Had the spell gone bad? What the hell time was it?
He fumbled around his bedside table for his magic mirror, found it, and scratched the activation code across it. The metal buzzed angrily under his fingers, and a queasy, reddish light shown from its surface.
Squinting, Freetrick brought the mirror closer to his face and the light resolved into words…
Your Malevolence Error … 644 King Feerborg, under the Maelstrom Cannot read Despot of Skrea, detection of magical incursion Evil Despot of Skrea This spell has performed an illegal operation Ultimate Fiend of the Kingdoms of Evil, cease operation or pray to your god Evil Evil pray to your god.
The mutated error codes pulsed somber red light with every beat of his heart. Freetrick blinked hard, trying to wake up, looked down at the hands holding the mirror, and nearly screamed out loud.
Freetrick's finger, his hand, his whole body was white. Not pale tan or pink, but white. There was even a faint blue tinge in the shadows. And...he brought his hand up… were his nails pointed?
What the struck-out hell had happened to him? Then Freetrick looked again at the mirror's now blank and reflective surface, and this time he did scream.
Freetrick's face matched the rest of his body, the skin smooth and ghastly. The basic shape---he rubbed at his cheeks with panic-tingling fingers---the basic shape seemed unchanged. But…Freetrick tilted the mirror. Had his eyebrows always been so sharp? Certainly his hairline had not been a widow's peak before today.
Fighting panic, Freetrick leaned further toward the mirror. Something else was wrong. More wrong than just skin or hair color. His eyes... Freetrick squinted, but he could see no iris, no sclera, just shiny, inky blackness, as if someone had replaced his eyeballs with polished globes of jet. The lack of pupils dampened his expression, made him look cold and alien, even to himself.
Freetrick tried to see the brown his eyes ought to be under that under the inky blankness. It didn't help that everything was so blurry. He squinted harder, focusing until pain needled the inside of his forehead.
"Ow!"
A flash of heat, a tingling, and bright spots of light leapt across the surfaces of Freetrick's eyes.
"Ow!"
Another flash of heat, and again twin sparks stretched from his upper to his lower lids. Hot tingles flashed up Freetrick's arms and legs as the sparks jumped a third time, then again, until a continuous band of hot, blue light bisected each eye.
Now the face staring back at him from the mirror was not simply odd, it was malevolent, with slitted snake pupils like jags of lightning across a pitch black sky.
"No!" Freetrick gasped at his reflection, the face that belonged to a monster, to something out of the Kingdoms of Evil. "No!" The mirror dropped from his senseless fingers. He hurled himself out of the bed.
As he stood, Freetrick realized he was naked. His entire body was the same matte white as his hands. Clothes will cover it up, thought Freetrick incoherently, and rocked toward his dresser.
It looked wrong. Freetrick squinted, and realized the problem wasn't just the dresser. When he held his fingertips in front of his eyes they looked all right, but anything much farther than six inches from his nose became indistinct and blurry.
What the gibbering hell was happening?
Freetrick shut his eyes hard, then opened them. The desk, dresser, and postered walls of his dorm room refused to resolve into focus. Had his vision spells failed too? That would explain his sudden nearsightedness, but how could all of this magic to go wrong at once? And the white skin? It was impossible!
Freetrick fumbled open his dresser and pulled out his underwear, jerkin, and hose. For a moment the clothes' familiar scent and texture against his skin dimmed the panic rising in his chest.
But as Freetrick smoothed his tunic over his chest, he noticed the irregular, dark stains that spotted the cloth. Squinting his unfocused eyes, he saw cloudy blotches like oily handprints all over his clothing.
Freetrick looked at his hands. They seemed clean, but ...he brought his arm up to his face… no it wasn't just a trick of his eyes. There was a haze or halo of darkness above his skin. He moved his arm, and the cloud dissipated, only to re-form when he held still.
What was this stuff? Aside from something that stained clothing
Freetrick reached down and pulled a corner of his tunic closer his eyes for a better look.
Darkness shot out of his fingers and spread across the fabric, turning the blue cloth a dull and ashy gray. Freetrick hissed in surprise and let go, but when he looked down, he could see the rest of his clothes slowly changing as his skin rubbed against them from the inside. His hose were already nearly black at the knees and hips, and when he pinched the altered material between his fingers, it felt thinner, more fragile.
"It's like I'm sweating acid," mumbled Freetrick, looking down at the bed where he had been sleeping. Yes, in the center of the bed, where he had lain, the fabric had worn away to almost nothing. Another hour of sleep and he might have dissolved parts of the bed. Again he brought his white, claw-tipped hands to his face, and this time he could actually see the dark, corrosive vapor wafting from his pores.
Terror slammed into Freetrick like a brick in a sock. His heart pounded, his teeth chattered, his breath came in short, gagging gasps. He pinched at his skin, ran his hands through his hair, rubbed his blurry eyes, nothing changed.
Freetrick ran toward his door with nothing in his mind but blind panic, and grasped the knob.
It turned under his fingers.
The door rattled.
Freetrick leapt back, every nerve jangling.
And the door opened.
A figure stood at Freetrick's doorway, impossibly tall and thin.
Even as Freetrick stumbled backward, he squinted, trying to focus his reduced vision on the—it must be a man in his…cloak? Leather cape? The garment covered the entire body, rising from the ground in a cone of thick, dark material to open just under the chin into a high, hooked collar. Above the collar hung a face: pale, sharp, and cruel, shadows dark under deep-set eyes and jutting cheekbones. Looking even further upward, Freetrick could make out a sort of crown or headdress above the visitor's forehead, a branching thing like pale antlers or spikes that brushed against the ceiling, making the person seem even taller than he was.
Yellow teeth bared themselves in a hiss of indrawn breath.
"Oh, Malevolence, oh Fiend Most Feared." The voice was deep, yet thin, the wheeze of a man being strangled, the whisper of cobwebs dragged over the face of a corpse. "It is more honor than this most unworthy servant deserves to be permitted simply to exist in the presence of the Most Hideously Exalted Majesty."
"Wh—" Freetrick's breath whistled through paralyzed lips. Had its headdress antlers thing just twitched? "Who are you?"
Shadows writhed across the man's face. "ssSkreekirrkaakh," he hissed. "At your service, Fiend."
"Guh?" stammered Freetrick. Malevolence?
"ssSkreekirrkaakh," came the reply, like the bones of dead fingers scratching against a grave stone, "but this unworthy servant had the honor of being addressed by the most vicious predecessor of the Soon-to-be Ultimate Fiend, He from whose Hands the Blood Never Dried, as… 'Mr. Skree.'"
"Oh," said Freetrick, his brain struggling to analyze the situation.
Mr. Skree hissed as he drew in breath, "Might this unworthily groveling worm humbly inquire if he might be permitted to enter the lair of the Evil One Most Low?"
"Um." Freetrick stared up at Mr. Skree. Those antlers had moved just now.
"It would be impossible for such a creature as this to presume, Fiend," said Mr. Skree, apparently referring to himself, "but there is a matter of the utmost importance to discuss."
Memory swept across Freetrick's numb mind. Darkness—or storm clouds?—rising in a column around him. An explosion. He shook his head. "It's about that letter I got yesterday."
Mr. Skree bowed bonelessly. "Yess."
Wait! His brain screamed, but F
reetrick said. "All right."
A set of long, pale fingers curled around the bottom edge of the door lintel and Mr. Skree's face pushed toward him. The tall man ducked. No, he…dangled like a broken marionette.
The monster, Mr. Skree, entered the room. And it was too late to shut the door.
Mr. Skree was not wearing a cloak. The many-branched thing over his head was not a crown. And he did not stand, Freetrick saw, he hung.
A long neck curled snakelike from the head up into a small, round body, from which four limbs reached, pale fingers and toes spreading out like a crown of antlers above the monster's head to grip the ceiling with grotesque, rounded pads. Another pair of limbs, no, wings, extended down to the floor in imitation of a leather cloak.
"What are you…" But of course Freetrick knew that, didn't he? "…doing here?" He finished. Were there any weapons in his room? Did he know any spells he could use to fight this thing off? Would any of those spells work?
"This suppurating minion has come, Malevolence, to take the Ultimate Fiend home." Mr. Skree hissed: the whisper of an axe murderer.
"You're not taking me anywhere," said Freetrick.
Cadaverous digits scrabbling over the ceiling, the monster flowed through the air toward him. "But the unwashed masses cry out for the disciplining sting of Evil's lash, oh Iron-Hearted Sovereign."
"No, thank you," Freetrick meant to sound firm, but his voice broke when he fetched up against his desk, "I'm sure you can find someone else to handle the…lash."
"But, Fiend, the great work of the House of Death has yet to be completed. How will the shadow of Skrea spread to cover the corners of this world if its Despot continues to—" Eyes the color of boiled toenails seemed to sweep through the dormitory walls to indicate Eldritch College, Byblos City, the entire Rationalist Union from the ocean to the mountains, "…languish in this place?"
"Yes?" said Freetrick.
"This humble servant is of course unworthy to contradict a personage of such awesome power as the Soon-to-be Ultimate Fiend."
"Oh," said Freetrick, surprised, "well. Good. I'll stay here then. You go away now."
Mr. Skree blinked with a sound like tearing cellophane. "Oh He Who Blocks all Warmth from the Ground, the infamy of the mighty Despot of Skrea is well known to the pitiful Do-Gooders that cower in the cursed light west of the mountains. And though this insufficiently souciant servitor is wholly prepared to be disemboweled for pointing out the limitations of the wrathful might of the Ultimate Fiend, as pitiful as the enemies of Evil might be, in their sniveling cowardice they will never allow the hideous forces at your command to run unchecked on their virgin soil. Once the forces of light are arrayed against us---"
True Words, the monster was going to just keep talking forever."Wait wait," Freetrick held up his hands, then flinched back from the frost-white skin and the claws. "The Academic Government is deporting me?"
"You are the focus of all evil in this world, Malevolence," Mr. Skree pointed out.
"The hell I am." Freetrick spun around and thrust his arms into the wreckage of his bed sheets to extract his magic mirror. "I'm going to deal with this right now."
He traced the runes of the initializing spell on the mirror. "I'm calling the Proctors." He traced the runes spelling the true word for 'help' on the surface of his mirror. "If you won't get out of here on your own grand high evil so and so's say-so, they'll get this sorted...ugh!"
This time the mirror didn't even bother with error messages. Blackness grew across its surface like a virulent mildew. Then, while Freetrick scrubbed frantically at the rushing corruption, the device shuddered, emitted a shrill feedback squeal, and cracked in two.
Into the shocked silence that followed came Mr. Skree's voice. "Thus are all enemies brought low before the Seed of the First God."
"You!" Freetrick glared at Mr. Skree, "You did this. Undo it."
"The merest whims of the Ultimate Fiend are as laws of nature unto those who writhe in his shadow," said the monster.
"Get," Freetrick felt lighting crackle across his eyes, "out."
Mr. Skree bowed like a hanged man being dropped from a gallows. "Very good, Malevolence." A hiss of indrawn breath, "and may the lids be flensed from the living eyeballs of this pitiful servant for suggesting that anything but the wrath of the gods themselves could limit the powers of the Ultimate Fiend, but if his Malevolence were to accompany his unworthy servant to the courtyard outside, he would be placed in a better position to argue his case with the temporal authorities of this pitiful Do-Gooder nation."
As rattled as he was, it took a full second of blinking imbecile staring before Freetrick actually decoded the utterance. "There are Proctors outside?" Well, of course there were. There was probably an entire platoon of Proctors out there, guns and spells ready to blow this monster away! "Fine. Great. Lead me to them, Mr. Skree."
"This minion cannot presume to lead him, but if the Thief of Daylight would follow his unworthy advisor…" Mr. Skree's arms and legs twitched into motion and the dangling monster's ersatz body swayed toward the door.
Freetrick looked at his dorm room—the scorch marks, the shroud-like bed sheets, the cracked and blackened mirror—even places where he had only brushed his fingers had sprouted some sort of ash-colored fungus.
Where was he going to sleep tonight?
"Yes," Freetrick said, walking out of the room after Mr. Skree. "I'll get you out of here and then I'll figure out…everything else."
He stamped down the hall after the monster.
***
Freetrick emerged from his dorm into the bright noon sunlight of the quad.
He headed for the two upright blurs he assumed were people. People in blue uniforms? Proctors? Proctors, hopefully, sent here to take care of this mess. And thinking of which…
"Mr. Skree!"
A breath like the wind from a frozen abattoir dripped over Freetrick's left shoulder. "As always, the servant of evil, Fiend."
Freetrick spun around, then jerked backward when he saw his new monster clinging, lizard-like, to the wall of the dorm, his head stretched out on his hideously elongated neck. "Ugh! Okay, you going to deal with these guys, or---"
"Mr. Freetrick Feend!"
Freetrick looked over his shoulder and squinted. Was that one of the law enforcers raising a cupped hand to his mouth?
"Hey!" Freetrick waved. "Officer, I'm so glad you're here!" He started walking forward. "I need---"
"Halt!" The voice boomed through the Proctor's amplifier spell. "Stay where you are!"
"What?" Freetrick stopped, horrified, as the second Proctor had braced his feet, hands coming up. It looked an awful lot like he was aiming a gun.
"Do not approach. Do not attempt to speak, move, or otherwise further your incursion into the Rationalist Union." The amplified voice of the first Proctor echoed through the quad. "As the focus of an alien magical system, be advised that you are currently facing lethal force by Universal Science implements. Repeat: lethal force by Universal Science implements. Whatever protection your hostile god might give you, he, she, or it has no purview over the effectiveness of our weapons. If you do not comply with the rules and regulations of the Rationalist Union, you will be fired upon."
Freetrick could only stare at the blur that apparently was a man aiming a gun at him.
"The dishonor the Ultimate Fiend has suffered this morning will be multiplied a hundredfold and rained back upon his enemies," came Mr. Skree's assurance from the shadows behind him.
Freetrick closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He could still salvage this. Fortunately, his knowledge of popular crime drama, if not his expensive education in International Relations, came to his aid. "I demand my right to definition of transgression!" Freetrick shouted at the Proctors, "with what crime am I being charged?"
The Proctor who was not preparing to shoot him turned his head to address his colleague. There was an inaudible conversation, followed by another amplified throat-clearing sound from the speaker
. "Freetrick Feend, A.K.A Feerborg, Skrean Despot and Ultimate Fiend of the Kingdoms of Evil. Be aware that, as the ruler of a hostile foreign power, your status and rights as a Rationalist citizen are superseded by your status as an alien incursive. As such, you are hereby evicted from the Rationalist Union and all its territories. We have been dispatched to escort you to the border with the Kingdoms of Evil. Any further attempts to subvert the law enforcement officials of the Rationalist Union will be met with lethal force. That is all."
"Oh Lowest Ruler of the Shadows, oh Soon-to-be Ultimate Fiend of all the Kingdoms of Evil," Mr. Skree's voice slid across Freetrick's back like a cold python. "Oh He Who Eats the Light. These quivering worms will never aid their most terrible enemy, One Such as You."
"But I'm not one such as me!" Freetrick shouted at the Proctors, "I am not some kind of evil demigod! Stop pointing that gun at me!"
Darkness seemed to flare off his skin and the crouching Proctor jerked as if splashed with cold water.
"You are ordered by all the powers of the gods of the nations of the Rationalist Union to desist immediately your attempts at incursion into the magical system of our nation." The other Proctor shouted. His free hand came up in a spell-casting gesture, glowing runes arraying themselves in the air.
Freetrick staggered, his vision darkening, the tips of his fingers tingling.
"Fiend!" came a hiss from behind him. "The blood of this monster be boiled for daring to rein the well-earned wrath of He Whose Shadow is Death, but this nation's Do-Gooder god, feeble as his power may be when matched against that of the most terrible First God of Skrea, is nevertheless strong here. Though of course this squirming supplicant would dearly love to see necromancy and word-magic pitted one against the other, tactical necessity demands a retreat."
"What?" said Freetrick, head spinning, "No. Just give me a second---"
"Free! Burning libraries, Free, where the hell have you been?"
Freetrick spun around to see Istain burst out of the dorm. "Burning libraries, Free," he said again, "have you been in your room all this time?"
The Kingdoms of Evil Page 3
