by Garon Whited
The King lowered the crown onto her head in a deep, breathless silence. He held out his hand and the Queen took it, rising to stand at the base of the throne, turning to face the assembled people. The King settled on his throne again. He raised his eyebrows at everyone in the hall.
“You may now express your delight,” he suggested.
As a thousand mortal voices rose in wild cheering, the King wrapped himself in shadow. When the darkness drained away, the King was nowhere to be seen. Lissette took the throne, seating herself only on the edge of it, hands resting lightly on the wide-spaced arms. The cheering redoubled.
What do you wash a soul in? Mine needed a bath. It’s not like I can scrub it clean with the blood of Christ; I’ll just soak it up or catch fire, depending. It’s not fair.
I’m sure Banler was sitting somewhere, waiting and wondering if the King was having him to dinner or having him for dinner. I think I’ll just skip dinner and let him breathe a sigh of relief. Seldar, once he said his lines, probably went off to do something intelligent and practical—possibly explaining to Banler how sending his heir to be educated in the Palace was a good thing. And, of course, Lissette was accepting oaths of fealty and assurances of loyalty from a large crowd of people, all anxious to be alive in the morning.
I was upstairs, in the south tower, the tallest of the towers in the palace. The topmost floor was a small, circular room under a conical roof. From the bird droppings, I guessed no one got up here to clean it very often. A small, wooden door led out onto the narrow walkway surrounding the top of the tower. I went out on it, half-sat on the edge, and tried to enjoy the breeze before the approaching storm front rolled over everything.
I used to get such a rush from feeling the wind blow over me. Standing on a canyon lip, up the side of a mountain, or even on the shore while the sea-breeze gave me the smell of salt and sand. Tonight, it’s nothing more than the movement of air and the smells of a dirty city. Where I used to feel I could spread my arms and almost fly, like a kite on the breeze, now I felt as though the wind rushed past my ears as I dropped like a rebel angel.
Maybe that’s not a bad description, considering what I’ve done.
I heard the trapdoor in the floor open. I didn’t need to look to know who it was. Tianna watched me during the whole damned performance, or the whole performance of the damned. All through it, she clasped her hands tight together while she chewed on the side of one finger. Bright flecks danced in her hair, like embers among ashes, as she tried to suppress any reaction to my scene.
Besides, who else would come looking for me?
“Grandfather?”
I grunted something in reply without turning. I felt the ghostly pressure of her hand rest on the shoulder of my armor.
“I don’t know what to say,” she told me, softly.
“Don’t say anything,” I suggested. “Just give me a good push.”
“No.”
“You’re probably right. The fall won’t kill me.”
“You stop that.”
“Why? I just sold my soul for the welfare of a kingdom. Nothing good ever comes from such a deal.”
She moved around to face me, settling against the stonework. She wore her hair in a braid for some reason, but a few strands whipped about in the wind. Her robes, yellow and orange, fluttered and rippled as though she were on fire. She tucked them about herself. I wondered for a moment if she was cold, and realized what a stupid question it was.
“Did you?” she asked. “Who did you sell it to?”
“Maybe selling it isn’t the right phrase,” I admitted. “I feel as though I cut a piece of it off and left it bleeding on the floor of the hall.”
“I didn’t see it.”
“I did. I killed that Miller guy, the baron. He challenged the Demon King. He demonstrated a stupid streak, yes, but he showed noble courage—real virtue, not pretended, not concealed, and not to be questioned nor denied. I know. He stood up for what he believed was right and died for it, knew he was going to die for it, and he made the gesture in front of everyone because he believed it needed to be made. He didn’t even have hope. He only did it because he believed it was needful and right—no other reason.”
I sighed.
“I ate his spirit, absorbed his blood, desecrated his body, and made my point. All it cost, of course, was one extremely good man. One good man sacrificed on the altar of the State, along with any remaining hope of being a decent person.”
My gauntlets were hanging from my belt, so it wasn’t hard to rub my face with both hands.
“I think you berate yourself needlessly.”
“You’re not the one living in this skull.”
“True. I’m the one looking at you from the outside.” She said it gently, but with a bit of twist on it. Maybe she did have a better view of the situation than I did. It didn’t help my current level of abject self-pity and general hatred for all mankind.
“You saw what happened.”
“Yes. Yes, I did. I saw a king do something awful, even terrible. He did it even though he knew the personal cost it would exact. And he did it in the hope—only the uncertain hope—he could unify a kingdom under the rule of a Queen, rather than allow it to fall into barbarism unfought. He will be forever remembered as a monster, a demon, even when the name of his Queen has fallen into the forgetfulness of time. He knew it, accepted it, and gave his people the gift of himself—the King they needed him to be, even though he thinks he never was.”
I thought about what she said, playing through some of the possible rebuttals and counter-rebuttals. Very quickly, I realized I wasn’t going to win this argument, either. Women. I’m glad they’re around, but even the best of them can be troublesome beasts.
“Did you memorize that,” I asked, instead, “or make it up on the spot?” Tianna dimpled and her hair brightened.
“I had some suggestions about how you might be feeling.”
I glanced down at Firebrand.
Not me, Boss.
“Who? Sparky?”
“Beltar, your prophate. He talks to you—the other you. They had some thoughts.”
I glanced up at the sky. Thunder chuckled in the distance as the clouds continued to advance. At least, I thought a heard a chuckle. It could have been my imagination.
Okay, no. It wasn’t my imagination. It might not have been an audible chuckle, just a psychic one timed with the actual thunder. At least one of the so-called gods has something he uses for a sense of humor. He would find this amusing.
“You know I’m leaving, don’t you?” I asked.
“Yes.”
We sat in silence for a bit, listening to the wind from above and the music from below. The Demon King is gone. Long live the Bright Queen.
It would work out for the kingdom. The new justice system would percolate through the place, as would the new money. Like the roads, they were too good to be denied. Bob would handle the Arena City and the Duchy of the Eastrange. Lissette would have a head start on her nobility. If she has problems, bad ones, I know an elf with assassin squads—and so does she. Even the ongoing investigation into the mass child-murdering… at that moment, I really couldn’t summon up the urge to care. They were dead and I couldn’t fix it. Maybe it was Thomen’s idea and hired assassins. Maybe it was the Hand, working with Thomen. Did it matter? Bob would find out who did it and Lissette would deal with them.
For now, the kingdom could go play with itself. I got suckered into being a king because people needed me. Now I’ve played the villain at court so they could have something to hate, and so Lissette could be something they could love. I’ve killed my hundreds and my thousands, all in the name of a unified nation, and out of all of the deaths, I’ve murdered one good man.
Maybe I’ve murdered more than one. It’s possible. But this one was cold, calculated, and deliberate—and it hurts me. Ask not for whom the bell tolls, Mister Donne, because now I know what you meant.
“There are some arrangements to b
e made,” I mentioned.
“I’m sure there are.”
“Do you want to help?”
“Always, Grandfather.”
“Shall we go?”
“I’d like to wait for the rain, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind.”
We sat there, in the wind, and watched the clouds billow and roll, an inverted sea of darkness with the tide coming in on the starry shore.
“You know what bothers me most?” I asked, watching the clouds eat the sky.
“Sunrise?”
“Oh, you’re related to me, all right,” I groused. She chuckled.
“No, Grandfather. I don’t know what bothers you the most. Will you tell me?”
“I killed a good man today. I intimidated, lied to, and threatened a huge number of people. I turned to the persona of a villain and acted all dark-side to achieve my ends—if I have achieved them. For the greater good, of course. For the maximum number of people to have the maximum amount of happiness because of what I hope is a good way to organize a social grouping.”
“And the uncertainty bothers you?” she guessed.
“Some,” I admitted. “The big thing, though, is the fact I did terrible things with good intentions… and I’m not certain I was wrong to do it. Breaking eggs to make omelets, I suppose. But people aren’t eggs and a kingdom isn’t an omelet.” I sighed. “I’ve been an evil bastard because it seemed the right thing to do, and I’m not sure it wasn’t.”
We were silent for a while. I could smell the rain, see it falling in the distance, a curtain sweeping over the world toward us, almost as though the gods closed one act before opening another.
“Did you enjoy being an evil bastard?” Tianna asked, finally.
“No. I did it because I felt it was necessary.”
“Then let it go. You did it. You’re done with it. It’s over.”
“Tianna, granddaughter, dear one, it took me a long time to realize this, so you may not have arrived at the same conclusion, yet. It’s never over. The consequences of our choices follow us forever. I’m not sure what the consequences of this one will be. I’m not sure of the price I’ve paid for this—or what price I’ll have to pay.”
Tianna had no comment. We sat without speaking, watching the lights of the city and listening to the noises of the people.
“Grandfather?”
“Hmm?”
“You’re quiet.”
“Dead people don’t breathe.”
“I’d hit you, but you’re wearing armor.”
“Unrewarding,” I agreed.
“Answer me a question?”
“If I don’t have to make up an answer, sure.”
“Why did you become a king?”
I thought about it for a while. Why did I become a king? Because Raeth and Bouger suckered me into being one? Because I took charge? Because I led people into the wilderness and helped them find a foothold?
“Because it was my responsibility.”
“Responsibility? Or obligation?”
“I’m not sure of the difference.”
“Neither am I, I suppose. I guess I wanted to know if it was something you felt… I don’t know. Compelled to do, perhaps? Something you didn’t want to do, but you felt you had to do it? Or was it more of a thing imposed on you? People expected it of you, demanded it, and it was your duty to them to be what they needed?”
“That’s fairly subtle,” I observed. “I’m not sure.”
“See, the sense of responsibility seems to me to come from within. The obligation seems like something from outside you, forcing you.”
“I suppose that’s a fair assessment. I’m still not sure.”
“No?”
“No. They imposed on me, yes, so in that sense it was an obligation. But without a sense of responsibility for them, I could have walked away.”
“Could you have?” she asked, curiously. I sighed and dodged the question.
“It was a long time ago.”
“I think it was a sense of responsibility.”
“Oh? Why?”
“Because you hated yourself tonight.”
“I do that on alternate Tuesdays, anyway.”
“What’s a Tuesday?”
“Skip it; it was meant to be flippant.”
“I’m serious. You hated yourself for what you did. If it was an obligation, you wouldn’t be up here, tempting a lightning bolt to solve your problems of conscience. An obligation wouldn’t leave you with a choice, so you would be angry, not self-loathing. You did this out of a sense of responsibility.”
“Maybe,” I admitted. “It’s possible.” I didn’t want to think about it, though, so I didn’t go on. Tianna stopped talking, too.
We waited a little more. The tide of clouds came in, blotting out the stars, sinking the moon in their depths.
And the idea hit me. If I can’t open a gate to the moon, maybe I could launch a ship. Something that could carry something like the defensive barrier of the firmament and sail through the void.
I’ll think about it some more. There are far too many details to work out and I’m not in the mood for them.
Finally, the curtain of rain swept over Carrillon and the Palace. A few drops pattered on the conical roof as scouts. Then the first wave came out of the sky-sea and the spray washed down at us. I raised an umbrella spell to keep water from running down my neck and into my armor. Tianna just sat there, smugly, as raindrops disappeared into tiny puffs of vapor above her.
“Showoff.”
“Says the dry man in the rain.”
“Touché. Shall we go?”
“All right.”
I led the way down the winding stairs of the tower. It was a hollow cylinder above the general palace rooftop level and the stairs had no rail. I wanted to be in front in case Tianna slipped.
“Grandfather?”
“Hmm?”
“Where will you go?”
It was a good question, and it took me a number of steps to formulate an answer.
“I’ve got some arrangements to make with Bob and T’yl. They need something to take the place of Bob’s usual elf-making methods if he’s going to stop doing it. Then I have some spells to test, maybe an enchantment or two. Then I need to pay a call on Tort. I don’t know how it will go, so I don’t know exactly when I’ll move on to other things or if she’ll be coming with me. I hope she will.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Actually, yes. You can let Lissette know you’ll be willing to burn a candle and call me if there’s a need for the Demon King to make an appearance. Beltar can probably arrange something along those lines, but it’s good to have more than one way to summon a friendly demon.”
“You’re not a demon.”
“Ask a peasant,” I countered.
“One renting a six-bladed plow chariot and who owns his land? Or one who still follows an ox across a field and prays his landowner doesn’t raise the rent?”
“You are definitely my granddaughter. There aren’t many people who could annoy me so easily by being right.”
“It’s your own fault for giving me a brilliant mother.”
“How is she, by the way?”
“Still burning brightly. She would have come to the Grand Council in my place, as the senior priestess, but…”
“Yeah. No need to burn down the Palace. Make sure she understands… what I… that is, why I…”
“I will.”
“And give her my love, will you?”
“Of course.”
We reached the lower levels of the tower and the huge, hollow cylinder turned into individual floors. I set my hand on a door latch and Tianna covered my hand with hers.
“Will I ever see you again?” she asked, softly.
“If you send for me, I will come.”
“Promise?”
“I have spoken.”
“So you have,” Tianna replied, withdrawing her hand. “Thank you.”
“Always happy to help.”
I opened the door and ushered her through. I had an instrument to invest with a fraction of Tyma’s soul, some details to handle, and some goodbyes.
Monday, March 15th
Beware the Ides of March.
I have no idea what an “ides” is, but there’s one in March and it’s dangerous, apparently. Maybe it’s the Roman version of Friday the thirteenth. I’ll Google it when I get someplace that has Google.
Bob and T’yl are reassured I’m not abandoning them. T’yl believed me completely when I explained how fooling around with vampire blood in a quest for immortality is a Bad Idea, deserving of capital letters and capital punishment. Giving magicians a better way to become immortal is a much better alternative. It also earns me a lot of goodwill among magicians—Hey, buddy! Want a hit of this? It lasts forever, man! —which helps cut down on the number of magicians the Hand can hire. It won’t stop magicians from being religious, but it should reduce the number who show up to help them simply for cash.
As for Bob, he’s quite pleased with the idea he won’t spend a hundred years with filthy human females while trying to upgrade a fetus into a bad copy of an elf. He’s also looking forward to seeing what I come up with for a void-sailing moonship. And there’s the possibility I might find a way to spring his so-called deity from self-imposed prison…
Why do I get the feeling I’m working for him, rather than the other way around?
Still, he’s looking after the kingdom, sort of babysitting it while the change of leadership sorts out and settles down. If a void-ship and elf-clones are the price of that, so what? It’s more likely to get me what I want out of him than a blunt “Do it!” I’d rather have him on my side than have him working for me unwillingly.
Tyma selected a large instrument, something like a cello. It was a bowed instrument, rather than a plucked or strummed one, and was longer than I would have thought. The sound chamber was in the middle, while the strings ran up and down the necks above and below. She called it a valanione. The enchantments were medium-simple, since I wasn’t animating a bow to run back and forth over it. The strings vibrated directly.
