But she did not wish to travel alone with Edmun, whose virtue Salene did not trust. “I would be honored to speak with the king.” She glanced coyly at Torion. “But I insist that the general join us.”
“That I will,” answered Torion before Edmun could protest.
Salene understood why the veteran officer agreed so quickly. Torion thought that he could keep her from defending Zayl and spreading her fearful stories about some spider demon. When the time came, though, the king would hear her warnings.
She only hoped that Justinian would also listen.
The Lady Nesardo had not been inside the palace since more than a year before good Cornelius’s death. She had not spoken with Justinian for more than a year before that. Thus it was that her image of the young monarch—the timid, uncertain dreamer—was utterly shattered by the reality.
Justinian, alerted by messengers, met them in the throne room. Based on what Salene gathered from Torion, the great chamber that the heir had once abhorred now seemed a far more favored spot than his former haunts—the kitchens and his personal quarters. In fact, when the three were announced, it was to find the king relaxing on the throne, a parchment in one hand, a goblet in the other. To Salene, he looked so much the picture of confidence that she almost wondered if he was simply posing.
Justinian immediately set down his goblet on a small, elegant table next to the throne. Keeping the document in one hand, he shook the general’s with the other.
“Always a pleasure to have your company, Torion!” His eyes all but lit up at the sight of his other visitor. “And the Lady Nesardo! Did I ever tell you what a crush I had on you?”
Considering that he was no older than her, that meant that there had lurked a possibility that Salene could have potentially become queen. Had her father been alive at the time, even keeping the family fortune together by marrying Riordan would have looked a poor second to gaining the throne.
That Salene had no desire to become queen would have meant nothing.
Despite not wearing a gown, she did as protocol demanded and curtsied. “Your majesty honors me.”
“No, my dear Salene! You honor me.” King Justinian glanced at Edmun. “You may go.”
The retainer bowed low. “I am but a whisper away.”
“Naturally.” As Edmun left, the lord of Westmarch handed the parchment to Salene’s companion. “I’ve looked it all over, Torion, and it’s good, yes, but I want a bit more yet.”
He started to go into details about the coming events marking his ascension. Salene tried to pay attention, yet at the same time Justinian talked, the noblewoman thought she heard whispering. Salene surreptitiously looked for Edmun or some guard lurking in the vicinity, but saw nothing.
Yet, the more she focused on the whispering, the more it grew distinct. In fact—
In fact, it repeated nearly word for word what Justinian was saying. No … Justinian was repeating what the unseen whisperer said.
Even as Salene realized that, the whispering abruptly halted. Salene had the uncomfortable sensation that she was being stared at, but not by either Torion or the king.
However, a moment later, Justinian was studying her. He briefly frowned, then, eyes still on her, said to the general, “Torion. Something’s come to mind that needs immediate attending to. Lord Vermilion reported that his son’s wandered off, likely to a brothel, but possibly to somewhere more dangerous. This is a delicate matter, and I need you to see to it that he’s returned without incident to his father. You know how much we need Vermilion’s backing …”
“I do indeed, your majesty. I’ll deal with it now.”
Salene had not expected Torion to be sent away, especially so quickly. She wanted him to stay, but could find no excuse. The general kissed the back of her hand, then, leaning close, muttered, “Please be cautious what you say …”
Justinian took his whispering for words between lovers. “I’ll take good care of her, Torion. She’ll be back in your arms before you know it.”
From anyone else, the general would have taken umbrage over such a comment. To his king, the veteran commander simply bowed and replied, “Nothing would please me more. Good evening, your majesty.”
The Lady Nesardo’s gaze followed Torion out of the chamber. Then, realizing how she must look, Salene quickly returned her attention to the king…only to discover him staring at the empty air to his right.
Just as abruptly, he stared at her again. His smile had an artificial quality to it that made the noblewoman very uncomfortable.
“I hope you feel safe being alone with me, my lady,” he said.
“You are the king.”
He chuckled. “A cautious answer.”
There was more whispering, but this time unintelligible. Salene’s brow arched as she sought to understand what was being said.
Justinian noticed immediately. “You seem—distracted—Lady Nesardo. Are you ill? Do you feel uneasy on your feet? Are you hearing voices?”
Without meaning to, she took a step back. “Your majesty, if you’ll excuse me—”
The king’s expression grew ghastly, becoming a parody of cheerfulness. “Are you referring to me … or are you speaking to my father?”
“Your—your father?”
“Oh, but can’t you see him? He’s standing right next to me! I thought that if you could hear him, you could certainly see him!” He looked to the empty air again. “She can’t see you, Father!”
Salene squinted. With concentration, she almost thought that she could make out a murky form that might pass for something human. Might.
“That—is that King Cornelius?”
Justinian IV clapped his hands together. “Yes, yes, it is! He came to me in my hour of need, Lady Salene! I was so fraught with anxiety and fear! I never planned to be ruler! That was my brother’s position! I was simply supposed to live out my life, doing nothing and, therefore, doing no harm!”
“Then, your brother died—”
“You can be assured that I was the most tearful of all, even more than Father! Still, even at that terrible time, I thought Father would live forever! He’d always been the toughest of us all …” He shook his head mournfully. “But not tough enough, I discovered.”
The whispering began again. Despite being unable to understand it, Salene suspected that it involved her.
“You’re quite right, Father,” the new monarch said with a boyish nod. “She should. Why, I think that she should be very, very honored!”
Honored? For some reason, she doubted very much that whatever he offered would be an “honor.” Salene knew that she had made a terrible mistake coming here, but who would have dreamed that Justinian was haunted by something claiming to be his own sire? True, Torion’s description of the king’s transformation of character should have given her pause, but even with all else that had happened, never would Salene have expected this.
Justinian gave her a bow. “My Lady Nesardo, I hereby grant you the privilege of being my guest this evening …and perhaps the next, too, if necessary.”
“Your guest? Your majesty, I don’t think that I—”
“Can refuse? Oh, I agree!” He looked to the murky form. “That is right, isn’t it, Father? I thought so! Am I learning well?”
There was more whispering. Salene concentrated harder, hoping that somehow she could better see and hear the shade of the late king, but to no avail. She doubted that it was accidental. Something was terribly wrong here. The advice Justinian was getting seemed not at all in character with the old king as she knew him.
Although she failed to hear it better, she did notice that the shade grew slightly more distinct. Salene frowned at what she saw. In all ways, it seemed to be Cornelius. She caught the outline of his beard, his nose, and other features. Just enough to make her believe that he was indeed Cornelius.
But as she continued to concentrate, Salene sensed something else. There was an aura around the specter, one that had a different feel to it, as if it had been
placed around Cornelius against his will.
Was it a spell?
Salene wished that Zayl were here with her. He would have known what all this meant. He would have understood how to unravel the questions before her …
But Zayl had trusted in the noblewoman, and so she focused this time on the aura itself. There was a dread familiarity to it. How that could be, Salene did not understand, yet the more she studied the aura, the more she felt certain that she recognized the origin of it.
An image of Karybdus flashed in her mind.
The spell was his.
Justinian was being guided by a spirit forced to do the bidding of the necromancer.
“Justinian—,” she began.
“Hush, my lady,” the young king commanded, gesturing with one hand. “Not now.
Salene’s voice ceased. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
With the possessed shade ever at his side, the lord of Westmarch looked past Salene and clapped his hands. She immediately glanced over her shoulder, there to find Edmun Fairweather already waiting.
“Your majesty.”
“Time to seal the palace.”
The lanky aide bowed deep, his expression bearing a carnivorous smile. “As you say, your majesty.”
As he departed once more, Salene caught him glimpsing not at Justinian … but rather at Cornelius. She let out a silent gasp, wondering how it was that the servant could so readily sense the ghost.
Justinian caught her arm, turning her to face him again. He smiled. “As I thought, Father insists that you stay close! He believes that you might try something silly, and I wouldn’t want to have to hurt you if you did.” After observing her futilely trying to tell him something, he gestured with his free hand. “You may speak again.”
“Your majesty! This is all wrong! Your father is not acting as he should! He’s under the control of a necromancer named Karybdus!”
The king’s good humor vanished. “Karybdus brought my father back to me! He came to me in the moment of my greatest need! You’ll not speak ill of a good man!” He flung her toward the dais. “Sit there!”
His words were more than simply a demand; they were a command that Salene found she could not disobey. Her body placed itself on the dais against her will.
Salene had never heard of any trait for magic running through the royal line and had to assume that somehow Karybdus—perhaps through Aldric Jitan—was also the cause of this. Whatever the source, Justinian clearly reveled in it.
The king’s rage vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He went to where his goblet sat and took another great gulp. Then, acting like an eager young boy with a secret, he sat down next to the Lady Nesardo.
“Tonight, it begins! They’ll never question my right to reign! When this is all through, everyone will see that I am the true king! No one’ll ever call me ‘Justinian the Wide-Eyed’ again!”
“What—what do you mean, your majesty?” Salene had the horrible idea that she knew.
“It was so very clever! The nobles are all in attendance in the capital! Most of the guards have been stripped away from the outer walls—Father’s suggestion, that! When the city’s under attack, I’ll be waiting for the right moment to come to its rescue! I’ll be commanding the forces that Torion’s gathered for me—but only after it’s clear that none of those would-be usurpers can do anything!” He grinned wide. “I’ll be the one to save Westmarch from the spiders! Me!”
He knew. He knew everything, and yet Justinian was content to sit here and let it all play out. He was content to sit and drink while scores perished … or faced some worse fate.
And it seemed that there was nothing that Salene could do about it …
They set Zayl on the stone floor with surprising care. The necromancer slowly raised his head … only to see the boots that surely belonged to the legendary Karybdus.
But Karybdus was not yet looking at him. The other Rathmian gazed at the possessed soldiers with what only his counterpart could tell was a hint of frustration. He held out his hand, and one of them gave him Zayl’s dagger and the much-damaged pouch containing the skull of Humbart Wessel.
Karybdus brought the pouch up to eye level. Without opening it, he sensed what was within. “Animated. Amusing but useless.”
“You find me ‘amusing’?” said the mercenary’s hollow voice. “If I had jaws, I’d bite your nose off! See how amused you’d be then!”
Their captor’s eyes narrowed. “Be silent.”
The curse that Humbart had just begun cut off in mid-sentence.
Setting the pouch on the floor beside him, Karybdus inspected Zayl’s blade. “Finely attuned,” he complimented. “A particularly well-crafted piece, too.”
The other necromancer said nothing.
Satisfied, Karybdus glanced at the soldiers. “Your task is done. You are dismissed. Go.”
The soldiers stayed where they were.
“Allow me, sorcerer,” boomed a voice both familiar and yet not. “Go! I will summon you when I need you.”
Like marionettes, the men turned as one and left. Pushing himself up, Zayl beheld Lord Aldric Jitan, but as he had never seen him before. Jitan stood by the altar—and by the limp, pale corpse of Sardak Nesardo—one hand holding forth the Moon of the Spider, the other clutching the bloodied sacrificial dagger.
Aldric seemed twice as large as Zayl remembered him and his hair flew as if electrified. His eyes blazed crimson and his skin was the color of the ivory part of the artifact. Zayl’s higher senses noted a black aura about the man, one with no human origin.
Smiling at the prisoner, Lord Jitan cavalierly thrust the dagger back into Sardak’s ruined chest. Only then did Zayl see how terribly the body of Salene’s brother had been butchered. In addition to drawing the blood, they had also cut out the heart. In the process, the noble and his companion had shoved aside the rest of Sardak’s innards as if so much offal.
An unexpected urge to beat the noble into the floor filled Zayl, but he managed to smother most of the emotion. Yet, as he had noted Karybdus’s earlier frustration, so too now did the older necromancer see what coursed through the younger.
“An unseemly display. You let attachment color your efforts and lead you away from the proper course of the Balance.”
“At least I have not forgotten entirely to what I have devoted myself.”
Karybdus sniffed. “Nor have I. I am more resolute than ever that the Balance be maintained. I have made sacrifice after sacrifice to ensure that.”
The younger Rathmian dared sit up. He indicated the carnage and the insidious creatures that had once been men. “This is your notion of sacrifice, Karybdus? What has become of you? Surely, you have fallen prey to the life-tap—”
His words actually made Karybdus laugh. “Is that what you think, young one? That I, who strove against demons and dark spellcasters for so long, absorbed the life forces of too many evil ones and thus became them? Perhaps someone less so, but I am Karybdus, am I not?”
Zayl sought to rise, but an invisible force kept him in a kneeling position. He glanced at Aldric, who looked like a child with a new toy. A very deadly and powerful new toy … and one whose repercussions the noble surely did not comprehend.
“If not that, then what? What has changed?”
The gray-haired necromancer bent closer. “Nothing has changed, young Zayl. I still hold the same belief I held the day I accepted the mantle. There is nothing more important than the Balance, and I do what must be done to keep it even. You, of all, should be able to appreciate that.” He straightened. “When first I sensed your presence and realized that it was you, I briefly thought of asking you to join me in this crusade. But almost immediately, I saw that you had become blinded, that you were swept up in the same terrible mistake so many of our brothers and sisters were.”
“And that is?” asked Zayl, seeking some manner by which to escape the spell and stop this travesty before it was too late.
“That there are two s
ides to the Balance. There must always be.” Karybdus took on the aspect of a teacher. “How otherwise could it even be called so?”
“Good and Evil, yes. You preach nothing I do not know.”
“Then let me tell you this—”
At that moment, Lord Jitan called, “Is this necessary? The next phase is—”
The armored spellcaster glanced at his partner. “The next phase is still minutes away, my lord, and I would have Zayl—who deserves it most—understand why I do what I must. After all, for the sake of the Balance, he let his own parents perish.”
Lord Jitan let out an eager gasp. “Did he really?”
Zayl felt as if Karybdus had taken the sacrificial dagger and cut out his heart. Shaking his head vehemently, he cried, “I did no such thing!”
“You know it was otherwise. You know that all understood that.” Karybdus forced his counterpart’s face toward his. “I knew them both, you know. Fought beside them before you were born. I can say without hesitation that they were very proud of your decision … at least, after the pain stopped and they moved on to the next plane of existence.”
“Stop it! Stop your lies!”
But the senior Rathmian went on, “If there is Good, there must be Evil to balance it out. Your act is an example. You had to do what resulted in their deaths because it was the correct thing to do. However, too often, all our kind does now is fight Hell’s minions. Think very carefully, Zayl. All that for the side of Good! The imbalance is growing overwhelming! Something must be done to bring the world back to an even state!”
And, at last, Zayl did understand what Karybdus meant—understood it and abhorred it.
For centuries, the Rathmians had fought the servants and powers of the Prime Evils, who sought to sway the mortal plane completely to their will. In Zayl’s mind, never could enough be done. A world dominated by the Prime Evils was a world forever out of balance and, therefore, lost.
Yet, Karybdus, whose triumphs over the Darkness were legion, now believed that he and the others had done too much. He obviously felt that the world had slipped too far toward the Light, which according to the principles of Rathma, could lead humanity to a stagnation and a loss of conscience as terrible in its own way as anything falling to the Darkness might.
Diablo: Moon of the Spider Page 25