Sword of the Gods: Spinner of Lies

by Bruce R Cordell

  There is a way, he thought, to determine for certain if restraining Kalkan was the right thing to try. The damos would know. The artifact contained the Voice of Tomorrow. But if he tasted that forbidden font, he’d probably die himself. Which seemed counterproductive. Either way, he’d have to think about what to do with the Imaskar relic, too. For now, it shared the vault with Kalkan’s body.

  “We make a damn fine team,” said Chant, his words a little slurred from the quantity of ale he’d poured down his throat.

  “Hells, yeah!” agreed Riltana. “We found that crazy drow hiding in the mine, even though all of Akanûl’s intelligence apparatus was certain Tymanther was responsible. If it hadn’t been for us, they’d have gone to war with the dragonborn, and Chenraya would’ve been laughing up her webbed sleeve.”

  “Well, Queen Arathane is part of Akanûl’s power structure,” said Chant. “She was right there with us. We should’ve invited her over tonight. You would have liked that, right, Demascus?”

  Demascus smirked. “Yeah, why didn’t you think to ask the monarch over for some beer? I’m sure she gets tired of all that elven wine they serve in the palace.” Besides, there wasn’t anything between him and Arathane save a few looks, maybe a wink or two, and probably a lot of signals he’d misconstrued. “But with Madri’s destruction,” he continued, “I don’t really …” He finished by just shaking his head.

  Chant clapped him on the shoulder but didn’t have any words. None existed. The thing was, Demascus didn’t really know how he should feel. Madri had sacrificed whatever existence she had for a person she hardly knew—he wasn’t even the same Demascus who had slain her. Well, not really.

  Riltana rose, lost her grip on her mug, and only managed to catch it with a lucky swipe. “It’s late! We should let Demascus get to bed—then maybe he won’t be so prone to snoozing when he should be hacking.”

  The deva was pretty sure that joke had run its course five tellings ago, but he smiled anyway.

  Chant staggered to his feet and finished off the last of his ale. He slammed the mug down on the table and said, “We’ll come back in a few days and help you decide what to do about Kalkan. How’s that sound?”

  “See you then,” Demascus replied. “Bring more of this beer because it’s growing on me.” He showed his friends to the door. When they’d gone, he stood in the foyer for a bit, enjoying the quiet and the way the lamp shone on the polished wooden boards of the floor and the newly whitewashed walls.

  Fable’s meow broke the mood.

  He returned to the great room, gave the cat a treat, poured himself the last of the ale, and took the stairs to his rooftop balcony. The night was cool and cloudless. The city lights tumbling away down the cliffs made it hard to see the stars, but the moon and its train of smaller companions marched across the sky.

  He couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt so relaxed. Maybe in a previous incarnation? He chuckled at the possibility.

  Demascus dropped into one of the stools around the table. The game of tiles he’d set up for him and Riltana to play was still ongoing. In fact … The thief had made another play. HAUNTED. She’d used all her letters, and arranged the tiles across triple wands. He counted up the score and frowned.

  “Damn.”

  He’d lost again. Odd that Riltana hadn’t mentioned her victory below, especially with Chant there to hear it. The windsoul wasn’t a humble sort.

  And when had she come up to make her winning move? He’d been on the balcony before Riltana and Chant had come over. haunted hadn’t been there then. Something wasn’t—

  Demascus looked up into eyes like distant storm clouds.

  “Madri?”

  “Care for a rematch?” said the ghost.

  DRAMATIS PERSONAE

  Demascus (da-MASS-kus)

  Demascus is a deva, which means he’s had hundreds of mortal incarnations, if not thousands. He’s fulfilled the same role in many of those lives: Sword of the Gods. Or, in more colloquial terms, a divine assassin. However, something’s gone wrong, and the continuity of his identity and abilities, maintained in a ring called the Whorl of Ioun, has been lost. Where that leaves Demascus is a question he struggles to discover, even as enemies he can’t recall continue to wind him into their webs. Though he doesn’t have the Whorl of Ioun he has three tools recovered from his previous incarnation: the scarf-like Veil of Wrath and Knowledge, a lie-detecting scroll-shaped charm, and the sword Exorcessum (ex-OR-kes-um).

  Riltana (ril-TAHN-ah)

  Riltana is a windsoul genasi who makes a living stealing from Airspur’s elite and wealthy. By day, she’s a messenger in the Airstepper’s Guild. She once stole a painting from the palace of the queen, and thus lost the love of her life. Riltana schemes how to recover the painting and thus (she hopes) to repair the damage she did to her relationship.

  Chant Morven (CHANT MORE-ven)

  The portly proprietor of a pawnshop in the city of Airspur. Besides selling the hopes and dreams of Airspur’s desperate and destitute, Chant also heads up a network of informants that keep him apprised of events in and around the city. Thanks to the enmity of a fire mage called Chevesh, Chant has been forced to take employ with Master Raneger, the city’s most successful crime lord.

  Jaul Morven (JAHL MORE-ven)

  The estranged son of Chant Morven. Jaul is aged eighteen winters, and to show his independence from his father, has taken up employment with Raneger, the owner of the Den of Games. Now that his father is also an employee, the two have made some strides toward making up, but Jaul’s independent streak may prove too jagged.

  Queen Arathane (air-WRATH-ah-nee)

  Akanûl is ruled by Queen Arathane (in partnership with four Stewards). Arathane is considered a just ruler, and so she strives to be. However, she’s learned that the Stewards, while also interested in seeing Akanûl remain prosperous, are also sometimes given to wild ideas, an overarching fear of neighboring states, and a sometimes paralyzing instinct to retreat into bureaucracy in the face of danger, or worse, draconic measures in the face of too little evidence. Thus, from time to time, Arathane finds it convenient to secure assistance from unofficial channels. Such as Demascus, who’s shown himself to be not only very effective but also mysterious.

  Madri (MAD-ree)

  Demascus recalls a woman with “eyes like distant storm clouds,” whom he knew in a former life. He fiercely regrets her death. Except it may be that she has somehow come back, either as a ghost or as a memory generated and given life by Demascus himself. Either way, she is not happy with the deva and wants revenge for the way he mistreated her.

  OTHER CHARACTERS

  Carmenere (kar-men-AIR)

  An estranged friend of Riltana and a relative of Queen Arathane. Carmenere is a disciple of the moon and a respected silverstar. Carmenere recently took a diplomatic post in the distant land of High Imaskar.

  Chenraya Xorlarrin (chen-RAY-a zo-LAR-rin)

  A drow matron of House Xorlarrin with an interest in waking or gaining control over primordial relics, in answer to a challenge given to the drow by Lolth. Chenraya formed a partnership with Lord Pashra to find and retrieve a powerful relic she believes is in Akanûl.

  Fable (FAY-bel)

  Chant’s pet cat, which is currently staying with Demascus while Chant’s pawnshop remains closed.

  Fossil

  A reanimated relic of a dead angel serving an imprisoned god. Fossil is partly responsible for bringing Madri’s spirit back into the world.

  Master Raneger (RAN-eh-ger)

  The owner of the Den of Games. Many suspect Raneger is a powerful crime lord in Airpsur. He’s involved in many more shady deals than even those who know his proclivities realize. He’s popularly believed to be a high elf, though few have ever met him face-to-face.

  Lord Pashra (PASH-rah)

  An oni who worships primordials. He will do anything to see them roused in Toril. He’s even willing to ally with the drow Chenraya Xorlarrin.

  Kalkan (K
AL-kin)

  A rakshasa—once a deva—who became a beast to serve as Swordbreaker, a leash on Demascus’s power should the Sword of the Gods ever grow too strong. Kalkan bitterly regrets his transformation and blames both Demascus and the gods for his lot. He has fallen in with a powerful divine benefactor who gave him a damos, a device that allows one to hear prognostications of the future from the Voice of Tomorrow but kills most users in the process. Which turns out not to be a problem for a rakshasa that reincarnates just like a deva after each death, but unlike a deva, retains a memory of every foul deed he or she ever committed. And every foul plan he or she ever put into motion.

  Necromancer, The

  A painting so terrible to behold that viewers actually risk convulsions upon seeing it revealed. The Necromancer is an entity trapped in canvas, but its powers remain great and available to those who are willing to risk the portrait’s awful visage.

  Kasdrian Norjah (KAS-dri-an nor-JA)

  The head of House Norjah, a merchant house in Airspur. House Norjah is presumably unique in the nobility of Airspur in that it is made up almost entirely of vampires and those who hope to gain the blessing of the blood. It is also unique thanks to Kasdrian’s special art collection, including several paintings that can talk.

  Lady Ascension

  Lady Ascension is a powerful vampire agent of the Twisted Rune, working on retainer with Kasdrian Norjah at the insistence of her undead masters. What interest the Twisted Rune has in Akanûl is a question for speculation, but it seems that Kasdrian and the Twisted Rune are more allies of circumstance than of ideology. In any event, Lady Ascension doesn’t display any particular respect for Kasdrian’s role in Airspur.

  Captain Thoster (THAWH-stir)

  Captain of the ship Green Siren II. Thoster is generally considered to be without conscience but not without his own peculiar sense of honor. He often boasts his blood is “unclean,” but merchants in Airspur trust the man because he’s never lost a cargo even when threatened by pirates or predation by the Abolethic Sovereignty.

  Voice of Tomorrow

  Enigmatic divine force that can apparently see the future as easily as the past.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you, Torah Cottrill, Erin M. Evans, Peter Schaefer, and Bart Carroll (members of the famed writer’s circle with no name) for your fantastic and much-needed critiques. No author is an island, and I couldn’t have done this without you. I’m grateful to Susan J. Morris for vetting my initial outline even after moving on to be a sorceress at Amazon. And I’m ecstatic my new editor, Elizabeth Mills, agreed to take on an author halfway through his first draft. Thanks to Sifu John Staab for instructing me in the basics of two-sword fighting as part of the tradition of Jeet Kune Do. As Demascus remembers the skills that once were his, I hope to learn them, too. And to all the other authors, designers, and fans of the Forgotten Realms: you’ve helped make the best fantasy world in existence. Thanks for all you do to create a world this rich in story and wonder.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Bruce R. Cordell is an Origins and ENnie award-winning game designer whose long list of professional credits include the D&D® Gamma World™ Roleplaying Game, DARK SUN® Campaign Setting, FORGOTTEN REALMS® Campaign Guide, Prince of Undeath™, and Open Grave: Secrets of the Undead™. Bruce is also an author of Forgotten Realms novels, including the Abolethic Sovereignty series and the Sword of the Gods series. Find him online at www.brucecordell.com.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  I used to wonder where authors got their ideas, and how they turned those ideas into a story stretching 80,000 words or more. Then I became an author, and through brute experience, learned it myself. Save up funny ideas and odd thoughts, and when the time comes to convert ideas into a story, set daily deadlines. Sounds easy, right? Let’s pry that apart a little bit.

  Ideas are seeds, which you can collect against later need. Ideas can come to you any time, but usually seem to do so while you’re watching TV, taking a shower, talking to a friend with a funny story, exercising on the treadmill, or sometimes even while you’re trying to brainstorm interesting ideas. It doesn’t really matter when or why—if the idea makes you think, “Cool!” then it’s an idea worth saving.

  When you’ve got time (preferably during a week away from your day job), plant those idea-seeds, tend them as they grow into an outline, and see what blossoms. If you plant enough seeds in the same place, you’ll end up with a garden.

  But here’s the thing. Sometime while your garden is growing and you’re laying down the paving stones, chapter by chapter, you’ll suddenly see a connection you hadn’t planned for, hadn’t anticipated, and hadn’t even realized you needed. It’ll rise out of the ground like the foundation of an ancient ruin that’s been there all along. You’ll marvel at its beauty and symmetry, and wonder how you could be so lucky.

  Of course, good luck isn’t usually random happenstance like some people imagine. Luck is actually the ability to first recognize and then take advantage of opportunities that come your way, in life and in writing. A writer “lucky” enough to find hidden connections between characters, events, and plot is actually a writer willing to take chances on exploring opportunities (or experiences) that fall into his or her lap. And thus I come to my inspirations for Spinner of Lies. The character of Demascus was already part of a story arc introduced in the preceding novel, Sword of the Gods. That said, unexpected elements in the novel drove the story forward in entirely unforeseen ways, great and small. Those elements include the water-pipe lounge, Madri, the angel relic Fossil, and the drow who tries to steal the arambarium “motherlode.”

  Another unexpected element were the Whispering Children, as most awfully personified in the novel by the Necromancer. Here’s how this particular idea-seed came to me.

  My friend Torah and I went to see a Picasso exhibit. We didn’t have any experience with Picasso’s paintings, and we were excited to see his work. The museum was packed with others who apparently felt the same. All of us were excited to see “one of the greatest and most influential artists of the 20th century.”

  But a creeping sensation grew with each new section of the exhibition we visited: I didn’t like these paintings. Each piece was a brick of oppression and unease that taken all together built an ugly edifice. My disquiet culminated when we entered a long room dominated by several cubist-style portraits. They looked to me like pieces of shattered corpses randomly sewn together in a mockery of life. I hated them.

  As we left the museum and discussed our reactions, it hit me: What if paintings like the ones we’d just seen were so terrible, not because an artist was able to manifest ugly emotions on canvas, but because (when translated to the realm of magic where Spinner of Lies unfolds) such paintings were prisons of individual demigods, trapped in their own portraits, each one revealing the aspect of the caught entity?

  Who might have the power to trap demigods in paintings, and why would they do so? Would the paintings grant any special powers or pose any particular dangers to those who viewed them? If such paintings existed, who’d collect them? Maybe they’d be scattered, except for a few special curators who knew to look for them and gather them in secret, so that when treated properly, these paintings would be like tutors for those with the fortitude to listen to their horrid whispers:

  … [The painting] could just barely be described as a face. The multitude of shattered portraits, jammed together to form a single entity abiding in apparent unceasing agony, met her gaze with mismatched eyes. Its gaping mouth was like a wound. The frozen vista of paint snared the visage in cruel brush strokes.

  So that’s the story. The exhibition and my reactions to it were the inspiration for the Whispering Children. The incorporation of the idea changed the novel by creating completely new opportunities for the characters to explore. Plot arcs sprouted in the “garden” of my outline and draft that I hadn’t previously anticipated, rippling through the entire narrative.

  —Bruce R. Cordell

 
; BACKDROP: SPINNER OF LIES

  Explore the history and geography

  of the novel’s settings—exclusive to

  this ebook edition!

  Necropolis of the Sword

  By Bruce R. Cordell

  Illustrations by Vincent Proce

  My novel Sword of the Gods includes a scene where the characters Demascus and Chant discover a portal to a mysterious destination, and Demascus knows that his enemy Kalkan has recently fled through the portal.

  When Chant and Demascus decide to follow Kalkan, they find a strange new place—the lost necropolis of Khalusk.

  SWORD OF THE GODS

  The novel Sword of the Gods opens with Demascus waking on a cold slab of an ancient altar with no memory, other than the knowledge that someone–or something-wants to kill him. He eventually learns he’s got several enemies, one of whom might be the person he once was.

  The story features a trip to a subterranean mausoleum city of undead, where Demascus hopes to corner one of his foes, find his missing weapon, and maybe learn the secret so important that he tried to keep it from himself.

  www.swordofthegods.com

  NECROPOLIS OF KHALUSK

  Khalusk is a buried crypt city forgotten by most of Faerûn. Exuding an air of decay and necrotic ill will, the necropolis encrusts an island located deep within a subterranean vault, surrounded by the overflow from a sunless sea.

  Finding and accessing Khalusk is difficult; the city was constructed by paranoid Netherese arcanists to serve as a secret sanctuary. Nevertheless, Khalusk has seen occasional visitors over the last several hundred years—adventurers, lured by references to the city in ancient texts, who availed themselves of approaches created by natural earth movements or tunnels dug by Underdark miners.

  HISTORY

  The ancient civilization of Illusk persists as little more than crumbled fortifications and shattered towers scattered throughout the city of Luskan. In -354 DR, the same year the Netherese arcanist Melathlar sacrificed himself to erect the Hosttower of the Arcane on the surface, his elder sister Khaela founded a secret subterranean colony to the northeast, hoping that it would prove a final hidden redoubt against the onslaught of the phaerimms—evil aberrant mages bent on the destruction of all life in Faerûn.