The Kingdoms of Evil

by Daniel Bensen

  Freetrick knew that voice. He had to close his eyes, had to shut out the terrible sight before he could answer. "…Ashwing?"

  "Ashwing? My name? No, my lord I…oh Tempest, oh no!" For a moment, the voice dissolved into incoherent babble, then, "No wait. Oh. Oh, no my lord. She was mistaken. I was mistaken." The voice firmed, became confident. " I wish for but a moment, my lord, to...collect myself Sometimes…yes I see…sometimes it takes me like this, my lord. I mean…fiend." Freetrick saw that the Kaimeera had closed its mouth. Its yellow eyes gazed at him disconcertingly as sounds sifted from between its lipless jaws. There were no screams this time, but instead what sounded like the intonations of a conversation. Eventually, the yellow eyes blinked, and the jaws opened again. "Ah. Yes. That's what we'll do. Sorry about that, fiend." The voice was still female, but the intonations had changed. The hairs on Freetrick's spine rose as he heard what sounded like Ashwing speaking perfect, slangy Rationalist. "It's part of my magic, you know. This is what I was made for." The Kaimeera rose to its paws, pushing the corpse aside. "Wow. That'll wake you up. Anyway, no need to thank me, fiend. Just doin' my job."

  Freetrick sank back against the floor. "You—you ate her head."

  "Well, yeah," said the Kaimeera. It brought a soup-plate-sized paw up to its mouth and began to lick the blood off. "She was trying to kill your fiancée. And believe me when I say she would have had no problem killing you, too. Looks like we both owe each other our lives. I should say that's…" it paused, as if looking for the right word, "pretty cool. Isn't that what they say in the RU?" The wide porpoise mouth grinned at him.

  Freetrick was saved from responding by Bloodbyrn. "Your voice is different, monster." Bloodbyrn's heels clacked on the stones behind Freetrick as she approached.

  "Bloodbyrn." The Kaimeera glared at her over Ashwing's body. Then it shivered and inclined its bullet-shaped head, "that is so, dark lady. It is part of my magic. I was made to take the voices and memories of the ones I devour. A battlefield terror strategy that turned out to be..ah…" the yellow eyes rolled as it sought for the phrase, "not cost effective."

  "So we shall be forced to listen to that harridan's voice from you until you eat someone else?" Bloodbyrn's foot, nearly vertical in its cruel high-heeled shoe, poked the headless corpse.

  The Kaimeera shivered again. "That is…so. Excuse me."

  Bloodbyrn huffed, then prodded the corpse again. "Well?"

  The Kaimeera did not answer. Its mouth was closed, and it seemed to be talking to itself again.

  "Well?" Bloodbyrn said again.

  Freetrick realized she was talking to him. But he could think of nothing to say. What response could he make with that corpse lying there beside him on the cold floor? The way the flesh depressed under the Kaimeera's paws... "My lord?" Bloodbyrn was saying, and yet Ashwing had been alive. I was talking to her. She was coming on to me. I was admiring her breasts less than five minutes ago and now—he was suddenly, blindingly, catastrophically, sick. He didn't even have time to turn his head aside.

  "Oh God of Words," Freetrick hung his head and coughed, "Oh Truth, she's dead."

  Bloodbyrn made a sharp inhalation, as if she wanted to say something sarcastic. But then she simply reached down and tugged on Freetrick's shoulder spikes. "Get up, my lord."

  Freetrick blinked up at her. "What?"

  "Get up," her face was blank, "your pose ill-befits the Ultimate Fiend. You would behave so before a slave?"

  Freetrick's eyes went to the evil, black metal links around his wrist, binding him to the hate-filled eyes of the mute girl. "Don't look at me," he whispered, and her eyes jerked away as if pulled by a chain. As of course they were.

  "Strike it out!" Freetrick cried. "Strike out this whole struck-out place." And then as his eyes brushed over Ashwing's body again and he had to swallow another wave of bile. "I want to go home."

  "My lord!"

  Freetrick turned to see Bloodbyrn, her expression even more wooden than before. "I shall remind you again. Not in public."

  "So striking what if this poor girl sees me cry?" Freetrick snarled "She's dead!"

  "She is dead," Bloodbyrn agreed. "And I am not. For that I owe you thanks, I think."

  "That was the Kaimeera who killed her," said Freetrick, lips numb, "not me." No, he hadn't killed her. Only given the monster the chance. As if that made a gibbering bit of difference.

  "Very well then, do not accept my thanks," she tugged on his armor. "But if my lord remembers, we have errands that cannot be accomplished whilst you lie on the flood in a puddle of blood and vomit. We must clean this mess up before someone—"

  "To late for that, Lady Bloodbyrn." Freetrick twisted around as cruel voice echoed off the corridor walls.

  "Oh burn all my books," he panted. It was Feerix.

  "Although I am not so convinced that this look does not improve the demeanor of my mighty and fearsome half-brother," Feerix sneered, "I find myself agreeing with the beautiful and, at least, deadly looking lady Bloodbyrn." The metal studs in Feerix's boots ground against the stone floor as he clacked to a halt before them. "I assume the slave girl and the vomit are yours, brother. Is the blood?"

  Freetrick shook his head and shuddered.

  "Pity," said Feerix. "Now attack me, you worm, before my amusement at your state gives way to fury at seeing the mighty lineage of our ancestors debased so."

  "This woman striking died just now," growled Freetrick

  "Believe me, half-brother, I share your grief." Said Feerix, "never again to taste the sweet desire of our cousin, Dark Princess Ashwing. In fact, it occurs to me that my grief must be more painful than yours, Feerborg."

  "Shut up."

  "Since you morn what you never had, whereas I know full well what pleasures are now denied me."

  "Shut up," Freetrick somehow pulled his numb legs under him.

  "Although, if you ask nicely, I suppose I could teach you a technique that would enable you to ride her as I once did. At least until the rigor mortis sets in." Feerix's smirk seemed to draw closer as Freetrick took a step toward him. "What? Is my lord squeamish. A simple bag over the stump where her head once was—"

  Freetrick hit him.

  Feerix's arm flashed up to block, and their armor clanged. Freetrick struck with his left hand. Another clang. His foot stomped between Feerix's feet and his knee came up to clash off of Feerix's inner thigh. He completed the first measure of the gara step, and threw himself into the second.

  The Gara had been invented in The Nation of Love as a way to turn dueling into a non-lethal sport. Various styles of older hand to hand combat had been modified, punches pulled, kicks redirected away from fragile areas. Now, Freetrick stripped off those gentlemanly conventions. He attacked Feerix with hands, feet, knees, elbows, ringing his armor like a gong.

  And Feerix gave way. Black mist swirled over him as he attempted to counter Freetrick's attack with necromancy, but the countless strikes Freetrick landed on him destroyed his concentration. The only thing that saved the prince, in those first moments of Freetrick's attack, was the armor of the first, and the inexperience of the second with actually killing anyone.

  But Freetrick was learning. Even in the middle of the storm of emotions that had washed over him, Freetrick could see the faults in his attacks. A little necromancy—he had plenty of death energy now, Truth help him—and Feerix's armor would part like tofu under his fists, elbows, and feet. Or he could simply kick Feerix's feet out from under him—like Ashwing had done, like Bloodbyrn had done—no one would ever do that to him again. Feerix was down. The clatter of his armored ass against the stone began a perfectly simple rhythm, which Freetrick could augment by slapping aside his hands as they reached up, and then finish with a spiked elbow jammed into his half-brother's nasal cavity.

  As his arm rose to deliver the killing blow, Freetrick saw his wrist. The black chain was still wound around it. That poor slave girl was still watching.

  Freetrick stopped.

  Feeri
x, eyes wide, lungs heaving, looked up at him past the elbow poised above his face. Then his mouth opened wide, and he began to laugh.

  "What the striking hell is so funny?" Growled Freetrick.

  "You, you, you will not kill me!" Gasped Feerix. "You attack me without provocation, tear apart my defenses, shrug off…shrug off my counterattacks as if they were nothing, and then when you have your enemy helpless before you, you do not…do not…strike! Ah! Ah! Ahhh~! And. And." He choked, "still there you stand, with your elbow cocked at me. All, all poised! And menacing!" Feerix collapsed against the ground, giggling up at the ceiling.

  "Oh for the Tempest's sake," said Bloodbyrn, "put your elbow down, my lord. You are embarrassing yourself. Again."

  Feerix sniggered.

  Freetrick dropped out of his stance, abruptly tired. Behind him, the Kaimeera cocked its head and looked intrigued.

  "Well, my lord?" said Bloodbyrn, eventually.

  "Well what?"

  "Well," Bloodbyrn rolled her eyes, "did my lord not drag me around all day in order to meet his half brother and punish him for his wrongs? Well here he is, and here are you. Must I draw a diagram?"

  Feerix rose onto his elbows. "Oh yes? And what is this so-important mission upon which the commander of darkness is bent, eh? Why do you not tell me, half-brother? Then I can do the job for you from here on the ground while you stand there weep in a pool of offal." Feerix looked at Bloodbyrn, then directed a raised an eyebrow past Freetrick's legs at the slave girl. "Honestly, Lady Bloodbyrn, your taste is increasingly questionable."

  Freetrick could only stare stupidly at his half-brother, but Bloodbyrn had no trouble summoning up the venom necessary for a conversation with Feerix. "I could kill you before you could blink, Feerix, and do mortal insult to your corpse thirteen times over before it hit the floor."

  "Oh indeed?" said Feerix, "even over such a short fall as the one I would suffer? Or should I stand and allow you the time you need to carry out your empty threat."

  "My threats are never empty, Feerix," said Bloodbyrn. "They are meant in most literal of senses."

  "Indeed?" said Feerix again, "Before I blink? Literally? And how many times did Lady Ashwing blink before you killed her? Hm? Oh yes, I recall. You did not kill her at all. You relied on my great and powerful half-brother to protect you, as he protected you from the savage with the mystic dagger. That was entertaining." Feerix's snarl widened into a predatory grin. "And that would be Dark Prince Feerix, by the way."

  "I will call you 'prince' the day I fear you, Feerix, and that day—"

  "Wait," Freetrick held up a hand, "Feerix. You tried to kill me."

  "To have you killed, more accurately," said Feerix. "I told Ashwing I would support her if she tried to remove you. But then I decided not to when the Kaimeera attacked. Foolish of her to trust me. Or the Kaimeera, of course. " Feerix nodded in the direction of the monster, which lowered its ears, "for which offense I would destroy it if I were a law-abiding man." He was smiling again. "And even it did not so much defeat me as provide me with an opportunity to fail to protect the late Dark Princess Ashwing, may she writhe forever in torment. As I said, she should not have trusted me."

  "Mighty are your words," said Bloodbyrn, "for a boy lying supine on the floor."

  "Oh that," snorted Feerix. "I admit my surprise at your…ahem…lord's frankly embarrassing display of…whatever that was, Bloodbyrn." His head swung around to aim his sneer at Freetrick. "Half-brother, take this free advice. Do not try to kill me again by dancing at me."

  "Why did you kill her?" said Freetrick.

  Feerix shrugged, "I learned something about her that…annoyed me."

  "So you killed her, and you tried to kill me."

  "Yes…?" said Feerix, "so?"

  "So?" said Freetrick, "I'm your brother!"

  "Half-brother!" snarled Feerix, suddenly furious. He pulled his limbs in and drew himself to his feet "and I am thirteen times the Skrean you will ever be, you spineless pustule! I attempt to kill you, I set an assassin on you, and still you have not dared to end my life!" He was shouting now, his face mere inches from Freetrick's. "Even now you make no move to strike me down! What is wrong with you!" Feerix lunged forward.

  And stopped.

  Feerix hung in the air, frozen with his feet inches from the stone. His face was a twisted mix of hatred and triumph as he looked into his half-brother's black, lightning-split eyes. Freetrick's hands were out, projecting the web of black tentacles that held Feerix in the air. His teeth were bared, his eyes slitted, his hair whirling in a sorcerous wind.

  "Yes," breathed Feerix, "yes. Fight me, Feerborg. Finally. Fight me!"

  Freetrick's fingers closed into fists. "No." The lightning left his eyes, and the black clouds over his head vanished. "I'm not going to waste Ashwing's life on you. I could kill you with my hands.

  "Try." Breathed Feerix. His breath stank. "Oh please, my lord. Try."

  Freetrick looked at his half-brother for a few eternal seconds. Then he turned away. "Burning libraries, Feerix, I don't have time for this stupid game." He looked at the slave girl, who glared back at him. "I have more important things to do. Come on."

  He started walking away down the corridor, back the way he had come. The slave girl, the Kaimeera, the ogres, and Bloodbyrn stood there for a moment, then followed

  "There is nothing but the game, Feerborg." Feerix called after him "Remember that, or die oh mighty and overwhelming dark god!"

  ***

  "Let me go!"

  Zathara struggled against Maulrag, but the wendigo's powerful arms held her trapped.

  "Oh yes," the wendigo's breath in her ear was warm and meaty. "Scream more." One hand groped her breast while teeth pressed into the skin of her neck. Zathara screamed again and Maulrag shuddered behind her. He bit down. She could feel his erection against her back.

  She was feeding the wendigo's desires, of course. Breathing hard, Zathara brought herself under control. She stood rock still until the monster panted into her ear and growled in disappointment. But his hands and teeth relaxed their grip.

  Zathara regained awareness to find that Tinesmurk had been speaking to the trees.

  "You see. Here she is. Unharmed. As yet. Join us, and you will have her safe as well as all I promised. Refuse me…" Tinesmurk reached a hand toward Zathara the fingers were curled into claws. Dark mist streamed from them.

  "Twist her…" hissed Maulrag. "Oh, Malevolence…twist her."

  "Silence, monster." The Queen said. She turned back to the trees. "Well, Betweener? What do you---"

  And then one of the goblins bellowed.

  "Humans!"

  They came out of the woods. Their brown and green dyed leather clothing made them into wraiths of light and shadow. They flickered across ground and smashed into Tinesmurk's bodyguard.

  The two goblins Zathara could see wheeled off to face the attackers. But then Zathara's vision blurred as the wendigo holding her wrenched her around.

  "Stop this!" Queen Tinesmurk demanded at the trees. "Surrender to me or she is twisted!"

  The sounds of battle continued. Tinesmurk's eyes focused on Zathara. A grimace crossed the queen's face. "Speak to him, Zathara. Convince us you both useful---"

  There was a bong from behind them like a struck gong. A goblin squalled.

  "They are more skilled than I thought. Enough of this!" Tinesmurk stuck out a hand. Zathara cried out as a wave of blackness engulfed her.

  "Stop!"

  Power of Love, it was Kendrick's voice. Zathara waited for the blackness to bite into her skin, to…what was the phrase…disturb the tissues in her brain. But for now the necromancer's mist simply wafted around her.

  "Good," came the queen's voice from beyond the mist. "Now command your men to release the wheel-stones and step back."

  Kendrick did so. His voice was different up here on the doorstep to the Kingdoms of Evil. More confident. More mature. And less reasonable.

  "All right," Kendrick said
as his men presumably obeyed his orders, "now what do you want?"

  "Only you, Paladin." Came Tinesmurk's voice.

  "I am no paladin."

  "Oh come now." The queen sounded amused, "you command all these fine men, and so young. If not for your holy power, why do they allow you to lead them at all?"

  "I don't know."

  Zathara winced inside her cloud. Now these men Kendrick had gathered about himself would start to ask the same question. Whatever it was that has impressed them into Kendrick's service, it wasn't his public speaking, boys and girls.

  "You could be," said Tinesmurk, "a true Paladin. Chosen and anointed by the Council of Guardians at Angel's Keep."

  "Not by your hand, witch."

  "An exchange, then. Yourself for your men's freedom and this woman's safety."

  "Fool I would be to trust the word of a Skrean."

  Zathara groaned. When Kendrick started to talk like a fairy tale there was no reasoning with him. But...she frowned within her cloud.

  Surely the queen must know that. Of course she did. Kendrick was by his nature completely unreliable for Tinesmurk's purposes. Whatever she had planned before, there was no way she could ever let him go free.

  Zathara stiffened in Maulrag's clutches. Kendrick was right. The witch would betray him. If Zathara managed to convince Kendrick to surrender, Tinesmurk would capture and kill him. And yes, the only way Zathara could escape death herself, would be if she helped Tinesmurk do it.