--The Fourth Realm--
A fanfic taking place in the Realms of the Blood, created by
Anne Bishop whom I worship and pay tribute to every day.
Just kidding. Or so you think.
(Written by the Great and Powerful Keski,
spell checked by Microsoft Works Word Processor)
---
Chapter IX
Memories
---
"It says that your brother will see the error of his ways in due time. This will come only through great hardship and be followed by great sacrifice. However, you will be forgiven by him, and you will forgive him, and you will be given a chance to redeem yourself. But until that time, you must not interfere. This is his trial. It is his test."
The Black Widow leaned back from her divining tangled web and faced Alnevar squarely. Her brown eyes were dull, void of life. Not surprising, living in a Territory that had spread its legs for Hayll's rule and allowed for Hourglass covens to be persecuted. Black Widows, all of them, had gone into hiding. Alnevar had been either lucky or skilled—or both—to find this one. Or perhaps… Yes, it was most likely that this Black Widow had known he needed her help and sought him out, not the other way around.
In any case, he had gotten the information he wanted. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he had gotten the information he sought. Being told that he couldn't further his own redemption wasn't exactly pleasing.
He might have suspected that the Black Widow was lying to him, but those dull eyes, the ragged appearance—this was no false Black Widow working for Dorothea SaDiablo. This Black Widow was genuine. And he wore the Gray. He'd know if there was some Red or lighter illusion over the woman, and there was none. The only people who wore the Gray or darker were Alnevar and many of the people in his family, and the SaDiablo bloodline—the true SaDiablo bloodline, held by the High Lord of Hell, not that twisted river of filth that Dorothea prided herself on being part of. Well, those two, and the Sadist himself.
An involuntary shiver went through Alnevar at the thought of Daemon Sadi, and he quickly stood up, pushing his thoughts aside for the moment. "Thank you, ma'am," he said as politely as he could manage, and called in a handful of gold marks. He set them on the makeshift table.
She eyed the money. "This is more than I—"
"Take the extra," Alnevar said. "You need it. I don't."
"You—"
"I'm a slave, miss. At the very least, I'm guaranteed a bit of food every day and a place to sleep. You're not. Please, take it as a gift."
The Black Widow sighed, then nodded. "Thank you, Lord."
Alnevar's lips curled. It had been a century since anyone had called him 'Lord.' Nowadays, it was always 'filth' and 'maggot' and 'worm' and a dozen other derogatory titles.
And the last person to call Alnevar 'Lord' had sold him into slavery.
---
Alnevar shook with grief and rage as he gazed down upon the corpse of his mother, Tesora. Blood still poured from the wound he'd sliced in her neck.
"So," Caelar muttered from the doorway. "Seems the little birdie that told me you couldn't be trusted was right."
"You bastard," Alnevar hissed. "You gutter son of a—"
"Simmer down, now," Caelar said amiably as he held up a hand. The Green Jewel in his ring flashed, and Alnevar's unsuspecting inner barriers were assaulted by Green strength. They were halfway down before Alnevar remembered himself enough to reinforce them with his own strength.
"Cheap as always," he snarled at his father, who snapped his wings shut.
"You'll learn your place soon enough."
"Who told you I 'couldn't be trusted' in the first place? Dorothea? Someone who works for her? She's wanted control of me and Althemen for years, you know that!"
"And I want power. You know that. A Green Jewel is just dark enough to get me some respect if I can get into the High Priestess' good graces. And how better to do that than by giving her something she has always wanted?"
As understanding dawned on Alnevar, his face contorted into a twisted mask of rage and he threw himself at Caelar.
Ebon-Gray strength suddenly shot through his mind and everything vanished.
---
"She's too far gone to be helped, Alnevar," the Black Widow said sadly. "I'm sorry."
Alnevar pulled at his hair. "But how? How can there be no way to reverse this—this taint?"
The Black Widow gasped. To call one of the Blood tainted was to insult something deeply rooted in the heart of the Blood. The Black Widow shook her head. "There isn't."
Alnevar stood up viciously and stalked around the room. When he sat back down, he was not as angry as he was simply upset. He'd known this Black Widow for years. She'd never told him anything displeasing, anything that troubled him. So how could she suddenly see something so upsetting in a tangled web? "It isn't fair," he said like a wronged child. "It isn't fair that we should have to suffer because of that bitch Dorothea's twisted goals."
"Nothing nowadays is fair, dear," the Black Widow said quietly, and Alnevar looked up, instantly feeling guilty. Of course; how could he have forgotten? Black Widows were persecuted in Territories under Dorothea's rule. This woman probably led a much more 'unfair' life than he could even imagine.
"I'm sorry," he said, examining his knees. "It wasn't my place to say something like that. But Tesora… She was the one person in my family who ever really…"
"Loved you?"
Alnevar looked up sharply. After a moment, he relented and nodded, his wings sagging pathetically. "Yes. My father pays attention to my older brother Althemen because he wears the Ebon-Gray and is a Warlord Prince. Caelar thinks that promoting Althemen as his heir will bring our family power, even though we can't be traced back to any of Hayll's Hundred Families. On the other hand, Althemen hates me because even though I'm a Warlord and I wear the Gray, because I have full-sized wings and he doesn't. But Tesora… She's Dhemlan, not Eyrien, so she doesn't care about wings, and she was the daughter of an innkeeper before she met my father, so she doesn't care about power."
"She saw something good in you that she doesn't see in your father or your brother," the Black Widow said.
"Yes. I don't know what… But I'm glad for it. If it hadn't been for her, I might have turned out a good deal more cold and bitter than I am anyway."
"I think that whatever it is she saw in you… is what I'm seeing now. Your brother isn't tainted, as you put it, but you have something he will never have. But your father—"
"Is a useless, power-hungry shell of a man," Alnevar snapped. "I don't care about him. I want to help Tesora."
"Tesora is little more than a puppet of Dorothea, Alnevar. She was broken of her Jewels and her mind. All that is left of her… is a tool."
Tiny chunks of plaster were shaken from the ceiling when the door slammed.
---
Alnevar opened his eyes and instantly shut them again, blinded by the light in the room. He opened them slowly and let his eyes adjust.
He was in what looked to be a carriage of some sort, filled to bursting with chained men. Upon noticing this, he realized that he, too, was also bound hand and foot. And he also felt something unfamiliar between his legs. When he looked, he found a small gold ring around his organ.
A Ring of Obedience.
Damn it! Damn it! Damn it all to the bowels of Hell! He'd been so close to getting rid of Caelar—and then Alnevar had ruined it! That filthy, spoiled, oh-so-wonderful heir to the family had ruined everything. Someday Alnevar would pay him back. Althemen would not go unpunished for this.
---
Althemen dashed into the room a moment too late. He saw Tesora on the floor, and Alnevar, in a mad rage, leaping at Caelar. He did the first thing that came to his mind. He unleashed his Ebon-Gray strength on Alnevar.
Alnevar fell. Althemen stared at the carnage on the floor.
"He killed her," Caelar said. "He killed her, Althemen. He killed her."
"Shut up. He may have killed her, but this is your doing, and we both know that."
"Althemen, I didn't—"
"I said SHUT UP!" As Althemen shouted, the chair in the corner exploded. The candelabra on the wall followed. Caelar backed into the wall, horrified.
"In the past year, you have done nothing helpful except to lick Dorothea's boots. You might think you're bringing this family honor and power, but what kind of honor is achieved by being a simpering fool? Tell me that, father!"
"I—I simply—"
"Just stop, Caelar. You're only making yourself look like an idiot."
"Althemen, I—"
"I believe I told you to shut the hell up."
Never taking his eyes off Caelar, Althemen raised his right arm parallel to the floor and pointed to a window. The window exploded and, in an event one would be hard-pressed to call coincidence, a sizable shard of glass embedded itself in the side of Caelar's head.
After unleashing enough Ebon-Gray strength into Caelar's mind to ensure the final death, Althemen turned to face Alnevar, still lying unconscious on the floor.
"And you," he said. "You may have been manipulated, but trust you not to sniff it out, not to realize you're being made a fool of." He approached the limp half-Eyrien and kneeled beside him. "I have always despised you, my so-called brother, for more reasons than you will ever know. Wings? Ha! You truly are a fool, if you think my inadequate wings are the reason I hate you. But this… Oh, yes, this is the perfect chance to get rid of you for good. I can't kill you. No, that would violate the agreement. So I'll have that much mercy on you. But don't think you'll get away from this without punishment. Oh-ho, no."
Within the hour, two Purple-Dusk Jeweled Warlords had Ringed Alnevar, chained him, and carried him out of the house. Before the week was out, Alnevar would be mining salt under the harsh desert sun of Pruul. Althemen smiled cruelly at the thought.
---
Luseik looked at his father with a bored expression. "Well?"
Versiver frowned. He'd always thought life as the pampered son of the rulers of Hayll Dachrea had made his son soft, almost useless. Now was the perfect chance to test his theory. If he was wrong, and he prayed to the Darkness that he was, then his son would go on to rule Askavi Dhemlan for, at the very least, ten thousand years.
If he was right, then Luseik would die in Terreille, and this, right now, would be the last time Versiver saw him.
"Luseik," he said. "You have been searching for a Queen you wish to serve as Warlord Prince of Askavi for some time now, unsuccessfully."
"Yes," Luseik said.
"We have found traces of a Queen in one of the Pureblood Realms, Terreille, whose lineage can be traced back to that of my great grandfather, Dicrus."
"So?"
"She exhibits signs of possessing his gift, as well."
Luseik sat up straight. "But the gift was never discerned. Everyone agreed it was a joke, a lie, that there wasn't any gift in the first place. The Black Widow—"
"Was telling the truth. After Dicrus died at the hand of that Pureblood, the Pureblood attempted to burn out his mind."
"The Pureblood did burn out his mind."
"Tried to. Something in Dicrus' Self repelled the magic and the Pureblood gave up and fled. Dicrus is demon-dead, Luseik, and serving a dragon. Kennesra divined this in a tangled web."
Luseik sat down, holding his head. "Well, fine, but what does this have to do with me?"
"You are going to search out this Queen, this Black Widow who bears the gift of Dicrus, and she is going to rule Askavi. You shall serve her."
"But I am still trying to choose a—"
"You amuse yourself with women, Luseik, and then discard them when you are done. That may be the way of your friends, but it is not the way of the Kusefora family to which you belong. You have had a year to choose a Queen, Luseik, and your chance has passed. You will go to Terreille, and you will find the Black Widow. That is all."
"But—"
"That is all, Luseik."