Oblivion's Peril

by M. H. Johnson

  It was thanks to that last botched attack and Christine's own desperate gambit to strengthen her hand that had resulted in a devastating plague unleashed. A plague against which the native population had no defense, killing not within days or weeks, but within hours of first showing symptoms. Though it was possible that some might have recovered, only those who received Val's life-saving potions survived.

  Had their enemies not pushed so hard, allowing her no chance to rest, recuperate, to ready her own pieces, she might not have felt the need to act so desperately. Had the bastards attempting a blitzkrieg strike not destroyed all power, perhaps the UV lights would have limited the plague breakout to the singular lab where Christine had been reengineering Val's friends.

  But no. The Blackenthorps had been out for blood, determined to butcher Christine and everyone who called her loved one or friend. Clan Blackenthorp was to blame for the horrors that had been unleashed during that attack, and no one else.

  A fierce smile lit Val's features.

  His battles weren't over.

  They had just begun.

  And this time Val was more than ready to embrace his dark destiny, having already decided upon his next target.

  21

  "I, Kaleb Zalentien, swear to serve Overlord Valor Hunter and Highlord Christine Highblood honorably and faithfully. I will reveal no secrets, and should any dare to pry my mind, those secrets will be seared from my brain. I may retire from service, should I ever choose to leave, but should I ever deliberately reveal the secrets of the Highbloods, death will be my only reward."

  The young technician, pale and scab-covered, swallowed as he said this, but his brilliant sapphire eyes lit with reverence as he gazed into Val's own, actually smiling as the Greater Oath took hold. "Thank you, Overlord. I will not let you down."

  Congratulations! You have achieved Rank 3 in Greater Oathbinding. Now you can modify the effects of oath-breaking. A growing pain that builds until the transgressor begs for forgiveness? Eternal suffering without end? Or you can watch his body literally tear itself apart before your eyes. The choice is yours!

  Val's return smile was more a grimace. A thousand times he had been given that oath, a handful of seconds all that was needed to rejuvenate the mana spent each time, and every time the word Overlord felt alien and strange to hear.

  "It's necessary after what happened at Greengrove," Christine had adamantly assured just hours ago while his friends diligently trained their hearts out with the battle-mechs Val had managed to salvage with his Greater Dominion Catalyzation. His friends had been gazing at him in sheer awe after he had successfully put to rights the damaged battle-mechs, savaged wrecks of titanium and steel repairing themselves before their eyes. Chris had whistled his amazement, Yin cheering him on excitedly, Sten and Gregor absolutely speechless. Then Christine had marched Val back to the main hall of her manor, burdening Val with all the things they needed to take care of, with sharp orders for everyone to train making it clear who truly ruled this household, fate-linked oaths and Path of Kings aside.

  "Sir Kaupias, the man you spoke to, was a Justiciar. His kind is far more potent than you might think, for all that their odd gifts tie powers of the mind with the arcane in the form of oaths and treaties. You will rarely find them this far from the heart of Dominion influence, where years of peace and precedent legitimize their power. Here on the edges, where, ahem, the status of recent acquisitions throws the idea of righteous Claimance somewhat in dispute, you will rarely find them. I suspect they have made an exception here on Jordia where the electromana fields are so potent, and civil unrest threatens years of turmoil upon one of the Dominion's crown jewels. So yes, they are now involved, and are making all the players daring the Game of Crowns known."

  Christine had stroked his cheek, her eyes boring into his own. "You as good as declared that the Dauda were making a bid for Jordia's throne, Val. You can prevaricate no longer. You walk the Path of Kings. You will either reach the summit or die in the attempt."

  Julia, having accompanied Val back to the manor along with their friends, clenched her fists in outrage. "That's madness. Val just needed to get those herbs to make the potions to save our lives! All because the damn Blackenthorps killed the power, destroying our ability to contain and neutralize the outbreak!”

  Elise gave a pitying shake of her head, resting upon one of the divans in the luxurious parlor they were all using as an informal council of war, her stump of a hand slowly regenerating in the odd casing fastened to her right arm. "It is what it is, sister. There is nothing just or fair about it. There is no other way Alwin Snivelpuse of Clan Christos would have allowed Val admittance into that garden. Besides, if he hadn't claimed Greengrove by the most sacred of rites, he would never have rediscovered that ancient wonder or the magical ingredients we needed in time. Either Val cast his lot with the madmen contending for Jordia's crown, daring to claim and tie that territory to his destiny, molding fate itself to do his bidding, or we all would have perished from the Red Death."

  "Val, actually declaring himself not just a Highlord but an Overlord? Sheer madness!” said Gregor. “The boy's going to get himself killed, and us along with him."

  "Don't sell our friend short, Gregor,” Halvar warned. “If you haven't noticed, we're still among the living after crashing into a desert in the middle of nowhere. And who came to our rescue? Who pulled all our asses out of the fire after a calculated assault and virulent plague nearly killed us all?"

  Everyone stared at Val with near unreadable expressions. "Julia's as much to thank as I for turning the tides in that battle. To say nothing of my... well..."

  "Sister?" Julia said.

  Val winced. "Yes. Thanks to my sister."

  "Who is unquestionably Dauda," Sten noted, gazing carefully at Val. "As are you."

  Val shrugged. "Well, yes. But you see, I didn't know I was at the time."

  Sten raised a bemused eyebrow. "Overlord Tytus's once-favored assassin just happens to be your mother, you wrap terrified Darklords around your finger in the heart of a Dominion dreadnought, and you had absolutely no idea of your own heritage. None. Your whole thanking us for serving as your unwitting pawns while Adolf trembled at your feet, you were saying all that for dramatic effect?"

  Val held the older man's gaze. "Funny how that all worked out, isn’t it?"

  "And none of that matters in the least," Christine snapped. "Now we need to seize the lull that we have before us. Now is our chance to swear every grateful pawn to our service! Securing our power... Val's power, weeding out any moles that would dare betray us, before making our next move. And our servants recognizing Val for the power that he is will only help Val secure their respect and claim the deference he deserves!"

  In the end, Val had accepted Christine's insistence that the staff entire swear themselves to him and refer to Val as Overlord while his friends trained like their lives depended upon it. He hated the loss of anonymity, the probing gazes, and keeping himself ready for what would inevitably follow.

  It was nighttime before the end was finally in sight. And when the last handful of nervous-looking technicians entered the now near-empty chamber, Val was ready.

  Eyes numb with horror and exhaustion met his own. Too worn down even for thought, it seemed. Not the only trio of men who were dazed and shell-shocked, and Val would have gladly taken their oath.

  The closest approached, hands in fists as he kneeled before Val. This would be the two thousandth Highblood citizen to swear themselves to him.

  Forceshield catalyzed! You have extended forceshield to maximum diameter. 100 Psion reserved!

  A sudden scream of fury, hot burning eyes locking to Val's own. "Automative Folly!" Val cried, even as the man yanked at a strap upon his clothes, looking surprised when nothing happened, still blinking in wonder when the crackling hum of an activated Psiblade quickly turned to the wet thump of a cleaved head smacking the tile floor, a river of blood gushing from severed neck before fading to a trickle as the
heart stuttered to a stop.

  Val wasted no time, desperate fingers clawing at the padded vest the man had worn, feeling the carefully concealed vials of Elementium and Silbion roiling away, Val's fast-cast spell all that had stopped them from erupting before his mind could grip them tight, now sending them into his storage with a burst of his will.

  He took a deep, calming breath, gazing at the two remaining technicians, terror burning away the numb pallor of exhaustion, gazing at Val like deer caught in a tiger's gaze.

  Val forced a grin. "You will swear the oath, or you will die. Make your choice."

  And within seconds, Val had two more technicians who would serve him till the day he died. He wondered if the pair would be free within the week.

  Christine gave a satisfied nod when he let her back into the antechamber. "I wondered why you had so abruptly dismissed us."

  "I couldn't risk making eye contact and us giving the game away,” Val said. “If there had been a mole, he would have waited to the end. He might have been confirming final orders, hoping for a chance to flee, or perhaps he was compelled by a Darklord's compulsion, fighting it as long as he could. In the end, we'll never know. All I could count on was that there was a mole in that final trio. No other option made sense.”

  Christine glared at the headless corpse. "Explosives. We think it so horrific a technique that none would dare. But obviously our true enemies will stop at nothing to see us dead, and your mind is conditioned to expect suicide bombers far more than I. If you weren't sure, you would have just cut them down, taking no chances for the sake of those you love."

  Val jerked a nod. "They hesitated too long coming forward. They were either terrified of me or planning a strike. At that instant, had I not tasted the raw disbelief radiating from the two remaining technicians, I would have taken no chances. I would have cut them down as well." He sighed. "I'm glad I didn't have to."

  "As am I," Christine said. "Adel and Jantis are excellent assistants. Some of the best I have."

  "Are we dropping off Cure-all potions to the nearby towns?"

  Christine smiled. "You already show the signs of a good ruler. So long as they provide food, taxes, and willing employees, most Highlords care nothing for their people save those serving the specialized roles their masters assigned to them. Yet the hearts of our territories are meccas for the most brilliant Jordian researchers and manufacturers. Multiple highly specialized micro hubs with satellite towns nearby is how most of Jordia is settled, save for major cities like Newford, of course."

  Val frowned. “Do you mean Nyferd?”

  “Correct, Valor. The words are derivatives of one another, and both are in common use, depending on whether you are speaking with a native or an off-worlder.”

  “But Sten...”

  “...Sten and his crew, bless their hearts, are not native to Jordia, and my daughter is too wise to quibble over details.”

  Val nodded. "Okay. So Highlords and those who would rule focus on the hubs, and the auxiliary towns just fall into line?"

  "Of course. Serfs have the freedom to move where they choose, but since it is in the administrator's best interest to maintain the status quo, few bother." She flashed a cynical smile. "Save for the rare exception of mercenaries or the like directly purchasing land and settling down, who we mostly leave out of our affairs, most commoners do not own their homes, herds, or farms. Rather, their family has been ceded rights of occupancy and occupation. They are effectively employees working for a cut of the profits, given free room and board. If they were to leave, they would be homeless with few prospects, since the sad truth is most have only mastered a few basic charts while attending school and would find it very difficult to find a new career path to specialize in. There are exceptions, of course, and for the gifted child, we offer accelerated learning programs and free training to prepare them for work in our research and manufacturing hubs. They tend to be our most loyal employees."

  Val turned around, taking in the details of the palatial room he had used to bind so many to his will. "You farm the brightest and the best to work for you, and the local families have no reason to give up their livelihood if their taxes and duties remain the same, whoever they end up calling master."

  Christine nodded. "It is a method that has worked for us for centuries, with exceedingly little civil unrest, at least here in the north.”

  Val frowned. "Even so, it means Jordia's made up of hundreds of small territories. Territories that, one way or another, we have to come to terms with."

  Christine nodded solemnly. "I think you know exactly what that means. Now that you are officially in play, any competing would-be Overlord can lawfully declare war on you and attack your territory. And for all that scaling has only a modest effect on technological progress relative to Earth’s fully integrated networks, production and trade are different matters entirely. The Blackenthorps control the largest independent city-state in this part of Jordia, with coin enough to equip well over a dozen battle-mechs, for all that they lost four, daring to take you and my daughter on."

  Val grimaced. "I suspect this struggle for succession will see all of Jordia in flames. Even if by some miracle we could hold our own, it will be a bloodbath."

  "It is a war for our very survival, and best you never forget it," Christine said, genial smile gone, features sharp and cold. "You can afford no weakness. No mercy. Not if you don't want to see Julia and everyone you love with their heads bobbing in a pain vat!"

  "I had no choice! It was either play that Justiciar's game, declare myself even as I felt destiny grip me like a vice, or watch Julia and everyone else die to that damned plague!"

  Christine paled. "And you blame me. I know you do."

  Val frowned, averting his gaze. "I know how badly our enemies have pressed you. How many times we dodged death and disaster in just a handful of days. Your UV lights couldn't do a lick of good to contain your critical failure when those fools killed all power with their last assault." Val closed his eyes, forcing himself to do it. "And after what I did... how dare I judge?"

  Christine swallowed. "And still over a hundred of my employees are dead. It is a weight upon my soul, Val. Don't think it isn't." She clenched her fists. "We will make our enemies pay!"

  Val nodded. "Damn right we will." He turned to the sound of autocannon fire, gazing with awe at the battle-mechs, bold and beautiful, training in the distance. "It's an incredible sight," he said.

  Christine smiled. "Indeed it is, dear Valor. Four beautiful battle-mechs claimed from our enemies, and four new pilots to fly them!”

  Val nodded, smiling at the memory of Yin's excited squeal as she raced for the first of the battle-mechs Val's gift had helped repair, her brand-new chrome implants sparkling in the sun. She was all too happy to help an awed Julia seat herself into her own pilot module, the two bonding like sisters. Yin's Dominion memory tape training, designed specifically to teach Terrans the basics of flying a battle-mech as quickly as possible, proved exceedingly useful. For all that they were a source of shame for her, Julia's drone slave implants were perfectly suited for mech use. Overkill, really, and Val knew that the cautiously stepping automaton must be Julia's, even as Chris, free of any implants, piloted the third unit with eerie ease.

  "Chris, of all people, transformed into a natural Cybermancer." Val favored Christine with a sideways-look. "Do I even want to know what you injected him with?"

  Christine winked. "Probably not, dearest Val. No matter. I think our dear Chris enjoys the benefits of his evolution. Cybermancy is a rare gift indeed! Controlling computer monitors with his thoughts, needing no implants to pilot our most sophisticated equipment. Truly magnificent, how all your friends are blossoming with their new powers."

  Val nodded, knowing there was no need to remind her of the terrible price that had been paid, and Val would never rub his friends’ faces in it. It had been utterly beyond their control.

  "Don't worry, Val," she whispered. "The risks of genetic engineering by remo
te vector is just too high. From now on, we'll only do it the old-fashioned way."

  Val frowned. "What the hell is the old-fashioned way?"

  Christine winked. "What you and my daughter practice every night.”

  Val flushed and looked away, amused laughter washing over him.

  “I think Christopher and Dirk will both find themselves with more admirers than they can handle. And I employ only the fairest in that capacity, of course."

  Val frowned. “I have questions about that...”

  Christine nodded. "Of course you do. But before you say anything or dare judge, there are some things you must understand. Dominion citizens do not waste endless years courting in hesitant confusion the way Terrans do. Though we can at times successfully crossbreed, we are, ultimately, different races at the very edge of compatibility. Without my… enhancements, it would have been much more challenging for either Hanna or I to conceive with our Terran mates, even if our daughters would have been considerably more fertile than the average Jordian."

  Val gave a slow nod. “Okay. Julia and I owe our even being here to you. I accept that. And I’m grateful.”

  "That's not the point, but I'm glad you appreciate my sacrifice. It was considerable. And fortunately, you had the good sense to bond your heart to my daughter."

  Val flushed but didn’t deny it.

  Christine tilted her head. “Tell me, Val, didn’t you fall in love with her remarkably fast? In just a matter of days, really. I have no doubt any number of health counselors at your former excuse for a school would caution students to be extremely careful about falling in love so quickly.”

  Val smirked. “I could care less what those idiots thought. I was never like my friends at school, or the guys I knew when I served who were happy fooling around with half a dozen girls but never really happy with any of them, never really connecting beyond a fling. Never knowing how to find what they wanted.”