There had never been need for a punishment like this. There had been no death, no murder in his world. There had been petty thefts by children, and unintended insults.
But no one had ever committed a crime so foul.
Fallion knew that Yaleen had not meant to cause such devastation. She had only thought it a childish prank, she insisted, though she was a person of terrible avarice.
But her act had such far-reaching consequences, it could not be treated lightly.
So a new punishment was devised.
The Bright Ones who were left alive after the fall were devastated-mourning for lost loves, for children that they would never see, for friends that were gone.
So many joined in Yaleen s torment-not all, for some could not bring themselves to exercise harsh judgment, but each person who desired revenge walked up to Yaleen, and with the tears from their own eyes, traced a rune upon her cheek.
In the past, the rune had been used by lovers, by those who wished to share their deepest and most sacred feelings for one another. It was a rune of Compassion.
It was the same rune that Fallion had seen upon the forcibles.
By granting it, the Bright Ones shared their own grief and loss with Yaleen, heaping it upon her.
Some told themselves that they were doing it for her own good, that they were only trying to teach her, lest she continue in her evil ways.
But Fallion knew that it was more than teaching.
And so each Bright One had taken vengeance upon Yaleen, until bitter tears streamed down her face and she fought to break away from those who had once been her friends. She clawed and wailed, while strong men held her.
Slowly Fallion saw a change take place. Where before there had been contrition and sadness in her face, Yaleen hardened and grew angry.
Yaleen quit weeping and fighting, and began to rage at her tormentors and rejoice in what she had done.
The runes upon her cheek were drawn with human tears, and as the tears dried, the sympathetic feelings that Yaleen was subjected to would fade and vanish.
Thousands stood in line to heap their pain upon her, but something in her broke long before her torment was ended. When the punishment was done, there was nothing but hatred left in Yaleen s eyes.
"I harmed your world by accident," Yaleen said, "and now you have made me glad of it. You gave me torment, and I will torment you in return. Down countless eons I will hunt you, and rule your world in blood and horror. From now on, you shall call me by my new name-Despair."
An eternity past, Fallion had helped heap abuse upon Yaleen, and now the creature that she had become was returning the deed.
When all five prisoners had fallen silent, Lord Despair leaned forward eagerly.
Fallion tried to remain quiet, but his throat betrayed him, and sobs issued from him in rapid succession, each a part cough, part moan.
"Serve me," Lord Despair whispered, "and I will release you from your pain."
Fallion knew of only two ways that he could be free of such pain. Lord Despair could force it onto another, leaving Fallion an empty husk, emotionless and numb. Or he could kill the Dedicates who had granted their pain, thus breaking the magical ties that bound Fallion to his people.
He ll murder this family, Fallion realized. He ll do it in front of me and make me watch.
He hopes that in time, I will be evil enough to crave such a thing. For when I consent to the shedding of innocent blood, a locus will be able to make its home in me.
No, Fallion realized, Lord Despair wishes more from me than even that. He doesn t just want to make me a worthy abode for a locus. He doesn t just want to punish me-Lord Despair hopes that I will become him.
But I will turn the tables. I can never succumb. I can never let him beat me.
"Thank you, Lord Despair," Fallion said meekly.
"For what?" Despair demanded.
"For freeing these good people from their pain," Fallion said. "Thank you, for bestowing it upon me."
The rage that flashed across Lord Despair s face was brief but undeniable.
Fallion nearly swooned. He felt on the verge of collapse, but knew that he could show no sign of weakness. He had Despair at a disadvantage. Despair could not kill this family without freeing Fallion from his torment, and so long as Fallion was willing to bear their pain, Despair would be thwarted.
And in a strange way, Fallion was indeed grateful that he could suffer instead of these innocents.
It is only right that I should suffer, he told himself.
Lord Despair rose from his throne. "You have only begun to feel torment," he said. "This is but your first taste of the forcible. I have a mountain of blood metal at my disposal, and another shipment will arrive soon.
"You will not thank me, I think, when you have taken another ten thousand endowments. You will not mock me when a whole world s pain is thrust upon your shoulders. In time, pain will have its way with you, and you will grovel and beg for release, and you will tell me what I want to know."
Only then did Fallion realize that Despair had not even bothered to ask a question.
"By having thrust upon me these people s pain," Fallion said, "you only strengthen my resolve. Your works wound the world. It is time that I do away with them."
Despair scoffed, then turned and strode from the room.
Only then did Fallion give in to the need to succumb. He dropped to the floor, head reeling, barely clinging to consciousness.
1
To control a man fully, one must channel his thoughts. You will not have to concern yourself with issues of loyalty once your vassal is incapable of disloyal contemplation.
Cullossax the tormentor strode through the dark warrens of Rugassa, shoving lesser wyrmlings aside. None dared to snarl or raise a hand to stop him. Instead, the pale creatures cowered back in fear. He was imposing in part because of his bulk. At nine feet, Cullossax towered over all but even the largest wyrmlings. The bony plate that ran along his forehead was abnormally thick, and the horny nubs on his head were larger than most. He was broad of chest, and his canines hung well below his lower lip. All of these were signs to other wyrmlings that he was potentially a violent man.
But it was not his brutal appearance alone that won him deference. His black robes of office struck fear in the hearts of others, as did his blood-soaked hands.
The labyrinth seemed alive with excitement. It coursed through Cullossax s veins, and thrummed through every taut muscle. He could see it in the faces of those that he passed, and hear it in their nervous voices.
Some had fear upon their faces, while others fears deepened to dread. But some faces shone with wonder or hope, bloodlust or exultation.
It was a rare and heady combination. It was an exciting time to be alive.
Four days ago, a huge army had left Rugassa to destroy the last of the humans at Caer Luciare. The attack was to have begun that very night. Thus the hope upon the people s faces that, after a war that had raged for three thousand years, the last of their enemies would be gone.
But then two days past, everything had changed: a whole world had fallen from the sky, and when it struck, the worlds did not crash and break. Instead, they combined into one whole, a world that was new and different, a world that combined the magics and peoples of two worlds, sometimes in unexpected ways.
Mountains had fallen and rivers had flooded. Ancient forests suddenly sprouted outside the castle gate where none had stood before. There were reports of strange creatures in the land, and all was in chaos.
Now reports were coming from wyrmling outposts in every quarter: there was something new in the land-humans, smaller folk than those of Caer Luciare. If the reports could be believed, they lived by the millions in every direction. It was rumored that it was one of their own wizards who bound the world of the wyrmlings with their own.