  I haven't updated in awhile. Who cares? Well to those brave enough to read, I have decided to post the entire manuscript for my "big" project. Skip ahead if you like, but I'd like to revel in memory, as fifteen year-olds so often do. Because we have so many memories to draw upon, you see. Intertwine was born at least two years ago.
Exactly when I could figure out if I was exuberant enough but for now I think I'll just say..about two years ago. I had been writing since I was nine, off and on an old Windows 3.1 computer. Some of my older stuff is still on that thing, even though it's sitting in the gloom of my basement. I guess my earlier stories were mostly Star Trek and Matrix ripoffs, some of them reached lengths of up to a hundred pages, maybe twice that much in isolated cases. Although I doubt I shall ever be able to prove (or capitalize upon) it, I wrote a scene somewhat similar to the car chase in Attack of the Clones. As time progressed, I found myself in High School, and I was writing Star Wars fiction, a big, alternative universe story, so I could create my own picture, and kill Darth Vader off with a sexy evil babe.
Needless to say this story got very long, however it was just Star Wars. Not original enough. I abandoned the story, maybe if I become succesful I'll buy up the movie rights and remake the prequels. But for now there will not be any more Star Wars. I began to think of something new, something fantastic, something medieval. I thought up a name, deciding that, like most (if not, all) epics, mine would deal with the constant interplay between good and evil, and the shades of gray in between, above all.
I thought up an image of a rope, how the coils seem to wrap around each other. They are intertwined together, just as good an evil always are. Thus, Intertwine was born. I would capitalize upon man's natural fear of lizards (which is actually due to racial memory, arboreal primates survived by being naturally afraid of snakes, etcetera) by making man-lizards. And there would be two planets...one connected to the other via tower, one good and earthlike, one sickly and venusian. There would be an immortal king, who was evil, a ruthless, calculating bastard.
There were many, many other elements, and gradually as I wrote hundreds and hundreds of pages of drafts the story evolved. The strongest plot devices I had thought up I kept (they survived)--the ones previously mentioned--while I also created new ones. The story would not be medieval. It would take place in a timeperiod similar to pre WW1 Europe, in a time where the old world of knights and dragons was dying and the new world of science and guns and planes was being born. Midway through the story a planet would appear in the sky and approach Terra (Earth), grow to the size of the moon, grow larger and larger, and a tower would connect and horrific beasts would ravage the land. The one new theme I decided to go along with was that the only perfection that can be reached is nonexistence.
I came to the conclusion several months ago (maybe longer, I don't know) that heaven, no matter how infinite, would eventually get boring to H. Sapiens. We would go insane in paradise, while if we were simply to fade away after death, we would truly be perfect. Neither happy nor said. If you think about it enough, nonexistence becomes preferrable to afterlife, unless by some chance humans just simply cannot grasp what the afterlife is. I could be wrong or I could be right. I doubt that this is my original thought, someone else must have thought of it somewhere, however I believe for now that I thought it up on my own.
So the main character would strive toward perfection. Then, at the end, when he confronts the greatest evil, the lizard-god, and with the hopes of all humanity on him, he would be offered the chance to destroy evil and liberate humanity from the lizards, or to just kill everyone by plunging the two planets into each other. After deliberation he chooses the latter, for there is no absolute good, and suffering can only be extinguished by having everyone just die. That before Sauria there was always suffering, and that even a little was too much. I'm not a firm believer of that philosophy. I enjoy life, live it to the fullest, walk old ladies across the street, etc.
In any case I guess that's it for my little introduction. If you've read this far then I certainly admire your tenacity. Read on and enjoy. Perfection awaits. INTERTWINE BY IAN ******* I To not be is perfection. Morning in Nelence was a sight to behold, and a sight beheld by many.
It was the capital of the thriving Isardan Empire, after all. Pillars of gleaming steel climbed from foundations of marble and stone into a sky filled with thick, golden clouds, the sun illuminating them with heavenly glory. Below, the streets were bustling with motorcars and dark-suited pedestrians, and the sidewalks seemed overrun with the bobbing heads and shoulders of bowler-hat toting businessmen, each cranium in sync with the last, like the running waves of an ocean. Lights from the insides of buildings began to flicker to life as the streetlamps along the crowded corridors below simultaneously deactivated. Shadows once invisible were stretched across the pavement. It was a symphony of activity, and all of it orchestrated to perfection unknowingly by the denizens of it.
The once-silent canyons of the city were now alive with sound and what can only be described as emotion, as feeling, as atmosphere, in a chorus that thickened but did not grow, that became only more noticeable, but not so loud as to annoy. These patterns of Nelence, oddly enough, only seemed to be noticed by outsiders, and those that had not spent an extended amount of time within the canyons of its glimmering metal. The sky was packed with zeppelins and other flying vehicles, many of them large enough to blot the sun out for whole city streets. Inside the warm, opulent cabin of one of the bigger blimps, a transport being readied to travel to the faraway island province of Vadaina, sat a lone governor from a distant, quieter region, where the only noises came from frogs and from dragonflies. This had been his first trip in years to Nelence, for he hated the capital with a passion and avoided it whenever he could. Too many damn people in too small a space lived here.
He had been summoned by an official at the Congress Building (just out of site of his window) and ordered to meet up with his friend on the Island of Vadaina before returning to convene in a conference of aristocrats. The meeting was apparently of some special importance; at least, according to the letter he had received. So he had left the gloom of Bethnen, the province he was sovereign over, against his will, as many things were these days, traveling by train, by car, and by blimp over the course of several weeks, through the various assorted territories of the Isardan Empire, meeting new people and attempting to avoid them at the same time. He was an irritably shy young man who had assumed the helm of his lordship only months ago, alienating his now deceased fathers officers and diplomats and officials, who had been used to a jollier leader, his predecessor, his parent, who could wring a smile out of anyone by merely looking at them. His father was a great man, and an DBethne lived far within the confines of his shadow, even in death. an was tall and very thin, his dark hair clung precariously to his high forehead, and his eyes seemed to suggest only laziness, only calm and peace, while the reality behind them, within the folded layers of flesh he called his brain, was greatly different.
He blushed often, and realized it. His lips were thin and wide, and the overall feeling one could garner from the young man was that he was indeed of noble birth, he was of high standing and intelligence, but lacked perseverance, lacked inspiration to make anything out of himself. He was just another face in the crowd. He had left most of the work up to the officials, preferring to instead stay within his quarters and stare at his desk, or the latest dispatches, tax reports, various municipal problems. It bored him to the brink of insanity, and yet there was no alternative. No escape.
He clenched his fist at the thought, breathing quickened. Heat came to the cheeks. Somehow, his father, whom an had felt his entire life was a rather clumsy and stupid fellow, had managed to command a plethora of these ostentatiously complicated tasks, all the while with a gleam in his eye and a wide, pleasant smile on his handsome face. an had never loved his father, had instead felt a kind of attachment to him, a responsibility. The Old Lord had succumbed quite unexpectedly to the Halberd Fever, an incurable disease, and died less than a week later. an had searched frantically for another heir, perhaps a distant relation, but there was none willing to take the Bethnen Throne.
And then, only a few months after taking over as Lord, an had been instructed by a high-ranking official calling himself Ignav to meet up with his old friend, Salax DVadai, a prince of the Isle of Vadaina, a beautiful jungle paradise, packed with wet draperies of lush leaves and foliage. an fled to Vadaina whenever he had the time to, finding that there was always a pretty girl to flirt with and grin at, always a bathwater ocean to dive into. The instructions told him to meet up with Salax and then bring him to Nelence, where the tri-annual Council of Nobles would convene to discuss matters pertaining to governing the vast Isardan Empire. They seemed to have been scrawled haphazardly by an already-strained hand. The writer had signed Ignav: Regent under the Emperor his Majesty Alexis IV. an hadnt bothered to check the authenticity of the note (it seemed quite ostentatious enough), preferring instead to depart from the troubles and worries of his fiefdom.
Maybe he wouldnt go back The cabin he sat within was quite opulent and, for the moment, quite silent, the only noise a barely-noticeable susurrus emanating from the crafts distant and powered-down engines. an had arrived early enough to beat the traffic and the crowds. In fact, an noticed that he was the sole occupant. Its walls were lit with the warm, orange glow of oil lamps, and lavish, comfortable couches were scattered about its floor. None of this really concerned an, howeverhe had seen it all before. His whole life he had been surrounded by luxury and riches.
As such, flying first class on a zeppelin was not unusual at all. He had brought a book along for the journey but didnt feel like reading it. He had a package of dried fruit in his pocket, and although he had a special fondness for dried fruit, he didnt feel like eating it. He didnt feel like doing much of anything, for, an DBethne was depressed beyond what his outward, lackadaisical looks could convey. Before him he saw year after year of boredom and misery and municipality. Governing a gloomy, backwater province with the smallest population in the Empire (but the third-largest land mass) was a task anyone could performall it required was a hand fast enough to sign new tax proposalsbut because the land he had been born as a noble in was governed by a feudal aristocracy he had been left no choice.
If he fled, he would be found, tortured by a filthy band of hired mercenaries, and executed. If he stayed, his hairs would gray over, his skin would shrivel and he would die in his bedsomehow he knew it. His clenched fist loosened, even though the palm was now sweaty. Since his childhood he had always craved the life of an adventurer, and the death of one tooand yet, in these times adventures were hard to come by. There were no more knights, no more horses, no more round tablesjust artillery shells and trenches, where children (who were barely adults), with minds full of propaganda fed to them by the Emperor his majesty Alexius IV, would die. By the hot bullets fired from rifles, by the acrid gas fissured from all around, by the shells blasted from tanks or artillery, they would almost certainly perish.
War was no longer a thing of glory; instead it was a way to protect the interests of the rich, of the aristocracy like himself. People died for nothing. Nothing. With these inward thoughts he slumped further into his chair. At the far end of the cabin the wooden door was silently opened to allow a rather obese man inside, his dark blue suit clinging to his fat and sweating body. His head was bald and gleamed under the oil lamps, and his face seemed to be wrinkled in a perpetual smile, one so wide as to reduce his eyes to mere slits.
He trotted over to the seat directly across from an and maneuvered himself into it, the chandeliers shaking as his rump hit the cushion. He was holding a newspaper, but quickly tossed it to the ornate table at his side. Bea-utiful day, he declared, to an, who had already noticed. Yes, quite nice. Yes, learn something new every day, an replied, quickly attempting to derail any attempt at conversation, his eyes drifting to the window. My names Edgar, said the man, pitching his blubbery body forward and extending his hand, Edgar Semmel.
How extraordinary, murmured an, who briefly shook Edgars hand. Edgar noticed the sarcasm and the venom in ans voice, but pretended not to. He had actually noticed it before he had said a word, it wasnt hard to miss. Still leaning forward, and with a shine in his eye, he asked And what might your name be? an DBethne. Ah!
Sounds like a northerly name! Dya hail from the Scend territories? I hear winters up there are pretty rough. an shut his eyes with frustration, then opened them again. No, actually Im from the south. From Bethnen.
Edgar seemed unhindered in his failing attempts to elucidate conversation. Oh, sorrymy mistake, I should have recognized the accent. Do they make good Rennel in Bethnen? Im quite fond of Rennel. Have you ever tried it? Before an could answer, Edgar shrieked waiter!
At once, a thin, tall man in black tails arrived. He hovered quietly over Edgar, visibly hoping to leave as soon as possible. Yes, sir? he murmured. Bring us two dozen Remmel. Andand be quick about it.
The waiter nodded and then hurried away. As if to convey a secret, Edgar leaned forward, nearly taking his chair with him. I take this flight every week, and Ive never been too fond of that man. All he says is yes sir, and he never stops looking so annoyed. Havent you noticed that too, Mr. DBethne? an nodded.
Slowly. Learn something new every day, he whispered, with hints of both annoyance and hatred tinting the edges of his voice. Oh, good, I thought I was going crazy. This job of mine, you know, working in the Kings Foreign Ministry, its a nightmare! He always wants me to be so aggressive with everyone, but it just isnt in my nature. Im terrified of getting fired, because its quite a good income, and for doing next to nothing!
Except for threatening foreigners of course, but dont we all do that at some point or another in our lives? Isnt it just in our nature? Hmm, well anyway And for the next ten minutes Edgar droned on about his work with a ferocious alacrity not often found in the average man. an nodded every now and then, sometimes made grunting noises with his throat. Soon he found himself fighting to stay sane. Here was a fat man, who had come out of nowhere to talk to an about his job.
And for what? Did he take some kind of sick pleasure in annoying people who were already visibly depressed? And then the Rennel arrived. The waiter hesitantly set several silvery plates before Edgar, who looked at them with an almost barbarous gleam in his squinted eyes. The Rennel appeared to be some kind of crustacean; to an it looked like nothing more than a shell with globs of green mucus smeared around its skin. Edgar waited for the servant to depart, his hands rubbing together at a rapidly accelerating rate.
an sighed. The waiter departed. And Edgar attacked the Rennel. With the grace and velocity of a flock of birds his arms darted at the food, his fingers plucking the shells and shoveling them into his widened mouth, his throat guzzling the mucus and humming with insatiable glee. After only a few seconds many of the plates had been picked clean, and Edgars face was plastered with the snot, as was his shirt, his pants, and the surrounding chair. an saw the waiter enter the cabin from the far end, look at Edgar and his surroundings, and groan with a misery that would be hard to duplicate.
He could see that the waiter had been stretched to his limits, that the man hated his job only because of Edgar, his abhorrent manners and his character. Edgar burped and then expanded his chest, reclining back into his chair and shutting his eyes with the delight of a child who had achieved his first orgasm. AhRennel he murmured, more to himself than an (an hoped). Edgars eyebrows then lifted, and he shouted an oh! He leaned back forward and faced an. Where are my manners!
Oh, really Mr. DBethne you should not have let me carry on like that. an nodded, a smile touching the edges of his thin lips. Yes, I agree Would you like any, Mr. DBethne? an was immediately taken aback. The smile faded. No, thank you I just had breakfast Well so have I!
Please, Mr. DBethne, I need to watch my weight, you know how it is, the wife is nagging me all the time about it! Please, finish it before I do! ans eyes widened, and he shook his head. No, no thank you I insist. Im quite full I assure you Please, Mr. DBethne. It tastes like cinnamon!
Now who doesnt like cinnamon? He sighed. ans hand plucked a shell from the cleanest tray he could find. Edgar watched him in childlike delight, his hands almost, almost clapping together with excitement. an felt like Edgar was cheering him on. He opened his mouth and his tongue pecked at the mucus.
He paused; a look of confusion crossed his face. His tongue took another peck, then rubbed itself around the entire shell. His eyes widened. He put clean shell back on the plate and then grabbed another. EdgarEdgar this is good! Of course it is!
Do you think I eat like this all the time? Not even trying to hold himself back, an found himself mimicking Edgars eating habits, and soon his entire face was smeared with the deliciously addictive Rennel. an had never tasted anything like it before; it seemed to almost burn the buds off of his tongue. Immediately after he had cleaned the remaining plates the waiter returned and picked them up, not trying to hide the disgust in his face. I told them to stop serving this stuff he murmured under his breath, but loud enough for the both of them to hear it. Bring us two more orders!
shouted an with a grin broadening the folds of his face. The waiter left without saying a word, and an looked back at Edgar, who was busy cleaning his face with a soaked napkin. Edgar, said an, Im sorryI was very impolite before, Im not usually like thisits just, my life seems to have taken a turn for the worse and I wasnt much in the mood for conversation. You understand? Edgar nodded. I had hoped to go off into the sunset or something when I got out of school, had hoped to just get away from everyone and everythingfrom all the diplomats and emissaries that laughed and joked with my dad and then sneered at me when he left.
They really hate me back there, back at the manor, they act almost as if its my fault that he died, even though it was probably one of them that drugged him with Halberds. Who was this man, your father? asked Edgar, his eyes on the door the waiter came through. Lord Gatan DBethne Your father was Gatan DBethne? Gatan DBethne! Yes, Ive heard it all before, great ruler, the people loved him, should build a statue a mile high in his honor Thatbastard was your father?
I spent half my career in the Foreign Assembly trying to keep him out of anything pertaining to foreign governments, he seemed to hate foreigners with a passion Ive never, ever seen before and doubt I shall ever see again. He always impersonated their accents, even when we were at war with them, once when we were even trying to negotiate a treaty between rival Achamaedan factions. He was off his rocker. Definitely off his rocker. No sane man acted the way he did. Tens of thousandshundreds of thousands must have died specifically because of that mans inherent, inexorable, insatiable stupidity.
They might not still be fighting in Achamaeda if it werent for him! It took us months to get the three faction leaders together, to get them to stop killing each other, and then your father came out of nowhere and threatened the weaker one with war if he didnt cooperate! That fellow nearly cut your dads head off before he stormed out of there. You know, Ive been trying to fix that mess for years Anger began to creep back into ans mind. The fist tightened once more. Although he had never loved his father he had respected him and his achievements, and doubted the validity of anything that Edgar was telling him.
Now, wait a second Oh, sure he did a damn fine job in Bethnen. Second highest tax income to Vadaina in the whole Empire, second best economy. They train the best soldiers there; breed the best horses in Bethnen. And it was all because of your dad. But I think being a general for so long may have gotten to him. He told me he never lost a battle, said an.
Thats true, murmured Edgar, his eyes wandering the pillars of gleaming metal out the window, before returning to an, but did he ever tell you about the last battle he commanded, the battle that ended the last Isardan-Trachan Conflict? an shook his head. He told me that he retired. Edgar laughed. Who wouldnt? It was in Tehillo, on the border.
You know how Tehillo is; its nothing but a prairie. Hot Grasslands far as the eye can see. We must have had twenty thousand troops, both sides together. I was there, I saw it with my own eyes, the King asked me to keep an eye on crazy DBethne, catch my drift? It looked to be an easy win, probably one of the last battles of the war. The Trachans were outnumbered three to one, and almost every last man in their army had assembled to defend against us.
Wed be able to take Tharad for real this time, annex Gol Trachos like weve been trying to do for the last few hundred years or so. Your dad screwed it all up. He charged everyone at their ranks, everyone, and the enemy general flanked him on both sides with some cavalryand it was a mess. It was a victory all right, but barely one at that. Both sides lost nearly all their men. I doubt many people have seen so many soldiers die in a single battle.
Thats why theres been peace between us and the Trachans for so long now, because both sides are so exhausted from these never ending conflicts. And they just keep getting worse and worse. When the battle was over I saw your dad, didnt dare talk to him, he had his dagger drawn like he was ready to kill someone. Something snapped in him that day, something snapped in all of us. His eyes found their way back to the window. So manyso many soldiers, all because of an overconfident general.
And then he retired? Who wouldnt? an couldnt believe this. He was infuriated. Both at Edgar and at his fatherat his motherat the officials that despised him, by Terra he hated them with such passion, such vehemence. His hand went to the pistol hidden at his armpit, but he caught himself in the act and pretended that he was scratching his shoulder.
No one ever told me. Not even my history teachers. Edgar laughed snidely at the remark Learn something new every day. Over the course of the next hour several more passengers entered the cabin and took their seats. Several appeared to be Edgars friends, and they joined him in making political conversation, discussing the recent events, the major advances in technology, all the while ignoring an, whose eyes never left the window. The propellers first growled and then hummed as the zeppelin left its moors, and soon they were underway, the city slowly shrinking into the horizon, the glimmering Zesphyran ocean gurgling far below.
It would be a few hours yet before they reached Vadaina at top speed, and ans brief happiness and excitement caused by the Rennel went into remission. An enormous chapter of his fathers life he had never, ever known about had been unveiled by a fat, stupid man who worked in the Foreign Ministry. And now he was stuck here surrounded by this stupid mans stupid friends who were yelling at each other about politicsalways about politics. Everything had to be about politics. ans entire life revolved around the manipulation and subjugation of lesser peoples. Compromise is the art of politics!
his father had always told him, grinning as if he had made the saying up on his own. But the true politicians always worked together to get rich or to get richer, only feigning interest in the people, only feigning differences, only feigning compromise. Why disagree when you could pretend to disagree and garner money and power out of it? The most successful leaders always followed the greenbacks and always used them to purchase compromise. There were nations in Ociedies that claimed to be democratic, to have the peoples best interests at hand. But no matter how the issue was approached, the leaders were always the same: the same upper class of aristocrats that have always ruled the world, that have always ruled mankind.
Oh, Alexius is a fine fellow, said a painfully thin, mustached man while taking off his top hat, Ive met him several times at the capital building! You know, now that I think about it he seems to carry a kind of calm, divine presence about him. He is certainly what a ruler is supposed to be. And what is a ruler supposed to be, Jurian? asked Edgar. He should be a listener, said the skeletal Jurian, grinning like a skull with his declaration, clearly thinking it a brilliant one.
He should be easy to talk to, and should consider every opinion, no matter how foolhardy or insignificant. So should he have none of his own thoughts, or opinions? Should he be the peoples slave, rather than their ruler and King? asked Edgar, as a teacher would ask a child, while Jurian did not appear to notice. The other businessmen and politicians sitting in the vicinity listened in silence. Wellmore or less.
I believe that he should be able to listen but also be able to decide, he should be powerful and compassionate at the same time. Power and compassion are rarely associates. And thats why great rulers are just as rare! Edgar sighed. Listen to yourself. Great ruler.
You speak of the emperor that owns you as if he is some kind ofofI dont know, some kind of saint. To speak of anything less is blaspheme You missed my point, Jurian. The Emperor, the President, the Rulerthese are synonyms for only one word: slavemaster. The haggard Jurian laughed, his tone false, but only to a trained ear. I hear Alexius is looking for a new court jester, Edgar. Have you thought about applying?
Edgar ignored him, easily, because Edgar considered Jurian an intellectual inferior, a man in over his head when conversing with anything more complicated than an igneous rock. The King of Isardis owns everything that is Isardan, doesnt he? Every person, every house, every cockle of hair, every molecule of your skin is in his possession. He owns you. You belong to only one man, Jurian. Jurian remained dignified.
Thats not true. I could betray him if I wanted to, even though I wouldnt, of course. I could betray him and flee to Gol Trachos, or Achamaeda, or the New World Then, with a calm look in his squinted, beady eyes, and sensing imminent victory, Edgar mused, Even so, youd just belong to somebody else. Youre wrong, Edgar. The King isnt a godhe cant see my thoughts, he cant see my mind, my hopes, my dreamsnor can he see any of my actions. The only things that would concern a wise Emperor are the actions of his populace as a whole or even the actions of a well-placed individual.
If he wanted to observe your actions, through his own eyes or through someone elses, do you honestly think that he would have any trouble in doing so? Yes, I do. Again, Edgar ignored him. Youre a slave to your rulerwhether he is elected or placed on the throne some other way, whatever he says you must do. Facing the consequences of disobeying a command from your ruler would result in harsh punishment. Even if what he orders you to do is illegal, you must do it, because in the end he will get you.
Indefinite imprisonment or death comes to mind, of course Youre crazy. Besides, like I said beforeAlexius is a good man. He is not a tyrant, his reign has been both peaceful and fruitful. When have you ever heard of a benevolent slavemaster, Jurian? As for that widespread profit making, Im sure its source is in the New World, and the labor camps Isardan corporations are building there. The only difference between the savages there and the citizens here is that the savages know that they are enslaved.
Such a simple fact seems to escape the moreeducated peoples of Ociedies. As for the peace, youre forgetting the last war, the one with Gol Trachos, remember? The one that wiped out our whole army, the one that plunged us into a bottomless national debt? Well spoken, Edgar, thought an, to himself, as he listened in silence, I may have misjudged you. I hope this flight isnt our last encounter. Jurian didnt reply, and was instead contented to sit back in his chair and pretend that the whole thing had never taken place.
More and more the man reminded an of a living, clothed skeleton, with only a thin hide of skin tightened over his bones. Edgar sighed and sat back in his seat, signaling that the conversation had concluded. The men in the group that had sat on the couches and chairs nearby in the cabin quietly wondered what the next conversational topic would be, each trying to think of a good one to propose. I hear things have gotten worse in Achamaeda, said one nearby to an, its impossible to get in or out of that place. Every train that runs through it is robbed, nowadays. Its complete anarchy, I hear.
Do any of you remember how Achamaeda used to be? asked Edgar. There was a resounding chorus of nos and shaking heads that responded. I guess I must be the oldest one here, then, said Edgar, with a slight hint of despair in his voice. I barely remember itI was very young, couldnt have been more than five. My dad was with me, it was very sunny and warm, and people there were happy.
It wasnt the type of happiness you see with loving married couples or bright eyed children, it seemed like it was almost something more, as if by just being somewhere in Achamaeda you could be happy and content, and somehow never know it. You could feel it everywhere, like it was a kind of humidity, almost. Its a challenge to explain How poetic, Edgar. murmured Jurian. I lived there until the Parsarguard disintegrated. Its been anarchy and civil war there ever sincemust be something like fifty years now, said Edgar, trailing off into his own memories.
You know, pronounced an, Ive always wondered why Isardis or Gol Trachos never invaded Achamaeda. Theyre leaderless and dividedperfect pickings for the bigger dogs of Ociedies. Achamaeda is huge, murmured Edgar, mostly to himself, and after fifty years of civil war theres one thing the Achamaedans are good at: resistance. Youd never be able to hold onto it. Sooner or later someoned kick you out. But no ones even tried.
At this point the conversations in the room quieted, most of the eyes and all of the ears trained on both an and Edgar. How do you know, Mr. DBethne? How can you? an shrugged. Well, I cant. Edgar smiled.
Precisely. an paused. What do you mean? If governments told their people of what really occurred behind the scenes, of all the battles lost, of how many people were killed, how many governments do you think would last? None? asked an, cautiously.
Absolutely none. Theres no doubt in my mind that Alexius has tried a few things in Achamaeda, Ive seen little bits of evidence here and thereI have a brother that works for him, you knowbut, yes, there have been several attempts, secret ones, mind you, of organizing a puppet government there, however they have all failed. None of the groups or tribes or sects or whatever you want to call them have lasted more than a few decades. The oldest one was wiped out twenty years ago. So Achamaeda is an example of anarchy in action, then? Its as close as its ever likely to get.
When was the last time you went there? Edgar shook his head; a smile pushed apart his cherubic cheeks. I havent gone back since my childhood. Havent had the time or the patience. I had time, but ran out of time to have it Whats that? asked Edgar, thinking that he hadnt heard an correctly.
Just an old lyric I heard awhile ago. How intriguing. The conversations around them began to resume, and until they arrived at Vadaina the trip was largely uneventful. For a few more hours an contemplated his existence in the way that depressed teenagers do, repeating the whys and ifs after every few sentences. He avoided speaking to Edgar and had declined to indulge himself in any more Rennel, feeling not only quite full but also slightly nauseous. Toward the end of the flight a bit of turbulence hit the craft, and an felt the lump in his stomach climb to his throat.
With widened eyes he rushed out of the cabin, emerging on the outdoor deck and vomiting mucus into the air. He wiped off his face, felt even more depressed, and then raised his eyes to meet the isle of Vadaina in the distance. The feeling of depression managed to subside. There were many tropical islands scattered about the circumference of the wide, blue Zesphyran, most of them uninhabitedbut few of them had the look of regal grandeur that Vadaina possessed. It was a large island, placed atop bright waters that hurt the eyes to look at. The capital city of Susa was largely the cause of this regal grandeur, for it was enormous, its modest homes painted bright white, the plazas and squares colored extravagantly, the tall obelisks built by the last governor rising into the sky from the Royal Palace.
Another zeppelin was docked at the aeroport, and many large freighters and pleasure yachts were racing to and fro the harbor. an stayed outside for the remainder of the flight, watching in silence as the zeppelin in the distance floated away, while the one he was on drifted toward the dock tower, where elevators would take them several stories down to the green-grassed airfield below. He said his goodbyes to Edgar, mentioned that theyd have to get together sometime later. Edgar laughed, murmured a youre too kind and proceeded to lumber off with his friends, the gaunt Jurian following closely behind, his bony, cadaverous hands placing his shiny top hat snugly above bald his skull. The sun beat down on them much harder than it had in Nelence, and an felt sweat gathering at his armpits. His lazy eyes searched the airfield for Salax, and after the crowd had subsided an located his friend, who had taken to admiring the zeppelin in the air above them.
an remembered, then, that Salax had always held an affinity for flight, and the science behind it. Salax, the current Duke of Vadaina, was of a medium height, strikingly handsome, and well built. He had been an avid swordsman since his early years, and local legend had it that he could defeat anyone in Ociedies in a skirmish. His eyes carried a look of intimate wonder about, as well as a confidence that an found that he had always admired. He had looked up to his friend, had idolized his better aspects since they had met in their early childhood. Salax had a cocky attitude that never subsided, and it took quite a bit of digging to reveal the better part of him.
Here was what a ruler should be. Young, charismatic, at least professing to be intelligent, able to listen, able to intimidate So are you going to keep staring at me like that or say hello? ans eyes refocused. He grinned, Salax grinned as well, and they laughed. Sorryits just that I puked on the way over, guess I ate too much Rennel, and, well You puked! Well, isnt that just a fantastic bit of information!
Youll have to tell me all about it It was then that Salaxs crepuscular servant and cab driver stepped forward, seemingly from nowhere. He did so almost like a ghost, but not in as much of a terrifying fashion. Lunch will be ready soon, mlord, he murmured, his eyes drooping to the green grass at their feet. Excellent timing, Tenner! he turned to an. Ready for some royal cuisine, from the hallowed halls of Susa Palace?
an shrugged. Well, I was told that I had to return to Nelence as soon as possible, the Council is supposed to have already started Great! Tenner, have the outdoor table set, and invite some of your friends along, if you like. Well make a party out of it! The old servant shrugged, lowering his already low eyebrows. Begging your majestys pardon, but most of my friends, well, my good friends have been dead for I didnt ask for your lifes story, Tenner.
Just do it. Yes, mlord. My apologies. Salax laughed, seemingly forcefully. Not at all! an took Salax by the shoulder, a serious look in his eyes.
SalaxIm serious. We have to get going. Now. They only invite the power players to Council Meetings. And only a few times a year. Dont spoil the fun, an.
Youre on Vadaina, now. Nothing else matters, remember? an only replied with the dark expression on his face. Youre serious? an nodded. Salax sighed.
Alright, alright, guess Ill have to stop everything. He turned to Tenner, who had managed, by this time, to pull his haggard body several feet away, toward the car. Tennercancel the lunch. Well dig up your friends later. Have my things packed for a few days journey and meet me back here in one hour. Tell my dad that Im leaving for Nelence and should be back soon.
Got it? Tenner nodded, glumly, before continuing upon his arduous hike to the car. Youve got to love the spirit these guys have. Never ceases to amaze me. an looked to the sky, saw the sandblasted tip of the obelisk poking itself above the red roofs of the Susa abodes. The streets of the city were packed with motorcars, speeding to and fro the ocean and the various tourist attractions.
an could see a white line of sand bordering the turquoise bathwater sea, noticed even at this distance that the beach was crowded to the brim with both the natives and the touristsmere people that had fled the mainland to vacation in paradise. They were still standing at the zeppelin landing field, its edges sparsely populated by tall, swaying palm trees. Another blimp was already approaching, this one significantly larger than the one an traveled on. It could have come all the way from Gol Trachos. This place is just packed, Salax, said an as he started to walk toward the streets. Your surplus must be incredible.
Salax grinned, raised his eyebrows. We make so much money here we hardly have to tax anyone at all. Most of the taxes go straight to the Feds in Nelence, the rest go to providing free health care, dental care, large, wealthy publics schools, places to sleep for the rare Vadaina homeless person. The tourist industry has really sunk its claws into my dad, though He sighed. I think hes been taking bribes, letting them slack up on keeping things sanitary and safe. I dont know why, we have enough money as it is.
Nobody ever has enough money, Sal. Well then I guess we have so much that anything else would seem like just a drop in the bucket. What have you been spending it on lately? Improvements, like the obelisk. We have a big, bronze statue planned to be on the east coast. Like the Colossus, the Colossus at Antigua?
Bigger. Much, much bigger. Were thinking of giving it a silver plating, so you could see it from the mainland. Colossus wont be a big enough word to describe it. Maybe well call it the Megaultralithon. The Megaultralithon.
He smiled again. Well, murmured an, sticking his hands into his pockets, at least having so much money hasnt gotten to your head, right? Then they smiled together, as old friends do. II A woman named Drazir Loguen pressed her finger against the cold metal trigger of her rifle, felt the weapon buck, saw a flash, felt her ears thrum in pain with the loud roar that ushered forth from its nozzle. Its body was suddenly warm, and she could hear a light hiss emanate from the end, where a small funnel of steam was rising. At the other end of No-Mans-Land, a muddy, corpse-strewn wasteland of soggy mutilation, she saw her target, a tall thin man, running toward her with his rifle at hand.
An instant after she had pressed the trigger his shoulder burst into red plasma, and he fell into the soil of the battlefield. Her first kill. Drazir fell back behind the trench she had dug herself into, it was more like a hole, far from the protected ranks of her countrymen behind her, she was quite alone, and quite likely to perish from the perpetual hail of gunfire streaming from the rebel insurgents in front of her. She felt a pang of sadness, a strange feeling envelop her, almost euphoria, but not quite. Her first kill. Someone who would have lived at least a little longer, had she not fired, was now just another mangled, lifeless body.
The man had parents who would never see him again, probably a love of his life who feared for his safety every waking moment, who cried at his departure for the battlefield, her eyes more radiant than usual, maybe children, who were the joy of his life, who tinkered with his very perception of what reality was, who made him question philosophies he had taken for granted, many friends who smiled at him and shook their heads whenever he made a stupid joke. An entire existence had just ended, and an entire slew of people, when they learned of his death, would mourn for him perhaps for their entire lives. If he were aliveif he were alive. Combat. She saw another target making for her foxhole. Instinctively, she lifted her gun and fired again, missed.
She saw the whites of the mans eyes as he dove for cover twenty or thirty feet away. She heard the pitch of the distant, almost otherworldly machine guns change, and she ducked down and covered her ears as plumes of wet dirt and blood ruptured around her, the bullets whizzing by centimeters above the thin metal of her helmet, the ground tremoring wildly as screeching shells burst in the mud. Her wet face grimaced, her eyes shut tightly. Even with her ears covered the noise was deafening, and as the time ached on she felt desperation climbing in her lungs, up her dirt-clogged throat. The noise grew to a cataclysm, and she screamed as the snapping and the whizzing and the roars of the distant cannons grew to such a chorus around her that absolutely nothing else could be heard. The hail of gunfire ended as slowly as it began, gradually tapering off as the gunners found new targets.
Her miserable shrieking did not end until the rumbling earth was still. And even then it was all her minds voice could do, for in trench combat logical thought is silenced, and while she was closer to death than she ever had been before, she never felt more alive. Combat. She lifted herself from the wet topsoil, clutching her rifle with a vigorous, battlefield tenacity. She gasped, eyes widened, and she almost fell backward. Standing before her, an arms length away, was the man, or the boy, who had dived for cover minutes before.
He was stupidgreatly inexperienced, if you stood up you were deadand for some inexplicable reason he lacked a firearm. Something had happened to it. But he was a boy, just a boy, not even an adolescent. What a life he must have led. A life of never ending terror in the midst of anarchy, in the midst of chaos. To grow up in Achamaeda is a thought only beheld in nightmares.
These thoughts flew through her mind as she silently lifted her rifle, took aim, and fired. His eyes seemed subtracted suddenly, and he looked down to the wound, touched it with hands that were immediately covered in blood, and then collapsed out of view. Drazir tried to push the encroaching despair out of her mind, tried to think of happier things, and not about the child she had just murdered, who, if given a normal life, would have been playing on a merry-go-round with his friendsinstead of this miserable carnage no sane man could endure for long. She had grown up in Tehillo, a sunny province in the south of Isardis, had lived a quiet, gentle life as a bright-eyed little girl. She fought with the boys sometimes, and somehow always beat them, whether they were stronger than her or not. Drazir had a certain animal ferocity, a primal instinct in combat that allowed her to master her foe subconsciously, allowing her to exploit to full advantage every weak point, every unique area of tenderness.
She was so young, the memories were few and seemed to her to be full more of feeling and emotion rather than imagery. She felt so loved, and so content. Then she was whisked away, taken by troops to the Imperial Academy at Nelence, where she would spend the next fifteen years of her life training to be a lethal predator, on of only a few Ariladats, the greatest of warriors, chosen by the Queen herself in paradise before she was born to be an undefeatable warrior. Then, when she had graduated with as many awards and honors as they permitted, she had been given her first command in Achamaeda, a place she had heard of many times before, an awful, cruel, dark bastion of hell, where civil strife had been raging for upwards of fifty years. This was the true Academy. Few survived it.
Another foe began a sprint from some foxhole toward her. She lifted her rifle and tightened her finger over the trigger, waiting for euphoria to envelop her once again. The sun fell below the shoulders of the horizon, and the city of Nelence emerged in glorious twilight, her lights and windows sparkling in magnificent necklaces draped luxuriously over her buildings and towers and skyscrapers. Far above the tallest buildings stood a Cyclopean relic, a pristine cylinder of architectural brilliance that had stood at a height of over a hundred and fifty stories since the birth of Isardis. It was Isardisin all of its immortal grandeur, among the clouds, higher than heaven. At its top floor, peering through a window onto the city below, stood the King Alexius IV.
He was a tall man, and although his body was very old it still seemed to echo a strength not found often. Here was a warrior, an Ariladat, the greatest of fighters, the strongest, and the bravest of creatures, who had proven himself above all others to the previous King, and was thus nominated as his successor. Alexius face, reflected in the warm candlelight emanating from a chandelier, conveyed this character almost as much as his actions would. It was lean and straight, the nose was thin and the eyes large and round, the pupils never dilating behind green irises. Behind him, sitting at a regal desk reserved for public officials, was Ignav Semmel. A thin man of average height, he sported dark, beady eyes, his face masculine but not handsome by any stretch of the imagination, his jaws large and noticeable.
His cheeks tightened and his thin lips widened, and from behind them came a flawless set of white teeth, giving his smile a certain notability, one which could be easily interpreted as being of either good intentions or of venomous sarcasm. The document he sat reading was a thin book entitled The Manifesto of Ahken, a religious scripture from a zealot expelled from Isardis several months before, the man taking refuge in Tharad, the sprawling capital city of Isardis mortal enemy, Gol Trachos, and continuing to denounce the capitalist-imperialist Isardan government. He had been candidly interviewed by the foreign press (Isardan media was loosely controlled by the government) and followers of his; calling themselves Ahkenatens would distribute his propaganda throughout the provinces of the nation. It seemed like since he was born the man had been trying unsuccessfully to start a revolt. Just before he was expelled he had started a small riot in western Tehillo, one which was immediately put down by the Isardan military police and never allowed mention in the press. He was quietly expelled and threatened with his life if he returned.
But it seemed now that no matter where he went the man caused trouble for the Isardan aristocracy. The Trachans love him, dont they? asked Alexius, still watching the lights of the cars in the chasm below. Theyll make any excuse to start another war with us. Every war that weve fought, every war that theyve fought, has been about economics. Our companies and corporations battling theirs for global dominion.
Hegemony? Neither power has it. Neither power has ever had it. Much of the world had been discovered in the last few years, most of it ocean, mainland Ociedies remaining the center of culture and civilization. A few small continents and cultures had been found, primitive darkskinned savages who had been warned by someone of the white man, who had fought every pilgrimage with vicious tenacity. They outnumbered both Isardis and Gol Trachos by a great deal, the barbarians, the savages, but their technology was inferior.
Already the coastal communities had been subdued, and the inhabitants subsequently enslaved by the richer aristocrats publicly not affiliated with Alexius but in reality his closest companions. Can he be assassinated? Ignav shook his head. Hes protected by the Trachan police. Were the only nation with the resources to kill him off, theyd know it was us if we managed to do so. Alexius turned from the window, began to pace the room.
I heard a strange theory from the man. He was explaining how all men and women have a natural, primal fear of reptiles. Do you know what Im talking about, Ignav? I think so. He says that a very, very long time ago, before there was civilization, before there was technology, there was a race of lizard-men that coexisted with humanity. Called Saurians, you know.
Supposedly they only lived around the brims of volcanoes, which were a bit more common back then, however over time the two species began to quarrel. And we didnt do so well. They were better fighters, much larger, much smarter than us. Their technology was on the same levelstill fairly primitive, but we were outmatched. The war was over the course of several thousand years, and soon whomever had a natural fear of lizards managed to survive and reproduce. And the Saurians?
Alexius smiled. This is where it gets weird It was already weird. I know. Anyway, the Saurian deity, Tiamat, an enormous dragon representing fire and chaos battled our god, Terra, who represented water and peace, and Terra won. She separated the planet into two hunks, one with the Saurians and one with the humans. One of them flew off into space, the other one is where we live now.
And all this happened? Hundreds of thousands of years ago. And the evidence? Is nonexistent. Its more or less a theory hes compiled from oral tradition, from mythological accounts and stories passed down from that time period. Alexius Im surprised youve taken the time to read up on our enemy zealot here.
The man is clearly crazyhe wants no class distinction, everyone to be educated at the same schools, hes just insane. But the people seem to believe him, Ignav paused, instead of us. Which is why he has to die. Can we pay off some foreign mercenaries? New Worlders? Achamaedans?
Like I said theyd never be able to do it, not in a thousand years. Then how do we do it, Ignav? He grinned once more, a sly, vicious baring of his teeth. We go to war. Alexius sighed. I dont think its quite economically feasible at the moment, Ignav Thats why Ive called a council together, one of all the aristocrats and wealthy businessmen from Isardis.
All of our associates, friends, and relatives who have dealings in world power politics will be here. Together well decide the proper course of action. Id rather war be a last resort Tell it to the rich people, Alexius. Alexius eyes drifted back to the window, and he began to walk toward it, across the soft, crimson carpet at his feet. He reached the edge, and resumed his watching of the populace, his eyes following the lights of the cars in the streets below. IgnavIgnav you know we have no army.
The Tehillo Accord prevents us from having any more than 20,000 troops, hardly a police force Then well raise a new army. That costs money. People. Political power. The Trachans are sure to find out. Then we raise the army in secrecy.
Have them train in Achamaeda for a few months. A sly grin began to spread across Ignavs face. The Ariladats will be reborn. Alexius eyes stopped. Ariladats? I know you were once one of them, Alexius.
They were vicious warriors; their foes were outmatched if the Ariladat party was outnumbered ten to one. The Ariladat Warrior Tradition goes back to the time before Isardis, the word is actually a Somaran term. The native warrior bands joined our ranks in the first war against the Trachans, and were absorbed over the centuries. Until Until I dissolved them. Because? They were vicious, they went to war for immoral reasons (Ignav scoffed).
They went to pillage and loot, not to defend the nation, not to defend the True Faith, not to defend the Queen. I was only briefly an Ariladat. You were one long enough to be officially recognized by the last Emperor of Isardis. To be made a candidate for vid-imperator. Ignav pushed himself out of his chair, approached Alexius side. He crept up to his ear, slowly whispered What made you so different?
Alexius head craned to Ignavs face. Moral aptitude. Ignavs smile merely widened. A soldier for Peace, Justice, and the True Faith, eh? You act like you hardly know me, Ignav. Ive known you almost my entire life.
Im just making sure that were on the same page Alexius grabbed both of Ignavs shoulders, shook them violently. We are not on the same page! And for the space of the minute, their widened eyes were locked. Alexius loosed his grip. The Emperor began to walk out of the room, head cast low, fists balled. He stopped at the door, turned his head ever so slightly.
There will be no war. The blinding heat of the sun was obscured for a moment behind a thick cloud, temporarily bathing the regal city of Susa in a cool shadow. an and Salax walked together along the red-paved streets, laughing and joking together, reminiscing about old times. It had been too longfar too long, since they had seen each other. The crowds on Vadaina were thick, the streets were packed with cars and the sidewalks brimming with people, people of all different sorts. Old people, young people, handsome people, ugly people, all passing by an and Salax, some looking at them, some ignoring them, and some simply not noticing.
The one binding similarity between most of them was their smiles, for, each was bloomed. So are you still with Hara? asked an. I was waiting for you to ask. Yes, of course Im still with Hara. an scoffed.
Well. Im very happy for you. Salax nodded, and smiled. They walked on, and the conversation entered a lull. Hara. Yes, Salax knew Hara.
Hara. A creature descended from the heavens, from gleaming clouds. She brought it with her, brought the divine grace of the gods, the wisps of zephyr barreling about the cosmos. It was a hard thing to explain, almost, almost like a feeling that Salax discerned when he touched her hair. He could feel it emanating from her, pulsing from her, and when he touched her, saw her, spoke to her, the love, the feeling, the pervasive thing, the clouds, the beautyit seemed to clot in his bloodstream, and slow his brain activity. A glance at her eyes, the faint tinges of a smile on the edges of her lips, allowed everything around her to blur in Salaxs vision, every sound but the ones she made smothered, every smell extinguished.
She seemed to be the only source of light in the room, and it was obvious to most that everything but her was of the earth, was dirty, chthonic, and she wassimplysomething else. Something better. Above them all, above Salax, above any King, any Queen. Well I can see that by the lost look in your eyes the zest hasnt left this relationship. Salax sighed, shook his head, then looked back at an, still sporting the expression of abandon that permeated his faces every molecule whenever the topic of Hara was mentioned. anI think Im going to marry her.
an shrugged. Comes as no surprise, really. You two were in love with each other before you even met. Whats taken you so long? Salax laughed, uneasily. Fear.
an knew the feeling. Everything rested on her. Salaxs ability to enjoy life, to live, rested on her. an had felt that way about another, about many others, but Hara was the only woman Salax ever spent any extended amount of time with. The rest were only temporary enjoyment, while Hara waspermanent. She loves you, Sal.
Shell say yes. I hope soI can only hope so. an waited until they had finished rounding a city corner before continuing. When are you going to ask? Salax stopped, his eyes fixed on the window of a restaurant on the other side of the street. Right now.
He walked through the traffic, the cars stopping for him and honking as he made his way alone into the restaurant, where an realized that Hara must have worked as a waitress. Picturing her in a dirtier, more menial task just didnt seem to fit. Inside, Salax passed by several occupied tables (the dining room was small, but cozy), the people sitting at them too busy looking out the window to notice him. The door to the kitchen opened, and she emerged. The backdrop of conversations and voices, clattering plates and utensils, honking cars outside, footsteps on the wood floorall of itceased. The wall behind her blurred, the lights dimmed, and she brightened, like a newborn star in the void.
Ever so slowly her eyes flicked to him, and he felt the feeling, the power thrumming through him. The muscles of her cheeks contracted, her lips widened into a reclusive smile, a shy one. But the eyes remained where they were. They approached one another, the restaurant around them all but frozen in time. Salax returned her smile. Kind of melodramatic, isnt it?
Life is always melodramatic. Ive never understood it, said Salax, looking back and forth, at the lifeless faces of tanned the tourists around him, this isnt some kind of fantasy or delusion. Whats happening isis real. Tangible. You see it too? Always.
They came closer, he took her hands, felt the sweat of a days labor on them. He lifted them to just below her neck, held them there, both of their faces nearly touching, their eyes trying to pierce one anothers, trying to see past the barrier of skin into what they loved more than existence. He said it. Marry me? She nodded. And then it was over.
Suddenly the people in the restaurant were alive and watching them eagerly. One clapped his hands, slowly. The rest soon followed suit, and the blurred lens that seemed to cover their eyes dissipated, the gleam of the sun off of the automobiles outside hurting their iris. They laughed, together, as one, instead of two. They were now only separate in physical form, but they both knew that individuality was gonethat in mind, spirit, soul, or any other words assigned to such a thing, they were one. Perhaps it had always been this way, perhaps they had never noticed, but it seemed as if this was a prime example of what mythical love truly is.
That it is different from anything else, from petty attractions egged on by the hormones clouding the blood vessels of human brains, of animal brains. It seems that it is easily a thing that transcends humanity and reality, and connects in a realm that is beyond the facile, crude matter that permeates the universe. Some time later, it all seemed so fast when he was there, but, yes, it seemed that Salax DVadai managed to pull himself away from his love (who had to work) to attend to his other duties (which, in all honesty, could wait). He left with an, for the gleaming metropolis of Nelence, on the other side of the world, to speak of politics with his Emperor. He heard the door behind him click open, recognized the hesitant step of his son. His left hand tightened over a golden staff, the ornament passed on from King to King, since the foundation of Isardis.
Alexius hated his son. He turned, his eyes met his sons faceand he saw himself in the man before him, the despicable man before him, the man that would plunder the throne if left to rule. Little bits and pieces of his long-deceased mother had melted together with his own in the mans face, most specifically his nose, which was flat and round, almost like a pigs, ruining the handsomeness of our genetics, thought the King. Alexius had always hated the nose. He had wanted his son to look exactly like himself; he had wanted a clone, not an offspring, but a duplicate that would go beyond his wildest expectations. Since the boys birth he had been disappointed, always disappointed.
An abysmal failure on his own part, for even wanting a son. He wasnt a boy anymore, thoughthat much was sure. He was old now, his long hair had started to gray, wrinkles had begun to grin under his eyes and around his mouth. Every day he looked more and more like Alexius, and every day he acted less and less like him. The woman he had finally found to marry, a princess from the province of Davan, was a whorenothing more than a filthy whore from a poor, filthy province, birthed from the lips of a whore mother, conceived by a bastard father. It showed in her face, in her consistent disrespect toward Alexius, in her defianceshe was a harlot, and although he hated his son, and had secretly loathed him for as long as he had existed, he knew that if there was any hope of saving Isardis that the next heir down the line, his grandson, would have to be strong.
He needed a strong mother, a cunning mother, a beautiful mother. Not unlike that girl he had met yesterday at the councilwhat was her nameHara. Such a pity, thought Alexius, Hara will never see her husband again. Alexius realized that he had been glaring silently at his son this whole time, his fingers white over the ornate orb at the end of his staff. Ive had enough of this, father. Cassandra is in hysterics after what you pulled tonight.
You two hate each other. You hate my wife. You hate your own daughter. Alexius felt his rage churn about, and he had great difficulty restraining himself. Sweat began to perspire on his hands, and a bead of moisture ran down the golden surface of the staff. Ill disown you if you call her my daughter ever again, Alex.
She is the daughter of a harem. If you have anything sensible to say youd better say it now before I call the guards. Guards? Guards? You dare to call the guards on me? Youre delusional, father, youve really lost it this time Enough!
I have decided. If you marry her you will not inherit the throne. Alex tried to speak, but his fathers intensified glare silenced him. Get thatbitch on a train back to Davan. I dont want to ever see you two together again. Alex closed his eyes tightly with his fathers words, then opened them with a renewed passion, and stepped forward, his boots clicking on the marble floor.
He came face-to-face with his father, their noses nearly touching, each with his face soaked in sweat. Dont and he paused, realizing the gravity of his defiance, call her that. Alexius felt the anger boil over, felt it thrum through his broadening veins. He gritted his teeth together, lifted the golden staff into the air, and heard its otherworldly swoop as his arms brought it down over Alexs head, smashing the skull, soaking the round orb at the end in blood. Alex didnt crumple, but fell, as a tree does when it is cut down, his boots clattering on the marble. Alexius dropped the staff, and felt a lurch in his stomach.
What have I done? The King fell forward, on his knees, lifted the bleeding head in his hands, the fluids dripping onto his extravagant satin robes. He could see the folds of the brain through the gaping breach in the skull, could see then that there was no hope. He dropped Alex to the floor and backed away on all fours to the window, squeezed himself into the fetal position and began to shake, his breath coming in wheezes and gasps. What have I done? It felt like a waterfall, like the deafening roar of a waterfall, the memories of his son flooding his mind, thrashing about.
I loved my son. He saw Alexs birth, his little face in his arms, his screaming mouth, how he was covered in disgusting liquidbut then noticed how he calmed as he felt the heartbeat of his father, felt his chest expanding with his breath. He saw Alex playing on a beach, the wind was strong, he heard his laugh, the laugh of a happy child, and saw a red kite intense against a blue, cloudless sky. He saw Alex playing in the bathtub with his mother, splashing her with bubbles, screaming with glee. It was all there, the love that he had never admitted to feel, the flood of it drenching his mind. What have I done?
The guards charged into the room, swords and pistols drawn, only seconds after the event had taken place. They shouted Where is the killer, to the King, but the King didnt reply, said nothing, as the Royal Doctor arrived from the party several floors down, not even bothering to take out his tools, seeing, as the King did, as the murderer did, that there was no hope for the body of the Kings only heir, which now lay in a dark, crimson pool of its own blood. Murderer. What have I done? The King lay there, curled at the window, as the early morning arrived. Guards had been posted nearby, and his officials had been shouting at him for hours, begging to get a word out of him, but finding it impossible.
The body was taken away by a coroner, the blood cleaned by a tear-eyed maiden from the polished marble floor. He overheard the guards talking about how the princess had been informed, how she had cried and then left without a word to anyone. It was all Alexius fault, everything was his fault. I am a murderer. He clenched his fists at the thought, his breath coming in haggard wheezes. The guards heard, and they rushed to his aide, picking him up and carrying him through the hallways that the King saw in only a blur, his eyes wandering the painted portraits of past rulers and generals and great men, each with his own frame of opulent gold.
But my frame will forever be stained red. He was dumped into his bed, and the guards began to shout for help. He heard the thumping of more feet on the floor, noticed he couldnt move his body, his vision narrowing to a pinpoint of light. The noise around him blurred, thickened, and he blacked out. He awoke, taking a deep breath of air in. The memories caught up with him, immediately, and he felt despair once again, lying back in his fluffed pillows, his hands tightly gripping his bedcovers.
The sun was golden through the windows; he guessed that he had been out an entire day. 
