The Kingdoms of Evil (88 page)

In his rage, Milielan opened his copper-tasting mouth and howled his laughter.

***

Bloodbyrn stared in horror as her father and her love grappled on the floor. One was her teacher and protector, last vestige of a happy childhood, object of filial devotion, while the other was her legal lord and master, target of her highest political aspirations, for whom Bloodbyrn felt the stirrings of perverse and forbidden affection. And of the two, one would certainly die.

No, she could not deceive herself. Feerborg would certainly die. Bloodbyrn knew it was only a matter of moments before her father's blood infiltrated her lord's body. Then it would take no time at all to command that fluid to burst a vessel in her lord's brain.

The decision was already made, it seemed. Indeed, it was as her father had said. Life was a prison.

"Now, Istain!"

Bloodbyrn whirled to see Istain shout, although at whom she could not say, then fling himself awkwardly across the hall at the struggling men. What a stupid thing for a hostage to do, thought Bloodbyrn, numbly, and then her mind burst into glorious resolution.

She knew how she would save her lover. She knew she would sacrifice her father to that end. Bloodbyrn understood these things and accepted them, even as her legs took her across the hall, rushing into Feerix's arms.

He had a momentary glimpse of the side of DeMacabre's howling mouth and time to think
strike me out, I'm going to die
, before Istain hit him with a flying tackle.

DeMacabre's laughter choked off, then redoubled as Istain cried out "Oh this was a stupid idea!"

Freetrick rolled to his feet and spun to see DeMacabre, chortling with glee, a pencil-thin chord of blood stretching from his wrist to the chest of the shuddering Istain. And there, truth! There was another one going to Freetrick's own chest, wriggling like a swallowing worm. Without thinking, Freetrick leapt forward, chopped his hand down across Istain's blood connection. It worked. Istain blinked and dodged backward, apparently safe.

Freetrick whirled to strike at DeMacabre. A head blow might distract the man, stop him from doing magic—then Freetrick's heart spasmed again and his vision dimmed. He suddenly couldn't move, couldn't breathe, could barely think. But Freetrick could hear a voice.

"DeMacabre, as your extremely Soon-to-be Ultimate Fiend, I order you to release my prey, the current Ultimate Fiend."

Bloodbyrn resisted rolling her eyes. The idiot. She had been forced to explain her own status as his hostage twice before Feerix grasped the concept.

"Release him, or I shall kill your daughter." The prince turned his self-satisfied grin back on her.

He therefore did not see Milielan's expression when her father did as he was ordered. By the time the prince looked back, triumph no longer shone from the Duke's face. And here again was the choice before her.

"Yes," she attempted, "it is not your place to commit the act of regicide. Feerix will do the deed, and when he is finished, I shall take my place beside the new Ultimate Fiend."

That won a flash of surprise from Feerix, then anger. Her father, more difficult to read, seemed to calculate before he shot her a look of narrow-eyed warning. Feerborg gave her a look, blood help her, of trust. And Feerix, the dark prince said…

"I think not," Feerix said. "I shall kill Feerborg, then DeMacabre, then you my dear."

Exsanguinations. It took much of Bloodbyrn's training to keep her body from trembling, and then more to press herself sensuously against him. "But my lord, would you not rather enjoy your prize?"

"Tie myself to you? What utter foolishness that would be."

Bloodbyrn nearly choked on her own spit. Now of all times for Feerix to develop of a political sense. Most likely Teirchoke had coached him. "But…my lord. My father and I am in a position to
aid
you." That was the argument that had swayed Feerborg. Oh, how frustrating it was to have the trust of the man she did
not
have to betray.

"In a position to control me, you mean," said Feerix. "No. Better I kill the three of you now."

Bloodbyrn's plans rushed in a circulating torrent. Her lover, her father, not to mention herself, in mortal danger.

"You, Monster, and you, Do-Gooder fool." Feerix pointed to Skystarke, then to Istain, who stood again at the edge of the circle of their combat. "Witness the work of a true Prince of Evil!" Blackness flared above his head.

Whose salvation, which path should she choose? Assuming, of course, that Bloodbyrn could take sufficient control of the situation to realize that choice.

"What? Indeed?" said Feerix. "For the sake of all that is unholy,
why
?"

"He is twice the man you are, that is why!" Bloodbyrn spat.

Feerix squinted down at her, "And why is it you think I would care?"

Freetrick had to admit it was a good question. "Bloodbyrn, I—I'm really happy to hear it, but, um, what do you think you—urk!" Every joint in his body suddenly locked at once, and a pair of arms constricted around him like boney and tastelessly-dressed anacondas.

"I have him, my lord!" DeMacabre's voice rang in his ears. "Give me the word, my lord, and I shall gladly kill him, then Bloodbyrn will be the concubine to the new Ultimate Fiend!"

"No," said Feerix, the air around his head still swarming with black motes. "I shall kill
you
, then him, then your daughter, and I shall be the new Ultimate Fiend!"

"How about nobody kills anybody," Freetrick said, "and I give you both nice things, while I'm the Ultimate Fiend?"

Freetrick felt DeMacabre's body shudder, and his peripheral vision suddenly sprouted a half-dozen arm-thick tentacles of blood.

"Release my daughter," he said, "or I shall kill the Ultimate Fiend, robbing you of your coup."

"Release my coup," retorted Feerix, "or I shall kill your daughter, robbing
you
of your…daughter."

In the standoff that followed, Freetrick could hear Bloodbyrn's disgusted sigh quite clearly.

"My lord Feerix," she said, "please be aware that at this moment, my left ring finger, whose nail I keep sharpened and coated with anesthetic gum for just this manner of situation, has pierced the skin of your lower abdomen. At my will, my blood will enter your body. You may take comfort in the fact that your death will be less painful than immediate."

"Immediate enough that I cannot destroy you first, Leech?" Feerix snarled. "
And you
, DeMacabre," his voice whip-cracked across the corridor. "You will stand down."

Freetrick was aware that, yes, he had risen several inches above the ground. Was the Duke
walking
on those blood tentacles?

"I said, be
still
!" Feerix's fingers twitched and black mist congealed around Bloodbyrn. Then the prince's eyes swung to Freetrick, and an invisible hand sent him and DeMacabre spinning backwards.

Blood limbs flailed around them like the legs of a swatted spider. Freetrick felt the Duke's arms tighten around him, and their spin slowed, stopped. They rose, Freetrick dangling a full six feet off the ground.

"Do not let your success over my half-brother give birth to false hopes, Leeches," Feerix said. "Your pitiful blood-magic is no match for my necromancy. Now only one question remains:" Feerix chuckled to himself and extended his arm, pointing first to the immobilized Bloodbyrn, then Freetrick, then DeMacabre. "Who will be first to die?"

"DeMacabre!" Freetrick hissed, "your daughter is in danger. Help me get her out of it."

The old man's voice spoke in his ear. "If Feerix does not slaughter you, I shall do the job myself."

"An excellent point," giggled Feerix, finger swinging to point over Freetrick's shoulder. "You first then, Lord Leech."

"Lord Feerix," said Bloodbyrn, encased in black mist, "do not do this thing, I urge you. Remember what my father has told you. Think of what he can give you if you let him live."

"Think of what I can
take
from him when he is dead," said Feerix.

"DeMacabre," Freetrick tried again. "Is Bloodbyrn's
death
really preferable to her being in love with me?"

"Now there is a difficult question," Feerix grinned.

Black tentacles swarmed out of Feerix's halo, slithering toward DeMacabre. Freetrick felt himself hoisted further into the air on the blood tentacles. They were at least ten feet above the floor now, the indoor mist of Castle Clouds-Gather eddying soggily around them.

"I cannot let him simply drop you, I suppose," said Feerix, looking up at them. "All right then, I suppose I should kill you first, half-brother."

Freetrick gasped as frigid fingers slithered over his necromantic defenses.

"Yesss," Feerix hissed, "very good." He turned to smile at the immobilized Bloodbyrn. "You see, this way I can enjoy all the deaths, and do not have to rush."

The invisible pressure increased. If Freetrick let Feerix continue, he would break through Freetrick's defenses and kill him. If he fought back, it would only deplete his defenses faster. His only hope was escape.

Nothing. Only the mounting strain on Freetrick's defenses. It felt as if millions of tiny fingers were forcing their way through his skin.

Then, almost too low to hear: "do you love her?" DeMacabre's grip tightened, as if
he
was the one who would fall if he let go.

Feerix sighed. "If you hope to entertain me and thus prolong your miserable life, I suggest you try harder, DeMacabre."

DeMacabre's voice from behind: "It must be well, then."

Red chords wrapped around Freetrick, held him away from the Duke, twisted him around, forced the DeMacabre's athame into Freetrick's suddenly free hands. He stood in the air, supported by the Duke's blood, his throat bared before Freetrick.

"What are you doing? Stop!" Feerix's attack smashed into Freetrick's defenses, which crumpled. Raw necromancy rushed toward him, and Freetrick sliced the knife across DeMacabre's throat.

"You killed him," said Freetrick, because he was used to saying things like that to Feerix. But he realized he was, in this case, wrong.

"No I did not," said Feerix. "For it was you, obviously, who killed your woman's father. Now you have his death energy, so what shall we do?"

Freetrick, drenched with the blood of his girlfriend's dad, could only stare. From the inside of her cloud of magic, Bloodbyrn stared, too.

Bloodbyrn. "Bloodbyrn." He croaked, "We have to—we have to do this."

"Oh must you? Finally?" Feerix took a step forward, the sharpened claws on his gauntleted fingers flexing. "Have you finally learned enough to face me, Feerborg?"

"Bloodbyrn," Freetrick said again. They had meant to use Bloodbyrn's blood for this, but now that was unnecessary. Half her father's blood was hers, after all. "Bloodbyrn, I don't care what you do after this, but help me now, and we can make sure this never happens again."

She did not look at him, only closed her eyes. The blood on the flood slid back, like the lids of an opening eye, leaving clean, black stone behind.

"What are you doing?" Feerix whipped around to glare at Bloodbyrn. "Must I kill you next?" Then, apparently to himself, "Hmm…a poignant dash to add to the mixture? I have never killed a man avenging his paramour before. I have read the experience is quite enlivening…" He turned back to Freetrick, grinning.

That grin rotated into position just in time to catch the knuckle of Freetrick's fist.

"Ha!" So protection against magic did not translate into protection against high-velocity lobstered steel.

Freetrick used his power to spin himself around in the air, and delivered a kick that knocked Feerix off his feet. New blood splattered the floor as the old twirled around the periphery. Bloodbyrn was laying down the patterns she had memorized, but maybe she didn't need to. Maybe Freetrick could just beat the prince to death.

But no. Even as Bloodbyrn wrote the word-magic spell on the floor, Feerix pulled a cloud of black mist around himself. Feelers darted toward Freetrick. Not at Bloodbyrn, though.

Freetrick attacked again, before Feerix could rise or get his bearings, pinching at his skin, hammering his internal defenses.

"What was it you said,
my lord
?" Feerix shouted from within his cloud, "'Do what we say or we'll kill you?'" A tendril of power smashed into Freetrick hard enough to knock him out of the air. "Then we shall have to see who is better at killing."