Chapter 47: Nemesis (1/2)

I lean against one of the corners of the tent and breathe in vain. Isaac takes a step forward, as if to help, then shakes his head in shame.

“Iwillnotgoagainstdirectordersfrommyclan.Icannotcome.Iamsorry.”

I care little. I don’t need him to exert my vengeance. He is clearly torn but it is not up to me to grant him forgiveness. We will all have to face the consequences of our decisions in the end.

Isaac has not given up yet. He clasps his hands and bends forward in a strange gesture. When he stands back up, the guilt has been replaced by a new resolution.

“Icanstillhelp.Here.”

He walks to a large chest and takes out a box. It looks like an expensive jewelry coffer made of lacquered wood decorated with strange glyphs. I cannot feel magic coming from it despite its obvious nature.

Isaac rips the wood apart with his bare hands. Beams and planes are shed from the structure until only a metallic frame is left. It consists of a handle stuck to a bar with a series of spikes branching out and curving back inward as if meant to encase a cylindrical object. The metal is silvery and the structure a bit rough, seemingly made in a rudimentary forge by an apprentice, and yet upon closer inspection, the surface is covered in hair-thin runes forming a complex lattice. Its aura is subdued and oppressive, evoking restraints.

“Thiswasmeanttocontainthekey,shouldtheboxbelost.Itwilldisruptitspoweroncontactandquitepossibly,hurttheHeraldaswell.Here,takeit.”

I grab the artefact, cold and smooth under my fingers. Definitely used to restrain something until it is completely powerless...Darkbasement.Brokenarm.Brokenleg.Driedblood.

I shake my head and wince. I feel so weak. Things are seeping in. Memories that should remain dead and buried. I take the contraption away and turn to Loth.

“Aye lass, I’m coming.”

“And so am I.”

Merritt lifts the tent access flap soon followed by Nashoba. She looks like death warmed over while the shaman is the picture of concern.

“You don’t get to tell me I can’t come. They killed my…”

“You can come.”

“Friends… Huh? You are fine with it?”

Headache. What do I care how you spend your life?

“Yes.”

“We still stand a chance to stop him if there is no one to slaughter. I split up the Warband. They have orders to reach the nearest villages and have them evacuate before the Herald and what is left of his men can reach it.”

“Willtheybeontime?”

“Yes.Thosearetheirfamiliesatstake,daughterofThornandHunger.Theywillmakeit.”

“ThenIjustneedtostophimbeforehecangetanymorepower.”

“Yes.Thevisionssayyouareimmunetohistouch.”

I am, now that… Now that the only bond I had to a mortal is gone.

“Youwillhavetofacehimalone.Ifweapproach,wewilldieandfeedhim.”

“Iknow.Tellme,shamanoftheChoctaw,canyouseemyfuture?”

Nashoba lowers his head in disappointment.

“Icannot.”

“Excellent.Itmeansthatthisisnotover.”

I dream.

It is dark, not the embrace of the now-familiar nocturnal veil but the oppressive obscurity of the unfathomable depths. Pressure, crushing and unforgiving, bends my neck forward. There is nothing around but rocks surrounded by onyx sand as far as I can perceive, while above, there is nothing but the black of a fathomless canopy. The air, if it is air, is dry and scentless, Unspeakable things prowl lazily around, massive and contemptuous.

Although I cannot see it well, I know that an obsidian obelisk lies before me, toppled. And upon it sits a mocking silhouette. It holds in its hand a strange skull and starts with a voice that nothing can silence.

“Rage,Goddess.SingoftherageofPeleus’sonAchilles,

murderous,doomed,thatwhichcausedtheAchaeanscountlessagonies

andthrewmanywarriorsoulsdeepintoHades,

leavingtheirbodiestobefeasteduponbycarrionbirdsandsavagedogs,

alltofulfillthewillofZeus.”

The voice should have been solemn, even fearful, as befits one who implores a Muse. Instead, it is ripe with bloodlust and the anticipation of the violence to come. Its owner leans forward until I look into eyes darker than even the abyss we stand on.

“Ithasbeenalongtime,mychild”

I scowl in recognition. Tall, dark hair and beard, golden skin. The Lord of the Nirari looks as regal as always in a sand-colored outfit richly decorated with rivers of precious stones. He looks like a Caliph holding court, at ease and confidant even in this desolate place.

“You…”

“Yes,me,atlonglast.Tenyears.TenlongyearsIhavewaited,watched,eagertoseeifthelittleprincesswouldfallliketheothers.Andnowforthefirsttime,youareonthepathtoself-destruction,consumedbytheblackestofrage.Tellme,child,whathurtyouso?Whatdeedstippedthescales?WhowasyourPatrocles?”

My words escape me, unbidden. I must answer.

“…MyVassal.Killed.”

“How?”

“Treachery!Lies.TheHeraldtookanoathtoupholdatruce,intendingtobreakit.Andhedid.HeshotmyVassaldownlikeananimal…”

“Andthisenemy,youintendtopursuehim?”

“Imust.”

“Foralldebtsmustberepaid?”

Oureyesmeet.Idonotsubmit.

“Yes.”

Themonsterstandsupandmovestowardsme.ThepressureIamfeelingincreaseswitheverystephetakes,butIhold.

“Defiant,still.Youwerenevercompletelybroken,evenattheend.Yousharemycursenow,theoneIsharewithmybetterscions.”

He turns and walks away and I collapse with relief.

“Wedonotknowhowtolose.Verywellthen.Alesson,sothatyoumayrepaythedebt.Listenwell,princessoftheblood.ListentoyourMaster.Aneternityago,thegreatestqueenwhoeverlivedcreatedasetofelixirs,andthosehavefoundtheirwaystothehandsofthemightyandthefatedovertheyears.Thosewereelixirsofeternallife.Asparkofthedivine,withatwist:acursetostealthevitalitythatwewouldnolongercreate.I,herson,wasthefirst.IdrankandtheessencethatbecameminereflectedwhatIneededandwhoIwas.”

“AWarlord?”

“No.Aconqueror.Everynewbloodline,everynewcreatureyousampleisaddedtoyourkingdom.Itbecomesyours.Drinkingmoremakesyoupowerfulbutthefirstoneopensthepath.”

“Iknowthis.”

“Youdonot.Youfeelstrongerbutyoudonotunderstandthepoweritself.Closeyoureyes.Focus.Godeeper.”

My perception of the world fades and the scene grows distant.

“Iwillguideyou.”

Something drives me forward until we lurch and spill in my mental fortress. I end up sprawled on the grass of my strange garden, next to a rock in the shape of the first merman I faced.

A presence behind me makes me turn. Master is here, though he is somewhat transparent like I imagine a ghost would be. I want him out, but I cannot push him away. Something stops me. My defenses do not recognize him as a foreign entity.

He turns his gaze to the statue and smiles, then with a wave of his hand, an arch emerges from the ground.

“You have refined tastes, princess. Now, open the way.”

I must still obey. A distant part of me objects to his coming here. He does not belong in my sanctuary. He desecrates this land by simply treading it. That part is drawn by another that insists that this is the most natural thing in the world.

Both voices are right.

I arrive in a circular plaza surrounded by tall walls of tightly woven roses, in black, white, and red. The ground is made of polished marble slabs but what attracts my attention is its inhabitants.

The deceptively wide expanse is currently covered in statues, most white and standing, and a few colored and kneeling. Wherever I look, the open space widens, and more come into focus, only to fade as I look away. I recognize a few of them as people I killed, like the werewolf I faced in the Lancaster Arena. Others, I do not remember.

“An impressive tally, little one. You may look upon them with pride, I do not believe I have seen its like since I sired Malakim.”

“Those are…”

“Your victims, yes, and those who paid you tribute, of their own free will. They are the sources of your power as my scion. Yours, for as long as you walk the worlds. Observe, a few of them already lent you their allegiance.”

Indeed, some of the constructs surrounding us are not only kneeling, they are colored while the others are alabaster white and they feel reactive. I recognize a few, including a very faint outline of Sinead, Bingle, Nashoba, Loth, Naminata of the Ekon whom I met just before being sent to fight in the pits.

“I do not understand. I did not make them submit.”

“Oh? An interesting distinction. Go ahead then, make the others… Submit.”

This is not a matter of words. I focus on the deep part of me, the one that wants to subjugate, and bring it forth. The plaza below us pulses once and something stirs in the depths. Its size defies comprehension. Above us, the purple light of the Watcher shifts.

SUBMIT.

The command spreads outward like a wave. The ones I killed kneel in turn but the ones that gave me their blood of their own free will stand up and fade in the background. Worse, those who kneel are not colored.

Master chuckles and shakes his head in amusement. One of his hand holds his elbow while the other caresses his beard.

“Tellme,princess,fromwhencestemspower?Say,forthe,hm,president,ofyouroldnation.”

“Themandateofthepeople?”

“AndforthekingoftheBritons?”

“Idon’tknow?Divinewillperhaps?”

“Suchcomplicatedmentalgymnastics,suchelaborateconcepts.Somanytheoriestojustifyoneeternaltruth.Nomatterhowstronganidea,orhowbelovedasovereign,therewillalwaysbedissidents.Howaretheykeptincheck?”

“Militarymight?”

“Yes,overwhelmingmartialstrength.Those,”hegesturesaroundhim,“arenotyoursbecauseyouareavampire.Theyareyoursbecausetheyfacedyouandlost.Becauseyouvanquishedthem.Youareveryclose.Tryagain.”

I bring the deeper part of me towards the surface again, but this time I infuse a truth in the words, my own belief that they shall submit by the most ancient rule of them all, the right of the victor.

SUBMIT.

The statues kneel, this time with color. They raise their hands in surrender. Their powers are mine because they have no choice. Once more, those who gave me blood out of their own free will remain standing.

“Idonotunderstand.”

“Patiencelittleprincess,patience.YouremindmeofadesertraiderIonceknew.Youonlyunderstandconquestthroughviolence.Thosealliesandsupplicantswhohelpedyou,theyflockedtoyourbanner.”

“Twoofthosewereusedtosavemylife.”

“Andtheystrengthenedyoubydoingso.Wevampires,weconquerors,arenotmindlesskillers.Wehaveourcodesandourhonor,ourVassalsandServants,ourclansandcommunities.Thosewhofollowwillinglymaydoitforsafety,order,power,vengeance,forasmanyreasonsashumannatureallows.Whatmattersisthattheyfollow.Tryagain.”

I understand, I think. They trusted me, some trust me still, to have mastery over those gifts they offered. They are not mine because I crushed them but because they acknowledged me as one deserving of tribute. Loth loves me in his own way. Bingle sacrificed himself out of duty and friendship. They did not do it because I defeated them, but because they believed in me as a person, enough to expose themselves.

I take a deep breath. I know what I must do. To conquer is not to destroy. To conquer is not always to stand alone. That is the difference.

SUBMIT.

Some kneel because they have to, some because they choose to. One by one, all the statues before me bow and color springs from the ground to cover them. Then, their powers unlock.

I have never felt stronger.

I bask in the ensuing bliss. I could send a werewolf flying. I could crush steel. I could outpace the fastest stallion. It feels amazing, more than that, it is a deserved reward.

Master walks among the statues like a collector inspecting his latest acquisitions.

“Themortalsdonotamountformuch,andthemagesyoucannotuse.Yet.Thewerewolvesareanicetouch,youcandrawontheirsavagerytofightlonger,healfaster.TheEkonbloodlineisrenownedforitsabilitytoholdpainandtheThirstatbay,anecessityforthoseadventurers.TheLancasterarepeerlesswhenitcomestoCharm.YouevendrainedarogueNatalis!Iamimpressed.Theirdumbphysicalstrengthwillserveyouwell.Oh,andafewstrangercreatures!Why,IhavenevermetthosespiritsofHunger.Degeneratednativepeopleperhaps? I willhavetocomebackatsomepoint.Thefaeprinceandthegod-touchedpowersarelockedfromus,unfortunately.Onlytheinherentstrengthcanbeyours.Well,thisisapleasantsurprise.Youhavebeenproductive.”

His inspection over, he returns by my side and places a hand on my shoulder. I feel the steel grip behind the light touch, and I am not scared, just a bit pleased at his approval. This is a dream. Many of my gut reactions are subdued.

“Withthis,youhaveaccesstofourofthefourteenbloodlinesIknowof.Igrantedyouthislessonasafavor,princessoftheblood.Seethatitisnotmisplaced.”

The shape of him evaporates in black vapor until only an eight-fanged smile remains, then this is gone too, and I wake up.

Pain. Thirst. Claustrophobia. The sensation of choking. I gulp great breaths of air that do nothing but satisfy a vestigial reflex. My claws scratch the sarcophagus’ inner padding until I grab the handles and pull them. I jump up and fall on the side, coming to my feet in an instant.

Around me, dry earth and roots topped by a very low tent. Loth stares at me with a blank look from behind a tiny workbench. He has never looked more tired.

No immediate danger. Clear exits. No need to FIGHTORFLEE.

I clutch the center of my chest to try in vain to ward off asphyxiation. He came in my mind. He came in my mind and did what he wanted and I did NOTHING. Nothing to stop him even though I… Even if he… Gah!

Only distance saves me from him anyway. If I were by his side, I would just be a bumbling and lovestruck wreck. Pathetic.

Maybe I was lucky. At least I got to be myself from the onset. Now I just need to find somebody to eat to end this unbearable pain and I know just the man. In silence, I attach battered pieces of armor to my stained dress and affix my half-mask, leaving the mouth free.

“Lass?”

“I’m ready. How are we doing?”

He considers the lump of metal in front of him and removes his hands from it. Just as I recognize the object in front of me, its aura pervades the small space we stand in.

I don’t know how long it took for him to finish it but I would presume every waking hour since I fell to slumber. In typical Loth fashion, he took the problem and analyzed it then found a solution that would satisfy his need for violent revenge. Since it is too risky to get close, my friend made a shell.

No, calling it a shell does not do it justice. He made a shell-shaped object that is more magical concentrated spite than steel. It is made from darkened metal engraved with vengeful runes pulsing a deep red like a wound leaking blood. Lines of glyphs criss-cross it in every direction like taut barbed wires. Loth’s creation looks like what it is, the fruit of patient malevolence, made for the exclusive purpose of inflicting pain and death. Whispers at the edge of my hearing promise dark retribution. My friend lifts hollowed eyes to me.

“I’m ready. Let’s go outside.”

We leave and I find myself in a depression surrounded by pines at the top of a hill overlooking a large valley. Dried needles and fallen cones cover the ground and let out a pleasant scent that offers a sharp contrast with the tensions of those in it. There are no fires, no gear and no horses around, only two exhausted mortals lying on the ground next to the covered form of Loth’s steel canon. Nashoba and Merritt turn around and see me but do not react. Everyone is on edge.

I lean down by their side. If they notice me trying to breathe, they do not comment on it. In front of us lies a vale with an open ground around a tiny stream. Muskogee houses and structures dot it with a few tilled fields in the distance. Signs of life are everywhere but I see no locals alive or dead. In the central plaza, the Herald is in an animated discussion with a handful of subordinates including the Tower Mage.

“The evacuation was successful. Merritt managed to track that bastard and we used our mobility to our advantage.” says Nashoba in English.

I turn in surprise to the mage. Her eyes are bloodshot and her traits drawn but there is no mistaking the pride in her voice.

“That asshole left a lot of blood behind. I scraped it off the pier and made a compass.”

“Excellent. Loth, are you opening?”

“Yes.”