“I’m glad I’m worthy of being remembered.”
With that, Ashe was left alone with Red Tulio and Quick Fingers.
“Bloodbath, innit out there?” Red Tulio said from across the room, leaning with arms crossed against the far wall, near the brazier. “Durin’ the party. Not just The Colosseum.”
Visions of him bathing in the blood of Slag’s End ran through her benumbed mind. He had said the same thing, then. “That all you know, eh, blood boy? Just up and cut people because you’re told to. There’s a special place in the Pit for assholes like you.”
“Bitch’s got spunk, eh?” The rat-faced Quick Fingers toyed with a serrated dagger, sitting upon the chair Elian had been in. Now lounging as if he was the top toady in Slag’s End. Perhaps he might be, considering all the rest were dead. Or soon to be if she had her way. “She even looks like a bitch’s privy with that dress of hers.”
I bloody said that! Ashe glanced down upon her stola and realized it was torn in more than one place. “More than you know, ratfink.”
“Always liked you, little girl. Even when you gave me this.” He lifted his hand to show the maimed digit she’d sliced away when he’d gotten too frisky. He radiated dangerous vermillion. “Made me remember to watch out for little bitches like you.”
“This bitch wouldn’t mind taking that dagger to that little mouse between your legs you call your cock.”
“A shame really,” the shrewkin laughed, “she’d be fun to play with.”
Ashe would’ve put her hands to her neck and gagged if she could, but alas, she couldn’t, being tied and all to a bedpost. More importantly, though, Ashe wanted to wipe that smirk from his rat bastard face. She struggled against her bindings, which were now starting to rub her wrists raw. Pentax, she was pissed. Tired and angry, that’s what she was. Not the best of combinations if truth be told. Made for some rash decisions.
And she was itching to do something rash.
XLVI
Emre
THE BUTT OF a wheellock rifle shoved him hard in the back, forcing Emre to his knees. Solanine and Val flanked him.
He was in an enormous room, nearly the breadth of the entire upper level of the large onyx-colored spire that sprouted in the center of Gargantua.
Glass, over six-inches thick, spanned the walls to his right and left, exposing the room to the starry nightturn sky, balconies on both sides. Wrist-thick metal bands cut the glass in a red-colored, six-pointed star. Sofas with tables of lacquered wood under the windows, lined in red velvet. Eiderdown of deep red. The floor was black marble, but rugs of the finest weave layered atop, each woven in intricate rune-like patterns. All red. Rows of books sat on silver-stoned racks. A giant orb of obsidian hung from the ceiling, a single aethecite power supply fired elegant light.
Under the chandelier was a throne made of ebony crystal. Sharp, jagged facets hewn in natural patterns, asymmetrical and deathly beautiful. Wrapped around the base of the throne was a serpentine tail of crimson, a larger bulk massing behind. A head the size of an auroch lazily breathed in and out from a curved, beak-like snout. Ruby red eyes watched him with a hateful gaze only a daemon could give. The firedrake yawned and a small gout of flame licked about the midnight throne.
Upon the throne was Lu Har.
The Fallen was shirtless, his broad chest corded with muscle, covered in coarse, black hair. Elbows on the rests of the cathedra, fingertips touching in front of his dark beard, all-onyx eyes dancing with the crystal’s non-light.
But that’s not what struck Emre, no, it was the multitude of tubes sticking out of his flesh.
Thin tubes flowed with a viscous red liquid into his body. Two at each pectoral, from his arms and back like red spider legs. Needles pierced his skin, the tubes wound over the obsidian throne, disappearing into two separate portals built into the ground.
Was this how he was rebirthed fifty years ago?
The corner of the Fallen’s lip twitched. “Emre Benld. The Gutter King graces my presence at last.”
Emre stood and pulled the kerchief from his pocket, wiping his lips and dry washing his hands before tucking it back in. Straightening his tie and his waistcoat. Checking the time on his pocketwatch. “Lu Har. I’d say it's a pleasure, but I’m not a hypocrite.”
“The Benlds have long sought to hide what was not theirs to possess.” The handsome elfir’s gaze assaulted Emre like a never-ending tsunami upon the cliffs of Dervin. “You hide it so well, that hatred and vengeance of yours. You seek it, it’s what drives you. You cannot hide it from me. I am the void. The Divine’s guile is mine.”
“You’ve obviously kept me alive for something, Lu Har. Why don’t you just get it over with and kill me like you’ve done to the rest of my family?” For far too long had Emre savored this meeting, the gnawing of vengeance. He ached to scratch the scars that Lu Har had inflicted upon him, but he restrained his hands by gripping his pocketwatch, toying with the chain instead, fondly remembering his father and mother. For them.
“What, and delay my ascent into Eminence?” Lu Har’s gaze went toward Val standing to Emre’s left. “My bikrome, come to me.” He held out his hand. Val glided toward the Fallen. Taking his hand, she settled upon his knee like she was his. “See, Emre Benld? We are all tools in Their battle for the heavens.” To Val, “How it must hurt him so to have you betray him.”
“We are not tools,” Emre said softly, trying not to look at the woman he had put his trust in. “Especially those who were made into something they’re not.”
Laughter. “I see that fool Tevun has been filling your mind with drivel. You humir truly don’t understand the gods. You play in Their name, fight for Their honor, kill in Their glory, but you don’t know what it takes to truly be a god. Neither did Canlon Carr,” he spat the name of the Last Godsking as if it was acid.
“And you do? The Dark God has sullied your soul with promises unfit for the heavens. He Who Fathered the World was right to cast you down. You shame His gifts. Shame His world. Shame His creations.” His creations… more lies…
“I am the blackness, Emre Benld. The adjudicator for the Divines upon this plane. If only you knew who the true Dark God is. It is He who brought me back. But that truth is not for a mortal like you to know. His prison weakens, His reach grows daily. Shame is but a construct you mortals wrap around yourselves when you are deceived. Lies are but the foundations your temples to the gods are built upon. If you only knew the true wishes of the gods, you’d cry out in terror as the traitors we are.”
“I know which Dark God you speak of, Fallen. And I know He will fail, just as he had with the Last Godsking. His prison is strong. And my city will be freed from your tyranny. Just get it over with and kill me now. You won’t win, Lu Har. Others will rise up in my stead and continue what I’ve begun. Drenth will be free.”
“You are but insects under my feet. Under His feet. I will make you beg, make you plead, make you cry for my mercy. And then I will finish what I started seventeen years ago. Only this time, it will be your wife who will wield the blade before I take her back into my arms.”
“That’s only if Cad believes your lies still.” He scrubbed the thought of Cad and Lu Har together. Regardless of any truth, it mattered not. Do not fall, Benld. “I think we both know that will not remain. Brynn is beyond you and Cad now knows the truth. You think her cowed by the illusion you hold over her? You made her into something she’s not, never was. You’ve created the monster, Lu Har, and now that she knows Brynn can no longer bind her, her wrath will come for you next.”
“And see how that turned out in my favor, Benld. The lies gave her the strength to solidify my power while I worked to free Him from His prison. Canlon weakens, soon he will die, and the Divine will be free.” He paused, as if thinking. Val hadn’t moved a muscle, staring at Emre the entire time. She looked like a lost little child sitting on a predator’s knee. “You’d be surprised how well your rebellion has helped my cause. Drenth was mine the moment Canlon Carr threw the Seals from Eminence. Your antics have pushed the city further under my grasp.”
“Not after today. You’ve lost them, lost this city. Your precious Solanine killed so many, your scourges scything through my people. We’ve a long memory, Lu Har. We don’t forget the deaths as easily as you think. It’s a bastard, wanting liberty.”
“And that’s where you’re wrong, princeling.” Lu Har found a button on the obsidian throne, pushing it.
There was a grinding of gears, pistons pumping, compressed air plumed from the portals in the ground below the obsidian throne. Something moved within. Rising. The firedrake moved its massive head, resettling out of the way, eyes closing to slits.
Cylindrical in nature, it rose, top made of metal, shining like burning aethecite. The tubes connected to Lu Har snaked into the object, a prison almost. Below was glass, thick and hardened. A platinum tinted darkness. Aethecite steam rose within the contraption, shielding Emre’s view of what was within. The bottoms lit up in Aere-spelled bulbs, each flickered in constant readings. As the steam dissipated, Emre saw two people, elderly and withered, awash in a viscous liquid, almost like the aethecite flowing from the fountain in the center of the party.
