CHAPTER II: Death, Change

This chapter is narrated by Miranda Blake, the daughter of the Selentine Emperor and the Elvish Ice Queen.

My mother loved my father until the day she died, though I daresay he did not care much for her, living or dead.

At least that’s what they’d said. And as I stood in Kree’Af’Ak, staring out over the Ab’Il Mountains and the well-travelled Diraqine Road, I felt my hatred for the man weighing against my grudging respect for him. He has made an Empire mightier than any Selentine one of old, not carving it with the sword or blazing it with the righteous torch of another crusade, but by diplomacy.

That is, in itself, the diplomatic way of putting it. He has achieved it through coercion, extortion, brigandry and bullying. My mother was Ice Queen of Ehlariel; in order to seal his alliance with the Elves of the North, my father seduced her and had her crown him consort.

I was born to royalty, and had been for a brief period a beacon of peace between Enmouth and Ehlariel. I had travelled my father’s Empire from the Plains of Ar in the north to the jungles of Keshan in the south, and it was there that I had decided to make my home when I was nineteen years of age. I had found friends among the coastal towns of New Selentia, and a Master Mage, Villon, who had taught me the secrets of Ice Magic.

My mother and my father did not approve of my habits, and had placed many a spy into my entourage; I had them all killed. My father turned Master Villon against me; I had his corpse sent to Enmouth as three vats of powdered ice. My father had given up after that, but my mother insisted on sending messengers, begging me to return to Ehlariel and help quell the unrest there.

I refused, but could not refuse a decidedly more forceful request from my father to assume command of the Diraqine garrison after its previous owner was burned alive in a Dwarven assault. So I had travelled across half Etheria to the vast city of Al-Diraq, its turrets and minarets walling me off from the world. I am only twenty-three, but already I am forgetting my mother ever existed.

And now I hear she is dead, victim of some horrific plot. Apparently, a Scorpion Lord named Mordred arrived in Ehlariel weeks ago, claiming that Enmouth had fallen to a combined assault of Ssrathi and Scorpionmen, and that the Elves were free of Imperial tyranny forever.

Only it hadn’t. And they weren’t.

The Elven messenger, a Moonguard of the not-so-distinguished Kyrin line, was taking tea with me in the highest battlements of Kree’Af’Ak Fortress. It is a recent addition to the defenses of Al-Diraq, built by my father after his negotiations with the Dwarves of Khazdhul finally failed with the rather spectacular demise of General Quaspel, who’d returned to the city after being tricked into eating a chaos bomb. The giant stone edifice had been constructed mostly by Diraqine barbarians, more of my father’s new allies, and was specifically designed to counter Dwarven war machines.

“How could such a deception be possible?” snarled Condor, the towering Minotaur shaman of the Blackhoof tribe. They were my escorts, courtesy of my father, who had insisted on having me protected; I was, after all, vital to his tenuous peace with the Elves. I had found that Minotaurs were stronger, more ruthless and, most importantly, more stupid and therefore less prone to betrayal than the local barbarians, and had indulged my father on this one point.

“My dear boy: when you are three weeks away from a place by the fastest steed available, you could be told that King Inarion himself had risen from the grave there and you’d have to take the fellow on faith,” Kyrin said snidely to the Minotaur.

“Don’t antagonize him, Moonguard. He’s liable to snap your head off just for looking at him wrong,” I said, turning my head from the view. “And besides, he has a point. This… Mordred is a Scorpion Lord, not a breed known for speaking truths.”

“Milady, it is easy to bear false tidings to those who would gladly believe them. Our people have sought freedom from the Emperor for twenty-three years; they would not fast refuse an opportunity to claim that freedom.”

I strode across the tower terrace to the eastern balustrade, where I observed the continuing work on the Diraqine wall. When finished, it was to reach all the way to the beaches of the Corollos Sea, but the sizable gap in it that marked General Quaspel’s ‘grave’ would set construction back quite a bit.

Kyrin was right. If the news my mother had been sending down was to be believed, the High Elves had been itching for a fight for years. Mordred had just given them an excuse. My mother's loyalty to my father had been the only thing keeping the Elven Kingdoms erupting into full-blown rebellion.

“And then what happened?” I asked, pouring wine into one of the cups the thrall had brought up. The flagon had Diraqine glyphs embossed onto its label, illegible to me, but it had a fine nose, so I took my chances.

“Mordred blazed the way east to Ylarie, or at least pretended to do so. He fought Pell’s Red Orcs on the tundra, and told us he’d killed Pell himself in a swordfight by Wyvern’s Cove. We forged him an Iceblade for his trouble, and told him to wait there while we sailed to Lunarion for reinforcements for the march south to Ar. Your mother was hesitant at first, but her advisers assured her that the army would march to Enmouth as a show of strength to assert our independence. Nothing more. There was to be no bloodshed. We met with Mordred, and he concurred.”

“We? You were there, personally?” I asked, and sipped my wine. Fiery, but good.

“I was present at his arrival, and at his initiation to the Third Circle by his ‘Mages.’” Kyrin shot me a disgusted look. “He told us he wanted his ‘new Elven brothers to impart the wisdom of ages upon him, to aid in his ascension,’ or some such nonsense. It came to light later that his chosen Sphere of Magic was Poison, and the ‘Mages’ were really Liches.” I thought I felt the Moonguard shudder.

“And I was also present for the voyage south,” Kyrin continued. “We were about to leave port at Galadir when the monster rode into the town on lizard-back, demanding-“

“Lizard?” I asked, surprised. “Mordred rode a dinosaur?”

“Y-yes… didn’t I mention that? His soldiers were Snakemen.”

This was news indeed. “Snakemen?” Condor thundered, aghast. “Serving Scorpions?”

“Rebels, from the Keshani resistance, no doubt. War makes strange bedfellows,” I mumbled into my cup before taking another sip. “Still, they’re an awfully long way from home, and it does bear closer investigation. Continue.”

Kyrin obeyed. “Yes, Lady Blake. When Mordred arrived, he-“

“Please,” I interrupted. “Do not call me that. Milady, or Miranda, will do fine.”

“Yes, Lady Miranda. As I was saying, Mordred demanded he be put on board the Silver Sunrise with your mother. He said he wanted very much to meet the Moon King, and thank him for his chance to serve. He said he deserved as much, after all the Orcs he’d killed for Elvenkind.

“It was a strange request, as he’d be putting himself at great risk; as you know, the Silver Sunrise is often attacked by the Dark Elves who prowl the Koramanok Strait. Needless to say, we were attacked when we attempted to land on Lunarion, and most of Mordred’s troops were slaughtered by the Dark Elves while your mother and my men watched from her cabin. Mordred himself disappeared into the woods, and I prepared my men to fight through the Dark Elven line.

“Before we could move, however, the wood beneath my feet began to crack and splinter as the deck came apart all around us. My men fell below decks through the fractured wood, and I bore witness to the monster himself smashing through the bulkhead with that huge Doomshield of his; he’d cast some sort of spell, poisoning the ship, if you could believe it.”

Kyrin swallowed, and met my eyes.

“Mordred ran your mother through with the Iceblade she’d presented to him mere days earlier. I saw the life bleed out of her myself, before the beast grabbed her remains and bolted straight through the window of her cabin, plunging into the sea. The ship had sustained damage, but by no means a catastrophic amount. We sailed home to Ehlariel, and I rode south to bear you the news.”

His voice trembled at the last part, and he fell to his knee, eyes averted to mask his sorrow.

“My life was your mother’s while she had hers, and I would give it fivefold to reclaim her soul. Thereby, I pledge myself to you as her rightful heir to the Ice Crown, and await your judgement of my fate.”

I couldn’t help myself; I actually smirked.

I took a sip of wine. “Arise, Moonguard. Your piety is second only to your loyalty to the throne, but know that I seek no crown.”

Kyrin looked up. I was aware of Condor, taking everything in with stoic solemnity. “Milady?”

“Doubtless there is some Ice Priestess or noblewoman willing to arise to the throne is my stead, no? All will not be lost at my refusal.”

“But Milady, if you abdicate-“

“Silence!” My hand whipped out and caught him across the lip hard enough to draw blood. “I cannot abdicate what I never assumed. Your problems are your own, Kyrin. I may have been my mother’s daughter, but I am also my father’s. My place is here.” Condor snuffled and licked his lips at the sight and smell of blood, and uncrossed his arms.

But Kyrin continued, albeit nervously, his eyes darting to Condor. “But Milady, there is unrest. The death of the Ice Queen is no small matter of succession. If Ehlariel is not unified under strong leadership, we could be risking civil war between factions loyal to your father and those supporting independence. And Mordred left a tribe of Snakemen on the Ylaric border; who knows whom they will fight for. Add to all that the threat of the Dark Elves regrouping in the Koramanok… well, it all adds up to a situation I am certain your father would want resolved.” The young Moonguard made a persuasive argument, I had to admit.

“Please, Milady. Your father has need of you. Your people have need of you.” His eyes finally met mine again; they were blue, like my mother’s. “Ehlariel has need of you.”

I looked away. A storm was brewing in the distance, dark clouds unfolding across the eastern sky, and the thralls working on the wall gathered their tools and ran for cover. The wind was picking up fast, and storms here were lethal. Minotaur slave drivers barked at them to hurry to their hovels; a dead slave was, after all, a useless slave. Thunder rolled, and I turned my head to look at Kyrin, his lip bleeding softly.

“All right. You will come with me to Ehlariel, and we will set things right.”

CHAPTER I: Snakes and their Bodies

This chapter is narrated by Grendel, a Ssrathi warrior in the employ of the Selentine Emperor.

I strode through the jungle as my people died by fire.

What pathetic weaklings they were, their fortresses crumbling under a mighty Imperial fist that had been crushing them for the better part of a century. One could feel their extinction in the air as Zandorn’s temples and ziggurats burned. I could smell it as I strode through his village, my priests not far behind me.

I paused to admire one of my warriors disarming one of Zandorn’s with the shaft of his axe before landing a lethal blow with the blade. Zandorn’s warrior crumpled into the undergrowth, clutching his wound. My warrior looked up, caught my eye, his axe glistening with reptilian blood as he prepared to deal his final, diseboweling blow.

“Lord Grendel?” the snakeman sissed.

“No,” I spoke. “Let him rot. I want him to bear witness to his body being claimed by the jungle. Throw him to beasts and birds of prey, like his people. Their lives were beastly and devoid of pity, and being dead, let birds on them take pity.”

I loathed my race. Beastly, primitive lot. When I am Iriki, I will make something of Kalpaxotl. A repository of knowledge, perhaps, or a bastion of civilization in the south, with bold explorers venturing forth into the unexplored jungles of Keshan that lay further south.

But for now, here I was in New Selentia, cleaning up troublemakers like Zandorn and his rebellious rabble. I had fought him earlier today, on the steps of the overgrown altar that lay to the east. He’d been a slithery, wheedling sort, green paint smeared over his scales, the colour of the resistance to Imperial rule here in Keshan.

“Traitor,” he’d breathed at me, brandishing a crude, wicked-looking weapon, half-scythe and half-sceptre. “You would murder your own people? And for what? So Enmouth can grow fat from Keshan’s riches?”

“You fool. Keshan is murdered long since. You war and die for a corpse that no longer draws breath. My Emperor, on the other hand, is very much alive. Once Keshan submits to me, I will carve out of its corpse a new kingdom worthy of its name.” I had drawn my sword.

Zandorn had come at me with a wide, sweeping blow aimed at my abdomen. I had easily deflected it, but misjudged his intent: it was not to cut or pierce, but rather use the sheer power and strength of his weapon to overpower me. The strike had reverberated through to my teeth, and I had lost my footing, knocked prone onto the vine-covered steps of the altar, my sword coming to a rest yards away.

“Thus die all traitors,” he’d mewled, grinning. He’d discarded the weapon and drawn a curved emerald dagger, an elven lifestealer.

“Not today, they don’t.” I’d clutched the hilt of the weapon concealed under my wide giant’s belt, and swung it reverse-handed, lifting my feet up as the belt-strap snapped. The golden sickle caught Zandorn behind his right knee and lopped the leg clean off. The lichelord had toppled, screeching in pain.

A glint of recognition had come to his eyes as I stood over him. He’d gestured to my weapon.

“That’s the Aklys of Couatl,” he’d whimpered. “It’s a gift from the Sun God himself. You’ve no right to that.”

I had acquired the Aklys from a Black Naga I’d killed weeks ago. Legend told that it was indeed a gift given by Couatl to his most loyal followers, in the days he still walked Etheria. “Hurnt. I suppose you’re right. Jexdar!”

My loyal Naga priestess had emerged from the bushes where she’d been watching the duel from, its outcome never really in doubt. “Yes, Serpent Lord?”

“Have this melted down for gold. Perhaps a more practical weapon can be purchased for the crowns.”

Jexdar had dutifully retrieved the Aklys and slithered away, while Zandorn squealed in horror. “That is an heirloom, a priceless artifact!”

“On the contrary, I believe it will fetch a handsome price indeed in the markets of New Selentia,” I’d said, retrieving my plaguesword from a thicket and positioning it above Zandorn’s throat.

“But it’s... part of our history… part of Keshan’s history,” he’d begged pathetically.

“Keshan is history,” I’d said. “And so are you.”

His head had rolled down the steps of the altar as blood gurgled from his throat, staining my boots.

But that was hours ago. Now my words finally seemed true. His followers screamed in agony as my priests lined them up against the walls of their pyramids, burning them alive with their incantations and staffs. My dinosaurs feasted on the flesh of Zandorn’s warriors and workers while they were still living, writhing noiselessly after their throats had been ripped out. Blood seeped into a jungle already dark with it, congealed over years of savage warfare and slaughter. Nothing remained. Everything was consumed.

Later, it was dusk amongst the ruins. I sat by the fire with my three most trusted priests. Zandorn’s weapon lay before us, the flames making its already organic form seem alive, its surface virulent.

“It is a claw from a frost dragon, a particularly old one, if I’m not mistaken,” said Luhoul, an acolyte from the eastern mountains.

“A weapon not often seen here, much less in the hands of a Ssrathi,” said the loyal Jexdar, who had fought Zandorn and the Black Nagai with me.

“So barbaric and crude… do the humans of the Empire use such weapons?” spoke Yinfur, a fertile young Naga priestess fascinated with the weapon. Jexdar and Luhoul had of late been grooming her to receive me. Her scent was intoxicating, and she would soon bear my eggs.

“Not the servants of the Empire, certainly,” I said.

“Theirans?” Luhoul speculated.

“Hardly,” I countered, staring into the black jungle. “This is the work of their cousins to the west.”

“The Darosi?” Jexdar said. “I was taught they were nothing but spear-throwing savages cowing beneath the might of the Diraqine Empire.”

“Oh no,” I said, grinning at the priestess’s naivete. “You’ll find they carve impressive blades.

“You do not think this was obtained in Keshan,” Luhoul said flatly.

“No. I do not,” I said. “Zandorn’s warriors and allies dared not breach the Emperor’s quarantine. His soldiers patrol the roads, and his Minotaurs and Orcs roam the jungle in the outskirts by the dozens.”

“It’s true,” Yinfur agreed. “My sisters and I ran into an Orcish patrol on route here through the western jungle. The Orcs are crude and violent. We feared for our chastity.”

Luhoul and I sissed in laughter, but inwardly I seethed at the thought of Orcish rabble violating my Nagai. If I had been present, I would have killed them outright. It was a mistake on the Emperor’s part to trust them for his lands.

“In any case, I believe the rebels have allies in the lands to the west, who are providing them with weapons and warriors. Our war here is getting us nowhere… as much as it would please me to do so, we simply cannot slaughter every snakeman on the continent who will not heed the Emperor’s edict. We must go to Daros, and secure the allegiance of its tribes. Without allies, the Ssrathi resistance will wither and die.” I looked to the west, across the scrying pool by the encampment, where the last embers of dusk were receding briskly behind the jungled horizon.

“Killing the snake by cutting off its body,” Luhoul said. “Are you certain the Emperor would approve of this?”

“On Keshan, I speak for the Emperor,” I stated firmly. Luhoul must learn his place. “As for snakes and their bodies, I often find that the blow which severs the body, also severs the head. One way or the other, Keshan will be mine.”

“You mean the Emperor’s,” Luhoul said, eyeing me through the flames.

“Of course,” I said. Yinfur graciously excused herself with a gesture, a gesture Jexdar mirrored before slithering off in the direction of her altar, while the younger priestess slipped off her tunic and crawled into the moonlit scrying pool.

“Understand: my priests will not serve yet another in a long line of bloodthirsty would-be Iriki, seeking power and prestige. We will not let high-sighted tyranny range on till each snake drops by lottery. We seek permanent allegiance with the Emperor; we seek peace and stability.”

Luhoul’s spiel was worth noting, but it was, as humans often said, academic. The nature of Keshan’s rule once the rebellion was crushed was a matter for future consideration.

“Naturally,” I said curtly to the snakepriest before standing and strolling in the direction of the pool, of Yinfur.

Luhoul could do little but stare after me as I descended the stone steps into the pool, washing black lizard blood and blue Imperial war paint off my scales and sinking into Yinfur’s hungry, pliant embrace.