For the Killing of Kings

by Howard Andrew Jones

  “I’d bet we each saw different things,” he said. “The wild energy in the Shifting Lands is perceived by intent, or the memory of intent.”

  “So I imagined them?”

  N’lahr shook his head as he climbed down from his horse. “No.”

  Kyrkenall finished a swig of wine and capped it off. “Remember how I told you there’s stuff in the shifts that feeds on magical force? That’s what those were, drawn by your work through the storm. And there were a lot of them. But they don’t look like anything we’d understand. So their image is shaped by us. By our fears, mostly.”

  “So you saw something different?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did you see?”

  Kyrkenall hesitated a moment, then spoke without his usual easy confidence. “Long, delicate hands, pale and dead. Trying to drag us down.”

  N’lahr didn’t say anything at all, even when Elenai stared at him. “What about you?” It still felt odd addressing him without rank, even though she’d inferred that he felt the same way Kyrkenall did about formal titles.

  “I’d rather not say.”

  “Cabbages,” Kyrkenall quipped.

  The absurdity of the image brought a laugh to Elenai’s throat. She quickly stifled it.

  “He hates green cabbages. They were rolling at us from the horizon.”

  “No,” N’lahr said, adding after a moment, “But I do dislike cabbage.”

  “So,” Elenai ventured. “Where are we? Have we crossed into Kanesh by now?” She supposed it was possible they were in some odd corner of Arappa.

  N’lahr shook his head and sank to the soil, elbows against his knees. His head didn’t quite rest against his forearms, but he looked as though he wanted it to.

  “We’re in the deeps,” Kyrkenall said. “You’ve heard the expression ‘sideways,’ haven’t you? Kalandra thought it might actually mean we’re under the other realms. Whatever it is, exactly, we’re pretty much off the map.”

  Hot as she was from the physical exertion, she still felt chilled as blood drained from her face. Only the most practiced of weaver guides went “sideways,” and returned to report their experiences.

  Kyrkenall misunderstood her expression for one of confusion. “Think of the shifts more like ocean inlets than a level surface.”

  She knew. If you were experimental or careless or the Gods were in a capricious mood, the space between the realms might not be a simple obstacle in the middle of a straight-line journey. Some philosophers thought that the Shifting Lands lay beneath and around all the realms.

  “So when you’ve been saying ‘deep in the shifts’ you didn’t mean far away, you meant below.”

  “Yes,” N’lahr said. She would have preferred a more detailed answer, but N’lahr seemed pensive. “We should be safe from Denaven and the search party,” he said slowly.

  “How far to Kalandra?” Kyrkenall asked.

  “A day or two, at best. I’m told this is the only large fragment on the way, about an hour to ride across. There’s supposed to be some splinters in about eight hours.”

  “I’ve searched some of the deeps for her,” Kyrkenall said. “But I’ve never found this place.”

  “Don’t feel bad. She’s well hidden.” N’lahr stood stiffly. “I’d prefer to keep going.”

  Kyrkenall interupted. “N’lahr, we’re dead on our feet. If we don’t rest we’re going to trip up somewhere.” He sank to the dusty ground with his back to a short, scaly, mud-colored tree.

  “I know.” He looked unhappy, but resigned. “We’ll camp here. It’s not particularly safe, but we won’t encounter better until we reach Kalandra. I’ll take first watch.” He looked ghastly tired, but she wasn’t in a position to argue.

  Elenai slipped quickly into a dreamless rest without bothering to lay out her bedroll. She wasn’t sure how long she’d slept, but it didn’t feel like enough. The sky was still the same, but that might just have been the way of things on this fragment. She felt moderately less bleary, and N’lahr actually looked more alert and more determined. He hurried them into the saddle after the briefest of meals.

  They plodded on, and on again, and the steady “land” eventually gave way to one that rolled as they rode it, as though ocean waves were hidden beneath its surface. The sky changed from blue to shifting green to shifting black, and once, gibbering rose-shaped things shimmered upon a nearby hill and gave chase for several miles, untroubled by Kyrkenall’s dwindling arrows, which passed right through them.

  But by and by they arrived at one of the promised splinters, a tiny, desolate strip of blasted barrens, and there Elenai shared the last of her water with her exhausted horse, and fed it the last of the oats. Most of their supplies had been lost when they left the spare horses behind. She had half a watersac of Wyndyss wine and a handful of jerky, but nothing else.

  After came another, calmer march. No winds blew. A violet sea drew nearer upon their left, lapping lonely shores where stubby black grasses sprouted near fruiting palms. N’lahr warned them well away, saying that the grass was poison. “Kalandra lost her horse here the first time out.”

  “So she’s been here twice?”

  “Yes. But she couldn’t stay long, the first time. There were pressing concerns in Kanesh.”

  Elenai wasn’t certain how he was navigating, but he seemed heartened to find a landmark he recognized. They later stopped briefly in a strange locale with pulsing cinnamon rocks, but N’lahr didn’t comment on those.

  After a long stony waste, the character of the land transformed again by fits and starts until they approached a huge peach-colored lake ringed by blue sand. A light misting of moisture fell around them, and far ahead, across dunes of increasingly lighter blue, was a cliff with a flattened top, crowned with greenery and flashes of purple and yellow, presumably wildflowers. It towered at least two hundred feet over the surrounding terrain. N’lahr rode unerringly for it for over a mile, and it soon grew apparent that was his likely destination.

  “Is that it?” Kyrkenall asked.

  “Yes.”

  The archer looked sidelong at his friend. “You’re just full of information, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  Elenai studied the strange landform more carefully as they neared, and estimated it at several miles wide.

  The cliff wall was sheer, formed all of rough gray-and-white stone, completely out of place surrounded by the endless stretch of sand, as if dropped there. She’d seen so many odd things in the last week that its peculiarity seemed almost mundane. Of more immediate concern was how to reach the top. She hoped they wouldn’t have to scale hand over hand. Maybe there’d be a slope for the horses, hidden off to one side or around its back. It wasn’t that she couldn’t climb, just that she hardly welcomed the thought of expending any extra effort right now.

  Casually N’lahr grabbed the one javelin remaining alongside his saddle.

  Kyrkenall saw that. “Anything in particular we’re on watch for?”

  “Aren’t you always on guard?” N’lahr chided.

  “You’re in rare form today, N’lahr. Simply hilarious.”

  “You must be worn out. I’m really not that funny.”

  “I can believe that.”

  They’d closed within a hundred paces, and Elenai saw Kyrkenall, like herself, scanning the heights.

  Only the grass moved above, in the wind, and soon sight of the crown was blocked by their approach angle.

  Fifty paces out, something appeared at the very base of the cliff. A dark, fur-cloaked figure seemed to slide right out of the stone.

  Kyrkenall cursed and raised his bow, knocking an arrow.

  The thing raised a thick black arm, as if in greeting. A kobalin lord? What was it doing here, in Kalandra’s place of safety?

  Its voice was deep. “Ho, N’lahr! Have you come at last to die?”

  18

  Those Left Behind

  N’lahr’s horse snorted in displeasure. He mastered the animal with rein
and leg but didn’t raise his javelin. The roan’s ears shifted nervously between rider and the kobalin crunching across the sand toward them.

  Elenai reached for her hilt, and Kyrkenall sighted on the beast, addressing N’lahr from the side of his mouth. “Looks like this one’s yours.”

  The creature’s savage grin remained fixed as it hefted a huge hammer. What did this mean for Kalandra? Could she have been killed by that kobalin? Was that why no one had heard from her since before N’lahr’s disappearance?

  She thought to see the swordsman return the thing’s challenge with one of his own. He nodded to Kyrkenall, slid down from his horse, put up the javelin, but then didn’t draw his blade as he strode toward the beast. It towered a head higher than N’lahr and was half again as wide. The thing wasn’t wearing a cloak; rather it was covered in black fur from head to toe. A plain brown kilt was fastened at its waist. Its heavy jaw was outthrust and two large eyes blazed redly at them, like fiery coals among ebon ash.

  “Well?” the creature roared when they were a few paces apart. “Is it time?”

  N’lahr raised his hand. “Kill me later, Ortok. I’m in the middle of something.”

  Ortok sighed heavily.

  Kyrkenall gaped. “You know him?”

  “Yes.” N’lahr answered without turning.

  The archer relaxed tension on his bow. He called incredulously to his friend, “And you’re not worried that there’s a kobalin here in your secret stronghold?”

  “He’s supposed to be here. Long story.” N’lahr looked up into the kobalin’s large, flat face. “Ortok, how’s Kalandra?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Clearly the commander hadn’t expected that answer. “You don’t know? Why not?”

  “She’s not really here.”

  Kyrkenall had lowered his bow, though he had yet to replace it, or restore his arrow to its quiver. “What in the sucking abyss does that mean?”

  The kobalin turned glowing eyes toward him. “I am Ortok,” he said in his growling baritone. “And you are Kyrkenall. But you have not introduced yourself. It is proper to do so before speaking.”

  Elenai didn’t catch what the archer mumbled, though from his tone she guessed it wasn’t an especially refined comment.

  “Ortok,” N’lahr said, “where’s Kalandra?”

  “She’s partly here, but mostly gone.”

  Elenai couldn’t suppress a horrid thought—a bloody, amputated limb under glass in the kobalin’s lair. Surely that wasn’t what he meant.

  “You mean she’s dead?” Kyrkenall demanded.

  The kobalin drew back the corners of his mouth to show upward-pointing fangs as he regarded the archer. His voice was sonorous, like a rumble drum. “I really must insist on introduction. But no, she’s not dead. At least not as known to me. She left part of her spirit, but it’s much duller than she is.”

  “What the fuck is he talking about, N’lahr?”

  “I have no idea. Ortok, slayer of Nemrose, this is Kyrkenall Serevan, also known as Kyrkenall the Eyeless, bearer of the sacred ring.”

  “Ah!” The kobalin showed two sets of long matched fangs in a fearsome smile an inch or two wider than humanly feasible. “I thought it might be you,” he continued, as if he hadn’t stated as much mere moments ago. “It is a pleasure to meet you! If I were not already sworn to kill N’lahr, I should like to challenge you.”

  “So you’re the one who offed Nemrose, huh?” Kyrkenall sounded impressed. “Nice. I hated that hastig.”

  “Who’s Nemrose?” Elenai asked.

  “A Naor king,” Kyrkenall explained. “One of Mazakan’s chief leaders. Razed a bunch of villages in The Fragments.”

  Ortok smote his chest with one closed fist. “He was a brave and mighty foe, but not an honorable one. He attacked me with all his guard!”

  “And Ortok killed him anyway,” N’lahr said.

  Ortok beamed at him. “It pleases me still you heard of that day.”

  N’lahr indicated Elenai with a jab of his hand. “And this is Elenai Dartaan, of Vedessus, also known as Elenai Oddsbreaker.”

  Kyrkenall chuckled. “I like that.”

  Elenai had never been known as “Oddsbreaker.” She stared at the commander, a little confused, and caught him nodding at her with a slight grin. She blushed. He’d given her a heroic sobriquet!

  “Of you I have not heard,” Ortok said. “But I look forward to learning of your deeds. I have been here some while. I imagine there are bold stories that have not come to me.”

  “Later,” N’lahr said. “I want to see what you’re talking about with Kalandra. I’m having a hard time picturing what you mean. Are you saying Kalandra’s not here?”

  “That is right. She left, but part of her spirit stayed. It is strange to me. You can talk with her, but she mostly says the same thing.”

  “How did she leave her spirit?” Kyrkenall asked skeptically.

  “Magic.”

  Kyrkenall sighed. “Thanks. I’d never have guessed that.”

  “You should have,” Ortok said. “She is good with magics.”

  Kobalin, apparently, were strangers to sarcasm.

  “Where’s the real Kalandra?” N’lahr asked.

  “Out looking for something.”

  “What?”

  The kobalin gave a huge shrug. “She didn’t say.”

  “How long has she been gone?” Kyrkenall interrupted.

  “A long while.”

  Kyrkenall’s frustration was evident from his tone. “Days? Weeks? Months? Years?”

  Ortok grunted. “Some of those. You can ask her. She will know.”

  Kyrkenall looked as though he was ready to knife the kobalin. His discomfiture might have been more amusing if Elenai weren’t equally confused and frustrated. Had they come all this way for nothing?

  “Why don’t you take us to her … spirit,” N’lahr suggested.

  “She said you’d ask that. Follow me.” Ortok turned and exposed his huge, ridged, and hairy back to them as he plodded into the darkness of what turned out to be a narrow passage twisting into a shadowy portion of the rock. After the opening it was just feasible to ride side by side. N’lahr walked with Ortok, leading his horse, who snorted with displeasure and folded his ears back. Elenai knew how the animal felt. She rode beside Kyrkenall several paces back. The rough cliff wall rose steeply on either hand. Beneath, the bluish sands gave way to rich earth in which bright green grass alternated with clumps of small violet flowers.

  Kyrkenall shook his head. “Can you believe this? There was a kobalin here the whole time and he didn’t bother to warn us. Typical. Him and his answerless answers.”

  “You do the same thing.”

  Kyrkenall sounded genuinely offended. “No I don’t. Name one time.”

  “What about when I asked you what the hearthstones were and you told me I was better off not knowing?”

  “That’s different. There are things I don’t like talking about. But if I was taking you to some mysterious place where there was a kobalin lord I happened to be friends with, you can be damned sure I’d have mentioned it.”

  “I’m not sure I’d call them friends,” Elenai said. “He wants to kill the commander.”

  “That’s a mark of respect from a kobalin. And this is a deadly one, if he nailed Nemrose and his honor guard. That’s like ten guys as good as third rankers, backed up by a newbie alten. As much as they love stories, kobalin are pretty terrible at telling them.”

  “So you can be … friends with kobalin?”

  Kyrkenall raised one hand and tilted it back and forth. “Not so much. I mean—you can have mutual regard.”

  N’lahr said something that set Ortok roaring. Elenai reached for her sword as he shifted his hammer and lifted one great arm, thinking the kobalin had decided to attack.

  Then Ortok clapped N’lahr on the back and laughed. N’lahr, recovering his balance, chuckled himself.

  “Damn.” Even Kyrkenall looked startled.


  “But he still wants to kill him?” Elenai asked.

  “He said it, so he means it. But you don’t need to worry about that until N’lahr accepts the challenge.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “That seems a little strange.”

  “I think it’s refreshing. With kobalin you always know where you stand.”

  “You mean they always want to kill you.”

  “I mean they’ll fight you openly. Not like Denaven.” Kyrkenall’s mouth twisted.

  More unsettling truth. Elenai shook herself mentally.

  The trail wound on for a few hundred more feet before emerging into a wide oval garden space surrounded by cliff walls. Elenai stopped to take it in, marveling. There was the sound of flowing water from somewhere off to her right, where rows of exotic fruit trees blossomed amid cool mists. Bushes heavy with lush scarlet berries grew on her left. Bright insects flashed and fluttered. Rising in the dead center of the space was a squarish blue marble building with pillared portico and a slanted partial roof bearing overlapping onyx shingles that glistened in the sun. And most surprising, looking down upon the space from niches higher in the cliffside were six great statues of smiling figures. Not four, but six … was the betrayer Sartain’s statue up there along with the Goddess he’d killed and the others who’d first ruled the realms?

  Kyrkenall climbed down from his mare and took off her halter and saddle following N’lahr’s lead. Lyria immediately set to cropping grass and N’lahr’s animal wandered to her far side, away from Ortok. While Elenai eased the gear off her own mount, Kyrkenall joined N’lahr. “I see the statues. The Five, and the betrayer?”

  The swordsman’s answer was almost laconic. “That’s what Kalandra thought.”

  “The Gods were supposed to have warred before the start of civilization.” Kyrkenall’s wide sweeping arm indicated the whole of the place. “So who made this?”

  Only N’lahr could have sounded so matter-of-fact with his answer. “The Gods.”

  Ortok set his hammer beside one fluted blue column. “Come, come.”