Revenge. I've heard people say it's never as satisfying as you think it will be. What a load of shit. If it's not satisfying, then you're doing it wrong.
It takes a while to strangle a man to death in such a way and I will admit I was sweating from the exertion by the time I felt the Emperor's life snuffed out. But I wasn't done with him yet. One death would never be enough for that monster. For all the pain he had put me through, for all the pain he had caused to Hardt, for all the pain he had caused to countless others. One death was not enough for him! Necromancy can do many things. I shoved Aras Terrelan's soul back into his body, not quite like I had with the Cursed. I gave him no orders and did not take his will from him, only brought him back at the moment of death.
As I loosened the noose around his neck the Emperor gasped for air, hands clawing the noose up and over his head. On his hands and knees, he coughed and gasped. Not enough! I kicked the man on to his back and knelt on his chest, plucking the lantern from the floor and dashing it against the steps. Shards of glass. I had wielded a shard just like them long ago. Back then I had tried to kill Prig. Failed. Some lessons I only needed to learn once. I plucked one of the shards from the floor, ignoring the pain as it bit into my flesh, and stabbed down into Aras Terrelan's chest over and over again. I do not know how many times I stabbed him. Enough that I couldn't tell which blood was mine and which was his. Enough that his feeble attempts to stop me faltered completely. Enough that his soul once again fled his body.
Not enough!
Again, I forced the Emperor back inside his dead shell of a corpse. I took his will from him that time, a puppet of flesh bound to me and my orders. I took his will, but I left him his wit. A passenger in his own body, forced to watch through dead eyes. Never again to act on his own thoughts, only to my whims. That was the final torture I laid upon the Emperor of Terrelan. The man had killed my king, destroyed my country. He ordered me into the Pit, and even when I escaped, he sent his most trusted executioner to hunt me down. He had tortured me for months. He had broken me. Squeezed all his precious screams from me. And yet there I stood, alive; and there he knelt, dead.
Chapter 30
Hardt forced his way into the throne room, wary eyes on the Cursed, but they ignored him. They ignored Prena too as she slunk away. The Sourcerer finally gave up her sobbing and I took her pouch of Spiceweed, forcing some into her mouth and then scooping up her Sources.
"It's done?" Hardt asked as he approached, eyes on me not the man standing at my side.
I nodded. "He's dead."
"Doesn't look dead." Hardt towered over us both and glared down at the Emperor.
"He's dead. But he's still in there." I let a savage grin slip onto my face. "Dance." And Emperor Aras Terrelan, or at least the shell of him, began a lurching parody of a dance. The rest of my Cursed in the throne room joined in. Having killed the last of the royal guard, there was now nothing for them to do.
"Stop this, Eska."
I nodded. "Stop." And they did. Obeying my orders instantly. There they waited.
"The city," Hardt said. His eyes kept darting to where the Emperor's corpse waited, his hands curling into fists. Even half starved, much of his muscle lost, Hardt could have crushed the man.
"You can hit him if you like."
Hardt tore his eyes from the Emperor and gave me a disgusted look, turning and moving toward the balcony. It overlooked Juntorrow and from that balcony I could see it was a city in its death throes. Fires spread unchecked. Screams drifted up on the night air. Lursa watched over it all, as red as the streets below her gaze. I had done this to the city. It was not my intention, but that does not excuse the act. Juntorrow was dying, its people were dying, and I had killed it. I had killed them. Even from high up and far away, staring out from the palace balcony, I could see packs of my Cursed tearing down the streets, looking for more death to sow.
Kill them all and spread your curse. Ssserakis echoed my order to that first of the Cursed. These are the consequences of what they did to us.
"No. These are the consequences of my mistake." I tried to tell myself the people deserved it. They hated me, begged for my corpse. They wanted to see me dead, to parade my body. I tried to tell myself they deserved it. But the lies rang hollow even in my own head. Not even Ssserakis tried to convince me it was justice. It was vengeance, and I found I did not have the stomach for it.
"Can't you stop it?" Hardt asked.
I tried. But I was too far away. The Cursed could no longer hear my orders, could no longer feel my will. They were a disease, spreading and acting upon that single order I had given. I shook my head. "Not from here."
When I turned from the balcony, I found the Emperor standing close. Bereft of any orders he had followed me and waited. That, too, sickened me. "Fetch the noose," I said. "Tie it to the balcony, put your head through it, and throw yourself off." Aras Terrelan turned to do my bidding.
As I limped through the throne room I found more of my Cursed, many of them wearing the clothing of the nobility, waiting. I think I recognised the princess among the crowd. It is not an idle boast when I say I ended the Terrelan imperial line. "Die." My order cleansed the Cursed from the throne room and all but the Emperor collapsed, their souls finally freed from their bodies.
Such a waste. Think of the things we could accomplish with a deathless army.
I ignored Ssserakis. "I need to be close."
Hardt nodded. "It's going to be a long night." He underestimated the size of the task before us.
By the time we left the palace, Emperor Aras Terrelan was hanging from the balcony. His eyes watched us go, limbs twitching in my direction. He had fulfilled the final order I gave him, and now tried to follow me, bound by my will. He did not die then, for a third time. He remained, hanging from the palace, his body deathless. No one cut him down. I do not know how long he remained there, a broken symbol of my vengeance, body rotting while he watched his empire that he was so proud of fall to ruin.
We walked the city. I gave the order for my Cursed to die whenever I found any. The people recognised me, blamed me, hated me even when I saved them. I kept at it, even when some of the more courageous survivors threw stones along with their threats. For two days Hardt and I walked the streets of Juntorrow giving the Cursed whatever measure of peace I could. I think I may have stayed longer, so heavy was my conscience, but a mob of survivors formed in my wake, and eventually Hardt dragged me away. Always my protector, even from myself.
Juntorrow never recovered from my visit. Too many of its people died, too much tragedy left in my wake. The citizens tried, adversity bringing out the best in them even as I had brought out the worst. But they failed. Juntorrow became a town of ghosts and the ravenous dead. It remains that way even now.
I did not catch all the Cursed, and in my anger, I had released a new power upon Ovaeris. The Cursed are a plague, and it does not matter how long the world might go without a sighting of the deathless, they always reappear. And every time they do so, too, does my name surface. A village falls to the Cursed and the Corpse Queen must have been behind it, bringing ruin wherever she treads. That is the legacy I will always be remembered for, regardless of any good I might have done. And who is to argue I should not be? I unleashed it upon the world. Me. I deserve all the blame.