Victor, Vanquished, Son (Of Crowns and Glory—Book 8)

by Morgan Rice

  “You will tell me that,” he said. His voice held an edge of pain to it, the way some men’s did whose backs or joints ached with every movement. “I brought you here to tell me. Where is Telum?”

  “Telum?” Stephania asked. “Is that what you have called him?”

  She had a name for him now. Just a name was enough to make her heart sing with the possibilities that might follow. With a name, she had a chance, even if it was some faint sliver of one.

  “Where is he?” Daskalos demanded. “Where? I used my magic to raise him, made a man of him, but he ran. It seemed obvious he would go to you.”

  He hadn’t. That hurt, more than Stephania could say.

  “He hasn’t come to me,” Stephania said.

  “If you’re lying…”

  “What?” Stephania demanded. “What will you do to me? I have nothing more to lose. My kingdom is gone. My husband is gone. My child… you stole my child from me.”

  She saw Daskalos shake his head at that.

  “You gave him to me. You promised him to me, for your power. And now he has stolen mine. He took my hidden life and consumed it. I will have it back.”

  Her son had taken the sorcerer’s life force? Stephania pondered the implications of that, considering what it meant for her, for her son, and for the man who had helped to ruin so much of her life.

  Still, for now, perhaps there was an opportunity in this. Perhaps there was a way for her to get away from here, and gain power into the bargain.

  “Perhaps I could help you to look for him,” Stephania suggested. “He might respond to a mother’s voice. A mother’s touch.”

  “And in return?” Daskalos said.

  Stephania spread her hands. “You said once that I would make a fine student. You turned me down in Irrien’s hall, but this is another chance.”

  A chance for her to be free of those who might chase after her, and to gain the strength she needed to acquire power. A chance for her to follow a path where her need for secrets might be fulfilled. All she would need to do was put aside her need for vengeance. For a time, at least.

  Daskalos shook his head. “Do you think I care about what you want? Your son has the only thing that matters to me. If you do not know where he is, then you are useless to me.”

  That made things simpler, at least. He looked thoughtful for a moment, and then turned away. That was when Stephania stabbed him, moving in fast and pulling him close as she thrust through his robes, once, then again.

  “You told me once that I couldn’t hope to hurt you, because you hid your life,” Stephania whispered, close to his ear. “But if my son has stolen your life, what will you do now, teacher?”

  “Just this,” Daskalos snarled, spinning away from her, half collapsing as he did it. Stephania smiled at the sight of blood on his lips as he fell. Her smile faded as he raised a hand wreathed in energy. “You might kill me, but you will not benefit. I curse you, Stephania. With the last of my power, I curse you to a glass prison!”

  He flung the power, and Stephania tried to dodge aside as it came for her. There was no dodging it though. It was too fast, and there was nowhere to run. It struck her, and Stephania could feel the weight of it, and the hatred that ran through that power.

  She tried to run anyway, but her feet wouldn’t move. It was only when Stephania looked down that she saw the reason for it. Stone that shone like glass came up from the floor, covering her feet. Stephania recognized the crystal from the sorcerer’s lair.

  The crystal wall crept up around her legs as slowly and inexorably as a rising tide, like a cage being built around her.

  She looked out, panicked, and her only consolation was that the sorcerer seemed to be suffering even more than Stephania was. By the time the crystal had reached her thighs, the sorcerer sat slumped against the rock at the heart of the chamber. By the time it had risen to her chest, his breathing had slowed to the barest of crawls.

  “Undo this,” Stephania begged, giving it one last try. “You can still do some good with what’s left of your life.”

  “No,” he said. “You will be imprisoned like this. You will not die, but you will not be free. You will suffer this until the last kingdoms of man fall and beyond.”

  She heard him laugh then. It was a laugh that went on for what seemed like forever. It rang in her ears as the crystal wall reached up past her throat.

  Then she gave way to rattling, choking gasps as the crystal crept over her head and sealed out the air, making her able to breathe, but just barely. Each breath took an agonizing effort.

  The sorcerer was utterly still, his unnatural life finally finished.

  Stephania felt a flash of satisfaction at that, but it was only the barest hint among all the fear and regret and panic and pain. She hadn’t wanted her life to come to this. She’d wanted to be safe. She’d wanted enough power that no one could ever hurt her. Perhaps the irony was that, in a crystal cage, nothing would.

  She thought about Thanos, and how different things might have been with him. She thought about the Empire, and her long-dead family. Last of all, she thought of her son, hoping that he would be safe, and that he would have a better life than she’d had, whatever the sorcerer had done to him.

  Stephania was still hoping it as she slammed her fists against the crystal, time and again, pounding against it, trying to shatter it, her screams muted against it.

  It didn’t even budge.

  CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

  Ceres struck at the man who had stabbed Thanos with all the speed and power that her Ancient One blood gave her. She struck with such ferocity that nothing should have been able to stand against her.

  Somehow, though, the man in front of her managed to weather the onslaught, parrying and shifting, countering and attacking with his own rune-covered blade. Ceres had to duck under a sword blow, cutting out as she did it, only to feel her blade glance from the crystal armor the man wore.

  She struck again, with such force that she cracked one of the crystals, but had to spin away as her opponent struck back. He was almost as fast as her, and strong with it. Ceres lashed out with power then, throwing it in a blast that should have flung him back, dead.

  Impossibly, he dodged, coming back to attack with such ferocity that Ceres had to give ground.

  “The sorcerer didn’t tell me how dangerous you were,” he said. “But then, he planned on taking your power for himself.”

  “You want my power?” Ceres said. “Take this!”

  She flung energy into him, but even as she did it, Ceres saw the runes on the sword glowing. Her opponent cut through the power as it came, and the fragments of it seemed to disappear down into him without harming him.

  He cut at her then, springing over Ceres’s head in an attempt to get behind her. Ceres turned quickly enough to parry the blow, then cut back with a riposte that drew blood but did no real harm.

  “Please, Ceres,” Thanos called from the side of the battle. “Please don’t hurt him.”

  Ceres had heard him beg in that tone once before, when it came to Stephania. This time, she ignored him, plunging forward to try to kill the man who had hurt the man she loved.

  He could fight, almost better than anyone Ceres had met. Every attack Ceres tried was met with a powerful counter, her strength matched precisely, her speed not enough to break through the web of steel that the blade in front of her wove. He seemed to know all the moves that she wanted to try before she tried them.

  It was as if this man had spent his entire life training specifically to fight a foe like her, and that simply wasn’t possible. Ceres tried to flow around him with the effortless movement of the Forest Folk, and he matched her perfectly. She went at him with the straightforward brutality of the combatlords, and she barely dodged back from a cut in return.

  “Who are you?” Ceres demanded.

  “I am what the sorcerer made me,” the young man said. “I am Telum, his weapon.”

  “And he sent you to kill Thanos?” Ceres deman
ded.

  She saw him nod.

  “I have no choice.” He stepped back. “Even now, I can feel it. Without your power, I will never be free. And I will be free.”

  He attacked then, and Ceres felt the scrape of his blade along her side. She kicked him back from her, raising her sword again.

  Did it matter why he was doing this? Did it matter that a sorcerer had sent him? What mattered was that this was the man who had left Thanos bleeding on the ground. Who had cut through so many others. He had to be stopped.

  She lunged for him, cutting with all the speed and power that she could drag up. He parried her blows one after another, cutting back fast enough that Ceres had to leap away just to survive. She landed awkwardly, her foot catching on the corpse of one of the men who had already fallen to the killer in the crystal armor.

  He rushed forward, looming over her with his sword raised, and there wasn’t enough time to recover properly. He stood there, and Ceres could feel the pull of another power on hers.

  Then something shifted.

  Ceres felt the moment when it happened, in a roll of power that seemed to flow out like the tide. She could feel the same edge of wrongness to it that seemed to be there with every sorcerer’s power. Then it rolled back like a tide changing direction, and it seemed to take something from the young man in front of her. It lifted from him like a cloak, or like chains pulled from a captive.

  He stood there blinking as if he were only just seeing the sunlight for the first time. He seemed confused, looking around, staring at his sword as if not understanding what it was doing in his hand. He opened his fingers and let it clatter to the floor.

  Ceres could have stabbed at him then, but there was something about the way he was standing there that made her pause.

  “Daskalos… he’s dead,” the young man said. “I can’t feel his grip anymore. I can’t feel the anger.”

  As he stood there, the crystals of his armor started to fall in a clatter of shards. Ceres pulled herself back to her feet, watching him carefully in case this was all some kind of trick. Instead, he stood there, the armor tumbling from him as he looked around.

  “He made me kill my father, my…” he looked over at Thanos, and Ceres could see the tears in his eyes as he did it. “Father! No!”

  He made a run toward Thanos, and Ceres managed to hold back her instinct to strike out at the threat, simply because of those words. Thanos was this man’s father? Was this… could this be Stephania’s child?

  Someone there hadn’t heard any of it, though. Ceres heard the whisper of a bowstring, and then the dull thud of metal hitting flesh followed. As if it had appeared from nowhere, a shaft was sticking from the young man’s chest.

  “No,” Ceres called out, “stop! He isn’t a threat anymore!”

  It was too late, because a second shaft struck him then, hitting just above the first. She saw him stand there, looking down in something like surprise, as though it was impossible for that to happen to him.

  He fell to his knees with a thud of flesh hitting stone.

  Ceres went to him on instinct, taking hold of his arm and helping him to stand. He looked different without that dangerous power running through him: younger somehow and more gentle.

  “Please,” he said in a rasping voice, “my father…”

  ***

  Thanos lay there, unable to do more than watch as Ceres fought his son. He saw Telum fall to the arrow, saw Ceres lift him and carry him, bringing him to Thanos. Thanos lay beside him as Ceres laid him down, putting a hand on Telum’s shoulder even though it took all his strength.

  “The sorcerer took me,” Telum said. “He shaped me. He wanted Ceres to have to bring up all the power she had so that he could steal it. He wanted to shape the world.”

  Thanos couldn’t begin to imagine how a sorcerer would have shaped it, but he had seen enough of the horrors of the world to guess.

  “It’s done now,” Ceres said. Thanos could see her expression as she looked at him, and he could only guess at how bad his wounds must look to her then. He and Telum lay next to one another wheezing as the breath came out of them.

  “I need a healer!” Ceres called, and the fear in that was enough to tell Thanos what he already knew. They were dying.

  Thanos reached out for Telum.

  “My son,” he said, pulling the young man to him. He could feel the tears starting to fall. “I’m so sorry.”

  He was sorry for what he’d done, but it hurt more to think about all the things that had happened to his child. Someone had taken him, twisted him, made him into this thing.

  “Father,” Telum replied, and for a moment, the young man appeared content. “It’s good to say that and not mean the sorcerer.”

  Ceres was there beside them. Thanos could feel the pressure of her hands, but it was a distant thing now, remote as another country.

  “I should have been there,” Thanos said. “I should have saved you.”

  “I was lost the moment my mother promised me to the sorcerer,” Telum said. “She gave me away for power. I… this is what freedom feels like.”

  “It will feel better when we’re not both bleeding,” Thanos promised.

  He could see Ceres looking around for the healer she’d asked for, but nobody seemed to be prepared to hurry forward. With so many dead and dying, there seemed to be no healers to spare. He didn’t blame them. He’d seen enough of war to know that some things couldn’t be helped.

  For now, though, it was Telum who seemed to be in the most trouble. He gasped as he shifted position slightly, holding onto Thanos tighter.

  “I wish…” he began “…I could… have known you better.”

  “I wish I could have seen you grow,” Thanos replied. There were so many things he wished he could have been there for.

  There were tears running down both of their faces now.

  “Don’t be sad,” Telum said, his breath coming in shuddering starts. “I’m free. I’m finally… free…”

  He gave a last wracking breath, his body shuddering with the effort of it, and Thanos held him as he died. It was over. Or it would be soon, because Thanos could feel his own life slipping away by the moment.

  CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

  It was over, and that finish to things felt far too much like emptiness for Athena’s liking.

  Athena stood at the window to the castle’s highest tower, staring down at the city she had once ruled over with her husband. So much had changed since then, and it seemed now as though there was nothing left.

  Stephania was gone, Athena’s attempt at revenge turned to dust and ash as quickly as the noblewoman’s sudden flight from the castle. Athena had been able to take away her influence within the city and bring down her attempt to rule, but that wasn’t the same as watching her former rival torn apart by those she’d harmed.

  Those people were gone now, wandering off into the far reaches of the castle or out into the city. In any case, they weren’t people who would listen to Athena for long. She had been able to piece them together with a shared hatred of Stephania, but there would be no sudden resurgence of the Empire.

  “There’s nothing left,” Athena said.

  There was less than nothing. The fires below were burning themselves out now, but they only left behind the bones of the buildings that had been there. There were spaces that were little more than blackened wood and ash, hemmed in by the remains of those buildings that had more stone and less wood.

  The soldiers who had been fighting one another were gone along with the buildings. Perhaps some had been killed by the fires, but more had simply slaughtered one another, leaving so many corpses in the streets that even the scavengers couldn’t clear them all away to the funeral pyres.

  How much would it take to rebuild Delos from this? Could it even be done, when there might be Irrien’s fleet returning at any moment? Would his men do it, or would they take one look at a place even more blasted than their own city and return home? Athena couldn’t see men
like that staying to rebuild what they had helped to destroy here.

  She couldn’t do it. There wasn’t enough left of her to begin to do it. It would take time that she didn’t have, and the ability to bring people together in a way that Athena had never truly been able to. It would take a desire to improve things too, and right then, all Athena felt was emptiness.

  She had lost so much. Her husband was dead, killed by her son’s madness. Her son was dead too, and that was like a blank space, cutting her off from the future. There would be no descendants of the royal line, no continuation of the Empire’s former glories. There would just be stories of the horrors of the past, there to warn people and scare children.

  She lifted the crown that she’d worn to confront Stephania. It was meaningless now. Hefting it, Athena threw it out over the city and it hung in the air for a moment or two before it started to tumble. It was so far to the ground that Athena lost track of it before it reached the cobbles, but she could imagine the way it would shatter when it hit, spilling jewels in a rain that might benefit some passing scavenger, or might be lost forever.

  Watching the arc of it, Athena knew what needed to happen next.

  She stood there, lifting herself up onto the edge of the balcony. She wondered if there was anyone watching from below, and what they would see if there was. Probably no more than a dot far above; the castle was meant to be a way to cut those who ruled off from the city, after all.

  “People of Delos!” she called out, just in case someone was watching. “Your queen stands above you. I stand here, the last of a noble line, above the city I have lost!”

  Silence greeted her words. Athena had expected nothing else. Silence was all she deserved right then.

  Where had it gone wrong? It was easy to blame the rebellion for what had happened, because there had been no conflict there before Rexus and his ilk had risen up. Yet the truth was that the seeds of the conflict had been sown long before.

  How many people had Athena pushed away in her life? How many times had she had the poor beaten for daring to get in her way as she walked the city? How many parties had she thrown while people starved outside the castle?