by Morgan Rice
So he sent men instead to fetch sacrifices, and a list of other things that N’cho said he required. It took more than an hour for anything to come back from the city, and even then, it was a stranger collection than anything he’d demanded. A dozen death priests came along with the slaves and the unguents, the candles and the braziers.
Irrien saw N’cho smile at their presence, with a confidence that told Irrien that this was no trick.
“They want to see how this is done,” he said. “They want to see if it is even possible. They believe, but they don’t believe.”
“I will believe when I see some results,” Irrien said.
“Then you will have them, my lord,” the assassin replied.
He went back to the space he’d marked with the symbols of his craft, setting up candles and lighting them. He gestured for slaves to be brought forward, and one by one he tied them in place, affixing them to stakes around the rim of the circle he’d drawn, anointing them with oils that made them squirm and beg.
It was nothing compared to their screams as the assassin set them alight. Irrien could hear some of his men gasping at the casual brutality of it all, or complaining about the waste. Irrien just stood there. If this did not work, there would be more than enough time to kill N’cho later.
It did work, though, and in a way that Irrien couldn’t have predicted.
He saw N’cho step back from the circle, chanting. As he chanted, the ground within the circle seemed to crumble, giving way similar to how a sinkhole might have opened up in the dust wastes Irrien was used to. The screaming, flaming sacrifices tumbled into it, and still N’cho kept chanting.
Irrien heard the creaking and the cracks as the tombs started to break open. A grave near the spot where Irrien was standing tore apart with a sound of ripping earth, and Irrien saw bones being pulled from it as if by a whirlpool, sucked in toward the hole in the ground and disappearing without a trace.
More followed, pouring in as if drawn to the space, hammering toward it with the speed of thrown javelins. Irrien saw one man impaled by a thigh bone, then carried forward into the pit. He shrieked as he fell, and then it was quiet.
For several seconds, everything was still. N’cho gestured for the death priests to come forward. They came, joining him, obviously wanting to see whatever he was doing. Irrien thought they were fools for it, putting their desire for power in front of everything else, even their survival.
Irrien guessed what was coming, even before a great, clawed hand reached out of the cavern that had opened up and snatched at one of them. The claws punched through the priest, then started to drag him down into the hole while he begged for mercy.
N’cho was there while the creature clawed at the dying man, wrapping a light silver chain around the creature’s limb as easily as if he were hobbling a horse. He handed the chain to a group of soldiers, who held onto it gingerly, as if expecting to be the next victims.
“Pull,” he ordered. “Pull for your lives.”
The men looked over at Irrien, and Irrien nodded. If this cost a few lives, it would be worth it. He watched the men pull, straining the way they might while raising a heavy sail. They didn’t drag the beast from its cave, but they seemed to be able to persuade it to move.
The creature clambered from the hole on clawed legs. It was a thing with paper thin, leathery skin over bones that were longer than any man was tall. Some of those bones protruded through the skin in spikes and spines that were as long as spear heads. It stood as high as the side of a tall ship, looking powerful and impossible to stop. Its head was crocodilian and scaled, a single large eye looking out of the middle of its skull with a baleful yellow glare.
N’cho was there with more chains, running around it and handing them to more men, so that soon, an entire company of warriors held onto the beast for dear life. Even chained like that, the creature was terrifyingly dangerous. It seemed to exude a sense of death, the grass around it turning brown simply with its presence there.
Irrien stood. He didn’t draw his sword, but only because there was no point. How did you kill something that clearly wasn’t alive in any sense he understood? More to the point, why would he want to kill it, when it was exactly what he required to be able to deal with the defenders of Haylon, and the girl who was supposedly more dangerous than all of them?
“As promised, First Stone,” N’cho said, with a gesture like a slaver showing off a particularly expensive prize. “A creature more dangerous than any other.”
“Dangerous enough to kill an Ancient One?” Irrien demanded.
He saw the assassin nod like a bladesmith proud of his creation.
“This is a creature of pure death, First Stone,” he said. “It can kill anything that lives. I trust that is to your satisfaction?”
Irrien watched the men straining to contain it, trying to assess the sheer strength of the thing. He couldn’t imagine trying to fight it. He couldn’t imagine anyone surviving its assault. Briefly, that single eye met his, and the only impression Irrien had there was of hatred: a deep, abiding hatred of everything that lived.
“If you can put it back again afterwards,” Irrien said. “I have no wish to have that coming for me.”
N’cho nodded. “It is not a thing meant for this world, First Stone,” he said. “The power holding it together will burn out, given time.”
“Get it to the boats,” Irrien ordered.
N’cho nodded, gesturing to the men, issuing orders about where to pull and how hard. Irrien saw the moment when one of the men misstepped, and the beast lashed out, tearing him in half.
Irrien wasn’t scared of much, but this thing did it. That was a good thing though. It meant that it was powerful. Powerful enough to slaughter his enemies.
Powerful enough to finish this, once and for all.
CHAPTER NINE
Stephania stood impatiently in a receiving chamber within Ulren’s vast home, keeping her features as perfectly expressionless as one of the statues there, regardless of the fear she felt then. There was fear, in spite of her planning for this moment, and in spite of everything she’d done to get there.
She knew from her attempt to seduce Irrien just how badly wrong this could go. One wrong step and she might end up dead, or worse, sold as some rich man’s prize. Hopefully, the former Second Stone would be easier to woo than the first.
The continued presence of the thugs who had brought her there did nothing to calm Stephania’s nerves. They did not talk to her or treat her with the deference that her position demanded. Instead, the two men stood by the door like jailers, while the woman had left, gone to tell Ulren that Stephania was there.
Stephania spent her time working out the best way to present herself. She chose a spot where a couch sat in the middle of the floor, reclining on it elegantly, even seductively. She wanted to make it clear to Ulren from the first moments what she was there for.
When the Second Stone walked into his receiving room, with the female thug walking beside him, it was all Stephania could do to keep from standing and walking away. Keeping a smile on her face was even harder, but Stephania had plenty of practice when it came to disguising what she really felt.
The statues of Ulren might have shown a ruggedly attractive young man in his prime, but now the Second Stone was a long way from that. He was old. Worse than that, age had not been kind to him in its wrinkles and its liver spots, the thinning of his hair and the scars he had accumulated. This was the kind of man noble girls joked about the poorest among them having to marry for money, not someone Stephania should have been considering as a potential husband.
“First Stone Ulren,” Stephania said, smiling as she stood. “It is so good to finally meet you.”
She lied because something far more important than money was at stake. This man could give her back her kingdom. He could return to her what had been taken from her, and more.
“My servant tells me that you are Stephania, the noble who was briefly queen of the Empire,”
Ulren said. “You planted rumors to attract my attention. Now you have it. I hope you don’t come to regret that.”
Stephania broadened her smile deliberately, reaching out to touch his arm. “How could I regret meeting the most powerful man in the world? Especially when I have a proposal for him?”
She watched Ulren’s face, trying to ignore the fact that it was hard to keep from picturing what it would be like having to bed him. That was a problem for another time, and in any case, Stephania would do what was necessary.
“What kind of proposal?” Ulren asked. Stephania could see him looking her up and down with the kind of hunger men always had when they looked at her. She hid her revulsion.
“A proposal,” Stephania said. “After all, who else is out there who would make a suitable husband for me?”
Ulren looked Stephania over again, then snapped his fingers. “Oh, I see. A noblewoman looking for sanctuary. Chain her, strip her, brand her, and leave her in my chambers. I’ll enjoy her a little before she goes to the slave block.”
Stephania saw the thugs step forward, and for a moment, her mind flashed back to all the ways Irrien had treated her. He’d been contemptuous of her too, but he had at least had the strength to claim her for himself, and this time, Stephania wasn’t caught in the middle of an invasion.
The woman moved toward her, chains in her hands in a way that said she’d been expecting this outcome, and with a smile that said she’d been looking forward to it. Stephania ignored her, walking toward the other guards instead.
“Don’t think you’re getting away,” the woman said.
The two guards moved to block Stephania’s exit. That brought them closer together, which was all Stephania had been waiting for. She lifted a hand, drawing a small fold of paper from inside her cloak, and blew.
Powder sprayed out, catching the thugs by surprise as it spread. Stephania held her breath to be safe, but there was no need to worry. The guards gasped as they breathed in the powder, struggling for their next breath as it filled their lungs. One scrabbled at his throat as if he could force it to open up. Another clutched at the wall to keep himself from falling.
Stephania ignored them, spinning back toward the woman with a knife in her hand. She rushed in, but the thug managed to knock aside her blow, knocking the blade from Stephania’s nerveless fingers. She hit out, and Stephania winced in pain.
It didn’t slow her, though. People made the mistake of thinking that because she was refined, she must be weak. Stephania stepped in close, striking the other woman with her forehead, then grabbing for the chains she held.
Stephania spun behind her, drawing the chains tight across her throat and pulling with all the strength she had. She kicked the thug in the back of her knee, dragging her off balance and continuing to strangle her. Stephania waited until she went limp, then threw her down on the floor, unconscious. She locked the chains on her pointedly.
She stood in front of Ulren then, drawing a dagger. “Your people were careless, letting me in armed. I’m not as helpless as you thought.”
“I can see that,” Ulren said, and now Stephania could see a note of respect on his face. “You’re anything but helpless. Hmm…”
He was looking her up and down again. If he leapt at her, Stephania would stab him, and take her chances in trying to take his empire from him. It probably wouldn’t work, but she would not be a slave again.
“It seems I underestimated you,” Ulren said. “Tell me again why I should marry you.”
He said it as though he hadn’t just ordered her enslaved. Stephania swallowed her anger, just as she’d swallowed her disgust. If murdering two guards and strangling a third into a stupor was what it took to impress this man, so be it.
“You should marry me because I can give you the Empire,” Stephania said.
“With what army?” Ulren countered. Of course he would think in those terms. Were all powerful men such fools?
“With your army,” Stephania said. “Which will be seen as liberators, since they will support a rightful queen. Which will have the support of the Empire’s people. Which will know every secret there. Think about it, Ulren. I know the Empire better than anyone.”
“It’s tempting,” he said.
“I also know Irrien,” Stephania went on. “I hear that you want him dead almost as much as me.”
She saw the shift in his expression then, and she knew that she had him.
“He has weaknesses you don’t know about,” Stephania said. “Using them, we can kill him, and with me by your side, it will be obvious for us to command the Empire, as well as Felldust. Two countries, forming the greatest empire the world has seen.”
It was the same offer that she had made Irrien, but Stephania could see immediately that Ulren was not the same as the First Stone. Irrien had been so certain of his own power that Stephania’s efforts had bounced from him like stones from armor. Ulren was anything but certain of his position.
“And in return for this you want marriage?” Ulren said.
Stephania smiled. “There are those who would regard it as a bonus, not a price. Think about it, First Stone. How long has it been since a woman wanted to come to your bed? How long has it been since you gave up hope of a son to follow you? A dynasty to remember your name?”
Ulren didn’t need to know that Stephania’s chances of having children now were almost certainly gone, just as he didn’t need to see the obvious: that with a husband so old, it wouldn’t be long before Stephania ruled by herself.
She could see his hunger for it, and when he caught her up in his arms, Stephania knew that she had him.
“Very well,” Ulren said. “We will marry. I’ll have a priest brought. We will have to marry quickly.”
“Quickly, but as publicly as possible,” Stephania said. It would be necessary to have the biggest impact, but it also meant that Ulren wouldn’t be able to put her aside when it became inconvenient, the way Thanos had. “I think that we’re going to do great things together.”
Ulren kissed her then, and it was as terrible as Stephania could have imagined. She forced herself to think about how good revenge on Irrien would feel, and how much better it would be when she took her son back from Daskalos.
For that, she could put up with almost anything.
CHAPTER TEN
Daskalos took a moment or two to bask in satisfaction as Telum stood within his home, sharpening a blade with the expertise of a well-trained warrior, not a boy only a few days old. He was a honed thing now. A deadly thing. Daskalos’s magic had failed so many times in this, but this time it had produced everything he could have hoped for.
In the space Daskalos’s power had created, the boy had grown into a young man, hardened by training, sharpened as much as the sword he held. He had as much strength as any man, and more skill. His whole life was dedicated to the purpose Daskalos had given him: to kill.
Daskalos had given him more than that. Magic rippled through the boy’s muscles, so that he would strike harder, heal faster. The blade he held was a thing of meteorite iron, carved with runes promising the death of its wielder’s foes. Daskalos had given his creation armor of living crystal, strong as steel and filled with magic.
“Are you ready to do what I have commanded?” Daskalos asked. “Are you ready to kill?”
Telum rose to stand before him. “Yes, Father.”
Daskalos nodded in satisfaction. He had seen too many attempts go wrong before this. He had watched boys twisted into dying, shapeless things. He had found some become physically perfect, only for their minds to be weak, or torn apart by the power running through them. With Telum, with his weapon, he had succeeded.
“There are people who need to die for the world to turn out as it should,” Daskalos said.
Telum bowed his head, obviously waiting for more.
Daskalos waved his hand, and an image of Thanos, the Empire’s former prince, stood before them. Daskalos watched Telum closely, still half convinced that the boy wo
uld recognize his sire and refuse to slay him.
Instead, his creation stalked around the image like a predator drinking in every possible weakness and angle of attack.
“Who is he?” Telum asked. “Where do I find him?”
“His name is Thanos,” Daskalos said. “He is helping to organize the defense of the island of Haylon. I have prepared a boat to get you there that will travel as fast as the wind itself.”
“What will his death do?” Telum asked.
Daskalos could have said that it didn’t matter, but they did call him the teacher, after all. So Daskalos explained.
“There is a woman who has just acquired great power,” Daskalos said. He conjured an image of Ceres. “That power is enough to change the world, in the right hands. She cares about this man. His death, her grief, will leave her weak, long enough for me to kill her and draw that power from her. When the time comes, you will have to slay her too.”
“Yes, Father,” Telum said with another nod. “I look forward to it.”
He sounded utterly unconcerned by the prospect of it all. So much so that Daskalos was actually a little worried. Had he created a fool who could not tell the worth of his enemies?
“Do not underestimate these foes,” Daskalos said. “They are dangerous. They have brought down the Empire. They have fought the most dangerous opponents.”
“Fighting dangerous opponents is my purpose,” Telum said, with a note of confidence Daskalos wasn’t sure he liked. He would not have his plans spoiled by his creation’s arrogance.
To make certain of it, he stepped forward, staring the boy in the eyes, summoning the same powers he’d used to condition the child as he grew. Daskalos could snap the will of a lesser man or woman like this with ease, reducing them to a puppet. For now, though, he only had one command for his creation.
