"Uh," said Freetrick, suddenly dizzy "I don't think that's—"
"Be silent, my lord!" Bloodbyrn's hand closed over his athame. The bloody dagger smoked and buzzed, then fell silent. "You have done damage enough for one council meeting," she said. "Enough for thirteen. So now be silent and look suitably deranged, or I swear by all that is twisted and unholy I will push the nail of my finger into your ear until I feel something pop."
"And now," continued DeMacabre, "I move we conclude this meeting of the Council of Villainy."
"No," said Freetrick, "you can't." But his voice was lost in the crowd noise.
"My lord," Bloodbyrn hissed at him, but Freetrick pushed her aside.
"No, strike it." Strike it! Freetrick knew half a dozen programs he could spell to amplify his voice, but of course none of them would work! "Here! Re-enchant this knife so I can talk to these people, Bloodbyrn! Even if none of you can see the striking rock about to fall on all of us, I can."
"My lord," said Bloodbyrn, "it would be best for you to leave the ruling to those who know how to rule."
And understanding radiated through Freetrick like ripples across a pond. There was final hidden facet of the huge and sinister mountain of the Rationalist plot to place him as a puppet on the throne of Skrea. The Rationalist-Sangboise plot. What was the decision DeMacabre had made about the troops for the western border? Can't reinforce border despotates in-striking-deed!
As DeMacabre himself had told him, Freetrick would have to rule, or be killed. The ripples reached the edges of his mind, leaving calm, smooth certainty in their wake.
Lightning snapped across his eyes and darkness bloomed above his head as the Ultimate Fiend stretched a hand out to DeMacabre. Tentacles of mist coagulated out of the air and snatched the Duke's athame from his hands.
***
The High Maiden's tent stood in the center of the camp, its bleached leather walls seeming to glow in the deepening dusk.
Kadene, the High Maiden herself, glowed as well, the pure clear fire of Maw shimmering on her skin, outlining her regal form in silver. Her eyes were cool and wise in her deceptively youthful face as she regarded Madene, Selene, and Istain. Istain looked back at her with barely concealed insolence, and Selene's expression was stony and strange.
"Dó n dhubhró se ais, t Sestríngekh." The High Maiden spoke in a two-hundred-year-old dialect, with much more finicky grammatical rules than the modern language, but Madene could understand this formula: Welcome back, Little Sisters.
"Íea ú prineth o ich Seleneo i Istaineo, Modeuichegh," said Madene in her best Maidenspeak. I have brought Selene and Istain, Maiden.
The High Maiden nodded, and looked at Selene, then Istain, one dark eyebrow arched.
"Misim, go tá tú posaé dinnsoikhe," she said to Selene, and Madene understood. Still a virgin, I see.
Selene's brows drew together, but she bowed low.
High Maiden Kadene nodded, then told Selene she had to do something…Madene didn't follow.
Selene bowed again, then stepped aside and addressed Madene and Istain. "The High Maiden says I must translate for her."
Madene looked at her sister Warrior Maiden uneasily. Something was wrong here. Something to do with Selene and Istain.
The High Maiden spoke again and Selene translated, "She says this is a time of great danger and suffering. She says it is a time when we must," she paused, searching for a translation, "we must do strange things. We must all…emm, sacrifice. She asks, do you understand?"
"I do," said Madene, lifting her chin, "Finimim, Modeuichegh.."
"I don't," Istain growled from behind her, "Selene, what is she talking about? Ask her where the Captain-Assistant is."
The High Maiden looked at Istain as Selene translated, and he squinted in the light that shone from her when she spoke.
Madene found herself remembering the way Selene had talked about the High Maiden. Disloyal. Almost treasonous.
"She says, do not worry about your commander," Selene relayed, "She says she remembers your orders."
And why was she hanging around with Istain? Hmm.
"Where is the Captain-Assistant?" Istain repeated, who apparently couldn't understand what the High Maiden was trying to say. Madene turned to glare at him, but Selene had translated and Kadene responded.
"Nekht, boia." she said. They are not here, boy.
And the high maiden had remarked that Selene and Istain hadn't had sex yet. That was obvious, since Selene still had her powers. But she certainly acted like she planned to have sex. Why? Did she want children? But Selene was way too young to start a family, and why choose Istain, of all people, to be the father? No, romance with Istain didn't make sense, but if Selene had some other sort of goal…
Istain's eyes were narrowed, his shoulders stooped and his neck stuck out belligerently at the High Maiden. "Selene," he said, "you can tell her high holy virgin-ness that I am a Rationalist subject and—"
"Multith!" The High Maiden passed her hand through the air and Istain's voice was lost in a rush of noise like the sea in a storm. The rest of the camp—the people, horses, and other tents—blurred, as though seen through a waterfall. It certainly shut Istain up, but why had the High Maiden Kadene had cast a Craft of Concealment around them?
The High Maiden spoke again.
"She says," translated Selene, "that Istain should not worry. His superior should not worry, too. He will follow his Rationalist orders. He will travel to the Kingdoms of Evil."
Her eyes turned to Madene, and the High Maiden spoke again.
"And Madene will be…honored more than any foreign maiden. Because she will…accompany Istain as his…" Selene faltered, "his conscience—oh!"
Selene gasped, and Madene's considerations shattered in her shock.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Istain would have gone on, but Madene cut him off.
"Tú… simh…cais simh, go…mogaim…stink it, dhéos…Selene, tell her she said I could stay here!"
Selene said nothing, but the High Maiden evidently understood Madene's broken Maidenspeak, for she inclined her regal head. "Déa, cait mé iató." Yes, I did say that.
"But I have to go to Skrea," Istain insisted, as if the High Maiden hadn't already promised that he would. "I'm not one of your subjects, lady. In fact, I'm the focus of a lot of international attention. And if you don't want your virgin ass defiled by the tanks my nation has lined up on your border, you'll keep your glowy hands off me."
"Istain…" Selene moaned. And Madene understood. Selene was a spy for the Warrior Maidens. The same way Madene was a spy for the Rationalist Union.
Kadene was speaking to Istain. "Rémhudi!" She demanded. Translate!
Selene's face was still blank, but her body shook as she translated. "She says it will become clear," Her voice was blank, as numb as if stricken by the spine of an earth urchin, "and she says, Istain please run away now. She says, run, run away now. Istain, listen to me and run."
Madene jerked around to stare at Selene. The betrayal was happening. Right now!
"No, Istain!" She said, but as soon as she did she knew he would never listen. Istain's expression had collapsed into thin horizontal lines, mouth, eyes, eyebrows. He was about to do something stupid.
A blast of Maidencraft propelled Madene across the interior of the tent. Before Istain could blink, her arms had closed over his torso.
"Nic!" Selene wheeled and leapt for her, blade flashing out. Shocked, Madene could only watch as the other woman's face rushed toward her.
Then the High Maiden swept out her arms, and Selene was struck down in a welter of white flame. The blurred walls around them shimmered as Selene fell and Madene heard a sickening crack. Istain surged forward, but her Craft-enforced arms easily held him. Then Selene's wail become words.
"Nic, Modeuichegh!" The traitorous Warrior Maiden screamed, "Prósnigh mé ort!!" Then, in Rationalist, "Istain, run! Madene, let him go! DeDébhegh pómaigi mé please, Madene!"
"B
igí multa, dheca." The high Maiden snapped, then raised her arms again. "I smotraint ar an Roesethe Arideuchsteanneo." Be silent, child. And watch the Virgin Rebirth.
Istain was screaming curses at her, struggling with all his strength, but the strength of a man was nothing compared to that of a Warrior Maiden. "Istain!" She said. "Just stop for a second! Selene's a spy! I'll explain---"
"Of course she is!" Istain snarled. "A spy for our side!"
"Run! Both of you!" Selene spun off the ground again. Her left arm hung loosely from her shoulder, but with her other she reached for her sword—
The High Maiden laughed. She was saying something to Selene, but there was a rushing in Madene's ears was back, and she couldn't make out the words. She could only look as the High Maiden's eyes flared silver light.
Madene shut her eyes against the glare.
***
Freetrick shut his eyes and reached for both acting skills and the energy from his breakfast rat.
A blast of cold air that washed over the Audience Pit. The assembled rulers of Skrea, Sangboire, and St'tdrakh looked upward at their Ultimate Fiend as he rose above the Skull Throne in a spreading blot of black mist.
"SILENCE, FOOLS!"
They wanted loud? He would deafen them. They wanted growly? He would make the blackest of panthers look like the fuzziest of baby chipmunks.
"Or by the tempest that writhes above me I shall pluck out your eyeballs with my teeth and stuff them, pulsating, down your throats!"
They wanted Evil? He would give them Evil.
"In point of fact," a voice ventured from the nobles below, "eyeballs do not pulsate. This I know for---"
The man's words died as Freetrick looked at him.
The Ultimate Fiend's white-slitted black eyes slid toward Bloodbyrn. Her he hand was outstretched, bosom heaving, a look of shock on her face.
No more games. Freetrick would run this place or die. That was obvious. "Hear me now, parasites," he growled, "The Kingdoms of Evil shall be molded into an image of my choosing."
"But, my lord…" DeMacabre was mouthing frantically at him. Freetrick considered a necromantic wall of force to push the air out from around DeMacabre's mouth and shut him up. It would probably get him in trouble. Still, though, he was sure he could do it…the death energy in his belly rose, and his fingers twitched.
"You wanted a king." The Despot of Skrea said with a rumble as of thunder. "Now you have one." Lightning cracked through the cloud over him. "Now bow to me, minions, or perish!"
And they did.
"Hail Feerborg, the Ultimate Fiend," DeMacabre cried, "direct us, oh Master of Misery!" The wave of supplication began with DeMacabre and spread around the Audience Pit as Dark Lords, Ignobles, and Princes, all lowered their heads to their Ultimate Fiend.
Who smiled. "Excellent. Now. You!" he pointed at random, "you're responsible for collecting taxes. I want a full report of every province in Skrea, Sangboire, and Strakh of population, production, and current collection strategy, and a plan from you on how to improve it."
Freetrick spun in the air, his eyes cracked with lightning, his teeth gleaming white in the darkness of the Audience Pit. "You! Congratulations, you're the new Minister of Agriculture. Put together a plan to increase food production and standardize distribution by tomorrow."
"Fiend," he had pointed at a weasely little Sangboise noble, "I cannot---"
"Oh can't you? Then I'll feed you to someone who can." Snarled Freetrick. "Tomorrow. You! Military! You! Law! Reports on the current situation, risk assessments, historical problems and how you solved them. Send them to my secretary. You." He pointed somewhere else. "Find me a banker, a general, and a lawyer." Freetrick thought for a moment, "Good ones." He thought for a further moment, "Who aren't going to try to murder me. If they do, I'll kill them, raise their bodies as a zombies, and have them eat you. Clear?"
That brought a smile and a sharp bow. "Fiend."
"Good. Go, then. Do it."
As the stunned silence deepened in the Audience Pit, Freetrick allowed himself to sink back into his throne. Bloodbyrn hastily scrambled out of his way. Her eyes were strangely large and luminous in the gloom. Freetrick blinked and looked away.
"And from the rest of you," he addressed his subjects, "I want each of you to give me a list of your personal staff here at Clouds-Gather. I want names, residences, skills. You'll do it now. No talking, no scheming with each other. Your chamberlains must keep lists of these things, and I want them. No one leaves the Audience Pit until I have this information. So, why are you still standing there." There were shouts for servants still in the Audience Pit.
"What have you done?" Whispered Bloodbyrn, as servants rushed about in the Pit below,
"I have begun my new government," Freetrick sank back into his throne, steepling his fingers. "There are going to be some changes around here."
***
When Madene opened her eyes, she saw the scene had changed. The Craftwork concealment was gone, and the sounds of a busy camp floated on the cool nigh air. Selene had collapsed onto the ground, her right arm around her folded knees, her left lolling uselessly onto the ground. The High Maiden was looking at her, her expression quizzical, and a new Warrior Maiden had appeared in their midst, a short girl with shoulder-length hair, who stood with her back to Madene. Istain was nowhere to be seen.
Madene started, "Modeuichegh!" she said "Istain! Beseaigh se. Naich…"
Madene trailed off as she heard her own words. Her voice was distorted and resonant, as if she were shouting from the far end of a cave. She turned frightened eyes to the High Maiden, who smiled a serene smile, then looked down at the girl standing in front of Madene.
"Mich, setrág." She told the girl.
The girl turned, and Madene gasped aloud when she saw her own face staring back at her.
"What…Modeuichegh, on choigomh iaicót é? A perfect miniature copy of herself stood between Madene and the High Maiden. The copy's face moved with surprise as Madene own mouth fell open.
"Burning libraries!" Madene bellowed.
Or rather, she felt herself bellow. Lungs, throat, tongue, and lips all moved without any intention from Madene that they should do so. She tried to swallow them, but the vile words poured out of her like sewer water. "Striking struck-out burned up books! What the hell is going on here?" Madene's vision whirled as her head swung around to face High Maiden Kadene. "What the gibbering false-worded hell did you do to me, you—"
Madene slapped her hands over her mouth to stop the verbal diarrhea. Or she tried to. Her hands moved much faster than she meant them to, and they reached father up, so instead of pressing her mouth closed, Madene smacked herself across the forehead. That just caused another stream of invective, some of it words she didn't even know.
Help me! She tried to cry, but her voice stumbled over the other words already in her mouth, and what came out was a hopeless, horrifying garble.
God of Words and Deusca Maw help her, was she going mad?
"Modeuichegh?" said another voice, "Cho é loese dó? Cho a dénna simb chun Istain?" My Maiden, what is wrong with him? What did you do with Istain?
Madene caught her breath. That was her own voice, that was her bad Maidenspeak, but she had not said those words. It was the copy, the strange miniature Madene the High Maiden had created, who spoke now.
Madene looked pleadingly over the little Madene's head at the High Maiden, who was gazing coolly back at her. Back up at her. Why was everyone so small?
She said something Madene didn't understand, but that didn't matter, for Madene had finally looked down at herself.
Madene looked down at her long, flat torso, wrapped in Rationalist jerkin and hose. She ran a too-large hand through her too-short hair. She felt her muscles tremble as…someone else tried to move her body.
The High Maiden spoke again to Selene, there on the floor. When she did not respond, the High Maiden said something else, sharp and fast.
Selene coughed, spoke through
clenched teeth, "She said, yes Istain will go to the Kingdoms of Evil, like he wants to, like his nation wants to. Madene if she…proves herself loyal, will stay here, like she wants," her voice shook with pain, or perhaps it was fury. Madene, shocked, allowed her new, towering body teeter a step on its long legs. Her mouth moved, "Selene…" The voice was deep, resonant, utterly wrong.
Selene continued, "…and the new Madene, the High Maiden says she will…she says she will ride Istain to the Kingdoms of Evil." She sighed, closed her eyes. "So the High Maiden's will is done. I'm sorry, Istain, you should have run."
"We can run now." The words vibrated in her chest as Madene felt herself lunge forward, her too-long arms reaching, her too-long legs flexing.
Madene panicked. Her limbs jerked, the muscles trying to simultaneously clench and extend. Nausea swelled in her gut, and the ground slid out from under her. Madene could not even use her hands to catch herself, and her head hit the ground hard enough to bring sparks to her vision.
Madene lay, stretched on the ground, her too-big hands scrabbling at the dirt, her too-wide mouth trying to form words.
"Madene, if you would kindly shut up and relax, we can at least get my face out of the dirt."
Madene nodded, and tried to relax as her gangly limbs sorted themselves out. It was like magic, all the wrists, elbows, knees and ankles working to untwist themselves, find their positions, and work together to bring her upright.
Slowly, carefully, Madene's new body stood itself up, until she towered over the High Maiden.
"Istain!" the little Madene said to her, "what are you doing?"
"What she wants," Madene said. Then her head turned away from the little Madene, and her eyes swung to glare at High Maiden Kadene.
Madene felt her lungs inflate, her mouth twist. This time, she did nothing to stop them, because she understood what High Maiden Kadene had done.
"You bitch." Istain said.
The High Maiden inclined her head, and smiled a serene smile.
The Kingdoms of Evil Page 26