Shoving aside the entry gates, Mahi shouted louder than ever. She swept into the entry hall and was surprised to find it full. Dozens of sages were present, kowtowing toward the imagery carved on each column, praying in Saitjuese. Some had nigh’jel blood dripping from their wrists as they sacrificed the creatures to the Current. Some clutched prayer bracelets made of varied shells.
“Everyone, to the city gates,” Mahi demanded. Unlike the warriors and servants, none budged. Across the room, however, she saw that a young Shieldsman—the one who’d arrived with Torsten—clutched one sage by the folds of his robes and appeared to be threatening him.
“Shieldsman, have you seen King Pi?” she asked. “We must abandon the city.”
He dropped the sage and turned to her, face bruised, eyes wide with panic. “Sir Unger said he’d be here, but nobody has seen him. None of these useless priests will say anything!”
Mahi regarded the sage recovering on the floor. “You all have to leave as well.”
“We cannot, My Caleef,” the sage replied softly, calm as ever. “Our lives were offered to serve he or she, who inhabits this palace. We will never abandon it.”
“You’d rather die?” Memories from other Caleef’s flashed through Mahi’s mind. It was faint as always, but she could see sages remaining put while generational storms ravaged Latiapur and King Liam’s army marched outside, the only other times the city had been emptied. None ever ran.
“On the Current, we never die,” he said.
Mahi clenched her jaw. The floor quaked as the roar of a Current Eater rang out, and it continued to wreck through the beloved city. The sages didn’t even wince.
“You stubborn men,” Mahi said. “She’s come here for her brother. She wants the Current. You’ll die for nothing.”
“Only the God of Sand and Sea can control it,” the man said.
“Caliphar is dead!” She shouted, pushing him off. They looked at her like she was crazed. “Then at least make yourselves useful and get everyone out of the Keep. All of you can stay to die, but we need every willing man and woman alive.”
“Yes, my Caleef.”
“All of you. Go.”
The sages rose upon her request, each of them scattering into the halls. Even Mahi had no idea how many people lived in the palace. She never needed to. She’d never wanted the service that so many so willingly offered just because of her title.
“They don’t matter,” the Shieldsman insisted. He pushed by one and clutched her arm, and not even her glower could back him off. He didn’t seem to care. “Where in Iam’s name is the King. If you did—“
“What would I gain from harming him now?” Mahi hissed, yanking her arm away. He was lucky they needed everyone they could get. “Have you checked the throne room?”
“It was locked, and none of those fools would let me check.”
“I can get in. Search his temporary quarters; I’ll check there.”
His lip twisted. She could tell he didn’t trust her in the slightest, but after a few long seconds, he offered a reluctant nod and headed toward the western stairwell.
Mahi pushed through the scrambling sages across the golden floors of the vast entry hall to the great doors of the throne room. If they’d been locked, they no longer were.
Passing through the doors, she froze almost immediately. Babrak stood near the coral throne, running his hand along the arm. He remained oblivious to her even though there was no way he hadn’t heard the doors creak. A few sages lay dead on the floor, their blood making iridescent puddles on the gold floor and streaming toward the Sea Door like a drain. Pi’s body wasn’t present amongst them, nor were any of her warriors.
“You,” Mahi spat.
Babrak turned, sneering. He had Mahi’s spear—which she’d left balanced across her throne—gripped in both hands, spinning it to test the weight. His spiked leather armor hugged his oversized frame. His neck was the size of a man’s thigh, and fresh scars from his battles with both Mahi and Muskigo covered the parts of his torso that were exposed.
Worse than it all, however, was that his skin was coated in nigh’jel blood, making it black like hers. The coat was lumpy, sloppy, and peeling off in spots, but his intent at claiming Caleefdom was clear. Again, everything else in her life faded away. The battle, the King—everything. There was only him.
“How did you get here?” she asked. She spread her feet shoulder-width to keep her base beneath her and slowly shuffled in. Her eyes darted from side to side, checking the spaces behind the columns encircling the area to ensure they were alone.
“There are many secret routes throughout the city a child like you wouldn’t know,” he replied.
“Not smart to come alone.”
“Somehow, I knew the Current would lead us both here.” He tested the tip of Mahi’s spear with his finger, drawing a pinpoint of blood.
“You destroyed everything we stand for.”
“I saved what we stand for!” he snapped. “While you and your father erased history and joined a war against a goddess with no concern over us.”
“She’ll destroy us.”
“She’s giving me Latiapur.”
“A city that no longer has inhabitants.”
He sighed, gaze dropping to the ground. He actually looked remorseful, which made Mahi’s blood boil even more than she thought possible.
“A small price to pay to rectify so many wrongs,” he said softly. “But we will be all the stronger for it. She, sister of the God of Sand and Sea—who has abandoned us—has named me Caleef. Helping destroy the Glass for her is a fair trade.”
“You didn’t even want to rebel.”
“I didn’t want to lose,” he corrected. “Now, we can’t. They’ll drown on their own greed, and from the ashes, the Black Sands will rise! Don’t make the same mistakes as your father, Mahraveh. Surrender your title, and you can be a part of it. You can stand at my side as—“
“As your whore?” she interrupted, fuming.
“As my Queen. Think of what we could do together. All Pantego will tremble. This vengeful goddess? After she wipes the Glass away, even she couldn’t stand against us.”
“No, Babrak. I will take you with my bare hands, and you will face the Dagger of Damikmagrin. You will be wiped from this realm for all eternity, and not even that is a fate worthy enough.”
His remorse deepened as he nodded. “You are your father’s daughter.”
“No, I am Caleef.”
Babrak regarded the spear one last time, then tossed it longways in Mahi’s direction. It rolled across the floor, stopping against her foot. She didn’t bend to grab it. Not with him in the room. He couldn’t be trusted to a fair fight.
“Take it,” he said.
“I don’t need a weapon to kill you,” Mahi replied.
“My Caleef!” someone shouted, throwing open the throne room doors. Bit’rudam hurried to her side, angling his sickle-blade in front of her. “Mahraveh, everyone is in full retreat. We have to go.”
“Not without him dead,” she said.
“What a lovely reunion,” Babrak laughed. “You’ll both find I won’t be so easy to beat without a cowardly ambush.”
“Mahraveh, go! I’ll handle him,” Bit’rudam said. “The Serpent Guard awaits you.”
“We’ll take him together. It ends today.”
“Two on one?” Babrak clicked his tongue. “Now, that’s not fair, is it?”
His grin stretched from ear to ear. Electricity crackled through the Sea Door as if lightning somehow struck from below. Then, the red-robed mystic rose through, hands glowing with raw, magical energy. Her eyes were black as Mahi’s own skin, expressionless, like that of the Current Eaters.
“So, this is the child that our brother chose to carry his flame?” the mystic said, her voice laced with an ethereal quality. It echoed from every direction. “She’s so scrawny.”
“They’re mine, demon,” Babrak said.
“Demon? I’m so much more than that
.” The ancient-looking mystic’s already cold glare darkened. She hovered above the Sea Door, embers floating all around her. Then she snapped her finger, and a wave of fire erupted forth.
“Mahi!”
Bit’rudam rammed her out of the way. She couldn’t feel the elements through her Caleef skin until then, but the mystical fire was so hot. Her spear remained on the ground and immediately was reduced to ash, the blade liquified.
“Coward!” Mahi screamed as her hands scraped along the floor.
“We need to go!” Bit’rudam said. Getting his arms around her, he lifted and dragged her toward the exit. As he did, the mystic again unleashed a swath of magical destruction.
“No, they’re mine!” Babrak protested. He went to block her, but she waved her arm and flung him aside with an unseen force. Her other hand then extended, and lightning coruscated out.
Bit’rudam threw his blade up, absorbing the electricity and delaying the surge enough for them to get out. The rest of the magic splashed against the throne room doors. Mahi managed to close them just in time.
“Come on,” Bit’rudam yelled.
Mahi glanced back, and the doors burst open with a gust of wind as strong as any storm she’d ever encountered. She and Bit’rudam were thrown forward, barely able to stay on their feet.
Blood-soaked Serpent Guards rushed in and formed a line, crouching to brave the gale. Mahi found her balance behind them. The mystic floated within the entry. She barely seemed drained at all, even after using so much of her strength disguising an entire fleet within a storm of her creation. In all the legends of the mystics Mahi had heard, they were never capable of so much magic without rest.
Armor clattered as the Serpent Guards prepared to face the woman. Mahi glared straight at Babrak.
“Congratulations, Babrak,” Mahi called to him. “You will be King of nothing.”
He only stared, silent. The mystic stretched her slender fingers and rolled her neck. Her feet lowered to the ground, and she breathed in deeply as her arms extended in front of her.
Mahi saw no more. Bit’rudam pulled her out of the palace, and only the sounds of the mystic’s magic could be heard.
No screams.
Only the jangle of armored bodies dropping.
XXII
The Mystic
The fire above still raged. Since the moment their cart parked back in the main hall, Sora, Lucindur, and Tum Tum had been treated with abuse, being shoved and prodded. King Lorgit kept silent the whole time, and barely seemed affected by his throne room being in flames, which troubled Sora.
His clanbreakers flanked them on both sides. They were as disciplined as any Glass soldier, but Sora imagined under all that armor, they were infinitely more fierce.
Sora felt trickles of water on her skin as mist rose from the large pool in the center of Balonhearth, catching the downpour from the mounted dwarf head above. It practically sizzled off her, skin still hot from her magic, like her very blood was on fire.
All around them, merchants, tinkers, traders, and miners by the dozens passed by. All watched as an odd set of humans were rushed along by the King himself. It must have been, to them, quite a sight.
Sora found it odd that there were no women in the lot.
“Tum Tum,” Sora whispered. “Where are all your women?”
“What do ye mean? They be everywhere!” He added a quick wink at Brouben.
Brouben, in turn, tried to quiet them, but it didn’t work.
Sora gave Tum Tum an incredulous stare.
Tum Tum nodded toward one. “Right there. And there. And walkin toward us here. Don’t look now; she’s a good-lookin one.”
Despite Tum Tum’s instructions, Sora followed his motions and saw a dwarf lumbering in their general direction.
“I said don’t look.” Tum Tum palmed his forehead.
“That’s… that’s a female?”
“Aye, ain’t she just!” Tum Tum elbowed Brouben, whose face went red. Brouben quickly composed himself, glanced toward his father, who strode ahead of them with determination.
She had long, blonde, braided hair and a matching beard that cascaded down to her ample belly. Resting on her shoulder, she clung to a giant water tankard Sora assumed would be used to help put out the fire she’d created. She had droopy eyes and a bulbous nose that covered her mustache like an awning. One thing was sure: there was nothing to distinguish her from the men.
“Ye almost had me fooled,” Lorgit finally said, the first words he’d spoken since the incident in the throne room. The only good thing about it was that it allowed Sora to not respond to Tum Tum.
“Almost,” Lorgit punctuated.
“Father—“ Brouben said before being cut off.
“Quiet ye, before ye get strung up as well,” Lorgit said, stopping the group and spinning on his son. “Ye gotta rise pretty yiggin early to fool the Ruler of the Three Kingdoms.”
Clanbreakers closed in to ensure no one tried anything stupid. The King weaved through them like a needle and thread, eying each one with condescension. Sora and Lucindur kept silent, knowing that anything they might say would have consequences. Lorgit stopped right in front of Sora.
“Ye think I don’t know that was ye?” he asked. “Panpingese mystic.”
The accusation didn’t catch Sora off guard. She’d learned how her heritage made people behave, like she was always the enemy. And the word ‘mystic’ came out of his mouth like poison.
“Your Grace, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sora said. “It was Nesilia—the Buried Goddess. Had to be.”
Lorgit laughed, though it sounded more like a death wail, wet and gurgled. “We were a part of many wars, my dear. While men play games, killin this king, usurpin that throne, the dwarves watch it all. Ye know how old I am?”
Sora shook her head.
“Neither do I,” he said. “Been that long since I popped out. Sometimes, I wonder if I be older than Meungor himself. Problem with men be that they only see the future as far as they can chuck a stone. Dwarves… let’s just say we can throw pretty far.”
“Father, what is this about?” Brouben asked, then shrank back when the King eyed him.
“I told ye, Morrastreaudunimum was ours, and we want it back. We spent a long time watchin those flower-pickers tear the place to pieces for no good reason. Done. We be done watchin. Look up there,” King Lorgit said, pointing to the smoke pouring from his throne room. “Just another example of man’s destruction.”
“That was the work of the goddess!” Brouben protested.
Lorgit shook his head. “See all those carts already on their way, tanks of water at the ready?”
Even as he said it, Sora noticed the workers all scooping more water from the fountain into large steam-powered contraptions with hose pipes attached.
“She told us about ye,” King Lorgit said, turning again to Sora, his voice barely a whisper. “Said ye’d try to burn us all alive if we let ye.”
Sora’s heart sank, and her stomach dropped. She could only mean Nesilia. Her suspicions were confirmed. Lorgit had struck a deal with the goddess. But when? If it had been when Sora’s body was occupied, she’d have had some memory, no matter how vague. And it couldn’t have been after, not with the reports they’d heard of Nesilia’s whereabouts.
“Almost didn’t believe her,” Lorgit went on. “Said she was servin the Buried Goddess, and doin her work, and that if we stayed out of what’s comin, we’d be safe for all eternity. That her fight wasn’t with dwarves.”
“I promise you, whoever told you that is lying,” Sora said. “Nesilia slaughtered the Strongirons to send a message.”
“It don’t matter. I gave her the only message that does. That I know it’s all horse shog. All the work of mages and witches, making up stories about goddesses to fuel more war. I told her that we dwarves are done getting involved with yer kind, and we didn’t need some witch asking us to make more deals. Nearly had her killed on the spot, Arch Warlock or n
ot.”
Freydis, Sora realized, accompanied by a chill up her spine. “King Lorgit, you can’t trust anything she told you,” she blurted.
“And I can trust ye, mystic?” he spat. “Ye lied from the start, posin as prisoners. Well, ye got yer wish. Yer gonna rot in the dungeons til yer nothin but bones—or…” He looked around. “Maybe I should take yer heads right here and deliver em to the Warlock just to send a message of me own.” His voice got louder, intent upon everyone hearing him. “A reminder that when King Lorgit Cragrock says, ‘No one in. No one out,’ it means no one!”
“Father, please listen to me,” Brouben said for what must have been the fiftieth time. He didn’t look enthused. His father’s words were clearly weighing heavily on him.
“Ye think me a fool, don’t ye?” Lorgit looked at Sora. “Well, I heard what happened on the pass, too. My loyal commander, Gargamane… he saw yer filthy powers with his own eyes. Ain’t no denying it.”
“Father—“
“Get movin,” Lorgit growled.
The clanbreakers responded in kind, shoving the three of them along. Brouben followed like a lost puppy, unsure of what to do.
“What now?” Lucindur whispered.
“I should have killed that wretch when I had the chance—hanging Whitney over the ledge like that.” Sora felt her blood roiling below the surface.
She gazed up at the smoke still pouring from the mouth and nostrils of the large dwarven head encapsulating the dwarf King’s throne room. She could imagine the dragon bones, charred and burning. She knew Aquira was impervious to flames, but that was her skin. She wondered what fire would do to her bones. Then she found herself overwhelmed with worry for the wyvern… and Whitney.
“That was smart thinkin,” Tum Tum said, obviously looking, too. “Don’t matter what he says.”
“That was you?” Brouben whispered.
Sora blushed, realizing there were good dwarfs too, and like her own people, their kings and queens didn’t represent each individual. “I’m sorry,” she said.
Word of Truth Page 27
