The Spear of Stars

by Edward W. Robertson

  "We must make the same choice!" Gladdic said.

  "We save Raxa," Dante said. "And if we can kill the priest, so much the better."

  He jogged toward the ethermancers, blackening the air above himself with shadows and channeling them toward Adaine in a black, swirling tube, a horizontal tornado. Adaine attempted to parry it, but his ether crumbled. He dropped back three steps, his priests retreating with him.

  One of the priests gasped, stumbling back and clutching his side, bleeding from a stray blade of nether. Without his strength, the others were obliged to fall back further yet.

  Raxa now lay alone on the ground. Blays tumbled out of the shadows and pounced on her, slinging her over his shoulder. He'd taken two whole steps when a crowd of people shot from the alley like water from a pipe, rushing him with sticks, knives, and bare hands.

  Behind Dante, people were clambering over the wreckage of the tower, hurling bits of broken masonry at the intruders. Ahead, Blays drew his sword and tried to wave off the crowd, but they pressed closer, smelling blood. Blays bared his teeth and made to run through them, waving his sword dramatically, hoping to scare them off without harming any of them.

  The crowd pulled back in fear, opening a small ring around Blays. Then a woman twisted her face in anger, skipped forward, and threw a rock. It hit the back of Blays' skull, blood spraying from the gash. He grunted and pitched forward, losing hold of Raxa. She fell to the ground. She wasn't moving.

  Blays straightened, brandishing his sword anew. Rocks flew at him from all sides. Men jabbed at him with wooden poles sharpened at the ends. Blays cut off the tips with his sword, sparks of nether shooting away from the contact, but others pressed closer, knives in hand. Blays yelled out in pain—someone had jabbed him in the back—and dropped into the shadows.

  Dante broke into a dead run, drawing his Odo Sein sword with his right hand and filling his left with nether. A man kicked Raxa in the ribs. Another struck her with a staff. Dante sent the shadows screaming toward her attackers. Their heads ceased to exist, blowing raggedly across the faces of those cheering the attackers on.

  A wall of people ringed Raxa in. Dante hacked his sword across them, the charged blade ripping through them with little resistance. There was screaming now. He didn't care. Two men stood over Raxa, gaping dumbly, knives in hand. Dante disintegrated them both.

  The mob dispersed like water down a drain. Dante crouched to pick up Raxa. Blays reemerged from the shadows, grimacing as he helped lift her. Dante touched her with the shadows. Her heart was beating, but it was as if she'd been tranquilized.

  Gray robes flapped down the street; Adaine and the surviving priests were in retreat. So were the crowds, leaving behind dozens of dead and a smattering of others watching Dante in horror as they dragged the wounded away from the street.

  Gladdic and Sorrowen jogged over to join Dante and Blays. Wordless, they retreated too. But Dante already knew there would be no escaping the carnage of the day.

  7

  That night, the city burned.

  They watched from the towers of the keep that had once housed the kings and queens of Bressel. Drakebane Yoto, the keep's new ruler, watched with them. The fires started near the borders of the Redoubt, little sparks in the darkness, but soon grew broad and orange. The smell of smoke hung in the air, plumes of it blowing out to sea and hazing the stars.

  Dante had healed Blays' numerous wounds, which had been bloody but unserious. Raxa was awake; Adaine had used the ether to put her into a comatose state, but Gladdic had undone her condition easily.

  Raxa rested her arms on the parapet. "This is a shitshow. You should have left me captive."

  "Probably," Dante said. "But we didn't."

  She turned with a snort. "Because of it, they're rioting. Burning down their own neighborhoods. You got any plans to stop them?"

  "Well, we just killed scores of them," Blays said. "So we could turn ourselves over to be killed by them. Personally, I'd rather let them burn their own city for a while and see if they get tired of it."

  "We didn't kill those people," Dante said.

  "Then what were you doing when you blasted through them in a quite literal storm of blood? Examining their innards for harmful disease?"

  "That was after Adaine dropped the tower on them. If he hadn't done that, they would never have been worked up enough to assault us."

  "Yes, and they think you smashed them with the tower. How are you going to prove it was Adaine? Torture him with hot pokers in the public square until he declares your innocence?"

  "His treachery runs deeper than you comprehend," Gladdic said. "After examining the events of the day, I have concluded that Adaine set them all in motion intentionally, with the express purpose of turning the city against us."

  "He didn't know I was going to drop the abandoned tower," Dante said. "That's what stirred up the mob in the first place."

  Raxa flicked a bit of gravel off the parapet. "But he knew you were coming for us."

  Gladdic nodded. "Then I have no doubt it was intentional. He may even have warned the citizens that foreigners would shortly be coming to attack them, which is why the mob was so swift to form, and so angry in mood."

  Dante pressed his lips into a thin line. "Even if he had the foresight to do that, how did he know we'd escape from his ambush in the white tower? Or that if he and his priests took Raxa into the street, we'd somehow find them and kick off a fight he could use to attack the mob and blame it on us?"

  "How did he know all these things?" Gladdic said. "It is very simple. He speaks to Taim."

  Dante sighed noisily.

  "I have decided what we'll do about the riots," Yoto said, breaking his long silence. "We will do nothing."

  Blays rested his elbows on the wall. "And you have my unwavering service in accomplishing that."

  "That's probably the best move," Dante said. "They'll never listen to us until they've had time to spend some of their anger."

  "Then let's hope they run out of anger before they run out of city."

  They were all silent for a time, listening to the shouts from below, the smashing of glass and the dull roar of the fires.

  "You can't deal with the mob," Raxa said. "But you might be able to deal with Adaine."

  Dante gave her a look. "If we murder the acting leader of the priesthood, the priests will take to the streets as well. Except they'll be a mob with the power to blast things apart by pointing at them."

  "I meant strike a deal with him. He's not crazy."

  "Just a perfectly reasonable fellow who will slaughter his own people the second it benefits him."

  "Have you talked to him? Because I have."

  "I have as well," Yoto said. "I found no room for compromise."

  Raxa folded her arms, staring straight at the emperor like he was no more than a laborer who'd jostled her at a pub. "Can't imagine why he's unwilling to work with you when you insist on keeping control of his city for yourself."

  The emperor stood taller, staring down at her with the force that only a lifetime of authority could bequeath. "Who are you to question me?"

  "Someone who hasn't yet met a blueblood she wouldn't throw out of a window."

  "For you, such an act is a fantasy. But at my command, you would be sailing from this tower in a second."

  "In contrast to his lordship," Blays said without missing a beat, "I am just a humble idiot. But might I suggest that, as the city erupts with infighting, we not follow its lead?"

  The corner of Yoto's mouth twitched, but if he was about to smile, he suppressed it. He made a small gesture of dismissal or forgiveness.

  "I can't give up this seat," he said. "Not when my homeland has been erased of my people. The few thousand I brought with me to this city are all the Tanarians left alive in the world. I can't entrust their survival to anyone but myself."

  Dante scratched his thumbnail across his brow. "What if there's a compromise? You could even split the city. Keep a district for yourself whi
le restoring most of Bressel to the Mallish."

  "If we give up everything but a fraction of the city, that gives the Mallish power over us. You're insane if you think they won't seek immediate revenge."

  "Adaine might put his revenge on hold if we bring him to see the army on its way to destroy us."

  "You don't understand. Even if I hadn't harmed his king and his people, and had good reason to think he'd keep his word, I still couldn't trust him. He's a follower of the eleven-and-one gods."

  "The Celeset?" Dante said. "So what?"

  Yoto made his conciliatory gesture again. "It's not the fault of the Celeset. It's the fault of any order that puts the words of the gods over that of its people."

  "Ruling humans is sort of what gods do. That's what makes them gods."

  "But the gods aren't the supreme authority. Not when they can be made to say whatever the priests who speak for them want them to say."

  "What, you've got a better system?"

  "Of course we do. And you spent long enough in Tanar Atain to have seen it."

  "You refer to the notion of the Body," Gladdic said.

  Yoto nodded. "For the people are of one Body. I am the Crown, my ministers and mayors are the Head, my clergy the Heart, and so on. Everyone has a place within the Body; be they the lowest peasant, we're all a part of the same whole. The Righteous Monsoon thinks it oppressive to slot people into these roles, and that this is just a way to justify my own wealth and power, but in truth it's a grave responsibility: for if the Head doesn't take care of the rest of its numerous parts, the Body will weaken—and then soon die. And the Head will die with it.

  "So I am responsible for the lives and well-being of all of my people, down to the lowliest frogcatchers and snail-pickers. I always have to do what's right by them, or I'll harm myself, too. This forges a sacred covenant between the ruler and his people.

  "Adaine is under no such covenant. All he has to do is follow the decisions of the gods. So if I put my fate in Adaine's hands, and he decides that Taim wants my people put to the sword, there's nothing to stop him. The last people of Tanar Atain will die. That is why I am bound by my strictest duty to keep the portions of my Body safe from the whims of outside control."

  "Then there is no cutting this knot," Gladdic said. "For it is the stance of the priesthood—and the stance I myself hold—that guidance cannot be found in the flawed minds of men, but only in the laws of the gods. Any ruler who turns his back on the guidance of the divine will inevitably lead his people to doom."

  "That is his own business. And yours, if that is what you hold."

  Dante watched the crowds moving through the street. From that high up, and in the darkness of the night, they looked less like a gathering of individuals and more like amorphous tendrils, almost like the nether itself, probing forward in search of the blood that gave it life.

  "You're missing something here, Yoto," he said. "You think that by taking charge of Bressel, you're keeping your people safe. But you're missing the tradeoff at play. If holding to your position means we're stuck with a divided Bressel, our chances of defeating the White Lich plummet. So which is really the greater danger to you? Temporarily entrusting your people to the rule of the Mallish, allowing us to stand together? Or insisting on perfect sovereignty, knowing it could mean the death of us all?"

  "Sovereignty. That's the only choice a just ruler will ever make for his people." The Drakebane's voice held no doubt or hesitation. "We have chewed this matter to the gristle. What's clear is that anything we try to do now will only make the flames hotter. For now, this remains my city—and it's my command that all of you step back and wait for the fires to burn out. Only when the mob has calmed can we hope to undo what we've done this day."

  With a flap of his cape, he left the rooftop. After a minute, Raxa announced she was off to find a drink, although Dante had the odd suspicion she really meant to check in on Sorrowen, who had exhausted his powers during the battle and was currently resting.

  Gladdic observed the streets a little while longer, as if he was a haruspex looking to glean meaning from watching the city gut itself.

  At last, he straightened, hand pressed to his stiff back. "I believe I preferred the swamp of Tanar Atain to the one we find ourselves mired in now."

  He shuffled off. Blays took a seat on the parapet, idly sharpening one of his knives. "Does this whole thing strike you as a little strange?"

  "What?" Dante said. "That we came here to strike an alliance, only to inadvertently kill a bunch of people and get everyone mad at each other instead?"

  "No, that part feels completely normal. The part that isn't so normal is that you and I are Mallishers by birth. So what are we doing helping the Tanarians seize the capital? The ghosts of our ancestors are going to have some choice words for us."

  "This hasn't been our home for ages. If they could have, these people would've destroyed Narashtovik a long time ago."

  "Are we sure we're backing the right side in this? Even if Mallon's our enemy, at least they're mostly like us. The Tanarians don't even believe in the Celeset. And they're the ones who invaded Mallon. Like them or hate them, for once, the Mallish are innocent."

  "We're trying to save them both," Dante said. "That means it isn't a matter of who's wrong and who's right. It's a matter of who's more likely to win. The Drakebane and the Odo Sein know how to take down the lich. We have to back them."

  "What happens if we reach a point where the Drakebane's doing more harm than good? Or what if he does win the day, and then decides he'd rather stay in this nice big city than go back to his wretched swamps?"

  "His use is as a weapon against the lich. If your sword breaks, and there's no fixing it, you don't keep carrying it into battle. You cast it aside and pick up a new weapon."

  Dante glanced down into the streets; for a moment he would have sworn he'd heard someone calling his name from far below. He didn't hear the call again.

  ~

  Naran and the Sword of the South set sail for the Plagued Islands at dawn. Assuming typical summer weather, and no special setbacks at their destination, they could be back within a month.

  In the early morning hours, with a summer haze creeping in from the forests around them, the city sounded as placid as it had on their arrival. Yet there was a different quality to the peace: like a raging sailor who has finally drunk himself to sleep, but will wake up by afternoon, and be back at it by dusk.

  The streets were scattered with refuse and loose rock. Yards had been trampled flat. Pockets of the city had been scorched and would likely still be burning if not for the efforts of a more moderate group of ethermancers within the Golden Hammer who had put their skills to use dousing the flames and restoring what they could.

  One of these priests, a spalder named Corson, had gotten in contact with Gladdic over the course of the night. They were old friends, and he had pledged to meet with Gladdic shortly to see if there were ways to reconcile with the Golden Hammer through back channels.

  With no courses of direct action open to him, Dante turned to administration and organization. Two matters loomed foremost: one, coordinating with Nak and the troop of nethermancers the Council was bringing down to the front, and second, finding a way to figure out what the Eiden Rane was up to.

  One of these matters was much simpler to get out of the way than the other. Dante took a cup of Galladese tea to the roof, found a seat in the shade of a leafy trellis, and signaled Nak's loon.

  "Hello, most enlightened leader." Despite the early hour, Nak sounded as bright-eyed as always. As Dante grew older, he was only getting more impressed with Nak's ability to strike an uncanny balance between light mockery and genuine deference to his superiors. "How can I be of service?"

  "How far away are you from Bressel?"

  "Oh, another eight or nine days' march, I'd say. We were delayed by a Mallish militia to the east of Whetton. Quite annoying of them to try to prevent us from coming to their aid. Then again, everything is very con
fused these days, isn't it? One can hardly be surprised that the locals were eager to defend themselves."

  "Please tell me you didn't kill them."

  "Oh no, we were quite scrupulous in avoiding a conflict. Which is more than can be said for them. But it was our very scrupulousness that caused us to lose time. Do you need us to arrive sooner?"

  "Just the opposite. I don't want you to come to Bressel at all."

  "Ah." The furrows on Nak's bald brow were almost visible across the loon. "If we are no longer required, I feel as though the troops might have appreciated that knowledge before we outpaced the militia. Or made the mountain crossing."

  "I'm not telling you to turn around. If anything, I wish I'd told you to bring more troops. But now is not a good time for a bunch of Narashtovik infidels and soldiers to show up in Bressel."

  "Having troubles, are you?"

  "It turns out that stuffing groups of different people with incompatible beliefs into the same city, while one side assassinates the other side's divine ruler, and a third party shows up to mediate, except they've been your sworn enemy for centuries—well, it doesn't make for the most productive negotiating environment."

  "Just how bad has it gotten? Are things burning?"

  "Not all of it," Dante said. "But now is not the time to make the locals think an army of northern death-worshippers is about to march into their city and start roasting firstborns on the altar of Arawn. I want you to stay off the roads and away from settlements. When you get within fifty miles of Bressel, find somewhere secluded and make camp. In fact, it might be best for you to cross over into the Collen Basin until I call for you."

  "That will put us two days' march by road away from Bressel. Three days, if we have to come through the wilds. What happens if this White Lich of yours shows up with less notice than you expect?"

  "Then I'll have made a dreadful mistake, and will have to plug my ears extremely hard to avoid the screams as I flee from the city. But things are far from ideal right now. That makes all of our decisions less than ideal, too."