At last, the man came to see her again.
Desh Krohan. He was handsome enough in his way, but haunted.
That was a feeling Cullen understood very well.
“I’m sorry for making you wait. I have been rather busy.”
“You have a war on your hands.” She shrugged. Not far off Deltrea was doing her best to ignore the sorcerer. He returned the favor.
“Moale Deneshi was my life partner once upon a time. She left me when she said that she had been summoned to a greater duty.” Desh Krohan spoke softly and looked at her from the corner of his eye. “I was younger. I never went after her. I had my pride, after all.”
“Pride is poor armor, but better than none.”
The sorcerer nodded his head. “Indeed. I haven’t heard that one in many years.”
He sighed and looked at her abdomen.
“In any event, what is left of her is now inside of you. I don’t know that either of you planned it, but that is what has occurred.”
“How do I get her out?”
“According to her, she needs to stay with you for now. She will only let go of her grip on you when she is ready.”
Behind him Deltrea made an obscene gesture, but did not speak.
“Am I to stay locked in here until then?”
“Not at all.” He smiled. “That’s why I’m here. I’m going to personally escort you to your new chambers.”
Cullen nodded. “These chambers. Will I be allowed to leave them?”
Desh nodded his head. “Of course. But because there are some who might seek you out, you will have guards with you at all times.”
“What do you mean ‘seek me out’?”
The sorcerer shrugged. “There are assassins in this city, Cullen, and they are causing endless grief. If they find out what you carry inside of you, it’s very possible that they will cut you open to get to it. They tried to kill the Mother-Vine and all that is left of her is inside you. If they find out they can, they will, cut her out of you to make their point.”
“And you are telling me this why? So that I can have more nightmares?” Her eyes narrowed as she stared at the sorcerer. He stared back, studying every detail of her with all of the intensity of a suitor. She was unsettled by the notion. He was not unattractive, but she was also not in the least bit interested.
“I’m telling you this because I want you to remain safe. I want you to be smart and avoid getting killed by the Sa’ba Taalor, who I believe have already managed to infiltrate the city. Not a lot of them, but the ones who are here are killers.”
“And you think they would be after me?”
“No. They would be after her. The Mother-Vine.” He gestured toward her abdomen. “You. Me. We are not significant. She is. She has a power they would take if they could. That is why you are here. Knowing the name of my old mate and having a few words for me from her, that is not enough. That only gets my attention.”
Cullen nodded and rose from her seat. “Perhaps you should show me to this new chamber then.”
The walk was long, but not arduous, and they talked as they traversed hidden corridors and stairwells that were built into walls of solid stone.
“What have these assassins of yours been doing?”
“For the last four days, someone or several people have been sneaking among the many refugees we have here and killing them. Not all at once, only a few at a time, but always where there are a lot of people gathered together. We have people watching, but it means nothing. They are very careful and they leave the bodies where they fall, the better for them to be discovered quickly and the better for the bodies to cause a panic.
“It’s a brilliant tactic. I’d have never considered it, but the end result is that the people who are trying to survive without proper housing are very anxious and we’ve had to break up several attempts by mobs to take over buildings.”
Cullen shot a look his way.
“Oh, please. No. We cannot take them into the palace. Believe it or not, there aren’t enough rooms. Most of them are already being used to store food and supplies. The palace is very large, but it is not a city in itself. The barracks of soldiers have been given to the refugees and that means weapons and soldiers alike are kept here. We were not anticipating having a city lift into the air, nor were we considering how cold it would be up here or that half the city would be left behind. Believe me, there are many things we never once considered.”
Desh Krohan paused for a moment as he fumbled a key from his pocket. A moment later the door was opened to her new chambers. They were a vast improvement, with a large bed, a window and a roaring fire. There was a door. It was currently barred from the inside.
“All of this?” Cullen could barely believe it.
Deltrea spat. “How is this even a little fair? I’m dead before I can see a sight like this, and you’re still going strong.” It was Cullen’s turn to make a gesture.
“Through that door, to the right, you will find a small dining room. There is fresh fruit. There is bread. If you wish to join us for dinner you are welcome.”
“Thank you. For all of this.” It was all she could think to say.
“Stay safe. You carry a great burden. Please honor that responsibility.”
A moment later he was gone.
Deltrea shook her head and strolled around the chamber, which, to be fair, was larger than the entirety of both their homes back in Trecharch.
“This royalty thing pays well enough.” Deltrea walked over to look out the window and Cullen blinked hard, unsettled because she could see through the form of her friend. The light was too bright through the window and Deltrea cast no shadow. In the woods, in a cell, it was easier to ignore that fact.
Cullen joined her at the window and immediately understood the need for the fire. The ground outside was covered in a thick rime of frost. The trees were coated; the lawn below was white. The buildings were iced over. Small wonder so many fought for decent shelter. Certainly it wasn’t a gathering of assassins causing the grief. Just desperate people.
The wall around the palace kept out many more people. No one was foolish enough to try storming the structure, but they were near it as if seeking shelter from the cold.
In the far distance she could see the Mid Wall. Beyond that were only blue skies and, far away but, she had no doubt, coming closer, the mountains.
There were so many people, more than she had ever seen in one place before and the sight of them hurt her head. Cullen crawled into the depths of the bed, warm and secure and despite Deltrea’s comforting presence, still scared of what lay ahead.
Three short thrusts into the screaming man’s belly as she ducked past, and Jost knew he was already dead, though he screamed on.
That was the thing about the people of the city. They screamed about everything. This one roared that he had fresh meat and people came to him looking at what he offered and hoping it would truly be fresh. It was not. Still they came.
So Jost did them a favor and killed him. Truly that was coincidence. She merely did not like his voice.
When he stopped screaming about fresh meat he screamed for a different reason. So did the people around him as he fell to his knees and took his table down in the process.
The markets were the easiest place to cause panic. They were also the easiest place to kill a lot of people with little effort.
The onlookers backed away from the bleeding man and Jost moved on. Her eyes scanned the area for the next target. The ones that made the most noise or who reacted with violence were the best for stirring the crowd.
It was easier to hide now. The air was so cold that everyone was wearing coats or dressing in shawls or cloaks. Skin reddened in the chill and most everyone huddled down on themselves for warmth.
They did not look up or around as she moved among them.
Her blade cut a woman across the back of her leg, severing tendons. The woman screamed in pain and fell backward as she lost the use of her leg, and Jost danced back, away from the blood spray. Dark clothes alone could not hide the steam that rose from a fresh stream of blood.
The hand that came for her was impossible. Still, it came and she dodged.
Jost looked at the stone wall and watched with fascination as a man walked out of it. He was the same color as the stone, as were his clothes.
She had heard of the Silent Army, but she had not seen one in motion before. They had always been standing still when she passed. A few had changed positions when her eyes were turned but this was different. This was actual motion.
The stone man reached for her once more and Jost stepped back. Her hand tried to block him, but with no real result. He was made of stone. She could not force his arm to move.
“Wrommish!” she called to her god as the thing continued reaching for her.
If the statue moving shocked her, it did far worse to the people in the crowd. They had not fled the dead as quickly as they did the moving stone soldier.
Jost blocked a hand that grabbed at her again, this time with her dagger. There was a scraping noise and the hand was pushed aside, enough for her to avoid it, but there was no blood drawn.
Lifeless eyes turned to look at her. The face of the stone man shifted and the mouth curled into a sneer.
Jost backed away again, fully aware of the people around her and how they were retreating.
The fourth attempt to grab at her met with success. The hand that caught Jost’s elbow was as hard as rock, and despite her best efforts to twist away, there was no give. There was no heat. The moving stone was as cold as the wall it came from.
The hand held her tight and the powerful arm pulled her forward. Jost was a fighter. She had been trained in combat since she could walk, but she was not made of stone. Her fists did no good against this opponent. She moved her body in an effort to lock his joint, but it was useless. On any human being she had ever met the move would have broken the offender’s elbow and likely driven bone into meat, but here the end result was the same as if she was hanging from a rock outcropping on Wrommish’s heights. She effectively swung herself around on that arm and then found herself pinned to the wall. The soldier needed do no more.
Jost kicked, she struggled, she attempted to cut one finger at a time from the stone hand, but it was useless.
The Silent Soldier slammed her into the wall three times as she fought back. The third time she was knocked senseless. By the time she recovered enough to consider struggling, she had been bound by heavy leather straps and metal chains.
The City Guard were taking no chances.
The soldier held her until they were done.
And for the first time in all the battles, the Fellein had a prisoner of war.
The meal was wonderful. The food was always satisfactory, but this was an extravagance. Dretta had cooked chicken she had likely paid far too much for, and the meat was perfectly seasoned.
Before they ate, they made love. That was even better than the meal. By the time they’d eaten most of the bird, feasted on the fresh bread and cheese and fruit, Merros wanted nothing more than to make love a second time and then sleep in the arms of the most amazing woman he’d ever met.
Naturally, the world interrupted.
Though Merros did not advertise where he went, it was hardly a secret. By the time they’d finished their meal and the conversation that went along with it – and how was it that any person could be so endlessly fascinating? There was nothing she said that he did not want to hear – one of the messengers from the palace had come to interfere.
The business of war waited for no one, and most assuredly not the man in charge of the Empire’s forces.
Dretta looked at him with her dark, deep eyes and waited patiently. He looked back and was torn. There was excitement, but there was also guilt when he looked at her. She was an amazing lover. She was the widow of his best friend. There were so many levels of wrong in what they did that Merros could never hope to untangle them all. And he wasn’t sure that he wanted to.
“What is it you are thinking about, Merros?” She reached for the bread and wiped some juices from her platter. Gods, she could even make eating fascinating and erotic.
He shook that thought away. It was just food and he was as lusty as a teenager around her.
“We have had good fortune it seems.” He smiled.
“Have the Sa’ba Taalor suddenly surrendered?”
“I said good fortune, not an act of the gods.” He still smiled. “We have captured one of the Sa’ba Taalor.”
“Have you then? Was it the one who killed Wollis?”
“I don’t know yet. I haven’t seen who, but I must go now, Dretta. We have to find out what we can.” He did his best to sound apologetic, but inside surges of adrenaline were kicking around. The thought that they might be able to actually learn something from one of the gray-skins was nearly intoxicating.
Dretta stood and nodded. She even offered a tiny smile. “Go. Take care of what you must, but be careful. I have heard too many tales from you of how dangerous they are.”
“I will be very careful indeed, milady. I will also let you know if I learn anything of Wollis’s killer.”
She moved close and hugged him for a moment that was not long enough by far. And then she stepped back and spread her arms. “The gates here are always open to you.”
He smiled at that. The very notion warmed him. She warmed him, despite the cold weather and the frost.
It was a short ride to the palace and the guards at the gates let him in. He smiled at them and headed immediately for the Empress’s throne room, where, as he expected, several people already waited.
Desh Krohan looked his way and smiled tightly. “I do not believe it is Swech, but I recognize her. She was among the first of them that we met. One of your ten, I believe.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. It also explains how she has evaded being captured until now. They were very skilled.”
“I don’t think we’d have captured her, but the Silent Army interfered.”
“Truly?”
Nachia responded, “Had her pinned to the stone wall and wouldn’t let her go until the City Guard secured her. Then the soldier moved back into the wall and slipped up to the top again.”
“How many dead this time?” It had become a problem, and a serious one. The attacks tended to leave a dozen or more dead every day and the resulting chaos had rendered more and more people too injured to care for themselves.
“Only three by the assassin’s blade.” The man who spoke was one he’d met before and one he still didn’t much like. Darsken Murdro was one of the Inquisitors. They were unsettling people with methods that Merros was never going to be comfortable with. True, the tales might only be tales, but he didn’t like the notion that whoever was going to be questioned would be left to the likes of the man across the room from him.
Murdro continued, “When the statue moved and attacked, the panic that resulted left two more dead. They were trampled.”
Desh spoke up, “We’d discussed the possibilities of a curfew.”
Murae Pellinger, the man who currently led the City Guard, cleared his throat and looked toward Merros before speaking. Technically the man had the same rank as Merros, but the reality was that Pellinger was only in charge for as long as Merros tolerated him. Nachia had appointed the general head of all military forces and that included the City Guard. Pellinger understood that and was doing an excellent job in his position.
Pellinger said, “We can enact a curfew, but there is nowhere for these people to go. They’ve made shelters for themselves in tents or on bedrolls. They’re curling up in piles to stay warm at night.”
“I know we wanted families to have homes to themselves in this situation, but is it possible to add more people to some of the places that have been offered?”
Pellinger nodded. “Some will allow it. Most will do it if they are told to, but while there are several people who have been generous with their properties, there are many more who have offered no concessions and are charging monies that few can afford.”
“Who is the new Minister of Lands?” Nachia spoke and they all looked her way.
“Arlo Lancey, Majesty.”
Nachia nodded and leaned back. She was in her throne and leaning to one side. With a wince she rose and walked away from the seat. She shot a withering look at Desh Krohan and said, “Fix that.”
“Couldn’t if I wanted to.” For one moment only, he smiled at her.
She glared and he stared back frostily, with a small smirk. Merros had no idea what they were talking about and tried to bring the conversation back around. “We were discussing the land minister?”
“Arlo Lancey. Old blood. Old money. We should bring him in to discuss how badly his world will fall apart if he doesn’t find shelter for more people.”
“Majesty?” Pellinger looked her way, frowning.
“Come now, Murae, you know better than that. Arlo is new in his position. Bring him here. Try to make it happen soon.”
“What happened to the previous minister?”
Darsken Murdro answered, his voice low and reserved. He had a thin smile on his face, and while he was pleasant, Merros couldn’t bring himself to like the man. “He was found a few weeks ago with his throat cut, not far from the docks. Someone killed him and four of his bodyguards.”
Nachia asked, “No one was ever captured?”
Murdro looked to the Empress and lowered his head. “The people I spoke to could only tell me that it was a woman who did the killings and that she was dressed in black and kept her face hidden.”
“So, Sa’ba Taalor.” That was Desh. Nachia and Merros nodded at the same time.
“Likely, yes. When we talk to the one you have locked away we might find out more.”
“I would like to be there when you speak to her, Inquisitor Murdro.” Merros spoke calmly and looked at the other man.
Murdro’s smile did not change at all, but his eyes looked over Merros carefully. “As you wish, General. As I believe you are fluent in their language that would be extremely beneficial.”
Merros nodded and wondered exactly how the man knew he spoke the language of the Sa’ba Taalor. Well, one of them at any rate. There were several apparently and he only understood the one. “Do you have her properly secured?”
Desh answered him. “She is currently unconscious and very well restrained. Tataya is with her and making certain of that.”
Nachia sighed. “Kindly go find out what you can. I want to know everything that she knows as quickly as possible.”
The Empress strode around her throne room. Merros and the rest followed her with their eyes. “We are still heading for the mountains?”
“Yes, Majesty.” Desh didn’t seem at all happy to report that fact.
“I thought you said you had several sorcerers working on that problem.”
“Yes, Majesty, but they’ve had limited progress.”
She spun on Desh and the First Advisor stood his ground. Few would have.
“Either find a way to move the damn city or find a way to burn down one of the mountains if you have to. It would be a preposterous way for all of us to die.”
“All respect, Majesty, but it might not come to that. It’s possible that we will clear the mountains completely.”
“Desh, make certain of it. I don’t care how.” He lowered his head and she continued, “I want Arlo Lancey here as soon as possible. Do not tell him why he is summoned, simply make certain that he gets here before the day ends.”
Pellinger nodded and left the room. The Empress seldom stood on decorum when it came to the meetings and it was best to do what she wanted.
“If we cannot manage walls for the refugees, then I want tents. I don’t care where they come from. The soldiers have their rooms. If they have to give up their tents for this, then so be it.”
Merros nodded, but did not try to clarify that the soldiers didn’t have personal tents. There had been a time for that, but not in his lifetime.
Nachia looked around the room for a moment and then speared each of them with a hard glare. “Why are you still here? Go! Get me answers, get me results!”
Merros took the hint. He and the Inquisitor walked together to the cell where their first Sa’ba Taalor prisoner waited.
Trying to ignore the presence of Merros Dulver at his side, Darsken Murdro headed for the cell where his next assignment waited. There would have been a time when he wondered why he had been chosen over the other Inquisitors, but he already knew the answer. He was chosen because he was good at his job and because he was currently in favor with the sorcerer and the Sisters.
All that meant was that he had to do his job well. There were a lot of people who thought he was ambitious, and perhaps he was. But they didn’t understand the Inquisitors and how they worked.
He would rise to a new rank if it became necessary, but he was in no hurry to get there. The higher in position one rose, the more one became a target. He was respected, he was occasionally feared, and he enjoyed his duties.
People like Merros Dulver could think what they wanted. It changed nothing.
The guards opened the door for them and Darsken stopped at the door and smiled to Tataya, who smiled back and rose from her seat. As always, her beauty struck him. As always he nodded politely and then got to business.
Merros also nodded at Tataya, as Darsken got his first true look at a Sa’ba Taalor. She was lean, all hard muscle, and dressed in the clothes of a street person. Perfectly camouflaged. No one would have reason to suspect her of anything, until they saw her face.
As the girl was unconscious he stepped closer and looked at her carefully. His hand moved across her gray face, feeling the raised flesh of a dozen or more scars under several spots where her flesh was freshly bruised.
At first he thought that an overzealous guard had punched the girl in the mouth until it split several times but upon a second, careful glance he understood better.
“So that is the reason for the veils.” He opened each of her mouths, studying the fully developed teeth, the musculature, the tongues. They were properly damp and his hand felt the breath that came from each. If they were born that way it was a wonder they ever knew how to speak.
Merros looked over at the girl and stared at her mouths, horrified. “By the gods.”
Tataya spoke softly. “Drask was different. His mouths had more… symmetry.”
Merros looked at Tataya for a moment and then looked back at the girl. He took one of the layers of her shawl and drew it over the lower half of her face. “Jost. This is Jost.”
“Are you certain?” Darsken did not ask to be rude, but rather to assess the facts.
Merros was wise enough to understand that, despite his active dislike of the Inquisitor. “Yes. We traveled together for months.”
“Do you know if she is fully grown? Her body is that of a young woman, but I had heard the Sa’ba Taalor were giants.”
“Not giants. Some of them are very large, yes, but only a few stand taller than me.”
Tataya nodded. “They are not giants. They are merely very, very fit.”
Darsken ran his hand over the girl’s arm and then her leg, nodding. He could feel hard muscle and still more scar tissue under the clothing. He also felt several concealed knives, which he carefully extracted from folds in her attire. He took his time, running his hands in places that might have been deemed inappropriate had this been any other female, but he was not going to leave the young woman in question with any surprise weapons. He had been cut more than once in his line of business.
When he was done there were eight blades, an even dozen small darts and three lengths of wire he didn’t quite trust should be left on her person, all set to the side.
“Can you wake her please?”
A word, a gesture from Tataya and in seconds the girl was awake. She bucked and thrashed and tried to get free from the shackles on her legs and wrists.
She failed.
Darsken waited patiently while she tried several times.
Finally he said. “You will find the best way of gaining even a little freedom is to comply.”
The girl continued struggling. Merros Dulver spoke and the girl cocked her head and answered.
“I have no answers for your questions.” Merros’s voice, but he knew the words belonged to the girl called Jost. He did not look away from her, but merely waited for the translations from the General’s mouth.
Darsken nodded. “Then you will stay here.”
“If that is what my gods demand.”
He shook his head. “It is what my Empress demands. Your gods do not matter in this place.”
“My gods are all that matter. You will learn in time.”
“How many of your people are in Canhoon?”
“Enough to kill you all.”
“You will not leave this cell alive if you do not tell me what I need to know.”
“Then I will have honored my gods.”
Darsken looked to Merros and then to Tataya. “This will take time.”
He looked back to Jost. She was staring at him with her oddly glowing eyes. “A lot of time.”
Arlo Lancey did not have any bodyguards. Many of his fellow ministers did, but he felt no need to waste his finances. First, he was only the Minister of Lands. He did not mint new coins; he could not change the taxes. He only did what he was told to do. In exchange he made enough coin to live comfortably and he ruled over a small gathering of people who listened to him and obeyed not because he was a harsh man, but because he was pleasant enough to work for.
He did not consider himself a bad man. His predecessor, Lirrin Merath, on the other hand, had been a fat, bloated lump of a man with too many connections, too much money and too little empathy. Arlo had worked with him on many occasions and both of them had understood that land was ultimately power. But where Lirrin had willingly changed the rules as he pleased to gain more power – there was never enough, you see. Power is a feast for fools. The more you have, the hungrier you become – Arlo did not follow suit. He wanted to. Let’s not misunderstand that. He would have gladly gained as much power as he could and appreciated the starvation as so many others did. Arlo would have considered being greedier, and he most certainly would have hired bodyguards, but he had been told not to.
One did not argue with the woman who held your fate.
He did not know a name. Not for the woman. He could tell you the name of her god. If he ever failed to remember the name Wrommish, it would be the death of him. That he believed with unyielding conviction. The woman, a little tall, but nothing remarkable, had killed five men in front of him to make her point. The first four were trained mercenaries, capable killers, and she’d broken them in a matter of seconds.
The last one had been his predecessor, Lirrin.
The nameless woman was the enemy of the state. She was a murderer. She was a cutthroat. She had probably had a hand in all of the mindless murders running through the city.
Arlo had no doubt that if he hired bodyguards, she would kill them and then him. She had already said that he would do his job the best he could and follow her orders, or he would die.
He looked at the thin scar on the back of his right hand. All that had happened was a scratch from the woman’s nail. She’d scraped him and promised that before that wound healed they’d talk again.
She’d kept her word. The very day he was appointed as the new Minister of Lands, after he’d celebrated with friends, consumed far too much wine and whored his way home, she was waiting for him in his apartments.
She was not there to sleep with him.
“Do you remember the name?” Her words were a soft, silky whisper in his ear as he was drifting to sleep.
He sat up quickly in his bed, heart thundering, breathless and looked around the room.
She had watched him undress, watched him fall on the bed and roll across the sheets before his head found the pillow, and had watched him patiently as he fell into a drunken stupor.
He had never guessed her presence.
“The name.” She was just out of arm’s reach. Her dark eyes looked at him without even seeming to blink.
“The name?”
“The name of your new god. The name that can save you.”
Oh, how he’d scrambled then. His body did not move. It dared not, but he thought hard and sorted through his memories of the night Lirrin died in a pool of his own blood, rainsoaked and lifeless while the shadow-shape of his killer stood and watched Arlo. She had spoken a name. It was important. Had he not been drunk he would have remembered instantly. He looked down at his hand and saw the scratch and then finally remembered, “Wrommish?”
She’d nodded and he’d thanked the new god with all of his heart.
And then she’d explained all that he was to do.
It came down to paperwork, ultimately. The laws of the Empire were clear. The right scrap of paper with the right seal meant that you owned a parcel of land. Arlo was paid dearly to make sure that there was no confusion in the matter. Ever.
He was not performing his tasks to the best of his ability. To do so would have been his death.
The Empire wanted all available lands that were not being used to hold the people now living on the streets. Several prominent citizens had already offered properties for that very purpose. The people staying there did not own the properties. They were merely tolerated, but it was a step. Others were allowing the refugees to stay for a price. Most were fair about it. Some were not.
There were hundreds of places that could have been offered. They were not, and despite the fact that he had been tasked with finding the owners of those properties, Arlo had deliberately failed.
Sooner or later they would come for him.
He was prepared. If he could just explain to someone the nature of his dilemma, perhaps they could offer him safety within the Palace. He had all the paperwork he needed. It was sorted and ready for them, but he dared not offer it up without some sort of protection.
“Wrommish knows what is in your heart, foolish man. You have prayed to him.”
He knew the voice instantly. Arlo turned fast toward it and reached for his sword. It was a foolish thing, ornate and more for decoration than function, but he knew how to use it and he was desperate.
His eye exploded with pain and Arlo dropped the sword, screaming and reaching to cover his wound. His eye could still see but the lid was trying to close over something that was in the way and every motion of any type caused more pain.
“You are a weak man and you would betray me. For that reason you are already dead.”
His good eye saw her as she moved away. Anger surged. She had hurt him and she wanted to kill him and while he was not a fighter, there were limits. Arlo surged toward her and promptly fell to the ground.
“Do you know that you can buy a dozen spices here that will kill a careless person? You just have to cook them the right way.”
“Why? I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“They are coming for you and you would have. As I said, Wrommish knows what is in your heart. You prayed to him. He knows all he needs to know of you.”
Without another word she knocked his oil lamp to the ground, where it spilled its fiery contents across a woven rug and began to smoke and burn. The rug was a gift from an admirer. It was lovely. It was also flammable.
Arlo tried to reach for it. With effort he could put it out and only get minor burns.
His arms did not move. His body was sluggish. He should have been screaming but nothing happened.
The woman walked away, but as she left she made certain to scatter his paperwork across the blaze. Deeds burn brightly when they burn.
Swech slipped from the window of the apartment easily enough. The rope was still tied where she’d left it and climbing was not a challenge.
She’d hoped Arlo might be a worthwhile investment and he had been, but his service was no longer required.
As she reached the roof of the building black smoke started spilling from the window she had just vacated. The sun was still up, but the day was overcast. They were high enough up that the clouds did not block the sun so much as they swallowed the city entirely.
People moved as if they were traveling through a heavy fog. It seemed to calm them.
Glo’Hosht’s voice called out to her, softly warning her that he was present. While it was unlikely that any strike she made toward her king would hit, he was wise enough to warn her just the same.
“My king.”
Even through the cloud cover she could now see the smoke rising from Arlo’s apartment. Soon others would sound an alarm.
“Swech, Jost is captured.”
She nodded. “How?”
“The wall that surrounds the city. She touched it while she was serving the gods. The stone guardians captured her and held her until the Fellein guards took her.”
“Do we go to help Jost?”
“No. She must take care of her own. As all of us must if we are caught.” Swech felt her hands try to tighten into fists and made them relax. The gods had plans. Jost was not currently on them.
Swech nodded her head in compliance, much as it hurt her. There were no promises. The Daxar Taalor made demands and they were obeyed. They had saved members of the Sa’ba Taalor before, when it suited them. But not this occasion. Jost’s fate was her own to decide. If she could not, the gods would handle the matter.
The thought that they might not save the girl was painful, but life was pain.
Swech nodded a second time and took a deep breath.
“What is next, my king?”
“These stone men change everything. They only seem to stand at the outer wall.”
Glo’Hosht moved and spoke at the same time, gliding over the ground and heading to the next building. Swech followed and looked back at the black column of smoke that had spread in size.
“We could continue what we have been doing, my king. It has certainly unsettled a few of the people and made others desperate. But there are other things we could accomplish.”
“What did you have in mind?”
Swech looked back again as flames began to dance across the roof of the building she’d been inside. Smoke pirouetted across the roof and beneath it tongues of light tasted the air and seemed to like the flavor.
The building was going to burn down. There would be no saving it. Most of Canhoon was stone, but there were exceptions.
“Perhaps we consider more of that.”
Glo’Hosht looked on and nodded. “Perhaps.”
“What I’m thinking of involves at least three of us entering the palace.”
“For you that is an easy thing. You have the face of a Fellein.”
“There are others. I know that we have been kept apart to avoid issues, but if we wish to strike hard this is something we should consider.”
“What are you thinking?”
“Most of the food supplies, much of the clean water, is stored in the palace.” Swech stared at her king. “They might find more food, but water is rare here. They depended on their rivers.”
There was a very long silence and finally Glo’Hosht answered, “The gods agree. I will be joining you.”
“You, my king? Did you not say that would be a challenge?”
“A challenge for many. A challenge for me, but not so great a risk that Paedle does not decree it.”
There was no more to say. When gods make demands, they must be obeyed.
Behind them the roof of the apartment building collapsed and flames roared higher into the air.
Bells sounded. Horns sounded.
“They will come to put out the fires, my king.”
Glo’Hosht nodded. “Let’s kill as many as we can when they do, but do not be careless.”
Swech took no offense at the words. They were often uttered by the King in Mercury, who liked to remind the followers of Paedle that not being seen was their greatest gift.
Besides, Jost had already reminded them of the consequences of growing careless.