Ashes of the Tyrant

by Erin M. Evans

  “You’ll look right for Kepeshkmolik,” Farideh said as Havilar went to the buckles.

  “Or Kallan,” Havilar teased.

  “Thrik! There’s nothing there.”

  Havilar giggled. “Oh, please. You could win him back.”

  “I cut him loose in the first place, so I doubt that. No—tighter than that.” He scratched his piercings, and cursed as he knocked one of the plugs loose. “You have your plans?” he asked, popping it back into place.

  Farideh hesitated. “Havi and Brin are going to track down Zaroshni and find out what she knows. I’ll wait here for Kallan, and we’ll go find the wizard that came with him, then look at the Shestandeliath tomb.”

  And then go see Ilstan about what he’d seen—and said. You both hide the key. He knew more than she’d realized, more than she did, perhaps, and more and more, Farideh felt certain that whatever was happening with Asmodeus, it wouldn’t wait for this murder to be solved.

  Mehen frowned. “You were going to leave the tombs until later.”

  “I know you wanted to leave that until later so you could do it. But you know perfectly well it’s a bad idea to wait any longer, and you don’t have much chance of sneaking down there, even if this … ceremony doesn’t take long.”

  “They’ll ask me to leave before it gets to that,” Mehen said.

  “What did you do?” Havilar demanded, yanking hard on the strap. “Telling your father off is not this interesting.”

  “It is to Vayemniri,” Mehen said. “It doesn’t matter—he’s dead and I’m done.” He stretched against the armor, swinging his arms. “Better. Many thanks. What about Lorcan?” he asked Farideh.

  A little trill of nerves went through her. “Lorcan will be here later, when Havi and Brin get back.”

  “I’ll stay close,” Brin promised. He scratched Zoonie behind the ear. “We’ll stay close.”

  “I can handle Lorcan,” Havilar said scathingly.

  Mehen scowled at his daughters. “You will not go after the demon alone.”

  “Of course not,” Farideh said. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re still gathering information—which is what you’ll be doing too. Find out about the guard.”

  Mehen sighed and fidgeted with the cuffs of his shirt. “I’ll do what I can.” Then, “Are you three doing all right here? Is it tolerable at least?”

  “I like it, demon aside,” Havilar said. “The food’s good. Nobody cares much about Zoonie. And the sparring yard is inside, which is really convenient.”

  “It’s interesting,” Brin said lightly.

  Mehen looked at Farideh, his brow ridges shifting quizzically. She smiled back, pressing her anxieties down. Arjhani was still absent. Dahl wouldn’t be any less silent somewhere else. Demons were likely the least of her foes. “It’s fine for now.”

  Before Mehen could respond, someone knocked on the doorframe at the entrance to the common room. Kallan stood in the entry, armed and armored, white ribbons on his sword. His dark eyes flicked over Mehen. “Well met. Yrjixtilex sends its greetings and condolences.”

  “Doesn’t he look nice?” Havilar sang. “Well met, Kallan. You get out all right?”

  A smile curved the sellsword’s mouth. “I had a little help, but yes. Whatever you said, it had the old uncles that came to fetch me impressed and quite nosy. I promise I stayed as coy as I could. So, many thanks for the sacrifice.”

  “The least I could do,” Mehen said.

  “You could improve on it,” Havilar muttered.

  “Thrik!” To Kallan, Mehen said, “Farideh’s going to go with you to track down the wizard and look at the tomb.” He gave Farideh a worried look. “And then you are coming back here.”

  Farideh exchanged a glance with Havilar. “That depends on what we find.”

  “You are not hunting this fiend down by yourselves.”

  “We already agreed to that,” Farideh said. She looked at Kallan. “This is just gathering information.”

  “I’m sure she’ll keep an eye on me,” Kallan said in a friendly way. It made Farideh bristle, and she looked away, embarrassed at the reaction. Kallan was a pleasant enough fellow—but whatever had been between him and her father made Farideh’s every interaction with him moorless and uncertain. Especially when Mehen kept flirting awkwardly. She made herself smile at him.

  “Havi?” Mehen said sternly. “Say it.”

  She sighed. “I’m not hunting down a demon alone.”

  “Or with Brin,” Mehen said. “That doesn’t count. Nor does Zoonie.”

  Havilar gave him a withering look. “Since that thing makes me a puking mess, that would be like Brin or Zoonie hunting it alone, thanks. I’m not dumb.”

  “Anyway we’re not taking Zoonie out this morning,” Brin said. “We’ll take her when we do hunt the demon,” he added, scratching the hellhound behind the ear again, and Havilar’s sour expression softened.

  “She might have a chance of it,” Kallan quipped. “It’s a big henish.”

  Another of the younger dragonborn entered, carrying a tray of tea and cakes, followed by Anala in mourning white, her broadsword strapped to her back and her plumes in careful disarray. “Good morning to you all,” she said, considering each of them in turn. She faltered on Kallan.

  Kallan dipped his head. “Matriarch.”

  Anala smiled, but she eyed the sellsword as though he were trying to pawn a stolen jewel off on her. “Mehen, I see you’re getting comfortable. Does your guest require anything?” The page set down the trays, and Mehen scowled.

  “No one requires anything else from the kitchens, that much is certain. Who do you think you’re feeding? A pregnant karshoji hill giant?”

  The hatchling’s shoulders hunched up to his ears, and he fled the room with a hasty bow to Anala. She sighed. “Come along. We can’t be late.”

  Mehen tugged his breastplate down again. “Come right back here,” he told his daughters as he followed the matriarch out.

  “How many times can he say that,” Havilar asked, “before he believes we heard him?”

  “I think he could say it until we came back and he’d still be suspicious,” Farideh said. “Good luck.” Havilar and Brin headed out the door. Farideh looked back at Kallan.

  “I’m, um … I’m not ready yet,” she said. “I assumed you’d be later.”

  Kallan shrugged affably. “I’m in no particular rush. Got tea. It’s fine. Take your time.” He smiled again.

  Farideh excused herself, shutting the door to her room behind her. She pulled her haversack out from under the bed, sorting out the components she needed from her stores, and the packages she’d bought earlier. Maybe a sending would go no farther than this room, maybe Dahl wouldn’t be able to respond, but ever since she’d seen him in Lorcan’s scrying, her every other plan seemed to hinge on facts she didn’t have. Where was he going? What was he doing? What in all the planes should she do now?

  Get more information, Farideh thought, kneeling on the ground and pouring metallic salts and dark powders in a careful pattern on the smooth stone floor. The magic surged, prickling along the pathways that linked her to the Nine Hells as it gathered, crossing the continent to Dahl. Farideh leaned over the faintly glowing lines, counting the words in her head before speaking.

  “Looking for spells that could get me to you, but it’s not easy here. Should I bother?” she whispered. “You’re headed somewhere, not alone … I love you.”

  The air crackled, stirred only by Dahl’s distant breath. A short sound, as if he had started to speak and caught himself. Farideh waited and waited and waited … until the magic collapsed. She let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and sat back on her heels.

  He said he loves you, she reminded herself. He said he’s fixing this.

  The vision of him looking at Mira with dancing eyes. The memory of how obviously smitten with her he’d been so long ago. She hugged her hand to her chest.

  If he left you, she thought …

&nbs
p; It hurt, even testing that. You would be all right, she told herself. You’d survive.

  But you wouldn’t have to, a little part of her said. You have options.

  Even thinking of using Asmodeus’s offer that way made her stomach turn. She swept the spent components into a small pile. There were a thousand reasons he might not speak, and Mira hardly made the list. He might be somewhere he couldn’t speak. He might be in danger. And here she was letting Lorcan prod her into jealousy?

  She blew out a breath. Everyone doesn’t need you to save them, she told herself. He saved himself fine for all those years. You will find Dahl again.

  She made the bed, tidied the remnants of the spell, and folded her clothes. As she bent to pick up her haversack, her brand suddenly prickled. She clapped a hand over it as the corner of her room split with a gust of brimstone and ash, and Lorcan stepped out.

  “Well met, darling,” he said. “Is your sister ready?”

  The sight of him made dread and lust bloom side by side in her heart, and she nearly cursed. You cannot be frustrated about Mira and look at Lorcan like that, she thought. “You’re too early. Havilar’s gone, she’ll be back in a few hours.”

  Lorcan gave a rumpled sigh and flicked his wings. “You manage so many interesting things on this plane. You’d think you could work out how to make time flow properly.”

  “You could go back to your own plane.”

  Lorcan clucked his tongue. “Still upset? Shall I shower you in apologies? I had no idea that woman would be there and I shouldn’t have tried to make you face it. It’s not pleasant watching someone you care so much about throw themselves at someone else. What are you doing while your sister’s being gone?”

  “I’m busy,” Farideh said.

  “I could keep you company.”

  “I have company, thanks.”

  “Who?”

  Farideh shook her head. “Come back later.”

  “Darling, whatever else is happening here, you know I can be helpful. Let me help.” When she didn’t answer, he said, “Why haven’t you gone with Havilar?”

  “Because I need to go up to the Adjudicators’ enclave, and she shouldn’t be up there,” Farideh said.

  “Hmm.” Lorcan tilted his head. “Have you been sleeping all right? You look tired.”

  Farideh took the haversack off the floor and slid her ritual book inside. “I never sleep all right.”

  “Poor thing. What did you dream of?”

  “I dreamt I set Arjhani on fire,” Farideh said. “And then you set my village on fire.”

  “It deserved it,” Lorcan said. Then, “Which one is Arjhani, again? The … midwife?”

  “No,” Farideh said. “Mehen’s old lover. You should know that.”

  “Why? Have you mentioned him?”

  “No,” Farideh said. “But I don’t think there’s anyone I hate like I hate him.” She yanked the haversack’s drawstring shut. “That seems like something your master would have made sure you found out.”

  “So you loathe him, but you never mention him?” Lorcan said, not rising to the bait. “That’s a powerful hate. What did he do?”

  Farideh hesitated. “He showed up, made himself at home, and then when winter came, he left without telling anyone where he was going. He never came back.”

  “What a heartbreak,” Lorcan said. “Being abandoned like that.”

  Like Dahl’s done, he didn’t say, but she heard it anyway.

  You don’t know a damned thing, she thought, slipping the bag over her shoulders. And the only way you have to find out is Asmodeus’s offer. Take that and you’ll have whatever you want. At a cost you don’t dare to pay.

  Farideh rubbed the pinch of tension between her horns. No matter what she did, she kept circling back to that knowledge. Maybe that was being a Chosen: impossible powers, a god who wanted your happiness and safety, and in exchange, no more choices, no more questions, no more thinking for herself.

  She wondered if Ilstan had the same troubles, if he found the same chasms between what he wanted and what his god desired—but then, Ilstan had the benefit of having gone at least a little mad and having what seemed like a constant connection to Azuth.

  Farideh considered Lorcan. “If I wanted to speak to … your lord, would I have to talk to you?”

  “Why would you want to talk to him?” he replied just as carefully.

  “I might want to ask him about something he said.”

  Lorcan went completely still. “What did he say? When did you talk to him?” A flicker, a burst of anger behind that careful expression. “A threat?” he guessed. “A promise?”

  “Do I have to talk to you,” Farideh said again, “if I want to talk to him?”

  “What,” Lorcan said, “do you want to say to him?”

  She looked at him for a long moment. “Nothing,” she said. “I was only curious.” She looked beyond him, to the bedroom. “You can go back, or you can wait here, I suppose. But you ought to look human if you do.”

  “Darling,” he said. “Don’t listen to Asmodeus.”

  It sent a shiver up her spine, though there was no simpler advice on earth. Don’t listen to Asmodeus—of course, you shouldn’t listen to Asmodeus. Who would think you should? But from Lorcan’s lips, a pale shadow of his master, it seemed sharp and cold and unavoidable as a blade. His dark eyes watched her, as if he weren’t certain whether she were something to fear or fear for, and she found herself wondering how Lorcan was faring in the Hells, what had happened when he’d vanished all those days she and Dahl had been together.

  “I’ll be back later,” she said, and turned from Lorcan and her thoughts without another word.

  CLAN SHESTANDELIATH’S DOORS were just as massive as Verthisathurgiesh’s, inlaid with slices of semiprecious stones and bounded by the shapes of skeletal dragons, their skulls resting on the corners.

  “They’re much prettier than Verthisathurgiesh’s,” Havilar said to the young dragonborn standing guard—in the common tongue, for Brin’s sake. The girl on the right looked back at the doors, as if she’d never considered it.

  “The stones are for the Breath of Petron,” the boy said proudly. “The artifact Haizverad stole from the Opaline Terror, Versveshardinazar, who—”

  “Broken Planes, they don’t care. Sorry,” the girl said to Havi and Brin. “We don’t get a lot of maunthreki.”

  Havilar blinked at the word. “First off, I’m a tiefling.”

  The girl shrugged. “Well, close, right? You get bored of old stories, same as him,” she said, pointing to Brin with her snout. “Ancestor stories are hard to understand if you don’t learn them from the nest.”

  “I already know the story of Haizverad and the Breath of Petron,” Havilar said testily. “Do I look like a karshoji hatchling?”

  The girl looked her over as if Havilar had just declared herself the new Vanquisher. Her comrade frowned. “Honestly? I have no idea. I can never tell with maunthreki.” He peered at her. “Can you tell with us?”

  “Can we help you find something?” the girl snapped.

  “We’re looking for Shestandeliath Zaroshni,” Brin said. “Do you know her?”

  “Why are you looking for Zaroshni?” the boy asked.

  “Because Kepeshkmolik Dumuzi says we should talk to her,” Havilar said. Matriarch Anala’s orders were on the tip of her tongue, her newly bestowed, unwieldy name. But she clamped her mouth shut around it—they were here because no one knew who she and Brin were. “Do you know where she is?”

  “What do you want to talk to her about?” the girl asked.

  “Ancestor stories,” Havilar said icily.

  “You can’t talk to her now,” the boy said. “She’s got weapons lessons up in the barracks.” The girl glared at him.

  “Thank you very much,” Brin said, taking hold of Havilar’s arm. “You’ve been terribly helpful. Blessings on your clan.” The boy looked at Brin with a tilted head. “I mean,” Brin amended, “I hope only the best for
them. Come on, Havi.”

  They found their way back to the walkways, to the stairs that climbed up and up toward the barracks at the pyramid’s peak. Havilar eyed their steep slope, a curl of nausea in her stomach.

  “Ye gods, who pissed in her porridge?” Brin muttered. “What’s maunthreki mean?”

  Havilar pushed aside her thoughts. “It’s, um, it means humans. But it’s kind of … I wouldn’t say it to you. It’s a little rude.”

  “How rude?”

  Havilar hesitated. “It means something like ‘those squishy ones.’ ”

  To her surprise, Brin snorted. “I suppose that makes sense.” He chuckled again. “Sorry. It’s funny. I’ve heard people—I mean, humans—call dragonborn ‘scalies’ and, well, ‘dragonborn,’ I suppose. I never thought about the fact that we’re probably horrifyingly unarmored.”

  “It’s rude,” Havilar said again. “Don’t let them call you that.”

  He smiled at her. “I’ve got you watching out for me.” He looked up the stairs. “Farideh told me to keep you from going up there.”

  That wound tension all up Havilar’s back, and her tail started to lash. “Oh karshoj.”

  “She told me about Arjhani,” Brin said. “A little. A very little. Do you want to go up?”

  “We have to.”

  “I could go. You could wait here. If you wanted to avoid seeing him.”

  “I don’t care about karshoji Arjhani,” Havilar said, even though the nausea in her stomach curled tighter. She started up the stairs. She wanted to know what Farideh had told him and yet she didn’t. Even after everything that had happened in Cormyr, even after Brin assuming she was pregnant of all things, knowing Brin knew about that winter would be more embarrassment than she could handle.

  “Right,” Brin said as he caught up to her. Havilar clung to the silence as they climbed—it was awkward, but far less awkward than talking. But then Brin said, “Are you getting any … indications?”

  “What?”

  “Have you noticed any demons, I mean? Are you feeling all right?”

  “I will tell you if I’m going to throw up.”