by Garon Whited
“Yes, my lord?” Beltar asked, saluting.
“A word, Beltar?” I beckoned him into the hall. He followed. “What’s the deal with all the grey sashes?”
“It is my understanding there will be priests of many churches at the gathering, my lord. Should not the Temple of Shadow be represented?”
“Wait, back up. I don’t recall summoning any priests. I don’t think I even invited any.”
“Did you not?” he asked, obviously puzzled. “Someone did.”
“I’ll have a word with Lissette. Maybe she thought it was a good idea. Come to think of it, maybe it is.”
“In such case, my lord, perhaps my presence—and the presence of the retinue? —is not so much amiss?”
“Maybe not. We’ll find out.” I ushered him back in and started sorting people into three lines, behind Bronze. I went over the gate safety rules as I reinstated the light spell for the cutoff point. Since it was nighttime and I had a lot of willing contributors, I allowed them to help pre-charge the spell by charging various crystals in the walls.
While this went on, T’yl showed up with Norad and Morrelin in tow.
“We’re not too late, are we?” T’yl asked.
“No, you’re just in time. I’m charging up my gate spell.”
“Oh, that’s excellent. I was hoping to attend the ball.”
“It’s more a meeting than a ball,” I corrected.
“Whatever. I’m looking forward to it.”
“Fair enough. Push a little power into the spell matrix, will you? I hadn’t anticipated this large a company.”
“Certainly. Norad? Morrelin?” The three of them each selected a crystal in the wall and started gathering energies.
Their presence caused some interesting fluid dynamics within the crowd. The elves moved away from the magicians—or, more specifically, T’yl. They did it gracefully, subtly, skillfully, but definitely. It was like water flowing through a cup of pebbles to reach the bottom. I don’t think anyone noticed. I noticed because I always want to know where elves are standing in relation to me, and everyone in the room was arranged in columns.
While the three magicians helped us wind up the spell, I stood to the side, working with the mirror, hunting for someplace unshielded, about the right size, and in an area we could all move through at speed. It doesn’t do to get jammed up in a magical gateway.
Then it hit me. T’yl. T’yl’s body. It was an elf, a post-human elf, one which Bob created. It was, effectively, one of Bob’s children.
And, of course, the fact I drained the soul out of the elf in question before doing horrifying things to it—planting a human soul in the flesh—didn’t do my flashbacks any good. I had several seconds of remembering a room full of dead children and the five fastened to the wall.
When I finally die and go to Hell, those seconds will definitely count against my time there.
What must it be like for people with real psych problems? People who have gone through months or years of terrible, stressful conditions? Veterans from some war or other, for example? How do they cope? I have a hard enough time with a torture session lasting less than a week. True, it was intense, but it was—by comparison—brief. What’s it like to live in a war zone, day after day, for a material fraction of your life? And then come home, where no one shoots at you? Where you don’t have to wonder about land mines, razor wire, and snipers?
I really am a pathetic wimp.
Wimp or no, I wasn’t about to go to pieces in front of everyone. I locked my teeth together, clenched my jaw, stiffened my spine, and concentrated on my scrying work. It helps, I’ve found, to have something to think about—something to focus on that isn’t the memory. It’s not like the old example of the impossibility of not thinking about something: Ready? Do not think of a white horse. See the problem? You have to think about the horse. But if you can think about something else, focus on it to the exclusion of all other thought… it helps.
The place I found was in the middle city, outside the old, original walls of Carrillon—the first ring of growth after it outgrew the original walls, if you will. Someone’s livery stable had doors opening on a fair-sized yard. Aside from a few carriages and a coach, it was empty. Presumably all the animals were actually inside the stable proper. That suited me. We could overlay the gate in the doorway, flood through into the yard, and walk right out onto a main city street.
“Everyone ready?” I asked. There was a murmur of assent and people tensed, preparing to move.
I opened the gate. The image from the mirror skipped into the archway, down a long, swirling corridor, and snapped close. Bronze didn’t wait for a signal, but moved forward. I stepped around the edge of the arch when she went through and the column followed, building up to a run. I held the gate on the far side, adding my force to the spell as people poured through it, watching through the gate. Everyone made it and I closed it behind them.
This isn’t actually easier at night, but I have more power available. Plus, we’ve done this sort of thing before. It goes more quickly with practice.
Beltar called commands and the Knights of Shadow formed up. The four in front marched two-by-two, carrying poles with banners. I recognized the impaled dragon standard on each of them from long ago, only now with a golden crown above it. The front two were the vertical, triangular things designed to hang from crosspieces; the two behind were more flag-like, to wave in the breeze. The colors were easily visible for two reasons: The magical rippling of the banners had nothing to do with the wind, and the brightly-glowing spearheads above illuminated everything within fifty feet. Bronze took her place behind the four bannermen and shifted her coloration to a bright, gleaming, metallic shade of golden bronze.
Showoff.
Everyone else formed up behind her. There was some backing and filling when Bob moved to walk behind Bronze and T’yl did the same. Eventually, Bob and his escorts followed Bronze while T’yl and his partners relocated themselves magically, rather than walk to the Palace. I think T’yl knows he makes Bob uncomfortable. I’m not sure he cares, though.
Seldar and Torvil elected to walk on either side of Bronze. Seldar still carried my helmet, but Torvil handed me my tabard and cloak. I recognized the design again and noted some changes. Both were dark green—this time, so dark as to be almost black—with crimson and grey knotwork for the trim. And, of course, the circle, sword, dragon, and crown.
Well, if I have to be King for a while to get out of the King business, so be it. I put it all on and hopped up on Bronze. We set out at a slow walk and the troops marched along with us. A good thing, too, since I wasn’t sure how to get to the Palace from here. We followed the four in front and hoped they knew what they were doing.
Someone in the ranks behind started singing. Within ten paces, everyone in armor had their faceplates up and voices raised. Bronze even got in on it by suppressing her hoof-silencing bracelets and playing bells—and I didn’t know she could shut them off. She makes me wonder, sometimes.
The song was a marching song, of course, and had me as the subject. I didn’t appreciate the heavy religious overtones, but I didn’t feel right telling them to keep quiet. As a result, the whole noisy shebang brought people to their windows or out into the street to see. Crowds watched us go by. A few spectators stared, openmouthed, but most knelt or bowed or saluted or something. As we headed along the road, the singers switched from song to song, some less religious than others, but their favorite topic of singspiration was their king.
Whee.
Bronze loved it, of course. I suspect everyone in the parade loved it, with one exception.
On the other hand, it may have done some good. There was certainly no doubt anywhere in Carrillon that the King was in his castle. We also encountered not so much as a moment of delay in passing through gates and walls. Guards saw the horde of us approaching, obviously noticed the banners in the lead, and threw open gates as though lives hung in the balance—their lives.
We wound our way through t
he estates of central Carrillon, still making an awful and awfully embarrassing din, until we reached the palace proper. Hogarth was on duty again as doorman, this time flanked by a number of steel-armored men wearing red sashes. I wondered if his attitude would be any different tonight.
I dismounted by sliding down the side of Mount Bronze and landed without incident. Hogarth went to one knee; the row of armored men did the same. I noted with some pleasure how none of them had weapons drawn.
Okay, so far, so good.
Firebrand?
He’s under orders, Boss. He believes Lizzy will have his testicles fed to him if he does anything vaguely disrespectful. As far as I can tell, he’s not planning anything but abject submission.
Better than last time, at least. Keep an ear out.
Will do.
I marched up the steps, flanked by Seldar and Torvil.
“Good evening, Hogarth. Do you always have door duty at this hour?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Very well. Has T’yl arrived?”
“He has, Your Majesty. He is quartered in the chambers of the north tower.”
“Good.” I beckoned Bob and Beltar up. Beltar climbed the stairs. Bob and his escorts flowed up the stairs like a reversed video of blood pouring down steps. “This is the Duke of Vathula. He is an honored guest of the King and Queen. See to it.”
“It will be done, Your Majesty.”
“Lord Beltar will also be staying in the palace, I believe, along with his retinue.”
“I will see to their comfort, Your Majesty.”
“Good. Torvil, Seldar. Let us pay a call upon the Queen.”
We left Hogarth and the steel-clad men there, still kneeling. They could stand up after I left. I don’t have much reason to like Hogarth.
Tovil showed me through the palace. I never actually wandered around in it before. It was easy to get lost in. Someone had started with a sizable piece of masonry and added to it over time. A wing here, a tower there, tear down a section to rebuild it differently… it wasn’t laid out in a coherent pattern, but seemed almost like several buildings grew together, were pruned for artistic considerations, and eventually formed an organic whole. All in all, I liked it. It had a sprawling, mazelike feel to it. It reminded me of the undermountain, but with fancy furniture, angular geometry, and some nice tapestries.
The King’s chambers were, strangely enough, on a basement level. Come to think of it, maybe that’s not so strange, if the Demon King had anything to say about it. The Queen’s chambers, on the other hand, were up on the third floor. We went through three doors and their accompanying sets of guards before Torvil knocked on the fourth door. The pair of guards outside didn’t seem to mind. The door opened and Malana looked out for a moment before swinging the door wide and letting us in.
We stood in a receiving room and awaited Her Majesty’s pleasure. Nobody seemed to notice I was nervous. It was after sunset, so it’s not like I could break out in a cold sweat or anything. Then again, if they noticed, it’s also possible they simply chose not to.
Lissette came out of another room, still belting a robe. The belt was a swordbelt, bearing a light, elf-style blade. I wondered if Malana and Malena were teaching her their style of fencing. Judging by the look of the hilt, it was more than a little bit used.
“Halar!” she breathed. She started toward me, checked herself, and regarded me carefully.
“Yes, I’m Halar,” I agreed. “I used to be the vessel of the Demon King, but he’s gone, I’m here, and I owe you an apology or twelve.”
“You certainly sound like Halar,” she agreed, but her eyes were filled with both hope and fear. She wanted to believe me and couldn’t. I had a quiet word with Firebrand who had a quiet word with Seldar and Torvil. Seldar was still carrying my helmet. He put it down on a chair and drew his sword. Torvil drew his. I sat down in another chair. Seldar and Torvil laid the flats of their naked blades on my shoulders, poised to remove my head.
“I’m not the Demon King,” I said, softly, never taking my eyes from Lissette. “I doubt he could trust anyone as much as I trust and love these two. With a twitch, they could kill me, right here, right now. But I believe in them. I trust them with my life, which isn’t so much of a thing, but also with the fate of every soul in Karvalen, which is.”
Lissette crossed the room to me. Looking at me in a mirror was one thing. Looking at me in full monster mode, present and in the flesh, was quite another. She brushed the hair back from one of my slightly-pointed ears, used one thumb to move my lip and see my teeth. I obligingly opened my mouth and let her look. She poked the front of a fang and I slid it out to its full length.
Gently, without moving the blade, she took the hilt of Seldar’s sword from him. He glanced at me and I nodded. Lissette looked at me and I looked at her while she held a blade sharp on the level of atomic crystal at my neck.
“You said you owed me an apology,” she told me. “Go ahead.”
“I married you for political reasons. You were a pawn in a political game and you were used. I shouldn’t have permitted it.”
“True. But now I am the Queen.”
“True.”
“And I can take your head off.”
“Also true.”
“Aren’t you afraid?”
“What for? I trusted you when you wanted me to crawl under your bed; I still trust you.”
I’m getting better at lying with a straight face. Being dead at the moment probably helped. Without a heartbeat or breathing, without even a sudden rush of adrenalin and all the other glandular reactions that go with being scared, it’s easy to appear confident and brave. Good thing, too, because I wasn’t confident and I’ve never been brave.
I trusted her, yes, but not with my life. Nine years ago, she was a decent person. After all that time and all that pain, who knew who she was now? I was betting she would make a good queen, though, and if putting her between the throne and crown meant taking risks, then this was a risk I would have to take.
I’m the only one who could see or sense them, so I slithered a multitude of invisible tendrils up over my shoulder. I didn’t hinder the movement of the blade, but I did form a woven wall of psychic forces alongside my neck. If she decided to cut my head off, I might be able to hold her off long enough to do something about it.
I did say I’m coward, right?
I waited, looking her in the eye—not that she could tell, given my night-eyes are black balls of darkness—and hoped.
She handed the sword to Seldar. Torvil and Seldar both sheathed their weapons.
“I never told the Demon King about that,” Lissette announced. “I never told anyone about it.”
“Does that mean you accept my apology?”
“No. But now I believe you mean it,” she replied, voice breaking. She moved to a chair, slumped into it, put her face in her hands, and wept. I moved to sit on the floor at her feet; there wasn’t room in the chair. I wasn’t sure it would hold me, either. Everyone else quietly slipped into another room.
I could see a deep, profound mix of emotions all through her. A strange combination of things, a concoction of opposites the likes of which I completely fail to understand. What has she been through? How did she get to this state? How strong did she have to be with the Demon King? How long did she have to be strong? Yes, I know some of what happened in the past nine years, but I lack the details. Did Thomen’s brain-bending leave scars, or was it a more subtle thing? Did the Demon King do awful things to Lissette on a regular basis, or did it bother her only once a month? Did she live in a palace as a brutalized wife, or was she neglected in favor of other toys for torment?
I don’t know. I could ask, I suppose, but I don’t think I ever will.
Which left me with a more immediate problem. What do I do now? I’ve never known what the protocol is for a crying woman, much less for my estranged wife by a political marriage who happens to have an aversion to the horrors associated with my face.
<
br /> Hold her hand? Hug her? Get her a glass of water and an aspirin? Knock her out and put her to bed so she can wake up calmer? Kill her outright and hide the body?
No, I didn’t seriously consider the last option, but it does show my desperation that I thought of it at all.
Psst. Boss.
Idea, Firebrand?
Yes. And it told me what to do.
When I tapped on Lissette’s knee to get her attention, she lifted her face a little to look at me. I handed her a handkerchief and she took it by reflex, then did a double-take. I was wearing my sash around my face again.
“Behold: Sashface, King of the Jesters,” I suggested. She stared at me as though I were a raving lunatic for all of five seconds before she burst out laughing.
“Success,” I noted. “I was aiming for ‘laughing with,’ but I’ll take ‘laughing at.’”
“You are a complete and utter fool,” she stated. Her laughter faded rapidly, leaving only a sad smile. “A well-meaning one, but a fool.”
“I’ve been of that opinion for longer than you’ve been alive.”
“And you still let them make you a king?”
“What was I going to do? Tell them they had the wrong guy? I could have tried to foist it off on Raeth, but they wouldn’t have taken it. They wanted me, so I let them have me.”
“The story of your life,” she remarked, head cocked to one side.
“Now you mention it, yes. I may have said something more true than I meant to.”
“The Demon King was, to me, a kingly figure of royal power and monstrous cruelty. You strike me as more like a man who stumbled into the throne room and sat down.”
“Gee, thanks,” I said, muffled slightly by the sash.
“No, I don’t—that is, I’m not trying to be insulting. I mean you don’t seem to come to the throne and crown naturally. You sit on one and wear the other, but no one would ever expect them to fit you as well as they do. The moment you take them off, you… You’re a thing—a man—who was never meant to rule, but people wanted you to, thought you could rule them well. They trusted you.”
“And they were wrong.”