Dark Immolation

by Christopher Husberg

  Kali stepped over the dying Ceno woman and peeked out the door. Making it out of the Void was one thing; making it out of whatever situation she was in now was another task entirely. Winter was in the next room, as were two Reapers and two women Kali didn’t recognize. The man who stood in the center of the group wore a golden circlet on his head.

  Bloody Oblivion. Kali had made her way out of the Void, and into the emperor’s chambers.

  * * *

  When the Reapers brought Daval’s daughter into the room, he felt something he had not felt in a very long time. It was a hearkening back to something forgotten; to a time when he’d bounced her on his knee as she giggled uncontrollably. He realized that such times were gone, never to be experienced again.

  “Father, why have you told them to bring me to you? I don’t understand.”

  “We have had to keep a close eye on you, my dear. After the tragic death of your husband, we don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  Take care of this quickly.

  Daval took a deep breath. He loved his daughter. He loved her, and that meant he had to be willing to destroy her. Daval put on a smile, but before he could speak, Cova did.

  “You had him killed, didn’t you?”

  The smile faded from Daval’s lips. So it had come to this. She would give him no choice.

  “He was plotting against me. Surely you can see I had no other option.”

  “I was keeping him in check, Father. I wouldn’t have let him do anything that threatened the empire.”

  “He stood in your way.”

  “You mean he stood in yours.”

  Daval pressed his lips tightly together. How could it be that one of the things he loved most about Cova was her ability to try his patience? “Your way, my way, it doesn’t matter. He was an obstacle.”

  “He was my husband.”

  Daval shook his head. His daughter’s feelings for Girgan Mandiat had developed more quickly than he’d realized. The pair had matched a little too well. And now he had this mess to clean up. “I did what I did for the good of Roden,” he said. If she would not see reason, he would have to do something about it.

  “You may think that,” Cova said. Her eyes bored into his, red-rimmed and dry. “But so did he. What gives you the right to think you matter more than he does?”

  “I am the emperor. I matter more than everyone.”

  The girl, the Fear Lord’s voice boomed in Daval’s mind. Stop her.

  Daval’s gaze shifted to Winter, whose eyes were blank, staring off into space.

  And then he felt it. His block was gone.

  Raya? Torun? Daval asked, reaching out to the two Ceno monks in his armory, managing Winter’s auxiliary blocks. Are your telenic blocks in place, still?

  There was no response.

  Daval looked back at Winter, a tremor echoing down his spine.

  The tiellan smiled.

  * * *

  Winter smiled.

  Her telenic tendra issued forth. The feeling liberated and invigorated her all at once. This time, someone else wasn’t allowing her to use her power. This time, she was using it herself. This was what faltira was all about. The high was one thing, the burning blood and icy skin. But what did that matter in the face of real power?

  “Urstadt,” Daval said, his eyes widening, “stop her!”

  Urstadt moved towards Winter, but she sent three tendra towards the woman, holding her by her armor, holding the short sword she attempted to draw from its sheath. Urstadt looked up at Winter with a frustrated scowl. And yet something was wrong. Urstadt was managing to push forward, straining against Winter’s tendra. The woman’s sword was halfway drawn.

  Winter sensed movement behind her, and reached for Urstadt’s glaive, left leaning against a wall. With one of her tendra, she rammed the glaive behind her, impaling one of the guards. The Reaper fell to the ground with a crash. Two more tendra picked up the woman’s sword and shield.

  Urstadt was much closer. In a panic, Winter pushed Urstadt back with more tendra, slamming the woman against the far wall and keeping her pinned there. The door to the emperor’s chambers slammed open, and more Reapers poured in. Winter readied her weapons and prepared to meet them.

  * * *

  Cova had seen the tiellan woman kill Hirman Luce, watched the life drain from him. Cova never wanted to see such a thing again. What she hadn’t realized at the time was that Luce’s blood was as much on her father’s hands as on Winter’s, if not more so.

  But that did not make what she saw now any easier. And there, standing calmly in the middle of it all, was Cova’s father, staring intently at Winter as she defended herself from the Reapers flooding into the room.

  Or the man who claimed to be her father. As far as Cova was concerned, her father had died long ago. This man was a murderer. He needed to be put down.

  As quietly as she could, Cova moved to the edge of the room, trying to skirt around her father’s vision. The guards had not bothered to search her for weapons. As always, she carried a small knife in a hidden pocket sewn into her dress. Cova reached for the blade and steeled herself for what she was about to do. This man had killed her husband, after all. This man might’ve killed the previous emperor, and the previous Tokal-Ceno, all “for the good of Roden.” Cova did not care what he thought was for the good of Roden. If she knew anything, it was that her father was no longer fit to lead.

  She crept along the wall until she stood behind him. Cova felt a brief stab of shame for such a cowardly attack, but it was quickly replaced with a wave of determination and a spreading wildfire of anger. This man deserved to die. With all of her strength, she rammed the dagger into his back.

  He stumbled, but remained standing.

  Cova blinked. Pain vibrated through her hands—it had been like stabbing a dagger into a steel plate. She saw the dagger had only sunk one or two fingers into her father’s back. The blade had hardly penetrated. Slowly, Daval turned, his eyes locking on Cova.

  “What are you?” Cova asked, taking a step back.

  Daval’s mouth moved in response, but the voice was not his. It was low, deep and rumbling, like the rush of an inferno.

  I am fear.

  Then Cova’s father raised his hands, and all was blackness.

  * * *

  The moment Winter heard the crack of thunder, the moment the dark mist exploded into the room, she found herself back under the dome. A monster, larger than anything she could fathom, stood above her, its massive jaws rushing down to engulf her.

  But in a flash the monsters were gone, and Winter was alone in darkness. But it was not the Void.

  It was a place of terror.

  Slowly, the blackness lifted and Winter found herself in the throne hall, intact once more. She saw the throne, the gilded steps upon which Lian was killed. She saw the great columns, unbroken by her psimancy. At the base of the throne, a form took shape. A tall, dark figure cloaked in black. The hood was drawn up, creating deep shadow where the man’s face would be. The robe fell in folds that cascaded outward, blending with coiling, writhing black mist.

  An image flashed in Winter’s mind, the black skull engulfed in blacker flame.

  “You have surprised me. I should have told Daval not to kill his daughter’s husband so quickly. It is my fault this has happened.”

  The Voice boomed, deep and rumbling, crackling like fire. Winter couldn’t speak. Her whole body was frozen in fear.

  “In my pride, I thought our plans would come to fruition before the full effect of Girgan’s death took place. I was wrong.”

  Slowly, Winter looked around. The tall figure was motionless. The black mist, other than the small wisps around the man’s cloak, was nowhere to be seen.

  “You search for your mother,” the Voice said. “You fear you will see her again.”

  “I always see her, when you bring me here,” Winter whispered, finally finding her voice.

  “You will not see her this time, child. I have shown
you many of your fears already. It is not necessary to show them to you again. Not yet.”

  Winter wanted to ask what the figure was, but she couldn’t.

  “I am sorry about those close to you. Their deaths were necessary to bring you here. You are an essential component of the coming war. You will do great and terrible things, Winter. I have shown Daval a version of the future. Allow me to show it to you.”

  Winter’s mind opened.

  Knot and Astrid, Cinzia and Jane, facing a great mass of a beast—a Daemon—slithering towards them. Then Winter’s vision shifted, and the Daemon changed into something elongated, feathered, taking flight. She saw Knot’s mouth open wide. He is dead, Winter thought. This vision is a trick.

  The colors of her friends swirled together, and then expanded again together in a different way, showing her a scene of war and destruction. Two armies clashed, an outcropping of great stones in their midst. Not any stones, Winter realized. Rihnemin, the ancient standing stones of her people. Just as one army seemed on the verge of victory, hundreds of tiny runes, previously invisible, began to appear on one of the rihnemin, each one glowing a bright blue.

  The colors expanded and retracted once more, and Winter saw a great stone giant fall to his knees, crushing a bed of beautiful flowers beneath him. The giant crumbled and fell apart, and each stone fragment became a small feminine figurine, each one attending to a flower. Some were restored, others turned black and withered into nothing.

  Then the first rays of dawn reached up over the horizon. Hundreds of daemons raced towards a great city, a city larger than any Winter could imagine. Between the daemons and the city, a pillar of light appeared. Each daemon the pillar touched burst into flame. As the sun rose the pillar of light became a pillar of fire, and then it exploded in a great ring of white flame.

  Winter saw a ship just before dawn, searching for its final harbor. She saw her father touching her mother’s swollen belly, and they smiled at one another. She saw Urstadt, without armor, holding hands with a young woman with a broken crown on her head. Urstadt leant down, but before they kissed, Winter was in her home in Pranna, moonlight streaming in through a window. A child slept soundly in a crib, moonlight streaking the baby’s face.

  Expand and retract, over, and over, and over, and over…

  * * *

  Daval shook his head, looking down at his daughter in pity. Everyone in the room—Winter, Urstadt, the Reapers, Cova—was silent, gaping, experiencing true terror in the face of the Fear Lord. Daval himself had experienced it many times—it hardly affected him anymore.

  Cova’s eyes were wide in frozen agony. She used to come to me when she had nightmares, Daval thought. After her mother passed away. Daval knelt down, cradling his daughter’s head in his lap. He rolled his shoulders, and the knife Cova had embedded in his back clattered to the floor.

  “It will be all right, my sweet girl. The nightmare will end soon.” Daval reached for the knife.

  “Sir.”

  Daval looked up in surprise. Who else could be conscious but him? Who else could withstand the Fear Lord?

  Urstadt stood, looking down at him. She’d retrieved her glaive, holding it firmly in one hand.

  “Urstadt,” Daval said, his mind racing. He could not comprehend how his guard captain was able to speak to him. But never mind that. Now was his chance to take care of the final threats to his power.

  “Urstadt, take care of Winter,” he said. “I’m afraid she will have to return to her cell in the dungeon, under close watch.”

  “What about your daughter, sir?”

  “I will do what I have to,” Daval whispered, raising the knife. “Sir?”

  Daval grunted in frustration. He turned to look at Urstadt. “What part of my orders do you—”

  The blow came fast and hard. Even with his enhanced strength, his hardened skin, it hurt. Urstadt hit him again and he fell to the ground, dropping the knife. He felt a sharp kick to his ribs. “Urstadt,” he growled. He crawled onto his hands and knees in time to see another kick aimed at him. Daval caught it with his bare hands and twisted, throwing Urstadt to the floor.

  “You think you love me enough to destroy me?” Daval had been imbued with strength by the Fear Lord. None would stand against him. “I’m flattered, Urstadt,” Daval said, smiling. “And I love you, too.”

  Then he charged.

  * * *

  Cova climbed to her feet in time to see her father, screaming like an animal, barrel straight into Urstadt. He hit her with such force that the stone wall cracked behind them, and Urstadt cried out in pain.

  “Goddess,” Cova whispered. “What are you?”

  Cova had seen Urstadt fight on the training ground, seen her take on the most skilled fighters in the empire and defeat them all. She had fought groups of men, sometimes a dozen at a time, hardly receiving a scratch. Daval, she assumed, had been a decent fighter in his prime, but he was old. And yet for every move Urstadt made, Daval moved quicker. He deflected every strike from Urstadt’s glaive with his bare hands—and put her on the defensive.

  Cova knew her father had changed. She had no idea how much.

  In moments, Daval disarmed Urstadt, tossed the glaive aside, and lifted Urstadt, her rose-gold armor gleaming, above his head. With a roar he threw her into the mantel above the fireplace. Urstadt fell to the ground with a crash, and did not get up.

  Daval turned to Cova, eyes blazing. “I have had enough betrayal for one day,” he growled. He started moving towards her, picking up speed. Then something too fast to identify slammed into him, nearly lifting him off his feet. Daval looked around, bellowing, and was hit by something else—a large chunk of stone that had crumbled from the wall. Then Urstadt’s sword flew at him, glancing across his skin with the sound of metal on stone.

  Cova glanced around wildly, and saw Winter slowly rising to her feet, the woman’s eyes trained on Daval.

  “I won’t be your prisoner anymore,” Winter said evenly.

  The emperor’s desk, a huge antique thing of solid oak, flew across the room and smashed into Daval, splintering into a hundred pieces. Daval stumbled, falling to his knees. Two more blocks of stone flew through the air and smashed into one another, Daval’s head between them. He wavered, then fell to the floor. The stones came down again and again on Daval’s skull, until they crumbled to dust.

  Daval lay still, not moving.

  “One more thing,” Winter said, Urstadt’s glaive zipping across the room into her open palm. She walked over to the emperor. “I don’t love you, you bastard,” she said, raising the sword high, “and I never will.”

  She brought the glaive down with a scream and enough force to pierce straight through Daval’s hardened skin.

  * * *

  When Urstadt stumbled to her feet, Winter was immediately on her guard. But the rose-gold-clad warrior raised her arms. “Our fight is not with each other,” Urstadt rasped. Winter noticed the woman’s eyes were wet. Around them, Reapers were slowly rising to their feet.

  “We may have to fight our way out,” Urstadt muttered. She wrenched her glaive from Daval’s body. “Prepare yourself, girl.”

  Winter reached into the pouch at her side. The frost she’d taken before entering the emperor’s chambers was beginning to wear off; she would need more if she wanted to be of any use against the Reapers.

  The soldiers looked at Daval’s body on the floor, and then at Winter and Urstadt. “The emperor is dead,” one of them muttered.

  “The emperor is dead!” another shouted.

  “Vengeance!”

  The Reapers rushed towards them.

  “Stop.” Cova Amok stood by the corpse of her father. In her hands was the emperor’s circlet. She raised it up, setting it on her own head. “Stop,” she repeated. “Your empress commands it.”

  Winter looked back at the Reapers. A few of them looked confused, a few looked angry. But then one of them knelt. It did not take long for the others to follow.

  Winter l
ooked at Urstadt, a smile on her face. “Looks like we won’t have to fight our way out after all.”

  48

  Harmoth estate

  THERE WERE TWENTY-SEVEN FRESH graves in the Harmoth cemetery. Each grave belonged to someone who had been killed in the Kamite attack.

  The day was cloudy, with a light drizzle. Jane, Cinzia, Elessa, and Ocrestia stood at the south end of the cemetery after the funeral services, as the remaining followers paid their respects. Despite those lost in the attack and the group that had fled with the Beldam, the line of Odenites extended around the house and through the north side of the grounds. Hundreds of people had come to lay flowers and say prayers. Humans and tiellans alike mourned for friends and loved ones.

  But Cinzia felt immense gratitude. The number of graves could have been triple this number if Jane, Elessa, and Ocrestia had not healed so many. There would be one more body in the family mausoleum, too, if Cinzia had not healed Ehram. While the twenty-seven lost lives were a tragedy, Cinzia thanked Canta that that number had not been higher.

  Cinzia turned to Jane. Something had been on her mind since the Kamite attack. “We still have not found out whether a Daemon’s influence was responsible for all of this.”

  “No,” Jane said, “we have not.”

  Ocrestia sniffed. “I still ain’t convinced there ever was one in the first place. People don’t need the influence of a Daemon to commit evil acts.”

  “That may be true,” Jane said, “but that does not change the fact that the Nine Daemons are rising. We will surely face one eventually. We need to be prepared.”

  “Has anyone considered that if a Daemon has inhabited anyone around here,” Elessa said, “it might be the Beldam?”

  Cinzia thought for a moment. “It is odd that an ex-high priestess knows so much about the Nine Daemons.”

  “And how many followers did she lead away?” Elessa asked, looking at Jane.

  “More than two hundred people, if Arven’s census is accurate,” Jane said.