Seris Vritra
Toren’s head turned sharply toward the doors, a clench to his jaw that told he sensed sothing coming. I quieted, focusing on my mana senses as I followed suit.
Not long after, I sensed his mana. Cadell Vritra, the closest thing to a right hand Agrona allowed, flared his oppressive aura as he approached the doors. None could yet see him, but already every conversation and word within the eting hall died away, snuffed out by the apathetic power thrumming through the air.
There is still a gulf as wide as the sea between us, I thought with a flash of irritation, though I showed none of it on my face. Even as I grow in power, I cannot see the depths of Cadell’s own.
For the first ti in what felt like an age, I’d begun to grow in strength once more. Varadoth’s horns were rich with mana, each absorbed bit of energy bolstering my mana channels and pushing the purity of my core even further. Though they were ill-won, I could not relinquish the chance to heighten my strength.
As Varadoth had fought against his own High Sovereign, I’d been forced to recognize the gap between us. I’d been confident in my ability to match the head of the church, but I had been woefully wrong. The insight I absorbed from his remaining horns only pushed my thoughts deeper into contemplation and worry.
The doors finally opened, revealing the imposing figure of Agrona’s foremost Scythe. His impassive scarlet eyes roved over the occupants, quietly dismissing them all as he strode over to a corner of the room, the shadows swallowing him like a tight-fitting glove.
Behind him, Nico walked in his usual way. The Scythe-to-be always stomped with an angry tension to his shoulders and gait, stalking forward as if every brick under his foot had personally wronged him and he were squishing them like insects. While most of the other Scythes openly displayed their contempt as Nico walked in, I kept my thoughts hidden.
I turned my head slightly, watching as Nico walked toward the table.
And that allowed to see Toren’s expression.
As both the mask of Renea Shorn and my true self, I’d slowly learned what each of the movents on Toren Daen’s face ant. He was expressive in an almost offputting way. One shouldn’t show so much of themselves in this world. Such openness was always punished by those who saw an opportunity and knew how to exploit power, but regardless of this, he wore his heart on his sleeve.
But right now, Toren’s face was as cold as stone. There was no upturn of his lips or wrinkle in his brow. I saw no tilt in his head or flare of his nose.
It was as if he were a statue, his sole, unerring focus boring into Nico as he plodded to the table. Lord Daen focused on the newest Scythe with an intensity that could wear away stone.
Then Toren noticed my inspection of him. His brow raised in a way that told he was surprised, while the slight quirk of his lips spoke of mild embarrassnt. And caution.
What interests you about Nico Sever, Toren Daen? I asked myself as Cylrit returned to my side. None of the other Scythes demanded your attention so. And to ignore Cadell–the greatest of the Scythes–in favor of the one most dismiss?
Another mystery. I inadvertently felt a twinge of excitent as I was offered more questions, none of which yet had answers.
But that excitent died as every Scythe–save Cadell–moved toward the table. Nico stood to one side, lzri on the other. Viessa faced Dragoth, each waiting quietly. Their Retainers all stood at attention behind them, save Jagrette whose body lay limp on a couch nearby.
It was understood among us all that the entrance of the Scythe of the Central Dominion heralded the arrival of soone even greater.
The anxiety among us rose as we all waited, subtle tension barely masked. For all that each Scythe was a master of the political ga with the masks to match, there were so that were beyond our gas. Beyond our abilities.
Toren, once again, was the first to notice. He wheezed audibly, clutching his chest with a rigid hand as he nearly fell forward. He grimaced, his eyes blowing wide as he hissed through his teeth. Blood dripped from his nose, splashing onto the dark table beneath him. The other Scythes present shot him glares and condescending sneers, but they were fools to do so.
Without anyone else realizing it, Agrona had appeared at the head of the table. The Lord of the Vritra picked at sothing in his perfect nails, lounging with disinterest. His massive, branching horns split the light like cracks in a painting–as if the weave of reality peeled away to reveal the horrid canvas beneath.
I slowly bowed, covertly pressing a hand against Toren’s back and forcing him to bend slightly. The other Scythes seed to belatedly realize their god stood before them, each following suit with their Retainers.
Toren’s wide eyes stared at the dark table, sweat dripping from his forehead to the hardwood as he breathed in a disjointed rhythm. The blood from his nose dripped onto the table, one crimson tear at a ti. In the utter silence that lood, all I could hear were the quiet splashes of the young man’s blood as it seeped into the wood.
And on his face was a mask of contained fury, kept barely in check as it warred with his fear. The blood streaming across his face gave him an almost maddened cast. Blood began to seep along the rims of his eyes like tears.
What do you sense from him, Lord Daen? I thought nervously. Just like in the Central Cathedral, you feel his presence before we do, but not as we do. And that presence hurts you sohow.
My hand remained near the small of Toren’s back as I kept him steady, none of us daring to yet look up. The tinkling of the chains along Agrona’s horns rang throughout the room as he presumably turned his head to look at us all.
Contain your fury, Toren, I thought hastily, my hand clenching around the young man’s back. He can sense it. Don’t let him see it. Hide your thoughts. Your emotions. Your everything. Please.
Toren shuddered, closing his eyes. Sweat beaded along my brow, and blood leaked from the edges of his eyes like crimson dewdrops.
And finally, his mask of fury bled away, drawn inward as he covered himself in an illusion of calm. The man, always so honest, finally found a way to lie to the world when faced with such darkness.
That was the first lesson one needed to learn when facing the Sovereign of Sovereigns. To always keep your mind closed.
“You all think you’re here to discuss how Alacrya will win this war,” Agrona said, his smooth voice sounding as if it was just beside my ear. “But you’re not. Though I suppose I can understand your lesser thought processes.”
I raised my head slowly, feeling slightly uncertain. Agrona was resting his legs on the table, leaning back in his chair to the point that part of was certain he would topple over. He seed mildly amused by Jagrette’s condition, sparing the unconscious Retainer only a raised eyebrow.
He wasn’t looking at Toren. Hadn’t noticed his slip, or wasn’t paying it any mind.
“That’s not the focus for today. This war was won before it even started. What we need to do today, my dear Scythes, is create a strategy to stop the Dicathians from breaking too easily.” He smiled toothily. “They’re fragile things. I need the Dicathians alive for my own goals, and if you are too vigorous, their entire society will collapse like the brittle house of cards they are. That would leave less than happy.”
There was a bit of silence as we all digested the words Agrona uttered, each of us deeply conscious of what would happen to us were we to disappoint our god. After a mont, the High Sovereign leaned back a bit further in his chair, putting his hands behind his head.
His balance was perfect on that chair. A bare bit more, and he would topple back, but the ruler of Alacrya seed to inherently sense exactly how far he could afford to tilt before it all ca crashing down.
“There are two active fronts to this war as we speak,” the Lord of the Vritra continued into the silence. “My dwarven subjects will allow a strike force through Darv, while a more concentrated attack is being levied from the Beast Glades. Now, we all know who will be participating. The true question is, who will be stationed where?” His eyes road over all of us, a faux curiosity radiating there.
I planned to offer my position on the Darvish front. I could act more covertly there, laying the seeds I needed. But I couldn’t speak first, or else I’d appear too eager.
After a short minute, Dragoth spoke, his deep bass voice rumbling out. “My Retainer would do well in Darv,” he said amicably. “That’s where the most battles will be, after all. Soone from Vechor would be best suited for such a location.”
Agrona tilted his head, his gaze focusing on Uto. The Retainer in question looked away, his crass nature for once wilting under absolute strength. “An unintelligent gnat like him? That’s foolish, Dragoth,” the High Sovereign said matter-of-factly, a flash of his aura squeezing around Uto like a vice for a split instant. “Think before you speak next ti, lest your tongue get away from you.”
Uto wheezed, trembling from the brush of power. Dragoth deflated ever-so-slightly. “I will.”
I saw the opportunity presented imdiately. Dragoth and I had clashed more tis than I could count, the outco of the war between Vechor and Sehz-Clar still sour in the minds of many within his Dominion. I could mask my true intentions by playing my interjection off as an attempt to snub the Scythe of Vechor.
“High Sovereign,” I said, standing straighter. Agrona despised weakness, but looked down upon lesser arrogance just as much. There was a balance I needed to maintain. Straight, but not rigid. Subservient, yet not weak. Just like the chair he lounged on. “I would offer my position within Darv.”
Agrona’s eyes pierced mine. Those blood-red pupils seed to hold the weight of a thousand whispered secrets behind them, each clawing at the edges of my mind. Though he exerted no aura, I still felt my mind tremble.
I averted my gaze slightly. “And why, dear Seris, should I allow this after what you did to Varadoth? He was one of my favorites, and while I applaud your exit–it was marvelous, really–you overstepped sharply.” His scarlet eyes flicked to Toren, then back to .
I swallowed imperceptibly as I felt the inherent threat. Varadoth had been slain by Agrona himself. So why did he pretend otherwise?
I racked my brain for an answer, searching and cataloging everything I could. Was it so sort of true political ploy? Or did he say the words on a whim, as he was wont to do? But while my mind whirled, I spoke further.
“Varadoth overstepped himself,” I hedged, bowing my head slightly. Beside , Cylrit shuffled uncomfortably, while Toren was white as a sheet, mories in his blood-shot eyes. The streaks of red running down his face reminded of that horrid day. “In allowing his underling Mardeth to run so rampant across the continent. Upon issuing his challenge to Lord Daen, I had no choice but to intervene.”
Silence. Sweat beaded along my skin as Agrona pretended to consider my response. Ti ticked by painfully as the Lord of the Vritra let his chair lean forward a bit more.
And finally, Agrona nodded slightly. “You make a fair argunt, Seris. Spellsong is quite the interesting specin you’ve acquired, and Varadoth did threaten to take him away,” he said, speaking as if Toren weren’t presently suffering from his presence at all. He waved a perfect gray hand dismissively. “Why should you head the contingent of Darv?”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Toren’s hands flexed near the table. I felt the urge to grab them and forcibly relax his tensed muscles. The focus of nearly everyone in the room settled on Lord Daen, and from the flex in his jaw, I knew he was deeply uncomfortable from the attention. The blood streaming from his eyes and nose began to slow slightly. lzri appeared curious, tilting her head as she processed our High Sovereign’s words as she traced the blood. Dragoth’s smile fell slightly as he inspected Lord Daen. While Viessa looked… almost angry. Sothing dark shadowed her already deep features.
Agrona has made Toren appear far more important, I thought as I opened my mouth. He pretends to dismiss the man, but he’s all but announcing to the others that Lord Daen is worth more than Varadoth. Earlier, I played the sa card–but my words hold lesser weight than Agrona’s. The true question though, is why?
I needed to take the attention of the room back.
“I am experienced in covert warfare,” I said, projecting my voice slightly as I stood up straighter. “If we wish to keep the Darvish alliance secret, a subtle touch is required that Retainer Uto lacks. He is known for his crass and brutal nature, sothing that would only serve to alienate our dwarven allies.”
At my words, Uto leered at from across the table, while Dragoth rely rolled his eyes, crossing his massive arms in irritation that may or may not have been feigned.
Agrona kept his attention focused on . Focused through . For the millionth ti, I felt fear. Fear that his barest look would rip apart my mind like a scientist poking at an experint.
He certainly knew this. The High Sovereign did everything with purpose: that was never the question. The true question was what each purpose entailed.
“I can always count on you to use your head, Seris,” Agrona complinted lightly, though it did not feel like praise. He waited for a scance few monts, his eyes boring into . “You shall lead the conquest of Darv. Don’t disappoint now.”
I bowed, once again subtly forcing Toren to bend as well with a forceful touch near the small of his back. He was stiffer than a board. “I am honored by your trust, Lord Agrona.”
Agrona clapped once as he swung his legs off the table, leaning forward. “Well, that leaves the Beast Glades under the direction of Retainer Uto,” he said. “Any objections?” he added, knowing there would be none.
While earlier Agrona had offered us a chance to vouch for our placent in the war, he had absolutely decided the placents before this eting even began. As I’d said before, I was experienced in covert and subtle tactics, making my placent in Darv most logical. While Uto was brutal and arrogant, his twisted hand forcing our troops through the grueso dungeons in the Beast Glades–which he’d done once before, and thus had experience–would be an effective motivator for success.
One could run through hell if an even deeper fire was at their backs.
I knew Agrona expected to offer my input from the start. The true question was why he had that expectation. But I could not afford to second-guess myself.
“Well, now that that’s done,” the High Sovereign said, standing up, “Feel free to talk amongst yourselves. Try and think of the best ways to win this war, my dear Scythes.” His eyes simred with sothing deeply knowing as they bored into my soul, a shiver running down my spine. “I cannot wait to see what will co of all you do.”
“Wait!” a boy’s voice ground out angrily. “What about Grey?”
Agrona’s head cocked, the chains along his horns tinkling. “What about him, Nico?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious.
I turned slightly to the Scythe-to-be at my side, noticing the rictus grimace that roiled under the surface of Nico’s face.
“You promised a chance to fight him during this war,” he snarled. “But I need to know when.”
“You’re weak as you are, Nico,” Agrona countered smoothly. He didn’t say it like an insult, more a statent of absolute fact. There was no judgnt in the High Sovereign’s rich tone, only core truth that scraped and burned. “You’ll keep training with Scythe lzri and Viessa until you’re ready. Arthur Leywin can wait until then.”
Nico gnashed his teeth, his dark bangs shadowing his eyes. “So I’m just… what? Going to rot in this castle for however long?”
Agrona’s face took on a disappointed cast, like a father whose son had done sothing foolish at an academy. “Nico, you aren’t rotting. This is the most impact you’ve ever had–or will ever have–in your lesser lives. I promised you a new life with your fiance, of course, but this still a special ti. I’d think one with so little ti would want to cherish it,” he chastised.
Seeming appropriately rebuked, Nico looked at the table, embarrassed fury in his face. The other Scythes covertly sneered and reveled in the sha he outwardly felt.
“Now, if we’re done with pointless interruptions,” Agrona said, “I have important things to do. Discuss amongst yourselves how this war will go.”
His knowing scarlet orbs swept across the room, seeming to grow larger as they inspected us in turn. I closed my eyes, forced to look away from my god’s gaze. Beside , Toren exhaled a shuddering breath.
The room was silent as a cetery for a ti, but I knew I was just a bit safer when I heard Toren’s stilted breathing begin to even out.
I opened my eyes.
Agrona was gone, not a mote of energy or presence in the air denoting his passage. Everyone present exhaled a collective breath, nervous darting of eyes searching for shadows in the dark.
As she realized her ‘Father’ had left, lzri’s attention gradually simred away as her short attention span took hold. Viessa Vritra’s locks of purple hair shadowed her face, hiding her expression from my inquisitive eyes.
By my side, Toren finally composed himself. A flex of his fire mana burned away the blood streaks on his face. Cylrit stood a bit straighter at my back, finally feeling reassured now that Agrona had left.
And far in the shadows, Cadell watched everything like a looming, silent reaper. His shadow stretched over all of us.
Even if Agrona were not present in person, his Hand was always touching the board.
“Foolish little Nico,” Dragoth finally said, his normal grin gone. “You push too far. One day you’ll see that when Agrona tires of you as a shintcat tires of its toys. Even being allowed to end the traitor within the Dicathian’s flying castle was beyond your true station.”
Nico snarled, rising to the Scythe of Vechor’s bait. “As if a brute like you could ever understand what I am,” he hissed. “You don’t know what I contributed to your war.”
That was a mistake, reincarnate, I thought. You have shown yourself to be irritated. They will pounce like hyenas.
“Oh?” Viessa said, her voice piercing and snide. “Do tell, Nico. We all want to hear what grand contribution you offered to earn the station of Scythe.” She picked at her nails.
A vein in Nico’s neck pulsed. “I was the one who helped Agrona understand the wreck of the Dicatheous. Without my knowledge of the other world, he wouldn’t know anything of its workings.”
Viessa chuckled, masking her sneering smile behind her lips. “The High Sovereign allowed you to think your intellect ant sothing. Like a child explaining how a spellform works to their god. Nothing your petty world offers ans anything to Agrona, little Nico. His fixation with you will fade once the shine has worn off.”
Nico’s back went rigid as a stake, black fire flickering along his palms as his mana radiated out. “And what do you know of my previous world? You can’t hope to–”
“Enough.”
A palpable aura–deep, apathetic, and cold–radiated from the corner of the room. The shadows unfurled around Cadell Vritra as he flexed his strength. Nico’s flas sputtered out weakly under the glare of the other Scythe, Viessa sinking into her seat at the wave of power. “You squabble like lessers despite your station. Our High Sovereign ordered you all to speak of war plans, and you have yet to obey.”
A silence like a cold fog enveloped the table as Cadell’s rebuke smashed through the petty argunt.
Nico huffed, marching away from the table and throwing himself onto the sa couch Dragoth had once occupied as he separated from the oncoming chaos. Jagrette’s body lay unconscious not far from him.
“Sehz-Clar will contribute the bulk of dical supplies to our troops,” I started, speaking for the first ti in a while. Now was the true ti to make a difference. “The distribution of which must be discussed amongst our captains,” I said, my eyes briefly drifting to Dragoth’s.
Uto sneered behind the Scythe of Vechor, his bravado slowly returning as Agrona vacated the room. “dical supplies?” he mocked. “Do you think we’ll allow any wounded, Scythe Seris?” he said with a grating rasp. “Give that Spellsong of yours. Let use him instead. He can heal and heal and heal whatever wounded we have endlessly. I promise I’ll take good care of him for you,” he said, a smile that stretched nearly from ear to ear splitting his face.
Toren tensed behind once more, his mana thrumming at a perceived threat. I felt my ire rise as he was threatened in turn.
“Scythe Dragoth,” I said, ignoring the crass Uto despite the fire his words wrought in my gut, “Your Retainer seems fond of wagging his tongue. He lets it run about in twisting circles in places it does not belong: and now, he has thrust it right in the path of my waiting blade. Show him the folly of his actions before I do. I will not give you this rcy twice.”
Dragoth’s face morphed into a scowl at my words. “It’s just a bit of fun, Seris. You need to loosen up,” he said. “And he makes a good point, you know. That lesser has a healing regalia, doesn’t he? Why not let Uto have command of your pet?”
asure yourself, Seris, I forcefully thought. He wishes to draw a reaction from you.
“Lord Daen slew Mardeth of the Doctrination for his brutal actions,” I said simply, turning up my chin. “I question whether you wish for this war to run smoothly at all, or if you desire division in our ranks.”
Dragoth chuckled lightly, his burly form rumbling with the sound of a bass drum. “Fine, fine. Uto?” Uto shriveled slightly. “Get out of my sight,” he said with deep finality.
Uto sneered as he bowed. “As you wish, my great overlord,” he mocked, slithering toward the door’s exit. He sent one last perverse look, his gaze attempting to peel back my dress, before he slinked from the hall.
Part one is a success, I thought, taking in the new state of the room With Uto gone, it will be easier to plan. No more of his blunt interjections.
There was a silence in the wake of that door closing. lzri had propped her elbow up on the table, her cheek resting in her palm as she sleepily watched everything transpire. But Viessa observed with eerie quiet, having remained characteristically silent throughout the entire exchange. “Speaking of the war, we do not know what Spellsong will be doing to contribute.” She gave Toren a coy, almost playful look that made a buried part of nervous. “Where does he stand with you, Seris?” she asked, sothing sly creeping under her voice like rot.
I had hoped to avoid this situation, but Agrona’s words during the eting had heightened the apparent worth of Toren severalfold. Yet he was not a Retainer; rely an untethered Nad Blood under my employ. His allegiance and loyalty, in the eyes of the other Scythes, was fluid and ductile. If they prodded at the right points, could they not draw him to their side through threat or coercion?
Furthermore, the fact that I had two supporters at my back when I’d just deprived Dragoth of his–and Toren had effectively crippled Viessa’s Retainer for a ti–left my little power block under the greatest scrutiny in this microcosm of politics.
And you can’t let them know how many of your masks he has pulled away, a quiet, quiet voice whispered in the deepest depths of my mind. He is a weakness. Don’t let them use him.
Within my mind, I imdiately began to concoct a plan to divert the expectations and suspicions of my fellow Scythes. I would not allow Lord Daen to be a weakness they could exploit, and the rest of the plan should be simple if I encouraged lzri correctly.
What I did next would be a patchwork move. It wouldn’t hold back the questions or demands, but it would give more freedom in this council today.
I must apologize to you later, Toren, I thought, ready to even the playing field again.
“Lord Daen,” I said, maintaining eye contact with Viessa, “You are excused from this room for the ti being.”
I could feel Toren hesitating behind . I rembered the promise I had made to the man; that I would inform him of every ti I moved him across the political board. Of why and how.
I may have worn the mask of Renea Shorn as I’d said the words, but I’d ant them all the sa. And now, I broke that promise.
“As you command, Scythe Seris,” Toren finally said, his voice even. He walked toward the door, his hands clasped behind his back.
Viessa watched Toren go with a raised brow, a hint of surprise on her face. I could only hope it was not feigned and that my ploy was successful.
The Scythes could not be allowed to know how close Toren Daen had grown to my inner circle. I would not allow him to be used as a weakness. Could not allow them to focus on East Fiachra and Sevren Denoir by proxy, lest they look too deep and uncover secrets best left buried.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Toren’s soulful orange gaze as it brushed past my face. I remained impassive as I saw the discontent within, flaring with that honest warmth of his. The door closed behind him with a heavy thump like the sound of a coffin’s lid closing shut.
“Lord Daen does not know the plans I have for him,” I said to Viessa’s questioning gaze in the wake of that thunder. And that was true: he didn’t. But he would eventually. “And neither shall you. Regardless, the conversation we have now will be between only us Scythes. Only our closest circles can know these discussions. Is this fair?”
My eyes darted appraisingly to lzri, who had gone back to sleepily fiddling with her long braid. “Yeah, I suppose,” she agreed. “Mawar, you can go talk with Toren. It’ll be good, I think.”
The young Vritra-blooded woman blinked, then nodded sharply at her Scythe’s words. “As you wish, Mother,” she said quietly, the shadows around her warping before she started back toward the exit.
I shared a glance with Cylrit as he, too, prepared to leave. Keep an eye on Toren, I tried to convey silently. Serpents lurk.
“Let us discuss this war, shall we?” I said as my loyal Retainer nodded. It was easier than usual to force a smile on my face.
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