Aezryna’s stare was as direct and searching as ever. “I must admit grave disappointment, Scorio. To throw away your life like this. I can’t fathom your motives.”
“I am in all things inscrutable.” Scorio smiled. “Or maybe my enemies are right, and I’m just a destructive idiot.”
“That line won’t work with us,” said Moira, her eyes heavy-lidded as she studied him. “I wish you’d take us into your confidence. We could be powerful allies. You know this.”
“It’s too late for regrets,” said Charoth, raising one hand. “The man stands on the precipice of death. He’s not the first of our kind to die for a principle. A pity the Archspire will be destroyed before you return.”
“You never know,” said Scorio. “I might just win this thing.”
“Ha!” Charoth grinned, his teeth a vivid white, and his gaze flashed. “Stranger things have happened, but I won’t hold my breath. I doubt even I could last long against Plassus in direct combat. But you? Hold fast to that hope. And if you die, I’ll salute your corpse and see to it that you are buried with what honors you’ve earned.”
Aezryna glanced in amusement at her companion. “You’ve just met the man, and already you’re eulogizing him?”
“What can I say?” Charoth’s stare was unsettling. “I am a romantic.”
“Fight with honor,” said Aezryna. “Maybe your example will inspire others.”
“Inspire them to not throw their lives away,” said Moira. “But fine. Do as you think best. I’m… never mind.”
“Strength,” said Charoth. “If you can make the old man break a sweat before he destroys you, then you’ll have earned a true victory.”
“Thanks,” said Scorio, and felt a wave of relief as the trio and their hangers-on turned to go. He ignored Ravenna’s attempt to make eye contact and turned back to his friends.
Others were arriving. The Iron Tyrant appeared in his balcony, Amity, Valdun, and a handful of Dread Blazes with the Iron Vanguard’s insignia on their breasts lining up behind him. The walls were crowded with what had to be Flame Vaults and below, while ever more people pushed into the windows and balconies above.
Scorio searched for some sign of Naomi. Surely she would come?
“Good luck.” Lianshi’s eyes gleamed with tears. “This is ridiculous. I barely know you yet I feel like someone precious is being torn out of my life.”
“Better luck next time,” whispered Scorio, fighting down the bitterness.
“There will be no next time.” Leonis’ tone was firm. “You only come back once a century, don’t you?”
“Maybe this time I’ll make an exception.”
“Still. It’s a blasted waste. You returning next year as a Char.” Leonis shook his head, expression disgusted. “But it’s your life to throw away.”
“Leonis,” protested Lianshi.
“He knows I’m right. Tell me you don’t regret insulting that Charnel Duke, Scorio. Look me in the eyes and tell me you’re glad to throw your life away.”
Scorio stared up into Leonis’ brown eyes. “Glad? No. But I don’t regret it. I trust my instincts.”
“Too bad they’re so suicidal.”
“No.” Scorio knew his smile had to be ghastly. “Plassus’ self-pity and madness has to be checked or it’ll consume thousands and damn upper hell. Maybe I’ll fail, but maybe I’ll also find a way to change his mind. There’s only one way to find out.”
“Maybe?” Leonis’ smile was a sneer. “There’s boldness, and then there’s delusion. I think your particular flavor is clear.” And he walked away.
“I’m sorry,” said Lianshi. “He’s been… different, since we broke up.”
“You left him?”
“Yes. It’s why we came to your chambers earlier. I wanted to tell you, and he insisted on coming. He blames you, for some reason. He knows we talked, and that you encouraged me to talk to Juniper.”
“I’m guessing that went well?”
Lianshi blushed, ducked her head, then squeezed her eyes shut in sudden remorse. “Why in the hells am I telling you about my love life when you’re -”
“Lianshi.” Scorio laughed. “There’s nothing else I’d rather hear right now.”
“Then - yes. It went well. She’s so different, so much more mature, but she’s still… it went well.”
“I’m happy for you.” Scorio looked over as Charnel Duke Plassus entered the caldera. “Make the most of every second, alright? Do me that favor. Live as if every moment might be your last.”
“Good luck, Scorio.” Lianshi squeezed his arm, but instead of returning to the crowd she just moved to stand a little behind him.
For that, Scorio was more grateful than he could ever express.
Plassus entered like a king. He wore a cloak of white fur over a set of slate blue training robes. Relaxed, his expression one of temperate good humor, he moved forward slowly, looking about and pointing out select individuals, raising his palm in return to called out greetings, in no rush to meet Scorio in the center of the open floor.
Conversation peaked then died down as Plassus finally came to a stop before Scorio. The man’s mane of hair was freshly washed, his gaze clear, his manner steadied and firm.
For a moment they simply studied each other, and then Plassus half-turned away to address their audience which had swollen to several hundred strong. “Greetings, all of you! I am, as you might know, Charnel Duke Plassus, leader of our armed resistance against the True Fiend the Blood Ox. For several years now I’ve fought this foe, and though my battles have been hard fought, the enemy has simply been too strong. A True fucking Fiend! How are we, mere Charnel Dukes or less, supposed to fight such a bastard?”
He grimaced and shook his head dolefully. “But we’ve fought. We’ve wet the white sands of the Bone Plains with precious blood. We’ve slain fiends by the tens of thousands, and now we stand on the verge of a return. I see you there, Charoth, aye, and I’ve heard of your exploits. You, too, Aezryna. So kind of the Seamstress in all her beneficent wisdom to send us a couple of Blood Barons to handle this threat.”
Charoth inclined his head with a good-humored smile, but even from where he stood Scorio could feel the waves of menace radiating off the man.
“But into the midst of this bedlam has arrived this young man, Scorio, a Red Lister, a murderer, a blackguard and self-styled truth speaker.” Plassus rounded on him brows raised as if appraising him for the first time. “And you know what? He immediately declared himself an expert on this war, and of sufficient bloody experience to judge my character. Given where we’re standing right now, you’ll be shocked to learn he found me wanting. Alas. His words cut me to the fucking quick. I near wept when I learned I didn’t have his approval, but then I thought to myself: Plassus. You don’t need to cry. You can just gently teach him the error of his ways by tearing his fucking head off.”
Laughter rang out from around the caldera.
Scorio made no response, but stood, hands on his hips, lips pursed into the slightest of frowns.
“So here we are.” Plassus’ voice dropped to a near whisper. “Just you and me, Boy. But I’m grown soft in my old age. If you kiss my feet and publicly apologize at sufficient length, I’ll let you walk away with only a mild thrashing.”
The entire caldera seemed to hold its breath. Scorio held Plassus’ mocking gaze and forced himself to breathe slowly.
“That’s very kind of you, my lord.” He pitched his voice to carry, and while he lacked Plassus’ theatrical skills, he only cared for being heard. “But I meant what I said. If you refuse to join forces with Aezryna and Charoth, and insist instead on purposefully leading your people to their deaths, then you’re weak. You’re a coward, and a fool.”
Plassus grinned and winked. “Good. Now I can end your life without remorse.”
“How long’s it been since you were able to look yourself in the mirror? Maybe killing a Dread Blaze will make that easier for you.”