She folded her mantle over her head and stepped out onto the firm sands. The men surrounded Terrell and Kirin and urged them to follow her into the wastes.
Kirin submitted with ill grace. “Damnit, we’re getting farther away from Sulmona, aren’t we?”
Terrell could feel the acrobat’s worry for his father. *I’m sorry, but this truly may be the swiftest way to reach our goal. If that rock is the thing Shimoor once told me of, I may be able to use it to summon the Ilvar Clan’s help.*
“Help would be good.” Kirin answered aloud, and hurried along at the pace Jina set. He squinted at the dark rock ahead. “Do you think you could send an order to Sulmona to free my father from the mines?”
“If it has a message construct generator spell in place, I can try.” Terrell found himself cheered at the thought of being able to warn Pen about Darnaud.
They both moved a little faster after that, until Jina had to restrain them to a pace she could handle. Despite the miles they had already walked, Terrell felt invigorated. Soon I might be able to do something more than merely run away from Ap Marn’s men! And there are healers in Sulmona who could repair this hole in my head.
Later, as they followed a silent Jina along the crest of the latest dune, Terrell paused and glanced to the west in time to see the lower rim of Mothersun dip below the edge of the world.
Kirin stopped beside him, followed his gaze. “Look at our tracks.”
Terrell did. The sands formed long rolling ridges, not terribly high but endless, and Jina stuck to the top of them as much as possible. Their tracks should have stretched back as far as he could see. Instead, moving grains of sand were busy filling each mark. Barely fifty paces behind the last man in their escort the dune lay featureless again.
He guessed what Kirin had not said. We’re dependent upon these people for guidance in this waste. If they won’t show us a path to Sulmona that we can follow, and you can’t summon help, what chance do we have of finding it on our own?
The jumble of mountains and canyons behind them all bled together into rocky chaos, a dry fortress of mystery hiding the Duermus’ home. Ahead, the sharp spire of Skyrock loomed above them.
Kirin sampled his waterbag sparingly and resumed walking.
He’s avoided sharing his thoughts with me ever since we left the Elders, Terrell thought as he followed. Should I be worried about that?
He looked around at the sprawling sands. Distant hills rose to the north and east, none near enough to be more than bumps on the horizon.
Worried or not, there’s no choice but to keep walking.
CHAPTER 51: CHISAAD
The old temple in Silbariki reappeared around Chisaad with the last light of the Two Suns in its western windows. He swallowed against a sudden pressure in his ears, made sure his cleaning golem still had the loads he’d assigned, and tossed a magelight spell onto the ceiling of the decaying room. Ap Marn’s men, crowded uncomfortably close on the decagram, promptly spread out with their weapons at the ready. Two relieved-looking soldiers, one of them visibly wounded and the other the fast rider that Ap Marn had sent, rushed in and babbled relief at their arrival.
Chisaad checked the ward spells he’d so laboriously cast on the crumbling building. The ones on the personal quarters were still whole, but the vast chamber of the sanctuary had been stripped completely. Not even the nubs of the ancient magics once littering it still remained.
Kirin has been here.
“Where is Fenman?” Ap Marn demanded.
“He took Cottar east with him and sent t’ other four up the north and northeast canyons, chasin’ the escaped prisoner.” The wounded man hung his head and shivered. “And the spooky mage what rescued him.”
“We don’t need him yet,” Chisaad told his coconspirator as he launched prepared guard spells. He soon had the three entrances to the sanctuary warded again. Inside the vast chamber he put up another mage light, not caring if somebody outside the ruins noticed. There wasn’t time to minimize risks; leaving the golem unattended like this was insanely dangerous even though he’d ordered it to go to bed early and sleep. Only recapturing the prince could be important enough to take him away from the Palace now.
He hurried to inspect the shattered manacles and found the metal dull and crumbling, all the binding magic leached from it. Of course. They weren’t forged mundanely so the metal didn’t set normally. Kirin’s quite strong, and the base metal went brittle without the spells. He simply crushed it.
He shivered, discarded the fragments, and busied himself unloading and setting up the tripod that he’d brought and linking its devices into the damaged node under the ruins. It disgusted him to touch the corrupted magic but he steeled himself to finish the task.
Meanwhile Ap Marn had reorganized the shattered local command and assigned one of the men he’d brought to stay with the wounded man. He came up behind Chisaad to demand, “Tell me where he is now, Wizard.”
“In moments, My Lord.” Chisaad lit a graduated time candle to start the spells running. The green crystal atop the device warmed and began to rotate in its brass housing. “I’ve linked my new finder to the spider, each turn it will cast a wider net until it catches him.” Or at least catches the spider, he thought uneasily. He wasn’t sure what he would do if Kirin had killed the eight-legged device, or if the prince found a way to remove it from his head and leave it somewhere. But the Prince’s simulacrum had still been behaving normally before they left the Palace. The spider wasn’t dead then. I’ve recorded hours of its connection to Terrell, so I’ll still be able to sustain the golem for a little while. But not forever.
Ap Marn watched like a wolf, his impatience rigidly held in check. Chisaad remembered again how this man had risen so far in the Imperial service. When Ap Marn’s interests were threatened he could outwork twenty demons—or outwait them. Presently the former Governor said, “I see. The more circles it turns, the farther away he is. But why is it slowing down?”
“The farther it has to look, the broader the sweep of land it must cover,” Chisaad explained, praying it wouldn’t need many more cycles. “Therefore the longer each pass requires.” And the lower the accuracy of the finder. Ten circuits so far. They must be more than twenty miles away by now. It’s been most of four days; how far can they walk in four days? He had no idea. He monitored the marked candle, calculated distances, and tried not to worry as time melted by.
“I expect him to run to the Tonatia and raise the troops there,” Ap Marn remarked. “That’s nearly thirty miles from here across the big lake, but far longer by land. If he’s still slogging through those marshes, will your device find him?”
“Marshes, mountains, canyons or city, it makes no difference, My Lord. If the spider is still spiked to his head, the finder will find him.”
“And if it is not?”
“Then the task gets harder,” Chisaad replied with a forced patience. “Which is why I brought other devices.” He lifted the two-headed dulcimer from his carry-golem and set it up to play. A few strums were enough to prove that Kirin had left the ruined city. Farther would have to wait until he had an indication of direction, as he could waste the night on blind tries and simply exhaust himself.
Ap Marn eyed the devices, refrained from asking questions.
They settled down to an uneasy silent waiting. Halfway through each circuit Chisaad tried the dulcimer again, seeking the void in the world’s magic that Kirin made, and not finding it. Full night had set when, on the twenty-sixth circuit, the rotating gem finally flashed from green to red and stopped. It sent out a pencil-thin beam of light to stripe the floor and mark the cylindrical wall of the old temple.
“They went east!” Chisaad caroled happily, marking the wall with a dab of paint and calculating. “Fifty-two miles from this spot and approximately four degrees south of due east. Terrell must be making for Sulmona, though he can’t have reached it yet.” He tried the dulcimer and detected a faint anomaly. Kirin’s got to be there with him. I can fi
nd them both!
“Impressive,” nodded Ap Marn, visibly estimating distances and locations in his head as he spoke. “Darnaud may be able to intercept him after he settles Sir Penghar.”
“I’ll prepare a message constr—” Chisaad began, when the world flashed purple. He heard a sound like silver trumpets and a chill raised the hairs on his neck. He found himself on his hands and knees with no memory of how he’d gotten there.
Ap Marn bent over him in concern. “Wizard? Wizard! Are you ill? What is wrong?”
“We’ve got to get back to the palace,” Chisaad muttered thickly, fighting off dizziness as he pushed himself to his feet. He couldn’t afford to show weakness. “Right now!”
“Why?”
“The Queen is dead. The Stone Throne has summoned the Twenty to choose a new King.”
CHAPTER 52: KIRIN AND TERRELL
A too familiar chill returned to the air as the Suns vanished; Kirin shivered. Soon after the stars came out but before the twilight faded, Jina led them to a trail that turned to a paved path at the foot of Skyrock. It wandered between outflung ridges radiating from the central spire. Kirin welcomed the relief the ridge granted from the incessant wind, and knew Terrell did the same. He resisted the temptation to touch that busy mind directly.
Herrip and Jina have got to be wrong about me. I can’t sit on the Stone Throne, I’m a peasant! It’ll kill me!
But Terrell’s speculation that his Shadow might be mightier than the most powerful artifact in Silbar kept haunting his thoughts. Ymera said every mage in Silbar would fear me, practically told me that I could stand against any of them. Even her. What if—
Visions of the things he could do if he were King swam through his thoughts. Not only free Pieter, free all the slaves in the sulfur mine! Make the City Watch treat people decent, stop demanding bribes, and catch the real thieves! Give people in the Bazaar back their rightful places. And then the damn judges, replace them with fair people who understood—
He shook his head to banish the thoughts. But I don’t know how to be a king.
He wondered if Terrell might teach him.
Right. I take the Throne that he thinks should be his, and expect him to teach me how to do the work that should be his? That’s the craziest idea of all!
But he couldn’t stop thinking about it as the desert wind moaned among the rocks.
* * *
Terrell stumbled along the paved path, finding rocks harder to cross in dusk than the dunes had been. Then a broad cave appeared in a ridge of Skyrock, right before the path turned to carved stairs that wandered up between rocks and into darkness. Jina’s relief was palpable. Terrell peered into the cave, glad to find some place out of the wind, and suggested to Kirin, “Perhaps you should clear the place of vermin.”
Kirin simply grunted assent. He glanced at the Duermus; the men gathered bits of brush from among the rocks to start a fire in the open mouth of the cave, while Jina sat on a rock wrapped in her mantle and watched him. She smiled at his look.
“I have Seen what you can do,” she told him in an amused voice. “Go ahead.”
Terrell watched Kirin send his Shadow into the cave, slaying scorpions and anything else dangerous. It didn’t seem quite as horrifying this time. Am I simply growing accustomed to his strange power? Yet it’s unquestionably a form of death-on-command, it should be terrifying. It looks like something demonic, yet my Light does not repulse his Shadow. Indeed, it seems they share a kinship of sort, by the way they link so seamlessly. Suspicions to which he couldn’t yet give voice thronged the back of his mind.
Jina smiled serenely and said nothing. Terrell flushed with a brief anger, then grew annoyed with himself. Of course she has her own goals and desires! What else should I expect?
Terrell chose one of the many shallow alcoves in the cave to lay out their one blanket, while wishing he had thought to ask for another at the village. The Duermus wore heavy robes and had brought no blankets at all. They built a tiny fire, cooked something in a pot, and shared the food out equitably. Before the crescent of Madness had cleared the horizon they were done and the men had spaced themselves in a row across the mouth of the cave, with Jina in another alcove at the very back of the cave. Six of the eight Duermu men promptly went to sleep, the other two watched vigilant in the night.
Terrell shared a water bag with Kirin to wash down the meager meal, then set the sword he’d taken from Fenman’s body by his head before he crawled into the blanket. Kirin did the same but put his knife close to hand before he lay down in front. Terrell rested his head on his left forearm and flipped the blanket over them both. He let Kirin press back against him as the acrobat pulled the front edge down to close in what warmth there was. Their bath in the pond had cut some of his body stink, but there was no doubt they were two young men working hard and sweating accordingly. At least we don’t smell like goats, Terrell thought.
As soon as they were in close proximity that mysterious link between them reappeared. Terrell knew again that gentle relief as his accumulated burden of Light begin to drain into Kirin’s back. Kirin stiffened, then slowly relaxed into the flow.
*It’s strange how comforting this is,* Terrell thought at the mind of the man whose greasy black curls tickled his nose.
Kirin stiffened again. For a while his mind stayed as tightly shut as a door.
Terrell waited patiently for an opening of the other’s guard, and then added encouragingly, *I suppose we get accustomed to anything eventually.*
Another long moment passed before Kirin responded. *Yeah. Still makes me feel like a monster.* He shuddered against Terrell.
*Monster? A monster wouldn’t grant me so much relief, I think.* Terrell thought for a moment, tried to explain. *The Light wells up in me all the time, I can’t stop it—and I don’t want to. It’s a gift from the One and such gifts must not be spurned. But I’m a man, not an angel, and I can only contain so much before it burns me. I can drain some off by using artifacts, especially the Stone Throne, but I’ve got no artifact here. If you weren’t here, well, after so many days I’d be in pain from the surfeit.*
*You sure I’m not hurting you?* Kirin’s mind fumbled for words. *It’s just that—I wonder—I remember.*
He cut the thought short, but Terrell soon knew where it led; to Gerlach, and a horror of fear and pain. Kirin relived the humiliation of being used to satisfy another’s lust, not simply without any care for his own joy, but with active malice, the will to harm and maim and ultimately, to kill. The sharp, sharp knife tracing Kirin’s nerves and blood vessels under his skin, Gerlach’s gloating words as he explained what would follow the blood-mage’s embrace, the better to torment his victim for the demon summoning.
Terrell endured the horrific memory, the awful sensation—nothing erotic about it, all power and pain. Kirin shuddered and wept silently. Terrell resisted the temptation to offer comfort by touching him, recognizing barely in time how it would be perceived in the face of such a memory. So he simply waited, while two soldiers paraded through Kirin’s mind next, and the hyena almost comforting in its thoughtless and brutal simplicity. The second soldier haunted Kirin with the memories of a wife and daughters that the dead man would never know again.
In time the memories receded, and Kirin lay against him quiet and exhausted. *I hate remembering them,* the acrobat thought dully. *But I can’t get rid of them, especially Gerlach. He’s always there, inside my head. Now that he’s got those two soldiers for company, I can’t stop thinking about all three of them. Is this how madness starts?*
*I don’t know,* Terrell admitted, worried himself. *It may be happening because the two soldiers were so recent. Did Gerlach fade in the years after you—* killed seemed to be the wrong word, murdered was definitely out, Terrell settled on, *executed him?*
*Some.* Kirin considered, added, *Mostly. I didn’t think about him much at all after I became a performer with our troupe. Especially not after I, uh, noticed Maia.*
An erotic memory
of Kirin embracing his wife, a closeness between them that Terrell envied. Kirin hastily turned his thoughts aside to other matters, the small doings of his family, and memories of the acrobat that had adopted the lost boy. Pieter loomed larger than life in Kirin’s mind, a heroic figure loved and adored and emulated. And maimed; a time-softened memory of seeing Pieter for the first time in the baths, the knife scars in his groin, and understanding why his adoptive father had never taken a wife even after his Order disbanded and he returned to the family.
*Somebody castrated him?* Terrell thought back, reflexively cupping his free hand over his own crotch.
*Gwythlos. After the Battle of Black Pass.* Kirin frowned. Terrell could sense him sorting memories; this must be an old one much dimmed by time. *I asked him about it a few years later, when my man-hair grew. He had torture scars on his head and chest, too, everybody at the baths respected him for that, though he never made a show of it or anything. He’d been a war monk, fighting with the Sons of the Defender order during the Conquest. He told me about defending a bastion in the Pass where they got overwhelmed and taken. Something hit him on the head. He woke up more than a day later, staked out on a rock before a Gwythlo Druid cut him. First she tried to do a magic to enslave him, but his Temple ward defeated her, so she took revenge by cutting off his balls. She did it to all the monks that lived through the battle, though some died afterward.*
*Ah.* Terrell winced in shame. *I’d heard rumors about that. Mother said Father wasn’t pleased. He had words with Aunt Klairveen about it later. After that he announced his Edict on freedom to worship and her Druids weren’t allowed to torture Silbaris, or anyone else, any more. Part of the reason, I guess, that she hates Mother and me so much.*
Kirin thought back, *Pieter didn’t let it make him bitter. He told me that he’d already chosen celibacy when he joined the Sons, so losing his balls made it easier to keep his vow. He said he was grateful that she’d left him his cock, so he could still pee standing up.*
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