“Alataraxa,” Orthos offered.
[Why would you suggest that? You want to go from the easiest name in the world to one that only dragons can say?]
“It was my mother’s name.”
Dross paused for a moment. […I feel like I’m supposed to compliment the name now, but I still don’t like it.]
Orthos glared at him.
Lindon patted Little Blue on the head. “They don’t listen to me either.”
[How can we listen when she hasn’t said anything?] Dross asked.
Blue extended a hand to Orthos, and Orthos looked down to it. “What is this?” he asked.
She shook her hand impatiently.
“I think she wants to try out her grip,” Lindon suggested.
“Mm!” Blue said.
Orthos extended his right hand to grip hers. Lindon would have to give him an elixir to help his left hand recover faster.
With total concentration, Blue squeezed down.
Lindon could feel Orthos’ panic as a newborn Herald began to crush his hand. “Stronger!” he commanded again.
Then his own hand closed, and it was Blue’s turn to frown. They struggled for almost a minute, each trying to force out another ounce of strength. Space bent slightly around them, and Lindon became concerned that they could do some real damage to one another.
Blue could recover in the way of Heralds, but he was more concerned for Orthos. The Dragon Icon had no authority over healing that Lindon was aware of, and they didn’t have much time for elixirs to work.
He reached out and grabbed both wrists. “Looks like a draw, doesn’t it?”
[No! Let them fight!]
They continued to grip each other for another moment until Lindon tightened his own. “It’s a draw,” he said.
With that, they both released. Orthos flexed his hand, grumbling, but Little Blue made an excited sound and threw her arms around Orthos’ shoulders.
“What are you celebrating for?” he asked. “It was a draw!”
“Mmm!”
He hesitated before returning the embrace. “Yes. Well done.”
From their spirits, Lindon could read their feelings. Orthos was embarrassed to have only tied with Little Blue, though he had been many times her size and strength for most of their acquaintance.
Blue came from the opposite side, so she was delighted. At last, she had matched Orthos for strength.
[This is heartwarming. My heart is warmed. But didn’t we have somewhere else to be?]
Dust fell from the ceiling again as all the terrain trembled, and Lindon settled his own spirit. “That’s right. Stay behind me and do what Dross tells you to do.”
He had hoped to face down the Weeping Dragon with all seven of them, but everything had gone wrong.
Now, they’d have to try their best with four.
17
Outside Sector 30
The Void
A fragment of the Mad King floated in the endless chaos of the Void.
Somewhere nearby, and yet endlessly far away, his true self was engaging in battle with Ozriel. This version of himself was only a fragment, a skeletal copy of the Mad King left to accomplish a task.
But even a shadow of the Mad King was more than enough to dominate the collection of weak, hollow creatures arrayed before him.
He had personally arranged for Haven, the prison-world of the Abidan, to be broken open. Its inmates had spread, bringing discord to the Abidan worlds, as he’d intended. At least, most of them had.
The fragment of the Mad King had gathered these fifty individuals to him, those with potential that he could snap up before they were caught. They would be no serious threat to anyone, but under his direction, they could be a distraction and a potential poison.
Anything to cause chaos.
Some had found or made clothes for themselves, but most of the fifty hadn’t cared to do so. They still wore the simple white cloth provided to Haven prisoners.
And they glared at him, though not while they thought he could see them.
“What do you want?” one demanded through a mouthful of thick fangs. He was a ten-foot-tall humanoid animal, like a man crossed with a bear, with yellowed teeth too big for his jaws.
The Mad King remembered his file. Kash-Nagh had crafted a cursed virus that would carry his condition, turning others into bestial creatures driven only by violence and hunger. That alone would not have drawn the attention of the Abidan, except that the beast-man had cast this virus into neighboring worlds.
That had earned him a stay in Haven. The Mad King considered Kash-Nagh to be among the more promising prospects here.
Nonetheless, he drilled into the man with his fiery gaze until Kash-Nagh dropped his eyes.
“Until everyone has arrived, we wait,” the Mad King said. “If I choose never to give you instructions, you will die waiting.”
A woman let out a hissing laugh. She was hooded in white, her mouth covered in the same color, and she played with liquid shadow between her hands. “Ooohhh, scary, scary! Were we not worth your full attention, my lord?”
The Mad King favored her with an answer. “You are not.”
There was a general murmur among the prisoners. Some spoke in agreement, some in fear, some in anger, and some in shock.
Some were more experienced than others and had seen through his nature. The Witch of Kaseri was one such, an accomplished practitioner of her world’s energy system and manipulator of the Void. She felt the emptiness of the Mad King’s form.
“You can’t tell?” the Witch’s voice was mocking. She drifted up to the Mad King and patted him on the cheek. “This is a charcoal sketch. It’s half a memory. Watch this.”
She split the ink spilling between her fingers into a web. Beneath the white of her mask, she was smiling.
The Witch sunk the strings of dark ink into the substance of his being. He was somewhat familiar with how she operated. This was a working of chaotic authority, intended to subvert control over what she saw as a puppet.
No matter how strong the original Mad King was, his fragment could never have a full, living will behind it. Only whatever tiny, miniscule percentage of his willpower he had chosen to invest in its creation.
A sound theory. The Witch was wise enough to understand that he was a projection and realize the opportunity it granted her.
And foolish enough to think that gave her power over him.
The Void in which they floated was not pure darkness. Pieces of dead worlds floated all around them, contained in balls of light like vibrating, swirling stars. The nature of the Void itself tried to break down those pieces, as well as anything here that truly existed. If you knew how to sense it, the Void felt like a constant humming, as it chewed at existing beings and tried to unmake them.
The Mad King’s fragment attuned himself to that energy and then focused it on the Witch.
In a matter of a second or two, she went through several stages. First, she lost physical cohesion as the laws holding her body together broke down. Her body parts changed shape, twisting and bloating, other pieces shrinking into themselves until she was a hideous half-melted mockery difficult to recognize as having been human.
Second, she was broken down into a more conceptual state, infected by her own authority. This took the form of her body transforming into a nest of hands with dark strings attached. If she had stayed in this state and become a Fiend, she would likely be known as ‘the Puppeteer.’
But she lasted less than a second before transitioning into the third state.
She faded away to nothing.
The entire process took less than a breath, and the Witch of Kaseri screamed the entire time.
It did not help her.
The Mad King looked away from her and continued waiting. This time, the remaining forty-nine prisoners stayed just as silent as he was.
At last, two more prisoners arrived, shoved into the Void by Silverlords who nodded their respect to the Mad King and left, their task complete.