Firesign 1 - Wage Slave Rebellion (45 page)

Much further back, in fact. As the god collapsed, its body coming apart at the seams and separating wetly to the ground, the two floundering aku faltered with it. The remaining cultists stopped as well, each staring in disbelief at the unthinkable that had just happened. Though Amougourest was not exactly dead, their god had been forced to a place far away, beyond the range where its magick could reach those bound to the planet’s surface. As it faded, so did its power.
Their
power.

Faced with the loss of their magick, the cultists did the only sensible thing. Weapons fell to the ground as they raised their hands in surrender. As the dying aku shuddered, seizures wracking their bodies as they sucked in their last painful breaths, a cheer went up from the city’s defenders. Captain Ankt rushed forward with his guards, handcuffs at the ready.

Mazik sank to his knees. He watched in amazement as the god’s body fell apart, black ichor dribbling off it as it separated into quivering sections and piled up on the empty street corner. The lumps slid off each other like living bricks, each falling to the ground with the boneless slap of boiled, gray meat. The god was half a city square away, so the gelatinous cubes were no danger, but they would be hell to clean up later on. For someone else.

Gavi fell beside Mazik, her hands numb on the hard stone as she tried to process what just happened.

Raedren dropped straight to his rear end beside them. He let out a huge sigh of relief as he slumped forward, sweat pouring off his forehead as he finally allowed exhaustion to catch up with him.

Gavi was the first to speak. “We did it.”

“Yeah,” said Mazik, his voice far away.

“We really did it,” said Gavi.

A pause while this sunk in. Then:

“Fuck
YES!
” roared Mazik, surging to his feet. He turned and threw himself at Gavi, falling back to his knees and wrapping her in a giant bear hug. Gavi laughed, playfully swatting at him.

“Oh boy,” said Raedren, rolling his eyes, a warm smile gracing his lips. “I think he’s really broken this time. We might have to put him out of his misery.”

“That’s fine, I don’t care, because
WE DID IT!
” yelled Mazik, and then he tackled Raedren. Raedren instinctively dodged and Mazik went flying right past him, rolling several times before ending in an ignominious heap on his face. None of them could resist laughing as Mazik rolled over, least of all Mazik himself.

“You’re an idiot!” said Gavi as she grabbed Raedren and walked over to Mazik. Weak legs wobbled, and the two of them fell, crashing into Mazik in a big pile of limbs and injuries and great, big, ridiculously happy smiles that had no end in sight.

*      *      *

Rain fell in a steady drizzle, just hard enough to inconvenience Houk’s citizens while doing nothing for the centuries of dirt and filth that covered the city. Not that any normal rainstorm could make a dent in the accumulated grime of hundreds of years of commerce, industry, and war; possibly a hurricane would do the trick, though only maybe.

Picking their way through a string of puddles beneath a pair of cheap umbrellas, Mazik, Gavi, and Raedren made their way deeper into the government district.

The seat of power for both the city and nation of Houk, the government district was a daunting jungle of baroque buildings and stone edifices, all dedicated to politicians long dead, where legislation fell prey to lobbyist-poachers and wild packs of bureaucrats roamed the avenues hunting for documents to demand, preferably in triplicate. There were also an unusually large number of food carts, because politicians and bureaucrats are too busy to make their own meals. The country wouldn’t ruin itself on its own.

Mazik hummed as he walked, his scuffed boots kicking up water.

“So, you nervous?” he asked as they crossed the street.

“A little,” said Gavi, who was walking under the umbrella beside him. She patted her chest, and could feel her heart beating overtime. “Once again, I never imagined I’d find myself in this situation.”

“I know what you mean,” said Mazik. “Still, after everything we’ve done…” He poked her in the side a couple of times. “Come on, what’s a silly meeting next to battling a living god?”

Gavi swatted Mazik’s hand away and shot him a look. “That doesn’t stop me from being nervous.” She shivered, and pulled the jacket she borrowed from her mother tighter around her, scrunching her neck down until it was safely below the collar. “And I assume you’re not nervous?”

“Not a bit!” said Mazik immediately.

Gavi laughed, a little of her tension draining away. “Liar.”

“Who, me? Never!” Mazik turned around. “How about you, Rae?”

“Big time,” said Raedren, though he didn’t sound it.

“Well, don’t worry,” said Mazik. “Just let me do the talking. After all the times I’ve been brutalized by customers, this ought to be a piece of pie.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” said Gavi dryly. “Besides, I never said I wouldn’t talk. I want to meet her. I’m just nervous.”

“You want to take the lead?” asked Mazik.

“Er, no. That’s okay. You can do that,” said Gavi, her voice suddenly small. Mazik laughed.

The trio left Monument Avenue and stepped out onto Capitol. Up ahead, past the Royal Library, the headquarters of the Institute of War, and an opulent hotel reserved for visiting diplomats, was a large building that dominated the boulevard. That was their destination.

Built just prior to the removal of the last king of Houk
⁵⁷
, the Tyrant’s Palace had been irrevocably shaped by each successive occupant. Once known as the Working Palace
⁵⁸
, its grandeur had gradually eroded over time due to weather, invasions, and a prudent suspicion on its occupants’ parts that living in too fancy a house might earn them a date with the executioner. The latest Tyrant had taken this a step further, getting rid of much of the fancy ornamentation and statuary, claiming they were a “waste of space” and encouraged “loose thinking”. The result was a lavish mansion with the outer façade of a high security prison, all stark columns, tall metal gates, and sheer walls enclosing a hundred finely appointed rooms with all the luxuries that commoners could never afford.

“Yup, definitely nervous,” said Raedren. Gavi swallowed loudly as they approached.

“Come on, we can make it,” said Mazik, pointing across the street. Dashing through a gap in traffic, the trio jumped over the lethargic stream bubbling through the gutters and landed on the sidewalk in front of the palace. After stopping to shake the rain off their coats, they walked over to the front gates. The five guards standing at the gates watched as they approached.

“Identify yourselves,” said one of the guards, his hand moving meaningfully to the hilt of his sword.

“We’re here to see the Tyrant,” said Mazik, puffing out his chest.

“Sure you are. Names and business.”

Mazik pointed at each of them in turn. This is Gavi Ven’Kalil, that lanky bastard over there is Raedren Ian’Moro, and I’m Mazik I. Kil’Raeus. We’re the ones who killed that god at The Pit last week.”

“Oh. You three,” said the spokesman. “Any weapons on you?”

“Only my disarming good looks,” said Mazik with a wink.

All six guards stared at him for a good thirty seconds.

“All right, you can go in,” said the first guard after the trio had been dutifully frisked, with extra attention paid to Mazik.

As the gates swung shut behind them, the trio crossed the immaculately maintained and hideously appointed front lawn in silence. A man stepped out to greet them.

Mazik recognized him. His name was Stap Dru’Dnorn, personal assistant to the Tyrant and one of the most unassuming men to ever incite the ire of so many powerful Houkians. It was said that wherever the Tyrant went, Dnorn could be found nearby, quietly writing things down and
deducing
. Politicians hate that kind of thing.

“This way, please.”

After a short walk, the Tyrant’s assistant brought them to a waiting room in the eastern wing of the building. Dnorn motioned for them to take a seat on the couch. “The Tyrant will see you in a few minutes,” he said. Then he bowed and departed, ducking through the door across from them and letting it drift slowly shut behind him.

After several quiet minutes, the door reopened, and Dnorn stuck his head out.

“The Tyrant will see you now.”

The trio followed Dnorn into the next room.

“Ah, so this is our latest crop of murderous vigilantes!” came an old woman’s voice. It was cheerful and upbeat, but with fangs, like a vampire being cordial to her next meal.

“This is them,” agreed Major Rur, who stood along the wall to their right. She wore a smile that said she knew exactly what was about to happen to them, and was going to enjoy watching it unfold. Next to her was Captain Ankt, who stood with his arms crossed, frowning.

The Tyrant rose from behind her mahogany desk and hobbled over to them. A slight woman of perhaps sixty years, she looked like a skeleton with skin draped over it, now kept animated by stubbornness, inertia, and her rich redwood cane, which tapered to a point and left deep divots in the carpet. Her skin was wrinkled, her back was bent, and her body was frail—yet one look into her sharp green eyes was enough to dispel any illusions of weakness. She also had rich red hair that had obviously been dyed, though the trio suspected few people had the courage to call her on that, themselves included.

The Tyrant stopped in front of Mazik. Without a word she grabbed him by the chin and yanked his head down, staring into his eyes. He stared right back.

The Tyrant released him and clasped her hands atop her cane. “How are your injuries?”

“They’re fine,” said Mazik, forcing himself to hold her gaze.

“Fine my ass,” said the Tyrant, wrinkling her nose. She waved at him. “Off with this silly jacket, boy. Let’s see for ourselves.”

Mazik stared at her. She stared right back. Neither of them blinked.

Mazik shrugged. “All right,” he said as he slid out of his robes, letting them pool on the ground around him. Then he quickly unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it on top of the pile. “Is this good?”

There Mazik stood, unabashedly shirtless in front of the most powerful person in the city.

The Tyrant ran a wrinkled finger over his arm. “Hmmm!” she said, with more interest than was proper, and certainly more than was deserved. She twirled her finger, and Mazik turned around. She traced the remnants of a cut on his lower back. “Healing well,” she observed. Then she slapped Mazik on the ass, causing him to stiffen.

“You can put your clothes back on now.” She turned to Raedren. “You’re the healer, right?”

“Yes, ser,” said Raedren.

“None of that crap,” said the Tyrant. “Call me—no, in fact, I quite like that,” she said, smiling mischievously. “Does my heart good to hear respect from a young man who doesn’t appear to be actively afraid of me.”

“Don’t let him fool you,” said Mazik. He was regaining some of his nerve. He flipped his shirt around, searching for the right arm. “He’s a total coward. He’s only like that because he has enough barriers around him to protect him from anything but harsh words.”

Raedren gave Mazik a wounded look. “But those still hurt. Ouch. I’m hurt.”

The Tyrant tossed her head back and roared with laughter. “Ohh, I like you lot!” she said, waggling a finger at them. She looked back at Major Rur. “You were right, Ceara.”

Major Rur smiled tightly. “I thought you might.”

“You have good eyes, good eyes,” said the Tyrant. Then she reached behind Gavi and pinched her on the rear.

“What the hell?” gasped Gavi, swatting the older woman’s hand away. It was only then that she realized what she had done, and more specifically, who she had done it to.

No one said a word.

“…no, I don’t regret it!” said Gavi, regaining some of her own nerve as her face burned red. “No touching!” she said, covering herself as she moved behind Mazik.

“Ohohoho, I
definitely
like you three!” said the Tyrant, slapping her leg as she howled. “Good nerve on ya. Of course, by now I expect you’ve realized that I like that sort of thing—”

Now they froze, suspicion appearing in even Raedren’s eyes.

“—so I’d also like you to know that I strongly dislike people who change how they act just to please me,” finished the Tyrant, her fangs coming back. She retreated behind her desk and sank into her overstuffed swivel chair, the springs giving way only slightly under her slight weight. She leaned forward and clasped her hands on the desk in front of her.

“What I value is honesty in all things,” said the Tyrant. “Honest ideas, honest thoughts, honest feelings, and honest words. Some people need lies in order to get up in the morning, because the world is a harsh, dirty, bastardly place that would just as soon see us all dead as happy. If they were faced with a world without lies, most people would be unable to cope. They would be unable to deal with what their friends, family, and colleagues truly thought of them.

“I am not one of those people. You will never be punished for being honest with me. I hope you’ll keep that in mind.” The Tyrant pursed her lips, and then smiled slyly. “Well …
almost
never.”

It was then that Mazik, Gavi, and Raedren were reminded that this old woman was the Tyrant of Houk. No matter what she looked like, and no matter how frivolously she acted, no one became the Tyrant by being stupid or weak. Houk had a time-honored tradition of choosing its leaders by electing whoever could out-maneuver and out-assassinate all of their opponents
⁵⁹
, a process which was usually triggered by the assassination of the previous incumbent. Tyrants rarely lasted more than a few years, but this wiry old woman had ruled the city for nearly a decade now, with no sign of slowing down. She was not someone to be taken lightly.

Mazik was the first to recover. “Good to know. Now, you wanted to see us?”

“Oh, I should think you’d want to see me!” said the Tyrant, all smiles again. “After all, I’ve got
quite
a lot of money here,” she said as she dropped three bags on her desk, each one landing with the rich, heavy sound of silver and gold, “that I believe you’d like to have.”