by Garon Whited
I saw T’yl’s ghostly image look at something in his hand.
“Not yet,” he told me. “Soon, though. Can you see into the gate chamber?”
“Probably, but I can only focus on one thing at a time. If I pay attention there, I don’t think I’ll be able to talk to you here.”
“I see. That’s probably for the best, come to think of it. We do not want you noticed down there. Can you look elsewhere and tell how many people are still inside the central mountain?”
“Not exactly. Not many, though. I feel… mostly empty. I can tell there are a couple of people in the gate room and several more in the throne room… maybe a few hundred near the lower gates, still inside. That’s a guess, but I can feel them leaving. It’s like they’re draining out of me.”
“I had not thought anyone was to use the great hall as an exit,” he grumbled. “It is part of the palace area, not the public regions. Still, if that removes them more quickly, I suppose it is for the best.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you want the interior evacuated? I mean, okay, you lied to my worse half about it, but what’s the real point of emptying the place out?”
“We are not sure if your re-occupation is going to go smoothly,” T’yl admitted, “and Seldar is concerned about your blood-feasting passions. Worse, if Tort cannot hold him within the mirror long enough for you to reestablish control, he may re-take your body. Then everyone still inside the mountain might be prey. Tort also mentioned something about what you told me, about your unoccupied flesh being capable of action. Possibly rapid and lethal action.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “That’s a problem. I’ll have to be quick.”
“Please do.”
“When?”
“Not long. We have only to wait until Tort signals that the mirror has netted us our fish.”
“Okay. So, what else can you tell me while we wait?”
“I spend most of my days in the upper levels, here in the palace of the mountain. I try to stay in touch through the mirror, however. What is it you wish to know?”
“Just some general stuff, like what the Evil Lord of Nastiness has been up to. How bad is it?”
“Hmm,” T’yl hmmed, brow furrowing.
“The fact you have to think about it gives me hope,” I noted.
“Perhaps it should not,” he replied. “He is… he is known as the Demon King, for a start. Most of that comes from the way he ruthlessly conquered old Rethven. Since then, he has seemed content to amuse himself in other ways.”
“Such as?”
“He enjoys his women,” T’yl told me. I already suspected, but now I knew. “He also enjoys any women who catch his eye. I understand Torvil and Kammen have taken to procuring playmates for him, rather than allowing his whim to govern.”
“I’m not happy about that.”
“They minimize the impact of the Demon King in that regard.”
“That’s not what I’m unhappy about. But go on.”
“He occasionally selects his dinner from those who displease him—and it is all too easy to displease him. Unlike yourself, he seems to enjoy lingering over his evening meals.”
“I think I’ll let my imagination take over. No descriptions, please.”
“As you wish. Do not be surprised at anything you find in his—now your—private dungeons, however.”
“I’ll keep it in mind. What about Lissette? Is she still Queen?”
“Oh, yes. She is, indeed. The Demon King did not care for the day-to-day troubles of ruling, so he appointed Kelvin to deal with most of it. Lissette assisted him, since this was still during the war of unification. When Kelvin fell at the Darkwood, Lissette continued to govern. I suspect she was trying to be seen as valuable. While you cared about her as a person, the Demon King only cared about his conquest and kingship.”
“Kelvin’s dead?” I asked. The idea of it felt like a blow.
“Yes. He led the attack on Prince Tannos’ personal guard.”
“What happened?”
“What else? Prince Tannos hired a magician—Korrick, I believe. Korrick broke the spells on the knights charging his patron and the battle was less one-sided than usual. I suspect Korrick continued to work on Prince Tannos’ behalf. A number of blows that should not have rent the armor of your knights seemed strangely efficacious. One of these found Kelvin. It cut through where his right shoulder met the neck. He died quickly.”
I didn’t have anything to say. You’d think I’d get used to people dying unpredictably. Or, people rather predictably dying. But Kelvin? Kelvin seemed like he would be there forever.
With a sharp, sudden pang, I realized I was going to miss him.
T’yl was still talking, going on about Lissette and other ladies the Demon King had, well, had.
“Hold on a second,” I interrupted. “Is Lissette still running the place? I know most people think poorly of women in authority.”
“And quite rightly,” T’yl agreed. “Weak, vaporish creatures for the most part. Your Lissette does not seem too bad, though, as she listens to her advisors—mostly Thomen, but Malana and Malena, as well, with some others I doubt you know. And after what happened to the entire family of Prince Thelos, no one wishes to disobey her and risk the king’s wrath. He rather enjoys a bit of rebellion from the noble families, I think. It gives him an excuse to do even more terrible things.”
I decided I didn’t want to know what happened to Prince Thelos’ family.
“Fair enough. What else can you tell me?”
“Oh! You’re a father. Liam is your eldest son and is a fine boy.”
“Eldest?” I echoed. I’m a mountain full of caves. I can do that.
“By Lissette, you have four children with a fifth one due soon.”
“Hold it. By Lissette? How many kids do I have? That is, how many children has my body helped to generate?”
T’yl frowned, thinking. It must have been a heck of a frown; I saw it clearly. It colored and shaped his whole being.
“I’m not sure I know,” he admitted. “In addition to Lissette’s children, I know for certain you sired the twins by Malana and the twins by Malena.” He started counting on his fingers. “Seretta has a daughter. Duke Banler’s second daughter, Rialla, has had two sons—she’s beautiful and seems to know how to please you. Him, I mean. Reena has two daughters and a son—another of your favorites. His favorites. Those I’m certain of. Then there are the various commoners who caught his eye or were summoned for a night of pleasure. I am not sure there is a count of those—I would have to consult with Torvil and Kammen. They did most of the procuring, at the King’s order.”
Animal passions may not necessarily be part of the darker nature of mankind, but the inability to control them certainly is.
“I get the impression he’s been busy.”
“One could say that,” T’yl allowed. “It’s one of the things that hasn’t sat well with the subjects, noble and common alike. Immortality or no, your face has been impressed into the very fabric of the world.”
“I imagine.” I was still trying to wrap my head around… what? Twenty-ish kids? Or more? If it was one every day for ten years, for example, that’s potentially over three thousand kids! Talk about your deadbeat dads… If my darker nature wasn’t going to tolerate abstinence, hopefully it at least indulged in a little contraception! It’s not like I don’t have spells and powers easily capable of that!
I’m a father. Sort of. Again. Multiple times. I’m the genetic contributor for a least a couple dozen kids, maybe a couple thousand. It’s like donating at a sperm bank and finding out they made a clerical error and gave your samples to everybody.
I’m really not sure how to feel about that. I know I’m not happy about the royal authority being corrupted into a license to turn the kingdom in the royal harem. Can I fix that? Is there anything that can fix that? I doubt it. I’m not even sure there’s a way to make adequate reparations and apologies.<
br />
So I segued into another subject. I’m good at distracting myself, rationalizing, and outright denial. I practice. Probably more than I should.
“Speaking of my children, how is Amber?”
“Still burning brightly,” T’yl assured me. “She speaks for the Mother of Flame in the Temple of Mochara. So far, your other self has found excuses not to build any temples for her elsewhere.”
“I can’t imagine why,” I replied, heavy on the sarcasm.
“I think it’s because the Mother doesn’t like him.”
“That’s fair. She doesn’t much care for me, either.”
T’yl radiated an aura of shock and surprise.
“What?” I asked. “You don’t think so?”
“Is that what you really think, or am I failing to interpret your sarcasm?”
“Of course I think that. I’m really good at sarcasm,” I replied. “I tried to pressure her into answering questions about my son’s sacrifice and she tried to incinerate me. I responded by trying to eat her and almost succeeded.”
“She loves you,” he said. “Or so I am told.”
I responded with one word that strongly implied disbelief. T’yl took his hand from the wall and faded somewhat from my perception.
“What?” I asked. He either didn’t hear me or ignored me. Instead, he performed some sort of spell; I wasn’t exactly in the best position to watch the details. The next thing I knew, a light appeared in the middle of what was recently my containment diagram and a fiery presence lived within it.
“Father?” I heard.
“Amber?”
“It is you!”
“Well, of course. A trifle petrified, perhaps, but present.” It was a little eerie, talking to a living flame. It reminded me far too much of talking with an incendiary goddess-thing. I didn’t like it. I couldn’t even tell if the form of living flame was a raw blaze of elemental power or if it still had a well-defined human shape. My current sensory apparatus, whatever that might be, was less than perfect with material reality. Worse, I couldn’t tell if T’yl had summoned up my daughter like summoning up a spirit, or if he had called for her and she chose to come. Either way, at least she wasn’t upset about it.
“T’yl tells me you still have some questions about Beryl’s death,” Amber went on, “and about the time you bit the Mother of Flame. He also says that time is running short.”
“Well, I don’t know that I have questions, exactly,” I admitted. “I mentioned those two topics and he immediately called you up. I’m not sure why.”
T’yl came back into relative focus again for a moment.
“Please tell her what you told me,” he suggested, then faded again. He also left the room in what I thought might be considered unseemly haste.
“Uh? Okay… All I said was, um… I think I mentioned Sparky doesn’t like me much after I pressured her to tell me about Beryl. Um. What else? Oh, and because I almost ate her when she tried to incinerate me. I think that’s it. I can think of other reasons, but none I mentioned. I’d ask T’yl what he wants me to repeat…”
Amber was silent for several seconds.
“Dad?”
“Wh—yes?” I asked, taken aback. I’m not used to being called “Dad.” I suppose I should get ready for it, though.
“Mother loves you, despite your pique at Her.”
“She has a damned funny way of showing it!” I seethed. My tone might have been a trifle more angry than I intended.
“She did not destroy you when you pressed Her on the subject of my brother,” Amber pointed out.
“She couldn’t,” I snapped, “but she tried. I chewed my way up into her spirit enough that she didn’t have the strength. Was that first attempt at incineration just her temper? Did she love me enough to not sacrifice my only son? Did she feel like a snack? Or was she afraid of a boy born of a fire-witch and a nightlord?”
“I don’t think you understand what really happened.”
“Oh, this should be good. What possible circumstances could justify what she’s done? Never mind that she used me to get the children she wanted. Never mind that she cursed a whole city for daring to presume to have freedom of religion. She demanded your mother sacrifice your infant brother in the fire! What ‘circumstances’ did you have in mind?”
“Beryl was the only son of the greatest of the nightlords and the last fire-witch. He was the only one with the capacity to hold a dark spirit born of that nightlord and the Devourer.”
“A great potential is a burden, not a reason to—hold it. He could have been a host to that thing?”
“More than that. He was host to that thing.”
That stopped me.
“You’re saying,” I said, slowly, “that the dark thing that’s been occupying my body for the last…”
“Nine years.”
Not six years, then. Nine. Still, not as bad as eighty-seven.
“…the last nine years once tried to possess my son?”
“Not tried. It succeeded. The Mother ordered Tamara to hurl Beryl into the fire.” Amber seemed more than a little distraught. “Please understand, Father. His yellow hair was not the red of a fire-witch—”
I felt a twanging sensation from somewhere below, followed by a sudden psychic contact.
Boss!
“Firebrand?”
The one and only. Get down here!
I refocused my attention from a disturbing and unpleasant conversation to a disturbing and unpleasant scene. The gate room was much as I remembered it: A large, circular room with a dome ceiling, a free-standing archway to one side, and a round pool raised up in the center of the floor. Standing against the wall opposite the archway was a large, magical mirror. Spaced along the far arc of the room, between archway and mirror, were the quasi-entombed prisoners. I didn’t recognize any of the faces sticking out of the wall; none of them were elves. Someone had either executed or released my original prisoners. On the other hand, they added new ones, bringing the total to twenty-six.
The only other thing I could sense in the room was Firebrand. It was still on the hip of my body. And, yes, my body was still standing there, apparently looking around as though wondering what to do. It didn’t show up well on whatever senses a living rock has, probably because it was a soulless corpse. An animated one, yes, but empty.
Ready?
“No.” I turned my attention to Amber. “This conversation isn’t over.”
“I imagine not,” she agreed. “I will be here when you return.”
I focused on Firebrand again.
“Let’s do this.”
Here we go!
I felt Firebrand’s contact with me deepen. It pulled; I did my best to go with that pull, to allow it to drag me out of the stone. The stone seemed to cling to me ever so slightly, as if it wanted me to stay. This was little more than a faint sensation of resistance. Strand by strand, Firebrand helped me sever my connection with the stone. I reached down the channel of Firebrand’s psychic guidance and latched on to the mounting points within my flesh. Together, we disconnected the thing I call my self and reconnected it to its fleshy casing.
I moved rapidly out of one body, rang through steel and fire, and plunged into the yawning abyss of my undead flesh.
I pushed myself up off my face. There were a dozen lamps around the room, spreading illumination everywhere. I checked my teeth; yes, all slightly pointy and a couple exceptionally so. My fingernails were also slightly pointy and more than a little sharp, both in the point and the edge—they seemed to grow that way. I wasn’t completely sure if that was natural or not. Well, normal or not. Okay, maybe expected or not…
Boss?
“Yeah. I think so.”
Welcome back.
“Am I?”
Yep. You’re you.
“How can you tell?”
The other guy never doubted himself. At least, not out loud. Or not to me. You know what I mean.
“I guess.”
I got t
o my feet with no trouble. I wasn’t wearing armor, but layer upon layer of clothes, mostly in black and red, with some traces of purple. All of it was silky, and the outer garments done up in gold wire and gems. I could have blended in well in some of the fancier Renaissance courts. Quite the dapper fellow, this dark spirit of mine. Several rings, the two plain ones being magical and the others jeweled, and an enchanted amulet of some sort rounded out the ensemble. I could also feel the enchantment on an undergarment, but I didn’t take time to check my underwear.
Movement in the mirror caught my eye. I glanced to where the source of the reflection would have to be, but there was nothing. I was alone in the room.
I examined the mirror more closely. It was a slab of glass about an inch thick, maybe seven feet tall and three wide, polished to perfection. It was backed with a layer of brilliant silver.
Tort and a Thing were struggling inside it. I could see it as though watching through a window, but with no trace of sound. It was a hell of a fight. My double was trying to approach the mirror from the other side, presumably to get out, but Tort was in the way and seemed intent on staying there.
When a professional magician decides to block your way, it’s a serious obstacle. Tort is an extremely serious magician.
I went right up to the mirror and laid a hand on it. It was warm to the touch. I didn’t have a reflection of my own; it really was like looking in through a window. The Thing—my Evil Twin—saw me. His eyes widened and I saw him scream. When he charged, Tort handed him some sort of lance through the torso. It looked like fire and lightning hammered into a bar of destruction. It went through his body and threw him back, pinning him to the far wall. It remained there for several seconds, trailing long streamers of yellow and blue around him, cagelike. Tort never bothered to turn around; she stayed focused.
Okay, Boss. Now you have to activate the spells on the mirror.
“Why? What do they do?”
I dunno; I’m just the messenger.
I examined the mirror with my magical vision and found the spells. They were incredibly complicated and intricate; it would take hours to trace all their pathways and figure out how they worked. On the other hand, it was easy to see how to activate them. It was the equivalent of a few hundred miles of circuitry with a big “ON” button.
