The Once King Page 33

  “I’m not rejecting the truth,” James argued. “I believe everything you said, I just don’t agree with your conclusions.”

  The Once King’s head shot up. “Explain yourself,” he ordered.

  James scooted forward on the couch. “You say you want to burn all the souls of this world in the ghostfire to free them from the Moon’s eternal cycle of rebirth. I understand how you reached that conclusion, but all of your plans are based on the premise that your people are suffering because of their mortality, and I don’t think that’s correct.”

  “How can you say they do not suffer?” the king demanded. “Have you seen how they live?”

  “Have you?” James asked, looking the king straight in the eyes. “I’m not saying there isn’t pain, but just because suffering exists doesn’t mean that’s all there is to life. Even in the worst conditions, people still find happiness. They raise families and fall in love and make beautiful things. The existence you condemn isn’t nearly as horrible as you think. If it was, why would we fight so ardently to defend it?”

  “You say that because you are still young,” Ar’Kan said bitterly. “You haven’t yet had to watch, helpless, as old age steals away your vitality and power. You haven’t yet crossed the threshold where there are no new horizons, only the dark void of death. You will see.”

  “Yeah, a long time from now,” James snapped. “But focusing only on the end ignores all the good things that come before it. Even when life is brutish, painful, and short, the people of this world get another shot when they’re reborn. That’s way better than my world. We still don’t know what happens when we die, but the races here get to go on forever. To experience all life has to offer again and again. That’s not suffering, that’s not hell. That’s amazing!”

  “Spoken like a spoiled child,” the Once King said dismissively. “I’ve seen your world through Leylia’s eyes. I know how soft you live. This world is different.”

  “Because of you!” James cried. “Your armies have caused most of the destruction in this world! And as for soft, you’re the one acting as if any hardship at all is intolerable! I don’t know where you got that idea. I mean, the Celestial Elves knew suffering, right? You fought and struggled and died in battle. Did that mean the Age of Skies was hell?”

  “You are deliberately missing the point,” the king said angrily. “Of course we suffered, but we were free, children of an infinite future and explorers of untold worlds! Now all of that glory has been exchanged for squealing in the mud. No sane creature would want this.”

  “How do you know?” James challenged. “You haven’t left this castle in a thousand years, and you’re still immortal. Of course you think life is terrible! You’ve been living on and on and on alone in the dark with nothing but grudges, guilt, and ghostfire to sustain you. You claim your people are suffering, but how can you possibly know? You haven’t even tried being alive.”

  “I am aware of my hypocrisy,” the Once King acknowledged. “But this is for their own good.”

  “I don’t think you are aware,” James said, ignoring the instinct screaming at him to stop before the very large man lost his patience. “All you talk about is how everyone betrayed you and how we’re all too ignorant to know better, but we’re the ones who are actually out there living. Have you ever stopped to consider that maybe you’re wrong, and all those people fighting so hard to stop you aren’t unaware of their suffering but actually want to stay alive?”

  “I do know better!” Ar’Kan roared, shooting to his feet. “I am older than any other being save the gods themselves! I was made by the Sun itself to rule and guide, while you are all children who know nothing but petulance! My way has been the way of the Celestial Elves since before your Earth existed, and it will be their way to oblivion’s end!”

  James shrank back into the couch. The Once King hadn’t made any overtly aggressive motions, but being shouted at by someone who could kill him in a blink was still terrifying. Beneath the fear, though, he was rejoicing, because anger meant he was getting through. Locked up in his fortress, the only people the Once King had to talk to were his ardently devoted undead servants and the occasional high priest. James bet he hadn’t been actually challenged in thousands of years, which was why he was getting so flustered and making so many mistakes now. Mistakes James was just crazy enough to jump on.

  “You can’t claim the Sun’s authority in one breath and reject it with the next,” he argued, going back on the attack. “Admit it: this whole crusade is personal. If you truly cared about your people, you’d ask them what they wanted. But you never have, because this isn’t about them at all. You’re not burning the world because your people are suffering. You just can’t stand how you feel when you look down on us mortals.”

  “Of course I can’t,” the king said, defiant. “It kills me to see how my people live now because I remember what they were. I am the only one who knows how far they have fallen, but just because they are ignorant of the crime doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. The Sun wronged us all! It turned its back on its own creations and then tried to cover up its sin by burning our wings so that we would forget what it stole. But I cannot, I will not forget! I will free my people from this pit if I have to drag them kicking and screaming, but I will never stand idly and watch as they roll in filth and think it is fine because filth is all they’ve ever known!”

  James sank back in his seat with a frustrated sigh. This was going nowhere, and they were running short on time. He didn’t know how long it had taken him and Fangs to get up here, but it had to be after dawn by now. Tina’s army would be attacking any moment now, and he didn’t want to be here when they arrived. The last thing his sister needed was for him to be used as a hostage against her. But as he turned his thoughts toward escape, his brother’s voice broke the silence.

  “Have you ever asked the Sun why it burned you?”

  The Once King’s mouth pressed into a tight line. “Of course not.”

  “Why?” Fangs asked stubbornly.

  “Because it made its intentions obvious,” the ancient elf hissed. “It burned us twice! Once immediately after I beseeched it for help! Only an idiot would go back for more after that.”

  “Perhaps,” Fangs said, crossing his arms over his chest. “But I know a thing or two about grudges. They seem obvious and necessary while you’re holding them, but just because you’re the one making it doesn’t mean the poison isn’t deadly.” His eyes flicked to James. “A wise Naturalist once told me that sometimes the only way to win a battle is to let it go. You have sat in here cursing the Sun for a thousand years now, but it has continued to shine and give light to all the world. It would shine on you, too, if you’d part the clouds of the Deadlands and let it. I’m not saying it deserves forgiveness. For all I know, it truly did betray you. But even if that is true, nothing you do now can change what happened. This anger, this hate, it’s only hurting you. You are the last immortal Celestial Elf, and you’re wasting your endless life hiding in a fortress feeding a fire with your hate. Literally. That seems a shameful way for the Head of All Clans to behave.”

  “I have no care for your seeming,” the Once King said, but his voice was more sad than angry. “Pride and shame are for mayflies whose only immortality is to live on in tales. A true king does not have such luxuries. No matter what you say or how you try to twist my words to make me a villain, I know my duty. I will save my people, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

  James sighed again, this time in defeat. “Then it seems we’re at an impasse.”

  “Indeed,” the Once King agreed, rising to his feet. “This conversation is over. You’ll have to forgive me. I’d intended to offer you the choice of becoming sentient undead, but I think your souls would be best fed straight to the ghostfire. As powerful servants as you would make, I don’t think I could tolerate this insolence on a regular basis.”

  A drop of sweat rolled down James’s neck. That was right. The Once King had said he was g
oing to kill them when this was over.

  “One last question!”

  The king looked annoyed. “Do not attempt to stall. You knew this was coming.”

  “I did, and I’m not,” James said quickly, putting up his hands. “But this is super important. Before we die, I have to ask: can you actually send us home?”

  “What does it matter if I tell you or not?” the Once King said flippantly. “You’re about to die.”

  “Yeah, but knowing for certain would make me feel better.”

  The Once King frowned, thinking that over. “I’m not sure it would.”

  “Please, I need to know,” James begged. “Think of it as my last request.”

  “Very well,” the king said. “The connection to your world still remains in my memories. I know how to find Earth and send my magics to it, but it took me ten years’ worth of channeling my mana from the Nightmare to create the spell that cut your threads and brought your souls to this side. It would take a similar amount of power to send them back.”

  Ten years…

  James sagged in his seat. He supposed he should be happy to know it was possible, but ten years was practically a death sentence. Even with the ten-to-one time difference, only the luckiest of players would have a living body to return to.

  “I, too, would prefer you to be gone sooner rather than later,” the Once King said at James’s crestfallen expression. “It would be far simpler to just return you all than to defeat you. Alas, I would have to use all of the Great Pyre’s energies to get the power I needed, and that magic is already spoken for. But look at it this way: in ten years, your souls would be trapped by the Moon just as my people’s are. You are all destined to suffer just as they do, and again, I apologize for that. I did not intend for your people to become trapped here when I freed us from the Nightmare, but I will not abandon you.” He smiled at James. “You are not elves, but I still think of you as my own, and I promise I will set you free.”

  “Yeah, well, you’ll forgive us if we don’t say thank you,” James grumbled.

  “Being king is a thankless job,” the Once King said with a shrug. Then he reached out his arm toward them. “Farewell, sons of Claw Born. Be at peace, and know the rest of your kind will join you soon.”

  Eyes flying wide, James rolled off the couch. Ar’Bati did the same in the opposite direction. There was no way they could beat the raid boss—even without a weapon, the Celestial Elf was strong enough to crush their bones barehanded—but if they could just get to the door he’d propped open with the dagger, they could make a run for it.

  At least, that had been James’s plan. Now that it was actually happening, though, he was starting to realize just how badly he’d underestimated the Once King’s speed. The ancient elf moved with a grace and precision that made even SilentBlayde look bumbling. James couldn’t even dive off the couch before the Once King grabbed his tail.

  Panicked, James jerked away, leaving the Once King with a handful of fur. Too terrified to feel the pain, James lunged for the closest bookshelf, sending books and art objects flying as he scrambled up the shelves. He was planning to wedge himself into the tiny gap between the top of the heavy bookcase and the stone ceiling when his frantic hand closed around something familiar.

  When they’d first entered the room, James had noted the Once King’s impressive collection of curios included several player toys. The box his hand had just found was one of these: an ornate silver cube with a slim crank handle poking out one side that he recognized immediately. It was the Music Box of Sim Salrin, and the moment James saw it, he broke into a grin.

  On paper, the Music Box of Sim Salrin was a totally useless vanity toy. In practice, it was FFO’s favorite trolling item. Turning its crank summoned an illusionary chorus to perform the “Ballad of the Sea’s Sadness,” a seven-minute dirge that told the story of a doomed ichthyian princess, loudly. In addition to being super long and annoying, the illusionary chorus who appeared to sing the dirge counted as intractable objects, meaning you couldn’t walk through them.

  Because of this, activating the music box basically created a seven-minute blockade anywhere it was played, so of course people loved cranking it up in front of the mailbox or the auction house or the entrance to a dungeon. It eventually got so bad that raiding guilds started advertising their “Zero-Tolerance Music Box Policy” when recruiting. Tina in particular hated that box with a passion, but James had never been happier to see anything in his life. He was still tightening his fingers around it when the Once King’s fist slammed into his side.

  That should have been the end. If he’d been in his old scavenged armor, it would have been. But thanks to his brother, James was now wearing a full set of level-eighty gear. That still shouldn’t have saved him, but the sword the Once King had left outside must have been more important to his damage than James had realized, because when the raid boss slammed him to the ground, he wasn’t dead. The side of his chest was caved in and all of his ribs were broken, but he was still very much alive and kicking, which was exactly what he did.

  Kicking off his back, James rolled sideways a split second before the Once King’s boot landed where his head had been with enough force to crack the stone floor. He was technically still close enough for a kick, but James didn’t wait to see if the king was angry enough to kick him while he was down. He was already cranking the music box’s handle as fast as it would go, yelling to his brother as he wound the magical mechanism tight.

  “Fangs! Hit the ground!”

  He heard a soft thump across the room, which he could only hope meant Ar’Bati had obeyed. Either way, it was too late. The Music Box of Sim Salrin was already glowing in his hands, its lid cracking open with a watery light and the mournful wail of a hundred crying fish-women. Then, with a swell of music, the silver box split open, and the cozy study was filled with green-scaled, wall-eyed ichthyian maidens, their diaphanous dresses floating in the currents of an illusionary sea as they opened their gaping fish mouths to begin their ancient lament.

  The Once King cried out in surprise as the surging illusion shoved him out of the way. James had no idea how the music box worked now that everything was real, but it seemed the singing fish ladies were just as solid here as they’d been back in the game, their bodies crowding out the raid boss just as they’d once crowded players out of countless trade-profession huts. Fuming with rage, the ancient elf grabbed the figures to fling them aside, but while they were real enough to stop movement, the illusionary chorus wasn’t actually alive. They were made from magic. Every time the Once King grabbed one to throw it, the illusion flowed away like water only to reform itself a split second later, forming the loudest, most annoying impenetrable wall imaginable.

  James gave himself precisely one second to gloat over his cleverness, and then he was on his hands and knees, crawling through the forest of ichthyian legs toward the door as fast as his wounded body could go. Fangs met him halfway, eyes flying wide when he saw his brother.

  “You’re bleeding!”

  That was news to James. He’d thought he just had a chest full of broken ribs, but the Once King’s punch must have broken more than he’d realized, because his armor was indeed soaked with red when he looked down.

  “How badly are you hurt?” Fangs demanded.

  “Not bad enough to stop me,” James said, hoping more than believing that was true. “Door!”

  He resumed shoving himself through the chaos, but he must not have been going fast enough, because Fangs grabbed him with a growl. Slinging James onto his back, the head warrior dropped to all fours and bolted, zigzagging through the narrow gaps between the singers’ legs like a true cat. By this point, the Once King’s angry growling had turned into a roar. Every now and then, James caught a glimpse of the king as he punched and grabbed at the fish maidens, but there were just too many, and he was too big. He couldn’t even use his wings in here because the ceiling was too low. For the next few minutes at least, the Once King was well and tr
uly trapped. Glancing at the door, which looked pretty closed, James desperately hoped they weren’t, too.

  “Well?” he gasped when they reached it.

  Fangs lowered him to the ground and dug his claws into the crack where the hidden door met the wall. It had been flush against the stone when the Once King had first opened it, so the fact that his brother could get any purchase at all meant James’s ploy with the dagger had worked at least a little. Sure enough, after much pushing and huffing, Ar’Bati got the door to move just enough for them to slip through.

  “Go!” he ordered, his eyes bulging with the effort as he braced his shoulder against the magical door to hold it open.

  James nodded and did as he was told, eyes watering with pain as he squeezed his broken chest through the narrow gap. The moment he was clear, Fangs dove after him, but as he was wiggling his armored body between the stones, James caught a flash out of the corner of his eye.

  By the time he looked up, it was too late. Across the room, the Once King had spotted them. He still couldn’t get to them through the warbling singers, but now that his eyes were on them, that didn’t matter. He simply grabbed something shiny off the shelf beside him and flicked his hand, sending the object hurtling through the illusionary-water heads of the fish maidens and straight into Ar’Bati’s chest.

  It happened so fast his brother didn’t even seem to notice he’d been hit at first. Only when the object—an engraved silver pen sized for the Once King’s hand, which made it nearly a foot long—clattered off the back of the Eclipsed Steel throne did the warrior finally stop and look down. Then he slumped sideways, blood pouring from his mouth as he landed at James’s feet with a wet, broken slap.

  “Fangs!”

  Clutching his own wounds, James fell on his knees at his brother’s side. Without Ar’Bati’s strength to hold it open, the stone door had mostly closed again, but not enough to hide them from the Once King’s deadly gaze. Baring his teeth in heartbroken fury, James lashed out with his foot, kicking the dagger out of the hinge to close it fully. He grabbed his staff next, snatching the Eclipsed Steel off the floor where the Once King had ordered them to disarm and waving it over Ar’Bati’s body as he began the healing spell.