77: GADRITH’S WAY
(Kihrin’s story)
I suppose it’s just my turn now, isn’t it, Talon?
So be it. Let’s end this.
A large iron padlock locked the door to my old room. A padlock to make a Key from the Lower Circle pale, mutter under his breath, and warn any and all to find an easier target. I probably would have needed twenty minutes or more to pick open the damn thing.
Fortunately, I had the key.
The room inside had changed little from what I remembered. It seemed odd to think we were both four years older. I crossed over to the bed on silent feet, not wanting to disturb the occupant, not sure if my magical stealth would be enough to hide me. I held a thin spike of metal in one hand, and my sword in the other.
The bed was empty. Talon was gone. I reached down to touch the sheets and cursed. The fabric was still warm. I’d missed her by minutes.
“Kihrin?”
I turned back to see Galen standing in the doorway, mouth open in astonishment.
I still had the Veil slipped from my eyes. I examined Galen. I hoped that mimics couldn’t hide their tenyé.* Under that assumption, I decided that Galen was himself and not a shape-changed Talon, tucked the spike into my belt, and put a finger to my lips. I walked back to the bronze door, closed it behind me, and replaced the lock.
I clasped my hands on my brother’s—well, I suppose my nephew’s—shoulders. “Galen!”
He looked older now, well past his majority. His hair showed some of his mother’s redness, but he also resembled his father a great deal. Galen dressed in what I assumed was the latest fashion—a blue misha dyed to fade to black at sleeves and hem, worn over dark kef that faded back to blue at the boots. He had a sword at his hips and the embroidered hawk and sunburst design of House D’Mon over his breast.
He continued to look at me in stunned amazement, and then he hugged me back. “Kihrin! It really is you . . . I thought you were a ghost for a minute there.”
“I’ve thought the same more times than I care to count and have escaped by thinner margins than I care to remember. But still alive so far,” I said, laughing.
The laughter didn’t quite echo in Galen’s eyes, and his arms fell back. “Sounds like you’ve had some wonderful adventures.” He didn’t hide the bitterness in his voice.
“It’s not like that,” I told him.
“Is it not?” Galen asked. “Isn’t it like you promised that we’d leave together and yet you abandoned me? Because that looks like how it is.”
I inhaled, sharp and shallow, and it took everything in me to keep from raising my voice. “Would you like to hear how the slave masters whipped me raw? How I wore manacles on my ankles for so long they cut into my flesh? Abandoned you? You know that’s not what happened.”
The Galen I knew would have flinched, backed up, backed down, but this Galen had grown harder. His nostrils flared and his blue eyes narrowed. “Should I feel sorry for you? Shall we compare injuries?”
“It’s not a contest,” I snapped at him.
“Everything is a contest,” he said. “I learned that lesson late, but I learned.”
My chest felt heavy as I regarded him with a lifted chin. “I’m sorry, Galen. I didn’t mean to leave you.”
“You say you’re sorry like it will fix something.”
I sighed. “I’m not here to try to—”
And I paused as a scream echoed down the hallway.
We both paused.
Screams weren’t out of place in the Blue Palace. Slaves were whipped and sometimes people were tortured, for either information or amusement. And even more mundanely, physickers often treated patients here—any of which might be a rational cause for screams.
But another scream followed that first, and then another. Galen and I both rushed to one window at the far end of the corridor. We looked out on the Court of Princes to see several servants in the blue livery of the House being run down and ripped apart by soldiers. But these were House D’Mon’s own soldiers. The men-at-arms ambled, moving with an odd stuttering gait, but their sword swings hit true.
“What—?” Galen’s reaction was one of shock.
Hollow dread filled me. “No,” I said, “this is too soon. This is way too soon. How did he get here so soon?”
It had only been a matter of minutes since I’d seen Darzin. I had thought—we’d all thought—we’d have more time. Gadrith had kept such a low profile the entire time I’d been in the Upper Circle before. He was patient and cautious and always, always kept to the shadows.
I focused on the ruby ring.
Nothing happened.
I didn’t have time to debate if I was doing it wrong or if Emperor Sandus had somehow given me a ring that was defective. “Galen, you need to run. Run out of here, leave the palace, and go to the Citadel.” I shook my head. “I’m an idiot. I never thought he’d make his move this quickly.”
“Who? What?” Galen’s eyes narrowed. “This is your fault?”
“Galen.” I reached over and grabbed his arm. “Those guards are dead. Dead, do you understand? But they’re still moving. That’s Dead Man’s work. You do remember Dead Man?” I’d have used the name Gadrith, but it would have just confused matters.
Galen blinked and nodded. “Thaena . . .”
“If he’s moving in the open like this,” I told him, “then we don’t have time to argue.”
Someone clapped, slowly, from the other end of the hallway. My blood chilled. As I turned, I reached up to clasp the Stone of Shackles around my neck: it was lukewarm, because the man I faced had no intention of killing me.
Gadrith D’Lorus stood at the end of the hallway, black robes pooling on the marble floor around him. “Truly spoken, young man. You don’t have time to argue. Or time for anything.” His smile was terrible. “I don’t believe I’ve yet had the pleasure, Your Highness, but it’s long past due you and I met in the flesh.”
“Run,” I told Galen as I pulled out my sword.
Gadrith cocked his head and stared at me. The sword in my hand turned red hot. The coating of steel covering the drussian core melted and dripped off, making me glad I had my protections from fire. The sword itself was largely intact, because . . . well . . . I’d been expecting him to do this. That’s the whole reason I’d taken the time to acquire a sword that only looked like it was made from Quuros steel.
“I—” Galen turned to flee.
Galen’s legs froze together as if they were wrapped with rope and he was pulled hard off his feet. He hit the floor with a loud thud.
I remember thinking, I suppose this settles whether he’s Talon, but the consolation was scant.
“Stay,” Gadrith said. “I insist.”
Fighting Gadrith alone hadn’t been part of my plans at any point. Seen close up, in person, Gadrith’s resemblance to his so-called “son” Thurvishar was the wispiest and most unconvincing of phantasms. His skin was pale and the hollows under his eyes made his face look skeletal. His black hair fell in stringy curls around his face, like dead, withered moss. He looked of the gallows, an impression that had not changed by the smallest degree since I had first laid eyes on him—over four years earlier.
I stared at him and wondered if I could take him. But I was wearing enough talismans to be more witchhunter than mage at that moment, reducing my repertoire of spells to simple cantrips like returning my sword.
Likely not.* It was kind of the whole reason we’d all insisted on giving Emperor Sandus the honor of being the one to take Gadrith down.
Still, I didn’t have much choice. At least I was still wearing the Stone of Shackles: Gadrith didn’t dare kill me outright.
But as I ran toward him, the ground under my feet melted and flowed, marble turning to liquid and then hardening only after I had sunk to my calves. The entire length of floor rose up, trapping my arms and sword, keeping me pinned. And since the magic hadn’t affected me directly, the talismans had been no help at all.
Thurvishar stepped out into the hallway behind his adopted father.
“Bring them both,” Gadrith told Thurvishar. “We have many things to discuss.”
We were a somber party. Galen was unconscious or faking it, and Gadrith didn’t seem inclined to make conversation. Thurvishar pulled small pins out from his robes and began murmuring over them as we walked, then sticking the pins into my misha.
Talismans, I realized. He was making talismans for me, far in excess of what my magical aptitude required, thus ensuring I could cast no spells of my own.
“How did you get here so fast?” I asked him. I had to find a way to delay them. Teraeth was out there somewhere. Sandus was out there somewhere. “You can’t have had more than five minutes once Darzin found you.”
He gave me a sympathetic glance, but didn’t answer.
Thurvishar brought both of us to the main ballroom where the rest of the family was being gathered. Many of them had no idea I’d returned before I was dumped on the ground next to them. A piece of shaped rock bound my arms and legs. I couldn’t move, run, or fight. I could only struggle against shackles made of solid marble, molded to fit me perfectly.
Undead soldiers, still wearing the livery of the house, stood watch along the walls and all their unliving attention focused on their prisoners. I saw my uncles Bavrin and Devyeh—I mean, my brothers Bavrin and Devyeh—plus my great-aunt Tishar. There were also all the cousins who were, I suppose, nieces and nephews. No one who looked like Teraeth though, which meant he was still at large. An unpleasant lump forced its way down my throat as I saw an unmoving Lady Miya, lying on the floor next to a comatose Therin D’Mon.
“You bastards. If you—”
“They’re asleep,” Gadrith said. “I’m not of a mind to deal with sorcerers.”
Darzin walked into the ballroom, leading several young women. One of whom, I noted in a distracted way, was Sheloran D’Talus, now dressed in blue.* She ran over to Galen and bent down next to him, her eyes widening as she saw me.
“Is that everyone?” Gadrith asked.
Darzin shrugged. “Pretty much. One groom in the stables is causing some trouble, but nothing that should interfere with what we’re doing.”
“Darzin, you slime. This is your family!” I screamed at him.
He looked over at me and smiled. “I’ll be the head of my own family when we’re done here.” He tilted his head at Gadrith. “Do you have everything you need?”
“Not quite.” Gadrith snapped his fingers at two of the zombies. “Bring that table over here.”
I watched as the undead did as ordered. I thought about my options. Teraeth was still out there somewhere. I had to think that if they’d already encountered him and killed him, gloating Darzin would have bragged about it. As soon as either Teraeth or Tyentso realized something was wrong, they’d bring in Emperor Sandus.
Unfortunately, I didn’t know how much time that would take, and whatever was about to happen here, it was a sure guarantee I wouldn’t like it. The trick remained to discover what I could do about it. My skill with sorcery was currently hampered, and even if I wasn’t wearing all these talismans, I was unlikely to best two wizards of D’Lorus caliber. Then there was the fact my entire family was gathered into this room, with huge potential for collateral damage.
I found myself grateful that at least Tyentso and Teraeth hadn’t been caught in this. Indeed, it seemed likely my enemies had no idea they existed.
The idea was almost a comfort.
“That one looks strong,” Gadrith said, pointing to my brother Bavrin. “Bring him.”
Bavrin thrashed and fought as the walking corpses pulled him up and pushed him toward the table. He too had decided that whatever was about to happen was nothing he would like. Devyeh stood and rushed to his brother’s defense.
Gadrith threw Devyeh an annoyed look and pointed a finger at him. I recognized the gesture and cried out, but it was too late.
My brother’s skeleton fell to the ground and his flesh made a messy mound on the other side of the table.
There was cacophony after that; people screamed and sobbed. But Gadrith’s voice cut over the tumult. “Quiet!” he said. “Now you understand the price of rebellion. Be. Quiet.” The necromancer turned to Thurvishar with an aggrieved expression. “Do something.”
The man nodded, squared his shoulders, and bowed his head, concentrating. A lull fell over the group of prisoners.
Thurvishar had not calmed them, I realized. He had stopped any sound from escaping their immediate presence. It was the same trick he’d used during his duel with Jarith years before.
Gadrith returned to his work as I surveyed everyone around me. No one had any visible weapons I could see. I didn’t think there would be any exceptions: it was too easy for a wizard to tell if someone wore metal.
A scream cut short returned my attention to Gadrith, who had bent Bavrin over the table. He had one hand clenched like a claw over Bavrin’s chest, a gesture I also recognized from the first time I’d spied on Gadrith. I watched as thin filaments of light floated up from Bavrin’s chest and coalesced into a ball in Gadrith’s outstretched hand. Bavrin began to spasm, then he stilled, and never moved again.
Gadrith pushed Bavrin’s body off the table and set a delicate uncut blue crystal on a black velvet cloth: a tsali stone.
“No,” I said. “No . . .”
“Bring that one.” Gadrith pointed to Master Lorgrin.
I remembered what Tyentso had said about Gadrith’s witch gift: he could pull someone’s soul out of their body and add its power to his own. “You can’t kill everyone here, damn it. You don’t think the Emperor won’t figure out what you’re doing?”
Darzin walked over and kicked me in the face. My vision flashed white as the pain hit, then I turned my head to the side and spat blood. When I looked back, it was to see that Gadrith had already killed Lorgrin, and was placing a yellow stone next to the blue one.
“He’s right, you know,” Gadrith said in a conversational tone to Thurvishar, who was watching his father with such a careful poker face he might have been listening to a lecture on the best crops to plant come spring. “Not everyone here would make a good tsali stone.” He paused and removed the silence spell around Tishar. “Hello, dear Tishar. Have you been enjoying your carriage? I made it for your brother, especially for you.”
The vané-blooded woman looked stricken. “Enjoying it less now I know your vile hands touched it.”
“Ah, that saddens me to hear.” He motioned with a hand. “Her next.”
“Gadrith, please, I beg of you!” Tishar pleaded as the undead took her by the arms.
“Alas, such entreaties mean little,” he reassured her.
“Gadrith, stop this,” I said.
Darzin hit me again. “Shut up.”
Tishar spat on Gadrith as the zombies hauled her to the table. She cast around the room for any means of egress, any possible escape. Her eyes met mine. “Please,” she mouthed, but I don’t know if she was asking Gadrith or asking me.
It hurts to think about it. It hurts to remember. I watched her die. Watched as that bastard pulled Tishar’s soul from her body.
She made a beautiful blue stone. Of course she did.
“Stop this!” I shouted, not caring if Darzin hit me or worse. I knew he wasn’t trying to kill me: not when I wore the Stone of Shackles. “What do you want?”
Gadrith paused and turned. “Ah? I’ve been hoping you’d ask, though young man, you shouldn’t ask questions when you already know the answer. You know what I want.”
I looked down at the outline of the Stone of Shackles through my shirt. “You want this.”
“I want that,” Gadrith agreed.
“For fuck’s sake,” Galen cried out. “If that’s what he wants, give it to him!”
“Your son is wise,” Gadrith complimented Darzin.
Darzin’s mouth twisted into the ghost of a smile. “Thank you.”
“Him next.” Gadrith ordered his undead to take Galen.
Darzin’s smile faded. “What? Killing my heir was not part of our agreement.”
Gadrith didn’t answer except to raise an eyebrow.
“He’s my son,” Darzin reiterated. He crossed over to stand in front of Galen, who seemed more shocked by his father’s defense than by the deaths of family.
“Make another,” Gadrith suggested. “You said Kihrin cares for him.”
“Go ahead,” I said. Oh, it hurt to say those words. Hurt because I knew Gadrith wasn’t bluffing, but I sure as hell was.
Gadrith cocked his head at me. “What was that?”
I shrugged. “Kill him. Kill all of them if you want. All you’re doing is destroying the only bargaining chips you have. You can’t kill me. I know you can’t kill me. You can disfigure me, torture me, rape me, whatever—we both know it’s not permanent. You have one of those zombies do it and the stone won’t let me die. I’m not giving you the Stone of Shackles, and there is nothing you can do that will convince me otherwise. How long do you want to play this game? Until the High General shows up? The Emperor? I’ve already messaged the Emperor, so your chance to catch us by surprise is gone.”
“You mean with one of his little toy rings?” Gadrith gestured in the general direction of my bound hands. “I really don’t think you did.”
“I told him you were still alive before that,” I sneered. “He’s on his way.”
Gadrith smiled. “That’s very helpful of you. I didn’t need the assistance, but I’m not so proud I’ll refuse it.”
I fought to keep the sneer on my face, to not look at Galen, to not give them any sign I actually cared what happened to him.
Gadrith turned to Thurvishar. “Is he telling the truth about his loved ones? Is there no one here whose death would touch him?”
Thurvishar flinched, as if that were the one question in all the world he had hoped Gadrith would not ask.* He gave his father an open glare.
“Tell me,” Gadrith said. “Now!”
The next flinch I recognized: self-correction from an almost-disobeyed gaesh order.
He sighed and pointed. “Her.”
Thurvishar pointed at Lady Miya.*
“I don’t care about her,” I protested, keeping my voice steady, keeping the disdain clear. “Why would I care about some vané slave? She’s nothing.”
Darzin sighed and rubbed his jaw. “Kid, even I’m not buying that one.”
“Bring her,” Gadrith said.
I could barely breathe as I watched them pick her up, still unconscious, and drag her over to the table. “Look, there’s really no point—”
Gadrith formed a claw with his hand over her heart.
“Stop!” I screamed. “Stop. Please stop. If I give you the stone, will you let everyone else live?”
I knew. Even then I knew there would be no letting me live.
Gadrith paused, letting the few strands of light fall between his fingers back to her body. “I’m not interested in them, young man. What you wear is all I desire. Their deaths are only meaningful if they will lead me to that purchase.”
I licked my lips. “Release me. Release me so I can give you what you want.”
Gadrith studied me, then motioned to Thurvishar. “Do it.”
Darzin walked back over and yanked me up to my feet. “Don’t try anything stupid,” he suggested as I felt Thurvishar’s marble binding fall away.
I yanked my arm from Darzin’s and slowly played with the fastenings of the necklace. I needed to buy time. I needed to delay things just long enough—
Gadrith formed his hand into a claw again over Miya. “I will count to three.”
I pulled the Stone of Shackles off my neck.
It was easy this time. I held it out to Gadrith. “It’s yours.”
Thurvishar shook his head and turned away as though he could not bear to watch.
Gadrith’s fingers trembled as he walked away from my mother and claimed the gemstone. “You’re brave,” he said. His voice was flat, and I couldn’t tell if the emotion he was expressing was sarcasm or sincerity.
He fastened the Stone of Shackles around his neck.
The room was quiet. I couldn’t hear the sounds of sobbing although I knew the dead were being mourned. Still, everyone seemed to be holding their breath, as if waiting to see if Gadrith would break his word.
“Well?” Darzin asked.
Gadrith put his hand to his neck and smiled. “It’s everything I’ve always wanted.”
Then he waved his hand. “Bring Kihrin. Leave the others.” He turned and walked from the room, his undead falling in behind him.
And that’s the end of my story.
I lost. You all won.
And we all know what happens next.