The dryad stuck her tongue out at her, as Tyria watched in bemusement.
Sistina let Phynis out of her hug with one arm, pulling Ruby into the embrace as well. A moment later she giggled as first Amethyst, then the rest of the Jewels began to join in.
“Careful, I need to breathe!” Phynis cried out, to a soft, relieved chorus of laughter that comforted the dryad.
In the back of Sistina’s mind, she felt the remnants of Avendrial going back to sleep, far less restless than they’d been before. In a strange way, Avendrial had almost been like an unquiet ghost made manifest by Kylrius’ power, and slaying Irethiel had brought those memories, that part of her, a degree of closure. Similarly, Sistina could feel Marin in the back of her mind, fading into the background. But as it did, her angelic predecessor murmured softly to her.
“Live, love, and enjoy your life. For all of us.”
Sistina doubted that anyone, even Phynis or Tyria, could have understood why she smiled. Ever so softly, Sistina spoke the word she was certain the others would misinterpret. “Yes.”
That caused the laughter from Phynis and the others to ring out even more loudly, and Sistina smiled more as she leaned forward to give her Queen another kiss.
Ulvian gasped as he felt his command sigil flare with heat and begin to fade. He paled, then flushed as fury flooded him. “Those damned bastards! When I’ve absorbed her power, I will utterly annihilate them!”
Despite his fear of the consequences of his failures, the thought that Irethiel had been slain utterly enraged him. She’d been the focus of every desire he’d had for decades, the objective for which he’d sacrificed everything. He’d never wanted to use his last resort.
All around the archmage was a massive ritual circle, one which he’d spent his free time for a decade to research and build. It was complex, yes, but in part because it used what he’d learned of Irethiel’s slave brands to allow something no one had believed possible. When Irethiel perished, her power as the Demon Lord of Chains would find a new successor, a demon of the appropriate temperament. Ulvian’s circle changed that.
His circle surged to life as his brand died, reaching out along the command sigil and taking hold of the demonic mantle of power. Ulvian smiled angrily as concentric rings of crimson light surged with power, redirecting the mantle to a single target. Ulvian himself.
“Here we go!” Ulvian muttered as the power flooded into the room like a tidal wave. He’d been expecting that, though.
A dozen layers of the circle held the full power of the mantle at bay, while several began to feed power into Ulvian, streamers of immense energy that began to surge and strengthen his spirit. No mortal could survive gaining so much power all at once, but if he managed to draw it out over time… Ulvian chuckled at the thought, grinning as he felt his spirit beginning to grow stronger.
Crack!
Ulvian’s grin vanished as the adamantine outer circle suddenly fractured. The mantle surged into the gap, and more cracks began to appear all along the circle’s circumference.
“No, no, stop! I need to absorb you so I can avenge Irethiel!” Ulvian protested loudly, trying to stop the power in the only way he could, hoping for a miracle.
The power didn’t care what Ulvian was hoping for. In moments it shattered the outermost circle and threw itself against the next circle, and to his utter panic, power began to surge into him, more and more power… more than he could possibly contain, and his flesh began to burn.
Ulvian screamed in agony as another circle broke, then a third. The power was almost enough to kill him outright, but his body had strengthened just enough to make that difficult. With every passing moment the power of a demon lord strengthened Ulvian’s body and spirit, even as the power increased at a rate that would exceed his ability to hold it. The pain continued for what seemed like an eternity… until at last the power edged past Ulvian’s ability to contain it. When the Archon exploded in a ball of fire, it was almost a relief.
Kelvanath descended into panic as minutes after every slave brand in the city had vanished, the palace exploded in an eruption of brilliant crimson flames.
Death was an accountant, and the very idea made Ulvian try to suppress a snort. He should have figured, and the man pushed up his glasses, having tallied a very large number of beads on his abacus. Yet at the same time, there was an odd fire burning inside Ulvian, one that troubled him, and he shifted in his chair.
“You’ve led an interesting life, Ulvian Sorvos. One strange choice after another, and many strange obsessions. In the end, you top it off with an incredibly bad choice, and send yourself to the afterlife with nearly a thousand others,” Death told him, arching an eyebrow. “You do realize that you never could have absorbed that power and lived, yes? No mortal can contain the essence of a demon queen. You have to be a demon for it to be of any use.”
“I thought I could manage it. Obviously I was wrong. What do you want, anyway? Are you here to lecture me on my choices?” Ulvian asked sarcastically, having a hard time being friendly considering his catastrophic, painful death.
“Oh, no. Good and evil, right and wrong… those aren’t my portfolio. I just wanted to point out to you that you still have the mantle of the Demon Queen of Chains. And I feel I need to add… it’s a mantle which can only be used by women. You’re in for a very painful few days in the afterlife,” Death told him, shaking his head. “I’ll send you on your way. Good luck. You’ve got someone waiting for you.”
“Wait, what are you talking about? Can’t you send me—” Ulvian hurriedly began to ask, but the void he’d been in vanished in a blur, along with Death and the thoughts that had been prompting his question.
The world snapped back into focus in what appeared to be a rocky plain, seemingly decorated by pockets of magma, with a sky of glittering chaos and smoke above. For just an instant Ulvian looked around, stunned, before agony ripped through him.
“Augh!” he gasped, almost collapsing as it felt like his muscles were rebelling against him.
“Oh, there he is! I told you he’d be appearing out here,” a familiar female voice said from behind Ulvian, and he painfully looked over his shoulder to see the smiling face of Wenris.
To either side of her were two others he recognized, causing him to freeze in place despite his pain. On her right was Serel, the Enforcer’s face like a mask of ice, but now in full succubus form and clothing. Each step she took felt like a death sentence, and he couldn’t help but swallow. It was the man on her left that truly shocked him, though.
Jared Falgrave had been a modestly handsome man in life, but the time after his death hadn’t been kind to him. The former Adjudicator was emaciated, almost skeletal, and was wearing little more than a loincloth. His body was covered by scars on top of scars, and burns covered most of his lower body, the skin bubbled and twisted.
“That he is. I must say, this makes our bargain completely worth it. At least for me,” Jared growled, and Ulvian swallowed.
“W-wait a moment. I just died, and things are bad enough already. Please, help me get my bearings. In just a few days I’ll be good to go. We’re all on the same side, aren’t we?” Ulvian asked, looking at them nervously.
“On the same side? Were we on the same side when you ordered me to murder a woman and commit suicide?” Jared asked, baring his teeth at Ulvian. “Why would I bother helping you when I was given the chance to serve someone who actually rewards loyalty? Even as the lowest of servants it would be better than what I was experiencing before.”
“As for me? I want to torture you like you tortured me, Archon,” Serel said softly, her voice calm as ice as she smiled, running her fingers over her sword. “You could have killed me quickly. I even could have understood it. Instead you tormented me and made me into a demon. I think that very little will quench my rage.”
“Wenris, please! Your Lady gave me the directions, and sent you to help me!” Ulvian quickly appealed to the obvious leader of the group, even if he wasn’t ent
irely certain what she was doing here. His hopes faded as she laughed.
“Oh, Ulvian… you are rather dimwitted in some ways, aren’t you? I was a double agent for another power. She wanted someone more… suitable in Irethiel’s position, and placed me there millennia ago,” Wenris replied gently, smiling at him as she continued. “Now, I’m to reap the prize. You lost your mortal magic in your death and will have to relearn it. That means that all I have to do is extract the mantle from you.”
Her smile widened at Ulvian’s horrified look, and she added sweetly, “If you cooperate, I’ll make you a scullery maid when your transformation to a succubus is complete. What do you think?”
Ulvian froze for a moment, his mind refusing to work. And then, he desperately lunged toward the nearest pool of lava, the agony of his change roiling within him. When he didn’t make it, despair truly enveloped him.
Chapter 49
Coughing at the liquid flowing down his throat, Daniel gasped and sputtered as the simple act sent a spike of pain through him.
“Knock it off and swallow, you rock-headed, foolhardy fisherman.” Darak’s voice was loud, and Daniel felt someone holding him down.
It took a moment, but Daniel forced himself to swallow, blinking as his eyesight slowly returned. He could hear sobbing, and as his eyes regained focus, the fuzzy blurs above him slowly turned into three people. Albert was scowling at him, Darak was smirking in a way that made him nervous, and Sina’s face was streaked with tears.
“W-what happened?” Daniel gasped, the pain through his chest and right arm duller than it had been, but still present.
“You stupid idiot! You attacked that demon who’d disabled all of us!” Sina exclaimed, hitting Daniel’s shoulder and sending a spike of pain through him. “She killed you, you big fool! What did you think you were doing?”
“I… I died? How did I…?” Daniel asked, slowly raising his arms to look at them, and wincing at the sight of his right sleeve covered in blood.
“You’re fortunate that Sistina’s dungeon has the occasional silvercap mushroom,” Albert replied tartly, scowling at Daniel. “It was fairly uncommon in the beginning, but after she realized how valuable they were to us, she started making them rarer. We only had a half dozen that the Guild didn’t purchase and have carted off, which means I only had six resurrection elixirs. Congratulations, Daniel. You owe me fifty gold.”
“What?” Daniel exclaimed, his eyes huge. “I… how could I possibly pay that? I’ve only got one gold and fifty silver!”
“Should’ve thought about that before you attacked something way out of your league, Danny,” Darak interrupted, shaking his head. “It was brave, I’ll give you that, but it was damned stupid, too. The Guild prices accordingly.”
“I’m willing to write off half of it, Daniel, but you’re going to have to pay it back eventually, if you’re going to stay in good standing,” the Guildmaster informed him, and offered a hand to help Daniel up. “Now get up, and we’ll get you back to your room. A resurrection elixir never fully heals you.”
“We also need to have words! What were you thinking, Daniel?” Sina demanded, and Daniel’s thoughts ground to a halt as he looked around the plaza. It looked oddly calm, but he shook off the odd fuzz to his thoughts.
“I… she was talking about enslaving everyone. Enslaving you. I… I couldn’t stand it, so I didn’t even think, really. I thought that since my spirit let me ignore her presence, I had a chance,” Daniel replied slowly, flushing. “Obviously not.”
“Stupid dumbass. Don’t you dare ever do something like that again,” Sina retorted, hitting him gently and causing another wince.
“Alright, alright… but what happened? Why has the fighting stopped?” Daniel asked, nodding toward the gates.
“Well… first Tyria came flying out of the dungeon and attacked ‘her enslavers’ for a bit before heading off, and then we found out that all of the slave brands in Kelvanis’ control just vanished,” Sina replied, her eyes glittering. “It seems that there’s a bit of a revolt going on out there, and the siege has pretty much broken.”
“Oh. That’s good,” Daniel replied, hesitant. As he considered the situation, though, he blanched and shook his head. “That’s… going to be unpleasant. I’m glad I’m here, not in Kelvanis.”
“So am I. Now come on, you need to rest up and heal,” Sina replied, prodding him toward her shop.
“There you are. May the Goddess’ blessing go with you,” Elissa told the man, nodding as she stepped back, his injury almost fully healed.
The elven man nodded and smiled, his voice friendly as he hefted his stolen sword. “Thank you, Your Grace. I’ll do my best to keep from needing your attention again.”
“Please do,” the priestess replied, and watched him go as her smile faded.
Kelvanath may not have actively been in flames, but large parts of it were. The temple had taken damage when the palace had exploded, but that had been relatively minor, as shortly afterward the carnage had truly ensued. With the loss of every slave brand in the city things had descended into chaos, and she’d already heard of dozens of harsh slave-owners having been torn apart by their servants. If similar events were playing out across the country, as she suspected they were, Kelvanis was going to tear itself apart.
Fortunately the church had already gotten onto the good side of the slaves, otherwise their rampaging mobs might have attacked the temple. As it was, Elissa was spending a lot of time putting the faithful back together.
“High Priestess? You’re needed in the back.” The voice of one of the acolytes interrupted Elissa’s thoughts, and her nervous tone caught the High Priestess’ attention.
“Is something wrong, Megan?” Elissa asked, frowning.
“It’s… it’s Our Lady. She wants you to come back to your rooms!” Megan replied, her eyes wide.
“Oh! I’ll go attend to her immediately, then!” Elissa exclaimed. What was Her Lady doing here, considering the situation? “Tend to the injured as they come in, and keep an eye out for people who’re combative. We want to stay out of the conflict outside.”
“Yes, High Priestess,” Megan assured her, and quickly got to work as Elissa briskly walked toward her room, making sure the door that led to the priestess’ wing was locked, just to be safe.
Her door was slightly ajar, and Elissa opened it to find Tyria looking out the window at the smoke-shrouded city. The goddess turned to face her, and Elissa felt her knees almost buckle under Tyria’s gaze, a strange, restrained anger in it.
“M-my Goddess? May I ask why you’re upset?” Elissa asked, going to her knees after an instant of hesitation.
“I have learned something very, very disturbing, Elissa.” Tyria’s voice was oddly calm, and she looked the priestess in the eyes as she asked, “Were you aware that I was once Medaea, and that I had succubus blood introduced to my body?”
“I was. I saw you when you were first sleeping in the chamber where you woke, My Lady.” Elissa didn’t hesitate to reply, not with Ulvian almost certainly dead. “I suspected on the blood, but the method they used to change you wasn’t shared with me.”
“Why did you not tell me this during our last conversation? This seems exceedingly important to me,” Tyria demanded, and Elissa’s eyes dropped to the floor.
The priestess considered several answers to the question. All of them were true, from the fact she hadn’t really thought about it, to the possibility that it might cause problems for Tyria. But in the end she chose to go with the simplest, and most true of the answers.
“I was too scared to tell you. Scared that you might revoke your blessing, or that you might grow enraged or something more. I was also too scared of Ulvian,” Elissa explained, not daring to move as her hands shook. “He captured you, and I was enslaved to Irethiel for sixty years, with that hanging over my head. If I told you and things went wrong, I feared what would happen to me. I planned to tell you if you asked, but not to volunteer the information.”
For a long minute there was silence in the room, broken by the occasional sound of fighting and cries of alarm or pain from outside. It was a telling thing to Elissa, and she looked at the floor and her hands, not daring to speak.
“I will have to deal with the consequences of the demon blood sooner than later. It was made into part of me, and I cannot simply remove it,” Tyria finally said, a little more brightly and with determination in her voice. “As to who I am and was… this is going to lead to many difficulties in the future. I do not like that, but it is something that must be dealt with. Your tasks are going to be difficult, Elissa.”
“Milady?” Elissa asked nervously, afraid of what might be coming.
“Your first task is to try to reduce the scale of the destruction in the city outside. Not all of those who are being harmed deserve it. Try to mitigate the damage and keep the nation from entirely imploding,” Tyria told her, smiling thinly. “Difficult, I know, but you have some standing here.”
“You’re right. I’ll do what I can, Milady,” Elissa replied, her spine firming at the goal. She’d always been good at convincing others, so the task played to her strengths.
“Good. Once the city has settled down, you will come to Beacon, as will representatives of the church of Medaea. I will spend the intervening time figuring out what it is I wish to do about my identity, and trying to repair the damage done to Zenith.” The goddess paused, then smiled at Elissa. “That will be an unpleasant experience. But I will not have two radically different churches dedicated to me in two separate names. You and they will meet, with myself present. Then we will figure out a compromise that I can live with.”
“Oh. That could be… painful, Milady,” Elissa replied, swallowing hard at the thought of being in the same room as members of Medaea’s church.
“I agree. But it must be done,” Tyria told her, and nodded. “Now, get out there and see about keeping the city from burning to the ground.”
Halls of Power (Ancient Dreams Book 3) Page 40
