Outside the Cycle - Act IX

I do hope you have some interest in politics or these next few Acts may get a bit confusing.

Act IX: A New Order

"It was just over a week ago when they came."

Vanath had taken Abaddon straight to Castle Avernus, its looming edifice belying the unusual emptiness. Given the insolence Kanthis had shown on the road, Abaddon could guess in part what had happened. The castle itself was unchanged, its titanic black stone walls pocketed with small windows, save the wall in which was set the massive gate. The mountain it was set upon appeared as impregnable as ever, the parapets of the castle allowing defenders to fire arrows or drop oil on any foolish enough to climb up. The only true entrance was through the gate, which was a fortified structure bristling with ballistae, catapults and cannons created by ancient magi that spewed imploding orbs of black mist itself onto attacking fortresses. The seven circles of walls and towns could house tens of thousands and store food to last for months. It seemed impregnable, but the overconfidence of its lords had allowed assassins to enter and topple a House which for thousands of years had been a name synonymous with power.

"Before we knew it, the castle had been attacked, the walls scaled in the middle of the night by wolves and men - or wolves in the guise of men. It was not so much a battle as a slaughter. So confident had we been that the actuality of an assault caught us completely by surprise. We were rounded up, and the Lords of Avernus - all of them - were executed. Only those of… insufficient bloodline, such as myself, were spared."

His eyes were downcast. "You, my lord, are the last of your lineage. The last Lord of Avernus to live."

Abaddon's voice was mist-cold, and he clutched the armrest of the family's throne, which he had now inherited. They were in the Greater Hall, a massive room with stained glass windows depicting the forebears of the House. It resembled in some ways a massive cathedral, but the focus was entirely militaristic rather than spiritual. "Who is responsible for this."

"He calls himself Lord Lycos Banehallow. From what I know, he is of the blood of the old House of Ambry that was destroyed in the days of the last kings. He rules Slom now. We no longer have either the numbers nor the power to have any kind of influence. I am sorry, my lord, but we are as a fringe House now."

"A scarred wolf on a field of blood. Yes, that is a bastardisation of Ambry's sigil. But why fight us? Why not merely reclaim their place? If their forces are powerful enough to do this then surely they would be at least our equal were they to merely return to Slom."

Vanath shook his head. "My lord, the only way we could know is to ask Lycos himself."

"And you can dispense with the titles as well. It was not two months ago you all wished that something unfortunate would happen to me."

"If it is any consolation, your father swore to Lord Banehallow that you would reclaim your inheritance upon your return."

"I fully intend to," Abaddon growled, deep in the back of his throat. "We will dig our way back up. A new order shall rise from the ashes."

The thin lips of his second cousin twisted into a grey smile. "I am certain you will lead us to glory. Your lineage, however, is in grave danger of extinction."

"I'll deal with that when I get to it."

"So there is nobody with whom an heir could be produced?"

Unbidden, his thoughts flashed to Lanaya, but he banished the image as soon as it arrived. "No. But there is much to be done before then and I will not stand idle while this upstart wolf rests upon the throne of the Font!"

He took his helmet off, allowing his long silver hair - pure as the blood in his veins - to flow down his shoulders. Eyes of a pale blue fixated on Vanath, who quavered, having never likely had the focus of a true Lord of Avernus before.

"Gather what remains of the Mistblades. I will have an audience with Lycos Banehallow. If he is lucky, I will permit him to survive the experience."
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Three Mistblades strode with Abaddon, the last remaining of the House's most loyal knights and guards. Ten was their solemn number, but Lycos' purge had taken the toll on them, too. Those that remained seemed unchanged. They wore massive grey plate armour, edged with deep midnight purple. Their cloaks, too, were purple, and fell so far behind them they had to be attached to the shoulder plates, huge, spiked and bladed, so huge that the Mistblades would have appeared top-heavy if their greaves, legplates, belt and gauntlets were not also huge and spiked. The head of each knight was protected by a full-face helmet, bat wings flowing down the sides. A gorget around the neck ensured that not a single inch of skin was visible, both for protection in battle and to maintain the anonymity of the Mistblades. While they were permitted to have lives outside their duties, virtually none took this option, such was their dedication to the House. They served nameless, lived nameless, died nameless.

Their absolute loyalty was a comfort to Abaddon, who was approaching the upcoming conflict with anxiety and some nervousness. Lycos had tried to kill him once, why not again?

Still, three Mistblades and a Lord of Avernus were not a force to be scoffed at and he expected that if it came to the worst he could have the Ambry bastard's head rolling before his joined it.

The group was welcomed, as if they had been expected. Vanath had been left behind at Castle Avernus. Abaddon was only twenty-one, but he was one of the oldest left alive. The seventeen-year-old Avernus had become the Lord's self-appointed lieutenant, and likely sought advancement within the ancient House. His ambition was that healthy blend of realism and ruthlessness, and Abaddon saw great things destined for the youth despite his tainted blood.

The traditional seating arrangements for the meetings between the lords of Slom's Great Houses were high-backed chairs around a circular table, for a meeting among equals. Strictly this was untrue, but it did House Avernus much good to have lesser Houses believe they had any input in the region. Lycos Banehallow had done some redecorating. The round table was gone, replaced with a long rectangular one that filled the long hall. At the far end, facing the door, was a throne. Most of the seats were occupied, and the throne itself bore Lord Banehallow himself.

Abaddon studied the wolf. He was old, perhaps thirty-five, and his features were more pronouncedly canine than the Ambry's had been, hair brown streaked with grey, eyes a merciless black. He wore well-made, expensive garments, which no doubt impressed the lesser lords but immediately told Abaddon that he had an ego to match his relaxed, laid-back posture.

Neither Lord bowed. Neither spoke for a long time after the herald introduced "Lord Abaddon d'Avernus, Master of his House, Voice of the Font, the Black Mist Riding" and a few other titles Abaddon supposed he had inherited with his new position. Oh, how father Ezekiel would turn in his grave if he knew his estranged son was Master!

Finally, Lycos broke the silence and gestured to an empty seat. "Sit, Lord Avernus. We've been expecting you."

"Expecting me?" Abaddon said drily. "Or one of lesser blood?"

"We had no doubt in the ability of House Avernus to recover from its… misfortunes."

Cocky, wasn't he? Well, it wasn't as if the other Houses would act against him for fear of reprisal. The use of 'we' in the sentence was carefully designed, to make the other Lords think that House Banehallow gave a damn about their opinions.

"You have no doubt in our abilities. Is that why you sent your hunting dogs to kill me as I returned to Slom?"

Lycos looked hurt. "You are aware it is against the ancient laws for one Lord to order the death of another."

Abaddon did not glance around at his comrades. "Leave us," he said quietly. They did not move. So Lycos had already dug his claws deep.

"Leave us," he repeated, lifting his cloak slightly to allow tendrils of mist to billow visibly around him. The Mistblades let their hands fall to the hilt of their blades. Only then did the other lords exit the hall. The Mistblades followed the last one, and were in turn followed by the guards of Lycos.

Abaddon turned to the wolf. "I would speak unburdened by ancient laws."

"Very well, Lord Avernus," the Ambry hound sighed. "I ordered my soldiers to kill you because you have made some very powerful enemies."

Seeing the expression on the other's thin, pale face, Lycos smiled. "The Dire Ancient sends its regards, if you were wondering."

Ah. Now the handler appeared. He should've expected as much. Betray an Ancient, and it will strike you back.

"You caught me alone and off-guard and still failed. I would not believe you such a fool to try again," Abaddon replied, composing his face to hide the rage he felt.

"Fear not, I will not waste good warriors on a futile endeavour. I have all I need, anyway. This land belongs to my House, as it should have all those years ago."

"Enlighten me on your… House," Abaddon mused, stressing the last word in a way which dripped with sarcasm.

Lycos gestured to a seat. Ignoring the insult, the Lord Avernus sat.

"My great-great-great, well, he was very great let's leave it at that, grandfather, Banehallow Ambry, escaped from the ruins of his House after the king's retribution. He seethed with vengeance, having truly become a wolf. His lineage continued, but the old blood of Ambry diluted away from Slom. The wolf's blood took clear prominence. One of his great-grandsons by the name of Andris saw this, and accepted the sad truth: House Ambry had died long ago. What was left, he renamed House Banehallow in honour of the one who created this new lineage.

"The king had been deposed, and the noble houses were too busy squabbling for power - which Avernus had already claimed, I might add - to care about this. So, without any intrusions or distractions, we flourished. Our House is rather extensive, almost the equal of yours in number. Before that nasty accident, of course."

Abaddon refrained from getting up and stabbing the wolf for that remark. Lycos continued.

"So, when the Ancients sent out more calls, I of course went to bring honour to my House. You didn't notice me, perhaps by design, or maybe you were too full of yourself to care about me. Either way, I most certainly noticed you, and especially your sudden absence."

He laughed suddenly, the sound akin to a howl. "Not long after that, the Ancient spoke to me and told me everything. I was instructed to come here and take action that would destroy you - its words - and then bring you back into the fold. One I have done. One is yet to do."

Abaddon stood. "You have done neither, Lycos Banehallow. You are an upstart who dared presume better than his superiors. House Ambry was doomed, and so is your new House. A wolf does not change its hide that easily."

He clicked his armoured fingers, and the Mistblades strode in, the perfect image of discipline. "I will take my leave," he said. "But you have not heard the last of me. When you do, it will be the last thing you hear."
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"We cannot be long here," Dragonus urged. "She has eyes everywhere."

The Skywrath outpost at the edge of the Ghastly Aerie had been abandoned a long time, its solar spires falling into ruin. Yet, he did not trust the queen to have forgotten this place. It was one of the few roosts accessible without flight, and as such one of the few roosts where vengeance could yet stalk.

It had been a long time since he had seen Shendelzare, and his heart ached to see her as she was, disembodied, chaotic, consumed by rage. Both of them were on foot, the Vengeful Spirit because she had no choice and the Skywrath Mage so as not to remind her of what she had lost. His wings were tucked away, as out of sight as the sky-swallowing pinions would ever be.

"We shan't be," Shendelzare said, inspecting a rune on a wall. "I needed to see these books you found." The desperation in her tone was all too clear. Even the possibility of a return to her physical form, whole, unbroken, would lift her hopes higher than a Skywrath could ever fly.

And if these hopes were found false, she would fall farther than even a demon.

He held out the book he had found in the library. She took it from him gently.

"This is a spellbook of flesh-magic and haemomancy. The darker arts, yes, but they are the only way you can reclaim your rightful place on the throne," he said.

She turned to the page he had bookmarked, looked at the ritual there. "This might work," she said, wonder evident in her voice. "Where- where did you find this?"

Dragonus answered with great reluctance. "Vo'hollom Domosh." Shendelzare dropped the tome with remarkable speed.

"How came you to that foul place?" she hissed.

"It was a long story, we do not have time for it now. Please, just trust me. For… what once was between us."

She looked at him sorrowfully, and he could have melted into her eyes.

"I could never hate you," she whispered. "You alone have stood by me my entire life. You are mine, and always will be mine."

She held out a hand. "Together."

Dragonus took it, his heart pounding like it was going to burst out of his chest. "Together," he replied.