The Empress of Beasts, page 51
part #13 of The Wandering Inn Series
“Yes. It is. Have you ever seen its like, child?”
“No.”
Trey had seen wonderful things, but not all in one place. Fetohep nodded. He cast a hand out over his city; by his side, the Quarass blinked, not impressed by the sight. She scanned the city, looking bored, and then focused on the circular house. Oh. That was new.
Fetohep was speaking to Trey. By now, Trey was almost used to staring into the dead face. Almost. He kept having to remind himself that Fetohep wasn’t a mummy, but that was all. Honestly, it wasn’t bad; Fetohep almost looked like someone wearing a really good costume. Gazi was scarier because she was clearly non-Human in a way only CGI could even try and fail to imitate.
“Of all the nations of Chandrar, nay, the world, Khelt stands among them as a rare paradise. My people are untroubled by war, famine, or other threats. Undead till the fields, and provide menial labor. They hold Khelt’s borders, ensuring peace from all but the gravest threats. Few nations can boast of such glories for all its folk; in almost every other nation, there are those who starve. Never so in Khelt.”
“I—we saw that coming into Khelt, Your Majesty. But how come no one else has tried it?”
Fetohep shook his head slightly.
“Few can command the undead as I do. Fewer still trust them, with reason. Other nations do make use of labor as Khelt does, but less efficiently. Illivere’s Golems are costly, and few. But Khelt’s people serve their kingdom eternally in death. As does its [King]. I know you wonder as to my nature.”
“Oh, no—”
Trey hesitated. Fetohep was staring at him.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Fetohep nodded. The [King] touched his chest with one hand and Trey saw how his hand moved. There was still skin and muscle and tendon underneath the withered hand, but emaciated. And—in places—decaying. But slowly; Trey remembered reading somewhere that in case of zombie apocalypse, it was probably a bad idea to go into freezing or arid climates; corpses would decay much slower.
Fetohep was also probably protected by magic; Trey had learned to see it under Gazi’s tutelage and Fetohep was practically blinding.
“I am a Revenant. One of the few undead possessed of the will I kept in life. I do not level. But all my Skills of old are given to me. However, I am not like base undead. Even Revenants are consumed by their grudges, their hatred of the living. I am not. In life, I swore to protect Khelt, and so I was given a second chance in death. I am Fetohep, Eternal King of Khelt. And I hold your sovereign, Flos of Reim, in contempt.”
He seemed to say that like a challenge. Trey hesitated.
“I—I understand that’s so, Your Majesty. I’ll tell King Flos that if you wish. But um, I don’t think he minds.”
Fetohep’s gaze focused on Trey for a moment and the young man held his breath. Fetohep turned abruptly, walking back into the heart of his palace.
“Of course he does not. He is a child. But it seems you are not as rigid as his [Steward] or his other Seven. Very well. Gaze upon Koirezune as long as you will. I shall await you within.”
Trey saw him walk further into the palace, and gesture to someone. A servant; the same young woman Trey had seen walking towards the palace. Aside from the Quarass, him, and Fetohep, Trey had seen no one else in the empty palace.
He glanced back at the city and then saw the Quarass walk up next to him. She glanced at Trey and whispered.
“Well done. Give him no insult. He will continue to test you. Do not belittle Flos Reimarch, but do not offend Fetohep either.”
“What am I doing? I don’t know what he wants!”
The child Quarass looked up at Trey. She shook her head impatiently.
“Wants? He wants nothing of you, Trey Atwood. Nothing but to command your respect. Fetohep is vain. Your role is to intrigue him. Mine is to negotiate. Come, let us not keep him waiting.”
They found Fetohep waiting within. The undead needed no light; he was clearly at home in the darkness, if the glowing golden lights in his eyes didn’t give that away. But he flicked a hand and the magical lights filled his hallways, giving the wrought stone and ornamentation a beautiful, soft glow.
Fetohep gestured ahead and Trey saw that six people waited for him and the Quarass, all dressed in rich clothing that befitted nobility more than servants. But servants they were as they bowed to Trey and the Quarass in perfect unison. Fetohep spoke, pointing down the branching hallway.
“I offer you two rooms where you will both sleep, and the comforts of my palace. You are guests. Whatever you desire will be fulfilled, Trey Atwood. Simply speak your will to my attendants and they will be fulfilled. Save for the comforts of flesh; Khelt has no slaves.”
He looked at Trey. The young man jumped. Did he just say anything? Save for—
“Khelt doesn’t have slaves?”
The Quarass looked up sharply. Trey bit his tongue; he’d blurted that out. Fetohep paused.
“I care nothing for citizens not of Khelt, but slavery itself is an inquietude that breeds discontent and ill practices. Slavery is banned within Khelt, for all my subjects are mine. For that reason, outsiders are banned; they spread diseases and violence. [Slaves] are a nuisance.”
“Oh.”
Trey paused. It wasn’t exactly a liberating answer. Fetohep studied him.
“Does this bother you?”
“No—I—no, I don’t like—I mean, I think keeping slaves is wrong, Your Majesty.”
It might have been the wrong thing to say, but Trey had to say it. To keep saying it rather than be silent. He saw the Quarass look at him. Fetohep stared at Trey, his face unreadable. His mouth opened and the ghostly voice replied.
“I see. Have you need of rest, Quarass, Trey Atwood?”
“No.”
“No, Your Majesty.”
“Then we shall dine. Come; let us speak civilly before we return to the topic of your arrival.”
Fetohep swept down the corridor, and Trey followed. He could feel the servant’s eyes on him. Or—attendants. There were three men, three women. Two of the young women were very young, and one of the men. The other three were older, but they all stared at Trey and the Quarass with great interest. He could hear the two young women giggling until Fetohep turned his head; then there was complete silence.
He didn’t scare them. That was what fascinated Trey. Or rather—his subjects did fear Fetohep, but for his authority. Not because he was undead. In fact, as he led Trey and the Quarass to a dining hall and two of Khelt’s citizens swung the doors open, they surrounded him, pulling out his chair, taking his murmured orders, all without missing a beat.
Before Trey knew it, he was seated at a vast dining table. Near Fetohep and the Quarass; it wasn’t going to be some gag where he sat at the other end. The [King] was seated on a suitably impressive chair, much like a dining throne, and the Quarass and Trey on chairs no less comfortable. Trey stared at one of the attendants, a young woman, as she bowed to him. An older man was bowing to the Quarass.
“You dine on my hospitality, Trey Atwood. Speak your desire and it will be fulfilled.”
Fetohep looked at Trey. The young man blinked.
“You mean…?”
“Anything you wish, within the Skills of my [Chefs] will be made. And the talents of Khelt’s people are near limitless. Name it and it will be so.”
Name it. It was like having a cooking genie ask you what you wanted. Trey’s mind instantly went blank. He began to panic, staring at the Quarass, but she was unhelpfully already listing her desires to the servant, as if this was normal. And for her, it was!
“I shall have a dish of roasted eels seasoned with the most succulent vegetables of Khelt’s gardens. I care not which. Let each eel be seasoned with juice of lemons and be the youngest and most succulent plucked from Khelt’s rivers. To drink I will imbibe a glass of white juice made of grapes. Finally, I wish eight sparkling glossberries sprinkled with nali powder, served upon a bed of crushed ice.”
The attendant listened without even so much as looking for a notepad. He bowed and murmured.
“It will be done.”
Then he stepped backwards towards the doors. Fetohep, the Quarass, and the smiling young woman all stared at Trey. His mouth went dry, but his stomach rumbled. Trey wished it could provide his panicking brain with instructions.
“Name your preference, child.”
Fetohep was staring at Trey. Trey saw the Quarass looking at him, so he went for it. He wavered, searched for anything, and spoke.
“Uh—I’ll have um—a pie? A shepherd’s pie? Please?”
He saw the Quarass’ eyes narrow. Trey winced and tried not to sink down in his chair. It was the first thing he could think of. Fetohep’s gaze also looked disapproving.
“A shepherd’s pie? Elaborate, Trey Atwood. What is this dish made of?”
“Um—well, it’s a dish from home—if it’s hard to make, I could ask for—”
“Nothing is out of the realm of possibility. Describe it to me, child.”
Fetohep’s voice seemed to snap for the first time in irritation. Trey hesitated.
“Well, it’s some fried carrots, um, peas, meat—lamb meat or maybe beef—all fried up. And then you put mashed potatoes on top and bake it—”
He stopped as Fetohep held up a hand. The young woman was biting her lip, trying not to laugh.
“Ah. Traveler’s Pie. They call it so in Izril and Terandria, do they not, Quarass?”
“They did when I visited both continents.”
The Quarass murmured, giving Trey a look. He bit his lip. Fetohep’s gaze was disapproving as his tone. He looked a Trey.
“I am aware of the meal. Intriguing that the name has changed. You are aware you may ask for any dish you wish, boy? Why do you ask for a low-born dish?”
“It’s food from home. I’m sorry, Your Majesty—”
Trey cut off as Fetohep shook his head. The [King] sat back, looking displeased.
“Let it be so. What do you wish to drink?”
“Um—grape juice sounds good to me as well.”
This time the flash of the eyes signaled more than just disapproval. Trey’s mind raced. He was putting his foot in it! What had the Quarass told him? He looked at her for guidance, but whatever she was mouthing at him he couldn’t understand. Desperately, he looked around.
“How about an…orange juice?”
He thought Fetohep would finally lose his temper, but to his surprise, the undead [King]’s eyes lost their intensity. He nodded to the attendant who smiled and bowed.
“It shall be done.”
She retreated like the other servant. Trey relaxed, feeling sweat run down the nape of his neck. Fetohep nodded to him, mollified for some reason.
“Ah. Oranges are a delicacy. Few places in Chandrar may grow them, let alone enough to drink.”
“Oh, if—”
The Quarass’ death-glare made Trey shut up. And suddenly, he began to see. Fetohep went on, ignoring the interruption.
“I remember them fondly still. In my century of life, I travelled to Baleros where it was served commonly among other fruit drinks. Tell me, Trey Atwood. Have you journeyed to the Baleros?”
“No, Your Majesty.”
“Really? Then you are from Terandria?”
“No, Your Majesty. I’ve uh, never been there either.”
“Really?”
Fetohep paused. The Quarass spoke up, smiling from her seat; she’d been given a cushion so she could sit higher at the table.
“Trey Atwood came to Chandrar recently, Fetohep. He is a stranger to this land and many others.”
“So it seems. Izril, then? Yes, Quarass. We shall discuss it later.”
Fetohep waved a hand as the Quarass began to interrupt him. He seemed annoyed, and Trey, in a flash of insight, realized that Trey’s nation of origin was beginning to bug Fetohep. The [King] went on, nodding at the Quarass.
“You order the same dish each time you first visit, Quarass. Eight lifetimes have you dined with me now, and this dish remains first. I had not the opportunity to ask your previous incarnation. Nor do I believe she would have replied truthfully. Will you tell me the reason?”
She smiled faintly. Now it was the Quarass speaking to Fetohep, Trey could relax slightly. He stared around the luxuriant room, and then focused on the Quarass. She was just as fascinating as Fetohep in her way. She lifted one hand, gesturing as she spoke to Fetohep.
“I remember both eels and glossberries were my favorite dishes in past lives. Not just delightful; they were the happiest meals and most fulfilling across any life I have ever shared. Each time I find whether my body has a taste for the meal. Sometimes it does not, but the memory compels me to seek it out each time.”
“I see. How fascinating. They must have been truly memorable meals. I myself recall the joys of my life more and more rarely with each century. But I can still recall the food I ate on some occasions. Especially dishes that stood out to me. I recall a time I ate a Dullahan food which disgusted me vividly to this day. Are you familiar with a raw fish sliced thinly accompanied by the innards of a…I am struggling to recall the name of what I ate. A creature with spines fished from the sea.”
“A sea urchin?”
The Quarass beat Trey to it. Fetohep’s eyes brightened.
“Yes! A remarkably foul dish, or so I believed. But I became enamored with the taste and concept.”
The Quarass nodded, glancing up as she spoke thoughtfully.
“The dish originates from the islands, Fetohep. As I recall, such meals are somewhat popular among the people of Drath, Rhir, and Minos.”
“Ah. Of course. A shared heritage and geography. Such seafaring species seldom reach Khelt, but I recall Dullahan cities where I met Drathian sailors, a rarity in other ports. A shared history.”
“Indeed. A pity their trade fleets have stopped visiting Chandrar these last few centuries.”
“The changing nature of politics. What was the cause of their absence? An incident with Roshal’s Slavers?”
“Hm. Yes. I recall the moment. Neither side ever admitted guilt.”
The two rulers were speaking animatedly, of events centuries past as if they were yesterday. And they were the only ones who could do it; Trey was far out of his depth. He watched as Fetohep turned and accepted a cup. Trey saw the young woman had returned. With his orange juice. It was sweet, pulpy, and delicious. Trey’s eyes went wide; the Quarass was sipping with a smile as well.
“Is the beverage to your taste?”
“It’s—incredible!”
Trey hadn’t tasted orange juice this good or this fresh! Fetohep looked pleased.
“Khelt has its gardens and imports delicacies which are preserved.”
He took the cup he’d been given and put it to one side. Trey was drinking too greedily to ask about it, and Fetohep turned back to the Quarass.
“Allow me my indulgence, Trey Atwood. Drink; your cup shall never run empty. Quarass, while we speak of the past, may I ask if you have ever visited the Dullahan’s capital in the last few centuries?”
The Quarass looked up, sipping sedately but with clear pleasure from her cup. She smiled.
“I have. The city of Invictel has not changed much in four hundred years since I last visited. You have walked its ramparts?”
“I recall it fondly. As well, the memory of that biting cold. I am glad it remains as I recall it.”
That pleased him. Fetohep leaned forwards slightly, his ‘eyes’ flashing in their sunken sockets.
“The world beyond Khelt still holds some allure, Quarass. Do you feel the same, kept as you are by Germina’s needs? I have walked each continent in turn before my demise, but I follow the events of the world with interest. More so now that Wistram has begun broadcasting events the world over. This latest incident with Tiqr was a mark of their folly, however.”
“Of a surety. But then, Wistram has fallen into decay since Zelkyr’s passing.”
Fetohep nodded.
“It would be a Drake whose vanity locked away the magics of Wistram from future generations. But then, their kind has always courted folly in arrogance. As I am sure Tiqr is a tired topic—have you followed the recent developments in Izril?”
“Are you referring to the Antinium? Oh yes. And the near war involving the siege of Liscor. An intriguing failure on both sides, Human and Drake. ”
Only Fetohep and the Quarass would call the Antinium ‘recent’ as Trey understood it. They’d been on Izril for decades! But Fetohep was shaking his head.
“One suspects that with all the issues plaguing the Drakes forces, they would take a more pragmatic approach to their ongoing conflict with the north. However, they continue to provoke a conflict—a mark of their pride, no doubt. I predict war within the decade between the Drakes and Humans, if the Antinium do not strike first. Your thoughts?”
She shrugged fractionally.
“It would be advantageous for the Antinium not to overtake Izril. I recall visiting Rhir about…five hundred and three years ago? Do you recall the mention of the Antinium then?”
“I visited scarcely before you. They were simply one more monster, as with Crelers.”
“But I recall rumors of them further back. They appeared only when the Demons were truly threatened. As when Archmage Chandler and Zelkyr marched with the Blighted King—”
“Which one?”
“…The last one. The Blighted King and Queen, then.”
“Of course. Ah, them. And that disaster. Yes, it was certainly an incident, but hardly unexpected. Rhir’s rulers forget that the Demons cannot be so easily eradicated.”
The Quarass frowned darkly.
“Nor should they be. I recall a time before them. The Creler infestations.”
Both she and Fetohep paused. Even he seemed to shudder.
“Khelt recalls such times as well. The Antinium are the latest horror, then, if the Demons are but an intermediate threat. They may have well been entrenched in the continent long before we became fully aware of their presence. I agree. Would you care to wager on the existence of the Antinium in Rhir as well as the Hives on Izril?”
The Quarass drummed one hand on the table. Trey, entranced, realized the young woman was filling his cup. He blinked as she smiled at him. The Quarass shook her head, holding up a hand as her attendant approached.
