Lich for Hire

Ambrose stared at Mr. Misfortune in the mirror. He didn't know what to say.

Why would Sariel agree to a contract with Mr. Misfortune on these terms? It was an obvious loss for her. Why would she value Mr. Misfortune? Was it because he was a diviner?

The class was rare, but it wasn't so important as to be worth the collapse of an entire kingdom.

Even Tiamat wasn't only collecting on those few million souls. Once the Unholy Kingdom collapsed, more tiflings would die in the war. A substantial portion of those souls would also fall to Hell.

Why would she make such a deal with Mr. Misfortune?

Ambrose mulled things over. "Have you signed the contract yet?"

"Not yet. I'm still drawing up the list of names I want to save. Once it's complete, I'll negotiate the final terms with Sariel. The bulk of the contract is settled, at least."

"Don't sign it. Get out of there. Your ancestor renounced his status as an Impure early on, which means your family isn't covered by the original contract. If you leave the Unholy Kingdom, you'll survive."

Mr. Misfortune's family was prominent, but surprisingly small considering their bloodline traced back to one of the original Impure. The reason was that, when power had first been consolidated within the Unholy Council, Mr. Misfortune's ancestor had felt that doing so was a desecration of the heroes' sacrifice and had withdrawn from it.

That was before Sariel had signed her contract with the Unholy Council.

Mr. Misfortune wasn't on the list of those bound to fall. And, as a diviner, Mr. Misfortune could slip away straightforwardly enough.

Mr. Misfortune gave Ambrose a wry smile. "I've spent my whole life working for this kingdom, working to wash away the stain my ancestor left on our name. If I run while the kingdom faces its greatest crisis, wouldn't I have wasted my life?"

He didn't have to be an undead to have a fixation of his own.

He had sacrificed his entire life for his kingdom. He almost certainly knew that Sariel was lying to him in some respect, but he simply had no other option.

Reshaping the fate of an entire kingdom was beyond what one mortal could do.

As Ambrose remained silent, Mr. Misfortune offered him a smile. "Don't be like that. You're a lich. Why be so sentimental?"

"It's a terrible deal," Ambrose answered flatly. "And you know that. Watching you sign it anyway is more than I can stand."

Mr. Misfortune sighed. "What would you have me do? Honestly, if you can solve this for me, I'd be willing to hand you my life. Anything's better than falling to Hell."

Ambrose stroked his chin. "Let me think. What I can't figure out is why Sariel is the one negotiating with you in the first place. The Unholy Kingdom's nobles belong to Tiamat under the original contract. Why is Sariel the one cutting the deal?"

"Sariel told me Tiamat had given her full authority to negotiate. You think she's lying?"

Ambrose shook his head. "Not about that. Devils can't lie about something the contract-signer already knows. The contract wouldn't hold otherwise. Ask a devil for a million gold, and the devil will deliver exactly that. But the devil can be creative about how you receive it—as your pension, say, or as a settlement, or even as stolen money planted on you to incriminate you.

"Knowledge derived from these negotiations follows the same rules. Since Sariel has claimed that Tiamat handed over negotiations to her, it must be true. Tiamat has to have agreed to this, but that's exactly what I can't make sense of. Why would she agree?"

The original Unholy Kingdom contract had been in two parts. If the Hellgates successfully held off Lyon's army, the entire Unholy Kingdom would fall to Hell. If the Hellgates were destroyed, the thirteen Impure and their descendants would fall to Hell.

Those two stakes looked different on the surface, but they shared one feature: they could be split.

Sariel and Tiamat could divide the souls one by one, however many came in.

But this new arrangement was different. The central component of this contract was Mr. Misfortune's allegiance, and that couldn't be split. He couldn't simultaneously serve two lords of Hell.

And Tiamat and Sariel were both controlling personalities. Neither would tolerate her vassal sharing loyalties with the other.

And neither could Mr. Misfortune be cut in half. His value lay precisely in his identity as a legendary diviner. Halve his soul and you'd ruin the asset.

Ambrose laid out his concerns to Mr. Misfortune, who thought it over. "Maybe they're splitting things up differently. All the other souls go to Tiamat, while I become Sariel's vassal."

Ambrose laughed. "Then Tiamat would suffer a massive loss. She'd be throwing away several million souls for nothing. Why not just split the souls with Sariel the original way? That would earn her more."

Under the new contract, what would have been several million souls would instead become a few hundred thousand, a tenth of the original. Tiamat would be taking a huge loss. She wouldn't have agreed unless Sariel had pinned her down and forced her to.

But that was unlikely. Lords of Hell were cunning by nature. Even if Tiamat couldn't beat Sariel in a straight fight, she wouldn't be browbeaten into silence either. The fact that the two of them were cooperating at all meant each retained the capacity to stand her ground.

Ambrose stroked his chin and thought aloud. "So we're halfway to the answer. Sariel doesn't want you. She wants you to do something for her. Whatever that something is, Tiamat must come out ahead on it too—better off than she would by collecting those few million souls. The question is, what could you possibly do for a lord of Hell?"

Mr. Misfortune answered with a wry smile. "I haven't studied as broadly as you have. All I'm familiar with is the power of fate. If anyone wants to make use of me, that's all I have to offer. But why would a lord of Hell need divinations?"

He felt that Ambrose's reasoning had to be off. He was, after all, only a mortal. How much could his power matter to a lord of Hell?

Ambrose shook his head. "Divination isn't it, but it has to be connected to your abilities somehow. As for the specifics, we have no way to guess. Nine times out of ten, guessing without any leads will get us the wrong answer. Senior, are you sure you've told me everything? No tricks up your sleeve you haven't mentioned?"

Mr. Misfortune rolled his eyes.

"If I had any hidden tricks, don't you think I'd be using them now? I'm about to fall to Hell. If you can't guess, don't. It won't help."

The small flame of hope Ambrose had rekindled was snuffed out once more. No wonder he hadn't been able to divine the kingdom's future. The Goddess of Fate had been sparing him, refusing to let him despair for too long.

But he and Ambrose, two willful children, had insisted on dragging the bloody truth into the open. Of course a tragedy would unfold.

Mr. Misfortune wanted to advise Ambrose to stop, to keep himself out of it before he got dragged in too.

"Arthas, I've never asked anything of you in my life. This is the one request I'll make. Even if my arrangement with Sariel saves most of the tiflings, when Lyon invades, I don't know how long they'll hold. If you have anything left to spare, please help them out instead."

Ambrose chuckled. "You don't need to ask. I just set Lavarun on fire."

"W-What?"

Mr. Misfortune was startled. Set Lavarun on fire? How had this lich managed that?

Lyon's cities were warded with powerful holy light arrays. They might only be moderately effective against other races, but were at least twice as potent against the undead. Wouldn't Ambrose have burned to ash the moment he came near Lavarun?

"You can't joke about something like that!" Mr. Misfortune cried out.

"I'm not joking. And not only that, I'm planning to ask Sariel exactly what she wants you to do."

Ambrose was so matter-of-fact about it that Mr. Misfortune had to confirm, "You're serious."

"Yes."

"Why would Sariel tell you anything?"

"It's worth a try. She might."

Mr. Misfortune didn't know where Ambrose's confidence was coming from. They had only managed to glean some intelligence about Tiamat's contract because it was foolproof. There was no way to break it, so there was no harm in revealing details about it, either.

But Sariel's contract was an ongoing scheme. Why would she volunteer any details she didn't need to?

You always kept your aces face-down in a negotiation. Revealing them from the very beginning was no way to bargain.

Still, Mr. Misfortune was genuinely moved. Ambrose could have walked away by himself. He was choosing to take another risk for Mr. Misfortune's sake.

"Arthas," Mr. Misfortune's voice softened. "When I was younger, I was too rash, and too much of an idealist. We've barely spoken for centuries, and most of that was my fault. I'm sorry."

"An apology isn't worth as much as gold. If I save you, I expect you to repay me a few billion gold."

Mr. Misfortune laughed bleakly.

"A few billion? Make it a few hundred billion. If we really get through this mess, I'll find a way."

Ambrose glanced at Mr. Misfortune's bitter expression as he silently broke the connection. Then, he teleported to the Umbral Depths.

Sariel was unlikely to give up the truth, but it was still worth a try.

As Ambrose arrived in the Umbral Depths, he handed the hair he'd collected to Black Rose. "The curse is working. Don't let them rest."

Black Rose was more than happy to make trouble for Lyon. She accepted the hair and began casting at once. There would be more unrest in Lavarun yet.

"Milena, stand right here."

Ambrose set the unsuspecting Milena on the altar and began reciting in the infernal tongue.

Every devil had its own summoning rite. The words Ambrose was reciting now were for Sariel specifically, though the rite usually called for fierce combat as part of the offering.

This particular Archduchess of Hell had different tastes from most devils. She had no interest in the slaughter of the weak. If you set two strong warriors against each other in a death match, though, that might draw her interest enough to spectate.

But Ambrose didn't have the time to arrange a duel between two warriors. He had Milena stand on the altar instead, hoping she would catch Sariel's eye on her own merit.

Sure enough, halfway through the chant, Sariel's fiery body took shape above the altar.

Sariel fixed Ambrose with a cold stare. "Lich, you had better have a good explanation for this. Otherwise, this summoning, bordering on blasphemy, is more than enough cause for me to punish you severely."