have a class. Well, I say class, but it’s more like an addition to their normal class. [Fearless Warrior], [Fearless Mage], get it? And the class does exactly what you’d think. They can’t feel fear. Not at all.”
I stare at the Demon. He’s got scars all over his body, beneath the fur. From the look of it, he’s been stoned before. Badly. But when the hail of rocks subsides a bit, he lowers his hand and stares around, and his eyes do indeed contain no fear.
That makes the crowd lose some of their rage. If the Demon was defiant, or raging at them, they might have kept going. But this Fearless…it’s one thing to master your fear. But another to have none. It’s…unnatural.
I can see it in the way the Demon moves, the way he looks around. He’s wary of the rocks, of being blinded or hurt. He doesn’t like the pain. But he doesn’t fear it either. And he doesn’t fear death. The Fearless stares around, watchful, calculating.
Then he looks at me. He stares at me and Cirille. She glares at him. I shudder and look away. We walk away as the Fearless sits in his cage, rejoining the procession.
You and he are the same. Don’t deny it.
Ignore the voice. I turn to Cirille as we catch up with the others. Richard’s ahead, trying to get Cynthia to calm down before she has a panic attack.
“So that’s a type of Demon? There are lots of them like him?”
“Dead gods, I hope not.”
Cirille shudders, her tail twitching as she walks briskly ahead of me.
“They’re more like shock troopers. Each one’s a dangerous fighter who’s not afraid to die, and they’ll charge through killing grounds if they have to. They’re not idiots, but they’re willing to die to take you with them. The Demon King uses them when he wants to win. I don’t know how many people that one killed, but I’d rather see him dead than in a cage.”
We pass by a street that looks like it leads to some kind of fantastical bazaar, and then one devoted entirely to food. I stare at a cut of dark grey meat and point it out to Cirille. She looks sideways at it and one of the soldiers at the back of the parade mutters. She shakes her head.
“Demon meat.”
“Demon—”
I break off, not wanting to startle my companions ahead of me. Cirille looks uneasy and shakes her head before lowering her voice.
“They eat Demons here. I don’t like it, but that’s how it works. See the fellow buying? That’s one of the [Flesh Reapers]. Don’t bother them.”
I see a hooded figure with long, long arms reaching for a dripping package from the stony-faced [Butcher].
Mm. Tasty. Try some. I’m sure you could get a sample.
I shudder and hurry on.
In the end, our parade reaches the gates of the palace without more incident. I pretty much tune out the cheering. It might be meant for me, but I can’t find any pleasure in it.
Would it help if they were screaming?
And I’m—distracted. I always am. Cirille sees us off at the gates as the Drake [Soldiers] stand at attention. One of them yawns widely until the guy next to her elbows her in the side.
“Here we are. I might see you inside at the banquet tonight. Anyone with any kind of nobility or a title gets invited. Look for the Drakes if you want to find me.”
She nods, and Richard shakes her hand again. She walks past me, and the Drakes depart. The rest of us stare up at the gate. It’s massive, and beyond it, a huge courtyard leads up to the palace of the Blighted King. A staircase stretches from the courtyard to the palace gates, and the citadel rises higher, so high it feels like it’s touching the clouds.
We stayed here, once. We will again. This time, I wonder if we’re wiser, or if the Blighted King will see more of what he wants in us. I don’t know. And I am afraid.
He scares me. Being here scares me. But what scares me most is the little voice I can’t get rid of. It whispers as we walk through the gates.
Welcome home.
—-
His name is Nereshal. With a name like that, he should be tall, lean, with a strong face, perhaps an Egyptian-style nose, long and sharp, and piercing features. He’s not. Instead, he’s rather short, slightly overweight, although not as heavy as I am, and his nose isn’t nearly that pronounced.
But his eyes are piercing. They have the cold, detached look I’ve seen before, in the eyes of the soldiers escorting us. The eyes of someone who’s seen war. And he wears dark grey robes lined with silver that don’t quite hide the scars on his arms and left hand.
He lectures us as he leads us through the palace on a tour.
“You may recall the rules for staying here from your previous visits, but it is my duty to remind you of the laws of the Kingdom. Specifically, about magic.”
We pass by countless rooms, meant for sleeping, eating, training, planning battle, or just as diversions. Rooms filled with treasures, a room full of huge, floor-to-wall mirrors without a single flaw, a room filled with bright lights that hover around randomly—countless wonders, treasures of the Blighted King. His palace is rich, even if the people who live on the edges of his Kingdom can barely eat.
We pass all of it by as Nereshal lectures us. He points to a glowing light the size of my head, placed just above head height in the corridor we’re walking down. Without it, the enclosed palace would be dark as night. There are few windows, and the passageways throughout the place are a labyrinth unto themselves, especially given how large the palace is. It could hold several lesser castles easily.
“Mage lights. By law, no outdoor area in Paranfer may be dark at night. To prevent assassins and spies from entering the city as well as crime. That goes for within the palace as well. They are impossible to disrupt by accident, but note that tampering with them is a crime.”
“Like failing to present arms when ordered, obeying a guard, yeah, yeah, what’s not a crime around here?”
Nereshal stops abruptly and turns to Eddy. I groan and Richard glares at him. Eddy raises his hands.
“What? I’m just saying.”
He never knows when to shut up. Now Nereshal stares at him, and Eddy’s grin slips a bit.
“Okay, it’s serious.”
“You do not seem to understand that. You are guests of his majesty, not arrogant [Princes]. You do not have the authority to order around servants. And I am no servant.”
“I just—”
“Be silent.”
Nereshal’s hand reaches out. He doesn’t tap Eddy, but whatever Eddy was about to say is cut off. His mouth gapes open and his eyes widen. He tries to speak, I know he does. His mouth begins to close, incredibly slowly. Panicked, Eddy’s hands feel at his mouth, quickly searching around his face.
“What did you do to him?”
Richard interposes himself between Nereshal and Eddy, looking concerned and angry. The [Mage] glances at Richard.
“I slowed the passage of time around his mouth. It will wear off. And he will learn to mind his manners here.”
There’s a pause as everyone stares at him. Vincent’s voice raises in disbelief.
“You’re a time mage?”
“I thought time magic was impossible!”
Emily, our highest-level [Mage], stares at Nereshal. So do I. I don’t remember him from our first time here, but then, it was a blur to me. Nereshal nods coldly.
“Lesser [Mages] may believe so. But the magic of time is another form of power, and the Blighted Kingdom demands all forms of magic in its defense.”
“What can you do, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Richard looks at Nereshal, once it beco
mes clear that Eddy’s mouth is the only thing affected. The [Mage] strides onwards, speaking quickly and precisely.
“I can speed up a flight of arrows or slow an enemy’s charge. I can hasten a weather front moving in, or slow the collapse of a wall. But I remain here for my most important duty.”
“Which is?”
He glances over his shoulder with those cold eyes.
“Preventing the aging of the Blighted King. So he may rule a month, a year, a decade longer. Until I am released from my duties here, I also act as his steward. Take heed of my warnings. If you are found violating any of the laws, the guards who patrol may not wait for explanations. And if you survive that, I will administer a fitting punishment.”
No one has much to say about that. I glance around the group. I’m at the back, since everyone else gets nervous when they stand next to me. We’re definitely not getting treated like we did before. Which might be a good thing.
“Are there any other rules we might break by accident, Sir?”
Richard speaks to Nereshal as he leads us to our rooms, a series of individual bedrooms in a far wing of the palace. The [Mage] considers this.
“I note that two of you seem to have become to be decent [Mages] in the time since your last stay here. Do any of you know any form of teleportation spell? I caution you not to try casting the spell while staying here.”
“No. No one knows the spell. Why?”
Nereshal gestures to one of the walls. In parts of the castle, the stones are rough and thick, and the corridors narrow. In others, they’re wide open and sweeping, a sign of polished craftsmanship. But everywhere I can feel a faint tingle that makes me feel as though there’s serious magic here.
Or it’s just in your head.
“Teleportation magic is strictly prohibited around the castle. It is also impossible. An enchantment prohibits teleportation magic of any kind around the castle and city itself. I doubt there are many rules you will break by accident, but remember what I have said.”
He eyes Eddy and his fingers twitch. Eddy gasps as his jaw finally closes, and he keeps his mouth shut, looking pale. The [Mage] turns towards Richard.
“Your presence is requested at tonight’s feast. Clothing will be sent to your rooms. There will be a selection. Shortly thereafter, servants will appear to guide you to the banquet hall.”
“Right.”
Richard hesitates. He looks at Nereshal.
“Should we…prepare? Will we be expected to bow, or…?”
“Deference is expected. Etiquette is not. Your last visit made that clear. However, you may be expected to stand before his majesty, in which case you will speak with respect.”
“What does he—what does his majesty want with us?”
“To appraise your worth.”
A single line, cold and indelicate as the winter we lived through. The [Mage] looks at Richard, and then at Emily.
“I am told two of your number reached Level 30. That is a marker of respect in our kingdom, and you will be accorded its due so long as you protect the realm. You have changed since you were ordered to the front. That is good. As for the other reason why his majesty ordered your return…”
His eyes linger on me. I feel a pang of fear in my chest.
“His majesty is interested in confirming the rumors of your success for his own eyes. I trust he will not be disappointed.”
His eyes stare right through me. I look away, as the whispering in my head grows louder. The Blighted King knows about me? Of course he does. And he’s expecting a hero. Or maybe just a warrior.
I think he’ll be disappointed. I hope he will be.
—-
The banquet is the kind of thing you’d see in a fantasy movie. Big. Magical. And in a room so large and ornate, it can hold a thousand or more diners. Thousands? I’m no good with counting.
And there’s so much to see! Rich nobles sit at long tables, talking with foreign dignitaries of various species. I can see Drakes, the similar yet very different Lizardfolk, strange armored people whose heads seemed to detach like the Headless Horseman…creatures I recognize, like Centaurs and Minotaurs. There’s a Minotaur in a suit, chatting with some huge, furry creature that reminds me a bit of Chewbacca crossed with a dog. A Gnoll, apparently.
Some sit, others stand and talk, like they’re at a cocktail party for the rich and powerful. Wait, that’s what this is, isn’t it? There’s music, entertainment for the kids from mages and more conventional sources—even a guy in a bright outfit, doing pratfalls to amuse a cluster of children. They’re all dressed like royalty.
Especially the royalty. The Blighted King and his Queen sit at one end of the room, at a table with a chair that’s practically a throne in itself. But it isn’t the throne; I’ve seen the throne and that thing is scary. This chair is merely ornate and golden.
The room hums with energy, and projects the kind of richness and power that makes me tremble in my boots. I don’t belong here. Not me, a kid born of a working class family. But I tremble for other reasons when I look at the Blighted King from afar.
“You may conduct your affairs for the feast as you wish. His majesty only requests that you stay within his presence until you are summoned or given leave to go.”
One of the lesser [Chamberlains] serving underneath Nereshal speaks to our stunned group. We, the children from another world, stare at him, and then hesitantly step into the room. We’ve been here before. We were feasted at the Blighted King’s own table, once. But that was a lifetime ago, when the world was still magical.
When we were still all [Heroes]. I’m not. I gave it up and lost the class when I refused to fight, to answer the people’s calls. Richard still has it. So does Emily and a few others. But they’re not real heroes.
Some of the warriors sitting at the table look like heroes, though. They wear shining armor, and those who are dressed for pleasure rather than war still move with unnatural grace. The Blighted King has [Knights] and champions of countless classes of his own. I see Richard looking nervous. He was allowed to keep his sword—a mark of respect, I guess, but I doubt he’d draw it under any situation.
There are guards at the Blighted King’s table, watchful figures, not all of whom carry swords. Several of them glanced at us when we were announced. Several of them glanced at me.
So did the King. It was just a flick of the eyes before he turned away, but it confirmed what we all knew. He’ll want to speak with us. The thought makes some, like Cynthia, afraid to join the feast. Others, like Richard, are made of sterner stuff.
“Come on, let’s join the feast.”
He says it, but no one moves. The [Chamberlain] coughs gently. But no one wants to walk out into that magnificent display and attract any attention for themselves.
I could. Perhaps. But the urging in my mind might make that a bad idea. Part of me wants to stride out there, shout, laugh and cartwheel if I can even pull that off, and make a spectacle. To clown in short. To lose control.
Make them laugh, Tom. Let go for a second. You know you want to.
Nope. I’m not making the first move. But someone has to. A woman dressed all in red sweeps by our group, glass in hand. She looks…melancholy. And determined to hide it. She has a presence that makes half the guys and girls in our group go weak at the knees. Mine are fine.
You’d go weak at the knees if she stabbed you. Or you stabbed her.
You’d never see the blood, as bright as her gown is. I bite the inside of my lip. Emily squeaks.
“Who is that?”
The [Chamberlain], looking put upon, gently prods Vincent forwards a bit and speaks softly.
“That is [Lady] Theras. If you would like to enter and speak with her, please understand she is in mourning, hence the red dress.”
“Red? Why, what does that mean?”
Everyone looks at the [Chamberlain]. He pauses awkwardly, clearly not wanting to say, and then realizes he has to. He clears his throat again.
“Miscarr
iage. [Lady] Theras and her sister, the [Lady] Zekryia, both lost their children unexpectedly three months ago. They have been in mourning ever since.”
“Oh.”
Instantly, most of us shuffled our feet and look at our dress shoes. Eddy chooses this moment to speak. He’d been doing great after meeting Nereshal.
“So they wear red if they’re in mourning. After three months?”
“This is correct. Sir.”
“Weird.”
“What’s weird about that, Eddy?”
Emily and a few girls turn to stare at Eddy. He grimaces.
“It’s just that I didn’t think they’d be so open about it, you know? And it’s been three months…”
“So? What’s wrong with that? Why can’t she be open about it?”
Chole glares at him. Eddy shrugs helplessly. He seems to realize he’s put his foot in it again.
“I dunno. It’s weird, right?”
He looks around. I try not to meet his eye.
“It’s not her fault.”
He shrinks back a bit from Chole’s glare.
“Well, yeah, but…”
He doesn’t have more than that. Uncomfortable, he looks away. I mentally shake my head. Where were you going with that one, Eddy?
He must not like dead babies. At least they’re quieter than live ones, right?
After another second, Chole turns away from Eddy and walks over to [Lady] Theras. She starts talking to the woman, and the surprised older lady sets down her drink to talk with her. That’s the cue for our group to break up.
We enter the banquet. And it swallows us. In a few minutes, I find myself at a table. We’re sitting with Cirille, since she’s the only one we recognized. She and a couple of Drakes seem only too happy to have company to talk to. And there’s quite a bit of food for me to distract myself by eating.
Jellied fruits, sweet breads, cuts of meat dripping with blood and finely grilled, vegetables of every shape and color…the wrong thing for anyone on a diet. Since I’ve lost at least thirty pounds from not wanting to eat, I don’t care and dig in anyways. Beside me, Cirille is talking to Keith about something called the Walled Cities, and a problem with some species called the Antinium. And apparently there’s a problem with a…Goblin Lord?
