A Painted Goddess

by Victor Gischler

  They traded blows and blocks until he slipped in with the blunt end of the spear and took the air out of her with a blow to the gut. She bent, backed up out of reach of the spearhead, sucking for breath.

  Seeing his chance, he moved in for the kill.

  Something streaked down through the air and landed on top of Kristos’s foot with a meaty thuk.

  A crossbow bolt. Blood pooled around the entrance wound, dripped down both sides of his foot. Kristos registered no pain on his face. He didn’t scream with the shock of it, but his attack pulled up short. He leaned to one side, hopping on the good foot.

  A split-second glance told Maurizan what was happening.

  Kalli, Lureen, and Viriam rushed forward, knee deep in the surf, heading for Maurizan’s spot on the beach. They each held one of the long Perranese swords in a two-handed grip. There’d been no time for armor, and they charged in bare feet, breeches rolled up above the knees, loose shirts knotted under breasts, hair pulled back and tied with leather laces. Their faces were stone, eyes intense.

  Close behind them, Tosh tried to fumble another bolt into his crossbow.

  Maurizan wanted to shout a warning but was still trying to catch her breath.

  Kristos’s next move was a blur. He pivoted on his good leg, swinging the spear, arms fully extended to achieve the greatest reach. The spear tip sliced a line straight across Lureen’s throat. She dropped her sword, tipping backward in the water, eyes big as she grabbed her throat, blood flowing through her fingers. She went down with a splash, bobbed in the surf.

  Kristos brought the spear back fast and stabbed Viriam in the leg. She screamed and hobbled back out of range. The spear spun in the Fish Man’s hands, and he blocked a thrust from Kalli.

  Maurizan was already up and leaping at Kristos. She tossed a dagger as she flew at him.

  He blocked it easily, but that left him open, and Maurizan barreled into him, knocking him on his back in the sand with her on top. He shoved the spear shaft under her throat to push her away, but Maurizan’s dagger had already slipped under his guard.

  She shoved the blade slowly into his throat. He didn’t scream or thrash. His eyes slowly widened, then just as slowly closed again. He went limp and dropped the spear.

  Maurizan rolled off him and sprawled in the sand. She released the spirit, panting, heart hammering against her chest. A minute later, she sat up, looked around. Alem was just sitting up too, groaning and rubbing his head.

  Maurizan lurched to her feet, headed for the water. Lureen bobbed facedown, dead.

  Tosh had pulled Viriam’s head into his lap, foamy water sloshing around them. Kalli had gone to one leg, slapped both hands over the wound in Viriam’s leg. The blood just kept pumping out of her. It made a red cloud in the water all around them. Maurizan couldn’t believe one body could hold so much blood.

  Tosh gently rocked her, brushing wet hair out of her eyes with one hand. “Shh. Just rest. It’s okay. I’ve got you. Keep still.”

  “I . . . I’m cold,” Viriam said.

  And then she was gone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  “I’ve sent for Giffen,” Stasha Benadicta said.

  Knarr sighed. “That’s probably for the best.”

  They’d spent hours fussing with the magical doorway. The Birds of Prey who had been tasked with guarding him sat cross-legged on the floor across the room, passing the time with some dice game.

  Stasha Benadicta had paced and glowered. Knarr felt her eyes on his back when working. The woman had a sort of fierce bureaucratic efficiency about her that intimidated him more than the girls with the swords.

  He felt sure he’d inserted the gems into the mountings correctly at the various stations around the doorway. The settings were what caused the problem. Actually the fact that he didn’t know any of the settings. In an effort to remain useful, Knarr had been pretending he did. The mountings turned like dials, clicking into place at various runes that meant nothing to him. He’d been dialing in random combinations, hoping something would work. One combination caused all the gems to glow, a low-level hum vibrating the doorway. But it didn’t open.

  Giffen had been taken away early in the process—nobody really liked having him around—but Knarr now conceded he was stymied and any information Giffen might have couldn’t hurt.

  Two Birds of Prey escorted Giffen in a few moments later. He looked well fed and well rested. Knarr had heard that Giffen had struck some kind of deal that kept him out of a dungeon cell, and he seemed to be taking full advantage of it.

  “I understand you’re having some trouble with the doorway,” Giffen said.

  The mock concern in Giffen’s voice made Knarr want to punch him in the mouth. No wonder the man was so reviled around here. Knarr didn’t know the extent of the man’s crimes in Klaar, but he’d heard whispers. Nobody would miss the man if he suddenly tripped and accidentally fell on several daggers.

  That the steward tolerated the man was proof enough how badly she wanted the doorway to work.

  “It has been assembled properly. I’m sure of that at least,” Knarr said. “But the settings. I don’t know them.”

  Giffen’s face remained carefully blank. “Oh?”

  “I thought you might have some notion,” Knarr said.

  “Notion?” Still blank.

  “Since you’d spent a lot of money on the missing gems and other parts to repair the doorway, I thought it likely you had some plans to use it,” Knarr said.

  “Oh. I see,” Giffen said. “Yes, I suppose the door would be useless unless someone knew the proper settings.” He smiled at the steward. “Utterly useless.”

  “Giffen, enough,” Stasha Benadicta said, voice sharp with barely concealed impatience. “Do you know the settings or not?”

  “And if I did, how might that benefit me?”

  Stasha’s eyes narrowed. “Do hot meals and a soft bed bore you already? Have you forgotten what it was like in the dungeon? Perhaps we should go back to the old way and bring in Bune and Lubin for these conversations.”

  “I’ll never talk that way,” Giffen said. “Not anymore. And if you kill me in a fit of anger, it might take you years to stumble upon the right combination of runes.”

  Stasha Benadicta took a long, deep breath, then let it out slowly. “What do you want?”

  “Better wine and food. Better clothing. A bigger room with a window.”

  “Very well.”

  “Not so fast,” Giffen said. “Those are just the little things. I want something else, or just forget about getting any information from me.”

  “Go on.”

  “When that doorway opens, I want to go through it.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  Giffen sneered. “I’m not suggesting you let me off your leash, Lady Steward. I simply mean that I want to see what is on the other side. I spent a lot of time and energy and money to get this doorway working again. I want to at last see the result.”

  Stasha thought a moment. “Okay.”

  Giffen grinned and rubbed his hands together. He approached the doorway and started turning the gem housing, each to a specific rune setting. When he’d clicked the last setting into place, the gems glowed and again the entire doorway hummed as if magic flowed through it.

  The Birds of Prey stopped playing dice, stood, and came closer, eyes wide.

  Darshia arrived just in time to see. The group formed a semicircle, all facing the door in wonder. Giffen stepped back.

  The stone wall within the arch turned black as night, then started to swirl, other colors bleeding in one at a time. At first it was all just a mess of colors and shapes, but slowly it started to form into something recognizable.

  At long last, the doorway had opened.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  At the end of a long hall in the living quarters there was an ornate set of double doors made of some glossy dark wood, inlaid with gems. No ring or knob to open them. Like the doors hidden in the walls and use
d by the servants to come and go, this door had also been forbidden to the guest. Politely forbidden, but forbidden nonetheless.

  Brasley, Talbun, and Olgen stood in front of the door again, pondering how to get inside.

  “We could take one of the beds apart,” Brasley said. “And use the headboard as a battering ram.”

  “The doors look pretty sturdy,” Talbun said. “You might scratch it, I suppose.”

  “I don’t think the servants would like it if we tried to bash down one of their doors,” Olgen said.

  “Probably not.” Brasley shuffled his feet, yawned.

  Talbun stepped forward and knocked on the door. Loudly.

  Predictably, three of the white-skinned servants appeared behind them, bowing and jabbering apologies.

  But not opening the door.

  Talbun lifted her chin, summoned her most regal manner, and addressed them in the ancient Fyrian she’d been practicing with Olgen. The servants exchanged puzzled glances. Talbun tried again, speaking more slowly.

  She got blank stares in return.

  “Damn it!” She turned to Olgen. “Ask them what’s on the other side of the door.”

  Olgen and one of the servants exchanged words.

  “That is the hall of the great masters,” Olgen said.

  “By masters does she mean the wizards?”

  Olgen shrugged. “I believe so, milady. Although I can’t be sure.”

  “Tell them I am one of the masters,” Talbun said.

  Olgen stared at her.

  “Tell them.”

  Olgen relayed the message. There was a fat pause as the servants exchanged disbelieving looks. Then they started shaking their heads and jabbering again. Olgen listened intently, frowning as he tried to follow what they were saying.

  “Do they think I’m lying?”

  “Not quite, milady,” Olgen said. “The chamber on the other side of the door is indeed reserved for wizards only, but you are not known to them. It’s rather that—hmmm, what’s the word—you’re not on their roster, so to speak.”

  “Turn one of them into a fruit bat,” Brasley suggested. “That should establish your credentials well enough.”

  “That’s not a bad idea,” Talbun said.

  “I was joking.”

  “I don’t mean I’m going to do anything harmful to them, idiot. But it might help to show them who I am.”

  Talbun stepped forward, spitting out the syllables to the spell, making her hand gestures a little more dramatic than they needed to be. I’ll show these pale bitches who’s one of the masters.

  A globe of white light the size of an apple sprang into existence, hovering in the air a few inches above Talbun’s open palm. The servants shrank from the sudden brilliance. They jabbered quickly to one another, then scurried into one of the servants’ doorways. It quickly closed behind them, becoming a smooth wall again.

  “You have a spell that makes light?” Brasley asked. “Would have been nice if you’d used that back when I was fumbling in the dark for a lantern.”

  “Once I use the spell, it’s gone until I study it again from a spell book,” Talbun explained. “So I was saving it. Anyway, you found the lantern, so stop complaining.”

  Brasley frowned. “I’m just glad I didn’t trip and fall down the—”

  A loud clunk drew their attention back to the doors. Slowly they opened inward, lights flickering to life in the chamber beyond.

  “It worked,” Brasley said breathlessly.

  “I’m a little surprised too,” Talbun said.

  The three of them slowly entered, pausing just inside the doorway. Talbun muttered a few words, and the sphere of light dissolved into the air. They stood a moment, gawking at the large chamber.

  The ceiling was too far above them to be seen. The chamber simply rose and rose into the dizzying distance. Chains hung down, holding up a cluster of the magical light globes thirty feet over their heads. The floor and walls were the same glossy black they’d seen before, gold trim around the edges. Numerous shelves with many leather-bound books. Tables to the left and right with arcane devices, beakers and potions and magical miscellany. A huge stone structure like a tomb dominated the chamber, humping up from the floor as if carved from the same material. Before the tomb stood three pedestals, a different object atop each. Not a speck of dust anywhere.

  “Don’t touch anything,” Talbun whispered. “Just follow me.”

  Slowly they approached the tomb.

  Calling it a tomb turned out to be a good guess. A figure on top lay carved in stone, hands crossed over chest as if in his final rest. The carving was expertly detailed, an old man in wizard’s robes, bald and wrinkled, a moustache but no beard.

  “Do you think . . . Is it possible this is the last resting place of the master magician?” Talbun’s voice was heavy with reverence.

  “The Great Library was his stronghold,” Olgen said. “I mean . . . well . . . it’s possible, I suppose. Look. Runes.”

  Neither Talbun nor Olgen could decipher the runes at the foot of the tomb. Brasley didn’t even try.

  Instead he turned his attention to the objects on the pedestals.

  The first object was a book. Everything in this place was in a language long dead, so why bother? He skipped to the next pedestal. A thick bracelet of silver, more unreadable runes all the way around it. He leaned in to take a closer look. There didn’t seem to be anything special about it. Talbun had told them not to touch anything, but really where was the harm?

  He picked it up slowly between thumb and forefinger, braced himself for the world to end.

  Nothing happened.

  He held it in the palm of his hand. Heavy. Solid silver. Certainly valuable.

  But a place of honor at the foot of the tomb of history’s greatest wizard? Obviously, Brasley was missing something. Maybe if—

  “I can’t believe it,” Talbun said suddenly.

  Brasley hastily shoved the bracelet into the pocket of his breeches. He didn’t want to be caught touching things without permission, and the wizard’s scoldings were far from pleasant. He hastily moved down to the third pedestal to pretend he was examining the object there.

  “I just can’t believe it,” Talbun repeated. “This is the master magician’s workshop. Every wizard alive would give her left arm to be here.”

  Brasley breathed a sigh of relief. Talbun hadn’t noticed what he’d done. Still, just to be on the safe side, he pretended to examine the—

  He lost his train of thought as he stared at the object on the pedestal.

  Three objects actually. One was a flat square of brass. Pieces had been cut out in roughly the shape of a hand but with numerous designs Brasley didn’t recognize. All of this magical nonsense confounded him. The second object was a scroll case, gleaming silver with no decoration at all. The final object looked like an inkwell, but he could see through the clear glass that it was empty. Why an empty inkwell should rate a pedestal—

  Brasley looked closer. The inkwell seemed empty, but there was some sort of distortion inside. He realized it wasn’t empty at all, but filled with some kind of clear liquid. At a glance it seemed nothing was there at all, but when he squinted, the scene through the clear glass seemed to bend.

  Clear ink? Maybe it’s magical, or . . .

  He stood up straight, eyes wide. “This is it.”

  Brasley turned to the others. “This is it! A tattoo. The stencil and the ink. This is what Rina sent us to get!”

  Talbun stood at the first pedestal, running a hand over the book, eyes filled with wonder. “This is the master magician’s spell book. Keep your tattoos. I don’t care about anything else.” A slow smile spread across her face. “This book is mine.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Rina went out with all the others to watch the approach of the enemy ships. Dozens from the ducal palace stood watching from the top floor. From there, they could see miles out to sea but also down into the harbor. They all crowded the rail—mai
ds, valets, soldiers, petty functionaries, and one ink mage. All shoulder to shoulder, wide eyes, as one ship rolled in after another and after another and after another and . . .

  There’s too many. I tried to tell them.

  She tapped into the spirit so she could focus her eyes the best she could. From here she could just make out the delegation on the harbor wall. The duke and his advisors and Maxus. A delegation from the Perranese ships came across the wharf and stood shouting up at the duke. No matter how much she strained, Rina couldn’t hear what they were saying. Even tapped into the spirit, it was too far. But she could guess.

  The Perranese are demanding a surrender, I bet. Telling the duke he can save a lot of lives if he capitulates now. Emilio is probably telling him to sod off.

  It was a good enough guess. Nobody had lost anything yet. After it got bloody, the delegations would meet again.

  It might be too late by then.

  She jammed a chuma stick into the corner of her mouth and smoked it while she watched a while longer. More ships came over the horizon as the two delegations said whatever they said, probably predictable things, threats, appeals to reason, bravado. She didn’t know that much about Emilio, but what Rina did know didn’t make her optimistic. She couldn’t imagine anything they might be saying that would avert a battle, blood, and death.

  She smoked and watched.

  Eventually the Perranese returned to their ships, and the duke and his delegation left the wall.

  The ships kept coming.

  Instinctively, Rina knew nothing had been accomplished. Formalities had been observed.

  Those around her kept watching, wide-eyed. Their fear was so thick, Rina almost couldn’t stand it. She had no words of comfort, no reassurances. These weren’t her people. She moved away from the balcony, looking for a private corner to be alone and smoke and try to figure out what she was supposed to do here.

  The death priest’s words plagued her. The southern path pays a debt.

  She’d fought a battle, been captured, escaped, and made her way south when every other sane person was fleeing north, yet she still had no idea what Krell’s words meant. The city was under siege. Maybe she could help. That’s all she could guess. Looking at the ships crowding the harbor, it seemed less and less likely she could do a damn thing. Coming here had probably been a mistake.