“I am not joking,” he said.
Malkior looked at him. “It’s been a long while since anybody threatened me. Now it has happened twice in the space of twenty-four hours. First Asea, now you. I find the situation refreshing.”
“I have seen a number of belly wounds,” said Rik conversationally. “The deaths were never easy.”
“I do believe you are my son, Rik. I could not have said that better myself.”
“Then you also know I mean it.”
“I do. But consider the situation. You shoot me in the belly, possibly fatally, and what do you get? An unpleasant death at the hands, or I should say tentacles, of my aquatic associates.”
“I would get the satisfaction of killing you. I expect my own death anyway.”
“Then why not shoot?” If Malkior intended to call Rik’s bluff, he made a mistake. Rik pulled the trigger. The gun sounded as loud as a cannon in the confined space. Much to Rik’s surprise it actually worked despite the damp. Malkior staggered backwards, blood pumping from his belly. His face twisted in a rictus of pain then he laughed again.
“Very good, Rik. You are quite vicious enough to be one of my brats.” He straightened, and an odd green glow entered his eyes. The shadows around him curdled and whispered. There was a chinking noise and the bullet erupted from his stomach and rolled across the floor. Malkior opened his shirt and Rik could see that the flesh of his belly had already started to knit back together again.
“I cannot be killed by bullets, Rik. I am not entirely sure I can be killed at all. Certain… modifications were made a long time ago. Perhaps your patron should have told you that before she set you on me.”
“How would she know?”
“Asea knows a lot of things, as she made clear to both of us the other night. She made it perfectly clear that she suspects me of the murder of the Old Queen.” He gave a sly smile. “Quite correctly as it turns out.”
“So you did kill Amarielle, just as you killed my mother.”
“This business about your mother really upsets you, doesn’t it? Who was she? I am afraid I have quite forgotten her.”
“A Sorrow street girl you tortured to death in one of your rituals.” Malkior paused and appeared to consider for a moment.
“That one, of course. The dates would be about right. Well, I have to say I am sorry now that I know about you. If only she had told me, she might have saved her life. She might have saved yours as well. That was damned inconsiderate of her.” The mockery in Malkior’s voice was enraging, exactly as he intended it to be.
“Perhaps she thought she was saving me from you.”
“Well if that’s the case, she failed, didn’t she?”
“You are a bastard, aren’t you?”
“There’s no need to be rude, Rik. You are not going to be sharing my secrets with anybody, and I find it quite refreshing to be honest with someone after all this time. This will be our only chance for a father and son chat. Anyway, to business; I have a few questions to ask you, and I would really rather not get blood on these nice furs, so I trust you will spare us both the unpleasantness of having me torture you. It would ruin the magic of the moment for me.”
“Fuck you,” Rik said. Even before the words were out of his mouth, there was a very long, very sharp knife in Malkior’s hand.
“I can’t kill you, and I can’t use any magic that will damage your mind. Our hosts here would not like that, but I can think of a number of options that you really would not enjoy. I beg you not to make me use them. Salty water and flayed flesh are an extremely unpleasant combination.”
Despite his languid tone, Rik had absolutely no doubt that Malkior would flay him alive. Asea had taught him spells that would blank out pain, but there was a limit to what they could do, and he did not wish Malkior to know about his training. It was one of the few tiny advantages that remained to him.
“I will make you a deal,” he said eventually.
“You are not really in a position to do so, but I find myself in a generous mood. Speak your proposition and I will give you my answer.”
“I will answer your questions honestly if you will answer mine.” Malkior’s smile seemed genuine.
“Why not?” he said. “Tell me about the Serpent Tower. What happened there?”
“I do not know you will keep your side of the bargain, and I have no power to enforce it so I would prefer it if you answered my questions first.”
“If you are delaying in the hope of some last-minute rescue, you are deluded. No one is coming.”
“I believe you. However I am curious.”
“Very well. We have time. Ask away.”
“Do you really serve the Princes of Shadow?”
“Yes, I do.”
“They exist then.”
“Yes, they do.”
“Why do you serve them?”
“Technically, that is your third question without answering any of mine, but I will let that slide. I serve them because they granted me power and immortality and the means to gain revenge on my enemies. And for other, more sentimental reasons.”
“You are a Terrarch. You already had power and immortality.”
“Things were not quite as your people were led to believe on Al’Terra, Rik.” Malkior sounded thoughtful. “Our magic was fading, our immortality vanishing with it. The Princes of Shadow offered us the means to reverse that process. The High Council rejected their offer. Some of us thought them foolish to do so.”
“Why?” Again Malkior looked thoughtful. Rik composed himself to listen well. He had found that sometimes that was all it took to get people to speak, and every word he got Malkior to speak was one more heartbeat he did not have to face the knife. He was not yet ready to encounter death.
“The Council rejected the Princes’ knowledge on moral grounds. It involved a certain amount of what might be called vampirism.”
“Thanatomancy?” It was the ability to devour the life force of sentient beings and use it to power spells.
“Aha — Asea has been teaching you forbidden things — how very naughty of her. Yes, thanatomancy. They felt that it would be better if we all died off together rather than having the strong survive and prosper.”
“Perhaps they feared the justice of God.”
“There is no God, Rik. There is no Hell. There are no punishments for sin. Believe me, if God punished sinners, every single Terrarch on the face of this planet would be dead, starting with your beloved Asea.” Malkior sounded a little sad as he said it, almost as if he wished that it were not the case. He sighed and when next he spoke his voice was stronger and more certain. “They were against us because of their taboos, Rik. They thought what we did a species of cannibalism, and I suppose they were right, but when you are desperate enough you find that there are many taboos you can put aside.
“Of course, things are different now. Then all we had to devour were each other. Now we have a whole new world full of a species that can barely be described as sentient.”
Rik was surprised to find he was still capable of being shocked. “Humans?”
“Indeed. It’s amazing how that one little change makes such a huge difference. I made certain knowledge available in the East by various subtle means, and now every second rate necromancer who has his own private estate is about it. Thanatomancy is one of the reasons Sardea will win this war. Its sorcerers have become very strong indeed.”
“You are going to use the human race as cattle?”
“Can you think of a better use for them?” Malkior looked up and there was a glint of humour in his eyes. “Anyway, I think I have answered enough of your questions. Tell me what happened in the Serpent Tower?”
Rik told him, honestly and completely, leaving nothing out. Malkior paused to consider this. “You know, I believe you, but even if you are lying the Quan will get the truth. Your question.”
He seemed almost to be enjoying the game now. Rik found he was curious about his heritage.
“Were you born a Shadowblood?”