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“Master Ikithon, I, the High Curator, find you in severe contempt of Imperial law, but I cannot judge you independently. The full weight of the Library of the Cobalt Soul will stand to see you tried for all the terrible things you have wrought. Your tale will be marred and burned, and the rest of your days will be spent in a hole, I can guarantee it.”
The words that came from Yudala Fon’s lips were intended to be thoroughly intimidating. They were saying to his face that he would be locked away forever, his name disgraced and legacy ruined.
How foolish.
If only Fon knew… It would only be a matter of time before the Assembly would strike back and crush the Soul for daring to imprison one of their own.
He had a purpose in life, a goal. Everything he did, it was for the Empire. For the greater good.
The High Curator’s words held no bite in his opinion.
And then there was the collection of vermin and riffraff that is the Mighty Nein. Those foolish miscreants and traitors to his Empire. They dared to steal Bren from him, and then they dared to sway his two most loyal dogs to their cause.
He shouldn’t have shown mercy to Bren and his friends.
He should’ve just killed him outright, before he could plead to his dogs.
He just needed to wait for the Assembly to overrule the Soul’s nonexistent authority.
If anything, the Martinet would be able to convince the King to do so, to fabricate evidence if he had to. Even the Martinet knows that for all of his amoral actions, they were necessary. How could no one see that?
He was so close to having Bren kill him, to break him for good. Even Astrid came close to doing so. He could’ve become a hero to the Empire, his death could’ve moved the people into seeking retribution against the Mighty Nein. His death could’ve motivated the Assembly to fully expose their treachery, that they had known all along who had “stolen” the beacons and were harboring a fugitive and traitor to both the Empire and the Dynasty.
In addition, the Assembly would have made their move and sacrificed the Nein, as well as their Crick tagalong Thelyss, in a display of their “patriotism”. It would have further convinced the Dynasty of the Empire’s desire to no longer seek war. The peace would continue, and no one would be the wiser.
The Martinet would surely pull this off. He is second only to the King in terms of authority.
He is frustrated, unable to pull his hands apart. That godsdamned halfling wench and her application of sovereign glue.
He is unable to speak as well. That Cobalt Soul self-righteous bitch slapped that collar on him… which was closed shut by Astrid. How could she, that traitor!
With his hands and voice neutralized, he was not an archmage at present. He was but a man. But soon he would not be. All he needs to do is wait for the Martinet or another of the Assembly to spring him out. They need him. The Empire needs him. Sacrifices must be made. Pain must be dealt, to hell with that overbearing firbolg heretic serving an illegal deity. He should’ve had him imprisoned just for that.
Same with that half-breed brute masquerading as some sort of holy warrior, or that tiefling witch who kept singing praises of this “Traveler”. A false god, surely, and one that would surely have put her on the pyre. Gods know what she will do now, sowing chaos in his perfect Empire of law and order.
And that Xhorhasian woman, who also served an outlawed deity. There was far too much about her that was left unchecked. She was there, witnessed by many archivists and Volstrucker at both the Valley Archive and the Chantry of the Dawn. She was working with that Obann individual, working to free the Chained Oblivion, and the Mighty Nein still trusted her. That made them accessories to nearly destroying the Empire. Why did King Dwendal even entertain their claims of wanting peace? They were all traitors. They all deserve to be put to death.
But the one that deserved to die the most? Bren.
Bren, who had humiliated him so deeply.
Bren, who had dared to defy him and his true calling.
Bren, who had the nerve to wish for a “better Empire”.
The Empire cannot be better without sacrifice, and he had proven that by silencing the Ermendruds, Becks, and Grieves. And so many other weak and pathetic cattle. Necessary sacrifices for the greater good.
A sound cuts through his musings. All he can do is wait and listen patiently. Surely the Martinet is on his way to have him released. He has the authority to do so.
But the one who appears is not Ludinus Da’leth.
It’s perhaps the last person he had expected to see.
“You got sloppy, Ikithon. I had supported your methods for so long, and not once did I believe that you would be against the Empire’s wishes. But for the sake of keeping the peace, I am sorry to say that I must concur with the ruling of the King. You are to be left imprisoned for the rest of your days, your tower and research materials confiscated and revoked, and I had been told that perhaps a reformation of the Volstrucker program may need to happen, if not complete dismantling.”
He was well known for his face betraying no tells. A perfect poker face, displaying unyielding calm and professionalism, even in the most extreme of circumstances. Not even the Mighty Nein could make him break his composure.
But hearing these… blasphemous words from Margolin himself… it would be the first and last time he let his composure crumble.
No. No. This cannot be happening. Not like this. No! The Empire needs him! Margolin needs him! All of Exandria needs him! He cannot rot away in a cell like this. He can’t!
“I’m sorry, Ikithon… but this is where we say goodbye.”
And with that, Zivan Margolin just turns and walks away, leaving him alone in the darkness and silence once more until the jailers come by for the occasional feeding time.
And so Trent Ikithon continues to sit in the deepest and darkest dungeon in Rexxentrum, unable to talk or move his hands, force fed and left to think, and think, and think.
And to curse all who dared to defy him.
Even his eventual death years later was lost to the silence and darkness, as the Dwendalian Empire blissfully was left unaware. He would be forgotten entirely.
And good riddance.