The Kingdoms of Evil (2 page)

Chapter the First

In which the Ultimate Fiend receives a Letter

To the Ultimate Fiend of the Kingdoms of Evil
.

"
The hell
?"
Freetrick Feend
held
the
thick, leathery
envelope out from his wad of mail.

The envelope's
surface smooth, leathery, and disquietingly goose bumped, bore those nine words only.
It
exuded a chill aura of malignancy and foreboding uncommon in works of
stationery, and as Freetrick held it, his heart began to thud.

Students, chatting, dozing, or quietly studying, filled the central rotunda of the Eldritch College union. B
eyond the comforting brick walls of the college, The Rationalist Union, nation of the God of Words and many others, hummed along on tracks of word-magic and Universal Science. And in the middle of all this mundanity sat the envelope, like an ogre at a public urinal.

Chill unease prickled up Freetrick's back, there in the front of the mail boxes. He felt as if someone was calling him, telling him to do something terrible
. As if his shadow was rising to engulf him, as if someone was sneaking up
on him from behind.

A hand reached over Freetrick's shoulder and snatched the envelope.

"Hey!" Junk mail and interlibrary loan notices flew as Freetrick grabbed for the envelope, but the long, brown fingers had already lifted it higher than he could reach. From behind him, Istain sniggered.

"Strike it
out, Istain!" Freetrick spun to glare up at his friend. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with
me
?" With his grinning mouth, dark, moppy hair, and long gangling limbs, Istain dangled over Freetrick's upturned face like a giant marionette. Something to scare children. "Freetrick, what's wrong with me is my superhuman powers of stealth and observation." Istain straightened his long spine and pressed a hand to his chest. "And intelligence. And good looks."

"Help me pick up my mail, Istain." Istain's peculiar brand of physical humor had not been funny in middle school, and matriculation into the Rationalist Union's premier liberal arts college had failed to improve it. Sighing, Freetrick dropped his bag and bent to pick up his scattered mail.

"I prefer to watch you groveling at my feet." Istain examined the letter he had stolen, looking in no way apologetic.
"
What is this…ew. It's all squeezy and soft."

Fortunately, foot traffic was light in the union at this time of night, and Freetrick managed to collect his mail without getting any of it stepped on.

Istain held out the letter for Freetrick to take.
"Who
sent
this?"

"I don't know
"
Freetrick stood and accepted the letter. Istain did not try to snatch it back at the last second, which Freetrick interpreted and accepted as an apology. The thick, greasy vellum slid under his fingers as Freetrick shoved it into his bag.

"What's in it?" Istain asked.

"I don't know," said Freetrick again, "Maybe if you'd..." then he looked past Istain and stopped caring about the envelope."Ah, there's Zathara." Hey Zathara!" He waved.

The approaching figure was unmistakable, and not just because of the shocking red and orange of her body-wrap. Even from a distance, Zathara Nashta seSuyamuan looked like who she was, a Love-wielder noblewoman, all curves and smooth skin swaying under tight, flame-colored cloth.

"Aw.
Zathara
?" Istain turned to see her and groaned.

"Shush!" said Freetrick. "And anyway, I thought you liked her." It was hard not to.

"Zathara is a delightful young woman," Istain steepled his fingers in front of his chest.
"
She improves the scenery wonderfully. But, she'll have invited Madene and Kendrick."

"Yes," Freetrick said. "She probably
has
. Be nice."

Istain blinked. "I'm always nice."

"No you aren't,
"
said Freetrick, "You're always a jerk."

It was a considered opinion, formed over nearly a lifetime of observation. But Istain was Freetrick's best friend, and had been since they were children at boarding school together. Even the allure of beautiful, exotic women could not challenge the bond shared between two boys who had peed on each other in kindergarten.

"I see Madene and Istain enough during dance practices," Istain continued, much too loudly. "Seriously, Free. Madene's expression nearly gives me a heart attack every time I spin around." He spun to demonstrate, and a study group abandoned its couch and fled.
"
Madene has issues," Istain said, "and one of these days she's going to flip out and kill someone."

Freetrick could guess who she would go after first, but didn't voice the thought.

"Hi boys," Zathara glided to a stop in front of them. She eyed Istain, still jerking in a caricature of a gara step. "Still practicing for the dance show?"

"Not in any productive way." Freetrick glared at Istain, and then smiled at Zathara. "Thanks for coming."

"Thanks for waiting for us," she said, turning to the mail boxes. She reached up and pressed her rune-stone against her box, somehow making the motion as sensuous and effortless as a cat's stretching. "Madene and Kendrick are on their way."

"Of course they are," Istain grumbled.

Freetrick shot his friend a suppressing glance. Without Zathara, he knew, the tension between Istain and Madene would have broken the dance club. Fortunately, Zathara was the sort of person who could stand in the center of a group of people and get them all turning in the same direction.

Not to mention the fact that, as part of the aristocracy of the nation of the Goddess of Love, Zathara was trained to generate the kind of charisma that could make princes weep. And, at least during practices, she took direction from
him
. Being the director of a student organization had definite advantages.

"Strike it out." The Rationalist Union curse sounded like chocolate and pepper in her Love Wielder accent. "When are my candies going to arrive?" Zathara turned from her empty mail box. "I very much hope they haven't all been eaten by the customs agents again. So, what were you boys discussing?"

"
Freetrick's mail," said Istain, "show it to her, Free."

Freetrick reached into his pack, extracted the envelope, and handed it to Zathara. Was that brush of the fingers intentional? Of course it was, she was
a Love-Wielder
. But what did it mean? Zathara knew dances far more subtle than any gara step.

"Well it can't have just come like this," she said. "It has no address on it. It doesn't even have your name."

"
It must have been hand-delivered," said Freetrick.

"Maybe one of the social houses is hosting a party," suggested Istain.

Zathara was still rubbing her fingers across the pimply surface of the envelope.
"A Kingdoms-of-Evil-themed party? That's in rather bad taste."

"Only if you're a cranky old lady." Istain snorted. "A Kingdoms-of-Evil-themed party is a
great
idea. It'll have goth chicks in metal bikinis, spiky shoulder pads for the gentlemen," he made motions about a foot out from his own shoulders. " Ooh! And
monsters
… I can be an ogre. What are you two grinning about?"

"What
are
you grinning about?"

Freetrick turned at the deep, slow voice to see Kendrick Fairheart walk into earshot from across the Union's rotunda. In front of him, arms swinging, striding in steps too long for her legs, was Madene a'Legha.

"The squishy letter. Let's open it," Istain reached down to grab the envelope out of Zathara's hands.

She pulled it away from him, smiling at the other core members of Freetrick's gara dance club. "Hello, you two. Why so late? Were you snuggling?"

"We were
not
. No. Yuck
"
." Madene bent down, peered past her curtain of black hair into her mailbox's interior, and then straightened without bothering to open it.
"Freetrick," she said, "I think Jubal should dance in the
back row on Saturday."

"What?"
said Freetrick.

Madene wiped her hair back and glared at him. Silver eyes glinting from under dark brows, hands on hips, Madene looked as if she was trying to look like a Warrior Maiden. Unfortunately, she was two generations removed from her martial-prophetess ancestors, and life in the Rationalist Union had given Madene a scholar's stoop and a tummy her jerkin could not entirely hide.
"You know, Jubal. He's new. He shouldn't be in the front during a performance."

Oh right. Parents' weekend. The first big performance of the school year. There were people in the dance club who had less than two months of experience. And they would damn well dance in the
front.

"No, Madene," said Freetrick. "
That's the way it works. New dancers go in the front, because they need the encouragement
. Us old hats don't need people watching us to know how good we are."

"What letter?" said Kendrick, "This smells wrong."

Madene was not to be distracted.
"But Jubal dances…" she shook her hands, searching for the word, "like a stinking goof, Freetrick."

"
Rooster
is a goofy step,
"
said Freetrick, shooting another glance at Istain. General policy wasn't the only reason he had put Madene and Kendrick in the back for this particular dance, but he had no desire at all to say.

"Yeah," said Madene, "not my favorite."

"I agree," said Zathara, lying, Freetrick knew, with absolute-seeming conviction "
I prefer the
Bull
, myself.
" That was flattery aimed at Kendrick, whose stocky body
and quick, solid movements
were a perfect match for the martial dance's steps.

Kendrick nodded and Madene made a sort of compromising head-bobble. "
Okay,
"
she said.

"
And the
Bull
is our anchor dance,
"
said Freetrick,
"
here.
"
He swung his bag around and dug into it.
"
I made a list of the stuff we'll need for the show.
"

"
Of course you did,
"
said Istain.

"
And I have the dance schedule and blocking diagrams in there. Here, let me show you.
"
Freetrick reached into his bag and pulled his palm-sized magic mirror out from among the books and scholarly detritus.
"
Just a sec…
"
He mumbled a quick prayer to the God of Words and scratched a few runes onto the mirror's smooth surface. It shivered in his hands and began to shine with the soft, blue light of its start-up screen. Freetrick scratched at the surface with a fingernail until he found the right document, then handed the mirror to Madene.

"But as I was saying," Istain said as Madene scrolled through Freetrick's notes, "I think it's a theme party. Oh for Truth's sake, Kendrick, stop glaring at me like that."

"Freetrick got a letter," Zathara said. She handed it to Kendrick, who reached out, looked down, and then jerked backward as if from a live rattle snake.

" 'The Kingdoms of Evil'?" He demanded, "
Skrea
? Where did you get this?"

"It's a joke, Kendrick," said Istain. "Calm down."

"A very stupid joke, if so." Kendrick scowled. "Who the hell do they think they are?" His deep-set eyes flicked up to Istain. "Some down-hill city-slicker who's never seen an ogre in his life."

"
As if you have," Istain said.

Kendrick growled. Istain was a local boy like Freetrick, a Rationalist born far west of the Bulwark Mountains, but Kendrick was from Between, and he took certain things seriously.

"Maybe it's an awareness campaign," Zathara said.

"
You think that's likely?" Istain prodded the skin-like paper in Kendrick's hands.
"
I don't think Eldritch administration gives out hand-lettered invitations written on parchment
."

"What are you looking at?"
It was a habit of Madene's to zone out of a conversation, then expect to be informed about what she missed. Freetrick would have been more annoyed by the tendency except that it probably helped make conversations with Istain more comprehensible.

"A letter from Freetrick's stalker," said Istain. "We're hoping to lift finger-prints off it."

"What?" Madene took the letter from Zathara. "
Oh
. The Kingdoms of Evil? It's a stupid joke or something."