by Aaron Pogue
Corin shook his head. “It isn’t anger. It’s disappointment. I’d hoped you would be powerful enough to help me.”
“Hold to that hope. We are likely your best chance within this place. You would do well to submit yourself to our guidance—”
“Your guidance? Ephitel has taken an interest in me, and you suggest some other slinking rats might somehow aid me.”
“Hidden things are not powerless things, and rats are known to hold their own against superior foes.”
Corin sighed. “For that alone you think I should help you?”
“No.” She turned her back on him and headed to the common room. “I think you should pray that we help you.”
He watched her go and wished he had convinced her to let him go with Jeff. That one would not have been afraid to talk. That one would have told him what he needed to know, and right now, what he needed to know was how to get home. He had no wish at all to get tangled up in the affairs of this strange city, when he had pressing affairs of his own in the desert south of Jepta.
He frowned into the smoky light of the common room. Perhaps these druids were his only hope, but they made dangerous accomplices. He licked his lips, thinking.
What manner of fool would he have to be, to stand in defiance of a god? He knew what Ephitel was to become. He knew the sort of men Ephitel favored, and the lord protector would surely have such followers in this place as well—men like Ethan Blake and the vicious Ippolito Vestossi. Corin had survived this long by hiding from such men, not by standing up against them.
He nodded once and turned away, fumbling for the bolt on the outer door. He would disappear among the natives, let Ephitel forget about him, then find his way back to Jeff once things were settled. But just as his hand found the latch, an old woman’s voice stopped him. “You are not much welcome here.”
She sounded kind, but not strong. Without turning, Corin hazarded a guess. “Delaen?”
She chuckled. “And I am meant to be the wise one.”
“I’ve no wish to stretch my welcome thin,” Corin said, sliding the bolt on the door.
“Do not misunderstand me,” she said. “We’ve no ill will toward you, but you bode bad things for a world we’ve learned to love. Oberon suggested we watch out for you.”
“He knew that I would come here?”
“Not…as such. But if what I’ve heard is true, you defy the rules of this place. Yet somehow Oberon seemed to believe it would come to pass.”
“That clarifies some things Aemilia let slip.”
Delaen considered him in silence for a moment. “You do not seem much rattled by your situation. Did Aemilia truly answer all your questions? Or was it Jeff?”
“She would not speak, and she would not let him speak. As for me…I’m never much rattled by my situation.”
“You have no questions, then?”
Corin’s head buzzed with them, but he hadn’t half as much information as he would need to guess which ones were relevant. He settled for bravado instead.
“Just one. Who are all these lovely lords and ladies?”
“Ha! That is an interesting question, indeed. But I will give you answers before I ask my own. It is only fair. So know this: the people of Gesoelig are the kinfolk of its founder and the maker of this world, King Oberon. You might know them as fae or fairies or perhaps as elves—”
“Elves and fairies,” Corin said, shaking his head. “I am in a storybook.”
“Not…not in any real sense, no. Yet still you do not seem shaken.”
He gave a shrug. “I’m a pirate and a wanderer. I spend all my time in unknown waters, and I usually come out richer for it.”
“Fascinating. You may be just the man we need.”
Corin turned to her, irritated. “What purpose could you have for me?”
“We need your aid against Ephitel.”
“Of course! You are at war with him, after all. And here I am trapped in a fairy tale. So what does that make me? Am I to be another Aeraculanon, bound by prophecy to kill a god?”
“You against a god? I have no reason to believe you could win.”
“Then what am I to do? Why am I here?”
“Perhaps to warn us what will come.”
Corin shook his head. “I can tell you less than nothing. My world does not remember this place. I searched for it for years before I even learned Oberon’s name.”
“That is a warning in itself,” Delaen said. “And perhaps that is why you’re here. To take a memory away. To remember us to your people.”
“This is a favor I would gladly give,” Corin said, stepping closer to her. “Send me home.”
“I’m sorry, but there is nothing in all the druid lore that could accomplish that.”
“Then why did Aemilia bring me here?”
“To hand you off to me, I think. She is not a woman afraid of a challenge, but you are…well, outside her scope.”
“She wanted to call a council.”
“Yes. She would. But there will be little benefit for you in that exchange. They will all want to see you—a man outside time—but none of them can aid you.”
“Then what am I to do? How can I take a memory away if no one has the power to send me back?”
She smiled at him, showing strangely perfect teeth for a woman so old. “I never said there’s no one. Go to the one who brought you here. He can make it happen.”
“Ethan Blake? He’s still back there. Likely halfway to my ship by now, with…” The thought crept up on him, but now it laid him low. His throat constricted, and his stomach sank. “…with Iryana in his power.” Those words came out a whisper.
Delaen took two steps closer and rested a hand on Corin’s shoulder. “I do not mean Ethan Blake. I mean Oberon. He brought you here, whatever his reason, and if you will aid me in one simple task, he can send you home.”
“I have no part in your troubles here.” Corin’s voice sounded far away, even to his own ears.
“But you have troubles of your own. Who is this Ethan Blake?”
“A man I underestimated.”
She nodded. “A traitor?”
“Aye. After Ephitel’s own heart.”
“And who is Iryana?”
For a moment, Corin couldn’t answer. He cleared his throat and shook his head. “A girl. A slave I bought at market. I had a use for her.”
“And Blake stole her away? Blake put her life in danger?”
“Worse.”
“Then you are wrong in every way. This world—every leaf, every life, every last decision—this world is built from Oberon’s dreams. He made this place and brought us here, and his dreams are bright and good.”
“I have my daydreams, too, but the world I know—the world outside this city—I could not call it bright and good.”
Delaen stepped closer, eyes wide and flashing with passion. “And I would prefer not to see this world become the one you know. If Oberon loses his dominion, if Ephitel and his cronies seize control of this world, it will become a dark and wretched thing.”
Corin sighed. “I cannot fight Ephitel.”
“Of course,” she said. “No more than I could. But your needs and mine are in perfect alignment.”
“How so?”
“The only way you can get home is by the magic of the king.”
“Oberon?”
“Indeed. You must go to him and plead your case, and he will send you home.”
Corin nodded. “And your need?”
“I need you to tell the king what you have learned. Tell him Ephitel becomes a threat.”
“You can tell him that,” Corin said. “Aemilia has evidence—”
“Alas, we can’t. He will no longer listen to his druids, but you…you will capture his attention. Before you leave, do this one thing for me. Warn him that a dark rebellion’s brewing. Warn him that Ephitel is fielding an army.”
Corin licked his lips, searching for the catch. He couldn’t find one. “That’s all you ask?
You want me to give him your report before I go?”
“That’s all. And pray he listens.”
Corin took her frail hand in both of his and looked into her eyes. “In that case, you have my word. Although I’m not very good at praying.”
She offered him a friendly smile. “Then go.”
“Go? Now? But isn’t there a council?”
She hesitated, then shook her head. “No. This is no time for council. Aemilia tells me that you drew Ephitel’s attention. Already rumors run thick in the streets that Aemilia has angered him, and he asks for information concerning you.”
“But if he’s moving now, there’s hardly time. Come with me—”
“He moves against the druids, not against the city. Everything we know is that he’s hoarded certificates for rations, but it will take him time to make use of such things, to build an army out of writs of provender. We still have weeks or months, but Oberon must act before that army’s raised.”
The thought of provender set Corin’s stomach growling. He stretched up on his toes, looking toward the smoky common room. “Must I go right now? Isn’t there some stew?”
Delaen laughed. “The king will see you fed, but tarry not before you reach his throne. There is no time left to waste.”
Corin frowned. “But Aemilia—”
“Is not cut out for grand adventure. It is her only flaw.”
The pirate licked his lips. “Can the druids give me nothing?”
The old woman arched an eyebrow. “I have given you direction, boy. What more could you ask?”
Before he could find a cutting answer, she nodded to the door. For a long moment he stood unmoving, defiant, but then he hung his head and went out into the alley.
The door slammed shut behind him, and he heard the bolt slide home. He was on his own.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Corin hovered near the tavern door for some time, hoping Aemilia might come looking for him. He reached up more than once to knock, to demand something more in aid or explanation, but both times he restrained himself. At last, with a weary sigh, he turned his back and started down the narrow alley.
Ephitel an elf? It was almost too much to imagine. The god of all Ithale—fiercest and most powerful of all the gods—and in this place, he was barely more than a man. A man of high position, true…and every bit as treacherous as the Vestossi snakes who ruled beneath his patronage. But not yet the tyrant he would become. Was there really a chance to stop him?
Corin shook his head. Would that matter? Would it affect his own time? Could he save his world from Ephitel’s treachery? If he did…if Ephitel never came to power, would that mean there were no Vestossis? Would there be no Ethan Blake to betray him?
These were some of the questions he had stopped himself from asking Delaen, and still he did not regret that choice. It didn’t matter. Corin had no plans to save the world. All he wanted was to get back home, to set right the things that had gone wrong. But first, he had to navigate this strange place.
Corin hesitated when he reached the alley’s mouth. Despite the late hour, the city streets still bustled. This place was so much like Aepoli. Lurking in the shadows, watching unsuspecting souls flow by, Corin felt a shock of memory—of a boyhood ten years in his past and perhaps a thousand in his future. How often had he waited just like this, terrified, hungry, and alone? There had always been grand plans. And insufficient resources. And enemies he couldn’t hope to defeat.
His weary sigh became a lazy grin and, favoring his hobbled leg, he pushed out into the busy throng and headed for the palace. That was the real key: recognizing the challenge. Everything about this place had seemed impossible and strange, and for a moment he had foundered. But now he had his ship aright and sails full. Now he was home.
Corin’s booted foot found an uneven paving stone and tripped him hard against a lovely elven lady wrapped in purple satin. Corin caught her just short of falling, and she gasped in affronted shock.
Her eyes grew wide to see a simple man—a manling, Ephitel had called him—clinging to her robes. “You…you…”
Corin summoned a blush and brushed at the delicate cloak where he had gripped it. He offered her a wealth of most sincere apologies, then slipped away into the crowd.
And now he had a purse.
Habits from his childhood came surging back, light and easy as a summer breeze, and before he’d crossed the wide Piazza Primavera, he had claimed a silver chain, two jeweled cuffs, and a beggar’s writ in Aemilia’s own hand. He’d always been a nimble touch, and these petty burglaries gave him some hope that he could truly navigate this strange society of gods.
His growling hunger somewhat dimmed that thrill of victory, but the purse now on his belt offered him an answer. He watched the signs above the street until he saw a likely looking inn, then paused outside the door to scan the common room for any sign of Ephitel’s men. Seeing none, he raised his chin and strode into the room. This was not his part of town, not the sort of tavern he preferred, but he didn’t know the city well enough to find a sufficiently shady tavern. Still, with stolen diamonds on his tattered cuffs and silver at his throat, he looked near enough a nobleman, especially when he dropped his purse atop the bar with an expensive clatter.
A barman bustled up to greet him, and Corin met the man with an impatient sigh. “Wine. And bread. And something rich and warm.” He sniffed the air. “Is that quail?”
“Duck, milord,” the barman said.
Corin winced. “Oh, very well. A plate of that. And sausage if you have some.”
The barman frowned, and when he spoke his voice was all affront. “We do make a fine duck, milord. Better far than sausage. Or…are you from the north?”
Corin hid his smile, but it was good to know some things had not changed so much. “I am, and dearly missing the food of my sweet Dehtzlan. But more than that, I thirst for information. What can you tell me of the politics at court?”
“I would prefer to tell you nothing.”
Corin showed him a worried frown. “Have things truly grown so bad?”
“I am not a powerful man, milord, and I have no one to protect me. Ask me for wine or rooms, but do not speak to me of court.”
“Very well. And you have rooms to rent?”
“One or two, upstairs.”
“Just one,” Corin said, snatching up his purse. “And see it’s clean. I’ll take my meal down here while that’s arranged.”
“I assure you, all our rooms are clean—”
Corin cut him off. “Even so! I am rich in standards and poor in patience. See it done.” He turned away and took two steps toward a corner table before calling back with easy authority, “And don’t forget the wine!”
Corin fell into a chair with his back to the wall. No news to a stranger, eh? That didn’t entirely confirm the druids’ suspicions, but it proved they were not alone in their paranoia. Corin would have preferred hard information over such scanty confirmation, but at least he had finally succeeded in procuring food. The duck smelled fat and seasoned, and any wine at all could satisfy Corin’s palate. Best of all, the request for a room suggested settling at dawn, so he could likely get away without paying a livre for the lordly meal.
Feeling mighty pleased, the pirate laced his fingers together behind his head, rocked back in his chair, and looked right into the eyes of the purple-robed lady whose purse he’d snatched. Corin’s mind raced as she surveyed the room. How could she have caught him? He’d been careful. And how could she have followed his weaving path through the crowded plaza? But surely she hadn’t stumbled into the same inn. What would be the chances? She gave a little squeak as soon as their eyes met, and in a flash she came to loom over his table.
For the first time, Corin noticed how bloodshot her eyes were. Harried. The corners were lined with old worry, and her stunning red hair showed here and there the fragile gray of much misfortune. She was not old; everything about her spoke of springtime youth, but it was one much muted by malinger
ing frost.
Pity flushed warm and sudden in the pirate’s cruel heart, and right behind it burned a pang of guilt, but he suppressed them both as he rolled smoothly to his feet. He bent in a smooth bow, securing the purloined purse more perfectly beneath his cloak, then offered her a smile.
“Good even to a lovely lady. May I serve you in some way?”
Her troubled eyes narrowed. “You sneaking, thieving wretch!”
He didn’t let himself scan the room again for guards. He held her eyes and frowned in mock confusion. “Have we met, milady?”
She jabbed a finger at his face, threatening. “You accosted me in the Piazza Primavera.”
A couple at a nearby table turned in shock, and some gentlemen two tables over started to their feet, but Corin made a soothing gesture and met the lady with a surprised recognition. “Gods’ blood, that was you, wasn’t it? What fortune brings you across my path again? If you’ve come to demand a more intimate and…prolonged apology for our earlier encounter, I’ll be delighted to comply.”
“You will truly pretend you don’t know why I’m here?”
Corin shrugged. “I have always been a lucky man. Today need be no different.”
She held her glare for a heartbeat longer than Corin had expected her to, but still, it broke. Uncertainty creased her pretty brow, and once again the pirate had to hide a smile. These nobles were predictable.
He swept a hand toward the table. “Sit with me a while, and we shall clear the matter up. Some wine is on the way, and the barman won’t complain to bring another glass.”
No sooner had he spoken than the barman proved it true, delivering the open bottle and two glasses, then deftly departing before he could become involved. Corin poured a glass of dark-red wine and passed it to the lady. “To chance encounters and friendly fortunes?”
She cocked her head, outrage and indignation broken up and scattered by Corin’s self-assurance. Her hand was still extended, hanging between them in a forgotten accusation. “But…you…”
Corin pressed the glass into her hand and drew a chair for her to sit. “But I would be your friend. Whatever misunderstanding there is between us, I have every confidence we can settle it.”
