Under the Crimson Sun (the abyssal plague)

by Keith R. A. DeCandido

  And it was why she and Komir were stuck with Drahar’s assistant-a very efficient, very straightforward, very boring young woman named Cace-signing contracts that would grant Dalon Zavno and Wrena Zavno the right to administer the Pit of Black Death.

  They had spent hours going over the contracts, and Karalith’s eyes were starting to glaze over.

  However, when they were finished, Cace’s words prompted her to sit up and notice.

  “Now that the deal is in place, the king wishes to speak to you. You may dine at his table this evening.”

  “We’ll be honored,” Karalith said with a curtsey.

  For the first time since their return to the palace, Cace’s expression changed-to one of disdain as she looked at what Karalith and Komir were wearing. The linen had become rumpled and sweat stained and caked with sand despite all efforts to brush it off.

  “You are expected,” Cace said dryly, “to dress formally.”

  “Of course,” Karalith said with another curtsey, and then they departed Destiny’s Kingdom.

  They had just enough time to return to the carriage, find appropriate clothes to change into, make sure that Gan was okay-he’d bloodied his nose when he “passed out,” pointing out that he usually only fell down involuntarily and wasn’t used to doing it on purpose-and return to the palace, where a steward met them at the gate and escorted them to the dining room.

  That turned out to be the same room where the party was held the previous night. Karalith barely recognized it, as the paintings on the walls had all been changed, the long tables along the wall had been removed, and replaced by a large wooden table that sat at least twenty. The only reason she could tell it was the same were the lions engraved in the molding on the doors and windows.

  Karalith was long experienced at hiding her feelings-you didn’t last three seconds in the game if you didn’t-but she was hard-pressed not to gape at the table. Wood of that size was obscenely rare. That table was probably worth more than all the gems in the compound combined.

  “It’s good to be the king,” Komir muttered, and Karalith smiled.

  Several others were attending, many of them sirdars whom Karalith remembered from the party. A couple were dignitaries from other city-states. Unlike the party, where they were mostly relaxed and social, tonight they were all making the most inane small talk, using shorter sentences and ending conversations abruptly.

  Karalith understood the difference. At the party, people generally only spoke to the king if they wished to, or if he specifically wished to speak to you. But at an intimate dinner, you had to speak to him.

  That turned out to be less of a concern than expected, however, as the king didn’t actually arrive until the dessert course. Which resulted in even more awkward and stilted conversation, as no one knew exactly when Hamanu would show up.

  When he did arrive, he focused entirely on eating the cake his cooks had prepared. Karalith found the dessert to be dry and tasteless, but the king devoured it eagerly, getting crumbs in his beard as he did so.

  Dessert passed in uncomfortable silence, save for the sounds of chewing, then suddenly, Hamanu looked right at one of the sirdars, an older gentleman who served as the king’s minister of agriculture. “Lord Pammot, why are the orchards underproducing this year?”

  Pammot choked on his cake at the question. The sirdar next to him slapped his back a few times and he recovered. “No one can predict the vicissitudes of the soil, magnificence.”

  “Odd, isn’t it, how the ministers all take credit when something goes well, but when it goes poorly, it’s an unforeseen circumstance? When we had that bumper crop three years ago, Pammot, you were the first to crow about how well ‘your’ crops did. In fact, you parlayed that into a higher stipend for yourself, as I recall.”

  Already pale, the minister of agriculture was turning bone white. “Y-yes, magnificence, that’s true, but-”

  “So the reverse should be the case as well. Your stipend will return to what it was when you first started at this post.”

  Several emotions played across the sirdar’s face at once: relief that he wasn’t going to be physically punished for the poor yield, annoyance that his income was being reduced, and fear at letting that annoyance be seen by the king.

  That fear was justified. “Is there a problem with my decree, Lord Pammot?” the king asked in a quiet voice.

  “No.” Pammot all but barked. “Your decree is quite reasonable.”

  Hamanu smiled. “ ‘Reasonable’, eh? Yes, I can see how you would think that. But one of the advantages to absolute power is that I’m within my rights to be unreasonable-since I’m the one who grants rights. So perhaps I should do something less reasonable and more fun. Have you executed, perhaps?”

  At that, Pammot fainted dead away, falling forward into his cake. A second later, he coughed, having aspirated his dessert. Two stewards came by to help him up.

  “Bring him to the dungeons,” Hamanu said. “I’ll decide what to do with him later.”

  Karalith and Komir exchanged glances. They were going to have to play the game very carefully.

  “Wrena, Dalon, would you like to accompany me on a walk through the palace? I’m sure you didn’t get to see all of it during your other trips.”

  Komir cleared his throat. “Only this room and the chamberlain’s office, sir.”

  “Excellent. Once the meal has ended, you will both join me.”

  “We would be honored,” Karalith said.

  “Yes, you would be.” Hamanu smiled.

  When the stewards cleared the dessert plates and Hamanu stood, the rest of the dinner party couldn’t get out of the room fast enough. Karalith had to admit to finding it very amusing.

  They followed behind the king as he left the dining area. He took them through several dank corridors, then down a spiral staircase, eventually winding up in the dungeon area.

  “Do you like Destiny’s Kingdom?”

  Komir and Karalith exchanged glances, not sure who the question was aimed at. Karalith nodded to him, indicating that he should speak-when in doubt, the male was probably the one being addressed, especially by someone as old as Hamanu.

  “It’s quite impressive,” Komir said blandly.

  “Of course it is,” Hamanu snapped. “It’s a palace. I sometimes wonder if I should remodel it.” He shook his head. “Never mind. I understand that you’ve agreed to administer the arena. How soon can bouts recommence?”

  “I’m afraid it’s impossible to determine that as yet, sir,” Komir said. Karalith shot him a look and he just blinked at her.

  So she stayed quiet and trusted him.

  “We’ve conducted a full inspection of the amphitheater, and it’s quite subpar.”

  That, of course, was a lie-though among them, Zabaj, Feena, Tricht’tha, and Gan were able to provide vivid descriptions.

  “I believe that the previous owners were increasing their profit margin by not maintaining the facility’s infrastructure. The equipment has been poorly maintained, the floors are not adequately cleaned-there are bloodstains all over the floors, some of which I suspect date back to the earliest days of your reign, sir.”

  Hamanu stopped walking. “This sounds like a very clever way to not answer my question.”

  “With respect, sir,” Karalith said, “he did answer the question. His answer was simply ‘I do not know.’ ”

  The king stared at Karalith with an expression that she could not read, then he continued to walk down the staircase, bringing them to the dungeon level.

  “What is required to change the answer to something a bit more specific?”

  “Capital,” Komir said.

  Karalith glared at her brother. What was he playing at?

  Komir continued: “According to the terms of the contract we signed in the chamberlain’s office, the Urik treasury is financially responsible for any maintenance that needs to be performed that is the result of a preexisting condition.”

  Suddenly Karalith w
as grateful that her brother had more patience than she for minutiae. She hadn’t even noticed that clause in the contract-and it had to be there. Hamanu was too wily a monarch to not check before committing to laying out money.

  But it also meant that this particular game might earn them quite a bit-they’d take the coin for the maintenance and repairs, and then disappear, with Hamanu unable to do anything, since his contract was with two people who didn’t actually exist.

  Hamanu snorted. “The Urik treasury cannot subsidize the arena.”

  “It’s not a subsidy, sir,” Komir said, “it’s maintaining the crown’s own property.”

  “My concern is with maintaining the crown’s own army-in fact, it’s my preference to increase it, but our coffers cannot even manage that.”

  They turned a corner to see three women and one man all dressed in the blue linens that indicated a mind-mage. All four were concentrating.

  “This is one of our hopes for doing so.” Hamanu indicated the cell where the mind-mages stood. “My psionists are currently attempting to figure out how to control this creature. Chamberlain Drahar and Templar Tharson had him and another one removed from the arena you’ve assumed control of.”

  One of the mind-mages-or “psionists”-stepped aside at Hamanu’s urging, allowing the king to peer inside the barred window to the cell.

  “Take a look,” he said after a moment.

  First Komir went to the door, and he noticeably paled. He moved away, stricken, and then Karalith did likewise.

  Having lived all her life dealing with the worst Athas had to offer, from surly customers to sand creatures who wanted to kill her, there was very little that could frighten Karalith.

  The sight of what Rol Mandred had turned into, however, managed that feat.

  If Gan hadn’t made reference to the changes Rol was undergoing when last he saw his friend, Karalith might not have believed that it was him. His skin was slate gray, strange faceted jeweled armor covered his shoulders, his hands and feet were mutated, and his mouth was segmented.

  It was the most foul creature Karalith had ever seen-and she had seen the foulest creatures Athas had to offer.

  And somehow it was Rol.

  “If we can determine how to control that creature, then our army will be a wonder to behold.” Hamanu spoke almost dreamily.

  Karalith’s idea started to coalesce in her head. “What if we adjusted the terms of the contract in such a way that benefits you in the long term?”

  Hamanu frowned. “Excuse me?”

  “Instead of you subsidizing the arena, as you put it, what if we instead consider it an investment?”

  That got Hamanu to raise one white eyebrow. “So the money I provide would be repaid?”

  “With interest,” Karalith said.

  “And what would you require in return for this particular amendment, which doesn’t benefit you in the least?”

  “On the contrary,” Karalith said with a smile, “it benefits us tremendously to create good will between us and our new landlord. But, as it happens, there is one thing that we would humbly request, if you’d be willing to give it.”

  “And that is?”

  She pointed at the door. “Him.”

  “He was removed from the arena.”

  Komir stepped in then. “And what has he done for you? At least in the arena, he can be earning profit-Drahar and his psionists can continue to study him at the Pit, but he’ll be earning you coin so you can raise that army you want.”

  Hamanu stroked his beard. “An interesting proposition. I must admit, having that creature in the arena will be a draw.”

  “Exactly,” Karalith said. “You’ll make back your investment within a week of opening. And we’ll continue to provide you with a share of the profits, which you can use to raise your army.”

  The king’s face split into a massive grin, one that Karalith would have found disturbing before she saw what Rol had turned into.

  And right then, Karalith knew that they had him.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The happiest day of Barglin’s life was when that big mul kicked the rusted metal gate to the arena in, allowing all the fighters to escape.

  The thri-kreen who was working with the mul had told everyone that if they wanted paying work, to meet in three days at sunset at Dedie’s Tavern on Geros Way in Potters’ Square.

  A goodly number of the fighters, Barglin knew, would take advantage of the opportunity to get the hell out of Urik, and Barglin didn’t blame them.

  But Barglin was escaping from a prison sentence. When you were arrested in Urik, the Imperial Guard tended to take anything of value you have on you, and they had done so to Barglin. It wasn’t much of a haul for the two soldiers in question. Most of Barglin’s net worth had gone toward the drinks, the imbibing of which led in part to the altercation that had preceded his arrest.

  Still, he had nothing save the clothes on his back, so he figured he’d keep that appointment.

  The only problem was that he had to sleep in the streets, since lodging was out of the question. That was something he’d never done before while sober. Two nights of tossing and turning on cobblestone convinced the dwarf that it was an experience best enjoyed while unconscious from ale.

  So it was with a very sore lower back and a growling stomach that Barglin entered Dedie’s at sunset. He recognized about half a dozen of the fighters from the Pit-a mere fraction of the total who were freed by the mul and the thri-kreen-all sitting in a corner, talking about this and that, and Barglin joined them.

  “Barglin,” cried one of the other dwarves. “Welcome. Have an ale. It’s on our benefactors.”

  An objection that he had no coin died on his lips. If they were paying for drinks too, he definitely wanted to hear their pitch. He signaled for an ale and squeezed in between the dwarf who’d spoken and a five-legged thri-kreen.

  “I expected to see Jono here.”

  “He got himself hired to guard a caravan.”

  “Wish I’d thought of that.”

  “Right, like anyone’d hire you to guard a caravan. You can’t even see over the carriages.”

  “Wonder what the deal here will be.”

  “Didja hear? They killed Calbit and Jago.”

  “Good riddance.”

  “Hope they killed that bitch of a daughter of Calbit’s too. You know what she did to me?”

  “Nothin’, prob’ly, but I bet she promised a whole helluva lot.”

  “Yeah.”

  A barmaid brought over Barglin’s ale, which he sipped eagerly, foam getting into his mustache, and some of the ale dribbling down his chest. He didn’t care. The crisp sensation of the ale cascading down his throat was the most wonderful feeling in the world right then.

  “A little thirsty, there, Barglin?”

  Barglin swallowed, paused, let out a loud belch that echoed off the tavern walls, then smiled. “A bit, yeah.”

  A voice from behind him said, “There’ll be more where that came from.”

  Turning, Barglin saw the one-eyed human who’d come in with Rol Mandred. “Gan, I thought they traded you out for that mul.”

  With Gan was a curly-haired blonde. “They did,” she said with a smile. “My name is Feena-I’m Gan’s sister. And we have an offer for you gentlemen.”

  “That’s why we’re here,” Barglin said.

  “What is it?” another asked.

  “Simple-we want you to return to the Pit.”

  Silence fell over the table.

  Barglin burst out laughing. “Good one, Gan. You and your sister have a great sense’a humor.”

  “We’re not kidding, Barglin,” Gan said. “But it’ll be different this time. For starters, it’s only for a day or two. For another, you won’t have to fight.”

  A half-giant asked, “What do we have to do?”

  Feena said, “Sit in the cubicles while we pretend to be fixing the place up for the grand reopening. Once we’re done, you’ll each get three sil
ver and be on your way.”

  Gulping down some more ale, Barglin then wiped more foam from his mustache. “We don’t have to fight?”

  “No. You’re just there to make it look like we have fighters ready to go once we open. There’ll be mind-mages there, so we need to have people who are used to being in those cubicles. The mind-mages will be busy elsewhere, but we don’t want to take the chance.”

  “So basically,” Barglin said, “you’re paying us three silver to sit on our asses?”

  Gan chuckled. “Pretty much, yeah. Think you can handle that, Barglin?”

  Three silver would pay for a corner of a carriage in a caravan that would get him away from this town with its royal nephews who picked fights in taverns. “Yeah, I think I can. When do you need us there?”

  “Right away,” Feena said. “Finish your drinks, and we’ll head over now.”

  Rol had to admit to taking great pleasure out of the creature’s frustration.

  For days, he’d been hearing importunings and implorations, not to mention boasts and threats, all relating to the great power wielded by the monster that had taken over his mind and transformed his body.

  And yet there it was, being held in check by three mind-mages.

  Rol himself was just as helpless, of course, but at least the thing that had taken everything away from him was being stymied.

  If only those mind-mages would figure out a way to change him back …

  Still, it was something.

  You are a fool. This is only a temporary setback. Soon, chaos will reign over this world and-

  “Oh, will you give it a rest, already?” Rol was really getting tired of the thing’s speeches. “These guys have you.”

  Yes, but they are attempting to study me. To learn more about me so they can control me-they are even bigger fools than you are, and soon they will discover their mistake, though too late to stop me. I only need them to waver but once, or to probe too deeply.