There were important things going on in Kaima while we were down south. I’m fortunate to know someone like Kinso, who likes to tell stories, and who happens to be someone everyone talks about. I didn’t know him while he was living under the temple, so I can’t say much about what he was like then. I can say that after he left he was sometimes awkward, but always eager to share his thoughts, his experiences and just as interested in learning from people through listening. Sometimes, like a man from a different culture, he would ask questions that put people on the spot, and that’s what I think I liked most about him.
I’ll piece together the most important parts of his journey and the occurrences in Kaima from his version of the story and what I heard from other people who watched him. This was a time of great change for him.
To Kinso, the city was a magnificent place filled with houses that were the size of some grand temples, people of all colours who wore clothes that were often alien but fascinating to him. He got lost one night because he followed his nose to a food cart selling strips of goat on a stick that was so tender, so wonderfully seasoned, that he kissed the owner with greasy lips after his first bite.
He found his bearings after finishing his meaty snack and took another bounty from the Adventurer’s Guild when it got late and he was sure that only the night desk clerk would see him and sought it out. It was a quest for a missing cask of wine that had special properties. What those properties were was kept secret from the people who were paying, but for a thirty-five gold reward, Kinso didn’t ask questions.
With no foreknowledge of where the cask may be hidden, or if it was actually open and all used up by whoever stole it, Kinso tried using his gift as a death speaker for directions. His usual chorus were silent for most of this quest as he looked to wandering souls in the streets, alleyways, and finally, one that was peering through a window at him as he crossed one of the lesser squares south of the temple. “Why are you so afraid, little one?” Kinso asked as he leaned against the wall beside the pane.
The spirit of the little boy in the window regarded him with surprise then ducked down. Kinso cried out in shock then did the same. “Is there a beast behind me? A monster I didn’t notice?”
After a long, hesitant pause, the boy spoke; “You saw me. No one sees me.”
“I see all kinds of things that most people don’t,” Kinso said as he slowly rose and peered over the sill. “Some people think I’m crazy.” he crossed his eyes and stuck his tongue out for a moment.
The boy spirit laughed and regarded him more bravely. “I’m Irham.”
“I am Kinso. I’m on a quest. Someone will pay me to find a cask filled with some kind of potion that may have been brought down this street. It would look like a little barrel with a great magic cloud around it.”
“I haven’t seen anything like that, and I always watch the street,” the boy said.
“Why do you always watch, Irham?” Kinso asked. “Why are you on the other side of that window?”
“I can’t get out. Every day my mother and father come to fetch me, but I can’t get out.”
Kinso knew there were questions that he shouldn’t ask like ‘how long have you been there?’ and ‘who are your parents?’ These things didn’t matter at the time. “Let me see if I can find out why,” he said as he looked at the window frame, then the doorway as quietly as he could.
The grand house had new owners, he was sure. The boy’s clothing didn’t match what he’d seen in the few days he’d spent outside of the crypt, so he probably passed some decades before. The people living there probably had no idea that their home was haunted. He spotted runes above the door and the windows. “One should always make sure a home is empty before they ward it against spirits who want in,” he said to himself. “What keeps a spirit out may also trap little souls.”
Kunri, one of his chorus of spirits said; “Punish the people who dwell here!”
“They must have hired some reckless street magician to do the work. One who was too hasty or greedy to check for spirits,” Nian whispered in his ear.
Kinso was thankful that the boy wouldn’t be able to see his chorus of three ghosts thanks to the runes and spells that kept him inside the house. If he had, Irham may have been too distracted to realize what he was doing when he climbed up onto the window sill then took his knife out and scratched one of the runes away. “Are you freeing me, Kinso?” he asked, excitedly.
“I will try, but I must be quick, people will notice a little man climbing on a window at this time of night.” He looked around at the street behind him and, yes, a couple people noticed him, but no one was alarmed enough to make a fuss about it yet.
“Oh, then hurry, please. My Mum and Dad will be here soon. They come here over and over at night. Always when the sun sets and rises too.”
With several of the runes scratched, Kinso dropped from the window sill then concentrated. The wards protecting the house against visiting spirits failed as he reached for the boy’s spectral hand. “Come, I’ll help you get out of there,” he said.
“This is the work I’ve always wanted to see you do,” Shewn, the third spirit in Kinso’s chorus, said. “I am proud of you.”
“Kih-hee.” It was a pleasing but humorous notion. Shewn’s spirit was younger than he was.
“Is something funny?” the boy asked, hesitating to put his hand through the window.
“I’m only happy that I’ll be able to reunite you with your parents,” Kinso replied.
The boy’s hand passed through the window to join with Kinso’s and he hopped onto the windowsill. “I’m free! Oh, thank you, I’m free!” he squealed as he stepped down to the cobblestone street. It was a human child, already a little taller than the magician but no older than ten or eleven.
“Now, remember this joy, Irham,” Kinso said. “And don’t blame the people here for delaying your passage to the heavens. They didn’t know what they were doing.”
“So, they trapped me by mistake?” the boy asked, looking back at the house. “I know my parents are angry at them.”
“Wrath is a waste on these ignorant people,” Shewn said, kneeling in front of the boy. “I’ll venture inside and write a message telling them to go to the Temple of Grace, where they can find someone responsible to cast the right blessings on their home. I’ll return here when it’s done.”
Nian took his hand, and he looked up at her. “I’ll remain with you until your parents come. I’ll go with you then, to make sure that you and your kin cross the grey safely.”
“You’ll need a warrior for that trip,” Kunri said. “More so than Kinso, who is more powerful, and prefers cunning to fury.”
“Then you’re leaving me; Nian, Kunri?” Kinso asked, trying not to look sad or frightened in front of the boy spirit. Instead he expressed an abundance of surprise.
“It’s time,” Nian said. “When you spent most hours alone in the dark, you needed my light.”
“Surrounded by potential challenges from trapped demons, angry spirits and the threat of living robbers, you needed my vigilance and the willingness to punish transgressors,” said Kunri. “Now it’s time to join Miradu’s court, where I’ll don armour and become one of her warriors.”
“And Shewn, will you return once you’ve left your message?” Kinso asked.
“I’ll remain if you like, but the gift I intended for you - the secret study - has been given, and I see your kindness, your sense of balance. You are ready for this world, my friend. I will wander this realm awhile, returning from time to time with stories.”
The duty Kinso had taken as the crypt minder of the Temple of Grace demanded that he release the spirits who had kept him company for so many years. His past calling was to see spirits through anger, sorrow, regret and fear so they could move on to the next part of their existences, and his beloved chorus deserved that more than any. “Then…” he started, finding that his hands were shaking and there were tears welling up in his eyes. “I hope you fare well, and pray to the masters of fate that I will know you again, after I’ve taken a turn on the wheel. May we meet as brothers and sisters, parents and children, friends or lovers in a new life.”
“A sending we’ve heard from you an uncountable number of times,” Nian said, sorrowful and glad. “It is good to hear it given to us. I hope you keep your charm and remember mercy.”
“Strength and wariness, my friend,” Kunri said.
“Be cunning, but just. I believe in your wisdom, especially since you are not finished learning. Perhaps you’re done with the wheel, and may ascend to join your sister, but do not hurry to do so. I will think of you as I explore this world,” Shewn said with a bow.
“Don’t worry, Kinso,” the boy said, worried about his sadness. “I’ll watch over them.”
“Thank you,” Kinso replied. “They have been my good friends for some time.” He looked to the four spirits there, wiped his tears and, having said the most poetic thing he knew already, nodded and smiled at them. “Goodbye.” His feet didn’t want to take him away as he turned, and then he realized why. “Shewn; do you think you could check on Grant for me?”
“Down the Vrain, I’ll find him,” Shewn replied with a nod. “Is there a message you’d like me to give?”
For the last time, Kinso felt a giddy laugh bubble up in his chest. “Tih-hee!” The thought of using spirits as messengers between him and a living person had never occurred to him. “Tell him…” he pondered, thinking of temple troubles, the wonder of the city, and the growing school, then decided to keep his message simple. “...he had better survive his quest. I’ll be irritated if I meet him unliving.”
Then a shaft of pale, rosy moonlight passed up the street then over the spirits then and they disappeared. Kinso slipped into an alley where he leaned against the wall and wept quietly. Despair was short lived, and much of his sorrow flowed out with the tears that rolled down his cheeks. When he emerged his head was clear, and the moons had moved enough to tell him that the latter half, the darker half of night had come. Mourning would continue, he knew, but not as powerfully as it could have if he held his tears in. This too was a lesson he learned as a minder of the dead and guide to mourners who visited the crypts.
There were spirits wandering the streets just like the living. Most of them had the same feelings of purpose that they did when they were alive and went about their business. Others searched for something they were afraid to leave behind. There were no other death speakers in the streets, and Kinso wondered why. Were the troubles of spirits forgotten? There were so many who needed help to move on.
Before long, Kinso started asking the wandering souls if they’d seen anyone carrying a cask with an aura of magic around it. He only took the time to free a few of the spirits he encountered. Three only had to be told that they were dead, that the toil of their lives was over. One put down his hammer, another threw his baskets through a doorway, and the third dropped the chest he was carrying, giving it a kick before the spectral thing disappeared. Each thanked him and moved on, disappearing. The last soul he freed that night was the worst. He told a man who was looking for his wife that he was dead, and that spirit darkened, became sorrowful and began wailing as he drifted away. “There’s always one,” Kinso sighed to himself as he watched the wailer move up the street. He would return to check on him in a few days, when the abandoned spirit had some time to calm down. Some of them took only hours to mourn, others took months or years.
After discreetly asking a few more spirits if they’d seen the cask of magical wine, Kinso started getting clear directions that led him to a storehouse near the castle’s drawbridge where, after casting a spell that gave him the same sight a spirit may have, he spotted a small stack of one-gallon casks through a barred window. There were magical protections that made slipping in as a mist impossible. The wards specifically barred shapeshifters, portal masters and fire magicians from using their arts on the property.
After inspecting the warehouse, he found one door that was close enough to the cask stack and only had two guards by it. Two guards who were woefully easy targets for his favourite kind of magic. He found a spot from across the broad brick street where he could still see them, but had a shadowy alley to hide in and began to concentrate. The guard on the right had nice, thick, strong arms, so he was the target of his manipulation as he reached out to the man’s spirit. Both the guardsmen were dressed in plate armour stamped with the Sunner House seal, and they stood stoically at either side of the reinforced side door.
The soul Kinso reached was indeed, simple. He couldn’t tell what the man was thinking - that wasn’t his gift - but he was so easily influenced that it felt like the guard could be a puppet, which reminded him of an old friend. “I’ll have to look in on him later, but for now, I could use a laugh,” Kinso whispered to himself.
At Kinso’s magical urging, the thick-armed guard turned, regarded his companion, gently undid the chin strap of his helmet, and removed it.
“What are you doing, Jeofe?” asked the thinner guard.
“I must confess that my loins burn for you,” big-armed Jeofe said in a husky whisper an instant before leaning in for a wide-mouthed kiss.
His fellow guard pushed him back.
“How dare you refuse me!” Kinso puppeted Jeofe to say before forcing him to slap his comrade as hard as he could, nearly knocking him off his feet. Jeofe burst into laughter for a moment, mimicking Kinso, who was doubled over in the alley, starting to lose his grip on the guard’s spirit.
Kinso regained his senses and puppeted Jeofe into attempting to kick his fellow guard between the legs. The blow was stopped scant inches shy of the codpiece. “What’re you playing at, you dumb ox?” the smaller guard asked an instant before pushing Jeofe then punching him in the stomach.
That’s when Kinso released Jeofe’s spirit. Confused, he wasn’t able to stop his fellow’s punch from landing on the side of his head. Angered, he retaliated, and the pair of guards were too busy fighting to notice Kinso run across the street then slip through the doorway.
Once inside the warehouse, Kinso put two of the magical casks in his bag then explored for a frenzied minute or two. He discovered provisions of all kinds, and a vault that held rough gold and silver from the mountain. A little more looking around revealed boxes of freshly minted silver coins that weren’t as well guarded. It was tempting to pick them up, to stuff his bag, but he took a look around and discovered that there was a tracking spell cast on them. “These are here for thieves to take, so they can be caught.”
The warehouse had many things of value inside, a few of them were magical, and he checked the casks that he’d taken. “Oh, in my haste I was almost caught,” he said, realizing that there was indeed a tracking spell on those.
To him, dispelling that magic was like solving a puzzle, and he had the time he needed to do it properly. The guards outside were still fighting, and when they were finished, they’d probably be too embarrassed to report the odd events to their superior.
By the time the noise settled, Kinso dispelled the tracking enchantment on his casks, and then did the same on the entire stack of coins. They were in boxes of one hundred, stacked five feet high, taller than he was. Keeping his work quick and quiet, he put several thousand coins inside his magic bag as he disenchanted the tracking spells on them. Then Kinso checked the door he’d come through. The guards had settled back into place where they stood silently, motionless.
That was perfect. He moved to a nearby stack of crates then summoned a few ounces of water that he turned into a round blade that spun through the axle of a cart several feet from the door inside the warehouse. It collapsed with a satisfying clamour, sending several barrels of pickled beets crashing to the floor. The scent made his mouth water, they were always a favourite, but Kinso maintained focus.
The guards burst through the door, spears out, looking for the culprit. They didn’t notice Kinso run through the door then transform into a mist. He didn’t change back to his natural form until he reached the Adventurer’s Guild, where he presented one cask and collected his thirty-five gold.
There was too much at risk to return to the temple right away, so he went to his room at the White Calf Inn where he made sure that the secret door under the bed was still hidden before falling asleep. It was quiet, the lock on the door was newer, more complex than any he’d seen, so he almost felt perfectly safe. After casting Alarm Wards on the window and the door that would wake him if anyone tried to come in, he began a rest that lasted until noon.
He took a table in the corner downstairs and watched, ate, drank lightly, and listened to what went on there. Workers and business people came through. The raucous night crowd was absent in that respectable place and no one bothered him, few even noticed a small Ondi in the corner who watched from under the brim of a deep hood with his dark cloak gathered around him.
It was all a precaution. There was a chance that the coins, the boxes they came in, or the extra cask of wine he’d taken had tracking enchantments that he didn’t have the talent to see. If they did, this is where he would be confronted. It was a place he knew well enough to escape from, and he’d already spent enough coin there so anyone would let him escape through the kitchen door if he had to.
When the sun set he was sure no one could come for him, so he gave the cook, the barkeep, and the servers who were there all day five silver each as a parting tip. They were pleasantly surprised and would most likely not forget him.
It was strangely quiet as he made his way back to the Temple, where he checked the food stores and found a small jar of pickled beets. It was the first time he’d seen the massive pantry, and he was amused at having to use a ladder to get to the shelf where jars of all sizes stored the beets. He picked one of the smallest ones. Taking a fork from the kitchen so he could snack on them, he began to wander.
He did so without his hood or cloak and when people saw his face most of them nodded or bowed respectfully. Some looked surprised at the sight of him, and he always regarded them by mirroring the expression before laughing it off and moving on. This was his sister’s house, her people, but it was so new to him. The whole world had changed, in fact.
One of the students he’d recruited only days before, Byha, looked up from where she was learning from Voe the Brown - a priest of many minor religions - and grinned. Instead of interrupting the lesson Voe was giving, Kinso grinned back with teeth that were red from beet juice and moved on before the Brown Priest spotted him.
The place was even more a marvel than the city was, and it hadn’t truly struck him that it had been built out of love for his sister until that night. He’d had his chorus in his ears, making conversation, commenting on practically everything. It had been decades since he’d been alone with his thoughts.
Then he passed into the main chamber, which was roped off to the general public. It had been cleaned, but no one had removed the paintings, and the throne was half disassembled. It took an effort to get up onto the seat, but once he did he found it well padded but far too large. It was a nice place to sit and eat his beets. Even though great care was taken not to get any on his clothes, a drop got on his sleeve. “That will never come out,” he said, shaking his head.
“I know, beet juice is a terror to all launderers,” Priest Denhope Margus said as he came in, his hands folded in the long sleeves of his old fashioned robes. “How are you, Kinso?”
“I am happier than I would have expected, wealthier than I deserve, and pleased with mischief that would make Jipit smile,” he replied before popping a slice of beet into his mouth then offering Denhope one.
“Oh, no, I never eat after sundown.” he thought for a moment. “We have a shrine to Jipit. He’s the eldest trickster God, if I’m not mistaken?”
“Yes. Popular when I was a boy, but I was never allowed to speak his name when I was young,” Kinso said. “Does he have a priest here?”
“One of the Brown Priests know him, I’m sure,” Denhope replied. “I’m afraid he’s not in my pantheon. I don’t have a trickster.”
“I like them. They keep things interesting,” Kinso said, fishing for another piece of beet in a jar that had more juice than root.
“So, what do you think of the changes our former High Priest made?”
“This is the first time I’ve seen this grand chamber,” Kinso said, looking up at the wall behind the throne. The paintings there made him snicker. The people in them had faces painted white with lips that were too red, eyes that were darkly lined. “Who are these people?”
“The royal family,” Denhope explained. “King John, the Queen and his children.”
“These are royals? Are you certain these aren’t mummers? I see them and expect a controversial play.”
“A play? You saw actors paint their faces like that some time ago?” Denhope asked.
“Yes, but they only used white, and they’d use putty to change their features so they wouldn’t be recognized while they put on plays that were critical of the Guilds or Kings. It was hundreds of years ago.”
“Did it work?”
“For every actor there were three people who would betray them for a few silver,” Kinso said, taking another beet slice. A thought occurred to him and he chewed then swallowed it quickly. “This is a funny thing, don’t you think? At one time the white face paint was for critical players who hid their names, while at another they are royals and esquire pretenders.”
“What kind of talk have you heard about the nobility?” Denhope asked as he approached.
“The spirits in the street say they miss the company of many of my kind. The dwarves mumble to each other, wondering when their welcome will wear out. All of them quietly blame the King and his folk for these things,” Kinso said, glancing up at the paintings to his right and left, guessing the oldest looking must be the ruler. “These paintings shouldn’t be here.”
“I was going to ask you about that,” Denhope said, sitting on the edge of the oval pool closest to the throne. “No one knows what to do with them. They were taken down, then put back up after several priests voiced concerns about offending the nobility. Do you have any ideas?”
“Why do you ask me, Priest Margus?” Kinso asked, eying a nice, big, dark red beet slice as it was drawn out of the jar by his two-tine fork.
“Well, I’ve done some thinking and have come to the conclusion that the rumour that you are Our Lady’s living brother is true. There is a record of you left in the sealed library; Kinso the Magician. Kinso the Night Thief.”
“What a ridiculous thing to call anyone; ‘Night Thief.’ It is too obvious. Most thieves work at night.” Worry began to seep into him as he spoke. The threat of greater responsibility was lurking.
“You never made an effort to hide who you were while you were in the crypts. That is what I find remarkable,” Denhope said. “You took care of things down there as generations passed and told stories about your sister as though you weren’t related. At one point you must have had someone omit you from the earliest historical records, but, for the most part you just let people assume you were the crypt keeper. The resident death speaker - an old term I haven’t heard since I was a boy. I knew you were old - and I confess you look younger now - but I never considered that you were actually Kaiyuma’s brother.”
“Reverence and worship don’t suit me,” Kinso said. “They didn’t suit her either; at least not until she was murdered.”
“You know the truth about your sister, about her trials, her times,” Denhope said pleadingly. “You forced us to become active again by reinvigorating the school. Was that something your sister would have wanted?”
“Yes,” Kinso said, mouth half-full of beet. The jar was empty except for the dark pickle juice. “She taught people in peaceful times. In her ideal world, every village would have healers. She loved working other magic too, but she wasn’t as good at it.”
“So, this house of worship and all the shrines to other Gods would have been…”
“A place she would have liked well enough,” Kinso said with a sigh, looking around at the arches above, the thick, smooth pillars and the pool of peaceful, crystal clear water. His gaze went to the priest then. He was not a proud man, and he was always kind. The eager, curious, even adoring eyes looking back made him uncomfortable. “Let me tell you a story about my sister. One day, when she was a little girl, pillows went missing from every room, and cushions disappeared along with some blankets. We didn’t notice until nighttime, when we couldn’t find her either. After only a little searching, we discovered that she’d turned a rough room where my family brewed ales into a place of comfort. It wasn’t for herself, you understand. She was happy to see us and welcomed us in, so proud of the soft room she’d made and pretended to give us cookies and tea. My mother was cross at first, but, seeing little harm, she opened the small window then brought real food, real drink for our family and a few friendly guests. Even when she was so little, she was a great hostess. That night we slept in the brewing room despite the smell, and never did I see Kaiyuma more delighted while she was a child.” Kinso turned, dropped down from the throne and splashed the throne with the beet juice, ruining the cushions. “This is a comfortable seat, but she would laugh at it, take the pearls, gold, and jewels from it then buy food or make a place where people who have never felt safe could be so.”
“Thank you, Kinso,” Denhope said, his eyes welling up.
“As for the paintings…” Kinso was still learning to dislike the royal family, so he wasn’t certain about what he wanted with their portraits. Then he looked around at all the other images on the walls. They looked like wealthy lords and merchants. “She would send these to the people in them, offering no ill-will. I am not as kind. There is power in these images if they are true. Give these to me along with the names of the people in them and don’t ask after them.”
“Then - and I mean no disrespect - but are you the darkness to her light? The brother who was her shadow?” Denhope asked in a whisper.
“I was only her shadow because she drew so much attention. As for goodness, I would rather bless than curse, but I’ll do either. She was the same, only kinder. If you’re wondering if I’ll enchant these paintings, use them for dark spells, then I can only say it depends on what they do.”
Denhope nodded then turned to another matter. “I’ll write the story you told tonight in a new volume, and would like to continue to do so, if you’ll keep telling them.”
“Be at ease, Priest,” Kinso said, using a voice and a smile that he reserved for nervous spirits. “I will haunt your temple for a long time.”
“It is Her temple,” Denhope said.
Kinso wondered what his sister would think as she came up the outer stair, crossed the threshold where the bones of Garan were kept under thick bricks. Would his sister enjoy the antechamber where all were encouraged to wash before they entered her hall? How would she regard the great chamber they were in, and the others where there were dozens of shrines dedicated to deities from across creation? Then he realized that she’d ask at least one more question; one he would not like. What would she think of him mourning her for centuries beneath her temple?
A shadow passed over his mood for a moment before he patted Denhope on the shoulder. “She would enjoy this place, but there aren’t enough soft places to sit.”
Denhope laughed for a moment then considered it. “You’re right. Perhaps we should have stools or benches made. You know, we’re still considering who to elevate to the third High Priest seat. I think the choice is obvious. You must take it.”
Kinso shook his head. “I will not. That is too much responsibility. The inside of my head would swell with all the things I’d need to consider until my ears rang. Then… pop!” he pantomimed the explosion of his head, flinging his hands out from his ears.
“You wouldn’t be alone. You could start by advising only,” Denhope suggested gently. “We’d ease you into it.”
“I…” he saw the Priest’s carefully controlled desperation and considered what his sister would want. She’d want me to stay out of the crypt, to make my life in the light when it suited me. He thought. “I will consider it on one condition.”
“Oh? What would it be?”
“I can have my nights to myself. I enjoy the city after dark and I haven’t seen another death speaker. There is much to do,” Kinso said.
“Of course. Maybe you could train a few. It’s a lost discipline here,” Denhope replied. “We have to celebrate. Have you tried the latest batch of cider? It’s perfectly flavourful and potent enough to have you red-cheeked in three glasses.”
“I haven’t agreed to anything yet,” Kinso reminded the priest as they started to walk out of the grand chamber.
“We can celebrate the removal of these portraits, and the throne. What do you want done with the ugly thing once it’s been de-jeweled?” Denhope asked as he realized that wasn’t determined.
“If it is wood, it will be burned. If it’s iron under that gold, then it will be melted. By the way, is there a place where we can secretly melt some silver?”
“Yes, near the forge, why?”
“I found a collection of coins that are marked with a face I don’t like. I’m afraid the person would be offended if he knew his silver was melted down and that could have… consequences. I was thinking I could turn them into ingots so they are less offensive.”
Denhope regarded him with wide eyes for a moment, then nodded. “I know Erton would be happy to help with that. He has no love for… the party you don’t want to offend and wouldn’t care where you found the coins.”
“Good. I also have a cask of wine that is enchanted powerfully. If you know of a discreet alchemist with similar disdain and a mind that’s comfortable with secrecy, that would be helpful.” He could have sanded the stamps on the cask off, but knew that could be even more suspicious, so he would rather have a knowledgeable co-conspirator than someone who was imagining something worse.
“A cask with a mysterious enchanted wine inside? I’ll look at that myself,” Denhope said. “I may be able to identify it.”
“We are going to be even closer friends, I can feel it,” Kinso said.
There were chairs and tables in the garden beside the Temple of Grace’s main stairway, and it only took a few tall mugs of cider for Kinso to begin telling stories about his sister to the people who were drinking there. By morning all secrecy and mystery surrounding his identity had fallen away.
The next morning, Kinso and Erton the Blacksmith melted a wealth of silver coins down and turned them into ingots. They both took pleasure in watching the King’s image melt over and over again and the smith was shocked when the magician made an offering of every ingot but one to the temple. That last ingot was placed on a dusty shrine dedicated to Jipit, the Trickster God.