Fantasy The Emperor of Destruction

"How is your boy?" the Emperor asked at breakfast, saying 'boy' in a clearly derisive way.

"Fine," said Zebrah, in a flat voice.

"You seem taken with him," said the Emperor, giving her an uneasy look. She had seen that look before. He had once given it to Kobol, the cook.

"Maybe she's lonely," Zaragoth said, in a mocking tone.

"Is that it?" The Emperor asked. "Are you lonely, Zebrah?"

Zebrah felt all eyes on her. "You made a promise to me. A promise you have not kept."

There was a tension in the air, a feeling that Zebrah was challenging the Emperor, something few had ever done.

The Emperor gave her a stare. "Be assured, I will fulfill my promise to you. I will give you... what your heart desires."

The others looked questioningly at them. Even Selvanna and Zaragoth didn't know what that was. Dog looked curiously at Zebrah.

"In the meantime," said the Emperor. "I hope you enjoy your boy. Cuddle with him at night, Zebrah. It will make me happy, to know you are happy."

Zebrah stiffened, and a shudder went through her.

It makes me happy, to know you are happy.

The time was three years earlier, in the Unknown Lands. Cunha's cook Kobol had just outdone himself, making a fine meal of boiled squid. Cunha was so happy that he called Kobol out of the kitchen to congratulate him in front of everyone. But then as everyone clapped, Meggy the serving wench had the temerity to rush up and kiss Kobol on the cheek.

"Meggy! Are you sweet on Kobol?" Cunha asked.

"Well, uh...." Suddenly Meggy turned red.

"I never noticed," said Cunha, and Zebrah detected an irritated edge in his voice, just a hint of it. "How long have the two of you been together, Kobol?"

"Six... six months, my Lord," said Kobol.

"Six months," said Cunha. He gave Kobol a hard stare, as his arms were wrapped around Meggy protectively. "Very nice," he said in an even tone. "It makes me happy, to know you are happy," said Cunha.

The next day, they found Meggy on the kitchen floor, or what was left of her. She had been turned into a giant squid, but some of her facial features were still identifiable. Cunha had laughed and told Kobol that he expected him to outdo himself at dinner that night.

Instead, they found Kobol had hanged himself in the kitchen closet.

Zebrah marched back at her quarters at a half run. Crunch crunch crunch her tall silver boots went. She slammed the door open to her quarters, and was relieved to see Wyatt sitting in a chair. He jumped out of it guiltily. "I was just about to-"

"Come with me," she said. She grabbed him by the wrist, and marched him to the inner walls of the Castle, first stopping to pick up a body whip.

Cunha had had shackles installed in the inner walls by the entrance to the Castle, so punishments could be viewed by as many people as possible. Usually people sent to the wall didn't come back. They were whipped to death, or left there to die of exposure.

Zebrah felt the eyes of the garrison on her as she force marched Wyatt up to the wall. For a moment she debated shackling him facing the wall or facing away. It would be less painful for him if he were facing the wall, but in that position he would be much more vulnerable to General Cloaka and his band of degenerates, his Forbidden Exit ripe for the taking.

She shackled him with his back to the wall, his arms lifted above his head.

"What's happening?" he said, with confusion in his eyes.

Zebrah didn't answer. Normally, the subject being disciplined would be stripped naked, but Zebrah didn't remove his clothing. Instead, she simply started to whip him.

"Ow!" he cried, when the first lash hit. It was still painful, even through his clothes. "What did you do that for?"

Zebrah didn't answer. Her face was set in stone. She whipped him again and again. Every time he cried out, she bit down on her lips tighter and tighter. She heard the sounds of catcalls and derision from the men.

Finally, after 20 lashes, she stopped abruptly. Wyatt hung from his chains limply. He had red scars from where his clothing had been cut by the whip. Zebrah walked over to him with a calmness she didn't feel and pressed her fingers against his neck. Then she turned away.

At dinner that night, the Emperor smiled at her. "I hear you've been having fun with your boy. A different kind of fun."

Zebrah raised her eyebrows fractionally.

"We're all so surprised, Zebrah," said Zaragoth. "We thought you were cuddling with him like a teddy bear." Karibdis and Tripoli laughed.

"I didn't think you went in for such delights, Zebrah," said the Emperor.

"Oh, I'm sure Zebrah is full of surprises," said Selvanna, giving her a dark look.

"You've just left him hanging there," said the Emperor. "What do you intend to do with the boy? Are you going to leave him to be consumed by the elements?" Suddenly, Idah the serving girl caught his eye.

Zebrah paused, as if considering. "I have not yet decided," she said, as if it were of no consequence.

"That is, of course, your affair," said the Emperor. He was looking away when he said it, and now he seemed somewhat distracted.

The next morning Zebrah went to the inner walls of the castle. She found Wyatt still chained there. He seemed dead.

She shook him. "Wake up, boy. Wake up."

Wyatt slowly opened a bloodshot eye. "What?" he whispered.

Zebrah put a canteen of water to his mouth. He coughed as he drank. "Slowly!" she said sharply. Wyatt drank more cautiously.

Then Zebrah unshackled him. He collapsed in her arms. She carried him out of the courtyard, aware of all eyes on them.

When she returned to their quarters, she put him in the tub and bathed him. Wyatt cried out every time she touched a sore spot, but his sore eyes were filled with wonder. Then she dried him on her fluffy towel and bade him lie down on her bed while she covered his wounds with salve.

"You can rest now," said Zebrah, heading to the door.

Wyatt slowly and painfully got off of the bed and headed to his mat on the floor.

"No, you can stay in my bed," said Zebrah.

Wyatt looked at her unbelievingly.

"I won't be needing it until tonight," said Zebrah.

Wyatt collapsed into her bed. Zebrah looked at him for a long moment. As Wyatt drifted in and out of consciousness, he heard Zebrah ruminating.

"If you are to stay here, you will need a purpose, one the others will accept." She paused. "You will become my squire," she suddenly decided. "I will train you. You will prosper... if you survive." Then she turned on her heel and left.

The High Priestess Zaragoth and the Arch Hierarch Ixador were impressed with Bernard Hempill.

After his Grand Hierarch and Arch Hierarchs had been executed before his very own eyes for refusing to embrace change, Hempill had been the first one to crack, the first to switch his loyalties from the Church of Good to the Church of Penance and Humility. His switching had persuaded others to turn.

Additionally, he had been so successful in whipping Sacred Regina from the Church of Charity that she had joined the Church too. She actually even thanked him for it, later, glad that he had saved her life.

Hempill was glad she saw it that way. At the time he was whipping her, she didn't seem to enjoy it nearly as much. But Hempill, much to his shame, found he did. As he used the body whip on her, he felt his candelabra get hard as Sacred Regina's large, sweaty Wisdoms bounced around. Her Phongfruit Forest started to get wet with perspiration, and as she inadvertently spread her legs he could see the entrance to her Sacred Gorge, hot and pink and wet, peeping out from within. By the time he was done, and Regina had agreed to capitulate, his candelabra was hard and throbbing, and he felt full of jizz.

It was wrong, all wrong. But it also felt so good.

Zaragoth and Ixador, impressed with him, gave him the plum position of Acting Chief Sacred of the Church of Rockrod, the largest and most prominent congregation in Aridor. The Acting title was probationary, but the opportunity was enormous. He reported directly to Ixador, and was just one step below the Hierarchs themselves.

But his cognitive dissonance hadn't ended; if anything, it had gotten worse. And Ragnor was no help.

Thomas Ragnor was Hempill's best friend in the former Church of Good. He had made the switch, more reluctantly than Hempill, but had more misgivings than Hempill did. His misgivings only deepened as he discovered what they were expected to do.

"We are to tell our congregations that the Lord of Good is a fraud, a lackey, simply a beggar in the streets and that the Lord of Compassion is the true Lord to be worshipped," said Ragnor. "How can we tell people this? How can we mislead them so?"

Hempill just looked at his friend. He had used his influence to get Ragnor appointed as deputy Sacred to his Church. He was wondering now if his move had been in error.

Ragnor lowered his voice. "What's more, there are rumors."

"What rumors?" said Hempill sharply.

"Rumors that this so-called Lord of Compassion is anything but. Rumors that he is the being called Sauda Hommed, a cruel and evil creature," said Ragnor, his voice dropping to a whisper.

Hempill looked around to make sure no one was listening. He turned to his friend. "I would advise you, Ragnor, to keep such dangerous... conjecture to yourself. All you need to know is that we are to tell the flock that the Compassionate One is the one true Lord."

"But how can this be? Won't the Lord of Good punish us for doing this?"

Hempill had never particularly believed in the Lord of Good. He had just joined the Church for much the same reason he switched to the Compassionate One when the timing proved convenient. But he would never tell Ragnor that. "Think of it this way. Maybe the Lord of Good is testing us."

"Testing us?"

"Maybe he was dissatisfied with our depth of commitment. Maybe he caused the Cloaca of the World to drop its foulness on us... as a test."

"A test?" said Ragnor.

"Yes. Once people learn of this new God, they will see it is obviously a fake, will they not?"

"Of course," said Ragnor.

"Once they have been burned by their false religion, they will flock back to the Lord of Good, more penitent than ever. This is a searing test, to ultimately more firmly cement our belief in the Lord of Good, don't you see?"

"Yes... yes, I think I do," said Ragnor anxiously.

"Good," said Hempill. "But this must be a secret, between you and I. We must never again talk of the Lord of Good's true purpose, until the time of revelation is at hand."

"Yes... yes, thank you Hempill. You're a good friend," said Ragnor. He turned and left.

Hempill watched him go. He wondered what it was he had seen in Ragnor that had made them friends in the first place. Probably the fact that the other Sacreds were snooty, and imperious, and wanted nothing to do with Hempill once they had gleaned his lack of true piety. Ragnor, on the other hand, was friendly and open with him from the time he had joined the Church. That had been enough to keep them friends, in the past.

But times were always changing.

Simcha the serving wench caught the attention of the Emperor.

Emperor Cunha smiled as Simcha poured a drink for him. As she poured, she leaned over the Emperor and said, "Excuse me, Your Majesty", inadvertently giving Cunha an excellent view of her Wisdoms. Simcha wasn't as wise as Selvanna, and she wasn't even as wise as Zaragoth, but her Wise Ones were sturdy and perky. That stimulated Cunha's interest in learning more about Simcha's sagacity.

Cunha flirted with her at dinner, and she laughed gaily. Zaragoth didn't seem to mind, but Selvanna took to giving Simcha hard stares. When Cunha and Zaragoth took Simcha back to their bedroom after dinner, Selvanna's frown was even deeper.

"What does he think he's doing with that trollop?" she hissed.

"He is Emperor. She is a passing fancy," said Urethera, who was seated by her side. "What does it matter to you if the Emperor is ballsticking your sister or some serving wench?"

"It matters," Selvanna muttered, looking at the now empty doorway they had passed through.

First Steward Magister, standing behind her unnoticed, also was frowning.

Simcha was in a daze the following morning. Her body was wracked with pain. Her Sacred Gorge ached with every step, and there were red marks all over her Wise Ones. She didn't precisely remember what had happened last night; it had all been a blur, but she sensed the Emperor and Zaragoth had been quite pleased with her.

Selvanna, however, was not. She sought out Magister the following morning. "I want the serving girl, Simcha."

"Mistress?" said Magister.

"Have her brought to the Pit of Love. I have need for her there," said Selvanna. She looked hard at Magister. "Is that a problem?"

"A problem?" said Magister. "No, no problem. It's just I sent Simcha out to the farm to pick up some milk. She won't be back until the afternoon. Will that be sufficient?"

Selvanna grimaced. "Very well." She turned and left.

Magister hurriedly fast walked to the kitchen, where he found Simcha, performing the morning work. "I have an errand for you, Simcha," he said, looking nervously over his shoulder.

"What?" said Simcha, looking sleepy and confused.

Magister shook her. "You have to wake up now, this is important."

"What, what is it?" said Simcha, blinking rapidly.

"I want you to go the farm, right now."

"Right now? And do what?"

"Milk cows. Do anything you like. But do not return until dinner, do you understand?"

Simcha looked confused. "No."

"Just go, and do not return until much later. And make sure Selvanna does not see you leave."

That was something Simcha understood, even in her dilapidated state. She left, but not fast enough to suit Magister.

At lunchtime, Magister watched as the Emperor and his family were served. When there was a pause in conversation, Magister stepped forward and addressed Selvanna. "Mistress, excuse me, but I am informed that Simcha will return a little later than expected, shortly before dinner. Will that be satisfactory for your needs?"

Selvanna cast a nervous glance at Cunha, which he immediately noticed. "Yes, that is sufficient," she said, giving him a nasty glare, as she tried to end the conversation before it started.

Cunha turned to Selvanna. "What do you need with Simcha?"

"It's nothing, really," said Selvanna.

Cunha turned to Magister. "If it's nothing, then she doesn't need to attend my wife."

"I wanted her for an experiment in the Pit of Love. I thought she could be... useful," said Selvanna.

"I find her more useful here," said Cunha. Selvanna withered slightly under Cunha's gaze. Cunha turned to Magister. "Inform Simcha that she may continue with her duties in the Castle as normal."

"Yes, Emperor," said Magister. He noticed Selvanna giving him a look of pure hate. Did she know?

She suspects.

Magister groaned as he sat back in the dinner chair in his private quarters. It had been another long day. It wasn't often when he was able to protect the staff from the predations of the Emperor and his entourage, but when he could subtly intervene it felt good. As he sat at the dinner table he looked at Doral, his wife, and his two children Harry and Laura. He stared at Harry for a long moment.

"Harry, how would you like to train to become a steward?"

"Would I!" Harry said.

Doral dropped her soup spoon with a clatter. "Duncan, what are you doing? Don't you realize how dangerous that could be?"

"I intend to train Harry to eventually become my successor," said Magister.

"But these people are evil, and dangerous," said Doral.

Magister slapped her in the face. The kids gasped.

"Quiet, woman!" he said sternly. He pointed at the walls and looked at her knowingly. "These are unsettled times," he said slowly. "The best way to be safe in unsettled times is to be valuable, to have a position that means something to the regime. I would make Harry a steward to protect him. Laura should eventually work in the kitchens. It will be safer for both of them."

Doral wrapped her arms around Magister and whispered in his ear. "We should flee, while we can."

Magister spoke softly, so softly she almost couldn't hear. "We would not get five miles before we are discovered. We are riding the back of the tiger, my love, and we cannot get off."

Doral sobbed in his arms softly, while the children shifted in their chairs uncomfortably.​