Seven Princes

31

The survivors of the night’s blood-feast gathered in the withered courtyard outside the Sharrian palace. Most of the city’s men were dead, so the majority were wailing children and weeping mothers, huddling in miserable clusters. Masked soldiers roamed the city tossing thousands of drained corpses into bonfires. The horde of Vakai had drank their fill and sunk into the cracks between the city’s stones, or fled to hide in cellars and tombs until sunset. At daybreak the Khyreins had claimed the massacred city for Ianthe. They burned the dead and rooted out the living, herding them like sheep into the royal gardens. A bounty of perhaps three thousand slaves for hauling back to Khyrei.

After sating his own thirst on the blood of panicked Sharrians, Gammir found the bloodless corpse of Omirus slumped on the Sharrian throne. The Vakai had entered the palace before him and taken the last of the royal blood for their own pleasure. It was a small price to pay for conquering the kingdom in a single night. Gammir kicked the corpse away with the heel of his boot. He wondered why Omirus wore no crown, only the golden circlet of a regent. No matter; the Khyreins would scour the palace vaults until they found the crown Ammon had worn. It must sit upon Gammir’s own head. He would claim the Valley of the Bull as his own, a colony of Khyrei. In time he would grow a new city to replace the old, as Vod had replaced Old Udurum with New. From Prince of Khyrei to King of Shar Dni. His rise had been faster than he ever expected.

Perhaps he should change the city’s name when he rebuilt it. Shar Dni was dead. He might give it her name: Ianthe, City of Shadows. That might please her.

While he sat upon the Sharrian throne and legionnaires poured through the palace looking for loot and prisoners, Ianthe walked the corpse-littered streets and called lightning down upon the Four Temples. The thunder of their destruction, one collapsing pyramid after another, brought laughter spilling from Gammir’s mouth. His chin and chest were stained with the wine torn from living veins. The smell of roasting flesh wafted through the high windows of the palace. He breathed deeply the savory aroma… the tang of overcooked Sharrian pork. Not unpleasant, but his appetite was only for the rich red fluid, and his belly was full. For the first time since he mastered the Power of the Blood, he was satisfied.

She had taught him so much since then. The weeks spent with her in the sanctuary of her High Tower were an interval of dark bliss. Ancient texts and words ohf power he had learned, and the gates of deeper sorceries opened before him. There was so much more to learn… and so much time in which to do it. Tonight they would send the Vakai horde to Uurz, ridding themselves of northland opposition. Not long after that would come the sweet pleasure of draining Udurum dry. He relished the promise of blood from men and giants. His lying mother would die then, or perhaps he might keep her as a slave… Make her pay for betraying his true father. Yes, that would serve his taste for irony – a Queen reduced to serving a King whom she had rejected as unworthy of her own throne. Unless Ianthe wanted her blood… He could deny her nothing.

The Khyreins found the treasure vault of Ammon, and they brought him chests of gold, silver, and jewels, pouring them into mounds before his throne. Caskets of sparkling jewelry, strings of pearl, gemmed statuettes… a hoard of wealth glittered at his feet. Among these treasures they also cast the severed heads of Sharrians found hiding in the palace.

The white panther came stalking through the gates. She picked her way through the treasure-mounds to join him by the throne. He ordered a great chair brought from some other chamber and Ianthe took her human form to sit beside him. It was easy to imagine she was not his grandmother at all then, but his young and lovely queen. All these riches had been gathered for her pleasure. Perhaps it could be that way if he convinced her of his regal presence. His power would grow to rival hers… then he would be her equal. Then he might claim her as his own, just as he did this slaughtered capital.

“How do you enjoy your new kingdom, Sweet Boy?” she asked him.

He met her dazzling dark eyes with his own. One day she will be mine.

“I find it amusing,” he told her. “I quite enjoy this game of blood and fire.”

She laughed and his skin tingled. “These baubles are of some interest,” she said, poking at a mound of jewels with her toes.

“They are yours,” he said.

“You will need most of this to rebuild this pile of refuse into a city worthy of your rule,” she said. “Still… I may take a choice stone or two. To remind me of this day’s sweetness. Did you drink your fill?”

“Oh yes,” he said. “And you?”

“The blood of priests pleases me most,” she said. “Nearly as much as the crumbling of their temples.”

He frowned. “Their Gods came not to help the Sharrians. Why endure the presence of such useless shrines? They should thank you for ridding them of these reminders that their Gods care nothing for them.”

“ We are their Gods now,” she said.

“Well, then…” he reflected. “We must build a temple!”

They laughed loudly, and the sound of it drowned the noise of weeping slaves in the courtyard.

The palace doors exploded as a great globe of white flame crashed into the throne room. Gammir shrank against his tagainst hrone beneath the terrible glare. The sphere broke into bolts of radiance hurtling throughout the hall.

Vireon came leaping from the fireball, greatsword raised behind his head, handsome face snarling with hate.

When Alua’s fireball broke apart, its sorcerous momentum hurled him toward vengeance. Even before his feet touched the floor, Vireon swung his blade in a downward arc at Fangodrel’s head. But the Kinslayer cringed beneath the bursting flames, and Vireon’s sword bit into the gilded chair-back instead of the traitor’s skull.

Vireon growled. The Kinslayer’s mouth was dark with dried blood, as was his black mail shirt. This was no longer his half-brother, no longer even a man at all. It was an evil thing, a blood-drinking demon. As he pulled the blade free of the throne, Fangodrel squirmed like a shadow from the chair.

Alua wreathed herself in white flame and fell upon Ianthe. They shrieked at one another like vicious eagles, and in the corner of his eye Vireon saw the Khyrein become a pale and massive panther, snapping ivory fangs. He did not see Andoses, but heard him in the clang of swordplay at his back. He had refused to stay upon the ridge. Andoses fought the masked murderers with naked steel. The conquering of his city had driven him mad with rage. He shouted a Sharrian war cry, and Khyreins died on his curved blade.

The Kinslayer slithered across the floor like a black eel and rose to his feet, hoisted by shadows spewing from cracks between the flagstones. The demon things glared at Vireon with eyes red as blood and hot as fire, stretching liquid arms toward him. These were the fiends that had drunk his brother’s life. He sliced into them with the Giant-blade, but it was like cleaving smoke. They rushed upon him like a torrent of black water, fangs and claws taking on the hardness of onyx. Fangodrel stood behind them, shouting.

“You saved me the trouble of finding you, Brother!” said the Kinslayer. He spat this last word as if it were venom. “Always too stupid to know what was good for you.”

Vireon dove through the coalescing shadows, aiming the point of his blade at Fangodrel’s heart. But the demons grabbed him and he could not move. A wolf-like maw opened above his throat. A blast of white flame tore the shadows from his body like wisps of crackling paper. They howled and he shut his eyes. Alua’s flame would not burn him, nor anyone she wished to protect. But the demons could not stand it.

He staggered backward as white brilliance filled the chamber. More shadow-things rushed up from the floor, seeking to escape through windows and doorways. They burned away to nothing in less than an instant.

Fangodrel too burned in the flames. His dark mail melted in the sorcerous fire. His pale skin shriveled and blackened. He howled like a wounded child.

Alua screamed, and the flames died instantly. The white panther clasped her in its jaws, tearing and tossing her as a hound rends a captured hare. The flames wreathing her body dripped away, and her red blood splashed the piles of gold and jewels.

Vireon screamed her name. He would have gone to slay the panther, but Fangodrel flew upon him. A crippled husk sheathed in crackling, melting ski, meltinn, the Kinslayer wrapped bony hands about his neck and bared yellow fangs in a desperate hiss. Even the tongue within was charred.

“Your blood will restore me,” rasped the burned thing. “I cannot die…”

Vireon hurled him against the floor with a crunch of bones. He raised the blade high.

“I curse you, Vireon!” spat the Kinslayer. “Your children will be born into shadow-”

Vireon did not hear the rest of the curse. His blade sheared off the Kinslayer’s scorched head, which rolled like a black melon into a pile of bloodied gold.

“For Tadarus!” Vireon stamped the blackened skull into ashes.

The white panther screeched and tossed Alua’s limp body across the room. Andoses rode on its singed back now, his scimitar buried to the hilt in its flank. Crimson gushed from the wound, even as Alua’s blood dripped from the ivory fangs. The great cat bucked and twisted, but Andoses held on, twisting the blade deeper into its side.

A dozen Khyrein swordsmen rushed at Vireon, their faces those of bronze devils. He cut them down two at a time, and those beyond hesitated as their Panther-Queen writhed and danced with the Prince of Shar Dni astride her. Now Andoses lost his grip on the sword-hilt and fell among the scattered wealth. Vireon raced toward the roaring panther, while Andoses rolled to his feet and pulled a dagger from his belt.

The panther swiped a massive claw at Andoses. It tore through his flesh and sent him careening against a fat pillar with terrible force.

Vireon came at it from behind, but it swirled and cast blue lightning from its eyes, blasting him through a tall window. He fell steaming among the terrified Sharrians in the courtyard. More masked Khyreins fell upon him as he rose from the trampled ground. He grabbed them by the heads and arms, tossing them aside like dolls. He found the Giant-blade lying amid a group of terrified women and took it up again, turning toward the palace.

The white panther burst from the hall now, trailing white flame. Alua held its thrashing tail in her fists, sending torrents of fire along its hide. Khyreins and Sharrians fled in horror as the Beast-Queen sped across the courtyard, roaring, dragging Alua behind her.

The sunlight dimmed as a host of shadows flowed up from the streets, tombs, and low places of the city. They converged like a black storm upon the white panther. They lifted her into the sky, swirling about her like a cloud of darkness filled with crimson embers. Alua floated now in the sky among them, bleeding and burning. Then her scream met Vireon’s ears.

“ Nooooo mooooore! ”

She exploded with pale fire, burning the horde of shadows to oblivion in an instant. The flash blinded Vireon. All those in the courtyard covered their eyes with hands, forearms, or shields. Some fell to the ground, calling upon the Four Gods. Shrieking spirit voices filled the luminous sky. Vireon could see nothing.

“Alua!” he shouted into the brilliance.

Thunderbolts flared along the ground, tearing the earth, igniting trees and hedges. Slaves and soldiers alike fled, running blindly across the grounds. Sharrians and Khyreins were united in sheer terror of rampant celestial forces. The sky fell into silence while chaos poured across the slain city.

Vireon’s sight returned gradually. White spots of flame still danced in his vision. Alua lay upon the charred ground, naked, torn, and bloodied. A few tiny flames danced along her limbs. He ran to her.

“Alua…” He raised her into his arms, where she lay limp and senseless. The panther’s fangs had gashed her slim waist and marred her tender breasts. He cradled her cheek against his own, the water of his eyes spilling across her hot skin. She grew cooler, and a throng of awed Sharrians gathered about them. The distant calls of Khyrein captains rang beyond the palace walls. They were the commands of retreat.

Alua coughed and opened her eyes. She smiled at him weakly and spoke his name.

“Is she…”

“She is gone,” he told her. “You have taken your vengeance. We both have.”

Yet why does it feel so hollow? he wondered. I wanted only to kill Fangodrel, to avenge Tadarus. Yet now both my brothers are dead and I feel… I feel only love for this dying girl.

“Do not worry for me,” she whispered, pushing him gently away. She conjured a small flame into her hand and touched it to her torn flesh. She sucked air in through her teeth as the lacerations and punctures closed one by one. When she was done, not even scars remained on her snowy skin. He helped her to stand, and the Sharrians brought the cloak of a dead Khyrein to cover her nakedness. She was so very weak, but ali ve. His heart sang.

They looked across the smoking city, through the broken city wall, and saw the black fleet begin to sail away. The Sharrian survivors cheered him, asked his name, and cheered again. Then they fell quickly back to mourning their multitude of dead. The invaders were departing, their Queen and Prince were slain, but Shar Dni was broken and ruined. Its people would be refugees now.

Vireon found Andoses in the throne room, lying bloody among the treasures of his royal house. He called for water, and a woman rushed off to get it.

“Cousin!” There was no answer. He felt the shifting of splintered bones beneath his hands. “Can you heal him?” he asked Alua.

She poured the white flame along his body, but it was too late. “His bones…” she whispered. “The blow was too great… or I am too weak.” She wept quietly.

Andoses’ eyes fluttered open. Vireon carried him to the throne and sat him upon it.

“You are King now, Cousin,” Vireon told him. “This was your father’s throne.”

Andoses smiled, then coughed blood.

“Too late,” he whispered. “When the kingdom dies… the King must die too.”

“You were both King and Warrior,” said Vireon. “You saved Alua. I will look after your people. Go now and join your father.”

Andoses grew very still upon the throne. His eyes stared beyond the shattered windows into some unknown land, and he died.

So this is the cost of vengeance. The price that a Prince must pay to be a King.

Vireon wept in the cool shelter of Alua’s arms… for his cousin, his brother, his father, for Shar Dni.

“It is too much,” he whispered.

It is too much…