It was mid-day, maybe a little later. Instead of heading straight to the rooms, I diverted outside, heading towards the fountain a small distance from Annette’s rooms. The same fountain I’d tried to quench her from demon fire in, a lifetime ago.
The snow on the ground was slush, and the fountain itself was flowing freely, cascading streams of water.
I needed to get away. To think.
With the way events had transpired, the queen turning me away every time I tried to visit after the return, I’d had time to prepare for something like this. I thought I’d prepared for the worst. That simply being ready for the only source of shelter and parental love to no longer be that person to me now—despite the lengths I’d gone to save her—was enough.
I was so naïve.
Because this was worse. Considerably.
If she had simply hated me, it would have been hard, but I could have come to terms with it. Eventually. Perhaps even made amends when the threat allowed. But her demeanor and actions hadn’t been that of a parent disappointed with her child. The desperation, the franticness with which she beseeched me, were all parts of a whole I was entirely too familiar with. A near feverish effort to reel back a plot gone to ruin.
That was all I was to her, now. A failed endeavor to forge a living weapon against my father.
When I replayed some of my earliest memories from the beginning, it all fit. Part of the Queen’s enigma to me, as a child, was her complete adherence to an ethos that was entirely different from anything my father and the warmakers and schemers that bolstered him believed. Her world was one where a leader could be kind, where wars could be fought without sacrifice. Where heroes could win, without turning into monsters by the end.
The queen wasn’t a fool. Certainly not so much so that she believed the things she taught wholeheartedly. She’d made considerable sacrifices and compromises before I was even born. Marrying my father to guarantee an alliance between her house and his, staying his hand from her insurrectionist family.
What she’d done, she’d done intentionally. Instilled a sense of false justice in me that was so far off the scale of realism it didn’t even register. One that both my father and Whitefall itself would be judged by. It was an ingenious plan, really. Once her rose shaded interpretation of the world was solidified in my mind, there was little she had to do other than wait, and reinforce my dissatisfaction every time Whitefall moved in a questionable way.
If she hadn’t fallen ill, or—in this lifetime—lost contact with me for years, it probably would have worked.
The king was a monster. The legions of nonhumans he’d ruthlessly oppressed could not simply be discounted. But I’d never had the luxury of giving him the benefit of the doubt, never been able to decide who he was for myself. Any goodness I might have found in him immediately and definitively tainted by the persistent whispering in my ear. Maybe, if I’d been less inclined to hate him, so utterly jaded against anything he had to teach, the version of him I knew in this lifetime might have been a natural progression of our relationship.
Even now, we did things differently. And I had no intention of following in the footsteps of his terror. Yet he still respected me, still allowed me to make my own decisions, now that he knew I was capable.
It was all so backwards.
I felt a presence behind me, before Vogrin’s smooth voice broke the silence. “There are things I could teach you. Demons have had eons to experiment with the sort of dark magics typically forbidden in “civilized” societies.”
“Like?”
“Necromancy, for one.” Vogrin mused, his sandal shod feet hovering inches above the ground. He suddenly seemed to realize the implications of what he said and waved his hands as if to ward off misunderstanding. “They would not return as they were. Once dead, the soul is gone, and in the exception of highly specific cases and artifacts, this is a hard constant. But once the soul is taken, fragments that failed to reincarnate remain. These fragments are vicious, vengeful things. And with the help of necromancy, usually enough to drive the shambling shell towards retaliation—or what it is made to believe is retaliation.” For the first time since I’d known him, Vogrin removed the head wrap that shrouded his eyes. “And there are other things, other methods that leverage existing magics in… traditionally questionable ways.”
I forced a smile, gripping the edge of the fountain and staring down into it. “You realize you’re being a cliche right now?”
“How so?”
“Tempting the hero with forbidden magic at his darkest moment. That you just happen to be a demon is extra credit.“ The chuckle in my throat tasted bitter.
Vogrin scoffed. “You lack the zealotry required to consider yourself a hero. To your benefit, I might add. Such a belief would not allow you to achieve a fraction of the progress you have. The scheme to undercut Ephira and subsequent slaughter of her men is evidence of that, alongside countless other examples.”
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“Not exactly something I’m proud of, Vogrin.” I rubbed my eyes. Lillian’s memory threatened to resurface, and I tried to suppress it, the anger growing within me again with nowhere to go. “What ways?”
“Hm?”
“You said, there were other avenues available to us with traditional means.”
To my surprise, Vogrin hesitated. His hands clenched at his side, and his mouth spread in an uncharacteristic leer. “When you first clashed with Thoth in the Sanctum, you kept a specimen of her blood.”
“Which we used to track her. I remember.”
Vogrin nodded, smiling in an unsettling manner. “What you may not fully understand, is the relationship between demons and blood. Whether it is given voluntarily, a blood sacrament is no trifling thing. I know her blood as thoroughly as I know the tenants of malfeasance, and the teachings of the ancient ones. It would be a simple matter to put it to use.”
I absorbed that. “Despite all the ambient magic of the sanctum, we still needed to use fleet-footed golems to expand your range. It took them time to find her. And while the sanctum felt massive, compared to multiple continents, the distance was small. We already know she’s in Teragor. Not sure what difference knowing her exact location would make.
His smile turned to a leer that chilled me. “You misunderstand. Naturally, I will play the bloodhound once the war party is seaborne, but I’m referring to a more immediate, indirect undertaking. One that—if successful—will create a tactical advantage and result in considerable satisfaction.”
“Through what means?”
“Blood is not simply blood.” His voice was quiet, almost whisper-like. “Blood carries with it potential, and more importantly, origin. The arch-mage appeared on the world’s stage as a veritable unknown. No one knows who she was, or where she came from. But she came from somewhere. Was squirted into her mother’s womb, same as any mortal. There are things about her I believe are intentionally misleading. Her muddled heritage and mixed features would be far more common to an intermixed continent like Silvandor or Ignal, her speech pattern is almost certainly Teragorian, and her demonic eye and features could be an offshoot of many astral planes.”
“Doesn’t exactly narrow it down.” I said, feeling lost. Either he didn’t have a point, or I wasn’t in the headspace to see it.
Vogrin crossed his arms, almost itching with excitement. “Exactly. The signs lead everywhere, because that is what their intended purpose is. Distract. Misdirect. Point away from a truth that is far more simple.”
I thought about it. The beginning of the iteration. Thoth appeared within minutes of my return to my body. And relatively speaking she hadn’t had that many people to her name. Compared to the overwhelming force that assaulted the city, the force she’d gathered was relatively small. And the second time we clashed, shortly after I escaped the Everwood and Barion’s clutches, her force was mainly composed of middling mercenaries that—after the ambush was unsuccessful—the rangers made quick work of.
There was only one logical explanation.
“Because Thoth isn’t from Teragor, or Ignal.” I realized, breathing out slowly. “She’s from Uskar.”
“And her blood is not solely her own.” Vogrin drifted in front of me. “Anyone who invests such effort in hiding their origins almost certainly has something to protect. It’s possible she has a family of her own parents, a mother and father, siblings, even a child.”
My stomach twisted, as I realized what, exactly, he was offering.
Vogrin continued, “I could find them. You need only say the word. It would require the creation of a different, more economical golem, one with a massively extended detection range and capable of sustaining itself for long spans of time. And we would need several. Given that, they likely could not move on their own. But if instead, they were placed on trade caravans, each heading to a separate distant corner of the land… then it would likely only be a matter of time.”
I swallowed. “Putting aside everything else wrong with that, such a venture would stoke her ire like nothing else.”
“I do not care.” Vogrin snapped, losing his composure. “She believes herself untouchable, above it all, that she can do whatever she wishes with no consequences, divine, mortal, infernal, or otherwise. And despite seemingly boundless power which could be used in far more productive manners, she consigns herself to tormenting my charge, torturing him with petty, puerile evils, chipping away with childish sadism.” His eyes locked with mine. “Let me show her the true nature of the evil she plays at.”
Vogrin was correct. The trade caravans coming and going from Whitefall traveled far and wide, spanning the entire continent. They were so regular and well-stocked that those who lived in more rural areas would venture out to meet them on their routes in order to purchase otherwise unattainable essentials. If the golems he made were as effective as he expected, and he consulted Annette and the merchant’s guild for calculations of range and route coverage, it was only a matter of time.
For a moment, I let myself waver. A part of me wanted to give in right there. What did it matter? My hands were long since soiled. I’d already failed the person I’d vowed to protect. It should have been simple arithmetic. One more potential weapon brandished against Thoth, or squandered, left on the table.
But nothing about this was simple.
“I’ll think about it.” I said, finally.
“As you please.” Vogrin sighed and retied the cloth wrap around his eyes. “But make haste. The sooner we seed golems amongst the caravans, the sooner they bear fruit. Admittedly, there will not be enough mana to make them until your soul recovers from turmoil…” His irritation shifted to confusion. He looked at me from the left, then the right, trying to study something beneath the surface. Eventually, he floated away from me, his jaw slack. “What in the heavens have you done?”
I reached down, letting my fingertips graze the surface of the water. Slowly, I went through the same mental exercise my predecessor had when he ran Thoth through her paces in the contents of the memory orb. Ice formed, cradling my fingers in frost as it expanded outward, the thin layer expanding in an ever-widening radius.