“Along with Gedrick Firehands, Boko the Bear, and Exero. Yes.” The jester bowed his masked head. “Whatever malady befalls the king’s Legendaries, it doesn’t spare our own.”
“Yet here I sit.”
“You are too spiteful, my lord, too filled with piss and vinegar to so meekly disappear.”
Scorio smiled, and the jester flinched.
“Then the king is without the spine of his forces. We face nothing but mortal men.”
“Mortal men who number almost ten thousand, yes.” The jester canted his head to one side. “And so we return full circle to our task at hand. Your captains await you below. They must be given commands so that the battle may be joined.”
Scorio nodded slowly but made no answer.
The jester waited, head yet canted, then began walking back the way he’d come. “With near all the Legendaries gone, there is no need for your customary tactic. Indeed, I believe our forces would benefit from having you play the part of the general. Remain behind the front lines, my lord. Be visible so that your men may take good cheer. Dispatch your commands as the battle proceeds, and maintain an elegant and pleasing order so that we may win this final battle.”
Scorio rose to his feet, leaned out over the table, and took up a knife blade of a Black Tower. He considered the miniature, then set it down in the center of the enemy forces.
“Or…” allowed the jester, “you could teleport your dread tower into the king’s ranks and disgorge some fifty elite troops into their midst. But you would fight alongside normal men. Without your own Legendaries, you would be hard pressed to wreak your regular ruin. Fifty common men amongst ten thousand foes will not last long.”
“Unless I go at it alone.”
The jester stilled.
“I could teleport my Black Tower beside the king. He thinks I’ll fall for his dressed up decoy, but I wager he’s present elsewhere, no doubt close to his war banner. I drop the tower atop his elite forces, crushing dozens, and then emerge, alone, in my war form to cut off his head.”
“A gamble, to be sure. And as mighty as your scaled form may be, you cannot shrug off arrows and blades forever.”
“I don’t need forever. I just need to reach that bastard and tear him apart.”
“The King’s Scepter will be by his side. You think you can best her?”
Scorio sneered. “I shall use her as my landmark. Where she stands, there I’ll find the king. And it’s time we fought at last. I believe I can kill her. If I am wrong, then so be it.”
“My lord…” The jester’s voice trailed off. “Please do not kill me for my temerity, but is it truly the king you wish to slay, or her?”
“It cannot be both?”
“Our forces face the remaining might of the kingdom. They are weary, dispirited, and outnumbered. Your presence and direction will bolster their morale. If they see you instead teleport far away and be cut down, the battle will be lost. I have spoken with your captains, and for once they are united - they believe you should approach this battle with caution. If we win here, we win the war. If we lose…? All our sacrifices will have been for naught.”
“You come to this war very late to make such grandiose claims, Sea Baron.”
“But here I stand,” said the jester, spreading his arms in mock humility. “The only man who dares enter this chamber. Will you spill my blood for speaking my mind? Go right ahead. If not, then listen to reason: our best chance lies in careful planning and fine orchestration. Lead your men as a general should, be diligent and precise, and we may yet win this day.”
Scorio considered the Black Tower. He went to take it up again, then hesitated.
My choice, realized Scorio. My trial. Is it vengeance against the king? Vengeance versus caution?
“I did love her, once.” Scorio’s rasp was bleak with harrowed emotion. “I admit it, of course. For a moment there I thought together we could turn the tide… but.”
Now it was the jester’s turn to listen.
“But she betrayed me. Were it not for her, so much need not have burned.” Scorio sat back in his throne. “So many need not have died. And there she stands, by her damned king’s side.”
The jester went to speak, then chose to remain silent.
“I trust my captains. Garvis. Harkan. Waberly. Oyster. They are seasoned men and have the trust of their soldiers. If I cut down the king, the fight will go out from the enemy army, whereas if I die, I dare say our men will be more relieved than anything else.”
“Nonsense,” snapped the jester.
“But you’re also telling me lies.” Scorio sank his head back against the throne and closed his eyes. “Even if I remained behind the lines I’d have difficulty managing our forces once battle was joined. I can sound the trumpets and send messengers, but you overestimate me if you think I can control our men like pieces on a board.”
“Not like chess pieces, no. But moving regiments, choosing when to play your reinforcements and where to throw them -”
“Enough. I’ve heard your argument. Leave me.”
The jester bowed his head and departed.
Scorio stayed still. In his heart an ocean of darkness roiled. It hadn’t needed to be like this. They could have wrested a brighter outcome from this madness.
They could have faced the king together, no matter her old loyalties.
“In my heart, I feel a terrible pain awaiting to be born. A pain made inevitable by this happiness, this perfect moment. No matter what I decide next, I will either break my oath or my heart. Nothing good will come from this love.”
He’d not believed her. “Only goodness can come from something like this. This is a love for the ages. How can you say that?”
She’d not responded. When she’d bent her head to kiss him, her black hair cascading down about their faces, her eyes had glimmered with tears.
Scorio grimaced and clenched his fists.
He needed to decide.
The battle wouldn’t wait.
Did he seek to control his forces, or trust them to react to contingencies as they appeared? Did he play the part of the disinterested general, or hurl himself at where she stood, to cut her down, exact his terrible vengeance, and then turn upon the king?
So much death.
So much ruin.
So much lost.
Scorio covered his face with his hands. Sometimes he had trouble even remembering why he fought this war. What had begun it.
But this.
This was his chance to end it all.
He simply needed to give the commands that would shape the fate of the kingdom.
Inside himself, Scorio felt a resolution form.
“Death,” he heard himself whisper. “It’s what I do best. I’ll kill the King’s Scepter then kill the king.” A sense of ease washed over him, of acceptance. “And if I die right after? Then the world will be well rid of me.”
And with that thought, the world went dark, and Scorio found himself kneeling at the center of the caldera, his shoulders still heaving, his body drenched in sweat.
He blinked, raised his head, then saw Naomi directly before him, her expression betraying a terrible fear which blossomed into joy as he smiled at her.
“I did it,” he whispered, voice a broken rasp. “I’m a Dread Blaze.”
Chapter 20
“You did?” Naomi’s voice was tremulous. “You passed your Fourth Trial?”
A memory of that Scorio returned to him, so cold and brutally hate-driven, sitting alone in his council room at the top of his moving tower. The memory made him shiver, so he pushed it away and forced a smile. “I did. There was one last door. I made my decision, and it all went away.”
She touched his arm. “It wasn’t a good memory, was it?”
“No.” He looked away then, gathering himself, and rose to his feet. “But that’s not the real me. This is. And now…”