Konig whimpered an affirmative from his place on the floor.
“Prepare them to march. We’re moving ahead of schedule.” It was time to test the strategies perfected with his toy soldiers. Gottlos would fall and it would be clean and fast and perfect.
“Who will lead them?” Failure asked.
“Konig will lead.”
“Best you don’t leave the centre of your power,” agreed Failure.
Failure bowed low and Morgen glared at the Reflection’s bald skull. Was that a hint of a victorious smile? It bothered him that the Reflection agreed so quickly. Too quickly.
Konig will be alone with the majority of my troops and most of my Geisteskranken. What if his lack of Gefahrgeist power was a ruse? What if he merely awaited exactly such an opportunity? With the troops beyond the Selbsthass border, Morgen would be unable to reach them. Konig might bend them to his purpose. Could he turn them enough that they’d invade their own country? Such action would end in failure but not before causing grievous destruction and a terrible mess. Quashing a rebellion would stall his plans for invasion for months, maybe years.
Morgen glanced at the Theocrat still whimpering on the floor. How could he be so different from the original Konig. It must be an act.
I’ll lead the troops. If Konig and his Reflection were so foolish as to attempt a coup in his absence, Morgen could return and crush it.
“Perhaps I shall lead the troops,” said Morgen, watching Failure.
The Reflection scowled, a flash of emotion gone before it was truly there. “Are you sure that’s wise? Beyond Selbsthass…” He shook his head, disapproving, and Morgen wanted to apologize for letting him down. “Your power will be reduced the further you get from your believers.”
Morgen turned away from the mirror so Failure wouldn’t see the hurt. He crushed the desire to beg forgiveness. He’s manipulating me. Somehow knowing didn’t help. This man was the closest he ever had to a father. He glanced at the Theocrat prostrated on the floor. Failure wants me to send Konig. If the Theocrat failed, he’d be further reduced in power.
On the other hand, the Reflection did have a point. Outside of Selbsthass, Morgen would be separated from the strength of his followers. Only the faith of his troops would support him. It would have to do. He couldn’t trust Konig and Failure not to pursue their own agendas.
Did Failure want Morgen to leave, did he think that he’d be left in charge? Surely not. He must know Morgen could move freely, be anywhere whenever he wanted.
At least that was true within the borders of Selbsthass. Those borders, made of nothing but the delusions of the sane, defined the limits of his power. On his own, he could not leave the Geborene city-state. Somehow he felt sure that with his army marching at his side, borders would not stop him. My belief will define reality and I am a god. But would he be able to return at will? Could he move himself between his army and the church? What if he returned home but was then unable to rejoin his troops?
“Konig will rule while I am away,” he said.
Failure scowled at the man whimpering on the floor but said nothing.
***
Failure allowed himself no hint of emotion beyond those he feigned until Morgen left to inspect his troops. “Get off the floor,” he told prostrate Konig.
The loss of the deep and rich carpets still saddened him. The barren walls made the place look poor, neglected. He spent decades collecting those tapestries, spared no expense. Morgen had them dragged away like they were nothing, grimacing in disgust like they were filthy. The little bastard did it to hurt me. Left unchecked, Morgen would scrub the character from all the world. I wanted to make things better, to make for us a god deserving of our worship. Morgen ruined that, spoiled everything Failure worked for, when the boy became infected with the rot of those murderous thieves he fell in with.
Konig rose with a groan, brushing himself off even though his robes remained spotless in spite of his pathetic grovelling. “I had to be sure he wouldn’t return.”
Coward. “That went well.”
Konig, finally happy with the fall of his robes even though they were wrinkled and in such a state the real Konig would never have worn them, seemed mollified. “So what’s next?”
The fool had no thoughts of his own, following Failure’s every suggestion. Could a man who was once a Reflection somehow not know to distrust his Reflection?
“I need you to do something for me,” said Failure.
Konig studied the man in the mirror. “A favour?”
“For you as much as I. If we don’t bring our god to heel, we’re both doomed.”
The Theocrat nodded. “I feel myself crumbling. I’m losing—” He glanced at Failure. “Do you have any idea how much I hate you?”
“Some.”