A Plague of Giants (Seven Kennings Book 1)

by Kevin Hearne

  “In the beginning there were seven, and in the end there shall be one. Only when there is one shall the Rift be healed and unknown return to the world. Then those who were unknown and unknown will thrive, and the selfish and unknown will perish.”

  Teela shifted her eyes sideways. “There are some rather important words missing here.”

  I don’t know those yet. I was going to return to Saviič after I finished making a copy of the text.”

  “What’s going to return to the world when the Rift is healed?”

  “That’s the first question I’ll ask him.”

  “Well, why do the Eculans think the Rift is something that can be healed? I mean, we’re talking about the ocean between us and Hathrir, right? It’s not a wound to be stitched.”

  “I believe they are using the term to refer to the event rather than the ocean. The event that created the ocean, in other words, and the Hathrim if you give any credence to their version.”

  “You’re talking about old legends.”

  “Yes. It’s a favorite subject of mine.”

  The chamberlain made no comment on that but returned to the text. “I don’t like this part where some will thrive and others will die. Even with the missing words it demonstrates a confrontational mindset. Label someone selfish or whatever this missing word is and you have justification for going to war. It’s the sort of language the Hathrim use to justify their history of violence.”

  I nodded in agreement, and she continued, finally paying attention to the first sentence. “And in the end there will be one? One what? One nation?”

  “Perhaps. I cannot say for certain, but I think it refers to the kennings.”

  “That’s ominous.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Is there more along this line?”

  “Yes, much more. Thus far it is not a scripture concerned with enlightenment and spiritual improvement. Maybe the tone will lighten soon.”

  “Well. I will mention it to the mistral. It’s important work that you’re doing, Gondel, but not so important that you need to forgo sleep or live outside of the wind. This library is little better than the dungeon.”

  “I find it a vast improvement.”

  “Go home and open the windows. With such negative words entering your mind you need to breathe peace, and there is no terrible hurry.”

  “That we know of.”

  Teela crossed her arms. “All we know at this point is coming from you. Do you see a reason to push yourself past exhaustion over this?”

  I sighed in defeat. “Nothing I can specifically point to. Just a feeling.”

  “You’re feeling tired, Gondel. Go home.”

  Once she said it out loud, I felt my eyelids droop, ready to sleep. “Very well.”

  It would be good to see Maron again even if he was cross with me. A change in the wind would be welcome.

  But Maron turned out to be in no mood to breathe peace when I arrived home. A glass flew at my head and shattered against the door-jamb when I entered.

  “Bastard!” he shouted. “Where have you been?”

  “At Windsong and the library. Was that one of our wedding glasses?”

  “What wedding? What marriage? You call this a marriage? You disappear in the middle of the night and then no word from you for weeks! I thought you were dead!”

  “I’m not. I’m sorry, Maron, but the mistral summoned me, and it’s been most extraordinary—”

  “Oh, the mistral! So that excuses it all? Doesn’t the mistral have some boys waiting around to do any little thing she wishes? You could have thought to send a message!”

  “You’re right. I should have. I’m so sorry.”

  Maron folded his arms across his chest. Still so handsome; he had aged far more gracefully than I. “I’m not sure you are sorry, Gondel. That’s just a word you’re saying because you perceive it’s the time to say it, not something you truly feel. You know what you are? Distant. Inaccessible. Just like your brother.”

  I’d been resigned to enduring his lecture because I’d earned one, but that piqued my anger and I raised a finger. “Now that’s not fair, Maron.”

  “Not fair because it’s inaccurate? Or not fair because it hurts your feelings?”

  “It’s inaccurate. And you know it hurts my feelings.”

  “It’s entirely accurate, and it hurts your feelings because you don’t want it to be. But you are driven, Gondel, just like him, to the point where you don’t recognize you’re hurting the people around you.”

  Some words, aimed and thrown at the right time, are sharper than steel. Maron’s pierced me, and I had to sit down, tossing my bag onto the desk and sinking into my chair. The very last thing I wanted to be was my brother. But it was true I had become so involved, so single-minded in solving the mystery that Saviič presented, that I hadn’t spared my own husband a thought in all that time.

  “You are right,” I murmured, lowering my face into my hand because I couldn’t look at him. “I’ve been inconsiderate and selfish and rude. And, and, I guess, if you were going to leave—well, you should leave. I deserve it. And you deserve better.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I do. But I want you, Gondel. I want you here. I like that you’re driven. I’m glad you love your work. But when you get lost in it, I’m forgotten. I need some attention, too.”

  I looked up. “You have all of it now. I truly am sorry, Maron.”

  And I was. Because he was so very right. I am far too much like my brother. Even as he kissed me, soft and perfect and evocative of all our years together—largely blissful and joyous, a reminder of how much I loved him—I couldn’t stop thinking about the apocalyptic language of Zanata Sedam and what poison awaited in its pages, fresh new horrors biding their time until I could translate them.

  “Of course, we Raelechs and Brynts know only too well that Gondel was right to have misgivings about that text. For even as he was near collapse from exhaustion in the south, the Eculan fleets were arriving on our shores in the north, and the winds filling their sails weren’t peaceful ones.”

  Fintan took a deep breath. “Normally I’d continue, but I’ve given you plenty to talk about today, and like Gondel, I have much sleep to catch up on. I’ll rest up and return tomorrow to tell you what happened next in the west!”

  Though I hurried home from the wall to indulge in a well-deserved collapse on my cot, Gerstad Nara du Fesset knocked on my door right after I had shed my clothes to groan in privacy over my abdominal wound. I groaned more loudly, outraged that my rest should be disturbed so soon. Having told my body that now it could relax and start healing, I did not want to reverse myself and say, “But right after I answer the door and play host.” But the gerstad knocked again, and I heaved myself out of the bed to answer, calling out to her to be patient while I threw on my tunic. The sun had set, and I had to light a candle in the dark before I could shuffle to the entrance.

  “Oh,” I said upon opening the door, blinking in surprise. “Hello, Gerstad. I thought you’d be, uh …” I didn’t know what I thought and trailed off when I saw that she wasn’t alone. The street lamps had been lit, but most of her companion’s features were occluded by the darkness. I could tell little more than that he was a Kaurian dressed in loose-fitting orange and yellow robes. When our eyes met, I received a friendly flash of white teeth and a tight nod but he said nothing. “Would you like to come in?”

  “Yes, please.” I stood aside to let them enter and enjoyed their reactions when they saw that my home was nearly empty. To Nara’s credit, she made no comment but waited until I shut the door before introducing her companion.

  “Master Dervan, this is Kindin Ladd from the Kaurian embassy. He’s here to protect you.”

  “Nice to meet—whoa, what? Protect me?”

  “We’ve been sent by the Lung. Hopefully it’s just for one night. Our mariners are stretched thin with other duties, and Kindin was kind enough to volunteer to be your bodyguard on a short-term basis.”


  “But—I mean, thank you, I hope I don’t sound ungrateful—I’m merely confused. Why is this necessary, and why would a Kaurian diplomat double as a bodyguard?”

  “I am not technically a diplomat,” Kindin said, his voice mellow and measured, but his eyes darted to the gerstad to apologize for interrupting. She nodded at him to continue. “I am a Priest of the Gale. I do serve some low-level functions at the embassy, but I primarily breathe the peace of Reinei and guard the diplomats when they visit.”

  “Oh, you’re—” I cut myself short before I said something potentially offensive. I had heard of Priests of the Gale before but never actually met one. They were commonly referred to as Talkers, but never to their faces. And Kindin Ladd, now that I could see him a bit better, had a kind face, possessed of a simple serenity that bespoke of spiritual fulfillment. Broad cheeks and a broad nose, stout and thick-necked, he’d shaven his head and regarded me from heavy-lidded eyes. “Yeah, I’ve heard of you guys before. Welcome. In peace. For sure. But uh, why …?”

  Gerstad du Fesset took over, every inch of her taut and strained. “Both Pelenaut Röllend and the Lung were appalled to hear of what happened at the chowder house today. I’m to relay their apologies to you.” After a brief pause, she added, with a hint of moisture in her eyes, “And you have mine as well.”

  “Nara, there’s no need—”

  She shook her head, cutting me off and plowing ahead. She was internalizing the blame and did not want to hear that she bore no responsibility for the attack. “Toying with the Nentians was a mistake they’re not going to repeat. The Lung did get his man into place as planned, and he has already been contracted by two different Nentian expatriates willing to pay for the Raelech bard’s death. They will be arrested very soon—perhaps even as we speak—and their assets seized.”

  “Incredible. They’re still angry with him even though Abhi’s story represents something positive for their country?”

  “Yes. Our spies have updated us, and it’s primarily the portrayal of Melishev that has them incensed. One of them is from Hashan Khek and knows Melishev personally. He thinks Melishev has a real shot at becoming their king someday.”

  “So to spread goodwill and convince us that Nentians are nothing like Melishev Lohmet, they arrange for someone to be assassinated.”

  “Counterproductive in public relations, yes. But Föstyr—I mean the Lung—has concerns that various agents may be engaged already. This friend of Melishev basically got to the docks and put a bounty on Fintan’s head, winner take all. So in an abundance of caution we are taking extreme care of the bard this evening and extending protection to you as well. Once it’s made public tomorrow that the Nentians have been arrested and no one will be getting paid, we should have no more of this sewage.”

  “I see.” There was a pause since none of us knew the precise thing to say next. “Uh … would you like some tea?” I offered.

  “Thank you, no, I must be going,” the gerstad said, and Kindin Ladd held up a hand and shook his head. “But before I do, how is your wound?”

  “Painful but nothing that won’t heal eventually.”

  “You should get some rest,” she said.

  “Yes, I fear we disturbed you. Not our intention,” Kindin assured me.

  The gerstad bid farewell and departed, leaving me there with the Priest of the Gale.

  “Please, Master Dervan, return to your rest. If you will just leave me that candle, I will be perfectly content.”

  “Oh. You’re sure?” I asked, handing it to him, relieved that I wouldn’t have to play host.

  “I’ve already eaten, and I imagine I can get water if I become thirsty.”

  “Absolutely. Do make yourself at home.”

  “Rest well.”

  For a few blissful hours I did just that. Far too exhausted to make any pretense at polite conversation with a stranger, I returned to my cot feeling that it was kind of the Lung to think of me even though it wasn’t necessary.

  But something woke me an indeterminate time later; it was utterly dark in the house, no soft glow of a candle coming from the other room. A few quick thumps and grunts could be heard, followed by a heavy impact on the floor, eliciting a cry of pain.

  “Shhh, keep your voice down, please,” the low voice of Kindin Ladd said. “Master Dervan is trying to sleep. Now, let’s talk about this in peace.”

  “Get off me!” some man replied none too softly.

  “I promise I will after we’ve chatted peaceably,” Kindin said, his voice almost a coo. “Let’s lower our voices, please.”

  “Drown that nonsense!” the man said, raising his voice instead of lowering it. I moaned and rose from my cot, blindly reaching out for the candles on my wardrobe while the Talker earned his nickname.

  “You will not be drowning anything soon. You won’t be moving, in fact, until I wish it. The quicker you calm down and quietly discuss your presence here with me, the quicker I can let you go in peace.” This is what Priests of the Gale did: redirect violence aimed at them, immobilize their opponents, and then talk of peace until they were begged for mercy.

  “I’m here to visit Master Dervan,” the man grated out. Fury in every word, but his volume was much lower.

  “A friend of his, are you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Strange, then, that you picked the lock and snuck in rather than simply knock on the door. Is that how you commonly visit your friends?”

  Silence. I got a candle lit and shuffled into the main room. The Priest of the Gale had his knee pressed down between the shoulder blades of a man much larger than he and his arms pinned to either side. The intruder had long hair coiled in snakelike ropes and queued in back with a blue band.

  “Hello,” I said. “What’s all this?”

  “Master Dervan,” Kindin said, eyes flicking briefly to me. “I’m sorry to wake you. Do you know this man? He claims to be your friend.”

  “I’ve never seen him before.”

  “I thought that might be the case. He broke in and had a knife.”

  “He had?”

  “It’s on the floor near the kitchen now,” the priest said. I took a few steps that way, candle held out far in front of me, and found it lying there, a nasty serrated piece. It appeared I needed a bodyguard after all.

  Kindin questioned the man as to why he was really there, but he stubbornly refused to answer. In fact, he tried kicking himself free, and the priest found that amusing. He rolled off, let the man get to his feet, and stood in front of the door. I snatched up the knife to warn him against coming at me, but he didn’t care about me anymore. He just wanted to get out, and the priest was in the way. The intruder had at least a foot of height and probably thirty pounds on the Kaurian, and it didn’t look like a fair fight to me.

  “No ambush this time,” he snarled. “Let’s see how you do when you’re not attacking me from behind!”

  “Yes, let’s,” Kindin said, perfectly bright and pleasant, as if the intruder had suggested that they go pick wild raspberries or something else delightful instead of engaging in hand-to-hand combat. The fish head lunged at him, throwing a punch, which Kindin ducked while snatching his arm and pulling him forward to slam face-first into the door. He hammered the man’s ribs and midsection with his fists while he was stunned, and once he managed to turn around to attempt a counterattack, Kindin planted a leg and straight kicked him once in the stomach with the other, which caused a reflexive doubling over, and then recocked his leg and lashed out again, this time to the man’s jaw. Blood and teeth sprayed from his mouth, and he dropped. Kindin settled himself down on top of the man as he had before, knee in the back and arms pinned.

  “A nice stretch of the legs can be invigorating,” he said in soothing tones as the man groaned. “I thought you might be laboring under the illusion you could defeat me if given a fair chance, and I hope we’ve settled that question now. But so many questions remain. And you will remain on this floor until you’ve answered them, sir.”<
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  I fetched another couple of candles to provide some more light while the priest told the intruder he regretted the violence and pain deeply and hoped we could fetch him a hygienist soon. “And in truth, sir, you’ve done absolutely no harm to anyone tonight apart from depriving Master Dervan of some sleep. But I imagine he’ll forgive you. Won’t you, Master Dervan?”

  “Already forgiven.” I pulled up a chair and eased myself onto it.

  “There, you see? There’s no reason why we can’t simply let you go. But let’s talk in peace first. Are you ready to answer a few questions truthfully now?”

  “Uhh,” the fish head moaned. The priest interpreted that as a yes.

  “Excellent. Let’s begin with why you really came here tonight.”

  “Man. Nentian man. Said he’d pay for the bard.”

  “And you thought the bard was here?”

  “No. This guy knows. Was going to ask him.”

  I spoke up. “I don’t know where he is. Why do you think I’d know something like that?”

  “Heard you work with him.” That wasn’t exactly a secret at the Wellspring, but this fellow didn’t look like he had acquaintances there.

  “Who told you that?”

  “Friend of mine. Elynea.”

  I frowned. “Elynea is a friend of yours? What’s your name?”

  He was slow to answer and Kindin did something to make him cry out. “Apologies, good sir! It pains me to trouble you when all I wish for is peace. I do wish I could apologize to you by name, however. What is your name?”

  The man answered quickly now. “Garst du Wöllyr.”

  My eyebrows shot up in recognition. “So you’re her employer? A furniture maker?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “No longer her employer or no longer making furniture?”

  “She’s gone. Left a couple of days ago.”