The Belromanticum

Chapter 54

The death of Arkohnus cast a pall over not only my family but the kingdom of Zuunkhorun. My heart was heavy for his death, and for others of my children. Threch, his orcish heritage cursing him with a short life, but he made the most of it. Euvorio died young, his sickly body not the equal to the stresses he placed upon it. I took some comfort in the fact that the beauty of his words would be immortal. I had begun to outlive my children. Such a thing was inevitable for a wizard but that did not make it easy.

I celebrated my hundredth birthday in this time. Not long after, Nesugen died and I easily seized the throne of Zuunkhorun. I converted internal enemies to friends and purged the ones I could not. My machinations are described in more detail in theThe Mad Tyrant, though it does not charitably describe my motives. Nor does it properly credit my wives. Their counsel was as ever at the core of my success.

None of my wives bore children during this time. Despair was too heavy a cloak to entertain the idea of creating a new life. I had begun to make plans to flee Zuunkhorun if necessary. A ship would take us east where a set of standing stones existed on an island that could then take us nearly anywhere on Thür.

Were it not for Deimara I might have gone mad. She reminded me of her mother, and though a ghaunt rather than a full ghoul, she took after Maireili. Her teeth were blunter, and she grew a shock of dark hair at the crown of her head, but she possessed Maireili's sweet features and liquid black-in-black eyes. Deimara was a more talented wizard than I ever was and was diligent with her lessons. She had already stayed with me longer than I stayed with the old man and for that I was grateful.

The war went poorly. Though the Battle of Crimson Rushes was a victory for Zuunkhorun, the strength of the Heacharids has always been that they can absorb crushing losses and return as strong as before. They effectively choked off any approach to Ironmotte, which was well worth the thousands of lives they had spent.

My fleet was diminished. Kucyone had died and Arishat retired to the rewards I had promised, living on a modest estate in Yamanai. Malycent had left the fleet years ago to become a freeblade, an adventurer, and an explorer. What was left were the pirates my old companions had recruited. I did not trust them as I had my old friends, but they were what I had.

Prince Mar-Urukh summoned me to Uraraoi. He was Arishat's heir and I suspect sometime paramour. Now he commanded the Shattered Reavers. He was able enough, but lacked Arishat's genius.

Quiyahui had grown to impressive proportions, large enough now to ride. It made travel through Zuunkohrun easy though such journeys exhausted her. I made my way to the same tavern where so many years ago I met with Arishat and Kucyone. Quiyahui landed in the street and took her human form to accompany me inside. As she grew, she found assuming her human form easier and could maintain it for longer. A different man ran the tavern but he knew me as well as the old one. Though I was Tyrant of Zuunkhorun, I traveled among the people without fear.

I found the purpose of my visit waiting in one of the rooms upstairs. Prince Mar-Urukh was a mountain of a man, a barrel-chested Kharsoomian who had adopted Zuunese dress. A pharcyl rode on his shoulder and which he claimed he would eat if he were ever hungry enough. It was a lie, of course. He loved that hideous little thing.

"Lord Belromanazar," he said. "Thank you for your prompt attention."

I took the pirate's massive paw. Rings glittered from every thick finger. "Why have you called?"

"Dire news, I'm afraid. The Heacharids have a fleet coming. They struck out from the Lapis not long ago, making their way around the Onyx Horn."

"How big a fleet?"

Mar-Urukh whistled. "I have never seen its like."

"You saw it?"

"Aye, I did. I thought to raid the port at Olbeius and there saw an endless line of ships, traveling south along the coast. I sent spies into the city and I bring you this tale. The Heacharids have assembled a fleet like the world has never known and they are coming here."

"How long until they arrive?"

"The currents are against them and travel round the Horn is never easy. I suspect they will not be here until late summer at the earliest."

"Thank you, Prince."

He grinned. "Were you not the Dreadstorm himself I would say that you were doomed."

My own smile was strained. "Take your men to the hospitality house. Tell Ku-Aya that I will pay for your visit."

"Ku-Aya?"

I shook my head. Ku-Aya was gone. She had died an old woman two winters ago. "Forgive me." I fumbled for the name. "Shala. Yes, Shala."

He nodded, the smile leaving his eyes. "Thank you, my lord."

He left me and I collapsed into a chair. Quiyahui knelt beside me, resting her head in my lap. I found no comfort in stroking the iridescent white feathers she had in place of human hair. A fleet as Mar-Urukh described would break us. While our farmlands were fertile as ever, the Golden Sea was no longer providing its grain. We needed the trade that came through that port. They would blockade us and when starvation had sufficiently softened us, they would invade. That would be the end. I would have no choice but to surrender.

***

***

My enemies chose to strike not long after I had received this news. Perhaps they thought the timing ideal, for I was at my lowest point, but indirectly, it defeated them. I was still in a black mood, ruminating over my inevitable and ignominious defeat. There was no solution to the arriving fleet and we were barely holding the Heacharids off by land. It was already late into the night and while my brides slept peacefully, I was awake by the fire, sitting with Zhahllaia.

"Speak to me, my love," said the djinn. "I know your mind is with this fleet. Together, we can determine a solution."

My oldest concubine was still the perfect flower, bronze flesh unhidden by her costume of delicate chains. "There is no solution this time, Zhahllaia."

"You mourn Arkohnus. There is no--"

"Do not speak his name. Not now."

Her tone was even. "He was mine too. All of your children are mine. He called me Mama Zhahllaia and he loved me."

I turned away, ashamed. "Forgive me, my love."

"There is nothing to forgive. You need to understand we all share your pain. We created this plan. We charted the downfall of an empire. Did we think it would be easy?"

"No," I allowed. "What would you counsel? If one of your shahs were facing this?"

"I would counsel raising an equal force. Or a tempest."

I shook my head. "Even my greatest storm could not defeat the fleet Mar-Urukh described. They will have witchthralls on those ships too that would counter or slay me."

We fell into silence, the problem as insurmountable as before in our minds. If it baffled Zhahllaia what hope would I have? Still, I felt as though I was missing something obvious, some solution that existed that needed only to be seen.

"Belazei," I murmured.

That was when I felt the first sting. A feathered dart suddenly stuck from my chest. I stared at it in mute incomprehension for a moment before tearing it from my skin, where it left a spot of blood. I felt Quiyahui outside, in fear and anger and I cursed the new size that kept her from my side.

Black-clad men burst in through the windows. I tried to summon my magic, but I was sluggish, my will heavy. Something on the dart.

"Wake!" screamed Zhahllaia. One of the men swung a blade through her and for a moment her form wobbled but swiftly righted.

Maireili sprang from the bed like a cat. She was nude, her skin silver in the firelight. Three darts were in her in the space between heartbeats. Lysethe was next, struggling to wakefulness but soon feathered herself. These men knew who the most dangerous among us were.

I reached for Ur-Anu, willing the lighting to strike and fill my hand, but I could not concentrate upon it. One of the black-clad men loomed over me, ready to slice me into ribbons.

He stopped, his blade falling from his nerveless fingers to clatter to the flagstones. A spearpoint pushed through chest with a hideous wet crunch. He fell, twitching. Behind him loomed two shapes I had nearly forgotten. My tent sisters, reanimated by my magic, their rotted forms encrusted with sea life and alive with lightning, had emerged from their boxes to slay these assassins.

Their skills had been undimmed by their deaths and long dormancy. They fought fearlessly, and as the men turned to face them, their blades hacked into dead flesh, into rocky barnacles, into rusted armor. The assassins had brought tools to slay the living. They were helpless against the dead.

The arrival of my hetairoi was exactly what we needed to rally. Tanyth had gotten her hands on a sword and showed them that she was still a daughter of Kharsoom. Sarakiel got to Fidget and with a word, the stone figurine transformed into the living bird-thing. The feathered horror leapt into the black-clad men, killing with abandon.

I focused my will and a boom brought Ur-Anu into my hand. I saw the lines of threads, pushing through the haze of poison in my system. I cut one man down, then another. I forced myself into the whirling dance of death I had perfected during my exile. The weapon had been forged to slay a god. It could make short work of mere assassins.

The fight was swiftly over. Maireili and Lysethe were unconscious and Sarakiel was tending to them. My tent sisters were heroes.

We quickly found that our personal guard outside our suites had been poisoned, their throats cut. We summoned doctors and exorcists, and though it was a near thing, we survived. Maireili had the worst of it and when she finally woke from her poison slumber three days later, we rejoiced.

On that day, I opened the boxes where my hetairoi waited. Their eyes opened, flashing with lightning. The sight of them like this still filled me with shame and sadness, but they had saved my life.

"Brother," whispered Einoë.

"How did you know to save us?" I asked.

"We felt your fear," Kallea said. Her voice was mushy.

"I did not command you," I said.

"You need not command us," Einoë said.

"Why not?"

"The vow," said Kallea.

"Your vow as hetairoi."

"We swore you would be safe. We will do what we must," whispered Einoë.

After that, they were given charge of the door to our suites. If I could trust nothing else, I could trust the honor of the amazon. That would last beyond death.

***

***

I returned to the impulse I had before the assassins attacked and sent an enchanted bird to Belazei. I was running through hours and days I did not have but I thought that if anyone could bring salvation it would be she.

I met my eldest daughter at Uraraoi not a month after Mar-Urukh delivered his warning. She emerged from the water of the bay, striding up to the seawall to meet me. It had been many years since we had seen one another, but for a wizard and a nereid, it was but an instant. I wrapped her in an affectionate hug and kissed her slick forehead.

"Father, you look well," she said, speaking Abbih.

I smiled, pleased that she remembered our household's language. "My beautiful daughter, I have missed you. Here, while we're on land." I handed over the meager clothing she used to wear during her years in Castellandria. She donned it without protest.

I chose to meet her this far from the bustle of the bay specifically to avoid too much attention. I was the Tyrant and I journeyed on the back of a massive feathered serpent. Still, I wanted my reunion to be as private as I could manage. A few curious onlookers watched us from shore, though they kept their distance.

"Are my brothers and sisters here? Threch? Arkohnus? Little Faustan or the twins?"

I sighed. "Threch and Arkohnus have died. Faustan and Abilyth are far away."

"Oh," she said. "You are lonely. I should visit you more."

"You should, but I did not call you for that." I explained my situation. "Could your mother or your sisters do something?"

"Not for what you describe. We have power, but not that kind of power."

"That is not what I wanted to hear," I said, chuckling in my despair. I consoled myself with the presence of my daughter. "I am pleased to see you. Would you care to come to the capital? It's on the shore of a lake I'm told is depthless. It could be fun to explore."

"I would like that. I miss...I miss my other mothers."

"They miss you too. They speak of you often, especially Zhahllaia."

She flushed, her gills momentarily visible through the slits on her neck. The djinn often hid her approval, and so attaining it was all the more precious. "Is that Quiyahui?"

The coatl fluttered over the bay, dancing in the wind like an iridescent pennon. "She has grown, has she not?"

"Like a sea serpent." Her eyes, already huge, widened as a memory surfaced. "Father! I saw a beast I wanted to tell you of."

"Oh?"

"In the Lapis! A creature of incredible size. It reminded me of the tale you told of your exile. The city of bones."

"Mu-Baoth, perhaps. I heard that beast still lived."

"It was covered in lightning like one of your stormwights. I was coming here to tell you of it when your bird found me."

"It was?" I frowned, falling into thought. I could not feel the leviathan. I could always feel the others. The Deadwall was a constant susurrus just out of my conscious understanding. Diotenah, whatever remained of her in the ring, was pleased at its size and purred whenever it grew. Einoë and Kallea were present as well. I sensed their rudimentary minds standing watch over my brides. An idea occurred to me. A mad idea. "We are not going to the capital yet, Belazei. First, we're going to the Lapis."

***

***

We flew upon Quiyahui's back, crossing Aucor, finding the northern coast and following that to the Lapis. Quiyahui was a creature of the sky and with my enchantments, travel was swift. I did not like to move this way, announcing my location for all to see, but these were desperate times. News of my absence would spread and the Heacharids would hurl another attack at Irommotte. I could not stop it. I could only hope Lysethe and the others could cast the horde back.

We skirted the edges of the Golden Sea, finding the Heacharid settlements with their antlike hordes of men. We passed over a Sabbatium, though not the Sabbatium where the armies sent against us would mass. Sabbatius was the man who carved out the Heacharid Empire centuries ago and in a display of Heacharid modesty, named at least twenty cities for himself. This one was a hamlet on the edge of a river that emptied into the Turquoise.

Then we were along the coast. Fishing villages and trade hubs dotted the northern border of Heacharid expanse. It was my duty to ensure that it stayed that way. The first night we landed upon an island. Quiyahui, unused to bearing two passengers, was exhausted. Belazei dove into the Turquoise, returning with a bounty of fish. The three of us ate well, though I remained troubled.

We passed Axichis on the sixth day. My heart ached. We did not get close enough to see what the Heacharids had done to its pastoral beauty, but the islands were diminished in my heart. My attention lingered on the coast of Melisis whereNaeri's Revengehad sunk and I had slain my hetairoi. I once again swore vengeance on the Heacharids. My war could not fail. Someone had to stop them.

The Heavenfall loomed before us on the ninth day. The sight of the block filled me with uneasy curiosity. I would not leave it unexplored forever. We passed close enough to see the outlines of the creatures who flew over the lush jungle crowning the rock. I had seen creatures like this before, in Ul Adrax, and they bore some resemblance to pharcyl. The Heavenfall would keep its secrets for some time yet.

Then we were over the Lapis. Quiyahui was past exhaustion. I felt it through the connection between wizard and familiar. Her aches filled me. I longed to give her rest, but we had no time for such things. Belazei helped by spending most of her time in the waves. She was slower than we, and had to make up the difference when we rested on some lonely spit of rock for the night.

The Lapis Ocean had not the Azure's breadth, but it was deep. Its name came from its color, stained by the abyssal reaches of the floor. Belazei spoke about it often. She appreciated the beauty of its trenches, though some of its deeper denizens disturbed her.

Quiyahui dipped low over the waves, undulating through the sky as we hunted. The ring encircling my finger whispered to me. Now I had to listen, for only one long dead could guide me. I closed my eyes, focusing on the whispers that lingered perpetually at the corners of my awareness.

I opened my eyes and I was elsewhere, in an endless field of black. I had gotten fleeting glimpses of this place from time to time, most often when I was deep in the slaughter. When my storms struck down Heacharids by the legion and the ring pulled them to their parody of life I found myself in this blasted place. This time, I had nothing linking me but my will.

Inky shapes danced everywhere, but I could not tell if these were trees lashed by phantom wind or water surging in the midst of a storm. I knew only that I stood, alone in this place, and I was not alone. A pull came from below, dank and clinging, meaty like the grave. A gentle tug wanted me in the untouched sky, where wind and rain would anoint and cleanse.

A hand emerged from the roiling ground as though pushed up from the grave. The black clung to it, but as it pulled free, it left no mark, revealing smooth pale gray flesh. Black claws tipped the hand's spidery fingers. The hand pushed against the swirling ground, and now a slender arm, then a bald head adorned with an antlered crown emerged. The figure rose, revealing an identity I knew.

Diotenah the Shadow's Daughter stood before me, beautiful and terrible. A ghoul, she bore the markers of her race with her hairless, pale gray flesh, her black-in-black eyes, her sharp teeth, pointed ears, and black claws. She had the slender form of a dancer, and she was nude, save only for her horned crown. She bared her silver teeth and cocked her head, invitation in the liquid black of her eyes.

"Father?" Belazei's voice was distant and muddy.

"We are close," I murmured. My voice was far away too as I communicated across the veil. I felt my body outside of myself. My daughter had been holding me about my waist, and I felt her let go, and her weight vanish from Quiyahui.

As Diotenah approached, I felt a cool hand take my own. I turned to find Quiyahui clad in her human form. She was diminutive, her features like those of the people native to the Ocaital. Her flesh was smooth and white blue, and soft feathers of iridescent white grew from her head and between her legs. She looked to me with love and concern. I held onto her, her touch cool like air carrying the promise of rain. She would keep me from being pulled down into corruption.

Diotenah touched the side of my face, caressing me once, her claws running over my flesh, then she turned my head. On the horizon behind me was an army. Lightning played over their gaunt forms. I felt them in the quivering of my body, waiting to be unleashed. This was the Deadwall, my horde of stormwights defending my adopted home.

Diotenah stepped to me, erasing the last few inches between us. Her flesh was cool, her razored teeth a breath from my throat. Quiyahui turned as well, wrapping her other arm about me. She was as strong as the coils of a massive serpent, but gentle.

Ahead, over Diotenah's shoulder, a massive shape rose. Indistinct in the clinging black smoke of this place, but undeniable in its reality, and gargantuan in proportions. Diotenah kissed me, her silver teeth gently slicing into my lip. Blood flowed between us. I gripped her hairless body, ready to lose myself to the seduction of her lissome form. My hands found the small of her back and pressed her to me. She uttered a contented hiss.