Conflict of aspects

The hooded figure knelt upon the windswept battlements, hidden within the shadows cast by the pale moon. In silence he watched the empty streets below, waiting, and after several hours, impatience was beginning to creep up on him. The hours passed and one by the one, the torches that illuminated the dark and empty streets burned out.

It was near dawn, when the morning star hung suspended in the sky when the watcher’s waiting came to an end. A tall figure cloaked in the colour of night emerged from one of many narrow alleys and stood beneath an ancient stone arch, a remnant from the days of empire. The hooded figure stood there. It too, was waiting.

A few moments later, a third figure detached from another set of shadows and approached the one who stood beneath the arch. Words were whispered, too quiet to be heard, even in the silence. It mattered little for he knew what was being said anyway. Gestures were made and several items exchanged hands, including a leather pouch that contained a king’s ransom in gold and precious stones. The two separated and walked away in opposite direction, one towards the wall and the other towards the heart of the city.

Upon the battlements, the watcher smiled in satisfaction. Hearing the echoing of footsteps behind him, he turned around to address the approaching figure ascending the stone steps.

“He accepted then.” the watcher observed to his new companion.

“That he did, even though I doubt this course of action.” replied his companion, throwing back his hood to reveal the deceptively young face of a man barely into the third decade of his life, blond, handsome and charming in the way that nobles were reputedly supposed to be. A minor noble in the expanding empire of Davesca, his land supposedly won through secret services to the crown.

His companion stood up and the moonlight revealed his features that were, in contrast to his companion a great deal less unpleasant. It wasn’t the features themselves but in the expression in which they often found themselves in that proved to be less than pleasing. Staring at his blonde companion, the watcher voiced his doubts.

“Why? When all is said and done, he is family. Is sending assassins after him the right thing to do?”

“He’s family,” mimicked the watcher. “I’m sure that would be of great comfort when you tell that to Lust. What about Hope? Or maybe Hate. Oh wait, you can’t CAN YOU?” the last said with a cry that echoes off the streets and set the dogs barking.

His brother shut up. The three named members of their family had disappeared in the last few decades and all signs pointed towards another member of their family, one who they had every reason to distrust.

“Besides,” The watcher added, having somewhat calmed down, “I would be severely disappointed if he fell under the knives of these mortal fools. Despite his treachery, duplicity is family, and that makes him one of the most powerful beings on this world. He is also aptly named, as slippery as a snake.” This was said from personal experience. Both remained silent for a moment. Envy gestured into the air and a rent opened up beside them, allowing him to step through. Honor followed and strode through the gate after Envy nodding to himself. The assassin would be a warning. Duplicity would answer to his crimes before the family.

*********************************

Damien walked away from the meeting, scroll in one hand, and a leather bag containing a fortune in the other, slightly confused and suspicious as hell. He knew there was something he wasn’t being told. General his backside, no general’s death warranted this much attention or gold, not even from the officers facing him across the battlefield. He hefted the pouch again and felt its weight, hearing the gold and stones clink against each other. Not even a king was worth this much.

Damien was more than suspicious when he discovered the note left on the desk in his home, directing him to meet beneath old imperial arch in the merchants’ quarter. He had fully intended to demand answers from his mysterious would be employers, but when the man arrived (he was sure it was a man, and from the way he moved, most likely a noble.) he held his tongue and swallowed everything the man had told him as if they were the absolute truth. For some inexplicable reason, he felt that the man who met him under that arch was a man of honor, despite nearly twenty years of experience to the contrary. Damien even neglected to mention the man hiding in the battlement! Yet his rings told him that no magery was active.

Damien hurried along the road briskly, eager to leave the city. His home had been discovered and thus, it was time to move, and plan the next step. Despite his misgiving, such gold was simply too much to pass up. With this, he would be able to buy a title of nobility and an estate, allowing him to retire. Sure he would miss the game, but he had hopes of becoming old. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Damien rushed home, to destroy all traces of his presence before he disappeared gain.



**********************************

The travelling musician stopped to view the battlefield. The victors had already moved on, leaving behind the dead to the scavengers who had feasted until they were bloated. Ravens circled what had once been a peaceful green field, now a scene of appalling slaughter. Nature disposed of the dead in the same way, indiscriminate of rank or allegiance, driving home the truth that in death, all men are equal.

Crows took flight as the musician walked purposely into the field of death and moments later settled elsewhere to continue their meal. The musician took this as a good sign, that these corpses were reasonably fresh and their souls might still linger here, lost and purposeless before they find the path of souls.

Wrath came to what he felt was the centre of the battlefield and stopped. Unslinging the violin he always carried from his shoulders and took a deep breath to mentally prepare and began to play. It was a mournful song of heart wrenching loss and bitter betrayal, of soldiers dying alone upon the battlefields, far from their homes and loved ones, betrayed by their commanders who did not even see fir to busy them, of the news that would reach their beloved ones of their death. It was a song that he had learnt from sorrow a century ago and while wrath could not play it to the same effect as sorrow, it was enough.

A few soldiers who still clung to life despite being dead to all outwards appearances lost their will to fight and drifted into death. The leaves and the grass rustled in the small breeze, as if the spirits of the already dead soldiers wept. 

Beads of sweat flowed down wrath’s face as he continued to play, oblivious to the world, his concentration fully upon the song.

Then the sound changed, slowly at first, but more and more quickly, becoming powerful and almost strident. Wrath was playing his own music now, with all of his abilities and his entire skill. Anger crept into the music, anger that quickly blossomed into rage. Their lives thrown away by incompetent officers, the betrayal by their comrades who left them to rot, the knowledge that one day their loved ones will move on and forget them and a hundred other grievances against the living. What had been a breeze exploded into a howling wind as the dead raged against the living.

The song came to an end and wrath nearly collapsed, such was his exhaustion. Instead of resting, he packed up the violin and quickly left the battlefield despite his weariness. At first nothing happened. Then the scavengers suddenly fled, the wolves scampered back into the safety of the forest and the ravens took flight and wheeled into the distance. They knew what was to come.

Silence.

Slowly, the corpses, some half consumed, others nothing but bare bones, stirred. Fingers loosened by death tightened their grips upon swords and spears as an unholy light sparked into life behind dead eyes, framed by bone. It was not necromancy that wrath worked upon these fallen soldiers. It was not sorcery, but something even older. He had invoked the core of their being and fanned into flames the rage and hatred they held against the living.

As some distance behind him the undead rose from where they had fallen, infused with an infinite rage against the living, wrath barked a laugh to the world. He had nearly prostrated himself attempting this, but it would be worth it. These undead would be unaffected against exorcisms and other dispelling spells. He smirked. The emperor was going to have a lot of fun dealing with this problem.

****************************************



Daniel regained consciousness but did not open his eyes, terrified of what he would see. Eyes firmly closed in what deep down he realized as an act of futility, Daniel tried to determine where he was by touch alone. The cold hard surface behind and beneath him revealed that he sat on the ground, leaning against what in most likelihood was a wall. His outstretched hands encountered something wet and recoiled instinctively. Reaching out tentatively once more, Daniel recognized it as blood. Swallowing heavily, Daniel opened his eyes.

The room had once been the taproom of an inn. Now it more resembled a slaughterhouse, with crimson splattered over every surface. What had no doubt been the patrons slumped over tables and chairs, pale and stiff, obviously dead. Judging by the expressions of terror frozen on their faces, none of them died pleasantly. Taking a deep wavery breath, Daniel tried to climb to his feet despite shaking hands. It was not the death surrounding him that terrified him so, but what was to come.

Standing upright, Daniel took a single step before the memory hit him with almost a physical force, slamming him against the wall.

It had been a roadside inn. He had been drinking. Water. Never alcohol. One of the patrons said something about him. Laughter. Something else was said. More laughter. Tried to leave. Blocked by drunks. Breathing deep. Tried to control anger. Was Pushed. Stumbled. More laughter. Took deep breathes. Failed. Rage. Knives in hand. Anger. Slashed. Throats opened. Threw. Men died. More knifes. More death. Fury. Guards. More death. Laughter. No more people. Tired. Rage gone. Rest.

The violent memories left him clinging to the stone wall for support and gasping for breath. How many died this time? How many died because he could not control his anger? How many more – Daniel shook his head and shunted aside such thoughts. There were things to be done. Quickly he washed the blood off himself, and changed into his spare clothing and drenched himself in beer. Clean and the smell of blood disguised, he splashed the rest within the inn and set it alight. Then he left, fleeing down the road, escaping from his crimes.

*********************************************



“I want them found!” roared the emperor of Davesca as the servants cowered in the background. His generals however, stood their ground, long used to the emperor’s bluster. They knew that only when he became quiet and completely focused was the emperor dangerous, and then only to those he perceived as enemies.

“Sir, it’s not that easy,” replied an admiral. The emperor preferred to be addressed as an officer by his soldiers. He was once a soldier himself. “We don’t know which direction they fled in. they could have gone anywhere.”

“Our scryers can’t find them either, your majesty,” added a high mage. “The scrying pool just explodes whenever they try.”

“Sir, we have to assume that whoever is backing them, there is serious power involved. The palace guard is incorruptible. The only way they could have gained access is via gates.”

“Don’t you people ever listen to us mages?” said the high mage, turning to the one who just spoke but addressing all the others present. “You can’t gate into the palace. Do you know how many layers of wards are present? It would be -” the emperor held up a hand and signified for him to stop.

There was silence the emperor as the emperor considered the problem. Assassins had managed to penetrate the palace in an attempt to kill him. That didn’t particularly concern him. There were legions of people who sought his death. What disturbed him was the ease with which they entered the palace. It spoke of planning and some heavy backers. And that worried him. How else might they seek to interfere with his empire? He made a metal note and came to a decision.

“We do nothing. We wait and let them try again. This time, we will be ready.”

“Sir!” the generals protested and the emperor took note of those who protested either too much or did so halfheartedly. Another mental note added.

“That’s’ enough.” The protestations ceased. “Now,” said the emperor, his attention turning to other matters, “how goes the Dentherk campaign?”

“Very well sir. My reports indicate that….”

As the general presented his reports, backed up by the information from the spies and scryers, the emperor’s attention drifted. Everything was coming together nicely. Once Dentherk and the stubborn members of his family behind the scenes there were swept away, the world would be his for the taking. Greed smiled, satisfied for now.

*******************************

Footsteps echoed down the dark corridor, broken only by the occasional drips of water from an unknown source. No light except for that thin beam at the end of the corridor, shining through from beneath the locked door. Unlocking that unbreakable door with the key that only he possessed, General Nathan Ducas of the Denthark imperial army stepped into the vast underground chamber, careful to close the door behind him.

Sweeping his eyes around the chamber, Nathan smiled with genuine pleasure. He had constructed this chamber over the course of a century, with care and precision, and it showed. The word chamber would be a misnomer, for a better world would be hall. A great hall that stretched out in all directions, illuminated by spheres of bright light that hung suspended from the ceiling.

In the centre stood a dozen gigantic pillars, each carved of a single massive block of granite. At the foot of each pillar sat a throne, intricately carved and each unique from the others. Currently three of those thrones were occupied; it is only open closer examination that one realizes these three were in fact chained to their thrones, the occupation not by choice.

One of Nathan’s captives, a blonde woman of stunning beauty looked up as he approached and smiled seductively. It was a smile that men had once gone to war to possess, causing the second cataclysm. If he was a normal red blooded man, Nathan thought, he would be trying to break those chains with his bare hands at this very moment, just for her to smile at him again.

The other two prisoners also stirred.

“Stow it,” one growled. “I really hate it when you do that.” 

The woman pouted. Usually enough to get men declaring eternal love and devotion, unfortunately it didn’t work on family. Lust knew this, but old habits die hard.

The other man cracked open an eyelid. “have you come to free us duplicity?”

“Does it look like he’s come to free us?” Hate snarled before calming himself with a deep breath. “Apologies, but your useless optimism is wearing thin.”

“Being optimistic costs no price, my brother.” Hope replied mildly.

“Can the two of you not rehash that old argument and listen to the man? I don’t know about the two of you, I am weary of sitting here, chained to this ugly throne.”

“Unfortunately, I must disappoint you, dear sister. Your continued and very active support of greed and his dreams of empire would be a very unpleasant for some of us.”

“I don’t believe you,” hate answered. “You were doing well enough against Greeds armies. I know for a fact that Sorrow and wrath and actively assisting you. Together, those two are able to neuter whatever influence we can bring to bear, not to mention that Hope here was neutral in our little familial conflict.” He shook his head. “Add in the fact that every time you come here, you take samples of our blood or hair. No, you have something else in mind. something that directly affects us.”

“Now that is just insulting. I take the samples to check how you guys are. Whaever else you may think, you are family.” Nathan replied, one of his standard replied to an accusation that he was lying. “I fear I must take my leave before you accuse me of anything else,” he produced a knife and took a handful of hair from each of them. They knew better than to resist, a futile said before leaving the hall.

Having done what he came to do, Duplicity inserted each sample into a small glass vial that disappeared into his coat. He turned and left, ignoring the silent glares his siblings threw him as he left. Closing the door behind him, Nathan berated himself for his idiocy. Hate is a lot sharper than he looks, to be able to suspect something this quickly. Then again, that’s the reason he took the risks of eliminating Hate from the proceedings at the first opportunity.

Nathan exited reached the end of the tunnel and heaved open the door and climbed out from what to out appearances seemed to be another grave in the royal tomb. He dusted himself off and straightened his uniform. He had other things to do: wars to plan, experiments to perform and an audience with the Queen to attend. He a genuine smile of pleasure stole over his face at the last thought.



*********************************



“I hate this job.” The rider took a swig from his hip flask and breathed in satisfaction as the alcohol warmed him against the cold winter air. He turned and offered it too his companion, who gratefully accepted.  “All this riding around with nothing to show for it except a sore backside.”

“What are you complaining about?” the other rider asked, gesturing to the seeping plains that stretched to the horizon. “Would you ever be able to see something as grand as this stuck in the barracks? It’s a sight that only being a scout could give you.” He took a swig from the flask and nearly dropped the metal container. “And a hell of an alcohol tolerance,” he gasped as the fiery liquor burned down his throat, “where do you get this stuff?”

“Distill it myself from potatoes.” Dorian replied with some pride. “Took me a few years to get the distillery set up, but it’s entirely worth it. As soon as my term of service ends, I’m thinking of selling this stuff.”

“Good luck with that,” Lewis managed to say before bursting into a fit of coughing. Dorian had to thump his friend on the back before he managed to regain his breath.

The two of them sat upon their horse in silence and gazed around the small hill they had been resting on. Their breaths rose as plumes of steam, dissipated by the slight breeze that came and went.

“Guess there is nothing here. Time to head to the next –“

“Wait. Do you hear that?” Lewis suddenly asked.

The two of them strained their ears. A dull, continuous thumping sound could be heard, a sound that that had been steadily increasing in volume. Being military men, both recognized the synchronized sounds of an army on the march, but could not tell from which direction it came from. Until their banners and flags rose above the small rise as the army marched into view.

“It’s our army,” Lewis exclaimed with relief. “Had me worried there.” Then he frowned as more of the army and their standards came into view.  “Wait a minute, is that the valderk army?”

“Oh no, this is not good.” Dorian groaned when he looked through his farsight. “You were right. It’s ours and theirs, though they march together because they are all undead.”

Lewis extended his and swore at the sight. “Why the hell is there undead here?” he watched as rows upon rows of skeletal figures marched with discipline of their past lives as soldiers, wearing the uniforms they had died in, imperials marching aside valderkan, old enmities forgotten in favor of their new enemy – the living. Companies of cavalry flanked their sides, as ordered as the infantry, undead horses moving with their riders as one.

“This isn’t right,” Dorian exclaimed in shock at the ordered sight. “How is this even possible? No necromancer alive can make the dead march like this. Have you ever seen anything like this?”

“Never,” Lewis lied, shaking his head.

As if they heard them, the undead all paused and turned towards them, empty sockets staring directly at them. As if on one thought, a detachment of cavalry, the horses as lifeless as their riders, peeled away from that massive army and sped towards them.

“Time to get out of here.” The two of them turned their mounts and fled, both for their lives and to warn baresca garrison that the dead were coming.

Though their horses were the fastest and most nimble of the Baresca garrison, their living steeds were no match for the tireless undead that kept running. Lewis scattered a handful of caltrops behind them as they ran, but Caltrops meant nothing to horses that felt no pain; that kept running despite broken legs.  It wasn’t very long before the undead were almost breathing down their necks, if the dead breathed.

It wasn’t long before Their horses were exhausted and had almost stopped when the wind brought the musty, rotted smell of the undead. Fear had lent them second wind, but even that was fading.

“Keep going,” Lewis roared at Dorian over the wind, the drumming of hooves and their horses gasping for breath. “Get to the keep at all costs. I’ll hold them off.”

Dorian didn’t protest. There was nothing to be said – at the end of the day, they were both professionals and Lewis had drawn the short straw that morning.  He just set his mouth into a grim line and kept riding while Lewis reined his horse around and prepared to fight and buy him time.

Lewis drew his sword and waited for the riders. He didn’t have to wait long.

The skeletal officer that led then pulled his horse up to a halt. In silence, the company of undead cavalry observed the lone horseman that stood in their path. For a moment, the world was still and silence reigned. The officer suddenly leaned back a little; the red glow in the empty sockets that passed for eyes dimmed a little and flickered in confusion.

“Scout Lewis, this is a surprise.” The voice was a hollow one that echoed with the despair and rage that sent shivers down his spine. “We never imagined that you were one of us.” a hand beckoned to him. “Join us then. We can take our revenge upon the living together.” At the same time, a few riders made as if to pass him, to ride down Dorian and prevent him from informing the fort.

This would not do. Lewis moved. His sword flashed in a silver arc and the three riders pitched from their saddles, their horses unable to stand with only three legs each.

“Very well,” the officer echoed – a regretful sound. “Destroy him.”

*********************************

“My lord king, I have a message here from high mage balekin.” Greed looked up as the messenger spoke and immediately narrowed his eyes in suspicion. He was just another messenger, one of many, but now there was a feeling of something about this man that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Something familiar about the way he moved and spoke…

Suddenly he had it. “Everybody out,” greed roared, leaping off his throne. “but not you,” he said, pointing at the messenger, who quailed under this sudden attention from the king. “Everybody but you.” All the soldiers, guards, servants, petitioners and advisors scurried from the throne room. The click as the door last one shut the door behind him was clearly audible in the silence.

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice,” greed hissed. “Did you think you could take one of my people and I wouldn’t know?”

“It appears that I have overplayed my hand,” the messenger replied mildly, the meek servile man from moments before suddenly replaced by a quiet confident one that addressed the emperor as they were equals. “As for not noticing, I’ve had him at least a few months. A pity it couldn’t last any longer.”

“How dare you.”

“Since when did greed care for mortals?” the messenger asked, curiosity piqued.

“I don’t, but he was mine. Mine!”

“Ah, yes, I had forgotten about your acquisitive nature. One of the many reason we oppose you.”

“Who are you? Which one are you? Which one of my family are you? Envy? Wrath? Sorrow?”

At the last name, the messenger smiled.

“So, sorrow. Then you are not really here.” Greed leaned relaxed back into his throne. “Then you pose me no danger, aside from spying. You want to do it yourself or are you going to make me?”

“Allow me,” sorrow replied, finding for himself a half empty glass of wine. He sprinkled a white powder into it and stirred light with his finger before downing the entire contents, poison and all.

“Tell me though, what gave him to you? A lost father, a dead lover, parents?”

“A dead wife. She contacted a wasting disease a year ago and died recently. This man felt he had nothing to live for. It wasn’t difficult to cut the tethers of his soul and bind his body to me. You can protect their bodies, but you can’t protect their hearts from grief and sorrow.”

“It constantly amazes me that duplicity has anyone beside him at all. You are aware that our dear brother will betray you at the first opportunity, yes? Just like he did me.”

Sorrow was silent. There was much confusion about this matter.

Originally, duplicity had, if not directly work for, at least heavily sympathized with Greeds dreams of empire. For his assistance, duplicity had been promised a Dukedom. He had been sent into Dentherk fifteen years ago to infiltrate their military and pave the way for conquest. Here, the story diverged. According to duplicity, a messenger had been sent to him on the eve of the battle, informing him that his service was no longer needed and that the emperor’s offer had been withdrawn. Greed, however, claimed that nothing of the sort had happened, and that his offer had remained, that it was Duplicity who betrayed him.

Whatever happened that night, the battle the next day was plain knowledge; Duplicity, even with his outnumbered forces, danced circles around Greeds generals, bloodying their noses and sending them reeling, disappearing like smoke and striking where least expected. Tactically, it was brilliant. A small core of the forces - pikemen and archers that quickly retreated once the battle started. Greed’s generals were too experienced to let their forces be drawn in and advanced in an orderly pace, keeping their formation and sending the heavy cavalry to chase down the fleeing soldiers.

They never saw the light horse archers concealed to the sides until arrows rained down upon the big horses and their riders. Their officer made the mistake of charging the new threat. The fleet horses imply melted away and kept up their fire, decimating their forces.

Duplicty, or General Nathan as he was named, made excellent use of his cavalry. He opted for a quick mobile army, favoring hit and run tactics, tearing shreds off the enemy flank and disappearing. Sorrow had been told it was not unlike watching a pack of wolves wearing down a bear.

Wrath and he had been contacted a few days later, with the aim of resisting greed and his ambitions.

“Join me.”  Extended his hand, a symbolic gesturing to his brother whose real form could be anywhere. “I make you the same offer as I did Duplicity, though he betrayed me. A Dukedom in my empire. It was enough for pride. Duplicity will betray you.”

“I’m more tempted to believe duplicity’s version of the tale. You I know too well, greed.” His words became shorter as sweat poured down his forehead and struggled to breath. “you would never be satisfied until you have everything Greed. I – promise you – this, You – will – never have – what –“ the sentence was unfinished as Sorrow, or rather the body he had taken possession, collapsed to the marble floor, dead.

Greed slammed his hands down on his throne and hurled his goblet at the body on the ground. There was a loud clang as metal struck stone. “Damn you duplicity. Damn you all.”



******************



Lewis fought well, but it was not nearly enough. Shattered bones and dismembered limbs scattered around him as he ducked and weaved, trying his best to avoid the words and spears that seemed to be everywhere. As good as he was, as skilled as he might be, his stamina was not limitless while his opponents were many, tireless and had no fear of death.

“Ugh.” Lewis barely dodged a lunge that could have had his heart, parried a slash and almost felt his arm go numb and danced just out of reach of a spear thrust. The leg he landed on shuddered and he was unable to avoid the next attack.

The spear ripped through his lung and pinned him to the ground. Lewis felt his mouth fill with blood. Something welled up in his mouth. He spat red and tried to pull the spear from his chest while the dead watched dispassionately. His breathing grew weaker and weaker as more blood flowed from the wound and seeped into the earth. He felt so cold. Finally, his chest stopped moving entirely and life fled his body.

With a roar of frustration, Lewis ripped the spear out with the new strength that flooded his limbs and climbed to his feet.

“Why do you defend the living?” the offier asked again in curiosity and confusion. “You are a revenant, a lord of undeath. You should be by my side, not fighting us.”

“I was a revenant,” Lewis snarled, leveling his sword again. “That life was a gift from my master. I had four more decades left.”

Expressions changed. “A necromancers pet.” As one, they attacked.

They had the numbers, but Lewis had been both alive and dead for nearly a century. Before his first undeath, lewsi had been a sword master. Now truly undead himself, they were no match for him. he quickly dealt with them.

“Why?” Asked the cracked and severed skull, staring up at Lewis from the ground. Sunken eyes looked down to meet the gaze of an empty socket that held the abyss.

“I am no necromancer’s pet,” Lewis replied savagely. “I serve no man, just as you are no creation of necromancy. I recognize you now. I can almost smell his influence on you.” He glanced up into distance and the undead army beyond that was marching towards civilization before casting his eyes back down. “Tell you master this – my lord bids Rage to remember that Lord Greed has the support of more members of the family than he thinks.” Lewis finished the sentence with a sharp stamp that smashed the skull into fragments.

The immediate concern dealt with, Lewis looked down at his hands. His recent death and the blood loss had made him as pale as a, well, dead man. He sighed on reflex, but no air left his useless lungs. He needed to restore himself to semblance of life, at least until he could contact the one who gifted with his second life. He needed to find Pride as soon as possible. Lewis leapt on one of the abandoned horse left by the dead and headed west, in the direction Dorian had taken.