by Cory Herndon
“Yes.”
“They not far from there,” the ogress explained. “Moved just a few days ago. But me see other Gruul than that.”
“What other Gruul?” Pivlic said. “The Utvar Gruul are savages, but last I checked they were something of a united clan, were they not?”
“You talk long sentences, imp,” Garulsz said. “But you not know as much as Garulsz.” She turned east a bit and pointed to an area not far from the camp Kos had seen through his spotting scope. “They not camping, just raiding. And … what word for it … stalking. Stalking the other Gruul.”
“Why would they do that?” Kos asked.
“Not know,” Garulsz said. “Me miner now. Gave up city life but not ‘frontier’ enough to go into Husk. You think me crazy?”
“Some ogre,” Pivlic muttered.
“What that, little imp?” Garulsz said, scowling.
“Some more,” Pivlic said, louder. “Tell us some more.”
“Right,” Garulsz replied, oblivious. The ogre sense of smell was surprisingly sharp, but ogre hearing was less so, especially under an invizomizzium helmet. Kos wished he’d had the zinos to shell out for the invizomizzium himself but had gone with the cheaper crystal, and now he had no helmet at all. He coughed again but stifled it before it got out of hand. He willed his heart not to start racing and seemed to meet with some success there, at least.
“Do you recognize any in the other group?” Kos asked, trying to get the ogress back on track.
“No, but no ogres,” Garulsz replied. “You go up there, you be careful. You Garulsz’s favorite ’jek.”
“I’ll bet I financed half this operation with the bumbat I bought alone,” Kos said. “Feels like I should ask for a cut.”
“Ha!” Garulsz said, a sound that rang against the metallic mining rig behind her. “Good one, Kos.” Kos started coughing again, and she added, “You shouldn’t dawdle with no helmet. You not getting any younger.”
“Thanks,” Kos managed when he had wrested the hacking under control. “Come on, Pivlic.” He hoisted himself into the dromad’s saddle, and, without asking, Garulsz picked up the imp and set him behind the retired ’jek. The dromad’s thick tail swished happily. It knew they were about to get moving again.
“Take care, Kos,” Garulsz said. “Come out and visit any time.”
“And you feel free to swing by the Imp Wing any time,” Kos said. “I’m usually there.”
“When we’re open, at least,” Pivlic said.
“See you later, Garulsz,” Kos said with a wave. “Hey, you thrulls coming?” The Grugg brothers growled the affirmative and jogged up to join the dromad riders, chirping excitedly.
“What now, Kos?” Pivlic asked. “What do we do about those other Gruul?”
“Now, we ride,” Kos said and patted the bam-stick slung across his back. “We worry about the rest when we get there.”
“Have I mentioned I’m not cut out for this?” Pivlic said.
“I got that feeling,” Kos said. He forced down another cough. With the tiniest motion of his heels, he spurred the dromad onward, leaving a cloud of reddish dust hanging in the air behind them.
* * * * *
Melisk was gone when Teysa returned. He did not respond to her shouted calls as she went from room to room on the second floor of the Imp Wing. She pulled up her sleeve and touched the middle stone, the one that helped her keep track of those sworn to serve her. “Melisk,” she whispered and felt compelled to look at the southeastern wall, beyond which lay the slums where she intended to build a mansion. “You’d better be on some important paperwork-organizing mission, attendant,” Teysa said. “You’re starting to worry me.”
That was when she heard a muffled voice from the antechamber adjoining her makeshift office. She couldn’t make out what was being said, but the intensity, tone, and identity of the speaker was clear. She strode across the room and flung open the door to the side chamber where she’d taken to keeping the mirror.
“He’s gone,” the mirror said as soon as she opened the door. “Your contractor, that half-demon, came by and had some questions about the plans for the new mansion, and he went personally to set them straight.”
“Why don’t I believe you, Uncle?” Teysa said.
“I can’t imagine, unless it’s my immortal reputation,” the mirror replied. “Yet I tell the truth. That is what happened.”
Teysa wished it was possible to put a ghost in a verity circle, but even if Uncle had been here in person, it would not have worked. And since his ghost, murdered by the Gruul, had magically materialized in the Obzedat back in the City of Guilds, there was little chance she’d have the opportunity to try anyway. Teysa decided to let it drop. She could talk to Melisk about this later. Or confirm the story with the half-demon Aradoz.
“All right,” she began. “My apologies. I don’t feel quite myself. I have received a new medication to regulate my fainting spells.”
“Ah, the Simic was good for something after all, eh?” Uncle’s face in the mirror was covered with a white mask, but he still managed to smile and give a little chuckle. “Good to know. I was concerned that vicious Gruul attack would cost you more than the rest of us.”
“It cost you your life,” Teysa said.
“My mortal life only,” Uncle replied. “But a new one stretches before me. This Simic, do you trust him?”
“The Simic appears to be capable and truthful,” when in the circle, anyway, she silently added. “But that’s not why I opened this door. Uncle, I can’t tell you how much it pains me to say this, especially so soon after I have begun my endeavors here. But I must ask you for … advice.”
“Splendid!” the mask in the mirror said. “And about time too. You need only ask. You know I cannot refuse you anything, my dear.”
“It is unusual,” Teysa said. “Are you alone?”
“A member of the Obzedat is never alone,” Uncle replied. “But we are speaking privately.”
“Good,” Teysa said. She didn’t believe him, but what choice did she have? “It’s a question of—morality and business, I guess.”
“You’re joking,” the mask replied. “What does the one have to do with the other?”
“It’s an unusual case,” Teysa said. “I have the capacity to end this plague. Probably within a few days. It cost me more than a little of my personal wealth. Yet this will only work if all of the cures are administered on the same day. And all my instincts tell me that this is the most valuable substance in this entire valley, which means I should sell it to the highest bidder. Yet to do so would be to waste it, as the plague will not be ended unless everyone takes the cure.”
“And the Gruul that slew me?” Uncle said through the mirror. “You would give it to them too?”
“I have set the taj to the task, but I fear there may not be enough of them to kill them all,” Teysa said. “Though once the plague is finished, we could see about a revenge contract.”
“That is why I chose you for this, child. You do have a grasp of the long term. But it is a quandary, is it not?” the mirror replied. “Tell me, why do you want this plague to end?”
“Now you must be joking,” Teysa said. “It’s a plague. How am I to make this place worthy of recognition by the Guildpact in a year if I don’t get rid of it? Wild claims of Selesnyan cures don’t cut it.”
“Well, the Selesnyans seem to think—”
“Uncle, please,” Teysa said, “you can’t possibly be suggesting I rely on those life churcher fools to be concerned with the timing here. And even if their Vitar Yescu does somehow wipe out the plague on its own, when Hauc gets the Cauldron up to full steam, I—we, the family—would be beholden to them for that.”
“Ah, so your instinct is to make a few zinos,” the mirror said. “You had me concerned. I must say, philanthropy is not a trait I would encourage if you someday wish to end up like me.”
Like him. A ghost-lord. An immortal—as long as the zinos held out—patriarch of the O
bzedat. For some reason, becoming the first matriarch on the council didn’t appeal to Teysa as much as it used to. But he was right. The very thought of simply giving away the cure triggered physical pain in her Orzhov blood.
She’d never gone against the blood before. Not this much, anyway. Though she was surprised to hear Uncle so casually discuss sharing a cure for the plague with the Gruul that killed him.
They did kill him, didn’t they? For the first time since she’d left the Simic doctor, her headache returned, mild but insistent. It was not accompanied by a fainting spell or dizziness, just a little bit of pain that said something’s not right here.
“They will all find ways to pay for your cure,” the mask in the mirror continued. “It may take some time, but, as you’ve often reminded me, you are an advokist. Contracts will need to be drawn, binding agreements made, payments arranged in due time. Interguild commerce is a sacred trust, my dear. It is not separate from the law. It is the law. That is how you solve this problem.”
“So do it, in other words?” Teysa asked skeptically.
“Of course,” Uncle said.
Could she trust him? Teysa wasn’t sure. The pain in her blood and her head was telling her no.
“Something’s not right here,” she said, this time aloud.
“What makes you say that?” the masked face said.
“It’s—” you, she wanted to say, you and Melisk and this whole operation. The fact that I remember the Gruul killing you, but every time I try to picture it, my brain hurts. And the fact that the pain is worse than ever since the Simic gave me this new medicine. But she said, “It’s Melisk. I think he may be plotting. My blood is telling me something is … off with him somehow.”
The mask in the mirror lost its smile and was silent for several long seconds. Finally, Uncle said, “You think so, do you?”
“Now more than ever,” Teysa said. “It’s not like you to not have an answer ready. What is it, Uncle? What do you know?”
The image of the mask became unfocused for a moment, and she thought she heard more voices, different voices, ancient and powerful, around the mirror’s frame. After almost a minute of this, the mask became clear again, and the smile returned.
“If you really want to know, Teysa Karlov, then also know that this information will come with a price. Your allegiance, without question, to the will of the Obzedat.”
Could the Ghost Council really do that, get her permanent devotion with a verbal agreement? She wasn’t sure, but it could be true. And it was definitely true that if she didn’t find out what was going on, she would go mad. Teysa had to know and had to know now. This time, the blood agreed, and it told her this was right. “My allegiance,” Teysa said, “as always.”
“All right,” the mirror said. “Listen.”
Teysa uncrossed her fingers and listened.
* * * * *
It took Kos and Pivlic the better part of the day to reach the edge of the flats. After another round of coughing almost knocked Pivlic off the back of the saddle and drew the attention of circling carrion birds, the imp had convinced Kos to at least tie a scarf over his face, which the old ’jek had done and found that though the coughing might be the first sign of infection, the dust was also part of it—the scarf did bring it under control.
Kos scanned the place where the de facto road ended, looking for the trail that Garulsz had pointed out. “There,” he said, pointing between two rusty, jagged spires that looked like they had once been a single piece but had cracked in the heat and split down the middle. “Between those, that’s where we need to go.”
“Can this beast make it up that?” Pivlic said. “It is little more than a trail.”
“No, I don’t think she can,” Kos said. Dromads were not good climbers. “Well, Garulsz did tell us it was a trail. I just hoped it might be big enough.” He patted the dromad’s flank and leaned forward to whisper in one flicking ear. “What do you think, girl?” The dromad whinnied. Kos sighed. His legs weren’t what they once were, but he’d definitely have an easier time navigating that slim trail on foot. He didn’t want to leave the dromad running wild, though—a walk back over the flats was something he might not survive. Not unless he wanted to bind Gruul fungus to his skin to stave off the effects of the kuga. He wasn’t ready to go that far yet, assuming he could even find a Gruul with fungus to spare. Besides, he’d already developed a soft spot for the dromad mare.
Kos turned to the thrulls. The baroness had said one of them was smarter than the other, the one who looked like a freakish viashino. What had his name been?
“Bephel?” Kos said tentatively. The thrull with the spiky reptilian tail hopped over to him. The dromad didn’t start at the thing’s approach, that was a good sign. Now if it could take instruction as well as the baroness said….
“What are you doing, Kos?” Pivlic asked as the old ’jek slid off the side of the dromad. “Oh, dear,” the imp continued. “We are walking, aren’t we?”
Kos lifted the imp off of the saddle and set him on the ground. “Yep,” he said and turned back to the thrull. “Bephel,” he repeated, “hold these reins, and keep this dromad here. Do you understand me? Can you do that?”
The thrull nodded and to Kos’s surprise spoke in heavily accented Ravi. “Of course Bephel can! What, you think Bephel some kind of animal? Old man wounds Bephel!” With a shifty look, the thrull added conspiratorially, “Can I eat it?”
“No, do not eat it,” Kos said, grateful that the thing could actually speak. He’d assumed that like the rest of its kin Bephel had no speech. He was glad to be wrong. “If you do, there won’t be enough pieces left of you to put back together, I promise. Just keep it here and wait for us. We’re taking your brother with us. You should be fine here, but if anyone comes out from one of those claims to give you trouble, then—” Then what? Kos asked himself. He didn’t want the thrull to assault innocent prospectors, even in self-defense, not on his account. And the creature didn’t look built for riding. “If anyone gives you trouble, lead the dromad back to your baroness.”
“Baroness!” the thrull said, and its odd triangular face broke into a smile. “We should go see her now!”
“No, she told you to do as we said, right?” Kos said.
“Well … yes,” the thrull agreed at last.
“So you’ll only leave here if you’re threatened,” Kos said. “And when we return, we’ll all go see the baroness together.”
“You got it!” the thrull said, already eying the dromad’s flanks.
“The other one—” name, name … Kos struggled to remember. All these thrulls’ names were way too much alike. “Uh, Elbeph, right?”
“He doesn’t talk,” Bephel offered helpfully and spun a finger next to his ear. “Not good talk like Bephel.”
“Right,” Kos said. “But he can make noise, right? A few words? Can you teach him?”
“Oh, sure,” Bephel said. “He’s not smart like Bephel, but he’ll listen. And he can jump!” As if on cue, the other thrull began to hop on his frog-arms, jabbering.
“Elbeph, you’re with us,” Kos sighed.
“Yes, this is going to go just flawlessly,” Pivlic said.
“Hey, we’re here to serve, Pivlic,” Kos said. “Isn’t that what you said? We’re all Orzhov and all that?”
“Yes,” the imp sighed. “Well, shall we?”
The trail was not as treacherous as it had initially looked, but it did turn out to be far too narrow for a dromad and two riders. Elbeph seemed almost impatient, hopping about Kos and Pivlic while the other two trudged along, calling out warnings when he spotted any treacherous-looking cracks that might drop away if you looked at them wrong. The only reason the trail was even here, it appeared, was because it sat atop rusted, fallen columns that looked as if a giant had laid them end to end in the distant past. The columns provided a sturdy backbone for the trail, but Kos was still wary of a few gaps in the ground on either side that probably went down for miles. The dange
r made him grateful for the thrull’s occasional warnings.
“I should be flying,” Pivlic said again after an especially difficult climb over a huge hunk of rock that had probably once been a pipe or culvert of some kind but was now just a corroded obstacle. “This suit is a purgatorial prison, my friend.”
“One of us exposed to the kuga is enough,” Kos said and pulled the imp up beside him. “Hold up, Elbeph,” he called, bringing the froglike creature back to them. “I want to get a better—Oh, my.”
“What?” Pivlic said. “What do you see?”
“I think,” Kos said, “we just found them.” He pointed at a section of the trail maybe a quarter mile up, where an upper torso and one head with wide, pointed ears appeared just over the crest. That would be their missing goblin, and right behind her was a big human covered in antigen fungus who turned occasionally to look back. At the rate the pair was going, they had to be running, which was not exactly safe in the Husk. You only ran in the Husk if you knew exactly where you were going or if something, or someone, was after you.
With a feeling of impending dread, he followed a line up the hill behind the running pair—the big one was definitely Vor Golozar, his distinctive tattoos made that obvious—and spotted more shapes. More Gruul, in fact, but pale, drawn, and hungry-looking. There were at least two dozen he could spot, climbing around and over the stone and corrosion like ants.
Kos checked the path before them. It looked like it would meet up with one of the runners following a few hundred yards away. It was indeed dangerous to run in the Husk, but right now they had no choice—those pale, mean-looking Gruul were going to reach their messenger first if they didn’t go now. And since Golozar—one of the boldest Gruul Kos had ever met—was running from the others that quickly, there was no doubt what would happen to the messenger if the pale pursuers got to them first. He was surprised to find Golozar with the goblin but supposed he shouldn’t have been. Golozar was honorable in his way, and Trijiro—whom Kos did trust, mostly—was too. Kos had other reasons to trust the Gruul raid captain that went all the way back to the City of Guilds, but it was not something many—not even Pivlic—knew about.
