by Chris Pisano
Not wanting to startle Oremethus, Mallen made no attempts to be quiet as he approached, wanting to let prince know he was coming up behind him. Walking up the last tiered floor, the prince disappeared into one of the doorways. After a few moments, he came back out. He regarded Mallen with indifference as if he were merely another rock formation he found in the cavern and walked along the perimeter to the next doorway. Mallen followed, watching as the prince stopped before the door and cocked his head to listen to the darkness beyond. Mallen listened as well but did not hear anything. “What are you doing over here?”
“I thought I heard something.”
“A demon?”
Oremethus set his jaw and nodded as if he just heard the most profound set of words. “Yes. A demon. A demon’s laugh.”
Mallen watched the prince with pity, wondering how a man could live hearing the laughter of demons when the wind blew or their footsteps when a loose rock fell from the ceiling. “Are you certain?”
“I’ve been guarding against demons for many years now, so yes, I am quite certain.”
“Guarding against demons. Is that why you want to hire us? To hunt them down so you no longer need to be afraid of them?”
The prince’s posture stiffened. Back ridged and fists clenched; the prince took Mallen’s comment as an insult. Mallen had hoped he would, had hoped to get the prince’s full attention. It worked.
Oremethus stood a few inches taller than Mallen and used his height advantage as a form of intimidation as he moved closer. Standing so near, Mallen could feel the prince’s breath and prepared himself to receive a blow. Instead, his plan worked better than expected.
The prince’s face twisted, brows curving inward and creating crevices along his forehead, the left corner of his lip rising into a sneer. He fought with a thought, an idea, a memory. And it pained him. “Why do you look like my mother?”
“How do you know what she looks like? She died on your second birthday.”
“I asked Qual to show her to me once. Now, when I sleep well, she comes to me in my dreams. She cares for me, nurtures me, sings to me the songs she sang when I was a baby. I rarely sleep well, so her visits are infrequent.”
Without warning, Oremethus ducked into a crouch and raised his arms defensively, turning quickly to see what lurked behind him. Nothing. With the same caution a rabbit would use while skulking through a viper pit, Oremethus stood straight, his eyes darting to look around the cavern.
“Yes,” Mallen said, “I can see that.”
Oremethus nodded while he examined a dark corner over Mallen’s shoulder. Then he stopped. His whole body went tense. As he brought his gaze to Mallen, his eyes widened. “How did you know that my mother died on my second birthday?”
“All of Albathia knows the story of the three sons of King Theomann. Oremethus, Perciless, and Daedalus share the exact same birthday, just one year apart. The queen died birthing the youngest, Daedalus.”
Oremethus set his jaw and shifted his stance, rigid and regal, a king demanding an answer from a potentially lying servant. The fog rolled away from behind his eyes, lucidity uncovered. He looked at this moment very sane. “No. There is more to your knowledge of my mother than just that.”
Mallen nodded. “Yes. You are correct. When we were younger, you were always correct, and it infuriated me so.”
“Younger?”
“Yes, Oremethus. When we were younger. When we were raised together and trained together and learned together. When we were pitted against each other for Father’s amusement. Don’t you recognize me, dear brother? It is I, Daedalus. And I have come to rescue you.”
twenty-eight
A unicorn. A fucking unicorn with a shimmering horn, different colors playing across the surface depending on how the light hit it. Unicorns and rainbows, Diminutia had joked before following the stone path into a secret jungle—the most beautiful place he had ever seen. As a thief, whenever he had a moment of downtime and sought out some catharsis, he would sneak into the private gardens at Phenomere, the Queen’s Gardens. He once thought they were the most beautiful scenes in the world, until this place. This beautiful magical place. With a unicorn.
Of course, this unicorn was nothing like he expected. A spectacular horn sprouting from the head of a horse, yes, but he never thought that head would be attached to man’s torso, and that torso attached to a scorpion body. A sort of centaur, he mused, although far more intimidating than Tingle, the traditional centaur cowering behind Bale.
Diminutia turned to his wife, hoping to follow her lead, but she looked tired. This must have been wearing on her. He was frightened. She looked almost disgusted with finding herself in yet another bizarre location with creatures none had ever seen before. Over the years, he had listened to her stories about her time in the army and the Elite Troop. She did not tell these stories with the same zest he heard from other war heroes, old men finding solace at the bottom of tankards, yearning to reclaim bygone years. Diminutia knew that she loved her fellow soldiers, all of them, and was proud to serve the crown. But no story she told could compare to the excitement in her voice, the sparkle in her blue eyes, whenever she let him know of something one of the children did. The tale of their first steps trumped even the most successful of Elite Troop missions. Even now, when fear should be the paramount emotion, she looked annoyed, missing something that the children were doing for whatever was about to happen, whatever the unicorn centaur was going to do.
“What the fuck is that thing?” Lapin whispered.
Diminutia forgot that he still cradled the rabbit in his left arm. He used his right hand to pat his head. “Shh. It’s just an alcohol-fueled dream.”
Using his front paws, Lapin swatted at Diminutia’s hand. “I’m not drunk.”
“Then I might be, because I see a unicorn head on a man, scorpion hybrid.”
“You are not drunk either, because I see the same thing.”
“Damn.”
The creature in question moved closer to the interlopers. All the other scorpions and scorpion-hybrids moved around him, adjusted their position according to where their horned leader moved. Its motions were quick and jerky, examining each member of the intruding party, and then moving on to the next. By the time Diminutia realized that the creature was trying to ascertain the identity of the group’s leader, Haddaman stepped forward and bowed. “Oh, great king of Vierennia, we are mere travelers who seek an audience with you.”
The scorpion leader skittered a few steps backward, leading to waves of its followers to do the same. As if performing upon a stage, Haddaman gave a deep bow. “We mean you no harm. We simply want to talk to you, oh great king. My name is Haddaman Crede.”
Tail curved over its body ready to strike, the creature approached. Its thick horse lips rippled as it spoke. “My name is Lyrus, and I am no king. I merely speak for those who wish to remain hidden from the world until our king comes to us.”
“Then fortune favors you.” Haddaman’s tone was disarming, that of a friend doing a favor for another friend. Diminutia always hated that tone, even before he knew that Haddaman was the one who betrayed Dearborn and the Elite Troop. That was the tone Haddaman always used when swindling. “We have brought you your king.”
The crowd of scorpion creatures erupted, mostly chittering and the sounds of claws repeatedly snapping shut. Lyrus spat, “We should kill you, outsider, for your lie!”
Haddaman folded his hands together and smiled broadly. “If I lie, then how did we get into Vierennia? Only the true king of Vierennia can open the wall with his touch.”
The arachnid legs of Lyrus fidgeted, lifting and digging into the dirt, as he shook his head trying to decipher the question. Waiting no longer than necessary, Haddaman bowed at the waist as he used both arms to gesture to Praeker.
More agitated noises from the crowd as Lyrus step
ped closer to Praeker. He sniffed, then shook his head and snorted. “Human!”
A sense of wonder had fallen upon Praeker’s face from the first mention of Vierennia, but the word “human” replaced that look with one of anger. “Not human. Much more,” Praeker said as he extended his arms. The two-dozen green scorpions that had been repairing his wounds stopped and gathered on his right shoulder. Pulling together tightly, they started to form one shell made of many plates. From the crowd, from the jungle, from the trees, more scorpions came. More with shells and limbs the color of emerald. Some, the dark red of a fresh stab wound. Some blacker than fresh pitch. Hundreds marched in straight lines to one central location—Praeker Trieste.
Not moving, Praeker allowed the scorpions to crawl over him, coating his body like living paint. Grouping together by color, the scorpions formed armor over Praeker, flowing patches of black, green, and red. Finally, two larger green scorpions ascended to his head and situated themselves to form a mask, their opened claws allowing him to see. When all the arachnids were in place, when his living armor had been assembled, he flexed his arms and each tail jutted outward, hundreds of tiny spears ready to sting. Diminutia did not like where this journey was going.
Lyrus made a sound of surprise, a blend of insect clicking and a horse bray. Diminutia cringed at the horrific noise. He did not feel any better when Lyrus stopped; the self-proclaimed voice of the denizens bent his front legs to kneel and bowed where his torso grew from his carapace. Lyrus had accepted Praeker as king, as did the other inhabitants of Vierennia.
In waves, the scorpion creatures bowed to their new king, even the ones that were scorpions with no blend of any other creature. It took mere seconds for his ascension to be complete. Even Haddaman bowed to the new king. All Diminutia saw was a warlord with a new army.
Silence, only the beat of Diminutia’s heart rang in his own ears. No one moved; the denizens frozen in their act of reverence, everyone else tense and waiting for what would happen next. No one was prepared for what did happen.
Praeker brought his hands to his head, the larger scorpions forming the helm climbed along his arms, to his torso, and down his body. Like water flowing over him, the rest of the scorpions fell away, save the few dozen that he started with. They went back to tending to his wounds as he remained mostly naked. “I hope never to need my armor again.”
“What?” Dearborn snapped. Diminutia could not determine if she was more annoyed than disappointed, but both sentiments were noticeable in her voice. He could hear his wife’s muscles tense from frustration.
Praeker smiled. Not the smile of a bloodthirsty warlord after winning a battle, but that of a man who found contentment, a man who had been touched by peace for the first time in centuries. “My motivations are like your own, Dearborn. I am home. I will defend it, but I hope never to have to.”
The previous tension dissipated, everyone breathing a collective sigh of relief. Tingle was the first to ask the question everyone wanted to know, “So . . . we can leave here alive, right?”
Praeker laughed. “Yes, of course. You can leave, stay, come back. You are welcome here. You all are. You have aided me in finding purpose.”
“The sentiment of a poet,” Dearborn mumbled through clenched teeth. Since none of the scorpion creatures made a move against them, Diminutia assumed that no one else heard her.
“Ummmm, thanks?” the centaur answered. “But I think I will go with the option of leaving, please.”
Haddaman stepped forward and cleared his throat. “Not so hasty. Let us not forget why we came here in the first place.”
“Ahh, yes. The Eternity Seed.” As soon as Praeker said the word, his new followers became agitated. Those who were more highly evolved cringed; those more arachnid in nature scuttled around in uneasy circles.
Lyrus extended his arms and bowed his head. “My liege, Vierennia has been entrusted with the safety of the Seed for millennia. The great ones who shaped the world built a mountain around it to keep it hidden. We, who live within the mountain, have sworn our lives to protect it. You, as our king, must do the same. If my news disappoints you, I offer my head as retribution.”
Praeker placed a hand on Lyrus’ shoulder and said, almost chuckling, “There will be no beheadings today, good servant. The oath of Vierennia is my oath. But I do wish to see it.”
Lyrus looked up to his new master but was still pensive. Nervously, he looked to the others who came with his king. Praeker laughed and said, “Fear not. They are my friends, and mean no harm.”
Again, Diminutia felt the air around his wife change as she tensed from Praeker’s words.
Lyrus bowed. “Of course, my lord. Please follow me.”
The scorpion unicorn led onward with Praeker striding by his side; everyone else followed. As he walked among thousands of scorpion creatures, Diminutia wondered how this was going to play out. He had a few daggers, and his wife had her skills as a fighter. Things could get nasty if Silver insisted on taking the Eternity Seed with him. Retreat would be the only viable option. However, with Dearborn’s temper looking for any reason to fight, would he be able to convince her that running would be the better option? He hoped it did not have to come to that, and if it did, he thought of ways to trip Bale as a distraction.
Daisies lined the path they walked upon. No, dandelions. Diminutia shook his head and wondered if he had hit it recently because he swore the mums he looked at were dandelions mere seconds ago. Stopping to watch the mum petals fuse together and twist to form orchids, he then wondered if he lost his sanity. Dearborn yanked on his sleeve to get his attention and still yanked even after gaining his attention. Following her gaze, he wondered what could have her—his wife—in such stupor.
The path led to a tree, almost as tall as a mountain, growing to the height of the city’s wall. Like the flowers in the immediate vicinity, the tree changed as well, slowly shifting from one kind to another. When Diminutia first saw it, it was a massive fir tree, but then the bottom branched receded into the trunk, while the top branches plumed, needles spreading into leaves, pinecones shrinking into acorns. It finished as a mighty oak, but that lasted for a mere minute as the branches extended again and the leaves changed shape. It changed into the fullest willow tree Diminutia had ever seen.
“Amazing,” Diminutia whispered.
“It truly is,” Lapin replied, still lying limp in Diminutia’s hand.
“Yes, I agree,” Haddaman said as he pulled from his pocket a stoppered vial containing a small moth. “A sight to behold, as if looking back in time to witness the birth of this world, resplendent in all its potential gifts and offerings. This is the muse of all muses, had I a more artistic propensity.”
As Haddaman removed the stopper, Diminutia watched as the moth flitted free. Like all moths, this one bounced and bobbed through the air as if trying to complete some invisible maze. It made no sense. Why would Haddaman release a moth? At a time like this? They had stumbled upon the most beautiful place in the world, where myth and reality merged, yet Haddaman deemed it appropriate to release a moth from a glass vial? Diminutia opened his mouth to give voice to his questions, but the moth exploded into a tiny conflagration. Thin wisps of smoke danced from the tips of Silver’s fingers. “Why did you release a calling moth, Haddaman?”
Smile deep and lecherous, Haddaman shrugged. “To call someone, of course.”
“Who?” Silver cried, arcs of electricity now jumping along his hands as if he had plunged his arms into a lightning storm. “Who did you call, Haddaman? What have you done?”
Haddaman simply stood his ground, smiling with his hands folded together, as Silver approached. The lightning growing in speed and intensity. The wizard raised his hand to release the bolts. Before he could launch his attack, the air rippled as a hole formed. Qual emerged from the hole.
With a wave of his hand, Qual commandeered Silver�
��s spell, turning it against him. The lightning arced backward upon the one who created it. Silver fell to the ground in a heap.
“Him. Him. Her. Them,” Haddaman yelled as he pointed around. Diminutia went for his daggers, but could not get to them fast enough. Giant leaves jumped from nearby trees and wrapped themselves around Diminutia, pinning his arms to his sides and legs together, only his head remaining free. The leaves wrapped around Dearborn, as well as his other companions. Except for Praeker.
A river of scorpions flowed up his legs, locking together again to form his armor. As they reached his chest, Haddaman yelled to him, “Stop! For the sake of your people.”
The scorpions stopped forming the armor, many crawling along his chest and over his shoulders, all their tails pointing outward and ready to inject their poison. “Speak quickly, traitor.”
“We have no quarrel with you. Let us take what we need and we will leave this place in peace.”
“What you ‘need’ is not yours to take.”
Haddaman looked at Qual and then nodded toward the ever-changing tree. Qual turned to the tree and placed his hands together. In a quick, violent motion, he pulled them apart and the tree exploded. No lightning, no fire, the massive tree suddenly burst into toothpick-sized pieces that rained down upon the thousands gathered. The Eternity Seed, the size of a human skull, was all that remained of the tree. Even with the tree gone, the Seed continued to bring forth life; saplings sprouted from the ground around it. Until it floated in the air, gliding to Qual’s outstretched hands. “True. So, either you give it to us freely, or we purchase it using the currency of your lives.”
The scorpions continued to form Praeker’s armor, while the denizens gathered behind their new king, but they stopped again as Haddaman continued, “Now, Praeker, you just found your loyal and loving subjects. Why would you wish to lose them so soon? I know that there are very few things that could kill a creature such as yourself, one who evades the deathblow of time, but if I were one who partakes in gambling, I would wager all my gold that Qual could be one of those things.”