“I have more people looking over my actions.”
“What do you mean?”
“If I leave here, you and a few others know where I sleep.”
She raised an eyebrow at that.
“Are you going to deny it?”
“No. It’s important that you are kept safe.”
“If an Inquisitor tells you that something is true, what do you do about it?”
“I act on it.”
“And how do you know that he tells the truth?”
“I have the assurances of the Inquisitors.”
“And are they investigated by you?”
“No.”
“None of them?”
“No.”
Merros’s face worked as he considered that answer. “Why not?”
“Because the vows of the Inquisitors are very complex and backed by sorcery. Should they attempt to lie in their investigations, there would be consequences.”
“What sort of consequences?”
“Horrible disfigurement at the very least.”
“Beg pardon?”
“Desh Krohan is the one who set up their vows. He attends all of them. Each and every member of the Inquisition is marked by Desh. They cannot lie in their duties without being disfigured or worse.”
“And how do you know this sorcery works?”
“Have you ever been to the offices of the Inquisition?”
“No, Majesty.”
“Should you ever have the need to go to those offices, you will find that the people who work as clerks in the offices are all rather heavily disfigured. In the event that they survive the process of lying, they are given a second chance to work for the Inquisition. I say given, but what I mean is they are forced to pay penance. Five years of their lives marked and in pain. If they survive those years they may either leave or once more work as an Inquisitor, with the knowledge that they will suffer the same fate a second time should they stray.”
Merros’s face was stricken with dread at the notion.
“The Inquisitors agree to this. They know that they must always be trusted. They know that failure to be worthy of that trust brings pain, disfigurement and, if they cause an innocent’s death, their own death in exchange.”
“Wasn’t the Minister of Lands supposed to be brought before me?” Nachia forced her jaw to relax. It wanted very much to grind her teeth to nubs.
“He is proving hard to find, Majesty. Also, it seems his home burned down.”
“Are we to assume that was a coincidence?”
“No, Majesty. The City Guard are investigating.”
“Make them investigate faster, please, Merros.”
Before Merros could say more, Darsken returned with Pella. Five minutes of conversation was all it took to make the arrangements.
The girl, Jost, would talk one way or another.
The fact offered Nachia no comfort.
Another messenger entered the throne room. The girl was slight and winded, and looked around with wide eyes. She bore the scars of surviving the Plague Winds, and as they were slight Nachia found herself hoping they would heal completely. She entered the chamber timidly. Likely she had never seen a room as large in her entire life.
She whispered to the guard, who pointed to Merros.
A moment later she was handing off her package and trying not to stare at Nachia. Nachia smiled at the girl and the girl smiled back. It was a smile that lit her entire face.
Barely looking up, Merros thanked the girl and dismissed her. The stress showed on his face.
“What is it?”
“Something is wrong. People are falling ill.”
“Where?”
“Everywhere, it seems.”
It was dark out, and the kings gathered. To the west the skies were black, hidden by clouds. To the east they were clear and the only patch of darkness hiding the stars was the distant city of Canhoon and, in the far distance, the frozen waves that made up the Arkannen Mountains.
The bonfire was large and only one of a hundred or more. The Sa’ba Taalor owned the area around the river and they did not hide their presence.
Ganem sat and stared into the fire, her eyes nearly glowing. “How long until their floating city reaches the mountains?”
Tarag Paedori answered, “Two days. We will have troops in position before then. And archers. As many as we can gather.”
Ganem nodded. “I have many archers. They are yours, of course.” She paused and considered. “Lored is still to the east?”
Tusk nodded, “Mmm. He is making progress. They do not seem to have as many cities there. More villages.”
“And Donaie Swarl? She is still at sea?”
“There are people out there.” Tusk shook his head. “They have no gods and mark their bodies with scars to tell tales of their greatness.” He tore a piece of hard bread and sopped it in the stew before him as he spoke. “The Fellein hired them to fight their water battles. Donaie decided they must die for mocking the gods. She is doing all she can to kill them all.”
“The gods agree with this?”
“She would not do it without their wishes. You know this.”
Ganem nodded her head and looked to Tarag Paedori. “Glo’Hosht is in the city that floats. They are breaking the city into pieces. Well, the people.”
The King in Iron nodded. “The fights among the masses are many. They have no place to rest and the skies are colder, as the tops of mountains are colder. The walls are frozen. The ground is hard with ice.” Tarag smiled. “And down here, Tuskandru has converted people to his faith.”
Tusk chuckled. “I did not convert them. They asked to join us.”
“They have been converted? They have heard the voice of Durhallem?” Ganem looked his way. Mercy was not the way of the Obsidian God.
“Durhallem has marked them. Durhallem can speak to them. More importantly, Durhallem can watch through their eyes and know what they think. A few sought to attack us from within their ranks.” Tusk paused for a moment, his eyes alight with the memories. “The unfaithful were killed for their insolence. As they reached into the forge, they reached into the very heart of Durhallem. If their loyalties were false, they burned at the touch of Durhallem’s wrath.”
Ganem nodded. That made sense.
N’Heelis stretched his lean body, scars glistening in the light of the fire. “My people await your orders, Tarag Paedori. Will you have us entering the floating city?”
Paedori nodded. “Mostly your people. Tusk will ride ahead. We have scouts who say they believe they know where the city will come to rest. It is a large area. His army and mine will go there.”
N’Heelis nodded and prepared to leave. He paused once to say, “To the north. Wrommish has chosen.”
Tarag Paedori nodded his head and watched the King in Gold leave. He looked to Ganem.
“Your archers will work to take the city. Meet with the rest of your people. Head east. As has been said, there are many villages. I want you to take as many as you can.”
“Capture or kill?”
“If they surrender, give them Tusk’s choice. Should Ydramil wish to take on new followers, make it so. If they fight, break them.”
“You do not want them dead?”
“Your god is the Mirror God. Let your enemies reflect on their sins while they die on the ground.”
Ganem nodded. There was a certain wisdom in those words.
Tarag Paedori’s hands worked on his armor, oiling metal and leather alike. “The city will not escape us. They have eluded us, yes, but there will be no escape.”
He looked at the visage of his god, hammered into the faceplate of his armor. “We will win this war for the Daxar Taalor. They have given us so much and all they ask in return is justice for the past.”
All of the kings agreed. It was a good thing.
Ganem left that night, riding her mount, Sidian. Unlike most of the mounts, Sidian carried only a few weapons. For Ganem they were enough.
Not but a day’s journey to the west, Andover Lashk sat with his companions and ate.
“You have changed, Drask.”
“I have changed?” Drask looked his way and shook his head. “You are a foot taller. You have scars over your body that tell tales of endless battles. You walk differently. You speak differently, but you say it is I who have changed.”
Andover nodded. “You are the same in your mind, I think. But there is a difference to you. To Tega as well.” He looked toward Tega, who was staring into the fire.
Drask nodded.
“Tell me what happened to you.”
Drask sat silently for a while and then nodded again. “When I was sent away from you, it was because the gods needed me to break the very rules on which I was raised. They wanted me to visit the Mounds.”
Andover pursed his lips in agreement, recalling the horrifying sounds that sometimes came from the frozen ruins.
Drask inclined his head toward Tega and then Nolan. “They were sent with others to see if the secret to defeating the Sa’ba Taalor might wait in the Mounds. I was sent to follow them and stop them.”
He looked at the fire for a moment and grew silent as he considered the past. Andover wondered for a moment if he would say more, but Drask was simply marshaling his thoughts.
“We found ways into the Mounds and found something. I do not know what even now, but I have suspicions.”
Drask picked at his food for a moment, then took a bite and chewed and swallowed before he spoke further. The look of concentration told Andover that the man was trying to find the right words.
“When I was much younger, and curious, and angry, I killed a man who offended me. He claimed I was weak because I spared another man his life. I did not care of his opinions until he provoked me. Then I killed him to make sure he understood I was not always merciful.
“Because I was curious, I cut him open and cleaned out his innards then studied his insides.”
A year earlier Andover would have been terrified by the image Drask produced. Tega turned her head and look at Drask with interest, suddenly curious about his words.
“Have you ever looked inside a human body?” Drask asked.
“Not on purpose.”
Drask laughed at that, a deep, hard laugh, and slapped Andover on the shoulder in a companionable way. In the past that slap would have sent him sprawling.
“There are… tubes in the body. Blood flows through them. They are everywhere, and if you have ever cut off a hand or seen one cut off–” and here he showed his silver hand, which had also changed a great deal “–you can see the blood that flows from them.”
Tega said, “Arteries and veins. That is what we call them. Blood moves everywhere through them. Even in your eyes and toes.”
“Yes. What Tega says. Arteries. We found them in the ground beneath the Mounds. They were filled with light that flowed like blood. And far below the ground we found a great pool of that blood that moved through all of the Mounds.”
Drask stared into the fire again. “Nolan attacked me. I had killed some of theirs. The Daxar Taalor had told me what I must do. I did it.” Andover nodded. One did not debate with gods.
“And then the ground we stood on, above the great pool, broke and we fell into it.”
There was silence then as Drask looked at his silver hand and the way the metal seemed to have grown into him and continued to move up his arm.
“What was it?”
Drask shrugged his powerful shoulders. “I do not know. The life of the gods? The blood of the gods? Whatever it is, it is now inside the three of us. It filled us as water fills a jug. As blood fills a body. It became a part of us.”
Tega leaned forward. “It is power. We have bathed in it and absorbed it. We should have died, but we did not. We should have drowned or burned or both, but instead it fills us.”
Drask nodded. “Yes. That is a good way to say it.”
“What kind of power?” Andover asked.
“I brought the Blasted Lands back to life. I brought Brackka back from ashes.”
“Could you bring Delil back to life?”
“Yes. I think I could.”
“But you didn’t.”
Drask looked at him again studying his face, examining his eyes as if they held other secrets that even Andover did not see. “You did not ask me. You did not ask Tega or Nolan. You asked your gods. They have given you a chance.”
“They are your gods, too.”
Drask stared for a long time into the flames. “I am not sure that is true any longer. There is much I have to consider.”
“Drask, how can you turn away from the gods?”
Drask did not answer.
How could he turn away from the gods?
Drask considered that question carefully. He examined it as if it were a gem with thousands of facets, looking for the possible flaws on every plane he could study.
He had not turned away, of course. He was looking for answers that, so far, the Daxar Taalor had not provided.
They had but to speak up, of course. He had not answered their queries but he heard the gods. He had always heard the gods, for as long as he could remember, and they had always known his heart. They had not chosen to answer the questions within him; even when he’d spoken them aloud he had received no answers.
His entire world was filled with their lessons, their advice and their truths. Great Korwa, the greatest city ever, had been destroyed by the very Empire he now entered. The people burned.
The gods painted the Sa’ba Taalor in colors of ash to remind them that their heritage was ashes and ruin. Dead and gone and ruined, destroyed by the Fellein because they wanted to take Korwa as their own and in their jealousy they destroyed what they could not have.
They sought the land. They sought the Empress. They sought to subjugate all that was, all that could be.
That was the story he’d been raised with.
Drask could have told Merros Dulver all of that, but it was not his place. The gods had other ideas.
For a thousand years the Sa’ba Taalor had fought among themselves, honing their skills until even the weakest of them was a match for the strongest of the enemies they might someday face.
He looked at Andover Lashk and contemplated that fact. The Fellein boy was gone, replaced by a Sa’ba Taalor man. The scars were real. The gods had found him people to fight and if he had failed in those combats he would be gone. There were no special favors among the gods. He knew that in his heart.
And yet, Andover Lashk wondered how he could turn his back on the gods.
There were no easy answers. Drask Silver Hand found himself capable of miracles, which had always been the purview of the Daxar Taalor. Of the gods.
What need of gods when you could answer your own prayers?
Had anyone asked Callan how he managed to steer his new ship all the way to Louron, he would have been unable to say.
The Brellar ship drove into the shallows around the swampy area and he looked at the ground for a long time, barely believing he could be that lucky. The air was hot and sticky, but compared to the air along the ocean, it smelled sweet.
For whatever reason, the worst of the smoke did not come here. The volcanic ash did not taint the waters as completely. There were fish in the waters here. He had not seen fish in the region since the Guntha Islands were buried under fire and stone.
Louron had an endless supply of rumors around it. Callan did not care. He dropped anchor and scurried his way down to the beach, grinning like a fool for the first time in days.
When he looked around, several of the Louron were around him. They did not seem afraid or welcoming, merely curious. Still, they smiled in the way of their people.
Callan smiled back and spoke slowly. “Hello.” Their language was a complex one and he spoke it with all the skill of a three year-old.
A young girl, perhaps all of four, waved and smiled at him, returning the welcome. Her father, or perhaps her grandf
ather, was there with her and he nodded.
The man said, “You do not look like a Brellar, but you have their ship.”
“Well, mine was sunk you see.”
He nodded and moved closer to the little girl. “You do not look well fed.”
“The grays, they took the food and water with them.” His tears started and he was barely aware. “They killed all the Brellar and left me with their bodies, you see. Out there.”
The man nodded again. “They are not good people.”
Callan nodded.
“Come. We can at least give you food and fresh water.”
Nicer words had never been spoken. Callan managed to drink and eat more than he should have and felt sick for it. His hosts gave him a place to rest and he fell into a deep sleep.
It was daylight when he woke again.
Three Inquisitors stood over his bed to greet him.
They had many, many questions for the captain.
Nachia greeted the arrival of her brother and his love interest with a certain amount of amusement. Princess Lanaie… Technically Queen Lanaie, but she had not been formally crowned as yet; Nachia made a mental note to fix that situation soon. It would help morale. But first, there was a war to consider. She was a striking young woman and Brolley was enchanted, but she had doubts that it was anything beyond infatuation.
Lanaie had all the charms a man could want, to be sure, but she was as quiet as a mouse and that had never much appealed to Brolley. He liked to argue. He was profoundly good at it. The skill had almost gotten him killed when he ran across the Sa’ba Taalor, and had nearly started the war between their peoples a good month early. Drask Silver Hand was the man he had challenged. A behemoth of a man who, fortunately, knew enough of diplomacy to let her brother survive.
Brolley had changed for the better since then. He still liked a good debate, but he trained every day, the better to back up his words with steel if the need arose. He was hardly an adept – Nachia could still take him in most situations – but he was getting better. In short, he was growing up.
Lanaie was a different story. She was still surprisingly quiet, but she had been courted by several men and was still being courted. Her uncle, Laister, now deceased, had been actively pursuing the woman who was decades younger than him in an effort to claim her title as his own. He’d failed.
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