The GodSpill: Threadweavers, Book 2

by Todd Fahnestock

  The other rowboats followed at a distance, carrying the human leader, Mershayn, the Maehka vik Kalik, and Silasa, the hollowskin who had saved Stavark’s life.

  The sun had risen and fallen only once since they’d first met with Mershayn, and now they were going to war. Captain Lo’gan and Lord Mershayn had argued about it. Lo’gan was cautious. Lord Mershayn was reckless. Lo’gan insisted that they take their time, gather more loyal soldiers to fight on their side. Mershayn said striking fast with a smaller force was the only way to win this conflict quickly and decisively, with the least amount of bloodshed. If they struck tonight, they could unseat him with a small attack force. If they waited and allowed Sym to secure his position, any attempt to take the crown by force would require large armies and, possibly, years of fighting.

  Stavark let the moment flow over him. He was not a killer, and yet he had leaned upon his sword since the moment he entered Orem’s service. He had hurt men in Rith, and he had slain darklings, but he had never taken the life of a human or a syvihrk. Tonight, he wouldn’t be able to avoid it, and the thought hurt him. He knew the moment he killed someone, his heart would change forever.

  To help his mind settle, he recalled the sunset he had captured before leaving Sylikkayrn. The oranges, the reds, the deep purples before the fading of the light. For a moment, he returned to that place and stood within the memory, absorbing the serenity he’d had. His muscles pulled at the oar, but his mind watched the sun settle itself peacefully behind the mighty Spine Mountains.

  But his thoughts alighted on Elekkena. What if she hadn’t left them? What if she’d been taken? Should they be looking for her? It was not unreasonable to think she’d slipped into Teni’sia during the night, the only time a quicksilver could safely explore a human city. What if she’d meant to come back, but couldn’t?

  Stavark set his mouth in a line, unable to unravel the tangled possibilities.

  “All right,” the Rabasyvihrk murmured, still leaning forward and back to the rhythm of his oar. “We’re almost there. You know what to do. Look before you attack. Vullieth’s men will wear his sigil on the right shoulder, a crested helm and a mallet.”

  Stavark nodded. He knew all of this already.

  Their silent rowing brought them to the edge of the docks. At the Rabasyvihrk’s nod, Stavark stowed his oar and stepped lightly to the bow. The lantern at this end of the docks was dark, as Vullieth had promised it would be.

  They slipped in silently next to the old, weathered dock, which glistened with moisture and small patches of snow. Stavark leapt onto the planks and pressed himself against the cliff’s shadows.

  There were six guards down the wharf, double the amount there had been when they had sailed in just a few nights ago. All were wrapped in cloaks; some had taken their helms off. He must get them all.

  He focused his eyes upon the closest trio and opened the silverland. The docks, the water, the dockside shacks all became silver.

  Stavark ran lightly forward. He hit the first man on the back of the head with the pommel of his dagger, then did the same to the second man. The third man bore Vullieth’s insignia on his right shoulder, and Stavark left him alone.

  Stavark raced to the second group. Only the leader of this group lacked Vullieth’s insignia. It was the dock official from when they’d first arrived. Stavark delivered another carefully placed blow to the back of his head, then he left the silverland.

  The two guards and the dock official crumpled to the ground.

  The three remaining guards of Vullieth’s house jumped as if struck by a serpent, all of them jerking their heads to look at Stavark. All they would have seen was a silver flash streaking through the guards. He nodded to them.

  The Rabasyvihrk and the other soldiers in the rowboat pulled up, and leapt onto the dock. The other rowboats drifted closer, docking in more obvious berths now that the guards had fallen.

  Still shooting incredulous glances at Stavark, the nearest of Vullieth’s guards met the Rabasyvihrk. They spoke in hushed tones, and Stavark breathed deeply, conserving his energy. The remaining two of Vullieth’s guards kept flicking glances his way.

  One at time, all of the boats docked, and Captain Lo’gan’s soldiers disembarked and began jogging up the street between the dockside houses to wait for the rest. The vyrkiz, seemingly unaffected by the cold, padded quietly next to the Maehka vik Kalik. All of Lo’gan’s soldiers gave Sniff plenty of room.

  When everyone had disembarked, Stavark ranged ahead of the group. It only took him a few minutes to find the first guard patrol. They saw him, and one opened his mouth to give the alarm, but Stavark stepped into the silverland and dropped them all. By the time Mershayn’s little army caught up with him, Stavark was bent over his knees, trying to regain his breath. The army moved as quietly as fifty men could move, but they still made a great deal of noise. The Rabasyvihrk sensed the same thing Stavark sensed, and he urged them to move faster. Once the alarm went up, this would become more difficult.

  Soon, they reached the last curve in the road before they would come within sight of the wall and the gate that led up to the castle. Stavark stayed in the shadows and snuck around the curve, then returned and reported.

  “The gate is closed, Rabasyvihrk. There are four guards. Two behind the gate. Two above on the wall.”

  “Okay,” he murmured to Stavark. “As we practiced.”

  “Yes, Rabasyvihrk.”

  He put his hand up near his shoulder, as though he was going to hold a platter of food there. Stavark clambered up his back and put both his feet in the palm of the Rabasyvihrk’s hand. Holding Stavark against his shoulder, the Rabasyvihrk ran around the corner in sight of the wall. He surged forward until the first guard saw him. The woman opened her mouth to shout, and Medophae burst with golden fire as he heaved Stavark toward the wall.

  Stavark entered the silverland the moment he left the Rabasyvihrk’s hand, just before the woman could shout. Silver buildings sailed beneath him, and he landed on the wall next to the first frozen guard. He lifted the man’s helm and whacked the pommel of his dagger against the base of his head, then did the same to the next. Stavark dropped to the street inside the wall, then did the same to the guard who was reaching for a rope attached to a bell, and then to the final guard. The final guard had the keys, and Stavark took them, unlocked the gate, then let them fall to the ground as he left the silverland.

  He sucked in a breath. There didn’t seem to be enough air to fill his lungs. Leaning against the wall, he breathed hard and watched as the Rabasyvihrk ran to the gate.

  Lord Mershayn, Captain Lo’gan, and their soldiers jogged after. Thank goodness for the snow, which cast a muffled quiet over their noises. Still, Stavark grimaced at the thumping feet, the creaking leather. Some of them even jingled. He shook his head.

  It seemed far too long before they reached the gate with their creaking and jingling. Mershayn stopped at the entrance as the rest of the soldiers jogged through.

  Once all of the soldiers were through, the Rabasyvihrk closed the huge doors behind them and went to Lord Mershayn.

  “Headcount,” the Rabasyvihrk said.

  “All accounted for, sir,” Captain Lo’gan answered.

  “Good. Then you know what to do,” Lord Mershayn said. “Remember, many of the guards serving Sym might still be loyal to Collus, just misinformed. There’s been plenty of confusion in the castle these past few days; who knows what they have been told. Give them the chance to join us. If they won’t, make captives, not corpses, if you can. A bloodless coup is our true victory. My group will make straight for Sym’s chambers.”

  “We understand,” Lo’gan finished.

  The Rabasyvihrk nodded. “Lo’gan, you have Vullieth’s medallion?”

  “Yes, sir.” He pulled the thick silver disk from his tunic. It bore the crested helm and mallet of Vullieth’s house.

  “With luck, your little army will grow quickly, and there will be no need for fighting,” the Rabasyvihrk s
aid.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then let’s go,” Mershayn said. “For Collus.”

  “For Collus,” Captain Lo’gan and his soldiers echoed. The little army jogged silently up the twisting road until they reached the last bend. As they came to a halt, the Rabasyvihrk motioned that they stay close to the cliff. The Rabasyvihrk nodded to Stavark, and he entered the silverland, jogging around the bend and making for the frozen silver statues of the guards who stood by the frozen door leading into the castle. They lasted no longer than the guards at the wall.

  Lord Mershayn’s army infiltrated the castle and went their separate ways. The Maehka vik Kalik, the Rabasyvihrk, Lord Mershayn, the vyrkiz and Stavark moved quietly up the right passageway while Lo’gan and the other soldiers went left.

  Stavark brought up the rear now, trying to slow his breathing. He had not used the silverland that much since the battle with the darklings. Then, he had been completely spent. Now, he was tired, but not debilitated.

  The young quicksilver followed his companions into the lamp-lit corridors.

  46

  Mirolah

  As Mirolah followed Medophae and Mershayn deeper into the castle of Teni’sia, Mirolah’s mind chewed on the question like a dog gnaws a bone: Was Elekkena Bands?

  At first thought, it seemed ludicrous. She was just a slender quicksilver girl, respectful, innocent. How could such a girl actually be an ancient dragon in disguise?

  But she couldn’t let the notion go.

  Medophae had tried to solve the riddle for so long that he had been certain she was dead. It was ridiculous to think that now, somehow, not only was she alive, but she’d somehow broken free without the riddle of the spell being solved. After all, Medophae hadn’t done anything new to solve the riddle.

  The little troupe that Medophae led up the slope to the castle of Teni’sia stopped, blending into the shadows as Stavark went ahead to deal with some soldiers.

  She followed, deep in thought as she recalled the riddle, exactly as he’d told it to her in Calsinac.

  You must give to someone that which you have already given away. And you must cast away what now sustains you.

  A cold breeze of realization blew through her. Medophae had done something new. He’d thrown the ruby into the Sara Sea.

  Cast away what now sustains you.

  Did the ruby sustain him? How did the ruby...

  Love.

  Not the ruby, but what it represented. He was supposed to cast away his love for Bands. By the gods, that was the answer. The riddle required Medophae to love another, someone other than Bands, and he had to cast away the ruby in the bargain as proof of his commitment to another.

  The pieces clicked together. Mirolah wasn’t the first he’d loved, of course. He had told her stories of Tyndiria, the dead queen of Teni’sia. He’d loved her, too. But he hadn’t cast away the gem.

  “By the gods...” she whispered, reeling with the truth. Medophae had solved the riddle after all! Bands was free....

  Medophae was intent on watching Stavark put the guards down, ready to jump in and help if the quicksilver couldn’t manage it. He didn’t hear her, but Mershayn turned his head.

  “Something wrong, Lady Mirolah?” he asked.

  “No,” she said quickly. “Nothing.”

  Yes, everything.

  The answer to the riddle was that Medophae had to fall in love with someone other than his epic, beloved Bands, and then he had to throw her away. It was Ethiel’s perfect revenge. No matter the outcome, Medophae would lose.

  The riddle was solved. The spell broken. The dragon freed. But why not come straight to Medophae? Why transform into a quicksilver and hide in plain sight?

  Had she been with them even before? The ancient dragon was a shapeshifter. Had she taken some other shape, a passing deer or a rat, and watched them?

  It made Mirolah ill to think that while she made love with Medophae in the empty marble city of Calsinac, Bands was lurking somewhere nearby, watching.

  If Bands had returned, it answered every question. Every piece fit. Click, click, click. Elekkena. Mirolah’s miraculous healing in the insidious forest. Medophae’s decrease in his affections...

  He had suspected. Something tipped him off that Bands might be alive, out there somewhere. Had he known Elekkena was Bands?

  The idea that they might have snuck off together while Mirolah was sleeping, or busy doing something else... It made her sick to her stomach.

  No. No, he looked surprised when he considered Elekkena’s murmuring. That was genuine shock. Elekkena was Bands, but Medophae hadn’t known it.

  Medophae was a good man. He wasn’t always right; he didn’t always make the best decisions, but he always tried to do good....

  A cynical voice in the back of her mind said: You have no idea what kind of man he is. He has lived for centuries, and you’ve only known him for weeks.

  But he loves me, she thought, fighting against that soul-sucking voice. He would have to, to solve the riddle.

  But not like he loves her....

  Stavark finished his business and they moved forward again, quietly, through the gate and up the winding path toward the side of the castle at the top of the hill.

  Maybe Elekkena left because she knew the pieces were all there. Maybe she knew she was only one contemplative moment away from being discovered.

  The small invading force jogged forward. Medophae dropped back to run next to her. “Do you know?” he asked.

  She looked at him, stunned. “Know...?”

  “Orem. Do you know where he is?”

  She let out a big breath, her heart pounding. “No.”

  At her expression, his brow furrowed. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I was... I was thinking... I mean, Sniff lost the trail once we got to Teni’sia. I think Zilok erased his tracks somehow. And...I was waiting to get a bit closer to the castle before reaching into the GodSpill. Like you said, I didn’t want to use it until I had to.” She pulled her mind away from the puzzle. She needed to focus on her job here.

  “Good.”

  To find him, she was going to have to tap into the GodSpill. She’d have to become part of the castle walls and the floors, just like she had in Ethiel’s palace inside Daylan’s Fountain. It frightened her. The demands of the voice became louder with every day that passed, it seemed, and she wondered if it was going to be dangerous for her to use its power. She was more than a little worried about that part of the plan.

  We are one. Come to us.

  She pushed the voice back down.

  “Ah,” Medophae said. “Do you want to wait until we’re inside the castle—?”

  “I’ll do it when I’m ready,” she snapped.

  Mershayn turned at her outburst. Medophae looked surprised.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “Unless you want to do the threadweaving, I’ll handle it.”

  “Mirolah, I—”

  “I need to concentrate,” she said.

  He hesitated, then slowly turned and moved to the head of the group again.

  They got through the next door using Stavark again. He became silver light and beat the guards senseless. Once they entered, Mirolah set one piece of her attention to walking. The rest, she fragmented and sent into the stones of the castle.

  Sniff sensed her using the GodSpill, whined, and moved closer. She rested her arm on the top of his back. It felt good, touching him. He made her feel grounded, and she closed her eyes.

  She split her attention again, and again, and again, becoming smaller fibers of threads throughout the castle, searching for anything.

  We are one.... the voice said, excited, and louder now that she had put so much of herself into the threads. The voice tugged at her, wanting to yank her free of her body, but the largest portion of her focus stayed on where her arm rested on Sniff’s back, where her hand touched his shoulders.

  This is me. I am Miro
lah.

  In the time it took Medophae’s troop to walk fifty feet up the hall, Mirolah spread herself throughout the stones of every room overhead, from the tallest minaret to the level they were on. She found nothing.

  The soldiers turned a corner, climbed a staircase, and came to another long hallway. As they walked, she delved deeper into the castle. There were a few paths carved deep into the bedrock of the mountain, into the foundation upon which the castle had been built. She sent her attention down these tunnels and found what she was looking for.

  In a room deep in the rock far below, an oily blackness covered the threads, just as it had in Zilok’s lair in Denema’s Valley. This was his new lair, and inside it...

  “Orem...” she whispered.

  As Zilok’s presence covered the threads in an oily blackness, so too could she sense that Orem had been in this room recently, though he was not there now. Traces of his unique threads were there, covered in that same inky blackness.

  “Mirolah?” Medophae whispered, keeping his voice down. “What is it?”

  “I found him. Or rather, I found where he was recently.”

  Medophae’s face went grim, and he looked around.

  “And I don’t think Zilok detected me snooping around.”

  As she talked to Medophae, she reached out to the threads of air in front of Sniff’s nose and transformed them, duplicating the feel of the oily blackness of Zilok’s lair with the hint of Orem’s threads. He raised his head, sniffing, and she felt satisfaction flow from him. He had lost the trail before, but now he had Zilok’s scent again.

  He gave a low whine and padded forward. Lo’gan’s soldiers shrank away from the giant skin dog, putting their backs against the wall as he slunk past them.

  “He’s got the scent,” she said, following him to the head of the column and the point where the hallway forked.

  “Sim’s rooms will be this way,” Medophae said, nodding to the right-hand path.

  “I’ll find him,” Mirolah said. “Once I free Orem, Zilok goes through the Godgate. If he tries to latch onto something else, I’ll stop him.”