77: CHANCE ENCOUNTERS
(Kihrin’s story)
“So you’ve been to Bahl-Nimian?” I asked Thurvishar the next morning over breakfast. Fortunately for both of us, Kishna-Farriga offered a wide range of food options, including some surprisingly well-done Quuros cuisine.
“No,” Thurvishar admitted, “but it doesn’t matter. After breakfast, we’ll return to the temple of Vilfar. Someone there’s been to the city and will give me the directions we need.”
I grinned at him. “Will this kind of volunteer be aware they’re giving you said directions?”
He just chuckled and tore a strip off his sag bread. “I’m curious about something. Yesterday, back at the temple, when we ran across Senera and the others, I was legitimately surprised you didn’t try to force Xivan to give Urthaenriel back. I realize we were outnumbered and they did have Urthaenriel to use, but I had expected you’d at least make the attempt.”
“Ah,” I said. “That’s because I’ve finally figured out what Urthaenriel is. And if I fought the duchess for it, she might have figured it out too. I couldn’t take that chance.”
For the first time that morning, Thurvishar looked confused. “I don’t understand. It’s completely obvious what Urthaenriel is. It’s right there in one of its more popular names: Godslayer.”
I slowly shook my head. “No. That’s a side effect. It’s not why the sword exists.” I leaned forward across the table and lowered my voice. “The question I have been asking myself for some time now is this: Was Vol Karoth’s creation an accident? And I think the answer is no. I think Relos Var—Rev’arric—did what he meant to do. The mistake he hadn’t counted on was what happened to everyone else involved in the ritual. Vol Karoth? That part went off perfectly.”
Thurvishar cocked his head. “But … how does that tie into Urthaenriel?”
“Think about it. Some of the earliest stories I’ve ever heard about Vol Karoth consistently claim Urthaenriel was used to defeat him. But that doesn’t make any sense. Urthaenriel is antithetical to magic, and so is Vol Karoth. Vol Karoth should be the one being in the universe Urthaenriel isn’t effective against. So I’ve been trying to think of how both could be true. And since I seem to have this … connection … with Urthaenriel as well as with Vol Karoth, a potential solution became obvious. I think Urthaenriel is Vol Karoth’s gaesh.”
Thurvishar’s eyes widened. He too began whispering. “What? But how would that even be possible? Vol Karoth was created at the same time as the Stone of Shackles.”
I shrugged. “So? We’ve been assuming gaeshing is impossible without the Stone of Shackles, but we don’t actually know that, do we? What if it’s not? What if the only reason everyone uses the Cornerstone is because that makes it much easier? If I’m right, Urthaenriel was created independently, which is why it wasn’t destroyed when I shattered the Stone of Shackles. The sword contains a sliver of Vol Karoth’s soul, which means whoever is holding it can control Vol Karoth.”1
Thurvishar just stared at me.
“He would have … I mean, he couldn’t just … What if…” His eyes unfocused as he dealt with the repercussions of what I’d just told him. He looked out at nothing, rubbing his lower lip. “So if the sword contains a sliver of his soul, then that means it also contains a sliver of yours—” Thurvishar gave me a significant look.
I made a face. “I don’t know. The sword and I have a connection, just as Vol Karoth and I seem to have a connection. That’s why I can hear the damn thing even when I’m not holding it. The first time I picked up Urthaenriel back at the Culling Fields, something in that sword woke up and recognized me. I guarantee you no one will ever be able to hide its location from me again. But I don’t know if that gaesh works on me. I’m a different soul now. I’m not S’arric anymore. But you understand my dilemma, right? What if I’m wrong? Standing in front of Senera and the Duchess of Yor wouldn’t be the right time to find out.”
“But why?” Thurvishar clarified himself immediately. “I mean, why would Relos Var create something like that? What purpose does it serve?” He pondered that for a second before adding, “Killing the rest of the Eight Immortals, I suppose.”
“No, if that was his motivation, Relos Var would be going on an Eight Immortals killing spree right now. He wouldn’t have given the sword to Xivan Kaen. It’s something else. I just haven’t figured out what yet.” I tapped my finger on the wooden table. “And where is Relos Var, anyway? We saw Senera, but where’s her master? It’s not like I can just shrug and say, ‘Oh well, he’s probably just been at home taking it easy, working on his wood carving skills. Maybe he’s taken up knitting?’”
Thurvishar scowled. “I’ve been trying so very hard not to think about that. Not to think about him.”
I could only feel sympathy for the man. He’d grown up his whole life thinking all his family were dead, and unlike me, he hadn’t been adopted by people who loved him. It had to be tough to realize his only living family was Relos Var.
Of course, that set me to thinking about my own father and that situation. Before I knew it, we were both sitting at the table, staring out at nothing, eating the rest of our breakfast in mute, mournful silence.
Finally, I slapped my hand on the table, stood, and picked up my harp. “Come on. Let’s go find that friendly volunteer so we can tour the lovely city of Bahl-Nimian.”
We stepped through Thurvishar’s gate into a small cul-de-sac of red stone walls without a sky. Even though it was daytime, the dim light made it feel otherwise. The odor, on the other hand, suggested a city of people with questionable bathing habits housed too tightly together, probably along with their livestock.
Graffiti and lewd messages covered the stone wall for almost the entire length that I could see. Most of the graffiti seemed dedicated to curses. I felt a little sad Tyentso wasn’t here to see them. She was a great connoisseur of foul language and would absolutely have appreciated it.
“Are we sure we’re in the right place?” I looked to Thurvishar.
“Yes?” His expression seemed equally dubious.
Then I heard the singing. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I said. “Are you joking? Taja, this isn’t funny.”
Thurvishar stopped and turned back to face me. “What’s wrong?”
“They’re here.” I stabbed a finger downward for emphasis. “What the ever icy hell, Thurvishar? I can still hear Urthaenriel. Godslayer’s here in Bahl-Nimian. Right now.”
Thurvishar’s eyes widened. “That’s not possible.”
I was frankly amazed by his ability to say those words with a straight face. “Seriously?”
“Okay,” he acknowledged. “Possible. Just highly improbable.” Then he grimaced. “I should have realized—when we saw Senera, Talea, and Xivan in Kishna-Farriga, they were at a temple of Vilfar. And Bahl-Nimian is Vilfar’s sacred city. So whatever they’re doing, it probably involves dealing with the god-queen herself.”
“So the highly improbable bit is that Grizzst picked this city for his whoring. Gotcha. Fine. Shouldn’t be an issue. Since I can hear Urthaenriel, it should also be easy to avoid Urthaenriel.”
“Right. So we shall ask around for the velvet houses, find Grizzst, and then be on our way before Senera, Xivan, or Talea is the wiser.” Thurvishar began walking toward the mouth of the cul-de-sac.
I followed. “Sounds foolproof.”
I tried to ask around, realized that was complicated by the fact I didn’t speak the local language, and ended up passing off that duty to Thurvishar. He didn’t speak the language either, but it turns out being able to read minds is just amazingly handy under such circumstances. We had a few close calls along the way, when Urthaenriel’s song clearly became louder, thus indicating Xivan had strayed uncomfortably close. We had to duck around some buildings and even backtrack once, before we finally ended up at a brothel. It wasn’t the one Thurvishar had been looking for, but it was a brothel. (I refuse to call it a velvet house. It wasn’t that nice.)
I scoffed under my breath the moment I entered. Squalid, I think, would be the appropriate word. This wasn’t one of the buildings carved into the bedrock—those seemed well maintained. This was built in an interior space, and its stability was questionable. If this was an establishment that tendered a great deal of traffic, the owners clearly didn’t believe in investing it back into the business. I suspected the building did as much business in drugs as whores.
A thin, sickly-looking man came out and said something. I have no idea what, but I could fill in the gaps. What do you want? Women? Men? What sort? We have everything! No tastes too exotic! All very sexy!
Maybe the people he’d offer up were being treated fairly. This might be the one town in the whole world where someone might hesitate to take advantage of prostitutes. Somehow I had my doubts.
I turned to Thurvishar. “I don’t speak the local language, so this is on you.”
He made a face. “Does it have to be?”2
“Oh, you’re Quur?” the man said. The accent was terrible, but the fact I could understand him at all was a miracle in itself.
“Oh good, he speaks a little Guarem.” Thurvishar shoved me forward. “He’s all yours.”
I gave Thurvishar a hurt look, but he was having none of it. So instead, I walked over to the brothel owner and slipped a few ords into the man’s hand. He was a pro—that metal vanished like it had never been there at all, but his smile widened.
“Yes, we’re Quuros,” I told him. “We’re looking for a particular someone—”
“We have everything!” His smile was as wide as it was fake.
“No, we’re not here for whores,” I said. “This man is special—”
His expression fell into something tired and a bit bored. “Give me his look. Twenty-five ord for thirty-second start.” He made a running motion with his fingers. “Fifty for surprise visit.” This time he ran a finger across his throat, with his tongue hanging out. “You damage house, you pay extra.”
I stared at him.
He sighed. “This Bahl-Nimian,” he said, as if that explained all I might need to know about why a brothel owner was so inured to the idea of letting people in his clients’ rooms, he had a standard rate for the service.
“Right. Um—wait—” I looked back toward Thurvishar. “What does he look like—”
Urthaenriel’s song rang out loud and clear.
Simultaneously, the door to the brothel opened. Xivan Kaen stepped into the room, followed by Senera and Talea.
“There you are,” Senera said. “I was starting to think you were avoiding us.”