Dark Immolation

by Christopher Husberg

  Girgan sighed. “You realize you’re advocating war?”

  “A war with Khale. The nation that has robbed us blind and pounded us into the dirt for centuries.”

  “I hate to remind you, but own actions were not quite spotless.”

  “Only in response to Khale,” Cova said, even though she knew it was a rote response.

  “Of course that’s what you’ve been taught; you’re a member of Roden’s high nobility; Roden’s reputation and yours are the same. I’m just saying there are other ways of looking at things.”

  “And this is what they teach you at the Citadel, I take it? They teach you indifference to country and emperor?”

  Girgan shrugged. “I’m not indifferent to Roden. I love this place. But I don’t mind questioning how we do some things.”

  “They teach you to question your own nation’s history?”

  “Is there harm in acknowledging Roden’s flaws as well as its strengths?”

  Cova had to admit, she did not think there was harm in such a thing. But she did not like how Girgan acted about it.

  “So what would you suggest as a course of action?”

  “Certainly not war with Khale,” Girgan said quickly. “We may have had a few good years recently, mainly thanks to Andrinar and the Island Coalition, but that does not mean our resources match that of Triah, let alone the whole of Khale.”

  “Our resources don’t have to match theirs; we only have to defeat them in battle.”

  “Do you really think we can do that? Does our army compare to Khale’s in size or training? Do we have a general that can compare to Riccan Carrieri?”

  “With Andrinar’s legions, our army technically outnumbers theirs,” Cova said. “Roden’s standing army can field twenty thousand troops; Andrinar could contribute more than double that number. That isn’t even counting our militias. Khale’s standing army consisted of thirty or forty thousand at most.”

  “And if Khale calls in their militias? What then?”

  “We have a more powerful navy,” Cova said.

  “That’s true. But our navy will only get us so far.”

  “We focus on Triah itself. We lay siege to the Circle City, forget the rest of Khale. We surround it with our armies, and besiege it with our navy. If we can choke Triah, the rest of the nation will kneel.”

  Girgan nodded. “A direct assault on Triah is perhaps the only strategy that would work.”

  “You think that would work?” Cova asked, surprised. Whose side is he on, anyway?

  “I think it is the most appropriate strategy. But just because a strategy is the most likely to work does not mean it will.”

  “So you still think the idea is folly?”

  “I think there are much better things we can do with our time and resources.”

  “Such as?”

  “Forget about the empire. We could build up our own nation. Do we want to follow a false hope, for Roden’s temporary glory, only to be destroyed? Or do we want to set up a lasting legacy that wouldn’t fade with time?”

  Cova shook her head. “We can’t just forget about the empire. Even if we could… how can we have a lasting legacy without it?”

  Girgan said nothing, instead staring off across the room.

  “Girgan?”

  He shook his head and his eyes refocused. He cleared his throat. “There are ways,” was all he said. “I believe there are ways.”

  “That don’t involve conquering Khale?”

  “I believe so.”

  “I’m open to hearing them.”

  There was another pause. “I… I don’t know,” Girgan finally said. “I need to make sure I’m right about them. But I will tell you when I am, I promise.”

  Cova had not expected Girgan to be such a dreamer. That was fine, but there were things she could do now. That was all that mattered.

  “You’re still going to make the proposal, aren’t you?”

  Cova shrugged. “Better that someone actually presents an achievable plan than the Council arguing over a worse one.”

  “But what do you expect to accomplish from all of this?” Girgan asked. “Conquering Khale… think of the logistics. Khale is at least ten times larger than Roden; just the sheer landmass would be completely unmanageable.”

  “We don’t have to conquer them,” Cova said. “Not like that, anyway. We only have to earn back our respect.”

  Girgan nodded, but didn’t say anything. Cova wondered if she had struck a chord with him; perhaps he had experienced problems at the Citadel because of his Rodenese heritage.

  Girgan sat on the edge of the bed and placed his hand on hers. “You don’t even know the Council will accept your proposal. Even if it is achievable.”

  “That’s how it’s always been. I can’t do anything about what they do and don’t accept, only the emperor can override the Council’s decisions.”

  “Or the empress,” Girgan said.

  Cova laughed half-heartedly. “Who knows how long that will take? My father seemed old a year ago, but apparently he’s found his youth again. He’s more spry than I remember him being in years. He won’t be leaving the throne anytime soon.”

  And why should she want him to? He might seem different, but he was still her father.

  “Is that for the good of Roden, though?”

  Cova looked at Girgan sharply. “What are you talking about?”

  Girgan raised his hands defensively. “You’ve told me he seems different to you, lately. Since he became the Tokal-Ceno.”

  “I’m sure you changed quite a bit during your time at the Citadel.”

  “I did,” Girgan said. “But changes that occur in people in power must be monitored carefully. You’ve heard the rumors about what happened at the succession. You’ve heard what people are saying.”

  Of course she’d heard the rumors. People said her father used some kind of dark magic to convince the other lords to vote him in as emperor. Cova did not know if she believed it. She had never heard her father mention dark magic, let alone seen him use it.

  And yet, he had been acting differently. How could she explain that?

  “Between those and the rumors surrounding the destruction of the imperial dome, it certainly seems to me—”

  Cova held up a hand. “Wait. What rumors?” She hadn’t heard anything about the dome.

  Girgan hesitated. “I… I assumed you’d heard. They involved the tiellan woman.”

  “Winter?”

  “And about the Ceno order and what really happened under the dome. Some claim that there weren’t just human bodies in the rubble.”

  Cova narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “People claim there were monsters buried in the rubble, along with the emperor and the old Tokal and dozens of Reapers.”

  “Monsters? Girgan, what are you talking about?”

  Girgan stood, and began pacing the room. “I don’t know. It could mean anything. They could be completely made up, or someone could be exaggerating whatever it was they found. Burned corpses, stone figures in the rubble. But they could be something else entirely. There’s a reason Roden outlawed the Scorned Gods all those years ago, you know. It wasn’t just the Denomination’s influence. People did not like what the Ceno order was producing.”

  “That was then,” Cova said. “Things are different now.”

  Girgan sighed. “You’ve said yourself that he is no longer the man you knew. Can you really trust him?”

  “He’s my father,” was all Cova could say. She knew she wasn’t answering his question, and the fact that she couldn’t bothered her.

  “What about the woman he brought to the meeting today? The tiellan, the Khalic woman? The tiellan who killed our previous emperor and the Tokal-Ceno.”

  Cova said nothing. Winter’s presence at the meeting had come as a surprise to everyone.

  “That woman is dangerous, Cova. Everyone knows it. Why would your father risk even trying to control such a creature?”


  Cova took a deep breath. “I… I don’t know. Perhaps he has a good reason. Perhaps she was a slave-warrior for Khale, perhaps Father has set her free…”

  “Your father is now emperor and Tokal-Ceno. This girl supposedly killed the previous occupants of both positions. And now, your father seems on rather good terms with her.”

  “My father did not orchestrate that,” Cova said quietly.

  “Do you know that? Can you say that with certainty?”

  Cova shook her head. But her doubt was there, and it had been there before Girgan had said anything about it.

  “I’m just saying that we should keep our options open. We have a duty to Roden.”

  “And I do fear that the power may be affecting him,” Cova said slowly. “Goddess, I can almost hear it working its way through him.”

  “You agree with me, then?”

  Cova thought long and hard before answering. “Absolutely not,” she said, finally. “My father has yet to do anything reprehensible, anything that would make me question his ability to lead.”

  “But you yourself have remarked on how different he is.”

  “Different does not mean dangerous.”

  “Cova, I’m not saying that he should be removed, necessarily, but—”

  “Then what are you saying?” Her husband was dancing around a line terribly close to treason.

  “I just… I just think we should be wary of him. Monitor him, even. The events of the past few months have been too conspicuous to ignore.”

  Cova sighed. “I could just talk with him, you know.”

  Girgan’s eyebrows knit together. “Are you mad? How would you have that conversation? ‘Excuse me, Father, I just wanted to ask whether you’re a madman that killed the previous emperor and Tokal-Ceno. And did you cover up the fact that there were horrifying monsters buried in the rubble of the Imperial Dome? Also, you’ve taken the tiellan woman responsible as your bodyguard. Care to elaborate on that decision?’”

  Cova hesitated, breathing deeply. It would do her no good to lose her calm. “You’re operating under the assumption that my father is unreasonable. He isn’t.”

  “Has your father told you why he wanted to be emperor in the first place?” Girgan asked.

  “I…” Her father had told her virtually nothing of his own motives. Cova had just assumed he wanted the throne. What High Lord in their right mind wouldn’t? “No,” she said.

  “My father told me something before he was killed, when he and your father were plotting to take the throne. And what little he did tell me… it was impossible, Cova. Somehow your father convinced mine to believe something impossible. And if he could convince my father, he can convince others.”

  “What exactly did he tell you?” Cova asked.

  Girgan looked away. “I can’t say.”

  Cova scowled. She stood, walking around the bed to face him. “What do you mean you can’t say?”

  “I… I swore to my father I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

  “Including your wife?”

  Girgan nodded, the movement almost imperceptible. “Including my wife.”

  Cova stepped forward and shoved Girgan, hard. He stumbled backwards. “Do not ever swear that again, Girgan. We must have no secrets between us.”

  “I… I’m sorry,” he said.

  Cova couldn’t tell whether he meant it or not. She’d caught the flash of anger on his face when she’d shoved him. She shouldn’t have done that. “I hear what you’re saying,” she said. And she did. Some of Girgan’s accusations were outrageous but… some had made her wonder. “But you have to promise me that you will not do anything without consulting me. Is that clear?”

  “Very well,” Girgan said. “But if it becomes clear that he is not fit to rule—”

  “Then we will do something about it,” Cova said. “You have my word.”

  32

  Cabral residence, Turandel

  “WELCOME BACK, MY DEAR. I hoped you would join us once again.”

  Cabral’s men opened the doors to his tower-house just as the morning light of dawn began leaking hues of blue and gray into the city.

  “I’m so pleased to see that you and Trave got along on this little excursion,” Cabral said.

  Astrid did not struggle against the vampires who held her. She did not stand a chance against them. She should have known he would attempt something like this; she had provided far too much entertainment for Cabral all those decades ago for him to let her go that easily. She needed to make sure he knew that keeping her around wouldn’t be so bloody easy.

  Astrid did not look at Trave. This was what she had expected of him. Whatever that shit was about being afraid of her or sorry for her was a ruse. She had known it all along.

  “I’ve had your old quarters cleared out for you,” Cabral continued as his men dragged Astrid inside the tower-house and along the corridors to the great hall.

  “Just go along with them,” Trave whispered in her ear.

  Astrid turned her head sharply.

  “For now,” he continued, and then took his place at Cabral’s side.

  What in the deepest expanse of Oblivion is going on here?

  “I thought I would ask you, my darling. Why don’t you join us? Why don’t you become one of us, as you were so long ago?”

  Cabral’s men set Astrid down in the middle of the great hall, while Cabral himself leaned back against the long dining table.

  “We have an opening or two,” Cabral said, spreading his hands wide. “I’m running rather short on experienced vampires.”

  Astrid stared at Cabral, but said nothing.

  “Of course, it is completely your choice,” Cabral said. “You can join us, work in harmony with Trave as you did last night—you two make such a good pair—or, you can… not. You can be our slave. You can exist to entertain us when we are at our worst. You know exactly what that is like, I’m afraid.” Cabral smiled, arms wide open.

  Astrid looked at Trave, who nodded almost imperceptibly. Astrid clenched her teeth. She’d be damned if she was going to fall for more of Trave’s shit.

  “I’d rather die.”

  Cabral frowned. “Oh, Astrid, no. Please don’t disappoint me so. We would genuinely love your company.”

  “I’d rather have my head stuffed up a horse’s ass.” Easy, Astrid thought. Don’t need to go too far. She half-feared Cabral would say something along the lines of “that can be arranged.”

  Cabral laughed. “Don’t tell me you’ve turned over a new leaf. You can’t really think you’re better than us? Didn’t you just spend half the night torturing someone?”

  Astrid looked down. Cabral was right. She had thought she was better than them. Her quest for redemption, her time spent with Knot, must have clouded her mind. She had been trying to put on a brave front, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized the full implications of what this would mean for her. She was stuck here for years, last time. Who knew how long it might take her to get out again. If she got out at all.

  Suddenly, joining up with Cabral’s crew did not seem like the worst idea.

  “I’m truly sorry to hear that,” Cabral said. “I wish we had your old rags to give you to wear, but I’m afraid we’ll just have to make do with what you’ve got. I’m sure those clothes will become rags in no time, my dear.”

  Fear gripped her. She was afraid of what they were going to do to her, now that she was back. She was afraid of Cabral.

  And, most of all, she was afraid of Trave.

  * * *

  Late that night, while Astrid rested in her “quarters”—what amounted to little more than a closet where she could barely lie down—she heard a sound outside.

  Astrid immediately sat up, the chains that held her bolted to the wall clanking.

  She had thought it miraculous how she had escaped her first day without a beating. But this sound did not bode well. During the time she spent in Cabral’s company thirty years ago, daytime beatings were always pre
ferable to nighttime visits.

  Astrid sat up, but her chains wouldn’t allow her to stand. She could only crouch, cowering in the corner of her cell, and wait to see who had come to call.

  Trave, his stubble and burned skin glowing in the red lights of his eyes and the green of Astrid’s, looked into her cell.

  It could not have been worse.

  Astrid was speechless as Trave approached her, unable to move at all or defend herself. She remembered this helplessness. Astrid cowered against the wall. She couldn’t do this again.

  To her surprise, Trave did not pull her to him, nor did he strike her. Instead, there was a soft clinking sound, and Astrid’s shackles fell from her wrists.

  Astrid stared at Trave. “What… what do you want from me? Does Cabral want to see me?”

  “No,” Trave rasped. “Come with me.”

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough.”

  Astrid was too stunned to argue.

  “You should have listened to me,” Trave whispered. “You should have accepted Cabral’s offer.”

  “Why?” Astrid asked. “You’d just end up breaking me anyway.”

  Trave said nothing to this. Instead, he pulled a lever near the wall, and there was a mechanical whirr. A gaping black doorway yawned open before them.

  “What is this?” Astrid asked. She had heard of hidden passages in Cabral’s tower-house, but had never actually seen one.

  “Just get in,” Trave said.

  Astrid was about to protest, but apparently Trave could tell. She felt his boot on her back as he kicked her into the darkness. She stumbled down three or four steps, but sprawled flat as the ground leveled off. Behind her, Trave entered the passageway, and closed the secret doorway behind him. Now, they were bathed in blackness, save for the dim glow of their eyes in the dark.

  “Get moving,” Trave said gruffly, but the way he shoved her was almost… gentle. Astrid obliged; whatever in Oblivion was going on, she knew one thing for certain: right now, it was only herself and Trave. She would take those odds any day or night against all the Fangs.