The Siege of Abythos

by Phil Tucker

  "Is that possible?"

  "Oh, yes," Small Zephyr said, smiling darkly at him. "You have no idea how much is possible. Anything is possible, with the right intent and knowledge." She took his thumb then and pushed it into her mouth, rolling her tongue around his finger as she held his gaze with dancing eyes.

  "I – oh! Well, ah, that is, um!" Audsley leaped to his feet, pulling his hand free, and quickly hid them both behind his back. He strode to the far side of the small clearing, twitching his robe so that it would conceal his arousal. "If that's possible, then, perhaps? And, what then? Say I, ah, present myself as ineluctably corrupted. Then what?"

  Small Zephyr remained on her knees, hands on her thighs, and watched him with wise eyes. "You would be welcomed, as I said, and taken to Haugabrjótr for training. Once there, I would guide you, show you what you wish to know, as long as you promise in turn to help free me."

  "Free you. Yes, I could do that, I think. Or at least try."

  Haugabrjótr. A secret Fujiwara stonecloud! How his soul thrilled at the thought of seeing it, exploring it, divining its rotten secrets!

  "And your grandfather – the Minister of Perfection himself – he will be deceived?"

  "I should say so. After all, are you not the man who murdered hundreds in Laur Castle but weeks ago?"

  Audsley stopped short, his breath catching in his throat. "I might have been."

  "There you go. We could spin that as an occasion when your demons took control for a moment. A history of weakness that has finally caught up with you."

  Audsley nodded stiffly. "I see."

  What was he agreeing to? He couldn't know the full scope of this alliance. He had to get word to Iskra about his new plan, but how? He had to find a moment to escape Small Zephyr and send a message. Through the Solar Gates? No, he'd have to deliver it himself, but he'd surely not have enough time to do that.

  "You have no idea how happy you have made me." Small Zephyr's eyes grew bright with tears. "To think I shall be able to escape my grandfather! I'll become a fisherwoman's wife in Zoe, or a forest warden in Ennoia. Anything."

  Audsley laughed. "Well, let's think that through a little more before you commit. First, we'd have to remove your demon." He tried to be nonchalant. "Can that be done?"

  "Oh, of course," said Small Zephyr. "With enough effort and knowledge. Speaking of which, are you ready? I must first teach you the secret of spiritual recusal. It is no easy feat, but if you can juggle three demons, perhaps you will surprise me."

  "Perhaps," said Audsley, moving over to sit cross-legged in front of her. "I've an addiction to learning. Try me."

  "Very well." Small Zephyr gave herself a little shake, her expression turning serious, and took both of his hands in her own. "First, do you know your demons' names?"

  "No," said Audsley. "They claim to have none."

  "They lie. Don't judge them harshly. If you knew their names, they would be wholly at your mercy. Perhaps we shall discover them in time. There are records we can consult. Have they revealed aught of their lives?"

  Audsley stilled. "Their lives?"

  Little Zephyr raised an eyebrow. "Need I repeat myself? Yes. Something that might give away when they were human. Often, that is a good starting point from which to begin one's investigations."

  Audsley felt as if a huge gong had been rung in the very center of his soul. "They were once human?"

  "Audsley!" Little Zephyr laughed. "I thought you ignorant, but clearly I overestimated you! Yes, of course! All demons were once Sin Casters, though they predate the name, some by centuries if not more."

  Audsley passed a shaking hand over his face. You lied to me, he whispered in the confines of his mind. You do have names.

  For the first time, his demons emerged from the darkness of his thoughts. They were grave, their eyes slitted. There is no point in denying it, said the Aletheian demon. It is true.

  Audsley felt faint. "Then – every demon was once a man?"

  "Or a woman," said Little Zephyr.

  "The demons that power the Portals, that lift Starkadr into the sky, the demon lord we defeated at Mythgraefen – all of them were Sin Casters?"

  "Once," said Little Zephyr. "But, no, to answer your next question. Not all Sin Casters were doomed to become such. Only the venal, the greedy, the foolish, the ignorant. Or worse, those driven mad by their lust for power, led astray by their self-confidence, the belief that they were special and could avoid their fate."

  "Oh," said Audsley. "But they come from the Black Gate."

  "Yes," said Little Zephyr, leaning forward to pat his hand in a manner that was at once comforting and patronizing. "There is much for you to learn. But not now. First, we must begin by visualizing your safe place. You shall learn the rest in Haugabrjótr. Your safe place must be more real in your mind than even the world you perceive through your senses. It will be more real, because your apprehension of it will be first-hand, direct, whereas this world, even my touch, is detected through your skin, your eyes, your ears, and thus is at a remove. Search deep within yourself. What is your truest, safest place?"

  Audsley wriggled from side to side till he was seated comfortably and then frowned, enjoying her lecture already. Was it true? Was a mental construct, through sheer dint of being an interior construction, more real than anything in the exterior world?

  Focus, Audsley, focus!

  My safest place. He thought of his bedroom as it once had been, filled with the scent of sandalwood incense, the aroma of a thousand parchments and papers, the spicy tang of old leather, the soot of the fireplace, the myriad of spices, and, most treasured of all, Aedelbert's familiar smell.

  A circular room, a metaphor for philosophical perfection. His great bed, his desk, his books and parchments, his inks and curios, his maps and atlases. Aedelbert asleep on his pillow, an afternoon lying before him in which to do nothing more than munch on aged cheese and sip a fine ale as he turned the pages of an old book.

  Perfection. Sweet delectation.

  "Very good," said Small Zephyr. "Hold it firm in your mind. Now, I will show you how to gird it with your very essence and infuse its space and walls with the material of your soul. How to make it more real than real, and then, when it is firm, how to fold it upon itself, over and over again, till it is smaller than a mote of dust, and how to bury it so deep you will forget it's even there. Are you ready? We'll begin."

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Iskra stormed into their private quarters. She moved directly to the table on which a silver tray held a dozen bottles of cut crystal. She uncorked one at random, poured two inches of amber liquid into a goblet, and smacked the crystal stopper back down.

  Her husband, Thansos II, was carried in behind her on his narrowest platform. His servants set him down where he indicated, then bowed quickly and hurried out, closing the doors behind them.

  "Iskra." The emperor's voice was hard as tempered steel. "You are my wife and my eventual successor. You are not, however, the emperor. Do not make the mistake of interrupting me again in council."

  Iskra took a sip from the goblet, let the fire scald the top of her mouth and the back of her throat, then turned to glare at Thansos. "Did none of my words last night register? Or my suggestions yesterday morning? Or my words from the day before that?"

  Thansos sighed loudly and reached under his mask to scratch at his scars. "I heard you. And I will admit that in the moment, your words have a beguiling sense to them. But when coldly scrutinized, your arguments fall apart like cobwebs."

  "Fall apart like cobwebs?" She strode up to his platform and stared down at him. "So, tell me this. You are at the peak of Aletheia. The Ascendant has been impaled before you and has just given his last death rattle. The Empire has been overthrown. The Virtues are dead, the generals of Ennoia defeated, and a kragh horde is about to throw itself against Abythos. What do we do then?"

  The emperor reached out and took her glass, then discarded the mask altogether and sipped with his lipless
mouth. His eyes glinted as he watched her. "How are we to know there is a kragh horde?"

  "I have it from impeccable sources."

  He shrugged. "Then, the empire will unite around us. The exterior threat will serve to force them to our side. The problem is solved."

  "No, the problem is not solved! Thansos, you did not see those men and women throw themselves against Audsley's fire in Laur's castle. You did not witness their willingness to die for the Grace. You have lived without faith for so long that you cannot comprehend it, what it can drive people to do. If you kill the Ascendant, the entire empire will rise up against us!"

  The emperor shrugged again. "Then, we will subjugate them. With the Portals on our side and the armies of the Empire destroyed by the kragh, there will be no one to oppose us."

  "Subjugate them. Subjugate them?" Iskra turned and strode to her window, then grasped the sill as she stared out over the sun-soaked buildings of Agerastos that tumbled down to the glittering waters of the bay. "Are you serious? How do you subjugate an entire people? They're not an army, they're a people, and they will fight us at every turn." Inspiration struck, and she wheeled around. "Look how you and your people fought Enderl and the Empire till they were forced to withdraw their forces. Did you field an army? No, you simply resisted at every turn till governing you was impossible."

  "You know, I'm always amused when you instruct me with my own past. Do you think I've forgotten it?"

  Iskra stared at his bleak, cold face, the arrogance and disdain that pulled his ruined lips into a smirk. "Forgotten? No. But perhaps you simply don't care."

  Thansos sighed. "Iskra. Think about what you're asking me to do. Let the Ascendant live? Let the symbol of oppression and enslavement continue to rule? How will we change anything? We'll become a footnote in history, a lapse, a hiccup. We must kill if we are to truly effect change. The Ascendant must die."

  "And the Empire? Must it crumble with him? How deep must your revenge go?" Iskra trembled. "Must every man, woman and child suffer for what you've undergone?"

  Thansos smiled again, a fissure opening in the corner of his mouth and gleaming a wet red. "Would that be so bad?"

  "Are you mad? Thansos! We are talking about hundreds of thousands of people! Innocents in Zoe who never sent a soldier against you! Slaves in Bythos who know nothing but the mines! Fishermen on the Eternal Ocean! Why must they suffer for your tragedies?"

  Thansos levered himself upright. "Do they pay their taxes? Do they worship the Ascendant? Pray for his success? Do they believe in Ascension? Yes? Then they are complicit. They have tacitly agreed to the murder of my people, my wife, my nation! You ask me why they must suffer? I ask you why they must be spared! Where was their outrage when my people were massacred? Where was their horror when my wife was raped to death in a public square?"

  Furious now, he climbed to his feet, shaking, propping himself up even as he glared at her. "Did I mistake you, Iskra? Did I overestimate your resolve? Now that your son has died, have you lost your fire? Where is that determination I saw before?"

  "Where?" She took three steps toward him. "Thansos, I have been vouchsafed a glimpse of the apocalypse to come if we do not undertake our invasion with care! Your people will be damned in the eyes of the empire for eternity. They will not rest until they have not only driven us from their cities, but have followed us here and killed every one of us for the murder of their god!"

  "Pah!" Thansos stood up straight. "Peasants! Merchants! Sages! The empire is nine-tenths toothless, with only the Ennoians girded for war. After they have been destroyed by the kragh, I tell you, we will have nothing to fear!"

  "You fool," whispered Iskra. "Peasants will take up their pitchforks. Merchants will donate their wealth. Sages will advise on matters of war. Each citizen will bend their will toward our destruction. Don't you care about your own people? Don't you care about their fate?"

  The emperor clenched his jaw and hobbled to the sideboard, liquor sloshing from his glass. "I have sacrificed everything for my people."

  Iskra let loose a bark of laughter. "Don't lie to me, Thansos. You sacrificed everything for your revenge, not your people. You use them as you would any tool."

  Thansos snarled and hurled his goblet at her. A wild arc of gold liquid splashed through the air, and the glass shattered against the wall, yards wide of its mark.

  Iskra sneered. "You missed. There are more glasses at your elbow. Care to try again?"

  Thansos muttered and filled a new goblet. "Marrying you was a mistake. My looming mortality has led me to error. I see it now."

  "No, what you see is a mirror to your madness," said Iskra. "You truly don't care about what happens after you've killed the Ascendant, do you? That is your sole goal, and once it's been accomplished, the rest of the world can go hang. Am I right?"

  "Close your mouth, woman, before I close it for you." He drank deep.

  "Thansos, be honest with me, just this one time. You don't care about your people. About the people of the Empire. The kragh, your army, nothing. Once you've killed the Ascendant, you will die content."

  Thansos gripped the edge of the table and looked around at her, his face contorted into a horrific mask. "What of it? It will be my legacy. With one stroke, I will free the world!"

  "No! You will damn it! You will consign it to flames! Stop lying!"

  Again, Thansos raised his glass high, but this time he checked himself and instead stretched out his hand. He grunted, deep in his chest, and Iskra felt pain crackle along her nerves, setting her arms and chest aflame with deep and wracking pain. She screamed, then bit down on the cry, muffling her agony as she sank down to her knees, muscles clenched, arms contorted.

  The emperor let out a gasp and relaxed his arm, and the pain disappeared. He grinned at her, a thin trickle of blood running down over his chin. "See? I'm not quite as helpless as all that. Now, watch your tongue."

  Iskra stared at him through her disheveled hair. "You dare."

  "And will again if you keep badgering me. I am the emperor! Not you! Not yet! If I say we will invade with fire and blade, then we will do so! I am done with this argument, Iskra. History will be my judge, not you!"

  Iskra climbed to her feet. The pain had been blinding, all-consuming. The thought of it made her stomach heave, but her hatred overcame it. "I was a fool. I thought I could appeal to your reason."

  "Reason?" Thansos waved a hand. "Do you think I would have survived this long if I depended on rationality? Strength of will. Determination. A willingness to sacrifice all. That is what is required of a true leader."

  Resolve hardened within her heart, and she laughed. "A true leader? No, a pathetic excuse for a man. A bully, a coward, a monster."

  Thansos stilled. "Watch your tongue."

  "Or what? You can barely cause my limbs to tingle with your magic. It's as limp as your cock."

  Snarling, Thansos dropped the goblet and extended both hands toward her, his fingers snarled into claws. Iskra's vision turned white and her heart pounded three times hard, then made a lurching pause. Agony scalded her, hollowed her out, left her scraped and broken.

  But she was no stranger to pain. She fixed her mind on Roddick's sweet smile, recalling how he had once nurtured a wounded piglet to health for three weeks and then named him Ser Pigalot. The physical pain took a step back, was pushed away by the raw hell of her personal loss, and she managed a laugh, a cracked, broken sound that caused the emperor to flinch.

  Slowly she rose to her feet, swaying and hunched, her eyes locked on his own. "Coward," she whispered. "Monster. Worse than Enderl. I never thought I'd marry a man who makes my former husband look so good."

  Thansos' eyes bulged and he hissed, blood running from his left nostril. A vessel burst in his right eye and flooded the white with crimson. Her agony doubled and Iskra fell again, cracking her left knee against the marble. She couldn't breathe; her diaphragm was smothering her lungs, and her bladder let go.

  She fell onto her side. All she could
do was wheeze as her spine arched more and more till she was bent backward like a strung bow.

  The muscles of her back burned and tore and her bones creaked. She kept contorting, bent as if by two hideous, powerful hands. Her heels touched her shoulder blades. Any second now, she would snap.

  Only a name came to mind, a sound more dear to her than any other: Roddick.

  Then, without warning, the force gripping her body vanished. She cried out and rolled over, shaking and sobbing, her back on fire, cheek pressed to the cold marble floor. She heard a choking sound, and, summoning all her will, she looked up and saw the emperor swaying.

  Blood was smeared across his upper lip and chin. His eyes were both bloodshot, and he was flailing, trying to catch something on which to support himself, but there was nothing. He staggered and fell, and Iskra almost expected him to shatter like a pile of toppled plates. Instead, his wizened, weightless form landed lightly, and he lay there twitching like a dying insect.

  Iskra gasped one last time, caught her breath, and grimly pushed herself up. She crawled over to where Thansos was lying, blood pooling around his face. His eyelids twitched as he stared from left to right, focusing on nothing.

  Iskra watched as the emperor of Agerastos died, and after he'd lain still for what seemed like an eternity, she finally rose from the floor. She felt as if she'd doubled in age. Her back was wrenched, the muscles badly pulled, but she gritted her teeth and hobbled to the door. Opening it, she looked out at the servants and guards.

  "Hurry," she croaked. "Send for the Vothaks, for the doctors. The emperor. He's dying."