by Joe Jackson
“A diversion…”
The elestram woman nodded. “Indeed. If they are working to draw the king’s forces out of our path, that is something we must make every effort to take advantage of. I know your people cannot run as fast or as long as mine, but do you feel well enough to keep up with me as best as you can?”
Erik pulled her close, though he wasn’t exactly sure why. “As far and wide as I have to, to whatever end,” he said. She leaned her head in and kissed him again, and for a minute, he let the odd sensation and the taste of her tongue blot out the uncertainty of their future.
A large throat being cleared split them apart. One of the great rams had approached, and Erik and Tarra both chuckled as she spoke in infernal. It was too complicated a conversation for Erik to follow with his limited proficiency, so he waited while Tarra spoke back and forth with the ram for a minute.
“This is the clan matriarch,” she said to Erik, and he bowed low and expressed his thanks as best he could. “If we skirt the hills directly east, we can avoid a regiment that is making its way back toward Agivak. It seems your friends’ efforts, if indeed that is what it is, are already showing a suitable effect.”
“Well, let’s not waste any time, then,” he returned.
The harmauths provided them with a couple of jugs of milk and satchels of vegetables. There was a bit of meat, but not much; Tarra had explained that the ram-folk were herbivores. That had to mean that sharing meat with visitors was a pretty big deal, and he made sure Tarra passed along their thanks yet again. The matriarch appeared to smile, and laid a massive, meaty hand on Erik’s shoulder as she spoke. Then she gestured for the two to take their leave, and she made her way back to the thatch-roofed stone house she had come from.
“What did she say?” Erik asked as he fell into step beside the elestram woman.
“She said you are polite and well-spoken, and she was pleased to have been of help to you. She sends us on our way with the blessing of Viggaru.”
“Viggaru? Who’s that?”
“Viggaru is their deity. They are the only peoples of Mehr’Durillia that the Overking never saw fit to try to strip the faith from. I cannot say I blame him; a war solely against the harmauths would be a disaster, win or lose.”
“Viggaru,” Erik repeated with a hmph.
“The Great Bull. The harmauths are not as overt with their beliefs as my kind or the syrinthians once were, so it was never worth the Overking’s time to stamp out their faith.”
“Do you still worship Be’shatha?” he prodded.
“Worship? No. Be’shatha has been dead for ages. But I will not bow down and kiss the feet of the usurpers that call themselves our kings. I would rather flee to your world, and accept whatever fate that brings me.”
Erik grabbed her tail, eliciting a sharp bark of surprise, and he tugged her back toward him. She was confused until he wrapped his arms around her, and she snuggled a bit into his embrace. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. You have my word on that.”
Tarra met his eyes. “I believe you. Do you have faith in my ability to get us safely to Anthraxis?”
“I do.”
“Then come; we have not a moment to waste.”
Chapter XII – Diversion
Agivak was an old city, and smelled like one. It wasn’t the smell of the people or concentrated wastes, or even the animals used as beasts of burden, such as the mousivas. It was something about the land, the old stones and wood, the slate roofs that told the tale of a city that had stood longer than its resident king. It was something Liria had always been keenly aware of even when she’d lived here on Mehr’Durillia, and it only stood out more now that she’d lived on Citaria for a while.
It was a broad sense of time. Her people told tales of a time before the demon kings, some ten thousand years or more before Liria was born. Here she stood, only twenty summers old, among a city that was possibly ten thousand years old, and populated by people who were, in some cases, nearly half that. It made her feel small, fleeting, insignificant. And yet she had a part to play here, a job whose importance was not dulled by Kris’ sense of humor at all.
Liria and her companions had the opportunity to effect change in a world that had seen precious little of it in ten millennia. All she had to do was tell some lies, spread some gossip, or point out what was both blatantly obvious and shockingly true, and all of it could come crashing down in time. The kings were entrenched like one of the irritating desert chiggers of Sorelizar, but they were not immune to the changes coming to them. If anything, their constancy, their immutability would ultimately be their downfall, brought about by what was, at first glance, an unassuming woman.
Karian Vanador.
The young syrinthian woman was astounded when she considered the changes that had come to her since the day King Sekassus had conscripted her to go spy on Citaria. If none of that had ever happened, she would be a seamstress by now, working full-time in her mother’s shop to support their family. Perhaps her parents would have arranged for a suitable marriage, or Liria may have been able to court a young man of her choosing with her parents’ approval. It would be a life of contentment, possibly even fulfillment, but both of a different kind.
She was a demonhunter now, and though that title made little sense to her, the duties of the post were all too real. To save her people, she had to endanger them, had to throw her world into chaos and bring down the beings that provided order, if not freedom or safety. It was the one thing she wanted to talk to Kari about but had never found the time or the words to express her thoughts properly.
These people were going to fight. Some would join Kari’s cause and try to overthrow the kings, yes, but just as many would fight against upsetting the balance. Mehr’Durillia was not a world of freedom, but in places, there was prosperity and a semblance of security. People were often afraid of change, and those of Mehr’Durillia were no different. Liria had the feeling that Kari was rushing into things here intent on convincing the people to join her. She would find success, but not nearly to the degree she was expecting, by Liria’s reckoning.
The feeling of insignificance returned in force. Liria swallowed hard as she walked down the shaded alleyway. She pulled her armor away from her skin enough to see the tattoos on her breasts. She didn’t understand the magic that went into their creation, but Sonja assured her they were temporary. For the time being, they marked her as a member of the Ashen Fangs, and she had only to hope she didn’t run into a conclave of real assassins who might not take too kindly to her using their name.
Kris was planning something else, she knew, but her job was clear: Poison the well with chatter and speculation. Aeligos had coached her thoroughly, and it was time to put her lessons into practice. Emerging into the main thoroughfares once again, she nearly wet herself when she came within scant yards of King Arku Chinchala.
The bestial, canine king glared at her only briefly; she was hardly worth his time. No doubt he had a dim view of syrinthians, seeing as his southern neighbor’s realm was full of them. By contrast, she wasn’t even sure what he was. He wasn’t beshathan, at least not completely, but there was the hint of erestram about him. However, his sire had been something else entirely, akin to Celigus Chinchala, whatever he truly was. It was one of the enigmas of the kings that while they often looked like one of the peoples of Mehr’Durillia, some – like Sekassus, Celigus, or Koursturaux – were something wholly unique, at least on this world.
“I care little for what it takes, you wretched kaeshmor,” he snarled, shocking Liria nearly out of her scales. “You recapture that maggot and deliver him to me by the time I return from the council session, or you will be the one flayed alive in my courtyard.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” came the voice of Duke Curlamanx as he followed his lord around like a nervous little dog. “What of his coming companions?”
It was amusing to see a fairly powerful demon noble act in such a way, but Liria kept any mirth from her face. She tried for the cool,
dispassionate expressions typical to the beshathan people, and watched the scene casually, trying to stay out of the way. Arku was getting ready to mount his coach and head to Anthraxis, and Liria was far from the only person watching him.
“Kill them, you imbecile! And do not fail me this time, Curlamanx. If those… Silver Blades get the best of you a second time, being flayed alive in my courtyard will seem like a merciful fate compared to what I will do to you.”
Arku passed uncomfortably close to Liria, sparing her another momentary scowl, but then he climbed up into the coach and sat down heavily. There was something – several somethings – bestial about him, right down to his scent. It was alluring and repulsive in equal measure, and that left Liria confused. Once he was settled and continued barking orders at his underlings, Liria made her way across the street, slowly and deliberately, yet mindful of whether the coach tried to proceed.
The merchants in the area mostly had their heads tilted down, watching their king but not obviously so. Liria stepped before one, an elestram selling leather goods. He looked up and graced her with a bow of the head, and she returned the gesture curtly. “I am in need of a pair of new canteens and a back scabbard,” she said. “What do you recommend, friend?”
He seemed bemused by her greeting, but began combing through containers and sheaths that hung along one side of his canvas-covered stall. He produced a scabbard that looked like a perfect fit for one of Liria’s longswords, and laid it on the counter before her. He went to the back of the stall and produced several canteens in a few different styles, and laid those before her as well. “All of these are handcrafted using the techniques passed down by my forefathers for seven eras,” he said.
Liria had to make a conscious effort not to frown. That was a statement one should make with pride; she knew, because her family said similar things when making a sale. But he said it with so little emotion, like it was just something he said to have anything to say at all. She knew what it was to live under a despotic king, but in that moment, Liria began to suspect that King Sekassus, for all his cruelty, was still a considerably better ruler than Arku.
She was spared from responding immediately by the departure of the king’s coach, and she paused to watch it roll away. Curlamanx turned on his heel and headed back into the stone palace, obviously wary of saying or doing anything that might attract the king’s attention back to himself. Glancing around the plaza, Liria could see that the exodus of both nobles lightened the mood among the people considerably.
“He ought to be home in Dauchin-Rache,” she said nonchalantly. The elestram didn’t rise to the bait, and she had no trouble understanding why. Still, she had a job to do, and Aeligos warned her that she might have to push the issue a little bit. Fortunately, he also taught her how to do so without seeming like she was there to cause sedition. “I tracked a bounty out that way before I arrived here, and there was talk of a sizeable force of Citarians heading toward the city.”
“Citarians?” he asked with the same lack of interest as when he’d stated his birthright.
“Looking for one of their own, from what I understand,” she said. “How much do I owe you for these items?”
He stared at her coldly, and Liria could remember all the times she’d been held under such a withering gaze by one of the Order’s training instructors. “Do you not want to see if the sword fits the scabbard first?”
“It looked like a good fit, and I trust the calculations of your people,” she covered.
The elestram merchant nodded. “Let us be certain anyway. I would not like to have you return because I failed my due diligence.”
That seemed more like an experienced merchant, and she settled down a bit. Liria passed him one of her blades, and the scabbard was indeed a good fit. “You are a credit to your family’s name,” she complimented him, something that was sure to resonate with the elestram. He bowed his head politely, but his mood still seemed dour. “Where does the king go to? Is it time for the Anthraxis Council to meet already?”
“Indeed, my lady,” he responded.
“My, the season has grown late. And it will only grow later if I have to push east now to avoid whatever trouble those Citarians might bring to Dauchin-Rache. In any case, thank you for your service.”
“Thank you for your patronage. Sixteen marks will cover the lot.”
Liria paid him and made her way farther into the bazaar. She spread her performances out over the afternoon, but repeated her act with seven other merchants. She laughed at the idea that espionage was an expensive tactic. Though some of the people seemed suspicious, by the end of the day, she could hear the odd conversation about trouble to the west. Whether it would prove to be enough to catch Curlamanx’ ear, she couldn’t say, but the plan wasn’t to accomplish their goal in a single day anyway.
She purchased a room for the night as close to the keep as she felt comfortable staying. She didn’t want to seem too conspicuous; after all, the Ashen Fangs were assassins, and Liria didn’t want Curlamanx to get the idea that she was after him. She stowed her weapons in her room while she took a dinner in the commons, and avoided acting suspicious or saying anything further that might suggest she was up to something. She bolted her door when she bedded down for the evening, but felt confident that she hadn’t drawn the wrong kind of attention.
She was surprised, however, when she was awakened by shouts, bells, whistles, and horns signaling a general alarm in the night. Oddly, though, they all came from the keep, and not anywhere near the inn where she was staying. Going against every fiber of instinct in her being, Liria stayed put, and did not get dressed and armed to go out and see what happened. No matter what, she knew that would instantly mark her as a suspect.
*****
The last of the sentries was bound and gagged. Kris looked toward Agivak from the highest bit of ground he and Corbanis could find. If they were going for stealth, this would qualify as one of the worst plans ever. As it stood, however, their goal was total bedlam, and that meant what they were doing was a surefire way to accomplish their goal. The bigger issue was going to be getting back out alive.
“We make a straight shot for the tower there,” he said, pointing out their intended way of entry in the shade of twilight. “Think you can fly that far?”
“Assuming nothing attacks us. We should have given Liria a day to scout and report back to us, then we would know if there are valirasi here.”
“Oh, there are,” Kris said. “But if you remember, Liria said their eyesight isn’t anywhere near as sharp in the dark, and they don’t like to fly during or after twilight. I don’t think we’ll have much issue getting to the tower. It’s going to be getting back to everyone else that’ll be the real trick.”
“Are we killing Curlamanx?”
“I don’t think it’s the best idea. We kill him, the realm is in chaos, and there may not be anyone to issue new orders to the people tracking Erik. But that doesn’t mean we can’t hurt him badly. And this isn’t like our previous encounters, Corbanis. We’re here to kill. Anyone gets in our way and fights back, put them down. These are going to be Arku’s most loyal and, dare I say, fanatical servants.”
“Quite right.”
“As soon as night falls, we’ll begin.”
Corbanis looked at the sentries they’d captured and disabled. “Do you really believe what they told us?”
Kris shook his head and gestured for Corbanis to follow him out of earshot. “Not really, but there’s no reason not to. Arku shits on these people, Corbanis. He’s related to Celigus, and yet Celigus never had a single good word to say about him. Arku becoming a king was one of the darkest days for these people, especially since he had no business being granted these lands to begin with. There was another king here long before, dead now, but I think he was a lot better to his people than Arku is.”
“I just find it hard to believe that everyone here on Mehr’Durillia is trustworthy simply because their kings are all wretches.”
; “Oh, they’re not. More a matter of the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Maybe they’ll be friendlier to us after we depose some of their kings, but people are people. Some like you, some don’t. Some you put in the ground before they do it to you. But we have to take all that as it comes. And that’s honestly where Kari’s efforts are going to be our best asset.”
Corbanis nodded but went silent for a minute. “Have you mated with her yet?” he asked.
Kris almost snorted at the direct question, but managed not to. “No, we haven’t gotten anywhere near that far yet.”
“She is my daughter-in-law, you know,” Corbanis said, smirking now.
Kris laughed, but shook his head again. “I know. The whole situation is so strange, isn’t it? It’s like destiny. Not that I believe in it, not in that way, but as long as I’ve known your wife and then your kids, it’s always felt like our families were meant to come together in some way, and not just by way of service to my father. How odd that it’d happen because of Kari.”
Corbanis sat down on a dark outcropping of rock that his armor would blend in with to some degree. “I can’t argue with that. I think she’s the only reason I was able to get back into Kyrie’s life at all. I still have some work to do with Aeligos, but I don’t think I was ever this close to my family before.”
Kris wondered what he meant about Aeligos; things seemed all right between the two of them on the surface. He figured he’d let Corbanis elaborate on that if he wanted to, and slightly changed the subject. “Is Sonja seeing anyone?” the Warlord asked.
“Not to my knowledge.”
“That’s a shame. She’s such a sweet woman. Then again, your kids are all still young for half-guardians. They’ve got plenty of time, presumably.”
“Indeed. All concerns for another time. Now, the light is about to fail, and we have to focus on our task.”