The Gods of Amyrantha

by Jennifer Fallon

  “You seem very certain of that,” Cayal replied with a frown. Since he’d first confided his desire to put an end to his insanely long life to Lukys, more than a thousand years ago, the older man had taken to teasing him about his morose outlook, “Sparky” and “Sunshine” being some of the least offensive names he had for the Immortal Prince.

  “I am,” Lukys told him confidently.

  Cayal gave an exasperated sigh. “You’re going to make me ask why, aren’t you?”

  “Oh, yes, I most certainly am.”

  “Very well, Lukys. Why are you so certain I won’t shout how to kill an immortal from the rooftops to anybody who’ll listen, as soon as you tell me what it is?”

  “Because we’ll need quite a few of the others to do it,” Lukys replied. “And if they knew what you were up to, none of the others would help. You’re not going to say a word.”

  “Then how do I get them to help me die?”

  “By doing the thing we do best, old son. Lying about it.”

  Cayal shook his head doubtfully. “So you intend to share this news with me, only provided I agree to lie, cheat and manipulate several other Tide Lords into helping us do me in?”

  “You always were a sharp lad,” Lukys remarked. “A bit unstable, perhaps, but you never lacked for intelligence.”

  “What’s in it for you?”

  Lukys looked wounded. “My desire to help an old friend isn’t enough, Cayal? Nothing more. I swear.”

  “Bullshit,” Cayal retorted pleasantly.

  He treated Cayal to an ingenuous smile. “Would you believe I’m motivated by idle curiosity?”

  “Not for a moment. What do you intend to get out of this, Lukys, other than my death?”

  “Very well,” the older man replied after a moment. “I want to be God.”

  “I thought we’d decided immortals who want to be God were a really bad idea, Lukys.”

  “Did we?”

  Cayal nodded. “The name Kentravyon leaps to mind.”

  “Ah, but there’s a difference between me and that lunatic,” Lukys said, sitting on the edge of the railing. “I want to be God, Kentravyon thought he was God.”

  “There’s a difference?”

  “Absolutely! I know I’m not God, Cayal. I’d just like everyone else to think I am. Kentravyon, now…he believed he really was God. That’s what made him so unstable.”

  “And you think killing me will somehow prove to everyone that you’re a god?”

  “Better than that,” Lukys said, shaking his head. “By killing all the other immortals, I’ll prove I’m the God.”

  Cayal stared at him for a moment, remembering Medwen’s warning thousands of years ago in the chilly darkness of Brynden’s castle that Lukys had his own agenda and it probably included ruling the entire galaxy.

  “Let me get this straight. You want my help to kill me and all the other immortals?”

  “In a nutshell,” Lukys agreed.

  “You’re a maniac.”

  “Only from a certain perspective.”

  “What makes you think I’d have anything to do with such an idiotic plan?”

  “Why do you care, Sparky? If you’re dead, what matter is it to you what happens to the others?”

  “They’ll try to stop us.”

  “Only if we tell them what we’re doing.”

  “Suppose they realise you’re trying to kill them?”

  “I was planning on keeping that small but pertinent detail a secret, you know.”

  Cayal studied Lukys for a moment and then shrugged. Lukys was right. What did he care? “Why not?”

  Lukys smiled. “I had a feeling you’d say that, Sparky.”

  “Hence the reason you came looking for me,” Cayal concluded, Lukys’s sudden desire to seek him out after all these years starting to make sense. “How do we do it?”

  “You don’t need the details just yet. First we need at least another three immortals. And they have to be of the nine. A lesser mortal hasn’t got the power to get the job done. This will require the power of a Tide Lord.”

  “Any ideas?”

  “I thought I’d ask Maralyce first. She’s always been fond of you.”

  Cayal frowned, unable to imagine Maralyce agreeing to anything that involved working in concert with another Tide Lord. She didn’t care enough for the others, one way or the other, to do anything about removing them, either.

  “What if she says no? Who does that leave? Brynden? He and I haven’t been on speaking terms since Kinta and I…well, she’s not speaking to me, either, for the same reason. Pellys is too unreliable. Kentravyon’s still doing his icicle impression in Jelidia. That just leaves Tryan and Elyssa. I can’t imagine any circumstance where Tryan would lift a finger to help me. As for Elyssa, she’s—”

  “Had a crush on you for eight thousand years,” Lukys finished for him.

  Cayal gave Lukys a baleful glare. “You cannot be serious.”

  The older Tide Lord looked at Cayal for a moment and then raised a questioning brow. “How badly do you want to die, Cayal?” Lukys asked.

  Chapter 12

  The canine Lord Ponting assigned to guard Tiji on her way back to Herino to report the whereabouts of the Emperor and Empress of the Five Realms and their vicious Tide Lord offspring proved to be an intimidating, yet taciturn sort of creature. He was easily the largest canine she’d ever met, with a pelt of red-brown fur, liquid brown eyes and a tail that gave away a lot more than he intended about his mood. He was efficient, admittedly, and civilised enough if you could get him talking, but he was a hard nut to crack.

  And he wouldn’t even acknowledge that Tiji had spoken to him if she called him Cecil.

  The journey from Hidden Valley took more than a week on foot. Tiji was glad of the change of pace, not to mention the warmer weather, although this being Glaeba, even in summer it rained incessantly. Caelum was a mountainous, chilly place, and her month-long journey home had been a tense and harrowing affair.

  Tiji looked outwardly human from a distance, but her silver-scaled skin always attracted attention. Not only was she a lone female travelling along notoriously dangerous roads, she was a member of a race usually enslaved, and as such, rarely travelled without a master somewhere close by. To further complicate matters, chameleon Crasii were rare enough to cause comment wherever they went.

  Nobody cared about, or paid much attention to, a canine or a feline passing by, but a chameleon would be the talk of a small Caelish village for months. Even more worrying, if word got back to Tryan that a reptilian Crasii was seen heading toward Glaeba, Tiji didn’t think it would take him long to realise that given their rarity, it was probably the same chameleon he’d caught lurking in the Ladies Walking Room in the Caelish Royal Palace.

  To stay hidden on the way back from Caelum, she’d had to shed her clothes and use her natural camouflage ability to slip past danger, sneaking a ride on one of the many ferries that plied the well-worn trade route across the lake between Cycrane on the western shore and Lebec on the eastern side of the Lower Oran. But it had meant being cold, travelling with next to nothing in the way of supplies, and spending an awful lot of time standing still as a post, pretending she wasn’t there.

  With Cecil as her escort—or Warlock as he preferred to be called—Tiji didn’t have to worry about any of that. They carried papers marking them the property of the Earl of Summerton, travelling to Herino to report to his mother, the dowager Baroness, Lady Tilly Ponting. Warlock’s size meant nobody bothered them along the road, and because Aleki had made sure they had plenty of coin, they were able to stay at inns along the way instead of camping in the open, a rare luxury Tiji was relishing, all the more because of the wet weather.

  After two days on the road, however, Tiji grew annoyed with Cecil’s long bouts of silence. It was rare for her to have a travelling companion and it irritated her to think she got just as much conversation with this big brute who was supposed to be protecting her, as she did when she
was on the road alone.

  “Why don’t you like being called Cecil?” she asked on the third morning of their journey as they trudged south toward the capital. They’d spent a comfortable night at a place near Lebec called Clyden’s Inn and the owner had surprised them both by allowing them rooms with proper—albeit dangerously rickety—beds, rather than insisting they sleep in the stables, which was the common reaction to any Crasii looking for a room at a Glaeban inn.

  As she suspected, Tiji’s question got an immediate response from her large, canine companion. “My name is Warlock.”

  “But that’s your kennel name. Your slave name. Don’t you want a name that proclaims you’re free to be who you want to be?”

  “I am who I want to be. I am Warlock.”

  She stared up at him for a moment, amazed at his stubbornness. “I couldn’t wait to change my name.”

  “Isn’t Tiji your kennel name?”

  She shook her head, shouldering her pack a little higher. “Tides, no!”

  “You didn’t mind that Captain Phydeau forced you to change your name?”

  “I wasn’t forced, I was delighted,” she said, as they walked along the road. Traffic was light so far. Anybody heading out of Lebec for Herino wouldn’t catch up or pass them for a few hours yet. “Tiji means ‘strikes in darkness.’ It’s from one of the ancient languages. I’m not sure which one. It seemed appropriate, though. And it was a damn sight better than being called Slinky.”

  The big canine glanced down at her, a rare smile on his face. Even his tail wagged for a moment. “Slinky, eh? Yes…now I look at you…I can imagine you being called Slinky. In fact, it suits you.”

  Tiji glared at him. “I’m glad you find it amusing.”

  “May I call you Slinky?”

  “Not if you expect me to answer you.”

  The canine’s smile faded and his tail drooped a little. “That is how I feel about being addressed as Cecil.”

  She smiled up at him. “If I promise to call you Warlock from now on, do you think you could utter more than one word a mile?”

  He seemed quite surprised by her request. “I wasn’t aware you wanted to talk.”

  “You never asked.”

  Warlock shrugged, wagging his tail just enough to make Tiji believe he was probably not as unfriendly as she’d assumed. “What would you like me to speak of?”

  “Tell me about the Immortal Prince,” she said.

  They reached Herino three days later, making their way straight to the townhouse belonging to Lady Ponting. The capital was set on an island that jutted into the Lower Oran, the largest of the Great Lakes that divided Glaeba from Caelum. Joined to the mainland by three wide, majestic bridges carved of the local dark granite and dominated by the royal palace—located in the peak of the only real hill on the island—the city had grown so much it had started to spill onto the shores of the lake surrounding the island. Many of the city’s elite, in fact, had opted to build lake-shore villas, rather than live in the cramped and crowded houses they were forced to put up with in the city. Lady Ponting’s townhouse proved to be one of the latter.

  Although small and cluttered, her house was only four streets from the palace in a quiet but expensive street where most of the houses had high walls surrounding the perimeter to ensure the privacy of the occupants. It took Tiji and Warlock most of a wet and miserable day to find it, and when they did, it was to discover the lady of the house wasn’t even in residence. Tilly Ponting had returned to her home in Lebec, the housekeeper informed them, and wasn’t expected back until the Autumn Ball, some nine weeks from now. The new slaves were expected, however, and the Crasii steward welcomed them into the house, gave them towels to dry off, organised a hearty meal, and sent a messenger to the palace to fetch Declan Hawkes.

  The King’s Spymaster was a tall man, almost as tall as Warlock, and he walked like a fighter, or as if he expected to get into a fight at any moment. He was—in Tiji’s opinion—symmetrical, the highest compliment she was willing to pay any creature suffering the indignity of hair, or who lacked scales or the ability to change their skin tone at will. She knew human women probably found him attractive, but had always suspected it had as much to do with his job as it did his physical appearance. Human women in particular were attracted to men of power. And human females, Tiji had observed, seemed to like a bit of mystery and danger, as well.

  Declan Hawkes reeked of both.

  Tiji had first met him in Senestra when she was barely more than a hatchling, a prisoner in a travelling carnival where her freakish gift for camouflage was worth five coppers a peek. Of course, Declan wasn’t the Glaeban King’s Spymaster back then, but with the help of Markun Far Jisa, he’d managed to cajole or intimidate her owner (Tiji was never sure which) into selling her to them. Although she remained a slave on paper, since being purchased by the Glaeban human she’d never felt like one. Starved, beaten and treated worse than an animal in the carnival, her change of fortune still felt a little surreal, at times.

  It was more than six years since Declan—taking a chance on the likelihood that being a chameleon also meant she was a Scard—had recruited her into both the king’s service and, secretly, into the Cabal of the Tarot. On the day she met Declan Hawkes, Tiji had gone from a circus freak to a noble warrior in the war to save Amyrantha from the Tide Lords.

  She had a purpose in life now. A reason to live.

  For that alone, Tiji would have willingly taken a sword in the belly for him.

  When he arrived later that night he smiled when he saw her, obviously relieved she was unharmed. To her surprise, however, he didn’t seem in a hurry to question her. He seemed more interested in Warlock’s arrival than her own, which struck her as a little odd. Admittedly, he’d been sent here to work in the palace, but Tiji was certain the information she carried outweighed the employment prospects of some big, dumb canine. She made herself comfortable on the scrubbed wooden table, crossing her legs beneath her in the position she favoured, listening to the conversation with interest. For Declan to want to speak to Warlock before he grilled her on the news she carried from Caelum meant this was likely to be very interesting indeed.

  “I’m very glad you’re here, Warlock,” Declan said, once they’d exchanged greetings. They met in Lady Ponting’s kitchen, the room illuminated by several lamps on the walls and the red glow of the banked cooking fires. “I’ve got a job for you.”

  “So Lord Ponting informed me,” the big canine agreed, although to Tiji, he sounded a little uncertain.

  “How do you feel about being a slave again?”

  Warlock shrugged. “I’m not at all certain I’ve gotten used to being free, Master Hawkes. But provided I’m back in Hidden Valley in time for the birth of my pups, I suppose I can handle it.”

  Declan nodded. “I’ll see what I can arrange. In the meantime, I want to give you away as a belated wedding present. To the Crown Princess Kylia from Lady Tilly Ponting.”

  “I am trained for such a role.”

  The spymaster shook his head. “Nobody is trained for this role, Warlock. We’re pretty sure Princess Kylia is actually the immortal Diala.”

  Tiji stared up at Declan in shock. “You’re kidding!”

  Declan glanced at Tiji. “She popped up a few months ago in Lebec posing as the Duke of Lebec’s long-lost niece. The crown prince arrived for a visit a few weeks later, and the rest—as they say—is history. Poor Mathu didn’t stand a chance.”

  “Tides, Declan! Who else knows about this?”

  “Only the Cabal, at present,” Declan replied. “But given the Tide is on the turn, I don’t imagine we’ve got long before either Diala or Jaxyn makes their move and the whole world discovers the Tide Lords aren’t a myth.”

  “I saw Syrolee in Caelum,” she reminded him. Aleki had sent word on ahead about the news she carried. Not the details, of course, but enough to make certain Declan was here in Herino when she arrived. Given this news, however, Tiji thought it unlikely he was
planning to go anywhere for a time.

  “You want me to spy for you in the palace,” Warlock concluded. “In the service of the High Priestess.”

  Tiji was impressed. He might look dumb as an ox, but when it came down to it, this canine didn’t lack for intelligence.

  “Didn’t you say Cayal told you her own kind call her the Minion Maker?” Tiji reminded him.

  Warlock nodded. “Cayal also called her a slut. She was the one who made him immortal.”

  Tiji grinned. “You know, for an immortal, Cayal does seem to be an excellent judge of character, doesn’t he?”

  Declan didn’t seem nearly as amused as she was. He looked at Warlock, frowning. “What I’m asking of you isn’t going to be easy,” he warned.

  “I am trained to serve in a high-born household, Master Hawkes.”

  “That’s not what I mean. Jaxyn and Diala are both understandably wary of Scards and with the Tide on the turn they’re in no mood to tolerate them. To ensure all the slaves they’ve surrounded themselves with are loyal, they’ve taken to randomly testing any Crasii they’ve got in service.”

  Warlock’s tail dipped a little. “Testing them how, exactly?”

  “The last one I heard of, Jaxyn had one Crasii kill another member of Princess Kylia’s staff who’d misbehaved.”

  Tiji shook her head in disgust. “Bastards.”

  “I know,” Declan agreed, “but they’re smart bastards, and you both need to remember that. And you,” he added, fixing his gaze on Warlock, “are going to have to do whatever they ask. You must pass their test, or we’re all done for.”

  “I’m not sure I understand what you’re getting at.”

  “Do you remember the Duchess of Lebec?”

  The question puzzled Tiji because she couldn’t see what Arkady Desean had to do with the matter at hand. Unless Declan is just so obsessed with his legendary duchess he’s managed to find a way to work her into every single conversation. Tiji smiled to herself, wondering if she should suggest such a thing, then decided against it. Declan didn’t seem to be in a very jokey mood.