by Morgan Rice
Ceres heard screams as the refugees around them tried to get to cover. She saw one young girl on the ground, looking up as one of the horsemen cut down a man who might have been her father. Ceres saw the horse rear up…
She heeled her own horse forward, slamming into the soldier’s mount. Ceres drew a sword and cut into him, then leapt from her horse to stand over the girl, offering a hand and pushing her in what she hoped was the direction of safety.
“Ceres!” someone called. “Protect Ceres!”
It took Ceres a moment to realize that it was her father shouting, wielding his smith’s hammer along with a shield he’d obviously taken from a fallen enemy. Another ran at him, and Ceres saw her father smash his hammer down across the man’s skull.
More soldiers came at her, and Ceres wove between them, reaching for the space she’d learned to fight in where every movement felt natural, every cut with her swords felt obvious and in harmony with the rhythms of the world. She stepped aside as a soldier cut down at her, stabbed out at him, then spun away from another blow.
She attacked, striking down soldiers left and right. A horse reared up above her, and Ceres’s powers lashed out without her thinking, throwing it and its rider back. Around her, she saw the combatlords striking out at the soldiers, cutting them down with all the brutal skill of the Stade. She saw Karak pulling one close as he punched with those spiked gloves of his, while another speared a horseman with a trident.
Ceres ducked as a sword came for her head. She pulled the wielder from his saddle, kicking out to knock him senseless. She hacked down another man, then thrust up to catch a third through a gap in his armor.
Somewhere in it, Ceres found ordinary people hanging onto the arms of the soldiers. Some struck at them with knives or clubs or possessions that had been hastily pressed into service. Others dragged the soldiers down, wrestling them with weight of numbers. Ceres fought harder then, because she knew that the longer this battle lasted, the more of those common people would be hurt in it.
Ceres pressed forward, trying to draw away the violence from the commoners; trying to pull it to herself as she parried and cut and dodged. She kicked a soldier back, spun underneath a blow, hamstrung the one who’d come at her, and thrust into a third.
She felt, as much as saw, the moment when the soldiers broke. She found herself looking around for enemies, and suddenly there were horses fleeing at full pelt. She and the combatlords stood in the middle of the plain before the city, with the refugees who’d been fleeing Delos watching as though they didn’t know what would happen next.
Ceres looked around until she found Lord Nyel, still sitting there on the ground, thrashing around as he tried to get up.
“Traitor!” he yelled. “Peasant! I’ll have your head for this.”
Ceres shook her head. It seemed inconceivable that even like this, the man would think he could behave as if he was in charge.
She looked around for the children then. They stood there at the side, scared but obviously unharmed. That was the only thing that saved Lord Nyel’s life right then.
“Put him in a cell,” she ordered Karak. “Get physicians for any who are injured, including Lord West’s men. If they’ll fight for us, they can join our forces. If not, they can go in the dungeons with their master.”
She waited for Karak to nod before she turned to the crowd. They were the ones who mattered here. They were the ones she needed to talk to.
“You’ve seen what we can do,” she called out to them. “You’ve seen how easily we can overcome even tough opponents. We did that together. You, and us. Help us now. If we stand against this invasion, I promise we can win!”
It would have been better if they’d all turned back then, but it wouldn’t have been the truth. Some turned back. Some surrounded Ceres as though they thought she might be able to protect them. A few pushed their children forward, asking her to keep them safe, or bless them with the power of the Ancient Ones.
More, though, left. Ceres stood there, surrounded by the few who would stay, and she had to let the others leave. She had to, because otherwise she was everything Lord Nyel had tried to become. She would defend the people who chose to stay, and she would give them the choice.
Even if it meant them walking away to their doom.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Thanos knew about every cruelty of Delos. Port Leeward looked worse. As the galley pulled closer to Felldust’s capital city, a grinding sense of foreboding rose in his chest at the sight of the place. If Delos had been a place where nobles ground down those beneath them, this had the look of a place where everyone fought everyone else, taking whatever they could. Even the dust blowing in over the cliff edge seemed like a cover for dark deeds.
Maybe that was a good thing, though, given that he had one to perform.
“Not too late to turn back,” the captain said as they closed in on the port. “We’ll stay as long as we can, obviously, but there’s only so long a man can sit in port and pretend he’s trading. Especially in a place like this.”
Thanos nodded. He appreciated the offer. He even wished he could take it, when Ceres was back in Delos, not here. Thoughts of Ceres just brought back thoughts of her anger with him though. Perhaps he would die here. Perhaps he would need to in order to stop what was coming. If so, Thanos was ready to do it.
“I can’t go back. Not without doing what I came to do.”
“Killing Lucious.”
Thanos nodded, because that was what it came down to. He was here to kill his brother. He was here to stop the violence and the cruelty that Lucious brought with him everywhere he went. He was going to bring some kind of justice, because if he didn’t, who would?
Lucious was there somewhere, amongst the dust, the violence, and the rest of it. Thanos could see his brother enjoying a city like this, making his way from bordello to gambling parlor to inn.
He looked up at the five-sided tower of the city’s ruling council. There was every chance that Lucious was in there, of course.
“I hope there aren’t too many walls in the way,” Thanos said. “What if I can’t get to him? What if—”
“A man can only deal with what’s in front of him,” the captain reminded him. He sighed. “I’ll try to stay as long as I can. There’s a smuggler’s bay in one of the cave ports. I can pretend I’m buying scutter-weed.”
The captain’s words rang true, but what sat in front of Thanos was a city where even the few steps ahead might find themselves cloaked in dust, and any one might bring a foe with a dagger. For all he knew, his brother might already be dead, cut down as soon as he landed. Maybe the rumors of an invasion were just stories carried by the wind, and nothing would come of it.
Thanos didn’t believe that though. This was the kind of place where Lucious would survive. Where he might even thrive. It fit him, somehow.
Thanos gathered his belongings, making sure that the chain armor he wore was well wrapped with lengths of cloth so that none of it would show through. It was easier to wear it than carry it, and in a city like this, he might need it, but he didn’t want to advertise who he was. He wore his sword openly, though, because he wanted it in easy reach.
“Good luck,” the captain said as Thanos stepped onto the gangplank.
“Thank you,” Thanos replied, wrapping a length of cloth around his nose and mouth against the dust.
To try to find one man in a city of this size, he would need it.
***
Thanos stalked the city regardless of the dust, trying to find his brother. He spent a long day in the streets, recalling Master Cosmas’s lessons in Felldust’s language, and he tried to ask the inhabitants if they’d seen Lucious.
It felt as though he’d tried everywhere. Hours before, he’d tried the inns. He’d tried the slave pits. He’d even tried the five-sided tower of the city’s rulers. Everywhere, it seemed his brother was as hard to grasp as the dust that filled the air.
At least one man had claimed that Lucious was d
ust, already dead when Thanos arrived. Thanos wouldn’t believe it until he’d seen a body. When it came to Lucious, anything else was too big a risk to take.
It wasn’t something he was made for. Show him a fight, and he could win it. Make him sit in taverns listening for rumors, and he didn’t know what to do next.
Even so, Thanos did it. He listened while men talked of war with Delos and what it would bring to the city. He offered bribes where he could, and watched the coins disappear into purses, never to be seen again.
On the evening of the third day, the first people tried to kill him.
Three figures stepped from the dust, wrapped in swaths of cloth. If it had been clearer, Thanos might have slipped away, because there was danger about these men. Then again, maybe he would have stood, because he was running out of options.
“Are you the one looking for the fallen prince?” one asked in bad Imperial.
“I am,” Thanos said, in what he hoped was better Felldust.
“Good, it’s unlucky to kill the wrong man.”
His eyes flickered left, and Thanos didn’t hesitate. He stepped into the man on that side, brushing aside a knife while his head snapped forward to crumple him.
Thanos stepped over him and then kicked back, feeling his boot connect with the bone of a man’s knee. His elbow came up as the man toppled, catching him on the jaw.
His own blade flashed out then, lancing out just short of the third attacker’s throat.
“Who sent you?” he demanded.
He tried to sound like a man who would kill for no reason or any. In Felldust, it seemed to be the way to get answers.
“The Five Stones still have uses for your prince,” the would-be assassin replied.
That was bad. That meant his attempt to arrive unnoticed hadn’t worked. But then, how could it, when he’d been blundering around the city, asking questions.
“Do you know where Lucious is?” Thanos demanded.
“I do not.”
Thanos drew back his sword. The blow would be with the hilt, but he was hoping the other man didn’t know that.
The assassin raised his hands. “But I know of a place where they might.”
***
Thanos stepped through the door of the gambling den, into a space lit by flickering fires and yellow tallow candles. His eyes flicked round, looking for threats. He’d learned to, in the time he’d spent looking for Lucious.
The thug at the door took his sword. To Thanos, that was a bad thing, because in Port Leeward, anyone else in the place might have a weapon ready to use.
He’d come to know a lot more about Felldust’s capital than he wanted. In the days he’d spent there, he’d searched in drinking parlors and brothels, slave markets and dusty addict dens. He’d searched fighting pits, on the basis that Lucious enjoyed watching others die, and places where for the right money, people could do whatever they wished with captured slaves.
He’d come to the conclusion that Felldust was like a sickness that crept into someone who stayed there. The Greatest Wager was just one example of that.
Thanos walked into the high, vaulted room that looked as though it had once been the cellar of some bigger building. There were gambling tables set up there, with people crowded around them. There was a fighting pit there, where two men fought with short blades. There was a stage too, and on it, two men sat at a table, playing a game with counters set on a board. It was that one people seemed to be crowding around, and instinctively, Thanos knew that was where he needed to be.
As Thanos watched, one of the figures on the stage made a move with a shaking hand. Thanos couldn’t see much of the other, since he was swathed in the familiar dust-proof scraps of the city. He could, however, make out the other man’s satisfaction, and Thanos swallowed. Something was about to happen; he could feel it.
The man in the robes made his own move with a click of stone. There was a finality to it that Thanos could feel as he walked forward. The look on the other man’s face said everything: he’d lost.
“No,” the other said, starting to stand. “No… I didn’t mean—”
The crowd cheered, and in that cheering, large men came to drag the player away.
“If you come here, if you bet your life, you mean it,” the figure intoned. Thanos saw him look out over the crowd, and even though he was probably looking at each of the figures there, somehow Thanos had the feeling that he was looking straight at him.
“Will anyone else come and make the only bet worth making?”
Thanos walked forward. This was what he’d come here for. There was no point in putting it off. The crowd cheered as he stepped up onto the stage, and the other figure rose to meet him. The other man’s eyes were strange, as black from edge to edge as the dust that fell over the city. Even so, Thanos was certain that this stranger could see him.
“What is it you want?” the other man asked. “Ask it, and I will tell you if we can offer it as a prize.”
This was the moment. He could walk away. He could simply not say anything.
“I want to find Prince Lucious of the Empire,” Thanos said.
“You want to kill him,” the other man said, softly enough that Thanos was sure the crowd didn’t hear it. “Be honest, Prince Thanos.”
“Yes, I want to kill him,” Thanos said. It felt strange, admitting it like that to this stranger. It was the truth though. He might have told himself that it was needed to stop the war, but the truth was, after all Lucious had done, Thanos would have hunted him down even without that threat.
“An assassin could be arranged,” the stranger said, “but we know that is not what you want. You will be given the opportunity, then. If you win. Taking it will be down to you. If you win.”
Thanos heard the threat in those three words.
“And if I lose?” he asked.
The stranger shrugged. “There are places in this city where deaths are paid for, or given up in sacrifice. Yours will be one of them.”
Thanos had seen the last player being dragged away. He knew he should have been afraid then, but his fear found itself swamped by his need to find Lucious. He understood this place then. They took what people most needed, and turned it into a trap. It was enough to make him feel sick.
“You do not have to play,” the stranger said, as if guessing what he was thinking. Probably, he’d seen this plenty of times before.
Thanos gestured to the board. “Let’s play.”
He saw the stranger shake his head. “Oh, that’s not the game for you. A player must have the right game, after all.”
He gestured, and servants pulled back a curtain. On the other side…
A small boy stood, chained in place to a board with concentric circles drawn upon it. Thanos wanted to run to him and break him free, but the guards there already had their hands on swords, ready for violence. Thanos forced himself to look back to the stranger without reaching for his own weapon.
“What is this?” he demanded.
“Your contest.” The stranger drew knives from the folds of his clothing. “We will throw three times. The closest throw to the heart wins.”
Thanos started to shake his head. This was madness. It was evil. What kind of a mind could come up with the idea of doing something like this? “You want me to throw knives at a child?”
He’d learned to throw weapons, back in training with the combatlords, but it had been so long ago he wasn’t sure he even had the trick of it anymore, and the consequences for missing, for the child and for him…
“It is not too late to back out. Right up until you throw. Of course, then you don’t find what you want. What are you prepared to do, my prince? Who will you hurt?”
If this stranger had asked him the question before he’d left, Thanos’s answer might have been different. Instead, he hefted the knives, trying to gauge the weight.
“And of course,” the stranger said, “we will cut the boy’s throat if you leave.”
Now, Thanos didn’t hesi
tate. He flung the knife in his hand, catching one of the guards through the throat. His second was already flying out to strike another, and he grabbed the stranger in one smooth movement, putting the last blade to his throat. A moment ago, it had seemed as though this were some mystical being, able to read every nuance of his soul. Now, he could feel that this was just a man.
“You shouldn’t have given me a weapon,” Thanos said. “Where are the keys to the chains?”
The stranger said nothing, so Thanos pricked the knife to his throat. A small spot of blood marred the cloth around the man’s throat.
“Unchain that child, now!”
The stranger made a hurried sign and a servant moved forward, unlocking the manacles that held the boy.
“Come here,” Thanos said to him, and the boy rushed to his side. “Now, we’re going to back out of here slowly.”
They went together, shuffling through the crowd with the knife still pressed to the stranger’s throat. The denizens of the Greatest Wager backed away, obviously unwilling to get involved. As they approached the door, Thanos grabbed back his sword from the man who had taken it, shoving the stranger back into the room.
“This is unwise,” the stranger said. “You think we won’t hunt you?”
Thanos flipped his knife and then threw it into the floor at the stranger’s feet. “I’m the only one hunting here.”
He took the boy out into the street, although in truth, it seemed as though the boy was leading as they ran through the late afternoon dust. Thanos followed him down one alley, then another. When they came to a halt, the boy had the look of a frightened rabbit.
“Why would you do that?” the boy asked in the language of Felldust. “Why would you save someone you didn’t know?”
How could Thanos explain that in a place whose people would never understand it?