32. THE RUINS OF A LIGHTHOUSE

Qown’s story

Shadrag Gor

After being taken prisoner by Relos Var

Relos Var wasted no time removing the group from the Soaring Halls. Qown knew right away where the wizard was taking them. There was only one location where it was necessary to open a magical gate underneath the feet of the entire group because it was of vital importance that they all arrived at their destination at the exact same time: the Lighthouse at Shadrag Gor. Which meant that Relos Var planned on doing something that would take time.

Gaeshing them, for instance.1

Qown shivered as Relos Var gestured in the air and wove together the spell. The portal irised out into position under their feet, dropping them all through.

Onto nothing.

The air was bitterly cold and smelled of ocean salt, petrichor, and years of accumulated bird droppings. The sky was darkening into evening, the sun already fallen behind the mountains to the east. There was nothing below them but a long drop down onto sharp rocks and tempest-torn seas. They’d come out of the magical gate in midair. At least a hundred feet of empty space stretched down underneath them, with no supports at all.

So they fell.

Before Qown could even begin properly screaming, a second portal opened under their feet. They landed somewhere else—mud and marble blocks and the smell of bamboo forests this time. But even a wizard like Relos Var could only cast complicated gate spells so fast when he’d been taken by surprise. They’d dropped twenty feet—maybe closer to thirty feet—before hitting solid ground with all the finality of throwing eggs at a stone wall. Qown landed poorly; something in his leg snapped.

The screaming was for a different reason than surprise that time.

Qown choked on the pain. He didn’t want to look down at his leg, so clearly bent the wrong way. A femur break, almost certainly. The bone had pierced skin.

“Fuck,” Galen groaned. He rolled, his body wrapped around the toddler. While neither of them seemed seriously injured, neither was happy either. No amount of candied fruit was going to stop Tave from bawling this time.

“Qown, can you—” Galen seemed to flinch, then cursed again. “Damn. Heal yourself first, I guess.”

“I’d love to, but I can’t.” Even if the broken fingers weren’t an issue—and they were—Anlyr had weighed him down with enough talismans to keep him from doing anything that might harm others or help himself.

Sheloran seemed fine, but she still had access to her full magical abilities. She wouldn’t have had a difficult time slowing her descent. Galen was fussing over the child and hadn’t so much as glanced at Qown after giving him that impossible order. Which Galen knew perfectly well was impossible. Qown suspected he was trying his damnedest to act like Qown’s fate concerned him not at all.

Relos Var stood off to the side, cursing.

Anlyr bent down over Qown. “I’ve got you,” he said gently and started breaking the wires holding the talisman coins with a dagger’s edge. “Can hardly heal yourself wearing these fun little gems, now can you?”

“You should know. You put them on me,” Qown said through gritted teeth.

“And now I’m removing them. Straightening the leg’s going to hurt, but then you already knew that.”

“You were never in any danger,” Qown murmured. “When we first met, when those assassins attacked Galen’s carriage back in the Capital. Relos Var was the one who healed you. Were you even injured at all?”

Anlyr smiled wryly. “Not really, no, but I’m fantastic at faking it. And who do you think sent the assassins?” He stage-whispered, “Here’s a hint: it wasn’t Gerisea.”

Galen scoffed, having apparently overheard. The child was crying again, and who could blame him? Qown was crying too. He’d genuinely thought he was about to die. Of all the dangers he’d faced in the past four years, it struck him as horribly unfair to think what finally killed him would be something as simple as a miscast gate spell.

Except Relos Var didn’t miscast spells. So what had happened?

“What was that?” Sheloran’s voice cracked with hysterical laughter. “I would think that if you wanted to break one of our healer’s legs, there were easier ways to accomplish the task.”

Relos Var made a sound that could only charitably be called laughter. “Indeed there are.” He took stock of his former apprentice’s situation with an apathetic eye before he focused on Sheloran. “Still bored?”

Sheloran flushed and didn’t answer. Galen looked between Qown and Sheloran, clearly trying to decide if it was worth breaking character to see if Qown was all right.

Qown shook his head minutely and hoped Anlyr didn’t notice.

Galen narrowed his eyes. Then he moved over to Sheloran with the boy still in his arms.

“I don’t want to hold him,” Sheloran snapped. “He was your idea.”

Anlyr laughed, looking delighted. “Oh, it’s a little late to pretend you don’t care about the tyke. Terribly sorry, but that baby boy is officially on the ‘useful hostage’ list, so you might as well try to see if you can dry his tears and make sure he knows his mommy loves him.” He waved the hand that he wasn’t using to remove Qown’s talismans. “Or keep up the acting. I always appreciate a good performance. You’re good.”

“You’re a monster,” Sheloran spat.

“You have no idea,” Anlyr agreed amiably. He continued removing talismans from Qown with quick flicks of that blade. “Now, Lord Var, I am curious about something. Weren’t we supposed to be going to the Lighthouse at Shadrag Gor? Because I couldn’t help but notice a distinct lack of Lighthouse in our immediate vicinity.”

“Yes,” Relos Var answered dryly. “I noticed that too.”

“I’ve always admired your skills at observation,” Anlyr continued. “Only why was there no Lighthouse?”

Var leveled a look at Anlyr sharp enough to cut through steel, a look that clearly said the man could push his luck too far. Anlyr grinned a mischievous smile, then ducked his head and returned to concentrating on Qown. The priest felt a warmth fill his thigh as magical energy flowed into him, then numbness. That was galling, on multiple levels. Anlyr had just used a Vishai healing technique. Qown knew it well. And so did Anlyr. And why wouldn’t he? Qown had learned the method from Relos Var, even if he hadn’t known his mentor’s true identity at the time. Had Anlyr studied at the Temple of Light, some nameless acolyte Qown had never met? Or had they met, and Qown hadn’t remembered him?

“You might want to clench your teeth for this next part,” Anlyr advised.

“Yes, thank you.” Qown did. He knew what was coming and wasn’t disappointed when the most horrible, sharp pain gripped him, shooting up his leg directly into his spine. The world went white, then black.

When he blinked his universe into some semblance of coherence, he still lay down on the ground, but Anlyr had walked away. The little boy, Tave, had stopped crying and had been set down. He’d walked over to Qown, where he was wiping Qown’s hair away from his eyes. The gesture might have been better appreciated if Tave’s fingers weren’t still sticky with sugar candy, but that was truly the least of Qown’s worries at that moment.

Qown smiled at him, then his gaze shifted back to Galen, worried and tense. They met each other’s eyes, and Qown nearly flinched at the despair that slouched in Galen’s stare.

“You good now?” the little boy asked, before solemnly clarifying why exactly Qown might be feeling a little out of sorts: “You fell wrong.”

“Yes, I did,” Qown answered. “Thank you.” He dragged himself up into a sitting position and finally saw where they’d landed.

The Temple of Light, in Eamithon. What remained of it. The former temple was mostly open field and burial mounds at that moment, rows of neatly stacked white marble that might one day be reused to build … something. The area had been cleansed of the more macabre and obscene twisted details that Qown had witnessed when they were last there, in the aftermath of Gorokai the dragon’s attack. He didn’t know what Relos Var had done with the bodies, with the warped bits of stone. And Relos Var himself …

Relos Var watched Qown with eyes devoid of all expression. Qown felt a chill. Whatever tenderness or affection had ever been there was truly gone now. Relos Var was done pretending to be a creature capable of love. Or maybe whatever affection he might have once felt toward Qown just didn’t matter. No amount of friendship, love, or loyalty would impede Relos Var’s goals. But Qown suspected this was more personal—their relationship had been more personal. More paternal. The worst possibility was that Relos Var had viewed Qown as much a son as Qown had viewed the wizard a father. And if Var was allowed to betray, use, and manipulate Qown, the reverse wasn’t true.

Qown’s throat closed. He’d thought he might bluff his way through when Anlyr had come for him. He’d tried, he really had. Qown had failed in his mission to reclaim Grimward, yes, but there’d been no reason to think Relos Var would punish him for it. Relos Var had never been one to punish failure with any sting more lingering than parental disappointment. It had been Qown’s first mission; he’d messed up. Relos Var must have known there was a chance he would.

Because Qown had been trying to bluff, trying to pretend that he was still a loyal lapdog, he’d even handed Worldhearth over without hesitation when Relos Var had asked for it. It’s what Qown would have done, back in the days when he thought Relos Var was someone to be trusted.

It was only once Relos Var had Worldhearth again in his possession that Qown realized that he hadn’t fooled the man at all. When Qown had tried to explain himself with the cover story they’d created, Relos Var’s stare had turned flinty, then ice cold. Var had known Qown was lying.²

This had become a more personal enmity.

No, Qown had been wrong. Relos Var’s stare wasn’t expressionless at all. It was full of hate. Qown didn’t think his odds of surviving this were looking good.

“What happens now?” Sheloran asked the wizard.

“What I’d wanted was to take you all back to Shadrag Gor so we could do this with some modicum of decorum. Take our time. But it seems that’s no longer possible.”

Anlyr looked up. “Isn’t the Lighthouse at Shadrag Gor supposed to be indestructible?”

“Yes,” Relos Var growled, “it is.”

Qown saw Galen’s eyes widen. It wasn’t hard to guess why. If the Lighthouse at Shadrag Gor was gone now, if it was destroyed, what were the odds that the group of people Senera had taken there hadn’t had something to do with that destruction? That Kihrin hadn’t had something to do with that destruction? Qown gave the other man a minute shake of his head. This was not a subject to be discussed under any circumstances. Hell, the whole reason Senera had marked those glyphs on them to keep their minds from being read was because it had been so incredibly, vitally important that no one knew the truth about what had really happened back at the Lighthouse.

And this? They’d fallen right into the worst-case scenario. It was infuriating how little time it had taken Relos Var to come this close to the secrets he was never supposed to know. Now they’d find out if Caless’s attempt to use the Stone of Shackles to ward them against gaeshe worked.

Or else Qown would have to resort to more desperate measures.

A shadow off in the bushes caught Qown’s attention. It was behind Relos Var, behind Anlyr as well. For a split second, it coalesced into something recognizable, if only as a shadowy form too cohesive to be merely a trick of the light through trees. The blank ceramic mask, though—that was the giveaway.

Jarith Milligreest.

The shadow demon vanished again as if he had never been.

Qown just had to pray, if that would ever again be the right choice of words, that Jarith was still listening. “Was it you who gave Warmonger to Tyentso?” he asked Relos Var. “It must have been you, yes? Although I suppose Tyentso doesn’t have to be the one carrying it, as long as it’s someone close by, right?”

Relos Var paused. “You noticed that.”

“It’s difficult not to, if you know what to look for,” Qown said. “The heightened aggression, the extreme resistance to pain that all the soldiers seem to have, the tribal loyalties. All that sounds just the thing for Warmonger, and I know you’re the last one who was in possession of it.”

“What are you talking about?” Sheloran asked.

Qown struggled to make his speech seem casual, chatty. “Warmonger is one of the Cornerstones. Relos Var used it a few months ago to lure Kihrin D’Mon into a trap, and Relos Var didn’t give it away afterward. But now it seems like Empress Tyentso’s become the beneficiary of its powers. Which has some unfortunate implications about her loyalties. Someone close to the empress—and I hope it’s not the empress herself—must be working for Relos Var here.”

He hoped that was enough. That Jarith had heard all that and would bring word back to the others in time to do something.

“Enough,” Relos Var said. “I’m not interested in gossiping about Warmonger. I want to know what happened to the Lighthouse. Tell me.” Var’s voice was velvet soft.

Qown shifted his gaze back to Relos Var. “The Lighthouse? You know what I know. I didn’t think the Lighthouse could be destroyed.”

“What are you talking about?” Galen asked.

Var stared at both men very carefully. “It seems I won’t have enough time to gaesh you, after all.”

A whole-body shudder ran down Qown’s spine and along his limbs.

“Gaesh?” Sheloran’s eyes showed white around the edges. He admired what a good actress she was; they’d known from the start this was a risk.

“Do control yourself, Lady D’Mon,” Relos Var cautioned, “and try to remember just how out of patience I am.”

Sheloran stepped back. Galen picked up Tave.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Var said. “We shall travel to a location more suitable for keeping the three of you under control. After that, I’ll craft a few talismans to make sure none of you cause trouble and Anlyr will keep watch on you, while I visit your mother, Lady D’Mon.”

Sheloran’s face went blank. “She won’t give you the stone.”

“You’re mistaken. I happen to have something in my possession she desperately hopes not to lose.”

“He means you, Red,” Galen whispered.

“I know that,” she snapped. “Have I mentioned how much I really hate being seen as nothing more than a bargaining chip?”

“Be glad of it,” Var said. “As it’s the only incentive I have to keep you alive.” He turned to Anlyr. “Can he be moved?”

Qown bit back on the urge to remind Var that Qown could answer for himself. It didn’t seem wise to draw the man’s anger.

“Yes,” Anlyr said. To underscore that statement, he picked up Qown with an arm under his shoulder and another under his knees, ignoring the healer’s squawk. “Where to?”

“Senera’s,” Relos Var answered. “She’s not answering her summons. After recent events, I’m starting to take the silences personally.” He began weaving the spell for the gate, this one a more standard open portal they would have to walk through—which prevented any mistakes like what had happened at the Lighthouse.

Qown had a good idea he knew what had happened at the Lighthouse. Senera had linked Vol Karoth’s prison at Kharas Gulgoth to the Lighthouse at Shadrag Gor. Depending on the strength of that link, it was possible that when Kihrin broke free of his prison, he created a reciprocal, sympathetic act of destruction at the Lighthouse too.

They had, without meaning to, annihilated one of the most magical—and magically exploited—locations in the entire world.³

Qown found himself feeling very, very grateful that Kihrin had waited until they’d all left before he’d performed his jailbreak.

Relos Var gestured toward the open portal. “After you,” he told Galen and Sheloran.

The princess looked ready to flay the man with a stare, but Relos Var give that threat all the attention he thought it deserved—which is to say none at all. Galen seemed quieter and less openly rebellious, but he was carrying a small child at this point, which made it difficult to hold a sword. Qown assumed Galen had done the math well enough to know that his survival was only of secondary importance to his mother-in-law. She’d want Galen back, yes, but she’d still make the deal if it was only for her daughter.

Galen was, as Relos Var had mentioned several times already, expendable.

The child, Tave? Very expendable.

And Qown himself? Qown wasn’t on the list. Relos Var wasn’t interested in ransoming him—or letting him live.

When they stepped through the portal, the cold air slapped across the sinuses. It was evening, and although Qown had been to Senera’s sanctuary only once previously in the flesh (and another time as a scrying spirit), he still had no idea where the cottage was located. Someplace considerably farther north than he was used to.⁴

Then the smell of ash and smoke wiped any other odors from Qown’s mind. There were more pressing concerns than the geographic location of Senera’s cottage.

The entire house had burned to the ground.

Var stared at the faintly glowing embers of the house with a look of pure fury on his face. “Oh. I see.”

“Shit,” Anlyr cursed. “She … Someone must have found her.” He lowered Qown to the ground.

“Watch the others. You know what to do if someone makes trouble.”

“Of course,” the man murmured.

Relos Var slowly walked through the still-red-hot ashes of the ruin. He wasn’t bothered by the heat, but then, it made sense that he wouldn’t have been. Var searched the cottage, although what he searched for was unclear. Possibly Senera’s body. When he returned, however, his expression had only grown colder.

“She’s not in there?” Anlyr asked, sounding like he genuinely dreaded the answer.

“Nothing’s in there,” Var said. “Not a piece of paper, not a book. Someone emptied the cottage out and then burned it to the ground. Unfortunately, I suspected something like this. There are times when I do hate being right.”

Anlyr cursed.

“Who are we talking about?” Sheloran asked.

Qown thought it was a mistake to draw attention to herself like that, even if it was as an attempt to reassure Var that she was ignorant of details such as Senera’s identity. Thurvishar and Senera must have moved her possessions before setting the house on fire, but it would hardly be wise to voice such a theory out loud.⁵

Var started to give what probably would’ve been a sarcastic response, but then he stopped and stared at Sheloran. His gaze slowly flickered to Galen, then to Qown.

“I thought she’d been kidnapped,” Relos Var said. “But I was wrong. I lost both of you, didn’t I?”

Qown’s stomach twisted. No, no, no.

“Boss?” Anlyr raised an eyebrow. “What are you thinking?” He shook his head to refute the wizard’s declaration. “No, come on. Not Senera. She’d never. Something must have happened to her. Someone must have found her and ambushed her.”

Relos Var didn’t seem to be listening. He’d already made up his mind. “Keep an eye on them,” Var said. “I’ll return shortly.”

Relos Var vanished from the clearing.