… is what I hear a lot of folks saying right now. Maybe you’re not doing well at this point in the month, or maybe life got in the way.
There’s always the “finish what I started” approach. That’s probably what I’ll be doing with Nightfall in Litigia. It’s always an option.
Or you can turn it into something else creative. I’ve turned the Technasia/Litigian stories into a series of artworks on my DeviantArt (no really, check them out!).
Or turn it into something unexpected. Like a TV pilot.
That’s what I just finished today, and I’m very proud of my work. I applied for the Disney Television writers program, which I understand is a stepping stone for writers to get in at Disney Entertainment in their tv division, which includes shows for Disney Channel, ABC, Disney+, FX/FXX, and Hulu originals.
So you can see the two NaNos I turned into pilots! Of the two, I think Mneme the Forgetter has stronger story, while Princess Eighteen Wheeler has better characterization. They required two, so two is what they got!
Here’s hoping … fingers crossed. They inform finalists of their status in December or January, and announce the chosen writers in February. (In any event, part of the paperwork I signed to enter looked like it would officially register the scripts with the WGA as well.) Meanwhile, have some writing mixes I used to ramp myself up for writing these!
Thousands of years before the common existence we have on this continent as two great yet feuding nations, there existed a single country, one which prided itself on its diversity and its composition from castoffs and refugees of other places around the world. In the interest of bringing these many people into a singular populace, a government was established to derive directly from the voice of the nation, as opposed to a ruler claiming a divine mandate.
Yet, a strange thing happened to this ideally egalitarian ideal. Human nature corrupted it greatly. Although there remained a faction of those who believed truly in the idea and maintained it, a small yet very loud group of partisans began sowing the seeds of divine mandate and authoritarianism. Officials elected by questionable means were claimed to be “God’s chosen,” even as they served no one but themselves, leaving even their own constituencies to rot. One name arose from this side of the populace as a prominent strong leader and family of heirs, the house of Halder.
The nation fell under Halder rule eventually, and the house used its extensive resources, legal and financial, to ensure that none but Halders would retain that power. Elections were invalidated in favor of Halders and their allies, ostensibly wealthy houses which shared social viewpoints with the Halders themselves. Eventually these social viewpoints became codified into law as Halders retained power: racial purity, male dominance in public and the home, true participatory citizenship granted to only the wealthy power brokers. The nation descended into essentially feudal fiefdoms under the watchful eye of the house of Halder.
This descent also led to a reversal of technological advancement. Knowledge was lost as it was deemed unnecessary. The only technology kept amounted to communications, transport, and weaponry: all else fell into disuse and disrepair. Even then, as those who knew to operate the technology died out without passing down their knowledge, even communication and essential technologies like power generation were lost.
In these dark times, death and violence became the national pastime. Disease spread as more of the populace distrusted medical science, preferring quackery and misguided faith to proven medicine. This situation became untenable to the percentage of the population, much more than the Halders would care to admit, who remembered through spoken word the true history, not the Halder version.
Five hundred years ago, these people rose up, and in a protracted, bloody war, they successfully broke away from under the house of Halder’s grip. Taking the northern territory of the nation, these patriots would form the nascent Nation of Technasia, devoted to the original ideals upon which a nation had been founded so long before, and embracing logic, science, and technology.
The Halders, having lost nearly two thirds of their territory … one third to Technasia and one third a battle-strewn wasteland now rendered uninhabitable by war … re-established their capital and their claim to power by declaring the remaining land the Holy Dominion of Litigia. The Halders based their rule on the power of obedience to their state church and absolute obedience to the law, which now was greatly discriminatory, to a far deeper degree than before. Ethnic minorities were purged, either through deportation, forced servitude to the wealthy houses, or outright murder. Women were forbidden to hold office, inherit titles, or even exist in a public manner outside of roles that rendered them practical sex slaves; among the few pieces of technology allowed in Litigia became the giggler, a device forcibly worn by women to scramble their thoughts and prevent independent impulses. Life for common Litigians became exponentially worse after the war.
Conversely, life in Technasia continued to improve, as loyalty to the rule of fair, moral law and science led to a society nearly worthy of the long-ago ideal. Leadership in the nation was based on popular vote, based on merit: while the highest office would not be voted on, the occupant of that office would be derived from previously elected officials. Over time, because the vast majority of the elected leaders tended to be women, this became the Queen and her court, officially designated the Princess Corps. Each princess would represent one vital ideal element of Technasian society, though never all at once. These ideals were Justice, Life, Literacy, Strength, Medicine, Art, and Technology.
Five hundred years into their shared existence upon the continent becoming a reality, Technasia and Litigia had settled into a cold war of espionage and undermining policies. Growth stagnated in both nations. Technasia continued to enjoy peaceful existence and a happy populace, but its technological advancement had come to cease; conversely, Litigia suffered the same issue while subjecting its people to harsher rule under more and more mentally unstable rulers of the house of Halder.
Footfalls. Breathing. The only sounds coming to the young man’s ears as he frantically rushed through the brush back to the village were the sounds of his own body in panic mode. He crashed through bushes and trees, barely cognizant of the brightly lit sky, the moon hanging high overhead.
Run, boy, or you are finished. The one thought pouring through his mind. Run. Survive.
The dense forest began to lighten, the surest sign that he was approaching the village he called home. Desperate to reach safety, he clung to his satchel, the one thing the beasts had been after, with the passion of a drowning man thrown a rope. His breathing became ragged and quicker as he saw familiar buildings … a smithy here, a residence there … the market roundel where the crop workers brought their harvests …
Where would be safe to hide? Who would hide him?
His senses suddenly became aware of another sound invading his personal space, the loud roar of creatures pursuing him, dragging themselves and each other to push their party faster to catch up. The young man caught a glimpse behind him, catching a quick count of his assailants.
Fifteen. Heavily armed, and all greedy and wanting what he had.
He stumbled, regained his footing, and ran into the closest building, the village inn. Rumor was that zomroll bandits would not go inside human-made constructs. Right now, he prayed that rumor was true.
“Alec! Boy, you know the rules!”
The innkeeper’s booming voice echoed above the din of the assembled crowd within the inn’s modest pub. Slamming down a pint tumbler on the bar, he scowled at the young man.
“Sorry, Theric, but it’s an emergency, and I need to get away.”
Theric, slapping his bar towel over his shoulder, crossed his arms suspiciously. “Sure. So was the last time, when you said you got chased by wolves. I’m not buying it. Are any of you?”
Laughter, derisive and biting, chimed from around the room. Alec was keenly aware of his reputation in the place, knew that it would take a lot of talk, a lot of convincing, to prove his case. His eyes scanned the occupants of the place … many of them were field hands, all of them locals, all of them knew him and wanted nothing to do with him.
Wait, there was one figure that he did not recognize. A slumped figure at the bar, fully cloaked, the only visible part of their body being a single, gloved hand which kept motioning for drinks. Occasionally a silver lock of hair dropped from the cloak’s hood.
Theric quickly passed his eyes between Alec and the stranger, then back to Alec. “No. Don’t even think about it.” He leaned closer to the younger man. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to generate foreign custom in these parts? I’ll not have you chasing my first out-of-town guest in five years away over your blasted issues.”
Alec swallowed. He looked over the stranger carefully. The shape under the cloak was slightly slender, but seemed too muscular to be someone not wearing some sort of armor. A long lump along the figure’s spine seemed to confirm it for the man. This person could help him. He shrugged off Theric’s warning and made his way over to the stranger.
“Alec, what wild stories are you telling today?” A mocking voice bellowed from the back of the room. “Dragons? Orcs? Fairies?” More roaring laughter.
Alec slowly made his way to the shrouded figure’s position, taking the stool next to the mystery individual. He faced the bar, trying not to seem conspicuous, in case the person wouldn’t …
“Seems that the custom here has an issue with you and your actions in the past.”
The enigma’s words interrupted Alec’s train of thought. He jumped slightly at the sound. The mystery figure had an androgynous, neutral voice.
“They don’t understand me. I am pursued by many of the creatures that inhabit this world, and for no reason I can calculate I am meant to be their prey.”
The figure nodded their hooded head slowly. A gloved hand raised. Alec, this close, could see the glove was ringed with plate armor: a gauntlet. “Publican, more mead. And one for my companion here.”
Theric grumbled, but dutifully poured two tumblers of mead, bringing them over to Alec and the mysterious figure. As he set them down, he leaned close to the enigma. “Are you sure about this, my friend? Alec is a well known liar in this town, he makes up stories and sets up panics left and right.”
The gloved hand dismissively waved Theric away. He glared more daggers at Alec … a dirty look that clearly said “don’t bother the clientele” in non-verbal terms … and returned to cleaning up the opposite end of the bar.
“You entered the inn with great urgency,” the enigma continued, catching Alec’s attention again. “Like you were being pursued.”
“Yes.”
“Could you tell who was pursuing you?”
Alec sighed. “You won’t believe me even if I tell you the honest truth.”
The enigma chuckled. “Try me.”
Alec cast worried looks around the rest of the room, at the disapproving looks of the other occupants. None of them gave Alec as much as the time of day any other time in the village, and those that did bother would only give it if it meant they could accompany the information with a clap to the back of Alec’s head. Many felt he was touched, not right mentally. A few questioned his family.
The young man bore up his fears, took a deep breath, and responded. “Zomrolls. A bandit party of fifteen.”
The room’s temperature seemed to chill as soon as the words left his mouth. Alec watched the enigma’s shoulders jump upward. The figure raised up from their slouched posture, taking up their mead tumbler and chugging down the contents in a single swallow. The empty vessel clattered to the bar’s surface, and the figure reached their gauntleted hands up to drop their hood.
She, Alec decided. Definitely she. The stranger’s eyes focused on Alec with fiery intensity. “Fifteen, you say?”
Alec nodded, suddenly struck mute by the woman’s intensity. He picked up his mead tumbler and shakily took a sip to calm his nervousness.
“Very well. You have my sword. We will discuss payment later.” The woman dropped four coins on the bar counter, as Alec finished his mead. “Publican, a little extra for your trouble.”
She stood up, having struck the entire room silent with the revelation of herself. She turned toward the assembled group of rowdies.
“Good villagers, I understand the problem you have had in the past with this young man … what is your name, boy?”
Alec cleared his throat. “It’s Aleciares, but most folks here call me Alec.”
She nodded. “Alec it is, then. I intend to investigate young Alec’s claim of trouble, and if it is proven to be false I shall be dealing with him post haste. If it is proven to be true, however …” Her eyes narrowed and grew more intense. “If his claim is proven true, then all here had better beg his forgiveness, or I shall be hearing of it.”
The collected men in the room looked around at each other, confused. One finally chimed up. “Milady, what puts you in position to back up a bold claim like that?”
She had heard this all her life, it seemed. She pulled the cloak behind her and drew her sword. “I am the slayer Mneme, bane of dragonkind and destroyer of zomrolls. I will come to this man’s aid, for if he speaks truth then your village is soon to be under assault by the zomroll hordes, and may your gods be merciful if that should come to pass.” She motioned toward Alec. “Come, boy, take me to the trouble.”
Mneme strode confidently through the crowd in the inn, many of whom had forgotten about their drinks on the tables, simply to watch her move through their midst. She sheathed her sword on the move and, after making sure Alec was following her, pushed the door of the inn open and walked into the darkness.
They walked quietly through the streets of the village until they reached the outskirts, where buildings became sparse, before the silence was broken. Mneme turned around to her new companion. “Where were they?”
Alec was startled by the woman speaking to him, lifting his face up to hers. “Oh … yes, they were here, they chased me to this point at least. I saw them following me.”
Mneme cleared her throat. “Why were they following you, anyway?”
Alec clutched his satchel closer. “Well, to tell the truth I’m not sure why. I have been foraging all day, there’s really no reason for it.”
Mneme looked back at the village, then back at Alec. “Foraging? You live in a village, why do you need to forage?”
Alec shrugged his shoulders. “I guess I’m not the most rowdy and social person in town.” He sighed deeply. “I don’t have a field position, I don’t have an establishment in town.”
“No income, eh?” The woman sighed. “That explains some things.” She turned her attention back to the thick woods.
“I do odd jobs around town, and I’m generally just the kid people call when they need someone to abuse.” Alec sighed. “It’s my lot, that’s all.”
Mneme’s eyes focused intently. She motioned quickly behind her to quiet Alec down, crouching lower to the ground. Her eyes narrowed, her hand went quietly and smoothly to her weapon. In the distance, a clatter arose, making the woman prick up her ears gently.
“Is it …?”
“Shh!” She planted her hand on Alec’s mouth. The commotion approached faster, the sounds of marching boots and battle cries. Mneme growled. “I hate barbarians, and I hate zomrolls more.” She ground her teeth, unsheathing her sword and coming out of concealment. Alec stood behind her, approaching slowly as she rose to her full height.
The zomrolls, for their part, finally noticed the woman standing up to them. The largest one, clearly the leader of the party, brandished a battle axe and hunched in a threatening pose. He stepped forward and bellowed at Mneme with a scratchy voice. “Woman, you better run if you know what’s good for you!”
Mneme growled. “This village is out of bounds to you and your party.” She assumed a two-hander posture, raising her sword. “Approach at your own peril. Turn back or die.”
The leader’s eyes took on a yellow glow, illuminating the sickly skin of his party, peeling and sallow and rotting. His voice took an even more hellish timbre as he responded. “Woman doesn’t know when to run. Time to die!” He raised his axe and broke into a run toward Mneme, the rest of the party on his heels.
Mneme raised an alarming cry, raising her own sword and rushing toward the fight. The clash of the two weapons reverberated around the field, loud as a thunderclap.
The commotion roused some of the people of the village, one of which approached Alec. “What’s going on, boy?”
Alec turned and pointed toward the battle. The villagers assembling around him turned their attention toward the fight, as Mneme launched herself deep into the party of zomrolls. Weapons clanged, their reports filling the air with the symphony of violence. Soon the screams started.
Screams from the zomrolls.
Mneme was oddly quiet as her sword started cutting through one zomroll after another, as their limbs flew away from the battle site, separated from their original hosts by the woman’s sword. The zomrolls were nowhere near as quiet, emitting howls of anguish as the woman cut through them with little resistance. Blood flew into the night air, the scent becoming heavier the more damage the zomrolls took.
Finally, the only remaining adversary was the leader, cowering at Mneme’s feet. He had no hands, having lost them far earlier in the fight. “Mercy, great warrior, please!”
Mneme glared at the leader, taking in his pathetic display, his kneeling and prostration before her. She crouched down to his eye level, narrowing her own eyes at him. In the moonlight, they seemed to take on a glow of their own.
“No.” The whispered word hit the zomroll like a gunshot, quickly followed by the woman’s sword running through his skull, pinning him to the ground until his body stopped thrashing. When she was satisfied with her work, Mneme withdrew the sword, wiping it gently on the zomroll’s tunic before returning it to her scabbard. She stood completely upright, turning back toward where Alec had been waiting for her.
Alec now had a large crowd of villagers surrounding him, watching the action along with him. Consternation flashed on every face as the woman approached, breathing deeply to relieve herself from the tension of the fight. The glow in her eyes subsided, her breathing deepened, and she slowly approached the assembly.
“They will not be a bother to you any more. To be safe, though, I would recommend taking two of their heads and piking them at the entrances to your village, just to keep others away.” Mneme approached Alec. “Thank you for alerting me to their presence, boy.”
Alec swallowed hard, nodding in acknowledgment. Behind him, though, Theric scowled. “He got lucky, that’s all. I swear, boy, if this had been any other time and another of your stunts …”
“But it wasn’t, right?” Alec challenged Theric directly. “The danger was real, and it’s lucky for us Lady Mneme was here to …”
“Yeah, lucky.” Theric narrowed his eyes at the woman. “Why are you passing through here, warrior? This is a peaceful village, we have no need for this kind of trouble …”
“This trouble came to you. I am hunting it.” Mneme’s calm, neutral voice belied the violence she had been participating in just minutes before. “Perish the thought that those zomrolls were allowed free rein in your village, there wouldn’t be a village left in that case.”
Theric grumbled. He turned his back on both Mneme and Alec. “I think it’s best that you leave by morning, milady. Our village does not need your brand of trouble here.” He began walking back into the main part of the village, with several of the other villagers following him. The crowd dwindled until simply Alec and Mneme stood at the scene.
Mneme looked over at the lone young man. “And you? Are you going with your village?”
Alec sighed sadly. “It’s not my village. Not anymore.” He turned back toward the woman. “Let me come with you, Lady Mneme. I can make myself useful to you, I swear.”
Mneme sighed, picking up her cloak and wrapping it around her shoulders once again. “I’m afraid that the life I lead is not one for men such as yourself. I would be upset if you were to come to harm at my aid.”
Alec scoffed gently. “And the way the village treats me doesn’t cause me harm? I’m the village bastard, how much worse can being with you be?”
Mneme shook her head. “I’m afraid my answer is still no.” She placed a hand gently on his shoulder. “Thank you for your assistance tonight, my friend, but I must ask that our affiliation end here and now. At morning’s light I will be gone.”
Alec let out a sad sigh, nodding. “As you wish, Lady Mneme. You have my thanks.”
Mneme gave an encouraging squeeze and what looked like the beginning of a smile to the young man before making her way back toward the village inn. Alec took a deep breath, looking back toward the moonlit battlefield, where the dead zomrolls remained piled where they had dropped.
“There must be a way.” Alec steeled himself for the gruesome task ahead, and marched over to the pile of zomrolls.
The sun was very low in the sky by the time the group trudged its way back into the Darklands village. Immediately, the residents were upon them, their diseased faces seeking answers. The question rustled through the entire crowd: “where’s Undric?”
A child ran up to Tuck, tugging on the severed cable hanging from where her prosthesis should have been. She looked down, seeing a little girl, missing an eye but still showing the energy of youth. “Princess, where did Master Undric go?”
Tuck’s face wrinkled slightly into sadness. “I’m sorry, little one … I’m so sorry, Undric didn’t make it.” The princess crouched down to be at eye level with the little girl. “We ran into trouble, and he’s gone.”
Tears ran down from the remaining eye on the little girl’s face, down her cheek. She wrapped her arms around Tuck’s shoulders, clutching tightly. Scooping the girl into her good arm, Tuck stood back up and continued along with the group toward the center of the town.
Princess Ramia took the lead of the group, standing on the fountain in the middle of the square. “May I have your attention, please?” She lifted her hands, trying to get the village’s attention. “Your attention, please!”
Many of the villagers crowded around the fountain, hoping to hear good news from the Technasian princess. Princess Ramia, though, had none of that to offer. Her face showed her regret over the situation.
“People of the Darklands, I regret to inform you that your village elder Undric Halder was killed at the headquarters of the Darklands Assassins’ Guild. We have a serious problem coming this way, as this death occurred due to an assault by the Assassins’ leader.”
A nervous rustle made its way through the people assembled. Panicked voices raised questions faster than any could be answered. Princess Ramia looked around, her unfazed face starting to crack.
“Tuck? Now would be a good time for a plan.” Princess Rama motioned for the younger Princess to join her on the platform. Tuck released her gentle embrace of the little girl, climbing up to Princess Ramia’s side.
“Why me? I don’t know what to do.” Tuck’s face showed her fear.
“And you think I’m much better off?” Princess Ramia’s voice was strained. “I wouldn’t ask if I had a clue what to do now. We kind of screwed these people over.”
Tuck sighed. “Then we’ll have to help them out.” She moved forward and raised her voice. “Folks, please, may I have your attention?”
She raised her arms, trying to get the people’s attention. After a while, all of the crowd had their eyes focused on Tuck, as Thaylen climbed up to join the two Princesses.
“We realize that this is a major problem for you here in the village, and as such are offering a solution. You may choose to take asylum within the borders of Technasia.”
Princess Ramia’s face blanched at the idea. “What?”
Tuck sighed. “Stick with me here.” She returned her attention to the crowd. “In Technasia, while we cannot promise you the restoration of your life here, we can promise you to be non-judgmental of you, to work with you and be your friends and neighbors. In addition, our best medical minds will work toward a full curing and elimination of the Decade Plague. With your help, we can help the entire world.”
Interested mutterings arose from the villagers. Princess Ramia came around to face Tuck. “Are you that naïve? The average Technasian citizen is going to keep their distance from these people to keep from breathing the same air as them, for fear of catching things!”
“Maybe, but they need hope right now.” Tuck responded.
“I agree,” Thaylen added, “plus there isn’t a chance in hell my brother will let them into Litigia, not unless they’re in body bags or worse.”
Princess Ramia sighed deeply, resisting the inevitable. Firnian cleared her throat, rubbing gently at her ears as they were slowly regaining function. “At the very least, Princess Ramia, having them come into your nation will give you some assistance should Guent the Assholish decide that Technasia is weakened and it’s time to attack.”
Princess Ramia sighed again. “Very well.” She turned to Tuck. “Make the offer official.”
Tuck nodded, turning back to the refugees. “You will be welcomed to Technasia. We will clear it with the border patrols as an emergency measure. We’ll leave at dawn.”
A cheer came up from the villagers, embracing each other, cries of “We’re going home” peppering the dusk air. Tuck turned back to Princess Ramia and the others. “Thank you for supporting this.”
“Don’t thank us yet, we still need to figure out what to do.” Princess Ramia rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “Someone has to take these people back to the border and get them through. Meanwhile, we need to find out for sure what’s going on in Litigia, how the contracts converge.”
Thaylen approached carefully. “If I may, Your Highness, even though she has been ruled a fugitive I believe Firnian will be able to get back to her holdings relatively unencumbered.” He turned to look his fiancée in her eyes. “By chance, it’s geographically the closest holding to here.”
“But Thaylen …” Firnian pleaded. “What about helping you guys out? I’m not turning and running. I don’t care about my holdings, they can go to hell.”
Tuck placed her remaining hand on Firnian’s shoulder. “It would be a way in, so we could see what was going on.” The princess swallowed nervously. “If it would be of any assistance, I could come with you. They won’t suspect a one-armed woman without a prosthesis to be anything important, so I might be able to sneak in with you.”
Now it was Princess Ramia’s turn to object. “Tuck, you can’t, we need to get back home.”
“But what kind of home will be there if we don’t get to the bottom of this?” Tuck struck a serious tone. “Will there even be a home to go back to? We need to figure this out, to get to the bottom of this whole affair.”
The silence hung heavily between all of the assembled nobles. The thick darkness was only finally broken by Princess Ramia. “All right, Tuck. You sold me.”
Tuck jumped up in surprise. “I did?”
“Yeah. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, kid.” Princess Ramia turned to the others. “So it’s settled, then, Thaylen and I will take the villagers to the border and report to Queen Guerrania and the other Princesses what we found out here. Tuck, you go with Firnian to her holdings, lay an ear to the ground and find out how the contract in Litigia is being executed.”
Tuck nodded. “You got it.”
“One more thing, though.” Princess Ramia’s face seemed set in stone now. “For the love of God, Tuck, avoid any kind of trouble in Litigia. If you’re discovered there, it sounds like Guent will use that as the excuse he needs to launch his petty war. Don’t give him that excuse. At all.”
The caverns were a darkened, horrific maze of damp walls, moss-encrusted floors, and dead ends. Numerous times either Tuck or Princess Ramia had lost their footing and slipped, only to be helped back to her feet by the other. Firnian and Thaylen had no such issues, however, as they kept far back from the Princesses, clutching each other for support.
“Weapons, guys, make sure you’re at the ready,” Princess Ramia whispered back.
“What do you think I’m doing?” Firnian snapped back, reaching for a dagger she kept sheathed on her belt. She looked over at Thaylen. “What about you, love?”
Thaylen sighed. “What good am I? I’m just a useless freak …”
Firnian shoved Thaylen against a nearby wall. “Don’t ever say that!” She grumbled, reaching into Tuck’s satchel suddenly and pulling out a hammer, which she shoved into Thaylen’s hands. “Here. Now you’re useful. Let’s go!” She released him from the wall and continued on behind the Princesses. Thaylen took a deep breath of the stale cavern air, trying to steady his knees, before continuing to catch up with the rest of the group.
The Princesses both stopped short. Princess Ramia nocked an arrow in her crossbow and readied for action. Tuck, for her part, had already replaced her hand with a bladed implement, so she was ready when an assassin leapt out from the shadows, sword raised. Out of panic, she thrust her hand forward and punctured it through the attacker’s body.
Other assassins came out of their hiding places, swarming the party. Princess Ramia’s crossbow loosed arrows around the whole group, many of which missed because of the darkness. Firnian and Thaylen held their own, slicing and pounding away as more and more came forward.
An especially large assassin stormed down the corridor straight for them. Tuck looked over to her fellow Princess, seeing her having trouble reloading. “Ramia, look out!” She pushed Princess Ramia to the side of the cavern corridor, squaring her shoulders toward the rushing large man, metal arm forward, shooting it off toward him. The blade in place of the hand found full purchase in the assassin’s shoulder, but he did not slow down at all.
Tuck gritted her teeth. She focused her attention on the arm and retracted it, hoping it would throw the assassin off his balance, only to watch the cable snap.
“FUCK!” Tuck’s screamed expletive echoed throughout the cavern. Only this seemed to make the assassins back off, clutching to their ears.
Firnian took note of that action. “Incoming, stay clear!” She clamped her teeth down on one of her mini-grenade pearls, flinging it behind the group back into the cavern. The Princesses clamped their ears closed, as Firnian did the same for Thaylen and tried to cover her own.
The explosion was followed by numerous assassin screams, threads holding mouths sewn shut popping and instantly poisoning the assailants either by the explosion’s shockwave or by the effort of opening their jaws to react. Fire swept past the entire group, as they huddled protectively. Tuck let out a yelp of her own as her metal arm heated up to nearly white-hot temperatures, singing her left ear and her hair. Everyone breathed short and panicked pants, all of the oxygen in the cavern being absorbed by the fiery blast.
When it finally subsided, the first to dare to lift her head was Princess Ramia. She looked over toward the rest of the group, seeing them collapsed on the floor of the cavern. “Are you guys okay?”
Tuck was the first to move. Her voice was pained. “I think so. Owww …”
Thaylen’s shoulders gently moved, as he picked himself up off the ground. “Same here.” He climbed up on his knees. “Firn, you okay?”
Firnian did not respond. She lay awkwardly on the cavern floor, much of the cape she wore burned to ash. Blisters were appearing on the backs of her hands.
“Firn?” Thaylen’s voice became more urgent. He reached down gently to shake Firnian. “Firn, you did it.”
Tuck rubbed her burnt ear with her natural hand. “How did that even work?”
Princess Ramia snorted. “I should’ve known better.” She motioned to the dead assassins. “Another thing these monsters wind up having done is their hearing is made extremely sensitive, the better for them to track near silent movements. There’s a side effect, though, that any loud noise becomes fatal.” She coughed. “Between that and the fire, they had no chance.”
“Firn!” Thaylen’s voice was desperate. His face was crunched into sorrow. “Firn, please, wake up!” He started shaking the prone former Lord desperately.
Tuck approached gently. “Thaylen, we have to go …”
“Not without her! She’s my life!” Thaylen was in full-throated crying, clutching the limp body to his breast, burying his face in her shoulder. “Firn, please …”
Princess Ramia put a hand on Tuck’s shoulder. “Give him a second. She cleared the path for us, she helped us get away.”
Tuck felt tears coming. “Not at the cost of her life, Ramia. It’s not fair, goddamn it!” A sob escaped from the inventor.
Thaylen lifted his head to look up at Firnian’s neutral, soft face. “Please, Firn. I love you.” He kissed her lips gently, cradling her in his arms.
Much to everyone’s surprise, Firnian’s arms moved to wrap around Thaylen’s shoulders. Her eyes fluttered open. Thaylen found he couldn’t release the kiss now because she was holding him in it, giggling slightly.
Finally, she let Thaylen come up for air. “I always wanted to do the whole ‘Sleeping Beauty’ bit. That was fun, but let’s never do it again.”
Thaylen wiped his eyes. “I love you, Firn.”
“What?”
Tuck crouched down next to the two lovers. “Thaylen, I think the blast injured her ears.” She pointed toward Firnian’s ear, a steady trickle of blood coming out of it and dripping on the cavern floor. Thaylen nodded, picking the injured woman up into his arms.
“If we’re done playing fairy tale prince, let’s get the hell out of here. There’s light up ahead.” Princess Ramia’s command went unquestioned, as the entire party made their way toward where the shafts of light were coming through.
In the dying light of the afternoon, Queen Guerrania sat behind her resplendent desk, shuffling papers around her. Most of them were reports from the efforts to conscript an army, however others were personal messages from her citizens. She always encouraged the people of Technasia to correspond with her, and tried her best to respond to every letter she received; the amount of letters in the past few days, though, had been formidable.
A soft knock resonated through the room. She looked up from her work. “Come in.”
The door opened quickly, and Princess Hanna strode in quickly, a large book in her grip, followed by Princess Jayne. “Your Majesty, we have some urgent words.”
Queen Guerrania stood up and nodded. “I see.” She looked behind the two princesses and noticed a phalanx of guards entering the room with them. “What news requires an entire regiment to deliver it?”
“It’s for your safety, Your Majesty,” Princess Jayne responded. “We believe your life may be in danger.”
Queen Guerrania nodded. “I see.” She walked toward the window. “And what gives you this impression, my friends?”
“We just finished with Princess Anyia. There’s a coup afoot.”
Princess Hanna’s warning finally gained the Queen’s attention. “Do go on.” She motioned for the two Princesses to sit down, an invitation they accepted.
“Your Majesty, Princess Anyia has been working with a Litigian citizen to destabilize the Royal Corps, the goal of which being for the two nations to unite.” Princess Hanna motioned toward Princess Jayne. “Jayne can tell you our likely suspect.”
The large woman nodded intently. “We’ve been intercepting a lot of contaminated goods at the docks, from several of the entities Tuck asked me to watch for. Mostly from Poe Industries, and it’s all contaminated by the Decade Plague virus.” Princess Jayne self-consciously scratched at one of her gloved hands.
Queen Guerrania noticed this. “Am I correct in assuming you opened one of the shipments, Jayne?”
She nodded. “I’ve been treated already by Hanna.”
Queen Guerrania turned toward Princess Hanna. “Am I mistaken, or is that Anyia’s book you’re carrying?”
Princess Hanna nodded herself. “I confiscated it from her and have been reading through it, looking for clues. I might have an idea of who the conspirator is, based on Jayne’s confiscations and the contents of the book.” She placed the massive tome on the Queen’s desk and opened it to a page which was dogeared to mark it. “Anyia has a cousin in Litigia, in a fairly high position of power.” She turned the book around and slid it toward the Queen.
“Hm. This is troubling.” The Queen scanned the page quickly. “I see him listed here …” She narrowed her eyes. “Are you serious? Vriant Poe?”
“I know it’s crazy,” Princess Hanna responded, “but it’s the facts. There was a crack in the family line, Anyia’s family stayed here and removed the ‘e’ from their surname while Vriant’s side emigrated and built an empire developing weaponry for Litigia.” She took a deep breath. “And it looks like they were coordinating efforts to stage coups in both nations.”
Queen Guerrania nodded. “I see.” She sighed. “Any word from your sister yet, Hanna?”
Princess Hanna shook her head. “Neither her nor Tuck have contacted us.”
“This is worrying.” The Queen stood up. “Double our guard watches around the Central Palace. We need to stop these assassins now.”
Both Princess Hanna and Princess Jayne rose to stand, but a glint through the window caught Princess Jayne’s eye. “Your Majesty, look out!” She leaped across the desk and tackled Queen Guerrania to the floor, just as an arrow shattered the window and took out one of the guards. Princess Hanna leaped to the side to avoid more arrows, which continued to fly even as the guards pulled their own weapons and crowded toward the window.
“Your Majesty, vacate the room please!” One of the guards called out to the Queen just as an arrow pierced his shoulder.
“We’re gone!” Princess Jayne confirmed as she picked up the Queen and carried her out through the rain of arrows. A couple bounced off of Princess Jayne’s shoulders, reinforced by her heavy leather tunic, as she trailed behind the speedy Princess Hanna out the door of the office.
“Your Majesty, this is indeed an honor.” The greeting intoned from deep within the captain, as he knelt down before King Guent, bowing his head.
“I’m sure,” Guent retorted. “Now stand up and tell me how preparations go.”
The captain stood up, at ramrod attention, facing his king. He had never seen Guent in person, and as such had no idea the new king was so young. Or short … he was nearly a head shorter than the captain himself. “Your Majesty, training goes well for our forces. They’re going to be battle ready in a matter of days.”
Guent smiled widely. “Excellent. This should teach those bitches not to mess with us.” He wrung his hands. “Show me some of your best fighters.”
The captain nodded, then turned and whistled shrilly toward the parade grounds. “Bring me Barnas and Hilliard!”
Three soldiers came trotting over to where the captain stood with the King. One of them, a lieutenant, motioned for the other two to step forward. “Sir, as ordered, Barnas and Hilliard.”
The captain nodded. “Very good. That is all.” The lieutenant turned sharply and left. The captain motioned toward the two soldiers. “Your Majesty, may I present my two best pure fighters, Alton Barnas and Garen Hilliard. Men, bow before your King!”
“Yes sir!” both men barked in unison before dropping to one knee and genuflecting. King Guent chuckled.
“Very nice.” He motioned to the two men. “Rise, soldiers. Rise and face me.”
The two soldiers stood up and returned to a stiff attention position. Guent smiled.
“Now, let me see what you’ve learned.” He twiddled his fingers toward the soldiers. “Fight.”
The captain’s face showed bewilderment. “Your Majesty?”
“You heard me. Have them fight. I want to see what the Technasians have in store when our forces come to blows.” Guent cleared his throat. “Intelligence tells us that they’ve instituted a draft. They’re ramping up faster than we are, so it’s imperative that we show them what real soldiers can do as opposed to whipped farmboys.”
The captain swallowed hard. “All right, men. Defensive postures.”
The soldiers looked at each other with a pained expression, then turned to face each other, assuming a defensive fighting pose. The captain raised his hand.
“Fight!” The captain dropped his hand.
“To the death!” King Guent chirped quickly afterward.
The captain’s face went pale. Unwilling to disobey their monarch, Barnas and Hilliard went after each other furiously, like wild animals. Fists fell, teeth clamped on flesh, uniforms were ripped to shreds. The pure savagery on display made the captain grow paler with each passing moment. Guent, on the other hand, leaned forward in his seat, an expression of near sexual lust crossing his eyes, his mouth hanging open.
The fight went on for an uncomfortably long time. Eventually, on his knees on top of his opponent, Hilliard landed the killing blow, a fist to the center of Barnas’s face which crushed his nose into his head. Barnas let out a gurgling death rattle as Hilliard returned to his feet, bloodied and tattered, and knelt before his King.
“It is done, Your Majesty.”
King Guent sat back in his chair, panting. He brought his hands forward and clapped. “Well done, Master Hilliard.” He turned to the captain. “Make sure this man gets the medical attention he deserves. He’ll need it to lead a battalion, after all.”
The captain looked again with incredulity. “Your Majesty, he just killed one of my best men.”
“Indeed he did,” King Guent retorted, “and thus proved he was the better man. He leads a battalion. End of story.” The King stood up, walking slightly shakily toward the captain. “Or do I have to make him a captain?” He got nose-to-nose with the captain.
“No, Your Majesty, you do not,” the captain replied. He backed away from the King. “Lieutenant, get this man to medical, and bring a body crew for poor Barnas.”
The lieutenant nodded, leading Hilliard away. King Guent settled back into his seat, hanging one leg over the arm of it. “Is there anything else you want to show me?”
The captain cleared his throat. “Nothing else to show, just a report. We’ve taken delivery on six crates of new materiel from Lord Poe, and have started training the men on the new equipment.”
King Guent nodded. “Very good. Anything else to report?” The captain remained silent. “In that case, return to your men. I will observe your training exercises from here.”
The captain curtly bowed, turning on his heel and marching away. King Guent subtly adjusted his trousers before two more men came to join him on the observation deck.
“Your Majesty,” Lord Laith took the initiative and chimed up, kneeling. Next to him, Lord Vengor did the same.
King Guent crossed his legs gently. “Rise, friends, come tell me what the news is.”
Lord Laith returned to his feet. “Your Majesty, I received your missive and am confused. Am I to ramp up production, or scale it back and concentrate shipments to the army?”
King Guent leaned forward. “What do you mean? My missive is clear.”
Lord Laith took out his hand slate, bringing up the missive in question. “Your command is to send more to the army, scale back other operations, and announce the ramping up of production.”
“It sounds pretty clear to me,” King Guent intoned. “You will announce the increase of production. In the meantime, shift your focus from the civilians to the army, as they need your products much more than the commoners do.”
Lord Vengor cleared his throat. “If I may, Your Majesty? This sort of positioning may not be to your benefit, as it contradicts the teachings of the Church, especially if you wish for the crown and the Church to be in alignment.”
King Guent shot a disgusted expression at Lord Vengor. “When you got this post, did I not tell you the Church was going to justify my rule and decisions? Start justifying.”
Lord Vengor’s mouth dropped open. “Your Majesty …”
“Does that go against your morality?” King Guent stood up, approaching Lord Vengor threateningly. “If that’s the way you’re going to be, I can always rescind the tax-exempt status of the Church, and your coffers become mine. Your choice.”
Lord Vengor swallowed hard. “But sire, the Church’s good works …”
“… can continue in good stead,” King Guent concluded. “All you need to do is agree to follow my word. I am your boss, Vengor, and you are my bitch. I don’t give a solitary fuck what the Church teaches you, what it teaches me is that power is granted by God to the worthy.” He puffed out his chest. “And there isn’t a more worthy man in this entire world than I am.”
Lord Vengor lowered his face. “I understand, Your Majesty. It will be done.”
“Good.” King Guent smiled and sat back down. “You have your orders, gentlemen. Get to it. Your Kingdom needs you.”
The loud metallic knocking pulled Princess Anyia’s attention up from her long chronicle of Technasian history. She looked over at the door of her dungeon cell, and hardened her face when she saw the two angry Princesses glaring in at her.
“Well, look who it is.” Princess Anyia set down her book. “What’s wrong, Hanna, did you not feel comfortable coming here on your own?”
Princess Hanna pulled a key out of her pocket, unlocking the door to allow herself to enter. Behind her, Princess Jayne assumed a position blocking the exit. Princess Hanna slowly approached, her anger palpable. “I’d come here on my own, but the Queen was afraid I would murder you if left by myself.”
Princess Anyia scoffed. “Not likely. You’d need an aggressive streak to do anything like that, and by God you don’t have that.”
“Let’s get to the point,” Princess Hanna interjected. “What have you been doing with the Darklands Assassins?”
Princess Anyia chuckled. “Didn’t your sister teach you anything about interrogation? You need to gain trust first, then you can ask the bombshell question. Right now I have no inclination to answer you. Nothing you can do about it anyway.”
Princess Hanna reached her hand into her other pocket. “We’ll see.” She pulled out a syringe, lunging for Princess Anyia. Although she was not encumbered, Princess Anyia was far from mobile enough to avoid the attack, and soon found herself with the needle stuck into the side of her neck, Princess Hanna’s thumb hovering threateningly over the plunger. “I may not know interrogation, but I know plants. This is the concentrated oil from Ricinus communis beans. I push this down, you die sixty times over.” Princess Hanna lowered her voice to a growl. “So talk, Anyia. Why are you targeting us?”
Princess Anyia chuckled, picking up her book and sitting down, carefully so as to avoid pushing the plunger down on the syringe. “There’s a new order coming. The wheels are in motion, you can’t stop it.”
“Enough with the riddles!” Princess Hanna jabbed the syringe deeper into Princess Anyia’s neck.
“Fine. I will be ruling the world soon anyway, or at least my agent will be.” She opened her archive. “Long ago, before the great worldwide schism, the areas we refer to as Technasia, Litigia, and the Darklands were all one nation. This was a world ruled by a representative government, which held peaceful transitions of power. Then the schism occurred, and all of that got shot to hell.”
Princess Hanna smirked. “We all know this, Anyia.”
“Ah yes, but do you know why we separated how we did?” Princess Anyia cleared her throat. “It’s all ideology. The old nation, it was run by two competing ideologies, and when the schism took place, one ideology took control of half the territory and the other took the other half. The ideology of progress, of forward thinking, became Technasia. The ideology of reactionary thought, of superstition and unity, that became Litigia.”
Princess Hanna narrowed her eyes. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Without both ideologies present, both ideologies perish.” Princess Anyia took in a deep breath. “It’s already happening. Technasia is content, true, but it’s also stagnant in its growth. Litigia is in almost constant chaos. So within both nations, the idea of reunification has taken hold.”
Princess Hanna and Princess Jayne exchanged looks. Princess Jayne coughed. “What do you mean reunification?”
“Exactly what it sounds like, Jayne,” Princess Anyia continued. “We would form a single nation out of the two. But to do that, the power structures in both had to go.”
Princess Hanna felt a chill go down her spine. “Kill us all, and you can reunite? Is that the idea?”
Princess Anyia nodded. “Indeed. Circumstances have accelerated things, of course … I had nothing to do with bringing Lord Moethran here, or the subsequent loss of her position, or with Prince Thaylen defecting … but the idea is still the same. And it helps when you have family within the Litigian Council of Lords.”
Princess Jayne’s eyes lit up. “I know who!”
Princess Hanna looked up at Jayne. “Tell me later,” she admonished. She turned back to Princess Anyia. “What did you mean about nothing we could do to stop you?”
“Exactly that.” Princess Anyia laughed coldly. “Before you had me arrested, there were two more missives sent to the Darklands Assassins. They should be taking care of mine right now, as we speak …”
Princess Hanna pushed Princess Anyia against the wall tighter. “What did you do?”
“Simply ensured that no one but me survives. An assassin should be taking care of the Queen right now, as a matter of fact. On top of that, your foolish sister and Imogen had the bright idea of going into the Darklands, where the assassins are going to meet them and dispatch them quickly, and while they’re at it they’ll dispose of Lord Moethran and Prince Thaylen. Not to mention what’s happening in Litigia …”
Princess Hanna screamed. Her thumb crushed down the plunger on the syringe. Princess Anyia immediately started getting short of breath, as Princess Hanna stood up to watch her handiwork.
“You’re too late … events are … happening … you can’t prevent … chaos …” Princess Anyia sank to the floor, laughing up until her heart stopped, her face locked in a manic grin as death overcame her. Princess Hanna backed up into Princess Jayne’s chest, motioning for both living Princesses to leave the cell.
“Queen Guerrania won’t be very happy about this …” Jayne admonished.
“At this point, we’ll be lucky of the Queen is even alive to find out what happened.” Princess Hanna looked up at Princess Jayne. “Who do you believe is Anyia’s Litigian ally?”
Princess Anyia had never let anyone back in this area, never allowed anyone back far enough into her library to show them the office. The gas lights illuminating the room offered the place an otherworldly glow, as the Princess sat in the midst of a circular bookshelf loaded from top to bottom with books. She enjoyed this room because of all of the privacy it offered, plus the books were more like old friends than reference materials. In here, she could be herself. In here, she could let loose.
She sat on a mat in the center of the room, the light robe she wore dangling off of her smallish body, a book laying open in front of her. She methodically read the paragraphs, turned pages when she reached page turns, and communed with the text as best as she could. Her eyes closed as she gave in to the ecstasy of reading. Her breathing slowed, her shoulders relaxed. The words wrapped around her, like a lover’s embrace.
The atmosphere was only interrupted by the rhythmic buzzing of her hand slate, which she had left off of the mat, on the hard floor, creating a reverberating and shrill tone as it bounced quickly up and down on the stone. She was quick to voice her displeasure as she picked up the device and read the missive.
All members of the Royal Corps and their attendants are recommended to visit Princess Hanna for preventive measures, re: Princess Jayne’s confiscation of Litigian weapons.
Princess Anyia cast the hand slate aside. She grumbled under her breath, standing up and returning the book to its space on the shelf. She hated cutting off her time with the private collection like this, but it was necessary to keep up with the rest of the Royal Corps. Though her knees shook, she managed to change out of the dressing robe and into her regular vestments. Once the cape was draped around her shoulders, she strode out of the hidden room.
“Glad you could join us,” a voice greeted her, startling Princess Anyia. She immediately felt her shoulders lock up. She looked around and spotted a shadow staring at her. Her breathing came faster.
“I just, ah, got the missive.”
“I’m sure you did.” The figure walked into the light, and Princess Anyia felt herself relax as she recognized Helena, Hanna’s attendant. “Why didn’t you tell us we were going to be at risk for Decade Plague?”
Princess Anyia gave a confused look to the girl. “What was that? I was, ah, unaware that, ah, there would be anything, ah, involving the plague.”
Helena grabbed Princess Anyia by the arm, dragging her to the larger area of the main library. Three hooded figures stood there waiting for them.
“What are you, ah, doing here? There is, ah, a really great, ah, risk, ah, for coming here.”
“I brought them,” Helena responded. “We’re tired of getting strung along on this deal, Your Highness. Are we moving or what?”
“In due time,” Princess Anyia murmured. “As it happens, ah, there is action taking place as we, ah, speak, ah, which will help us to, ah, achieve our goal. Be patient, and, ah, stay with Princess Hanna for now.”
The door of the library opened. The three hooded men quickly dove for cover, hiding in the stacks of the library, their footsteps not leaving a single sound. Princess Anyia and Helena were caught unawares, standing frozen in place at the center of the room as a group of women entered.
“Princess Anyia, we …” Queen Guerrania was cut off short as she looked up and saw Helena standing next to Princess Anyia. “You’ve been here? We’ve been looking for you, Helena.”
Princess Hanna came up behind the Queen. “Yes, what happened to the missive I asked you to send?”
Helena’s eyes dimmed. She narrowed her eyes and looked at Princess Anyia. “You have murdered me, you bitch.” She snapped her fingers with her left hand while reaching into her pocket with her right.
“Stop her! Get her hands!” Queen Guerrania and Princess Hanna rushed for Helena. Unfortunately, they did not make it to the attendant as they were tackled by three hooded assassins, armed with small knives. The Queen and the Princess struggled, while Helena pulled out a small phial, downing its contents quickly. Once the assassins were taken out of the fight, with an assist from Central Palace guards rushing into the room, it was too late to save her, as she collapsed dead on the floor at Princess Anyia’s feet.
Queen Guerrania and Princess Hanna both glared at Princess Anyia. The older Princess scowled. “I suppose, ah, that you’re going to, ah, blame this on me?”
Queen Guerrania snapped her own fingers, summoning two guards. “Take Princess Anyia into custody. We’re getting to the bottom of this one way or another.”
Princess Anyia suddenly started laughing, a reaction that was unexpected as neither the Queen nor Princess Hanna had ever heard her laugh. The laughter went from quiet and subtle to loud and maniacal in seconds. Tears ran from Princess Anyia’s eyes.
“You’re too late, Your Majesty.” She laughed harder. “You’re all dead. Technasia is dead. Ramia and Imogen, they’re dead. Chaos reigns!”
Princess Hanna’s heart dropped. “What have you done to Ramia?”
No answer was forthcoming, though, as Princess Anyia kept on laughing, even as she was dragged away by the guards.
As Undric had said, a half a day had passed on foot, but the group had made it to a cavern. The assassins filed inside, but Undric kept the others back.
“Let them go in first. They are severely punished if they don’t return in a timely manner.” Undric looked back at Thaylen. “Are you okay, son?”
“I’m okay,” Thaylen responded. He looked over at Firnian, who took his hand.
“We’ll be okay,” Firnian reassured Thaylen.
“How long have you had your contract in place, Undric?” Princess Ramia asked.
“It’s been … I think at least a year or so. We needed their help after we started getting raided by another Darklands village, having food stolen, people killed.” Undric’s face darkened. “I did things I regret to defend our village.”
Tuck put her metal hand on Undric’s shoulder. “You did what you had to, Undric.”
Undric sighed. “I appreciate the regard, but I know what I did, and I can’t allow myself to be proud of it.”
A large man came forward out of the cavern, his arms wide apart. “Undric! My friend, what brings you here?”
Undric moved forward and embraced the larger man. “Hungras, my friend, how are things?”
“Busy, as usual,” Hungras responded. He looked behind Undric. “What business do you have with us? Why have you brought these people?”
Undric turned to look at the rest of his group. “They have a request.”
Hungras narrowed his eyes, seeing two Technasian Princesses standing in the group. “You two … you know there are proper channels for this sort of thing.”
Princess Ramia stepped forward. “We must talk to your leader. We need to find out about assassins who have been striking in both Technasia and Litigia, and we believe they originated from here.”
Hungras nodded, breathing a little quicker. “Come in, folks.” He motioned for the group to follow him.
“Back to back with me, Tuck,” Princess Ramia whispered. “I don’t trust this one bit.”
Tuck nodded, putting her back to Princess Ramia’s, and they both walked into the cavern sideways. Firnian and Thaylen did the same behind the Princesses.
The group wound its way through caverns, dotted with large offshoots, through which more assassins scrambled through. Many of the offshoots felt to Tuck like cells, for prisoners.
Firnian clutched tightly to Thaylen’s hand, keeping her back to his. “I want you to know, I completely forgive you for every crappy thing you’ve ever done … if we don’t make it out of here, I love you.”
Thaylen nodded, looking back at his lover. “If we make it out of here, I’ll marry you.”
Firnian’s eyes went wide. She clutched Thaylen’s hand tighter. “Start a new life in Technasia?”
Thaylen grinned. “We already know of one person who did it. He even did it for love too.”
Firnian stroked Thaylen’s cheek gently with her free hand. They continued with the rest of the party, deeper and deeper into the caverns. Hungras eventually led them to the entrance of the largest subterranean chamber of the cavern.
Inside the room, a cacophonous noise repelled everyone. Seated in a throne at the dead center of the chamber was a single individual, a robe draped over their form, sitting in the seat and clutching tightly to the arm rests.
“Here’s the man in charge,” Hungras introduced. “If you’ll excuse me …”
“What are you doing, Hungras?” The man’s voice was similar to the sound of breaking glass, it was grating against the ears of everyone present. Hungras, who was used to it, simply cringed because of the words.
“My lord, these people wish to talk with you.”
The robed man stood up. “Hungras, what have I told you about your incompetence?”
Hungras shuddered. “My lord?” His voice was quiet and squeaked. Before anyone else could react, the robed man had rushed out of the room, his hand clamped around Hungras’s throat. This time, though, he did not relent, and with a sickening crunch Hungras collapsed to the ground, clawing at his throat for air and finding no ability to breathe. In moments, he lay motionless on the floor, and four assassins came to gather the body.
The robed figure turned toward Undric. “Now … Undric Halder, leader of the village, what can I do for you?”
Undric cleared his throat. “I apologize, I’m used to dealing with Hungras. To whom are we speaking now?”
The robed figure stretched his hands to his side. “I rule these caverns as lord and master. My assassins are my children. You may call me Interis.”
Undric nodded. “I see. All right, Interis, my friends and family here have some questions about assassins that have been appearing in Technasia and Litigia.”
Interis dropped his arms to his sides. “Of course. What would you like to know?”
Princess Ramia came to the fore. “We’ve had numerous attempts on our lives, which we’ve traced to Darklands assassins wielding Litigian weapons. We need to know if anyone has hired you for missions in Technasia. We will respect your clients’ privacy, but we just need to know if a contract is in place.”
Interis chuckled. “Is that all?”
Firnian stepped forward. “No, it is fucking not all. There’s been assassinations in Litigia as well, two Lords are dead as well as our King.”
Interis nodded. “Yes, I see.” He turned and re-entered the chamber. “Do you know what this place is?”
Tuck looked around. “It appears to be an echo chamber. Looks like all of the sound gets funneled here.”
Interis briefly turned. “So there is a new Princess of Technology. Indeed. This is my chamber of suffering. I absorb my children’s sorrow here, I feel their pain, I try to take it away. I will tell you what I know if you will come in here with me and ease my burden.”
“Okay, I’m a little sick of everything being a quid pro quo riddle,” Firnian finally burst out.
“Be that as it may, those are my terms,” Interis responded.
Undric took a deep breath and stepped inside. Thaylen came up. “Grandfather, no!”
Undric turned and looked to Thaylen. “You want your answers, right? I’ve found that you comply with the assassins rather than arguing, because they will not budge.”
Thaylen swallowed hard, stepping into the chamber with Undric. The two Princesses shared concerned expressions with Firnian.
“All together?” Tuck offered her hand to Firnian.
The former Lord Moethran closed her eyes, taking Tuck’s hand. “All together.”
Princess Ramia took Firnian’s other hand in hers. “All together then.” The three women stepped inside the room, joining Undric, Thaylen, and Interis. They were immediately bombarded by shrieks, cries, wailing, and the overwhelming sense of misery collected in the room.
Interis turned to face the group. “I will answer your questions now.”
Tuck collapsed to her knees, the sound becoming too much for her already. Princess Ramia reached for the younger Princess to try to help her back to her feet.
“The assassins are mine,” Interis continued. “The contracts were made, and are still in effect, as they have not been completed yet.”
Undric held Thaylen up, but he started wavering. Tears came running out of Undric’s eyes.
“These are not commonplace contracts, though,” Interis continued. “These contracts are interlaced, and will have more beneficiaries than the obvious ones.”
Firnian felt her heart rate increasing. She clutched to her chest. More screams surrounded the group, filling their ears, leaving them barely able to hear Interis, or understand his words.
“I know nothing about the Litigian King,” Interis droned on. “That was not my idea, nor was one of the Lords. The only Lord I am responsible for is Lord Jair.”
Thaylen felt his knees starting to buckle under the despair. The screams pierced his very soul. Firnian reached for his hand, even as she started faltering herself.
“Technasia and Litigia, they are two sides of a single slate,” Interis intoned, seemingly either unaware or not caring about his guests’ discomfort. “And both sides have kept corrupt leadership in place for far too long.”
Blood was coming out of Undric’s eyes. He fully collapsed to the floor, his breathing shallow. Thaylen crouched down by his side, trying to shield himself from the horrifying sounds.
Interis, though, started walking out of the room, passing through the group. “I’m afraid as part of our deal, I cannot reveal who my clients are, so I regret having to leave now. What I can tell you, though, is that one of them anticipated your presence here, and as such has arranged for a party for you.”
The assassin leader stepped out of the room, leaving the entire group to their torment. Screams only became louder and more intense. Tuck, barely able to put together a coherent thought, stretched out her prosthesis and focused on it intensely, closing her eyes and trying to block out the sounds of suffering. Her forearm shot out of the room, the hand clutching to a railing outside in the corridor.
“Hang on, everyone!” she screamed over the din. Firnian, Princess Ramia, and Thaylen clutched to her tightly; Thaylen took hold of Undric’s hand. Tuck gritted her teeth, trying to focus once more, and started retracting her arm.
The act pulled the entire group out of the room of torment, slowly across the floor. They kept being battered by the screams all the way through, until they were finally free of the torture. Tuck felt a rush of relief as her forearm snapped back into place, fully retracted, and she released the railing. She helped Princess Ramia back to her feet. Firnian, legs wobbly, returned to her own upright position.
Thaylen, though, remained on the floor, sprawled over Undric. Undric’s eyes were sightless and distant, his mouth slack, blood pouring out of his eyes and ears. He was not breathing.
Firnian placed a hand on Thaylen’s shoulder, feeling him sob and weep over his dead grandfather. She crouched and placed her arms around him, clutching him tightly until he let go of Undric and latched on to her.
Princess Ramia took a deep breath, shaking her head to clear the cobwebs. “Thanks, Tuck. I owe you one.”
Tuck nodded. “Save it for when we get out. We’re going to have to fight our way through the entire Guild to save our lives and our nation.”
Princess Jayne returned to the docks late in the evening, looking around at the activity. It was much slower right now than it had been earlier, which would make it easier for her to seek out the customs agents. She waved one down.
“Your Highness?” The agent stepped down from his lift truck.
“Brint, there was a group of crates that I wanted confiscated earlier today, I was wondering if you knew where they were.”
Brint consulted his clipboard, then nodded. “Oh yeah, I have a note about it from the day shift. They put them over by the harbormaster office, cordoned off from the rest of the area.” He pointed further down the dock.
“Thanks, Brint. Carry on.” Princess Jayne hurried down the dock, not even waiting for Brint’s acknowledgment. In moments, the crates came into view, five of them, all stamped with the logo of Poe Industries. She grabbed a crowbar on her way over, and was now wielding it toward the massive crates, ready to open them up and inspect their contents. She drove the end of the bar into the top of the crate.
“Hey! Stop!” The sound of the bar striking the crate drew the attention of the harbor master on duty, who ran out of the office to confront whoever it was that was digging into the crates. He was immediately regretful when he saw Princess Jayne. “Oh, Your Highness, I apologize.”
Princess Jayne waved in a friendly manner. “It’s okay. What’s your name?”
He stuttered nervously. Even if she hadn’t been a Princess, her sheer size and muscled frame would have intimidated him. “W-W-Willard, Your Highness. I-I’m the night shift harbor master.”
Princess Jayne smiled. “Well then, I’ll make sure your supervisor knows you’re out here doing your job well. Now, can you help me with this?”
Willard stammered slightly. “I’m not sure what I can do to help the Princess of Strength with anything.”
Princess Jayne pressed down hard on the crowbar. The crate cracked open loudly, and she stuffed her hands underneath the lid to pull it further open. “You can help me by giving your evaluation of the contents of this crate. What have we been getting in?”
Willard cleared the straw that was used as packing material, reaching inside and pulling out a spear with a compressed air canister attached to it. “Things like this?”
Princess Jayne tossed the lid of the crate aside, and turned to see the weapon in Willard’s hands. “Yeah, exactly like that. Get you clipboard and start a list.”
Princess Hanna’s slumber, fitful as it was, could have been beneficial for her if it had not been interrupted rudely by the pounding on her door. What started as polite knocking turned into insistent hammering and shouting. The Princess roused slowly, slurring her speech. “What is it?”
“Hanna, let me in.” It sounded vaguely like Princess Jayne. That was odd, she never usually came to visit. Princess Hanna shuffled to the door, sliding aside the bolt and opening it up, getting bathed in early dawn light which made her cringe.
“Arggggh, really?” She blinked her eyes to clear their vision, holding her hand up to shield them from the blinding sunlight. Princess Jayne walked past her into the room, which led Princess Hanna to quickly slam the door shut. “What is it Jayne?”
“I needed to see you, there’s some weird crap going on with the shipment I confiscated at the docks.” Princess Jayne raised her hands, to approximately Princess Hanna’s eye level, and showed her the blotchy red patches appearing on her palms.
Princess Hanna was instantly awake. Her eyes flew wide open. “Don’t move, and don’t touch anything. I’ll be right back.” She raced into her washroom, furiously clinking jars as she searched.
“What is it, Hanna?” Now Princess Jayne felt scared.
“What did you touch?” Princess Hanna came out with the jar she had been looking for. “I need to know exactly what you touched at the dock and on your way here so we can disinfect it all.”
“Hanna, slow down. What is this stuff?”
Princess Hanna took a cotton ball, dipped it in the jar, and started swabbing Princess Jayne’s hands down. “This is one of the earliest symptoms of the decade plague. It shows up almost immediately after exposure, and usually leads to the more gruesome symptoms.” She continued to swab Princess Jayne’s hands until they were glistening with a thick coating of the medicine from the jar. “This is a salve that Giana and myself developed after doing a lot of research on the plague. It’ll make the virus dormant, so you won’t get the worse of it, and should suppress it enough that you don’t infect others.”
Princess Jayne started shaking. “Oh God … not that.” She started panting. “Hanna, what did I do?”
“I need to know what you touched on your way here, Jayne. In this state, it’s spread by contact, not airborne.”
Princess Jayne sighed deeply. “Okay … I touched most of my house, a couple of handrails on my way here, all of the stuff in the Litigian crates …” Princess Jayne’s eyes went wide with realization. “My God, the crates! Willard, poor guy …”
“Slow down, Jayne.” Hanna reached for her hand slate, tapping out a missive quickly. “There, I’ve asked for information on Willard. I’m assuming he’s a dockworker?”
Princess Jayne nodded. “He’s the night shift harbor master” She rubbed her palms together, feeling the squishiness of the salve on them. “Hanna, it had to be the weapons. They’re literally oily, they’re coated in something that I thought was preservative for shipping.”
Hanna ran into the greenhouse, quickly re-emerging with a sack. “Let’s check this stuff out.” She led the procession out the door.
The Queen’s coach approached the dock, only to be stopped before crossing on the planks themselves by Princess Jayne, who was now wearing heavy gloves. “Your Majesty, we’ll need you to come on foot from here!”
The Queen’s attendants assisted the monarch in getting out of the coach. She approached Princess Jayne with purpose. “This better be important, Jayne.”
“It is,” Princess Jayne responded. “It may have something to do with our assassinations.” She guided the Queen to a cordoned off area of the dock. The contents of the Poe Industries crates were now laid out in ordered lines, each of them being dabbed down by Princess Hanna, who also wore gloves while swabbing down the weapons with her jar of salve.
“Hanna, why are you moisturizing these weapons?” Queen Guerrania gave Princess Hanna a quizzical look.
“Disinfecting, Your Majesty.” Princess Hanna stood up and used the back of her hand to brush her hair away from her face, careful to not let the fingers or palms of her gloves touch her skin. “Jayne came to me this morning with an infection from handling these weapons. I’m making sure that they don’t infect anyone else.”
The Queen crouched low to look closely at the assorted implements of death and destruction. Several projectile weapons, including crossbows and black powder weapons, mini-ballistas and slings. A stack of small, round, black objects looking like oversized pearls. Spears, some with compressed air canisters and some without. Some long halberds.
“Someone was preparing for a small war,” the Queen commented.
“Or counting on us to confiscate the stuff,” Princess Jayne added. “All of it was coated with some kind of oil, and after talking it over with Hanna we think all of the stuff’s coated with the decade plague virus.”
Queen Guerrania stood up slowly and backed away from the weapon cache. “And you let me get this close why?”
“Your Majesty, I think we’re looking at supplies for our Darklands assassins. Coating them with this virus would guarantee that they would be the only ones able to handle the equipment.” Princess Hanna stood upright, having treated the final weapon.
“What about the mini-ballista that Tuck confiscated? Shouldn’t that have made her sick?” The Queen continued to back away from the weapons.
“Not necessarily, if the coating wore off before she handled it, it might not have infected her.” Princess Hanna returned to the Queen and Princess Jayne, pulling off her gloves.
“Have you heard from your sister, Hanna?” The Queen took a deep breath.
“Not since the letter,” Princess Hanna responded.
Queen Guerrania and Princess Jayne exchanged confused looks. “What letter?” the Queen asked.
“You know, the letter … the one I asked Helena to forward to you along with my missive last night.”
The Queen sighed. “I didn’t receive any missives last night, Hanna.”
Princess Hanna’s face dropped. “Oh no … someone find Helena!”
Lord Poe was not used to holding these kinds of meetings, but after the new Council of Lords’ first meeting with the new King, he found it absolutely necessary. As such, now he had to listen to three more Lords complain about the weather conditions surrounding his manufacturing facility, complain about getting their cars stuck, about mud and rain.
Lord Poe stood at the head of the table and tapped on it for attention. “Gentlemen, can we please come to some sort of order here?”
The other three Lords turned toward Lord Poe, finally settling in.
“Thank you. Now, as the senior Lord on the Council, sometimes it falls upon me to convene all of us together to discuss matters of state or society. This is what I’m here to discuss with you all today.”
Lord Vengor nodded. “I would prefer to not have these too frequently, Lord Poe, as my congregation needs me available.”
“I understand, Lord Vengor, and I will not take up too much of your time, I promise.” Lord Poe sat down at the table and cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, although I know you have King Guent to thank for your positions as they stand right now, the fact of the matter is King Guent is an unstable madman who if left unchecked will destroy us all.”
Lord Frove stroked his chin thoughtfully, the thick mustache above his mouth rustling as he did. “You’re suggesting …”
“I’m merely stating,” Lord Poe interjected, “that it will be our duty to filter our King’s orders and policies before they reach the people at large.” He motioned toward the door of the conference room. “I don’t know about you, but I have a huge amount of men on the manufacturing floor out there, good men, hardworking men, who count on me to give them their livelihoods. Without me, they would be destitute, and under King Guent would virtually have a death warrant signed for many of them. It will be up to us, then, to rein in the King and keep him under control.”
Lord Laith rubbed his temples. “Lord Poe, you talk treason.”
“Not treason. Reason.” Lord Poe was quick to correct the younger Lord. “Would you rather have the King run roughshod over everyone? Institute every stupid policy that pops into that diseased little brain of his so that he can drink and kill and fuck his way through life without repercussion?” Lord Poe collected himself, realizing the way his outburst sounded. “Gentlemen, we are the future of Litigia. We need to act like it.”
Lord Vengor arched his fingers in front of his mouth. “If we go along with this, Lord Poe, can we ensure our positions won’t be in jeopardy?”
Lord Poe smiled. “I can virtually guarantee it.”
A night’s sleep and a meal had certainly perked up the entire party, none of whom felt the worse for wear after giving their blood. Princess Ramia was the first awake, followed by Tuck, both of whom packed and prepared for the trip venturing further into the wilderness to find the Guild.
Undric came out of his house with more tea, which he offered to the party just as Firnian awoke. “Ah, great, I need this.” She eagerly took a cup from the old man.
“You’ll need all your wits for today, I promise you. And so do I.” He set down the tray and took a cup off of it for himself. Princess Ramia and Tuck took their own cups and started sipping the hot beverage.
“How far to the Guild, Undric?” Tuck asked as she unhooked clasps on her hand.
“About half a day to the north, Your Highness,” Undric replied. “We’ll also have help from the village security contingent, there’s a scheduled shift change so we’ll be accompanied by them on our trip.”
Princess Ramia nodded. “And we hope they don’t stab us in the back when we’re not looking.”
“They won’t,” Undric emphasized. “Not if I’m with you.”
Thaylen was the last to rouse, which was only fitting since he was the last to give his blood. He rubbed his eyes and yawned exaggeratedly. “What time is it?”
Undric lowered the tray down to his grandson. “Time for tea, son.” Thaylen thankfully took the last cup from the tray and sipped eagerly, hoping to wake up. Just as he started drinking, the sound of a large group of men arriving at the village brought everyone’s attention away from the center of the group. Everyone stood to attend to the group.
“Ah, here they are.” Undric walked over to the leader of the group, an envelope in his hand. He handed it over to the captain, who opened it, inspected its contents, then nodded and motioned to the rest of his team of assassins. They began their work of patrolling the streets of the village.
“If you’re ready, we’ll join the previous shift and head back to the Guild.” Undric motioned for the party to follow him. Tuck and Thaylen were first to follow, then Firnian. Bringing up the rear, suspiciously, was Princess Ramia, keeping her hand on her crossbow.
Tuck walked alongside Undric. “What do they take for payment? I noticed you giving that other assassin leader an envelope.”
Undric chuckled. “They don’t ask for much. They can’t really. We pay them in ingredients for the decade plague suppressant, so they can recreate it on their own. It was the deal when we first set up our security agreement with the Guild.”
“Have you ever spoken to the Guild leader?” Thaylen queried.
“Never the actual leader,” Undric replied. “My dealing is mainly with a lieutenant. Hungras, I think his name is? I’m never sure, it’s hard with those guys since they’re so noncommunicative.”
The party continued into the depths of the forest, surrounded on all sides in an uneasy truce by a circle of assassins, continuing toward the home of the killers.
Princess Hanna shuffled her way back into her greenhouse. The meeting at the Central Palace had gone much later than she had expected, leaving her in desperate need of sleep. Helena noticed her re-entering the building and slumping down in a chair, and immediately ran over to her side.
“Are you all right, Your Highness?” Helena crouched in front of the seated Princess, taking her hand. “Let me get you to your room.”
Princess Hanna shook her head. “I’m okay, How’s the tree …?”
“Thriving, just like you said it would, I managed to finish the job.” Helena helped Princess Hanna to her feet. “Here, let me help you.”
Princess Hanna suddenly felt very weak. “I appreciate that, thank you.” She smiled over at Helena.
The attendant returned the smile, then her face took a shocked expression. “Oh, I almost forgot. You had a missive come while you were gone. I didn’t read it yet.”
Princess Hanna nodded. “Let me see it. You keep helping me, okay?”
“Of course, Your Highness.” She handed over her hand slate to the exhausted Princess, continuing to help her shuffle through the hallways, as Princess Hanna opened up the new missive.
She was attentive right away, although she did not have the energy to show it. The missive was from her sister.
Hanna –
By the time you read this, most likely you and the rest of the Royal Corps will have noticed our absence. We have gone into the Darklands, looking for answers to our current situation directly from the Darklands Assassin Guild. I’m not sure how long this trip will take, but we will return as soon as we have answers. I have taken Princess Imogen and her Litigian refugees with me, as I have a feeling they will come in handy.
Please, convince the Royal Corps not to do anything drastic in our absence. No matter what, Litigia is most likely not the culprit of the assassinations. If anything, they may be a victim as well. We are getting to the bottom of this situation as soon as possible.
Hold down the fort for me, sis. I love you.
Ramia
Princess Hanna clutched the hand slate to her chest tightly, just as Helena’s ministrations had brought her into her bedroom, and she was being laid out on the bed. She handed the hand slate back to Helena.
“Could you do me one more favor before you go home tonight?”
“Of course,” Helena responded, “anything, Your Highness.”
“Compose a missive to the Queen on my behalf, and attach the missive I just got tonight to it. She’ll want to know what my sister is up to.”
Helena nodded. “As you wish, Your Highness. You get some rest now, you look like the living dead.”
Princess Hanna smirked. “Thanks a lot. Have a good …” she yawned loudly. “… night.” The Princess’s head dropped to the pillow, and after five seconds her breathing was slow and rhythmic, indicating she was asleep.
Helena looked at the missive in the hand slate. She moved the missive to one side, tapping a button to delete it, then opening a new missive of her own.
Ramia and Imogen in Darklands. Strike now.
Lord Poe would not admit it to anyone, but these long days, despite the exhaustion they caused, were good ones for him, profitable ones. He had completed his most recent check of the assembly floor, and was slumped behind his desk.
“My Lord,” an attendant called from his door.
Lord Poe realized he was slightly dozing off. He shook his head awake. “Yes, Jeffrey?”
“My Lord, urgent missive for you.”
Lord Poe groaned. “Great, another missive from Son of Shitbird, what does he want?” He took a hand slate from Jeffrey, thanking him before dismissing him. He opened the missive and read its brief contents.
His eyes darkened. “Jeffrey, please come back in here!”
Jeffrey rushed back in the door. “Yes, my Lord?”
“I need a missive composed. Send it to the caterer.” Lord Poe scribbled down a message for Jeffrey to pass along. The attendant took the small note from his Lord, reading it aloud.
“Let me make sure I’m reading this correctly. You want to order baby onions, pickled corn, and strawberries?”
Lord Poe nodded. “That’s correct. Send it, as soon as possible.”
Jeffrey nodded. “As you wish, my Lord.” He turned and exited the room. Lord Poe picked up the hand slate, tapping a new missive.
Events in motion. Will give the word for strike.
Princess Anyia resumed her work at her desk, the candlelight still flickering strongly at her desk. Every once in a while, her hand would cramp up, forcing her to stop writing temporarily to rub the cramp out.
During one of these stops, her hand slate on her desk began vibrating. She picked up the hand slate and read the message contained. She nodded, closing the missive and setting down the hand slate. She closed up her archive book and slipped it back on the shelf, stretching.
Princess Anyia’s attendant stepped into the room. “Is it time to close up for the night?”
The Princess nods. “Yes, ah, it seems that, ah, my body can’t keep up with, ah, these late nights as much as I used to be able to.” She cracked her neck gently. “Go ahead and, ah, go to bed as well. We’ll continue this, ah, in the morning.”
The attendant bowed. “Very good, Your Highness. Good night.”
Princess Anyia smiled and waved. “Good night, Bess.” The attendant stepped back out of the library room. Princess Anyia, though, did not leave. She made her way to the back corner of the library, into the shadows of which she soon disappeared.
Three collection bags of blood had already been drawn, now lying filled on their sides next to the kit. Princess Ramia, Tuck, and Firnian had moved outside, to get food and recover from the process. Undric was left with the final member of the party, his grandson Thaylen.
The younger Halder offered his arm. “This will do it?”
Undric nodded. “It will. Completely.” The elder Halder installed the needle on the draw hose, using a cotton ball soaked in alcohol to swab Thaylen’s arm. “Okay, son, clench a fist for me.”
Thaylen did as he was told. The metal of the needle felt cold as it slid its way into Thaylen’s vein, and soon enough the red fluid of life was flowing through the hose, out of Thaylen’s body and into the collection bag.
Thaylen winced slightly as he re-shifted his position to his back, holding his arm on his chest, making sure not to kink the hose. Undric checked the other three bags, then returned his attention to Thaylen. He studied the man’s figure, lying on the couch.
Undric raised an eyebrow. “So I’m going to assume my son has no idea you’re a girl, right?”
Thaylen’s eyes widened. “What?”
“Relax, boy, it’s okay.” Undric raised his hands. “I’m not going to expose you before you’re wanting me to.”
Thaylen sighed deeply. “My friends already know.” He looked up at Undric. “I had to tell them. Especially Firnian, she was the first.”
Undric smiled. “Probably a little obvious, if you know what I mean.”
Thaylen chuckled softly, then focused on the old man’s eyes. “It’s only fair you should know, on our way here we got word that … well … your son is dead.”
Undric lowered his eyes respectfully. “I see.” He cleared his throat. “So why is the heir to the throne in the Darklands?”
“Because I’m not the heir. My brother Guent is.” Tears formed in Thaylen’s eyes. “Guent would be just as happy to have me executed, right after outing me. The man has no morality other than that which gains him power.”
This gave Undric pause. He brushed Thaylen’s hair gently with his thumb. “He’s like I was, long long ago.” He coughed. “When I was a leader of men, I didn’t care who got hurt so long as the end result was my power rising, my esteem growing, my reputation being strengthened.” He focused in on the young man’s eyes. “When I look in your eyes, I see all of the potential that I wasted in my utter lust for power. Things I didn’t realize I had missed until I had a fatal disease and was shunned from my society.”
Undric absently looked over at the bag. Only half full. Thaylen reached out with his free hand for Undric’s shoulder. “But you’re alive now, all these years later. You’re the rightful King, you should come home, take the throne away from Guent.”
Undric’s features took on the look of regret. “I am an old man, Thaylen. Too old to take back my crown. I’ve already been shunned and left here to die, forty years and counting, and yet somehow I continue to live. I lead these poor souls.” He motioned toward his window. “This is my kingdom now. It is a kingdom where we all work together toward a common good and a common goal, where no one holds their power in higher esteem than anyone else.” He sighed deeply. “It’s much, I imagine, like Technasia’s system, a meritocracy. And I am happy here, above all else I’m happy to be a part of something much bigger than myself.”
Thaylen allowed tears to fall finally. “Then Litigia is truly lost. Without a leavening influence, Guent’s thirst for power will lead to war and destruction.”
Undric smiled warmly. “Not necessarily. Maybe in our own way we can steer your brother away from his destructive path.” He looked over at the bag. “Ah, it appears your contribution is complete.”
Thaylen twisted his head around to see the bag, now just as full as the other three. Undric placed another alcohol-soaked cotton ball at the needle’s entry point, quickly sliding the needle out of Thaylen’s arm. Instant stinging burn overcame the young man as the alcohol hit the newly opened pinhole wound in his arm, but at Undric’s urging he held the cotton ball to the spot dutifully.
“You should join your friends, son. I think they’re out in the town square getting dinner. Once you’re all recovered, I’ll take you to the Guild.”
Interis felt the missive arrive on his hand slate before anyone else did. He pulled it out and found there were two simultaneous missives for him to consider. He reached for a piece of nearby parchment paper and a pen before opening the first missive.
To: 580257
Order: Bachelor Party, prime guest
Extras: baby onions, pickled corn, strawberries
Location: royal palace of Litigia
Interis scrawled down the details of the missive, his mind working through the codes presented by the communications. He opened the second missive.
To: 580257
Order: Girls’ Night Out, prime guest
Extras: deviled eggs, beer kegs, chicken legs
Location: Central Palace of Technasia
Chuckling at the rhyme within the code, Interis scrawled the details of the second missive. He looked over his handiwork, comparing the two missions and missives against each other. With his parchment in hand, he walked out of the throne room and into the general living space.
Hungras stood, looking over toward a group of newly minted assassins, receiving the stitching of their lips. Interis tapped the larger man on the shoulder, making him turn around.
“My lord, what can I do for you?”
Interis handed Hungras the sheet. “I need teams for these assignments. Do you have anyone you can send?”
Hungras considered the two sets of instructions. “I might have some specialists for the Litigia assignment, maybe I can get some recruits. Technasia, though, that one’s going to be tough, not a lot of the guys want to go there.”
Interis looked down at one of the new assassins. “Did you just get here?”
The new man nodded eagerly.
“Do you have a problem with going to Technasia?”
The man nodded again, indicating he was scared. Interis reached down and grabbed the man by the stitches holding his mouth shut, making him whimper in fear. “NOW do you have a problem with going to Technasia?”
The man shook his head this time, not wanting to be killed by his new lord. Interis released his grip on the newcomer’s stitches, then turned back to Hungras.
“See? One. Follow my lead and get these assignments set. By the rise of the next full moon, we will have forced new leadership in both nations, and our coffers will be that much fatter.”
The Council of Lords meeting room was more bustling than it had been in the past few days. With only one Lord left, there had not been much of a Council to consult with. Now that King Guent held the throne, all that was changing. He motioned for all of the Lords to come to order as he stood at the head of the table.
“Gentlemen, Lords, please come to order. A bit of introduction is in order, I believe.” The new King slammed a mace down on the table. “Lord Poe, as you know, is the primary Lord here, but let’s have all of you fine gentlemen introduce yourselves.”
Lord Poe observed each of the new Lords as they stood up around the table and named themselves and their holdings, starting with the Lord on King Guent’s left hand. He stood up nervously. “Yes, Your Majesty. My name is Brestian Laith, and I am the founder of Litigia’s largest livestock collective.”
Lord Poe stood up. “Lord Laith, welcome to the Council.”
The next man next to Lord Laith stood up, as Lord Poe sat down. “Your Majesty, Lords, my name is Killin Frove, and my holdings include several car manufacturers and transport agencies around Litigia.”
Lord Poe stood up once again. “Lord Frove, welcome to the Council.” He sat back down. His back was already aching, from all of the ceremony King Guent was forcing him to stand on.
The third new Lord, sitting between Lords Frove and Poe, stood up at last. “Your Majesty, Lords, let me introduce myself, my name is Majer Vengor, and I am the chief financial officer of the Litigian church.”
Lord Poe almost stood up again, but realized what Lord Vengor had said. He turned to King Guent. “You invited the church’s money man to be a Lord?”
King Guent clutched his chair. “What’s wrong with that?”
“We’re supposed to have a dividing wall between the state and the church. We’ve never had clergy on the Council before.”
King Guent stood up threateningly. “Lord Poe, you will do your duty. I can always replace you too.”
Lord Poe cleared his throat. “My apologies, Your Majesty.” He stood up. “Lord Vengor, welcome to the Council.” He sat down quickly before any more repercussions could come to him from King Guent.
For his part, the King clasped his hands in front of him in a pleased posture. “Well now, gentlemen, allow me to set forth our mission statement for the nation, under the new leadership.” He laid out a sheet of paper, which contained a list. “Read this list and memorize it. This is our game plan for returning Litigia to the glory that it has always deserved, in the past and in the future. Read it, memorize it, worship it. This is your life’s motivation now.”
The men passed the sheet around the table. Eventually it made its way to Lord Poe, who took note of each of the items listed.
1. Restore respect for God to government.
2. Re-establish societal roles: men will be men and women will know their place.
3. Eliminate all dissent within our borders.
4. Strengthen our position in the world community.
5. Undermine Technasia to remain ahead of them in every way.
6. Serve the King.
Lord Poe resisted the urge to wrinkle his nose in disgust at the list. He simply handed it back to the King. “And how exactly do you expect to enact this policy on a wide scale, Your Majesty?”
King Guent smiled and chuckled. “That’s why I’ve chosen each of these men to lead. That’s why you’re still here, Poe. Each of you has a role to serve in meeting our goals. Lord Vengor, you are our point man in the church, you will be responsible for enforcing our bond with the church and ensuring that the people know it is God’s will that their government does what it does. As the arbiters of morality as well, it is up to your group also to enforce the society. So long as it is within my power, there will never be a repeat of Lord Moethran’s ascent to a position that she did not have the cock for.”
The Lords mumbled in agreement. Lord Poe’s mumble was quietest.
“As far as the other points, Lords Laith and Frove have the perfect industries for that. You control much of the populace’s daily life, between transportation and food. If there is going to be dissent, you will be the ones on the front line to dispel it by removing your products from the market. If the people want to disagree with me, then they’ll be doing it on foot on starvation rations.”
He turned to Lord Poe. “You, my friend, my best Lord, you are the one who will ensure that the world knows Litigian might.”
Lord Poe cleared his throat gently. “I already noted that you multiplied the nation’s order from us.”
“That I did,” King Guent admitted, “and I will continue to multiply it so long as it takes to bring the world to the way of Litigia, to the way of my vision.” King Guent stood up. “I have had a vision for this nation, gentlemen. I have had a glorious, beautiful vision, for our Kingdom, for the world. This world is tormented, it’s broken, it’s in turmoil. No one seems to know how to fix things, no one seeks out solutions for their problems. Everyone looks for change, looks for progress. But what if the answer is not in the future but in the past?”
The Lords shifted in their seats.
“My Lords, this is the solution. We bring the world itself back to the traditions that made it great. We return to the era when men truly ruled the world. We return to a time where a man’s judgement went unquestioned by the women underneath him. We need to go back to a time when might backed up policy. Join me, gentlemen, join me in my great vision. Together, you and I, we shall bring the world together. One world, under one nation, under one King.”
To punctuate his words, King Guent placed his foot on the table, striking a heroic pose. The Lords leapt to their feet and clapped enthusiastically for their King.
Lord Poe applauded all the same, but kept a darkness in his subconscious. He would support his King, until such time as his King became too much of a burden.
The interior of the house was a bit more kempt than the exterior. The four visitors sitting in the living room of the place kept their guards up, looking uncomfortable despite the plush softness of the furniture in which they sat.
Firnian was the first one to say anything. “So. Undric Halder, huh?”
Thaylen shrugged. “I don’t know him. I have a grandfather named Undric, but this can’t be him, he’d have to be … oh God, about 110 years old by now.”
Princess Ramia leaned forward. “Well he seems pretty sure that you’re family. I don’t know about you, but I’d use that to my advantage if I were you.”
Thaylen looked confused. “What do you mean?”
“Win his trust,” Tuck responded. “Just like when Firnian visited me the first night. Get him to trust you, get him to believe in you, and maybe we can get some information about the assassins.”
“Speaking of which …” Princess Ramia casually looked out the window of the house. Three of the Darklands Assassins who had assaulted their coach stood guard outside the window, one hand behind and the other holding a spear. “These people seem to have a pretty good relationship with the Guild. So I think Tuck’s plan is probably the best.”
Undric came walking into the room, carrying a tray holding an antique teapot and five cups. Steam rose from the spout of the teapot, filling the air with aromatic scents that were all at once sweet and slightly earthy. “I do apologize, we don’t have the best tea resources here, but we grow our own pretty well, and it tastes decent if we mix it with stuff.” He helpfully poured cups of tea for each of the people in the room, cups which they all wisely let sit so they could cool.
Thaylen cleared his throat. “So … how did you get here, Undric?”
Undric smiled. “Ah, that’s a story.” He settled back in his chair. “Around the time of the first great continental war, when we had the first outbreak of the decade plague, my garrison was fighting close to this area. Fighting is probably a loose term here, we were mostly shitting ourselves with fear and dropping dead from exhaustion, but we were trying to put up a fight at least.”
Thaylen reached for his cup of tea. “What became of your men?”
Undric sighed. “All dead. If it wasn’t the Technasians, or the exhaustion, it wound up being the plague. I wound up with it too. Those of us who survived found our way into the wilderness. We made a pact not to bring this back to Litigia, so we couldn’t return home.” Undric looked over at Thaylen. “Really hard to do when you’re a king, but if you have a capable heir at home, it’s not so much.”
Thaylen felt his heart leap into his throat. “So you are the Undric … King Undric, my …”
Firnian completed the sentence. “You’re his grandfather.”
Undric smiled. “It’s good to see that the Litigian royal family is in good hands.”
“I wish,” Firnian scoffed.
“Um, excuse me, Your Majesty,” Tuck interjected, “but I was wondering if you would be able to help us out.”
“Please,” Undric waved off the honorific. “I haven’t been King for 40 years, it’s not for me to respond to ‘Your Majesty’ anymore. Turgen is the King now.”
All four guests exchanged nervous looks between each other. “Um …” Firnian began.
Thaylen quieted her. “We’re looking to speak with the Darklands Assassins Guild. We noticed you have some assassins living here, and …”
“Oh, them?” Undric pointed out the window. “They’re not residents. We have them on loan from the Guild as security forces. They’re not going to hurt anybody, just scare them away so we can keep our privacy, just like we like it.”
Princess Ramia nodded. “While I can understand that, sir, we still were hoping you could get us a name of a contact within the Guild that we could speak with concerning some activity outside of the Darklands.”
Undric stroked his chin. “I suppose I could, but it’s going to cost you.”
Princess Ramia smirked. “Name your price.”
Undric stood up, crossing the room until he was at the mantel of a nearby fireplace. From the mantel, he picked up a small jar, bringing it back to the tea table. “This is part of Princess Giana’s cure. She has been treating us with it for a few months now.” He opened the cork of the jar, which allowed a putrid smell to escape. “It’s not pretty to taste, or to smell, or to look at, but by God it works like a son of a bitch. Problem is, it’s incomplete.”
All of the guests watched intently as Undric set the jar down. He pulled a book out from under the table.
“She wrote down some information for me on her last trip here.” He flipped through the book, a lengthy journal, until he found the right page. “Here it is. So as it exists right now, this medicine will suppress the decade plague, leave it dormant so that it won’t spread and won’t flare up, so we won’t die and we won’t be contagious. However, it needs an additional ingredient to eradicate the plague entirely.” He looked around at the others. “I will take you to the Guild if you can supply me the final ingredient.”
Tuck looked over at Princess Ramia. “What do you think?”
“If it’s simple, sure. Is it simple?” Princess Ramia’s question was innocent enough.
“Oh yes, but it’s costly. It requires four pints of non-infected blood.”
Firnian blanched. Thaylen held her upright, afraid that she was going to faint. Princess Ramia and Tuck sighed, then turned back toward Undric. “One pint from each of us?” Tuck finally asked.
Undric nodded.
“Okay, we’ll do it.” Tuck came over to Undric, offering her arm. “Take mine first, I’m used to pain.” She offered her regular arm to the elderly host.
Undric stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I don’t have the equipment to draw the blood properly right here. If I tried, I’d infect you with the decade plague, and even though it’s dormant you probably wouldn’t appreciate that.” He stood up. “I believe I have a blood draw kit in my closet, though. If you’ll excuse me.” He turned and walked out of the room, back toward the hallway.
Princess Ramia took Tuck by the metal arm. “Are you crazy? I’m not letting this guy take my blood!” She looked panicked.
“You have a better idea? He said it’s to finish Giana’s final legacy.”
Princess Ramia groaned. “No, he said it was to finish a weird potion that may or may not work, and for all we know has nothing to do with Giana.”
“Either way, he said he’d take us to the guild if we did it. Are you willing to pass that chance up, to get to the bottom of things?” Princess Ramia relented, sitting back on the couch. Tuck looked toward Firnian and Thaylen. “What about you two? Willing to help?”
Firnian rubbed her arm protectively. Thaylen, though, was already rolling up a sleeve. “Let’s do it. We need to stop the killing, and I need to have a chance to talk my brother out of things.”
Firnian snorted. “Not fucking likely.” She rolled her eyes and then rolled her own sleeve up. “All right, in for a penny in for a pound. Let’s do this.”
Princess Ramia looked around at her companions on this trip. Her breathing came quicker. She clutched her own arm. “I don’t want to.” Her voice was far from its usual commanding tone now, it was small and weak.
“What is it, Ramia?” Tuck prodded.
Princess Ramia shook her head violently. “No, I can’t do this! I …” She was hyperventilating. “I’m afraid … of blood … of bleeding …”
Tuck put her metal arm on Princess Ramia’s shoulder. Even though it wasn’t living, it felt warm and reassuring to the panicking Princess. “Relax, Ramia. It’ll be okay. Let’s just get through this, and then we can get to the Guild. We’re nearly at our answers, this is just the price of admission.”
Princess Ramia swallowed hard. She unhooked her coat, rolling up her left sleeve. “I guess so.”
Undric chose this moment to re-enter the room, a full medical kit in his hand. He observed every one of his guests sporting an exposed arm, ready to have blood drawn. “Well, that’s more like it.” He set the kit down on the table. “Just sit tight, folks, we’ll get this taken care of quickly, and then when you’re ready I’ll take you where you need to be.”
Princess Guerrania settled into her seat, tapping her fingertips on the table. “My friends, I appreciate that you made it to this meeting at such short notice, but I do apologize that it comes under such dire straits.”
This got everyone on the edge of their seats immediately. Princess Hanna, uncharacteristically, was the first one to speak. “How dire are we talking, Your Majesty?”
“Dire as in our security is at immediate risk, Hanna.” The Queen held up a missive. “This came from the official Litigian information bureau. Our neighbor to the south has a new King, and unfortunately that new ruler is Guent Halder.”
Princess Jayne stroked her chin. “Why is that unfortunate?”
“King, ah, Guent is known to be, ah, quite violent and, ah, impulsive,” Princess Anyia responded. “He has been, ah, known to use, ah, assassination and threats of violence to, ah, pass policy on, ah, his father’s behalf.”
“On top of that,” the Queen continued, “I’ve faced him in war before. As a fifteen year old, Guent bullied his way into commanding a Litigian regiment during our last conflict. The tactics he used on the battlefield were no less than barbaric. He believes in scorched earth strategy, leave no man behind to tell the tale, total conquest, that sort of thing. Knowing what Litigia has in their arsenal, this is a highly dangerous situation with Guent on the throne.”
Princess Hanna raised her hand shyly. “What about Thaylen? Would he be able to have an influence, maybe calm Guent down?”
“Hardly,” Queen Guerrania responded. “When he and Lord Moethran asked for asylum, he specifically cited threats to his life by his brother as a reason for his wanting to flee. I think with his brother on the throne, it would only be a matter of time before Thaylen was humiliated, exposed, and killed, simply for his crime of being older than Guent.”
Princess Anyia opened her archive. “King Guent is, ah, similar to a previous, ah, monarch Litigia has had, his, ah, grandfather Undric. Very, ah, similar in terms of, ah, their ferocity within, ah, their own borders and, ah, in warfare.”
Queen Guerrania nodded. “I recall history lessons about the damage we took at the hands of Undric Halder.” The Queen folded the missive. “This is complicating everything going on within the nation, not the least of which being the investigation of the assassination attempts in the last week. And unfortunately, we can’t hear any progress on that from the Princess Law, since Ramia has taken Tuck and our Litigian guests with her on some kind of fact-finding mission.”
The younger Princesses looked around at the others at the table. “I wish they were here. I found something at the docks, there were Litigian weapons being smuggled in on a ship that we confiscated earlier today.”
The Queen stood up suddenly. “How many?”
“Hard to say.” Princess Jayne pulled the bill of lading from the suspect vessel out of her pocket and laid it out on the table. “According to the waybill the ship was carrying six crates supplied by Poe Industries, which I was asked to watch out for by Princess Imogen.”
Princess Anyia felt a shiver. “What, ah, did those, ah, crates contain, ah, Jayne?”
“I only broke open one, and the contents themselves broke when they hit the deck of the ship, but there were enough loose parts to build maybe four of those mini-ballistas like the one you guys had me carry into Tuck’s room.”
Queen Guerrania nodded. “Understood.” She clapped twice, calling for one of her attendants, who came rushing up to the table. “Send an urgent missive to all border checkpoints. We will be increasing the manpower at the border, by at least two regiments at each checkpoint. Also, I need to institute a conscription order, we’ll need more troops if we’re going to defend against Guent’s brand of insanity.”
“As you wish, Your Majesty.” The attendant bowed and left.
“Is that really necessary?” Princess Hanna shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
“I’m, ah, afraid so, ah, Hanna,” Princess Anyia responded before the Queen could. “Since we, ah, don’t keep our, ah, standing army numbers at, ah, Litigian levels we have to, ah, issue conscriptions when, ah, we anticipate a time of war.”
“Don’t worry about what I’m doing,” Queen Guerrania interrupted. “Worry about your own corners of the nation. Anyia, you keep working your books. Jayne, keep working your docks.” The Queen turned completely to face Princess Hanna. “And Hanna, your job is twofold. First, you keep working your plants. Second, you find some way to get in touch with your sister and find out where the hell she is, why she took Tuck and the Litigians with her, and when they’re planning on getting back here. For all we know, we won’t be able to get them back depending on where they are.”
The three Princesses nodded, rising from the table as their Queen did. “You have our, ah, loyalty,” Princess Anyia assured her Queen.
“Good,” Queen Guerrania responded. “Let’s save our nation before things get too violent.”
Their guide was surefooted through the brush and felled trees, but Tuck and Princess Ramia were not quite so while following him. The same was magnified for Firnian and Thaylen, who straggled far behind. The group had been working its way through the forest for what seemed like an hour, on the promise that they were headed for a village, although how they were going to carry any supplies back to their caravan was getting to be more and more of a quandary.
“We’re almost there,” the guide assured the group. “Can’t miss it, look for the houses.”
Tuck used her prosthesis to clear branches out from her way, finally looking up. Above the treeline, she spotted the peak of a roof. “Look, there! We really are almost there.”
Princess Ramia looked up with the younger Princess. “Good, I need to clear my boots.” With renewed vigor, the group fought their way through the underbrush, finally emerging upon, to their surprise, a paved street. The house Tuck had spotted was the largest one on the street, although every house seemed fairly large, and all of them were in a state of disrepair. The center of the street had been converted to a meeting square, complete with a bonfire pit.
What struck Firnian the hardest as she emerged helping Thaylen through were the people. All of them appeared to be ragged, many bore the scars of disease or violence. Even the children, what few there were, were haggard. One child in particular took an interest in Firnian and came up to her, handing her a ball.
She crouched down to eye level with the child, a girl of no more than six years of age, with no hair and only half of her nose remaining. Her flesh was the same angry red, scarred with disease just like their guide’s. Firnian took the ball from the girl. “For me?”
The girl smiled and nodded. “You’re so pretty. Are you a Princess, like Lady Giana?”
Firnian chuckled. “I’m sorry, no, but thank you.” She looked up and saw three other children. “Here, you take this, and play with your friends.”
The child blushed as she took the ball back from Firnian, bouncing it along as she ran back over to her friends, continuing their ballgame. As Firnian stood back up, Thaylen put his hand on her shoulder.
“What?”
“Have you ever considered motherhood?” Thaylen asked playfully.
“Oh shut up,” Firnian scolded. “She came up to me, I just was being friendly.”
“That was downright maternal,” Thaylen chuckled as he spoke. “Come on, let’s catch up with the others.”
Firnian nodded, walking quicker alongside her lover to catch up with the two Princesses. As they caught up, they caught Princess Ramia’s question.
“… you’re saying that everyone here recovered from the decade plague?”
The guide nodded. “All of us were afflicted with it, and while we would recover and get better, others would get the plague, it would kill one or two, then go dormant and arise again.” The guide cleared his throat softly. “Princess Giana brought a younger one with her, really good with plants, and they developed a way to force the plague to go permanently dormant.”
Tuck raised an eyebrow. “The younger one … good with plants … that was Princess Hanna, wasn’t it?”
The guide nodded. “She always told me she didn’t want anyone to know she was on these missions. Said her sister would disapprove.”
Princess Ramia harrumphed. “I wouldn’t have disapproved if she had just told me about it.”
The guide raised what was left of his eyebrows. “You’re the sister?”
“You’re damn right,” Princess Ramia retorted. “What was the big deal about keeping this secret?”
“Because plaguebearers still hold a stigma, even in your enlightened nation,” a gruff voice interrupted. Everyone in the group turned their attention to the newcomer, a much older man, powerfully built, walking with a cane because most of his left foot was missing. He considered the group through long, white eyebrows grown out to nearly cover his eyes, his entire face drooping. “Stupid people, you can’t solve intolerance just by putting the women in charge, there’s always something for people to hate and be intolerant of no matter what. It just shifts.” The older man shuffled closer to the group. He came face-to-face with Tuck, chuffing breath in her face, his breath carrying the odor of not-quite-healed disease.
Tuck coughed. “I’m sorry you feel that way, sir.”
“It’s the truth though,” the old man barked. He approached Firnian, considered her, then came over to Thaylen. The old man peered deeply into the former Prince’s face, considering it for a long time. “You’re a Halder, aren’t you?”
Thaylen swallowed hard “Um … yes I am? Or was, anyway?”
The old man started chuckling, a high pitched warble that turned into full-throated laughter. He suddenly wrapped his arms around Thaylen, nearly picking him up off of the ground. Thaylen wriggled, trying to get free of the unwanted embrace.
“Do … do you know this guy?” Firnian asked Thaylen finally.
“I don’t think I do,” he responded.
“But I know a Halder when I see one,” the old man responded. “I know family.” He turned back to the Princesses. “I’m sorry, I should have introduced myself, I am the premier of this village.” He extended his hand to Princess Ramia. “Your Highnesses, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name is Undric Halder.”
Although it was usually dark and overcast in the Litigian capital city, on this day the sun shone down upon the proceedings. A long procession of soldiers, military equipment in tow, paced down the central drive, displaying all of their glory for the general citizenry assembled.
That citizenry stood quietly, attentive. The men and women lining the road were for the most part living in abject poverty. Some were better off than others, the tradesmen and shopkeepers had a better life than most of their neighbors, but everyone lived far below their rulers, the Lords and the King. The women of the realm had it worse, not being employable by consequence of their social station within the country. The few who vocalized anything were reduced to meaningless giggling by the devices forcibly strapped to their necks.
The line of soldiers seemed endless. It stretched through the entire city, and even out into the countryside. Behind the grand procession came an open coach carrying the newly-ascended King, Guent, who waved with aplomb to his new subjects.
Riding with him in the open coach, Lord Poe crossed his arms. “Isn’t this a bit too ostentatious for the situation? I mean, your father did just die.”
Guent scoffed at the suggestion. “I think I deserve to live it up a bit. I spent so long waiting to take my place on the throne, I think everyone can spare me some ceremony.”
Lord Poe sighed. “If you say so.” He turned to the empty seats in the coach, places that should have been occupied by Lords Jair, Qine, and Moethran. Of course, Lord Poe reminded himself, they’re empty because of their own foolish futility. Jair and Qine were dead for getting in the way, much as Moethran was banished for the same reason. He looked up to Guent, to the man who would be King.
“So, Your Majesty, have you any ideas as to who you will be inviting to join the Council?”
Guent continued waving. “I have, and I’ve decided that I don’t need the Council to be the same as my father had it. I need Lords from different industries, who aren’t nearly as consequential as the others were.” He shot a stern look at Lord Poe. “Would you not agree, Lord Poe, that we can run this country virtually by ourselves?”
Lord Poe cleared his throat. “Well, there are certain limits to our knowledge …”
Guent’s face turned icy. “Don’t bring me down today by telling me I’m limited. I’m the fucking King. I’m limited by no man and no thing in this mortal realm.”
Lord Poe swallowed hard. “As you wish, Your Majesty.” He turned away from the young King, toward the faces of the people who stood along the parade route. Every single one of them appeared to be at gunpoint, showing feigned enthusiasm. He sighed and placed his chin in his hand; Guent wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. As far as he was concerned, the people loved him, and anyone who didn’t was dead.
The procession made its way to the Litigian royal palace, to the base of the steps. At the top, the reigning archbishop of the Litigian church stood in full vestments, the crown of office sitting on a pedestal next to him. Attendants opened the door of the coach and bowed deeply as Guent exited, making his way slowly up the steps to the side of the archbishop. Lord Poe followed at a respectable distance, stopping halfway up the steps.
The archbishop raised his arms to the assembled crowds. “Dearly beloved, my friends, we come here in celebration, to laud and glorify our new King, ordained by God as ruler of our great nation of Litigia. His is an awesome burden, that of maintaining the peace and the sovereignty of all Litigia, of maintaining our place in the world, of keeping Litigia and her people safe from all threats internal and external.”
The archbishop reached for the crown, but was stopped by Guent’s hand reaching greedily for it. This caught the clergyman by surprise.
“Your Majesty, it is traditional that the King bow to me to be coronated.” The archbishop sounded almost offended.
Guent smirked. “Please. I am your King. There is no authority in Litigia higher than mine. I am the most powerful man in the world now.” He raised the crown high above him. “I hereby claim my birthright! I am your King!”
He slammed the crown down on his own head. Shocked murmurs were heard coursing through the assembled people, even through the applause from those who felt it safer to go along with their King’s wishes. Lord Poe was among this group, applauding as fervently as he would have if the coronation had gone normally.
Firnian and Thaylen were only awakened in the coach by the rays of the first sunlight of morning shining down into their eyes. Firnian yawned loudly, rubbing her eyes awake. “Jesus, shit, what …?”
Princess Ramia smirked. She had dark circles around her eyes, showing her restlessness, but was as sharp as ever. “Good morning. Your king is dead.”
Thaylen was immediately upright. He took Princess Ramia’s hand slate from her, reading the missive. His eyes started glistening, as he turned to Firnian. “She’s right. Father’s dead, Guent is the King now.”
Firnian scowled at the missive. “Fucking psychopath is going to get everyone killed, Litigian and Technasian alike.”
Princess Ramia took her hand slate back. “Unfortunately, that’s the reality we’re working with now. That makes our job even more important, we need to get to the bottom of this.”
Tuck suddenly lifted her head up, almost like she had heard something instinctively. She looked out the window. “There’s someone out there.”
“What?” Princess Ramia responded. “We haven’t seen anyone around all night.”
“I just heard …”
A yelp outside the coach drew the occupants to the window. One of the group’s escort soldiers had been shot off of his horse, a spear sticking out through his chest. Tuck’s ears twitched as she heard another shot. “Get down!”
All four occupants crouched below the windows as four spears went flying through the glass, creating sparkling shrapnel all around the occupants. Princess Ramia readied her crossbow, but Tuck held her back.
“What? I gotta fight back!”
“But where are you going to shoot? We’re in a dense forest, you won’t have an open shot on anyone if you stand up, you’ll just make yourself a target.”
Tuck’s admonishment made Princess Ramia rethink her plan. “Then what do we do?”
“I might have a suggestion,” Firnian offered, reaching into a traveling bag she had brought with her. She extracted a small round, black item, looking like a polished pebble. She scraped it against her teeth and tossed it out of the broken coach window. This was followed shortly afterward by an explosion and a yelp, as another spear flew harmlessly past. Tuck took the opportunity, stretching her metal arm and aiming out the window, firing off her forearm to catch the spear and bring it back inside.
Princess Ramia had a bemused expression on her face. “Nice. How’d you sneak that past my security cordons at the border?”
Firnian handed another one of the explosives to Princess Ramia. “Most people think these are oversized black pearls, so I don’t correct them. It’s really simple to smuggle stuff like this.”
Princess Ramia made a mental note to warn her border guards about these hidden weapons when she returned to the Central Palace, then returned to the task at hand. She stood up quickly to look for a target, crossbow at the ready. Sixteen angry assassins greeted her, weapons at the ready, all flanking the railings of the coach.
Tuck stood up with her. “Ramia, drop your weapon.”
“They’re going to attack, Tuck, I have to defend myself.”
“Dammit, drop your weapon or we’re all dead!” Tuck’s voice was insistent. She looked down at the other occupants, motioning for them to stand up with her. She placed her hands behind her head. “I won’t attack, I won’t hurt you. We’ve been looking for you.”
The group of assassins mutely looked between each other. All of them had their lips similarly sewn shut, like the assassin captured in Technasia, and as such none of them could speak. They all stepped down from the rails of the coach.
Princess Ramia looked pale, but turned to Tuck. “You just seriously stuck your head in a hornet’s nest here, girl. What would have happened if they’d killed us all?”
Tuck shrugged. “I figured they might be more cooperative if we weren’t an immediate threat.” She sighed deeply. “I suppose that’s one lesson I took from Princess Giana.”
Princess Ramia nodded, lowering her face. “Me too. I should’ve listened to her more closely.” She holstered her crossbow.
“I’m sorry,” a voice called out to the group, “did you say ‘Princess Giana?’”
Immediately Tuck, Firnian, and Thaylen were looking around for the source of the voice. Princess Ramia raised her voice. “We did. What about her?”
A rustling sound came from the shadows. “We know her. We’ve worked with her.”
Tuck motioned for everyone to put on their surgical masks. Firnian and Thaylen complied, as Tuck slipped hers on. Princess Ramia was too focused on the conversation though. “Were you a patient of hers?”
“Of a sort.” The source of the rustling emerged from the depths of the forest, and a diseased man limped into the sunlight. Much of his flesh was replaced with torn scarring, to the point that there was an actual hole bored through one of his shoulders, between his ribcage and collarbone. He coughed. “She was treating our village, about a mile to the north. If you follow us, we can take you there.”
Princess Ramia raised an eyebrow. “Why would you help us?”
The man smiled, and the group could see he only had about six teeth left in his mouth. “Why because she helped us first. Come, rest and resupply with us. We won’t bite.” He motioned for the driver to follow the group on another path through the forest.
The driver looked back at Princess Ramia and Tuck. “Your Highnesses? Should we?”
Tuck shrugged. “Sure. They might help us get to the assassins. I mean it appears they’ve got their own, they might have an inside track to them.”
The driver nodded. “As you wish, Your Highness.” He urged the horse to follow their mysterious benefactor.
Queen Guerrania sat back at the desk in her office, the door of which was hidden behind her throne in the throne room. The headaches were coming back. They started at the base of her neck, and radiated upward from there to spread across the entirety of her scalp like the tendrils of a weed. These were the ones that haunted her on the battlefield, and unfortunately she tended to feel like her decisions were compromised during these periods.
An attendant came into the office. “Your Majesty, an urgent missive through diplomatic channels has come from Litigia.”
Queen Guerrania sat back in the chair, leaning her head back, trying to relieve the pressure on her head.
The attendant, who had been with the Queen for years, approached cautiously. “Is the headache coming back, Your Majesty?”
Queen Guerrania’s response was an affirmative grunt. The attendant quickly moved over to a nearby counter, pouring a cup of water. She pulled out a small pouch from a drawer and extracted some of the contents, a fine brown powder, dropping it into the water. When the glass was presented to Queen Guerrania, she quickly downed the entire contents.
After a minute, the Queen’s eyes opened up again and she brought her head back upright. She looked up at her attendant with clear eyes. “Thank you, Yizabel.” She looked with dread at the hand slate. “Could you read it for me? I’m afraid my eyes aren’t focusing quite yet.”
“Very good, Your Majesty.” Yizabel placed her hand slate at arm’s length to read it aloud. “The Kingdom of Litigia announces with solemn sorrow that King Turgen Halder has died. The coronation and ascension of Crown Prince Guent Halder to King will take place tomorrow in a gala event, in which the new King will name new Lords to the Council of Lords to replace the late Lords Jair and Qine, and the disgraced Lord Moethran.”
The Queen sat upright. “Do Lord Moethran and Prince Thaylen know about this?”
“No, Your Majesty,” Yizabel replied. “In fact, no one has seen them all day.”
Queen Guerrania cleared her throat. “Summon the Royal Corps, we need to have a meeting and decide how to respond to this.” The order made Yizabel shift uncomfortably. “What’s wrong, Yizabel?”
The attendant cleared her throat. “Um, Your Majesty, we haven’t seen Princess Ramia or Princess Imogen all day either.”
Queen Guerrania dropped her forehead into her hands. “Damn it.” She let out a frustrated growl. “Assemble the remaining Princesses, then, we need to talk this over.”
“As you wish, Your Majesty.”
Princess Jayne always enjoyed days like this, sunny days with a mild breeze blowing the scent of the ocean over the docks. She was a child of the sea, had always been, right down to her seafaring mother and brother roving the world and exploring. Jayne herself, while loving the sea, hated the water and was very happy to remain on dry land, and as such had chosen the best of both worlds and became a dockworker.
The harbor was always bustling with activity. Ships came in day and night, and the harbormasters were always kept hopping checking the customs paperwork on every ship that came in. Stevedores rushed from one ship to the next, pulling them into the dock, quickly mooring every vessel secure against two cleats. This duty was Princess Jayne’s favorite, and also one of the reasons why she had gained her Princess title in the first place, due to her immense strength.
“Princess Jayne, Your Highness!” One of the customs agents called. As she fully looped the mooring line she had been holding against a nearby cleat, Princess Jayne looked up and acknowledged him.
“What is it, Joe?”
“Your Highness, I found one.” Joe brought over a bill of lading for the ship he had been standing nearby, a checklist of the ship’s cargo. Princess Jayne clapped her hands twice, then took the bill from the agent, scanning over it quickly.
She found it just as quickly, four crates from Poe Industries. She and Joe were soon in a fast pace, making their way to the ship in question. Princess Jayne waved quickly to the captain, who was securing a crane lead around a crate. “Ho, skipper! A word, please!”
The captain looked down nervously at the Princess approaching, and made a frantic waving motion to get the crate off of his deck. “Your Highness, what can I do for you?”
Princess Jayne ran up the ship’s gangplank. “Captain, you’re ordered to cease unloading until we can inspect some of your cargo.”
The captain stood still. The crane continued to lift the crate off of his deck. Princess Jayne approached slowly. “Captain, order them to stop.”
The captain smiled, an odd reaction. He made a motion toward Princess Jayne and Joe, reaching into his coat. Joe put himself in between the captain and Princess Jayne.
“Look out, Your Highness!”
Princess Jayne was shocked as Joe’s cry was cut short, a knife driven deep into his abdomen. Princess Jayne pushed aside the dying customs agent grasping the captain around his chest and pulling him away until he was lifted completely off of the deck. She squeezed him in her arms.
“You’re too late, Princess.” The captain started laughing. Then he started foaming at the mouth. He collapsed in Princess Jayne’s arms, limp and dead. She dropped him in fear and disgust, panting nervously.
She collapsed against a railing, her face in her hands. By this time, shore patrol had made their way aboard, were tending to Joe, and had sealed off the ship from the rest of the dock. The shore patrol sergeant approached the despondent Princess.
She looked up at the sergeant, sniffling. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”
The sergeant nodded. “Not your fault, it looks like he poisoned himself.” He pointed up at the crate, suspended in the air. “What should we do about that?”
Princess Jayne’s eyes turned to steel suddenly. She stood up, walked underneath the crate, and leaped up to grab the bottom rope. With two blows, she punched holes in the bottom of the crate, allowing its contents to fall and spill to the deck. She followed behind, dropping at the foot of the pile she had created.
“What is it?” the shore patrol sergeant asked.
“Weapons,” Princess Jayne responded. She picked up one of the broken pieces of the equipment that had fallen to the deck. Another cog, just like the one Tuck had shown her. The rest of the equipment looked like enough parts to build three of the weapons. “We’re reporting this. Take care of Joe. I need to get to the Central Palace.”
Princess Hanna’s greenhouse always thrummed with life, regardless of the season or the weather. She had several lamps situated around the glass structure, each providing just the right amount of light to her precious plants. She had divided the greenhouse into four distinct regions, and had collected plants for each proper region, all the better to restore their species.
She had a number of attendants at all times, but her most senior and favorite was Helena, who approached her cautiously. “Your Highness, a missive from the Central Palace. Urgent.”
Princess Hanna looked over, her hands filthy from planting soil. “One moment, let me clean up, Helena. Thank you.” She brushed the excess dirt off of her hands, wiping them with a convenient towel before taking the missive from Helena. She read it carefully, then handed it back.
“Helena, can I ask you a favor?”
Helena nodded, her hands crossed in front of her. “Anything, Your Highness.”
Princess Hanna put her arm around Helena’s shoulder, pointing her back in the direction of the plant she had been working on. “That’s the most important tree in this greenhouse. It’s a Parkia biglobosa, a medicinal tree. I was really close to getting a cure for the decade plague synthesized from its fruits.” The Princess sighed. “It’s not doing too well lately, and I’ve been having to tend to it a bit more intensively than I’d like. I need you to do the same while I’m at the Central Palace.”
Helena nodded. “Of course, Your Highness.” Helena left Princess Hanna’s side, making her way over to the tree. Princess Hanna picked up the missive, turned, and left.
The library was mostly darkened, lit by random candles at the corners of the irregularly-shaped room, candles whose light could not get past the giant shelves of the library stacks. At the center of the room, at the center of a circular desk, sat Princess Anyia, feverishly writing in her archive. She scrawled a sentence, then sat back to assess her work.
Although her predecessor felt diplomacy was worthless, Queen Guerrania opened up an offering of peaceful interaction with Litigia, an offer that was tendered several times, with little progress. This program came into jeopardy with the arrival and subsequent asylum granted to former Litigian Lord Firnian Moethran and her consort Thaylen Halder, one of the heirs to the Litigian throne.
Princess Anyia stroked her chin. “Is it appropriate, I wonder?” She scratched out the words “her consort,” not wanting to offend either her Queen or herself. A small pinging drew her attention away from the book and toward a hand slate nearby. She picked it up, reading the missive contained on it. Without a word, she tapped a response, set the hand slate back down, and continued with her work on the archive text.
Before long, one of her own attendants had rushed into the library, making some of the nearby candles flicker with the wind he created. He rushed up to Princess Anyia before kneeling before her. “Your Highness!”
“SHH!” Princess Anyia admonished the attendant, before continuing in a very quiet voice. “Your, ah, voice is quite too loud for, ah, a library. What is it?”
The attendant reduced his voice to a whisper. “I apologize, Your Highness. Queen Guerrania has called for a meeting of all present Princesses in regards to Litigia.”
Princess Anyia nodded. “Ah, I see. Would you please, ah, put away the stack of books by, ah, the next stack over in my, ah, absence, please?”
He looked at the stack, contained on a library cart and rising about three feet above the top of the cart. It was neatly stacked, but there were four columns’ worth of books there. “I’ll get right on it, Your Highness,” the attendant whispered, standing up and making his way to the pile.
Princess Anyia nodded, closing up her archive and returning it to its customary place under her arm, carrying it out of the room.
The pinging of the hand slate in her pocket startled Princess Ramia from the sleep she had been catching on the trip. Groggily, she looked around at the other occupants of the coach. Firnian and Thaylen lay sprawled in each other’s laps, sharing a blanket, completely unaware of anything. Princess Imogen, on the other hand, remained on watch, her gaze set out the window.
Princess Ramia pulled out her hand slate. The motion drew Tuck’s attention away from the outside. “What is it?” she asked quietly.
Princess Ramia’s expression drooped. “Queen Guerrania. She’s called a meeting of the Royal Corps for tonight over conditions in Litigia.”
Tuck looked nervously at Firnian and Thaylen. “Should I wake them up?”
“No, no need,” Princess Ramia waved off the suggestion. “I should at least tell Queen Guerrania we’re not going to make it there.”
Now it was Tuck’s turn to droop her expression. “You mean you didn’t tell her we were doing this?”
Princess Ramia looked sheepishly up at Tuck. “Um, sorry? I should’ve let you know.”
Tuck grumbled. “Why don’t you trust me still? Haven’t I done enough to earn your regard?”
Princess Ramia tapped the final keys of her response to Queen Guerrania, then looked up. “Honestly, I don’t know.” She sighed. “I guess when we learned about your dad, about his history ...”
Tuck grumbled quietly. “Look, I’m not my dad. I’m not a weapons designer. Near the end of his life, neither was he.”
“I got that,” Princess Ramia retorted.
“I don’t think you do,” Tuck angrily responded. “You think I’m going to warmonger our country into what it doesn’t want, or need, just because I need Dad’s approval?” She sighed deeply. “Dad would’ve already approved. Just because I got into the Royal Corps.”
Princess Ramia’s expression softened.
“It was his dream,” Tuck continued, “his dream that his family would achieve a level of power he could never reach himself. He clearly couldn’t reach it in Litigia, not as impoverished as we were even at home.” Her metal arm collected her legs. “This was supposed to be Dad’s big break. He was going to become a medical inventor, creating things that would save lives or enhance them. Things like my arm.”
Princess Ramia nodded. “He had royal support in this. Princess Giana was his sponsor.”
Tuck looked up with glistening eyes. “Princess Giana could not give him the attention he needed. Or the financing. When she started working on the decade plague, when she started teaming up with Princess Hanna on that project … we kind of fell to the wayside.” She idly moved her metal arm. “This was the last prosthetic arm Dad ever made. He built nine of them.” She sighed hard. “All of them for me.”
Princess Ramia sighed. “He sounds like he loved you.”
“He did,” Tuck acknowledged, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. “That’s what makes him being gone so much harder. He would’ve been so proud to see me helping other people, helping in the capacity of a Princess. He would’ve encouraged me to do the right thing.” She looked over at Princess Ramia again, allowing the tears to roll down her cheeks. “Are we doing the right thing, Ramia?”
The Princess of Law took in a deep breath. “I think so, Tuck. I can’t be sure anymore, things feel so weird lately.” Her reverie was interrupted by the hand slate’s pinging. She turned it up toward her face to read the missive.
Immediately her expressions turned hard. She turned and reached up for the driver. “Get us there faster. Time is of the essence now.”
The coach accelerated, and Tuck and Princess Ramia struggled to keep their balance. Tuck looked at the other Princess confusedly. “What is it?”
Princess Ramia took short breaths. “Litigia’s king died. His son is taking the throne tomorrow. This situation is getting too hot. We need to find out who’s behind these assassinations and do it now, before we’re in an all-out war.”
The halls allowed very little light in, a fitting den for a group of creatures such as these. The dark walls echoed with insane calls, screams, and moans, the orchestra of suffering reverberating through the entire structure. At its core, far below the surface, a single room funneled every peep of suffering down to a single individual, sitting on a throne of despair.
He crouched low in his seat, his hooded head held in his hands, hands which were scarred and torn, looking ancient. The cacophony above him always served to increase his growing mental instability, as much as he claimed to others around him that it helped him focus on his task at hand. No task was set before him at this moment, though, only the sounds of human desperation kept him company, at least until a figure entered the room.
The door made a loud enough noise that it broke Interis from his stupor. He lifted his head, the hood dangling down and obscuring his face. “Yes, what is it?”
The figure did not answer. He did not need to, as his mouth was sewn shut to ensure his loyalty to the vow of silence. He simply handed Interis a missive. The hooded man took the missive from his underling, waving him away, and reading over the message contained.
Technasia operation stalled. New manpower required. Advise.
Interis threw the missive aside, grumbling. Apparently, his most incompetent assassin had wound up with the Technasian operation. He stood up from the throne, marching out of the room, the growing sounds of torment now a mere whisper in his mind as his anger grew.
He worked his way through the labyrinthine halls and staircases until he reached his destination, a holding area where numerous assassins were housed. The loudest screams tended to come from this room, as it housed the most recently recruited assassins, still reeling from the mutilations enacted upon their persons. The lead of the room, a burly man with raw, chafed skin, turned to observe Interis’s entrance.
“Ah, Interis, what may I do for you?”
Interis reached one of his diseased, shredded hands out to the larger man’s throat, taking hold of his windpipe. The burly man gagged. Interis’s eyes seemed to glow from under his hood, flashing fury. “You sent a new assassin to Technasia, didn’t you? Hungras, you fool!”
Hungras struggled to breathe in Interis’s grip. “He was the best … I could spare, my lord …”
“Your best has been gaining me diminishing returns for a long time, Hungras.” Interis tightened his grip on Hungras’s windpipe, his fingernails starting to dig into his victim’s skin and draw blood. “Why should I let you have another chance?”
Hungras choked and gagged, trying to respond.
“Well? What have you to say for yourself?!”
Hungras clawed at Interis’s arm, trying to get his lord to release him. Interis finally relented, releasing his grip on Hungras’s neck. Hungras collapsed in a heap on the floor, gasping and panting for air while trying to respond. “I have more men to send, my lord, good men. Some of the newer, healthier ones.”
Hungras coughed and spat out a large clump of blood and mucus, still struggling to breathe. Interis crossed his arms, standing over the other man. “Do you know why I keep you around?” He crouched down to Hungras’s face. “Pity. Pure and simple. I brought you into the Guild, I trained you personally, and you have done nothing but disappoint me at every single turn. What kind of person am I that I will still keep you around despite this?”
Hungras coughed again, but his pants slowed. “A merciful one, my lord?”
Interis nodded. “A merciful person, that’s right Hungras. A merciful person forgives. A merciful person takes in the suffering, helps them get on their feet, gives them purpose.” He grabbed Hungras’s ear. “But a merciful person can turn merciless if betrayed too often, my friend. So listen closely, and listen well.” Interis brought his face close to the captured ear. “I will only give you one more chance to do this right, Hungras. Send an assassin to Technasia. You know the targets. Fail me again, and mercy becomes retribution. I will have my dead bodies, Hungras, it’s just a matter of whose now.”
Interis pushed Hungras away from him in disgust, turning and leaving the room. Hungras now rubbed both his neck and his ear, returning to his duties and his new task at hand, choosing a replacement assassin.
Prince Guent fumed in his resplendent quarters, pacing furiously back and forth. There were already several broken windows and mirrors, victims of the Prince’s boundless rage. Although every surface in the room was gilded in the finest gold leaf, creating the sense of luxury, Prince Guent regarded the place as little more than a prison.
An attendant cautiously opened the door. “Your Highness?”
A breakable trinket came flying across the room, striking near the opening of the door. The attendant ducked the broken shrapnel from the trinket’s destruction. “What the fuck do you want?”
The attendant recovered and opened the door wider. He ducked another flying projectile as he approached Prince Guent. “Your Highness, your father King Turgen is ready for you.”
Prince Guent growled. “It’s about goddamn time.” He shoved the attendant to the floor as he walked past gaining no small satisfaction from hearing the little man slam down on the floor and have trouble getting back up. He almost laughed about it, the only thing right now that could lighten his mood.
He made his way through the palace, through hallways and passages, until he reached the throne room. King Turgen sat in his usual place, but the Prince was put off by noticing his own seat was missing, no longer at the King’s side. He knelt down before his father. “Your Majesty, Father.”
King Turgen grumbled, his low anger turning into unchained rage as he continued. “I gave you one simple task, to double check the border guard with Lord Qine. You turned that into chaos. You stripped Lord Moethran of her title. You may have had something to do with Lord Qine’s murder, I’m not sure about that one yet. I’m pretty sure you had nothing to do with Lord Jair’s murder. But you’ve taken it upon yourself to turn your brother into a fugitive, to threaten open war with Technasia, to basically FUCK US IN THE ASS DIPLOMATICALLY!”
King Turgen rose up from his throne.
Prince Guent crouched lower. “I’m sorry, Father, I only wanted to …”
“I know what you want, you fuck!” King Turgen kicked Prince Guent in the head. The Prince sprawled on the floor, clutching his temple where his father’s foot had landed. “You want my throne. You want my power. You want to do whatever you want, and have no consequence.” King Turgen grabbed Prince Guent by his hair. “I hate to break it to you, boy, but ruling is not that simple. I am a king, not a tinpot dictator!”
Prince Guent gritted his teeth under his father’s grip. “Father, please, I only want to defend our country, to make us great …”
“By bringing back the worldwide schism? Is that what you want? To blast all of us, ally and foe alike, into the dark ages once more?” King Turgen slapped the Prince hard, never once letting go of his hair. “You’re no ruler, boy. You’re a ten year old with a magnifying glass, and all you see the world as is a bunch of ants to cook.” The King started dragging his son the length of the throne room by his hair. “If you become this nation’s ruler, I shudder for the remaining time this planet has in existence!”
Prince Guent whimpered as he was dragged. The whimper turned into a full-throated yelp as King Turgen flung him out the door of the throne room. “Father, what are you doing?”
King Turgen spat in his son’s face. “Don’t call me that.” King Turgen’s voice lowered to a sinister growl. “For the good of Litigia I banish you. You are disowned, Guent. Take your rage, take your attitude, take everything, shove it sideways up your ass, and never ret—”
The King’s rejoinder was cut short by the entrance of a dagger into his stomach. King Turgen looked down at the weapon, and the hand attached to it, following the path up the arm to his son. Prince Guent’s eyes were black, cold, unemotional.
“Fuck you, old man.” Prince Guent pushed King Turgen back into the throne room. He withdrew the dagger from his father’s stomach, plunging it in again between his ribs. And again. And again. Again. Again.
King Turgen collapsed on the floor. Guent stood over him, continuing to drive the dagger into the older man, coating both men in blood. When he heard struggling breaths, Guent looked into his father’s fearful eyes. The King’s bloodstained face showed the true fear, the betrayal, the sadness.
Guent cared not for any of it. “The King is dead. Long live the King.” He drove the dagger down into his father’s neck, severing his windpipe. He watched with unbridled glee as the life evaporated from the King’s eyes.
The assembly line floor bustled with activity at all hours now, enough noise being generated to keep Lord Poe awake for nights on end. Every few hours, insomnia took full hold and Lord Poe would take a brief tour of his factory floor, checking the progress on every new order his King had placed.
The business was healthy, but the supplies were running low. Already, his company was having to look for alternative materials for some of the parts; often times they wound up being unreliable, but this wasn’t much of a concern for Lord Poe: all the weapons needed to do was be able to fire in some way and kill something in some manner, and they could still be issued in the field, and the orders would continue coming.
Looking out of place in his dressing gown, Lord Poe stumbled his way over to a line producing mini-ballistas. The line manager walked up to his boss eagerly. “Lord Poe, how can I help you tonight?”
Lord Poe muttered softly. “Don’t stand on ceremony too much, Master Hollister, I’m just checking on the floor tonight. How are things?”
Hollister looked down the line, urging Lord Poe to do the same. “I think it’s going pretty well so far. My boys are chugging away, we’ve been pretty secure on parts, although some of our cogs are defective right out of the box.”
Lord Poe sighed. “It’s a bit of a risk that we have to take, Master Hollister. How many cogs have you been having to dispose of?”
Hollister motioned for the Lord to follow him. They made their way over to a waste bin, and Hollister counted up the number of damaged cogs inside. “Looks like about … I’d say seven cogs out of each shipment.”
Lord Poe sighed. Each shipment was 21 cogs, so losing a third of each shipment to defects was more than what was acceptable loss. “Are they repairable? We need those cogs, Master Hollister.”
Hollister smirked. “We can sure try, I guess.” Hollister whistled and motioned down the line to two of his workers, who came over quickly.
As Hollister started discussing repairing the defective cogs, an attendant ran up to Lord Poe’s side with a hand slate. “My Lord, urgent missive from the palace.”
Lord Poe took the hand slate from his servant and read it over, his eyes darkening with each line.
King Turgen Halder, Protector of Litigia, has died. The people of Litigia are ordered to attend the coronation of your new King, Guent Halder, and to celebrate his ascension to the throne. At this time new Lords will be announced to replace the late Lords Jair and Qine and the disgraced Lord Moethran.
A second missive arrived on the hand slate almost immediately after Lord Poe finished reading the initial one. He opened it.
Poe Industries is now contracted to quadruple previous order.
King Guent
Lord Poe groaned. He looked up at Hollister, who was finishing up with his two workers. “Well Master Hollister, looks like we’re giving you more business.”
In the grand scheme of the world stage, there were two great nations, two superpowers who attempted to co-exist on the same continent with varying degrees of success. The Kingdom of Litigia and the Nation of Technasia, vastly different in philosophy and outlook on existence, would from time to time come to blows with each other, but had changed very little in terms of their borders and relationship for nearly a half-millennium.
Sometime in the recent century, however, a new region cropped up on the two great nations’ continent, in an area that neither nation had settled, or even remembered existed. These places had harsh conditions, wilderness, and were generally considered uninhabitable, but yet creatures made it their home. This was the Darklands, the abandoned realms filled with abandoned people, many dying or sickly, some unreasonably violent, and some just simply outcast from their home societies.
Passage to the Darklands had always been difficult from either nation, but especially from Technasia. Due to the general attitude of “protect our citizens at all cost,” border checkpoints would almost never let travelers through, out of concern for their health and safety. This had until ten years ago been absolutely “never,” but for the efforts of Princess Giana Killaine, who was attempting to solve the riddle of how to cure a plague which spread throughout the forgotten regions. Her regular excursions to the Darklands on humanitarian missions had led the previous Queen, and later Queen Guerrania, to declare the border open only to Princesses and those assisting them for official business.
This loophole was a matter Princess Ramia was well aware of as she led the group to the Technasian border with the Darklands. Tuck peered out of the coach windows nervously, as Firnian and Thaylen cuddled on the opposite side.
Tuck tried to take her mind off of the dangerous mission she had embarked on by engaging the Litigian defectors in small talk. “So how long have you two been together?”
Thaylen sighed and smiled wider. “About two years. I first met Firnian when she assumed her father’s title, there was a ball held by the House of Moethran to commemorate the occasion. My father sent me because he felt it wasn’t important enough for him to attend, and Guent wanted nothing to do with it.”
Firnian chuckled. “I think you said his exact words amounted to he’d rather eat his own cock than attend my ball. Which would’ve been one hell of a show.”
Tuck self-consciously chuckled. “I can imagine. So how did you meet?”
Firnian sighed, just like Thaylen did. “I had my choice of dance partners as one of the official acts of the ball. Every other man at the event just dripped with misogyny. Several of them had giggler-equipped servant girls with them. At least one asked me for a three-way with himself and his favorite concubine, an offer that, while tempting … yeah, no.”
Thaylen picked up the story. “I was the next one in line. After I proved to Firnian that I was far different than the other men, more than just because I was a Prince, she chose me as her dance partner.”
Tuck laid a cheek on her closed hand, her elbow idly propping her arm up on the rail of the coach. “How was the dancing?”
Firnian subconsciously snuggled closer to Thaylen. “Beyond anything I’d imagined. Thaylen charmed me with his personality, dazzled me with his moves, wowed me with his intelligence, and completely left me wanting more of him, as the days continued. I would send numerous missives a day to him, begging to see him again, telling him of my dreams about him.”
Princess Ramia smirked. “So when did you find out about … things?”
Tuck turned to the other Princess. “They might not be comfortable about that sort of discussion, you know. I’m okay if you keep that private.”
“Well I imagine it’s an open secret with them, they’ve been sharing a bed at the Central Palace.”
Firnian shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Thaylen, though clearly embarrassed, attempted to break the tension. “It’s all right, Tuck. To answer your question, I told her about it the next time I saw her. Our relationship through our missives had escalated, in a passionate manner, and at our next opportunity we took a retreat away from our families to be together. The first night of that retreat she learned my truth.”
Tuck nodded, feeling guilty about hearing Thaylen’s story. Princess Ramia, though, had no such qualms. “I imagine it makes things far different in the boudoir than with typical couples, am I right?”
Firnian smirked. “I’ll have you know, on a scale of one to ten, Thaylen ranks approximately a trillion on the sex scale.” She crossed her arms, exuding cocky pride at the assessment. Thaylen simply kept a neutral expression on his face, allowing the statement to sink in with the others in the vehicle.
Princess Ramia blushed. Tuck was amazed by the reaction, as she had never known the Princess of Law to show any kind of crack in her professional demeanor, and it bemused her all the same. The conversation lagged, no one wanting to intrude on Firnian’s moment of pride.
The silence was finally broken by one of the escorts pounding on the side of the coach. “Your Highnesses, we’re approaching the border checkpoint.”
Princess Ramia nodded. “Very good, thank you.” The escort returned to his place in the procession. Princess Ramia shifted her attention back to the other occupants. “I think you should probably know what to expect, if you haven’t been there before. I know you haven’t, Tuck, but what about you two?”
Firnian and Thaylen both shook their heads. “We always usually go through intermediaries,” Firnian admitted.
“All right then. I happened to accompany Giana on one of her last trips before the assassination, and it wasn’t pretty. If you have any sensitivity to suffering, now would be a good time to get out because suffering is pretty much the name of the game in the Darklands.”
Tuck sighed. “And yet somehow a successful assassin union is based there.”
“Not too surprising if you ask me,” Princess Ramia retorted. “This location we’re going to, the one where your ‘catering’ service is based out of? It’s deep in an area where we know there are a lot of plague sufferers, so no one who wants to remain healthy usually wants to go there.” She picked up a bag off of the floor. “Here, when we get there, you’ll want these.”
Tuck took the bag and opened it. It was full of surgical masks, made from antibacterial fabric. She raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t take you for the type to keep lost tech, Ramia.”
Princess Ramia sighed. “I didn’t. This bag was Giana’s, I was keeping it for her as a favor.”
Tuck nodded solemnly, taking four masks out of the bag and stuffing them into her satchel. Thaylen and Firnian took a handful each, before Tuck handed the bag back to Princess Ramia.
“Another thing to keep in mind is that the Darklands Assassin Guild typically only accepts people who were already violent offenders either in Technasia or Litigia. It’s unlikely they would ever send an assassin to their home nation, but it’s happened before. I’m pretty sure our assassin from the other day is a Litigian, but don’t quote me on that.” Princess Ramia pulled out her notebook, flipping through the pages. “We were finally able to open his mouth without killing him, and got a good look at his teeth and his fingerprints, but they don’t match anything in my files.”
Tuck was already unhooking the hand from her metal arm. “Should we be ready for a fight?”
“Don’t go looking for one, but be ready to defend yourself,” Princess Ramia responded. Tuck nodded and reached back into her satchel, pulling out what appeared to be a spear head, which she attached to her arm.
The procession arrived at the checkpoint, slowing and stopping at the feet of a guard standing in the middle of the road. He waved his hand at the driver. “What business have you here?”
The driver called out. “Transport for two Princesses plus assistants into the Darklands.”
The guard on the ground walked around to the side of the coach, over to the window, and looked inside. The eyes of Princess Ramia greeted him.
“Ah, Your Highness, good to see you again.” The guard looked around in the coach. “Where is Princess Giana today?”
Princess Ramia sighed and lowered her head. “I’m afraid she’s passed away, Lonny, I’m sorry.”
Lonny took his helmet off to pay his respects, then looked back into the coach at Princess Ramia. “Your driver mentioned another Princess with you?”
Princess Ramia motioned toward Tuck. “May I present Princess Imogen Inperia. You can check with your superiors.”
Lonny nodded, pulling out his hand slate and whipping a missive off. “And are you two the assistants?”
Thaylen nodded respectfully. “Were accompanying Princess Imogen. Time is of the utmost importance.”
Lonny nodded. “All right.” He opened a file on his hand slate, looking at the pictures of wanted fugitives. Firnian’s picture appeared, with a message about her status as a refugee. It also referenced Tuck as her sponsor. “All right, everything looks in order here.”
The hand slate made a loud, uncomfortable noise, urging Lonny to open up a new missive. He read it carefully, then looked up at Princess Ramia.
“I’m sorry, Your Highness, you’ve been called back to the Central Palace by Queen Guerrania.” He motioned to the entire party in the coach. “All of you.”
Princess Ramia appeared put out. “Why is that? Why would she?” She took the hand slate from Lonny, looking at the missive. Her face scrunched into a grumpier expression as she continued reading.
Tuck felt the situation deteriorating. She brought a hand up and tapped the driver on the thigh. “Go!” she whispered.
The driver gave Tuck an uncomfortable look, then did as he was told by his Princess and urged his horses forward, though the security barricade. Lonny yelled. Princess Ramia was thrown back into the seat between Firnian and Thaylen. After a second’s recovery, Princess Ramia leaned forward toward Tuck. “What the hell was that?!”
“Something was fishy about the amount of scrutiny we were getting.” Tuck motioned for Lonny’s hand slate, which Princess Ramia handed to the younger Princess. Tuck read over the missive.
“Looked to me like a standard royal missive,” Princess Ramia mentioned. “Had the Queen’s seal as a watermark.”
Tuck fiddled with the controls on the hand slate, searching through information embedded with the missive, until she found what she was looking for. “Ah, here it is. You were saying you can use the numbers as a locator for Thaylen’s caterer, check this out.”
Tuck turned the hand slate around. Highlighted in the long stream of data on the slate’s face was one number: 580257.
Princess Ramia nodded. “So it was fake.”
“About as fake as the aluminum in those Litigian cogs.” She handed the hand slate back to Princess Ramia. “I think it’s a safe bet that the Darklands Assassins know we’re coming. Worse yet, I’d bet they’ve had someone from within Technasia tip them off to our trip.”
2087
theartofmadeline
areudirty
titsay
jacobvanloon