66: THE VOICE OF HEAVEN

(Kihrin’s story)

I set down my cards. “And this is why I own all your metal.”

The other gamblers groaned. The Doltari man on my left cursed something I didn’t understand, likely a commentary on my ancestry or instructions on where I could put that winning hand. I grinned as I collected my ords and took a moment to finish off my meal.

Steak pudding turned out to be lightly spiced mutton hidden inside a bread wrapping and then simmered by the fire all day. I’d have liked it to have been spicier, but I wasn’t going to complain.

I noticed no one was dealing out the next hand. Everyone at the table was giving the Doltari man next to me an uncomfortable look before turning their attention back to me.

Okay, so he also might have been accusing me of cheating.

I sighed as I licked my fingers clean. “Is this going to be trouble? I don’t want trouble. I’m sure the nice tavern keep doesn’t want trouble.”

The Doltari man pushed his chair back from the table and stood. He was large and well muscled. Everyone at the table gave him the deference owed to the local big man, the one you made sure won more than he lost if you knew what was good for you.

Taja, I wasn’t in the mood for this shit.

He growled something else I didn’t understand before he pulled a knife. I blinked at him. Was he serious? I mean, I look pretty damn vané if I’m dressed for it, and by coincidence, I was dressed for it. Most Kishna-Farrigans knew what a vané looked like. Did he think he’d been lucky enough to play cards with the one vané who wasn’t a thousand-year-old deadly wizard and duelist?

I mean, he had, but that’s a hell of a thing to be right about. And I’m still damn good with a sword, which I happened to be wearing.

Before the gambler with the knife did anything stupid, I drew Dolgariatz’s loaner sword, whipped it across his hand so he dropped the knife, and ended the motion with the sword point at the man’s throat.

“I. Am. Not. In. The. Fucking. Mood.” If the words wouldn’t translate, the sword’s meaning was universal. I held the blade on him while I tucked coins into my belt pouch with my free hand. It was time to leave.

The bar fell silent again, this time in a more judgmental way. Strangers stood to my back, and this man—whoever he was—might have friends in the crowd who’d object to how this had shaken out. Also, I didn’t know the local laws on dueling, bar fights, or hell, just using a sword in public.

That’s when I heard singing.

I might’ve been hearing the voice earlier, but the normal tavern sounds had drowned it out. I tilted my head as I listened.

“Do any of you hear that?”

A women who spoke Guarem blinked in confusion and shrugged. The door creaked open; someone entered from outside. A chair leg scraped against the wooden floor. I surmised at least one person had stood. Nobody seemed to have any idea what I was talking about, however.

The singing continued.

I sensed motion behind me. I moved to the side as a thick club missed my head. At the same time, the gambler saw his opening and tried to take it. Again, I don’t know what he was thinking. He didn’t even have a knife by then. I pricked him on the shoulder as a reminder that I was armed and he wasn’t, then whipped my sword around and let the man attacking me from behind impale himself. The wood under our feet jumped as someone fell to their knees hard. At that point, I grabbed the strap on the harp’s carrying case with one hand while keeping the sword out with the other, hoping to make any more would-be helpers pause as I backed my way to the door.

A man to my right pulled a crossbow up from under the table and started winding the crank.

“Shit,” I muttered as I continued backing up. I’d probably still be in the room by the time that bastard finished. The Doltari man grabbed a poker from the hearth and started advancing with more confidence now that he held a weapon whose reach matched my own. I noticed the tavern keep who’d so graciously fed me was back behind the bar, looking frustrated.

But then someone screamed. The man who’d finished loading his crossbow fired his bolt, a ludicrously bad shot that hit the far wall. Or rather, it hit the rope tied to an iron peg on the far wall, which held up a heavy iron sconce above the main room, which promptly fell directly on top of the Doltari man’s head. He went down like a netful of dead fish.

I paused. “Thanks, Taja.”

I figured this was the perfect moment to stop backing up and run. I turned around and nearly slammed into Thurvishar, dressed in woolen D’Lorus black robes, holding a bundle over one arm.

“Are we done playing?” Thurvishar asked.

“Yes, we are,” I agreed as I started to sheathe my sword. I grimaced, wiped the blade’s edge on my thin silk shirt, and tried again. “Let’s leave. There’s something I need to do.”

I didn’t wait on him; I started to hurry out. I paused on the way as a faded piece of paper nailed to the wall next to the door caught my attention. I grabbed it and finished running out the door.

The cold hit me like a slap. It had still been daylight when we’d arrived in Kishna-Farriga, but now it was after dark. Snow had turned the brightly painted wooden buildings into a gray-and-white wonder, sparkling under the silver glow of mage-lights strung along the streets. The various god-king temples, cathedrals, and churches across the city had been limned in magical light, turning the city into a glory of rainbows by night. Honestly, one of the most beautiful sights I’ve ever seen.

Of course, it was also well below freezing, and the night air felt like I’d just jumped into the waters of a winter lake.¹

Thurvishar offered me the bundle. “Hurry. Your new friends may be loath to part ways.”

“Right. You take the harp.” I traded and started walking toward the singing. I still heard the voice. I suppose I should have stopped to change clothes, but that singing … I unrolled the bundle as I walked. Thurvishar had given me a thick tunic, gloves, fur-lined boots, woolen kef, a down-lined coat, and a bundle of fur that was either a cloak or a skinned bear. I’d have bet anything the clothing was Yoran. “Also, what took you so long?”

“Why would you think I’d have clothing back at Shadrag Gor that would fit you?” Thurvishar made a vague gesture toward my build and height. I noticed he’d also reclaimed twin intaglio Gryphon Men rings that would allow him to talk directly to Empress Tyentso.² “That took time. And I’d assumed you’d warm yourself by the hearth and stay out of trouble!”

“Really? That’s on you. I thought you knew me better than that.” I didn’t bother to undress, but instead just piled his clothing on top of my previous layers as we walked. The boots proved the most troublesome, since I did have to remove the jeweled sandals first. I had to hand it to Thurvishar: they actually fit.

He rolled his eyes but didn’t contradict me.

“Just out of curiosity … was it you or Taja who made that light sconce fall?”

“It wasn’t me,” Thurvishar said. “I was going to trip him with the floorboards.”

“Oh. Taja, then.” I finished tapping my feet into the boots and wrapped the fur cloak around myself. Much better. “Come on, let’s go. We need to hurry.”

He frowned. “I don’t hear anyone. I don’t think they’re chasing—” Then he stopped and stared at me, mouth falling open in shock. “Urthaenriel? You can’t be hearing Urthaenriel. That’s impossible.”

I drew my sword. I hadn’t said a word about Urthaenriel—Godslayer—or that I was hearing her voice in the air. But I’d been thinking it.

And of all the creatures in the world who can read minds, exactly none are friends.

Thurvishar’s eyes widened as he realized his mistake.³ He raised his hands in surrender. “Wait! Wait, just listen. I’m not a demon. I’m not Talon either. Or any other mimic.”

“And exactly how would you prove that?” I said through gritted teeth.

“I’ve been able to read minds for as long as I can remember, Kihrin. It’s my witch gift: the whole reason Gadrith didn’t kill me when I was a child. Telepathy is too useful. It’s almost impossible for me not to read someone’s mind unless they’re heavily shielded with talismans. You used to be, if you’ll pardon the expression, an open book. Used to be. It’s become more difficult.” He tilted his head and studied me thoughtfully. “You really are hearing Urthaenriel.” It wasn’t a question; Thurvishar knew.

Of course. If he remembered being Simillion, the first Quuros emperor, then he’d held Urthaenriel himself once. He knew what she sounded like.

“Yeah.”

“You know that’s impossible, right?”

“You mean impossible like the way I have a link to the god of darkness and despair and just channeled his power to disintegrate a dragon?”

He made a face. “Point taken.” But then Thurvishar glanced at my hands. “What was that you grabbed from the tavern, anyway?”

“Oh, this?” I held up the paper for a second before stuffing it into my coat. “My wanted poster. Fortunately, it’s a terrible likeness, not to mention four years out of date.”

Thurvishar raised an eyebrow. “How much are they offering?”

“Quite a flattering sum. Something to remember if we need to collect heaps of metal in a hurry. Now, come on, then. Let’s run—” I slid sideways on the ice, windmilled my arms, and managed to come to an undignified and precarious upright stance. I gestured. “Let’s walk that way.”

Thurvishar nodded and followed.