by Jenn Lyons
So, this was Tya, Goddess of Magic.
All the morgage who weren’t busy putting out their kin fell prostrate to the ground. I suspected their reverence was saved for Thaena, but who knows? Maybe being a god, any god, was enough, as one could argue it should be. And these weren’t just any gods, after all: the appearance of the Three Sisters was the sort of omen capable of dooming emperors and cursing whole countries. It had happened before.
“All of you? Perhaps.” Relos Var shook his head. “But all of you are not here. Whereas all nine of us are.”
The three women exchanged looks.
“You’re bluffing,” Taja said.
“Maybe. Possibly. But even if I am, what are the odds that a fight with the four of us—here, in this place—wouldn’t wake him?” Relos Var sighed, long and suffering. “I made all of you. Do you think I cannot destroy you if I wish it?”
Thaena scoffed. “You’ve been trying for millennia. If we’re so easy to dispense with, what’s stopping you?”
Which, I noticed right away, was not a denial. Relos Var had made the gods? That was a ridiculous notion. How could that be possible? How would that even work?
My eyes fell back to one of the bas-reliefs covering the walls. Eight figures. Eight symbols. Thaena’s symbol was a skull. Taja’s symbol was a coin. Tya’s symbol was her rainbow veil … I knew I’d match each symbol to one of the Eight Immortals, the true gods who only tolerated all others. And that ninth figure …
I looked back at Relos Var.
Tya nodded in my direction. I knew, even without speaking, that the spell constricting my voice had been lifted as well. The pain in my leg faded.
“You’re not taking him,” Taja said. “We will not allow it.”
“You shouldn’t have brought him back,” Relos Var said. “It was cruel.”
“Far less so than what you did,” Thaena said.
“I’m not your enemy,” Relos Var replied.
“But you are,” said the Goddess of Magic, “and our sin is how long it took all of us to realize.”
They locked stares then, Tya and Relos Var, and something passed between them. Tya looked at him the way one might look at a person once loved, someone who had hurt them deeply: with regret and sadness and no small measure of hate. They were not friends, but maybe they had been once. Maybe even more than that.
So, because I’ve always been a bit of a fool, I interrupted. “All I want to know is who you’re keeping prisoner in the center of the city.”
Taja walked over to me, put her hand on my shoulder. “That’s not important. Let’s get you out of here.”
“I think it is important,” I said. “He opened his eyes.”
Everything stopped.
Everyone stopped. Even Relos Var stared, blank faced. Some of the morgage warriors didn’t seem to speak Guarem, and they were too busy prostrating themselves before the divine to listen. But Relos Var, Tya, Taja, and Thaena all looked at me with the same expression.
Dread.
“He speaks true,” the morgage priestess said, rising to her feet. “The hungry one stirs, restless. It will not be long before he wakes once more.”
“The hungry one? Is that what you call it? What is that thing?” I repeated.
Relos Var tilted his head and regarded me. “They haven’t told you?”
“Haven’t told me what?”
He smirked. “I bet she thinks you don’t need to know.” He straightened his misha and tilted his head toward the three women in a way that was akin to a salute, before turning back to me. “When you grow tired of their evasions and their cleverly twisting truths that counterfeit better than lies, come find me. I will not deceive you.”
Taja snorted.
He glanced at her, his look both scolding and condescending.
I almost stabbed him then. I had the knife in my hand, the weight of the hilt resting lightly against my palm. In that moment of distraction, I almost went for him. I’d learned, you see, that talismans alone didn’t protect a sorcerer from steel. Catch a wizard in the right moment and he’s as vulnerable as anyone else.
But I didn’t. His words had been baited well; I couldn’t help but nibble. And I wasn’t so stupid that I couldn’t see the Three Sisters weren’t telling me even a fraction of the whole story.
I stayed my hand.
He turned back to me, and his eyes flickered down to the steel in my hand. “Until next time,” he said.
Without any further fanfare, Relos Var vanished.
Thaena turned to the morgage, speaking to them in their native tongue. Orders, from the sound of things, which they were quick to follow. Tya pulled the veil over her face and started walking slowly through the street, holding out her hands. The silvery strands outlining the memory of walls strengthened as she crossed over them.
“Who are you, Scamp?”
I turned back to Tyentso. “Come on, Ty. You know who I am.”
She shook her head. “No, I don’t. And I don’t think you know either.” She waved a hand around her. “This shit doesn’t happen to the runaway children of fourth-ranked Houses.”
Taja cleared her throat, and we both startled as we realized we had been standing there ignoring a goddess. “I think it would be best if I take you both out of here. It’s not safe.”
She glanced toward the center of the city, and I myself wondered just who exactly it wasn’t safe for.
“Taja, how did Relos Var find me? How did he know I was here? Why did he call me his little brother? And what did Relos Var mean about making you? He was going to fight you … how could he think he could fight a goddess—”
She set a finger against my lips. “Now is not the time.”
“Oh, you might want to make the time. Real soon.” Tyentso held out her hands as the goddess gave her a dirty look. “What are you going to do to me? I’m already dead.”
“No. You’re just catching your breath,” Taja replied as she moved her hand to my shoulder, and rested her other hand on one of Tyentso’s phantom arms. Despite her incorporeal nature, the Goddess of Luck touched her without difficulty.
The universe shifted.
62: THE GRYPHON RING
(Talon’s story)
“I just don’t know who I can trust,” Kihrin confided in Galen as they rode in the carriage to Arena Park. “Therin’s going to want proof about Darzin, and what do I tell him? I overheard him speaking to someone who I think summoned up a demon? I don’t know who Darzin’s partner is, but now there’s a third person. And I don’t who that person is either, except he knew we were spying on him and didn’t rat us out, which makes no sense.” Kihrin stopped to chew on a thumbnail. “I don’t get it. Whoever he is, he’s clearly part of their plot. Why wouldn’t he tell them we were listening?”
“Maybe he only wants them to think he’s helping,” Galen suggested. “Maybe he’s a double agent. Or maybe—oh, he didn’t seem to like Father very much, did he? Maybe he’s hoping we’ll get Father into trouble.” Galen’s eyes went wide as he worked himself up over the idea.
“Maybe. But it’s a hell of a risk if his master figures out what he’s up to. I certainly wouldn’t want Dead Man mad at me.”
“Dead Man?”
“Yeah. That’s my nickname for the fellow with the spooky voice. Believe me, he looks even worse than he sounds. He’s a wizard, and I don’t mean like the way Darzin’s picked up just enough tricks to get by. Dead Man is one of the scary wizards. I saw him kill a man by pulling his soul out of his body and then stripping the skin and muscle off his bones.”
“You’ve met this man?”
“Not met exactly,” Kihrin admitted. “More like spied on. But you don’t want to mess with someone like that. I know you don’t think it’s possible, but trust me: he’s scarier than Darzin.”
“Oh dear. We’ve got to tell somebody though.”
“Who?”
“You could tell Miya. She’d believe you. She likes you.” Galen’s tone was wistful. He though
t the seneschal of the house was elegant and lovely, but she never had time for him the way she made time for Kihrin.
“Great!” Kihrin replied. “And what’s a gaeshed slave going to do about it again?”
“Oh.” Galen chewed on his lip. “I see your point.”
“I could tell General Milligreest, but then he’d want to know why I didn’t say anything months ago when I was over at his estate. He’d probably think I was making the story up because I didn’t want to stay with the D’Mons. He’d throw the whole thing back in the High Lord’s lap, and we know Therin is as likely to cover it up as do anything about it.”
“What about Aunt Tishar?”
Kihrin looked excited for a moment and then his expression fell. “I don’t think so. I mean, I think she’d believe us, I’m just not sure what she could do about it besides put her own life in danger. She starts asking the wrong questions and Darzin will just kill her. And even if he doesn’t, will people believe her? I mean, she’s still Pedron’s sister.”
“Mother says she was rather more than that…”
Kihrin stared at Galen, incredulous. “You’re joking.”
“I am not! It’s what Mother says. That they were … you know … and that he was always giving her gifts and the like so she wouldn’t say anything about it. Mother says Master Lorgrin had to cast a special working to ensure she was a virgin for her wedding night.”*
Kihrin looked ill. “No wonder she—” He shook his head. “If that did happen, I’m sure it wasn’t her choice.”
Galen shrugged. “I don’t know. What if it was? It must have been very hard for them, both half-vané and always being stung for it, their mother killed because of it. Why wouldn’t they turn to each other? I think it’s kind of romantic.”
“So you’d put your little sister, Saerá, to the mat for a thrust? You’d be all right with that?”
“NO. Gods no. That’s completely different.”
Kihrin laughed. “Uh-huh. Sure it is.” For a minute, all was quiet inside the coach, then Kihrin thumped the seat next to him in pure frustration. “Oh. If only I had a way to contact Emperor Sandus. He’d take this seriously.”
“The Emperor? Are you out of your mind?”
“No.” Kihrin looked at Galen. “Remember what Dead Man said? About the third person being Sandus’s son? I’m pretty sure I could get Sandus to take this seriously. And, Sandus is the one who banished that demon the first time and healed me. He’s real big on stopping demons. He’d want to know about this, and he’d believe me too. But I’m pretty sure I can’t just walk up to the palace and ask for an audience, you know?”
“Oh no,” Galen agreed. “That’s just the place where they throw the parties. I know that. He doesn’t live there. I’ve heard that he really lives in a giant palace made of diamond in the middle of Rainbow Lake, on an island guarded by two gigantic dragons.”
“Galen,” Kihrin admonished. “Everyone knows there isn’t an island at the center of Rainbow Lake.”
“I know that,” Galen said. He gave his brother a wise, knowing wink and said, “It’s invisible.”
Kihrin raised an eyebrow. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
They were still laughing as the coach rolled to a stop in front of the Culling Fields.
* * *
Kihrin had been raised on stories of the Culling Fields tavern, although he had never been there himself. Surdyeh refused to take him, saying the crowd there was too rough and there were too many opportunities for Kihrin to get himself into trouble. Kihrin now realized “trouble” meant “being recognized as a D’Mon.” Kihrin had, naturally enough, placed a visit high on his to-do list, but he’d never found the time for two reasons: one, because visiting required a trip to the Upper Circle; and two, because the tavern sat in the very shadow of the Citadel. The Watchmen spent time there when not on their rounds. The tavern was guaranteed to be swarming with off-duty militia at any and all hours. Most Shadowdancers, Kihrin included, avoided the Culling Fields as if they were handing out free samples of the clap with each ale. Kihrin had no trouble understanding why Merit would suggest the place. There was hardly any other location in the whole Capital less likely to have a Shadowdancer present to witness their exchange.
Kihrin saw, as he helped his brother down from the carriage, that the Culling Fields was less a tavern than a full inn. Three stories tall, it was so large that the upper floors were available for let. It was probably twice the size of the Shattered Veil Club, which made it a very large building indeed. Unlike the Shattered Veil, or indeed unlike any other building in Velvet Town, the Culling Fields stood alone on the boundary of a large green area of fields and woods. Cobblestone walkways led to and from the building, and branched off to form a circle around that area of the park.
Kihrin knew the park had to be the famed Arena itself, where would-be emperors fought for the right to rule. It wasn’t precisely what he expected. It was not a coliseum, but merely a circular open space divided between forested woods, briar, and a bit of meadow. It was lined with a few small, ruined buildings that looked in imminent danger of collapse from age. Still, Kihrin saw where the tree branches abruptly cut off, forming a kind of dome shape over the area. Many of the trees inside had a blasted, wild look to them; there was something perverted and strange to their shape and color. A litter of debris—weapons and armor and old skulls—peeked out from under a cloak of grass and leaves.
The Emperor had been crowned here, through trial by combat, since the founding of the Empire itself. It was where Kihrin’s mother (if she was his mother) Lyrilyn had met her fate, and where Ola had found him as a newborn babe. He no longer doubted which of Ola or Surdyeh’s stories had been the true one. Why both of them had been willing to lie about that truth and pass it off as fiction—ah, now that was where the mystery lay.
Kihrin turned back as Galen tugged on his sleeve. “Come on. The door is this way. There aren’t any duels going right now, or there’d be a crowd.”
Kihrin said, “I thought you said you’d never been here before.”
“I haven’t,” Galen replied, “but Father tells stories. He fights a lot of duels here.”
“Yeah, that doesn’t surprise me.”
The front doors were open, and a large man who might as well have been wearing a sign that said “bouncer” nodded to them as they entered. Kihrin could tell right away that this wasn’t like other taverns—the large glass windows that looked out from the tavern to the dueling area of the Arena wouldn’t have lasted fifteen minutes in a regular bar. Also, no bar Kihrin had ever seen could afford to use the sheer quantity and variety of mage-light he saw.
The tavern was also sublimely crowded. People of all ages, sexes, races, and stations bumped shoulders together with seeming disregard for the fact that their neighbors were of all ages, sexes, races, and stations. Except Kihrin assumed that they occasionally remembered and then it all devolved into one of the Arena’s famous duels.
“We’re looking for a female bouncer named Tauna,” Kihrin whispered to Galen.
“We are?” Galen asked, surprised.
“Just follow my lead.” Kihrin walked inside the taproom as if he’d been there before and knew exactly where the choice spots were located. There was a bland-looking bartender serving drinks: bald, tall, thin, and a bit potbellied. He raised an eyebrow at the pair as they walked by.
“Do you realize we’re the youngest people in this place?” Galen said.
“Our metal is old enough.”
Kihrin found them seats at a table, ordered a pepper beer for each of them from the wench, and took the time to give the room a thorough examination. There were a number of women present, although most of them looked like the help or sparkling drinking accessories. Not one of them looked like anyone he would describe as a bouncer.
“Kihrin.” Galen tugged urgently on his sleeve. “What is that?”
“Hmmm? What? Who?” Kihrin looked around.
“Over in the corner. Look
at him! He’s not human.”
Kihrin glanced around the room. The focus of Galen’s attention wasn’t easy to see, since he blended with the wall behind him. He had no hair at all, but wicked porcupine-like spikes coming off his head, and a nose that might not have been a nose at all. It didn’t end so much as turn into tentacle-like protrusions, which twitched and moved on their own. There were more spikes coming off his arms, and talons instead of nails, but worse than any of this were his eyes—which practically glowed with reflective firelight. He was huge and covered in muscle.
“Oh, they have a morgage. It’s really rare to see a pure-blood.”
“That’s one of the morgage?” Galen was practically whispering. “No wonder they’re such a problem.”
“You usually only see the half-breeds left over from whenever the morgage go on a rampage. The only work they can find is bone breaking or the like. I’m sure he’s one of the bouncers here.”
“Indeed. Who’d want to mess with that?”
“You’d be surprised. They probably have wizards on staff as well.” Even as he said the words, Kihrin noticed a lively game of cards at a nearby table. One of the gamblers was a woman, dressed in kef trousers and a man’s misha tunic, her feet wrapped in tall boots she raised up to rest on a stool. A sly grin crossed her face as she presented a winning hand to her groaning opponents.
“That’ll be her,” Kihrin told his brother, gesturing at the woman with his chin. He quickly signaled a waitress and put a silver chance on her tray. “A drink for the woman at the table over there. Tell her it’s from her old friend Merit.”
The woman took the money, nodded at Kihrin, and left in the direction of the game.
“Who is this woman?” Galen asked. “What are we doing here?”
“I’m trying to find out some information.” Kihrin flashed a brilliant smile at his younger brother. “Trust me.”
