“I understand your hesitance to trust my uncle,” Pi said.
“Beyond being a murderer, he is a heretic and practitioner of blood magic,” Torsten said. “He is the enemy of the faithful and the scorn of Iam’s vigilant Eye.”
“And he is not only one of the most respected leaders in Drav Cra as dradinengor of the Ruuhar Clan, but also named High Warlock by the rest of his order.”
“Arch Warlock,” Redstar corrected.
Torsten scowled his way. “That is not a title we of the Glass should abide.”
“Maybe so, but it is a title which allowed him to gather thousands of capable warriors to our cause in only a month. My father turned from their lands because he knew they were a hard, unconquerable people. Yet the tomes of history teach us that all men descended from the tundra. Drav Cra is in all our blood, and it is half of mine.”
“Liam knew they couldn’t be trusted. He knew how far Iam was from their hearts.”
“Yet he brought one home. Made her queen. Because my father knew that worth could be found in the strangest of places. He knew that the wild tribes of the North would have bowed to my mother if only she remembered them. That was how he planned to conquer them. Through blood, not by blood.”
“How do you know that’s what he planned?” he asked, even though it sounded exactly like something Liam would do. He hadn’t only been a fearless commander who charged into battle and inspired his own men, but a tactician without equal.
“Sir Davies said as much when I was very young,” Pi said. “But then Father grew too ill and our borders stopped expanding. My mother could have been useful to him then. Instead, she remained a cruel, foreign treasure locked up in this castle scaring everyone away.”
“Your Grace, she gave birth to you. She sat at your side every night while you were ill.”
“And she let the kingdom crumble. You said it yourself, our armies are weaker than ever. We don’t trust any of our allies in Panping or Brotlebir to come to our aid. Instead, we’re calling on conscripts who’ve done nothing but plow fields for a decade.”
“And drink,” Redstar added. “For centuries, my people have been battling cold that makes this seem like summer. Scraping and clawing for leftovers of the few beasts that still roam the tundra.”
“After two decades as queen, my mother’s failure will be rectified,” Pi declared. “The mighty warriors of the Drav Cra will march at our side.”
“The heathens should never be allowed into this city,” Torsten bristled.
“I sent for them weeks ago.” Pi stopped at the window and had to lean up on the balls of his feet to look down over the sill.
Torsten rushed to his side and threw open the window. Cold air and flurries blasted his cheeks but he craned his neck over the edge so he could see the castle’s entry bailey. Snow and clouds dulled the light of the twin moons but there was no mistaking the gathering. Hundreds of tall, pale Drav Cra men wearing heavy furs and axes stood waiting. Enough of them to slaughter everyone inside, King and Queen Mother as well.
Among them were others dressed in ragged robes of layered animal furs, wearing necklaces festooned with strange totems and bones—true Drav Cra warlocks, not just in the capital, but within the walls of the castle. They didn’t even bother to pretend they were cultists to the Buried Goddess or cover their faces with hoods and white masks like the ones who followed Redstar in the Webbed Woods. They let their faces show, black paint covering their eyes with a line of red over the lids. Cracking, white paint covered the rest of their faces and ran down their necks as if they needed to make their pale skin paler.
“By Iam, what have you done?” Torsten’s voice shook.
“I’m finally using every advantage at our disposal,” Pi said.
“Had I known how wise the young King was, I would have come straight to him a year ago and skipped all the nonsense,” Redstar said.
“You call that nonsense?” Torsten growled as he whipped back around. “Your Grace, I am your Wearer of White, commander of your armies. Why wasn’t I told about this?”
“You are loyal and you are respected, Sir Unger,” Pi said. “But I knew your piety would hinder your ability to see the benefit of this alliance.”
“And the only pay they require is food,” Redstar said, grinning so wide Torsten wanted to slap it off his face with his spiked, glaruium gauntlet.
“You expect my men—you expect me to march beside these heathens? Those are warlocks of the Buried Goddess down there.” Torsten took Pi by the arm and the glare he received sent him reeling back. “If my men cannot trust their brothers in arms, I cannot lead them effectively.”
“And you will not have to,” Pi said. “As part of this arrangement, I have named my uncle Emissary of Drav Cra. You will command the armies, but he will lead his people under you. You will work together to bring this Shesaitju rebellion to an end. Then, my father’s blessed work will be continued.”
Torsten fell to his knees. “My King, I beg you, don’t trust this man. The things he’s done. The things he can do. He is a snake in the flesh of a man.”
“‘Iam is mercy. Iam is compassion. Light.’ All my life I’ve heard this, yet all those who love gods of other names are ridiculed and condemned. I spent a great deal of time reading as a child. The holy texts beg for peace in Pantego. And here, those of Nesilia stand ready to fight by our side. Wren the Holy speaks of her evil. Redstar however, says that she was as close to Iam as skin to bone.”
“Lies from the mouth of a deceiver.”
“Possibly. Yet the God Feud teaches us that fighting amongst each other helps no one. And so, Torsten Unger, you will find a way to work with my uncle for the good of the kingdom, or you will find yourself exiled again.”
Torsten glanced back at Redstar, at a man so wicked Iam sought to mark him eternally with the red of blood. A man who wore the guise of Sir Uriah Davies after luring him to his death. A man who’d been willing to risk everything to vanquish the Spider Queen Bliss, and for what?
Now he had the ear of the young, impressionable king after he drove the boy mad with dark magic. Torsten’s fists clenched. He knew he could take Redstar down right then, ending whatever game he played. But as he looked back to Pi, he also knew that wasn’t the way of Iam.
Perhaps Pi wasn’t as ready for rule as Torsten had thought earlier that day, but he was right about what Iam stood for. And Torsten would be there when Redstar’s true nature was revealed to him again. As he always would be.
He bowed his head. “I will serve in whatever way you see fit, Your Grace. But I will never trust him after what he did to you and neither should you.”
“That is why I have a Shieldsman who served my father for so long at my side.” Pi laid a hand on Torsten’s shoulder.
For a moment, Torsten felt silly being so proud of receiving the praises of a small boy. Then Pi’s arm fell away and he longed for it to return. The young king lay back onto his bed, all energy seeming to fade in an instant as the color drained from his face. It might have been the light, but Torsten thought the dark rings around his eyes seemed more pronounced than ever.
“Now leave me,” Pi said weakly. “Both of you.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” Torsten said, rising. “You must be exhausted.”
“Yes, seeing reason can be so tiring.” Redstar bowed exceedingly low.
It reminded Torsten of the way the thief, Whitney, used to praise him in jest. Just the sight of it had him nearly swinging his sword in a wide arc across Redstar’s neck. He controlled himself for Pi’s sake.
They started off out of the room, side by side until Redstar stopped. “Ah, Your Grace, before I forget,” he said. “I spoke with Yuri Darkings in the dungeon—the former Master of Coin who fled your mother’s scorn. He is eager to return to his post, and in this time of war and uncertainty, it seems wise to have an experienced hand in charge of finances.”
“You eavesdropped on my—” Torsten was cut off by the gentle voice of the King.
He remained staring up at the ceiling with his limbs stretched out, now totally drained.
“Excellent idea, Uncle,” he groaned. “Have him reinstated immediately.”
“At once.” Redstar bowed again and hurried out of the room.
Torsten seized him the moment they got outside and slammed him against the wall. His nostrils flared. His blood felt like it was on fire. It took all his willpower not to crush the traitor’s neck.
“‘Excellent idea,’” Redstar gurgled, repeating Pi’s words. “Thank you for shedding light on the Council’s needs. I needed to build a little faith.”
“I don’t know what you’re up to, but I swore to you I wouldn’t let you hurt him again,” Torsten snarled, squeezing tighter.
“Can’t…” he gurgled again, “…can’t a loving uncle do what’s best for his nephew?”
“Every word out of your mouth is poison.” Torsten released him. Redstar fell to the floor, coughing and rubbing his neck. Once able to breathe again, he looked up, wearing that same annoying smirk.
“As I told you in the dungeon the day you brought me back, my work is already complete. Nesilia smiles upon me, and now she wants me here, serving my new king. Who are we to question her?”
“The name of the Buried Goddess will never be uttered here with impunity.”
“I believe I just heard Pi utter it in the same sentence as your loving, wonderful Iam.”
Torsten shoved a boot against his chest and pinned him back against the wall. “Don’t you dare use His name.”
“Or what?”
“Or I will do what I should’ve done in the Webbed Woods.”
Redstar grinned through the pain of Torsten’s full weight. “You can try,” he said.
Suddenly, Torsten felt heat on his shin and looked down at a smear of blood on Redstar’s hand. A glimmer of fire swirled around it. Blood magic, being used in the very halls of the Glass Castle.
Torsten’s grip on his sword tightened. He couldn’t stop it. A moment of weakness washed over him, or perhaps it was Iam guiding his hand. The King might banish him, or worse, but at least they’d be free.
Redstar grabbed Torsten’s leg with his fire-wreathed hand. His pants burned away and his skin blistered. He didn’t care.
“Iam forgive me for what I must do,” he whispered under his breath. Then, he raised his blade.
At the same time, Redstar bit his other hand, drawing fresh blood. He raised his palm and Torsten felt all his muscles tense. He remembered the woods, how Redstar flung him and his companions around like rag dolls.
The Arch Warlock was clearly weakened from his time in a cell since Torsten still felt a twinge of control. It stung as much as the fire on his leg to try and move his muscles against the magic but he gritted his teeth and fought to try and break free.
“Sir Unger!” someone hollered from down the hall.
Torsten couldn’t turn his head but he peered over with his eyes. Wardric stood in the corridor, fully armed. Beside him was a female Drav Cra warlock, her wild hair threaded with jagged beads made of bone. She sliced her hand and raised it. Her power, combined with that of Redstar, flung Torsten back, slamming him hard against the wall. His claymore clattered to the floor.
“Release him!” Wardric drew his sword and raised it to the warlock’s neck.
“He assaulted Drad Redstar,” the woman hissed.
Torsten’s entire body seized. His back was crushed against the stone so hard he felt his ribs beginning to snap inward. A scream bubbled in his throat, one that would certainly rouse Pi if he hadn’t been already.
Redstar stood, then dusted off his clothes. “Ah, my dear Freydis,” he addressed her. “I was wondering when you and the others would arrive.”
“Shall we send him to the goddess, Drad Redstar?” she asked.
“No, my over-eager friend. Release him. They’re our allies now.” Redstar lowered his own hand.
Torsten crumpled to the floor. Somehow, he’d forgotten what it felt like to be manipulated by blood magic—like an infant in the arms of its mother. It was a feeling he’d hoped never to experience again.
“My apologies, fair Shieldsman,” Redstar said. “It was only a misunderstanding.”
Freydis lowered her bloody hand as well, but Wardric still wielded his blade.
“It didn’t look like it,” Wardric said. “Why does that monster walk free?”
Torsten tried to stand but his muscles were as sore as they’d been on his first day of King’s Shield training. He stared ahead at Pi’s chambers. In a moment of weakness and fear, he had nearly broken the oath he made to the boy beyond its finely carved door.
“It’s fine,” Torsten said, panting. “Stand down, Wardric.”
The Shieldsman didn’t listen, only extended the blade further underneath the flaking white paint on Freydis' slender neck.
“What is the meaning of this, Torsten?” he asked. “I rode to bring you urgent news from the Southern Reach and find a barbarian horde camping at our doorsteps. This woman claimed to have been invited.”
“By the King himself,” Redstar pronounced with a flourish.
“Don’t speak, knave!”
It took all the energy Torsten had to gesture to Wardric to lower his weapon. “It’s true,” he began through labored breaths. “Our young king has decided to free Redstar and make an alliance through him with the Drav Cra.”
“That’s madness,” Wardric said.
“But true.”
“You see? Just a squabble amongst new friends,” Redstar said. He sauntered over, abounding confidence in every stride, then hoisted Torsten up by the shoulders. He brushed his own shoulder, and gave Torsten a playful slap on the cheek. “Good as new.”
Torsten’s stomach churned at his touch but he was too exhausted to push him away.
“Now, Sir… Jolly, I believe?” Redstar said. “What news do you bring from the South?”
Wardric slowly lowered his blade, but didn’t drop his guard. Freydis on the other hand remained still and silent, her pale, gray eyes seeming to glow from the black paint smeared across the top half of her face.
“I bring news for the Wearer, and him alone,” Wardric said.
“It’s fine,” Torsten grumbled, rubbing his temples. Now that the dominating magic had worn off, his head was starting to ache. “What is it?”
Wardric’s gaze darted nervously between Freydis and Redstar until eventually, he took a step forward. Disgust contorted his features but he continued anyway.
“Muskigo’s army is on the move,” he said. “They’ve left their ships to drift into the swamp’s fog and march north under the light of nigh’jels, straight toward Fort Marimount.”
“And then Yarrington,” Torsten finished.
Muskigo had made the first move, and if he took the ancient dwarven fortress, he’d have a stronghold within direct reach of Yarrington. The villages he’d already raided would be nothing compared to the slaughter he could unleash around the capital.
Torsten wasn’t sure what to say next. He’d fought in many wars, but never at the helm. His mind was racing when Redstar clapped loudly.
“Looks like we won’t have to wait to test the King’s brilliant plan,” he said. He turned to Torsten. “I so look forward to getting to know you better.”
The crimson half of his face creased like parchment as his smile formed, deeper and more gleefully than ever before. And it was then that Torsten knew he’d missed his best chance. Because now, he truly did need the traitorous leech.
“Come Freydis. We have much to catch up on since I left for the Woods.” Redstar went to Freydis' side, and she sneered at Wardric before they continued on down the hall together. Two warlocks, free in the Glass Castle, yet somehow that wasn’t Torsten’s biggest problem.
In only days, Muskigo had apparently learned of his Caleef’s detainment and was on the march. There was no time for conscriptions to be filled out or properly trained, unlike the throng of hunters and heathens at the
castle gates who were already prepared for battle. Now there was no way out of it. Torsten would have to march beside the man whose curse had once killed Pi only for him to breathe again; the man whose actions led to Uriah Davies' death, Oleander’s breakdown, and Torsten to experience fear at the hands of Bliss like he’d never imagined before.
X
THE THIEF
It was dark by the time they’d left the Guild Hall. The moons, Celeste and Loutis, hung high above the city. Celeste shone orange and bright through a thick fog, but Loutis could barely be seen peeking through. Whitney still couldn’t believe how chilly it was so far south. He saw Sora shiver out of the corner of his eye and absent-mindedly shed his cloak to wrap around her.
She smiled, then asked, “You know where we’re going?”
“Yeah, I’ve never been to the Panping District, but it’s not far from the bay.”
“The Panping District?”
“I’m sure there’s another name for it, but that’s what I’ve always called it. C’mon this way.”
They passed shops and houses all locked up for the evening. Some still had wares up for display and Whitney had to keep his hands in his pockets to control himself. Furs from Hornsheim, globes from Yaolin City, and a suit of armor forged from dwarven bronze that might have made even Torsten jealous. Nigh’jel lanterns from Latiapur hung from posts along the way, the tentacles of the amorphous creatures within pulsing a soft green light. The Shesaitju may have been locked up, but apparently, the people of Winde Port were happy to keep using those.
Whitney followed the lights to a rickety bridge crossing over a canal. Beyond, the light grew scant with only a candle here or there glowing in windows rotting off their hinges. Women dressed in clothing far too slight for the weather beckoned Whitney and Sora toward dark alleys. A portly Northern merchant chatted with one down on a gondola docked in the freezing water.
“His place should be just around the corner,” Whitney said.
“Good, I don’t like this side of town.”
Wharf Street and Delanie Road crossed at a lightless church. It seemed all but abandoned. Snow covered the carved, wooden gates. Nobody even bothering to have swept it away. The stone was chipped, and the stained glass along the façade and up the spire was so dusty, the design was indecipherable. It was always unusual to see a Church of Iam be so forgotten in the Glass Kingdom. But Whitney had seen it before, and he knew that although they’d pledged themselves to Liam and the Vigilant Eye, the Panpingese people it was constructed for simply never showed up.
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