The Kingdoms of Evil (55 page)

"This will have to do," she said, "leave us now."

She stood as the servant hurried back to his unenviable task in the ceremonial seraglio and turned so her back was to her father. "Do you see where I have left the linkages?" Bloodbyrn indicated the places where the channels of blood curved around shoulders, ribs, hips, and thighs.

"I see them." Of course she could not command the blood to move over her, since her lord's blood contained almost no admixture of her own.

Her father's damp fingers pressed into the flesh of her back. "The normal course of events, you say, and yet—"

"I know, we are not merely trying to marry our line into the Skrean nobility." Bloodbyrn said. "Father, it is not tonight, but rather the subsequent nine months that weigh upon my mind. Once I am quick with the child, then…"

"Then what?" DeMacabre answered, "then you must endeavor to keep it, yourself, and your lord and master alive. Alive and without mistresses, if at all possible."

Bloodbyrn laughed, "The second task worries me not at all, but as for the first…my lord is so cursed
active
. He runs about constantly stirring up trouble—foolishly exposing himself to risk, and it pains me to say that thus far, I have been unable to curtail this predilection." She sighed again, "I shall be more vigilant, father."

"See that you are," he replied. "It would be inconvenient in the extreme should king Feerborg's rein end before his son is born."

Bloodbyrn agreed. She would have to start everything all over again, and as infuriating as king Feerborg was, Prince Feerix stood next in line.

"Afterward," he father went on tracing the three central channels down her spine, "well, the necromantic power of the First God would go to the infant if King Feerborg were to die," even by themselves in a thick-walled chamber surrounded by a red-noise generating ensilensure spell, DeMacabre kept his habits of reticence, "that infant will be ours to do with what we please. With the power of the First God in such a conveniently portable package and the sword Clouds-Gatherer in our possession, the Maelstrom will follow our commands, and nothing can stand in our way."

Bloodbyrn smiled at that. Her father's penchant for drama never failed to warm her heart. "Nothing will stand in our way." She agreed. "Soon we shall be invincible."

***

"The thirteenth black candle is lit, my dark lady!" the blood priest Aman DeSammdie declared as Bloodbyrn and her father strode back into the ceremonial seraglio.

"Excellent," said Bloodbyrn. The blood painted onto her skin had begun to dry, and she moved carefully to avoid smearing or flaking. "Are the un-holy priests at their appointed places?"

"They are, dark lady," those were not DeSammdie's plumy tones, but the harsh rasp of old Teirgog, Hafdern of the First God. Still gripping his live mouse, he stood at the apex of the triskaidekagram, now surrounded by black candles. Their nacreous light cast shadows over his face, so his lips and teeth were mere flickers in an oval of darkness. "All is in readiness to begin the un-marriage."

"Then do so." Bloodbyrn left her father and ascended to the dais where her future husband waited. Black candles shimmered below her in the dark like stars on an oil-slick, shining greasily on the painted contours of her lord's naked body. He was still not as heavily muscled as Feerix, but life in Skrea had already improved things visibly. And then…Bloodbyrn of course showed nothing on her face, but she could not help feeling a small thrill as the Ultimate Fiend's head twisted, that silky white hair flowing like water over one shoulder, and those black, black eyes looking down at her. And as for the rest of him…

"Not at this juncture," Bloodbyrn murmured over the Hafdern's rising incantation and the creak of the bed as it was lifted.

Bloodbyrn did not let her lord ask the next question. "All right, my lord, now the next part is very simple. We must move to the middle of the dais and face the priests."

Even as her lord moved, he whispered, "why?"

Bloodbyrn stepped backward onto the center of dais, under the rising bed. No-one could see in this darkness if she were to close her eyes, if her expression was not of smug conquest, but of pained endurance. 

"Because, my lord, they are about to un-marry us."

Naked and painted in blood, Bloodbyrn stood at the center of the altar of the Ceremonial Seraglio beside the strange, incomprehensible boy from the Do-Gooder nations, and tried not to think about the future.

"Fiends!" Feerborg's response, whatever it might have been, was drowned out by the shriek from Hafdern Teirgog. "Brothers in darkness! Heed my words of doom and despair, for on this day, Merciless the 7
^th
of Skullmoon, Year One of the Rein of His Malevolence Despot Feerborg, the destiny of the universe shall shake to its roots!"

Bloodbyrn glanced at her lord out of the corner of her eyes. Feerborg was hunching, covering his nakedness, looking ready to leap off the altar and dash out the door at the first opportunity. Dark ladies of the royal blood of Sangboire did not experience panic. Yet the emotion that welled up in Bloodbyrn, sudden and unexpected, was at least very profound disquiet.

When faced with unbearable circumstances, Bloodbyrn reflected, it was of inestimable benefit to one's mental state to occupy one's mind with pleasant thoughts. A properly constructed mental sanctum could do wonders for one's equanimity, and recently Bloodbyrn had had much cause to make use of her own.

"Fiends and brothers in darkness," intoned the Hafdern lifting his arms and letting his dark robes fall back from his claw-like hands, "We are gathered here today to witness the initiation of the mortal battle between His Malevolence Feerborg, Despot of Skrea and Ultimate Fiend of the Kingdoms of Evil, and Lady Bloodbyrn DeMacabre, dominatrix of lower Joublournie and Carnivé, heir to the Clot of Torture."

Now, when circumstances, if not unbearable, were at least extremely disagreeable, Bloodbyrn fixed an expression confidence on her face and retreated in her mind. Back to the subject that had brought her much comfort in these recent, trying times.

Bloodbyrn thought about kittens.

"What is the Skrean un-marriage?" Hafdern Teirgog was saying, his voice a screech of singular unpleasantness, "Technically of course, it is simply the Skrean Despot taking a woman before witnesses and then not killing her afterward, but is that all? In our long and hideous history, have we not seen that a hard and cruel woman may spur her man onward to ever greater depths of depravity? That, dark brethren, is the true meaning of the institution of un-marriage."

A new one, she promised herself, after all this was over. As the king's first conquest she would have easy access to Wrothgrinn's laboratory. Damn the man for supplying her with the temptation, but if this fiasco was not enough to deserve a reward, nothing would be.

"Many have fought this battle before, and many will do so in the future. It is the greatest battle, the battle between man and woman, from which all other battles perforce originate."

Bloodbyrn's mind drifted away into a pleasant world of soft fur and damp pink noses.

"What form shall their un-holy union take?" Teirgog intoned, "Will the bellows and screams of their repeated and brutal conquests shake the volcanic foundations of the castle, as those of King Murdmort and the Dark Princess Rathcurl are said to have done?"

As long as she remained discrete, all would be well.

"Will each forever seek new ways to dismember the other, as in King Madgrog and Clawshriek?"

Bloodbyrn had, after all, concealed her shameful addiction at school, and in the castle, she had much more clout, and more opportunities for privacy.

"Or, like Skreon the Worst and his consort the Witch Queen Allbane, will they march forth arm in arm to grind the world beneath their boot heels? Only time will tell."

First, she would go back to the laboratory of the Life-twister Wrothgrinn, confiscate all the kittens—no, only one kitten, mustn't be greedy—and then spirit it back to her private rooms.

"May their battle result in much violence and bloodshed."

Good, the ceremony was nearly over. Bloodbyrn could almost feel the kitten's fur, under her fingertips. Sinful as a kiss from the Ultimate Fiend…

"May it fill their lives with delicious pain and bring suffering to all those around them. May it cost the lives of many. And may it continue long, before one or both of the combatants are destroyed."

No. Bloodbyrn blinked. This was no time to be thinking about Feerborg.

"Now if there is anyone present who knows any reason why this union is
not
an abomination against nature and decency, let him speak now, or forever hold his peace."

Bloodbyrn woke from her reverie to glare at Feerix. The prince put his hand down.

"Your Malevolence King Feerborg, under the Maelstrom Despot of Skrea, Grasper of the Bolt, Lord of Pain, Terror under all Terrors, High Master of the Blood, and Crowned Ultimate Fiend of the Kingdoms of Evil, do you swear to take this woman in the most horrible way possible, to show her no mercy, to heed not her wails of distress, until one of you is inevitably slaughtered?"

"What?---ow! Yes, fine. I do."

It was times like these that tested one's equanimity. Bloodbyrn gritted her teeth and pressed her heel warningly into the top of her lord's foot.

"And do you, Bloodbyrn DeMacabre, dominatrix of lower Joublournie and Carnivé, heir to the Clot of Torture, swear to fight against your husband in all ways, to grant him not one moment's rest without danger, not one moment of sweetness, not one glimmer of light, not one moment of hope, until one of you is inevitably slaughtered?"

"I do," she said. Yes. A kitten for all of this bother, as well as for the trials ahead. Killing Feerborg would not be simple or easy.

"Then, press your bodies to each other," said the Hafdern Teirgog, "that your blood will pump hot and your screams shall mingle pain and pleasure."

Bloodbyrn did so, feeling the charged tingle as the channels of blood on their skins crossed.

"Let the peoples of the world hear your united cries, and quail with fear."

Bloodbyrn pressed herself against her lord, her cheek against his chest. At least his body was nicely shaped, she thought, and clearly he thought the same about her given his physical reaction.

"Now, clasp your hands together around the hilt of this black-bladed knife, and together lift them up to the tempest above."

The Hafdern now left his place in the triskaidekagram and walked a few steps up the terraced platform of the dais to hold up the ceremonial dagger.

"As you plunge your single blade into the beating heart of your enemy, let your souls be joined, now and forever, in un-holy union."

Someone, noticing as Bloodbyrn did that something important was missing here, spoke from the darkness. "Shall we…bring forth the sacrifice?"

"Huh?" King Feerborg jerked beside her, "What sacrifice?"

Of course the servants had not told him. Of course she would have to make the arrangements herself concurrently with the ceremony as it progressed. Typical was the best word for this situation. "Be quiet, my lord."

He was not. "Oh of course! Every Skrean ceremony ends with killing someone. Well I'm
done
with killing people, okay? No."

"Be quiet!" hissed Bloodbyrn as the Hafdern slowly walked back down to his place on the triskaidekagram. "We must un-sanctify our un-marriage with a death. It is an ancient and venerable Skrean custom."

Bloodbyrn cleared her voice and continued in louder tones. "Now, I must ask you a question, my lord. Traditionally whosoever wins the pre-un-wedding kidnapping, which would be me, selects a rival to be slain for the ceremony However, you have already dispatched Lady Ashwing, may she writhe forever in torment, and if any mortal women could be considered my rival, it was she. I confess I do not know whom the next woman down the list might be. The Ignoble Lady Banedark, perhaps? Have you any suggestions?"

Courtesy is the basis of a strong relationship, which was why Bloodbyrn was annoyed with the tone her lord chose to employ when he answered her entirely reasonable question.

"And Even if I wanted to…wanted any of the women in this castle
at all
," Feerborg continued, "do you think I would tell you their names so you could kill them?"

"Some men might make such conciliatory gesture on the night of their un-marriage, yes," Bloodbyrn answered with what she hoped was her usual patience and equanimity. "My lord, the Hafdern is waiting."

"Well, I don't know any women aside from you anyway."

Bloodbyrn frowned, "of course you do. You are the Ultimate Fiend. Women are helpless before your sinister power. It draws them, as a flame draws a moth, a flickering promise of pleasure, pain, and danger, and they cannot resist its temptation. Furthermore you are not so unattractive."

Her soon-to-be master did not thank her for her complimentary words, but said instead, "You mean that's why women here keep throwing themselves at me? Let's just say that I haven't seen that end well. Like I saw it end very not well a few hours ago."