“You must be Scorio,” she said, tone brisk, extending her hand. “Aezryna, Blood Baroness.”
Scorio shook. Her grip was strong, her palm callused. “I am.”
She considered him, brow furrowed, then smiled at Ravenna, who bowed her head and departed.
“Thank you for coming. I heard that you are but newly arrived at the Fury Spires?”
“Just a few days now.”
Her gaze was direct, probing, but a slight smile hovered on her lips. “A timely arrival. Moira indicated that you hadn’t intended to come, but that fate had other plans. You slew a Ferric Drake?”
She wandered slowly back to her desk, drawing him with her, and gestured for him to sit. One of the other Great Souls brought cups of water. She sat back, at ease, but her focus was unwavering; Scorio felt himself being devoured by her pale blue gaze. At her behest he recounted his most recent adventures, only telling her what he’d already shared with Moira, but to his surprise she wanted not just a factual account but also his impressions and opinions on what had transpired.
“I’ve been removed from the situation here in upper hell for quite some time. Do you mind if I ask you some general questions to get your sense of things?”
“Sure,” said Scorio, shifting uneasily in his seat.
“What do you make of the Gold mana trade overseen by Bravurn?”
“What do I make of it?” Scorio frowned. “It’s his creation. Or so I’ve been told. He set it up.”
“Do you think it’s right for one person to control such an influential operation?”
Scorio hesitated. He couldn’t read her at all. Was this a test? “Seeing as it wouldn’t exist without his efforts, I suppose that gives him the right to run it as he sees fit. And if anybody has a problem with it, it’d be on them to either convince him to change or take it away from him.”
“I see. And what do you make of the argument that we’re wasting our time in the upper echelons of hell with this war, and should instead be concentrating our efforts down by the Pit?”
Scorio resisted the urge to shift again in his seat. “I think it’s shortsighted.”
“How so?”
“We don’t know who will prove instrumental at the last moment. Which Great Soul might appear in our final hour to tip the tide. Abandoning the Archspire and everyone above the Lustrous Maria or whatever would be to limit our hopes to those already in deep hell, and we’ve seen how well they’ve done so far.”
Aezryna raised one brow.
Scorio’s heart was pounding. Had he gone too far?
“So it’s a pragmatic position? In keeping with the former Chancellor’s faith that a legendary Great Soul might be reborn who will make all the difference?”
“Not just pragmatic, no. I think it’s wrong to abandon thousands of Flame Vaults and Tomb Sparks and so on to their deaths, as well as the people of Bastion. If we allow those innocents to die, then how are we better than the True Fiends in the Pit?”
Aezryna nodded slowly, though whether in agreement or simply acknowledging his position Scorio couldn’t tell. “What do you think of the way the blazeborns have been treated here at the Fury Spires?”
“I’m sorry.” Scorio set his cup of water down. “What is all this about?”
“We don’t have much time, and I’m seeking to get a sense of what kind of man you are.” The Blood Baroness smiled. “Too often we make assumptions about our peers without actually asking them what they think. When I have little time, I prefer to cut to the heart of the matter. Do you mind?”
“No, it’s just…” Scorio sat back. “Direct.”
“Indeed. Would that we had days to get to know each other. But we have minutes. What do you make of the blazeborn?”
Scorio met Aezryna’s forthright stare. Was this a trap? She had to know about Nox, and this had to be a test. Did he want to pass it?
“It’s hard not to feel disgusted,” he said at last.
“You’re aware of course of how they previously treated our kind?”
“Yes. We were enemies.”
“And yet you feel pity for their current plight.” Again, there was a frustrating lack of judgment in her tone.
“I don’t think anyone should feel comfortable about massacring and enslaving intelligent creatures.”
“I see. Thank you for your candor. One last question: when did you become a Dread Blaze?”
He’d been waiting for this one, but she asked it so lightly he felt off-balance. “Yesterday.”
Her smile was bright and genuine. “Congratulations. Your swift ascension and accomplishments thus far are a compelling argument for fighting the Blood Ox.”
“So you agree with the importance of defending upper hell?”
“Would I be here if I didn’t?” Her smile grew wry. “I can’t help but observe the irony, however, in your being the agent of Praximar’s demise. Seeing as he was waiting all these last years for a legendary Great Soul to be born.”
Scorio flushed. “I’m hardly legendary. I’m a Red Lister.”
“You don’t become a legend by following the rules. I’ve always held that the creation of the Red List was a mistake. It’s nonsense to punish those born today for the crimes they committed in past lives, just as none of us are the people we witnessed in our trials.”
Scorio stared. “You really think that?”
“Being on the Red List merely tells me you are capable of independent thought and acting according your own morality. Would that more of our leaders were capable of the same.”
Scorio glanced at the other Great Souls in the room, and realized they’d all left, though he could hear muted conversations coming from the private chambers. “Can I ask you something? Have you heard of a group called the Herdsmen?”
“The Herdsmen? Yes. But where… something about…” She frowned. “Why do you ask?”
“Just a puzzle my previous incarnation left for me. It was so enigmatic I only know to ask. Do you remember anything about them?”
“A… friend, I suppose, mentioned them once. The situation was…” She pursed her lips, and for the first time he saw complex emotions enter her gaze. “The situation was too involved to explain here, but he speculated that they were responsible for the creation of all the wonders and treasures we can no longer create ourselves.”
“So with their disappearance we lost the ability to make new biers at the Academy, and so on?”
She shrugged. “That’s what he claimed. It was part of a wide-ranging conversation about the nature of hell and our role in it. He… what did he call it. He said something about a Cube, a… I haven’t thought about this in years. Did he call it the Lost Cube?” She glanced away, deep in thought. “Something like that. It was their factory, or at the very least where all the treasures were made.” She blinked, smiled, and shook her head. “If there ever was such a place it truly has been lost for centuries. I’ve never heard of anyone visiting or even sighting it.”
“Fascinating. Thank you. Can I ask who your friend was?”
Her expression turned somber. “Mazrel the Kind. He died some time ago, and hasn’t been reborn.”
“I see. I’m sorry.”
“Think nothing of it. But as we were saying: this war against the Blood Ox is worth pursuing, but won’t be won unless we Great Souls stand united. I imagine Moira has told you something of our plans.”
“That you want me to insert myself into Plassus’ team and convince him to work for you.”
“In effect. Your remarkable rise to Dread Blaze will make this plan even more effective. Don’t misunderstand me: we’re working as many angles as we can to weaken Bravurn’s influence over Plassus, but we’ve the Charnel Duke’s own paranoia and pride to wrestle with. It’s proving to be a formidable task. Hence our various approaches to uniting our forces.”