philtucker
patreon
IGS #4, Chapter 27
🕑 Added 2025-08-20 13:00:17 +0000 UTCScorio
“Wait,” said Scorio. “Wait, wait, wait. You’re saying—you’re saying you want to explode the Suns to free your missing sister?”
Lady Krula leaned back in her chair. “A century has passed, and my sister remains absent. She lives, but where? My patience wears thin, especially if I am waiting for an eventuality that will never take place, or not take place before Bastion is consumed by the rot. Either I act now, or I resign myself to never seeing her again.”
Jova frowned. “So you would risk war with the Silverines based on a statement your sister made forever ago? What if she was wrong?”
“All that I’ve resolved is that it is finally time to act. Not what that action must be. I am growing ever more confident, however, that the Suns are not what they appear. But if that is the case, what are they? What purpose do they serve? Who lied to the Silverines? Your Herdsmen? For a long time I thought them a means to keep the Silverines in check, a natural throttle on their growth. But if that’s the case, they have failed. The Silverines threaten to overrun the Unfathom, their numbers growing at an unsustainable rate.”
Scorio’s thoughts spun. “The Suns have been growing for centuries. A millennium. They must be bursting with power. There has to be a purpose to them.”
“Agreed,” said Lady Krula. “My sister might have discovered that purpose. It might be why she’s been imprisoned all these years. She might have given me that cryptic warning to force my hand, to prevent… or cause… some calamity, or…” The Twilight Lady frowned. “Your map, your suspicion that the Herdsmen use the Suns as cover for their own existence only lends credence to this nefarious theory. That being said, I’m not about to unilaterally pursue a course of action that will result in the explosion of a Sun. There are other avenues of exploration.”
“Such as?” asked Jova.
The corner of Lady Krula’s lips crooked. “You recall that black diamond you so artlessly pointed out earlier?”
Jova’s eyes narrowed.
“The Unfathom is vast and filled with fascinating phenomena, but actual ruins are vanishingly rare. That one in particular has been off-limits to our kind from time immemorial. Respecting Silverine customs and traditions has been key to maintaining my friendship with them, but as I said, my patience with such niceties has run out.”
“What do you know about those ruins?” asked Jova.
“They are called the Tombs of Sadness. Evocative, is it not? Given that Silverines seem constitutionally unable to feel anything but curiosity and hunger, and consume their dead?”
“They aren’t Silverine tombs,” agreed Scorio warily.
“No, they are not. But what are they? Before I controlled my curiosity so as to not start a war. But now?” Lady Krula spread her long-fingered hands. “I am grown far less risk-averse.”
Scorio exchanged a glance with Jova. “Which means what?”
“Lending aid to anyone interested in learning what lies within those tombs. If you assist me in investigating the Suns, I’ll help you investigate that redoubt.”
“Who said we were interested?” asked Jova.
“Come,” smiled Lady Krula. “Let’s not play games. What I want is to learn more, to understand what is really going on. We need information before we can act.”
“Before you can detonate a Sun,” said Jova.
“Well,” said Artur ruefully as he smoothed down his luxurious mustache, “we are currently hosting Blood Baroness Aezryna, who speaks for the Seamstress, who is very, very much against the idea.”
“Which is understandable,” said Dameon. “Though she was for it before she was against it. While Bravurn withheld the Gold mana, all options were on the table, including a plan to siphon power from a Silverine Sun. Congratulations on killing the bastard, by the way.”
Scorio just stared at the man.
“Well.” Dameon sat up a little straighter. “With Bravurn gone, and his Gold mana now claimed by the blazeborn—as it should be, of course—our war in the Emerald Reach has lost its stream of plentiful high-quality mana. The Seamstress should have considered the Suns their only new recourse for unlimited power. But that’s not proven the case.”
“Why not?” asked Scorio, looking back to Lady Krula.
“Aezryna has decided that the situation in the Unfathom is too precarious to risk a holy war with the Silverines.” Lady Krula tapped a fingertip against her lips. “Understandably. Few appreciate just how powerful and numerous they’ve grown, especially these past few years. But. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t learn more about the Suns. Uncover their true nature and function in Hell, and only then make an educated decision.”
Jova’s tone was dry. “And if we agreed, what sort of help would you lend?”
“There’s something I remember from that past life when I helped establish the Red Keep. Something that could help you,” said Dameon. “The technique that allowed the Keep to meld all the different planes into one. It’s been forgotten, like so much these days, but I’ve still got it, up here.” And he tapped his temple. “And Lady Krula thinks this technique could be of huge use to you.”
“Yes.” The Twilight Lady’s eyes grew heavy lidded. “If you help us discover the truth about the Suns, we could not only help you enter the Tombs, but arrange for a mobile Red Keep to be placed in the path of your prey, collapsing the planes into one and forcing your target out of hiding.”
Scorio glanced to Jova, then back to Krula. “No offense, Charnel Duchess, but I don’t trust this man. Nothing he can say will convince me he’s going to do his part.”
“You don’t have to trust him. Trust me, instead.” Lady Krula’s smile was bloodless. “And I’m not going to test your good will by sending Dameon into the field with you. No, Artur will represent my interests. All I’m asking is that you use your… unique ability to befriend fiends to our advantage, and find out what has been going on here in the Unfathom for a millennium.”
“Right.” Scorio glanced from one Great Soul to the next and then stood. “Well, we’ll think on it.”
Jova also arose, clearly in agreement.
“I can’t ask for more than that.” Lady Krula unfolded herself from her chair and stood. “If you have any further questions, don’t hesitate to come back. I’m sure you’ll be making your mind up soon.”
“Yeah.” Scorio nodded to Artur, stared coldly at Dameon, then inclined his head to the Twilight Lady. “Thanks for the audience and the information.”
And with that he strode from the chamber, Jova by his side. He half expected Dameon to call out some quip, some farewell jibe that would test his patience, but the man stayed silent.
Damn it.
They quit the chambers and made their way down the hall.
Jova signaled that they should wait before conversing, and led Scorio into the stairwell. Only then did she turn to regard him, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.
And for the strangest moment Scorio felt a blurring in reality as his stomach dropped and his mind prepared itself: but for what? For negativity, he realized, for Jova to speak in Naomi’s voice, to curse those with whom they’d met, to cast suspicion on everyone and anyone, to insist they flee into the wasteland and never look back, to never trust or believe in anyone else.
“That was unexpected,” said Jova, leaning back against the wall. “Do you think we’re safe talking in here?”
Scorio pressed his palm to his temple and grimaced. The whispering darkness of Naomi—or was it the Nightmare Lady?—fell away.
“You all right?”
“I… yeah. Sorry.” Scorio forced himself to straighten. “I don’t know exactly what Dominion allows Lady Krula to hear. I think we’re safe here. But even if she overhears us, I don’t particularly care. We’re not plotting against her. We’re just deciding what we want to do.”
“Right. Fair enough. All this business about the Silverine Suns… it all feels…”
“Overwhelming?” Scorio snorted wryly and leaned against the wall opposite Jova. “I know. If Dameon’s right, then this situation’s been brewing for at least half a millennium.”
“Dameon.” Jova’s tone grew leaden. “Tell me you didn’t buy his contrite act.”
“Of course not. But he did a good job of trying to thread that needle. I’ll give him that.”
“Insofar as he didn’t provoke me to immediately pull the entire room down upon his head, sure. But that’s what he does. His ability to read the room, to read people… it’s uncanny.”
Jova looked away.
This was where Scorio realized he should step in and offer some assurances. To explain it wasn’t her fault that she’d been so mercilessly manipulated. But he didn’t want to. She had to live with her own mistakes. “The bastard’s in good with Lady Krula. While he’s here he’s safe.”
Jova smirked. “I half-expected you to challenge him to a duel, and then when Lady Krula denied you the right, for you to challenge her.”
“That’s been my style, I guess. But… no. Beating Plassus was an impossible fluke.”
“What if we convince Krula to send Dameon with us, and kill him once he leaves the Keep?”
“He’d not fall for that. The man’s too smart.”
“Fair. And he’s got that predictive ability. Did he ever explain it to you?”
“I remember something about it, but not the details.”
“He can look into the future and see what course of action will most likely lead to his accomplishing his goals. It’s not precise, exactly, but it helps him from making overt mistakes. So I guess my suggestion was just wishful thinking.”
“That explains how he was the only person to survive my assault on Praximar and Manticore.”
Jova arched an eyebrow. “I’m glad I can claim I took some small part in that. At the last, at any rate.”
“Yes. But I’m guessing you want to head straight to the Tomb?”
“Obviously. Lady Krula’s got my sympathies, but I’ve no interest in taking part of any scheme based on Dameon’s memories. And even her help feels suspect. Obviously we could always use other strong Great Souls, but only if we can completely trust them.”
“Agreed.” Scorio rubbed at his jaw. “Nor does blindly racing around the Unfathom following the compass when the Cube could be on an alternate plane make any sense.”
“So. The Tomb?”
“The Tomb,” he agreed. “We’ll need a guide.”
“There seem to be plenty of candidates.”
“After Sybelleo and all we’ve heard, I don’t know how we can trust any of them.”
“We’ll need a better guide,” agreed Jova. “We can ask for recommendations.”
“Fair. Maybe Druanna can point us in the right direction.”
“Agreed.”
They resumed descending the steps. Scorio fought the disappointment. He’d hoped to hone in on the Lost Cube with lethal precision. Instead it seemed even harder to reach than before.
Perhaps this Tomb would give them the answers they needed.
They both stopped at the sight of a woman in cerulean blue armor awaiting at the entrance to the next floor down, her arms crossed, a corkscrew of amber-blonde hair falling alongside one cheek.
Blood Baroness Aezryna.
Her mouth quirked into a wry smile. “Good. I was afraid I’d missed you. Got a moment?”
Scorio placed his hands on his hips. “You planning to use your powers of persuasion on us?”
Her smile broadened. “Only insofar as logic and rationality are attractive in and of themselves. Jova, you’re welcome to join, though I think we’ve already said all we have to say to each other. Regardless. The tea’s probably grown cold, but it’s better than nothing.” And she pushed off the wall to enter her floor with calm assurance.
Scorio glanced at Jova.
“Go ahead,” she said. “I respect Aezryna, but something tells me I’m not the fish she was hoping to hook.”
Don’t sign any Heart Oaths without me, he heard Naomi say, tone waspish.
“All right. I’ll you below.”
Jova headed down while Scorio jogged lightly to catch up to the Blood Baroness.
“I lost track of you at the end there,” said Aezryna, waiting for him to catch up. “After we fell to the Blood Ox outside the Plain of Bones. One moment we were fighting Gold-ranked fiends, then the True Fiend was upon us, then I was brought back to life by Imperator Sarana to find you gone.”
Scorio simply nodded.
She watched him, curious. “It was remarkable what you accomplished. I’m sure you’re tired of hearing it. But I knew when we first met that you weren’t just Whispered; that’s how most were waving off your string of accomplishments. No. You’re something else entirely.”
“Is that so.”
“This is me.” Aezryna opened a door to a modest suite. A plain rectangular table with benches, a single soft mana-light, a worn rug underfoot that might have once been patterned in red and purple but was now little more then faded brown. A porcelain blue and white tea set was placed on a tray in the center of the table along with two cups. An archway led into what looked to be a slightly larger bedchamber beyond.
“You look surprised,” smiled Aezryna, moving around the table to sit on the far bench. As she sat, her plate armor faded way into mist, releasing a pleasant, verdant smell, and then was gone, leaving her in rumpled gray robes.
“I expected a Blood Baroness to have grander quarters, I guess.” Scorio sat down warily across from her. “Unless Lady Krula is sending you a message?”
“Hardly.” Aezryna touched a finger to the teapot, then set to filling the cups with a translucent green liquid. “This is more to my style. With our retinue having returned to the Emerald Reach with Charoth, I find myself traveling as I prefer: simply and without fanfare. Well.” She considered, then smiled. “With as little fanfare as a Blood Baroness can get away with.”
Scorio found himself relaxing as he took his cup of tea, then caught himself: Aezryna’s power was to determine the right approach to bring someone to her side. This had to be tailored to his own preferences.
“Hmm,” said Aezryna, cupping both hands around her tea and leaning forward to study him. “Let’s clear the air, shall we? My Tomb Spark power allows me to understand whomever I’m talking with by simply asking them questions and getting to know them. It’s a heightened version of what everyone does all the time. But it gives me no supernatural powers of persuasion. Whatever you decide you decide by yourself.”
Scorio sipped his tea.
“When we first met at the Fury Spires the situation was tense. I had precious little time to figure out what kind of man you were, so I cut to the chase and used my power as efficiently as possible. I’m glad to say I was both pleased at my conclusions, and correct in judging your importance in what was to come.”
“Were you, now.”
“Oh yes. But it’s my hope that we’re past such expediencies. I’m not looking to recruit you, Scorio. The war against the Blood Ox, thanks to you, is won. Further, you’ve refused my attempt to recruit you into the Seamstress’s employ. This, then, is just a friendly chat. So. Cheers.”
Scorio clinked his cup against Aezryna’s and took a sip. Herbal, tangy, and sweetened with honey. Lukewarm. He set his cup down. “You were waiting in the stairwell to thank me? Or because I’d been talking to Lady Krula and you wanted to ensure I wasn’t going to act against the Seamstress’ wishes?”
“Can’t it be both? ”Aezryna leaned back against the wall, crossed her arms, and considered him. “What you did in the Iron Weald—killing Bravurn, keeping the Blood Ox out in the open long enough for our Imperators to arrive and finish him off—that was truly remarkable. Hence my attempt at recruitment, and the Seamstress’ request that I keep an eye on your activities. She looks forward to meeting you some day soon, and as thanks has asked that I offer you a present.”
“A present.”
“Hmm.” Aezryna reached into her robe and drew out a small leaden case perhaps six inches long, half an inch wide. “No strings attached.”
Scorio took the metal case. It was surprisingly heavy and held closed by a small clasp. He opened it, and immediately the power within radiated out in cool, enlivening waves.
A vial of clear, sparkling mana was contained within. Clumsy as his Heart sense was, even he felt his breath stolen away by the sheer potency of what lay within the tube.
Scorio glanced up at Aezryna, eyes wide. “Noumenon?”
“Oh—no.” She grinned. “That would be precious beyond words. But still, a vial of Diamond mana is nothing to be sneered at. As a Pyre Lord it might still be too much for you, but when you’re ready to ascend to Blood Baron, be it a year or two from now, that should prove invaluable.”
“Ascend to Blood Baron.”
Aezryna quirked a brow. “What? Why do you say it like that?”
Scorio scoffed. “I can’t even summon my vortices yet. I skipped the traditional means of ascending to Dread Blaze, and now I’m paying the price.” He closed the lead lid, and the power of the diamond mana within vanished. “But still. Thank you. I’ll treasure this.”
“You’ve only been a Pyre Lord for a month or so, correct? Your rate of advancement is astonishing, right up there with the very best. If you like—if we have time—I would be happy to help instruct you in mastering your vortices. It can help to have a higher ranked Great Soul monitor your progress.”
“That’s a generous offer.”
Aezryna laughed. “I’m serious, Scorio. But like the vial, that offer has no strings attached. But you mentioned my concern with your meeting Lady Krula: yes, I’m worried. The Seamstress is worried. What the Twilight Lady seeks to accomplish could destabilize the entire Silver Unfathom, swapping out the menace of the Blood Ox for that of the Silverines.”
“You put them on the same power scale?”
“Only insofar as there are hundreds of thousands of Silverines, all of them capable of breathtaking organization as demonstrated by their all-encompassing net on the southern border. It’s why I chose to stay behind while Charoth pressed on. The more I come to understand what’s been brewing here in the Unfathom under Lady Krula’s quiet oversight the more concerned I’m becoming. You’ve not yet met an Abstraction?”
“No.”
Aezryna crossed one leg over the other. “To say they’re enigmatic is putting it lightly. They’re massive, big as houses—bigger, some—and I believe connected by a… I’m not sure what to call it. A network of song? A web of sound we Great Souls can’t detect? Imagine a spiderweb with an Abstraction at each juncture, and at the center?”
“A Silverine Sun.”
“Precisely, yes. And tending these Abstractions are thousands of Philosophers, tens of thousands, all seeking to feed or sacrifice themselves to their greater cousin until it rises and deems the moment right to enter a Sun, and feed it in turn with all their combined power.”
“Lady Krula thinks it’s all a ruse. That the Silverines are either lying to us, or have been lied to.”
“Do you think she’s right?”
Scorio’s smile was weary. “Paranoia has become my natural state of mind.”
“Well, I think she’s correct, but does that give us permission to act? Take that spiderweb I spoke of, now stretch it across the entirety of the Unfathom. Lace it with hundreds, if not thousands of pearls that are the Abstractions, and set a dozen Suns in their centers. How do you think such a unified system might react to Great Souls destroying one of their self-proclaimed gods?”
“Not well.”
“No. Not well. With Bravurn’s corruption revealed and the Blood Ox dead, it’s our hope Moira will bring order to the upper reaches of Hell. But for her to do that she’ll need peace. If we provoke the Silverines to war, I think they’ll prove a greater threat than even the Blood Ox. He was but one True Fiend. Their Abstractions number possibly in the thousands, their Philosophers in the tens if not hundreds of thousands.”
Scorio tapped his fingers against the side of his cup. “So you want me to steer clear of Lady Krula and her plans?”
“What I really want is for you to accompany me down to the Scorched Swale to meet with the Seamstress. Her gratitude is very real. If you ask her for a favor—for help with the Herdsmen, for example—she’ll do it. Yes, she’ll weave you into her own designs, but she’s only achieved the success she’s had by working with people like you and me.”
“Down to the Scorched Swale.” His mind spun. That would mean leaving everyone but possibly Jova and Xandera behind. Passing clear through the Lustrous Maria and the Emerald Reach in rapid order. “But my prey is here in the Silver Unfathom.”
“And Bravurn was in the Iron Weald. He wasn’t working alone. I fear your prey may be much more widely distributed. If anyone can help you learn more about them, to flush them out of hiding, it’s the Seamstress.”
Scorio laughed. “I thought you weren’t trying to recruit me.”
Aezryna’s smile was sly. “It seems I can’t help myself.”
“Well, thank you for the offer.”
“But you won’t be taking it.” Aezryna inclined her head. “I can’t say I’m surprised. You’re not the type to seek out superiors for help. You’re a Red Lister. Self-directed, trusting nobody that hasn’t earned your trust. I can respect that.”
“But?”
“When you killed Praximar, you disrupted the Autocrator Council and the leadership of the Academy. That’s fine. When you killed Davelos, who was nominally running the Fiery Shoals, you temporarily disrupted the Gold trade. Not a problem. When you killed Bravurn, you revealed his deep corruption, freed the blazeborn, and helped defeat the Blood Ox. Wonderful.”
“But if I detonate a Silverine Sun?”
“Well, yes. Precisely.” Aezryna sipped her tea again, watching him. “Everything you’ve done, Scorio, if seen from your point of view--and the outrages you’ve suffered taken into account--not only make sense, but have been righteous courses of action. But instigating a war with the Silverines that we cannot contain after we’ve suffered so many losses to the Blood Ox?”
“Not good.”
“No,” said Aezryna softly. “Not good.”
“Well, Lady Krula doesn’t want to detonate a Sun. Yet. She wants to learn more about them first.”
“And she’s asked you to do the investigating? Right. She must have offered you something to make it worth your time, and given your natural aversion to authority figures, it must tie into your quest.” Aezryna narrowed her eyes pensively. “Are the Suns connected to the Herdsmen, somehow?”
There was no reason to hide his suspicions. “We think they use the Suns to hide their activities. But I don’t really know. Not yet. But Jova and I agreed. We’re not going to help Lady Krula.”
“You’re not?” Aezryna smiled. “That’s good news. You’ll pursue your hunt on your own?”
“Yeah. We’ve alternate avenues of investigation. And we’ve both agreed that we’ll not trust any mission that involves Dameon in any way. So. We’re going to decline.”
“Very well. I’m glad to hear it.” Again she considered him, lips pursed into a pensive smile, eyes ever so slightly narrowed. “Anything I can do to help? With these other avenues?”
Scorio smiled. “I appreciate the offer.” A wild inclination seized him. “Are you willing to travel?”
“Always. Exploring Hell has been a consistent pleasure. But I’ve my duty here. Unless your offer supersedes my priorities…?”
Scorio hesitated. But then again, with Dameon aware of the Tombs and his interest in them, what harm could sharing with Aezryna bring? “We’re planning to explore a ruin some four hundred miles away. The Tombs of Sadness. Jova mentioned it an old journal as being related to the Herdsmen.”
“Interesting. Did she learn anything more of it?”
“The location, and that she never returned from exploring it. She was a Crimson Earl when she went.”
Aezryna’s brows rose. “And you’re following in her footsteps as Pyre Lords?”
“Yeah.” Scorio chuckled ruefully. “It’s almost as if I’m going up against impossible odds. Again.”
Aezryna smiled. “I’d be worried if you didn’t. But that does sound overtly suicidal.”
He met her gaze. “If you take the Herdsmen as a serious threat to our kind, then maybe you could come. Even the odds, a little.”
“I’m a Blood Baroness. I can hold my own, but Jova as a Crimson Earl would have been truly formidable.”
“We are all only as strong as our minds,” said Scorio quietly.
“True.” Aezryna considered his words. “True. I’ll think on it? I’ll let you know before you leave.”
Scorio tried not to look shocked. She was actually considering it? “Thank you. Oh. If you did come, we’d ask that you swear a Heart Oath to the effect that you’re not a Herdsmen or an agent of theirs.”
She laughed. “Wise. Understood.”
For a moment they just sipped their tea, each mulling over their thoughts, and then she smiled warmly. “So. How was LastRock? I doubt much changed since I left it, but what were your impressions?”
For awhile they chatted. Aezryna proved a warm conversationalist, and time and again Scorio had to remind himself that she knew—or could quickly figure out—just how to get him on her side. But the conversation was pleasant, and her quick wit and ready smile made it so that they drained the pot of tea before Scorio realized that he had to get back to his friends.
“Before I go,” he said, setting his empty cup aside. “I’ve a question I’ve not known whom to ask. Maybe you can help.”
“Sure, if I can?”
Should he put his doubts to her? Their conversation had been warm, relaxing, confidence-building. Had she lulled him into this state of trust? Scorio reflected for but a moment and then realized it didn’t matter. His question was about something most knew but didn’t seem to want to talk about.
“The Blood Ox. Both times I saw him he looked… I don’t know. Like a Great Soul. Human. Strange, to be sure, unnerving, but his mana manipulation, the fact that he had a Sanctum like the Imperators are supposed to have… are True Fiends actually fiends, or are they…?”
Aezryna leaned back, unsurprised. “Yes, I remember asking the same question. As a Pyre Lady, actually. Up until now, it’s just a rush to acquire one’s powers, isn’t it. Then, suddenly, the greater political world of Hell begins to seem strange, and the questions follow.”
“So you wondered the same thing?”
“Everyone does, eventually. What I was told, and what I’ve seen no reason to doubt, is that the True Fiends in the Pit have access to Noumenon. The Pit is the source of all mana, and the only place Noumenon can be found. There are countless fiends in Hell, from the blazeborn to the Silverines to the Veridian Horde and more, but none hate us like the True Fiends do. None are as powerful. They see us as their ultimate enemies, and since they’ve fought Imperators since the very beginning, we believe they’ve used Noumenon to mold themselves into our shape. Used Noumenon to manifest the same powers, so that they can fight fire with fire. Nothing in Hell is as powerful as an Imperator—” She paused, considering. “Well. Almost nothing. An argument can be made for some exceptions, like the Veridian Heart or Cazador or the Lash Triangular, but the True Fiends as a collective have seen us as the ultimate predators, and adapted.”
“Huh,” said Scorio, turning this statement over in his mind. “What were they before?”
Aezryna shrugged. “The records, like much else from our first few centuries here, are lost. The earliest existing accounts simply document the continuing war, and how the True Fiends ranged far afield. Only through great effort and sacrifice did the Imperators force them back to the Pit, with Iulius the Golden spearheading that accomplishment in the early third century.”
“Don’t you think it’s convenient that all those records are missing?”
Again Aezryna shrugged. “The transition from the Old Academy to the New was fraught. Much was lost. There have been dozens of civil wars within Bastion, with different factions fighting for both control of the streets and the narratives of the past, seeking to set things up so their rise to power sounded ordained or prophesied. I don’t know. Do I wish we had access to all those lost books and records? Obviously. But we don’t.”
“The Imperators do,” protested Scorio. “They regain all their memories. They must remember what the first years were like.”
“The Imperators are a secretive group. Crimson Earls and Countesses change radically upon ascending to that final rank. They hold their knowledge close, and refuse to discuss much that came before.”
“Uh huh,” said Scorio. “And that’s not suspicious, either?”
Aezryna’s smile grew fond. “Anything and everything can be suspicious if you’ve that outlook on life. Can I begin to guess the rationale of the Imperators? No. Can I imagine what it must be like to acquire the memories of over a hundred distinct lives, and to integrate them into my sense of self? Also no. One day, if I can manage it, I’ll become an Imperator myself again. And then I’ll search you out and answer those questions.”
“You’ve made Imperator?” Scorio raised his brows. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You seem the type.”
“How generous of you.” Her smile grew sardonic. “And as much as it galls me to say it, because I remember how much it infuriated me when I was told the same thing, there is much to Hell that you don’t know, Scorio. Politics as we understand it only extends to the Scorched Swale, which is as far as Blood Barons like myself can go. Beyond? In the Azure Expanse, the Void Veil, or the Twilight Cradle? Politics becomes the dominion of personalities and raw power. Where Charnel Duchesses are but foot soldiers, Crimson Countesses loyal lieutenants, and it’s the Imperators that deal with the incalculable power of True Fiends wielding Noumenon. Don’t be so quick to judge what you’ve literally no knowledge of.”
“As you say.” Scorio stood. “I know you’re offering wisdom, but I’m going to continue in the manner that’s served me so far: trusting only that which I’ve seen and understood directly myself. All else?” His smile turned apologetic. “It’s up for review.”
Aezryna laughed and stood. “Fair. And there’s no arguing with your results thus far.” She took three steps to her humble door. “Thanks for the visit. I’ll consider your request, and let me know if you want to practice with your vortices.”
“Will do. Thanks.”
Scorio hesitated just outside her door, and she resolved his indecision by sticking out her hand. “See you around, Pyre Lord.”
He shook, and found her grip strong and dry. “See you around, Blood Baroness.”
Comments
Michael Thomas
That overly worshipped ass is probably the founder of the herdsman and is still alive. Consider that all the final visions we’ve read so far show that each recruit was dread evil, though perhaps a modicum of good intentions in the beginning. What type of person would end up being the greatest of all the great souls? I’m just guessing here, and may be totes wrong. Just another angle to ponder. Jova committed genocide, Scorio wrecked, well, everything despite starting with noble intentions. All just a guess of course. There’s also the similarities in Arcamagus’ tripe to convince them to join the war, of which is left mostly ambiguous. No mention of who the big bad is.
Michael Thomas
Another thing to consider in this conversation: ‘She watched him, curious. “It was remarkable what you accomplished. I’m sure you’re tired of hearing it. But I knew when we first met that you weren’t just Whispered; that’s how most were waving off your string of accomplishments. No. You’re something else entirely.”’ What does that mean? We understand from the previous novels what being whispered means…. but “you’re something else entirely” ??? I have no idea, we have no idea, Phil knows. Food for thought all.
WESTON FRENCH
I really hope Iulius the Golden is reborn soon
