29. Dimitri
29
DIMITRI
E ven the stench of the city of Tournai was a far sweeter perfume than the rot of Afnirheim, clogged with carrion and goblin filth, but Dimitri did not show it as he bowed before Saradon, who had installed himself upon a giant, stone throne above the pascha and his seat of bones in the jarlshalle of the dwarven city—like a king. It was an unsettling feeling to Dimitri, watching him own that throne. Technically, Saradon had the right of blood to rule, for the royal blood of Pelenor ran through his veins, but a throne upon the bones of Afnirheim was nothing less than perverse.
Dimitri did not want to rule over this with Saradon. Not a kingdom like this. An empire of ash and bone. He clung to the thought of Pelenor—the open skies, the green lands. The vision Saradon had promised him. It would not be like the devastation, the blood and death in the dark mountain halls.
“What happened here?” Dimitri asked Saradon, his voice hollow. He knew he did not need to ask. The once thriving dwarven city was no more.
“The goblins wanted to advance their domain.”
Dimitri eyed Saradon. “And you assisted them.” The goblins, even with their numbers, had never before managed to overpower a dwarven dwelling. Dimitri had little reason to believe that had changed.
“It was the price of their alliance.”
Anger curled in Dimitri’s stomach. “You sacrificed an entire city?” Disgust and horror wrestled within him.
Saradon regarded him steadily. “It will be worth the cost.”
“To whom?” Dimitri snarled. He clenched his fists beside him to stop his hands shaking.
“For us all. I see you find it difficult to stomach such warfare, but such is the price of peace.”
“We did not need the goblins’ alliance. The dwarves did not deserve this. Tournai and Pelenor are ready to fall without their help. The guilds will rise, and the Kingsguard will take control from the king.”
“I am most glad to hear of it. You have done well, Lord Ellarian. The goblins are merely a bonus , shall we say.”
Dimitri stared around the great hall. Columns soared into the dark heights. The banners that once adorned them were now piles of ash at their feet. It was utterly empty and silent, devoid of the dwarven life that ought to have had the very air thrumming with talk and warmth. Their blood still stained the floor, and Dimitri had seen the bodies piled outside. Saradon had not suffered to reign over corpses.
“Do you seek to reign over Valtivar, too?”
Saradon laughed. “Not yet. However, the pascha certainly aspires to do so.”
Doubt curled in the pit of Dimitri’s stomach. It was one thing to ally with the goblins—and, of course, change came with a price—but this was not what he had envisioned. Nowhere did he think a city full of innocents would be slain for the wanton greed of goblins.
Saradon had confirmed his worst fears. The green and pleasant land that he had shown Dimitri in his vision was a lie. But what would the truth be? Would it be as bad as he was growing to worry?
“The court is falling then?” Saradon pulled him away from his thoughts.
“Yes, Lord Ravakian. It balances upon a knife’s edge.”
As Dimitri reported his work, a growing sense of dread crept through him. He wished he had been less successful at sowing discord, that the curse had been less virulent so he could have bought more time to figure out how to navigate the mess he now suspected he was in—and that he had unintentionally wrought on the kingdom he sought to strengthen. The irony was not lost upon him, and it tasted too bitter to bear.
“The king hovers on the edge of madness. The queen is almost dead. Even the riders of the Winged Kingsguard are falling. The people are troublesome and ripe for revolt. They are a spark, ready to catch ablaze when the time comes. They have no love for the king, and more spread word of how misunderstood and tarnished your name is.”
Saradon clapped his hands together, the sound booming around the space, and let out a delighted peal of laughter. “Excellent! Clearly, I could not have entrusted this task to anyone more suited.” His grim satisfaction was clear.
“So the goblins are unneeded, yes? The people will be enough? I also have the Winged Kingsguard in hand,” Dimitri pressed, his eyes flicking to the blood-stained stone at his feet and back to Saradon.
He dismissed him with a wave. “You must trust me, Lord Ellarian. Do not doubt my plans.” He rose from the throne and walked to Dimitri, standing before him. He raised a hand to Dimitri’s shoulder and rested it there for a second. His violet eyes pierced him to the core. Dimitri strengthened his mental defences, ready for attack, but none came. “Remember our visions of Pelenor.”
Green, peaceful, and prosperous… Dimitri could hardly forget, for it felt like a world apart from that now.
Saradon continued, “we are far from that. Peace always comes with the cost of bloodshed, but we shall see it done. From coast to coast, I will reign over a land so fair that none will seek to change it. I must go now. We have more allies to muster.”
Saradon’s gaze still pierced him, and Dimitri could not look away. He felt strangely hot and flustered. Dimitri blinked away the sudden haziness. “More allies? Who? Where?” he asked sharply.
“The Indis nomads were ever stalwart allies to my cause.”
Dimitri could not hold back a bark of laughter. “You will find no aid there.”
Saradon raised an eyebrow.
“The Indis nomads were hunted almost to extinction after their uprising for your cause. Even now, those few remaining are hidden from the world. I do not think you will find them welcoming.”
Saradon smiled, a lazy curl of his lips. “Then you are a fool—and I would not think that of you. All the more reason for them to join me. Revenge . We seek it ourselves, no? It is a powerful motivator. They harbour hate for those who persecuted them—not I. They will come to my cause, whatever their numbers.”
You are so sure? Dimitri questioned, but he did not dare voice it.
With a widening of his predatory smile, Saradon vanished into the ether.
Dimitri left a moment later, his heart pounding as he processed what he had found in Afnirheim—utter destruction. He had no desire to be in the halls of the dead with only goblins and death for company .