by NS Dolkart
The blade was sharp, and his aim was true. The elf, caught off guard, missed his parry, and the sickle cut through muscle and bone until his head tumbled from his shoulders.
The elf’s head screamed as his body collapsed, then glared at the man who stood above it. “How?” the head screamed.
Hunter pulled a splinter out of his hand and picked the elf up by the hair. “You’re too confident that your mindreading is an advantage. You shouldn’t trust everything you see.”
The elf gnashed his teeth at him even as blood dripped out of his remaining sliver of neck. “You will pay for this. Your ploy can only work once, and then–”
“It’ll work as many times as it needs to,” Hunter interrupted. “I’m taking you to Psander, elf. You’ll be lucky if you can still think by the time she’s done with you.”
He walked back to the fortress walls, where a crowd was watching from the battlements – not just the villagers, but Psander and Phaedra too. He held up the head and sickle, and his audience erupted in cheers and applause.
It was the moment of glory that he had spent years imagining, and it came with all the pride, all the emotional power he had dreamt it would. This was how he would have felt if Karassa had never turned on his people, if Hunter could have gone on to live as the king’s champion just as he had meant to. It felt incredible.
But hadn’t he left all this behind? He had thought his days of killing were over – was it different now, just because he was killing elves instead of people? The fact that the elf could talk even after being beheaded did nothing to lessen the savagery of Hunter’s victory. He was still waving a head around, indulging in the primal glory of having slain an enemy with his hands. And what if the Kindly Folk only lasted an hour without their heads? What if their seeming immortality was itself an illusion? Would he feel remorse then? He didn’t think the elves’ deranged foreignness should give him an excuse to feel good about killing.
“My young will grow up fatherless,” the elf said, and Hunter looked down at him in shock. He had never considered the possibility that elves might have children. Did they? Could it be true? Or was the elf simply trying to make him feel worse, reading his thoughts and striking where he found a weakness?
“Of course we have children,” the elf admonished him. “We are older, wiser, and more worthy than you, but we are still your cousins. We were made by the same cursed Gods who made you.”
“Then why aren’t there more of you? If you have children, and you live even after your heads have been cut off, why isn’t this world completely full of you?”
The elf didn’t answer. Was it a sign that Hunter had caught him lying about having children? Or did it mean that elves could die, and this one was too afraid to reveal the fact of their mortality? Hunter reached the gate of Silent Hall, which now stood open to him. Luckily, he would not have to guess these answers on his own. That was what Psander was for.
“You put too much faith in your Psander’s abilities,” the elf scoffed. “She cannot protect you for long.”
Hunter swung the head into a wall, just hard enough for the elf to get the point. “Keep underestimating us,” he suggested. “That’s how you end up like this.”
37
Bandu
Bandu had no intention of staying in town for long, whatever Vella might think. It was a good place to stop for now, but she did not like living with so many people around to look at her, to stare, to wonder, to judge. She would be happier, she thought, in a forest or maybe the mountains, where she could live away from all these people. It had been one thing to travel with her pack, with just the four other islanders, but the last few months had been too much for her. She did not like living with these crowds, with what her kind called “civilization.” If it hadn’t been for Criton, she would have fled all these crowds long ago.
She had let his needs outweigh hers for too long, and though she’d done it out of love, it had been the wrong choice. Criton probably thought she had left because of his promise to her, because he had told her he would never want others and then he’d changed his mind. That was a part of it, but their problems had been building since long before, in some ways since the first time they had kissed. He had never cared more about her than he did about his dragons, his heritage, his imaginary family. She had worried it might be that way, but because he was also brave and strong and did his best to protect her, she had overruled her good sense and stayed with him. Until now.
Now she knew how much of a mistake it had been, and she vowed to trust her instincts better. So if her instincts told her it was time to go back to the forest, that was what she meant to do.
Maybe she could take Vella and Goodweather back to the Yarek, to live in its shadow and under its protection. Nobody was likely to bother them there, and she was confident of her ability to find food. But that was a long way to go, and she was not sure Vella would want to be quite that far away from her home. She didn’t want to do the same thing to Vella that Criton had done to her, valuing her own desires so high above her mate’s.
The trouble was that Vella was so out of her depth that it was hard for Bandu to be sure what the girl even wanted for herself. She wanted Bandu, of course, but what else? Bandu was not sure Vella even knew.
They were probably the same age, really, but Vella was still so much younger than her. She still compared everything to her life with her parents, which sounded as if it had been nicer than anything Bandu could relate to. What was it like to have parents who loved you like that, who fed and clothed you and even tried to make you happy? Bandu could only guess. It had made Vella younger and sweeter than Bandu or Criton, and more fragile. Bandu smiled when she thought of it. In some ways, Vella reminded her of Hunter.
She hoped Goodweather would grow to be as sweet and playful as Vella was. Perhaps if they loved and cared for Goodweather as Vella’s parents had done for her, she would have that same sweetness to her that Bandu so appreciated in her new mate.
It was amazing to even have these thoughts. Before, she had worried about what influence Criton and his people might have on their daughter; now she felt free to dream of how she and Vella would raise the girl on their own. What would she be like, their Goodweather? Would she have her father’s bravery? His obsessiveness? Would the wind whisper to her as it did to Bandu?
Bandu liked to watch Vella play with the baby. She would cover Goodweather’s eyes with her claw and then pull it away, and the two of them would laugh and laugh. Play came so naturally to her, in a way that Bandu could recognize and admire but never understand. She tried to play the same game with Goodweather a few times, but the baby just looked confusedly at her and Bandu never really knew what was supposed to be so funny to begin with.
Vella was a good mate too, gentle and loving without any of Criton’s impatience. She looked at Bandu almost worshipfully when they were alone together, and Bandu liked the way they mated. It was different, and very nice. She took a special delight in making Vella breathe her fire – Vella had learned as a child to suppress that fire, and it only came out when she lost all ability to think. The downside was that this meant they could only mate when they were out ‘taking a walk’ together with a sleeping baby, because they didn’t want to accidentally burn down the house they’d been allowed to sleep in.
She was glad when the townspeople started looking at them suspiciously, because it gave her an excuse to drag Vella away from there. Vella was too used to the comforts of beds and pillows, and did not like to travel. But she was no fool, and didn’t argue when Bandu said it was time to go.
So they left, taking some provisions with them, and continued on their journey. To Vella’s delight, they found a place to stay before nightfall that had a roof and a bed. It was a woodcutter’s house, sitting on the edge of a small wood. Vella was worried at first that the owner would come home and find them there, but Bandu pointed out the thin layer of dust on the table and the empty hooks above the doorway. The owner had been among those who marched agai
nst Psander behind High Priest Bestillos. He would not be coming back.
It was a good place to stay, dry and safe from animals but not too close to other people. There was even an overgrown vegetable garden outside, which Vella knew more about tending to than Bandu did, and it did not take Bandu long to find the well that the unknown woodcutter had dug out in the woods. He had abandoned his food store along with the house, so between that and Bandu’s foraging, they ate quite well. The food store was all dried grains and lentils and chickpeas, and Bandu was glad for Vella’s experience cooking these things. She even knew how to grow them, she said, if they stayed here long enough.
Bandu was not sure what she thought of that. She knew Vella wanted to stay, but she did not like the idea of staying quite this close to Criton and his people. If and when his war ended, he would eventually hear that they had passed through that town, and this house was less than a day’s walk from there. But for now, she supposed it would do. Vella was so happy.
At least, she seemed happy. Sometimes Bandu would catch her looking pained and miserable, and every time she asked what was wrong, Vella would say, “You’re not going to go back to him, are you?”
And Bandu would say no, and Vella would nod a few times and try to smile, saying something like, “Forget about it.” And then a few days later it would happen again.
That was one bad thing about Vella: when something bothered her, she would keep talking about it over and over again, even when there was nothing left to say. It was fair for her to be afraid that Bandu might change her mind and go back to Criton – Bandu was afraid of the same thing, sometimes – but what good did it do for her to keep coming back to it? Bandu was growing to love her more and more as time went by, but having to keep reassuring her about this was frustrating.
“I don’t go back,” she would say. “Criton is never a good mate.”
“But do you love him?”
“Yes, but he is a bad mate, so I don’t go back.”
That answer always upset her, but what did she want, for Bandu to lie? Of course she loved Criton – he was a part of her pack, and always would be. He had comforted her after Four-foot died, had protected her from their enemies more times than she could count, and for all his problems, he had made beautiful little Goodweather with her. If only for that, she would never stop loving him. That didn’t mean she wanted him as a mate again.
But that was more than Vella could understand, not knowing their history together. Bandu had neither the words nor the patience to explain how she felt, and she worried that trying would only hurt Vella more. She might feel bad for not being part of Bandu’s pack.
Bandu wondered sometimes whether the rest of her pack would like Vella, if they ever got to meet her. She thought Phaedra and Hunter would. Vella was kind and gentle, and Bandu thought they would have a lot in common. In any case, they were unlikely to object to her even if they didn’t like her at all. They were both dishonest in that way, with the funny sort of dishonesty that most parents apparently taught their young, where you didn’t say what you thought if it wasn’t friendly enough.
Narky was much more honest in that way. He also didn’t seem to like anyone, at least at first. You had to force Narky to like you – it didn’t happen on its own. He still didn’t like Bandu, as far as she could tell – though there was no doubt that he respected her, and from Narky, respect was almost as good.
Would he respect Vella, if he ever got to meet her? Bandu wasn’t sure. She didn’t think he would appreciate her gentleness the way Bandu did. A lot of things were different when you had a baby to think about, and wanting to be with someone gentle was one of those things. It had been easier to stay with Criton before she had had Goodweather’s safety to worry about.
She felt bad now, because Criton loved Goodweather too, and Bandu had taken her away. If it had been the other way around – if Criton had been the one running off in the night, taking Goodweather with him – Bandu wouldn’t have slept until she had her daughter back. Criton probably felt the same way, and it was wicked of her to have done that to him. But then, it had been wicked of Criton to take such bad care of them. She was sure she had done the right thing. She just wished she could have done it without hurting him.
This was one of those things she couldn’t talk to Vella about, because Vella didn’t like knowing that Bandu cared so much about Criton. She wouldn’t understand Bandu’s complicated thoughts, not with Bandu’s halting speech, and that meant there were some conversations that shouldn’t even be started.
That caused its own problems, though. Criton might have been bad for her, but Bandu had always been able to tell him how she felt. It was lonely keeping her thoughts to herself, and she didn’t think it was right for a mate to make her feel lonely.
So that night she told Vella everything, as best she could. It was just as hard as she had expected, but at least Vella didn’t interrupt. When she was done, the other girl looked her in the eye and said, “I don’t know why you’re doing this to me.”
“Doing what?”
“Torturing me. You took me away from my family and my people, and now you’re telling me you feel bad because of Criton? That’s not right.”
“That is right!” Bandu insisted. Vella had clearly understood her words perfectly, so why did she think otherwise?
“I mean that it’s not fair,” Vella snapped, noting her confusion. “It’s not fair to me. You don’t feel guilty for wrecking my life, so why should I care how guilty you feel about leaving your husband? It was all your idea!”
“You think I break your life? So why you come with me?”
“Because I love you. That doesn’t give you an excuse to be selfish.”
Vella was right, but if Bandu couldn’t tell her how she felt, even about Criton, then that meant she couldn’t tell anyone. The thought made her feel lonelier already.
“You don’t want me to tell you what I feel.”
Vella sighed. “No, no, I didn’t mean it like that. Of course I want you to tell me how you feel, it’s just… you hurt me this time. I wish you cared as much about me as you do about Criton.”
“I do,” Bandu said, but she knew Vella didn’t believe her.
Bandu hated fighting. She hated it. It had felt like all she and Criton did sometimes was fight with each other – was this what it would be like with Vella too? Would they stop speaking for weeks sometimes, and only start again when Bandu weakened? Maybe Bandu should not have a mate, if it would always be like this. Maybe she should have left Criton by herself.
“You are not fair,” she said. “You don’t want me to care about Criton, but he makes Goodweather with me. If he is important to me too, that is not bad. I don’t want him anymore, I want you. I can still think about him.”
She thought Vella was going to say something, but she just sat there, eyes shining. “You’re right,” she said at last. “I’m sorry. I get jealous sometimes.”
And just like that, their fight was over. Bandu leaned over and kissed her, and they lay back down. Nestled between Vella and her sleeping baby, Bandu marveled at how much better she felt now. This was not like with Criton after all. This was nothing like with Criton. Somehow, instead of causing hours and days of pain, this argument had brought them closer together.
“You don’t need to be jealous,” she told Vella. “You are good for me, better than Criton. And I love you.”
38
Narky
The next few days were bloody and decisive, as Magerion moved with blinding speed to consolidate power and eradicate his enemies before anyone could organize an opposition. Narky was given a squad of six men as guards and servants, and he led them in defacing the Great Temple of Magor and rounding up workers to recreate it and rededicate it to the glory of Ravennis. The artist who had painted the temple’s murals converted as soon as he was called for, and hurriedly volunteered to rework or paint over every image in the building. The statues of boar-headed Magor were attacked with hammers until they were
little more than rubble-covered pedestals. Within a week, Magor’s one great city belonged entirely to Ravennis.
It was everything a dishonorable God could want.
Narky became high priest to the whole city, and the people flocked to him with fear in their eyes. They wanted him to tell them that Ravennis would be magnanimous in His conquest and kind to His former enemies. Narky was happy to oblige. So long as people gave themselves freely to Ravennis before their deaths, he told them, He would watch over them kindly and lovingly in their final rest. But those who opposed Him would be subjected to eternal torment, at least until their Ravennis-worshipping descendants prayed to Him for leniency on their behalf. Narky felt he had to add this last bit, because otherwise all those who had died before Ravennis came to Ardis would be doomed through no fault of their own. He had no idea if it was true.
He was growing more comfortable inventing doctrine though, as he spent more time in the role of high priest. Given his God’s clear ability to put words in his mouth if need be, every sentence that Narky uttered on his own now carried the Keeper of Fates’ implicit approval. The lack of further divine intervention suggested that Narky was guessing right about the true teachings of his God – or else that Ravennis didn’t particularly care. Either way, he no longer worried that his teachings would conflict with his God’s position.
What did worry him was that Ardis was now undergoing its second mass conversion in thirty years. What if Magerion somehow lost control, and Narky got swept away in the backlash? The old artist who was repainting the temple told him a bit of the city’s history, and it turned out that the Great Temple of Magor – now of Ravennis – had been built on the same site where God Most High’s great temple had once stood. The architect for the new building had been murdered once it was finished so that he could never design any building greater than Magor’s temple. That sounded horrifying to Narky, but the artist said it with a certain pride. That was easy enough for him – his painting services didn’t come with an end date.
