The Kingdoms of Evil (85 page)

Teirchoke settled back into his mobile chair, drawing his black furs over himself, "He can offer something more than another chance for the name Teir to be made mock of."

Freetrick resisted the urge to say "huh?"

Instead, he glanced at Bloodbyrn, who said, "Come man! The Ultimate Fiend has just overturned a Exdiabolation for you. At what subsequent favors does your avarice grasp?"

"Your grandson can get an appointment…wherever you think is best. And," said Freetrick, "for your daughter, a useful marriage."

"He means concubinage," Bloodbyrn corrected smoothly.

Yes, that was greed gleaming in those wicked eyes. "Why should I be eager to rejoin the Skrean royal family," Teirchoke's hideous shar pei snarl turned back to Bloodbyrn. "As you now stand to debase that institution so monstrously."

Bloodbyrn drew breath, but Freetrick responded faster than she could. The Ultimate Fiend placed a hand on the armrests on each side of the old man. He spoke in a completely non-threatening voice. "Teirchoke. You said I would tear down everything this nation stands on. You were right." He could see the lightning in his eyes reflecting off the old man's pupils. "So in addition to your grandson's reinstatement, I can promise you something else." His voice dropped, forcing Teirchoke to lean in even closer to hear the word. "Chaos." And Freetrick released a burst of power.

The chair's legs collapsed out from under it, and Teirchoke's face was a handbreadth under Freetrick's.

"I'm going to do something today that will turn Skrea on its head," Freetrick said. "By the time I'm through with them, the nobles won't know up from down, let alone who's family might or might not have broken some ridiculous societal taboo a generation ago."

"Chaos?" repeated the old man, suddenly small and frail in the clutches of his broken chair.

"A time when competence can rise," Bloodbyrn observed.

"Give me Istain," said Freetrick, straightening, "and you'll have a place in the new Skrea. Plus, if I die tomorrow he won't be worth much as a hostage, anyway."

Teirchoke appeared to consider for a moment, then cocked an eye up at Freetrick. "You will have to go around me, Fiend. For I fear you have killed my chair." Then, still pinning Freetrick with his cruel stare, "Malevolence, I beg to be released back to my Despotate, where my life-twisters can furnish me with a new one."

As if he had needed permission to go there before, thought Freetrick, looking down at the ancient reprobate, toadlike in his now non-mobile chair. As if he wasn't going up there to plan a nice little back-stabbing rebellion of his own. Maybe a bid for sovereignty?

Freetrick shared a knowing half-second glance with Teirchoke's monster chamberlain, then a smug smile with Bloodbyrn. If word-magic wasn't already being practiced in Teirchoke's castle, it would be the day after his return there.

Madene bounded forward on Istain's long legs. He was stiff around the hips and lower back, so instead of kicking, she used his powerful upper body, punching the man who stood just outside the door to her cell.

That arm, with more leverage than her old ones, struck the man's face like a hammer, tossing him back…because he
wasn't
sitting in Teirchoke's moving chair.

There was terrible pain then, like a burning net over her body, agonizing and immobilizing at once. The sharp blow that drove her to Istain's knees was almost a relief in comparison.

Now Madene and Istain screamed together, so loudly it hurt the throat they shared, and Madene got the worst shock yet. The man she had attacked, had hit with all of Istain's surprising strength, the man whose nose she had probably broken, was Freetrick.

Freetrick's face, transformed but still recognizable, registered shock in a mirror of hers. "Istain! You gibbering broke by dose!"

"Shall I kill him?" The voice was smooth, oddly accented, feminine, and familiar.

Freetrick shook his head once, sending a spray of blood from his purpling nose. "Doh. Back
dowd,
Bloodbyrd."

A sensation through the pain, a crawling as of steaming ants on her skin, then the terrible, excruciating net lifted away. There was a weird, sinuous movement in the air, which resolved, as Madene forced Istain's eye to look around, into a long, many-branched, crimson tentacle. The appendage, hung in the air like the arm of an enormous red basket-star, unreeling from… the slashed wrist of a woman. A small woman with a round, narrow-eyed face and a frigid expression, wearing clothing that was too brief to be armor and too uncomfortable to be lingerie. With a sick jolt, Madene recognized her. Bloodbyrn DeMacabre.

"Has he injured you, my lord?" Asked the domintrix, weird orange eyes as emotionless and murderous as a heron's, "what reciprocal damage should I now inflict."

"
Duthing
, strike it," came Freetrick's voice, muffled as if by fingers pinched hard over his nose. "And
you
can stand down too, Skystarke. Bloodbyrd…ow…let hib get up."

"And allow him the opportunity to inflict further insult upon my lord's body?"

Freetrick's nose bubbled. "Istaid, do you plad to attack be again?"

"Nope!" Istain said immediately. "I see now what
a stupid idea
it was to rush out at you like that."

Madene felt the need to defend herself. "I thought you were Teirchoke."

For her trouble, she received a pinch and a subvocalized
shut up!
From Istain, and a raised eyebrow from Freetrick. The black eyes made the expression look more threatening than sarcastic. "If it had been," he said, "you'd be dead dow. Bloodbyrd," he turned to address the dominatrix beside him, "let hib stad up, I said."

"Freetrick, I am so sorry," Istain babbled as Madene stood them up.

"It's okay.. I suppose I should have beed expectig it. Strike it out, Istaid, I had no idea you could pudch like that." Freetrick's nose made a liquid gurgle as he inhaled. "Strike it, I think you really did break by dose."

Madene shifted Istain's eyes over to look at Freetrick. He had been transformed nearly as completely as she had been in the past weeks, and it wasn't just the white skin, or the black eyes behind their archaic spectacles, or even the fearsome armor he wore as casually as if it were a student's tunic and hose. His face seemed harder, fiercer, more ruthlessly controlled. And if there was fear in his bearing, there was also power. The Ultimate Fiend might be attacked at any moment, but looked as if he also expected to be able to rip his attacker in two.

"If my lo-ad would allow me!"

The screech from behind made both Madene and Istain twitch—a strange sensation. She turned to see a monster, generally humanoid, but with a face-like mask of skin everted over the large eyes and grasping fangs of a nocturnal predator. The same design as Teirchoke's servant, Banethorne.

"I believe I can reset it, my lord," said Bloodbyrn as the monster stepped forward. Its mask slurped down over its fangs, its large, humanoid hands extended as if to rip Freetrick's face off, and still Madene would have preferred its ministrations to the woman's.

For a moment, a wince turned him back into the boy she had known in college. "Thags, Skystarke, but I guess I'd better let Bloodbyrd do it. You doh…"

The monster nodded, and its ghastly countenance split in a…smile?

"Be gentle?" Freetrick asked Bloodbyrn.

"I shall not." The evil little smirk Bloodbyrn gave as she swayed toward Freetrick scared Madene more than anything she had seen so far in Skrea.

"Whoah!" Istain must have figured out the situation, as well.

Freetrick shot them an expression that was equal parts pride and embarrassment. "A lot's been happening."

A lot must have been happening, to make Freetrick want to crawl into bed with
that
. Was it just a combination of low-cut necklines and Stockholm Syndrome, or had Freetrick…turned? Madene supposed it would make her job simpler, if he had.

Madene watched with sick shock as the scantily-clad woman withdrew a wicked little dagger from one filmy sleeve and calmly slit her own wrist.

"Disgusting," she muttered.

"What was that?" Freetrick said, standing completely unfazed as the tentacle of blood flowed through the air toward his face.

"Freetrick," Istain said, "I don't know what this lady's told you, but we've seen her in action. She's striking dangerous."

"Only to our enemies," said Freetrick chillingly, then more familiar ironic smile crossed his features. "There's a lot you don't know, Istain, but I'll fill you in after I—ow!"

The tip of the tentacle touched his nose, then burst into a nest of writhing branches and engulfed his face.

"Ow," said Freetrick again, "ow ow—striking gibber—
ow
!" Cartilage popped and Freetrick stumbled back from Bloodbyrn's disgusting medical appendage. Then the blood on Freetrick's face retreated back into his nostrils as she watched, as if falling in reverse. In a moment, his face was clean, and his voice was clear and unclogged when he spoke.

"I would have you stay in my suites, but there's no one I trust that could get you there safely. You'll have to stay with me." Freetrick spoke without turning, as if he had better things to do than look after their safety.

Istain apparently didn't seem to get the insult. Instead he gave Madene a headache by flicking glances at Bloodbyrn and the monster, Skystarke, as they kept pace. "What've you gotten yourself into, Free?"

This time Freetrick did glance back over one spiny shoulder, smiling. "If we're very, very lucky, a tense conversation followed by a purge." Had his teeth always been so pointy? "If we're unlucky, a duel to the death followed by a violent coup."

"And where are we going now?"

"Istain, we can't really talk in the halls, okay? Just…stay out of the way and try not to get yourself kidnapped again."

Madene couldn't tell if that quip pissed Istain off as much as it did her. Maybe so, because he didn't try to stop her when she spoke. "Freetrick, in case you couldn't tell, we were almost killed just trying to come and help you!"

"Good." Freetrick stopped, turned, and Madene was shocked to see two lines of white light in his eyes, like tiny lightning bolts. "Because I have a job for you. Skystarke? Where are our targets?"

The monster put its ear from the wall. Its knuckles, entirely human, from what Madene had been able to tell, wrapped twice on the stone. She fancied she could hear something, dry and slithering, from behind that apparently solid surface, but when she listened more closely, the sound was gone.

"Well…well what?" Istain said when Freetrick's voice trailed off. "You'll speak to his lawyer, or he'll whip out his giant spiky necromancy knob and bludgeon you to death with it?"

"If I might redirect your virile energies to more immediate matters?" She withdrew a rolled sheet of parchment from her sleeve. "If you are the mage my lord claims you are, it would be wise to solicit your advice in our scheme."

"Uh…" Istain looked down at Bloodbyrn's outstretched hand, then up to her cleavage, then further up to her face, then down her cleavage again. Madene bit down on their tongue and he jumped.

"What?" Bloodbyrn snapped. "Are all Rationalist boys so timid? You react to me as to a viper tied about your manhood, and that was not my intention. It is aggravating."

"The last time we met, you tried to kill me," said Istain.

"Oh, that." Bloodbyrn pressed the parchment into Istain's hand and swayed back to Freetrick. "Circumstances have changed since then." She looked up at Freetrick with an expression Madene recognized. From his intake of breath, Istain recognized it too. He should, since that was the way Selene had looked at him.

Bloodbyrn murmured something to Freetrick, standing much too close to him, and he confirmed Madene's suspicions by reaching out to hold her shoulders.
Truth, Istain. These two have been sleeping together.

You think?
He subvocalized back.
Does that mean she's one of the good guys, or that
he's
one of the bad guys?

"Excuse me," Bloodbyrn was saying, "I meant that there is something we must do before you go into battle, if battle it is to be."