Thief Who Spat in Luck's Good Eye

by Michael McClung

  Afternoon passed to evening. Holgren lay napping on the grass beside me, and fireflies began to appear in the gloom beneath the trees. It was a pleasant sight, reminding me of early childhood summers spent with my grandmother before she’d died, when my father had still been able to get caravan work—

  Fireflies? In winter?

  “Holgren, wake up. Something’s happening.” I nudged him in the ribs, and he came up quick and clear-headed.

  “Powerful magic is at work.”

  I looked around, and the trees were melting away like phantoms. The lights I had taken at first for fireflies were expanding, brightening, and aligning themselves along intricate geometric lines. They bled into one another until solid planes of glowing, green light came into being. Walls formed hundreds of feet high. Even the meadow grass retreated back into the ground and was replaced by some hard, flat surface. As these new surroundings took shape, that eerie, green light faded to be replaced by weak starshine. The walls took on the appearance of tangible shadows. Precise as every angle was, there still seemed to be something organic about the structure in a way I couldn’t pin down.

  When everything stopped shifting, we stood in the courtyard of a huge fortress. Walls surrounded us on three sides. The fourth side of the courtyard, behind the obsidian block, was taken up by a massive archway, beyond which lay only a shadowy void. It was the entrance to a massive structure that stretched up and blotted out the stars. I craned my head back and saw a confusing welter of walls and windows and eaves and high above them a thin spire that seemed to pierce the sky itself. No human hands could have built such an edifice.

  Welcome to Shadowfall, said a rich, disembodied voice. It was familiar. It was a younger version of the voice the Sorcerer King’s crippled husk had owned.

  Ruiqi will be joining us momentarily, the voice continued. Please enter, and make yourselves comfortable.

  I glanced at Holgren. His face was unreadable. I took hold of his shoulder, and we went through the arch.

  I thought I had experienced discomfort when I entered the gate to Thagoth that Holgren had conjured up months before. This was something else again. It wasn’t pain, but was as if every particle of my body was taken apart, studied, sniffed over, tasted, and put back together in a fraction of a second. It was over almost before it began. As I stepped through the archway to the room beyond, I felt an impulse to scream that dissipated before I had a chance to act on it.

  The room was much like any drawing room with a hearth in one corner containing a small, flickering fire. Two upholstered chairs were drawn up beside it. I glanced back at the archway, and it was now the size of a normal door. Beyond, I could see nothing but shadows.

  I apologize for the brief discomfort, but I find such measures save time. Now, I know just who—and what—partakes of my hospitality. Welcome, Amra, Flame-chosen. Welcome, Holgren, resurrected mage. Please take a seat. We have much to discuss.

  Holgren and I seated ourselves.

  “Why don’t you join us?” I asked. “I like to see who I’m talking to.”

  Your partner spoke closer to the truth than you guessed when he jested about being in the belly of the beast. Rather than being in the room with you, it would be closer to the truth to say I am the room. I can, however, create a manifestation if it will make you more comfortable.

  “It doesn’t really matter to me, I suppose. And I doubt it makes much difference to Holgren. Though I thought you wicked types liked to make people uncomfortable as a general rule.”

  Have you ever considered the notion that every so-called hero is actually a villain from someone’s perspective? The reverse also applies, as in any equation.

  “I don’t tend to think of such things. I’m a more practical person. I try not to let the larger issues distract me.”

  The flames in the hearth sort of rippled and twisted, and out of them stepped a man of medium height. He was naked and bald. Those same tattoos adorned his skull. Shadows sloughed off him like dead skin and drifted like ash to the floor at his feet.

  He was handsome in a boyish sort of way though his eyes were two dead things that reflected no light. I sort of had to squint to see the resemblance, but he could have been a younger, able-bodied version of the Sorcerer King.

  “I understand just what you mean, Amra.” He raised a finger absently, and another chair appeared. He sat down and thankfully crossed his legs.

  “I too am what you might call goal-oriented,” he said. “Which gives me hope that we can come to an understanding this evening. But here is Ruiqi now with refreshments.”

  She came in the room through the arch, still wearing her ochre robe, carrying a tray on which rested a flagon of wine and two small, crystal glasses. She knelt between Holgren and me, eyes downcast. Nothing showed now of the haughty, powerful mage from this morning. The tray she held trembled slightly, and sweat beaded on her upper lip though the room was cool despite the fire.

  “Not right now, thank you,” I said. Holgren shook his head. She rose and, walking backward, retreated to a far corner where she stood and held the tray with white-knuckled hands. She kept her eyes firmly on the floor.

  Was this some sort of subtle statement on the Shadow King’s part? If he was trying to intimidate me, it was pointless. I already feared him as much as I feared anything. I did feel an odd stab of pity for Ruiqi, though, to see her so cowed. I suppressed it. I had my own problems.

  “We needn’t waste much time, I shouldn’t think,” said the Shadow King. “You know my interest in you has to do with the necklace. You know its intended recipient was Athagos. Let’s discuss what I require from you.”

  “I told her, and I’ll tell you, nothing would make me happier than for you to take this necklace back. You’ll be happy, I’ll be happy, and we can all go about our business. I don’t see what there is to discuss. Just take it.”

  “In a perfect world, that would be precisely what I would do. Alas, we do not live in a perfect world—not yet, at least. There are two ways to remove the necklace, Amra. The first requires your death.”

  “I can’t say I like that one much at all.”

  “I’d assumed as much. That fact alone should make the alternative more palatable.”

  “What is the alternative?” Holgren asked.

  “Amra must return to Thagoth and place the slave chain on the neck of the one it was intended for.”

  “Let me just work this out aloud,” I said. “You made the necklace, but you can’t take it off me?”

  “No. I only guided the making of the slave chain. I did not fashion it myself. If I had, we would not be having this conversation as the chain would fully acquiesce to my will.”

  “May I ask who did make it?” Holgren asked.

  “The Duke of Viborg. A talented man, given his limitations.”

  “Ah. I see. Thank you.”

  I wanted to get up and pace. I didn’t. “So you can either kill me and get somebody else to cart it back to Thagoth—which I have to assume isn’t your first choice or you wouldn’t bother to get all chatty—or I go back to that hell-hole myself and get Athagos to try it on for size.”

  “Essentially. I have enough control over the Duke’s creation to redirect its focus and allow you to return to Thagoth.”

  “It all sounds very plausible, doesn’t it? Except that I’m actually a dead woman either way. I only survived Athagos last time by sheer chance.”

  “You are a resourceful woman, Amra. You’ll think of something. Or not. Honestly, it is of no concern to me so long as Athagos dons the chain.”

  “It’s not your problem, in other words. What if—hypothetically, you understand—I refuse to go?”

  He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. They were lumps of coal.

  “There would be nothing hypothetical about your death, I assure you. You would still bear the necklace to its destination. Believe me when I tell you death is no bar to my will.”

  “You�
�ll forgive me for saying so, but where I come from, dead is dead.”

  “Ruiqi. Be so kind as to show our guests what I mean.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that at all. “That won’t be necessary, really. I have a vivid imagination.”

  “I find object lessons powerful motivators.”

  Ruiqi set down the tray and stepped closer, to within arm’s reach. She kept her eyes cast to the floor. Slowly, she began to pull her robe over her head. Delicate ankles were exposed, then graceful, muscular calves, dark skin glowing like burnished copper in the fire’s light. The hem of her robe rose higher to expose knees and thighs, as graceful and toned as a dancer’s or an acrobat’s.

  It was just above her groin that her body changed from most men’s dream to anyone’s nightmare. As she slipped the robe over her head and let it fall to the floor, I couldn’t help but stare in sick fascination at all the damage. The woman had no right to be walking around or poling a punt or even breathing, mage or no.

  Something had torn great chunks from her torso. She had been partially gutted. Blood-slick lengths of intestines—what remained of her intestines, I should say—lay coiled in the depression just above her hips, held in place by Kerf-only-knows what force. All flesh on the left side of her abdomen was gone from ribs to navel. I could just see the tips of the vertebrae of her lower spine peeking out, orange in the fire’s light. Her ribcage wasn’t much better. It had been cracked open and a fist-sized section removed, exposing splintered ribs and her purplish, beating heart.

  “Ruiqi has, in the past, sought to cross me in certain matters,” the Shadow King said. “She has learned the wisdom of obedience. Haven’t you?”

  “I have, master,” she replied.

  “You may dress now, and leave us.”

  “Thank you, master.” There was no hiding the tone of relief in her voice. She put the robe on quickly but left the room with a measured gait. I suppose her master disapproved of haste.

  “You will return to Thagoth, Amra, and collar the death goddess. If you manage to survive, I wish you a long life. Our business will have been concluded. Have you any further questions?”

  “Why do you want Athagos?” I asked.

  “I’m afraid you wouldn’t understand.”

  “I would,” said Holgren.

  “Indeed, you might. My motivations should be the least of your concerns, however.”

  Holgren nodded. “As you say.”

  I stood up and grabbed Holgren’s arm, fairly yanking him out of his chair. “Well, I suppose we should be on our way. It’s a long trip back to Thagoth, and I’m sure you’d like to have Athagos here as soon as possible, whatever you want her for. Will you be provisioning us? We lost everything in your creatures’ attack.”

  I wanted to get the hell away from him—it, whatever—as soon as humanly possible before my smart mouth earned me missing chunks of my anatomy. Just thinking about it made me shudder.

  “Provisions won’t be necessary. I shall open a gate for you.”

  “That’s great, but what about after? If we manage to survive securing Athagos for you, we’ll be hard-pressed to make it home.”

  “In your own words, that’s not my problem.”

  I had nothing to say to that. Ruiqi came back in then and stood just inside the archway with her eyes downcast. “All is prepared,” she said in a subdued voice. “Follow.”

  I hooked an arm through Holgren’s and followed her out. My mind was already turning to the question of surviving Athagos. I had to find some way to deafen myself again, preferably in a temporary sort of way. I weighed the chances of simply stuffing my ears with cotton or wax. It was a hell of a chance to take, and I’d only get one shot. Perhaps Holgren had some magical way to achieve my deafening. Once we were well away from the Shadow King, we were going to need a planning session.

  Ruiqi led us back through the arch, this time without the disconcerting side effects, into the courtyard beyond. The Shadow King was already there, standing off to one side. A circle of ghostly blue fire about eight feet in diameter ringed the glassy, black block now.

  “Holgren, please enter the circle.” The Shadow’s voice was cool, a trifle too nonchalant. It rang alarms in me.

  “This isn’t anything like what Holgren did to summon up the last gate.”

  “The observations of a magic-poor thief do not interest me.”

  “Then let me rephrase—what the hell is going on?”

  Ruiqi blanched. Her eyes grew wide and she shook her head. Don’t, she mouthed.

  Again, the Shadow smiled. His eyes weren’t made of coal any more though. More like lightless pits of doom.

  “Enter the circle, Holgren. I will not tell you again.”

  Holgren leaned into me. “We’re nearly free,” he murmured. “Whatever will happen, will happen. I love you.” And with that, he walked forward until he crossed over into the circle. He brushed against the obsidian block. And began to scream.

  “You motherless—” I screamed and rushed to Holgren and found myself suddenly on the ground. The circle of flame had repelled me. I tried again. I couldn’t cross the boundary of the circle. My body refused to. I could reach my hand up to the circle but could not force it past the edge of the ghostly fire, couldn’t break the plane no matter how hard I tried.

  Holgren fell to the ground as I watched and curled up there in pain next to the block.

  “I have other endeavors on which to spend my power,” the Shadow said. “The circle makes his abilities available to me to open the gate. The side effect is painful and unpleasant.”

  “Then hurry up and open it.”

  “Perhaps you haven’t noticed, but it is I who commands here.”

  “Fine. Please open the gate!”

  “You can do better than that, Amra.”

  “Tell me what you want me to say, and I’ll say it!”

  Holgren was going into convulsions on the floor. Foamy spittle was collecting at the corner of his mouth. His head smacked the block with every spastic jerk.

  “Draw your example from Ruiqi,” he said.

  “Please open the gate…master.” I forced the word out. What was a word in comparison to the agony Holgren was going through? Words are cheap.

  “Much better, Amra. Much better though I might question your sincerity. Don’t feel as though you’ve compromised any vestiges of honor or dignity in acknowledging my station. Once Athagos comes to me, the entire world will bend to my will. You have only done what everyone will in time.”

  “Whatever you say. Master. Please stop. You’re killing him. How can he help me in getting Athagos for you if he’s dead?”

  “Holgren will not be joining you in Thagoth.” The circle of flame sputtered out, and Holgren’s convulsions subsided. I ran to his slack body and cradled his head in my lap. He was still breathing.

  A pearlescent gate opened in the center of the courtyard a few feet away from us.

  “I would never kill a member of my khordun,” the Shadow King said. “Not in any permanent sense. If you doubt me, ask Ruiqi. Holgren will go a long way in replacing the Duke. His death was a vexing inconvenience and one I’ve learned from. Holgren will remain here.”

  The bastard had taken Holgren against his will. He would be a slave just as much as Ruiqi, and if the husk had been telling the truth, they would eventually become mindless, will-less vessels for the Shadow King to draw power from. Ruiqi seemed well on her way already.

  I remembered the ghost formed from corpse-dust in the husk’s throne room and his sighing, “Master, someone has come.” Not even death would free Holgren from the khordun.

  It was then I knew I would have to destroy the Shadow King, whatever the cost. Not for the Flame, not for any god, but for Holgren. With that certainty came a cold inner peace and a clarity of purpose that allowed me to see what I needed to do.

  It might not work. It probably wouldn’t work, but it was our only chance for survival.
I looked up at the Shadow King with tears in my eyes. Those I didn’t have to fake.

  “Master, I would like to say good-bye to him before I leave. Please. I’m begging you.” This one wanted slaves, wanted power. Wanted to show his power, I hoped.

  He smiled again, waved an indulgent hand. “As you wish.”

  I felt Holgren stir. His eyes fluttered open, and a groan escaped his lips. “Oh, gods,” he whispered and began to shudder. I tried to haul Holgren to his feet, but he was practically dead weight. I had to get him standing if what I planned had any chance of success.

  “Ruiqi, will you help?”

  She hesitated then, when her master didn’t object, bobbed her head and helped pull him upright. I worked it to where we staggered a pace or two closer to the gate. I didn’t know if it would be enough.

  “Hurry up. I waste power keeping the gate open while you dally.”

  “Yes, master. Just one last embrace.” I put my hands to his face and kissed him, thoroughly. Ruiqi looked away. I wrapped my arms tightly around his waist and looked into his eyes and saw a pain there that had nothing to do with his body.

  “Say good-bye, Holgren,” I whispered. Then with every scrap of speed and strength I had, I flung us both toward the pearlescent, glowing gate.

  The Shadow King’s scream of rage rang across the courtyard. Holgren shrieked in time. The gate shrank even as we hurtled toward it.

  Chapter Eight

  When Holgren opened the first gate to Thagoth, we went through one at a time. When we plummeted through this one together, I found out why.

  Stepping through that first gate had been unpleasant. To disappear from one place and reappear in another the next instant wasn’t a natural act, and my body had known it. This time, both Holgren and I occupied the same non-space, the same space between here and there, the same fissure in reality. We shared an intimacy that living things were not meant to know. There are no reference points, nothing to proceed from. It was as if our very souls mixed and intermingled. I saw—I felt—just who he was, his own essence, whatever made him him. And he saw and felt me. For that brief eternity, we became each other. It was terrifying and elating. Then it was over.