Land of the Beautiful Dead by R. Lee Smith Page B

Why fight as he’d done, with Revenants and Eaters, if he could just wave his hand and bring down the poison rain?
    “Where did it come from, then?” she asked.
    He glanced at her, frowning, then up at the window, and finally stared into his cup again. “It was the consequence of the last weapons fired against me. No doubt you would have found it inspiring, to see all the peoples of the world united in the murder of me, their conviction such that they chose to risk the poisoning of every man, woman and child who might survive the inferno rather than submit to my ascension. Ah well. Perhaps it was not deliberate. Perhaps its effects surprised even those who approved its use. Perhaps they regretted it when they saw what they had done.” His mouth twisted into another of those bitter smiles. “They regretted it enough to blame me. Yet Man survived, as Man does, and the stain that he left upon the sky is already much less than it was.” He looked at her again, still smiling. “So it is the living rumor of my power, is it? Mm. When it fades away entirely, will Men credit my mercy?”
    “They might,” Lan said, trying to appear casual by spreading butter on a small loaf she didn’t even have room to eat. “If you made more merciful gestures.”
    “Such as surrendering the dead to die?”
    “I didn’t say that.”
    “Yes, you’ve kept your end of the bargain to the letter of the words by which it was struck, all the while attacking its spirit. You’ve the makings of a natural diplomat.”
    “Thanks. When do I get my audience?”
    “This evening, following dinner.”
    “Evening?” Lan twisted in her chair to check a window. It didn’t face east, so she couldn’t see the sun, but she could tell just by the color of the overcast sky that it wasn’t even mid-morning yet. “Oh for… Can’t we just get to it?”
    He had started to raise his cup to his lips. Now he paused. His fingers tightened. He set it down again without drinking. “Impatient, are we?” he said, affecting a dry tone, but it was an affectation and, hearing it, Lan’s cheeks burned.
    “I didn’t mean it like that,” she said, picking over the food that remained on her plate. “We can keep talking.”
    “Much as I enjoy your company, alas, other matters require my attention.”
    “Like what?”
    “Civil affairs. The minutiae of managing a city such as Haven.” He gestured vaguely at everything, nothing. “The demands upon my days are many.”
    Lan frowned, her curiosity scratching through her frustration in spite of herself. “Like what?” she asked again. “Maybe I could help if I knew what the problem is.”
    “Anything is possible, I suppose, but why would you?”
    “Isn’t that how this works? I do for you, you do for me?”
    He uttered a low laugh, then suddenly shoved his throne back and stood. Circling around the table, Azrael descended the dais with his eyes fixed and unblinking, staring her down like a predator. Her hand tightened on her knife; she put it down and watched him come. When he reached her, he put one huge, scarred hand on the back of her chair and the other on the table before her, effectively trapping her between his arms as he bent low and pinned her in the white light of his stare. In a voice as soft and as ominous as a distant roll of thunder, he said, “Do what you will, you will never have what you want of me.”
    “Never is a long time,” she said. Her voice shook only a little. Her gaze never broke. She could be proud of that, at least.
    “Longer than you know.” He straightened, taking away the oppressive non-weight of his body looming over her and the very real heat that had come throbbing through the sockets of his mask where his inhuman eyes burned. “You will never have what you want of me,” he said again, lightly now, “yet it remains you may still have much. Come now, what is it you truly desire? A more comfortable room? Servants? Jewels? Let us negotiate terms. I offer safety and