by Sanan Kolva
Lyan paused and thought. “Less than a month.”
“You don’t know how to use it. No one’s taught you?”
“Who am I going to ask?” Lyan answered. “The Guardians of Equinox have never used the Spear, and the previous bearers are dead. Cailean’s given me some help, but he has his own troubles, and doesn’t know a great deal more than I do.”
“Cailean?” Nachyne asked.
“Spearbearer of Solstice, Lord Cailean Dev’gilla, Earl of Ihvako.”
“Ah, that’s right,” Nachyne said. “The Tathrens have been passing Solstice through the family line.” He considered Lyan. “I’m surprised an elf of Eilidh Wood would discuss Spears with a Tathren, knowing Ahebban hasn’t budged a breath in his grudge against Soldarr.”
“Cailean is my friend, and I wouldn’t have found Equinox without him,” Lyan said sharply.
“Just commenting, not criticizing.” Nachyne waved a hand in what could have been apology.
Lyan set Equinox on the ground and rubbed his hands together to warm them. Then he looked at Nachyne and asked, “Aren’t you… cold?”
“I’m not limited by the constraints of mortals. Why?”
“Because you’re naked,” Lyan said.
“So?”
“So would you please put on some sort of clothing?!”
Nachyne raised an eyebrow, then laughed. “Ah, it’s been a while. I had forgotten about mortals and their little taboo about nudity.”
“Yes, well, there’s only so much divine glory I want to see,” Lyan muttered.
Nachyne produced a length of vivid green cloth—it looked like silk—from the air and wrapped it around his waist, holding it in place with a silver belt. “Enough to satisfy mortal sensibilities?”
“Not really, but it’s an improvement,” Lyan answered.
Nachyne smirked. He settled across the fire from Lyan, assured of his superiority over lesser beings. “So, what else, Just Lyan Stargazer?”
The title was going to get tiring, Lyan knew. But he didn’t comment on it. “I’m not going to be going anywhere until Kithr wakes and our horses come back.”
“You expect horses to return on their own after a reaper attack?” Nachyne laughed.
“Shadowstar will. I called him. He’ll come back.”
“Shadowstar?” Nachyne raised an eyebrow in surprise.
“Shadowstar is…,” Lyan began.
Nachyne cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Favorite stallion of the Horselord’s own herd, guardian of Appret Plains. Rare that he chooses to bond with a mortal. If he has, you’re right, he’ll return.”
“I didn’t know you knew of Shadowstar,” Lyan said.
Nachyne shrugged. “Tried to steal that stallion once. It didn’t turn out well.”
Lyan made a choked sound. “You? Steal Shadowstar?”
“Tried,” Nachyne repeated. “The Horselord wasn’t terribly happy with me about it.”
“And I thought myself a scholar…,” Lyan said. “I’ve never heard of that, or of you and Equinox.”
“Of course you haven’t,” Nachyne said, voice suddenly cool, reminding Lyan he spoke to a god. “The incident between the Horselord and me had no bearing on mortals. As for the Spear…” His eyes narrowed. “A few attempted to record that humiliation. I have found every writing of it and burned the words from the pages. The mortals should consider themselves lucky I didn’t burn their heads from their shoulders. You will find no record of that. Ever.”
Lyan nodded. A chill ran down his spine, followed by reassurance from Equinox—Nachyne could not harm him or take any act of retribution against the Spearbearer of Equinox.
He glanced at the Spear. Thanks, but all in all, I’m still not reassured to know I can summon a god whether the god likes the idea or not. I don’t like knowing I can demand the obedience of the Guardians. I don’t want to force my will on anyone.
“Do you mind if I ask you something else?” Lyan asked.
“You can ask,” Nachyne said, tone implying that it didn’t matter whether or not he minded.
“I know I can ask, but do you mind if I do?”
The god’s expression lightened and he quirked an eyebrow in amusement. “I suppose I don’t mind. Ask.”
“Those reapers… someone had to summon them from the Mad God’s prison, didn’t they?”
Nachyne nodded gravely.
“Do you know… or can you tell… who did that?”
Nachyne looked toward the scorched ground where the reapers had died. “No, I can’t tell what mortal was foolish enough to force open a way into the realm where we caged Murdo. Whoever it was had to be a devout follower of Murdo, willing to make all the necessary sacrifices.” Nachyne looked at Lyan. “Even we gods couldn’t defy all the principles of exchange when we sealed access to his prison. Those followers who escaped us learned they could pull minions from Murdo’s realm for a limited time by offering lives in exchange.”
Lyan shifted uneasily. “How do you mean?”
Nachyne gestured toward the scorched earth. “To summon one reaper, for example, the summoner must sacrifice five people in exchange. Three are ritually tortured and killed.” His expression grew more grim. “The other two are drawn alive into Murdo’s realm when the reaper and its hound step through the opened portal.”
Lyan paled. Ten people died horrible deaths to bring these things here to attack us? He shuddered, hand closing tight around Equinox. “If that… but wouldn’t someone be able to summon Murdo?”
“If someone sacrificed every living creature between the two seas, they could still not let Murdo slip free of his prison, even for a moment,” Nachyne told him. “Fortunately, few of his followers are strong enough to endure his touch on their mind long enough for him to speak through them. Even if he does, his powers are limited. The host will die a hideous death shortly after.”
If the god’s words to discourage further questions. Lyan sat and tried not to think too deeply on Nachyne’s words. He looked to Kithr, now sleeping, then to the horizon, where the sun sank into dusk.
Lyan heard approaching hooves. He tensed and looked around for enemies, but was relieved to see Shadowstar approach, Kithr’s mount followed behind. The stallion stopped at the camp’s edge, eyeing Nachyne with suspicion. Lyan walked to Shadowstar and rubbed the stallion’s nose.
“It’s all right, Shadowstar. Nachyne helped us, and he’s not here for any other reason.”
Shadowstar snorted, deigned to enter the camp, and ignored the god of monsters. Nachyne chuckled. “I see you haven’t forgotten me either.”
The stallion snorted. Lyan rummaged through his saddlebags and found food. “Do you eat?” he asked Nachyne.
“When I want to,” Nachyne answered. “Unlike mortals, I rarely need to eat, much less sleep.” He waved toward the fire. “So, eat, sleep, whatever it is you need to do.”
Lyan hesitated, but only for a moment. He realized how exhausted he was, and it took him little time to decide food could wait until morning. “I’ll eat when Kithr wakes. Would you mind watching the camp while I sleep?”
“Of course, of course. Sleep deeply, Just Lyan Stargazer.”
“Thank you… that won’t be a problem.” Lyan pushed out his bedroll and lay down. His eyes closed, and sleep came.
Chapter Twelve
Chasing the trail
A dreamer was lost
And into travail
His lot was crossed
Lyan woke just before dawn, startled from sleep by a sound. He blinked blearily, confused to see a winged man sitting in a casual slouch, back against a rock. Memories caught up with Lyan a moment later.
Before Lyan even sat, Nachyne spoke. “Your friend’s still asleep. He’s been stirring, though. Might wake soon.” When the god of monsters spoke, Lyan felt it in his bones.
“Thank you.” Lyan sat and rubbed sleep from his eyes. As he pulled on a fresher shirt, Nachyne watched with an amused smile. Not sure where the humor lay, Lyan lo
oked at him. “What?”
“Mortals are entertaining,” Nachyne responded. “Fighting reapers one day, the next looking as if a newborn cub could best them.”
“Entertaining. Thanks,” Lyan muttered.
“You should be glad. I could hold far less kind opinions of mortals.” Nachyne’s tone didn’t change, but Lyan heard the ice under it, if only for a moment.
Lyan just nodded.
The fire Nachyne had started still burned, hot blue flames consuming no fuel. Lyan found dry rations in his bag and heated water in two mugs. He looked back to the god of monsters. “Do you want anything to eat or drink?” Hastily, Lyan added, “I know you don’t need anything, but would you like some?”
Nachyne waved a dismissive hand. “No need.” Some sense of tension eased in the air, and Lyan thought that, even though he declined, Nachyne was pleased it had been made in the first place.
While tea steeped in the mugs, Kithr groaned and tossed. Lyan left the mugs and moved to his friend’s side. “Kithr? It’s all right, you’re safe.”
Perhaps the words reached Kithr, perhaps Lyan’s voice was enough to calm the restless sleep. Kithr stilled. Then eyelids fluttered. “Ugh… Wha…”
Lyan found a smile. “Eloquent as ever, my friend.”
Kithr’s eyes snapped open and he jerked up, one hand fumbling for a weapon. Lyan held up his empty hands. “Kithr. We’re safe. It’s all right.”
“Those… things. Where? Creatures…”
“They’re gone, Kithr. They’re dead,” Lyan said.
“Dead?” Kithr’s hand moved to his own chest, running over the shredded cloth of his shirt. “They are dead? Not us?”
Lyan nodded. “Yes.”
“What were those monsters?”
“Reapers,” Nachyne said. “Don’t insult monsters by numbering spawn of Murdo in the same category.”
Kithr jumped, looking sharply to the unfamiliar voice. “Who in Murdo’s Pits are you?”
Nachyne stood, wings spreading, then folding against his back. “I’m one of the ones who put Murdo in those pits.”
“Kithr, that’s… Nachyne,” Lyan said softly. “He killed the reapers and saved your life.”
Kithr stiffened, staring at the god. “Nachyne? God of monsters?” Once again his hand moved toward his waist in search of a weapon.
Nachyne smirked, amused. “You’re lucky to be alive, mortal. You nearly had your guts eaten by reapers. And now you think you can face a god?”
Kithr tensed. “Does the god of monsters just conveniently drop in on a whim? Why are you here? What do you want?”
“Coincidence? Not at all,” Nachyne replied. “For the rest of your answers, I direct you to Just Lyan Stargazer. In fact, Spearbearer, now that you’re awake, and your friend is awake and the picture of health, I’ll take my leave.” He paused very briefly—just long enough that Lyan could have objected if he’d wished.
Lyan stood and bowed. “Thank you, Nachyne.”
The god’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “You’re off to a better start than some. This should be interesting, Just Lyan. Until we meet again.”
Nachyne’s wings lifted him from the ground and raising a great cloud of dust. The cloud enveloped Nachyne, then, with a boom of thunder, the god was gone. Kithr’s horse started and whinnied at the noise, but Shadowstar ignored Nachyne’s departure just as he’d ignored Nachyne’s presence.
“Lyan,” Kithr said slowly, “what in rot and ash is going on? A god… not even one of our gods, or, ancients forbid, a god of this land, but the god of monsters? What are you doing?” He paled. “You didn’t make some kind of bargain with him, did you?”
Lyan offered Kithr tea. The fire still burned, but not as vigorously as it had. Lyan watched the dying blue flames. “Long ago, a Spearbearer of Equinox challenged Nachyne to combat. Nachyne accepted. And… he lost.”
Kithr had started to drink the tea, and he spat it out in disbelief. “What?!”
“The god of monsters was defeated by a mortal Spearbearer, and as a result is bound to the Spear, and a Spearbearer of Equinox can summon him,” Lyan said softly.
“You’re telling me that a mortal with just one—not even both, but just one Spear had the power to challenge and beat a god?” Kithr demanded.
Lyan nodded. “That’s what Nachyne told me.”
“You believe him?”
“What god would make up a story that humiliating, Kithr?” Lyan asked. He looked from the fire to Equinox. “I believe he told the truth. I don’t think he could lie to me if he wanted to.”
“The Spears have that much power? If someone can do that with just one, with both…” Kithr’s voice trailed off.
“With both, a mortal could be powerful enough that it would take all the gods to stop him,” Lyan finished. “And they don’t want to have to do so ever again.” He offered Kithr food.
Kithr devoured it. Lyan’s stomach complained, but he took advantage of Kithr’s distraction to give him half of his own portion as well. Remembering the hunger he’d felt after Venycia healed him, Lyan knew his friend needed the food more. Kithr wiped his fingers on the remains of his shirt and looked down at his chest. New pink scars ran over his skin in jagged patterns.
“They were eating me alive. Weren’t they?” Kithr shuddered. “I could hear them whispering in my head.” He closed his eyes.
“Are you all right, Kithr?” Lyan asked, worried.
“I’m fine, I’ll be fine.” Kithr opened his eyes. “And we need to keep going. If those things found the old man before they came after us… well, if that’s the case, he can at least have a decent burial.”
Aikan. Did the reapers attack him? What about Cailean and the others? “Can you still find Aikan’s trail, Kithr?”
“I’ll try. The storm washed away tracks. But I think I know where he’s going.”
“You do?” Lyan sat up straighter. “Where?”
“Now that I’ve seen more of this area, I have a better sense of where we are. There’s a keep a couple more days’ travel—one our forces avoided rather than try to besiege. Seems to me the old man is heading home.”
“To Cailean’s keep? Why? It’s under Ewart’s control,” Lyan said, startled.
“I can think of two possibilities,” Kithr said. “First, he’s fooled you with his apparent contrition, and he really is a traitor going back to his master. Or, second, his story was true, he’s loyal to his lord, and he’s entering enemy territory to try to resolve unfinished business. If the second, he’s likely to get himself killed.”
“We need to find him before he gets there in either case.” Lyan jumped to his feet.
“Yes.” Kithr stood more slowly, and walked to his horse. Searching through his bags, he found a fresh shirt and tossed the shredded, blood-stiff rags into the fire. Flames devoured the cloth immediately. As Lyan and Kithr mounted the horses, the blue flames flickered and died.
Kithr was unusually subdued, even as they started riding. Lyan watched him, and broke the silence. “What’s wrong?”
“The reapers. Those demons. I always believed that, even in the face of the Mad God’s minions, I could fight and defeat them.” Kithr shuddered. “Faced with reality, I could do nothing. I just stood there, too afraid to move. What kind of warrior can I call myself when I cower like a green novice before the enemy?!” His hands clenched in fists. “I still can’t think of those black robes, that skeletal face, those… teeth… without my hands starting to shake!” He growled in frustration and anger.
Lyan shuddered and gripped Equinox. An answer crept into his mind as he desperately sought reassurance for his friend. “It’s not your fault, Kithr. The reapers… you felt it. Before we even saw them, we both felt the aura of fear they project. That would terrify anyone, Kithr. Even you. Even Nylas would have cowered from them. Kithr, Shadowstar bolted. It’s a reaper’s nature, not your fault.” He watched Kithr and saw his friend listening. Lyan pressed on. “Now we know. We’ve felt it, and we know wh
at it means.” He paused again. “There aren’t many people who can say they’ve felt the fear a reaper exudes and lived to tell the tale.”
Kithr raised his head, and his eyes gleamed. “And if I feel it again, I’ll know what it is—a cowardly demon’s way of hiding from those who would kill it.”
Lyan nodded. Then he smiled faintly. “But let’s not go trying to find more just to test our resolve, okay?”
Kithr started, then nodded with a chuckle. “Don’t worry about me seeking them out, Lyan. Once is sufficient for this lifetime.”
Lyan’s thoughts roamed as they rode. Why did the reapers attack us? Did they come specifically for us? Or… for me? Lyan looked at Equinox. For the Spearbearer? Would they have killed me? Would they have killed Kithr in front of me, then taken me captive to their summoner? He shivered at the thought. What about Cailean? Is he safe?
Another thought occurred to him, and Lyan started. “Kithr, I don’t think Aikan is the traitor.”
“You’ve mentioned that already. What brings it up now?” Kithr responded.
“The reapers. Someone had to summon them and send them out. If they were sent to kill or capture us, their summoner had to know we were separated from Cailean and his men. Aikan wouldn’t know that, and wouldn’t be able to pass that information on.”
Kithr considered, then nodded. “All right, makes sense. So we’re back to agreeing that Cailean has some traitor in his company, whichever of them it is. Whether Dalrian, Shiolto, or, I suppose, Torqual.”
“You don’t think Torqual’s a possibility?” Lyan asked.
“He’s a warrior,” Kithr responded, as if that alone removed Torqual from suspicion.
“All right, so you don’t suspect him because of all of them, you kind of trust him.”
Kithr scowled. “He’s Tathren. Of course I don’t trust him. But I feel more of a sense of something in common with him than with the others.”
“You trust him, you just won’t admit it,” Lyan said.
