by Phil Tucker
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Thank you,” Tiron said wearily. “I managed to get here just before it passed.” His voice was worn down to a rasp, but Iskra could still hear the emotion in it. “He thanked me, the bastard. Told me I’d helped it do something noble.”
Iskra squeezed his shoulder and remained silent. She could hear the Ascendant’s voice below, leading his Virtues and Consecrated in a lengthy blessing. She felt no urge to join him.
Finally, Tiron sighed and stood, his movement stiff and slow. He pulled her into an embrace, resting his chin on her head as they both looked down at the Black Gate.
“What’s it mean, now, for that thing to be open?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” Her heart sped up as she contemplated that diamond of nullity. “I suppose magic is once more flowing into our world.”
“Aye. A new Age of Wonders will be in the offing. I’m glad that bastard Erenthil isn’t here to enjoy it.”
Iskra could only shake her head in mute abhorrence at the thought of the Artificer – of what he had tried to do, what he had almost accomplished.
Together, she and Tiron looked to the makeshift tent where Kethe and Asho were resting. She’d had word sent to the Bythians that Asho’s parents should come and tend to their son… and learn of their daughter’s death. The Ascendant himself had proclaimed them safe from further danger and simply in need of much rest, but it tugged at her to be away from Kethe’s side.
“So many questions,” she said softly. “So much uncertainty. I feel that I should be celebrating, but instead my mind is spinning as I consider the challenges that face us.”
“They can wait,” said Tiron. “At least for an hour.”
“True. But we’ll need to address the kragh situation shortly. When Maur wakes up, she’ll be in control of what’s left of the kragh horde, who still occupy most of Aletheia. We’ll need to parlay with them, arrange for their return to their lands.”
“That won’t be simple,” said Tiron. “I still don’t understand what I saw, but at the end, we were in bad shape. Caught between two ur-destraas, and the third healing up. I thought we were done for, but Tharok…” Tiron trailed off and shook his head. “I don’t know what he did. But he turned into white light and dove off Draumronin’s back. He impacted with the ur-destraas, and killed it. Turned the tide of battle. Bought Draumronin enough breathing room that we were able to teleport away.”
“We’ll have to hear the Ascendant’s thoughts on the matter,” said Iskra. “How he chooses to incorporate this… miracle… into Ascendancy.”
“Aye, but one thing’s clear. He won’t be able to erase Tharok’s deed. Word will spread, and the kragh will have to be brought into Ascendancy. I don’t see any way around it.”
“What if they don’t want it?” Iskra bit her lower lip as she studied the Ascendant below. “What if Maur doesn’t want to follow in Tharok’s footsteps?”
“You’re asking the wrong person,” said Tiron. “But Ascendancy’s never been a theology to bother with the opinions of those it cares for. If the Ascendant decides they’re in, they’re in. Even if he has to force them.”
They subsided into silence once more.
Faint cheers could be heard as the news spread across Bythos, but Iskra felt too drained to share in that sentiment. Again, she looked to the tent where Kethe was lying.
Tiron followed her line of sight. “Speaking of miracles…”
“How are we supposed to understand what happened?” asked Iskra. “What they did?”
“That’s beyond me,” Tiron said softly. “I only understand the commonplace miracles that take place each day on a battlefield. But what they did?” He shook his head. “I respected them before, but now I feel genuine awe. I keep telling myself they’re just Asho and Kethe, the youths I knew from before, but I don’t quite believe it.”
“A Bythian saved the empire, saved Ascendancy,” said Iskra. “Not a Virtue, not an Aletheian. The bravest, the most heroic of men was a Bythian.”
“It’s a strong argument for equality,” said Tiron. “Will you make it to the Ascendant?”
“Yes,” said Iskra. “Ascendancy must change. Change radically. We can never go back to the way things were. How can we treat Bythians as slaves and equate them to animals after this? I don’t know how that change will come, but Ascendancy was reborn today. I’ll do my part in shaping that future as best I can.”
A slender young woman was being escorted up to them by several of Kethe’s former Consecrated. She was strikingly beautiful; her black hair was lustrous and gleaming around her pale face, and her eyes were downcast.
“Your Grace,” said one of the Consecrated, an Aletheian by the looks of him. His left arm was badly hurt and cradled to his chest. “This is Zephyr of the Fujiwara clan. She was with Magister Audsley. What do you wish done with her?”
Iskra studied the young woman. She couldn’t be more than eighteen, and instead of defiant or desperate, she seemed somber, perhaps even overwhelmed. It was almost impossible to believe that a short time ago, she’d threatened the end of the world.
“Guard her,” said Iskra. “We will have a trial when we can.”
A burly blond Ennoian Consecrated raised an eyebrow. “Give the order, your Grace, and we can clean this up now.”
“Execute her?” Iskra continued to study the girl. Any normal person would have startled at those words, but Zephyr remained subdued. “No. She will go to trial, and our Empire will be able to witness the execution of justice publicly and fairly.”
“I know it is obscene for me to request anything,” said Zephyr, her voice little more than a whisper, “but, please, your Grace. Let me ask something for Audsley.”
“For Audsley?” Iskra looked past the group to the magister, who was sitting nearby, idly piling rocks atop each other. “What is it?”
Zephyr also turned to regard the Noussian. “He sacrificed too much of himself. I’ve seen it before. His mind is…” She trailed off, then inhaled sharply and shook her head. “Broken.”
Tiron’s hand tightened on her arm, and a bitter sorrow stole through her as Audsley carefully placed a small rock atop his tower, then threw his hands up in dismay when the entirety toppled over.
“What is your request, then?” she asked Zephyr.
“That he be treated… with….” The girl hung her head. “I don’t know. Respect. Gentleness. That he not be punished for falling for my ploys.”
Tiron snorted. “Is this a calculated angle? Are you trying to rescue your reputation before the trial?”
Zephyr’s head snapped up, and for a moment her eyes blazed, but then she subsided and looked away. “No. I have no illusions as to my fate. It’s deserved. But I can finally see clearly, now, and I appreciate what he did for me. I don’t know how, but he took the demon from my soul. I was dying, and he brought me back to life. For the first time, I feel myself, as if everything before this was a fever dream.”
Her smile was bitter, and she shook her head self-mockingly. “But what do you care? I just ask that you don’t judge him for falling for my grandfather’s manipulations, or my own. He’s the only truly good person I’ve ever met, even if he makes mistakes.”
“Very well,” said Iskra. “I wouldn’t have punished him, regardless.”
“Thank you,” said Zephyr. “And – I’m sorry.” She gestured at Draumronin, then swept her hand around to encompass the world. “For this. For everything.” Her eyes filled with tears, and again she smiled as if mocking her own pain. “There. I just wanted to say it.”
“Your Grace?” asked the Aletheian Consecrated.
“Take her away,” Iskra replied. “Thank you.”
Zephyr didn’t wait to be pushed; she bowed her head to Iskra, then turned and walked away.
“That was unexpected,” said Tiron. “I was ready to hate her, but…”
Iskra was watching Audsley, however. The magister seemed to be genuinely enjoying himself as he cast arou
nd for flatter pebbles. She thought of how he’d stepped forward so long ago to follow her into exile at Mythgraefen Hold. How he’d saved her from Kitan in the Hold’s basement during the siege, risking his own life to draw the enemy knight away till Tiron could arrive. She remembered his thoughtful advice, his awkward humor, his love for his firecat, and how, the night after she’d agreed to marry the Emperor of Agerastos, how he’d consoled her by the fire. And, on another evening, after he’d burned hundreds to death so she could avenge her son, how she’d found him sobbing in the Weasel Tower, appalled at what he’d done.
“Oh, Audsley,” she sighed. “I’ll see to it that you have everything you could desire to be comfortable and happy in your new life. Including Aedelbert. We’ll find a way back to Nethys Isle and rescue him.”
Captain Patash approached, leading what was left of his soldiers, Orishin at his side. “Your Imperial Highness,” he said haltingly.
“Yes, Captain?”
“The Vothaks, Your Highness. They’re gone.”
“Ilina?”
“I saw them with the kragh shaman.” The captain was swaying on his feet, clearly exhausted. “They conferred and reached some manner of agreement. It was when I saw the shaman carving open a green Portal that I approached.”
Iskra searched their environs. Crowds of people were filtering in as word spread of their victory – Bythians, kragh, soldiers and more – but nowhere could she see the distinctive yellow and purple of the Vothaks. “And?”
“She laughed at me,” Patash replied. “Said she owed nothing to you or Agerastos. She and the shaman were going in search of Kyrrasthasa.”
“Good luck to them, then,” Tiron said with a dark smile. “The last I saw of her, she was plummeting thousands of feet to the ground.”
“Hmm,” said Iskra. “Didn’t she turn into a spike of stone the last time she fell from a great height?”
Tiron’s smile disappeared.
Iskra sighed. “A problem for another day. Kyrra was an ally, the last time we spoke. Perhaps we can maintain cordial relations.”
Orishin raised an eyebrow, and though he said nothing, his thoughts were clear.
“Perhaps not,” Iskra said, and knuckled one eye. “But we’ll deal with her when the time comes.”
“Your commands, Your Highness?” asked Orishin.
“Commands.” Iskra forced her mind into action. “We must collect all our Agerastian forces in one place. I fear we’re stranded here for now, but I aim to return you home, if nothing else.”
“Home may no longer welcome us,” Orishin said carefully. “The last I heard, the People’s Prince had declared all of your servants anathema.”
“I won’t leave you stranded here,” Iskra assured him. “We’ll find a way. Lunar Portals to Ennoia, then ships to Agerastos, if need be. It may take some time –”
“Years,” said Orishin.
“But I’ll see it done.”
Patash and Orishin shared a look.
“What is it?” asked Tiron. “You two are trying to be subtle and failing.”
“We swore our devotion to you, Your Imperial Highness,” said Orishin. “To serve you and further your goals. We would continue to do so, even now.”
“And remain in the Empire?” asked Iskra.
“As long as you choose to do so,” Patash replied. “You will need strong and loyal guards if you are to assume the role of Grace permanently.”
“There will assuredly be much paperwork,” said Orishin. “Mountains of it. And complex schedules. Budgets that need balancing. Palace staff who need monitoring.”
Iskra couldn’t restrain a smile. “I didn’t dare ask. But if you’re willing to stay, I swear to you that you will be handsomely rewarded. Thank you.” Impulsively, she reached out and took their hands. “Both of you.”
They grinned, then assumed solemn expressions, took a step back, and bowed. “Your Grace.”
Orishin straightened. “The Portal to Aletheia will be opening in a few hours. I assume you will want a reconnaissance team ready to enter and establish contact with the remnants of our army?”
“Yes,” said Iskra.
“I thought so. I have begun to assemble a team composed of Kethe’s Consecrated, Captain Patash’s guards, and a few doughty Bythians who seem willing to help. Now –”
“Oh, Orishin,” said Iskra. “How could I have thought I could do without you? But, one moment.” She took Tiron’s hand and pulled him away. “One moment, please.”
Tiron followed her, bemused. She led him a dozen steps and then turned to face him. “You’ve got commands for me too?”
“More than you can imagine. Some are quite detailed.” She reached up and cupped his face. “The first is to never leave my side.”
“Done.”
Tears filled her eyes. “We did it, Tiron.”
He grinned. “I never, at any moment, had any doubt.”
“I know that soon we’ll be inundated with responsibilities. There will be much to do, an Empire to heal, Asho and Kethe’s future, the kragh, but –”
“We did it,” he said, lowering his face to hers. “You did it. My love. My Grace. My Iskra.”
She closed her eyes, allowed all her doubts and concerns and fears to fall away, and kissed him.
THE END
of the
CHRONICLES
THE EMPIRE OF THE DEAD
Book 1 of the Godsblood Trilogy
It has been two decades since the daughter of the death goddess enacted her cruel betrayal. Two decades since the other nine gods were slain, their semi-divine progeny murdered, and the disparate peoples of the empire were forced to bend knee to their new empress and her armies of the dead.
But when bandits kidnap a youth at the edges of the empire, two aged and broken heroes emerge from obscurity to attempt an unlikely rescue. Neither man relishes confronting the forces of their dread empress, but when they learn that their quarry is being held for sacrifice in the imperial city of Rekkidu, they reluctantly begin gathering a crew of uniquely talented criminals to attempt an impossible rescue.
A rescue whose failure could have shattering consequences. For they are Jarek and Acharsis, the last of the demigods, long thought dead, whose return could shake the very foundations of the empire.
Unpredictable, fast-paced, and packed with memorable characters, The Empire of the Dead is a gripping tale of revenge replete with demons, ancient magic and a high-stakes heist. Grab your copy today!
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