The Lure of Fools

by Jason James King

  They descended to a lower floor by way of a gently declining ramp–apparently, the palace had no stairs–and ran straight into Lord Gymal. He froze at seeing Ezra and his strike force. The beefy man with the little lord drew his sword and stretched out his free arm in front of Gymal.

  Mulladin extended a hand to cast lightning, but Ezra grabbed his wrist. “No,” he said to the man. Mulladin shot Ezra a dark look. Something of the boy’s grim adult personality worried Ezra, but perhaps that was just because of the contrast with his former child-like self.

  “Gymal,” Ezra said. “What’s happening?”

  Gymal eyed Ezra’s fifty black clad soldiers before answering. “Your nephew,” he drawled. “He’s out of control.”

  “It’s as I feared,” Ezra said. Then he noticed what Gymal was holding. “Is that a stun baton?”

  Gymal half hid the talis behind his back.

  “Are you planning to use that to capture Jekaran? Why?”

  Gymal didn’t answer.

  “Let me shock the truth out of him, Ez!” Mulladin asked, an eager smile on his face.

  Ezra raised a hand to signal Mulladin to back down. “What’s in this for you?” He asked Gymal. This man was an opportunistic sycophant–Ezra’s concept of pretty much all nobles–who was likely trying to curry favor with the king by apprehending Jekaran. Either that or he feared it would reflect badly on him if Jek got away.

  Gymal’s eyes darted from Ezra to Mulladin, to the fifty Rikujo enforcers and back to Ezra again. “I’m trying to help him escape!”

  Ezra hadn’t expected that. “Why?”

  “The king was going to have him executed, in spite of his escorting that Allosian woman here to deliver her warning.” Gymal sighed. “I couldn’t allow that.”

  Ezra was speechless.

  “Oh don’t act so surprised, peasant!” Gymal snapped. “Even nobleman can have consciences.”

  “Not the ones I know,” Irvis added.

  Gymal shot the chubby monk a baleful glare.

  “Do you know where he is?” Ezra asked.

  Gymal looked back at Ezra and then nodded. “Just follow the chaos.” He motioned to a ramp leading down to a lower floor, and Ezra noticed for the first time two lifeless corpses slowly rolling down the ramp.

  “How about we follow you,” Ezra made sure his tone emphasized that this was not a request.

  Gymal didn’t refuse. After all, how could he? His one mercenary would be no match for fifty trained soldiers, all with weapon talises. But Ezra suspected fear wasn’t what was driving Gymal to cooperate. As baffling as it was, the man seemed earnest in his desire to help Jekaran. It was strange. Ezra wasn’t going to reject such a fortuitous happening. Another sign of Rasheera’s aid.

  Gymal led them down two floors, and then into the corridor that might itself have been a ballroom for how spacious it was. Even in the heat of this crisis, Ezra couldn’t help but admire the mystical nature of Allosian architecture. There were no seams, breaks, or other signs of construction anywhere in the smooth ivory walls and marble floors. Trailing designs etched into the stone flowed in an unbroken pattern that stretched as far as he could see down the corridor. This palace or any other Allosian building, was as much a work of art as it was a functional edifice.

  A mass of soldiers swarming the intersection of a connecting hallway interrupted Ezra’s appreciating Allosian craftsmanship. Their backs were turned to him, all of the soldiers focused on something he couldn’t see, but he knew what it was. He broke into a run toward the mass of excited guards.

  Something shot up from the midst of the soldiers, a figure twisting gracefully as he arced ten feet in the air and then landed behind the attacking soldiers.

  Jekaran.

  He whirled, lopping the heads off three soldiers at once before the press of guards even had a chance to turn. The boy was clearly under the influence of the sword as evidenced by his supernatural speed and fighting skill.

  “Jekaran!” Ezra shouted.

  He didn’t appear to hear him, or else he didn’t care. Ezra remembered being taken captive by the sword’s will, and how it rendered him entirely impotent, powerless to literally lift a finger. He felt that way now.

  Soldiers dropped left and right as they dutifully, but foolishly attacked Jekaran. What was driving them so hard? Even royal arms men would retreat when facing a clearly superior foe. As if in answer to his question, Ezra heard one of the soldiers shout the accusation, “King killer!”

  Oh no. Ezra’s stomach clenched. That complicated things. If Jekaran had indeed killed the king of Aiestal, they were not only going to have to escape Aiested, but the entire kingdom. They’d have to go to Maes Tol or Haeshala. Even then, they would likely be sought after and hunted.

  First we have to escape this palace. He drew in a deep breath and strode forward.

  “Hey!” Gymal snapped after Ezra tore the stun baton out of his hand.

  Ezra didn’t even look at the short, balding lord as he slipped the talis into his pocket. Instead, he continued forward, his focus on his nephew. When he was ten paces away, just outside the ring of soldiers who were attacking Jek, he stopped and shouted, “Jekaran!”

  No response, just more death. Jekaran slammed the blade of the sword into a man’s armored forehead before using the buried sword to leverage a vault over the soldier. The blade tore free in an explosion of blood, brain, and bone as Jekaran landed behind the unfortunate man. Without even pausing for breath, he swung the sword down in front of himself, cleaving a soldier from crown to crotch in an unreal explosion of blood and viscera.

  “Jekaran!” Ezra screamed.

  Jekaran jerked as if struck on the back of the head. He broke off from attacking the soldiers and turned to look at Ezra. Two more sword-wielding men in armor attacked him, but Jekaran dispatched them easily, without looking away from Ezra. The remaining handful of soldiers fell back, and for a moment, the violence halted.

  “Jekaran?” Ezra asked. “Do you recognize me, son?”

  Jekaran stared at Ezra, his green eyes curious. He looked as if he were trying to remember something. “Ez,” he said flatly.

  Ezra smiled, placing a hand in his pocket and gripping the stun baton. “Yes, it’s me.” He slowly began to walk toward his nephew. “It’s time to go, Jekaran.”

  “Go?”

  “Yes,” Ezra said as he took a few more steps toward him. “Will you come with me, son? Come home?”

  Jekaran shook his head. “Have to save Kairah.”

  “Now!” one of the soldiers called, and four of them surrounded Jekaran, all preparing to charge as one.

  “Wait!” Ezra shouted, pulling the stun baton out of his pocket.

  The members of Ezra’s Rikujo assault force surged forward, and the hall immediately exploded into a maelstrom of flashing lights and elemental clamor. Forks of lightning nearly blinded Ezra, and the heat of fire talises made him wince.

  A boom resounded through the hallway, one that sounded like the noise Graelle’s concussion rod made when it discharged. Through it all, he could see Jekaran battling soldiers. He’d felled the four who’d attacked him, but more had charged forward to take their places. But now they had to divide their attention between attacking Jekaran and defending against a horde of Rikujo enforcers throwing lightning and fire.

  The large corridor was in a state of pure pandemonium.

  With no care for his safety, Ezra pushed through the melee that now surrounded him. One attacker came too close, and he was forced to shock the man with Gymal’s stun baton. The soldier dropped, eyes twitching upward and body convulsing. Just a few paces in front of Ezra Jekaran fought, deftly sheering through weapons, armor, and skin. Jekaran’s back was facing Ezra, and so he lunged forward, aiming for a spot between the boy’s shoulder blades.

  In a blur of impossibly fast motion, Jekaran spun around and shoved his sword into Ezra’s chest. He gasped, cold steel shocking his broken skin as the tip of the blade push out of his back. His wh
ole body shuddered as he looked down at the sword sprouting from his chest. The tiny emerald shards embedded in the blade exploded to life, casting shifting green light on both him and Jekaran. He looked up, meeting his nephew’s green eyes. They bore a detached look in them, the boy’s face expressionless.

  Then Ezra heard something he hadn’t heard since just after Anarilee died. It was like thunder, but not an actual audible noise. It was a psychic shockwave that exploded out from Jekaran, invisible and probably unnoticed to all but he and his nephew.

  Jekaran’s brows shot up, and his mouth fell open. His eyes softened, and Ezra saw again in Jek’s face the familiar countenance of the sweet boy he’d raised. The mental and emotional shock of stabbing his uncle had somehow severed Jek’s psychic link to the sword. Not just snapped him out of the battle trance but severed it completely. Ezra smiled and he felt blood trickle from the side of his mouth. This wasn’t exactly how he’d intended to save Jekaran from the sword, but if his death would do it, then so be it.

  Well, I did tell Rasheera I would pay any price to save Jekaran, even if that price were my life.

  Apparently the goddess had taken him at his word and exacted that very cost.

  As the light around him faded, Ezra couldn’t help but laugh, though it came out more like a ragged, shuddering cough. He had not failed Anarilee after all. He had not failed Jekaran. He had come against all odds across Shaelar to rescue his nephew–his son. He had sought redemption, and he had found it.

  Jekaran was free.

  Jekaran’s mind ripped in half. Sight and sound became a mixture of indecipherable stimuli and he fell backward. Try as he might, he couldn’t form ordered thoughts. He didn’t even remember his name. The only thing he could focus on was horrifying shock that quickly resolved into a deep, twisting pain in his heart. He let go of that sensation and let himself be swept away in a torrent of slippery ideas and fractured memories.

  Screaming! Oh how Jove loved the sound of screaming, particularly when those screams came from women. It stirred dark passions within him and made him hungry. He laughed aloud as he whipped a translucent green tendril at an attacking guard. The tentacle plunged into the man’s chest like a ghostly sword, draining away his life. Two more guards attacked Jove from his left flank, and he devoured them without even turning to look in their direction. That display was enough to discourage other attackers, and the palace hall became a frenzied scene of fleeing maids, butlers, guards, and nobles.

  He could chase after them, squeeze the nectar of life from each and every soul, but that would amount to little more than a distraction. He wouldn’t really enjoy feasting on humans, not when he could have all the Apeiron he could eat. Drool spilled out of the corner of his mouth and rolled down his chin. He could taste the Apeiron radiating from the massive well. He needed that delicious, delectable pristine life. Every moment he was without it was excruciating torture. He needed to…

  A woman stood at the top of stairs at the end of the foyer. She was tall with a perfectly proportioned figure. He giggled as he noticed that she was dressed only in a shift, her unusual height making it barely reach past her thighs.

  Scandalous.

  And what was this? Purple hair? Jove had never seen hair that color before. And no, it wasn’t just purple, it was jewel-like. Glittering, like–like an Apeiron well. He barked a laugh, striding forward, forgetting the mob of fleeing people about him and focusing entirely on the most beautiful doll he’d ever seen.

  As he reached the bottom of the grand staircase, the woman called down to him. “You will come no further, Vessel of Moriora!”

  What was she talking about? Jove stopped, staring up at the woman as a burning lust consumed him. Oh, how he wanted to touch that perfect body, touch every inch and then break it.

  “You are a very, very pretty doll,” he said in a low, throaty voice.

  “I am an Allosian,” she said. “A child of Apeiron, your opposite. And I am here to destroy you.”

  Feisty. Jove always liked the ones who fought him. It made the conquest so much more satisfying.

  He began to climb the stairs, his lustful stare never wavering from the woman. The marble steps in front of him exploded, and he raised an arm to protect his face. He could feel several cuts on his arm and face from the shrapnel as he stumbled down three steps. When the dust cleared, Jove looked up at the woman and grinned. Did she think that could stop him? He resumed his steady climb. A white-hot shaft of lightning crashed down on him. He could feel his insides burn, and his eardrums popped as the electricity shot from his back and out of his chest, but there wasn’t any pain.

  Jove found himself prostrate at the bottom of the staircase. His tendrils, seemingly acting of their own accord, shot out of his back and struck at a group of on-looking soldiers. As he drank in their essences his internal organs repaired themselves, the burns on his skin smoothed over, sound returned as his eardrums reformed, and the cuts on his arm closed.

  He arose, laughing. It turned into a wild cackle when he saw the surprised look on the woman’s face. “Silly doll! You can’t kill me. I’m a god!”

  He began to climb the steps again and she launched a fireball down at him. As before, when attacked by that soldier doll with the sword, his tendrils coalesced around him forming a kind of shield. The ball of orange fire vanished upon coming in contact with the warped, green air encasing him.

  The woman’s eyes widened and she began to back away. Now was the time to pounce. Still invigorated by the life he’d just drank in, Jove launched himself up in an arc sailing over the rest of the staircase and landing lithely at the top of the stairs. The woman backed away looking frantic, but Jove manifested a tentacle which exploded from his chest and caught her in the breast. She froze, and Jove began to drink.

  What’s this?

  This woman tasted different. Her life force wasn’t stagnant like the energy of other living things. It tasted pure and potent; just like Apeiron. Jove walked up to her, standing intimately close. He grabbed the woman by her amethyst hair and forced her to kiss him. She tried to pull away, but he was strongest while feeding, stronger than any normal person. When he drew back, he was surprised to find that she hadn’t withered. And what was this? Her life force didn’t ebb away. It kept flowing. Was she drawing directly on the Apeira well? How was that even possible?

  Jove grinned as an idea blossomed in his mind. This meant that he could enjoy her in the same way he’d enjoyed his other dolls, perhaps forever if he restrained himself from killing her. He moved in for another forced kiss when he was abruptly pulled backward by something.

  He hit the stairs and rolled down four steps before coming to a stop. He looked up at the woman and found her kneeling on the floor, head bowed, shoulders rising and falling as she heaved.

  Who had dared interrupt him? Jove growled as he stood, looking down at the base of the stairs where a one-handed lizard man flashed a sharped-tooth grin at him. The Vorakk who’d attacked me in the coach.

  This time the reptilian creature was accompanied by six small glowing spheres hovering just above his shoulders. The lizard man pointed, and all six balls of light flew at Jove. He manifested his strange shield, but it had no effect on them. They struck him as hard as though they were physical objects, knocking him back against the marble steps.

  Those damned glowing lights! He couldn’t eat them, and they could strike him. They were going to be a problem. He needed to kill the Vorakk quickly. Instead of standing again, Jove whipped a dozen tendrils into existence, all exploding out of his back. They struck at the lizard man who began to dodge them by ducking, jumping, and running. One of Jove’s tendrils came close, but a ball of light flew in front of it, and took the strike instead of the Vorakk.

  Again, Jove tasted that bitter, unbreakable essence. What was it and why couldn’t he eat it? He let go of the floating light and sat up, sending more tentacles of warped air at the lizard man. The creature appeared to be slowing. It’s getting tired. Even so, Jove wa
s having an unusually difficult time catching him. Was he using some sort of Vorakk sorcery? That had to be it, for he was moving faster than Jove had ever seen anyone move.

  He finally succeeded in scoring the lizard man on the ribs. The tendril didn’t sink into it, but the Vorakk’s scales turned white, and it fell to the ground. Jove barked a laugh.

  He glanced up the staircase and found his purple-headed doll retreating through an arched doorway. She was getting away! None of his dolls had ever gotten away! He cast a wary glance at the lizard man and found that the creature had vanished with his invisibility trick.

  To hell with him. Then he leapt up to the top of the stairs and followed the purple-haired woman into the next chamber. He stopped abruptly as he was greeted by a sight that made him tear up. At first it looked like a massive wall made of one huge Apeira shard, but then Jove realized what he was looking at. It was the base of Aiested’s titanic well. Its glowing light illuminated the massive chamber, and he looked up to the vaulted ceiling and found that the Apeira well rose through it. The entire palace was actually built around the well.

  Jove moved forward like a man possessed. He could taste that maddeningly delicious energy. A fireball struck him in the side, making him stumble. He glanced to his right to find his purple-haired doll standing fifty paces away. She threw another fireball at him, but he struck out with one of his tendrils and extinguished it midflight.

  He grinned at the woman and was about to take a step toward her, but hesitated. This was a terribly difficult dilemma. Begin his feast on an inexhaustible supply of Apeiron, or gratify his more mundane passions by attacking the purple-haired woman. The logical thing would be to have the woman first, and then syphon the well, but his longing for more Apeiron prevailed, and he turned away from his doll. He’d find her again later.

  He strode forward licking his lips obscenely. This was it. This is what he’d crossed Shaelar to find. The ultimate in pleasure was before him. As soon as he was close enough, Jove shot one thick translucent green tentacle from his chest and plunged it into the Apeira well.