XLVI. RUTHLESS GOD

  The canopy sat petrified on their sun chairs and couches as the female charioteer rose. The assembled awaited the Emperor’s verdict, hands itching towards spears and swords. A servant's fan guided the breeze in Asho’s direction — making him faintly aware of the beads of sweat glistening on his brow. His own fingers dug into his vambraces hard enough to indent the leather. Asho bit his lip as the shells of his ears grew hot. The desire to hurt, to punish, washed through him. Oh, how he would make an example out of the kerai dog. He was going to drag this woman into the sunlight and stun the rioting crown into submission. He would make the world as orderly as it was when he awoke that morning.

  The prince propelled himself forward: ready to strike, to punish. He paused when dozens of eyes snapped to him. His damp hand grew slick on the whip overhead. He flushed with embarrassment as the Emperor finally stood.

  Atesh the Conqueror’s rage seeped from his clenched jaw. His godlike eyes were pools of unnavigable currents. “This act of rebellion may reduce your worthless city to rubble by dawn.” His sharp declaration sliced through the canopy. “And you-” The Conqueror hissed, pointing at the Legate.

  Legate Clavo’s white face betrayed his terror. He dove to prostrate himself before the Emperor’s feet, his whole body shaking. “Great and honorable Emperor, please, I beg of you, let me explain.”

  The Conqueror boxed his ear. “You dare grovel at my feet! When you have betrayed the Empire to these kerai dogs?”

  “No, never. I have never betrayed your great Empire!”

  “You disregard your post, growing bonds with those you rule.” The Conqueror’s voice steadily rose. “Or perhaps, you are a susceptible oaf, blind as these rebels festered under your own roof.”

  “Please, your excellency!” Clavo raised his shaking hands in subjugation. “The girl, she is the one tricking you.”

  “ENOUGH!” The Conqueror unsheathed his gladius. The Legate’s wife screamed as the blade met flesh.

  Advisor Crassus choked back a stunned sob as his son’s body hit the limestone. “My Emperor!”

  “I will get to you soon enough, Advisor.” The Conqueror seethed and sheathed his gladius. He turned his attention to Nia-Uro. The charioteer had not so much as flinched as the Conqueror had executed her former legate. “I had thought that the kerai would have remembered the Conquering. My conquest should be engraved into your bones. I slaughtered. I burned. I razed half of your pathetic hovels you call Houses to the ground.” His voice dipped low. “And in a thousand lifetimes I would do it all over again. My heirs will do it again, and their children also. The Ashenians will raze Ker to the ground, over and over again, until there is nothing left but ashes in the breeze.”

  Atesh the Conqueror turned his attention to outside the canopy where the legion rushed to contain the crowd. His eyebrows pitched together in a moment of clarity. “Perhaps, the wheat has grown too high. Carry her outside.”

  It was as if he finally had permission to breathe. Asho gripped Nia-Uro around the biceps and dragged her mercilessly onto the track. The small woman was no match for his superior strength. The rioting crowd stilled at the arrival of the Emperor. Asho kicked Nia’s legs, forcing her to her knees.

  “Our hosts have given me quite the demonstration.” The Conqueror bellowed. Asho scraped his knuckles against his clad sternum, stunned to find that the Conqueror’s voice seemed to be originating from inside his chest, echoing throughout the fibers of his body.

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  “Allow me to return the favor with a preview of events to follow in this city, and every city of Ker shall you continue to rebel against the might of the Ashenian Empire. My legions will chase your worthless lives throughout the Dunelands, up into Ironore, and across the sea until each and every one of you disgusting Kerai have been cleansed from the earth.”

  The crowd stilled. At first, Asho thought that the Conqueror’s hand would go for his gladius, but instead he unlatched the wyrdstone. Sweat trailed down Asho’s neck as the star hummed in the warm air. Atesh the Conqueror’s fist curled around the wyrdstone, summoning its power. “And you shall perish!” Nia-Uro howled as she fell, clenching her chest. “As your wyrd devours you from the inside out!”

  Asho heard every snap, every pull, every grinding bone and popping joint as Nia-Uro’s spine split along its seams. Vomit pooled in the back of his mouth as the lioness emerged from the carcass of a broken body. Something within Asho fled with the thousands stampeding towards the exits.

  The Conqueror’s lips parted to spew further declarations. Instead, he coughed and stumbled. Black bile sputtered from his lips as he coughed again. Asho snatched the Emperor’s triceps before he could stumble. “Grandfather?”

  The Conqueror’s scathing disdain killed him on the spot. Asho bristled. He swiveled his head around the hippodrome, shifting his body to block the view of the crowd as the Conqueror convulsed in his arms. He felt the Conqueror’s knees buckle, and his body slackened. He had to do something before someone noticed!

  The answer was in the vivid visions that consumed his dreams. The answer was his birthright. Asho made a production of leaning in close to the Conqueror, and then nodding. Asho sprinted over, her eyes widening at the Conqueror’s limp form. Asho hardened his features. His eyes: the Conqueror’s; the Stormlord’s. “Gather the legion. We loot De-Asha dry.”

  “Asho!”

  Asho hefted up the Conqueror. “Look at him.” Asho demanded. The Conqueror’s eyes were rolled back in his skull. “Look at what she did to him, Admrilia! We must do something. We cannot show weakness.”

  Admrilia’s voice was calm. Too calm. “Asho, you are proposing we destroy a city.”

  “The Conqueror would not want you to put your inclinations over legacy! Or are you in bed with the kerai?” Asho seethed. Admrilia’s fists tightened at the accusation. “Help me, or face his wrath.” Asho did not recognize the command in his voice. When had it grown such a bite? “Help Admrilia.”

  Once the rest of the canopy was taken away as prisoners of the Empire, the ninth legion descended upon the streets and bazaars. De-Asha fought back viciously, refusing to succumb to the legion as it swarmed through the lower districts, killing indiscriminately. Asho ordered the legion to take torches to the temples and municipal buildings, and by evening, smoke hung low over the entire city. It was swell past nightfall when the prince overlooked the dying embers of his raid from the Uro compounds steps and leered with satisfaction. The prince allowed himself to bask in the intoxicating triumph of victory.

  He had ordered that the prisoners be drawn out from the cells and onto the steps of the estate. The crowd watched the pyres devour De-Asha with abject horror. Asho knelt over the huddled figure of the charioteer. Against all odds, the damned woman had refused to die in the hippodrome's dirt, and someone had dragged her body back through the streets. Even though the kerai had been restored to the broken shell of a woman, she overlooked the pillaging of her city with the glassy eyes of the dead. Asho grabbed Nia’s chin and cast his arm down the steps of the House. “See, Nia-Uro of De-Asha, it was you who did this!”

  Wetness coated his toes. Asho looked down to where saliva coated his foot. The Legate’s pretty wife spat again. Asho dropped Nia’s chin, the woman slumped over. Cythe-Uro eyes narrowed. Her blue dress was now stained brown from being dragged through the streets. “Call of the raid, prince. The people do not deserve this.”

  Asho adjusted his wrist gauntlet. “This is all you monsters deserve.”

  “The only monster here is you.” Cythe-Uro raised her head definitely. “You are ruthless.”

  The prince adjusted his other gauntlet. “Gods often are.”