Liar's Blade

by Tim Pratt

  Wonderful. Now Rodrick only had to fight one hag. Of course, she wasn't being petrified before his eyes. He scrambled to his feet, knives extended, watching the monster. Her face shimmered, briefly, and became that of the foxlike beauty he'd met on the rocks, her features rendered grotesque by their appearance on such a monstrous body. She was too close for him to throw a knife effectively, but if he moved close enough to slash with his blades, those terrible claws would cut him open.

  "Hello, lover," she cooed. "I will eat you starting with your feet, I think, so you can watch yourself disappear down my throat—"

  The feathered end of an arrow appeared in one of her eye sockets, with another appearing a second later in her other eye, and the illusory face vanished as the hag groaned and fell backward. Rodrick didn't take time to ponder his good fortune, pivoting on his heel to whip one of his daggers through the air at the hag Zaqen was fighting. The creature's left side was nearly entirely stone now, but luckily, Rodrick's knife struck her on the right side, in the throat.

  The hag shrieked, and Zaqen opened her mouth and spewed acid directly into her hideous face. The hag might have survived that attack, but two arrows took her in the face as well, and she fell to the ice.

  For a moment, all was silence, save for the lapping of the river against their platform of ice. Rodrick and Zaqen turned in the direction the arrows had come from, and beheld a man dressed in furs and leathers walking toward them, bow in hand. He strode across the surface of the river as though it were the marble floor of a ballroom. "Hail, adventurers!" he called, in a distressingly loud and cheerful voice.

  Obed burst from the water and dragged himself naked onto the platform of ice. His lack of clothing didn't appear to bother him, which was fortunate, as his spare clothes were on the back of a horse that had swum away. Rodrick got his first good look at Obed's features—he was astonishingly pale in the moonlight, and had a long face, thin arching eyebrows, dark eyes, and no hair at all. He had noble features, in a way, though Rodrick couldn't place his ethnicity or nationality at a glance, something he was usually adept at—such rapid classifications were very helpful when trying to swindle someone out of their material wealth.

  "Nice of you to join us," Rodrick said.

  Obed looked at him coldly. "There were two other hags, beneath the water. I slew them both, before dragging down a third. How many did you kill?"

  Rodrick blinked. "Right. Very good. I should have known. I didn't kill any, technically, though I helped with one. But only because of our new friend there." He inclined his head toward the approaching man, who was obviously some sort of deep-woods ranger. "We were lucky he—"

  "He's no friend of mine," Obed said.

  "Be gracious, master," Zaqen murmured. "He may have saved our lives, and at the very least, he saved us some trouble. Rodrick might have died, at the very least."

  "That would have been a great misfortune," Obed said. He suddenly looked alarmed. "Where is the sword? Hrym?"

  Rodrick shook his head. "Fell into the water." He pointed. "He'll be fine, he's just on the bottom waiting to be retrieved—"

  Obed dove back into the river immediately. Rodrick watched him vanish beneath the surface and shrugged. "Saves me the trouble of swimming down there myself, I guess."

  The archer reached their icy platform, and Rodrick walked toward him, grinning and extending a hand. The fellow had a touch of the elven about him, his ears noticeably pointed, and he stood a head taller than Rodrick. He had sun- and wind-worn features and a smile so wide he might have been reuniting with a long-lost brother instead of meeting strangers for the first time. He took Rodrick's hand in a grip that was crushing in its intensity, but Rodrick sensed the man wasn't trying to show off his strength or intimidate him—he was just the sort of person who never did anything halfway.

  "I've been wanting to clear out that coven for the best part of year!" the archer said, voice booming and hale. "But it was impossible to get them alone one by one, and I couldn't best five of them at once. I'm lucky you lot came along."

  "We're lucky you came along," Zaqen purred, and Rodrick looked at her, surprised. Zaqen hardly made a habit of sounding so sweet and welcoming, though the archer had just saved them from possible death.

  "My name is Cilian," he said. "The wind and the fires told me I would make great friends this day, and their omens guided me truly. May I know your names?"

  Omens? Oh, dear. Maybe Gozreh really was taking an interest in their party—or perhaps Cilian was just a bit deluded. Rodrick had known plenty of superstitious folk over the years who saw portents where he only saw random happenstance. Their credulity could often be turned to advantage. "My name is Rodrick," he said. "I'm a warrior by trade, escorting the wizard Zaqen and her master, the cleric Obed, to Brevoy."

  "Obed would be the naked fellow, then," Cilian said, just as the priest's hands appeared on the side of the platform, one gripping the ice, the other holding Hrym.

  "I missed all the fun," Hrym was grumbling. "I've never been inside a hag before; that would have been interesting." Rodrick hurried across the ice, taking Hrym in his hand and only then helping to pull Obed out of the water.

  "A sword that speaks!" Cilian said. "Truly you are heroes destined for legend!"

  "The archer's name is Cilian," Rodrick told the priest, who shook off his helping hand as if Rodrick's very touch was unclean. "He was a longtime enemy of that coven of hags."

  "Then we have done him a favor by killing so many of them." Obed stared at the ranger. "That is good. That means we do not owe him anything."

  "Indeed, I owe you," Cilian said. "And I will repay you by helping you make your way through these wild lands."

  "Our party is not looking for further members," Obed said, but to Rodrick's surprise, Zaqen sidled up to him.

  "Master. Given that our path takes us through the wilderness, we could benefit from the service of someone with knowledge of such terrain." She smiled. "And you know I have a fondness for half-breeds."

  "If he interferes with our mission—" Obed began, but Zaqen said, "Yes, of course, I know, master."

  The priest approached the ranger. "Very well, then, Cilian. We welcome you, and we are ...grateful ...for your offer to help."

  "And I am glad to meet you." Cilian beamed. "I have never spoken with a gillman before. Why are you so far from the sea?"

  After a long moment of silence, Zaqen began to titter.

  "My wizard will explain later," Obed said, and then dove into the river and began swimming for shore.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  After Zaqen harvested the eyes of the hags on the cold platform, Hrym iced the party a bridge to shore. They recovered the horses and the camel—which had all swum to shore and then stood around in a huddle, unwilling to venture into the dark—and made camp on dry-ish land.

  Once they were settled, Zaqen sat down with Rodrick, Hrym, and Cilian to provide the promised explanation. Obed was, as usual, off by himself, though he was being even sulkier than normal.

  "It's true," Zaqen said. "My master is not human, but a gillman."

  "A Low Azlanti," Rodrick said. "Remarkable."

  "Don't let him hear you call him that," Zaqen said. "He prefers to be called a true Azlanti, which is fair enough, since the gillmen are the only living remnants of that empire."

  "That explains why he's always taking baths and jumping in ponds, anyway," Hrym said. "Gillmen can't survive long without submerging in water, can they?"

  "He has a magical ring, actually," Zaqen said. "It allows him to breathe air indefinitely, and protects his skin from the ravages of life on dry land. An item like that is quite the prized possession among his people. He doesn't need to get in the water, not with that magic, but he misses the sea, and submerging regularly makes him feel better. I'm sure if you had a ring that granted you the ability to breathe water, allowing you to stay below the surface forever, you'd still want to crawl out of the water and feel the sun on your skin from time to time."

&nb
sp; "Fair enough," Rodrick said. "But what would possess a gillman to go on such a long journey over land? Surely Gozreh has work for him beneath the waves, and could have sent a priest who doesn't have gills to Brevoy?"

  Zaqen nodded. "My master has been reluctant to share all the details with you, because he is naturally a private man, and a bit suspicious of land-dwellers as a rule, but he has given me permission to share this much. We are indeed going to retrieve an artifact of Gozreh—but that artifact is hidden in a vault in the icy depths of the Lake of Mists and Veils, a wild and haunted body of water in the north of Brevoy. While we have with us certain magical items that can help land-dwellers like you and I navigate the watery realms, we're sure to be disoriented in such strange circumstances. My master has spent his entire life in the water, and is adroit at navigating in the lightless depths and looking out for danger that can come from any direction, including above or below. He is our best hope to actually breach the vault and claim the artifact."

  Rodrick didn't like the idea of trying to break into any place submerged in a freezing lake, but he decided to table that objection. Zaqen was in a forthcoming mood, and he meant to take advantage of that. "Exactly what is the artifact?"

  Zaqen shook her head. "In truth, even I do not know. Its nature was vouchsafed to my master in a vision. But he assures me it will vastly enhance the glory of his god."

  "An epic quest!" Cilian rubbed his hands together happily. "Truly, meeting you is part of my fate!"

  "While you're in the mood to reveal secrets," Hrym said, "if Obed is a gillman, dear Zaqen, may I ask—what exactly are you? You claim to be human, and a wizard—but I have my doubts on both accounts."

  Zaqen giggled again.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Sorcerer She

  I am human, sword," Zaqen said. "I'm not even really a half-breed like our friend Cilian here, no offense—"

  "None taken," the huntsman said. "My parents loved one another very much, and each lent me their own strengths."

  Zaqen nodded. "Lucky you. Both my parents were human. I can't speak to the ‘love' part—love was not a sacrament of the particular nameless cult to which they were devoted. Theirs is not a religion I share, by the way, so fear not. Despite my human parents, there is reason to believe there is a certain ...strangeness ...to my ancestry. There are stories in the family that one of my great-grandparents was known to consort with ...let's call them ‘monsters,' for want of a better word. And some of those unions bore fruit, and those bore fruit in turn, and so here I am, essentially an ordinary woman, but with a certain peculiar twist to my bloodline. Some would call it a taint, but I've never found it anything but a help to me, though it can be awkward sometimes."

  "What sort of monsters?" Rodrick said.

  "I wasn't there at the time," Zaqen said. "So I could not say for certain. I don't think it was any sort of dragon. Or a devil. Or an elemental. I do not show the ...typical results ...of those sorts of ancestry. But there are other possibilities."

  There were stranger creatures, Rodrick knew. Many-eyed, many-mouthed, gibbering horrors from realms of madness, or their progeny on this world. Hadn't she called the will-o'-wisps "cousins?" But that wasn't the sort of thing you accused someone of in polite company. Or even company as rough as this.

  "And how about the wizard part?" Hrym said. "It's just that—and I hate to point this out—I've never once seen you even look at a book or scroll."

  She shrugged. "True enough. I am not a wizard. I have never formally studied magic, though I have studied history, and have learned a great deal of forbidden and forgotten knowledge in the process. My magic comes naturally, not from study. I am a sorcerer. That touch of strange in my bloodline lends me a certain natural ability, which I have cultivated and learned to enhance over the years. As a rule, it's better to tell people you're a wizard—if you say ‘sorcerer' they start worrying about you accidentally unleashing storms of magic, destroying towns, turning horses into heaps of smoking meat, and so on. We sorcerers have a not-entirely-undeserved reputation for losing control, though it has been many years since I've had an accident."

  "So our entire relationship is built upon a foundation of lies." Rodrick smiled. "Good, good. I'm comfortable with that." He wondered what else they were lying about. One of the classic techniques of the trickster was to reveal a secret truth, so the mark would believe they'd been taken into your confidence, and having uncovered one lie, would not be quick to look for another. Someone telling him the truth just made Rodrick look that much harder for the next lie.

  "We're coming clean now," Zaqen said. "We just didn't know you very well earlier. You can't blame us for holding back. Does the fact that I'm a sorcerer and my master is a gillman change your willingness to work with us?"

  "Not particularly," Rodrick said. "Gold is gold."

  Zaqen shrugged. "Then the information was irrelevant anyway." She turned her attention to Cilian. "And you—you'll escort us out of Loric Fells?"

  "I have gazed into your fire," Cilian said, "and seen bewitching shapes there. I think I will join you for the remainder of your quest."

  Zaqen blinked. "Ah. I fear my master may not be willing to hire you—"

  "I require no payment." Cilian waved the issue away as though gold were the least important thing in the world, instead of the most. "I am guided by destiny, you see, and that destiny has led me to you. I believe that your quest will be my path to the Brightness."

  The sorcerer frowned. "The Brightness?"

  Hrym spoke up. "Brightness seekers are elves in search of enlightenment. The natural world gives them signs and omens to help guide them along the path of destiny, which can take ...peculiar forms. They're mystics, often revered by their people, and some are said to have the ability to channel aspects of their own past lives, and to predict the future."

  "Right and right!" Cilian said happily. "That is my path, though I am only just beginning, and all the portents point to you, my new friends. I would join my fate to yours."

  "Ah." Rodrick cleared his throat. "I hate to point out the obvious, and perhaps I'm confused, but ..."

  "You're not an elf," Hrym said. "Half-elf, certainly, it's right there in the ears, but only actual elf elves can become Brightness Seekers, as I understand it. Something to do with their connection to the primal, natural ...what have you."

  Cilian nodded. "Yes. I have heard this too. But you must understand—I have always been restless. I left my home when I was young, and made my way into the forest, always in search of something, though I knew not what. And for these past many months, I see omens everywhere. In the movements of flocks of birds, the arrangement of stones falling down a mountainside, the leaping of fish in rivers, the flicker of flames ...all hold truths and secrets and guidance for me, to be read as clearly as words on a page. Perhaps my elven ancestry is just unusually strong? What other explanation could there be for these signs and visions I behold all around me? For the way the world points me in one direction or another?"

  You being a complete lunatic would explain it, Rodrick thought. For one.

  Cilian rose. "It is nearly dawn. You must all be hungry after your ordeal. I will see what I can find for our breakfast."

  Rodrick said, "Could you find something other than fish, do you think? No offense to fish, of course, but I've eaten an awful lot of it lately."

  "Of course!" Cilian said. "For my new partners in destiny, anything." He strolled off toward a stand of trees, bow in hand, whistling cheerfully.

  "Well, he's mad," Hrym said. "Shame to see such mental disorder in one so young, but there you have it."

  "Yes," Zaqen said. "Not that I have anything against the mad, generally, but it's definitely a point of interest."

  "If he can bring me a rabbit or something instead of a trout, I'll happily help him find his Brightness, whatever that is," Rodrick said. "You don't think he'll look into the fire one night and decide the omens say he should murder us all, do you?"

  "That's another
point of interest," Zaqen said. "I'm more concerned with what he'll do if we tell him he can't come with us once we get out of Loric Fells. I'm not sure how well he'd take to us meddling in his fate if my master refuses to accept him."

  "I suspect he'd cheerfully ignore us and just keep walking alongside," Rodrick said. "Besides, he's a ranger. As long as we're out in the country, he could probably follow us secretly from a dozen yards away, and we'd never even notice. We may as well make use of him—parts of Brevoy are quite rough and wild, too. He could prove useful. Another armed man we don't have to pay, who thinks protecting us is his destiny? There's no downside."

  Zaqen sighed. "I hope my master feels the same way."

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Cilian returned with a duck, plucking its feathers as he came, so it was very nearly ready to cook by the time he got to camp. "There is a troll some distance to the west, but our path should not trouble him." Cilian joined them around the fire, where even Obed was warming his hands in the morning chill. "This general area is fairly safe—that coven of hags kept most of the other dangerous creatures away, and it will be some time before other monsters move in to take their place."

  "My sorcerer tells me you wish to accompany us for our entire quest." Obed stared into the flames as if they were a hated enemy when he spoke. He didn't bother with keeping his hood up, now that they'd all seen the delicate gills on his neck.

  Rodrick busied himself spearing the duck's carcass on a stick and arranging it over the fire, trying to appear uninterested, but he was keenly attuned to Obed's tone and body language. He wanted Cilian to join the party. Though he'd become grudgingly fond of Zaqen, strange as she was, his suspicions about Obed's true motives had only grown stronger. If things took a treacherous turn, he might be able to cultivate the half-elf as an ally.