webcrawl/APGTE/Book-4/out/Ch-047.md.tex

\hypertarget{chapter-33-keter}{%
\chapter{Keter}\label{chapter-33-keter}}



\epigraph{``And so Triumphant said: `Tremble, for I am not yet
content.'\,''}{Extract from the Scroll of Dominion, twenty-fourth of the Secret
Histories of Praes}



My boots scuffed the stone and a poisonously warm breeze caressed my
face. I strode forward, leaving room for the others to pass behind me,
and resisted the urge to drop my hand to my sword. Gods, this place was
a nightmare. Though it was in the royal hall we had crossed, we'd
evidently emerged outside the bounds of Keter. More precisely, on one of
the four stone ramps leading into the city across the gaping maws of a
chasm. It was dark for miles, down there, before flickering flames cast
a light deep in the depths. The sound of the wind against the man-made
cliffs was eerily akin to a dirge. I turned my eyes ahead instead of
peering into the madness, but found only more of the same. Indrani had
warned me that the walls of the Crown of the Dead were absurdly tall,
but even then I had not expected the likes of what I saw. Jutting out of
the sharp drop at the edge of the cliffs, the ramparts must have been at
least a thirty yards high at the lowest point. No part of the city
behind could be seen from out here, save for the spire of dark stone
stretching out into the sky -- and the orb of hellfire that hovered atop
it, an indistinct silhouette shifting within.

This was not a city made for the living.

``Godsdamn,'' Archer said, letting out a whistle. ``I know he's just a
pile of scheming Evil bones, but you've got to respect his style. That's
as doom-like as a fortress of doom gets.''

``Drawbridges would have been more tactically sound,'' Adjutant said.

I glanced at him and found Hakram was unmoved by the sight of millennia
of darkness and arrogance made into a city. In some undefinable way, it
was so very much like him to take his first look at the Crown of the
Dead and immediately start criticising its defensive layout. Any moment
now he would mention that the artillery firing lanes could be improved
by further overlap, or that the barbican was overly crenellated.

``I would wager that, to the likes of the Dead King, \emph{every} bridge
is a drawbridge if given sufficient attention,'' Diabolist spoke
amusedly.

Ugh, Akua. She was not supposed to actually be kind of funny.

``Are we not meant to be honoured guests?'' Hierophant said. ``Making us
stand outside his gates is poor manners.''

Like \emph{he} was one to talk about those. Still, as if magically
summoned by Masego's complaining, our `hosts' came out of the woodworks.
From beyond the gate chilling howls were heard, and then the flap of
great wings. Dozens of\ldots{} not dragons, but perhaps the bastard
child of them, took flight. Wyverns, though made of bone and leather
with radiant red eyes. Each one as large as a house.

``Thief,'' I said. ``The seal.''

Vivienne flourished her wrist, palm becoming filled with the obsidian
circle that had come along the Dead King's message. She tossed it at me,
and though I snatched it out of the air without trouble I gave her a
hard look. What if I hadn't been paying attention, and it'd tumbled off
the edge of the bridge? How fucked would we have been, this deep in the
Kingdom of the Dead without our proof of invitation? Regardless, the
wyverns passed over us without trouble as I raised the seal above my
head. The flock parted in both directions, diving below the stone bridge
and passing under. With perfect timing, they came back up and landed
simultaneously on the edge of both sides. The leathery wings folded
back, and ahead of us the tall gates of steel began to open.

``An honour guard,'' Akua said. ``How mannerly of him.''

A show of force as well, though I didn't need for her to remind of that
to be aware. Though I knew, objectively speaking, that the Dead King
would not have invited us for the sole purpose of murdering strangers I
could not quite manage indifference was we passed in front of the
perfectly still wyverns. Their eyes, I felt, followed us wherever we
went. It was a pittance compared to the welcome that awaited us beyond
the gates. The closer we came, the greater the chill going up my spine.
Indrani had told me everything Ranger had taught her about Keter, in
particular the kinds of undead that dwelled within. There were, she'd
said, three kinds. The Bones, the Binds and the Revenants. The Bones
were undead as I knew them, raised corpses little more intelligent than
dogs when left to their own purposes. Most were ancient enough they were
nothing but skeletons wearing armour. The Dead King, Archer told me,
could seize control of those at any time. The Binds were corpses with
souls bound to them, as sapient as humans. They were the captains and
servants of the Kingdom of the Dead. The third kind, the Revenants, were
a breed apart. Named stolen from the grave, keeping a shadow of the
power they'd once wielded while living.

The Dead King was a kind of his own, she'd added. Without equivalent or
easy description.

What awaited us beyond the gates was an honour guard beyond the ability
of mortals to assemble. The avenues of Keter were filled to the brim
with silent dead, bearing arms and armour spanning centuries. Bronze
helms in the ancient Baalite style, iron breastplates as were long borne
by the Lycaonese and more than a few longswords of the distinctive Vale
make of Callow. Banners from half the continent were stirred by the warm
breeze, though none stood as tall as that of the Kingdom of the Dead:
ten silver stars, set in a perfect circle around a pale crown. \emph{By
the regal crown you will know him}, the old verse went. \emph{His horse
is the death of men, his voice the fall of night and he strives doom
unto all the world.} Villains drew epithets, myself among them, but none
quite as many as the Dead King. We advanced, six of us surrounded by
silence and blasphemy. The very instant was passed the threshold,
thousands of dead kneeled in unison. I shivered. There had been a single
mind at work behind it. In the avenue ahead of us, the dead parted to
allow a pale man followed by six palanquins to pass through. I could
hear his heartbeat and my eyes lingered on his approaching silhouette
before my fingers clenched at the sight of the first palanquin.

Four dead carried it, but it was the drapery falling down the side that
drew my attention. Black silk, embroidered with heraldry. A set of
silver scales, balancing a crown and a sword. The sword weighed heavier.
The words embroidered beneath I did not need to read. \emph{He is not
blind}, I thought. \emph{He was never blind.} Whether the Dead King had
imprisoners himself into his personal hell or not, he knew of the
affairs of Calernia outside it. And in much greater depth than my worst
predictions had anticipated. The pale-skinned man was the only living
soul in sight, and memorable for reasons more than that. Raven tresses
went down his back, his body perfectly proportioned as if he were more
sculpture than man. He had, I thought as he came closer, warm and kind
eyes. Given the surroundings, that only added to the horror of it. The
stranger came before us and slowly knelt.

``In the name of the Crown, I greet you,'' he said in flawless Lower
Miezan. ``Black Queen, Tyrant of Callow, the King of Death extends his
hospitality to your august presence and that of our attendants.''

There was a slight accent to his voice, but not one I recognized.

``We accept this hospitality with the gratitude it is due,'' I replied.
``Rise.''

``I cannot, for my purpose is not yet discharged,'' the man said,
pressing his head to the stone. ``As gift of welcoming, the Crown
bestows my existence upon you.''

My lips thinned. Had I just been handed a slave? No, now was not the
time to make a mess. If the Dead King knew enough of Calernian affairs
to know the motto on my banner, he had to know how repulsive a Callowan
would find slavery. Was this a test?

``The gift is accepted in the spirit it was given,'' I said. ``Rise,
now.''

The man did so, gracefully.

``My face name is Athal, Great Majesty,'' he said. ``I have been
instructed to serve as your host for the duration of your stay.''

``We have a guest-gift to offer the Dead King,'' I said calmly. ``Though
that can wait until audience is granted. Until then, we would see our
quarters. It has been a long journey.''

``The Silent Palace has been prepared for your pleasure,'' Athal said,
bowing low. ``If you would deign to enter the palanquins, honoured
ones?''

``Very civilized, not making us walk,'' Masego noted approvingly. ``We
should see about obtaining those in Laure.''

I deigned, or at least began to. I paused when I finally took a closer
look at the dead bearing my litter. No mere skeletons in armour, these.
Their flesh was dead but well-preserved, their faces still human and
their finery fit for royalty. Which they very well might be: crowns had
been nailed to each of their heads.

``If it please you, Great Majesty,'' Athal said, coming at my side. ``As
a sign of respect, the Crown had put worthy souls to your service. You
look upon-''

``Princes,'' I interrupted quietly, ``Princes and princesses of
Procer.''

``That is so,'' the man agreed. ``Prince Mateo Osuna of Aequitan and his
twin sister Princess Nicoleda. Princess Clemente Milenan of Iserre.
Prince Friedrich Hasenbach of Rhenia. Their tongues have been sown as
penance, and crowns put to their brow as a reminder of the follies of
arrogance.''

They all came from principalities that had been pivotal in the war
against Callow one way or another. At a guess Rozala Malanza's own
bloodline was too young to the throne of Aequitan to have a
representative, so they'd drawn from the one that ruled before it.
Merciless Gods. The statement here was more alarming than the show of
force surrounding us, in some ways. That Neshamah had hordes of dead was
well known, but this was both a reminder that he'd broken more than a
few princes in his time and that he knew \emph{exactly} who my opponents
were. The Dead King was making a point. I got on the palanquin in
silence, and allowed dead royalty to carry me to the Silent Palace.

---

The accommodations lived up to the name. We'd gone through the streets
of Keter, passing a multitude of dead of all stripes, until we neared
the infamous Hall of the Dead. I'd seen this district before, in the
echoes. It had been where the powerful of Sephirah once lived in their
copper-roofed mansions. Those were long gone, replaced instead by a
circle of sprawling palaces surrounding the demon-tipped central tower.
The Silent Palace was a strange wonder of architecture, six interlocked
rings of different heights in marble black and white. Zombie had
followed us with our affairs, though our personal packs had been taken
by unsmiling dead, and the moment we entered the first hall white-robed
servants knelt gracefully before seeing to all our bags. Every single
one of them was alive, and no older than twenty. Athal followed me like
a shadow, as I as watched the servants divest Zombie of her saddlebags I
half-turned towards him.

``I did not think there would be so many living in Keter,'' I said.

The man had been both talkative and helpful, so far, and apparently
genuinely believed I owned him now. Though the thought was repellent and
there was \emph{trap} written all over this `gif't, I could at least hit
him up for some low understanding of this place.

``We are none of us from Keter, Great Majesty,'' Athal said, bowing low.
``All of us chose to become Hosts upon our coming of age, learning the
trade of that choice. It is a rare thing for our service to be called
upon, and a great honour.''

My eyes narrowed.

``You were born in Hell,'' I said.

``A strange thing to call the Serenity, honoured one,'' the man
murmured. ``It is the world beyond our guardians that is most deserving
of that ugly term.''

``You've been outside the Kingdom of the Dead?'' I asked, surprised.

``I have not. Yet we are not ignorant of the nightmare called Calernia,
Great Majesty,'' Athal gently said. ``The Journeymen return with the
tales of their time in your brutish world every season, sacrificing
their first life so that we may learn through them. It is a most noble
duty. If not for my facility with languages, I may very well have chosen
to serve as one of their number.''

Hosts. Journeymen. \emph{The Dead King is breeding people in his Hell
for chosen tasks}, I realized with fresh horror. There'd always been
rumours that he had human farms to swell his numbers with fresh dead
somewhere in his hellscape, but I'd assumed it would be through regular
reapings. \emph{No}, I thought. \emph{He has taught them it is an
honour}. \emph{Everything they know passes through his hands -- by the
time he's raised them up to the age of culling, they must actually
volunteer.} I should have known better. The kind of man who'd plot the
death of a kingdom and a half to obtain immortality with the Bard after
his hide the whole time would not have made so elementary a mistake. He
didn't treat his cattle like they were that. No, he'd tend to them
lovingly and reap the benefits of that kindness again and again over the
span of centuries. He must have shaped all their customs from the
cradle, I thought. An entire realm turned to the sole purpose of
strengthening him without forging heroes in the process.

``And these Journeymen,'' I said slowly. ``They've told you of how the
rest of the continent sees the Kingdom of the Dead?''

Athal seemed amused.

``Are we to put faith in the words of those that slaughter each other
for sport?'' he asked. ``There is no war in the Serenity, Great Majesty.
No murder or sickness or any of the brutalities outsiders inflict on
each other. We are born and raised to the loving embrace of the Crown,
and repay that kindness when our first lives have passed. It is the
least of that which is due.''

``And the devils?'' I asked.

``Beasts of burden,'' Athal said, sounding surprised. ``Save for those
of the Writhing Palace, were none trespass.''

That, I decided, did not sound like a place I ever wanted to visit.

``You're aware the Kingdom of the Dead has attacked other nations
before,'' I tried.

``The Procerans,'' the dark-haired man agreed. ``A warlike folk that
have attempted to destroy the Serenity many a time, assembling
coalitions of blind hatred. Are you not yourself come to Keter to seek
help against their depredations, Great Majesty?''

Well, he had me there. I was also fully intending to throw the Dead King
under the cart at the first opportunity, after carefully ensuring his
leash was loosened but not loose, but that was best kept quiet. Assuming
Neshama had not already deduced as much, which was looking increasingly
likely. And still he had invited me. Why? I needed to figure out his
game before meeting him, or I might just come out of that conversation
having birthed an atrocity greater than Akua's Folly.

``So why is this place called the Silent Palace, anyway?'' I said,
changing the subject with all my usual elegance.

``It is so named for it had remained closed and untouched since its last
and only guest,'' Athal explained. ``You would know her as the Dread
Empress Triumphant.''

No `may she never return', huh? I supposed this particular crowd had
different ideas about the kind of person she'd been. I was a little
unsettled at the very real possibility that the last person to sleep in
the bed I'd end up in tonight was the worst monster to ever come out of
Praes. Hopefully they'd changed the sheets since, because I wouldn't
dismiss out of hand the possibility she'd gotten demon all over them
during her stay.

``Any notion of when we'll be granted audience?'' I asked him.

``If it please you, it has been said that tomorrow's dusk would be
auspicious time,'' Athal replied.

``It pleases me,'' I said, a tad drily.

I regretted it immediately. It was unkind, to mock a man so obviously
twisted even if the manner of it was fairly gentle. It sometimes
occurred to me that I wouldn't like myself very much, if I met me as a
stranger. That I'd ended up stabbing one of the doppelgangers in my soul
seemed less and less a coincidence as I grew older.

``Then it shall be so, Great Majesty,'' the man bowed.

Zombie had been divested of her saddlebags and I allowed her to be
guided away by a white-robed servant without protest. Odds were there
was a stable in here somewhere, and it wasn't like I'd ever have a hard
time finding her. The rest of the Woe had been led to their own
chambers, save for Akua who'd denied her servant. She made her way
towards me instead and my brow rose. I supposed she didn't really need
rooms of her own, now that I thought about it, but she was in for a hard
awakening if she thought she could haunt my own. Athal flinched when she
approached and knelt at her feet.

``There's no need for that,'' I said slowly, crouching to help him back
up.

``I mean no slight, Great Majesty,'' he said, still looking down. ``It
is simply that I have never hosted one of the Splendid before. I was not
taught the proper manners.''

``Splendid, am I?'' Akua drawled. ``Well, I've often thought so
myself.''

That might have amused me, if the man wasn't so obviously frightened.

``She's just an attendant,'' I reassured him. ``No need to worry about
her.''

Diabolist's scarlet eyes flicked to the man and her face softened.

``You gave no offence, Host,'' she said. ``And your manners, though not
lacking, offered honours underserved. Treat me as any of the others and
you will find your actions faultless.''

Customary annotation: she was, of course, likely faking this. It was
good to remind myself of that, lest my impression of her improve. Praesi
highborn were not usually kind to servants, whenever they remembered
their existence, and Akua Sahelia had sent people dearer to her than a
stranger to their deaths without batting an eye.

``I heed your words, honoured one,'' Athal murmured.

``You needed something?'' I asked flatly.

She folded her hand into her sleeves.

``Mere assurance over minor matters,'' she said, smiling at Athal. ``I
was told that our movements within Keter would not be restricted, save
for the Hall of the Dead. Did the servant err in telling me this?''

``It is not so, Splendid,'' the dark-haired man said.

I eyed Akua curiously.

``The Lord Hierophant has expressed interest in sightseeing such a
glorious city,'' she said.

Ah. Well, it wasn't like I'd brought Masego with the expectation that
he'd be useful in the negotiations. He was here to ease our way through
Arcadia, and as one of my larger cudgels in case things went south.

``Have Archer go with him,'' I ordered Akua. ``And tell them to be back
before nightfall.''

I should not have to impose a curfew on a grown man and woman, but I
most definitely \emph{did} have to when it came to that pair. Indrani
wasn't someone I'd usually consider or employ as a restraining
influence, but she knew the dangers of the Keter better than any of us.
She'd pull him away if his nose led him somewhere they shouldn't go. If
wandering around kept them occupied while I prepared for tomorrow with
the others, I'd count it a victory.

It was all about the standards, really.

``By your will, Black Queen,'' Diabolist smiled, bowing.

Lower than what Praesi court etiquette dictated, even if she considered
me a ruling Dread Empress. She was being careful about maintaining the
illusion of her change of appearance, which I couldn't help but approve
of.

``All right, Athal,'' I sighed as she walked away. ``Take me to my
rooms.''

``By your will, Great Majesty,'' he said, bowing as well.

I detected a hint of amusement in his voice. I could grow fond of that
one, I decided. I allowed him to lead me deeper into the palace before
clearing my throat.

``So, about those sheets,'' I began.