by Garon Whited
“We better warn Tianna in advance,” I advised. “And I better put on my Demon King hat.”
“We have it here,” Lissette replied.
“I was being metaphorical. It’s not an actual hat.”
“I wasn’t. We have the crown of the Demon King.”
I thought about it for several seconds.
“Maybe you should send for it.”
And now a chapter of life draws to a close. What once was will soon be no more. Things change, and not always for the worse—but that’s the way to bet.
I went to the meeting with a sense of anticipation. Not in the gift sense; I wasn’t looking forward to having something new. I was thinking about the future, anticipating it. Everything—well, everything involving the Kingdom of Karvalen—hinged on my performance.
My other emotion was dread.
I’m glad I took a theater course. Now I wish I took more of them. Seems to me, my ability to pretend I’m someone I’m not has been important. Then again, maybe one could say that’s what got me into this mess.
I need to wow the crowd tonight. If I can throw myself into the role, really sell it, I can quit the king business and turn it over to someone who knows what she’s doing. I need to avoid massive wars to maintain the unity of a kingdom, and I need to not be on the throne. Add to that I would like to be elsewhere, as in being a really hard target for the Hand, as well as about my personal business—finding Tort, murdering magi, and so on.
The Ardents’ farmhouse felt like home. How much more so does Karvalen? My pet rock is my house. My daughter and granddaughter are here. My estranged wife and our son live just the other side of the mountains. I have a dozen or more people who actually care about me, and some unreasonably high number of people I actually care about.
This is home.
And I’m leaving it because that’s what’s best for it. It may also be what’s best for me, but I don’t count.
Sometimes, I look back on all the times I’ve been called some variation of stupid and wonder if they were right. Most of the time I don’t bother to wonder.
So. My evening.
The scene:
The Great Hall of the Palace of Carrillon. It’s a large, mostly-open space with some counterforts at the base of the walls and some similar bracing in the wooden beams above. One end is entirely a raised platform of five steps; it has a smaller platform with three more steps up to the throne. The central floor area is temporarily dominated by smaller, less pretentious chairs. Either side has wooden, bleacher-like arrangements between the counterforts, assembled for the occasion, blocking the lower half of the tall windows. A forest of banners hangs from the ceiling beams, each one bearing the symbol of an attending house. Overlooking everything from behind the throne is the carved crest of the King, inlaid with polished metal.
The people:
Nobles of every rank mill about, mingling in the aisles or sitting in the widely-spaced chairs. Clergy from dozens of religions mix around the edges or jockey for a good spot in the left-side bleachers. Guild masters, civic leaders, and other citizens of wealth or influence do the same on the right. Knights in black armor form a wall on the lower steps of the dais, wear the crossed red and grey. Liveried servants, circulating like particles in solution, distribute fine finger-foods and a dizzying variety of drinks.
Outside, grey sashes and steel-armored killers both peel bodyguards and personal weapons off anyone and everyone who enters the hall. Three magicians eyeball everything, two of them supervised by the third, T’yl. Two at a time, thirty-two of the steel-clad killers escort sixteen of the King’s guests—a special honor, perhaps, but one those guests could do without. But what can they say?
Perhaps they suspect what is to come, but they cannot know. Even if they were told outright, how many would believe, rather than take refuge in denial?
And… action!
The sound of a deep, heavy bell reverberated through the Great Hall, so low and deep it was a physical presence in the pit of the stomach as much as in the ears. It tolled like the rumble of thunder, shook drinks in their fluted glasses, silenced the world. The lights dimmed, darkened, went out. The great doors closed with a heavy thud, like the lid of a sarcophagus falling shut. The red light of sunset seeped through the western windows, dripping like cold blood into the spaces between the rolling thunders of the bell.
The last light of day vanished, leaving all in darkness. The lamps rose slowly from the glow of embers up through candle-flame and into flickering, dancing brightness. Glowing, magical motes fluttered into life among the rafters and beams above, sprinkling their own diffuse illumination over the floor. The hall proper shone with the tawny light of lamps, but the shadows clustered thickly around the dais and the throne.
As the lights rose hesitantly, almost fearfully, from the darkness, a presence filled the room.
A black-armored figure sat upon the throne, a crown of dark iron and rubies upon his grey-black brow. A naked sword lay across his lap, twinkling with an unnatural brightness, as though flames danced within the metal, leashed, contained, but yearning to burn free. Twin giants, almost as dark, stood just below and to the sides of the throne’s dais. They wore shields with the King’s emblem and bore naked swords.
Behind him, his inky, unnatural shadow slid up over the throne and did strange things on the wall. It twisted, as though looking around. It changed shape and size at whim. It ran in the grooves of the great symbol like blood, clinging slightly. It was as dark as the empty places between the worlds, perhaps even as hungry.
People gasped and coughed, murmuring softly as they found their seats. Through all the walking and shuffling and slipping by each other, the nightmare king observed with eyes like holes, black within black within black. He saw a shifting mass of energies, colors like kaleidoscopes, coruscating and sparkling, radiant, dim, or indifferent. He watched the colors shift, seeking certain shades, certain patterns, confirming by eye what he knew from tongues, while those of the crowd shuffled into their places and into silence.
When all were settled, he made a slight gesture. Felkar approached from His Majesty’s right to climb the stairs, slowly and carefully, to attend the King. They whispered for several moments and Felkar scribbled rapidly, nodded repeatedly. He exited through one of the guarded side-doors.
Torvil and Kammen, on either side of the throne’s dais, raised their swords in salute.
“Hail the King!”
Every knight in the room did the same, drawing, saluting, shouting, “Hail the King!”
A ragged chorus emerged from the rest of the guests, unfamiliar with the new protocol. Nevertheless, they also hailed the King.
The knights returned to their ready positions, waiting for orders—or waiting for an opportunity to fulfill their orders. A tension, a readiness, filled the air about them.
“Welcome,” said the King, softly, but his voice carried to every corner of the room. It failed to echo, giving every person an eerie feeling of the King speaking to them, personally, as though at their very elbow. No one screamed, though many shivered.
“First things. I notice there have been a number of liberties taken during my brief sojourn away from the Palace.”
A cold sensation swept through the crowd, one having nothing to do with the temperature.
“I’ve tried to be liberal,” the King continued. “To enjoy myself with pleasant diversions. To allow you to do… well, pretty much as you pleased. It all seemed to be going so well. Then I go away for a bit, and like naughty children, you’ve spilled wine on the rugs, broken furniture, and chewed on my slippers. Did I say ‘children’? Perhaps I meant mongrel dogs.
“Some of you, of course, tended to your own business, kept on about your affairs, and were everything I could have wished in loyal, respectful, and wise subjects. It is but a few of you, I think, who are the real trouble. Fortunately, I am a discerning and just ruler. I do not believe in punishing those who have done me no wrong.” He chuckled. “Well, not i
f they’re useful to me.” He raised a hand and made a sharp chopping gesture.
Without a word, steel-clad killers seized the hair or head of those they escorted, drew a blade across the throat, and held them while blood sprayed. People screamed, some sprang away from the sudden deaths, more held their places and tried to silence the others. Several nobles, a few guild masters—they bled, they struggled briefly, and they died. The armored killers pushed the bodies down to the floor, heaps of dead or dying flesh, before marching themselves to the great doors at the rear of the hall and forming a line in front of it.
Streamers of blood ran over the stones, trickling slowly toward the dais, quickening as they approached, slithering rapidly, even eagerly, up the steps, like crimson serpents fawning on their master.
“Now that we have concluded the majority of the executions, we can move on to other business.”
“Your Majesty,” Seldar said, rising from his seat in the bleachers. He wore only the regalia of a priest of the Lord of Justice, not his sword or armor.
“My lord Seldar, Priest of Justice. You are recognized. Speak.”
“As a priest of the Lord of Justice, I must protest. These men had no trial, not even the opportunity to speak in their defense.”
“As such a priest, I understand you must make such a protest,” the King answered, mildly. “One might make the argument they received justice in having a quick death. Regardless, this is a civic matter, not a religious one, and your objection has no place here. Guards. Bring him to the dungeons, there to await my pleasures.”
Four black-armored figures walked through the unarmed crowd as though it moved of its own volition from their path—which was, in fact, the case. Seldar was half-carried, half-escorted from the Great Hall through one of the smaller doors. It closed with a heavy thud, followed by the sound of bolts locking it.
Everyone in the room—everyone with a face not concealed by a helmet—appeared to be somewhere between appalled and deeply thoughtful.
“Would anyone else care to question my right to mete out what punishments I deem fit? No? Good.
“On a lighter note, I have decided to expand upon my educational program. I believe a well-educated nobility to be a key factor in maintaining a coherent and unified kingdom. To this end, every noble of the rank of Baron or higher will send their firstborn son—if and when they have one—to live in the capitol. They will reside here while between the ages of five and fifteen. They will live within the Palace and be taught all the arts a nobleman must know. Reading, writing, mathematics, the arts of battle and of magic, as well as many, many other things important to their continued health and well-being.
“Failure to so deliver these young men will result in the death of the child in question and his parents. This policy is to take effect immediately. You have twenty days to deliver—those of you with heirs between the ages of five and fifteen. You are, of course, encouraged to visit as often as you like to observe their progress in their studies.
“On another note, I have been informed the Hand has been reconstituted as a secret society within the Church of Light. Some of you may be aware I have a personal prejudice against this particular cult, and their secret society in particular. I am not outlawing their cult. I’ve no wish to interfere in religious matters, just as I’ve no wish for religious matters to interfere with my kingdom. I am, however, pointing out that any member of the Hand who wishes to step forward and repent of his foolishness will be shown mercy.”
The King paused to allow what was said—and what was not said—to sink in.
“Furthermore, should anyone bring to the Palace a captive, proven member of the Hand for my personal amusement, I feel certain some measure of goodwill will be obtained. Which, I assure you, is otherwise difficult to come by.”
This seemed to meet with general agreement.
“Now, as to the rulership of the Kingdom of Karvalen. Let me point out to the hard of thinking that Karvalen is one tiny piece of a very much larger world. There was a time when almost all the world was under the rule of a single empire. Do you really think I can waste all my time on this backward little hinterland? I have things to do, kingdoms to conquer, regimes to topple, and whole races to put to the sword and fang.
“Pitiful little acts of rebellion and stupidity will annoy me. Perhaps you should keep each other from being stupid? If such a thing is possible, of course. I might not be so… selective… the next time I become annoyed.
“Know this. I am going to leave Karvalen—again! —and I am leaving Lissette in charge—again! She is the Queen, and she is going to rule the place with a rod of iron and a whim of steel. Every last one of you is now, personally, aware of this. You have no excuse, no mitigating circumstance, no chance whatsoever at avoiding my wrath. She reports to me—as do many others, some of whom sit among you even now. But Lissette reports only to me, is responsible and answerable to me, and to me alone.”
The King stretched his legs out, crossed them at the ankles.
“Now, your Queen has some ideas about ‘justice’ and ‘laws’ and general do-goodishness. I’m tolerant of her whims. I can let her play the nice girl. And as long as you humor her in these things, I’m sure you walking sacks of blood will manage to get along. But make no mistake, even if it sounds as if she’s taken leave of her senses by being too kind, too merciful, I still expect you to jump when she says to hop. You jump as if I were standing behind you, because one day, if you do not jump quickly enough, I will be.
“Does anyone have any questions? Stand up if you have a question and I’ll call on you.”
Several nobles stood up. The King indicated Banler.
“Your Majesty has demanded hostages of—”
“Students,” the King corrected.
“Students,” Banler agreed, grudgingly. “Students of his nobles. What assurances do we have of their… continued education?”
“You’re welcome to reside in the capitol, in your town houses, or even in the Palace itself. You can watch as your sons are instructed in all the arts. It is my firm intention to see them very well-educated and wise, so they may rule, one day, over vaster territories than their fathers’. You don’t think I can personally oversee the details of every single county and barony, do you? I’ll need them or their heirs to be as brilliant and capable as possible to supervise and govern the next kingdoms. But I’m sure you would be delighted to discuss it over dinner as soon as this meeting is adjourned.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Banler agreed, and sat down.
The King called upon another standing noble, the Count of Helvetown.
“Your Majesty, when you conquered your way across old Rethven—”
“Reuniting the shattered remnants of the kingdom in the process.”
“Er, yes. Your Majesty laid claim to lands west, all the way to the Western Sea.”
“Your point?”
“I was promised much of the land, but I have yet to see it pay so much as a copper.”
“Fine,” the King sighed. “Take it up with Lissette and see how many men she can spare to slaughter everything to the west of Helvetown. I’m certainly not going to waste my time on a local matter. Sit down. Next… you—I don’t recall your name offhand.”
“Baron Miller, Your Majesty.”
“Go on. What is it?”
“No one else here is going to say it, Your Majesty, but I will.”
“If you feel it must be said.”
“You are an evil thing from the age of the Empire and should be pulled down, destroyed.”
“I admire your courage,” the King replied, sincerely. “I really do. You are a credit to the human race and to the very title of nobility. Unfortunately, you are also stupid, as the survivors of this meeting might tell you if you were capable of listening.”
The Baron Miller suddenly paled, staggered, and fell to his knees. Under the keen gaze of the King, he collapsed to the floor and lay unmoving. The King gestured sharply, a whiplash grasping movement wi
th one clawed hand. The body slid forward, as though dragged. People jumped, moving themselves and chairs out of the way as the body slid slowly to the foot of the dais. The King gestured with both hands and his shadow seemed to come free of the wall, reaching down to lift the body, drawing it into the King’s taloned hands.
Claws ripped, tearing open the throat, the neck, shredding flesh. The bones in the neck popped, cracked, broke, parted. Blood poured out, splashing everywhere and bubbling, rolling, flowing into the King.
The head bounced one way, the body slumped the other.
“Listen as though your lives depend on it,” the King said into the thick, cold silence. His voice was emotionless, dead. “I am a monster. I am a thing. I wear the crown of iron and blood. Mind your business and I will pass over you. You will live a long and happy life. Become my business and you will not. Because I will have order, and I will have peace, and I will have it even if I have to empty the kingdom of all life and create some, perhaps more amenable and wise. I have spoken,” he finished, and a shadow passed over the room.
The King turned his head and called for the Queen. She came in, dressed all in white, as radiantly beautiful as the King was dark and terrible. The shadow lifted as she entered, and the room brightened. Her presence seemed to dispel the chill in the air. She crossed the dais to stand beside the throne.
Torvil lifted a purple cushion with the Queen’s Crown, gleaming silver and glossy black, twinkling with green and gold at the spiked tips. Torvil knelt by the throne and held it up.
“Since the Queen is not a dark and terrible thing,” the King continued, taking the crown and rising, “she does not wear a crown of iron, but one of grace and beauty, as befits a mortal ruler. As long as she rules well and wisely, I need not be bothered with this dirty, smelly little nation, which pleases me more than I can say. Kneel, woman.”
Lissette knelt, keeping her eyes downcast.
“With this crown, I anoint thee Queen of Karvalen and all surrounding spaces. Rule over the men, women, children—all the people and races of your nation—as though I spoke through your lips, even unto their living and their dying. Let all who witness here today take heed, and all their heirs, assigns, successors, and subjects, for Lissette the First reigns and rules now as Queen of Karvalen.”