Scorio waited, was about to interrupt, when Plassus blinked and stared at him again. “What’s needed is a profound change. Let the True Fiends out, I say. All of them. Let them despoil hell and raze Bastion to the ground. And while they’re busy, our best can sneak into the Pit behind their backs and do the same.”
“But… that’d be a hollow victory, won’t it? Hell will be lost.”
Plassus exploded to his feet to tower over Scorio. “Hell is lost, you damned fool! We did our best and it wasn’t enough, and now all we can hope for is symbolic victory at any cost!”
Everybody was staring. None of them seemed particularly shocked. Probably wasn’t Plassus’ first outburst.
The Charnel Duke sank back into his throne. “Nobody wants to say it. Everybody wants to keep pretending. But what else is this war if not lost when we can’t even defeat the Blood Ox? No. The time for sweet, tricksy plans is over. Now is the time for blood. For laying sacrifices upon the altar and wresting what victories we can from our foes.”
Scorio had stopped breathing, such had been the intensity of the Charnel Duke’s displeasure, and only now did he take another sip to fortify his nerves.
Quiet conversations started back up, and Plassus sank back into his throne, eyes heavy-lidded, lower lip jutting out.
Eorox caught Scorio’s eyes and gave a sharp nod toward the exit.
Looked like the meeting was over.
Scorio slowly stood.
He’d gone from being the center of attention to feeling invisible. None of the veterans in the room were considering him any longer. His goblet was almost empty, so he drained it, then tossed it to the floor.
Plassus raised a brow as the goblet clattered on the ground, then slowly raised his face to study Scorio, his displeasure evident.
“Well.” Scorio exhaled loudly. “This was a waste of a visit. I guess everyone was correct. You’ve become a coward.”
The whole room froze.
Plassus didn’t react in the least. He simply stared at Scorio, just as before, and then slowly, oh so slowly, sat up. “What did you say?”
“I think you heard me.” Scorio met Plassus’ glare head on. “You want to go out in a big blaze of blood and death. An end. That’s what you want. An end that will allow you to die with a modicum of pride left. But it’s an escape, isn’t it? The only way you’ve got left of ending this whole charade.”
Eorox’s eyes were bulging in horror, and he was making jerky motions that Scorio should seal his mouth.
Plassus rose slowly to his feet. He was a large man, not a bear like Leonis, but powerfully built, thick in the chest, large hands, a warrior born. He stared at Scorio with such intensity that the rest of the room seemed to fall away so that only the two of them remained.
“How dare you,” hissed the Charnel Duke.
“Prove me wrong.” Scorio felt half-mad, ready to laugh, ready to die. “I challenge you to a duel. If you win, you get to kill me and clear away my insults. If I win?”
“If you win?” repeated Plassus with incredulous humor. “You? Defeat me?”
“If I win, you listen to my counsel. That’s it. I’ll make it easy on you: you won’t even be honor-bound to do as I advise. Just listen.”
“Oh, shit,” someone whispered from the back.
Plassus’ lips peeled back from his yellowed teeth. The smile was so feral it would have been right at home on the muzzle of a wolf. “Oh, but you’ve got nerves, Boy. I agree to your challenge. Not because I have any doubt over who will win, but because it’ll bring me profound satisfaction to stomp that stupid expression through the back of your head.”
Scorio resisted the urge to dry swallow.
“Because mark me welclass="underline" I will kill you. I will pull you apart as a sick child might disfigure a fly, and then, when you lie before me bleeding out of your five bloody stumps, I’ll press my finger to your brow and push it into your head as slowly as I can. Maybe then…” Plassus shuddered as his rage overcame him, his voice growing thick and clotted with fury and rising to a roar. “Maybe then fucking Dread Blazes will remember who the fuck they’re fucking talking to.”
The echoes of Plassus’ scream died away, and Scorio fought to keep his expression cool.
He wasn’t entirely sure he managed.
“Alright then.” He didn’t know what else to say. “Shall we head to the caldera?”
“Of course not.” Plassus looked like he wanted to spit. “You think you’re so important that I’ll interrupt all my other business to deal with you? I’ll send for you when it’s time. Don’t hide. Don’t make my messenger search for you. Be ready, and when it’s time for you to die, you’ll be summoned.”
“Sounds good.” Scorio couldn’t breathe. His heart was in his throat and his stomach felt rancid. He bowed low. “I look forward to the honor, Charnel Duke.”
“Get the hell out of here,” rasped Plassus, sitting back down.
Scorio did just that. He strode out, chin raised, not seeing anybody or anything but the exit tunnel. Out into the main passage, then back down its length, past the armed camp, all of whom stared at him in horror and shock.
Only when he was far away and definitely alone did he slide down the side of the tunnel to sitting and stare out at nothing, heart pounding, body prickling with sweat, mind reeling.
What had he done?
What mad instinct had seized him and urged him to throw his life away?
“Oh, fuck,” he whispered. “Oh, hell.”
Chapter 24
Scorio numbly made his way back to his rooms. His chest was tight, his thoughts scrambled, and he entertained a dozen different erratic plans before discarding them all.
Naomi was returned. That fact alone was balm for his fevered panic. Seated in the rotunda, she’d been meditating but cracked open at eye at his arrival, then immediately opened both eyes wide. “What happened?”
“I, ah, might have challenged a Charnel Duke to a duel to the death.” Scorio crossed his arms, tried for nonchalance, and failed.
“You what?” Naomi leaped out of the rotunda and was in his face a second later.
“You know Plassus? I went to speak with him. Aezryna and Moira wanted me to challenge one of his Dread Blazes so as to win his trust -”
“By the gods,” groaned Naomi, covering her face.
“No, I didn’t agree. I heard them out and went to speak with Plassus -”
“Hello?” Lianshi’s friendly call interrupted their conversation. She stood in the tunnel entrance, Leonis looming behind her. “Is this a bad time?”
“Yes,” said Naomi.
“No,” said Scorio. “Insofar as I’m a dead man, so I’m all out of time.”
“A dead man?” Leonis confusion was clear. “Oh! You’re going to die. We’re not talking to a zombie.”
“Quick as always,” said Naomi in disgust.
“Hey, it’s a big hell out there,” protested Leonis. “You don’t know the half of what we’ve seen.”
“What happened?” Lianshi entered their common room, but her manner was hesitant. “If you want to share? You obviously don’t have to.”
The sight of the four of them together was a fresh twist of the knife. This is as it should have been, should have always been. So he told them all. His conversations with Moira and Aezryna, then his meeting with Plassus.
Leonis’ eyes opened wide. “You called him a coward to his face?”
Scorio winced.
“So you actively want to die,” spat Naomi. “You deliberately chose death by Charnel Duke.”
“I - no.” Scorio raked his fingers through his hair and began to pace. “You don’t understand, the sight of him just staring off into space like that, like a victim, a self-righteous, self-pitying victim that wanted to drag everyone down with him… it infuriated me. Especially because I think I like the man.”