by Jenn Lyons
He didn’t answer her. Instead he concentrated.
Khaeriel screamed as blood streamed from the corners of her eyes. She fell down to her knees.
“I’m sorry,” Therin said. “Your eyes will heal, but I can’t let you do this.” He walked toward her, steps unsteady from the damage he had taken when she had thrown him. “We’ll hide you until you heal, help you somehow. I won’t let the Council—”
Therin dropped to the ground, twitching, his eyes locked open in shock.
Khaeriel stood. She wiped the blood away from her eyes.
“I have targeted several specific nerve clusters. Painless, but you cannot move or organize your thoughts enough to channel magic. Lorgrin taught me that,” she said. “Oh but I shall miss him. His was a most puissant skill with matters of medicine and anatomy.” She bent down next to the shuddering High Lord. “I do not need you to protect me, Therin. And the Council will be the ones hiding from me before I have finished with them.”
She reached out and stroked his hair. “I give to you this gift: the one thing you have always wanted, the one thing you have never been brave enough to admit is your true heart’s desire.” She straightened. “I shall free you of the D’Mons.”
She turned back to the crowd.
Some fought. Others begged. Many did both, running or trying to hide, but the result was the same.
Finally, only two people remained alive in the hall.
Khaeriel returned to him when she was finished, stepping over the body of Bavrin D’Mon’s youngest son, Thallis. His eyes stared forward, open but unseeing.
“I know you think you shall never forgive me for this, but in time you will.” Khaeriel raised her hand, and Therin’s body floated upward. “You shall never blame me even a quarter as much as you blame yourself. A part of you, and not a small part, believes you deserve to be punished for your crimes.” Khaeriel smiled. “And when have I ever refused your commands, my lord?”
Therin couldn’t struggle. He couldn’t scream, or cry, or whisper. He was trapped inside his own body, a prisoner. All he could do was watch, impotent, as the former queen of the vané opened a portal, and ushered them both through.
89: PARTING
Kihrin would have laughed, shouted, danced a little on Gadrith’s corpse, but there was the matter of Thurvishar drowning in a gaesh loop. He yanked Urthaenriel free from Gadrith’s body and turned back to Thurvishar, unsure what he could do to help.
But Thurvishar was fine.
The wizard was standing up, out of breath and massaging his throat, but with no other sign of distress. He wasn’t in fact dying.
Thurvishar gazed at Gadrith’s body, really Sandus’s body, with an unreadable expression.
“I—” Kihrin exhaled. “I’m sorry. I killed your father. Well, okay, I’m not exactly sorry—”
“You didn’t kill my father,” Thurvishar corrected. “You killed my father’s murderer. For that I’m in your debt.” He turned back toward Teraeth, still unconscious and wrapped in the remnants of tree roots that had pulled free when they were all expelled.
Kihrin gazed fondly at the unconscious vané. “I shouldn’t rub this in,” Kihrin said, “but where would be the fun in that?” He walked over and then frowned.
“You can’t be affected by magic,” Thurvishar said, “but neither can you perceive it or cast it.” He stared over at the unconscious assassin and concentrated.
Teraeth opened his eyes and leapt to his feet, blades in each hand.
“You missed the excitement,” Kihrin said. “We won.”
Teraeth looked around, his gaze stopping at the body of the dead necromancer. “We won?”
Kihrin clapped Thurvishar on the shoulder. “You were gaeshed, and by Quuros law the man who holds your gaesh is responsible for your crimes. That man is dead. I’m sure once I explain the situation to the High General—”
Thurvishar pulled himself away from Kihrin. “No. No, I’ll explain matters to the High General. I’ll throw myself at his mercy. He will use magic, and the truth will come out. As you said, they will not hold me to account for Gadrith’s crimes. You, however, must leave. Leave the City and leave immediately.”
Kihrin blinked. “What? Why?”
Thurvishar scowled. “You have no idea what you’ve done, do you?”
Kihrin pointed to the corpse. “Yeah, I saved everyone, that’s what I’ve done.”
Thurvishar gave Teraeth an exasperated look.
“What did he do?” Teraeth asked, his tone more cautious.
Thurvishar swept the scene with his arm. “He killed the Emperor—”
“That wasn’t the real Emperor!” Kihrin protested.
Thurvishar glared at Kihrin. “Gadrith was wearing the Crown and Scepter. He was wearing my father’s body. He was the Emperor.” Thurvishar returned his focus to Teraeth. “Kihrin killed the Emperor. Kihrin claimed Urthaenriel. And now . . . now he’s destroyed—shattered—the Stone of Shackles.”
Teraeth’s expression froze in shock.
“Wait. Wait, why—” Kihrin paused. “I admit it wasn’t ideal, but it was the only way I could kill him without our souls switching places—”
“And that was a clever solution to the problem,” Thurvishar admitted. “If you hadn’t, he would have ended up in your body, holding Urthaenriel. But . . .” He licked his lips and winced. “All the eight artifact Cornerstones have a sympathetic relationship to the element to which they are attuned. The Stone of Shackles is connected to gaeshe.”
Kihrin felt light-headed. “That’s why you didn’t die. That’s why you didn’t die, even though you never obeyed Gadrith’s last command. You’re not gaeshed anymore.”
“No one is gaeshed anymore,” Thurvishar agreed. “No one in the whole world is gaeshed anymore. You’ve freed them.”
Kihrin turned back toward the City. “Miya—”
“No.” Teraeth’s hand came down on Kihrin’s shoulder. “You can’t. She’s fine. Your mother is a powerful sorceress. Believe she will be fine. But he’s right—you won’t be fine if you stay here. That sword only protects you from magic, not swords or arrows.”
“It gets worse,” Thurvishar said then.
“Really?” Kihrin said. “Because I already want to throw up.”
“Do it later,” Thurvishar replied. “The pacts that allow for the summoning of demons hinges on them being able to tap into the power of the Stone of Shackles to gaesh—if they can’t do that, then the contracts are nullified. So someone has freed the demons, just as prophecy predicted, but it wasn’t Gadrith or Kaen.”
Kihrin stared at him. “What you’re saying—” He shook his head. “No—”
“Give the sword to Teraeth,” Thurvishar said. “Or to me. We’ll hand it over to Milligreest so he may place it back in a vault, to wait on the choosing of the next Emperor. There are no witnesses but ourselves to tell the tale of how Gadrith died, and we can craft any story we choose. No one has to know it was your hand that held the Ruin of Kings.”
“I like the way you think,” Teraeth said with an approving note to his voice. He moved a hand toward Kihrin’s sword arm. “Yes, give me—”
And paused, as Teraeth found a silver straight blade placed against his throat with all the neat precision of a shaving razor.
“I can’t,” Kihrin said. His throat worked with no sound and his eyes were bright and wet. “Please step back, Teraeth. You’re my friend.” There was a pleading note to the request.
Their eyes met. “I remember,” Teraeth said. “She has a beautiful voice, doesn’t she? It’s hard to hear anything else.” He stepped backward and let his hands fall to his sides.
Kihrin lowered the sword and stood there, shuddering.
“I gather the sword won’t let you give it up,” Thurvishar said, “but regardless, you must leave now. The High General has his own vows, and one of those is to protect the Empire from all threats. And you just became a threat to the Empire.”
“Milligreest doesn’
t believe in the prophecies,” Kihrin said. His voice was weak and tense.
Teraeth shook his head. He was back in ready mode, hands on his daggers and watching for anyone who might interrupt them. “I think he might change his mind after tonight. Come on. We can steal aboard a ship tonight and head out to sea with the tide.”
“No,” Kihrin said. He drew in a deep breath and seemed to recover some composure. “No, you go. Go by ship. The more of a chase we can lead them on the better. I’ll leave by land.” He walked over to Gadrith’s body and bent down, working a ring off the dead man’s finger—a red intaglio ruby. He held it up to Thurvishar. “Was this Gadrith’s or Sandus’s?”
Thurvishar inspected it. “It must have belonged to Sandus.”
Kihrin handed him the ring. “You should have something that belonged to your real father.” He turned toward the center of the Arena and his nostrils flared. “What about Tyentso?”
“Leave her,” Teraeth blurted out.
“She’ll come back, won’t she?” Kihrin looked at Teraeth. “Thaena will bring her back?”
Teraeth’s expression was grim. “I don’t know. The rules inside the Arena are different.”
“I’ve never heard of Thaena allowing anyone who died inside the Arena to Return,” Thurvishar said.
When Kihrin turned to go back to reclaim Tyentso’s body, Teraeth put himself in the way. “Go, Kihrin. If she doesn’t Return, Thurvishar can send someone back for her body. She’ll be buried in the D’Lorus crypts.”
“I’m pretty sure she’d have hated the idea of being buried in the D’Lorus crypts,” Kihrin snapped, but he didn’t try to force his way past the vané a second time.
“Technically,” Thurvishar said, “the D’Lorus family died tonight. The only true D’Lorus left is High Lord Cedric, and he’s a sad, broken old man.” He sounded like he couldn’t quite decide how he felt about that.
“I won’t tell if you don’t,” Kihrin said. He looked around, realizing he had nothing he could use to sheath the sword. “Good luck, both of you.”
“Where are you going?” Teraeth asked.
Kihrin answered, “Jorat. I hear there’s a knight there who’s causing some trouble. I’m going to find him.”
The Arena was quiet. The demon battles, so recently over, didn’t touch those peaceful green fields. No wind breached the force field to ruffle the branches of twisted trees, no birds remained within its boundaries, no squirrels had ever feasted on nuts and berries there. If any had found their way inside in the brief time the field was dormant, they too were shunted outside when Gadrith breathed his last.
No living animal, two-legged or otherwise, could stay inside the boundaries of the Arena until the next contest—until the next battle that would end when one man fought all comers. The victor would be the one wearing the Crown and holding the Scepter when he left its boundaries. The ritual would be as it had always been: anyone who wished to take part would gather; the Voices would lower the barriers; the fighting would begin.
Normally.
Tyentso, once called Raverí, inhaled deeply and arched her back to suck in more sweet air as she Returned. She was still not entirely aware of where she was, or what had occurred around her. She only knew that she had lost and paid a price for that losing—a price not so final as it might have been for another. She lay in the field at the center of the Arena, looking up at a soap-bubble field of magical energy, while the rain sprinkled on her face.
Above her head, directly over her head, a glowing circle of light bisected by a white line floated. She stared at both in confusion for a moment before she realized what she was seeing.
Tyentso began to laugh.
No living thing could stay inside the Arena after the Emperor’s death, but Tyentso had—at that singular perfect moment—not been alive, so her body hadn’t moved.
She reached up with both hands to claim the Crown and Scepter of Quur.
90: FINAL NOTES
Empress Tyentso,
A few notes are in order to wrap up this account.
The death toll to the Capital City was staggering. It’s estimated that at least five thousand people died due to demon attacks that night. About thirty thousand more perished in the fires that erupted thanks to their chaos. Still more will die in the coming months of starvation or disease if immediate steps are not taken.
The body of the Emperor, Sandus, was recovered from the Culling Fields. It was interned in the Hall of Heroes in the Emperor’s Palace to full state ceremony, next to the preserved body of his wife. According to official history, he was slain by an unknown assailant, possibly demonic, after bringing Gadrith D’Lorus to justice.
Xaltorath was “banished” by Qoran Milligreest, Therin D’Mon, and Therin’s “slave” Miya. But the timing suggests that most of Xaltorath’s demons actually returned to Hell of their own accord, a short time after the Stone of Shackles was destroyed. It is a faux reprieve; now that their chains are broken, the demons are free to begin their war against the physical races anew, without restriction.
Qoran returned to the Citadel and, it was assumed, Therin D’Mon and Lady Miya returned to the Blue Palace.
However, this is the last time anyone can document seeing High Lord Therin D’Mon or Lady Miya. Just a short time after the main part of the fighting ended, a physicker discovered the site of the D’Mon massacre. It had claimed almost all remaining D’Mon members. We must assume it was the work of Miya, freed of the gaesh and become Khaeriel, Queen-in-Exile, once more. She must have retaliated against the family who’d kept her imprisoned.
High Lord Therin’s fate is unknown.
The D’Mon family has been devastated, reduced to a handful of members. And none of those remaining are easily available to petition Thaena for the Return of any others. With Therin missing and Darzin dead, their future is uncertain. Kihrin D’Mon’s location is uncertain too: the last anyone saw, he left the north gates of the City with several D’Mon riding horses, a Joratese groom, and a gray Jorat fireblood.
Urthaenriel is now loose again in the world. No demon may be safely summoned lest they run amok, which means no slave may be gaeshed.
People are saying it’s the end of the world.
My Empress, we know it’s just the beginning.
FOOTNOTES
1: THE SLAVE AUCTION
* It seems Talon was serious about that “magic rock,” for it records the words spoken by its holder. I could have fabricated the other side of the conversation, but the gist seems clear enough through context and so I have let the words fall where they may.
* Having known Doltari slaves, I can only assume the auctioneer was blind. Then again, perhaps the good citizens of Kishna-Farriga have become experts at accepting the labels given to slaves without question.
* I have heard a great many theories to the effect that the Free States are a vassal of some other nation. So Doltar believes the Free States are in league with the Manol and the Manol believes the Free States are in league with Zherias, and of course Quur thinks the Free States are Doltari and thus must be protected by the Manol. If large-scale war ever breaks out, I fear it will go poorly for these Free States people trapped in the middle.
* There is no record to indicate that Relos Var has claim to a noble title or order of merit. On the other hand, there’s scarcely any record of Relos Var at all. The earliest mention of that name I have been able to locate is from the book History of the Raevana Conquest by Cilmar Shallrin, which mentions the name once. Since that book was published five hundred years ago, the idea that this might be the same person is troubling.
* This is . . . so wrong. So wrong. The odd number alone should have been the giveaway. This is what happens when you neglect to have a proper education. Two worlds. Just two. Magic is not a “realm”; it is a metaphysical river separating two parallel shores.
* Having personally met Relos Var on several occasions, including at public baths, I have to say that I have never been able to figure out w
here the man keeps his talismans either—or if he even wears any. Relos Var has the power and aura of someone who wears a great many talismans without seeming to wear any at all.
2: THE KAZIVAR HOUSE
* I find it highly unlikely his real name is Kihrin, but without confirmation from his birth mother, it would be difficult to know for certain. Perhaps Kihrin is a misspelling.
* “Found a witch in the City today, a burglar in the process of robbing a mansion through the use of her witch gift. While questioning her, she revealed that she was something called a ‘Key.’ Must investigate if there’s a secret organized group practicing illegal magecraft right under the noses of royalty.” —Journal of Kolban Simus, Watchman, found under his pillow after his body was discovered. His death was ruled a suicide.
* Aidin Novirin, a merchant of minor means associated with the Gatekeepers. After returning from personal business, he reported a burglary to the Watchmen, but said he could not determine what, if anything, had been stolen.
* Oh, how I lament the lack of education in the world. This is nothing but superstition.
* A flattering observation, but you and I both know perfectly well that his lack of vanity had nothing to do with monastic discipline. Thank the gods for the house servants, or I likely would have starved to death before he remembered that children need regular meals and baths.
* Far better names than their legal ones, in my opinion.
* Whose mind, I wonder? I find it highly unlikely that the demon wasn’t fully aware that Rook was in the house the entire time. So, it seems quite possible that he pulled the information, not from the prisoner but from Kihrin himself.
3: THE BLACK BROTHERHOOD
* There is a pattern to the people that Talon impersonates in these dialogs. They tend to fall into two categories: those she has eaten and those she has spent long periods of time around, such as Kihrin. Clearly she’s been using her telepathic abilities to learn a great many secrets.