Heroes Die

by Matthew Woodring Stover

  “Then there’s no real reason for you to expose yourself at all. From right here on the Dusk Tower you could create an illusion of yourself and make it move and speak and breathe just like the real thing. You’d never be in the slightest danger. You could do the whole operation as a Fantasy. Shit, you don’t even need Pallas there: you can project an illusion of her, too. That wouldn’t be too complicated for you, would it?”

  Caine watched the wheels turn within Ma’elKoth’s mind as he imagined the event from every possible angle and through every conceivable outcome. “No,” he said slowly. “No. Pallas must be in the stadium in truth; there is a limit to what even I may convincingly accomplish with an illusion. The play of light and shadow, the touch of a breeze in My hair, even My voice. Heard only with the mind, it must perfectly counterfeit what would be heard by the ears. We can afford no slip; the slightest flaw would signal Our ploy to Our enemy.”

  “No, you can’t,” Caine said, his voice low and desperate. “You can’t put her there. It’s too dangerous. Please.” Please, he thought, don’t throw po’ li’l me into that briar patch . . . “I can help you, Ma’elKoth. I can make this work for you. But if there’s any danger to Pallas, we have no deal.”

  Ma’elKoth stepped close to Caine to tower over him and gaze down deeply into his eyes. “So. In the end, it comes down to the woman.”

  Caine didn’t answer; he didn’t trust words to come clearly through the hammering of his heart.

  “I have nearly killed you twice within the hour,” Ma’elKoth murmured. “The King of Cant is, or was, one of your close friends. He has made you an honorary Baron of Cant, sheltered you, shared bread, wine, and perhaps his inmost thoughts. And you betray him to me—for a woman. For Pallas Ril.”

  “You have her. I want her,” Caine said hoarsely. “When this works, you won’t need her anymore. Give her to me.”

  “Why? You said that you are no longer lovers.”

  “That was her choice, not mine.” Caine squared his shoulders and looked up into the Emperor’s face with level frankness. “I love her, Ma’elKoth. I always have. Alive, there’s a chance she’ll change her mind about me.”

  He let the truth of his words carry him away; if Ma’elKoth read that truth in his face, it would paint over the cracks in his lies.

  “Even after you have betrayed the King of Cant?”

  “Yeah. Even then. He betrayed her, first.” Caine stepped back and wrapped the truth around himself like a flag. “She was never in this to be against you, Ma’elKoth. She never opposed the government. She never hurt anyone until the Cats started pouncing on her everywhere she went. All she wanted was to save the lives of some innocent people.”

  “None too innocent—” Ma’elKoth began, but Caine cut him off.

  “Bullshit. She’s not political, all right? Whatever reasons you had for starting this whole thing, those people aren’t Aktiri; you know it, and so does she. She’s a . . . a, well . . .” Caine coughed through a sudden thickening in his throat. “She’s a hero, Ma’elKoth. A real hero, not like me—or you either, no offense. She couldn’t stand off and let innocents be killed, and that’s the only reason she’s involved in this in the first place.”

  “Mmm,” Ma’elKoth rumbled. “If she is such a hero, how did she come to be the lover of a man like you?”

  Caine shook his head and looked away. “I don’t know. Maybe she thought she could save me, too . . .”

  He realized that Ma’elKoth had led him off his thread, and he forced his mind back onto the business at hand. “The point is that the King of Cant saw an opportunity to strike at you through her; through your Aktir hunt, he saw a chance to bring down your whole house. She wouldn’t go for it, not at all. That was never why she was in this game in the first place. They quarreled, and she threatened to expose him. That’s why he gave her up. He couldn’t betray her through Toa-Sytell—that would reveal his complicity. So he had Lamorak do it.”

  Ma’elKoth’s brows lifted. “Indeed? Lamorak has been in the pay of the King as well as the Cats? How very enterprising.”

  “Didn’t you wonder why he blew the riverboat to you after you nearly had him tortured to death?” This was a risk, but only a slight one; Caine was almost positive that it was Lamorak who had brought the Cats to Knights’ Bridge.

  “Yes,” Ma’elKoth said slowly, “yes, I did. Now many things begin to come clear . . .”

  “You screwed Majesty’s plans for real when you took her alive. That was one outcome he hadn’t planned on. To kill her himself would have been too raw for the rest of the Kingdom. They still have some illusions of honor. He was gonna let Berne do the job for him, but Berne fucked it up. Pallas is still alive. That’s why he’s had to move. That’s why the riots, the story about you being an Aktir. He has to hit you hard before you break her, so that by the time you know who to hit back at, it’s too late. You get it, now?”

  “I see . . .” Ma’elKoth mused. “And once my illusionary Emperor has apparently slain Pallas in the stadium, any of her surviving enemies will believe her dead, thus protecting her from reprisal.”

  “Exactly,” Caine said. “And we can go off and live happily ever after.”

  “But if the King of Cant is her enemy, why does she still protect him then? Why does she resist Me?”

  “She’s a hero,” Caine said simply, his mouth dry. “She can’t do anything less. That’s why I love her. If you want my help, keep her here in the palace, out of danger.”

  “I have explained to you the difficulty with this,” Ma’elKoth began, but Caine cut him off with a slash of his hand that was all too close to a killing strike.

  “Don’t bitch to me about your problems,” he said. “You’re the one who wants to be a god; are you telling me you can’t do a simple fucking illusion to save your empire?”

  The Emperor scowled darkly. “You doubt My power?”

  “You’re the one with doubts,” Caine countered.

  The Emperor’s eyes went vague, his thoughts drifting far to a noontide in a sunlit arena on the south bank.

  “Perhaps it can be done,” he said at length. “Difficult; nearly impossible. No mortal could hope to accomplish such a feat—an interesting challenge. But I can take no chance with Pallas; her power has become extreme. Without My will to block her, she may find a way to pierce My wards and reach the Flow once more.”

  Caine shrugged. “Put her in the Donjon.”

  Ma’elKoth frowned musingly. “I suppose—”

  “It’s the safest place,” Caine said easily. “And the rock will keep her from pulling Flow.”

  “Yes . . .” Ma’elKoth said slowly. “She can be kept in the Donjon safely enough, I believe.”

  You just keep on believing that. He’d given in too easily on this; he had other plans for her. That’s all right, Caine thought. So do I.

  Ma’elKoth’s eyes focused on Caine once again. “It shall be done. Even if the Fantasy fails, little will be lost. No matter the outcome, I will still have the huge public forum in which to accuse the King of Cant; the risk is small. Caine, I have underestimated you. You are thoroughly brilliant.”

  The consideration in the Emperor’s features hardened into resolve. “We shall do this thing. It will be a simple matter to contrive to ‘lose’ the apparent corpse of Pallas Ril before it is burned, or to find another corpse of strong resemblance to consign to the flame. Caine, you have My gratitude. Once this affair is complete, you shall have more: you shall have a title, and lands, and vassals to do your bidding. And you shall have the life of Pallas Ril.”

  Holy shit, Caine thought in wonder. I did it. This might work.

  14

  CAINE STOOD CLOSE to the altar where Pallas was bound while Ma’elKoth spoke to Toa-Sytell and Berne. He wished impotently that there were something he could do for her, right here and now, some way that he could, at least, cover her naked body. This was more for his own comfort than for hers: she was far away still, in that distant mystic place of her
own, utterly dissociated from what went on around her.

  He watched the eyes of Toa-Sytell and Berne as Ma’elKoth paced around the Iron Room, issuing his orders. Berne’s kept flicking wetly to Pallas’ naked, bruised body tied to the altar. Once when he caught Caine looking at him, he slowly and with obscene deliberation ran his tongue around the rim of his lips.

  A sole regret burned within Caine’s stomach: his plan included no opportunity to personally murder that sick motherfucker.

  Toa-Sytell’s eyes, however, remained fixed on Ma’elKoth’s impossibly beautiful face. Behind the Duke’s habitual mask of polite blankness lurked concern that bordered on fear. When Ma’elKoth revealed that the true enemy was the King of Cant, blush flooded the Duke’s face. “I don’t believe it,” he muttered. “I don’t believe it for one second.”

  The Emperor rounded upon him. “Belief is not required of you, Toa-Sytell. Obedience, however, is.”

  “But, but . . . you don’t understand!” Toa-Sytell stammered. “What word do you act upon but Caine’s? Have you forgotten the destruction that follows him everywhere? Have you forgotten the Donjon? Have you forgotten the Succession War?”

  Ma’elKoth stepped to him, towering over him, his face darkening as though a cloud had passed before the sun.

  “I have not. Take care that you do not forget: I am Ma’elKoth. The Empire is Mine to risk, should I choose. As is this city; as is your life, Toa-Sytell.”

  The Duke didn’t flinch, but he could not abide the Emperor’s gaze. As soon as he dropped his eyes, though, Ma’elKoth relented, laying an avuncular hand on Toa-Sytell’s shoulder. “I understand your concern, My Duke, but you should also recall that the destruction attendant upon Caine’s presence has always redounded to My benefit. It was the Succession War that brought Me to power; the slaughter in the Donjon has brought Me to the brink of victory over My most troublesome adversary. I do not ask you to place trust in Caine’s word, but rather in My judgment.”

  Berne stepped forward, a half sneer on his face as he chewed the inside of his lip. “And where’ll Caine be during all this? Ask me, I’d lock him up here where you can keep an eye on him.”

  “I did not ask you, Berne.” Ma’elKoth bent down and lifted the net from where it lay piled on the iron plates of the floor. He wrapped it about itself with a flick of his powerful wrist—the griffinstones knotted into its hem gave it plenty of heft—and he tossed it as a bundle to Caine. “Caine has a part in this, as well.”

  Caine caught the net in one hand and tied it into a bundle as he spoke. “The one sticky point in the plan is Abbal Paslava. They call him the Spellbinder—he’s sort of the house wizard for the Kingdom—”

  “We all know who he is,” Toa-Sytell cut in dryly.

  “Well, he’s a problem. He’s a specialist in illusions and shit like that. He might be able to detect Ma’elKoth’s Fantasy somehow, or even dispel it. That would blow the game for real.”

  “And what do you intend to do about him?”

  Caine hefted the netting. “Kill him. It’ll be easy enough. I’m trusted there, remember? I get him off alone, throw this net over his head so he can’t defend himself, and one breath later our problem is solved. I know more than a few ways I can kill him that won’t leave a mark. Paslava’s not a young man; if I tell Majesty that he suddenly collapsed and died in my arms, everyone will believe me.”

  Berne directed his appeal to Ma’elKoth. “How do we know that he’ll do what he says? Why take the chance of letting him go? Ma’elKoth, I’m telling you—”

  “Fear not,” Ma’elKoth rumbled. “I have taken Caine’s measure and not found him wanting: he will be true. Toa-Sytell, you will give the necessary orders for all other arrangements; you have complete authority in this matter. Berne, you will have the Cats ready and present. Once the King of Cant is in My hands, we will raise the matter of Pallas Ril.”

  Play it out, Caine thought. “Ma’elKoth, you promised—”

  “I did not. My word was given conditionally: once this affair is complete. Nothing is complete until I have determined to My satisfaction that Pallas Ril is no longer a threat to the Empire. When dusk falls tomorrow, if the city is calm again, I shall continue My examination. If I can make certain that your tale is true, she will be released.”

  “Released?” Berne looked stunned. “You can’t!”

  “I can. I will. Caine, you have much to do. Go with Toa-Sytell and arrange to escape from the iron carriage as you are transported to the Donjon. You are to be convincing, but—” thunder gathered upon the Emperor’s brow “—kill no one. Reserve your slaughter for Our enemies, and you shall be rewarded. Take the lives of My loyal soldiers, and you shall be punished. Am I understood?”

  Caine shrugged irritably, showing plain displeasure. “Yeah, whatever.”

  “Go then, all of you. I also have much to do; I must summon back the storm from Kaarn to save the city. It will be work of some hours, and then I must prepare the Fantasy for the morrow. Go.”

  The three men exchanged a glance: Caine’s was grim, Toa-Sytell’s bland, and Berne’s openly venomous. Caine took a deep breath and reluctantly headed for the door. It required a physical effort for him to step away from Shanna’s side. He set his teeth and didn’t look back.

  Toa-Sytell beat him to the door and pulled it open for him. As they both stepped into the entry room, Ma’elKoth rumbled behind them, “Berne, bide a moment.”

  Caine turned back instantly. The image of Berne left behind in the Iron Room with Shanna while Ma’elKoth wandered off to do his weather magick was so sickeningly potent that he couldn’t help himself. Ma’elKoth made an absent flicking gesture from across the room, and the door clanged shut in his face.

  He stood for a moment, staring at the silver runes that spidered across the Ouroboros knocker, trying to breathe, trying to recover his mental balance.

  “Caine.”

  Toa-Sytell’s voice had an unfamiliar intensity. When Caine looked back over his shoulder at the Duke, Toa-Sytell’s normally bland face had gone white with suppressed fury.

  “You’ve made me play the fool once before, Caine,” Toa-Sytell hissed, “and a hundred thousand people died in the Succession War—including my sons. I know you, Caine, and I will not be made the fool twice. I do not know how it is that you’ve gulled Ma’elKoth, but I tell you this: I am not deceived. I am watching you, Caine, and at the first hint of treachery I will see you dead.”

  Caine met his fury with bared teeth. “You’re just pissy ’cause I do your job better than you do. Majesty conned you exactly the same way Lamorak conned Berne.”

  “Be warned, Caine—”

  “Y’know, if I were you, I’d be paying less attention to me, and a little more to covering your ass, Toa-Sytell,” Caine said, conspicuously backing off from the confrontation, becoming almost friendly. “I’m going to give you some advice, Duke. Not because I like you, you understand, but because I think that fundamentally, you’re a decent man. You should be remembering who your friends are. You should be thinking about what you’ll do if Ma’elKoth falls.”

  “He will not fall, not while I live,” Toa-Sytell said.

  “Don’t make that promise. If Ma’elKoth goes and you go with him, who would that leave in charge? At least until somebody kills him and takes over?”

  Toa-Sytell frowned; then his eyes widened and he started to go a little pale. A moment later he shook his head and murmured, “But . . . but no one would follow him; he’s only a Count—he has no authority, no real power . . .”

  Caine offered an openly cynical smile. “Hey, there are people in the world who just need someone to tell them what to do, and they’re not particular who it is.”

  Toa-Sytell looked grim, but then he shook that distressing image out of his head. “But Ma’elKoth will not fall. He cannot fall.”

  “Don’t bet your life on it. He’s been acting a little strange lately, don’t you think? These sudden rages, this obsession with me, with where I’ve
been, what I’m doing. I’m starting to think he might be cracking up.”

  Toa-Sytell narrowed his eyes, and his gaze became distant; Caine could see that he’d been thinking along these lines already.

  “Sure,” Caine went on, “we’ll handle this particular threat tomorrow. But I think you can already see that Ma’elKoth isn’t untouchable. If we can see it, so can his enemies.”

  “Caine—”

  “I’m sorry about your sons, Toa-Sytell. I know it doesn’t mean much at this late date, but I swear to you that nobody knew how bad the Succession War was going to be. The Monastic Council would never have sent me in here if they’d thought it would get like that. I don’t want to see another one any more than you do, all right? Think about it. Someone has to be in place to keep order if Ma’elKoth goes down. I can’t think of anyone who’d do a better job than you would.”

  Muscles bunched at the corners of Toa-Sytell’s jaw and relaxed again, and slowly his vision regained its focus. “Come. We must arrange your escape.”

  15

  “I CAN’T BELIEVE you’re trusting him,” Berne said, pacing furiously, stabbing at the air with his stiffened hand. “And I can’t believe that you’re going to let her go! After what she did to me? Do you know how many of my boys she’s killed?”

  “Hush, dear boy,” Ma’elKoth rumbled. “Recover your center. I do not trust Caine. Nor will Pallas Ril be released. Her feat at the docks—” A fleeting shadow crossed his perfect features. “—I Myself might not be able to surpass. She has become a Power; vastly too dangerous to be allowed to live.” too dangerous to be allowed

  “But you told Caine—”

  His massive shoulders lifted and fell again. “She, after all, suffers a sucking wound to her chest. Life will slip away from her soon enough, I think; she shall live only until We have no further need of Caine.” He smiled into his beard. “It may be instructive to perform that pretended spell on her in truth, instead . . .”

  “Need him for what? Why did you let him go?” Berne’s voice took on a rising, petulant edge. “Why won’t you let me kill him?”