Chapter 1 #2
Orrin’s frown deepened. “Even if we were able to break into the Pyramid, just to conduct the rituals requires humans. A lot of them.”
“We have enough human blood in storage,” Calvarias said.
“Dead blood, you mean?” Orrin thought about that, his jaw clenched. “Will it even work?” He looked up at the catlike eyes. “I thought we needed bodies. Living bodies.”
“We have tested it. It works.” Calvarias’s voice was uncompromising. “We need only Magical bodies now, and we have access to take as many of those as we want. The selection criteria has already been finalized for many of the eligible Ancients.”
“But the hybrid––”
“That was for a specific ritual.” Calvarias cut in warningly.
Orrin gave him a hard look.
He didn’t particularly like being interrupted. He didn’t particularly like the way the other mage was speaking to him, either, like he worked for him already. Perhaps he had misjudged the ambitions of Calvarias, after all.
“Malefic told me the ritual with the hybrid was of supreme importance,” Orrin said, his voice holding significantly more steel. “He said it had to happen first. Before we could attempt any more revivals. He was extremely clear about that.”
“That is no longer relevant. Or possible,” Sergius said dismissively.
“Isn’t it?” Orrin scoffed. He stared at the other mage, not bothering to hide his hostility. “News to me. And pardon me if I don’t acknowledge your right to make that decision.”
The taller mage either didn’t notice his tone, or didn’t care.
“We cannot conduct that particular ritual because it requires Malefic to be present,” Calvarias said, as if explaining something very simple to someone not particularly bright.
“And his son must be present, too, I believe. But definitely Malefic must be with us, in the flesh. Therefore, we must reorder those priorities. We must secure our King first. Which requires the power of our Ancestors, resurrected to join us in battle.”
When Orrin opened his mouth to argue, Calvarias cut him off.
“We need soldiers, Orrin. Loyal soldiers, well-versed in deep magics, and a lot of them. It is the only way to secure his freedom. Otherwise, we would need the whelp, as you said.”
At that, Orrin closed his mouth.
He thought about Calvarias’s words, and, after turning them over a few times, found himself agreeing, albeit reluctantly.
Once he got that far in his thinking, he nodded, also reluctantly.
“If it needs the son, it’s likely not to happen without Malefic, anyway,” he said cynically. “Rumor is, the prick’s working for the other side now. He’s Forsooth’s newest lapdog. Likely been a member of the Golden Sun for longer than we know.”
Orrin scowled at the thought.
He stared into the flames burning the thick, tree-sized log in his office’s stone fireplace. The winter wind blowing through the chimney had the fire leaping high in the opening, twisting with the smoke up towards the flue.
“There’s always been something wrong with that little shit,” Orrin muttered next. “I never said anything out of respect for his father, but I’ve always wondered. Now I’d wager he’s always been a traitor. Too much of a coward to own up to his father, I’d guess––”
Calvarias wasn’t to be swayed off-topic, however.
“We must accelerate our procurement of Magicals,” he stated flatly. “We’ll need enough for every set of remains that qualify. Do you agree?”
Orrin looked up at him, frowning.
Thinking about the problem, he nodded again. “Yes.”
“Good.” Calvarias adjusted his shoulders, but his face did not change.
“If you have thoughts on the order of revival, or in picking eligible candidates for some of the more illustrious among those for whom we have sufficient material, we can discuss that tonight. I am told we are concentrating on the school.”
Orrin nodded slowly.
He understood now, why Calvarias decided to approach him alone.
Better to agree upon the broader strategy before the meeting began. Now they could focus on assigning specific tasks tonight, not waste time in pointless debate within the larger group. Most of them would respond better to orders, anyway.
“Aren’t you at all concerned about the heir?” Orrin asked next. He glanced out the window at the park protesters, who had increased in number while he looked away. “He knew things. A lot of things. We should probably deal with that.”
“How would you suggest we do that, brother?” Calvarias asked politely.
Orrin grunted.
He stared out the window for a few seconds longer, his jaw hardening as he remembered his last run-in with the Bones heir. It had been at the Black Tower, of course, more than six months ago, but Orrin hadn’t forgotten, nor would he.
Little prick had more than one lesson coming to him.
Still, the idea of accelerating their carefully staged plans so dramatically, and without Malefic or the brat available to weigh in, made Orrin nervous.
Strategy had always been handed down by Malefic, or, more recently, by his son.
There was too much Malefic hadn’t told anyone else, apart from his traitorous fuck of a son.
He hadn’t even told Orrin, or apparently Calvarias, two of his closest confidantes.
There were so many areas in which Malefic had been absurdly secretive.
Like this blood spell Calvarias now claimed they had to postpone, the one that required a hybrid.
Orrin had tried asking the elder Bones the purpose of the ritual, but every time, he’d been rebuffed, even though Malefic claimed it was critical for their eventual victory over both the Magical and the Human kingdoms.
“You don’t think we should wait?” Orrin asked Calvarias seriously. “See if the army of barristers Malefic hired might succeed with their appeals?”
“They will not succeed.”
“You sound very sure,” Orrin said warily. “Isn’t it better for us to not expose ourselves before we are ready? Malefic leads one of the oldest royal families in Magical Britain. People are outraged at his incarceration. Will that not sway the magistrate to be more lenient?”
“No,” the gaunt mage said. “It will not.” Calvarias re-clasped his hands at the base of his spine, his bony features hard.
“Paradoxically, I believe the protests will work against our King. There is a great deal of paranoia in the Federation Europa and Magical Britain at this time. They know that the populace is beginning to turn against them. The protests have hardened them in that opinion, rather than swayed them to rethink that position.”
Sergius met Orrin’s gaze, his violet eyes unblinking.
“Initially, it was believed that Malefic would get off with a relatively mild sentence,” he added.
“Now, with G.O.R.E. and the Praecuri believing that Malefic and The Priest are one and the same, the Ethnarch’s paranoia is stoked higher.
He wishes to send a strong message about loyalty to Magique, to Magical Europe, and loyalty to himself, specifically.
Worse, the Magus Imperius agrees with this approach, and has demanded extensive charges of disloyalty and conspiracy against Magical Britain, as well. ”
Calvarias aimed his stare back at Orrin. “…So has the King.”
“The King?” Orrin felt the blood leave his face. “He’s onboard with this?”
“Yes.”
“Malefic is his cousin,” Orrin said, sharper. “He treats him like a beloved nephew. You’re certain of this?”
“It is confirmed,” Sergius said with a nod. “Many royals who serve at the palace adhere to the old ways. I, and a few others, are in regular contact with them.”
Orrin grimaced. That darker feeling in his stomach worsened.
“Gods,” he muttered. “You’re right. We cannot wait, then.”
“No,” Calvarias agreed. “We cannot.”
Anger twisted in Orrin’s gut. His mind returned to the younger Bones, and he gritted his teeth. “Then we cannot wait to deal with the whelp, either,” he said, voice colder. “We still have his mother. I’m sure Malefic would want us to––”
“No.” Calvarias’s voice grew subdued, and even more difficult to read. “Someone managed to speak to Malefic. He was quite adamant about the need to stay away from his son. His instructions on that point were unambiguous.”
Orrin’s jaw clenched harder.
He opened his mouth to speak, but Calvarias cut him off.
“I would not concern yourself that the issue is a father’s love or leniency,” Calvarias said dryly.
“I got the impression of rather the opposite, in fact.” He tilted his head, mirroring his jackal primal’s head-tilt.
“I was told Malefic has something specific in mind, something he wishes to mete out himself. And you must admit, it is the right of a father to deal with his own flesh. Not to mention, the whelp drew first blood, which doubles Malefic’s right to address it. He also views his son as dangerous.”
Orrin scoffed, but Calvarias wasn’t finished.
“Malefic is not wrong. Whatever you think of the son, you must admit, he will be difficult to replace, and not only due to his skill at kidnapping humans from Overworld.”
Orrin closed his mouth.
With an effort, he nodded, passing a hand over his balding pate. He returned his eyes to the fire, one hand clenched in a fist at his back.
“Fine,” he said, blunt. “Of course, that is right.” A denser heat continued to burn in his chest. “I suppose there’s plenty of time to deal with that problem, if the need arises.
And any intelligence he had is likely to be with Forsooth already.
” He paused, glowering into the flames. “He must know he’s got a target on his back… and not only from us.”
“Undoubtedly,” the taller mage agreed.
Orrin turned, his voice cold. “If we fail to get Malefic out, I’d request the honor of handling him myself, brother… if anyone happens to speak to the True King again.”
Calvarias bowed, his violent irises still.
“I will certainly pass on the message,” he said smoothly.
Orrin doubted Calvarias would, but no matter.
If they couldn’t get Malefic out of that pit, Orrin wouldn’t need permission.
He’d skin the hybrid bitch in front of him, then cut that traitorous prick to pieces without cleaning the blade.