The Kingdoms of Evil (47 page)

"As long as he can answer questions," said Freetrick.

"Let us begin," Bloodbyrn said, "I would be gone from this place, my lord."

"Very well," Wrothgrinn nodded, "I shall now channel death energy into the maw of the First God and part the veil between this existence and the next. Please step back." As Freetrick did so, Wrothgrinn closed his eyes and folded his hands together before his belly. Black mist formed around the twitching corpse as a low hum rose from the throat of the Life-twister.

Freetrick felt his organs lurch as Wrothgrinn…
did something
. The nimbus of necromancer's mist around the body on the table trembled, then began to contract. The blackness oozed through the corpse's mouth and nose, as if drawn by an enormous inward inhalation. Freetrick could feel that force pulling at his own energy. "It's like…" he search for descriptions, "death in reverse."

"Obviously," said Bloodbyrn.

The last trickles of black mist disappeared into the corpse's nostrils. For a moment, all was still. The body no longer twitched. It simply lay, lungs filled with necromancy.

Wrothgrinn twisted the fingers of his left hand together, then snapped.

The corpse exhaled.

It opened its eyes, the bizarrely blue irises now glazed and unfocused. "It is dark." As it spoke, a tiny puff of dark vapor escaped between its pale lips.

"You are blind, Do-Gooder," said Wrothgrinn. And then, as if remembering, "and also dead, of course."

"Ahh," the ex-assassin sighed. Its voice was a pale imitation of the enraged bellow Freetrick remembered from their first encounter. "So I have failed."

He shivered as the corpse's eyes tracked sightlessly over him. "Does it amuse you, to take from your enemies even the freedom of death? And yet back in this world, I may be free once again to wipe your stain from this good earth."

"Aha," said Wrothgrinn, "another reason not to repair the spinal damage."

"Yeah," said Freetrick. He bent closer to the body. "Look, you're not in a position to kill anyone. And if you were, I shouldn't be your first choice."

"I
shall
kill you! I shall!" The corpse's voice cracked with the force of his conviction and more black gas escaped from its lungs. Its head wrenched back and forth against the surface of the table, "you stand at the pinnacle of a pyramid of death and destruction, and I will stop at nothing until I have beheaded that pyramid. And if not me, then my people. We shall resist you as long water flows in the Limped Pool."

"It was foolish in the extreme, Do-Gooder," said Bloodbyrn, "to inform us of your rebellion's sacred center."

"That would be the brain damage," said Wrothgrinn.

"For now you know that, even after your consciousness is once again extinguished, all that you value above your own life is now in danger."

Freetrick didn't like where this was going. "Bloodbyrn…"

"My lord, I should be gone from this place. So allow me to apply this leverage to gain you the answers you seek. Corpse," she said, "tell us what we wish to know, or we shall fill your people's precious Pool to the very brim with their blood."

Freetrick wondered if the alliteration was intentional. "And if you help me," he said, "I can help your people."

Bloodbyrn, Wrothgrinn, and the corpse all snorted derisively.

"No," said Freetrick, "really." Then, with rising anger. "Look, whether you believe me or not, the fact is that whatever goals you have, I'm the one who's most likely to fulfill them. I'm not…" not like the other Skreans, he could not say, not with Wrothgrinn and Bloodbyrn right here in the room with him. "Not going to do anything bad to your people. I'll help them. I'll free them. Whether or not you answer my questions."

"Then my brothers and sisters will hound you to your death," spat the corpse. "Every moment you live you will fear the Vainglorians and the revenge we shall carry to you."

"And that would be a change for me how?" Said Freetrick. "Tell me what you were doing in the corridor outside the Audience Pit."

Shadows writhed across the corpse's face as it stretched in a sneer. "Preparing myself to rid this good world of the stain of your evil, Fiend."

Freetrick rubbed a hand over his face, "I mean how did you get there? How did you escape from the dungeons? Did you fool the guards?" At very least, Freetrick might be able to plug a hole in his security.

"Your destruction will bring tears of joy to thousands," spat the corpse. "Tyrant! Every hour of every day, the good men and women of the world work to hasten your destruction."

"What the hell am I supposed to do with that?" Freetrick nearly stamped his foot in frustration. "The only thing you're doing is making me feel less guilty about killing you in the first place."

"My lord!" Bloodbyrn said, shocked, "why would my lord feel this…guilt…at any time at all? Surely he does not."

"Oh yes," said Freetrick. "I'm dangerously insane. Everyone in the Kingdoms of Evil
has
to be dangerously insane, of course!" Freetrick had begun to pace, "And you," he said the corpse, "are just as much a homicidal maniac as any of us Evil-Doers. No, I don't think it was a particularly bad thing I did, removing you. You know why?" He braced his hands on the table over the corpse and leaned down, staring into its sightless eyes. "Because you tried to kill
me
. Because there really are innocent people being slaughtered every day by the machinery of my government and
I'm
the only one who can stop that. You think if your little assassination succeeded it would have improved things for you? The last Ultimate Fiend---"

"May the blood never wash from his hands."

"Shut up," said Freetrick. "The Last Ultimate Fiend was assassinated, and how much did that death improve things for the average Kingdoms of Evil subject? I'm the only person who's likely to actually make life better for this miserable nation. Your people
need
me."

"Exactly," hissed Bloodbyrn. "You may be dead, but remember what we may do to your people. Your surviving family rest in our clutches."

"No," said Freetrick, "that's not what I meant at all."

"What family?" came the voice from the body, "You killed my father!"

"Well, no," said Freetrick, "actually I didn't. He was just sort of killed...
for
me…look it's complicated. But I definitely never
wanted
to kill your father. And you know he tried to kill me." Freetrick protested when the corpse looked at him, "with an axe!"

A smile. "I did not know that."

Freetrick sighed. "When did you escape into the castle?"

"Not long after they came for the king my father. " Another black puff from the corpse's mouth. "For a week, I was king."

"I know, I know." Freetrick thought furiously. Necromancers, necromancers. It could have been any Skrean who released the exiled boy-king. Trying to make Freetrick's life that much more difficult. And yet something nagged at him. There was something important…something Wrothgrinn had said about… "A Sangboise technique," Freetrick said. "Wrothgrinn, you said you use a Sangboise technique to keep this room cool."

The Life-twister blinked. "Oh, I do not use it, of course. I have a Sangboise catamite come up here every three rings of the Doom Gong."

That was it. "Skreans can't do Sangboise magic."

"Of course," said Bloodbyrn.

Thank the holy words for his education in international relations. Most Rationalists would assume that everyone in the Kingdoms of Evil could do each-other's magic, just like people in the Rationalist Union could all do word-magic, the Blessing of Between, and, within reason, any other miracle of any other god they chose to pray to.

But in most of the world magics didn't mix, they competed. "And non-Skreans, like this guy, can't do necromancy."

"Never," agreed the prisoner, "for in my veins runs the blood of lost Vaingloria, the Lakes-Encompassing, and mine is the mantle of revenge for the fall of my people."

"Uh huh," said Freetrick, "but what sort of magic
do
you do? Could that glowy dagger and water bottle attack a person's internal organs like necromancy?"

The prisoner shook his head, confused. "What babblement is this? The mystic implements of the Limpet Pool are a balm to sooth the wounded world, not the tools of underhanded distortions of the mortal frame."

"Oh, that that is quite apt," said Wrothgrinn. "Underhanded distortions. I shall have to remember that."

"But what you're saying is you didn't attack me. Not magically. You couldn't have." Said Freetrick. "So who was it? Who released you from your dungeon."

"I told you," the corpse's voice was a breathy whisper. "I cannot see my memories."

Freetrick ground his teeth. "Wrothgrinn. Can you fix this guy's brain so he can help me?"

"Very well, my lord. One moment." Wrothgrinn bowed and strode toward the door. "Assistant!" He called. "A-SIS-tant! I…require you!"

"My lord," hissed Bloodbyrn, "there is much we must do on this day and I should be gone from here. What further information could you possibly want? How much longer must we tarry here?"

"I need to know what the guy looked like, Bloodbyrn," said Freetrick. Then "Ready?" as Wrothgrinn strode back into the cold room, his smock red with new blood."

"I am, my lord. Just allow me to make use of this new death energy..." He spread his long-fingered hands over the corpse's face. Black streamers began to extend from his fingertips.

"How are you---"

"Silence, my lord, please." Said Wrothgrinn. "While I concentrate."

The tendrils of necromancer's mist divided, then divided again, then again, until they formed a mesh that cupped the corpse's skull, delicate as fern fronds, strait-edged as crystals. Freetrick wondered if he could duplicate the technique; microsurgery wasn't anything Feerix had yet taught him.

"Yes…yes…" Wrothgrinn crooned as the skin of the corpse's face twitched. Were its eyes moving more purposefully now? "Where is the memory? What did you see?"

"Black stone," murmured the corpse. "Dripping blood. Glowing lava. The shambling monsters created by your vile arts. The necromancer. He stands over me. He is sneering."

"What does he look like."

The blue eyes flashed toward him. "Like you, fiend. Only he has not the doubt in his eyes that I see in yours. He is cruel. He is evil. And he loves it."

"I was being sarcastic, my lord." Freetrick turned back to slab and rolled his eyes as she continued. "Feerix was not present at the Villainous Council, and given the nature of your relationship, he would be my first assumption for the hand behind any assassination attempt."

"Oh," said Freetrick. "Well, anyway you think I'm right?"

Bloodbyrn made a gentile shrug. "I admit that I am rather surprised that my lord emerged the victor from the confrontation."

"Me too." Then Freetrick's eyes widened. "Unless he was just needling me. Which is of course what he was doing—playing his stupid game! And now someone's dead because of it!" Freetrick indicated the body on the slab, who sighed a black-tinged breath. "So why was this guy here attacking me at the same time?" Wondered Freetrick.

"Where else would my lord obtain the power to combat Feerix?" Answered Bloodbyrn, "Now may we go?"

Wrothgrinn flexed his fingers and the network of black lines dissolved back into mist. "The corpse will soon lose the ability of speech. Unless my lord requires more of him."

Which would require another monster to be killed. Re-animation was expensive. Freetrick shook his head, "no." Then he looked again at the corpse. "Hey, you've been dead. Can you tell me what happens after you—"

Wrothgrinn held up a hand. "We do not ask such questions in front of outsiders." He leaned closer, shielding his mouth from Bloodbyrn as he whispered. "
Everyone thinks we should already know
."

"oh."

"Well then," said Bloodbyrn. "Shall we be off then?"

"Okay," Freetrick turned to Wrothgrinn. "What do we do with the…uh?" He indicated the corpse, which had stopped moving".

"Oh, the lizard-men will enjoy it." Wrothgrinn bowed deep. "Unless my lord has some special request..?"

"Not in any way. No."

"I await your return, my lord!" Wrothgrinn called after them. "Come back in a week! Then you shall see a sight so cute it will melt your very SOUL! Ha ha!"

In which the Ultimate Fiend experiences Romantic Dilemmas

"I do not trust him," said Bloodbyrn.

Freetrick shook his head as they crossed the floor of the main laboratory. "Why, because he likes my taste in baby animals?"

"Exactly," Bloodbyrn hissed, "he is obviously dangerously deviant."

"Come on, Bloodbyrn." Freetrick said, "your dad told me he spends fifteen minutes every morning practicing not blinking. Compared to the rest of the people in this place, liking cats is pretty harmless."