There’s something amiss, he thought. The man is acting far too casual. He either knows it’s a trap and doesn’t care because he can handle it, or he’s fucking stupid. I’m not betting on the latter.
Mordryn felt weary all of a sudden. He wasn’t sure how many times he had done this over his long life. The lives, the blood, the screams—they all started to look and sound the same after a while. Kingdoms rose and fell, gods died and were reborn, heroes won or the lost, and meanwhile, the ordinary people suffered. It seemed something like a cosmic joke. Life seemed about squeezing it with your fists until the blood dripped between your fingers and slipped away. The harder you grasped, the more escaped, and eventually, there would be someone who came along and squeezed you until you dripped away.
The assassin was still following Slate when the man ascended the small dais and sat upon the throne.
“Someone has been sitting in my throne,” he stated to the empty air. There was nothing in the room but him and the shadows. The sound of Slate’s voice sent a chill up Mordryn spine. It was rich and deep. It sounded like the voice of someone noble, someone honorable, someone honest. Mordryn knew that Slate wasn’t any of those things, and that’s what was so chilling to him. He could play the actor surprisingly well, and Mordryn could recognize the actor in Slate because he was an actor himself.
Mordryn drifted closer and began circling the throne. The columns of the room kept him hidden as the light fixture kept most of the room in shadow beyond the reach of its illumination. As he drew closer, Slate spoke again.
“You know, it’s funny. Somnium holds a multitude of wonders. Some people can speak with their minds. Some monsters feed off the souls of their victims…”
Mordryn drew up behind Slate. He figured that the man was practicing some speech. He had seen royalty of various backgrounds doing the same. The assassin drew a knife from the sheath at his belt and eyed the man carefully. He needed to make sure the first strike would also be the last, and still, the man spoke.
“Then…there are those that wield fire to kill their enemies, and there are those who walk with shadows.” There was a small pause in Slate’s monologue, and Mordryn felt a sense of danger in his black heart. He attacked with the speed and precision of a striking snake.
“…and there are those who see them.”
Slate leaped from his throne at the same time Mordryn attacked. The assassin was faster than the monarch, and he felt his knife bite his target’s flesh. Slate roared in pain and clutched his neck as he turned his leap into a forward roll. The roll carried the leader off of the dais, and he toppled the half step to the lower level. The sword that he had been wielding had clattered to the ground. Slate rose to his feet even as Mordryn was rushing in pursuit. He knew the blow hadn’t been a killing blow, but it had been close, and he needed to finish the job.
Slate summoned blue-white fire into both palms, and Mordryn felt his chest constrict. He had felt the touch of these flames before, and he wasn’t keen on reliving the experience. The monarch threw both fireballs at Mordryn, and even though the Vallyr dodged, he could feel the strange quality of the fire absorbing his shadow and stripping away its protection. Instead of maintaining the magic, Mordryn dismissed it entirely and rushed toward the Scourge leader again. As he did so, he summoned the Shades in his entourage, and a dozen of them sprang to life like raging beasts. Surrounded by his pets, he had the wherewithal to notice the rough cut in the side of the man’s neck. It fountained blood the color of moonlight, and there was enough of it that soon its loss would begin to affect Slate’s reaction times. Once he became sluggish and sloppy, Mordryn would be able to dispatch him quickly. He merely needed to distract him long enough.
The Shades did their part in the distraction as they turned into whirlwinds of claws and teeth. Slate was summoning and lobbing fireballs at them to keep them away from him. His resistance was reasonably successful. When a fireball hit a Shade, it would immediately go up in flames and be forcefully banished. Mordryn figured it was part of the same magic that repelled the Vallyr themselves. Mordryn circled the monarch and yet his enemy was still able to keep the edges of Mordryn knives from touching his flesh once more. Mordryn was growing frustrated. He knew he only needed one more well-placed strike to complete his objective.
Slate was still summoning fireballs and lobbing them at Mordryn with a pained grimace. Without his partner, he was unable to trap the assassin in a position necessary to keep him from dodging. Mordryn couldn’t help but chuckle at the Scourge leader’s desperate attempt to attack him.
“No one to save you this time,” he jeered.
The sound of shattering glass and the rainbow-colored shards that fell from the ceiling caused Mordryn to glance up in surprise. The female bodyguard from before had plunged into the room headfirst through the large stained-glass windows that took up much of the roof above them. The fraction of a second that Mordryn stood still was long enough for Slate to get off a fireball that impacted the chest of the Vallyr and threw him off his feet.
As the flames licked his flesh, Mordryn screamed. There was some inherent quality about the fire that was incompatible with his corporeal form. He could feel his nerves screaming and smell his skin cooking with exquisite detail. He tried to roll to put out the insatiable hunger of the fire, but it didn’t seem to help. As he moved, he felt a clawed foot catch him in the head, and the force caused his head to snap up. His panicked eyes met emerald draconic eyes. It was the woman who had fallen from the sky. She held up the sword that Slate had dropped when he dodged the assassin’s blade. The two locked eyes, and without a word, the woman drove the blade into Mordryn’s skull. The last image he remembered seeing was the small smile that graced her lips.
CHAPTER 27: THE ROYALTY REUNITED
Slate pressed a hand against the swiftly healing wound upon his neck. It had been close, almost too close, but his natural regeneration was reconnecting the flesh and tendons that had been frayed by the assassin’s knife. Blood, the color of mercury, stained his clothing, and coated his hands. He sat shaken upon his throne. It was one thing to know that death approached, and it was another to have met the reaper and take a peek under the cowl. The sword that had ended the assassin’s life was sitting upright, still piercing the marble floor. The corpse of Mordryn had disappeared. Instead, it was the blade itself that had changed. Slate watched it warily. The sword had once been a standard Guardian blade. It was no more unique than the other thousands of swords that were stocked in the Guardian armory. Now, it glowed with an insidious purple light. Slate recognized the soul magic at work. The blade had lost its silver sheen and looked like pitted stygian iron, and the handle looked like shaped ebony with silver ornamentation. A large amethyst crowned the end of the pommel more ostentatious than practical. He felt around him using the Scourgemind to assure himself that he wasn’t alone. Serena was just behind him, in her usual spot guarding him against would-be assailants.
He took the city management token out and placed it upon the army of the throne.
“Bastion,” he addressed. “How close was it?”
The avatar appeared in person in front of the Scourge King.
“Quite close, my King.” The man said with a voice as dry as the desert itself. “Perhaps you should have been better prepared?” The avatar raised one bedraggled eyebrow. “Hm?”
Slate frowned at Bastion. “He was following us since we left the barracks, and he wasn’t keen on attacking until Serena left my side.”
Slate looked around the throne room. “Besides, here in the throne room and underneath the aura of the Starlight Arcanum, I am at my most powerful.”
Bastion issued a rattling cough that sounded wet and rough. “That may be so,” he admitted, “but if not for your natural regeneration in this room, you would have died and the city…” Bastion looked meaningful at the token resting upon the throne. “Would have been taken.”
Slate smirked. “Feeling a bit mortal yourself these days, Bastion?”
/> The elderly man managed to look offended, “never, my King.” His expression turned thoughtful. “what a piteous existence.”
Slate chuckled despite himself and changed the subject. “When is my Queen to arrive?” He asked.
Bastion had a faraway glance on his face. It reminded Slate nothing so much as a computer that was buffering. That’s all Bastion was; an interface for the magical might of the city. It was probably the best purchase that Slate could’ve made for the town, even if it was an irritating interface in practice.
“She slowed down once I told her that you had defeated the threat to the city. She’s circling back to make sure the rest of her forces come with her.”
Slate sighed as he found himself wanting Shale at his side. He felt like he was missing his right hand. She was the blunt instrument he used to keep the others in line.
“What about my forces?” He asked Bastion.
Once again, Bastion had to take the time to search out the information, but a few moments later, the King had his answer. “They’ll be here in a few days. According to Matek—the wisest of your councilors—they left soon after you did, and they’re making good time. He wishes me to convey to you that he has much information to pass on once he arrives within range of the Scourgemind.”
Slate nodded. He was interested to see how the Empire had decided to invade Koral after he had destroyed their naval forces. Koral was still an essential location for both the Empire and the Collective. He hadn’t stayed to witness the invasion itself, but he assumed that the Empire was keeping some of their tactics under wraps. All he had done was impede their efforts. He didn’t believe that he had prevented them entirely. He needed more information about the Empire. One blade to the back was enough from them. Today’s allies were tomorrow’s enemies if your view of history was long enough. The Empire would undoubtedly be reticent to reveal their methods before having a chance to assess the capabilities of the Scourge itself.
Speaking of which, Slate thought before speaking out loud. “Bastion, order the Guardians to return to their posts within the inner city. What were our total losses?”
Bastion started stroking his long and stringy beard with one hand. The avatar was merely an optical illusion with no more substance than a moonbeam, and yet, the King couldn’t help but look at Bastion’s beard with a measure of awe and disgust. It was long enough to go far past the man’s chest, and every now and then, as the avatar stroked it, Slate could see the skulls of small woodland creatures or old bits of food in its depths. It certainly couldn’t be real, but the sight was horrifying enough that Slate knew that Bastion had to be doing it on purpose. The avatar’s strange mind—if it could be called as such—either found the display humorous or purposeful. Slate assumed he would never truly understand.
“Only fifteen or so Guardians died around the city. However, the palace staff were completely eradicated before I had the opportunity to order the rest of the inner city to evacuate. All told, the death knell rang for north of sixty people,” Bastion replied.
“So many,” Slate sighed. “He wasn’t sad at their loss, not particularly. They died in the service to him. That was the role they had willingly taken upon themselves. It was a bargain of sorts; they traded their time and their lives in exchange for his leadership. He felt like they had been his possessions that were stolen away from him. He was starting to realize that the draconic form that he now possessed was more than a simple bodily transfiguration. Something about the way that his mind worked had changed as well. He was still him, but he had gained a possessive, defensive streak that he was still becoming used to. Anytime one of his people died, or one of his buildings were destroyed, or even when his throne was occupied, he felt a wave of righteous anger coming over him. He had almost blown the entire ruse when he realized that Mordryn had been sitting in his throne. It would have usually been a tiny thing. A throne was merely a petty trifle in the grand scheme of things. However, Slate had wanted to pull down every stone in the palace and raze it to its foundations so that he could find and kill the irritating Vallyr.
The Vallyr had overestimated his abilities, and Slate had grown far more powerful since their last meeting. As soon as he had touched down in the inner city, he had smelled the Vallyr’s spoor all over his building like a visible stain. Instead of engaging the assassin directly, Slate had decided to secure the city management token and grab a sword. If he were lucky, then the killer would have attacked while Serena was with him. They would have made quick work of him. However, allowing Slate to return to the throne room, where he was blessed with an abundance of power from Lucidus, was a tactical mistake for the assassin. Even the Shades, which were admittedly a surprise to the King, were quickly banished in that particular chamber.
Bastion broke into his thoughts, “that’s true, but the moral in the city has increased rather than decreased. It seems that the attack on the palace has inspired more individuals to join the Guardians. I’m calculating a thirty percent increase in recruitment numbers over last month.”
Slate looked at the avatar. “Are you sure that’s right?”
Bastion scoffed, “of course, I’m sure, my King. You get to chop heads off and plunder in the name of our Lord, Lucidus. I get to run the city and do the actual work while you’re away.” The man’s tone was insufferably snide, but Slate let it run off him like water in an oil slick.
“Point noted, Bastion,” he said, instead. “Well, if that’s the case, recall the Guardians to the inner city, and hire new personnel. I’d like it to be back to normal before the Queen arrives.”
Bastion sniffed and then used one of his sleeves to rub his nose, “I’ve already done so, my King. They’re on their way as we speak.” Bastion sounded like one of his enlisted Marines when he had given an order that they thought was unnecessary. It was polite, but there was a hint of rebellion in their words. Slate chuckled at the memory.
“Alright, Bastion. I’ll leave the city management to you,” Slate said.
“That would be the wisest decision you’ve made all day, my King.” The avatar replied before disappearing in a small pop of displaced air.
“Dick,” Slate asserted to the empty air.
It wasn’t long before the palace, and the inner city as a whole became something approximating its former self. Servants resumed their duties within the building, and newly-minted Guardians took their places protecting the rooms and corridors. As Slate walked the halls of his palace, searching for any sign of tampering and sabotage, they watched him with barely concealed awe. Slate supposed that this new batch of warriors hadn’t seen him or Serena before. As they made their way along various passages, Serena would take a moment to discipline lax-looking Guardians, or to offer a word of encouragement for those doing well. It seemed that she was taking being the head of his guard to heart. Slate hadn’t thought that included the Royal Guards that were Guardians, but Serena thought it did.
Their last stop was in the hatchery below the palace. Slate took a deep breath as soon as they entered the underground chamber. There was a moist, primal scent in the air that filtered through him and energized him. The first of the eggs that they had left behind would be hatching soon and the sense of expectation was present in the air. Once they reached the wall where that Commandery rested behind, Slate turned to an expanse of blank wall. This part of the hatchery looked like it was due for another upgrade.
“Bastion, I would like to create another room here.” Slate declared into the empty room.
Serena looked at Slate with a measure of surprise. He had never stated anything like this to her. The hatchery was close to sacred in her and Shale’s eyes. It was the direct manifestation of Lucidus and the essential companion to their primary purpose.
The avatar appeared next to them. “Certainly, my King. The city has an overabundance of biomass and experience.” Serena jumped at Bastion’s reappearance. He had decided to manifest right next to her, and his abrupt arrival made her jump out of her skin. Neither Bastion n
or Slate mentioned it, but Serena felt like that almost made it worse. Slate had stopped letting Bastion’s pranks bother him, but the others of his administration were more susceptible.
“Good,” he continued. “I would like a command center here. I want it secure so that I can place the city management token here. I also want the high-value members of the Scourge to be able to come here as a last resort and be able to coordinate a defense during a siege.
Bastion’s face drew into a grim line. “My King, you’re not planning on losing the upcoming battle, are you?
Serena’s eyes darted to the back of Slate’s head as she considered what Slate was suggesting. The Scourge King turned and faced both of his advisors.
“Not at all,” he replied smoothly. “However, this latest assassination attempt has shown me the need for a location from which to operate in case an enemy has seized the palace.”
Serena nodded, seeing the truth in his words. She glanced around the hatchery. Many of the eggs in the chamber were hers, and she wanted them as safe as they could be. She couldn’t help but feel the natural desire to protect them from harm. She looked over at Bastion.
“Right now, there are two entrances into this room. One descends from the barracks and one from the palace. Are you thinking about changing that?” Her question implied that the passages weren’t secure enough. It was a conclusion with which Slate agreed. He looked over at Bastion and said as much.
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