The Kingdoms of Evil

by Daniel Bensen

  If Zathara didn't, the Skreans would turn her into a monster and then kill Kendrick anyway. So perhaps it would be better simply throw in her lot with…no. No, boys and girls, I believe I shall have my cake and eat it too.

  "Kendrick!" Zathara called out to him through the neromancer's mist around her head. "What is your purpose?"

  "To destroy evil!"

  Thank you, my boy, for that straight line. "But what is evil? You've been betrayed by your greatest hero! Your best friend is king of Skrea. Clearly the classic markers of good and evil cannot be applied here. Rather we must turn…" not to your instincts, Kendrick, oh no.

  "to logic to determine the best possible action."

  "Zathara," she could hear the desperation in his voice, "nothing makes sense anymore."

  "It can, Kendrick," she assured him. "Start from the assumption that death and war are to be avoided. The Rationalist Union wants to use Freetrick to allow them to invade and conquer Skrea. That will necessarily mean war and death for many. Most of them Betweeners, on the front line." Zathara drew out the argument as carefully as she ever had in an Eldritch classroom. "Whereas Queen Tinesmurk and her alliance with the Betweener conservatives seek to prevent the invasion and maintain Freetrick as a friendly ruler of Skrea. Where is the evil here?"

  "I...I don't know. " Answered Kendrick before his voice firmed. "But I can recognize it when I see it."

  "I know." But even as Zathara cleared her throat to suggest it, the mist blew away and the burly arms of Maulrag withdrew. Tinesmurk knew when to negotiate.

  "Kendrick," Zathara took advantage of her new freedom to gesture toward Tinesmurk, "this is Freetrick's mom. She wants to help Freetrick. So do we. I think that puts us all on the same side."

  "The same side as the King of Evil," Kendrick grated like warping metal. Love me, boys and girls, I almost have him.

  "The same side as Freetrick," Zathara pressed.

  "And think," Tinesmurk cut in, "of what the Rationalists will do if we let them go on unchecked." Zathara shot the woman a quelling glance, but of course Tinesmurk was a queen, and couldn't help but have her own say. "The Rationalists are our true enemies, yours and mine. They would kill my son and your friend, destroy the Kingdoms of Evil, and replace them with a tyranny of word-magic and Universal Science. You realize we cannot let this happen? Join us, Kendrick Fairheart, and we can prevent this terrible future."

  Then, as Kendrick only stood there, "Is that what you want to happen?"

  "What I want to happen doesn't matter." Kendrick said. Slowly, as if waking from a dream. "What's right is what matters."

  "Kendrick," Zathara said, "it is right to save Freetrick."

  "Is it not right for a Paladin to restore balance to the world?" Said Tinesmurk, "with Good on one side and Evil on the other? The Covenant will be broken if you do not aid us, Paladin."

  Kendrick's expression began to change. Seeing it, Zathara predicted his thoughts so clearly she nearly heard them in her own head.

  What would Madene tell me to do?

  It was an anguished cry. A desperate plea to be removed from responsibility for his terrible impulses. And Zathara was perfectly positioned to answer that plea.

  "Kendrick!" Zathara barked at him. The boy jerked. "Come here and help me." Zathara said, trying to make her voice as peremptorily Madene-like as possible. "We have to get to the camp and make a plan."

  As Kendrick walked forward, Zathara saw queen Tinesmurk smile. Then as the goblins snatched away his wheel-stone, the queen began to laugh. It was a full, rich sound overlaying a rising howl cackle and yammer as the monsters joined their mistress.

  Zathara saw Kendrick's grim expression and, convincingly she hoped, mimed surprise and outrage.

  "But even as she screamed at Tinesmurk to release Kendrick, even as Maulrag's arms closed about her again, at her core Zathara grinned. What was the Rationalist expression, boys and girls? Ah yes. Now I have my ace in the hole. I have my tool in Tinesmurk's camp.

  ***

  "You can talk." Freetrick said to the slave girl.

  "Hello, you vile monster," she said. "I shall rip your castle down around you and dance on the rubble."

  Freetrick's heart sank. He hadn't realized what his expectations were until the girl disappointed him. "I hoped you would thank me for saving you." He said.

  "Thank you?" She scoffed, "the Ultimate Fiend?"

  "But I saved you!" He said, "Twice! Once from the monsters in the pit and again just now. Even after you tried to kill me. Doesn't that…" he struggled to keep the pleading out of his voice, "suggest that I might not be the evil dictator everyone thinks I should be?"

  The girl cocked her head at him. As her silver eyes examined him, Freetrick thought of Madene, and a wave of homesickness brought tears to his eyes. Please. He almost said.

  She shook her head. "You expect me to fall for that trick? Fiend, I have been lied to and tortured by experts. And this…" She rattled her chains at him, "is almost embarrassing."

  "I agree," said Bloodbyrn. "My lord. Forgive me, but we must leave these corridors. There could be anything listening through the walls."

  "If you want, I can suggest a place to hang out," said the Kaimeera in Ashwing's voice.

  Freetrick shuddered. "Tell me your name," He said, ignoring Bloodbyrn and the monster.

  "Do you know how long I have waited to kill you, fiend?" the slave girl said. "Your tricks will not work on me." She tossed her ear length curtain of black hair. "If you want to kill me, kill me. But do you have to bore me to death?"

  "Your name," said Freetrick, "please."

  "Did you not hear that witch you killed?" She answered, "I am the Monster Killer."

  "My lord---"

  "Not now, Bloodbyrn!" Freetrick shouted. "Can't you see I have to help her!"

  "I would appreciate a suicide, then," said the Monster Killer.

  Freetrick shuddered again, reminded of the boy he had killed in the hall. And the boy's father he had killed during his coronation.

  "Look," he said. "You are the third hero on a quest to slay me that I've met this week. Bloodbyrn…" He turned to the Bloodbyrn, who was looking speculatively at their ogre bodyguards. "Is there something I don't know about the office of Ultimate Fiend?"

  "Yes." She said.

  "I mean," Freetrick sighed. "Do you know any specific reason why so many people I've never met want me dead?"

  "My lord's very existence is offensive to the majority of the world." Bloodbyrn answered. "Now may we go?"

  "Well, I'm not going to do a very good job at this whole 'king' thing if I constantly have to watch out for deposed princes and warrior women and…I don't know…striking midgets with enchanted rings lurking behind every column!"

  Freetrick rubbed a hand over his face as Bloodbyrn and the ogres shared a meaningful look. "What I need is some way to stop the assassins before they get to me."

  "Yes, sooner rather than later," Bloodbyrn was speaking to one of the ogres. "What was that? Oh, yes, my lord. I believe his Malevolence Mwrogborg the Depraved achieved some success with a wall of venomous fungi. Now---"

  "Yeah, well, what I'm looking for is a little less venomous and a little more…" Freetrick thought for a moment. "…good PR." Later, he would wish he had thought for a moment longer.

  "You. Monster killer," he said, pointing at the girl. "Where are you from."

  She shook her black hair. "Have you heard of Dlean an Sholnechyann?"

  Freetrick shrugged.

  "It is in northern Dewmnor," The Kaimeera supplied. "In the mountains between us and Virgin Soil. That area's the center of activity for what's left of the Maiden partisans."

  "Freedom fighters," the Monster Killer corrected, "protectors of the innocent."

  The Kaimeera grinned at her.

  The girl turned away from the monster as if completely unafraid of it. "I am the Monster Killer. Chosen by my people and the Warrior Virgin to rid the world of your stain." She spat at Freetrick's feet.
<
br />   "Well, my dear, it appears you missed a spot." Bloodbyrn walked up to Freetrick and put a hand on his wrist. "My lord. I have been most patient, but do you not agree that it is time to dispose of this Do-Gooder?"

  "You're right," said Freetrick.

  "Listen." He said to the Monster Killer, and Bloodbyrn vented a sigh of frustration. "You're from a hotbed of rebellion, sounds like. I don't need that. And you don't need to be here imprisoned in this castle. Do you see how we could help each other?"

  The Monster Killer stared at him.

  "I'll let you go," said Freetrick, "if you agree to go back to your people and tell them about the new King of Skrea."

  "Release me," said the Monster Killer, "and I will hunt you down and gut you."

  Freetrick rubbed at his temples and tried again. "Tell them that whatever they want, they have a better chance of getting it with me alive and on the throne than dead and replaced by Feerix or someone worse. Get it?"

  She stared at him. "You are actually serious?"

  "Yes!" Freetrick glared at the chain and it parted for him and fell off his arm. "There. Go! You can walk out of the striking castle! Bloodbyrn, how do I make sure she gets safe passage out?"

  "Oh." Bloodbyrn waved a hand. "The goblins in the walls have no doubt already heard and begun to act upon my lord's idiotic order. And you." She raised an eyebrow at the girl, whose unbound hands were slowly moving out from her body. "I would not try it. My lord's compunctions about killing you, insane as they are, will not last if you attack either him or myself."

  "But…" the Monster Killer blinked, lips parted in a snarl. "I do not…"

  "Go away!" Freetrick said.

  The girl stared at him, then seemed to shrug. The shrug became a sideways twist to her body, which in turn became a hawk-like swoop that took the Monster Killer out of their pool of red and light and away down the corridor. There was the brief patter of her bare feet on the stone floor, and then she was gone.

  "My lord? Feerborg?"

  Freetrick looked up from the chain sliding between his fingers. Bloodbyrn was speaking to him, her voice softer than he had ever heard it.

  Freetrick did not turn around. "She said she was going to help me."

  "Ashwing? She was lying," came Bloodbyrn's voice from behind him.

  "Oh yeah?" said Freetrick, his voice rising. He spun around to shout at his fiancée, "and how do I know that? How do I know I shouldn't have gone with her? How do I know you—ow!"

  Freetrick stumbled with the force of the slap.

  "Shut up!" Bloodbyrn's voice was furious. Looking at her past the hand he pressed to his cheek, Freetrick saw her face tremble with emotion. "How dare you, Feerborg! King or not, how dare you…you" she spat with anger, "question me."

  "Question you?" said Freetrick. His face felt hot and the skin on his hands felt tight. The beat of the gara dance sounded in his ears. He recognized the sensations; the anger was rising again over his shock and horror. "Question you? Of course I'm going to striking question you! Have you given me any reason to trust your judgment?"

  Freetrick's mouth shut over his bubbling rage. The temptation to lash out at Bloodbyrn was overwhelming, but what had she done? He had to control himself.

  Bloodbyrn said nothing, only looked at him, eyes full of contempt. It was the expression she had worn since he had woken up in the ogre carriage, and Freetrick realized he was tired of it.

  "You know, I think I'm going to stop being scared of you, Bloodbyrn." He managed, just barely, to keep his tone of voice level, but Freetrick could feel the sparks flashing across his eyes. "Someone was just—" No. He had to be honest with himself, "I just had someone killed for you, and I'm not exactly certain that she wasn't the one I should have gone with. No! Strike you out!" Black energy crackled around Freetrick's hand as it flashed out to catch Bloodbyrn's wrist. His lip twisted in a feral snarl. "You. Will. Not. Hit. Me."

  Her eyes were wide, shocked. His metal-plated fingers tightened.

  "Malevolence…" the Kaimeera's voice hesitant.

  "No. No more help from you right now." Freetrick looked down at his and Bloodbyrn's entwined fingers. I could crush that pretty hand to splinters. The thought came to him as clearly as if someone were speaking into his ear, ice-cold and tempest-furious. Freetrick knew it was true. With an effort, he forced his hand to release hers.

  Bloodbyrn massaged her wrist with a hiss of indrawn breath. "You hurt me, my lord."

  Freetrick tried to breathe. The bolts across his eyes stuttered and died. "I'm sorry," he said, "I won't do that again."

  Bloodbyrn looked up at him, a newly calculating look in her expression. "A pity."

  The hurt and shock rose again, and the anger to cover them. "Tempest above, Bloodbyrn!" Freetrick shouted, "What is wrong with you?"

  "Oh, what is wrong with me? My lord asks what is wrong with me?"

  "Malevolence," said the Kaimeera in Ashwing's dead voice, "should I---."

  "Tempest above!" Lightning flashed in Freetrick's eyes as he turned upon the hapless monster, "cease speaking to me in that woman's voice or I will strew your organs across the corridors!"

  "There is a sentiment with which I can agree," Bloodbyrn muttered.

  "And you!" sparks flew as Freetrick leveled a finger at her. "You're striking insane, Bloodbyrn!" And then—books ablaze, why hadn't he thought of this before—"you're insane and I don't want to marry you at all!"

  Bizarrely, horrifyingly, Bloodbyrn smiled. "Is that so, my lord."

  "Yes," said Freetrick, realization crystallizing around him. "I'm calling off the un-wedding."

  Bloodbyrn only smiled at him.

  "Too late," she said.

  The ogre grabbed Freetrick from behind.

  Chapter the Twelfth

  The Un-wedding

  "So, my dear, I trust you are comfortable?"

  It was generally acknowledged that subjection to stress represented the best way to gauge a person's effectiveness. Bloodbyrn reflected this as she stared up from the red velvet cushions of the bed at the leering face of her lord Feerborg, the Ultimate Fiend.

  "Fiend!" she cried, "Dastard! You will never get away with this!"

  "Why my dear," said her lord, "I already have."

  Take lady Ashwing, for example, may she forever writhe in torment. Just a hint, in the form of King Feerborg's moronic announcement to the Villainous council, that the new Ultimate Fiend might not cooperate with her faction's plans, and the silly bitch had completely lost control.

  Bloodbyrn squirmed on the bed, arms and legs pulling at the chains that bound her to its basalt frame. Tears flew from her eyes in sparkling arcs as she whipped her head back and forth across the spread black waves of her hair. Her gown, likewise black, sparkling with tiny rubies like drops of blood, pooled under her where her hair did not cover, and as she struggled, the folds of midnight silk parted and joined like black tar over her pale limbs.

  Her voice, when she found breath to speak, was harsh distressed whisper, but it carried to the walls of the Ceremonial Seraglio and the hooded figures that stood arrayed along them. "Do what you will with me, fiend." She cried, voice cracking. "But I shall never surrender my heart to you, though you abuse me for a thousand nights." In reality, of course, Bloodbyrn had practiced the ancient formulae so many times that she was by now completely inured to their meaning. No matter. This whole ceremony was really for her father, the sentimental old reprobate, and for the other witnesses. As if overcome with emotion, she closed her eyes and writhed.

  Ashwing's painful and embarrassing seduction attempt had been ill-conceived to put it kindly. (And had anyone ever mentioned to her that such tight whale-boning made her look like a goblet full of pudding? Men only stared, Bloodbyrn was sure, for the sheer fluid-dynamic spectacle. It was too late to say so now, of course, but someone should have when she was alive.) Then to learn that Ashwing had allowed herself to be manipulated into death by Feerix, of all people, Bloodbyrn could only pity the vacuous, misguided strumpet
.

  "Oh, my dear," came the voice of King Feerborg, "your heart will be mine. But only after you have surrendered everything else to me."

  "'After you have surrendered all else to me.'" Bloodbyrn corrected. Ashwing had panicked, that was all. She had crumbled under pressure. Bloodbyrn, on the other hand, was doing splendidly. "No, no! You tyrant! Do you think I would willingly give you anything? I despise you, I loathe the very air you breathe and the ground you trend upon! If you would have anything of mine, you must take it!"

  "Before I am done, my pet, you will give me all I ask for, and more."

  Even though she knew the Ultimate Fiend better than Lady Ashwing and therefore had far more cause for alarm, Bloodbyrn had not lost her poise. She had merely taken advantage of her careful preparations and stepped up her schedule.

  The Ceremonial Seraglio was filled with the scent of boiling blood, brimstone, and the ghostly whispers of a thousand conquests. Red-glowing crystals and fires under the blood-caldrons cast flickering shadows onto the cone of gauzy curtain that stretched up from the circumference of the bed to the pulley assembly that moved the furniture onto and off of the room's central altar. The silhouettes of the Sangboise, Skrean, and sSt'tdraschni observers, the despots, barons, priests, and their retinues, all male, of course, loomed and lurched over them as she and her lord performed the ancient ritual of un-marriage.