9 For the Love of War

ON HEARING THE voice, Threadfin froze. It was male and familiar. He turned, scanning the room for sign of a speaker, hoping to find someone, but he and Sarscha were alone. Not even an impertinent servant to lay the blame on. He shook himself. Pull yourself together you fool, and quit daydreaming. ‘You may not be able to use your magic, but you’re still a bloody mage.’

Sarscha was eyeing him, and he realised he’d been muttering to himself. He smiled, but she just lifted a silver goblet, and glugged a mouthful of wine. She’d been drinking since he’d arrived.

‘Sometimes,’ she said after a moment, ‘I wish this had fallen to someone else. You perhaps. Do you know anything of ruling, Fin?’

‘Enough to say I never want the job. Highly inconvenient.’

‘Of course, you want it,’ said the voice. ‘Who wouldn’t? Imagine what it would be like to rule over all these pathetic maggots. To crush them. It’s fun. I should know.’

‘What?’ said Threadfin to the voice, his suspicions growing along with his fear. ‘Who are you?’ Stupid question all considered. He thought he knew who it was, but he was still hoping for a rational explanation. Like he’d gone insane or something as fun.

‘Are you alright?’ asked his sister, watching him with concern again.

He tried to smile. ‘Uh, of course I am. Look, um, Sarscha, you were meant to rule. Right? Never me,’ no matter what the voice says, ‘and I now believe Aiyana wasn’t meant to either. No, it was always you. I didn’t know this before, but I see it now.’ If I can just get her to quit drinking for five minutes, she might live up to expectations too. He knew the weight of her new position, along with the ghosts of her past, were taking a toll.

She snorted, taking another swig before asking, ‘Is that why father favoured our sister? Why he sent me off to the legions? Why he never spoke to me except when giving an order?’

‘You know what? I think it is.’ She moved from the window to refill her goblet, glancing at him with a look of disbelief and perhaps some irritation. Yep, just plough ahead and keep digging this hole. Why do I ever open my bloody mouth? Conversation. Highly overrated.

‘The way I see it,’ he continued, ‘father knew you would need martial training, but it wasn’t just that. He trained you to be the greatest military strategist this imperium has ever known. Think about it. You were a leader of legions, with real military—’

‘What a load of old sentimental drivel,’ the voice interrupted. ‘I wouldn’t let her lick my boots never mind lead soldiers into a whorehouse. Women, highly overrated and treacherous vixens. I should know.’

Threadfin realised he was stood there with his mouth hung open. He shut it, seeing a worried look in Sarscha’s face he wasn’t used to. ‘Look, what I’m trying to say without interruption—

‘I didn’t interrupt,’ his sister said with a look of confusion, while this time interrupting.

‘–is that you gained the trust, love, and loyalty of every soldier under your command. Your name is known to every man, woman, and child, across the imperium and beyond. You are a living legend, and now you lead the imperium in a time of war, one the likes of which we’ve never known. It’s no accident. I believe our father knew how things would play out. He was preparing you, Sarscha.’

She opened her mouth to reply, when there came a knock and the doors opened to admit a guard. Behind him were those summoned to the meeting.

‘And so it begins,’ the voice hissed. ‘You’re wasting your time, Todder, and mine, which is far worse. We have business to be about.’

Will you shut up? Threadfin felt scared and irritated all at once. I can’t even get some privacy in my own head anymore. He thought he understood what was happening, but he couldn’t let anyone know. If they believed him insane, or that he was becoming the Grim, they might lock him up. Perhaps forever.

‘Why wouldn’t you want to become me? Being me is great. I should know.’

Shut up, you grolg-arsed cretinous liar!

‘My offer is still on the table, undead one. All you need to do is ... let go. Quit fighting me. I promise it will be fun.’

Shut up, shut up, shut up! He tried schooling his face, as he yelled in his head. He paused, waited, and the voice remained silent. He could hope it would last. Several of the arrivals were staring at him, however.

Sarscha had insisted this meeting be held in the tallest of the nine towers and not in the Black Palace. Threadfin suspected she hated the palace and all it represented. This highest room in the Aurealis Tower had in times past been a war room, when the imperium had been smaller, less secure. Perhaps she felt comfortable planning a strategy as imperial marshal and not imperatrix. Somehow, she would have to learn to be both.

The current imperial marshal had entered the room first, along with advisors who went to greet the imperatrix, and began a deep discussion. Something wrong? Wonder what it could be? Oh yes, your darling twit of a brother let the nasty evil Grim escape, and not just that, but let him take his soul for good measure. What shall we do with him? Burn him, cut off his head? One can never be too careful with such magical misadventures. Thankfully these were his own thoughts.

He heard laughter somewhere, and hoped it was someone outside in the corridor. Not that there was anything to laugh at in his opinion.

Lastly came several undead mages of high rank, including Beezer and Lyrin, both watching Threadfin intensely. Ignoring them, he moved off to one side to greet his Darken who’d just arrived.

‘Well, what’s the diagnosis?’ asked Pole, not looking directly at the imperatrix, as they huddled in a corner.

Insanity most likely. Oh wait, he means Sarscha. ‘In a mood,’ he muttered.

‘All your fault then, I’m guessing.’

‘Nope, the wine’s fault. Always blame the alcohol, Pod. An old strategy, which never fails.’ Wish I could get roaring drunk like a breather right about now.

‘Huh, so you harbouring an escaped prisoner’s got nothin’ to do with it?’

‘Now isn’t the time for jokes.’ Harbouring? More like I’ve been invaded by a parasite. He waited for the voice to say something, but the Grim remained silent. He wasn’t sure he liked that much better. What was the bastard up to?

‘I’m not laughing, lad.’

‘You’re grinning, which is halfway to laughter.’ Maybe I was imagining it? Beezer might have gotten his diagnosis wrong. I might just be slightly insane.

‘Hardly the same thing.’

‘Look, I never said what type of mood she was in, now did I? This conversation is ridiculous. Don’t you have anything useful to tell me? Honestly, sometimes I wonder why I keep you around.’

‘I don’t need no clues to see which mood you’re in.’ Pole frowned hard at him. ‘You alright? You sound nervous, which makes me nervous.’

‘Look, this hasn’t got much to do with you, now does it? You’re here as my Darken.’

‘And as a supportive friend.’

‘As my Darken, Podral. I’d put in for a replacement, but the Spectrum knows who I’d get on short notice.’

‘I think Nipper’s looking for a promotion.’

Threadfin felt a tickle of worry. Might’ve been a maggot, or the Grim rummaging through his half soul searching for the Aura. ‘I’d rather not discuss mongrels just now.’ Or much of anything. He was struggling to keep focus truth be told.

‘You know, I guess I’m doubling as a jailer too, for the ... escapee.’ Pole offered his friend a wide grin. ‘Therefore, I should get paid double don’t you think?’

‘You been at the wine too? I thought you’d be worried for me.’ I hate it when he’s in a happy mood, especially when I’m not.

‘You know, I don’t think anybody explained to me what this job was all about. Babysittin’ a walkin’-talkin’, self-centred, higher-than-mighty, half-dead know-it-all, is all what were mentioned. Now I got to watch out for signs he’s turning into the Father o’ Lies himself? I didn’t sign up for this.’

You may have hit too close to the mark there, thought Threadfin. Way too close for my comfort. ‘You’ve been talking to Beezer, haven’t you?’ The older mage was watching them from across the room. ‘Old bastard should keep his mouth shut.’ Threadfin observed the last of the attendees enter as the bronze doors shut with a clang. A round thick oak table occupied the centre of the chamber, large enough to seat a dozen with room to spare. Raziel was the only Church representative, not that it was the Church he represented.

‘It was Tezcat what filled me in,’ said Pole. ‘Says, you’re gonna be fine and Lyrin’s got it under control, and something about being despoiled. Not sure I understood that last bit.’

Threadfin grinned across the room at his old friend, Licolo. She smiled back. ‘So, it was she who ratted me out. Huh. Should’ve known.’

‘Been tellin’ anyone she can. She thinks it’s hilarious.’

‘Of course, she does.’

‘Not like you could’ve kept it secret for long anyhow.’

‘I do believe that is exactly what was intended. Hardly healthy for morale this.’ His smile faded as he caught sight of Ralan sliding in beside Tezcat. Those two had been spending way too much time together of late.

Now, Tezcat was like a sister to him, and he’d always tried to watch out for her, not that she ever listened. However, seeing her all smiles with the son of the shadowy bastard who’d invaded his half-soul was like a slap in the face. Whose side was she on?

‘You might want to shut that gob o’ yours, afore something flies into it,’ Pole suggested, giving him a nudge, ‘or out for that matter. Those two just got history, though I don’t know the details.’ Pole nudged him a second time. ‘I think we should take our seats.’

Sarscha was already seated, a goblet and pitcher by her elbow. She’d dispensed with servants, obviously still finding it difficult to adjust to such luxuries. Some might have found it admirable, but her heavy drinking wrecked the positives.

Threadfin was expected to sit next to her, with Beezer on his other side. The older viral was somewhat of an enigma, and where they stood was to be decided. Technically, Beezer was the eldest undead mage in existence, but Threadfin was officially the one in charge. It was a grey area.

‘Take control,’ said the voice in his head, making him jump, and earning a few looks.

I know it’s you, Grim. Leave me alone.

‘They think you weak, an oddity. You are my other half, remember? A deal is a deal.’

I never made a deal with you. Are you insane? Stupid question.

‘You’re the one hearing voices in his head.’ Laughter followed, fading into the background.

On Sarscha’s opposite side sat the mysterious Raziel. Next to him was the imperial marshal, a man by the name of Artorius. He seemed uncomfortable, and was watching the imperatrix with a worried frown. Threadfin offered him a wink, but his face paled as he stared back at the viral mage. I guess he’s still adjusting to both his new role and the new order of things.

Sarscha lowered her goblet, and glanced at her younger brother. He knew his bit and rising from his seat, got straight to the point. ‘As many of you know, um, the Grim escaped.’ He took a moment, and then added, ‘It was my fault, and I take full responsibility.’ Well, no one jump in to make me feel better. Not like the Grim had anything to do with it.

‘Isn’t that technically untrue?’ asked Raziel.

‘Ah, which bit? His escape, or it being my fault?’

‘From what I can see, he’s still with us in this room.’

‘Oh, right,’ mumbled Threadfin, wondering if he should take a moment later to throttle the angelic bastard. ‘The Grim used his time while incarcerated to—’

‘I hate angels,’ said the Grim’s voice. ‘Arrogant, winged vermin. They should all be exterminated. Their wings ripped from their shoulders, and then—’

A bit extreme, you hoary old psychopath? Of course, everyone was watching him. Threadfin sat down, wondering why he’d bothered at all. He couldn’t concentrate long enough to string a few sentences together, never mind a speech.

Beezer flapped one hand in irritation. ‘Everyone present has already been informed of those events. We are here to discuss what to do about it.’

Threadfin gave the old mage his hardest glare. Unfortunately, Beezer wasn’t paying attention. Tezcat just giggled.

‘What everyone does not know,’ continued Beezer, ‘is that the Aura, lost for a thousand years, has been hiding in plain sight all this time ... posing as Threadfin Todder’s magic.’

‘Part of my magic,’ Threadfin corrected, with one raised finger. When everyone just stared at him, he lowered his hand.

Beezer continued. ‘Unfortunately, both magic and viral are inseparable. This makes Threadfin Todder the most dangerous and valuable undead mage in existence.’

Threadfin guessed there was a compliment in there somewhere. ‘Yes,’ he said, cutting in before Beezer could flap his emaciated lips again, ‘the Grim chose to invade my soul.’

‘Call it a reunion,’ said the Grim.

No, I bloody well will not. Now, shut up.

‘Temper, temper. You’re just like me, after all.’

Aware of all eyes on him, he tried to remember what he’d been saying. ‘He may seek to gain control of my magic, essentially of the Aura, and try to use it. He may decide to eliminate me by taking over my mind and body. My soul.’

‘Oh, Todder my boy, you have no idea what I’m capable of. Don’t think you can anticipate me.’

Tezcat stared at him. Her eyes had widened, but in them he saw a fierce determination to never allow such a thing. If it were but that simple.

It was Ralan who spoke next. ‘If the Grim gains control of the Aura, and Astra Dar recovers the Shathra Stone, then this world is doomed. I’m not liking where any of this is going.’

‘My treacherous son,’ the Grim hissed. ‘I will crush his bones into meal and feed him to my ghouls. They’re always hungry for traitors.’

I rather like him, Threadfin lied. He wanted to irritate the Grim as much as possible. He got all his mother’s charm, and none of your twisted bile.

A screech erupted in his head, making him jump and kick the table. Pole was staring at him with a worried frown. They were all staring at him. It was becoming a habit.

Never mind, people, he thought, these being his own. Just the idiot mage having a fit. Nothing to worry about. Threadfin smiled at everyone, and said, ‘Uh, maggots. Bit of an issue for us undead, you know. They can be, ah, ticklish.’

Sarscha managed a snort but said nothing. She drank more wine, her eyes fixed on him. She wasn’t easily fooled, his sister.

‘The Shathra Stone is safe though, right?’ asked Pole, getting a sharp look from Threadfin. ‘The Nephilim have it back, don’t they? It’s secure?’

‘Well, unfortunately, nothing ever works out as planned,’ said Raziel smoothly. ‘There is turmoil building in Raddhon as we speak.’ The imperatrix beside him drained another goblet, her face sullen as he went on. ‘The sons of Og are likely to set to murdering one another soon. Without a Guardian King on the throne, the Stone is in great danger. Ralan is correct. We must at least secure one artefact, but both would be better.’

‘He’s working on it,’ Ralan said in almost a whisper, but then spoke louder, ‘We should send him help. We should not expect him to do this alone.’

‘It is up to the Seraphim Council,’ said Raziel.

‘Those lazy bastards don’t care about him, and well you know that. They told him to become king, and then left him to it with no help.’

‘Who are you talking about?’ asked Threadfin, feeling left out, which was a frequent occurrence of late.

‘The one who must become king,’ answered Raziel, ‘the youngest son of Og. His name is, Desool. He is the rightful protector of the Stone, chosen by the Seraphim Council.’

Threadfin nodded to himself, remembering his first meeting with him in an apothecary awaiting a Nephilim invasion. Aiyana had been there too. Fun times. ‘Huh, I’ve heard of this Seraphim Council. Well, our council will meet on this issue too, but we can’t wait for anyone else to act. We must send a contingent of mages to Raddhon to help secure the Stone, at least until things calm down. Astra will be hunting for it. You can bet on it.’

‘Let her have it,’ suggested the Grim. ‘Without the Key, without you, it is useless to her. With the Key in my possession, I can manipulate her, and then I can take the Stone from her. We will have all the power of the Spectrum. You and I.’

Threadfin decided not to answer, but did his best to force the voice to a low buzz. He must have been making a strange face, because they were all staring at him again.

‘You can also bet,’ said Ralan looking curiously at Threadfin, ‘she’ll be hunting for you. She knows your true value.’

‘I’m not a commodity to be traded,’ Threadfin snapped. He was in a snappish mood.

‘Are you sure about that?’

‘Which leaves the problem of what to do about it all,’ said Lyrin, giving them both a stern look. She turned to Raziel. ‘Have you had any reply from them?’

The angel shook his head. ‘They will help, but when it suits them. Shraeds are not the most agreeable of allies, nor dependable, not even those two.’

Sarscha roused herself from whatever waking sleep she’d been enjoying, and eyed each of them. The room fell silent. ‘Can we call shraeds allies at all?’ She eyed her brother last and longest, her gaze sharp for someone who should be drunk. ‘You were the one who had the most dealings with these Manic and Mania personalities. I’ve read your reports. An odd pair.’

‘They will do whatever serves their own interests,’ Threadfin replied, ‘so they are dependable in that context. I know how to manipulate them. Don’t worry.’

‘All I do is worry.’

‘You should take long walks. Helps the stress.’

‘And you can assure me,’ the imperatrix said, ignoring him while turning to Lyrin, ‘your wards on my brother will hold until we can resolve this?’

‘I will defeat them given time,’ said the Grim. ‘Don’t you worry about that. Not even the angels themselves can hold me.’

Lyrin glanced at Threadfin for a moment, but then returned a curt nod. ‘Imperatrix, I will do all in my power to keep your brother safe, but there are no guarantees with magic. Certainly not where the Grim is concerned.’

‘Then, we can wait,’ noted Raziel, ‘and hope.’

‘Very well, we shall discuss that situation further in a separate meeting once we know more.’ Sarscha sighed, before taking the time to look at each of them. ‘To the last and most important bit of business, then. In the past few days, reports have arrived from imperial agents, north, south, and east, of attacks from as far away as Vegoia, and as far south as the Southern Wastes.

‘A man by the name of Severo from Vegoia arrived via ship this morning. He claims the Vegoian Empire has fallen to a dark fleet of mysterious ships. There are many such reports arriving every day.

‘With the Grim within our midst, albeit somewhat contained, and the sorceress Astra Dar at large, we find ourselves in a perilous position. I regret to announce that since the Icarthian Imperium is now at war, I can no longer hide this from our citizens. They will soon witness untold horrors for themselves. They should at least be forewarned, and I will need to further rebuild our legions. I will need to conscript from the populace, and they deserve to at least know why.

‘This is a war which may decide the fate of our entire world.’ She took another sip from her goblet. ‘I long for the days when war was something I understood. I must announce this in conclave first and soon. I need strategies, and most of all answers to give them for they will have a lot of questions.’

‘What conclave?’ demanded Threadfin. ‘It was destroyed, and most conclavists either vanished or killed during Liviana’s coup.’

‘I have not been idle,’ answered his sister. ‘The conclave is vital to our imperium, and those such as Polius Augustus, and Lucius Aidarius, have been recruiting new members. Construction on a new building has already begun. You’ve been mostly absent for two years. You missed a lot.’

Silence for a long moment, and then the discussions began. They talked for hours of the potential threats, of allies, possible battlegrounds, supplies, logistics, of defences, weapons, and of course, magic. They plotted and planned, and mostly for the unknowable.

When the discussions ended, Sarscha lifted her goblet and took a long swallow, lowered it to the table, and smacked her lips in satisfaction.

Yes, thought Threadfin, watching her, my sister may hate ruling, but there’s nothing she loves more than war.