by C. M. Carney
Lex struggled, desperate to help Tal, to help himself, but if a Grandmaster of Order Magic lay helpless on the floor, what chance did Lex have? As often happened, Lex’s brain chose that inconvenient moment to remember an inconsequential conversation he’d had with Vonn. Well, conversation might be too generous a term, as that implied a pleasant back and forth. This memory was more of a ribbing insult by the rogue at Lex’s expense.
In it, Vonn had mocked Lex by naming him a Grandmaster of Random Blathering. While that skill didn't technically exist, Lex’s penchant for foolish conversation was still a weapon. It was a shitty weapon, but Lex would grasp at any straw handed him. He girded himself, opened his mouth and spouted stupidity.
“Yo, Baelmaera, why don’t you pick on someone your own size.”
The instant it was out of his mouth he felt foolish. Vonn gave him a ‘what the hell are you doing’ look. Seraphine and Simon somehow both gave him complementary, yet different, ‘you’re an idiot’ looks. Only Errat seemed inspired by Lex’s words.
“Or someone much bigger,” Errat roared and struggled against his bonds.
Baelmaera turned towards Errat with little concern, for the warborn’s escape attempt was no more effective than Lex’s had been. Fear dredged its claws through Lex, but he would not let Baelmaera see that fear. So, he did the only thing he could think of, he doubled down on stupidity.
“Take these Halloween ribbons off me and we’ll fight mano-a-mano. Handsome NPC versus friendless chaos bitch.”
Baelmaera cocked her head and stared at him with a wicked grin. Without unclenching her fist, she raised Tal from the floor and pushed him back into his chair with a nudge of chaotic power. Double the number of bands as before wrapped about the unconscious Grandmaster, holding him tight. She walked closer, bending down to stare into Lex’s eyes. It took all of his will not to flinch as he gave her an up and down look.
“For an infamous Prince of Chaos, you're not all that impressive.”
“You're right Lex,” Baelmaera said, in a voice that was no longer the flat monotone of an archon, but the silky-smooth voice of a cabaret diva. “I’ve spent far too long wearing this dull form. It’s time to be me again.”
She straightened and deep within her, where the spark of order that was Jurredix’s heart and mind spun, and a burst of shadowy black flecked with the deep orange of chaos expanded outwards. It stained the white crystal of Jurredix’s body and pulsed through the jagged trails of energy flowing through him.
The shadows flowed about her into long formal robes, indistinct and hard to focus upon. The archon’s white face peered out from below a voluminous hood, a broken skull full of malevolence. To Lex’s eyes, she looked like a sinister version of Simon's Barrow King form.
“It isn’t perfect, but it will serve for now.” She stood arms wide examining herself.
“That’s original,” Simon grumbled with as much spunk and confidence as he could muster. “I’m much better at the spooky, floaty revenant thing than you are. Why don’t you get your own schtick?”
Baelmaera ignored the undead teen and smiled at Lex. “As much as I enjoy wordplay and banter, we’ll soon be arriving at Harlan’s Watch. Before we do, I need you to help me with something.”
She held her hand before her and a spark of writhing chaos appeared above her palm. It flashed outwards, growing into a raging apple-sized mass. Despite his attempts at bravado, Lex’s insides churned, for he recognized the parasitic item for what it was. A Chaos Spore.
“You will serve me of your own volition, or I will kill all of your friends, one by one while you watch.”
She walked behind the line of his friends, placing a hand on Vonn first, then tracing a finger along Errat’s neck. Seraphine didn’t even flinch as Baelmaera pinched her cheek. Finally, she stopped at Simon, one hand squeezing his shoulder, the other proffering the Chaos Spore as if it were nothing more than a fine glass of wine.
Now say you’ll help me, and I won’t have to kill your friends.”
“You do what you gotta do,” Lex said, his voice creaking as he spoke. “But answer me this. Say we get to Harlan’s Watch before the Princes leave, you can’t think they’ll take you with them? They hate you more than they hate us.”
“I’m not trying to join them. If I wanted that, why would I have gone to all this trouble?”
She’s not called the Lady of Plots and Shadows for nothing, Vonn’s voice said in his mind and understanding punched him in the brain.
“You don’t plan to join them, you plan to banish them.” It all made sense now. She’d been playing a long con. One that had taken decades to unfold. One that would leave her as the only Prince left in the Realm of Chaos. But why? How did that help her?
A memory surged to the fore and terror filled him.
Once opened, some doors are difficult to close. Jurredix had said as much to them. Now that he knew Jurredix was Baelmaera, the words were suspect. But, he had to assume that once the other Princes were on Earth, she had a way to invade the mortal realms. She was a liar, but she was no fool.
Lex stared at Baelmaera and tried to hide this realization with humor.
“You know, I’m flattered and all,” Lex said, trying to keep the fear from his voice. “But why me? Errat is stronger, Vonn more handsome, Seraphine over there is a better killer. Simon is, well yeah I get why you prefer me to him, but unless you’re into my wit, which I totally get, I think you overestimate my importance.”
“Oh, no Lex, you could not be more wrong. You are the key to everything. You don’t think you got sucked into this realm by accident, do you?”
A pulse of fear tore through Lex as he realized that he had ignored the coincidence of a full-blown chaos incursion occurring right as he got to Harlan’s Watch. The jestful part of his mind had written it off as further proof that the Source had a sick sense of humor and liked messing with him. But, deep down, he’d always known there was something more to it.
It took an embarrassingly long time for Lex to realize what that was, and when understanding came to him, he could not help but blurt it out. “You’re after Gryph.”
“Smart lad.”
She wants me to track Gryph. A mad, gleeful laugh pushed past his lips. “Oh, lady, your timing is awful. I couldn’t track Gryph if I wanted to.”
“Because he’s on Earth?”
The rush of fear that had been churning deep inside of Lex became a full-on tsunami and dashed what little hope he had left against the rocks of despair. How does she know that? A hundred foolish theories flashed through his mind, but through the maelstrom, one forced its way to the surface.
“You’re working with the Cabal.”
“Guilty as charged,” Baelmaera said and bowed into a slight curtsey. It was deeply disturbing, seeing as she wore the broken archon’s body. “I’ve had some lovely trans-reality chats with a psychotic little thing who calls herself the Goddess of Chaos. As far as she knows, I’m one of my sibling Princes looking to invade Earth.”
“If you’re trusting them to keep their end of the bargain, you’re dumber than I look.”
“They have their part to play in my little masquerade, just as you do.”
“I think you’ll find that I can never remember my lines. I’m more of an improv guy.”
Baelmaera walked up to him and traced a finger along his cheek. “You make me smile Lex. So, few beings have ever managed that. But, I’m afraid my affection will only last as long as your usefulness.”
“So what? I’m an insurance policy, in case the Cabal betrays you, cuz, of course, they will. Do what you will to me, to them.” Lex nodded at his friends, conjuring as much bravado as he could muster. “I will never help you find him.”
“Who? Gryph?” Baelmaera said with a slight chuckle. “I don't need you to help me find him. The Cabal will bring him to me. Though, if we’re speaking honestly, I haven’t told them that part of the plan.”
“You can do what you want to me lady, but Gryph will nev
er bow to you. He’s more likely to rip your spine out and beat you with it.”
“Oh, I have no doubt of that.” Another sinister, almost seductive, smile twisted her broken archon face and in an instant, the torrent of cold fear that had been rushing through Lex froze solid.
“You don’t want him. You want his Godhead. And you need me to take it from him.”
“I told you, Lex. You’re important.”
I must protect Gryph. He’d often thought of the mantra as a curse, something that prevented him from being fully Lex. But, what if it was his purpose? What if the Source had chosen him for this moment? Lex had never considered himself to be a hero, but that didn't mean he couldn’t choose to act heroically.
Lex turned back to Baelmaera and his face grew firm. “I’ve considered your offer and I think I’ll have to decline with a healthy fuck you.” Lex squirmed, trying to give her the double bird. “This would have been a lot cooler if I had free hands.”
“As much as I enjoy your prattling, it’s time to move on.” She held the Chaos Spore up and Lex turned his gaze away. “Since you won’t act in my little drama, it is past time that I killed one of your friends. Since I am a gracious captor, I’ll let you choose. Who is the least important to you? Tell me, and I promise to make their death quick.”
Lex’s guts twisted in knots and roiled like a cauldron of acid. His eyes went from Vonn to Errat, then to Seraphine and finally to Simon. How can I choose? Both Vonn and Errat would willingly sacrifice themselves. He could not say the same of Seraphine, which would have bumped her up the list of sacrificial victims, were she not stuck in Furrick's body.
“Choose now Lex, or I’ll choose two of them for you.” A shimmering dagger of chaotic energy shimmered into her hand.
An idea occurred to Lex. A horrific, foolish, risky idea based on a few half-remembered words. Dammit, he said to himself and turned to Simon. The pain on the kid’s dead face wrenched at Lex’s heart. Simon opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out.
“I’m sorry kiddo,” Lex said, his voice cracking. “I’ll see you in your next life.”
“Wha?” Simon said, but then words failed him, leaving him nothing but a hollow stare.
Lex’s will nearly crumbled, but no other way presented itself. It had to be Simon.
“I wonder,” Baelmaera said. “Do the undead move to the next life as you mortals do?” The dagger punched through the back of Simon’s head with such suddenness that everyone flinched. Simon stared right at Lex as the light faded. “Or do they just cease to be?” She pulled the blade from Simon’s skull and his head flopped forward onto this chest, taking his accusing gaze with it. “I suppose we’ll never know.”
Lex heard the roar of pain and rage tear his throat raw, but it felt like it was happening to someone else. A switch had flipped in his mind, a primal defense mechanism designed to push away the horror and the guilt to survive. The distant part of him that was still paying attention to the world heard the other’s cries of anguish and threats of retribution, but Lex had eyes only for Baelmaera. She moved close and knelt, whispering so only he could hear.
“I’ll give you some time to let the consequences of your choices simmer. When I come back, we’ll start on the next one. Give me what I want, or every one of them will curse you to the Abyss as they die.”
“Why?” Lex asked, his voice shaky. “Why don’t you just shove it in me. Why do you need me to agree?”
“Because she needs your mind,” Errat said, calmly. "Your memories." Baelmaera turned, momentary shock filling the sparks of her eyes. “If she infected you with a Chaos Spore, you would fight against it. You would eventually succumb to its power, but the conflict would destroy your mind, leaving your body an empty vessel.”
“Making me useless.”
“Yes, you are the only one who knows how to remove a Godhead. She needs your mind intact.” Errat stared at Lex. “Which is why you cannot give in, even if you must watch all of us die. I am sorry, friend Lex.”
Baelmaera walked to Errat and punched him in the face. The warborn didn’t make a sound as blood flowed from his mouth. Baelmaera hit him a dozen more times, each one bruising flesh and crunching bone. Lex closed his eyes, biting his tongue to keep from screaming. But nothing blocked out the sound, and each punch brought him closer to giving in.
When the Lady of Shadows finally stopped beating Errat, tears flowed from Lex’s burning eyes. She walked to him, grabbed his chin and forced him to look. Errat’s face was an unrecognizable mess of pulped flesh and blood. One of the warborn’s eyes was swollen shut, but the other stared right at Lex, glistening with life and purpose.
“I will give you time to think, to imagine the pain I will inflict upon your friends. Perhaps that will convince you that your acceptance is inevitable, for all men have their breaking point.”
She stood and walked towards the door to Tal’s private office. She wasn’t halfway there when Vonn spoke.
“Lex, do not give in to this bitch, no matter …”
A band of orange energy snapped about his mouth, gagging him as tight as their cousins bound his body. The rogue’s muffled voice yelled from behind the gag, and though the words were incomprehensible, he understood their meaning.
Stay strong! You are not alone.
Lex turned to see the others also gagged. Errat and Seraphine stared at Lex, trying to give him strength. Next to them, Tal was still unconscious, the Chaos Spore inside him pulsed and throbbed as if reacting to Lex’s fears.
Lex turned to the Dirge corpse, hoping that his gamble had borne fruit, praying that he was, in fact, not alone.
40
Simon floated somewhere dark and cool. He’d been here before, many times in fact. Why didn’t he remember when? The sensation of bobbing on the surface of a river, weaving past unknowable somethings was overpowering, and he saw nothing, but he was moving fast. He spun around and around like detritus sucked into a sewer drain and then fell through emptiness. A moment later, the sensation stopped, and memories returned.
He felt the blade enter his skull and pierce his brain, and conflicting feelings of betrayal and pride rushed in as the darkness cut Lex's scream short. The dick had chosen to let him die, but his reaction showed he cared.
Why did he choose me?
Lex’s last words to him came rushing back.
“I’m sorry kiddo, I’ll see you in your next life.”
Your next life, not the next life. It seemed an odd way to phrase it unless…
Simon lurched up, a grunt pushing past his lips as several broken bones throughout his body crunched, sending a dull ache through him. Pain tolerance was one of the few advantages of being undead. The undead still experienced pain, but it no longer crippled him. Now, it was more of an annoying pressure or an irritating tickle.
Simon opened his gummy eyes just in time to see the chest in front of him, but not soon enough to stall his forward momentum. His face smacked into the chest hard. He grunted as a tooth dislodged from his gums and skittered across the floor. The stale odor of old laundry reached his nose, and he scowled.
Simon pushed himself up and stood. He brought his hands to his eyes and rubbed the sticky goop from them. When he pulled the hands away, he jumped. Gone were the nimble five-fingered hands of Dirge. Instead he looked down upon a pair of tiny, three-fingered blue hands, covered in odd patches of hair and a scattering of warts. A squeak of distress burbled from within as realization filled Simon.
“No, no, no.” He looked down to see a pair of gnarled toed feet peeking from under a filthy kilt. He grabbed his head, an over large bulbous affair covered in wispy thin strands of hair, a huge nose with wide nostrils, and a mouth curled into a perpetual frown. A thick neck led to a torso that was both thin and flabby. He rushed to the closest wall of the small room, and the semi-reflective crystal showed him the face of Steve the bläärt.
“Oh, what the hell.”
Understanding came to Simon in a flash. Had this been Le
x’s plan? Risking Simon’s existence on a hope and a prayer. If so, it was exactly the kind of shitty plan Lex would come up with. But how did he know Steve was dead? The gamble both impressed and enraged Simon but was exactly what he’d come to expect from Lex. Stupidity that somehow succeeded.
“What a dick,” Simon muttered, but there was no gusto behind his vehemence. Lex’s plan might have been a shitty one, but it had succeeded. Simon was still alive, a secret weapon in their war against Baelmaera.
Simon stretched and worked his broken bones back into position. The wounds would not heal outside of the Barrow, but at least the bones were back in their proper place. He did not understand how the undead functioned, the Death Magic bonded to his soul re-animated all but the most broken of bodies. How long this body would last was another matter.
Simon’s nose twitched, and through the stench of his bläärt body, the most wondrous odor he’d ever known flowed to him. “Loots,” Simon said, appalled to hear his voice, and his manner of speaking, was now that of Steve the bläärt.
But his hunger for the loots overrode any irritation and Simon looked to the bag near his feet. He recognized it as Seraphine’s satchel and chuckled, taking pride in the pick-pocketing skill that was now his. The bag’s smells were varied and wondrous but did not contain the odor that had drawn his attention. Simon turned to the long thin chest. It had neither hinges, nor any obvious lock, but Simon still grinned.
“No loots stays hides from bläärts for long,” Simon said and then screamed, his eyes bulging in panic. With a huge mental effort, he pushed all hints of the bläärt personality into the back of his mind and promised himself he would stay ever vigilant. With that, he decided he very much wanted the loots.
He pulled a locksmithing kit from beneath his kilt, careful not to rub against whatever biological mysteries lay beneath and knelt before the chest. It took only a second to smell the hidden keyhole, and a minute to pick the lock. Simon nodded his head in appreciation. Steve was a more accomplished thief than Vonn.