by Garon Whited
I eventually pulled myself together. It took Johann to do it, though. The thought of hurting him in return for all the pain and humiliation he inflicted… it’s not a pretty motivation, and I’m not proud of it, but it’s true. It worked. I stepped out of the waterfall when I could finally focus on the future, not the past.
I picked up a locking collar from Kavel. With this around his neck, he would eventually die from the pain. If I could figure out a way to separate him from his nexus, I could let him writhe and convulse all he wanted before the collar literally hurt him to death.
The technical cause of death would probably be heart failure or stroke. But it would be the pain that killed him. I just needed a way to clamp it on him!
Beltar came in while I was working, accompanied by Tianna and Rendal. Someone took the opportunity to wheel in a cart full of food. They came in and set up while I finished what I was doing.
“My lord?” Beltar asked, pushing a platter in my direction.
“Thank you, Beltar. Tianna. Rendal.” We all nodded at each other. Tianna took a seat. “How did it go?” I asked, setting aside my prototype.
“Please don’t do that to me again, Granddad.”
“Ah. That bad?”
“Worse,” Rendal said. He laid a hand on a chair and asked with his eyes. I nodded and gestured to sit. Once they were more comfortable and started distributing food, Rendal continued with, “None of us are sure what it is, exactly, you want to accomplish.”
“You’re not?”
“No,” Beltar said. “We tried to negotiate some sort of… treaty? Contract? But no one is clear on the purpose of it.”
I poured a goblet of something brown and ran my fingers through my hair, thinking.
“Okay, maybe I didn’t explain this very well. Let me start at the beginning. We have laws, right?”
“Yes.”
“Without getting into the whole legal code, what normally happens is someone breaks the law—he steals something, kills someone, or generally behaves badly in some way. That’s what starts everything going.
“After he does it, or while he does it, the City Guard comes up and restores order. At least, in theory. Someone may have already taken action, or defended themselves, or something. With me so far?”
“I am,” Rendal said. Beltar and Tianna nodded.
“We then have Guardsmen who sort out who did what to whom and how. Why isn’t important, yet. Once the guardsman or guardsmen know what’s what, they either tell the drunks to go home or arrest somebody for a crime. If we have an arrest, then we have to sort the guy out—figure out if he’s guilty of a crime or if he only looks guilty. He may be arrested for standing over a corpse with a bloody knife in his hand; that seems logical and reasonable. But when we investigate and determine the corpse was beheaded, the guy with the knife doesn’t seem as likely a suspect. Especially when he says he defended himself from some axe-wielding maniac who beheaded the pre-corpse.”
“Sire? What if the knife is a large one? Could not the murderer have worked diligently to remove the head?”
“I like the way you think, Rendal, but it’s only an example. We need to investigate. We need to gather evidence. We need to listen to the suspect’s account of what happened—and he’s only a suspect, not a murderer, until we prove he’s either guilty or innocent. Although,” I added, “it’s generally impossible to prove innocence. We may wind up aiming to prove guilt, but it shouldn’t be our goal to find everyone guilty—only to find guilt if it exists. But that’s a whole other level of jurisprudence, if that’s the word I want.
“Anyway, once we gather all the facts, we need to present them to an impartial group and let them consider those facts before rendering a verdict.”
“And,” Beltar said, “this is why you’re interested in the Temples of Truth, Justice, Law, and Mercy.”
“Exactly. If we have a priest of Truth to tell us if the witnesses are lying or not, a priest of the Law to tell us if anything was actually a crime, a priest of Justice to determine where the equities lie—whether or not what happened was fair, who was wronged, whether the actions taken were appropriate to the circumstances, that sort of thing—and a priest of Mercy to keep the punishment from being a little too fitting, then we might have a working court.
“My hope is the priests in question can use whatever powers are granted them by their respective gods to help the process along. If the Lord of Law says the law was violated, the Lord of Justice says it wasn’t violated for a sufficient reason, and the Lady of Mercy says the perpetrator doesn’t deserve mercy, then we can be pretty sure we got the right guy.”
“This seems to me a great deal of trouble,” Rendal mused, frowning, hands folded across his stomach. “Complicated. Impractical. If you’ll forgive me, Sire.”
“Of course. If you have a better idea, I’m interested. Fire away.”
Rendal looked thoughtful and cautious. He didn’t immediately spout his opinions; he’s too smart to fall into that trap. Tianna winked at me while she chewed and her hair flickered. I gave her a Look and she chuckled, flames subsiding. Beltar and Rendal looked thoughtful. I was very pleased to see Beltar thinking about it. I worry he’ll take me at my word and back my ideas without evaluating them.
“I presume,” Rendal said, at last, “we could… observe this process? I can have a dozen criminals brought before you and your pentatio.”
Five priests—Truth, Justice, Law, Mercy, and the Shadows as moderators. Pentatio. Seemed better than any name I had for it.
“You’ve seen it working at the Hall of Justice, haven’t you? The fast-and-dirty version, anyway, dealing with captives from the insurrection?”
“Yes, but those are captured rebels being sorted, not… hmm. Perhaps I begin to see. But the ones they find guilty are sent to you, are they not?”
“They are, because this is a temporary thing for dealing with the quantity of prisoners involved. The formal setup will be a bit more stringent.” I thought about it while we ate for a bit. “You do have a good thought, Rendal. Maybe we should try to walk through the full process.”
Everybody nodded, not just Rendal. It’s a new idea and nobody wants to be the confused person asking stupid questions.
“Okay. I have plans for tonight, but if Beltar will get a pentatio together and Rendal will get us some suspects—suspects, Rendal, not criminals. They’re not criminals unless they’re proven guilty! —then we’ll go through my idea a few times and sort out questions. No doubt we’ll refine it as we go along.”
“As you say, Sire,” Rendal agreed, reaching for a bread pudding. Beltar bowed from the neck, a dignified acknowledgment.
“What’s your plan for tonight?” Tianna asked. The other two would never have asked; they have a reverence for the mystery of the King or for their god. Tianna, on the other hand, just thinks of me as her grandfather.
I bet Sparky finds her a double handful. I’m sure Nothar would agree.
“Tonight I plan to finish this insurrection thing.”
“Seldar says it shouldn’t be more than a few days. They’ve advanced six streets on the north and west sides, eight streets on the south.”
“Really? I hadn’t heard.”
“You were busy,” Beltar said. “Or so I hear. I wish I had been there to witness the miracle.”
“I’m sorry you missed it.”
“So am I. Next time…?”
“Anytime you want to, just get the coals in the brazier going and sprinkle some blood in it,” I told him.
“What…” he trailed off, not willing to finish the question.
“Ever used a mirror?”
“Of course.”
“Same principle, just with smoke. You’ll see.”
“I suppose I will,” he said, faintly.
“Granddad?” Tianna asked.
“Yes?”
“Were you doing divine manifestations?”
“Not on purpose.”
“Oh. Well, okay. I’d like to
see it, sometime, if you ever do the full god presence.”
“I’ll bear it in mind.” I did not voice my intention to avoid it like sunrise.
“Maybe tonight? Are you going to do it with the Church of Light?” she pressed.
“Not if I can avoid it. It strikes me as overkill,” I said. I also did not add I didn’t want to have a confrontation of godlike entities in my city. Or on my planet, for that matter. Of course, they’re not gods, just simulations of them. Maybe I could call them simulata. Or maybe I’ll just keep calling them gods and maintain a healthy mental reservation.
“Then what do you plan to do?” Tianna asked, bringing me back from my momentary reverie.
“Beat people until they surrender.”
“I don’t understand,” she admitted. Rendal and Beltar also looked puzzled.
“Tell Seldar I said you could watch,” I suggested. “It’s hard to explain. And pass the mashed potatoes, please.”
In the evening, after my change and wash, I went to find Seldar. He was sleeping, so I settled for the guy he appointed as his assistant. The guy wore a grey sash with an embroidered sword on it. He was dressed in the usual carbon-black armor. His eyes were deep-set, his hair dark and worn long, and a lot of lines marched across his face. I had to look at him closely, with eyes that have a hard time seeing flesh, to realize he wasn’t actually all that old. I wondered what did that to his face.
He came out of the chair and went to one knee as I came in. Everyone else stayed in their seats and kept their attention on their magic mirrors. I liked that.
“I don’t think we’ve met,” I said.
“I am Sir Maruk, my lord, by your grace and the decree of Lord Beltar.”
“I approve of Lord Beltar’s decision. Rise, Knight of Shadow.”
He stood up, saluted with that fist-over-heart gesture, and relaxed.
“Sir Seldar said you might approve of my station. It is my honor.”
“He’s the smartest man I know,” I agreed. “Keep it up. Just to get this out of the way—do you know anything about the army camped out in front of Vathula?”
“No, my lord. Which is to say, I am aware of it, but it should be headed for Carrillon.” He started to turn to the sand table but I stopped him.
“Carrillon?”
“I believe it was recalled today. I heard a report on its movement earlier this evening. Has it not struck its camp and departed Vathula?”
“No, I’m sure they have. Don’t worry. I didn’t leave word I wanted to be informed. If you know about it, that’s sufficient.”
“Of course, my lord. I feared something might have changed without my knowledge.”
“Double-check if you like, but for now, tell me what you can about the insurrectionists.”
“They are dwindling. The bulk of their forces,” he said, gesturing to the sand table and zooming in, “are gathered here, around the building they use as a headquarters. It is heavily defended.” We looked over the masses of people.
“I see a lot of differences in arms and equipment.”
“Indeed, my lord. They have armed many of the civilians impressed into service. Hundreds of them currently guard the streets around the headquarters, usually led by former members of the City Guards or by white tabards—the so-called knights of the Demon King.”
I took control of the sand table and looked around the neighborhoods.
“Is it my imagination, or is the ratio of cadre to draftees higher in the front lines?”
“My lord?”
“It looks like they have more real soldiers on the front than they do around the headquarters.”
“Yes, my lord. Too many desertions. When it became clear we were taking prisoners instead of killing rebels, people impressed into their forces threw down their arms and charged our lines. Some were killed by their commanders, others were shot by archers, but the majority crossed into our protection. Now, the enemy has taken precautions to prevent this. As the length of the front shrinks—as we take back the areas they hold—they can use more of their draftees as headquarters guards. This keeps them from contemplating escape. The white knights—the ones in the tabards of the Lord of Light—have taken to manning the front with those peasants they deem more reliable.”
“Citizens,” I corrected, “not peasants. Has the redistribution of troops caused problems?”
“Not so much. They appear to be more concerned with their survival than with holding captured ground. The troublesome fighters are the former City Guard. They know the area and they appear to be motivated by faith, not by money.”
“But we still try to capture them, right?”
“Yes, my lord. We try to capture everybody, but not at the risk of our own lives. Anyone determined to fight to the death is permitted to do so.”
“That’s fair.”
“I am gratified to hear you say so,” Maruk replied, obviously relieved.
“Don’t sweat it. Are we ready to make a big push?”
“We cannot press too hard,” he countered. “Not if we are to capture every house, every stable, every shop. They must be searched, room by room, and anyone found must be removed. The process takes men away from battle.”
“What would happen if they had some severe losses on the front, followed by a lot of desertion among the headquarters draftees?”
Maruk looked thoughtful, an expression he wore well. He probably did it a lot.
“I think they would retreat farther,” he said, “to concentrate their forces. They would have to give up more ground or risk their lines being penetrated and sections of it surrounded. We’ve done it a few times, capturing or killing whole units, but they learned from it.”
“Fair enough. This is obviously a war of attrition, and I’m in the mood to see it happen. Please pass the word to be alert for opportunities to advance the line.”
“As you wish, my lord.” He saluted and turned to give orders. I wandered off to the great hall.
Bronze was waiting. She looked eager. I know I was.
Does this mean we get to kill things, Boss?
“I’m planning to encourage people to run, if I can.”
But the ones who don’t run? Firebrand pressed.
“If they’re civilians with an ugly man behind them, they may not have a choice. But we’ll probably kill quite a lot of the white knights and former City Guards. Just not anyone who surrenders or runs.”
Why do you always have to suck the fun out of mayhem and bloodshed?
“Because I’m not the Demon King.”
Firebrand had no reply to that.
I prepared several spells on the trip down. All the usual things—arrow deflection, magical counterspells, that sort of stuff. By the time I reached the perimeter of the enemy area, I was feeling pretty good. Heavily armed, heavily armored, and ready for action.
And I was right.
With Firebrand in one hand and my Sword of Atomic Sharpness in the other, we went through the enemy lines like silent, shadowy death. Bronze took great care not to step on any unarmored people. I made sure to clip heads off spears and other foot-soldier weapons. But when we came across armored men, or men with Church of Light tabards…
When Bronze steps on something, it stays stepped on.
When Firebrand chooses to burn something, nothing short of total immersion will extinguish it.
When my sword of sharpness meets anything edge-on, it comes apart.
I didn’t bother with a cloud of life-drinking tendrils. Far too many people were glowing with protective magic in my vampire vision. But I didn’t need to drain the essence of living things around me. Bronze, Firebrand, and I were more than enough.
No one touched us. Most people dropped weapons and ran when we came into view—we were usually noticed only at unreasonably close range. A few couldn’t believe their eyes when they finally did notice us. For all practical purposes, Bronze is silent. If she steps on a man just right, his screams are silenced, too. I think some people believed
we were an illusion. Briefly.
We traveled a serpentine course, first charging through an enemy line in the street, then circling the block to come up behind another one, circling around the next block to head-on another enemy position, and so on.
I was in the mood for some mayhem and terror. I’ve had a lot of things happen to me, a lot of circumstances that had no proper outlet. I’ve been pressured and pounded, annoyed and angered, eviscerated and enraged. I had quite a head of steam built up and this was a reasonably good outlet for it. We only had to be a little careful of the civilians, that’s all.
Then a mob of reinforcements came running up the street. We promptly went down the street to meet them.
I am unsurprised men on foot don’t like to play chicken with several tons of fire-breathing horse while a blazing sword of fire psychically screams about killing them all. Firebrand tells me my shadow was doing scary things behind and beside us. The fact I was present might have unnerved someone, too.
We swung through the scattering men and I whipped trails of fire from Firebrand, cutting down banners, cleaving skulls, setting fire to anything beyond the sweep of the blade. My other hand I kept free, mostly, for dealing with things coming in my direction—pikes, axes, lunatics intent on dragging me from the saddle. Bronze made it difficult for anyone to get near me, though; she breathes fire from the front and can whip her tail like a wire lash. She can also whirl in place, spring like a pogo stick, and do other things in a most un-horse-like fashion. In this sort of wild gyration, I stay on only because she chooses to keep me on, and because I can feel what she’s about to do the same way I can feel which way my arm is pointing.
When we ran out of armored targets and tabards, I ordered everyone else to surrender while I pointed them toward the perimeter. Firebrand illuminated their pathway for one flaring moment and encouraged them to get moving.
Then it was on to the headquarters area. The barricades blocking the streets into the market square were fairly tall and strong, but they were made of wood. Translation: Bronze crashed through one and Firebrand set it to burning. Once we were though, it was merely a matter of killing soldiers while avoiding civilians.
