《Ivan the Black Bard - The Fall, The Rise, and The Conquest》


 Prologue - Songbird

    From a distance, the blackened metal pyramid had appeared like an immense onyx gem glittering among the dunes. The eerie moonlight it reflected somehow seemed more foreboding than its immense shadow. It stood like the crown of this hostile place, announcing its authority with a simple, sinister beauty.


    Now that Ivan stood at the base, looking up the stairs, that beauty was gone. Around the base, piled skeletons and long-dead corpses created a nearly impassable barrier. Near the foot of the steps, the remains hadn''t been moved, simply trampled over year after year, decade after decade, and century after century, creating a path.


    Ivan eyed the dead, acknowledging what they were. The unworthy. His gaze drifted to the top of the pyramid, but even squinting, he couldn''t see what he''d come for.


    He turned and stared into the desert behind him. He couldn''t see them yet, but they were coming. He didn''t have long.


    "Tonight I die," Ivan attempted to say, but only a rasp escaped his lips. He had no more songs in him. The desert had taken them.


    He had no more magic in him, either, and the last of his army had withered one by one on the journey, as his exhaustion had set in. Again, he eyed the dead around the pyramid. Soon enough, he''d have another army.


    But he didn''t need any more songs. He didn''t need his own magic.


    As his foot touched the first step, sickening power coursed its way through him. Eldritch magic. His mouth filled with the taste of rot and his nostrils with the scent of burning metal. By the fifth step, Ivan stopped and emptied his stomach. His head was spinning, and his body moved as if fighting through water.


    For a moment, he hesitated, but the sound of hoofs spurred him. His pursuers were near.


    Ivan quickened his pace, needing time to finish his task.


    When he''d reached halfway up, the stampede of horsemen arrived at the foot of the pyramid. Ivan stopped long enough to watch one rider dismount and approach the stairs. The figure was little more than a speck from Ivan''s current height, but Ivan knew the man on instinct alone. Paladin Marlam.


    No longer able to spare even a moment, Ivan climbed with desperation. For what felt like an hour, Ivan pressed on without stop. His lungs were on fire, and his legs ached and trembled. Finally, he collapsed at the top, no longer able to hold himself upright. So, rolling to the edge he''d just cleared, Ivan peeked down on his enemy.


    Marlam seemed to be in no hurry at all and hadn''t made nearly as much progress as Ivan had feared. Marlam knew what Ivan knew. No matter what happened here tonight, Ivan was going to die.


    Ivan looked around the top of the pyramid. It was the length of three men square and completely flat except for a single cylindrical slab jutting from the center. The top of the cylinder was slightly concave and far smoother than any other surface on the pyramid. It could have been either a small altar or a place to sit, but Ivan knew what it really was. It was both. It was a throne.


    A slightly decayed corpse lay slumped beside the throne.


    Ivan forced himself upright and tugged at the corpse, pulling it to the edge of the stairs. When it was hanging halfway off the top, Ivan sat down and gave the corpse one final shove with his legs, sending the corpse tumbling down the stairs to rest with his long dead companions at the base. Ivan hoped that with a bit of luck, it may slow Marlam a bit.


    Ivan quickly drew out his tools. With slow patience and precision, he could hardly spare, he got busy. With soapstone, Ivan made carefully measured lines across the hot iron atop the pyramid, circling the throne at the center. At the pinnacle of the pyramid, the Eldritch magic emanated from the surface of the iron. Faint, unearthly green fire danced across the surface, barely noticeable to the naked eye.


    As his work went on, his hands went numb. The surface of the iron felt blazing hot, yet searing cold writhed up his veins. Still, his hands continued with their purpose, shaping the circle that would bring death for Ivan. It was as if the pyramid willed it.


    When all the markings were finished, Ivan could no longer feel anything past his elbows. His fingertips were as black as the Void.


    ''Just as well,'' he thought, drawing his dagger.


    With a clumsy but committed motion, Ivan opened the vein on his wrist. Barely restraining his sense of urgency, Ivan carefully let his blood pour onto the soapstone markings. Using his other hand and a dexterity his black fingers should no longer have, he wielded a paintbrush to smooth the blood into perfect little trails. The spectral green flames thickened and clung hungrily to the blood.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    As Ivan closed the circle with a final line of his own blood, the runes blazed otherworldly Eldritch light, then faded to a glow.


    Ivan let out a sigh of relief. It was all but done.


    As he made himself stand, Ivan heard a familiar voice behind him.


    "It ends, Ivan," Marlam boomed.


    Ivan tried to retort, but only a dry croak came out.


    "Gods, you sound like shit. Never thought I''d see the day the little songbird lost his voice." Marlam snickered, reaching for the waterskin at his belt, then tossing the skin to Ivan. "Drink up, songbird. I want to hear you sing one last time."


    Ivan caught the waterskin and drank deeply. This would be the last drink he ever took, and he''d make it count. After he''d had a few long swigs from the skin, Ivan finally responded. His voice was still dry and came out barely louder than a whisper, but it was still surprisingly beautiful even to his own ears. Dry as it was, it reminded him of electricity echoing through a large banquet hall.


    "What did you say?" Marlam asked.


    Stepping inside the circle, Ivan repeated himself, "I said, ''Go impale yourself.''"


    Marlam''s face went red, and he lunged at Ivan. Just before impact, bright green light flared, as the magic circle''s protective barrier repelled Marlam, flinging him back to the edge. He caught himself with a groan and glared at Ivan.


    "What do you think is going to happen, Ivan? You sit on the Demon Throne and win? You''re stupid enough to think it will accept you? No, Ivan, you''ll just be another corpse at the bottom.


    Or you can stay inside your circle and bleed to death.


    No matter what, you will die tonight."


    "I''m counting on it," Ivan hissed.


    Understanding suddenly flashed in Marlam''s eyes, and he began frantically inspecting the runes. Ivan sluggishly stepped closer to the throne, mindful not to smear his work and ruin the spell. Over his shoulder, Marlam began crying out to Ivan.


    "Ivan, don''t do this. This is perverse. Please, Ivan, please," Marlam pleaded, "Ivan, you can''t! The world should never see such evil!"


    Ivan stopped listening to Marlam''s panicked screams and made his final steps to the throne. As he turned to sit, Ivan''s ears began to ring. Pressure was building in his face, and his vision was filling with red.


    "We gave the Empire everything, Marlam." Ivan''s head felt as if it would explode. "Everything!" Ivan was screaming now. "We should have been heroes. Instead, you killed them all... because you feared us?" Ivan turned his head to give the throne one last look, then turned back to meet Marlam''s gaze.


    Terror painted Marlam''s face. His mouth moved, but Ivan couldn''t hear what he was saying.


    "Well, now you have something to fear." Ivan declared and sat on the Demon Throne.


    The immense, horrific power of the throne flooded into Ivan. Bright green light and searing pain were all that Ivan knew for a single, terrible moment. Then, the Demon Throne determined Ivan unworthy.


    In an instant, the Demon Throne poured Eldritch magic through Ivan, taking his life and fueling the spell that Ivan had carefully constructed. With the full might of its power, the Demon Throne remade Ivan.


    Ivan was no longer among the living, and in his place stood Ivan the undying, Ivan the lich.


    Ivan''s vision faded from bright green light to blackness, and he realized he was still clenching his eyes shut. He kept them closed for a moment and reached out through his new power. The Eldritch magic coursed through the great iron pyramid, and now through him. And it was all Ivan''s now. He could feel it reaching into the surrounding desert. It was as if he was swimming in an ocean of power, and as if he was that ocean of power.


    Ivan opened his eyes to Marlam''s horrified but resigned expression.


    "What have you done?" Marlam whispered.


    "What have I done?" Ivan''s voice sang out clear and musical. The iron beneath Ivan''s feet rumbled like thunder in agreement with his every word. "What does it look like I have done?" Ivan raised his arms out to his sides. "Do you not like my phylactery, Marlam?"


    "No, no, no." Marlam whispered.


    "Marlam, my friend," Ivan''s voice grew ice-cold. "Did you not want to hear me sing one more time? Now, you can hear my songs for all eternity, good Paladin," Ivan hissed. "What song shall I sing for you?"


    Sound no longer passed Marlam''s lips, but still he mouthed the word no, over and over again.


    "I don''t like that song, paladin. How about I sing you something more appropriate for the occasion?"


    Ivan reached into the deep well of unholy energy that was now his own to wield. He sought out every soul the Demon Throne had ever taken and had ever touched.


    Across the desert, Ivan''s voice raged like a storm as the Black Bard began to sing.


    "RISE... RISE... RISE..."

 1 - Given

    Ivan woke from his dream in a cold sweat. He looked to the shutters over his window and immediately knew his dream had woken him too soon.


    Eerie red light shone through his closed window.


    He could have slept for another hour, but he knew he wouldn''t be able to sleep anymore. Crawling out of bed, he tried to think about the day--or night--ahead of him, singing at his father''s tavern, The Siren''s Moan.


    What ships were in port right now? Three from the Demon-fleet, but they''d been here two days already. Fair coin in them, but pretty much tapped out. Plus, his talent didn''t work on Demon-blooded anyway. Two pirate ships just hit port the night before. That was good coin, but they''d get a little grabby, especially with someone looking like Ivan. One merchant vessel from Markishna, definitely unsanctioned, but that would at least be good coin, too.


    His father would demand his best.


    Ivan sighed. He had to perform tonight. If nothing else, the pirates were easy coin. But damn he hated pirates. He knew one of these days his father would force him to provide ''extra company'', and Ivan would oblige. What choice did he have? He should consider himself lucky, he reminded himself.


    His father''s words rang in his head, again, the thing he always loved to say to Ivan.


    He shook the thoughts out of his head and went to his basin to begin washing his face. He''d have to clean up more for his performance, but in that moment, washing his face was his own pleasure. After he''d scrubbed himself clean, he looked up at the mirror. The mirror was the only luxury his father had ever purchased for Ivan, and Ivan wished he hadn''t.


    The scales stood out on each cheek, though his father assured him that only Ivan really noticed. Ivan wished he could believe his father, but he found that hard to do as he covered the scales with an expensive paste his father insisted he wear for every performance.


    He smoothed out the paste, almost removing any trace of the scales, before he applied the other cosmetics his father required.


    When he was done, he looked at himself in the mirror once more. He had to admit some pride at the fact that he applied the makeup better than any whore in port. He looked smooth and innocent, a beautiful young lad. And he wanted to smash the mirror at that thought and how it made his stomach churn.


    Instead, he stripped down and cleaned the rest of his body with the water from the basin. Scrubbing all the dirt and odor from his body. He used soap that made him itch, but his father had made sure he knew not to ever scratch, not even a little, a time long ago. It smelled faintly of the Frost-passion flower. The smell almost made Ivan sick, but if there was any smell that was worse, it was what he applied next.


    He plucked the corked bottle from the shelf beneath the mirror. The small bottle needed to be refilled soon, and he''d have to tell his father. Though part of him wished he''d forget so he could go one night without using it, even if that meant taking the beating with it.


    Then he began to clothe himself. The robes were absolutely extravagant. Ivan hated them, too. But his father insisted he look like a ''vulnerable, lost, little princeling.'' Ivan was pretty sure that if half the people he entertained ever stumbled across an actual lost princeling, they''d be far more interested in ransoming him than forking over coin, as they did with Ivan, but he knew better than to argue with his father.


    When he was done, he gave himself one last look in the mirror. He had to make sure everything about his appearance was perfect. It was, and Ivan hated it.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Taking a deep breath and preparing his response to his father''s expected reaction to Ivan being too early, Ivan opened his door and made his way to the stairs leading into the tavern hall. His father did provide him with a nice room, at least. Ivan had to admit, it was even more luxurious than his father''s room. He''d told Ivan it provided ''mystique'' and made Ivan seem even more valuable to the customers. Ivan hated himself for appreciating his living quarters... for liking them... for not wishing for a closet. He understood what it meant. One day, he''d have to take a guest into his room with him.


    Ivan didn''t think that day was today. He hoped it wasn''t.


    Ivan had to take another deep breath as he reached the top of the stairs. Time to be The Songbird, The Siren''s Child, The Voice of Port Heinshore. He straightened his back, put on the poised gaze his father had made him perfect, and slowly began his descent, even as he felt the squeeze around his heart.


    The tension in his chest eased somewhat as he reached the bottom of the stairs and realized it was mostly empty, with only the regular customers.


    But he kept his poise as he walked to the bar and sat down next to two of his favorite patrons. His father had instilled in him how important maintaining his appearance was. Even when no one was really looking. He climbed into a stool between the pair, still keeping appearances up. As he put his arms on the bar, the man to his right noticed him.


    "Ahoy there, Ivan," said the rail thin man next to him.


    "Well, hello, Mr. Frerry. It is a pleasure to see you. Though I am still not sure why you insist on saying ''ahoy'' to me for every greeting." Ivan responded in his most polished voice.


    "Let''s just say that''s my way of letting you know I see you. No matter how distant you are." The thin man took a very deep drink of his cup. "We were hoping you''d be early tonight. I got something for you, but my wife has something she wants to say first."


    Ivan turned his attention to the woman sitting on his other side. "Hello, Miss Mabilee."


    Mabilee only took a sip of her drink, but did stick something small under her tongue before turning to Ivan. "Hey sweet boy. I... I-I..." Mabilee stumbled over her words and then went silent, eyes staring at Ivan, seeming to pool up with tears.


    "What is it, Miss Mabilee?" Ivan asked. He worried about Mabilee. He''d never seen her cry. He''d once watched her knock out a pirate, and then hold her own against three more of them until Frerry stepped in and finished the job.


    "Well... uh. Y-you know, I mean you understand, what I do, right? To make coin I mean. You know I give men company. But do you know what that means?" The tears spilled over, but only enough to let out a couple of drops from each eye.


    "Yes, miss. I know. But I don''t think any less of you. And not Mr. Frerry, either. I know you both do what you have to do, and Mr. Frerry never lets anyone hurt you, or at least he makes them pay for it if they do."


    A few more tears fell from Mabilee''s eyes. "Yeah. That''s right. But do you know, I mean do you... really understand... what it is I do?"


    Ivan''s face darkened. "Yeah, I think I do miss. Maybe not exactly, but I know enough. I''m sorry you have to do that... but I don''t know why you''re talking to me about this."


    Mabilee''s face twisted into something like agony. "We... uh... we overheard your father might be planning on, uh... offering you to a man tonight... for... company. The-the... kind of company I provide."


    "And we both think that''s gods-cursed imp-shit. You''re far too young." Frerry said, slamming his cup down hard and spilling half of it in the process.


    "If we could do something... if we could help... we would..." Mabilee continued. She pressed a few White-eye seeds into his hands. "Stick one or two under your tongue before you... entertain the man. It''ll make things easier. I-if you don''t, you''ll have them later."


    Ivan''s mind reeled. Tonight was the night. It felt too soon. And then he felt Frerry''s hand on his shoulder.


    "Listen, lad. The Demonlands ain''t a kind place. I ain''t going to pretend I can do more than this." Frerry pushed something into his hands.


    Ivan looked down at the small dagger Frerry pushed into his hands. He didn''t even know how to respond.


    "Tonight, if you feel like stabbing... you start stabbing. And you don''t stop stabbing. I''ll handle your father... if it comes to that. But... I''m going to be honest, I don''t know if I can get you far enough away from this place. If I did, me and Mabilee would have already ran off with you. But if I need to, I''ll try... even if we all die trying. Still..." Frerry pushed the dagger harder into Ivan''s hand and gave him a hard look. "Only take the pain you can take. Now tuck it away, quickly, before anyone sees."


    Ivan gave a nod, then quickly pocketed the seeds and tucked the small dagger into his waist, hidden beneath his sash.