“Monarch?” Yerin repeated. “You’re not—”
She scanned his spirit and froze. He wasn’t a Monarch, but she hadn’t felt the details of his spirit through whatever the Void Icon was doing to veil him.
“What are you?” she asked. Then she turned to see his eyes.
He scratched the side of his face uncertainly. The white circles of his eyes shifted here and there. “Apologies,” he said for a second time. “I didn’t expect the physical effects, or I’d have warned you.”
“I wasn’t after you for your eye color.” She levitated to kiss him, but after only an instant she pulled back again. “But it is just the eyes, right?”
[And the arm!] Dross said cheerily. [So far!]
Lindon rapped him with a knuckle. “That’s it.” He looked out over Redmoon Hall, who were shrinking back in fear. “We do need to go. The other Monarchs might be on their way.”
“Yeah,” Yerin said, “catch me up a step. Why are the Monarchs and Dreadgods after us?”
[We’d tell you if we could,] Dross said. [Although I’ve prepared a substitute presentation and three-act play that I think will give you as much of the general situation as I’m allowed to—]
“Oh, so it’s about the Monarchs letting the Dreadgods stick around. I’ll pass that to the others.”
Lindon looked gratifyingly surprised, but Dross deflated.
[Okay, that’s…sure. That’s just as much fun.]
19
Vroshir Homeworld: Tal’gullour
Daruman, the Mad King, stood silently in the center of his fortress Tal’gullour.
Though it was called a fortress, his home was larger than most habitable planets, with billions of souls living out their lives here, under his protection. He saw them only on his monitors, when he chose to look.
He couldn’t witness their lives for himself. Stepping out of his sealed chambers, even extending his senses beyond these walls, would condemn many of them to death. The weight of his existence was too much to bear.
Daruman’s chambers, therefore, were like a self-sufficient city of stone hallways. Complex workings or intricate machinery broke down around him, so there were no windows opening onto other worlds or robotic servants, but nonetheless he had everything he could require.
His servitors were masses of flesh, living robots molded like rough clay to vaguely resemble servants. They scurried here and there, mutating slightly under the pressure of Oth’kimeth, the Fiend inside him, but the servants were made to resist such pressures.
They cooked meals in case he wanted something hot, cleaned corridors, and maintained basic devices. Even simple gears and pulleys might break down after too long exposed to his chaos.
Daruman scanned them with only a thought, to ensure that the servitor population was thriving and that there were no problems he could address. Oth’kimeth the Conqueror examined them too, and was displeased.
Failure, the Fiend complained. We have failed.
From the wider perspective of the Vroshir, their alliance of world-striding liberators who opposed the Abidan, their operation had succeeded beyond anyone’s wildest expectations. Even now, there were celebrations across every Vroshir homeworld, as new populations and resources made it back to roost.
Even on Amorenthus, where the Reaper had struck. He’d damaged their defenses and struck fear into their populace, but that was only a slight damper on the world-wide holiday.
That world, and many others—including Daruman’s Tal’gullour—had received the loot of many worlds.
Now, there were new species of plants and animals that the people had never seen before. New sources and patterns of energy, new works of entertainment. Fresh blood into the populace, often including sub-species of humanity that had developed on different worlds.
All taken from the Abidan.
With the Abidan system in shambles, their worlds were ripe for the taking. Between now and when they crumbled to chaos, they were essentially piles of treasure for the Vroshir to pick through.
Daruman watched scenes of joy and celebration on the wall of monitors in front of him. This cheered him normally, though it took as much control as he could muster to keep the electronic screens from exploding.
This time, he agreed with Oth’kimeth.
They had failed.
And when he could avoid it no longer, he projected his will to the servitors, who deactivated the monitors. Only then did he stretch out his powers and look to the future.
He did not have the same philosophy the Abidan did.
While the Abidan read the Way and bowed to the current patterns of Fate, Daruman wrestled destiny and bent it to his own will. He created the future he wanted and projected it in front of himself, and he saw it spin out.