The Kingdoms of Evil

by Daniel Bensen

  It was with great satisfaction that Bloodbyrn saw her lord begin to struggle and rage in the grip of Feerix's necromancy. In his situation, she would have done exactly the same—amusing Feerix with futile struggles until the prince's mood was sufficiently lightened. If only Bloodbyrn could be sure that her lord's actions were so calculated. Despite what she had told her father, the man was damnedably difficult to predict.

  "Let me go!" the Despot of Skrea said, and Feerix dropped him.

  Bloodbyrn allowed herself to slide a little more down the wall. Feerix was simply enjoying the game, and Feerborg would be in no real danger unless he could once again legitimately threaten the prince, the chances of which were rapidly diminishing.

  Feerborg rose from the floor, slipping on the drying goblin blood that still coated its surface. His face was twisted, eyes still crackling with lightning, but he was gasping with exertion, and the hand he held before himself trembled as he forced his magic through that extremity. He groaned, and the black nebula around him twitched at another invisible attack from his half-brother. "Feerix!" Her lord panted, "please. Wait a sec. I want—Strike it, Feerix, let me talk. Is—is Istain okay?"

  Bloodbyrn winced, her depleted blood pounding in her temples. Was her lord actually attempting a ruse? Though Feerix was unlikely in the extreme to be taken in by the gambit of false compassion, Bloodbyrn could do nothing but muster her blood for an attack, should her lord by some chance manage to distract the prince. And if not, then it was becoming increasingly clear that the job of extracting them from this situation would fall to her.

  Feerix did not lower his defenses. "Your man is intact in all of his details."

  "Let me see him."

  Feerix of course refused, profanely.

  Feerborg turned his hands palm up in an oddly foreign posture of submission. "So what can I do to ensure his safety?"

  Bloodbyrn drew more blood into readiness, squinting with the pain of it. Was her lord actually attempting to negotiate? His plan of attack must be twisted indeed, and Bloodbyrn hoped fervently that it would prove successful. For her part, Bloodbyrn would have blood for perhaps one more attack only, before the risk of unconsciousness became too great to ignore.

  "You can die, oh terrible one," sneered Feerix. "When I am Despot, I shall release him."

  Feerborg tensed, but so did his half-brother. Feerix, of course, expected the attack.

  Yet the attack did not come. Instead, the Ultimate Fiend spoke again: "Then what if I abdicate in your favor?"

  "Abdicate?" Feerix repeated, sounding as shocked as Bloodbyrn, although she, of course, even in her exsanguination, hid it better.

  "Right. I pack up and leave. Give you the crown and the whole striking nation!" Feerborg ranted. "Only I get to leave and so does Istain…and anyone else I choose."

  Exsanguinations, the man was talking about her, Bloodbyrn was sure. She thanked her god's blessing that the onyx-black eyes of the Ultimate Fiend could not reveal where he was looking. And she cursed him as an idiot again.

  His gambit did have one positive result, at least: Feerborg's proposition had clearly obliterated Feerix's mental stability. Twisted indeed were the ways of mind of the Ultimate Fiend. This was a contingency, she was sure, Feerix had not planned for. If only she could be sure that Feerborg had.

  "But…" the prince stammered, in his confusion eerily like his half-brother in face and voice, "what would you do?"

  "Leave Skrea," said Feerborg. "True words, Feerix, I don't like it here. If you want the Skull Throne so much, why don't you just take it?"

  It was clear, however, that Feerix's mind had at last caught up to the situation. There was of course no way he could allow a potential rival claimant to the Skull Throne to exist anywhere in the world, whether in Skrea or out of it. "Kindly cease your poor attempts at manipulation!" He hissed. "I refuse to be insulted by their simplicity any longer." Thankfully, Feerix made the sweep of his cloak that indicated his intent to leave.

  Before he could complete the gesture, however, her lord Feerborg responded. "Feerix, I command you to release Istain!"

  "You command me?"

  Bloodbyrn could not help the release of a sigh of exasperation, which she trusted she kept hidden from the two men, engrossed as they were in their idiot game. "You cannot command me! I will kill you and take from you the throne and your power you now so egregiously waste!" Feerix was now stalking toward her lord, his thoughts of dramatic exit now obviously superseded. "You will meet me in monomachy at the appointed time and place or your friend will die! That is the reality here."

  "Don't be stupid," said her lord, ironically, in Bloodbyrn's opinion, "you're not giving me any kind of assurance you won't harm Istain once you're done with me. How can know you won't just kill him anyway?"

  "By killing me before I can, fool." Feerix grinned.

  "All right then." Her lord bared his teeth in return. The air between and around them darkened once again.

  Thus the two boys continued their squabble while Bloodbyrn bled out on the floor. Eventually, she decided that she was the only person in the vicinity with the intelligence to bring this farcical encounter to a close. And, such are the workings of a mind as painstakingly trained and polished as hers, no sooner had that resolution formed, than the means by which to bring it about had manifested.

  "Lord Feerix," Bloodbyrn called, interrupting another dire and uncreative curse, "my father no doubt awaits your convenience."

  Feerix's eyes flicked from his opponent's to hers. "Indeed?"

  "Indeed," Bloodbyrn confirmed, "I cannot help but imagine he will be most interested to hear your account of yourself." Thus it is those of superior mental faculties can turn an otherwise inauspicious situation to their advantage. Feerix would now realize how far he had gone, how much damage he had done to the plans her father had dictated to him. This bid for power on Feerix's part was clumsy, indeed, no doubt a decision made in anger, much sooner than the prince's mysterious backer had planned. But now the decision was made, and the fool prince must explain it to his master, the Duke DeMacabre. Furthermore, as Feerix scuttled off to make obeisance to her father, Bloodbyrn would have leisure to find his puppeteer in this other, contrary venture. "You seek to grasp the Skull Throne," she clarified for the benefit of the prince, "but how is it you plan to keep it?"

  "I am not your father's messenger bat, to come and go as he commands," said Feerix, yet the prince's brown eyes had lost their smoldering rage. "But I grow weary indeed of the presence of this soft-hearted degenerate who dares call himself Ultimate Fiend." Feerix spun on a heel and once again swirled his midnight-blood robe. "I trust the next time I see you, I will be at liberty to kill you," he said to his half-brother.

  The Ultimate Fiend stumbled after him, eyes blazing, slipping ridiculously in the gore. "Strike you out Feerix!" He bellowed, "Come back here and fight me, coward!"

  Feerix halted.

  There was a moment of frozen silence, during which even Bloodbyrn dared not breathe.

  "You are a fool, Feerborg. A fool and an annoyance." Feerix did not turn around. "However, although I long to chastise you sufficiently, I do have other business to attend."

  Bloodbyrn let out her breath. Feerix was merely having his exit. "Feerborg, say not a word."

  Feerborg obeyed her command, in letter if not in spirit. He flung himself across the blood-slick floor at his half-brother, shrieking.

  "Tempest blast you!" Thankfully, some of the blood on the floor was still liquid, and there was enough of Bloodbyrn's own blood mixed in with the mess for her to be able to seize its control. She did so, then clamped it down on the feet and legs of her lord, hard enough to make the armor in those regions creak. Feerborg ceased his forward progress.

  "Strike you out, Bloodbyrn!" Yelled the idiot, "let me go! I need to—I need to—" then his voice took on an even shriller pitch, "Bloodbyrn can't you see what he's doing?"

  Bloodbyrn wrenched her attention away from her imprisoned lord to fix on Feer
ix, still standing with his back to them. One of his arms was raised. He had removed the gauntlet on that member, and black mist streamed from his white digits as they moved, middle and thumb together, the remaining digits curled against the palm—

  Prince Feerix snapped his fingers.

  Bloodbyrn did not feel the necromantic spell, of course, but she saw the mist spread across the floor, and heard the goblin corpses on the floor as they all suddenly inhaled.

  "Strike it out!" Feerborg said, "what the hell did you just---."

  Her lord had no need to finish the interrogative. He could see quite plainly what Feerix had done. The dark prince had arranged a diversion.

  The nearest goblin corpse was already swaying on its feet, glazed eyes staring blindly ahead, mouth dumbly open, senseless claws reaching out toward Feerborg where he hung, imprisoned in her blood.

  "Goodbye my enemy, my dear." Bloodbyrn heard Feerix's voice and footsteps recede, at a leisurely pace, down the hall.

  "True Words, Bloodbyrn, let me go!" Feerborg cried.

  "My lord, the goblin zombies pose very little threat to us," she loosed the bonds around him, "we need only—exsanguinations!"

  Anyone would have cursed when, rather than turning to face their advancing attackers, Feerborg sprinted forward to, again, attack Feerix. The man was like a zombie himself.

  Bloodbyrn raised her hands, and the blood on the floor rose in columns around her lord's scrambling legs. Frantically, she reached and grabbed with the liquid tentacles, and though it cost more of her blood to do it, she managed to hold Feerborg once again motionless.

  "Bloodbyrn, what the hell are you doing?" He shouted as he struggled against her bonds.

  "Firstly, I am preventing you from further attempts at suicide at Feerix's hands," she explained. "Secondly, I yet retain the hope of what of your services as I fight the zombie goblins. I believe I have already mentioned these creatures, but I do so again now, thinking that did not properly hear or comprehend me the first time I introduced the subject."

  "They're a distraction!" growled Feerborg, "We can just outrun the striking things! Bloodbyrn we need to go after Feerix now, before he has a chance to kill Istain!"

  "The zombie goblins are surprisingly quick," Bloodbyrn observed for the benefit of her lord, who was, after all, facing the wrong direction. "They seem to be uninterested in me, but the closest one is nearly within striking distance of you."

  This information brought forth another bout of curses.

  "If I release you, what will you do?" Bloodbyrn pressed.

  "Gibbering run after Feerix!"

  "And if I did not care as much as I do about your safety as I do, my lord, I would let you." Bloodbyrn caused Feerborg to slide further along the floor away from the zombie. She needed time to explain herself. "But the forces arrayed against us are growing stronger, and I believe now is the time for you to learn an important lesson on the subject of—"

  "God of Word's gibbering testicles, Bloodbyrn," Feerborg bellowed, "let go of me!"

  "I shall not, my lord." Interesting how her lord slipped further into his Rationalist Patois when agitated. Or maybe it was the mention this Istain person. "Not whilst we have these zombies to contend with." She allowed the first zombie goblin, a winged fellow in a rather nice coat, to brush Feerborg with its claw. She was gratified to feel him shiver through his bonds.

  "Fine!" he said.

  "Good, now I—"

  "I'll take care of the goblins myself." The necromancer's mist over Feerborg's head swirled.

  "No my lord!" Bloodbyrn attempted to wrench Feerborg up and away from the monster, but she could do nothing to prevent his expenditure of necromancy.

  The four shambling forms of the zombies quivered in that unseen power, their spines popping as they pulled themselves straighter, their eyes kindling with renewed intelligence. The two nearest swiveled their heads around, and grinned at her.

  "Exsanguinations!" Bloodbyrn lifted Feerborg's body above the range of the first zombie's suddenly vigorous attacks, and skipped backward herself away from the other two.

  "What the hell did you do to them!" Feerborg's voice came from somewhere in the vicinity of the ceiling.

  "What did you do to them, you mean," Bloodbyrn panted. Her athame slashed out and the two attacking zombies cringed back. "You fed death energy into beings animated by death energy. What did you suppose would happen?"

  Feerborg cursed again.

  "Well, now we are in rather more serious danger," Bloodbyrn dodged another claw's swipe, "Since my athame is meant only for inflicting flesh wounds and can do these creatures no harm."

  "Can't you use your blood on them?"

  "I cannot! Not with the support of your not inconsiderable weight taking up all of my concentration," Bloodbyrn was indeed trembling with the effort of holding Feerborg aloft and moving her own body at the same time.

  "Maybe I can…" black mist flared again and the winged monster below Feerborg began to twitch and jerk like a victim of the falling sickness. Suddenly clumsy again, it took two hesitant steps backward, then slipped and fell on the slick stones. "Strike it!" cursed Feerborg, "Feerix left something in there to fight me. I can't take control of them. Ow. Gibber. My head."

  That zombie, released from Feerborg's contrary impulses, was already pulling itself back to its feet, rising to join its fellow, clawing at the base of the pillar of blood Bloodbyrn was maintaining.

  A cold, slick hand closed over Bloodbyrn's wrist. Her athame flashed blackly at it sliced through the tendons in its wrist and she managed to wrench herself from the zombie's grip.

  "Bloodbyrn, I promise I won't run away," came Feerborg's voice from overhead, "now use this blood to do something."

  "Excellently specific command, my lord," hissed Bloodbyrn, but in point of fact, she did know how to dispatch these zombies.

  The column under Feerborg slumped and shrank as she drew from its body to pump more of the liquid into the undead bodies, bloating them, rendering them immobile.

  Fortunately, the bodies of the four goblins still contained some liquid. When Bloodbyrn infiltrated these reservoirs with the supply fresh from her body, she gained control of enough volume to do the requisite amount of damage.

  The muscles and tendons of the zombies, still under Feerix's necromantic control, strained against veins and arteries suddenly turgid and stiff with blood. Gritting her teeth against the strain of it, Bloodbyrn then commanded the blood under her control to move. To move in every direction at once.

  The sensation was like fine, warm rain.

  Bloodbyrn had had the foresight to close her eyes and mouth, but from the noises he made, she assumed her lord had not.

  "There," she said. "It is done. And now," gathering up the blood that remained liquid and under her control, she fixed Feerborg's feet to the floor. "Now you will go nowhere."

  "The hell I will!" he squawked, shivering and slick with blood. "Let me go!"

  "Why should I do that, my lord?" Bloodbyrn allowed herself to slump back against the nearest wall. Every movement her lord made against the restraints she had placed on him felt like another dull needle being driven through her temples.

  "We have to kill Feerix!" Feerborg shouted, pulling again.

  "We most certainly will not."

  Thoughts of a future with Feerix, mixed with memories of her experiences and hopes in the store room, lent her the strength of will she needed to hold her lord fast.

  "Then I will! Now!" He wrenched again.

  "How my lord, personally?" snapped Bloodbyrn, her vision swimming. "Has the indisputable beating Feerix has just delivered to you damaged your memory? You lost to him, my lord. Terribly. Twice. And that was when you were full to the positive brim with death energy."

  "Oh yeah? So I'll find someone! I'll kill them! And then who will have death energy?" There was another spurt of black mist, and one of Feerborg's legs drove through the tentacle of blood that held it. Still fixed to the floor by his other foot, Feerbo
rg fell onto one knee, and his speech degenerated from irrational roars to inarticulate mumbles.

  Feerborg, not fortunate enough to have been the recipient of a Sangboise education, was failing utterly to control his emotions. Indeed, he was more maddened than Bloodbyrn had ever seen him. Other women might have balked at this new burden, added to what most would consider to be problems enough for one to bear, but Bloodbyrn, by breeding and education, was capable of resolving whatever her king might further demand of her.

  "You cannot hope to defeat your half-brother," Bloodbyrn's head swam with the effort of keeping Feerborg's leg bound. "Even you must be cognizant of the fact that to face him now would amount to nothing more than suicide."

  He tugged again, her magic stretched, and this time sparks flashed before Bloodbyrn's eyes. "You think I care about that? What the gibber do you know about Istain, you striking…I don't even know! Bloodbyrn!" She winced at her lord's cry. "You don't understand! He has my friend."

  Ah, yes, there was her opening, the string by which she could manipulate the situation. Bloodbyrn breathed with the silent relief. "Indeed, Feerborg. He has Istain. And if you attack Feerix, what will he do with your friend?"

  "Oh Words."

  Yes, Feerborg's mind twisted around Bloodbyrn's words.

  He did not, as Bloodbyrn had hoped, sink into a manageable despair, or indeed any mental state in which he might be compelled to, for example, pick up his exsanguinated paramour and carry her to her bed. He did, however, temporarily cease his struggles.

  "Well then," Feerborg said calmly, "we just have to rescue Istain."

  His blast of necromancy shattered the bindings around his leg and threw Bloodbyrn to the ground.