The Ruin of Kings (A Chorus of Dragons)

by Jenn Lyons

  Therin closed his eyes. “Let them go. It’s me you want. Let them go.”

  “You are half-correct. It is you I want, but not for a reason so petty as revenge. However, I am also not going to let your family go. They are the tethers that shackle you to this House and this title as surely as that gaesh once chained me.” She gestured again. On the far side of the room, where Galen’s new widow banged against the door, Sheloran jerked as her neck snapped. She collapsed into an untidy heap on the floor.

  Therin shook himself from his shock and attacked Khaeriel.

  Khaeriel brushed aside whatever spell he attempted to cast—likely some enchantment meant to stun and incapacitate—before narrowing her eyes at Therin.

  He flew backward against the wall, arms and legs spread like a pinned butterfly.

  Therin grit his teeth together and tore himself free. He dropped to the ground, catching himself at the last moment before he stumbled. Therin gestured and said something under his breath.

  The air around Khaeriel turned thick and choking.

  The clouds ripped away from her, scattering into wispy tatters.

  “A sound strategy,” she said. “No talismans would protect me from breathing in poisonous vapors, but you chose the medium poorly, for air is mine. You should try enfolding my clothes in flame, turning the ground underneath me to acid, collapsing the roof on top of me. Mayhap you would have better luck.”

  “I will stop you,” Therin hissed.

  “No,” Khaeriel said, “and truth be told, your heart does not want you to. Do you know that you are the grandson of usurped King Terindel, of the Kirpis vané? It is true. Your father Pedron’s—”

  “He was not my father…”

  She dismissed his protest with a wave. “Yes, he was. We both know it. Your vané blood betrays your lineage. For Pedron’s mother was Princess Valrashar, King Terindel’s daughter. She was gaeshed and sold to the D’Mons by my father, King Kelindel. My father usurped the Kirpis vané crown. So your father Pedron—and your aunt Tishar—were by all rights the true rulers of the Kirpis vané. Since both are dead now … that leaves you. You are now heir to a throne that seemed so distant, that no one could have imagined you would claim it. Leave behind your human shackles, Therin. Shed them and join me.”

  He didn’t answer her. Instead he concentrated.

  Khaeriel screamed as blood streamed from the corners of her eyes. She fell down to her knees.

  “I’m sorry,” Therin said. “Your eyes will heal, but I can’t let you do this.” He walked toward her, steps unsteady from the damage he had taken when she had thrown him. “We’ll hide you until you heal, help you somehow. I won’t let the Council—”

  Therin dropped to the ground, twitching, his eyes locked open in shock.

  Khaeriel stood. She wiped the blood away from her eyes.

  “I have targeted several specific nerve clusters. Painless, but you cannot move or organize your thoughts enough to channel magic. Lorgrin taught me that,” she said. “Oh but I shall miss him. His was a most puissant skill with matters of medicine and anatomy.” She bent down next to the shuddering High Lord. “I do not need you to protect me, Therin. And the Council will be the ones hiding from me before I have finished with them.”

  She reached out and stroked his hair. “I give to you this gift: the one thing you have always wanted, the one thing you have never been brave enough to admit is your true heart’s desire.” She straightened. “I shall free you of the D’Mons.”

  She turned back to the crowd.

  Some fought. Others begged. Many did both, running or trying to hide, but the result was the same.

  Finally, only two people remained alive in the hall.

  Khaeriel returned to him when she was finished, stepping over the body of Bavrin D’Mon’s youngest son, Thallis. His eyes stared forward, open but unseeing.

  “I know you think you shall never forgive me for this, but in time you will.” Khaeriel raised her hand, and Therin’s body floated upward. “You shall never blame me even a quarter as much as you blame yourself. A part of you, and not a small part, believes you deserve to be punished for your crimes.” Khaeriel smiled. “And when have I ever refused your commands, my lord?”

  Therin couldn’t struggle. He couldn’t scream, or cry, or whisper. He was trapped inside his own body, a prisoner. All he could do was watch, impotent, as the former queen of the vané opened a portal, and ushered them both through.

  89: PARTING

  Kihrin would have laughed, shouted, danced a little on Gadrith’s corpse, but there was the matter of Thurvishar drowning in a gaesh loop. He yanked Urthaenriel free from Gadrith’s body and turned back to Thurvishar, unsure what he could do to help.

  But Thurvishar was fine.

  The wizard was standing up, out of breath and massaging his throat, but with no other sign of distress. He wasn’t in fact dying.

  Thurvishar gazed at Gadrith’s body, really Sandus’s body, with an unreadable expression.

  “I—” Kihrin exhaled. “I’m sorry. I killed your father. Well, okay, I’m not exactly sorry—”

  “You didn’t kill my father,” Thurvishar corrected. “You killed my father’s murderer. For that I’m in your debt.” He turned back toward Teraeth, still unconscious and wrapped in the remnants of tree roots that had pulled free when they were all expelled.

  Kihrin gazed fondly at the unconscious vané. “I shouldn’t rub this in,” Kihrin said, “but where would be the fun in that?” He walked over and then frowned.

  “You can’t be affected by magic,” Thurvishar said, “but neither can you perceive it or cast it.” He stared over at the unconscious assassin and concentrated.

  Teraeth opened his eyes and leapt to his feet, blades in each hand.

  “You missed the excitement,” Kihrin said. “We won.”

  Teraeth looked around, his gaze stopping at the body of the dead necromancer. “We won?”

  Kihrin clapped Thurvishar on the shoulder. “You were gaeshed, and by Quuros law the man who holds your gaesh is responsible for your crimes. That man is dead. I’m sure once I explain the situation to the High General—”

  Thurvishar pulled himself away from Kihrin. “No. No, I’ll explain matters to the High General. I’ll throw myself at his mercy. He will use magic, and the truth will come out. As you said, they will not hold me to account for Gadrith’s crimes. You, however, must leave. Leave the City and leave immediately.”

  Kihrin blinked. “What? Why?”

  Thurvishar scowled. “You have no idea what you’ve done, do you?”

  Kihrin pointed to the corpse. “Yeah, I saved everyone, that’s what I’ve done.”

  Thurvishar gave Teraeth an exasperated look.

  “What did he do?” Teraeth asked, his tone more cautious.

  Thurvishar swept the scene with his arm. “He killed the Emperor—”

  “That wasn’t the real Emperor!” Kihrin protested.

  Thurvishar glared at Kihrin. “Gadrith was wearing the Crown and Scepter. He was wearing my father’s body. He was the Emperor.” Thurvishar returned his focus to Teraeth. “Kihrin killed the Emperor. Kihrin claimed Urthaenriel. And now … now he’s destroyed—shattered—the Stone of Shackles.”

  Teraeth’s expression froze in shock.

  “Wait. Wait, why—” Kihrin paused. “I admit it wasn’t ideal, but it was the only way I could kill him without our souls switching places—”

  “And that was a clever solution to the problem,” Thurvishar admitted. “If you hadn’t, he would have ended up in your body, holding Urthaenriel. But…” He licked his lips and winced. “All the eight artifact Cornerstones have a sympathetic relationship to the element to which they are attuned. The Stone of Shackles is connected to gaeshe.”

  Kihrin felt light-headed. “That’s why you didn’t die. That’s why you didn’t die, even though you never obeyed Gadrith’s last command. You’re not gaeshed anymore.”

  “No one is gaeshed anymore,” T
hurvishar agreed. “No one in the whole world is gaeshed anymore. You’ve freed them.”

  Kihrin turned back toward the City. “Miya—”

  “No.” Teraeth’s hand came down on Kihrin’s shoulder. “You can’t. She’s fine. Your mother is a powerful sorceress. Believe she will be fine. But he’s right—you won’t be fine if you stay here. That sword only protects you from magic, not swords or arrows.”

  “It gets worse,” Thurvishar said then.

  “Really?” Kihrin said. “Because I already want to throw up.”

  “Do it later,” Thurvishar replied. “The pacts that allow for the summoning of demons hinges on them being able to tap into the power of the Stone of Shackles to gaesh—if they can’t do that, then the contracts are nullified. So someone has freed the demons, just as prophecy predicted, but it wasn’t Gadrith or Kaen.”

  Kihrin stared at him. “What you’re saying—” He shook his head. “No—”

  “Give the sword to Teraeth,” Thurvishar said. “Or to me. We’ll hand it over to Milligreest so he may place it back in a vault, to wait on the choosing of the next Emperor. There are no witnesses but ourselves to tell the tale of how Gadrith died, and we can craft any story we choose. No one has to know it was your hand that held the Ruin of Kings.”

  “I like the way you think,” Teraeth said with an approving note to his voice. He moved a hand toward Kihrin’s sword arm. “Yes, give me—”

  And paused, as Teraeth found a silver straight blade placed against his throat with all the neat precision of a shaving razor.

  “I can’t,” Kihrin said. His throat worked with no sound and his eyes were bright and wet. “Please step back, Teraeth. You’re my friend.” There was a pleading note to the request.

  Their eyes met. “I remember,” Teraeth said. “She has a beautiful voice, doesn’t she? It’s hard to hear anything else.” He stepped backward and let his hands fall to his sides.

  Kihrin lowered the sword and stood there, shuddering.

  “I gather the sword won’t let you give it up,” Thurvishar said, “but regardless, you must leave now. The High General has his own vows, and one of those is to protect the Empire from all threats. And you just became a threat to the Empire.”

  “Milligreest doesn’t believe in the prophecies,” Kihrin said. His voice was weak and tense.

  Teraeth shook his head. He was back in ready mode, hands on his daggers and watching for anyone who might interrupt them. “I think he might change his mind after tonight. Come on. We can steal aboard a ship tonight and head out to sea with the tide.”

  “No,” Kihrin said. He drew in a deep breath and seemed to recover some composure. “No, you go. Go by ship. The more of a chase we can lead them on the better. I’ll leave by land.” He walked over to Gadrith’s body and bent down, working a ring off the dead man’s finger—a red intaglio ruby. He held it up to Thurvishar. “Was this Gadrith’s or Sandus’s?”

  Thurvishar inspected it. “It must have belonged to Sandus.”

  Kihrin handed him the ring. “You should have something that belonged to your real father.” He turned toward the center of the Arena and his nostrils flared. “What about Tyentso?”

  “Leave her,” Teraeth blurted out.

  “She’ll come back, won’t she?” Kihrin looked at Teraeth. “Thaena will bring her back?”

  Teraeth’s expression was grim. “I don’t know. The rules inside the Arena are different.”

  “I’ve never heard of Thaena allowing anyone who died inside the Arena to Return,” Thurvishar said.

  When Kihrin turned to go back to reclaim Tyentso’s body, Teraeth put himself in the way. “Go, Kihrin. If she doesn’t Return, Thurvishar can send someone back for her body. She’ll be buried in the D’Lorus crypts.”

  “I’m pretty sure she’d have hated the idea of being buried in the D’Lorus crypts,” Kihrin snapped, but he didn’t try to force his way past the vané a second time.

  “Technically,” Thurvishar said, “the D’Lorus family died tonight. The only true D’Lorus left is High Lord Cedric, and he’s a sad, broken old man.” He sounded like he couldn’t quite decide how he felt about that.

  “I won’t tell if you don’t,” Kihrin said. He looked around, realizing he had nothing he could use to sheath the sword. “Good luck, both of you.”

  “Where are you going?” Teraeth asked.

  Kihrin answered, “Jorat. I hear there’s a knight there who’s causing some trouble. I’m going to find him.”

  * * *

  The Arena was quiet. The demon battles, so recently over, didn’t touch those peaceful green fields. No wind breached the force field to ruffle the branches of twisted trees, no birds remained within its boundaries, no squirrels had ever feasted on nuts and berries there. If any had found their way inside in the brief time the field was dormant, they too were shunted outside when Gadrith breathed his last.

  No living animal, two-legged or otherwise, could stay inside the boundaries of the Arena until the next contest—until the next battle that would end when one man fought all comers. The victor would be the one wearing the Crown and holding the Scepter when he left its boundaries. The ritual would be as it had always been: anyone who wished to take part would gather; the Voices would lower the barriers; the fighting would begin.

  Normally.

  Tyentso, once called Raverí, inhaled deeply and arched her back to suck in more sweet air as she Returned. She was still not entirely aware of where she was, or what had occurred around her. She only knew that she had lost and paid a price for that losing—a price not so final as it might have been for another. She lay in the field at the center of the Arena, looking up at a soap-bubble field of magical energy, while the rain sprinkled on her face.

  Above her head, directly over her head, a glowing circle of light bisected by a white line floated. She stared at both in confusion for a moment before she realized what she was seeing.

  Tyentso began to laugh.

  No living thing could stay inside the Arena after the Emperor’s death, but Tyentso had—at that singular perfect moment—not been alive, so her body hadn’t moved.

  She reached up with both hands to claim the Crown and Scepter of Quur.

  90: FINAL NOTES

  Empress Tyentso,

  A few notes are in order to wrap up this account.

  The death toll to the Capital City was staggering. It’s estimated that at least five thousand people died due to demon attacks that night. About thirty thousand more perished in the fires that erupted thanks to their chaos. Still more will die in the coming months of starvation or disease if immediate steps are not taken.

  The body of the Emperor, Sandus, was recovered from the Culling Fields. It was interned in the Hall of Heroes in the Emperor’s Palace to full state ceremony, next to the preserved body of his wife. According to official history, he was slain by an unknown assailant, possibly demonic, after bringing Gadrith D’Lorus to justice.

  Xaltorath was “banished” by Qoran Milligreest, Therin D’Mon, and Therin’s “slave” Miya. But the timing suggests that most of Xaltorath’s demons actually returned to Hell of their own accord, a short time after the Stone of Shackles was destroyed. It is a faux reprieve; now that their chains are broken, the demons are free to begin their war against the physical races anew, without restriction.

  Qoran returned to the Citadel and, it was assumed, Therin D’Mon and Lady Miya returned to the Blue Palace.

  However, this is the last time anyone can document seeing High Lord Therin D’Mon or Lady Miya. Just a short time after the main part of the fighting ended, a physicker discovered the site of the D’Mon massacre. It had claimed almost all remaining D’Mon members. We must assume it was the work of Miya, freed of the gaesh and become Khaeriel, Queen-in-Exile, once more. She must have retaliated against the family who’d kept her imprisoned.

  High Lord Therin’s fate is unknown.

  The D’Mon family has been devastated, reduced to a handful of m
embers. And none of those remaining are easily available to petition Thaena for the Return of any others. With Therin missing and Darzin dead, their future is uncertain. Kihrin D’Mon’s location is uncertain too: the last anyone saw, he left the north gates of the City with several D’Mon riding horses, a Joratese groom, and a gray Jorat fireblood.

  Urthaenriel is now loose again in the world. No demon may be safely summoned lest they run amok, which means no slave may be gaeshed.

  People are saying it’s the end of the world.

  My Empress, we know it’s just the beginning.

  ADDENDUM I: GLOSSARY

  A

  Afterlife, the—a dark mirror of the living world; souls go to the Afterlife after death, hopefully to move on to the Land of Peace

  agolé (a-GOAL-ay)—a piece of cloth worn draped around the shoulders and hips by both men and women in western Quur

  Alavel (a-la-VEL)—home city of the wizard’s school known as the Academy

  Arena, the—a park in the center of the Capital City that serves as the battleground for the choosing of the Emperor

  ariala (ah-rye-LAY)—a metal, known for its variety of color, mined in Kirpis

  Attuleema, Landril—a merchant of the Copper Quarter

  B

  Baelosh (BAY-losh)—a dragon, best known for the size of his hoard of treasure

  Bertok (BER-tok)—a god of war

  Black Brotherhood, the—a group of assassins for hire

  black lotus—a plant native to the Manol Jungle that is the source of a deadly poison of the same name

  Butterbelly—a pawnshop owner and fence with the Shadowdancers

  C

  Calay Harbor (kal-LAY)—the harbor that shelters the Capital City

  Caless (kal-LESS)—a goddess of physical love

  Camarnith (kam-ARN-ith)—a god of healing, native to Zherias

  Chainbreaker—a magical artifact associated with the Manol vané; has powers dealing with illusions

  Cherthog (cher-THOG)—a god of winter and ice, primarily worshipped in Yor