A Throne of Bile

Final Argument of Kings

The sounds of cannonfire had continued unabated for the previous two weeks. A palace that had been full of decadent revelry only months before was now a battered fortress under siege. The king and queen had taken their own lives by poison, leaving their heirs, servants, and remaining soldiers to fend for themselves. Unfazed by the soldiers firing muskets and crossbows at their attackers, a single young man walked through a blasted corridor. He was a tall, stocky figure, with the muscled arms of a laborer. He had recently shaven, making him look younger than he was. He had brown hair cut short, blue eyes, and pale skin. He wore a workman's apron, with several tools in the pockets. His status as a prince was now as worthless as the debris all over the castle. Marble statues laid shattered on the floor, and paintings were torn apart by shrapnel.

There was no one to repair them, as evidenced by the empty servants' quarters. Now, the servants that slaved to maintain the royal family's decadent lifestyles had either fled, surrendered, or died in the battle. The man walked alone, without any of the servants that would normally be following him. Now, he brought no servants with him, as they would attract undue attention where he was going. He already had his supporters sequestered in safe places outside the occupied country.

As Adrian Lareno walked calmly through the deserted servants' quarters, he felt an ominous sensation. The cannons had finally fallen silent. The Languedocian forces had breached the walls, and would likely be swarming inside soon. Adrian saw his older brother run screaming into the castle's chapel, bolting the door behind him. He said nothing, and let his brother lock himself up. With any luck, the Languedocians would complete the task for him.

Both of his siblings were as worthless as his parents. They let the nation fall to corruption and petty vice, and would do nothing to change that. The teenage strumpet, Katalin, spent most of her time teasing various servants, having inherited her mother's light brown hair and green eyes. The wench was strangely thin for her age, even compared to the servants. His older brother, Jorge, was a moron who desired a life in the clergy to the one in power his arrogant, incompetent father was grooming him for. The man was tall, imposing, and well versed in scripture. His brown eyes and blond hair showed a combination of his father's Navarrian features and his mother's Anglavian ones. Jorge would have been more intimidating if he did not spend as much time as he did begging his parents for time to pray alone.

Now, both of them had reacted as Adrian had anticipated. His sister Katalin had already barricaded herself inside her room. Jorge had locked himself in the chapel, praying to that false religion within. What the Pontiff's minions would do to them, Adrian did not care.

The quicker they leave this mortal coil, the simpler my work becomes, he grinned.

In his own room, he had left a mutilated corpse dressed in his own clothing. The face had been rendered unrecognizable by cuts and shrapnel wounds, making it seems as though he had died from a lucky shot on the enemy's part. One of the drawbacks of having a room with a window was what could get in during a protracted siege, apparently. When he had blasted the unfortunate prisoner in the face with a blunderbuss, he had ensured his physical features would pass for his own after some decomposition.

The siege had lasted this long only because Adrian had ordered the remaining to retrieve supplies from hidden caches that had been waiting in the tunnels below the castle. The panicked whelps had obviously not been expecting to find the casks of black powder and weapon racks under their literal noses. While defending the castle was not what Adrian originally intended for those weapons, the siege had significant changed his plans for the foreseeable future. The former prince pushed a series of books on a nearby shelf, making a mechanical rattling noise. The shelf slid to the side, and pulled the shelf behind him. He stood in complete darkness until he lit his lantern.

Holding the lantern one hand, Adrian Lareno looked at the parchment map in the other as he followed the tunnels. His destination was down the next corridor to the left. Adrian felt the reassuring sensation of the dagger at his side. The outfit he wore would cover his identity after he left the tunnels. The dagger was a common sort, rather than an elaborate sidearm that would mark him as someone of wealth. Brigands and deserters would likely be preying upon refugees, so it was good to have some method to defend oneself.

The real prize he held was the simple iron ring on his left hand. There was nothing special about it, and it was unlikely the invaders would have much interest in confiscating iron jewelry when they had preferred gold, gems, and silver. It was what he was planning to do with the ring that would make it special.

Adrian turned into the family catacombs, and followed them back chronologically. Scraping dust and grime off the wall, he could see a name engraved: Duke Hernando Lareno, 457-534. He traveled to his right, scraping off the inscriptions until he came to the more recently interred family members. Eventually, he reached the one he desired: Baron Francisco Lareno, 666-731. At once, he placed his lantern and map on the ground, and began to pull the casket out of the niche in the wall.

He felt for the alchemical reagent in a cloak pocket, and began to sprinkle it on the dust-covered skeleton. He pricked the tip of his finger with his dagger, and used his other hand to draw the sacred geometric symbol on the dusty floor. He applied more reagent, and then put the dust on the corpse, while etching the pattern on the skull. He did so slowly, and carefully, since the thaumaturgy required the utmost care. His strategy relied on this ritual succeeding.

“Baron Francisco Lareno, I command you return!” Adrian pointed the dagger down at the body. “I command your soul to come through these pathetic remains, and into this vessel!”

He placed the iron ring on the ground where he had drawn the thaumaturgical focus. The skeleton's brittle bones began to crumble, reducing themselves to dust at the bottom of the casket. The skull took the longest to completely dissolve. Adrian looked away as the empty sockets met his gaze. He wondered for a split second if the ritual had failed, but then silently reassured himself.

If this is true, then Languedocian Concordat dogma is officially null and void, he thought.

He inhaled deeply, and exhaled slowly. Adrian placed the ring on his finger, and focused his mind.

A voice that only he could hear echoed inside his head. Who dares to summon me?

Baron Francisco Lareno, I, your great-great-grandnephew wish your advice and counsel, Adrian thought in reply, trying to maintain his facade of confidence.

Adrian Lareno, I can read you like a book. I can see the pathetic, sniveling maggot you are. Why would you think I would have the interest in wasting my breath on you, should I be alive?

Because I desire to become as ruthless in politics and strategy as you are, Apostate. That's what they call you now.

Just because I killed a few priests and burned some false churches doesn't mean I am a man without faith. And what you have done-

-Is to conclusively prove that there is no afterlife nor soul. We do not have bodies, but we are bodies. That was the theory behind using your mortal remains to capture a fragment of your consciousness. And I would have to trap that consciousness in a form where you would be helpless to control me.

Helpless to control you, yes, but I can read you like an open book. I see your pathetic parents were completely unprepared for the invasion by those inbred choirboys. Your entire family line has been full of pathetic, spineless wretches. They brought this fate on themselves.

That is a statement I completely agree with. It is also why I seek the advice of the Apostate King. As you can see, I would prefer an eradication of the false churches of this land, restoring man as an end unto himself. If the fools had not invaded, my parents and siblings would likely have died in ways that would justify a purge of the local clergy.

Killing your own flesh and blood as a prelude to your reign. How unoriginal. Would you not trust at least one of them with your life?

No. That was your fatal mistake, if I recall. You should have killed your son and brother when you had the chance. The sad thing is, even tyrant kings need heirs. Heirs can also be naïve and easy to influence by the remaining clergy and their sympathizers.

So you would kill your entire family to secure an entire lifetime of power?

I thought you could read me like a book, Apostate. You had one problem, and that was relying on your own body. With my studies, one body's life or death should no longer be an issue.

I must say, young one, I did not expect you to be so well read. Or reckless.

Kings need heirs. Gods do not. With the death of the false churches, I can create a better one with my own hands. I can offer people what the liars cannot: Eternal life, material success, and true peace. All on this world, and in this life.

I have no choice in this matter, but I will be following with interest. If only I had studied alchemy and the dark arts to the degree you did. But what will you do now that our dynasty has been dethroned?

Build a new one. Knowing my siblings and how they'll be react, my sister Katalin will remain sobbing in her room, and my brother Jorge will plead for mercy. At best, he will be a puppet-king. This makes both of them expendable, and if they survive, targets to be destroyed.

I still find it strange you have this much hatred for your own siblings. They are your own flesh and blood.

So are tumors, Apostate. I brought you back so I can learn from your mistakes. Assist me, and I shall entertain giving you a better vessel to occupy. Or at least give you a better name in history. But for now, I will leave these tombs. I've already prepared a false identity in the outside world.

Juan Borges? Quite a simple name. And you are planning to pose as an alchemist?

Of course. I already have a house, identification records, and property. But for now, I feel it is time to show you some of my personal toys.

With that, Adrian traced his steeps backwards. He found a small cache of wine, and pulled out a sack that he had stashed earlier. Looking through the small, cylindrical objects stashed inside, he smiled. Each was a wood and ceramic vessel with a gear on the top. Each of them was a simple mechanism, made of a gear, spring, and a striker with a special type of black powder. They were expensive to produce, but definitely a sound investment. There were more than enough of them to do the job.

Adrian pulled a special cloth over his mouth and nose and tied it around his head. He approached the catacombs section, and turned a gear on the top of one of the small cylinders. Adrian went to the next enclave in the wall, and planted another object. After repeating the process along the entire wall, he hurriedly left the passage behind him. He threw two more of the clockwork grenados along the floor, to seal the passage from the other end. Adrian ran up the stone stairs, with his bag over his shoulder.

The explosions behind him would seal off the catacombs forever, or at least case anyone down there to think the sealed passages were just another collapsed tunnel. All the evidence of dark magic had hopefully been sealed up. The last thing he wanted was the Languedocian Inquisition looking for a practitioner of the dark arts.

As the recently deposed prince exited the tunnel behind him, he emerged near the edge of the docks. Here, he was just another laborer carrying goods too and from ships. The siege of the city had required more goods to be brought in for the Languedocian military, so the docks were busy with their ships. The young man known known as Juan Borges retreated to a small shack on the edge of town, and locked himself within. Several stores nearby were also boarded up in a similar manner. The Languedocians had focused their pillaging and looting on the richer estates, as he had anticipated. So, the docks and the businesses nearby would likely be left alone for now. The number of brothels nearby were also likely to be favored by Languedocian soldiers and sailors. Most of them were staffed with slaves taken from the Colonies, and that would be unlikely to change under the new overlords. For now, Juan stashed his things and prepared for his new life as a member of a guild in a distant city. Learning the basics of alchemy and architecture had proven as useful to him as the arts of war.

Leaving the besieged city behind him, the stocky, brown haired man now calling himself Juan Borges strolled down the road to the south. He wore a black flat hat, olive-toned traveler's cloak, work boots, and white doublet. He carried a sack with him, holding many of the items he had prepared if he had to make such a flight. Concealed under his cloak was a dagger, in case anyone should try to take advantage of him. The carbine and clockwork grenados in the bag would hopefully not have to be used. He saw a crowd of refugee peasants, fleeing the burning city and farmlands around it. He blended in, and as far as Languedoc knew, Adrian Lareno, Prince of Navarre, was already dead. Where he was going would have no place for noble titles.