The Kingdoms of Evil (35 page)

“
Don’t worry, Madene,” Istain said, “you’re quite nice. I wonder what would that Kendrick say if he saw you in those pants. Huh?”

“
You…
BASTARD
!” Madene shrieked. She kicked out, and an incoherent blast of Maidencraft sent her shooting up at an angle to crash into an aspen. She fell heavily to the ground—for the second time in this horrible day.

“
Woah, hey, calm down Madene.”

“
Istain Scander,” Madene snarled at him, “oh God of Words help me, you turn around right
now
!”

Istain obediently turned to face the trees while Madene yanked her
silleac
off the ground and buttoned it over her chest. “What did you think you were doing?” She shouted. All of the terror and confusion that had filled her when the goblin attacked had been burned into rage. “Making jokes and…and making fun of me! I could have died.”

Selene snorted and Madene turned to her in a sudden, terrible assumption. “Or could I? Oh Truth!” She felt like crying. “Are wood urchins even poisonous?”

Selene frowned, “Of course,
Sestregh
Madene. They wouldn’t be of the Shadow if they weren’t. If you touch one your hand will go numb. You’ll fall over in a minute, but it might be an hour before your heart stops. And,” she continued while Madene tried to work up a response, “I thought it poked you, true. What kind of
Sestrea
are you thinking I am?”

“
Oh,” said Madene. “Well, did you have to take off my
silleac
?”

“
Of course,” said Selene, “If not, my boy could not compare us. Then he might to think he made the wrong choice. It is important.”

Madene gritted her teeth.

“
Madene,” called Istain. “We’re sorry, okay? Can I turn around now?”

“
No!” said Madene, but of course he did anyway.

“
So,” he said, “what’s up?”

Madene gave that the glare it deserved, but Istain only raised an eyebrow. “Okay, cool it, Madene,” he drawled. “I mean, jokes aside, you nearly got yourself killed.”

Madene’s rage boiled over. Maidencraft propelled her across the ground faster than Istain could blink, and then she was standing in front of him, her nose nearly pressed against his solar plexus. “
Shut up,
Istain.” There, at least she had wiped the smugness of the boy’s face.

“
Now.” Madene floated upward until her eyes were level with Istain’s. How long she had been wanting to do that! “I want you to tell me what the heck you think you’re doing here.”

Istain, his face a bare inch from hers, raised an eyebrow, “Killing goblins.” He nodded toward the furry heap on the ground. “I should think that was obvious. And also saving your life. I think you ought to thank Selene for that.”

Madene stepped back onto the ground, disgusted. Selene was not what she had expected of a warrior maiden. Almost as surprising as the fact she even
had
a taste for men was how truly terrible that taste was. The border guard had attached herself to Istain on their first day in Virgin Soil, and she'd been all over the obnoxious boy ever since. And the way they kissed. In public! But Selene was a warrior maiden, and she had just saved Madene's life. “Thank you, Selene,” she said.

“
You’re welcome,” Selene nodded, “and I’m sorry I joked with you,
Sestregh
. I did not know you would not…like the joke.”

“
I could’ve warned you,” muttered Istain from behind her.

“
But,” said Selene, “I think we have all learned something, right?” She turned and, hips swinging, sauntered over to the dead goblins on the ground. When she bent to pick them up, Madene was sure Istain got another dose of ass. Stinking wonderful.

“
Why were you killing goblins?” Madene asked again.

“
Because I saw them.” Selene slung the furry carcasses over her shoulder

Madene decided not to ask if monster-hunting was more important than orders from the High Maiden.

She had suspected at the time that High Maiden Kadene had sent Selene on urchin-killing duty as a punishment. Certainly the girl was doing her best to merit the discipline, in Madene’s opinion. “The High Maiden sent me.”

“
Of course,” said Selene, “what was her message?”

“
We are to seek her audience immediately,” Madene gave both of them a level look, “you and me, and Istain.”

“
Istain?” said Selene, at the same time Istain said “me?” in exactly the same tone complete surprise.

“
Why the stricken hell would she want to see
me?
” Istain continued, blasphemously, “last time I checked, I was a guy, and as far as I can tell, the High Maiden doesn’t see much use in anything with its testicles on the outside.”

Madene wasn’t surprised at the boy’s irreverence, but she wasn’t going to let him sully the name of High Maiden Kadene, stink it! She turned a threatening glance his way. “Keep a civil tongue, Istain.”

“
Don’t get attacked by goblins, Madene,” he smirked.

I could rip the head from your body
Madene wanted to shout, but controlled herself. Physical threats would only make Istain even more sarcastic. At least while Selene was around to make sure those threats never became reality. A quick fantasy involving an unprotected Istain, a tall tree, and the Maidencraft played itself out for Madene’s enjoyment.

When she was calm enough to speak again, she said, “The High Maiden has summoned all of us.”

“
And the Tenured
Captain-Assistant
? What does he say about it?”

“
I don’t know, Istain!” Madene threw up her arms in exasperation, “what does Tenured Captain-Assistant Clanat have to do with anything?”

“
Well, he’s the boss of me,” said Istain, “not your High Maiden. I’m not a Virgin Soil subject.”

Neither am I
, Madene wanted to say,
but I’m not being an asshole about it.
“Just come on, will you?”

Istain and Selene shared a look. Madene didn't like that at all.

***

Observant people would say that the Skull Throne of Skrea was more a pyramid than a chair. More observant people would say it was less a pyramid than an enormous pile of human skulls, glued together, with a depression in the middle for what Mr. Skree described as the Looming Buttocks of the Light-Queller.

The throne dwarfed its occupant, who wriggled against the cranial domes of his slaughtered enemies, fiddling with his towering crown, trying to find a position that didn't hurt like hell.

"Is his seat of government all I promised my lord it would be, or is it not?" DeMacabre sat in a smaller, less boney, and probably a far more comfortable chair down and to the right, his head around the level of Freetrick's armrests. "How does my lord find the Skull Throne, and the power invested in its calciferous hollows?"

Easy. I just look at the top of this monster-filled arena and there it is.
Freetrick grimaced, "Too many skulls."

"Aha," said Bloodbyrn. "A quip. How inappropriate." There were only two seats on this wedge of the arena, so Freetrick's fiancée sat on the armrest of Freetrick's throne. Her seat had to be even more uncomfortable than his, and yet Bloodbyrn seemed entirely at ease perched at Freetrick's left hand.

"My lord and his
joking
," DeMacabre was wearing a new hat, Freetrick saw, which, though not as tall as Freetrick's own crown, still had to be strapped on. "Hih-
lar
-ious, my lord," he said, "but lah, what heady pleasure it must be to sit astride the Skull Throne," DeMacabre winked at his daughter, and his voice dropped, "towering over all, watching—no, lord—
glaring
balefully, my lord," he was standing now, eyes nearly level with Freetrick's, "upon the arrayed ranks of the greatest and most depraved of your servants and slaves," his arms lifted as he turned, arachnid hands splayed as if to embrace his nation's government, "
the Council of Villainy
!"

The Audience Pit stretched below him, a bowl-shaped depression the size of a Rationalist amphitheatre, its walls formed by a ranks of terraces. And on the seats…

A week of exposure had taught him to identify the black-and-silver-clad Skrean Dark Ignobles and Dark Princes who ruled the Kingdoms of Evil. The seats they occupied lay under pulsing shadows. Directly across from Freetrick sat the subject nations, the Dark Lords and ladies of the bloody swamps of Sangboire and the grim Murder-woods of St'tdrakh.

DeMacabre made a lacy flourish with one hand. "See! The ruler of every despotate, duchy, barony, and county of the Kingdoms of Evil, their retainers, slaves, catamites, parasites and others. All came to swear fealty to the new Ultimate Fiend, and so they have remained. Not," DeMacabre laughed, "that they would expect personal audiences with the Master of the Maelstrom, in all his dark and unholy glory. They may dream of such things, my lord, but not even in their
worst nightmares
would such a horrible honor, or, if my lord would permit, an honorable horror, be visited upon the heads of men such as these."

Freetrick kept his expression blank. So that was why all of his official business in the last week had been conducted through DeMacabre and his legion of minions. He didn't need a nearly completed political science degree to tell him that
that
was a bad idea. "I expect to be introduced to all of the members of my government, DeMacabre."

"Of course, my lord." DeMacabre's grin would have put a barracuda off its breakfast. Lace splayed across his hand as he indicated the roaring nobles arrayed below them. "In time, my lord, in time. I expect my lord shall make the intimate acquaintance of
many
dark aristocrats. Yes, most intimate
indeed
."

"So this monster thing," he paused as a rattling scream drowned out his voice, "is some sort of opening ceremony?"

"Oh,
no
, fiend," DeMacabre said, "this is but an appetizer. Wait for just a moment,
th
en
the Council of Villainy will become
so
much more
interesting.
"

Freetrick tried not to shudder. "I would prefer it if we...just sort of got to the point."

"Indeed, my lord," DeMacabre raised an eyebrow. "Then I shall hasten to send the Master of Slaves and Entertainment a missive to that effect." He stretched his hands above his head and clapped twice. "Messenger bat!"

"Ahem." Freetrick jerked at the cough from his left shoulder. A be-ruffled leg folded itself against his side as Bloodbyrn turned toward him. "In the spirit of moving forward efficiently and precipitately with plans, and on the subject of sending messages…" She kicked him in the hip with a tiny high-heeled shoe, "I would speak to my lord with regard to our un-wedding of tomorrow night. Has my lord made his decisions concerning the decorations?"

"Uh…" said Freetrick.

"I ask," Bloodbyrn continued, "because I really must have the cauldron samples and bruise swatches I sent returned to me."

Was
that
what those had been? "Bloodbyrn." Freetrick cleared his throat. "I'd…boy, I'd love to talk with you about this, but um, well…" he looked down, and nearly cried out in relief, "but they're bringing the first petitioner into the Audience Pit! I've got to see what she has to say," the woman stumbled across the sand below him. "And then help her solve her…why are the monsters still there?"

"My lord," chuckled DeMacabre, "why ever
not?
"

"My lord," said Bloodbyrn, "to the matter at hand…"

"But they're looking at her like they're going to…sweet words!" Freetrick stared down at the scene unfolding below him, "where the hell did she get that enormous whip?"

"She?" DeMacabre looked down. "Aha. May I assume my lord refers to the human meat on the area floor? Why, it is but for your entertainment, my lord."

"My lord, focus," Bloodbyrn kicked him again.

"DeMacabre, what is that petitioner doing down there?"

"Fighting monsters. And rather well, it seems. Oh. Excellent. Took its eye right out."