Child, God, Dust: The Still
Tjenkha, Central Nekhtou, the Kikhepis.
The Eighteenth Day of the First Moon, 2392 BD.
It was done. Finished. Twenty-two statues now stood sentinel over the Valley of the Gods, nay over the very desert itself, their eyes of that strange stone looking down at all beneath them impassively, almost cruelly. They seemed to mock the men beneath them, taunting them for their mortality, their insignificance, their very humanity. It was a monument that could only have been built by the hands of a god, and indeed, it was. He had built it. Him. The world would look upon the Valley of Gods after a thousand-thousand years, and still his monument would watch over the world with twenty-two stone cold gazes.
He had a new toy, as well. The Fleshsmiths themselves had contacted him directly, rather than through their Slaver's Guild overlords, to thank him for his enduring and, of course, exceedingly generous patronage. They had created something that defied imagination, something that put to shame anything else he had seen them create. They told him it had taken the lives of a great many acolytes from their order, as well as an untold number of slaves and failed prototypes, but the results were more than worth it. A Drake-Ogyr. The torso of an Ogyr-Alpha, engorged on slaughter and made far larger than even the greatest of it's brethren, masterfully joined to the body of a wingless dragon, scaled and clawed and above all deadly. It could gallop across vast distances in mere moments, far faster than a creature it's size should be able to move, so great was it's size that the captain of Amerys' personal guard, possibly the tallest man he had ever seen, barely came up to the creatures knee.
It was... it was beautiful. Perfect. He'd had it barded in bronze sheet-armour, engraved with silver hieroglyphs symbolising protection and destruction, and studded with black-diamonds. A great warhammer was placed in the creatures hands in times of war and battle, it's haft a great northern oak stripped of bark and branches and a head made of the finest bronze his smiths had ever seen.
He would only have the best for such a magnificent pet.
Already he had unleashed his divine pet against Nrtkha, that squalid and pathetic array of nomad tents masquerading as a city in the desert, and the results had been... they'd been beautiful. He had watched from atop his wyvern, circling the city like a vulture, watching to make sure noting bad happened to his newest pet. Entire streets of tents were crushed to kindling and foolscap beneath the monstrous feet of the beast, its tail lashing to and fro like a great crushing flail as the mighty warhammer turned ranks of men and steeds both into little more than a fine red mist and memories.
He shuddered a little in extasy as the memories of that day replayed in his head. To see the people who had once laid low his divine father forced to flee their ancestral home before the very manifestation of his wroth and fury, the manifestation of the new links he had formed between the Nekhtoudum and the Sotenari... oh, it was most pleasing to think about. He was almost disappointed that there had yet to be any further rebellions against his reign. Oh, the thinks he could do with his pets in a true battle...
The thought sent another spike of extasy through him, and he made a mental note to check with his advisors if any of the client-kingdoms between them and the Sotenari could be 'integrated' into the Kingdom of the Kikhepis without alienating their new allies. Perhaps the Sotenari could even be persuaded to split the various petty kingdoms between their two great empires? They had already annihilated Ereverry, after all. Or perhaps cousin Khypra would not be against an offer of expanding his new kingdom; surely he understood that increasing his territories, spreading his influence, was the greatest way to secure a future for his kingdom? There were so many possibilities for conquest, for expansion, for slaughter, he could hardly contain himself.
And yet he would. For he was divine, and divines did not give themselves over to their selfish desires as mortals did. Such behaviour would be beneath him. Beneath his divine blood. And he was divine, of that there could be no doubt. Who else could claim to have accomplished the things he had by the age of fourteen? Even the great heroes of yesteryear who build the very kingdom he now ruled paled in comparison to his genius, his strength, his magnificence. His work was complete, his great monument finished, his name etched into history even as it howled and screeched at him. And now?
He sighed to himself. What was left of his reign but mundane projects? Farms, homes, markets; piteous things the like of which Misaphris had been subtly trying to direct him towards for the past half a decade. What was there but road building, canal digging, and estate management to look forwards to? He craved excitement, he craved adventure, he craved more. More monuments, more beasts, more slaves, more, more, more!
He hurled his goblet across the room and clenched his fists. It wasn't fair! Why should his advisors get to tell him he had spent enough resources on his projects and that he needed to start "ruling like his grand-uncle", or that he had grown too close to the Sotenari and "needed to act like his grand-sire".
The men who had said such things had been very bold indeed. So much so that even he felt the need to pardon them for their clearly well-meant words. It was odd; if they hadn't been quite so harsh that they had genuinely given him pause they would have surely been dead by now. Ah well.
He barked out a command for a new goblet of wine, and a trio of slaves entered the room. One poured him out a goblet whilst the other two cleaned the tiled floors of the vintage that had been spilled when he had railed at the injustice of the world around him.
"You. Halt."
The slave pouring the drink froze in place, their eyes falling to the floor.
"Your Magnificence honours me with his demand."
Amerys smiled.
"I do, don't I? Look at me, and answer truthfully when questioned."
She nodded deferentially at him, seeming to have been shaken by the attention that his divine self had seen fit to give her.
"I stand the ruler of half a continent, I am rich beyond measure, and I have built something that even time itself shall not wear down. And for all of this, for all I have accomplished and all that I own, I find something is missing. I find myself yet growing bored. What would you have me do, if it were your decision to make?"
The slave in front of him thought long and hard, his gaze never once leaving her. She seemed absolutely petrified, likely for fear she would somehow answer incorrectly. When she spoke it was not a whisper like he suspected she may have liked it to be, for she was clearly smart enough to know not to try his patience, but there was still an undercurrent of deep seated nervous tension in her words and how she held herself.
"Has your Magnificence yet gazed upon thy monuments? If you have yet to do so, then perhaps seeing it finished will give you further inspiration?"
Her words trailed off towards the end of the last sentence, and silence lingered for a little while. He saw a bead of sweat drip down her forehead as a smile slowly crept across his face.
"Of course!"
He laughed a hearty, if somewhat manic, laugh.
"I wasn't missing anything! I just need to actually see what I have accomplished! That... that..."
He slowed himself, thinking. He hadn't looked upon all the statues, but he had looked upon them frequently whilst they were under construction, and had seen a sizable number of those already finished.
"No, that can't be right... I've seen plenty of them, but I still feel like I'm missing something..."
The slave continued to stand there, looking as though she wished to say more. He motioned to her to speak her mind, looking down his chin at the woman.
"Speak."
"Thank you, your Magnificence. You speak of missing something... your parents died when you were but a child, your Magnificence, and your only family resides a continent away. I... I will confess to hearing certain rumours from others around the palace. About how you are a puppet dancing to whichever tune master Misaphris chooses to have played."
She looked up with him, panic in her eyes as she continued. As she spoke he felt something inside him seem to harden, as though everything was falling into place for all the wrong reasons.
"Lies of course, your Magnificence! I would never insinuate that your divine self could ever be led in such a way! I only say this to ask... have you ever been permitted a friend?"
Whatever thing it was that had hardened inside him, at those words he felt it shatter. He must have had a friend at some point, surely?
Not since Khypra, a voice in his head seemed to say, and you sent him far away from here.
It was on Misaphris' suggestion! He railed back, but the voice was silent.
Then he remembered what Khypra had said in the throneroom, could still remember the half-panic, half-sadness on his face all those years ago;
"He is trying to turn you against your family, to isolate you and make you his to control!"
He felt a small, huffed laugh leave his throat. He'd been telling the truth. Khypra had been telling the truth. And so because Misaphris had lied to him, Amerys had sent the last of his true family thousands of miles away. After that there had been no friends. There was never enough time, and besides, friends were a risk. They only wanted to be his friends for power, anyway.
Or so Misaphris had told him.
As absurd as it was, he found himself begin to laugh. It was a hollow thing, all mirth absent from the action, and it only grew more morose as it crescendoed. He raised a hand to his face whilst the other clutched at his stomach. He pulled the hand on his face away after a moment. It was wet. Tears. He was crying. He was crying. The hollow laugh morphed and twisted inside him, suddenly turning into a piercing, angry scream that tore the insides of his throat and made him see red.
He turned back to the slave as guards poured into the room, hearing the commotion. Upon seeing him one of them reach to grab her he stopped them with a shaking hand and bellowed his orders.
"CEASE! FIND MISAPHRIS! FIND HIM AND DRAG HIM TO ME! NOW!"
The guards, though surprised, did not hesitate even a moment to enact his word; however dishevelled he may have appeared, he was still their god. Nothing would change that.
Looking briefly around he saw that the other two slaves had vanished, leaving him alone with the trembling woman. He swiped at his eyes angrily, forcing down however many tears remained unshed. The last time he had cried had been the two year anniversary of his parent's death. That alone let him know how much this had affected him, no matter how much he would otherwise try and deny it.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
"You're right. He- that bastard. I'm going to kill him. I've had no family because of him. No friends because of him. Why? What did he mean to accomplish?"
The woman remained silent, then flinched as his gaze whipped around to her. He walked over and laid a hand on her shoulder.
"How old are you?"
"Eight and ten, your Magnificence."
He nodded.
"You're the first person here to tell me that truth. You're a slave no longer. You're to be my friend now."
She blinked at him in confusion, an unreadable emotion on her face, before the weight of his words set in. She swallowed thickly before speaking.
"Thank you, your Magnificence. May I refill your wine?"
He looked down at his goblet, which had been freshly filled a few minutes ago, and noticed that in his fit he must have thrown yet another ounce of the crimson liquid from its container.
"You may. My thanks. See to the changes befitting your new status afterwards. Name anything you want, and it will be done. Dismissed."
She bowed deferentially and stepped backwards.
"Thank you, your Magnificence."
She walked swiftly, almost anxiously, to the door. As she opened it and made to leave, Amerys was greeted by a most pleasing sight. Before him a gagged Misaphris was being dragged none-too-roughly before him by a pair of jackal-helmed champions, their halberds eschewed in favour of khopeshes so that they might keep a hand free to pull the lanky man behind them.
The slave's eyes widened at the sight, and Amerys reckoned she was afraid of witnessing what was to come. She bolted from the door and ran as fast as she could, the door being slammed shut behind her by yet more animal-helmed guards.
"Why? Why, Misaphris. For how many years have you kept me alone here?"
The man tried to speak through his gag, but the effort was fruitless. Amerys was almost tempted to leave it there and then order the man executed, since he obviously would have nothing to say in his defence, but for all the stresses and indignities of the day, he was still divine, and had to act the part.
He had already eschewed that duty once today.
Instead, he nodded at one of the guards, who removed the gag from the spymaster's mouth.
"What is the meaning of this, your Magnificence? Surely there is a misunderstanding!"
"You told me cousin Khypra wished for my throne. You had me send him away, along with all the rest. That was a lie, wasn't it? Yes, I see that now. He had no designs on my throne. So why? Why send him away? Why would you make me do that?"
Misaphris swallowed thickly.
"Your Magnificence, with all due respect, you were the one that wanted to exile him, all of them. If you wished them to remain you needed only to say the right words."
Amerys took a step forwards, genuinely affronted as the spymaster tried to pin the blame for why he had felt so empty, so lonely for most of his life, on the actions he had taken as a child. Tears streamed down his face unbidden once more as he spoke, only this time he did not even try to hide them. His voice cracked as he screamed at the man in front of him.
"I WAS FIVE YEARS OLD! I WAS HARDLY OLD ENOUGH TO EVEN KNOW WHAT EXILE WAS! YOU WERE MY FATHER'S LOYAL ADVISOR, YOU, WHO COMFORTED ME AND PROMISED TO KEEP ME SAFE. Yes, I can see that now. You held me in a gilded cage, and called me 'guest' when really I was YOUR PRISONER! YOU TOLD ME HE WAS A THREAT, YOU, WITH ALL YOUR HONEYED WORDS. KHYPRA WAS RIGHT ABOUT YOU! I SHOULD HAVE LET MY COUSINS KILL YOU IN THE THRONEROOM ALL THOSE YEARS AGO!"
Misaphris made to stand, but was sent reeling back to the floor when one of Amerys' champions struck him. It seemed the man had spent a great deal more favour than he had realised if even the guards were willing to strike him.
"Your Magnificence, I must protest my innocence. I know not where this conviction of yours has come from, but I assure you I have only ever acted with your kingdom in mind. I wanted prosperity for your subjects, I wanted to fill your coffers, to leave the kingdom a better place than when I started. All I have ever done has been for the benefit of your kingdom."
Amerys sniffled a little, his voice only a tad louder than a whisper.
"For my kingdom. Not for me. I was kept isolated from true companionship for almost a decade, because... because... help me here, Misaphris, I genuinely can't see a benefit to this. Why? Why?"
The man looked up at him, and then... well, then he smiled.
"Because I could. Because I can. I've ruled through you ever since your father died. I hardly even had to distract you; you latched on to your project, busied yourself with meeting dignitaries, filled your own time with endless petty quibbles involving the Sotenari. You left the running of the realm to the council, and the council left it to me. You turned yourself into my puppet, and all I had to do was make sure you relied on my council for comfort and reinforcement. If your cousins had to be sent to the end of the civilised world for that to happen, then it was a price worth paying."
The man stared up at him, smirking. He seemed... not quite smug, but certainly somewhere in the same area. He had surely known that no matter what he said, he was to die here, and so had elected to simply tell Amerys the truth, knowing it would hurt more than any lie ever could.
Damn him. Damn him to whatever hells existed!
"I could have been normal! I've- gods, how many people did I send to their deaths? How many have been forced into chains because of me? Hundreds of thousands, surely. But why? I'm not deluded enough to think I can pin this squarely on you, no matter how bad you think I am, but as sure as day heralds night you are the root of all of this. I... I could have lived happily! I could have been a good ruler! I COULD HAVE FUCKING BEEN SOMEONE THAT WASN'T... someone that wasn't a monster. Why, Misaphris? Why?"
But the man would not answer. He just stared up at him with still, unblinking eyes. Oh. Amerys had stabbed him. When exactly had he done that? The dagger was still in his hands, even as its blade rested within Misaphris' heart. Amerys sighed heavily. There was blood on his hands, and his arms, staining the floors with the very essence of the man whom only yesterday he would have called his most loyal supporter. There was blood on his hands.
But then he supposed there always had been.
He had lived his life in a trance, and now the spell was broken; for the first time he saw himself as he truly was. He nodded towards the animal-helmed champions, and the body of his former spymaster, of his late father's spymaster, was carried out of the room.
Oh, what a mess they'd both made together.
----------------------------------------
When all was said and done he was left alone in his chambers once more. The blood was washed from the tiles, the body of Misaphris removed, and all was quiet. He had been played for a fool his whole life, and only now could he see the truth; all the things he had worked towards in his entire reign so far amounted to nothing more than a series of vanity projects to fill the hole in his heart where companionship was supposed to go, where cherished memories of friendship should have been. Gods, he was a piece of work. He thought back to less than ten minutes ago when the thought of slaughter actually seemed to excite him, in more ways than one. Thinking on it again, it still did excite part of him. He swallowed hard to stop himself from bringing up his breakfast. Gods above, he was sick! How could he... and all those people... their lives and livelihoods...
"Oh, gods..."
He ran a shaking hand through his hair as he let himself all but collapse to the floor. How could he have fallen this far? How? What must people have thought of him? What would father have thought of him?
What would mother have thought of him?
That thought proved to be the straw that broke the camels back, as every morsel he had eaten that day forced itself back up, spewing out over the tiled floor. The feeling burned the back of his throat, and so he stood once more, moving to pick up the goblet of wine he must have placed to the side before he started screaming at Misaphris. He took several long gulps, the alcohol helping to sooth his frayed nerves and seeming to grant him at least a modicum of strength.
Think. He had to think. He could reverse some of the damages he had wrought to the people of his kingdom, given time. He just needed to think.
The remaining slaves, great in number, would find work on farms and on the building of infrastructure, that was something. Many more could be sold to his vassals or landowners, or even the priesthood. That would make back some of the wealth he had wasted on his monuments. After that, he would... he would...
He sighed to himself. He didn't know. There was so much to do, but he knew how to do so little of it. A rapprochement with the nomads, no matter how much he would have had to swallow his pride, would have been next. Key phrase: would have been. Amerys knew all to well that no nomad would deal with him again no matter how long he reigned. Perhaps cousin Khypra? If... if Khypra would even deign to look at him again, then he would apologise, he would tell his cousin that he had been right, that Misaphris had used him as a puppet, he would-
Amerys stopped himself once more. He would write to Khypra, and he would apologise, but he couldn't afford to have delusions of rapprochement there either. He had long ago burned that bridge.
The creations he had purchased from the Slaver's Guild, they could likely be resold back to their creators for half their sale value without causing a stir. The jobs they had been purchased for were done, after all. Ogyrs and Titanblooded both, they would be sent back to Gorratar soon enough. As for his pets, the tame wyvern and his drake-ogyr, they would both need to be looked after properly; monsters they may have been, but they were guilty only of that which he had bade them to do. They'd never struck out without instruction, and so they were underserving of any harm.
All of that would at least make a start, he thought as he practically dragged his feet over so he could stand at the balcony once more. His entire body felt as though it was made of lead, so exhausted had the events of the last quarter of an hour made him, but he resolved he had to at least bring himself to face his failures.
The words he had engraved at the base of the statue of Djaf the Undying were intended to read as triumphant, almost joyous, but in a twist of irony he could only imagine the most bitter of tones being used to read it now. His great work was finished, but all he could see where mountains once stood proud and tall was untold death and suffering. He had lived and reigned as a monster thus far, and somewhere deep within him he knew it was not enough to simply wish to better himself. Indeed, even if he ruled as the single kindest man alive for a hundred years, it would never wash out the stains of the last few years. He was a monster, and would be remembered as such. He let out a sigh as the realisation hit him. He did not feel sad, or angry, or even scared, as he knew he probably should.
He just felt empty.
If he were anyone else, he would take a walk off the end of his balcony, but he knew suicide was too good for him. He had a duty to his people to try and be better for the rest of his reign, no matter how long or short it may be. His reign hadn't been all bad thus far, after all, he had greatly improved relations with the Sotenari Empire, if through despicable means, but that still counted for something. There was little risk of a war between their two nations for the next few decades, that much at least was certain. Nonetheless, he still felt empty.
He closed his eyes, feeling the cool breeze on his face, and gently swirled the wine in his goblet. He thought back to the statues, their visages and gazes both burned into his mind, and sighed a deep sigh. He chucked a little to himself, the action a quiet and miserable thing, and then spoke the words aloud.
"Look upon my works, ye divines, and despair."
----------------------------------------
A nomad led his camel across the sands of the desert. The passage had been rough, but soon they should reach the main caravan and be reunited with his friends. He patted the neck of the camel that walked alongside him, then stopped a moment as his foot bumped against something hard.
He looked down to see the corner of what appeared to be a stone block. Sandstone, by the colour, the kind used in the ancient cities of this land.
He smiled wryly, and continued to move through the sands blown by the wind. Sure enough, perhaps fifteen minutes later he came across what was left of one of the greatest cities the world had ever known.
Before him on a plinth stood a child of bronze and stone, arms outstretched with exultation, crook in one hand and flail in the other. The statue was little more than a ruin; the head was missing, as was most of its back, but it stood nonetheless.
Around it the ruins remained silent.
They had been for a thousand years, and would be forevermore. Good.
The child had been a monster given human form. He had looked upon the Valley of the Gods once.
Once.
Never again. That place was cursed. Untold thousands had been driven to their death at that place to satiate the vanity and piety of a young boy who had been raised almost from birth to believe he was a god. The statues seemed to watch, to judge, to linger in the mind.
He had looked upon them, once. He had the oddest feeling they were waiting for something.
He moved his mask back in place, and left to continue his journey. There was a foreign prince that needed escorting to these ruins, and the Valley besides. He would let the others take him here, and especially to the edge of the dunes leading to that accursed place.
He had lingered in this silent world long enough.