10-24-2026, 04:32 PM
The throne in the Hall of Judgment had been fashioned to remind those who approached it of the distance between themselves and the Lord of the Underworld. Hades had always considered that an eminently practical feature. Mortals and gods alike were less inclined to waste his time when confronted by the full weight of his authority.
The Audience Chamber served a different purpose. Here, the sovereigns of the Underworld received foreign presentations, acknowledged agreements, and conducted the more delicate affairs of their kingdom. Its furnishings were no less magnificent than the adjoining Hall, although their magnificence was expressed with an alternate presentation. Black marble columns rose between walls of deep green stone, each polished surface veined with subtle fractals of gold. Above, a dome depicted the division of the world following the defeat of the Titans, its figures wrought in bronze and pale stone beneath an illumination that gave them the appearance of movement. At the far end stood two seats upon a broad dais.
Hades occupied the larger, its arms fashioned from polished onyx and its high back worked with the insignia of his kingdom. Persephone sat beside him in a chair of equal craftsmanship, although hers was adorned with curling branches of silver and flowering vines rendered in exquisite relief. There were no skulls, no tortured figures, none of the more theatrical decorations favored by certain lesser rulers who considered such things necessary to inspire dread. Hades had never required much assistance in that regard.
He was dressed entirely in black, though there was nothing austere about the craftsmanship of his attire. The ceremonial garment followed the contours of his torso before rising into sharply structured shoulders and an asymmetrical collar that framed his throat. Its fabric possessed the subdued luster of polished stone, changing almost imperceptibly with the light. A precisely folded panel fell from one hip, its severe pleats moving over fitted black trousers when he rose or walked. The only ornament was a narrow piece of blackened metal incorporated into the construction at his shoulder, its surface fixed with the sigil of the underworld. He wore neither crown nor mantle. The severity of the silhouette, the extraordinary precision of its making, and the ease with which he occupied the throne were declaration enough.
Beside him, Persephone had chosen magnificence. Her gown was fashioned from rich burgundy silk, its fitted bodice giving way to sweeping layers that darkened toward charcoal beneath an intricate tracery of gold. The embroidery followed the shapes of flowering branches and curling vines, disappearing beneath folds only to emerge again as she moved. A long ceremonial cape fell from her shoulders, black upon its outer surface and lined in the same rich red of the gown, its borders worked with delicate seedpods and blossoms. Upon her hair rested a slender crown of interlocking golden stems with garnets and emeralds nestled among the leaves. She was dressed as a queen who expected to be admired, though the composed assurance of her expression suggested she had long since acquired what she was owed.
They had exchanged little conversation since her arrival. The presence of Poseidon's royal seal required a formal reception, and Persephone understood the obligations of her position as thoroughly as Hades understood his. Whatever difficulties existed between them were not matters to be displayed before the servants of another sovereign.
At the foot of the dais, a chamberlain finished reading the particulars of the delegation. Tisiphone had returned from Poseidon’s realm with a condemned god in her custody.
Hades regarded the closed doors with mild interest. The Erinyes were frequently entrusted with responsibilities others considered unpleasant. Their diligence was one of the reasons he valued them. Alecto had gone to Greece at his instruction, while Tisiphone had been sent to receive a prisoner whose sentence had evidently occasioned considerable displeasure in the court of the sea god.
The doors opened, and Tisiphone entered first. She was tall and spare, her movements economical beneath a fitted cuirass of dark bronze armor. A long cloak fell from her shoulders, but its hem was stained with the residue of travel. Her black hair had been drawn into a severe braid threaded with narrow bands of wire, leaving her sharp features entirely unobscured. Nothing in her appearance suggested a woman inclined toward ornament, and little in her expression suggested one inclined toward forgiveness. Her stern gaze swept the chamber once before settling upon the dais.
Two guards of Erebos followed, escorting a man in restrained custody. Hades recognized him before the chamberlain announced his name. Damnameneus was an unexpected arrival.
The Telchine had once enjoyed a formidable reputation among the artificers of the sea. Hades remembered approving shipments of baetylus intended for several of his commissions, although he had never met the god personally. His work had been discussed with considerable admiration among Kleitos’ artificiers who rarely praised the achievements of foreign craftsmen.
The prisoner had the unmistakable appearance of someone accustomed to considerably better circumstances. He was broad-shouldered but lean, with a long, angular face and deep brunette hair. His beard was short and carefully shaped, although several days of travel had compromised its precision. He wore a coat of rich blue cloth over a fine tunic, but the garments were rumpled and marked by the indignities of custody. The metal fittings had been removed from his cuffs, leaving small scars in the fabric where ornamental clasps had once been attached.
Hades suspected Damnameneus had made an effort to preserve what dignity remained to him. He stood very straight despite the restraints upon his wrists, and his gaze moved across the chamber with the sharp attention of a man who noticed the workmanship of everything around him.
For a moment, his eyes lingered upon the bronze figures in the ceiling, and Hades contemplated whether it was awe or something else he beheld in them. Then he settled his attention upon the dais.
There were formalities in the appearance of the two sovereigns that Damnameneus would recognize from Poseidon's court, though many hundreds of years had passed since the brothers had divided the world between them. Each kingdom had cultivated its own tastes, and the severe architecture of Hades' black attire bore little resemblance to the lavish fashions favored by the sea god. Yet certain conventions had survived the passing of those years. The sculpted collars, the deliberate arrangement of ceremonial fabrics, and the paired seats of royal authority spoke a language older than the fashions themselves. Whatever Damnameneus had expected of the Lord of the Underworld, there could be no mistaking the rank of those before him.
Tisiphone bowed, pride in her voice. "My king. My queen."
Persephone inclined her head. Hades gestured for her to continue.
"I have received the condemned according to the authority granted by the Division of the World. His identity has been confirmed, and the decree bears the seal of Poseidon, God of the Sea."
She presented a narrow case of dark wood. A chamberlain took it from her and ascended the dais, where he opened it before Hades.
Within lay a scroll encased in polished blue rollers, its inscription filled with silver ink. The seal of Poseidon had been impressed into a disk of metal attached to the clasp, accompanied by the signatures of the appointed witnesses.
Hades retrieved the document, unfurling it to examine its contents with mild interest.
The charges were numerous. Disobedience to the heir of Poseidon's dominion. Theft of restricted treasures. Concealment of proprietary designs. False accusation against a prince of the realm. Treachery.
The sentence was straightforward: permanent banishment to the Underworld.
Hades returned the declaration to its case.
"The seal is authentic?" The inquiry was formality. He had no doubt of its authenticity.
"It is," Tisiphone replied. "I witnessed its acknowledgment before taking custody."
"Very well."
Damnameneus shifted.
"Your Majesty, I ask permission to speak."
Hades looked at him.
The request was properly made. At least the man retained sufficient sense to observe the customs of a foreign court.
"You may."
"I believe there has been a grievous misrepresentation of the circumstances surrounding my condemnation."
"That may be so."
Damnameneus appeared surprised by the answer.
Hades had little reason to doubt that the charges were embellished. Such things happened frequently enough in the courts of his brothers, whose judgments were sometimes guided by considerations Hades regarded as thoroughly unworthy of sovereign attention.
"Then perhaps you will permit me to explain."
"You may do so, although I would advise brevity."
Damnameneus glanced toward Persephone, who regarded him with an expression of polite curiosity.
"I served my prince, Lord Triton for forty-seven years. Much of what is celebrated among his inventions was conceived in my workshop. The techmena that govern the movements of his great sea creatures, the locking assemblies of his harbors, the mechanisms installed beneath Tritonis—"
"Yes," Hades interrupted. "I am familiar with some of your work."
The prisoner's expression changed.
"You are?"
"Your name was attached to multiple requests for baetylus from the Deep Works. The requirements were unusually exacting. I recall questioning whether the quantity justified the expense."
"It did."
"So I concluded. The descriptions of the finished devices were impressive."
Damnameneus drew himself taller, the restraint upon his wrists briefly forgotten.
"Then you know what I am capable of."
"I know you are an accomplished artificer."
"An accomplished artificer whose work has been stolen!"
Hades said nothing.
"Triton claimed my most recent invention as his own. Before the court of his own and before that of his father’s. He accepted their praise and permitted my name to be forgotten. Then he ordered the designs destroyed so that no one might ever reproduce them and discover the truth."
"And you disobeyed."
"I preserved what belonged to me."
"That was not my question."
Damnameneus pressed his lips together. "Yes. I disobeyed."
"And accused the prince of theft."
"I spoke the truth!"
"Possibly."
The prisoner's brow tightened.
"Possibly? Lord Hades, I can demonstrate the construction of the device from memory. I can explain every binding, every proportion of the material. Triton could not reproduce so much as its simplest mechanism without my assistance."
Persephone stirred beside Hades.
"Then I imagine he was particularly displeased to discover you had retained the designs."
Damnameneus turned toward her.
"He was furious."
"Naturally." Her voice was pleasant. "There is little more embarrassing than having one's accomplishments explained by the person who actually accomplished them."
For the briefest moment, Hades detected the satisfaction beneath her words. Persephone had encountered Triton often enough to form opinions of his talents. Few of them were generous.
Damnameneus appeared encouraged.
"Then Your Majesty understands."
"Oh, I understand perfectly," she replied. "I am merely surprised that you imagined humiliating Poseidon's favored son before his own court would end well for you."
His expression fell. Persephone adjusted the fall of her mantle and regarded him without further comment.
Damnameneus returned his attention to Hades.
"I have devoted my life to my craft. I have served faithfully, brought wealth to my sovereign's dominion, and fashioned works that will endure long after those who commissioned them are forgotten. Surely such service deserves consideration."
Hades contemplated him. There was genuine merit in the man's accomplishments. Kleitos and the artificers of the Deep Works would undoubtedly have welcomed the opportunity to examine his methods. Expertise of that caliber was not common, and Hades thought it a remarkable waste for Poseidon to dispose of such a craftsman. Then again, his brother had always possessed a peculiar talent for finding value in meaningless trinkets while overlooking treasures of genuine worth.
"Your achievements are considerable," Hades said. "It is unfortunate that my brother has chosen to dispense with your services."
Damnameneus seized upon the acknowledgment. "Then surely you understand what it means to have another claim the fruits of your labor. Everything I created, everything I devoted myself to, Triton has taken for himself."
Hades had little difficulty believing it. He held no particular affection for Triton, and such behavior would hardly surprise him. But the matter had already been judged, and not by him.
"Whatever my opinion of your circumstances, Poseidon has rendered his judgment. It is my responsibility to carry out his sentence, not reconsider it."
"You speak of my entire life's work as though it were nothing!"
"On the contrary. I have already told you what I think of your work."
The distinction seemed only to enrage Damnameneus further. He stepped forward, prompting one of the guards to move toward him. Tisiphone raised a hand, and the guard stopped, the matter well in her hands.
"And for all that, you would send me to the Fields of Mourning?"
"Yes."
The name brought a perceptible change to Damnameneus' face.
Hades supposed the man knew the stories just as others in similar punishments knew them. Mortals had a particular talent for embellishing the harsher aspects of the Underworld, although the Fields required remarkably little embellishment.
The prisoner swallowed.
"I have heard what happens there."
"Then your arrival should occasion few surprises."
"Those are places of suffering. Of darkness and misery. People are sent there to be forgotten."
"Some are."
"You would put me among murderers and thieves?"
"And traitors," Persephone added, with a faint smile. "You mustn't overlook the traitors."
Damnameneus looked from one sovereign to the other.
"How long must I remain there?"
Hades regarded him more closely.
"Your sentence is banishment."
"I understand that."
"Then you understand that it has no appointed end."
"I cannot spend the remainder of my life in a mine."
"That will depend upon the work assigned to you. Mining is the principal occupation of the penal settlements, but other labor is required."
"Other labor?"
"The settlements must be maintained. Stone must be quarried, roads cleared, food prepared. Your assigned duties will be determined by the warden when you arrive."
Damnameneus seemed to struggle with something in that answer.
"Settlements?"
Tisiphone spoke for the first time since presenting the decree.
"The Fields contain several inhabited districts. You will be assigned to one of the communities near Aleyonian Lake."
"Communities?"
"Did you imagine we abandoned prisoners upon the mountainside?" she asked.
Damnameneus looked at her.
"The condemned work," Tisiphone continued. "Others maintain the settlements. There are households, workshops, fisheries along the lake."
"Who not condemned would willingly live in such a place?"
"Those born there, for one." She explained.
He seemed not to understand.
"Born there?"
"Prisoners have families," Tisiphone said. "You may yet live a long period. Should you sire children, they are not necessarily prisoners according to the laws of our just king."
Hades watched the explanation with mild impatience. The organization of the Fields had existed for generations, and there was nothing remarkable about it. People required food, shelter, and the necessities of existence. Even the condemned could not be expected to work if they were permitted to starve to death before serving their purpose. Fortunately, those who did were replenished by the insatiable supply of prisoners from the realms of the overworld. Indeed, several of the settlements had grown from outpost to proper villages. Some freeborn inhabitants had established something of a life there. They were poor places, frequently troubled by violence and disorder, but the wardens kept the mines operating and the prisoners confined. Hades saw little justification for interfering with an arrangement that fulfilled its purpose.
Damnameneus, however, seemed increasingly disturbed.
"You expect me to live among these people?"
"They will be your neighbors," Persephone replied. "I suggest you cultivate their goodwill and serve your purpose without complaint."
Hades glanced toward her. The remark was unnecessary, although not without practical merit.
A sound came from the lower end of the chamber. One of the attendants had failed to conceal a brief expression of amusement.
Tisiphone turned her head toward the noise, and the attendant immediately lowered his eyes.
Hades observed the exchange and recalled that the man had once objected to the appointment of a clerk whose ancestors came from the Fields. The clerk was freeborn, generally literate, and efficient enough for the position. Hades had approved the appointment without understanding why her birthplace had been brought to his attention. He had little patience for prejudice that interfered with competent service. The same did not mean he intended to make life in the Fields agreeable, and Damnameneus drew a slow breath.
"I ask that I be permitted to remain in Erebos. I can work here. I can serve your artisans. I know the properties of baetylus better than many who have spent their lives fashioning it. Surely there is some place for my abilities in this kingdom."
Hades was silent for a moment.
An interesting proposition, under different circumstances.
He thought briefly of the garden Kleitos had shown him, its flowering tree sustained without the intervention of a god. Damnameneus might well possess knowledge that would benefit the work underway in the Deep Works. There was even the possibility of employing him in some limited capacity once the restrictions of his confinement had been established.
"Your talents may find employment in time," Hades said. "For now, your sentence stands."
"You would waste them!"
"That remains to be seen."
Damnameneus' composure finally deserted him.
"I have been robbed of my work, stripped of my possessions, and cast out by a prince who could not bear to hear the truth of his own incompetence. Now I stand before a king who acknowledges my achievements and would send me to die breaking stone!"
His voice rang through the chamber. The guards stiffened, although Tisiphone remained perfectly still.
Hades felt his patience diminish. Until that moment, he had regarded the Telchine's complaints as the understandable indignation of a man deprived of his life's accomplishments. But there was something in his contempt for the mines that Hades found particularly offensive.
Damnameneus had spoken at length about the wonders he had fashioned, the sophistication of his creations, and the brilliance of the mind responsible for their genesis. Yet the baetylus upon which those achievements depended had come from the mountains of the Underworld. Every measure had been wrested from the earth through considerable effort, often at great expense and not without danger to those who labored beneath the mountains. Hades himself had only recently been reminded of the tremendous forces that had to be mastered to retrieve even a single deposit safely.
The gods of the overworld were remarkably fond of the treasures his kingdom produced. They commissioned magnificent works, adorned their palaces with precious stone, and boasted of inventions that would have been impossible without the resources of the Deep Works. Yet how readily they dismissed the labor that made such luxuries possible. Damnameneus, it seemed, was no different. He had consumed the wealth of Hades' mountains for decades and now regarded the prospect of extracting it as an indignity beneath his station.
Hades leaned forward. His displeasure was evident enough that Damnameneus fell silent.
"You speak of breaking stone as though it were a task fit only for those who lack your remarkable gifts."
"I meant no insult to your … workers."
"And yet you have given one."
Hades rose from his seat. There was no haste in the movement, but the change was enough to draw every eye in the chamber.
"For forty-seven years you fashioned wonders from the wealth of my kingdom. You accepted its finest materials, enjoyed the admiration they brought you, and never troubled yourself over what was required to place them in your hands. Now you stand in my court and call that work a waste."
Damnameneus opened his mouth, but Hades had not finished.
"You will go to the Fields of Mourning, as my brother has decreed. And since you have expressed such an interest in the proper employment of your talents, I shall determine your assignment myself."
He turned his attention to Tisiphone.
"Inform the warden that Damnameneus is to be assigned to the deepest workings of the penal mines near Aleyonian Lake. He will labor in the extraction of baetylus, alongside other condemned, under the same conditions and without privilege of rank or former occupation. No exemption is to be granted without my express permission."
The faint amusement that had accompanied Persephone's observations throughout the audience disappeared. She knew the workings Hades had named and understood what a lifetime spent beneath those mountains would demand of even a god. Her gaze passed briefly over Damnameneus before returning to her husband, who remained standing before the throne.
Tisiphone bowed her head.
"As you command, my king."
Damnameneus looked between them. His earlier indignation had given way to uncertainty, then something approaching disbelief. He had heard the sentence, but the deference with which Tisiphone received it, and the sudden gravity of the chamber, seemed to impress its meaning upon him more thoroughly than the words themselves.
"The deepest workings?" His hoarse voice suggested he had not intended the question to emerge so quietly. Hades regarded him intently without answering. "Lord Hades, I did not mean—"
"You have spent much of your life learning what may be accomplished with the wealth of the earth. It is time you learned what it costs to bring them into the light."
Damnameneus' eyes moved toward Tisiphone, as though the woman who had delivered him might somehow intercede. She met his gaze with the same impassive expression she had worn throughout their journey.
Only then did he seem to understand what his outburst had accomplished. There would be no workshop in Erebos, no opportunity to earn favor through his abilities, no comfortable employment awaiting a craftsman of his distinction. Whatever possibilities had existed before he raised his voice had been extinguished by his own contempt.
He had provoked the Lord of the Underworld into taking a personal interest in his punishment.
The realization drained what color remained in his face. Hades watched him swallow, his lips parting once before closing again. For the first time since entering the chamber, Damnameneus seemed genuinely afraid.
Hades remained standing.
"Take him."
Tisiphone inclined her head.
Damnameneus did not immediately turn.
"One day," he said, his voice lower now, "you may have cause to regret what you have thrown away."
Hades regarded him without particular concern as Tisiphone gestured to the guards.
Damnameneus permitted himself to be led away, although the set of his shoulders suggested that obedience had cost him dearly. The doors closed behind them.
For several moments, the chamber remained quiet. Persephone watched the doors through which Damnameneus had departed, her earlier amusement replaced by a more thoughtful expression.
"He seemed quite determined that you should regret this."
"He will have ample opportunity to reconsider his words."
"In the deepest mines of Mourning? I should think he will remember every one of them."
Hades settled into his chair, smoothing the fall of black fabric across his knee. The Telchine's threats troubled him considerably less than his contempt for the labor upon which his accomplishments depended.
"Then perhaps he will learn something of value in that time."
Persephone regarded him for a moment. "You were prepared to make use of his talents."
"I was."
"Until he offended your pride."
Hades turned his head toward her.
"He insulted my very subjects who furnished the materials for his life's work."
"Of course he did." Her expression softened into the suggestion of a smile. "And I am certain your pride had nothing whatsoever to do with it."
He regarded her coolly, though the observation was not entirely without merit. Persephone had always possessed an unfortunate talent for identifying truths he preferred to leave undisturbed.
Yet there was something else in the way she looked at him now. Her gaze lingered upon his face before traveling over the severe lines of his black ceremonial attire and the imposing figure he cut upon the throne. Hades recognized that look. Persephone had always found authority seductive, which was hardly surprising given how fiercely she coveted it herself. Even now, she seemed to take pleasure in the display of the underworld’s power, despite having just taken such delight in exposing the pride of the one on its throne.
Hades met her gaze, aware of the familiar undercurrent beneath her amusement. Under other circumstances, he might have encouraged it. For the moment, however, his irritation with Damnameneus had not entirely subsided, nor was he inclined to concede that pride had influenced what was an entirely appropriate punishment. Nevertheless, he watched Persephone a moment longer than he intended. He remembered that look well enough to appreciate it, even if he was less inclined than he once had been to trust what lay behind it. His expression remained composed as he turned his attention elsewhere.
"The assignment is appropriate."
She let the matter rest, apparently satisfied.
Hades turned his attention to the chamberlain, who was preparing to announce the next item of business.
"That will be all."
The official bowed and began directing the attendants from the chamber. Once the doors had closed and the last of the lesser servants departed, Persephone reached beneath her mantle and withdrew a narrow scroll.
"Hecate asked that I bring you this."
Hades' attention sharpened.
"When did it arrive?"
"This morning. She has continued her examination of the records concerning the weapons employed during the war against the Titans."
He accepted the message. The inscription was brief, written in Hecate's precise hand. It identified a particular class of technema designed to interfere with another wielder's command of Dynamis. Seven examples had been surrendered for destruction after the war. An eighth appeared in an earlier inventory, but no subsequent record accounted for its dismantling that she could locate as of yet.
Hades read the passage again.
"An eighth weapon," he murmured. "Yet only seven were accounted for."
He passed the message to Persephone, who accepted it and examined Hecate's inscription. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she reached the final entry.
"It may be no more than an omission in the records."
"It may. But I would rather know what became of it."
"And whether it has any connection to what happened to Enodia?"
Hades inclined his head. The missing entry established nothing by itself, but neither was he prepared to dismiss it as an oversight. Not when there was evidence that weapons of this kind might have survived the war.
"Tell her to identify record of the last known custodian. And I want the original examined, not merely another transcription."
"She anticipated that request."
A faint satisfaction touched Persephone's expression.
"Then she may proceed."
Persephone rose. The rich burgundy silk of her gown gathered around her feet before falling smoothly into place.
For a moment, she remained beside his chair.
"One wonders how many other things were supposedly destroyed at the end of that war."
"Fewer than should have been, I suspect." He said, thinking momentarily of his own armory.
Their eyes met. It was not the sort of conversation either preferred to conduct before courtiers. Hades could see that she shared his concern, though she offered no further speculation.
"I shall tell Hecate," she said.
He inclined his head.
Persephone departed by the private doors behind the thrones, leaving the chamber quiet once more.
Hades remained seated, considering Hecate’s message. The disappearance of one technemal weapon did not establish the existence of an enemy capable of entering his kingdom, but it suggested a carelessness in the disposition of dangers that he found profoundly irritating.
He would have preferred certainty. At length, he rose and descended from the dais. The question of Damnameneus did not occur to him again.
Damnameneus had imagined many things during the journey south.
He had imagined imprisonment beneath the earth, a solitary confinement in which the silence might eventually become unbearable. He had imagined a barren wilderness inhabited by murderers and madmen, a place where the condemned were left to wander until exhaustion or despair overcame them. He had imagined the dreadful paths rumor said sorrow endured long after everything that had occasioned it was lost.
He had not imagined smoke rising from chimneys. The settlement appeared between two mountains above the dark waters of Aleyonian Lake. The road descended through a ravine whose walls had been cut to accommodate the passage of wagons. Beyond it stood a collection of buildings, their roofs steep and blackened, their walls joined by narrow covered passages. A few thin columns of smoke rose into the freezing air before being flattened by the wind.
The buildings seemed to have been constructed according to whatever materials and shelter could be found, with additions made whenever necessity demanded them. Several stood against the mountain itself, their rear walls disappearing into shadow. Others crowded beside the roadway, separated by alleys filled with frozen sewage, refuse, and churned slush.
Farther above the settlement, the entrances to the mines opened upon the mountainside. Wooden frames and heavy stone supports surrounded their mouths, and a procession of wagons waited upon the descending track.
The wind struck Damnameneus as soon as they passed beyond the shelter of the ravine.
It carried the bitter cold of the lake and a fine grit that found its way beneath his collar. He turned his face against it, his eyes watering, and heard one of the guards behind him laugh.
"Look at him. A little wind and the sea god's darling is already weeping."
Damnameneus shot him a furious glance.
The guard was a broad, weather-beaten man whose crooked nose appeared to have been broken more than once. He returned the look with open contempt.
"What's wrong? Not enough sunshine for you? No warm waves to splash about in? They say Poseidon's lot spend half their lives lounging in jeweled palaces, having servants bring them pretty shells and sweet wine." He laughed again. "Down here, we use shells to scrape the shit off our boots. Welcome to Mourning, little fish."
Damnameneus opened his mouth to answer, but the guard shoved him toward the settlement gate before he could speak.
"Keep moving. You'll find out soon enough what real work feels like."
Damnameneus ignored him.
At the settlement’s locked gate, a warden examined the documents delivered by Tisiphone's escort. He was a thickset man with a broken nose and weathered skin, dressed in layers of dark wool beneath a patched leather coat. He read slowly, moving one finger beneath the lines.
When he reached the detail about imprisonment, he glanced at Damnameneus.
"Another god." He snorted. There was no admiration in the observation.
The escort confirmed his identity, and the warden made a mark upon the register.
"Deepest workings. Baetylus extraction." He glanced at Erebos’ instructions once more, then back at Damnameneus.
"Well, someone must have taken a particular dislike to you. You start tomorrow."
Damnameneus stared at him.
Tomorrow.
He was directed through the gate.
A crowd was returning from the mines, their clothing stained with mineral dust, their faces gray beneath the poor light. They moved with the weary familiarity of people who had made the same journey too many times to count. Some carried tools across their shoulders. Others supported companions whose injuries had been bound with strips of cloth.
A woman standing beside a stall shouted over the wind, bleating about hot broth. Two men argued near a stack of firewood until a third threatened to break both their heads if they did not settle the matter elsewhere. A dog darted between the legs of the returning workers and disappeared through a doorway, pursued by a child who called after it in exasperation.
No one seemed especially interested in Damnameneus.
A few glanced at his coat and the restraints upon his wrists. One man laughed. Another spat into the roadway in front of him.
Most passed without looking twice. It was the indifference that disturbed him.
He had entered the Fields of Mourning expecting horror, and horror was certainly present. He could see it in the gaunt faces of the miners, the poverty of the buildings, and the immense mountains that enclosed the settlement beneath a dim, hostile sky.
Yet people were living here. They were cooking meals, tending children, quarreling over money, and returning home from work. Somewhere within the walls, a musical instrument was weakly plucked. The melody was unfamiliar.
The warden led him into a narrow building adjoining what was explained were to be his new barracks. His possessions were inventoried, his restraints removed, and a rough bundle of clothing placed upon a wooden bench.
"You'll be assigned a place to sleep. Food is served after the last shift. Miss it and you'll wait until morning."
Damnameneus looked at the clothes.
"And my tools?"
"What tools?" The warden regarded him for a moment. "Your work is digging in the mines."
"I am an artificer."
"Then you're an artificer who digs in the mines. The overseer will issue your tools."
The man turned toward the door, evidently considering the conversation concluded.
Damnameneus stood motionless. The warden opened the door and waited.
"Come along. There's nothing to be gained standing there."
Damnameneus snatched the bundle. He had lost his freedom, his family, and the future he had spent a lifetime imagining. Tomorrow he would descend into the mines, and the day after that, and for as many days as the ruling gods saw fit to leave him alive. There was nothing he could do to prevent it. Damnameneus lowered his head against the wind and followed the warden toward the barracks. He could do nothing about any of them now, but it was the now that occupied his thoughts.
The Audience Chamber served a different purpose. Here, the sovereigns of the Underworld received foreign presentations, acknowledged agreements, and conducted the more delicate affairs of their kingdom. Its furnishings were no less magnificent than the adjoining Hall, although their magnificence was expressed with an alternate presentation. Black marble columns rose between walls of deep green stone, each polished surface veined with subtle fractals of gold. Above, a dome depicted the division of the world following the defeat of the Titans, its figures wrought in bronze and pale stone beneath an illumination that gave them the appearance of movement. At the far end stood two seats upon a broad dais.
Hades occupied the larger, its arms fashioned from polished onyx and its high back worked with the insignia of his kingdom. Persephone sat beside him in a chair of equal craftsmanship, although hers was adorned with curling branches of silver and flowering vines rendered in exquisite relief. There were no skulls, no tortured figures, none of the more theatrical decorations favored by certain lesser rulers who considered such things necessary to inspire dread. Hades had never required much assistance in that regard.
He was dressed entirely in black, though there was nothing austere about the craftsmanship of his attire. The ceremonial garment followed the contours of his torso before rising into sharply structured shoulders and an asymmetrical collar that framed his throat. Its fabric possessed the subdued luster of polished stone, changing almost imperceptibly with the light. A precisely folded panel fell from one hip, its severe pleats moving over fitted black trousers when he rose or walked. The only ornament was a narrow piece of blackened metal incorporated into the construction at his shoulder, its surface fixed with the sigil of the underworld. He wore neither crown nor mantle. The severity of the silhouette, the extraordinary precision of its making, and the ease with which he occupied the throne were declaration enough.
Beside him, Persephone had chosen magnificence. Her gown was fashioned from rich burgundy silk, its fitted bodice giving way to sweeping layers that darkened toward charcoal beneath an intricate tracery of gold. The embroidery followed the shapes of flowering branches and curling vines, disappearing beneath folds only to emerge again as she moved. A long ceremonial cape fell from her shoulders, black upon its outer surface and lined in the same rich red of the gown, its borders worked with delicate seedpods and blossoms. Upon her hair rested a slender crown of interlocking golden stems with garnets and emeralds nestled among the leaves. She was dressed as a queen who expected to be admired, though the composed assurance of her expression suggested she had long since acquired what she was owed.
They had exchanged little conversation since her arrival. The presence of Poseidon's royal seal required a formal reception, and Persephone understood the obligations of her position as thoroughly as Hades understood his. Whatever difficulties existed between them were not matters to be displayed before the servants of another sovereign.
At the foot of the dais, a chamberlain finished reading the particulars of the delegation. Tisiphone had returned from Poseidon’s realm with a condemned god in her custody.
Hades regarded the closed doors with mild interest. The Erinyes were frequently entrusted with responsibilities others considered unpleasant. Their diligence was one of the reasons he valued them. Alecto had gone to Greece at his instruction, while Tisiphone had been sent to receive a prisoner whose sentence had evidently occasioned considerable displeasure in the court of the sea god.
The doors opened, and Tisiphone entered first. She was tall and spare, her movements economical beneath a fitted cuirass of dark bronze armor. A long cloak fell from her shoulders, but its hem was stained with the residue of travel. Her black hair had been drawn into a severe braid threaded with narrow bands of wire, leaving her sharp features entirely unobscured. Nothing in her appearance suggested a woman inclined toward ornament, and little in her expression suggested one inclined toward forgiveness. Her stern gaze swept the chamber once before settling upon the dais.
Two guards of Erebos followed, escorting a man in restrained custody. Hades recognized him before the chamberlain announced his name. Damnameneus was an unexpected arrival.
The Telchine had once enjoyed a formidable reputation among the artificers of the sea. Hades remembered approving shipments of baetylus intended for several of his commissions, although he had never met the god personally. His work had been discussed with considerable admiration among Kleitos’ artificiers who rarely praised the achievements of foreign craftsmen.
The prisoner had the unmistakable appearance of someone accustomed to considerably better circumstances. He was broad-shouldered but lean, with a long, angular face and deep brunette hair. His beard was short and carefully shaped, although several days of travel had compromised its precision. He wore a coat of rich blue cloth over a fine tunic, but the garments were rumpled and marked by the indignities of custody. The metal fittings had been removed from his cuffs, leaving small scars in the fabric where ornamental clasps had once been attached.
Hades suspected Damnameneus had made an effort to preserve what dignity remained to him. He stood very straight despite the restraints upon his wrists, and his gaze moved across the chamber with the sharp attention of a man who noticed the workmanship of everything around him.
For a moment, his eyes lingered upon the bronze figures in the ceiling, and Hades contemplated whether it was awe or something else he beheld in them. Then he settled his attention upon the dais.
There were formalities in the appearance of the two sovereigns that Damnameneus would recognize from Poseidon's court, though many hundreds of years had passed since the brothers had divided the world between them. Each kingdom had cultivated its own tastes, and the severe architecture of Hades' black attire bore little resemblance to the lavish fashions favored by the sea god. Yet certain conventions had survived the passing of those years. The sculpted collars, the deliberate arrangement of ceremonial fabrics, and the paired seats of royal authority spoke a language older than the fashions themselves. Whatever Damnameneus had expected of the Lord of the Underworld, there could be no mistaking the rank of those before him.
Tisiphone bowed, pride in her voice. "My king. My queen."
Persephone inclined her head. Hades gestured for her to continue.
"I have received the condemned according to the authority granted by the Division of the World. His identity has been confirmed, and the decree bears the seal of Poseidon, God of the Sea."
She presented a narrow case of dark wood. A chamberlain took it from her and ascended the dais, where he opened it before Hades.
Within lay a scroll encased in polished blue rollers, its inscription filled with silver ink. The seal of Poseidon had been impressed into a disk of metal attached to the clasp, accompanied by the signatures of the appointed witnesses.
Hades retrieved the document, unfurling it to examine its contents with mild interest.
The charges were numerous. Disobedience to the heir of Poseidon's dominion. Theft of restricted treasures. Concealment of proprietary designs. False accusation against a prince of the realm. Treachery.
The sentence was straightforward: permanent banishment to the Underworld.
Hades returned the declaration to its case.
"The seal is authentic?" The inquiry was formality. He had no doubt of its authenticity.
"It is," Tisiphone replied. "I witnessed its acknowledgment before taking custody."
"Very well."
Damnameneus shifted.
"Your Majesty, I ask permission to speak."
Hades looked at him.
The request was properly made. At least the man retained sufficient sense to observe the customs of a foreign court.
"You may."
"I believe there has been a grievous misrepresentation of the circumstances surrounding my condemnation."
"That may be so."
Damnameneus appeared surprised by the answer.
Hades had little reason to doubt that the charges were embellished. Such things happened frequently enough in the courts of his brothers, whose judgments were sometimes guided by considerations Hades regarded as thoroughly unworthy of sovereign attention.
"Then perhaps you will permit me to explain."
"You may do so, although I would advise brevity."
Damnameneus glanced toward Persephone, who regarded him with an expression of polite curiosity.
"I served my prince, Lord Triton for forty-seven years. Much of what is celebrated among his inventions was conceived in my workshop. The techmena that govern the movements of his great sea creatures, the locking assemblies of his harbors, the mechanisms installed beneath Tritonis—"
"Yes," Hades interrupted. "I am familiar with some of your work."
The prisoner's expression changed.
"You are?"
"Your name was attached to multiple requests for baetylus from the Deep Works. The requirements were unusually exacting. I recall questioning whether the quantity justified the expense."
"It did."
"So I concluded. The descriptions of the finished devices were impressive."
Damnameneus drew himself taller, the restraint upon his wrists briefly forgotten.
"Then you know what I am capable of."
"I know you are an accomplished artificer."
"An accomplished artificer whose work has been stolen!"
Hades said nothing.
"Triton claimed my most recent invention as his own. Before the court of his own and before that of his father’s. He accepted their praise and permitted my name to be forgotten. Then he ordered the designs destroyed so that no one might ever reproduce them and discover the truth."
"And you disobeyed."
"I preserved what belonged to me."
"That was not my question."
Damnameneus pressed his lips together. "Yes. I disobeyed."
"And accused the prince of theft."
"I spoke the truth!"
"Possibly."
The prisoner's brow tightened.
"Possibly? Lord Hades, I can demonstrate the construction of the device from memory. I can explain every binding, every proportion of the material. Triton could not reproduce so much as its simplest mechanism without my assistance."
Persephone stirred beside Hades.
"Then I imagine he was particularly displeased to discover you had retained the designs."
Damnameneus turned toward her.
"He was furious."
"Naturally." Her voice was pleasant. "There is little more embarrassing than having one's accomplishments explained by the person who actually accomplished them."
For the briefest moment, Hades detected the satisfaction beneath her words. Persephone had encountered Triton often enough to form opinions of his talents. Few of them were generous.
Damnameneus appeared encouraged.
"Then Your Majesty understands."
"Oh, I understand perfectly," she replied. "I am merely surprised that you imagined humiliating Poseidon's favored son before his own court would end well for you."
His expression fell. Persephone adjusted the fall of her mantle and regarded him without further comment.
Damnameneus returned his attention to Hades.
"I have devoted my life to my craft. I have served faithfully, brought wealth to my sovereign's dominion, and fashioned works that will endure long after those who commissioned them are forgotten. Surely such service deserves consideration."
Hades contemplated him. There was genuine merit in the man's accomplishments. Kleitos and the artificers of the Deep Works would undoubtedly have welcomed the opportunity to examine his methods. Expertise of that caliber was not common, and Hades thought it a remarkable waste for Poseidon to dispose of such a craftsman. Then again, his brother had always possessed a peculiar talent for finding value in meaningless trinkets while overlooking treasures of genuine worth.
"Your achievements are considerable," Hades said. "It is unfortunate that my brother has chosen to dispense with your services."
Damnameneus seized upon the acknowledgment. "Then surely you understand what it means to have another claim the fruits of your labor. Everything I created, everything I devoted myself to, Triton has taken for himself."
Hades had little difficulty believing it. He held no particular affection for Triton, and such behavior would hardly surprise him. But the matter had already been judged, and not by him.
"Whatever my opinion of your circumstances, Poseidon has rendered his judgment. It is my responsibility to carry out his sentence, not reconsider it."
"You speak of my entire life's work as though it were nothing!"
"On the contrary. I have already told you what I think of your work."
The distinction seemed only to enrage Damnameneus further. He stepped forward, prompting one of the guards to move toward him. Tisiphone raised a hand, and the guard stopped, the matter well in her hands.
"And for all that, you would send me to the Fields of Mourning?"
"Yes."
The name brought a perceptible change to Damnameneus' face.
Hades supposed the man knew the stories just as others in similar punishments knew them. Mortals had a particular talent for embellishing the harsher aspects of the Underworld, although the Fields required remarkably little embellishment.
The prisoner swallowed.
"I have heard what happens there."
"Then your arrival should occasion few surprises."
"Those are places of suffering. Of darkness and misery. People are sent there to be forgotten."
"Some are."
"You would put me among murderers and thieves?"
"And traitors," Persephone added, with a faint smile. "You mustn't overlook the traitors."
Damnameneus looked from one sovereign to the other.
"How long must I remain there?"
Hades regarded him more closely.
"Your sentence is banishment."
"I understand that."
"Then you understand that it has no appointed end."
"I cannot spend the remainder of my life in a mine."
"That will depend upon the work assigned to you. Mining is the principal occupation of the penal settlements, but other labor is required."
"Other labor?"
"The settlements must be maintained. Stone must be quarried, roads cleared, food prepared. Your assigned duties will be determined by the warden when you arrive."
Damnameneus seemed to struggle with something in that answer.
"Settlements?"
Tisiphone spoke for the first time since presenting the decree.
"The Fields contain several inhabited districts. You will be assigned to one of the communities near Aleyonian Lake."
"Communities?"
"Did you imagine we abandoned prisoners upon the mountainside?" she asked.
Damnameneus looked at her.
"The condemned work," Tisiphone continued. "Others maintain the settlements. There are households, workshops, fisheries along the lake."
"Who not condemned would willingly live in such a place?"
"Those born there, for one." She explained.
He seemed not to understand.
"Born there?"
"Prisoners have families," Tisiphone said. "You may yet live a long period. Should you sire children, they are not necessarily prisoners according to the laws of our just king."
Hades watched the explanation with mild impatience. The organization of the Fields had existed for generations, and there was nothing remarkable about it. People required food, shelter, and the necessities of existence. Even the condemned could not be expected to work if they were permitted to starve to death before serving their purpose. Fortunately, those who did were replenished by the insatiable supply of prisoners from the realms of the overworld. Indeed, several of the settlements had grown from outpost to proper villages. Some freeborn inhabitants had established something of a life there. They were poor places, frequently troubled by violence and disorder, but the wardens kept the mines operating and the prisoners confined. Hades saw little justification for interfering with an arrangement that fulfilled its purpose.
Damnameneus, however, seemed increasingly disturbed.
"You expect me to live among these people?"
"They will be your neighbors," Persephone replied. "I suggest you cultivate their goodwill and serve your purpose without complaint."
Hades glanced toward her. The remark was unnecessary, although not without practical merit.
A sound came from the lower end of the chamber. One of the attendants had failed to conceal a brief expression of amusement.
Tisiphone turned her head toward the noise, and the attendant immediately lowered his eyes.
Hades observed the exchange and recalled that the man had once objected to the appointment of a clerk whose ancestors came from the Fields. The clerk was freeborn, generally literate, and efficient enough for the position. Hades had approved the appointment without understanding why her birthplace had been brought to his attention. He had little patience for prejudice that interfered with competent service. The same did not mean he intended to make life in the Fields agreeable, and Damnameneus drew a slow breath.
"I ask that I be permitted to remain in Erebos. I can work here. I can serve your artisans. I know the properties of baetylus better than many who have spent their lives fashioning it. Surely there is some place for my abilities in this kingdom."
Hades was silent for a moment.
An interesting proposition, under different circumstances.
He thought briefly of the garden Kleitos had shown him, its flowering tree sustained without the intervention of a god. Damnameneus might well possess knowledge that would benefit the work underway in the Deep Works. There was even the possibility of employing him in some limited capacity once the restrictions of his confinement had been established.
"Your talents may find employment in time," Hades said. "For now, your sentence stands."
"You would waste them!"
"That remains to be seen."
Damnameneus' composure finally deserted him.
"I have been robbed of my work, stripped of my possessions, and cast out by a prince who could not bear to hear the truth of his own incompetence. Now I stand before a king who acknowledges my achievements and would send me to die breaking stone!"
His voice rang through the chamber. The guards stiffened, although Tisiphone remained perfectly still.
Hades felt his patience diminish. Until that moment, he had regarded the Telchine's complaints as the understandable indignation of a man deprived of his life's accomplishments. But there was something in his contempt for the mines that Hades found particularly offensive.
Damnameneus had spoken at length about the wonders he had fashioned, the sophistication of his creations, and the brilliance of the mind responsible for their genesis. Yet the baetylus upon which those achievements depended had come from the mountains of the Underworld. Every measure had been wrested from the earth through considerable effort, often at great expense and not without danger to those who labored beneath the mountains. Hades himself had only recently been reminded of the tremendous forces that had to be mastered to retrieve even a single deposit safely.
The gods of the overworld were remarkably fond of the treasures his kingdom produced. They commissioned magnificent works, adorned their palaces with precious stone, and boasted of inventions that would have been impossible without the resources of the Deep Works. Yet how readily they dismissed the labor that made such luxuries possible. Damnameneus, it seemed, was no different. He had consumed the wealth of Hades' mountains for decades and now regarded the prospect of extracting it as an indignity beneath his station.
Hades leaned forward. His displeasure was evident enough that Damnameneus fell silent.
"You speak of breaking stone as though it were a task fit only for those who lack your remarkable gifts."
"I meant no insult to your … workers."
"And yet you have given one."
Hades rose from his seat. There was no haste in the movement, but the change was enough to draw every eye in the chamber.
"For forty-seven years you fashioned wonders from the wealth of my kingdom. You accepted its finest materials, enjoyed the admiration they brought you, and never troubled yourself over what was required to place them in your hands. Now you stand in my court and call that work a waste."
Damnameneus opened his mouth, but Hades had not finished.
"You will go to the Fields of Mourning, as my brother has decreed. And since you have expressed such an interest in the proper employment of your talents, I shall determine your assignment myself."
He turned his attention to Tisiphone.
"Inform the warden that Damnameneus is to be assigned to the deepest workings of the penal mines near Aleyonian Lake. He will labor in the extraction of baetylus, alongside other condemned, under the same conditions and without privilege of rank or former occupation. No exemption is to be granted without my express permission."
The faint amusement that had accompanied Persephone's observations throughout the audience disappeared. She knew the workings Hades had named and understood what a lifetime spent beneath those mountains would demand of even a god. Her gaze passed briefly over Damnameneus before returning to her husband, who remained standing before the throne.
Tisiphone bowed her head.
"As you command, my king."
Damnameneus looked between them. His earlier indignation had given way to uncertainty, then something approaching disbelief. He had heard the sentence, but the deference with which Tisiphone received it, and the sudden gravity of the chamber, seemed to impress its meaning upon him more thoroughly than the words themselves.
"The deepest workings?" His hoarse voice suggested he had not intended the question to emerge so quietly. Hades regarded him intently without answering. "Lord Hades, I did not mean—"
"You have spent much of your life learning what may be accomplished with the wealth of the earth. It is time you learned what it costs to bring them into the light."
Damnameneus' eyes moved toward Tisiphone, as though the woman who had delivered him might somehow intercede. She met his gaze with the same impassive expression she had worn throughout their journey.
Only then did he seem to understand what his outburst had accomplished. There would be no workshop in Erebos, no opportunity to earn favor through his abilities, no comfortable employment awaiting a craftsman of his distinction. Whatever possibilities had existed before he raised his voice had been extinguished by his own contempt.
He had provoked the Lord of the Underworld into taking a personal interest in his punishment.
The realization drained what color remained in his face. Hades watched him swallow, his lips parting once before closing again. For the first time since entering the chamber, Damnameneus seemed genuinely afraid.
Hades remained standing.
"Take him."
Tisiphone inclined her head.
Damnameneus did not immediately turn.
"One day," he said, his voice lower now, "you may have cause to regret what you have thrown away."
Hades regarded him without particular concern as Tisiphone gestured to the guards.
Damnameneus permitted himself to be led away, although the set of his shoulders suggested that obedience had cost him dearly. The doors closed behind them.
For several moments, the chamber remained quiet. Persephone watched the doors through which Damnameneus had departed, her earlier amusement replaced by a more thoughtful expression.
"He seemed quite determined that you should regret this."
"He will have ample opportunity to reconsider his words."
"In the deepest mines of Mourning? I should think he will remember every one of them."
Hades settled into his chair, smoothing the fall of black fabric across his knee. The Telchine's threats troubled him considerably less than his contempt for the labor upon which his accomplishments depended.
"Then perhaps he will learn something of value in that time."
Persephone regarded him for a moment. "You were prepared to make use of his talents."
"I was."
"Until he offended your pride."
Hades turned his head toward her.
"He insulted my very subjects who furnished the materials for his life's work."
"Of course he did." Her expression softened into the suggestion of a smile. "And I am certain your pride had nothing whatsoever to do with it."
He regarded her coolly, though the observation was not entirely without merit. Persephone had always possessed an unfortunate talent for identifying truths he preferred to leave undisturbed.
Yet there was something else in the way she looked at him now. Her gaze lingered upon his face before traveling over the severe lines of his black ceremonial attire and the imposing figure he cut upon the throne. Hades recognized that look. Persephone had always found authority seductive, which was hardly surprising given how fiercely she coveted it herself. Even now, she seemed to take pleasure in the display of the underworld’s power, despite having just taken such delight in exposing the pride of the one on its throne.
Hades met her gaze, aware of the familiar undercurrent beneath her amusement. Under other circumstances, he might have encouraged it. For the moment, however, his irritation with Damnameneus had not entirely subsided, nor was he inclined to concede that pride had influenced what was an entirely appropriate punishment. Nevertheless, he watched Persephone a moment longer than he intended. He remembered that look well enough to appreciate it, even if he was less inclined than he once had been to trust what lay behind it. His expression remained composed as he turned his attention elsewhere.
"The assignment is appropriate."
She let the matter rest, apparently satisfied.
Hades turned his attention to the chamberlain, who was preparing to announce the next item of business.
"That will be all."
The official bowed and began directing the attendants from the chamber. Once the doors had closed and the last of the lesser servants departed, Persephone reached beneath her mantle and withdrew a narrow scroll.
"Hecate asked that I bring you this."
Hades' attention sharpened.
"When did it arrive?"
"This morning. She has continued her examination of the records concerning the weapons employed during the war against the Titans."
He accepted the message. The inscription was brief, written in Hecate's precise hand. It identified a particular class of technema designed to interfere with another wielder's command of Dynamis. Seven examples had been surrendered for destruction after the war. An eighth appeared in an earlier inventory, but no subsequent record accounted for its dismantling that she could locate as of yet.
Hades read the passage again.
"An eighth weapon," he murmured. "Yet only seven were accounted for."
He passed the message to Persephone, who accepted it and examined Hecate's inscription. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she reached the final entry.
"It may be no more than an omission in the records."
"It may. But I would rather know what became of it."
"And whether it has any connection to what happened to Enodia?"
Hades inclined his head. The missing entry established nothing by itself, but neither was he prepared to dismiss it as an oversight. Not when there was evidence that weapons of this kind might have survived the war.
"Tell her to identify record of the last known custodian. And I want the original examined, not merely another transcription."
"She anticipated that request."
A faint satisfaction touched Persephone's expression.
"Then she may proceed."
Persephone rose. The rich burgundy silk of her gown gathered around her feet before falling smoothly into place.
For a moment, she remained beside his chair.
"One wonders how many other things were supposedly destroyed at the end of that war."
"Fewer than should have been, I suspect." He said, thinking momentarily of his own armory.
Their eyes met. It was not the sort of conversation either preferred to conduct before courtiers. Hades could see that she shared his concern, though she offered no further speculation.
"I shall tell Hecate," she said.
He inclined his head.
Persephone departed by the private doors behind the thrones, leaving the chamber quiet once more.
Hades remained seated, considering Hecate’s message. The disappearance of one technemal weapon did not establish the existence of an enemy capable of entering his kingdom, but it suggested a carelessness in the disposition of dangers that he found profoundly irritating.
He would have preferred certainty. At length, he rose and descended from the dais. The question of Damnameneus did not occur to him again.
The Fields of Mourning
Damnameneus had imagined many things during the journey south.
He had imagined imprisonment beneath the earth, a solitary confinement in which the silence might eventually become unbearable. He had imagined a barren wilderness inhabited by murderers and madmen, a place where the condemned were left to wander until exhaustion or despair overcame them. He had imagined the dreadful paths rumor said sorrow endured long after everything that had occasioned it was lost.
He had not imagined smoke rising from chimneys. The settlement appeared between two mountains above the dark waters of Aleyonian Lake. The road descended through a ravine whose walls had been cut to accommodate the passage of wagons. Beyond it stood a collection of buildings, their roofs steep and blackened, their walls joined by narrow covered passages. A few thin columns of smoke rose into the freezing air before being flattened by the wind.
The buildings seemed to have been constructed according to whatever materials and shelter could be found, with additions made whenever necessity demanded them. Several stood against the mountain itself, their rear walls disappearing into shadow. Others crowded beside the roadway, separated by alleys filled with frozen sewage, refuse, and churned slush.
Farther above the settlement, the entrances to the mines opened upon the mountainside. Wooden frames and heavy stone supports surrounded their mouths, and a procession of wagons waited upon the descending track.
The wind struck Damnameneus as soon as they passed beyond the shelter of the ravine.
It carried the bitter cold of the lake and a fine grit that found its way beneath his collar. He turned his face against it, his eyes watering, and heard one of the guards behind him laugh.
"Look at him. A little wind and the sea god's darling is already weeping."
Damnameneus shot him a furious glance.
The guard was a broad, weather-beaten man whose crooked nose appeared to have been broken more than once. He returned the look with open contempt.
"What's wrong? Not enough sunshine for you? No warm waves to splash about in? They say Poseidon's lot spend half their lives lounging in jeweled palaces, having servants bring them pretty shells and sweet wine." He laughed again. "Down here, we use shells to scrape the shit off our boots. Welcome to Mourning, little fish."
Damnameneus opened his mouth to answer, but the guard shoved him toward the settlement gate before he could speak.
"Keep moving. You'll find out soon enough what real work feels like."
Damnameneus ignored him.
At the settlement’s locked gate, a warden examined the documents delivered by Tisiphone's escort. He was a thickset man with a broken nose and weathered skin, dressed in layers of dark wool beneath a patched leather coat. He read slowly, moving one finger beneath the lines.
When he reached the detail about imprisonment, he glanced at Damnameneus.
"Another god." He snorted. There was no admiration in the observation.
The escort confirmed his identity, and the warden made a mark upon the register.
"Deepest workings. Baetylus extraction." He glanced at Erebos’ instructions once more, then back at Damnameneus.
"Well, someone must have taken a particular dislike to you. You start tomorrow."
Damnameneus stared at him.
Tomorrow.
He was directed through the gate.
A crowd was returning from the mines, their clothing stained with mineral dust, their faces gray beneath the poor light. They moved with the weary familiarity of people who had made the same journey too many times to count. Some carried tools across their shoulders. Others supported companions whose injuries had been bound with strips of cloth.
A woman standing beside a stall shouted over the wind, bleating about hot broth. Two men argued near a stack of firewood until a third threatened to break both their heads if they did not settle the matter elsewhere. A dog darted between the legs of the returning workers and disappeared through a doorway, pursued by a child who called after it in exasperation.
No one seemed especially interested in Damnameneus.
A few glanced at his coat and the restraints upon his wrists. One man laughed. Another spat into the roadway in front of him.
Most passed without looking twice. It was the indifference that disturbed him.
He had entered the Fields of Mourning expecting horror, and horror was certainly present. He could see it in the gaunt faces of the miners, the poverty of the buildings, and the immense mountains that enclosed the settlement beneath a dim, hostile sky.
Yet people were living here. They were cooking meals, tending children, quarreling over money, and returning home from work. Somewhere within the walls, a musical instrument was weakly plucked. The melody was unfamiliar.
The warden led him into a narrow building adjoining what was explained were to be his new barracks. His possessions were inventoried, his restraints removed, and a rough bundle of clothing placed upon a wooden bench.
"You'll be assigned a place to sleep. Food is served after the last shift. Miss it and you'll wait until morning."
Damnameneus looked at the clothes.
"And my tools?"
"What tools?" The warden regarded him for a moment. "Your work is digging in the mines."
"I am an artificer."
"Then you're an artificer who digs in the mines. The overseer will issue your tools."
The man turned toward the door, evidently considering the conversation concluded.
Damnameneus stood motionless. The warden opened the door and waited.
"Come along. There's nothing to be gained standing there."
Damnameneus snatched the bundle. He had lost his freedom, his family, and the future he had spent a lifetime imagining. Tomorrow he would descend into the mines, and the day after that, and for as many days as the ruling gods saw fit to leave him alive. There was nothing he could do to prevent it. Damnameneus lowered his head against the wind and followed the warden toward the barracks. He could do nothing about any of them now, but it was the now that occupied his thoughts.