by Rosie Scott
“Maybe we won't have to worry about Cicero, then,” Cyrus mused.
“I won't hold my breath,” I replied. “Hades is terrible at tracking.”
Cyrus twisted his lips to the side and frowned like he wanted to say something but thought against it.
“Say it, Cy,” I encouraged him.
Cyrus sighed and reached up to pull his thick brown hair away from his face. “I don't know if it's the right time to tell you this, but just a week after the battle Hakan reported seeing a woman fleeing the eastern gate with four children. He gave me their descriptions, and they matched with the ones Azazel provided of Terran's kids.”
I caught Azazel's eye. “You saw Terran's children?”
“We both did,” Azazel replied, motioning to Cerin. “They were rushing from the room as we headed to it.”
To Cyrus, I asked, “Any further information on where they went?”
“Hakan said they fled east toward the forest,” he replied. “Considering Thornwell is gone and Whispermere is abandoned, perhaps they went to Brognel or even Fremont. I can have my men keep a look out for them when I make it back.”
I shook my head. “Don't concern yourself. Where they go and what they do is none of my business unless they make it my business. May they have more peaceful lives than their father.”
“If they decide to rebel against you and come for the throne, Kai...” Cyrus trailed off and patted his chest. “Don't hesitate to call for aid.”
“You say that like you're leaving tomorrow.”
“No,” Cyrus protested. “I'm just reminding you that you can rely on me for as long as I'm in Sera and far beyond. Like Hasani, I plan on leaving my men here for as long as we're needed.” He glanced over at Calder. “What are your plans?”
“I don't fucking know,” Calder rambled heavily, pulling out a new cigarette and lighting it with a match. “Azazel insists on staying in Chairel, so I have to find someone else to pass the torch to. That means returning to the underground for however long until I can figure shit out. It's gonna be hard enough leaving these bastards again.” He motioned to all of us. “It'll be even harder venturing back in those tunnels when it feels like I escaped them twice.”
“Perhaps I'll pay you a visit,” I suggested. “If it takes you years to figure everything out, I could come down to Quellden to help you.”
Calder reached over and ruffled my hair. “Look at you, offering to aid me when you've done enough.”
“You didn't reject the notion.”
“Of course not,” Calder scoffed. “You're my best friend, love. I'd never reject spending time with you.”
Hasani chuckled and shook his head. “What a time to be alive. All the major world powers have been drastically overhauled and most of their new rulers happen to be friends.”
Cyrus crossed his arms and looked off to the west where Eteri sat across the Servis. “We can't expect that to last forever. Let's take advantage of it while we can.”
“Let's,” Hasani agreed.
Under the fading red light of another passing day, four world leaders discussed our plans for Sera while warming our guts with ale. We focused only on the near future and avoided the inevitable; the fact that we would all go our separate ways once the city was stable hung over us like a heavy cloud. The largest problem with loving war was that each one has its end. One can only hope that they realize the most important goals in time and that loved ones make it through safely. Not all the people I loved made it through the War of Necromancers, but I was confident my actions paved the way for a better and freer future for many in Chairel and beyond.
Only time would tell.
Epilogue
41st of New Moon, 47 Immortal Era
There are three types of people in this world. Those who adore me, those who fear me, and those who do both.
Vengeance is ugly. It is brutal. But it is so unbelievably satisfying. The greatest wars were fought and won for vengeance, and the most tragic wars are those where injustices go unanswered. Vengeance also begets vengeance, as one of my greatest friends once told me on a trip to Narangar one hundred and twenty-five years ago. This doesn't make it something to avoid; it makes it a potential source of excitement for the ages.
Three of Terran's children grew older, had their own children, and formed rebellions. The most satisfying thing about this was how they'd found it hard to recruit those who wanted to fight against me. There will always be dissenters who dislike or fear me for one reason or another, but I won most of those people over with new magical freedoms and open market healing services. The idea of immortality intrigued others. Some simply knew they stood no chance. Regardless, Gaia's rebellion fizzled out before it had a chance to begin, and she reportedly lived out a long life in Hallmar before succumbing to her short lifespan. Both Aella and Ignatius had better luck but necromancers all too willing to have an excuse to harvest power overwhelmed their forces. As I promised Terran during Sera's takeover over a century ago, I drained the energy from Aella and Ignatius myself and used it to empower Azazel and Maggie respectively.
The Seran bloodline still persists through Terran's grandchildren and great-grandchildren, but the more time passes, the less enthusiastic they are about seeking vengeance against me. It is a futile endeavor. The eldest of Terran's heirs is Evian, his fourth child. Evian is now over a century old because he was intelligent enough to come to Sera to swear service to me as a young adult. He is a phenomenal fighter and dual caster of water and earth, and I love him dearly. Despite the animosity between Terran and me at the time of his death, Evian and I consider each other family.
The evolution of Arrayis is fascinating to witness. The population booms all over the world, for people are living longer thanks to better healthcare and the heavy use of my methods of granting immortality. New settlements pop up every couple of years, or an existing one expands. As my court grows over the years with the acquisition of new supporters and friends, I have more than enough taxable land to dole out to them as benefits for their service.
The once untested but well-accepted theory that necromancers lust for power is only partially true. As necromancy spread through the lands like wildfire, its wielders came in all types. Some are mentally disturbed. Others lust for power to the point of losing control. Spreading magical education has calmed most of the greatest concerns. By training necromancers and allowing them to gain their first leeching highs in a controlled environment, we are better able to teach them how to handle its power. As for the few who go insane, the best method of hunting and killing rogue necromancers is with other death wielders.
The wildlands experienced such exponential growth that it was forced to form its own government in the late Mortal Era, establish a loose set of laws, and give itself a proper name. Morland remains a safe haven for Alderi who wish to avoid the underground and Vhiri looking to immigrate south to avoid Eteri's still-stringent legal system. Though Chairel does not have an alliance with Morland, we trade and have peace between our countries. Cyrene Chase of Misu—once the most zealous dissenter of mine and Calder's—reportedly lived long enough to see the monumental growth of her homeland and hear of the beastmen's acceptance in Chairel, just like I'd told her would happen. I'd also said at the time that I wanted her to think of me when I completed my goals; evidently she had, because Calder received a letter from her soon afterward acknowledging the legendary feats he and I accomplished together. Calder sent her no response; like me, he was busy with responsibilities and had no time for quiescent people. It seemed pacifists only cared about the beneficial results of a war once it was won without their input and they could no longer complain about the methods of those who fought.
Celendar became independent on the day I won the war. Though our countries aren't allies, Vipin and I have grown a fondness for one another over the years and meet diplomatically quite often. The Celds still avoid warfare, but their hatred of necromancy has softened since Chairel's reliance on it does not threaten their forest. Sila
s's memorial tree grows on the northwestern edge of the woodland, and every time I visit Celendar I stop by to pay my respects.
As I'd once surmised, the dwarves are rebuilding in the beastlands. All I know of them are from what the scouts of Fremont and Nahara pass along to me. The dwarves keep to themselves, biding their time and building sprawling and complex settlements out of land once thought to be impossible to mold. Sights of beasts from Nahara slowed to a crawl, and some decades ago they simply stopped. Reports from Fremont's griffon messengers state that new grand inventions are built often to kill and capture the various beasts of the land. I foresee the extinction of these giant beasts and the forming of a new country fairly soon. With time, the beastlands and our fight with Mantus may be rumored to be mythical in nature, for such times are now in our past.
The dwarves don't only exist in the beastlands, of course. Fremont grows stronger than ever, its culture a captivating mix of magic and ingenuity. Vhiri-dwarven half-breeds are rampant, and the underground's mark on the country won't soon be forgotten, for Alderi blood runs through many of its people. Dwarves are living lifespans similar to elves due to their newfound friendships with those who can grant them immortality. Giants are establishing their own mining towns along the edges of the Border Mounts and populate them steadily as they form family units. Cyrus and I are still allies, and we have visited each other over the years. We traveled to Hallmar for Uriel and Hakan's wedding, and then again for Cyrus's. They traveled to Sera for Maggie's wedding, but the rest of us remain unmarried. Zephyr, Dax, and Marcus are still Sentinels, and Cyrus has promoted others over the years. Our people commingle often at the border, particularly in Hallmar and Bob, the village that sits just west of the Heliot Rivers. Bob is the only village I've let Cerin name, and it will most certainly be the last.
Nahara has grown to be such a powerful and successful world power that they test my limits and it strains our alliance. Hasani lived a long and happy life, but peace-time didn't allow him the energy to increase his lifespan more than a handful of years. Hasani was two years past a century old at the time of his death in 487 ME, and he left his kingdom to his eldest Chasin. Hasani and Jessenia had a dozen children over their marriage, and it seems not one of them inherited his ability to rule intelligently. Humans everywhere have grown more arrogant due to their acquisition of power and subsequently longer lifespans, but Nahara is the worst case of this. Racial tensions between the humans and Alderi are sky high, and scuffles have broken out here and there. The underground and Nahara broke their alliance many years ago, but now the situation grows hostile. In the case of an outbreak of war, I would choose the underground's side without any doubt.
Calder ruled over the underground far longer than he would have liked. His reign lasted from 420 to 440 ME, or eight years after the War of Necromancers ended. As badly as Calder wanted to abandon ship and live in Chairel with me, he also didn't want our struggles in the civil war to be for naught. He refused to leave until he was certain he found the right successor, and I abided by my promises and traveled to Quellden to help him make that choice. Cerin, Azazel, Maggie, and Holter all went with me. It gave Maggie and Holter a chance to see Quellden and hear the stories of our accomplishments there. Additionally, the fact that Azazel not only returned to Quellden but also helped Calder immensely there brought the two closer together. Calder continues to earn Azazel's respect, and it elates Calder to have him as a friend. Calder once said he viewed Azazel as his greatest mistake, so Azazel's forgiveness and their ever-evolving friendship makes him feel like he has righted a wrong. The two are still total opposites in many respects, but in this way they complement one another.
Calder's reign of the underground brought about many changes that stuck. Rates of abused children fell to all-time lows, for only the most empathetic Alderi may care for them. Slavery is a crime. The hatred of men by women has mostly vanished save for a few relentless bigots, but it never manifests as more than a minor scuffle. The most traumatized slaves never fully healed, Calder and Azazel included. Many Alderi men died from rempka overdoses or suicide even after leaving the underground because the horrors stuck too close to their consciousness. When considering this, I find myself happy that Calder and Azazel's issues don't make them a danger to themselves. Some intense trauma simply never goes away because it buries too deep in the psyche. This is true whether or not one is immortal.
Few gods live. Most of those who were left died in their quests against me, and the ones who live tend to have one thing in common: they either allied with me or don't bother me. Rek continues to follow me faithfully without question, traveling through Chairel and Fremont to carry out my will in orcish tribes by freeing slaves and discouraging raiding. Full-blooded orcs still sometimes get into trouble and are subsequently killed by mercenary parties and units of my army if need be, but half-orcs are a rising minority in Chairel, and most of them live in civilized society. Hades will forever roam Arrayis looking for entertainment while relentlessly tracking down those who have wronged him, and he continues to be terrible at it. Cicero still lives, and we have reason to believe he's why Nahara is so unstable. Finally, Chance is one of my greatest friends, but he stays out of any scuffles. I entrust my kingdom to him when I travel.
The time of gods and Ancients is over. The gods left alive do not breed, and the Ancients send no further messages or vessels through the skies. Arrayis is ours. With the fall of the gods came the rise of mortals, and with their rising power came the time of the immortals. After five hundred years of the Mortal Era, we entered a new age. Historical figures may rise and fall on Arrayis, but I am the only one who has changed the world so drastically that I tugged it into a new era. The Immortal Era belongs to me.
Sera looks absolutely magnificent today under the soft yellow New Moon sunlight. I love studying its beauty while on the balcony of the Seran University's highest tower. Maggie considers Sera a work in progress, and it truly is; as she adds to it over the years, she finds so many other things that need doing. Thankfully, her wife also loves construction, and together they work miracles. Little enclosed carts—Maggie calls them shuttles—deliver civilians and tourists from the highest tiers of Sera to the edges of the glorious Jakanto Harbor in the north. The harbor is a stunning architectural feat. It covers the northern coast so far from west to east that it appears like its own city on a map.
I let my hot tea expel swirls of smoke into the air and grab the binoculars Maggie designed for me for my hundredth birthday, and then I look back out to the harbor. My view is still blurry, so I crank the dial on the side of the tool. I may not always understand how dwarven mechanics work, but I've gotten better over the years at learning how to use them.
The finer details of Jakanto Harbor come into view. Chairel and mercenary galleons and battleships line the coast to the west while trading and fishing vessels swarm in the east. Standing tall beside the coastline and welcoming ships from every land are the sculptures Azazel painstakingly made of Jakan and Anto. As with everything else, Azazel practiced and practiced until he had sculpturing perfected, and it shows. Anto stands equipped with his arm blades and top knot, looking protectively over Jakan's shoulder. Jakan prepares to shoot his crossbow over the Servis and reaches for his scimitar, all with a mischievous expression. A group of tourists gathers around the base of their monument, reading about their legends even now.
Azazel's stunning sculptures are all over Sera. We installed one of Theron's near the Lounge in the lower tiers, and transported another to French, which is now a village that does well for itself considering the seemingly unending veins of gems that run beneath it. A sculpture of Bjorn watches over the Seran University courtyard, and every time I pass it I swear I hear his voice yelling jovially at trainees. A monument to Nyx stands just down the street from The Hung HorsemINN, and given she was well-loved in more than one sense by many in the poorer districts, it is popular. Sometimes there are even little gifts left on its base.
A magnificent museum ded
icated to the events of the War of Necromancers and all its major players attracts tourists in the mid-tier of Sera. It displays the rings of the feuding gods Ciro and Vertun and the weapons and armor pieces of Jakan, Anto, and Nyx. The letters sent between Hasani, Calder, and me are protected under glass. Sirius's assassination contracts on my life are also shown—at least, those we've found. Azazel's portraits of those who lost their lives in the war decorate its walls above plaques boasting their deeds, and war stories written by scribes line its bookshelves.
“Don't hog it.” Cerin teases, his voice rougher than usual with morning fatigue. I pull the binoculars from my face and hand them over to him. He only looks toward the harbor for a few seconds before he huffs. “Calder's here.”
Cerin hands the binoculars back to me, and I search the coastline. Sure enough, a galleon outfitted with dwarven cannons and red sails sits in the eastern harbor, pulled sideways so I can see its name painted in an obnoxiously bright yellow on its hull: Drenched Wench.
I sigh and tug the binoculars away. “Remind me to scold him for that.”
Cerin chuckles, but he has no time to respond. A loud banging at our bedroom door calls our attention back inside. I hurry through the open balcony and our sleeping quarters to answer it. Before I get to the door, it rattles again with more knocks. I slide over the cover on the peephole and see just a glimpse of a periwinkle ear lined in hooped earrings as Calder dodges out of view.
“Guess who?” Calder calls out, his gravelly voice a dead giveaway.
I chuckle and open the door. “Does that ever work?”
Calder leans back against the stone hallway wall and grins. “It might one day. Surprise, love! I'm back from the trip you just couldn't bother to join me on.”
“Your ship already told on you, love.” I jerk a thumb back toward where the drapes float on the breezes coming through from the harbor. “The Drenched Wench makes me the laughingstock of Chairel.”