A silence fell on the Parliament. Ashnak’s gaze swept Oderic’s scowling features, Magorian and the White Mages; the Ferenzi nobles and people; the creatures of the Horde…
The Ruler of the World’s gaze returned from the same survey.
“What do I rule, here?” She asked. “Some half a million creatures. Yes, little Kah-Sissh, I have been speaking with your Jassik companions of the worlds that lie beyond the stars. The many, many worlds.”
An orcish voice spoke up from the rear of the Opticon.
“It’s quite all right if you refuse, Ma’am,” Major-General Barashkukor called, almost on cue. “They’ve said that if you don’t want the post, they’ll offer it to someone else.”
“Will they, now…”
The Dark Ruler of the World stood, jewelled belt blazing in the Opticon’s sunlight. She turned Her gaze upon the tiers of seats.
“And who would accept this offer? You, Magorian? To be a hero again in a body not betrayed by age? Or you, Oderic, who thinks he is a wizard, to gain the knowledge of the stars?”
Her gaze swept on.
“My br— My necromancer would have taken this chance, out of courage or desperation. What of you, nobles of Ferenzi? Dwarves, will you study the engineering of the stars? Halflings, will you carry your thievery to other worlds? Elves, will you visit those stars of which you sing? Ah, you see that I see into you all. There is not one of you who can answer Me.”
The Dark Lord’s gaze lowered to the marble dais at the foot of the Throne.
“Not even you, little orc. Come, confess it before your fellow warriors and be shamed. You will not take the offer of a Jassik Emperor’s body. Your bowels loose at the very thought.”
The orc Supreme Commander shrugged, shifted uncomfortably from combat boot to combat boot, and avoided his grunts’ eyes. “Ah. Well. That is…”
The Dark Lord’s voice seared. “Shall I make you take the offer? It is in My power so to do.”
Rapidly concealed anxiety showed in the orc’s porcine eyes. With a more genuine discomfort, he said, “No, Ma’am!”
The Dark Lord laughed.
“It would be a fitting reward, to dispossess you of your orcish warriors. But that I can in any case do. Let Me think…Yes. Curiously enough, little orc, there is something you can do for Me.”
A Darkness began to fill the Opticon.
Out of it, Her voice said, “I here proclaim Ashnak of the Agaku to be My regent, to rule this petty world in My absence!”
Ashnak’s tusked jaw sagged.
Her voice laughed.
Darkness swirled, stinking of rot and bone, smelling of spices and cherries and the east wind. The unseen dome of the Opticon creaked. The shrieks and cries of the delegates fell, muted, as if into infinite void.
Abruptly, Darkness vanished.
Ashnak swiped at his eyes that streamed in the sudden sunlight. All the elves, Men, kobolds, witches, dwarves, and other delegates in the chamber rose to their feet, shouting—and then suddenly fell silent.
Lights ran across the black metal body of the Swarm Master.
Hive Commander Kah-Sissh and his Jassik escort folded and fell, making obeisance on the tiles.
The Swarm Master rose.
His articulated armoured body hung suspended between chitin-metal limbs, weapon-muzzles gleaming. His faceted eyes glimmered with an ancient amusement.
He spoke, His voice ancient and familiar:
“None of you are worthy of Me…You and this world are too poor in scope for My ambition. What, is there no more world left for Me to conquer? Are there no worthy enemies? I go now to rule an Evil Empire beyond your comprehension! Little beings, amuse yourselves in this dungheap that is also Mine, for I shall not return to it, beg Me though you may.”
The Emperor of the Jassik moved on metal-chitin limbs. He lowered his acid-dripping jaws towards the discarded body of the female Man that lay between His feet.
“I have a universe to conquer!” He hissed.
The Jassik Swarm Master picked up The Named’s limp body in one foreclaw, bit her head off, and, escorted by Jassik warriors, paced regally out of the Opticon, chewing.
Will Brandiman glanced up at the sign over the door—“Wrestling Emporium” and, in smaller letters, “A DIVISION OF MAGDA BRANDIMAN ENTERPRISES”—and trotted past the bouncers into the club. A welcome fug of pipe-weed smoke and small beer hit his nostrils. He paused for a moment, eyes becoming accustomed to the dim light. There were no uncurtained windows to let the morning in.
“Ned?”
“Over here, Will.”
Halfling-sized and Man-sized tables filled most of the floor. The club’s arc-lights shone on the roped arena, on a dais, in which two mud-spattered dwarves wrestled in three inches of black slime.
“Foul!” Ned Brandiman bawled, thumping his fist on the table. His red wimple was pushed back, showing his curly brown hair and his stubbled cheeks. He grinned up at Will.
“Good, isn’t it?” he said happily.
The ex-Son of the Lady, Amarynth Firehand, also looked up from where he sat, his arm around Ned Brandiman’s redhabited shoulders. “Ah. Brother-in-law William. Do you approve?”
With a roar, the smaller of the wrestling dwarves flipped the other over, kneeling on her shoulders and rubbing the black mud into her beard. Will waited until the ringing cheers had died down before he said, “Dwarf mud wrestling, Holy One?”
“No, no. I am no longer Holy.” The elf lowered his eyes. “The Lady of Light has told me how unfit I am. Now I must wallow in sin and depravity, tasting every vice, until my knowledge of evil is perfect. Only then dare I call myself Most Holy again.”
Will reached over and poured another measure of arrack into the elf’s cup. “I feel it could take you some while, Ho—Lord Amarynth.”
“Nor am I to be called Lord, or Knight, or Paladin. I am simply Amarynth, owner of the Azure Roc. But,” Amarynth said, cheering up, “at least I am able to share my new life of shame with someone for whom I care deeply.”
Ned Brandiman blushed.
“I’d like to borrow Ned for a while,” Will said, “if I may.”
“Certainly.” Amarynth lifted his dark cheek for the brown-haired halfling’s kiss, flicked through his programme, and turned back to the wrestling ring and the dwarves. He frowned. “It says here that the next act to audition involves ‘water sports.’ I still don’t see how they’re going to get a shower into the ring…”
Ashnak stood for a moment grinning an inane, stunned grin.
“Awriiight!” he roared, over the tumult of the Light and Dark delegates. “You heard the Lady—from now on, I’m the boss here!”
An orcish voice shouted above the confusion, “Hail, Regent Ashnak!”
“Never!” Oderic, High Wizard of Ferenzia, stomped forward from beside the Throne of the World. “The Light cannot accept this! We—we will crown Magorian King again!”
Sunlight blazed down into the Opticon, glaring back from the wall-maps, the bookshelves, and the rich robes of the halflings, Men, elves, and dwarves who stood up and shouted from the Light benches:
“No orcs! No orcs!”
The armed orc marines lining the walls grinned, readying their weapons.
“NO ORCS!” The same sun gleamed from the black mail, dagger-hilts, sallet helms, and dark velvet gowns of the Dark delegates: kobolds, witches, and Undead all scrambling to their feet.
Ashnak raised his beetling brows. “Whaddya mean, ‘no orcs’?”
The red-eyed kobold waved her dagger. “Orcs are just big and nasty. What sort of treatment will you give the rest of the Horde? You’ll just enslave us!”