Empire of the Worm (6 page)

 
 
 

Chapter
5

 

Leering, snarling, the demon’s face remained fixed. Not even
an eye twitched.

“By this blood I command you!”
Davril said again, and flung more blood at the Door.

Still it did not open.

Desperately, Davril slashed at his wrists
and flung more, then still more. He cut himself a dozen times, thinking enough
of the precious fluid would do the trick, but the damnable door remained closed.

“No!” he said. “You
must
open! Please!”

Despite himself, tears sprang to
his eyes. If he could not do this thing, this one thing, his empire was damned.
Weeping, bleeding, he sank to his knees and beat his bloody hands against the Door.

“Open!” he cried. “Open, please!” He
beat at it, and its low metallic thuds seemed to mock him. His own blood
trickled down from the golden lips to greet his pounding fists.

“What must I do?” he said. “Tell me
and I will do it!
Tell me
. Is it
Alyssa you want? Oh, don’t make me. But I will if I must.” He hesitated as an
awful thought reared. “Is it . . . no, it can’t be . . . not Hariban! No, I
won’t do it! He’s my son! He’s the future of the realm! And you will need him,
won’t you? To carry on the tradition . . .” He sobbed, but at last he said,
“Just open. I will do what must be done. Whatever it is.”

The demon’s jaws remained closed.

For a long time, Davril knelt
there, weeping and pounding at the door, a pitiful shape in the darkness,
crippled and racked with guilt, stooped and weary of life, and then a sound came
from behind him.

He turned, glaring into the
darkness.

“What?” he shouted hoarsely. “Who
goes there? Show yourself!”

A shape materialized before him, a
figure of darkness with a pale, lamp-like face.

“Father!”

The apparition floated closer, draped
in shadow. “Son,” he said. He opened his arms, almost as though to embrace Davril,
and Davril shuddered. The thing did not close on him. It drew close, then
stopped.

Through tears, Davril stared at his
father. “What’s going on, Father? Why won’t Subn-ongath admit me? He’s
destroying the empire! Surely there’s something that can be done. I’ll do it,
whatever it is.”

Something glittered in the dark
pools of his father’s eyes. “Good,” he said.

“Why won’t he let me in?”

“Alas, He and the others of his
Circle are no longer here.”

“
What
?” Hysteria rose in him. “How can he have done this and just
vanished? It makes no sense! And the Lerumite—it said I could make a difference—”

“You could have. Yesterday. You are
one day too late.”

“But I don’t . . .”

“They’ve withdrawn from this world.”

“
Why
?” Davril clenched and unclenched his bloody hands. “Tell me
why!”

“Steady, my son. We both want to
save Qazradan. But you must know something.” The shade paused, and when he
continued his voice was full of sadness. “When they visited Their wrath upon
you, upon the realm—the earthquakes, lava, plagues, beasts—They exerted much of
Their power. It weakened Them.”

“So He—They—can no longer curse
Qazradan?”

“Just because They can no longer
curse it doesn’t make it safe.”

“I don’t understand. They’re weakened
permanently?”

“In time They would’ve grown strong
again, but the Enemy won’t give Them that time.”

“The Enemy?”

“Don’t play games, Davril.”

“The
Worm.”

“Just so.”

Davril flinched. “But He’s dead! Ancient
Sagrahab is fallen, and Nagradin sunk beneath the sea.”

“Yes, but He lives still.”

Davril lifted his eyes. “There was
something you and Elimhas both said—that the Patron and his brethren kept the
Worm at bay.”

“So they do.”

“But how?”

“Had you given Alyssa to the
Patron, you’d have been baptized into our ranks. Secrets would have been
revealed to you.”

“Tell me now.”

His father paused.

“
Tell me.
I’m Qazradan’s only hope.”

Lord Baerad Husan IV gathered his
thoughts, then said, “Long ago the Worm, a being from a place beyond our ken,
came to this world, and He was the god of the Great Ones. A god of gods. They
were His servants, His high priests. His

Holy Circle
. But They ultimately rebelled
against Him, broke away from His power. His Circle, led by Subn-ongath,
betrayed Him and cast Him down into the sea, where they locked him away. He
raged for eons until, denied his sacrifices, his mass worship, the rites that
kept him powerful in our world, he faded. He slept. And the Great Ones we
Husans serve waxed strong. But recently one of His faithful servants, Hiera, the
Lady of Asragot, woke from her slumber and led her people into the sea.”

“The emptying of Asragot . . .”

“Indeed. Hiera led her flock into
the sea, down to sunken Nagradin—down to Him. Her power protected them. They
freed Him from His slumber, how I don’t know, though I can guess. What matters
is that now my Masters,
your
Masters,
the Great Ones, they fear Him. And because of your betrayal, because of the wrath
They visited upon you, because of the actions you took against their lord, our
Patron, They’re weak. Too weak to hold Him off. And so They’ve withdrawn from
this world.”

“It can’t be,” Davril said. He
pounded a bloody fist against the Door. “If that’s true, there’s no hope. Even
without Their curse, we’re besieged by overwhelming numbers.”

“Those that besiege you are the
least of your worries. Even now He comes from the sea.”

Davril blinked. This was new. “What
can I do?”

His father’s voice came in a
furious rasp.
“You can die.”

“I am prepared.”

The dead man’s eyes flashed with
anger. “You can die,
and take the Empire with
you
. You fool! You’ve damned them all! The Enemy will return and sweep the
world under His shadow, and the only Ones who could have stopped Him are fled
because of you!”

Howling, the shade flew at Davril. Davril
slashed with the dagger, even as he flung himself aside. Breathless, he spun
about. His father was no more.

Davril panted raggedly. He knew his
father was still here, still watching, waiting. Hopefully he hadn’t meant to
kill Davril, merely scare him. But into doing
what
? What could Davril do? If what his father said was true, the
Empire was truly doomed.

For a long time, Davril lay there, but
at last he forced himself to his feet and took the long march (longer with his
broken leg), back up the catacombs steps and into the Palace proper. Alyssa was
surprised to see him, and she wept for joy, but Davril could not smile.

 

    

 

It came one morning when he was sparring with one of his few
remaining retainers, trying to keep up his strength and vitality, as well as to
retrain his body to fight with only one fully functional leg. For what end, he
could not imagine, but he couldn’t allow himself to wallow in despair. During a
break, Alyssa brought him tea, and he drank the fluid down gratefully. Sweating,
his skin burning with the exertion, he made himself a promise that he would
fight the inevitable with every ounce of his being.
I won’t submit to gods
, he thought.
Especially not these gods.

“How’s Hariban?” he asked.

“More lively every day,” Alyssa
said.

He smiled, and she returned it. But
there was a sadness in her eyes, and her lips quivered.

“What —?” he started.
His legs gave out and he collapsed to the floor. Floundering, he gasped, trying
to push himself to his feet.

“Alyssa,” he choked.

She didn’t help him. Nor did his
retainers. They stood around him, staring wretchedly. His vision dimmed,
blurred, and went dark. When he awoke, he heard Alyssa weeping. Somewhere a
bird chirped. The sound hurt his ears. He stirred, murmured something.

“He’s awake.” It was General Hastus’s
voice. “The sedative didn’t last long.”

“I’m sorry,” Alyssa said, her voice
tremulous. “I couldn’t put much, I just couldn’t. What if I’d gotten it wrong?”

Davril tried to push himself to his
feet, but found that his hands were bound before him. “What’s going on?”

“It’s time,” General Hastus said.

“Be gentle, Father,” Alyssa said.

The General’s voice was cold. “I
will do what must be done.”

Gingerly, Davril sat up. Blinked. The
light seemed very bright. Above him, staring down at him, General Hastus said,
“Good afternoon.”

Davril blinked again. “Tell me what
goes on, General. What’s the meaning of this?”

“The meaning, my lord, is to save
your wretched empire.”

“And you do this by drugging and
binding me?” Davril cast an accusing glance at Alyssa, and it was more than she
could take. Crying, she fled the room.

The General glared down at him, but
Hastus’s voice was sad, not angry: “The people riot in the streets! They demand
your blood! If they’re not appeased, they’ll revolt, and the city will descend
into utter anarchy before it’s even sacked.” He sighed. “Blood they want, and blood
I will give them. I don’t like it either, Davril. You’re my son-in-law. My
family. Know that I served you loyally, and your father before you. Two years
ago this would’ve been unthinkable. Even now I hate myself for what must be
done. But it’s the only way. Now—will you come like a man, or must I drag you forth
like vermin?”

 

    

 

Davril wanted to resist, to die fighting, but Hariban needed
him. Qazradan needed him. He was the only one who knew what horrors had been
unleashed on the world, thus he might be the only person capable of stopping
them if such a thing were possible. He allowed General Hastus, his second
father, to lead him deep into the mountain, where the Palace dungeons were
located, though they were used infrequently these days, most criminals ending
up in the prisons outside of town or near the Arena. But in the old days, before
the Husan Dynasty, during times of paranoid tyrants, the dungeons had housed
many supposed traitors and conspirators. Davril imagined he could hear the
echoes of their screams as soldiers shoved him into a dark cell with iron bars
crusted black with age.

“Wait,” he said. “Where’s Alyssa? Hariban?”

The General’s eyes were haunted as
he slammed the door in Davril’s face. “Hariban is already dead.”

It was as if something struck
Davril in the chest. He crumpled to the floor, wheezing for breath that would not
come.

“I dashed out his brains myself,” the
General continued, his voice hoarse, “while Alyssa was readying the poison. I
could ask no one else to do it.”

Mind reeling, Davril stared at the
old man he’d known all his life, uncomprehending. When he could speak, he heard
himself say, “But . . . why? “
He was your
grandson
.”

“Your line must end,” General
Hastus said. “Too long has your family sat in their high towers staring down at
the people, keeping their dark secrets, engaging in their black rites. The
people tolerated it for long enough because the Empire prospered so, and they
knew you and your kin were responsible. But the price must be paid. The people
are paying it now even as the empire collapses around them. You will see. I
will drag you out there,
and you will
see.”
His eyes blazed for a moment before he seized control of himself, took
a deep breath, and repeated, “Your line must end.”

“Alyssa. Where is Alyssa?”

“I’ll tell the people she resisted
and was slain trying to save her baby. In truth I’ll take her home, to the
River, and there she will stay the rest of her days, locked up in her rooms.”

“I cannot believe she would be party
to Hariban’s murder.”

Hastus averted his gaze. “She didn’t
know.”

“And Sareth? Is she, too, part of
this tainted line you must end?”

The General winced. “The princess .
. . the men, they demanded her . . . I needed them, so I consented . . . to my
shame, I consented . . . but I did not take part, I swear it. And after the new
government is installed, and the invaders thrown back, I will remember the ones
that did it. Mark me.”

“You monster! You filth!” Davril’s
strength returned. He shoved his hands through the bars, clutching toward the
General.

Hastus merely stepped back, out of
reach.

“You have a right to your rage,
Emperor,” Hastus said. “For my part, I regret what needs be done. What has been
done. But once your line ends, the curse will be lifted.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking
about. I may be the only one who can set this affair to rights.”

“So says the man who will shortly
meet his end. Even now my men are combing the streets, spreading the word for
people to gather at the Tower
of Behara, where we will
lead you and Sareth. There before the whole city we’ll cut off your heads and
throw them to the people.”

“Then what? Will it be you that
seizes the throne?”

“There’s none better suited to it,
regrettably. I will establish martial law, disband the Senate, bring order to
Sedremere, then lead the army out and crush the invaders. With your family’s
curse lifted, it will be done. Now—I have no more time to waste on dead men. There
is much to be done.”

He stalked away, a half dozen
soldiers staying behind to guard Davril. Davril tried to bribe them, coerce
them with reason, and at last visited threats on them, but they remained
unmoved. One actually spat at him.

Sareth was dragged in and thrown
into his cell some time later. Half conscious, bloody, her dress in ruins, stinking
of sex, she moaned but did not rise. Old bones and chains littered the edges of
the room.