by Chad Huskins
There came a loud, metallic moan as something fought to get free. Another low growl, and then a roar. All across the arena, both slaves and Rain Guards backed away from it. Some turned and ran. No more bullets were being fired, for the beast’s roar tore through the air and assaulted the ears.
“Lord Hiss?” Drea said.
“I know.” He turned to Lady Blackveil. “We need to get out of here.”
The Lady said nothing, only nodded and followed after him. With Drea on his back, Lord Hiss was already moving at a full run. There came another loud whine, and a crash. People screamed. Drea glanced over her shoulder and saw long, tenebrous limbs come crawling out of the cage.
The dahzoletch was no native to Drith, of that Drea was certain. It moved with the quick, jerky movements of a spider, and had the bulbous body of a tick fattened on blood. Its many mouths opened and spiraled like a drill. Its six mad eyes were the color of dusk, and the hideous scream it let out curdled the blood in Drea’s veins.
She never saw its exact shape, for the lights around the arena were still insufficient to get a good look, but it was huge. Far too feral to be intimidated by the pistols being fired at it. Drea heard the screams of the Rain Guards as its tentacles ensnared them. She heard them cry as the dahzoletch swallowed them whole.
And it laughed. The dahzoletch laughed. It devoured the Rain Guards and laughed at their pitiful screams. But it wasn’t finished. It tore into the stands, slashing into the seats and using those long, tenebrous limbs to pull well-dressed ladies into its throat, and rending the flesh from the bones of well-to-do lords.
Drea had never seen such blood. Neither, she suspected, had the Den of Beasts. The soul of the arena itself had turned against its masters. For the first time ever, the audience was made to participate in the sacrificial games.
As they fled, Drea watched slaves assaulting their masters, the arena organizers, the Lictors, the Rain Guards, everyone. She saw an unholy Mathysian monster tear down one of Drith’s most ancient and sacred buildings.
And yet, she still heard men and women screaming the message, “THERE’S A KALDER IN DRITH! KALDER DOES NOT BEND!”
Lord Hiss knew the passages of the arena well. He took them through several narrow halls, passed down a corridor of cages where many slaves stood listening to the mayhem happening outside.
“Wait,” Drea said. “Stop.”
“Why?” said Lady Blackveil. “We need to keep moving.”
Lord Hiss did as she asked. Drea climbed down from his back. She recalled the Fifteenth Precept. Be inventive. Utilize other attack methods besides the sword or poison. If you can, let others do your dirty work for you.
“Can you open these cages?” she asked.
“I can,” said the machine-man.
It was a matter of seconds before he’d ripped the steel cages off their hinges, and stood to one side as the frightened slaves stepped tentatively out.
“Go,” she said. “You’re free. There’s still a Kalder in Drith.”
“Kalder…” one of the slaves whispered. “It’s Drea Kalder!”
“Go!” she commanded. “Run! You’re free! And if I have my way, you always will be!”
They turned and fled, a few of them bowing low to her, one of them even blessing her with the sign of Green Three.
“Lead the way, Lord Hiss,” she said.
“What was that about?” Lady Blackveil wheezed, trying to keep up with the two of them.
“Let them spread the word. I might as well plant the seeds now, to cultivate later.” But then, Drea had been planting the seeds all along, hadn’t she? Perhaps without knowing it? Daedron had said so himself, in their game of seshqii. Subtlety is a gift, he’s said, and those with it usually don’t even know they’re capable of it. Such is the nature of being subtle; you deceive even yourself.
Daedron had told her that he suspected that she had been planning something from the first day she set foot inside the home of the Syphenus. Was I? she thought. If so, then for how long? Was I entertaining such a notion even before Fedarus’s death? How long have I desired control?
It frightened her, because it might mean that her murder of Vaedris hadn’t been sudden at all, but premeditated.
“Here,” Lord Hiss said. “This way.” He directed them down a small corridor, one that went underground, through the bestiary, passing a dozen cages filled with apes, tigers, bears, lions, and bulls. The animals were all pacing and grunting and growling in their cages, sensing the bloodbath going on in the arena above them.
“Up here,” he said, now conducting them to a staircase. “This way,” he said, guiding them into a narrow hallway lined by flickering electric globes.
Just remember, whenever you see the lights flickering in your cottage, know that that’s your Thryis, working hard to keep your lights on at night.
“Up here,” Lord Hiss said. “This way.”
They went up another flight of stairs, stepped through a wooden door, and emerged out the back side of the Den of Beasts. Out here, they saw a sea of panicking people, all screaming and fleeing. Drea saw people being trampled. She saw two people that had been set on fire by a pair of slaves slinging oil and flinging torches at them.
Rain Guards were on the scene, rushing in with their shields raised and blowing their whistles. Someone had murdered a Lictor, his shortsword was being swung wildly by a tall slave. He was hacking and slashing any Major House lords rushing past.
“You seem to have started a slave rebellion, my Lady of Drith,” said Lady Blackveil.
Indeed, there could be no arguing that the rebellion was in her name. Many of the slaves were crying out her name. Kalder! The name gave them drive, it gave them a rallying point. Kalder! As long as they had that name on their side, they appeared to think themselves invincible.
“Come on,” Lord Hiss said. “Follow me.”
“Where are we going?” Drea asked.
“Back home.”
She was astonished by him. “Are you mad? We can’t return to the home of the Syphenus—”
“Why not? You are Drea oda Syphen, are you not?”
“I…I…” Drea shook her head, confused. She watched the mad rebellion happening all around her. “Lady Blackveil, what do you think?” Drea heard no answer. She turned and found the woman on her knees. She’d dropped her pistol to the ground. “Lady Blackveil!”
“I’ve got her,” said Lord Hiss, scooping her off the ground. In his massive arms, the Lady looked like a frail child. “Come on.”
Drea followed behind the iron golem. As they moved through the screaming crowds, they could still hear the hideous cry of the dahzoletch inside the Den of Beasts, as well as the pleading cries of its victims.
In all the streets they darted through, on every lane and avenue, the electric lights dimmed and brightened, dimmed and brightened. Whatever havoc Thryis had wreaked on the Great Generator, it was ongoing.
Street after street, they heard the sounds of violence. They saw fights breaking out, gangs of bloody slaves running through alleys and chasing down their lords and ladies, stomping them into the pavement. Part of Drea wanted to command them to stop, but there was no time to prevent all the violence happening in her name, and even if there was, she was afraid of killing the momentum of the rebellion.
When they made it to the Avenue of Gods, they were just in time to see a horde of torch-bearing slaves rushing down the street, and a squad of twenty Rain Guards forming up a firing line. They knelt, aimed their longpistols, and fired. A group of slaves fell to the ground, by the rest of the horde behind them stepped over their bodies.
“Gods above,” Drea whispered. “I didn’t…I didn’t mean for so much—”
“This wasn’t you,” Lady Blackveil croaked. She was limp in Lord Hiss’s arms. “This…this has been a long time coming. You were just…an…excuse. They’re using you, just like everyone else. Just like…your father did…when making the deal with Fedarus. Just like the Syphenus…”
&
nbsp; Drea looked at her. “Just like you.”
“Yes,” the Lady whispered. “If I’m being honest. But we’re all used…and when our time comes…history makes of us heroes…or villains.”
“Which will I be after today?”
“It depends…on which loremaster…writes your legacy down. It depends…on what the people think of you…after tonight.”
The Rain Guards got a chance to fire once more, but the gang of slaves and ex-slaves and indentured servants and homeless people overwhelmed them. Drea and the others took a shortcut through an alley, and emerged across the street from the home of the Syphenus. The estate was quiet as they approached, and when Drea tried to open the front door, she found it was locked.
She knocked. “Hello! Is someone in there? It’s Drea! Please, open up! There’s been a—”
There was the sound of a mechanical door lock coming undone. Then, the door spat out steam, and opened just an inch. A single eye looked out at her. Then the door was flung open and Fengin stood there, wide-eyed and smiling. “Sia!” he breathed.
His joy fled him when he saw Lord Hiss standing behind her with the burned body of Lady Blackveil in his arms.
“Fengin, what have you heard?” she said, stepping inside.
“Tales of violence, Sia,” he said, standing to one side. “We’ve heard whistles, and screams of terror. We heard riots.”
When Drea stepped into the foyer, she saw that many of the house slaves had assembled there, including Kulisa, who was huddled with a group of women. When Lord Hiss entered, the slaves all shrank away to the walls.
Behind her, Fengin shut the door, and locked it quickly. “Sia Drea, we are so happy to see that you were not hurt. A messenger went by moments ago, shouting about a rebellion in the Den of Beasts, and some terrible explosion at the Great Generator. Power is out in half the city—”
Fengin stopped short when he saw the blood still on her hands, along with the Hand in the Darkness.
“And we hear that slaves are killing,” he finished.
“It’s true,” Drea said. “The slaves of Drith are revolting.”
There were whispers of excitement from those in the room. Fengin touched her arm. “What happened?”
“Lord Syphen, he…” She hesitated. How many of the slaves here were loyal to the Syphenus, and how many were open to the idea of a slave rebellion? “He was killed,” she said.
Everyone in the room gasped.
“He had just killed Halorax, a slave that was dear to me. I attacked him for it, and he decided that I should die. Everyone in the arena saw it, but before I could be executed, an assassin’s bullet struck him. Apparently, the slaves of Drith did not like the idea of the last Kalder dying. They started chanting my name.”
“Yes,” Kulisa said, smiling and stepping forward. “Yes, Sia, we heard the same from the messenger. He said that you did honor to your father’s memory, and fought for a slave. You did as your father would have done. You did not bend.” Kulisa turned to the others in the room. “I told you all. Kalder does not bend!”
Two others nodded vehemently, and intoned, “Kalder does not bend.”
“Kalder does not bend!” Kulisa repeated.
More joined in this time, including Fengin. “Kalder does not bend!” they said. “Kalder does not bend! Kalder does not—”
There came a knock at the door. A voice shouted, “Open up! Open up immediately!”
Fengin approached the door, put his ear to it, and listened to the man shouting his demands. He looked at Drea, and whispered, “It’s Lord Daedron.”
: Changing Tide s:
Everyone looked to Drea for direction.
She nodded. “Let him in.”
“Sia, he’s not to be trusted,” said Fengin.
“He may kill us all,” said a girl slave. “He may kill Sia Drea—”
“No, he won’t,” said a boy slave. “We won’t let him.”
Drea looked at them all. I’ve distilled the Glamour. They see me the way I need to be seen. She looked at Fengin. “Let him in. Lord Hiss shall be enough protection.”
Fengin obeyed reluctantly, and when he opened the door, Daedron swept inside, sweating and bleeding from his face. He stopped short when he saw the imposing figure of Lord Hiss standing there, then looked at Lady Blackveil, who looked at him balefully through what remained of her charred hair. Then, he looked at Drea, and said, “You made it. Thank the gods—”
“You fled,” Drea said coldly.
He looked at her frankly. “I did.”
“Why did you leave us? You said that you would help us.”
Daedron looked around the room. “Leave us,” he said to the slaves.
“No,” Drea said. “You can stay.”
Daedron looked at her seriously. “The Third Precept,” he reminded her.
Drea recalled it clearly. Conceal your true intentions, even from your friends. One never knows whom one can trust, and today’s friend can become tomorrow’s enemy.
Still, how far could she really trust a Syphen?
“Please give us some privacy,” Drea said, making sure to ask them politely. For if she meant to be seen as a liberator, she couldn’t order them around like slaves. “But Lord Hiss stays. Fengin, if you would please, see to the Lady here?”
“Of course, Sia.”
“Do not call me that. I am not your master. No one is.”
That caused a long, thoughtful silence.
Lord Hiss handed Lady Blackveil off to Fengin and Kulisa, who helped her down the hallway. Once they were gone, Drea turned to face Daedron. They stared at one another. All they could hear was the sound of Lord Hiss’s breathing, and the distant shouting and gunfire of a city going through a revolution.
“Where were you?” Drea asked.
Daedron didn’t answer her right away. Instead, he walked to the far side of the foyer, where some aged wine had been set aside in a crystal decanter. Daedron grabbed a glass and poured himself a finger of wine, downed it, then poured another.
“Where were you?” Drea repeated.
“I was running. Same as you.”
“I ran only after Lady Blackveil was safe—”
“Yes,” he said, downing another gulp of wine. “And you only did that because you knew that if you were going to survive, you’d need a fell-sorceress to stand against your sisters.” He looked at her. “Is it true? Did you kill my sister?”
Drea looked at him warily, uncertain of what he might do if he knew she had killed Vaedris. But then, even if she denied him, she imagined he had ways of finding the truth.
“I did,” she said.
Daedron sighed, took another swig of wine, and wiped fresh blood from his brow. “Probably for the best. Though Daedoris escaped. But she won’t be as strong without Vaedris and Saephis. She never had confidence in her own powers without them, and the Arcana requires much confidence, especially if one wants to channel darklight.”
“Why didn’t you do something before Halorax was executed?” Drea asked, moving towards him, her hands balled into fists.
“Do you recall our conversation in the gameroom?” he asked. “I told you that the power the vehl give me is like a lantern on a dark street. I can only see things the nearer they are. The farther away they are, they appear only as shadows. I only knew your man Halorax was going to be revealed as one of the prisoners a minute before, perhaps a bit longer.”
“But why didn’t you tell me—”
“What would you have done, Drea? Hm? Lashed out with the knife exactly as you did, I suspect? Uncle Phaedos had that moment planned out. He counted on your true Kalderus nature to come out when he had the priests reveal Halorax’s face. It was all staged, all orchestrated to be just so.”
“And so you ran for your life,” Drea said. “Coward.”
“As did Lord Det, and the augurs. Because we had the good sense to see the violence and knew what was what. I allowed my sisters to expose their nature, while Lady Blackveil’s alchemical bu
llet sprouted roots in Uncle Phaedos’s stomach.” He snorted. “Such a horrific sight isn’t likely to be forgotten by those who saw it. Especially since my work was being done.”
“What do you mean? What work?”
Daedron took one last swig of wine, then looked at her. He set his glass down and stepped towards her. “ ‘Kalder does not bend.’ Now, who do you suppose has been behind all the graffiti?”
Drea eyed him. “You?”
“Yes. Well, not me directly. But I’ve let your sentiments on the Five-Year Law be known. I entertain many powerful and wealthy families, and, here and there, whenever their slaves were within earshot, I made certain to remind people of it. I even made sure to give it an ominous, almost glorifying warning: ‘There’s still a Kalder in Drith,’ I would often say.”
Drea was astonished. “You’ve been fomenting rebellion?”
“I’ve been distilling your Glamour,” he said. “The rebellion was fomenting itself. I’ve merely been trying to bring it all to a head, with the aid of Divination.”
“What do you mean?”
“By forecasting the futures of certain slaves in certain Major Houses, I was able to identify the most influential slaves, the ones most likely to spread the rumor of you like a plague.”
Drea nodded. “You used me.”
“And you’ll use me,” Daedron said. “To gain the control you seek. But, Drea, you’re going to find that the control we all crave is merely an illusion. Even right now, the people outside those doors, they believe they have gained control over their lives, over fate itself.
“But it’s only temporary. Tonight, the Lictors and the Rain Guards will hole up someplace, regroup, gather all their weapons. And in the morning, they will go through these streets, utilizing their superior training, and systematically execute every last rebellious slave. Probably some of the innocent ones, too, just to be sure.”
“There are more slaves in Drith than there are nobles, Lictors, and Rain Guards combined,” Drea said.
“But the slaves have zero training in combat,” Daedron said with a humorous snorted. “They have almost no weapons, and what pistols they steal will soon run out of ammunition. There have been rebellions before, Drea, and there will be more again. They’re never permanent. They never make any real change.”
