The Mortal Tally

by Sam Sykes

  He supposed he deserved it. The chaos he had caused was enough to warrant a stern reprimand, but he had killed far more than he had been permitted. Another member of the Venarium was dead because of him, as far as he knew. Possibly a fasha, too; the Venarium investigators were still piecing out his crimes. But they knew a wizard and a nobleman were both dead and, from what he had gathered, they seemed perfectly willing to blame him for it.

  Not that he could really dispute that, even if they were to take the muzzle off long enough for him to speak clearly. He had spent most of those days in a broodvine-induced haze, wading through rivers of gore and clouds of carrion birds alternately. He couldn’t explain where he had been during that whole time or whom he had killed.

  He found himself itching at the thought of it. Even now the haze of broodvine hadn’t wholly left him. He felt cloudy without being numb, drowsy without being able to sleep, the memory that he had once felt so amazing rubbing against the reality that he now felt pitifully mortal.

  It drove him mad. Or would have, had he been allowed room and thought to go mad. As it was, he did what he had done every time he started to feel the need to go mad.

  At least Liaja is safe, he told himself.

  And, as he did every time he told himself this, he quickly added:

  She betrayed you.

  And he countered:

  She thought she was helping.

  She’s the reason you’re here.

  She didn’t know. She’s not to blame.

  She should pay. They all should.

  Well, no matter. You’re going to die anyway.

  That’s true.

  And he sighed inwardly.

  At least Liaja is safe.

  And that was enough to carry him through the next few moments, at least.

  But before he could launch down that avenue of thought for the six thousandth time that hour, he noticed something. Or rather, he didn’t notice something that his guards did. He saw in the sudden tension of their necks, the hardening of their eyes, that they sensed something he didn’t.

  Magic. Someone was approaching.

  The two Librarians slid into a stance, eyes glowing with Venarie, ready to attack the next thing that walked through the door. But as it creaked open, the next thing that did walk through it instead set them at ease, firing off crisp nods of acknowledgment.

  “Lector Shinka,” the female Librarian said. “Is there an emergency? We did not receive word that you’d be arriving.”

  “That depends on your definition of emergency,” the Lector, her robes immaculate and her smile pristine, replied. “Personally, I consider it rather mundane. But if you were to ask the clerk, your failure to fill out a daily observation report is tantamount to the entire city going up in flames.”

  “You didn’t fill out your report?” the male Librarian asked, looking to his colleague.

  “No.” She sighed, rubbed her eyes. “I didn’t think it was important. Or not as important as watching the prisoner, at least.”

  “Personally, I find your priorities well in order,” Shinka said. “But Lector Annis is quite intent on having things done exactly according to protocol.”

  “Imagine that,” the male Librarian muttered.

  “Indeed, not quite out of character for him.” Shinka cast a sidelong eye toward Dreadaeleon. “Though I imagine it’s because he wants absolutely no document conflicting with his demand that the heretic be eliminated with prejudice.”

  Dreadaeleon couldn’t muster much more than a thought for that.

  Bad luck, old man.

  “Regardless,” Shinka continued, “at the insistence of the Lector and the Archives, I must ask you to head upstairs and fill out the forms. Shouldn’t take more than an hour if you’re swift.”

  “But…” The female Librarian looked over her shoulder at Dreadaeleon. “I have orders. The heretic is dangerous.”

  “The Charnel Hound and your colleague will be adequate for guarding a bound prisoner,” Shinka replied. “And, not to suggest you’re inattentive or anything, but I am a Lector, you know.”

  “Of course, Lector. My apologies.” She glanced to her companion. “One hour. I’ll be back.”

  “He’s not going anywhere,” the male Librarian replied.

  “Right, just… be careful, okay? He killed Kazimir.”

  “Kazimir died for what he believed in.”

  “Yeah.”

  A brief nod to her companion, a deeper one to the Lector, and the female Librarian exited the cell and shut the door behind her. For a very long moment, Shinka and the Librarian merely stared at each other.

  Oh no, Dreadaeleon thought. If they start kissing now, I think I might scream.

  “That’s forty breaths,” Shinka said. “Enough time for her to have reached the stairs?”

  “I’d say so,” the Librarian said. “She’s very punctual. Always gets to her duties in time.”

  “Marvelous. Watch the door for me. Let me know when you hear someone coming.”

  “Of course, Lector.” He glanced toward Admiral Tibbles. “What about the Hound?”

  “The damn thing can’t understand speech or repeat what it’s heard. No need to worry.” She gestured to the door. “Leave. This won’t take long.”

  “As you say.”

  The male Librarian departed. Dreadaeleon watched as Shinka retrieved from the corner a stool occasionally used by the Librarians to rest their feet. He tensed up as she took a seat in front of him.

  “You’re a smart boy, concomitant,” Shinka said, suddenly seizing his attention. “I trust you know this already, but just for formality’s sake, I’d like to make it clear that if you do anything other than speak—and speak with all the respect a Lector is owed—when I remove this contraption, I will not hesitate to crush your skull with a thought.” She looked at him intently, tapped her fingers upon his muzzle. “We are understood?”

  Admittedly, he was confused. That might be the sleepless hours or the broodvine withdrawal or maybe she really had said something that insane. Regardless, he nodded his head weakly and she nodded back.

  “Let’s be clear about one thing, concomitant.” Shinka reached around his head, undoing the straps and buckles around his muzzle. “Your life, at this moment, is not your own. I can end it right now, if you wish, quickly and cleanly. I can sit back and watch Annis rip you to pieces in a few days’ time. Or, if you’re feeling particularly bold, I can save it.”

  The Seen-and-Not-Heard fell from his face. He stared blankly at Shinka for a moment. She furrowed her brow, expectant.

  “Not feeling bold, then? Shall we discuss the first option?”

  “No, it’s not that,” Dreadaeleon spoke through a dry mouth. “I’m just aware that we’ve had this conversation before.” He wriggled his fingers, the sole movement that his shackles would allow. “I seem to recall it ending poorly for me.”

  “Ah. I suppose I owe you an explanation for that… and an apology.”

  “I suspect they go hand in hand, Lector.”

  “It was not an accident that your priest friend came to appeal on your behalf,” Shinka said. “Nor was it an accident that I agreed with her idea. I had made up my mind to do so long before she arrived, when an agent of mine stationed in her temple reported her plans to me.”

  “You have agents?”

  “That can’t surprise you.”

  “It does when you could just as easily use scrying magic to find out what’s going on in the city.”

  “Magic can be traced. Not a single syllable of Venarie is uttered within Tower Resolute without Annis knowing about it. Gold, I suspect, could also be traced if anyone bothered to do so. Fortunately, you and the Primary Lector have similar mind-sets. He never once suspected that I employed outside influences.”

  Dreadaeleon’s mouth hung open, struggling for the words to convey the questions brewing inside his skull.

  “But then, like you, the Primary Lector didn’t suspect a lot of things, hm?” Shinka s
miled softly. “He didn’t suspect that he would be swayed to agreeing to releasing you, he didn’t suspect that you would kill a wizard and a fasha.” Her smile grew decidedly darker. “And he didn’t suspect that I’d be behind either of them.”

  Dreadaeleon narrowed his eyes. He was nowhere near sleepless or withdrawn enough for this to make sense. But as he thought on it, a realization struck him.

  “The hallucinations,” he whispered. “The broodvine. I kept seeing visions, images of death. I thought they were simply out of control, but—” His eyes widened. “You.”

  “Honestly, that was the part of the plan I wasn’t certain of. ‘Surely,’ I told myself, ‘he’ll realize that broodvine hallucinations can be controlled by another wizard. He did that to Palanis, after all.’ But you didn’t. Tell me, concomitant, do I attribute that to luck or skill?”

  “That’s how you convinced Annis to let me go, too,” Dreadaeleon whispered. “You used some kind of mind magic on him to control him.”

  Her laughter was loud, unrestrained, and just the slightest bit condescending.

  “‘Mind magic’? Listen to yourself, concomitant. You can’t be that dense.”

  “Then how?”

  “Annis is a man completely convinced of his own power and infallibility who will never be second-guessed by someone he perceives as inferior,” Shinka said. “Wizardry allowed me to control you, but I’ve been controlling arrogant men all my life.”

  “So you made me your murderer, your killer.”

  “In a way,” Shinka replied. “I knew your power was too unrestrained and wild to create the kind of controlled chaos that Lector Annis had agreed to. I was anticipating simply waiting for him to rein you in and do away with you and using the aftermath to my advantage. But I realized I could use you to a greater purpose.

  “Fasha Mejina was proving to be a difficulty. He was rallying the fashas behind him and asserting control over Silktown. Relentlessly paranoid, there was no way we could get a normal assassin in to kill him. But through some careful alterations of your visions, I tapped into powers you didn’t even know you had. It was easy enough to have you kill the fasha and allow us to put a pawn in his place.”

  “Who… is ‘we’?”

  “You haven’t figured that out, either, then?” Shinka smirked. “I suppose I can forgive you that. Who would suspect the Venarium of being involved with the Khovura?”

  “Who, indeed,” Dreadaeleon growled, “would suspect wizards of dealing with fanatics? And for what purpose? To eliminate Annis?”

  “Of course. His decision to release you was one step toward undermining his authority.”

  “Which you intended to use to assume his authority.”

  “Naturally.”

  “Typical. Does this come down to the old cliché of you pursuing some nebulous definition of power?”

  At this, Shinka’s mirth faded from her face. “No.”

  “Then what are you—”

  “Fourteen hours.”

  “What?”

  “Fourteen hours,” she repeated. “I’ve done the calculations in my head, over and over. Fourteen hours, maximum, is the amount of time it would have taken us to secure Cier’Djaal.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “The bulk of it would be the scrying. Ten hours for scrying and divination, being generous, to find the Khovura’s lairs. We could send out rats and dominate other beasts to this end, if needed. But it wouldn’t take much longer than that. Give maybe half an hour to send our best Librarians to these locations and the rest of the time would be spent kicking in doors and roasting, freezing, or electrocuting the Khovura cultists, leaving Cier’Djaal free of violence.”

  “But that—”

  “Or do you want to know how long it would have taken us to drive the Karnerians and Sainites out of the city? Six days, twelve hours. How about how long it would take us to cast down the fashas and set up a new government? Ten months, three weeks, five days, three hours. Or would you like to know how easily we could have stopped the riots? Three hours. Or how about how long it would have taken to destroy the Jackals? Five days.”

  She settled back on the stool, her back perfectly rigid, hands placed on her knees, and stared thoughtfully at Dreadaeleon.

  “During all of these activities, the most objectively powerful force in the entire desert was sitting in its tower, reading books, while the world burned down around its ears.” She breathed out a cold breath. “The Venarium has the power to do more good for this world than any army, any king, any cult. We have the power to bring down greedy fashas, to burn thieves in their dens, to cast out corrupt priests, to save any life we so choose to, and we do nothing.”

  “The Sovereignty Pact is a pillar of the Venarium way,” Dreadaeleon said, though he imagined that sounded a bit weak coming from a heretic.

  “The Sovereignty Pact is an outdated relic of a time long gone,” Shinka said. “We feared wizards would burn down the world, but the petty lords and kings thought that might rob them of the fun of doing it themselves. I was watching Cier’Djaal long before the Khovura showed up. This city, this world, is diseased. We are the only ones with the power and the means of burning that disease out.”

  “So you allied with the Khovura to do it? In your plea for sanity, you trust the gibbering sermons of fanatical thugs?”

  “I do not. Fasha Teneir approached me with the intent of keeping the Venarium out of what she considers her impending take-over of Cier’Djaal. It is my intent to permit her long enough to rid the city of the Jackals and then promptly inform her that her services are not needed. I have enough loyalists, such as one half of your guard detail, to form a suitable interim government.”

  “Teneir,” Dreadaeleon said with a sneer. “And a classic backstab. Denaos would deride this as hackneyed.”

  “Who?”

  “Unimportant. I take it you are closing in on the reason you’re telling me this.”

  “I did mention I could save your life, didn’t I?” Shinka’s smile returned, soft and gentle. “And if the Venarium can fix an entire world, they can certainly smooth things over with your female companion, can they not?”

  Dreadaeleon’s voice was a hoarse whisper.

  “You,” he said, “stay away from Liaja.”

  “I have no intentions of harming her or doing anything you don’t wish me to, concomitant. But it would be no particularly great effort to explain to her how you were forced into this role against your will, hm? That the crimes you committed were not of your doing? She would understand, surely.”

  “No,” Dreadaeleon said. “What you’re offering is—”

  “Is not complete. Go with her, kill her, talk to her, do whatever you want. Once I am in control of the Venarium, I can have your entire record expunged, your entire existence erased. You will go down in history as neither a heretic nor a valued member of the Venarium. You will not be hunted, not be contacted, not be so much as thought of. You will be free. Even without the girl, that thought must appeal.”

  It did.

  Gods, how it did.

  To be free, to answer to no one and fear nothing, was something that would appeal to him even if he weren’t facing death. No more people treating him like a tool to be used, like a criminal whose law simply hadn’t been invented yet. No more Annis, no more Asper, no more…

  Liaja? Could it be true? Could she really be persuaded to see him as he was? A hapless pawn in all this?

  He wanted to believe that.

  So much so that the next words he spoke felt as if they might cut his mouth.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “I was anticipating that Annis would kill you,” Shinka said. “In the aftermath I could decry his decision to release you and you wouldn’t be around to contradict me. Though I’m surprised at his decision to spare you.”

  “Why?”

  “Is it not obvious? He fears you. He saw what you did to Palanis. He knows that your time spent adventuring has left you in
a better position to fight him. He thinks you might pose a threat to him. On your own, you might not…”

  “But with you…”

  “Now you understand.” Shinka rose to her feet. “I will have my loyalists placed on your guard detail. They will permit you regular sleep and meals, that you may be ready for when I require you to strike. After that… you need only kill Annis and you will have your freedom.”

  She turned to depart, sparing a glance for Admiral Tibbles. The Charnel Hound stared eyelessly forward, heedless of the conspiracy that had just been born. She walked to the door, placed a hand on its knob, before he called out.

  “What if I fail?”

  She paused.

  “What if I can’t kill Annis?” Dreadaeleon asked. “What if your plot doesn’t work?”

  “Then,” she said softly, “I will watch you die. I will claim that you overwhelmed me and forced me to do as you commanded. Annis will believe every word and I will think of something else.”

  “You are confident.”

  “I am.”

  “You are clever.”

  “I am not,” she replied, opening the door. “I am simply surrounded by men who mistake magic for power.”

  THIRTY-NINE

  PILGRIMS ON A RED ROAD

  We were unlucky.”

  Low words from a voice like an oak tree falling. Gariath had no interest in answering them. He dipped a cupped hand into a bucket of water on the floor before him. He withdrew a palmful of liquid, poured it over his head.

  But even without looking up, he knew his company had not left. He sighed deeply in answer.

  “Oh?”

  “Mm. Our warriors swept the city and found only enough supplies to last us a few more days. The siege took too long and many merchants escaped down the river with food and material we needed.”

  Gariath grunted.

  To him that was a perfectly acceptable answer. Unfortunately, his company did not agree.

  “There is better news. The victory gave many doubters in Shaab Sahaar pause. More warriors are coming to Jalaang from the city. They will bring food, weapons, cloth. But it will take time. Even if they are not harassed by shicts, it could be a week before all of them arrive here.”