She delicately lined the eyelid with a languishing slow stroke of the burning charcoal. Blinked once, looked up and drunk in her reflection. Finally, after all these years she was where she was meant to be. The first amongst women, the wife of the Lord Marshall. For too long her husband had served lesser men, men who lacked the vision that she held for her husband. The last Lord Marshall had been great, in his own way, but he lacked the conviction that she brought to her husband's position, and she was never destined to be just a commander's wife, not when higher positions were achievable. No, Dame Vakko was destined to be a queen.
She stood, glorified her own image. The black dress that she had commissioned for this great day had reportedly led to the stitcher's fingers to bleed, a possibility of truth but a beautiful rumour to encourage. People should bleed for greatness and she was magnificent. Today was a day of magnificence, as today her husband would ascend in full honours to Lord Marshall. Since the breeder arrived there had been an unsettled restlessness amongst the black fleet. A worrying air of a lack of conviction in their leadership had remained even after he was removed post he was unworthy to hold. Today would end all concern as her husband would cross the threshold and return the holiest of holies.
The breeder who had ascended the throne had unnerved her. Unnatural eyes that had held the greatest of titles in an abhorrency of events. More evidence that the late lord Marshall had been weak, to fall at the blade of a non believer. There had been another that fateful day, a new convert who had bled out on the throne room floor in the man's arms. She had almost brought the Lord Marshall down herself and if she had been successful. Dame Vaako paused in her musings, what a blasphemous consideration, a woman holding such a position of holy power. However, she died and matters had righted themselves, even with the blip of tolerating the existence of the non believer as Lord Marshall for a period. He had refused to convert, refused their beliefs but had been glorious in the violence he created. There had been challenges, seeing his non-belief as weakness and he had torn these challenges apart with little effort. On one occasion, when there had been a planned attack without the honour and traditional deceleration of challenge, an attempt to remove the non believer by gunfire, it had led to an extraordinary sight. Darkness had been released from this man with silver eyes and defeated the fools that had stood against them, in the brief cloud of darkness she had heard the cries of men whose flesh was torn from their forms.
A direct attack would have no success on this dark warrior. She smiled, her husband was so fortunate to have her by his side, for it was her that had made the suggestion. Find what he desires and distract him with it. Use the quasi dead to seek the workings of this man's mind. The quasi dead in her opinion were a necessary existence in the structure of their faith but they concerned her, they were creatures of wiles and slippery consistency. Whilst they served the faith, they did not appear to serve its followers, often advocating outcomes that appeared to provide little for the devout. They also conversed with the breeder frequently. He was known to visit them, for what purpose it was not known, but he attended them and spoke to them. Only once did she discover what he had discussed. He had shared this interest in this matter with Vakko.
Furya, the breeders homeworld, a dead planet once conquered by their army during the reign of two Lord Marshalls past. It took his interest and he declared the desire to seek it out. She wondered if there was more to his deceleration, a man of his nature who had just watch a woman, who he clearly had a connection to prior to her conversion, bleed out if front of him tended to grieve violently, and whilst he most certainly demonstrated violence, it had been provoked and not instigated by his hand.
She knew men, a skill her mother had imbued in her during her early years, a skill that had been forged underneath them, a skill that was then cultivated and mastered in the house her mother sold her to. She knew the minds of men, after their satisfaction they would open their minds to her, sharing their designs for their future, their fears and all the domesticities of their lives.
She also understood the fear of the necromonger army. They came to these great planets that held their power for millennias and dynasties of wealth and power grew unchallenged and then the black fleet would arrive and shred their futures to dust. However, for her they had provided the ladder for which she could climb from the poverty she had been born into, her future would have peaked as a rich man's mistress and her aspirations were greater than a a lesser man's second choice. The necromongers had been the platform on which she had risen and she had gladly accepted the opportunity of conversion. Death was not an option, and where there was life there were opportunities.
Now she had all the opportunities. She was the wife of the Lord Marshall. Necromongers did not have queens and whilst women had held positions of power, of course lesser to the men of their faith, they still held titles reflecting their influence. However, none had ever been proclaimed publicly by the Lord Marshall as their wives. Lord Marshalls had had their bedmates, mistresses and even women who had been more then comfort and pleasure, but never before had one been a wife, and never had their been a wife like Dame Vakko.
She smiled at the thought. She truly had achieved what she had desired all those years ago on her back in those hopeless rooms.
She had now joined the other players in this charade of reassurance for those who had created such worry over the leadership. They were in the hall of the quasi dead. They would have Vakko crowned in their presence, a symbol of the link to the underverse, the purifiers had said. She saw the value in this, there needed to be no question that her husband was the true Lord Marshall, especially given the death of the breeder had not been witnessed by numbers and he had proven time and time that he had been a difficult creature to end.
Her husband stood on the platform surrounded by the quasi dead, one knee bent in submission to the faith before rising in his glory. She met his eyes. He was her masterpiece. He was a good soldier but she had made him great and today they would claim their reward.
"I am the Lord Marshall, I have ended the abhorrency that was the last and I have corrected the mistake"
Giggles arose from the quasi.
The rest of the gathered party looked confused, faces unsure. This was not the response they had expected. They had expected submission, maybe even worship, but not this.
"Oh but oh great lord Marshall you wish to be, you are not" more mercurial laughter swirling around the temple tomb, Vaako's eyes narrowing with the gathering words. "You did not end the Furyan"
Narrowed eyes snapped wide. Of course he had not been the one to directly end Riddick. He chastised himself, so foolish.
Without a blink of hesitation he pulled out his gun and shot Krone in between the eyes from where he stood on the viewing point above him between two commanders. The large man fell forwards, over the balcony and onto the platform in front of Vakko, bleeding from the gunshot wound onto the tombs floor.
"It is now done, I am the Lord Marshall."
More laughter, this time hysterical and more mocking. Louder than before.
"The Furyan lives. Lord Marshall you may desire to be but is he who holds this title, you may declare all you wish but you hold no link to our world, no power over it. He is the Lord Marshall still."
The uncertainty from the audience now evolved into frantic hushed whispers. The seat of their faith and power was held not by one of their own, still, and now they had lost him. What if another ended him, what if the Furyan found a way to manipulate the power of the underverse, corrupt it.
Dame Vaako looked to her husband, conveyed in her eyes to him the clear and only message that needed to be said. He met them, nodded.
"Then we shall bring back the breeder, execute him for his refusal to fulfill the requirements of the position of Lord Marshall, he had been given time to convert and failed to do so, he is unworthy of this position and we will bring him here, to this place and execute him before and end this once and for all."
The crowd were slow to respond, hesitant for so much had been uncertain since the day Zhylaw had fallen and for a faith that had never been challenged so, this had been troublesome times. However, on looking to Vaako who stood tall, in full necromonger armour, a god like warrior declaring with certainty this assurance, the worry faded and the devout unconquerable belief returned. They were necromongers, unconquerable by nature, even within their ranks, and a true believer Vaako had risen in face of this blasphemy and would correct this fallacy that had arisen.
The crowd began to chant, a single voice in the distant crowd followed by more and more until a frenzied, uniformed voice of a gathered mass chanted the name again and again.
Vakko. Vakko. Vakko.