Do'shan moved on. Whatever method the Djinn had been using to slow its progress through the sky was ended. The shadow of that mountain loomed over us as it passed. I imagined Aerolis up there, laughing at me, at the price I had paid for the deals we struck, but in truth that was unlikely. The Rand and Djinn both considered us unimportant, our lives too brief to matter. Chances were, I was already all but forgotten. I never again stepped foot on Do'shan. I do not count that a loss. It never felt like home, as Ro'shan had. No, I never considered Do'shan home. It is a flying grave, a monument to the woman I loved.
The Djinn's part in the spectacle was soon forgotten. Actually, it was never really known, but in the re-tellings of the story, Do'shan was edited out. Soldiers are ever ones to gossip. People like to say that fishwives gossip, that rumour and idle speculation are the realm of women at menial tasks. What a load of shit. Everyone gossips, but soldiers are by far the worst. I have it first-hand from a bard I once knew. He would enter a tavern and look for groups of soldiers, they are usually easy to spot, and either sit close by or insinuate himself into the group with a few rounds of watered ale. That's where he would get most of his stories, from the lips of idle soldiers. Of course, he admitted to embellishing them somewhat. I know for a certainty he embellished my own tales. The soldiers who witnessed my raising of the city soon forgot that Do'shan was there at all. All they spoke of was a woman, a Sourcerer with an arm of stone, pulling a city from the earth. I quickly became legend, a tale spreading throughout Terrelan and beyond, and all it cost me was the use of a perfectly good arm.
Hardt refused to enter the ruined city at first. I couldn't blame him for that, last time we had been there, he lost a brother. I caught him staring towards the closest entrance with a solemn look on his face. So, we made camp outside the city on our first day back in Terrelan, staking a claim but not exploring. I comforted Hardt as best I could, but we had little food and no alcohol, and my words seemed unequal to the task.
More and more of my ghosts began to appear. Some wandered aimlessly, fading in and out of existence, and I barely even noticed them. Others were more volatile. Deko's ghost spent a while trying to attack me before settling for scathing glares. He did not fade away. Along with the ghosts came the refugees. Men and women, soldiers and prisoners, all from the Pit. I had drowned the prison, but there were survivors. Most of the soldiers were stationed on the higher levels where the water took longest to get to, they made it just fine. A couple of hundred people in their uniforms, a little bedraggled, some quite damp. It turned out the soldiers were not as heartless as I had believed as a scab, many of them had stayed amidst rising water levels, attempting to save as many of the prisoners as they could. I do not know the full population of the Pit at the time of my return, only that fewer than fifty of them made it out. Hundreds died. Maybe thousands. Not since the war had I been responsible for so many deaths. The guilt of that weighed more heavily than I realised.
At first the soldiers threatened, postured. They outnumbered us, but none dared get too close to Horralain and his hammer. There were threats of arrest and detainment, royal judgement for the destruction of the empire's largest prison, but threats are nothing without the will to back them. Word was already spreading through the soldiers and prisoners; those who saw what I had done were talking, and there I was at the centre of it. Cloaked in subtly shifting shadow, an arm made of stone, eyes that flashed with the fury of a storm.
There is a power to appearance. You can claim to be a king, but if you do not look the part no one will take you at your word. I sat at the foot of a city that had risen from the dirt. Two of the largest Terrelans I have ever seen stood ready to defend me yet deferring to me as their leader. I was wreathed in power, even without Sources in my stomach it crackled around me. I made no claim to rule, said nothing in the face of those soldiers and their threats, yet my appearance made certain claims for me.
A couple of the prisoners, scabs I might have once known, broke free from the collecting soldiers. They ran towards me, pulling up short as Horralain stepped in the way, hammer held high. Him, they certainly recognised, I could see it in their faces.
"Asylum," shouted one of the scabs, a tall woman with dirt lining her every wrinkle. She dropped to her knees before me, her eyes on me rather than the giants between us. The other scab, a man with a grimy black beard, followed suit. The soldiers chasing slowed to a halt, clearly nervous and rightly so. "Please. Grant asylum. We're…"
"Prisoners," I interrupted. "Scabs from the Pit." The woman's eyes searched my face and found no recognition there. I had been famous in my time down in the Pit, or infamous at least, but I think the changes wrought upon me were too great. I was much older than when I had left, more scarred, harder, and built like a warrior. My eyes flashed and much of the rest of me was hidden in shadow thanks to Ssserakis. Imiko later said that I looked like some sort of dark queen sitting in judgement. I suppose she was not far wrong.
"We're innocent." A bold claim, and a lie.
"Nobody from the Pit is innocent." I said it quietly, yet the words seemed to carry. It was not Vibromancy, but that everyone nearby was straining to listen as though my words held more weight than the swords the soldiers carried. "I know first-hand." I stood, hiding the pain it caused me, and a black cloak of shadow billowed out behind me. I have called Ssserakis many things over the years, but I cannot deny the horror had a flair for the dramatic and it certainly used it to further my reputation. Hardt and Horralain stepped aside as I walked past them. Hardt gave me a nod, a subtle sign of what I should do; north on the moral compass. He had been down in the Pit for far longer than I; he knew many of its inhabitants.
Guilt and innocence are absolutes, but punishment should not be universal. Stealing an apple is the not the equal crime of murder. It was long said that only the worst criminals are sent to the Pit. Murderers, thief lords, rapists, those of us guilty of war crimes. It is not entirely accurate. The Pit was simply where prisoners were sent to be forgotten. Hardt served his kingdom for years as a privateer, a pirate in all but name and employment. He was sanctioned by the Terrelan Empire, until the crime came to light in the presence of foreign dignitaries, and then he was sent to the Pit for his part in the murders he committed and the ships that he scuttled. Forgotten, and no longer an embarrassment. How many others suffered similar fates for crimes they were ordered to commit? How many scabs were soldiers who deserted their units rather than participate in a war that saw cities razed and civilians brutalised? How many prisoners had served their time down there in the dark?
Asylum. Another word for shelter, protection from persecution. Silva had granted me asylum once. She'd prevented the executioner's blade from ending my life. A life saved, though she never told me what the decision cost her. That was the thought in my mind right at that moment, that Silva had once given to me what these two scabs asked for. She was making me a better person, even months after I had killed her.
"I grant asylum." The words slid from my mouth and the importance hung heavy in the air. Asylum is most often granted by a state, not a single person. Without even realising it, I had just started my own little kingdom, right there in the heart of Terrelan.
"This is treason!" The boldest of the soldiers shouted, rushing forward sword drawn. I couldn't back up, couldn't show weakness or fear, yet I also couldn't fight. It was taking all the will I could muster just to stay on my feet, and though Ssserakis was doing a good job of making me appear sinister, the horror was not strong enough to do much else after holding back Aerolis and the toll the magic had taken on my body. Luckily for us both, Horralain was there.