Blood of the Emperor

by Tracy Hickman

  Shebin tilted her tapered skull, straining with her long, pointed ears to hear the sounds that moments before had been pushed to the back of her thoughts.

  “They’re gone,” K’yeran said. “They have stopped because the Emperor is dead.”

  Shebin stared at K’yeran, taking a careful step back.

  “Long live the new Emperor,” K’yeran smiled.

  “Indeed,” Shebin agreed, blinking her eyes. “Long live the new Emperor. He should know that I am a servant of the Imperial Will and most anxious to support his cause. My death would be a mistake for the citizens of the Empire consider me a cherished treasure—and my influence on his behalf…”

  “The Emperor is deeply appreciative of your service to the Empire,” K’yeran interrupted as she took a step toward Shebin. “And believe he knows how best you may continue in that service. To this end, he bids me bring you a gift.”

  “A gift?” Shebin released her fear in a laugh. “Well, I am most honored!”

  “Yes,” K’yeran said. “A gift he most heartily believes you deserve.”

  Shebin’s smile faded slightly over her perfect, sharp teeth.

  K’yeran stepped forward, her Matei staff in her left hand. With the right the Iblisi grasped Shebin by her shoulder, driving her forcefully down to her knees. Shebin cried out but K’yeran ignored her, the Matei staff glowing as it touched both shoulders of the Emperor’s daughter and the back of her pointed skull. Then, K’yeran bent over and kissed Shebin on the front of her long forehead just above the eyes.

  K’yeran straightened up.

  “Good-bye,” said the Iblisi. Then she turned and began walking away.

  “That was it?” Shebin said, struggling to her feet, the hem and front of her dress now dirty from the ground. “What gift was that?”

  K’yeran continued to walk down the narrow, arched passage that led back to the Atje Nyelo.

  “You will answer me!” Shebin shouted, striding up the shadowy alley. She gripped the shoulder of the Iblisi and spun her around.

  K’yeran’s backhanded blow split Shebin’s lip and drove her head forcefully against the wall. Dazed, Shebin lost her footing and fell.

  “So many elves suffer under the Devotions of the Emperor,” K’yeran snarled, leaning down over Shebin’s prostrate form in the dim light of the covered alley. “They have no idea of their guilt. They were kept as slaves to the Imperial Will just as surely as any of the Sixth Estate! But you, Shebin, fell out of Devotions when your father’s House fell. You are not a slave to the Imperial Will because of Devotions…you chose to do evil!”

  “So you are going to murder me, then?” Shebin rubbed her hand across her bleeding and bruised lips.

  “Quite the contrary,” K’yeran said. “The Emperor decided that a living curse would be more appropriate. Something you can carry with you wherever you go.”

  “Curse?” Shebin asked. “What curse?”

  “Wherever you go,” K’yeran said, “no one will be able to remember you.”

  Shebin blinked and then blurted out a laugh. “Remember me? I’m Shebin Sha-Rhonas! Plays have been written about me! My name is in music from one end of the Empire to the other! Armies march in my name! My name will live forever!”

  “But not for you,” K’yeran said, shaking her head. “No one who meets you will remember you from one day to the next. You will never be able to form attachments long enough to ever harm anyone again. Survival alone will be a challenge, for no matter how many creatures surround you in the throng, you will be profoundly and eternally alone.”

  K’yeran turned again, walking back out of the alleyway.

  Shebin started to laugh. “That’s all? A lame curse and Drakis thinks he can walk away from me? I have armies in my name! I have the love of this people! I am more powerful than he can possibly imagine! I am Shebin Sha-Rhonas and I will carve my name on his tomb!”

  The banging on the doors had stopped.

  Drakis struggled to his feet, his blood-streaked sword still in his hand. He looked at Soen sitting on the Throne of Emperor’s Devotions then turned to stare back toward the onyx door.

  Soen, too, lay there face down on the floor but as he watched the figure began to change. Two arms flowed into four and the sharply defined lines became more fluid.

  “Ethis?” Drakis stuttered.

  The chimerian slowly managed to pull himself over to the wall and then sit up. “Yes, Drakis…it is me.”

  “Are you well?” Drakis asked. “Do you need help?”

  “I’ll survive,” Ethis said, his lips twitching as he struggled to keep his features solid enough to properly form the words. “Although it may be a while before I attempt anything like that again. What about Jugar.”

  Drakis looked away. “Dead.”

  “I’m sorry, Drakis, truly I am,” Ethis said. “I suspected him but…not this.”

  “What do you mean?” Drakis asked.

  “He means the plan was for Ethis to impersonate me in order to distract the Emperor,” Soen said from the throne. “We had not anticipated that my Aether spell would include the Emperor as well. The dwarf did not know of the diversion and very nearly ruined it all.”

  Drakis nodded then rose and walked over to Soen, who was still sitting on the throne. “Then it’s time, Soen. Take control of the Devotions and reverse the Well.”

  Soen drew in a deep breath.

  “I’m sorry, Drakis. I can’t do that.”

  “What do you mean, you can’t do that?” Drakis asked quietly, his eyes narrowing.

  “I mean I never could do it,” Soen answered. “Neither could Braun for that matter, no matter what he believed or told you. Devotions are tied to this Imperial Throne and the Aether that flows through it. It is impossible to reverse the Well and maintain Devotions. The only way to gain control of the Devotions is to become the Emperor.”

  “And that’s you, I take it,” Drakis sighed. “So what happens now?”

  “Now comes the best part, my friend,” Soen said. “Now comes the part where Drakis gets to die.”

  CHAPTER 37

  Something to Believe In

  BELAG STOOD ON THE NORTHEAST FIELDS, surrounded by his army. The acolytes had managed to keep the worst of the bombardment magic away from the battle line but he knew that the Athereon altars were being drained with the effort. If Drakis and his dragons did not affect the fall of the city soon, there would not be enough Aether remaining to attack the city. As it was, he felt certain there was insufficient remaining to enable them a proper retreat.

  The walls of the Imperial City and its shining towers beyond were tantalizingly close. His army was overwhelmingly manticorian now due to the insistence of the Chaenandrian Prides on joining the Army of the Prophet in their conquest. The lion-men were everywhere on the front lines of the army’s Legion formations. Belag could feel them straining to be released, to charge the walls and bring down the great city in glorious combat.

  “Kugan!” Belag shouted to be heard over the tumultuous noise coming from the rolling explosions of fire, lightning, and ice over the front lines. “Keep those assault manticores in line! There will be no charge until I give the word.” Belag then turned to Edra, the slight human woman who stood at his side. After the debacle of Tjarlas, Belag had made certain that an acolyte had been attached to each of the Legion commanders in order to relay his commands directly. It had cost him precious conjurers for the attack but it was the price of maintaining control over warriors all hungry for the kill. “That goes for every Legion down the line. They are to hold position no matter what happens in front of them until they get the release directly from me. I don’t want any…”

  “Grahn Aur!” Kugan called out, standing tall and pointing toward the city. “The magic has ceased!”

  Belag strained to see the city. The magic breaking in wave after wave against his Legions had gone silent.

  A tremendous cheer rolled like a storm from the Army of the Prophet. The Legions roared in tr
iumph and derision of the city whose defenses had suddenly gone silent.

  “Now, Grahn Aur?” Kugan begged, war lust in his eyes.

  “Why are the avatria still flying?” Belag murmured.

  “Grahn Aur?” Edra asked, uncertain whether this was something she was supposed to relay to the other warlords of the Legions.

  “The avatria,” Belag said, his feral eyes narrowing beneath his fur-covered, knitted brow. “The city has gone silent yet the avatria are still flying. Inverting the Well always causes them to fall…”

  “Do we charge to victory, Grahn Aur?” Kugan urged.

  “NO!” Belag roared. “Hold here! Wait for my word!”

  Drakis moved into his combat stance, the blade of his sword held at the ready before him. He could feel his breathing slow, the air drawn deeply into his lungs. This would be his last battle and he was at peace.

  “I’ll fight you, Soen,” Drakis said. “I know who you are and how capable you are of killing…but I would rather die than see my people or your people fall back into tyranny and…”

  “Drakis,” Ethis coughed behind him. “You’ve won.”

  Drakis glanced at Ethis, leaning back against the wall of the Emperor’s Devotions. “This isn’t the time for…”

  “He is quite correct, Drakis,” Soen said as he stood up from the Throne of the Emperor’s Devotions. “You have conquered the Emperor and brought down his tyranny. Be still. For the first time in your life, perhaps, there is no one chasing after you, no footfalls to fear and death does not stalk you.”

  Drakis could see now that there were three onyx doors that gave access to the chamber. Soen raised his hand and the locks on all three clacked free. The doors opened quietly. Drakis turned, expecting the Cloud Guardians to plunge into the room but there was no charge of elven warriors, no flood of death…

  …Only the exquisite dark figure of Urulani.

  “The Guardians have fled,” she said in astonishment.

  “They’ve gone?” Drakis gaped in amazement.

  “Marush and I were circling the palace. We saw them leave,” Urulani rushed to where Drakis stood. “But that’s not all. The attacks from the lower levels have also ceased and, so far as we can see, the war-mages have stopped their magical attacks all along the perimeter. I decided it was safe to perch Marush and come find you.” She glanced around at the dead dwarf, the wounded chimerian, and the fallen Emperor. “What happened here?”

  “I’ll tell you exactly what happened here,” Soen said, stepping down from the dais. “Drakis, the Man of Prophecy and his loyal companions Jugar, Ethis, Urulani, and Soen—the Inquisitor who had come to believe in Drakis…”

  Soen bowed slightly with a smile at this phrase.

  “…flew the dragons Marush, Wanrah, and Pyrash through the defenses of the Empire and brought their justice to the evil Emperor cowering in the heart of his fortress palace. Urulani had failed to enter the palace but Drakis, Ethis, Soen, and Jugar came as one to the Chamber of Imperial Devotions and discovered the Emperor on his throne.”

  “Here, they attacked the Emperor at once,” Soen gestured at the room surrounding them then lowered his long-fingered hand to point at the dwarf lying in his own blood on the floor.

  “Jugar, the brave dwarven companion of Drakis, saw that the Emperor had singled out the Man of the Prophecy for death,” Soen said, standing over the body of the dwarf. “Jugar imposed himself between the Emperor and Drakis in order to save his friend. The Emperor’s bolt found Jugar instead, and Jugar sacrified his own life for the cause of the Prophecy.”

  Drakis glanced at Ethis.

  Ethis chuckled painfully where he lay against the wall. “Listen to him, Drakis. He tells particularly good stories.”

  “Ethis did likewise as they charged across the room,” Soen continued, now gesturing toward the fallen chimerian. “The Imperial dark magics were unleashed against him, wounding him greatly but, being a chimerian, only caused him to fall. His wounds were not fatal to his kind…”

  Soen paused, casting a questioning glance at Ethis.

  The chimerian chuckled. “Yes, I’ll survive.”

  Soen nodded and then continued. “It was in this moment that Drakis realized the destiny the gods intended for him: that he would free not only the slaves of Rhonas but the Rhonas citizens themselves from the Emperor’s tyranny. He knew in that moment that his destiny was to build rather than to destroy. He threw himself on the Emperor, casting him from the throne, killing the Emperor and…”

  “Conveniently leaving the throne open for Soen Tjen-rei to become the new Emperor,” Drakis sneered.

  “No,” Soen shook his head.

  “No?” Drakis questioned, his eyebrows lifting.

  “Let him finish, Drakis,” Ethis urged.

  “Drakis killed the Emperor but not before he was mortally wounded himself—cursed by the dying Emperor’s final spell,” Soen said, his hand gesturing toward the Emperor’s body.

  “A withering curse?” Ethis suggested.

  “Ah! Yes, a withering curse,” Soen nodded in thanks to Ethis. “Terrible curse, that withering curse: causes the body to completely decompose and be unrecognizable.”

  “Good curse,” Ethis agreed.

  “Which is why,” Soen concluded as he stepped up to Drakis, fixing his blank elven eyes on the human, “Soen Tjen-rei—former Iblisi of the Rhonas Empire held the dying Drakis in his arms and heard his last testament to his people. That Soen should present the throne of Rhonas to the Council of the Prophet, surrender the Empire to their rule and will them to establish a Republic as existed in Drakosia of ancient days. With his last breath, Drakis—as the last Emperor of Rhonas—granted all slaves and people everywhere status in the Sixth Estate; everyone was henceforth to be a citizen of the Rhonas Republic.”

  “But it’s not true,” Drakis said quietly.

  “No, it’s better than true,” Soen said. “Ethis will confirm the story and no one else remains to contradict it. Belag’s council will take control of the Empire and its Legions. I will work with Braun’s acolytes to reduce the Devotions over time and eliminate them altogether when it is safe to do so.”

  “Why?” Urulani asked.

  “You of all humankind should know,” Soen said, drawing in a deep breath. “When I was in Tjarlas those three days, I spent much of my time trying to restore the peace of Devotions to those who were not too far gone to be helped by it. I came to suspect a truth which, only last night, was confirmed for me by the Keeper of the Iblisi—a truth which was kept most hidden of all: I learned why those who fall out of their Devotions so often go insane. Braun suspected it…”

  “Braun didn’t trust you,” Drakis said.

  “No, but Braun trusted something more than any of us or even the Aether or Aer magic,” Soen said. “There were, it seems, a few things which he kept from me in our time together but he also knew that there was one thing he could teach me and ask me to keep safe for him—for all of us. And that is how I came to learn this great truth: that the Devotions were not used only to control the slaves but to control all the citizens of Rhonas as well…”

  “That was no secret!” Urulani shook her head. “Tsojai Acheran could have told you that…”

  “But the Devotions were not just to control our thoughts within,” Soen said, “It was to keep other thoughts out—other influences that were, shall we say, against the Imperial Will.”

  “Yes,” Urulani breathed in sudden awe. “I see!”

  “See what?” Drakis demanded.

  “The gods,” Urulani replied. “They kept out the gods!”

  “How do you banish gods?” Drakis scoffed.

  “The Devotions made it so we could not remember the truth,” Soen replied. “The gods were not banished but the Aether magic made us deaf to them. The inner light of conscience was extinguished, that spark of the divine kept at bay. All our Aether, all our power, all our government and our resources were channeled into the self, aggrandizing the self an
d maintaining the self. Who were we elves before we did this to ourselves? What could we have accomplished without Devotions that served the will of the few through the suffering of the many? We were once a beautiful race creating beautiful things. What could we become again if our hearts and our souls were restored to us?”

  “But why not just destroy all the Wells?” Drakis asked. “If you restore the influence of the gods…”

  “Guilt,” Urulani sighed. “It isn’t just about what has been done to them—it is what they realized, in a devastating moment, that they had done to others. They could not face who they truly were.”

  “But now that we understand that truth,” Soen urged. “We can bring them to that knowledge gently and the Empire—pardon me, the Republic can heal.”

  Drakis stepped around Soen, staring down at the lifeless Emperor. “I actually tried to save him.”

  “Then save his people instead,” Soen urged.

  Drakis turned around. He stared at his sword for a moment and then slid it back into its scabbard.

  “Withering curse, you say?”

  Soen’s lips split into a wide, sharp-toothed smile. “Well, people will believe anything if you tell them it was magic. So, where do you think you’ll go?”

  “Go?” Drakis asked.

  “Drakis is dead,” Ethis observed, struggling to his feet. “You are free to go wherever you like.”

  Drakis drew in a breath. Here, in the heart of Imperial Rhonas, where the lifeblood of the oppressive Empire’s Aether had kept the gods at bay, he realized that he was not only free of the Empire, but of Drakis, the Man of Prophecy as well.

  “North,” Drakis said with watery eyes. “Back to Drakosia. Somewhere I can build a quiet life of my own.”

  “And I’ll take him there.”

  Drakis looked at Urulani in surprise.

  “That is,” the raider woman said, “if he doesn’t mind.”