Blood of the Emperor (43 page)

“J
UGAR, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?” Drakis gasped out in horror.

“What I’ve had to do.” Jugar was having some difficulty extracting his ax from Soen’s back. The dwarf placed his boot against the elf’s spine, yanking on the handle as he tried to dislodge the blade. “What I swore I would do with every breath since the elves took my crown. We never thought they would bother with us. We were under the mountain and thought, ‘Let the elves conquer their neighbors and all the world under the sun for all we care.’ But ruling the light wasn’t enough for them. They had to have the dark as well. My dark. My stone. My kingdom. I watched the Nine Thrones fall one after another until none were left…none but mine.”

“Yours?” Drakis stepped back, raising the tip of his blade in front of him.

“Yes, mine!” Jugar grimaced, twisting the handle and pulling hard again. “Sorry to disappoint you, Drakis, but while you were so intent on taking the Crown of the Ninth Throne you never thought the dwarf you killed wearing it could be anything but the king. Who would have expected a jester to wear the crown? But the crown was nothing—the Heart of Aer was everything!
That’s
where the true King of the Ninth Throne was during the battle: below your feet and out of sight and mind. While you killed each other over the crown, all I had to do was wait under the throne with the true prize until you all chased each other out.”

“But I was still there,” Drakis nodded.

“Yes, lad,” The dwarven ax blade suddenly came free with a sickening, sucking sound. “I may have been wearing the jester’s costume but
you
got to play the fool.”

“This has been your plan all along?” Drakis’ mouth had suddenly gone dry. “To kill the Emperor?”

“Kill the Emperor?” Jugar jeered. “No, Drakis, I’m not going to kill the Emperor—I’m going to kill his Empire. I’m going to free all the world from these damnable Devotions all at once, utterly destroy Aether magic, and then watch the Empire plunge into madness and drag all the rest of the sunlit world down with it into its own death throes.”

The dwarf spun the ichor-covered ax skillfully in his hands. “You can come watch, too, if you like. It’s the least I can do for the human that made it all possible.”

“No,” Drakis said, shifting his stance to place himself between the dwarf and the Imperial Throne.

Jugar’s broad grin faded slightly, menace in his eyes. “Do you really think this wise, lad?”

“Don’t do this, Jugar,” Drakis said. “It doesn’t have to end this way.”

A sudden pounding sounded at the onyx door behind the dwarf. Muffled cries could be heard coming from the other side.

“It was
always
going to end this way!” Jugar growled. “Get out of my way, boy!”

“No, Jugar, please…Don’t make me stop you…”

“STOP ME?” The dwarf charged forward, his ax swinging quickly in his powerful hands. Drakis barely managed to counter the blow with his sword, the blade scraping down the shaft just below the ax blade, deflecting it to the side. “You can’t
stop
me! You’re
nothing
!”

Drakis took another step back. He shifted his sword, anticipating another swing of the ax but Jugar shifted his grip, thrusting the top of the ax straight at Drakis’ face. The blunt top of the ax slammed against the human’s forehead. The pain exploded above Drakis’ eyes, sending him reeling several more steps before he could regain his footing.

“I’m Drakis!’ the human said, his breath ragged. “You said I was the Man of Prophecy.”

“Because I
made
you!” Jugar shouted as he quickly closed again
with Drakis, his ax now arcing high above his head. Drakis managed to set his stance barely in time to intercept the haft with the hand guard of his sword, arresting the swing and binding up both weapons. “You were no one—a slave among slaves who just happened to have the right name.”

Drakis kicked with his right foot, planting a blow against the dwarf’s chest. The blades of both weapons rang as they separated.

“I molded you, shaped you, forged your worthless life into a legend,” the dwarf raged. “I sold your story to the gullible because they had to believe in
something
. They don’t believe in you because you’re great, Drakis. They made you great because
I
swindled them into believing in you!”

“But you helped us!” Drakis cried out. “You even tried to save Braun in Tjarlas!”

“I didn’t try to
save
him,” the dwarf bellowed. “I was trying to
stop him
!”

The dwarf charged again, his ax flashing in the light of the six Aether Well crystals towering above them. Drakis’ own blade danced quickly to counter the blows raining down on him in rapid succession. The razor-keen edge of the ax connected with Drakis’ shoulder plate, glancing downward into his left arm. Blood welled up from the wound as Drakis cried out but he managed to spin around, clouting the dwarf in the head with the hilt of his blade. The dwarf toppled sideways from the blow, rolling twice across the ground.

The pounding on the doors was becoming more pronounced.

Drakis’ left harm hung limp at his side, his sword held in his right hand. His breathing was ragged as he strode toward the dwarf. “I’ve always thought I was a fraud—but not today. I may not be the Man of Prophecy but
someone
has to be that man here and now—and I guess it has to be me.”

The dwarf pushed up away from the floor with a terrible cry, snatching his ax up as he stood. Drakis ran directly toward him, his sword clutched in his right hand. The dwarf howled, throwing the ax with both hands directly at the charging human. Drakis saw it coming, swung his sword and connected with the heavy ax in flight. The force of the blow made him stumble, halting him a dozen feet from the dwarf. Drakis shifted his gaze back from the ax to the dwarf.

Jugar was grinning at him though there was a hint of sadness in his eyes.

The ax had been a diversion.

The dwarf was holding the Heart of Aer in his left hand, his right arm extending as a spell formed on his lips.

Drakis reacted at once from his instincts as an Impress Warrior. He fell to his knees, sliding across the polished floor toward the dwarf. He could only hope that the spell would somehow miss him.

Jugar looked away from Drakis, his attention now on the throne, his eyes suddenly wide.

“NO!” the dwarf screamed.

Drakis plunged the tip of his sword into the dwarf, the blade sliding expertly up under his ribs. Drakis drew the weapon free of the dwarf, pitching to one side.

The Heart of Aer tumbled from the dwarf’s hands as he fell to the ground. The dwarf’s blood welled up from under his body, flowing around the dark, strange stone.

Drakis, now face down on the floor, raised his head to see what had distracted the dwarf.

The lifeless body of the Emperor laid sprawled down the steps of the dais.

On the Throne of the Emperor’s Devotions…sat Soen Tjen-rei.

“Where are we going?” Shebin asked, darting glances around her. A sign fixed to the side of the narrow alley declared it to be the Atje Hranoshei, a name that struck Shebin as being longer than the passage was wide. Walls of subatria crowded in on either side and ran between the foundations in a wandering maze. Shebin had some vague notion that slaves and members of the Lesser Estates may have used these same routes in the course of their duties to the Empire; duties that were far beneath her notice let alone her station.

“Not much farther now,” K’yeran repeated the answer she had given only minutes before.

At least these alleys were abandoned. She could still hear the muted sounds of the mobs and the almost constant rumble of warmage
magic in the distance beyond the narrow canyons of the alley walls. The Vira Rhonas proved impassible, as was the Vira Condemnis. The Iblisi woman that had rescued her from the Cloud Palace had managed to get them out of the Garden of Kuchen before the horde closed around them. Somehow they had crossed the Vira Condemnis into the alleys just north of the Forums of the Estates. She could still see the tops of the towering Forums minarets barely visible to the east above the subatria walls around her.

The Atje Hranoshei ended abruptly at a cross alley whose weathered sign declared it to be the Atje Nyelo. Shebin had never heard of these names before and was thoroughly confused about where they were. She determined to see K’yeran punished in the most painful manner, and not for the first time since meeting her that morning.

K’yeran turned to the right almost immediately through an arched, dark alleyway that opened into a plaza so small that Shebin doubted whether the name Pazi D’hin could even properly be applied to it. It seemed more like the accidental space created by several subatria foundations that didn’t quite fit together and had left this space abandoned and useless. The plaza was filled with dried and rotting leaves and dirt accumulated for uncounted time. It remained in the perpetual shadows of the shining avatria piercing the sky around it.

Shebin had lost sight of the Iblisi, giving her another reason to see the woman tortured, and she moved quickly toward the obvious exit: a wall opening to the left. The moment she had turned into it, however, she realized that it had been sealed closed and now appeared to be only an alcove.

“Do you hear that, Shebin?”

The daughter of the Emperor spun around. K’yeran was standing next to the entrance to the Pazi D’hin, leaning back against the wall, her arms folded across her robes.

“Do you hear it?” K’yeran asked again. “Listen, Shebin. Listen so that you will always remember the sound of it.”

“I don’t hear anything,” Shebin said, striding toward the arched exit from the Pazi.

K’yeran moved sideways, her body blocking the opening. “That’s right, Shebin. You don’t hear anything. Where is the thunder of Imperial war-mage magic being deployed against the invading army? Where
are the cries of the rioting mobs? Where is the roar of dragons circling the Cloud Palace? Do you hear them, Shebin?”

Shebin tilted her tapered skull, straining with her long, pointed ears to hear the sounds that moments before had been pushed to the back of her thoughts.

“They’re gone,” K’yeran said. “They have stopped because the Emperor is dead.”

Shebin stared at K’yeran, taking a careful step back.

“Long live the new Emperor,” K’yeran smiled.

“Indeed,” Shebin agreed, blinking her eyes. “Long live the new Emperor. He should know that I am a servant of the Imperial Will and most anxious to support his cause. My death would be a mistake for the citizens of the Empire consider me a cherished treasure—and my influence on his behalf…”

“The Emperor is deeply appreciative of your service to the Empire,” K’yeran interrupted as she took a step toward Shebin. “And believe he knows how best you may continue in that service. To this end, he bids me bring you a gift.”

“A gift?” Shebin released her fear in a laugh. “Well, I am most honored!”

“Yes,” K’yeran said. “A gift he most heartily believes you deserve.”

Shebin’s smile faded slightly over her perfect, sharp teeth.

K’yeran stepped forward, her Matei staff in her left hand. With the right the Iblisi grasped Shebin by her shoulder, driving her forcefully down to her knees. Shebin cried out but K’yeran ignored her, the Matei staff glowing as it touched both shoulders of the Emperor’s daughter and the back of her pointed skull. Then, K’yeran bent over and kissed Shebin on the front of her long forehead just above the eyes.

K’yeran straightened up.

“Good-bye,” said the Iblisi. Then she turned and began walking away.

“That was it?” Shebin said, struggling to her feet, the hem and front of her dress now dirty from the ground. “What gift was that?”

K’yeran continued to walk down the narrow, arched passage that led back to the Atje Nyelo.

“You will answer me!” Shebin shouted, striding up the shadowy alley. She gripped the shoulder of the Iblisi and spun her around.

K’yeran’s backhanded blow split Shebin’s lip and drove her head forcefully against the wall. Dazed, Shebin lost her footing and fell.

“So many elves suffer under the Devotions of the Emperor,” K’yeran snarled, leaning down over Shebin’s prostrate form in the dim light of the covered alley. “They have no idea of their guilt. They were kept as slaves to the Imperial Will just as surely as any of the Sixth Estate! But
you
, Shebin, fell out of Devotions when your father’s House fell.
You
are not a slave to the Imperial Will because of Devotions…you
chose
to do evil!”

“So you are going to murder me, then?” Shebin rubbed her hand across her bleeding and bruised lips.

“Quite the contrary,” K’yeran said. “The Emperor decided that a living curse would be more appropriate. Something you can carry with you wherever you go.”

“Curse?” Shebin asked. “What curse?”

“Wherever you go,” K’yeran said, “no one will be able to remember you.”

Shebin blinked and then blurted out a laugh. “Remember me? I’m Shebin Sha-Rhonas! Plays have been written about me! My name is in music from one end of the Empire to the other! Armies march in my name! My name will live forever!”