The Kingdoms of Evil (76 page)

Bloodbyrn was rather proud of the way she controlled the emotions that welled up within her. "My daughter, I trust I have amply demonstrated that the opinion I hold of your skills and abilities is great. That is why I continue to turn to you to enact my schemes. Despite the fact that you have thus far let your charge run so far out of your control, I might add. Now you must tell me," his face, when he turned back to her, was cold and controlled, "whether I am wrong to do so."

The Duke thrust a single finger ceiling-ward. "Why is the Ultimate Fiend still freely making decisions?" His leather gloves crinkled as a second finger joined the first. "Why are you not by now gestating the heir? And," the third finger extended as her father's voice dropped to a dire whisper. "What in our god's gory imagination happened last night in the Despot's chambers, and before?"

"That, my father, was a fit of royal rage" Bloodbyrn answered, increasingly mystified by her father's uncharacteristic directness, "followed in its course by a wild manifestation of necromancy. It was all very much in the way we expect an Ultimate Fiend to behave, and I recall that the report I gave you last night was my most positive so far." Indeed, when considered in conjunction with her most recent dealings with Feerborg, last night gave Bloodbyrn a very pleasant sensation of optimism. Was that hope rising in her breast? Hope that for so long had lain desiccated and ignored?

"Why, it is that very report that chills my blood, child," the Duke went on, "and impels me to instruct you to take firmer grip on your duty."

"I shall, father," Bloodbyrn promised, "for, based on my recent experiences, I believe the man may be of even more use to our plans than we previously supposed. Reining until the child is born…" and would she indeed have to slay the man, in the end? "Reining, as I said, the Ultimate Fiend will provide a source of stability and protection for our germinating schemes."

"Stability?" Repeated her father, shock and anger clear on his usually controlled physiognomy "Protection? My daughter, have the mental skills bequeathed by education and inheritance deserted you entirely? Surely you see the current Ultimate Fiend is the most likely of all to bring all our plans to ruin."

"I confess I do not," Bloodbyrn was temporarily unable to suppress the outward expression of her shock. "Nor do I see the reason for this sudden and, pardon me, father, baffling reversal of policy. What has happened to change your opinion of my lord and his usefulness to us so completely?"

"Could it be you do not remember?" he said, "Could it be that the prospect of which you yourself informed me not 13 hours ago does not, yet beat in your brain, a warning more dire than any we have encountered thus far?"

"Father, please," said Bloodbyrn, "I submit that now is an inappropriate time for melodrama."

"Then allow me to speak plainly." Her father rubbed at his mouth, and Bloodbyrn noticed how tight the skin on his face was becoming, how fragile his long hand seemed. "Daughter, it was you yourself who informed me of the fool's schemes to dissolve the Maelstrom. You confirmed he voiced this plan at that bizarre secret meeting with the castle's serving staff. Surely you see how such a policy, should it ever be enacted, would ruin our plans?"

"Ah," said Bloodbyrn. "I do recall that item of the Despot's agenda on my report, Father," she really should instruct Feerborg to burn his meeting notes, "but it did not fill me with the same apprehensions as it clearly has you. Surely you do not believe The Ultimate Fiend could actually do such a thing as…what is the proper verb…bring down the Maelstrom?"

"He is, as you say, the Ultimate Fiend," said the Duke, "And, I know that he, and only he, has the power to command that phenomenon."

"Well, clearly the Maelstrom has not fallen out of the sky."

"Watch your tone, daughter."

Bloodbyrn forced a smile, "I apologize, father. And I put it forth that bringing the Maelstrom down is not foremost in his plans. It is even possible he was joking when he mentioned it."

"Was he?" Her father's eyes flashed at her, the color of cut citrine. "Can you be sure?"

Bloodbyrn suppressed a sigh. "Father, I confess I cannot, but—."

"My point exactly." He smote one hand with another, "Feerborg is too unpredictable. He is, in fact, entirely insane." Those citrine eyes glimmered in the tangled shadows under his brows. "And not in a good way."

***

The corridor outside the dungeon was a charnel house. The floor was awash with blood and littered with the corpses of goblins, arrayed in a rough circle around the figure of Prince Feerix. Freetrick skidded to a halt on the blood-slick stone floor and stared with horror into his half-brother's smiling face.

"Ah, the mighty and terrible Ultimate Fiend arrives!" The prince called from the middle of his circle of carnage, "finally the festivities can begin."

Freetrick decided to take his anger and run with it. "Tempest blast you to flinders, brother, what do you think you are doing before the door to
my
dungeon killing
my
servants!" Freetrick glanced down at the upturned face of one of the corpses—bat-winged Razafel. Freetrick's plan had come too late for that monster. When he looked back up at his brother, Freetrick felt the lightning back in his eyes "Explain yourself."

"I grew bored of waiting," said Feerix. "If
my lord
had wished to retain the lives of these his servants, he would have done better to arrive earlier."

"But…" Freetrick's balance tilted. "I didn't know…" If any of the people in his charge could be killed at any time, what did his responsibilities as king even mean? "Enough." Freetrick shook the doubt from his mind. "Feerix. What do you want?"

"Why, what does any subject of His Malevolence wish? Only a moment of conversation, my lord. And a glimpse at my lord's prisoner, for reasons of…curiosity."

Freetrick thought of the girl chained up in there. "Yeah, I don't think we need to involve the prisoner," said Freetrick, "we can talk in my office, or here in the hallway if it'll get you out of my hair faster."

"But my lord," Feerix's grin widened and his hand flattened against the low, heavy door to the dungeon chamber, "the door is already open."

"It's unlocked?" Freetrick squeaked.

"Oh yes," said Feerix, ducking through the door, "I had the guards see to that chore before I killed them."

Freetrick looked again at the little corpses. Not defenders, but… "Strike you out, you were just
bored
."

"My lord demonstrates the lightning speed of his nefarious mind," said Feerix. "And now I find myself in a new chamber with a new potential victim. I do hope my attention does not again begin to wander."

***

"Father, allow me to assuage your fears." Bloodbyrn looked up at her father, mustering all of her considerable resources to bring some reassurance to her father's troubled mind. "While it is true that Lord Feerborg—that is—the Ultimate Fiend's actions often seem devoid of thought, upon knowing the man, I have come to see that he does not act randomly. He simply…how can I express it?"

She searched her feelings, remembering the tranquility she had felt with her lord, during that brief time they had spent in the storage chamber. "It is as if he responds with the innocent impulses of a child. As if he never …" she looked up at her father, "never learned the lessons that we of the Kingdoms of Evil teach each other."

The brows of the Duke DeMacabre drew together. "And yet these are lessons each of us must learn, my daughter."

"Oh of course," Bloodbyrn hasted to add, "my point is simply that Lord Feerborg lacks acculturation. He does not behave as a Skrean or a Sangboise would, but that does not mean he cannot be predicted." Bloodbyrn could see her father's skepticism remained and searched for a way to dispel it. "Feerborg will always push forward toward his goals in a straight line, even when avenues of perfectly twisted manipulation present themselves. This tendency makes him… ironically difficult to control…" she felt a smile slip across her face, "and surprising."

Bloodbyrn was still shocked at herself for the things she had revealed to her Despot in that storage chamber. She had not spoken so earnestly since childhood. "Dealing with Feerborg," she attempted to explain, "is like dancing a bolero when one's partner insists on leading her in a waltz. It is so much easier to simply move into step with him." And more enjoyable. Exsanguinations! Why could she still feel his skin? It was as if the shape of his body had imprinted itself into her flesh.

"All the more reason he must be brought into step with
us
and
our
plans." DeMacabre's voice intruded onto Bloodbyrn's reflections. He took a breath. "I have been speaking with Feerix."

"I am aware of that, father."

"But you are unaware, I trust," said DeMacabre, "of what he and I discussed."

"And what is that, father?" Bloodbyrn supplied the answer to her own question. "Replacing Feerborg with Feerix as the center of our plans? I believe we have discussed the many faults inherent in that contingency." But had the notion of Feerix as Despot always seemed to hateful and oppressive to her? Bloodbyrn wondered if she should be glad of her changing impulses, or terrified by them. "For one, how to dispatch the current Ultimate Fiend?"

"Shut up!" Freetrick straight and faced his half-brother. "Alright Feerix. What the hell do you want to say to me that prompted you to slaughter four of my servants just to get my attention?"

Freetrick's half-brother stood in the center of the cell, hands on hips, sneering his best sneer. "Aside from the fact that my lord has been ignoring his lessons?"

Freetrick looked around the cell. "I've been busy."

"Have you come to finally kill me?" This was, again, from the Monster Killer, glaring, chained to the wall.

Feerix ignored her, narrowing his eyes at Freetrick. "My spies have told me…many unsettling things about your recent activities,
my lord.
"

"Have they." Another reason to end this conversation quickly. Freetrick needed to find the Kaimeera and find out what the struck-out sneaking double-agent was telling people. Then to put together some kind of plan to stop the nobility from killing his monster rebellion before it got off the ground. "So talk, and then I can get back to doing what I was doing."

Feerix's smile smirk soured into a scowl. "So be it, then. It happens that DeMacabre is as unhappy with your progress with his daughter as I am with your martial training. Both of us are considering giving up."

"Giving up?" Freetrick repeated. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Ha!" taunted the Monster Killer, "so does the spawn of the Evil One destroy itself! Rip out each other's throats and die, demons!"

Feerix did not bother looking at the woman as he took a step toward Freetrick. "We might have been willing to let you continue with your games at the beginning of your reign, but the time for autonomy has passed."

"What—" Freetrick began, and his brother simply spoke over him.

"If you would not be killed outright, my lord, heed these, our demands." Feerix took another step forward, eyes hard, sneer sharp. "You will not make judgments during sessions of the Council of Villainy. You will not meet with nobles, ministers, or castle bureaucrats without myself, DeMacabre, or our cousin Teirchoke also present. You will…" his sneer became a snarl, as Feerix leaned in to put his face a bare centimeter from Freetrick's. "…
fuck
your tempest-blasted concubine."

A plume of rage, hot and sudden as burning gasoline, flew up Freetrick's body. His hair stirred and his eyes crackled, and Freetrick stopped caring about what Feerix had to say.

That Tempest-blasted smirk was still on his brother's face. Freetrick wanted, no, ached, to reach out and squeeze that face between the claws of his gauntlet.
How dare you!
He wanted to scream.
You worm, writhing under my boot heel, you dare to dictate to
me
?
But with an effort, the Ultimate Fiend clamped down on his rage.

"Otherwise?" His voice was nearly normal, while the boiling rage began to turn the engines of his mind. "If I do not chain myself to you?"

"Otherwise," Feerix rocked on his heels, still smirking, "we shall withdraw our protection."

"
Protection
?" Freetrick's fingers clenched in his gauntlets as, instinctively, he reached for his reserves of death energy. They were, of course, empty. Fear added another layer of insulation around the glowing furnace of his anger. "Feerix," he said, "I fight off assassination attempts
daily
. Forgive me if I don't
feel
very protected."

The Monster Killer sniggered.

"Of course we allow
some
assassins to continue my lord's training." Feerix's smile thinned to a savage crooked line across his face. "But with our coalition working against you, my lord, you will not last out the hour."

"Yeah, so why don't you, Feerix?" Said Freetrick, "wouldn't you love to just kill me and get yourself placed on the throne…by DeMacabre?" No, Feerix wouldn’t like that at all, would he? More steam to the analytical engines, men!

"Ha, now there is a blessing mixed with arsenic," laughed Feerix, "as my lord well knows. No, I am not as much a fool as
you
, my lord, to allow that leech of a man to get his hooks in me."

"No, you have to kill me yourself, to get enough respect from the other nobles to balance out DeMacabre," said Freetrick, realization crystallizing. "Otherwise, you'll be just as much a puppet as you want
me
to be."

There was a rattling of chains in the red-laced dark as the Monster Killer stirred at the thought.