Lich for Hire

"That can't be right. You said devils have to provide a stake equal to what they're claiming. With a price this enormous, what did Tiamat put up?"

Mr. Misfortune was shaken. He grasped desperately for any thread he could hold onto.

Ambrose explained, "If they manage to hold the Hellgates, every member of the Impure bloodlines gets the chance to bond with a red dragon."

The Dragon Queen had once been considered the progenitor of the chromatic dragons. Whether that was literally true was open to question, but she did command a great many of them.

It was said that Tiamat fielded a powerful corps of dragon riders who fought for her across many planes. Ambrose had never seen them in all his years of adventuring, but the rumors persisted.

Mr. Misfortune wasn't ready to give up. "Even if Tiamat paid a fair stake, why would all the Impure bloodlines be damned? Most of them are distant branches of the founding families by now."

Ambrose sighed wearily. "Vladimir, don't lie to yourself. You know exactly why. It's because of their Impure bloodlines that they were able to spread through this kingdom and become important figures in every region. They acknowledge that bloodline. They acknowledge their connection to the Impure. They've willingly accepted Impure leadership.

"It's just like this kingdom itself. Whatever you'd like to call it, the thirteen Impure are this kingdom's rulers. They have every right to sell out the kingdom, never mind their bloodline descendants."

Mr. Misfortune clenched his fists and paced. Then, abruptly, he tried again. "There's still a way out, isn't there? The devils only required that the Hellgates not be destroyed. The future we saw was the Hellgates gone. Gone isn't the same as destroyed, is it? We still have a chance, don't we?"

Ambrose watched his senior in silence. After a long moment, he said quietly, "Yes. You're right."

Mr. Misfortune didn't seem to hear him. He was already off talking to himself. "There has to be a chance. There has to be a way. We could use spatial magic to relocate the Hellgates somewhere else, then prepare to deal with Lyon's army. If we work hard enough, we can absolutely..."

Ambrose said nothing more, and let his senior go on "looking for solutions."

Mr. Misfortune kept at it for some time before he finally fell silent and slumped into his chair. He looked at Ambrose with hollow eyes. "There's no hope at all, is there?"

Ambrose shook his head. "You can't outsmart a devil with wordplay. Tiamat has signed countless contracts with countless people. She wouldn't leave a loophole that obvious for us to exploit. Protecting the Hellgates means keeping them functioning normally. Relocating them or hiding them—anything along those lines is a violation of the contract.

"Vladimir, you need to make a decision. If you decide to give up, leave with me now and let the kingdom fall to Hell. If you're going to push on, then you'll need another way to hold off Lyon's invasion that doesn't depend on the kingdom's army. Once the nobles are gone, the kingdom will collapse on the spot."

The nobles were hated, but for centuries those nobles had controlled every resource the kingdom possessed. Every commander in the army was a noble. Almost no one of common birth had ever risen to a position of real authority.

If those leaders all vanished at once, the tiflings would have a few seconds to feel relieved before they plunged straight into chaos.

Resource scrambles, power scrambles, old grudges—everything would erupt at once. The kingdom would unravel in short order, unless some extraordinary hero with both standing and capability could stabilize the whole country in a matter of days.

But even Arthur Lyon reborn would probably need at least a year to settle things.

Even granting that Mr. Misfortune had a fraction of Arthur Lyon's ability, time wasn't on his side.

Lyon was right at the Unholy Kingdom's borders. There was no way it would wait a year.

In light of the impending chaos, Lyon's paladin legions would be able to overrun the Unholy Kingdom within two months.

Mr. Misfortune alone, even with Ambrose at his side, couldn't hold off Lyon's army. They'd be sacrificing themselves for nothing.

This wasn't a one-on-one duel between legends. In a duel, Ambrose could kite at range. This was a war for the survival of a nation. Lyon's army had legion-grade magic capable of striking targets miles away. The moment Ambrose stuck his head out, he'd be vaporized.

Only armies could fight armies. Mortal strength, properly massed, was sufficient to kill gods.

And Ambrose had a further suspicion: Tiamat wasn't simply after the souls of these tiflings. There was likely a follow-up plan beyond what they could see, and there was no way to find out what it was.

Ambrose was already preparing to leave. The Unholy Kingdom was done for. Better to extract himself quickly, and perhaps loot the royal treasury during the chaos on his way out.

A moment ago, Mr. Misfortune had been overcome and had indulged in a bit of self-deception. Now that he was calm again, he could see the bleak future as clearly as anyone else.

The kingdom's destruction looked like a foregone conclusion. Mr. Misfortune was a fly caught in a web. The more he struggled, the deeper his despair would grow. Better to pull free now, while only a few threads clung to him.

Ambrose didn't press him. He simply left a magic mirror behind.

"Keep this. When you need me, call."

Then, Ambrose left.

The kingdom was doomed, but he decided to help out a little anyway.

Lavarun, Roger Ángelo's city, hadn't yet descended into chaos. If he sparked a conflict there, with some luck, it might diminish the forces Lyon could bring to bear when it finally invaded the tiflings.

Mr. Misfortune watched Ambrose go, then looked around at his surroundings.

Redriver was a town he'd once lived in, too. Over the centuries, it had become as unfamiliar to him as his own kingdom now felt.

When had the Unholy Kingdom started slipping into such a serious crisis? He'd done a respectable job for several centuries. The kingdom had been thriving.

Could all that prosperity have been a veneer to conceal the conspiracy from the very beginning?

Why hadn't he identified the issues earlier? How had he, a diviner, failed to anticipate such a serious tragedy?

"Has the Goddess of Fate truly turned her back on me...?"

As that thought rose unbidden, Mr. Misfortune's whole body jolted.

"No. Arthas was right. I leaned too heavily on Fate's power. I've gone further down this road than he has, but I lost the basic capacity to think for myself in the process. If I hadn't relied on Fate's power, I would have caught the warning signs long ago. I blinded my own eyes."

A wave of regret took him. If he hadn't quarreled with that insufferable scoundrel all those years ago, if he had instead gone adventuring with him across the continent, would he have been able to save his homeland now?

Mr. Misfortune stood and clenched his fists. "There's no hope left, but I can't give up yet. There has to be something I can still do."