Rebel, Pawn, King

by Morgan Rice

  “Felene,” the woman replied. “What are you doing out here, Thanos?”

  “Running from men who want to kill me, trying to get back to my boat,” Thanos said. An idea struck him, and he started to reset the snare.

  “You have a boat?” Felene said. Thanos noticed that she kept her distance. “A way off this gods-forsaken rock? Looks like I’m coming with you then.”

  Thanos shook his head. “You might not want to stay near me. The people chasing me will be here soon.”

  “Can’t be any worse than what I’ve been dealing with here so far.”

  Again, Thanos shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know you. You could be on this island for anything. For all I know, you’ll stab me in the back as soon as I give you the chance.”

  The woman looked as though she might argue, but a sound from the trees made her look up like a startled deer and she sprinted deeper into the forest.

  Thanos took his cue from her, slipping back into the trees. He saw Elsius come out into the clearing, bow drawn. Thanos reached for the one he’d taken, and realized that he had no arrows left. Without any better options, he stepped out from the tree he was hiding behind.

  “I thought you’d be better prey than this,” Elsius said.

  “Come closer, and you’ll find out just how dangerous I can be,” Thanos replied.

  “Oh, that’s not how this works,” Elsius replied, but he took a step forward anyway.

  Thanos heard the snap as the snare caught, and watched Elsius yanked upwards. Arrows tumbled down from his quiver. Thanos snatched them up and set off back into the trees. Already he could hear the sounds of others approaching; Abandoned or wardens, it didn’t matter.

  Thanos hurried through the trees, able to head for his boat now that he wasn’t being followed. He thought he caught glimpses of figures through the foliage, and behind him, Thanos heard a cry that could only have been Elsius.

  One of the Abandoned burst from the trees near Thanos, lunging forward. Thanos should have known that he couldn’t hope to avoid them all. The man swung an axe that seemed to have been made from the leg bone of a dead enemy. Thanos stepped inside the swing and stabbed him, shoving him away and continuing to run.

  He could hear more of them now, hunting cries coming through the trees. He burst out onto open ground and saw a group of Elsius’s wardens approaching from the other direction. Thanos’s heart hammered as, behind him, at least a dozen figures in piecemeal armor burst from the trees. Thanos cut to the right, dodged past a charging figure, and kept running as the two groups crashed into one another.

  Some kept chasing, but Thanos saw more of them fall to fighting amongst themselves. He saw the Abandoned crash into the wardens in a wave and break against them. They had the ferocity, but those from the fortified side of the island had real armor and better weapons. Thanos doubted that they had any chance of winning, and he wasn’t sure he would want them to.

  He darted around the rocks of the island, trying to find his way back toward his boat. If he could make it there… well, it would be difficult, when the smugglers had betrayed him, but he would find a way off the island.

  The difficult part was trying to find his way. If he’d run straight back along the route he’d first taken, retracing his steps, it would have been easy to find, but there would have been no way to evade the men hunting him. Thanos didn’t dare to stop completely either, even though the sounds of pursuit behind him had given way to sounds of battle.

  He thought he recognized the beginnings of the path down to the beach, and hurried down it, keeping his eyes open for potential ambushers. There didn’t seem to be anyone there. Just a little further, and he’d be back to his boat, he’d be able to—

  He rounded the corner to the beach and stopped. One of the Abandoned was there, massive and muscled. He was standing over Thanos’s boat, or at least, over what remained of it. Even as Thanos watched, the prisoner struck it with a sword that looked like a matchstick in his hands, shattering some of the planks that remained.

  Thanos’s heart fell.

  Now there was no way out.

  CHAPTER NINE

  When Lucious got back to the castle, the executions were still continuing. That was as it should be. He didn’t want his men finishing this too quickly. He wanted to be there to enjoy it.

  More than that, he wanted Ceres to be there to see it for as long as possible. Lucious made a point of looking up toward her window, where he knew she would be chained in place, forced to look out on the scene there for as long as possible. There was a certain satisfaction in that.

  Far more than there was in looking back at the courtyard where the executions were to take place. There, men and women knelt in neat rows, while the executioners moved among them with axes. Even as he watched, he saw one push a man down, lifting the axe high overhead and swinging it in a neat arc that left a head rolling along the ground.

  “What is this?” Lucious demanded, his voice rising in anger. He’d been away an hour or two at most. Already, though, it seemed that a whole line of Lord West’s men had been killed, practically all of them beheaded.

  “We’re just doing what you said, your highness,” the executioner said. “Executing these men.”

  “And making a complete mess of it!” Lucious snapped. Or rather, they weren’t making enough of a mess of it. “Beheading them? I want them to suffer! I want you to be inventive. Didn’t I tell you to use every means of execution you could think of?”

  “Many of Lord West’s men have pointed out that they are noblemen,” the executioner explained. “And that as such, they have the right to choose death by the sword or axe instead of—”

  Lucious hit him then, his armored hand sinking deep into the man’s stomach. The executioner was a big man, but with Lucious hitting him that hard, he still doubled over. Lucious snatched his axe from his hands in a swift movement, then brought it round to slam into the executioner’s back. As he fell, screaming, Lucious yanked the weapon out.

  “They have no rights beyond the ones I say they do! And even with an axe, you should be able to give them a death that’s a thing of horror. Here, let me show you!”

  He struck again, then again, hacking down at the executioner until he was certain that all the others there understood what they faced if they didn’t obey.

  When he was done, Lucious looked around for a suitable target to begin with. Maybe if he gave them an example, these cretins would finally understand what he required of them.

  “I want you to make this something people talk about a thousand years from now,” he said. “Is that so hard to understand? I want you to make these men last days before they scream their last. I want anyone who hears their child talking about rebelling to cut their throat, because the alternative is so terrible. Now, bring me Lord West. We’ll start with him.”

  The silence that reigned over the courtyard didn’t do much for Lucious’s mood.

  “Don’t tell me that you’ve already beheaded him.” Lucious watched as one of the torturers was pushed forward. “Well, what is it?”

  “Um… begging your highness’s pardon, but the king sent for Lord West. He wanted to speak with him.”

  Of course he did. His father could never just keep out of the way of his fun. One day, he wouldn’t have this kind of problem. One day, he would rule, and there wouldn’t be anyone making things difficult. The traitors would all be dead, and the people would understand their place.

  As slaves.

  Lucious nodded to himself at that thought. The biggest problem with Delos was that it had lost clear divisions. The weak had come to believe that there was a whole graduated set of steps between the lowest serf and the king, and the problem with steps was that they created the impression they could be climbed. Well, Lucious would make it simpler when he was king. Those who were not of the noble class would be the property of the noble class, as it should be. Those who argued would suffer for it.

  Which reminded him of the other thing
he had to do today.

  “Begin the executions again,” Lucious commanded. “And this time, get it right. If I see any more merciful beheadings, it will be all of you in the gibbets. Do I make myself clear?”

  There was a chorus of assent.

  “Good. Now, open the gates. Let the common folk see. I have an announcement to make.”

  The guards did as he commanded, and people poured into the courtyard. Lucious tried not to show his contempt. A day or two ago, and he would have slaughtered these people for daring to come together like this. He would have taken it as evidence that they intended to riot, or revolt, or march on the castle.

  Even now, he looked round to ensure he knew where the guards were. Discreetly, of course. He didn’t want to suggest to these peasants that he was somehow afraid of them.

  “Prince Lucious!” a voice called, and Lucious flinched automatically, his hand going to his sword hilt.

  When a girl ran forward with a victor’s crown of laurel leaves, he guessed that one of his servants had arranged this. Lucious made himself stand straight as he received it, wishing for a moment that it were the real crown. He was made to rule, after all. Afterwards, he would find who had arranged this moment and punish them for not telling him about it.

  Lucious stood before the crowd and tried to hide some of his disgust. Couldn’t they have found him a cleaner group of people to address? He supposed, though, that the point was to get his message across to as many as possible, so he ignored that aspect of it.

  “People of Delos,” he began, and for once, he was glad that his father had made him take lessons in the proper way to speak and stand before a crowd. At the time, he’d thought it was a waste of time. After all, he was a prince, and people had to listen to him. Now, though, he was grateful that his voice carried. “My citizens. My people.”

  They were, after all, very definitely his.

  “You have seen the chaos that the rebellion has brought to our city in the last days. They sought allies from the far reaches of our lands to try to crush the rightful governance of the Empire. They brought an army to our very gates. They subverted those men whose honor it would normally have been to fight and die for you: the combatlords.”

  Lucious heard a few in the crowd make noises of disapproval at that. He guessed that his people had planted loyalists there to show the people how they should react. Maybe he wouldn’t have them punished after all.

  “Today, the threat from the rebellion has ended. I and my soldiers were able to face and defeat the enemy even as they attempted to enter our great city. The traitors are suffering their fates now, while my men are riding out to destroy the last bastions of this blight upon the Empire.”

  Lucious brought his fist into his palm sharply. “We have crushed them. My ancestors overthrew the tyranny of the Ancient Ones. They claimed the Empire, and we will keep it. If there are any here who doubt our resolve, look upon the bodies of the traitors we are executing. See your fate if you act against us.”

  Lucious watched them looking around, seeing the men being tortured to death there.

  “But I do not mean for this to be an unhappy time. It is a moment for the celebration of our victory. Let our king see the joy that is in your hearts at his rule. We expect to see you in the streets in celebration. We expect to hear your voices raised up in songs that praise the Empire’s strength.”

  Again, those planted in the crowd did their part, shouting out their approval even if the others stayed silent.

  “And we will play our part in these celebrations,” Lucious went on. “We know that the people of Delos love the Stade. As do I! That is why I intend to put on the greatest event that the Stade has seen in its existence. The combatlords who betrayed us will put on a performance that has never been seen before, fighting to their last breath in honor of the Empire. By the end of this greatest Stade, none will survive!”

  Lucious half expected them to be chanting his name when he finished that announcement. Instead, he saw the crowd looking at him with something close to horror, while behind him, the screams of the dying continued.

  They would come, though, he knew. They would come.

  And fear, well, fear would be more than enough for him—once he was finally the Empire’s ruler.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Ceres threw herself against her chains in frustration as she fought to try to get free of her captivity. Every scream and cry from below was like a fresh dagger thrust through her heart, reminding her of just how helpless she was.

  She couldn’t help. For almost a day now, men and women had been dying, and she couldn’t stop it. They were dying for her and they were dying in more horrible ways than Ceres could imagine. After Lucious’s murder of one of the executioners, it seemed almost that they were competing to see which of them could find the cruelest way of killing the rebels.

  Below, the guards were lowering one of Lord West’s men into a boiling vat while he screamed and fought to get away. Ceres would have looked away if she could, but the chains held her in place. More than that, she didn’t feel as though she deserved to look away. She had brought the man to this. She had been the one to convince Lord West and his men to come to Delos. She had been the one leading the charge down to the invitingly open gate.

  It was her fault, and having to watch them die was her penance.

  Desperately, Ceres reached for the powers that she knew lay within her. That she hoped were there, anyway. She’d sought them out so many times now, spending every last hint of energy she had trying to dredge up some response from the power there, but it seemed further away than ever.

  Outside, the soldier’s screams stopped, and Ceres sagged in place, feeling the chains bite into her wrists. She wished that were an end to it, or even a chance to rest, but there always seemed to be more screams, more torture, more death.

  She was still hanging there when the guards came for her; half a dozen of them, all strong men. It seemed that even if she couldn’t find the powers that came from her Ancient One blood, the Empire was taking no chances.

  “What are you doing?” Ceres demanded. “Where are you taking me?”

  They didn’t answer. Instead, they took her chains, making her walk between them, pulling on the chains to lead her the way they might have led some dangerous animal. Ceres found herself remembering the omnicat she’d killed in the Stade, what seemed like a lifetime ago. Had they led it in there like this?

  They didn’t take her to the Stade though. Instead, they pulled her through the castle, and people sprang back out of Ceres’s way as though afraid of what she might do, even chained like that.

  They brought her to a set of rooms whose opulence only showed the emptiness of her own cell. They were a place of light and gold leaf, elegantly carved ivory furniture and silk drapes.

  There was an open door at one end, leading out onto a balcony. As the guards pulled Ceres out onto it, she saw two things: she saw that the balcony had a view out over the courtyard, so that even now she couldn’t escape the sight of the executions, and she saw the balcony’s other occupant.

  Stephania.

  Ceres felt anger well at the sight of her. Stephania might not be Lucious, but she was near enough. Every time they’d met, Stephania had tried to hurt her. Ceres surged forward, and found herself held in place only through the efforts of the guards. They fixed her chains to the stone railings of the balcony, holding Ceres back so that she could do little more than stare. She was as helpless as she’d been in her cell.

  “My, you do look ragged, don’t you?” Stephania said. She, of course, looked flawless. Ceres suspected that she’d probably spent extra time preparing for this meeting, because she didn’t have so much as a hair out of place. She dripped with gold and jewels, while deep blue silks accented the coolness of her eyes. “A filthy animal, dragged in from the streets.”

  “What do you want, Stephania?” Ceres asked.

  Stephania signaled, and Ceres’s skull rang as one of the guards struck her with t
he flat of his hand.

  “You still don’t know how to speak to your betters,” Stephania said.

  “Should I be grateful that you’ve decided to take on my education?” Ceres countered. She waited for the next blow to fall, but to her surprise, Stephania raised a hand to stop it.

  “We don’t want her marked too badly,” Stephania said. “We’re only borrowing her from Lucious, after all.”

  Ceres forced herself to smile. “Is that why you’re not throwing me over the edge of this balcony?”

  She saw Stephania’s eyes harden. “You really think I would let things end that simply for you? By the time this is done, you’re going to want to throw yourself off there, just to make it end.”

  “You think I haven’t suffered?” Ceres asked. “You sent me to the Isle of Prisoners!”

  “And everything would have been so much better if you’d just stayed there, rather than coming back.” Stephania sat by a small table, sipping from a steaming bowl. “But you have, and now the rumors are telling me that you claim to have the blood of the Ancient Ones. Oh, don’t look surprised. I still hear things.”

  “I don’t claim to have their blood,” Ceres said, looking over at Stephania in defiance. “I have it.”

  Stephania spun the bowl she was drinking from between her hands. Almost casually, she threw it at Ceres. Ceres felt the hot liquid spill down her features as the bowl struck her. She heard the pottery shatter as it hit the floor. On instinct, Ceres fell to one knee, clutching at the spot where it had struck her. Her other hand went down, quietly palming one of the shards.

  She saw Stephania step forward.

  “Look at you,” she said, advancing with each word. “You’re pathetic. I don’t know why I ever worried about you. Blood of the Ancients? Your blood is what it has always been.” Her finger jabbed into Ceres’s chest. “That of a coarse, ugly peasant.”

  Ceres lunged then, using the little slack that was in her chains to get behind Stephania, pressing the shard to her throat.