For the Killing of Kings

by Howard Andrew Jones

  As no one seemed inclined to stop him, Rylin walked through the next doorway and found a fourth-rank squire and a cluster of craftsmen studying a large construction of stitched fabric, shaped like an inverted jar, hung from the ceiling. Light from high windows fell brightly upon its panels but left the floor in shadows. Rylin paused to consider it himself, wondering what the group was hoping to see.

  “Hail, Alten.”

  Varama’s high voice addressed him from his right.

  She looked exactly the same as when he’d left her. High collar, strangely bunched hair, rumpled khalat, tired eyes. Her odd coloring was less obvious in the dim room.

  Rylin saluted. “Hail.”

  The squire and the others turned from their contemplation, but Varama motioned them back to work and bade Rylin come with her as she turned away. “How did your meeting go?”

  “I found it revealing.” He smiled at his own small joke as he fell in step beside her.

  “Have you eaten?”

  When he shook his head no, she called over her shoulder for a squire to fetch them food, then led him back to a rectangular room cluttered with wooden models of breastplates and saddles and other objects he couldn’t identify draped by long sheets of paper. Drawings of complex gear systems were tacked along one cluttered wall. All other walls, apart from the one with the window, were concealed by shelves overflowing with books and various objects. There was barely space for a desk, its chair, and two visitors’ seats, and one of those was piled high with upright scrolls of tightly rolled yellow paper.

  Varama waved him toward a chair as she shut the door, and he dropped onto its faded red cushion. She lifted a bottle from a desk drawer. “Apple juice?”

  “Sure.”

  She set the bottle down and then wandered around the room, fiddling with stacks of documents. At first he assumed she was looking for goblets, but he glimpsed her touching what looked to be a white crystal.

  “What are you up to, Varama?”

  “Keeping the spies away.” She glanced over one shoulder at him. “They used to pry around here all the time, trying to see what I was doing. Stealing my ideas.” She bent down to make a final adjustment then joined him. “You’re looking at me like you think I’m crazy.”

  A little, yes. “Who’s spying on you?”

  “The auxiliary.”

  He froze. “Then won’t they have seen me come here?”

  “Of course. But we’re supposed to be arranging funerals of state, aren’t we?”

  “I suppose so.” He relaxed only a little, still worried about spoiling his introduction to the auxiliary. “But what exactly were you doing?”

  “Blocking any chances of remote listening or viewing through magical means by using a series of resonance disrupters to generate a magical screen.” Varama returned to her chair.

  Rylin had no idea what a “resonance disrupter” might be, but he decided against going off track. “How long have they been trying to listen in on your office?”

  “At least four years.” She lifted two glazed goblets from her desk and sat them on its surface. Each had a stunningly bright blue band cradling its stem. “I often have magical experiments running, and they want to know what they are.” She fixed him with a hard stare. “You think I’m paranoid.”

  “No, I don’t,” Rylin objected. He’d been thinking that Varama was probably suspected of retaining hearthstones and was wondering if he should ask.

  “Oh, all Altenerai are mad. Kyrkenall says we’re just cultured killers, and there’s some truth to that. At least our generation. I haven’t decided about yours yet.”

  “We haven’t had to do much killing.”

  “There is that.” Varama touched her hand to the bottle, then poured out the brown-colored juice. Rylin reached forward for the goblet and found it cold. Peculiar. The liquid itself was chill when he brought it to his lips. Surely she didn’t store a block of ice in her desk. “How did you do that?”

  There was a hint of pride in her response. “I’ve been experimenting with the hearthstones myself.”

  “To chill juices? Is this what you’re afraid the auxiliary will steal?”

  “That wasn’t the intended result of the experiment.” She sat the goblet down. “But I think you can agree that, for a failure, it’s not a bad one. I’ve managed to generate a drink that helps restore magical strength, and that’s cold besides. Now, what did you learn?”

  He seemed fated to hear something interesting from Varama whenever they met. He paused in consideration of the juice, deciding that he did feel a little better after consuming it, quite apart from the pleasant cold. He pulled himself back to her question. “Nothing about Irion. A little about the layout of the wing, and the hearthstones.”

  “Good. And the people?”

  “I met a number of them.”

  “Did they talk to you about the Goddess?”

  He started. “Yes, they did, but they didn’t mean to. She’s not Darassa or Vedessa, is she?”

  “No.”

  “Who is she, then? And why do they try to be so closemouthed about her?”

  “I don’t think she’s one of The Four, Rylin.”

  “There are no Gods but The Four,” he intoned reflexively.

  “There were six, once,” she reminded him. Varama peered over her goblet to watch him closely.

  Yes, there’d been Syrah, Goddess of what became The Fragments, until slain by Sartain the betrayer, who’d been killed in turn by The Four. Images of Sartain were extremely rare and inevitably male. Rylin had seen only occasional depictions of the lost Goddess, and she had always looked sad and small, not joyous and powerful.

  Varama continued speaking as if reading his thoughts. “But this goddess isn’t Syrah. As near as I’ve been able to determine, the people involved closely with the hearthstones worship a new goddess, and they’re silent about it. Presumably to avoid ridicule or accusations of heresy.”

  “A new goddess? Of what realm?” There was simply no room for any other gods or goddesses. Everyone knew the creation story. The Gods had individually designed each realm, and Sartain, playing with little pieces of less savory lands, had grown jealous when he saw what the others had wrought and fought to take a better place for himself. It left Syrah’s realm shattered, and when the battle was over Vedessa mended and adopted The Fragments, neighbor to her own Arappa.

  “I believe her to be a goddess of the hearthstones rather than of any realm.”

  “They’re worshiping hearthstones?”

  “Not in the sense that you mean. If I understand the hints rightly, they worship a goddess they connect to the hearthstones and think her superior to The Four.”

  He snorted at the idea.

  Varama took on a patient air as if explaining the elementary. “If the Gods truly walked among us, I think them unlikely to do so again. So the only facts relevant today about a god are those that reveal the core tenets of their believers’ faith. Understanding motivation helps predict the actions that follow a given set of circumstance, do you see?”

  He must have shown a puzzled look related to the fact that he couldn’t “see” at all where Varama was going with this.

  She went on: “For example, the Naor hold that their god needs blood to hold back the storms and secure their borders. Some among them use that blood to work magics in his name.”

  “The Naor are homicidal maniacs.”

  “To us,” she emphasized. “Yet their faith must seem eminently reasonable to them, as they expend a lot of effort shedding blood. The same may hold true here.”

  Rylin nodded slowly. “We need to learn what beliefs the followers of this new goddess hold so we can better figure out what they’re going to do. Right?”

  “Yes.” Varama relaxed a little. “I’ve managed to learn almost nothing beyond what I’ve told you.” She called out for the person knocking on the door to enter, and Sansyra, an aloof fifth ranker, walked in to set a platter of cheeses and fruits and bread on the desk,
oblivious to the piles of paper there. As usual, she avoided eye contact with Rylin, though he had no idea why she was so unfriendly.

  Varama dismissed her, then waited for the door to close before facing Rylin again. “Rather than ask you a tedious series of questions about what you saw, why don’t we simply link?”

  Rylin hadn’t linked with another caster in a long while, and he hadn’t enjoyed it much. He took a long gulp of the juice. It might be interesting to see her thoughts about his trip while he reviewed them. And, though there were any number of possible problems with a sorcerous link, he didn’t expect either he or Varama would lose themselves in the other’s thoughts, or that she was given to prying overmuch.

  At least he hoped not. “All right.”

  “Set your thoughts about the visit foremost, if you will.”

  “Of course.”

  “And try not to be distracted.”

  Why did she keep assuming he was an idiot? Because, he thought as he closed his eyes and focused on breathing, she’s smarter than you are.

  He felt his ring light, and willed its defenses off. He sensed her close, as if they both read from a book he was holding. He raised the events of the last few hours up for her, working hard to place them in order, which he’d learned early on was far more difficult than he’d supposed. While he was thinking of Tesra in the hallway, the sensation of thumbing her nipple rose boldly to the surface of his memory. He wasn’t embarrassed that Varama knew of his amorous activities, but that he wasn’t disciplined enough to keep his memories in line. Unfortunately, he was too distracted by his efforts to pay much attention to Varama’s own thoughts.

  After a while her presence eased away, and he opened his eyes to find her standing, hands braced on the table. She tapped her goblet and took another drink. “You spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about sex.”

  “Doesn’t everyone?”

  “No. The approximate number of hearthstones is higher than my expectations. We’ll have to get our hands on their records.”

  He expected as much, but it wouldn’t be easy. “You think that they’ll tell us something about Irion?”

  “They’ll tell us something about the hearthstones. And if the Mage Auxiliary is involved with this sword business, then hearthstones are involved as well.”

  “That’s why you asked Denaven if they had one, isn’t it? At the meeting.”

  “In part.” Varama fell silent and stared into the middle distance.

  After several minutes in which Rylin had begun to wonder if she remembered his presence, he cleared his throat. “I don’t think I’ll have easy access to that hearthstone room anytime soon. And I’m certain I won’t be able to bring you.”

  “That’s why we’ll sneak in. Tonight.”

  His voice rose in alarm. “If you were planning to sneak in, why did I spend all that time getting into their good graces?”

  “My planning involved many different contingencies, Rylin,” she said, once again with the tone of someone speaking to a simpleton. “I’ve altered my plans based upon the information you learned.”

  She didn’t seem to understand. This could ruin all he’d accomplished in gaining their trust. “Are you going to want me to continue my deception about joining the auxiliary?”

  Varama frowned irritably. “That will depend upon what we find.” She consulted the distance once more, then drank. “I’m glad we have an accurate layout of the place, and its people. It will be easier to blend in.”

  He scoffed. “There’s no way that either of us is going to blend in.”

  Her gaze was piercing. “I’m growing tired of this, Rylin. Either trust me or not. Either follow my directives or not. Decide if I’m brilliant, or a fool, and then move along. I don’t have time to convince you about every stupid prejudice you carry.”

  Her rebuke stung him. “I wasn’t saying—”

  She cut him off. “I know. You didn’t think it through, did you? You must always think things through. You’ve got a rather lazy intellect.”

  She was impossible. “Will you quit insulting me? I’m sorry! I’ll stop commenting. But you’re going too fast. How are we getting to those records and why tonight?”

  “Rylin, you must recognize that while we hold the same rank, I am your superior in this. You must defer to me. If you feel compelled to question me for clarity, do so politely.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Varama looked at the table a moment, then back to him. “As to the timing, we must act before they can, although we have another errand to complete beforehand. About our blending in: you’re handsome and I’m distinctive. There are ways, though.” Once again she stared. Suddenly she was gone, and in her place was Tesra, her hair held back with a silver coronet, her trim waist crossed with a red sash.

  “Gods!” Rylin stood on the instant.

  Tesra turned her head to look at him, and it was only the strange blank gaze that alerted him to the figure not quite looking like Tesra.

  “I took her image from your mind, Rylin,” Varama said in a voice that was reminiscent of his lover, but not quite right. “The method has its limitations, but—”

  “I’m impressed. How can you concentrate on all the aspects for so long? Or maintain them?” He’d heard that some weavers could render themselves “invisible” by wiping themselves from the sight of those who looked at them, but this grew more challenging the more people who watched. It just took too much concentration to control all the variables. A detailed illusion like this should be impossible under close scrutiny.

  “I’ve created a tool to help me. I store the desired image there.” Varama flashed back into existence. Gone was the smaller, shapelier woman. By contrast, Varama seemed even more awkward and odd, her hair unkempt and faintly ridiculous.

  “What tool?” he asked

  “I call it a semblance.” Once more Varama reached into her desk; now she pushed across an obsidian stone small enough to hold in his palm. “This one’s for you.”

  Rylin reached out through the inner world even as he stretched his fingers toward it; he felt a power pulsing within, not as enticing but still interesting. “A hearthstone?”

  “No. Its power has been shaped with one, though. Now I want you to try. Call someone to mind, then put the image forefront as you’re linked to the gem. It may help you to touch it.”

  He didn’t put fingers to the stone. Only amateur spell casters needed direct contact to further their sorcery.

  Rylin’s first thought was to consider Velin, the ineffectual man who’d tried to bar his entry. But his mind turned to smug, arrogant, angry Thelar. He knew that face and those manners far better. When at last he had the image fully in his mind he willed the black stone to power.

  “Ah.” Varama said, and a smile twitched at the corner of her mouth.

  Rylin felt a tingle rippling across the surface of his skin and looked down at his hands.

  They weren’t his. He flipped them over, saw that the ring on his hand was ruby.

  “You’ve done it, Rylin. I wasn’t sure you could on your first attempt.” She pulled a nail from one of the schematics on the wall and revealed a bronzed mirror underneath as the paper fluttered to the floor. Seeing her reflection in it, she let out a little grunt of displeasure and fussed with her hair.

  That was the first indication Rylin ever had that Varama cared about her appearance. Perhaps she simply got too busy thinking about other things so that she forgot. Perhaps a kinder person than himself might have said something to her about her disheveled state. He felt a jab of shame that it hadn’t occurred to him he should. Maybe he did need to reexamine his “prejudices.”

  “See what you’ve wrought.” She gestured him to the glass, and Rylin examined the reflection of the wrong man. Thelar was a little shorter and far more scowling.

  “Say something.”

  “This is pretty amazing.” He was fascinated with moving the mouth that wasn’t his. “Damn! That’s not my voice!” It was lower, har
sher.

  “It’s probably not entirely his, either. I think most of us are far more visual than aural. But then if we do this properly we’ll be seen by very few and have to talk to fewer. The idea’s to blend, not to mix.”

  “How long does this spell last?”

  “An hour or so. The stones can’t store unlimited energy. Speaking of which, you should will yours off. They’re difficult to charge.”

  This he did just as he willed off his Altenerai ring. The semblance deactivated on the instant, and he confronted the square face he knew so well: short, unruly brown hair; thick eyebrows; easy grin. “This fellow’s better looking.”

  “Yes,” she agreed absently.

  He turned to her, still grinning. “That’s quite something, Varama. What else have you been working on?”

  “All sorts of things. Denaven and Leonara think I just experiment with shields and swords and the like.”

  “You affect a stranger persona than you have.”

  “Oh, I’m mad, remember? But I let them think I’m foolish, too.”

  “I’m sorry I thought so.”

  “Some of the fault’s mine. I suppose I’ve gotten good at the part. Or maybe it’s easy because I am eccentric.”

  “Are you worried that we’ll be detected when we go in to look at their records? The place is literally filled with mages. Won’t they feel a magical aura around us?”

  “The nice thing about walking around a place filled with mages is that every one of them is liable to have some kind of bauble with a glamour or enchantment. The semblances really don’t radiate much of one.”

  “How come you haven’t tried this yourself yet?”

  “I’ve only just perfected it.”

  So in the time he’d taken to talk to a few people, she’d invented a whole new magical device? Presumably she’d been working on it a little longer than that. He chose not to ask. “And what will we do if we get caught?”

  “That depends. If we find nothing at all and we get caught, we’ll have to make apologies.”