by Garon Whited
Behind us, the flagstones cracked, almost shattered. They didn’t explode, but cracked again and again and again, shivering to pieces as though… as though… as though they vibrated apart. Disintegrated. The effect followed us like a shockwave across the Plaza of the Arch, leaving only dust where the Arch once stood, but diminishing with distance. By the time we reached the edge of the Plaza, the flagstones were only cracking to pieces, not crumbling to dust. The effect, when it hit the buildings, was more pronounced. They collapsed immediately into heaps of rubble, but I didn’t pay too much attention since they couldn’t fall on us.
Once beyond the flagstones around the Arch, the effect had plants to chew on. They grew. Vines lengthened and thickened. Trees shot up, roots spread out, leaves showered down from a hundred seasons. Grass spread, unchecked, burying the old roads, forcing the stones apart even as the road-stones themselves cracked to let green shoots through. The effect continued to diminish in force as we gained distance, but eventually it caught up to us despite Bronze’s speed. It washed over us, through us, and went on its way ahead of us, diminishing further as it went on ahead.
Bronze slowed gradually, falling from an all-out run to a gallop, a trot, a walk. She stopped, ears perked forward and smoking, blowing flame from her mouth, puzzled.
“I have no idea,” I admitted, taking stock of myself and her. We seemed none the worse for wear. All around us, buildings collapsed, plants grew, the ground shifted, but we stood still and unchanged. Or, no, almost unchanged. My belt and baldric were now heavily worn and somewhat stiff, the leather cracked and dry. The flexible portions of my armor were also stiff and crackled when I moved.
“Firebrand? You all right?”
I’m fine. I didn’t feel much, if anything. Maybe a little bit of a tingle?
“Yeah, that’s about all I noticed. Bronze, too.”
Bronze twitched an ear at me, wondering what it was all about.
“Well, it wasn’t a wave of living energy, I’ll tell you that much. I would know.”
She trusted me to know my business.
Did everything get older? Firebrand asked. This is what the place would look like in fifty or a hundred years, isn’t it?
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “The plants should be dead, not more overgrown. They need rain and sunlight or they don’t grow. They should wither and die if they aged even a year without a year’s worth of water. Rocks don’t spontaneously crack open. Water gets in, freezes in winter, and makes small cracks bigger. Over a century, you get broken stones. They don’t split open simply because time passes.”
So why does it look that way?
“As I said, I don’t know what happened. What I do know is I want to get what I saw of the spell diagram written down while I still remember it.”
Bronze urged me to go ahead. She would keep an eye on things and inform me of any change. I went into my headspace to sit at my desk and draw what I could remember, puzzle out what I couldn’t.
I emerged again in moments, having spent far longer inside than out. Nothing seemed further altered.
We worked our way through the jungle-covered rubble of what was once Zirafel. The streets were flat places between hills, now, with the occasional column or wall jutting upward from the grass and vines. The place was thoroughly reclaimed from civilization. In another hundred years, there might not be anything left worth uncovering.
We passed one of the few standing buildings. I recognized it as a house with a pair of magical maintenance golems. It started out in better shape than any of the surrounding buildings, and it weathered the effect better. Vines covered it, but it seemed intact.
I stopped there, dismounted, and went inside.
Boss?
“I want to see if the golems are still working.”
I found them inside the house. They were working perfectly, walking side by side through the house, gently touching everything in sequence. The house, on the inside, was unchanged. Because of the maintenance and repair golems? Their enchantments weren’t that strong. I wasn’t sure how they survived, much less kept the house in order.
Outside, I reflected how they needed a gardener golem. The maintenance golems might keep the interior looking pristine for a thousand years, but the roots and vines would eventually start pulling down the house.
As we headed away from the Plaza, the effect diminished. Maybe the Imperial Palace was intact. It had more courtyard for plants to cross and it was farther away from the center of the effect. We didn’t detour to look.
Walking through Zirafel, out of the area of effect, it did seem uncannily like a walk through different phases of a city going to jungle. Behind us, it was thorough to the point of unrecognizability. Before us, it grew more and more citified, less overgrown—less ancient?
I decided to make one short detour to check on the morons. Excuse me. I meant the religious zealots who refused to abandon an indefensible village known to be a target of slaving raids. Not “morons.” I shouldn’t call them that. But I’m going to think it because I’m an opinionated irreligious monster and a bad person.
The place was a shambles. Their structures weren’t as badly hit, being farther from the center, but they started out less sturdy than the masonry of Zirafel. Most were collapsed. Pole-and-shingle roofs were universally fallen in, along with at least one wall of every house. All food was gone, as were most wooden or leather goods.
There were few people and they were in no better shape. Most of them were long-dead, or appeared to be. There were no children, no babies, not even young adults. Every body was of someone at least fifty. The majority died during the collapse of their houses, or were already dead of old age. It was hard to tell, since everything was artificially ancient. The village was a ruin, long gone, long ago.
“Okay, I’m taking suggestions.”
Are you sure this wasn’t some sort of… I dunno. Aging thing? I mean, last time we were here, everyone was, you know, alive.
“An aging effect? I doubt it. It strikes me as too complicated.”
I don’t get it.
“It’s one thing to… hmm. Look, if someone is going to grow old, it takes time. Lots of things happen. They eat, they breathe, they live, and so on. In ten, twenty, fifty years, they’re older. If you shove them through a time-distortion effect, you have to feed them, give them air, and let them live their lives in the distortion. Fifty years go by in there while only a moment goes by out here. At minimum, they need fifty years’ worth of food and water to survive. With me so far?”
Sure.
“An aging effect would make them older without making them take up more time. It would be a complicated spell, forcing them to experience the effects of rapid aging—sagging skin, cataracts, all sorts of cell division errors, the works. I can see how the catastrophic, uncontrolled collapse of a wormhole could cause some sort of time warp, but a make-you-age spell? One is an abuse of spacetime. The other is a big bunch of complex biological processes. I don’t see them overlapping.”
Don’t magicians steal youth from victims?
“Technically, no. They shove some of their age into youthful victims by transferring some of the effects of aging onto multiple subjects, allowing the subjects to each experience a portion of the detrimental effects of age while the magician no longer does. Which, I suppose, is vaguely similar in some respects to what happened here… but only vaguely. I’m not overly familiar with the particulars of those spells, but from what I do know, they’re complex, specific things, not something to happen by simple accident. It’s the equivalent of throwing knives at someone in the hope you coincidentally perform a surgical operation. A successful one. One where the patient survives.”
Got it. So what did happen here?
“I’m not sure what happened—” I began. My pocket mirror chimed and I fished it out. Seldar looked out of it. He struck me as being somewhat pale, possibly a bit green. It was hard to tell. Nighttime means everything is illuminated for me, but it’s also in mono
chrome. I doubted Seldar could see me at all well, so I conjured a light at my end, forming a ring around my pocket mirror to illuminate my face.
“Evening,” I offered. “Are you feeling all right?”
“I am not.”
“What’s wrong?”
“With your permission, Dread Lord, I would say I have not called to discuss my health.”
“Dread Lord?” I echoed, and wished I could catch the words after they escaped. Seldar was down south, maybe thirty miles from the first of the…
Yeah. Dread Lord. Right.
“Never mind,” I continued, instead. “I understand. What’s on your mind, Seldar?”
“Kammen has returned to us. I am given to understand we shall conquer, pacify, and incorporate into the Kingdom of Karvalen all who remain in the lands once held in thrall by the Church of Light?”
“I’m for it,” I agreed. “You might want to discuss the current strategic situation with Lissette. The Queen, I mean. It strikes me as more merciful to roll through, organize what’s left, and start rebuilding than it is to leave them to their own devices.”
“Indeed. Do you wish to show any mercy?” he asked. I heard a rumble of thunder through the connection. It sounded like a storm was coming.
“Is that a serious question or a rebuke? —and I’m asking it seriously.”
“I…” he began, and paused. He took a few breaths. “I am not entirely certain, Sire. Perhaps a bit of both.”
“Seldar, I accept your rebuke, because I deserve it and because it is you who offers it. I probably deserve more than a rebuke, but I have no doubt my actions will haunt whatever is left of my conscience for eternity. Having accepted it and having said so, let it go. Please.”
“As you say, Sire.”
“So, yes. Where we can afford mercy, show it. It’s the usual thing, really. The Demon King lost his temper. Lucky for everyone, the Bright Queen is a kind, gentle, motherly sort who would heal the hurts her husband caused. Do you think we can pitch it that way and have people catch it?”
“It… it does follow the… established pattern. Yes, Sire.”
“And stop calling me that!”
“As you wish.” He quirked half a smile. “Of course, Your Royal Demonic Majesty.”
“Not funny, but sort of an improvement,” I admitted.
“Shall I, then, speak with Her Majesty in regard to your wishes? Or will you do so?”
“You handle it. I have enough on my plate coming to grips with being a mass murderer on an unprecedented scale.”
“Truly?”
“You sound concerned.”
“I wonder how this has affected you,” he agreed. “I had not thought this sort of destruction was… something you would condone, much less perform.”
“I didn’t see another way. I admit I’m stupid, but at least I’m effective.”
“May one ask how many times you were ‘effective’?”
“Forty-three. And the main temple of the Church of Light is a crater, by the way. I’m not sure there are enough people—never mind real soldiers—between you and Kamshasa to count as a decent fight, much less an army. But hunt down any priests of the Lord of Light and kill them anyway, would you?”
“In that, you will find us entirely willing, Master of Infernal Might.”
“These are just suggestions,” I added. “However Lissette wants to handle this, do it. I’m guessing the situation is a lot less dangerous than it was.”
“If you mean the war is over, you are undoubtedly correct. The Church of Light is not destroyed, but from what you tell me, its power is broken. Indeed, we have already had overtures from Zhoka about becoming a vassal state to Karvalen. I presume the capitol of H’zhad’Eyn, along with Castle Falken and King Ectelerean, have been smote in the same fashion as those we have seen?”
“Was the capitol farther east of your position?”
“Yes. We are still encamped at Zhoka, at least until morning.”
“Zhoka. Right. Zhadivos is the other one, the capitol. Well, if it was east of Zhoka and still on our list to conquer, it’s gone,” I admitted. Seldar sighed.
“My King, may I make an observation and a suggestion?”
“It’s your duty to advise me, Seldar, even when I don’t want to hear it. And I know you will. You’re the only person to ever slap me to get my attention and survive. You can get away with telling me anything, even if you need to do it over a mirror to feel safe.”
“It gratifies me to hear it,” he admitted. “My observation is: by this demonstration of power, you will be sought. Those who fear you will now do anything to kill you. Those who wish your favor will do anything to win it. Most will seek only to avoid your notice, of course, but those to either extreme will become more extreme. You have worked a miracle of fire and blood to better the fortunes of the kingdom, but you have further polarized those who would regard you as something other than a king. You will not be known as the demon king after this—or not for long.”
“Well, damn,” I observed. I might have added a few more words not fit for children.
“My suggestion,” he continued, “is to exercise great care if you choose to leave the confines of the mountain. I see from the background you are not within it now, so I caution you to efforts even greater than those you normally display in your attempts to remain unnoticed.”
“I’ve got an idea to cover it,” I told him, because I had one the moment he mentioned it. “Anything else?”
“Not for now, no, you who are Her Majesty’s Darkness.”
“Hey, that’s actually a good one. I like it.”
“Shall I use it exclusively?”
“I’d get bored with it. Remember it in case we ever talk in Lissette’s presence, though. I want to see her face.”
“I shall. And I shall attempt to discuss the matter of the Queen’s wishes immediately.”
“Thank you.” I hung up on him and put the mirror away. I rubbed my face briskly with both hands, as though to scrub away the visions still dancing behind my eyes. I put up a good front for Seldar, but my cheerful disposition was exactly that: A front. I was feeling… well, not sunny and cheerful. It’s hard to explain exactly how I felt. Frustrated and angry, certainly. Possibly also a bit of shock from my own self-inflicted trauma. It’s not every day I play global thermonuclear war. I’d rather play Tic-Tac-Toe.
“All right. I have an orb to chase, a queen to support, and—while fewer in number, greater in intensity—fanatics to dodge. Anybody have anything to add?”
Bronze shook her head, mane making a metallic whisper. Firebrand cleared an imaginary throat.
“Go ahead.”
Look, Boss. Anybody who can set a continent on fire and shake it has my vote for god-king-emperor of the world and the person not to screw around with. But I’m mostly a dragon. Humans are about as sensible as the weather. They’ll do what they’ll do, and generally it’s stupid.
“I want to argue, but I can’t. Go on.”
Why don’t we leave? Forget this place. You don’t like it here, anyway. People were trying to kill you before—kill you or take your blood. And the crazy fanatic religious types wanted you dead. Now you’ll have people who liked you thinking you’re too dangerous to live. You make things… complicated. Yes, complicated. Whenever you’re around people, that is. You’re not so bad on your own, but once you get to fooling around with humans, things go sideways.
“That’s my plan, or mostly. Wherever the Orb went, we have to chase it down and deal with it. It hasn’t been lurking in this world doing nothing. If it’s leaving, it has a good reason. It has somewhere to go, something to do, and the thing has to be stopped. If we could have made it to the Arch in time to stop it, we would have had it right then. As it is, there are a few things I have to deal with before we can chase it.”
Such as?
“Figuring out where it went and how it got there. I didn’t think it could dial out on the Great Arch. It’s possible it called someone or
something else to open a gate to the Arch. If so, I want to know who allied itself with the Orb. See what I mean?”
Could it have been the Lord of Light? It’s got minions in other worlds, right?
“Yes. And that’s one of the many things I have to discover or do. I dread the thought of a black-souled vampire lord working with the Orb of the Demon King.”
I paused and gripped my temples with one hand. I have ninety percent of a strange spell for self-destructing an Arch—and it’s my only clue as to where the Orb of Evil actually went. I owe Bob, at the very least, a gateway and instructions on how to make a parachute. The Temple of Shadow will, temporarily, see to the safety of the Temple of Flame, but I don’t have to do it personally. I probably ought to make some arrangement with Lissette, put some sort of political spin on this incident. She called up the Demon King and this is the result? Maybe. Is there some way we can give everyone the impression she summoned the genie from the bottle to end the war and it warped her wish? Or should I stay out of it and let her spread whatever propaganda seems best to her? I’m leaning toward letting her say whatever she wants. Maybe she and Beltar can work out some theological propaganda to help the Queen, the kingdom, and my altar ego all at once… So much to do, so much to do…
All at once, I felt so very tired.
I’ve just nuked one religion, two and a half kingdoms, and maybe a couple of million people. I’m not feeling up to this.
On the bright side, Firebrand pointed out, this time, you don’t have indigestion from eating them all.
“You know what?” I asked, possibly of anyone, possibly of myself. Firebrand answered.
No. What?
“I’ve had it.”
Had what?
“It. The proverbial ‘it.’ I’ve had it with everything. I try to help—I really do—and all I manage is to lay another paving-slab on the road to Hell. Good intentions be damned. I’m going back to Apocalyptica. I’m going to distract myself with a strange spell until dawn. I’m going to sit in a hot shower, in the dark, and try to come to grips with the fact I’m more of a monster than I ever imagined. I’m going to step back and get the hell out of other people’s lives. They don’t need me and they certainly haven’t done anything to deserve me screwing them up. And, as soon as I can, I’m going to hunt down an evil orb and do things to it only a monster could think up.”