The GodSpill

by Todd Fahnestock

  GodSpill coursed through her. It felt good to use it, and she wanted to do more, but she pushed down the feeling. Zilok was somewhere inside this castle, and while threadweavers typically could not sense the use of GodSpill unless they were looking for it, Zilok would be looking for it. The louder a “splash” she made with her threadweaving, the more likely he would notice. He knew that Medophae was coming. He was watching.

  The risk of the guards catching her was barely important compared to being caught by Zilok. While the guards looked for her shadow man, who had doubled back and was now running away from the wall, Elekkena whispered again, replacing the missing block with a permanent illusion. No one would know she had created a hole here unless they put their hands on the illusion and pushed.

  As the guards searched in vain for a person who was not there, she darted up the street, through the inner city to the castle proper, murmuring words as she went and creating a chameleon illusion about herself. If one of the guards happened to look her way—and if they looked closely—they might see a ripple in the terrain that was her moving body, but that was all.

  She ran fast, past the royal stables and up the winding road. Thankfully, it was empty at this hour.

  There were three ways to get into the Teni’sian castle. One to the south, one to the north, and the one she’d just entered from the west, which opened onto the city at the edge of the Inland Ocean. The castle was beautifully wrought and built up the side of the mountain like the spiral of a unicorn’s horn, with smaller horns rising within. The highest towers flanked the north side of the city, some with a straight drop to the ocean below.

  She wound her way around until she came to the great double doors. Two more guards stood at attention there. She paused, shielding herself behind a craggy protrusion of the mountain. She thought about her options. Teni’sia was almost perfectly designed against invasion. From this side of the mountain, there was only one door into the castle. There were no windows within reach, and even if she could climb to one of them, the guards would see her long before she reached it.

  She let out a little breath. She would have to threadweave again, and if Zilok were watching, he would find her. But there was no help for it. She would have to play the odds and hope he was looking somewhere else. She spared a brief glance for the guards, then murmured a complicated string of words to guide her imagination.

  She transformed from the small, pale-skinned quicksilver into a tall woman with short blond hair. Her loose pants and long shirt changed into a tight-fitting, sleeveless green dress with a white collar. It was the human form she had chosen more than a thousand years ago, a form that was more comfortable to her now than her real body.

  Bands stepped out into the path and strode up to the guards, focusing her attention on each of them in turn so that neither would escape. She released a glamour at them like a gout of mist. The guard on her right moved quickly toward the side of the archway. A small rope dangled there. An alarm. But she kept her focus on him, and he slowed. His hand poised next to the rope, but he did not touch it.

  She arrived, and the guard’s hand dropped away. Glamours did not work as well at a distance as they did up close.

  Both of their mouths hung open, and, as she drew up next to them, she reached out and touched each of their arms. “I wonder,” she murmured. “Would you please open the door for me? I’ve spent a long night in the city, and I wish to go to my rooms.”

  The left guard grabbed for his keys. The right guard hesitated. His brow wrinkled, confused, as though someone had asked him an odd question, and he was trying to come up with the right answer. He opened his mouth to speak, and Bands traced a line on his cheek.

  “I can’t get into the castle, you see. I’m dreadfully tired,” she said.

  The right guard swallowed, and his confusion melted away. “You heard her,” he barked at his comrade. “Open the damn door. Can’t you see she needs to get into the castle?”

  “Yes, sir,” the other guard said, fumbling with his keys. He produced the correct one, tried to put it into the lock, and dropped it. He scrambled to recover the keys and again managed to find the right one. This time, he inserted it and turned. Great tumblers clicked and ground, and the latch opened. He pulled the key out, managed to find the second, and inserted it into the lower lock with no mishaps. He opened the door.

  “Oh,” Bands breathed. “You’ve saved my life. Thank you.”

  They grinned at her like simpletons.

  She passed through, and they watched her avidly.

  “Oh,” she said, turning. “One last favor.”

  “Yes, milady,” they said in unison.

  “I don’t want anyone to know I’ve been in the city. Can you keep it a secret? Just between you and me.”

  They nodded vigorously.

  “Of course, milady,” the left guard said. “To the grave with your secret I’ll go.”

  “Yes, milady,” the right guard said.

  “You serve your kingdom with poise and precision, gentlemen. Don’t forget to close that door behind me.”

  They both nodded again.

  “Goodbye,” she said.

  The door closed, and she heard the locks click. Bands moved close to the wall of the hallway. There was no one around, but she believed in being careful.

  She crept along quietly. She had a scant few hours to explore what she could of the castle, find out what she might. If she was lucky, she would find evidence of Zilok and what he intended.

  For more than an hour and a half, she snuck through the passageways and hallways of the castle. She explored the smaller, out-of-the-way places first. She considered it more likely that Zilok would cling to darkened spaces than brightly lit halls. He always had before.

  The sun would rise soon, and she needed to make good her escape before then. In each room, in every hallway, she searched for threadweaving of any kind.

  She found none until she came to a room deep in the castle, but the door had a brisk draft coming underneath it. She paused, listening to see if anyone was inside, then opened the door. It looked like a forgotten room that no one had entered in years. On the far end was a giant opening in the side of the castle. A huge, circular platform extended out from it, and it was not a human balcony. It was wide and flat, and there were no rails.

  Bands’s heart beat faster. This was a dragon’s balcony, a way to enter and leave the castle that no one would see. She stepped onto the balcony, which faced north so no one from the Inland Ocean would notice the hole in the side of the castle, but she could see the bay from the very tip.

  Avakketh sent someone. They’re here, right now, spying on Teni’sia. It’s possible they’re spying on every major human kingdom.

  She went back inside, and, due to her preoccupation, she almost overlooked what she had been seeking throughout the entire castle.

  It hovered above the door and slightly to the right, as large as a walnut. To normal eyes, it was invisible, and she’d passed right by it. But to those with a threadweaver’s sight, it stood out like a slight glimmer on a moonlit pond. This was a node of concentrated GodSpill.

  It was a trigger, a hanging spell, awaiting only the correct circumstance to let it loose. And it was made of GodSpill from Amarion. This was not something one of Avakketh’s dragons would make.

  Zilok Morth...

  She came closer, but she dared not tamper with it. If she played with one of Zilok’s creations, he would be on her before she could take a breath.

  However, if she could deduce even a small part of its purpose without disturbing it, that would be a triumph—

  Footsteps thumped softly outside in the hall, coming toward this door. For an instant, she considered bolting through the door, but she stayed the impulse. Instead, she ran to the balcony and stood out of sight, just to the left of the opening, and she watched.

  The door banged open. A very tall man entered, wearing white chain mail as tight as a second skin. A thick, black belt wrapped his waist, and
he wore a dagger that looked like a frozen flame. His tight leather breeches were white, and his boots were black. His snow-white hair hung to shoulder-length, and his white eyes gave a quick scan of the room.

  It was Zynder!

  Bands drew in a slow, calm breath to still her heart. He had shape-changed. It was something most dragons could do if they wished, but it was frowned upon. Why pretend to be a lesser species when you were a dragon? It was one of the things Avakketh hated about Bands.

  She concentrated every fiber of her being on shielding her thoughts, on being as small as she could be. If he noticed her, he would immediately attack, and there were too many lives in this castle. Zynder would happily wade through piles of human corpses to kill her.

  And what if he wasn’t alone?

  Zynder-in-human-shape stood there, unmoving, staring at the hanging spell Zilok had left, as if deciding whether or not to tamper with it. At the end of an interminable minute, he turned on his heel and marched toward the balcony where she hid.

  She kept as still as ice, holding her breath, waiting for him to see her, but he walked past her, his gaze on the horizon, and never once looked to his left where she pressed herself against the outside of the castle.

  Zynder held his hands up to the sky and murmured a long string of words, calling his power from Avakketh far away.

  He transformed. The white chain mail spread over his arms and legs, up his neck and over his head. His legs lengthened and his torso swelled. A tail sprouted from his lower back and lashed, just missing the side of the castle wall. The man’s neck lengthened and widened. Huge muscles bunched at his shoulders and great white wings erupted from his back.

  In seconds, Zynder perched on the edge of the stone balcony in his natural form, flexing his wings. He bared his teeth to the night and a wisp of smoke curled up from his mouth. His claws scraped into the stone at the platform’s edge, and a trail of fine dust fell to the ocean below. His muscles bunched, and he launched himself into the air. He flapped his wings twice, then dove out of sight.

  She walked to the edge of the balcony, her lips set in a grim line. Zynder looked like a dark bird against mountains below, and she watched his progress as he flew northward.

  He was here for a reason, and now he is leaving, going back to Avakketh to report.

  She couldn’t just leave Medophae and his group. She was needed here. Zilok had a trap ready to spring, right in this room.

  But Zynder was flying north. He had something to tell his god, and it wouldn’t be something trivial. It would be something of vital importance, because you didn’t go before the god of dragons with trivial matters. And whatever information he had, it would be bad for Amarion. She wouldn’t have a better chance to stop him. And he was alone. She might be able to face Zynder alone.

  She bowed her head.

  “Forgive me, my love. You’ll have to fight this battle on your own.” She let out a small breath and released the spell that kept her in her human form.

  Her dress became green scales and spread over her body. Her legs and arms lengthened. Her torso expanded, swelling to four times the width of a horse. Her neck snaked out, dark green with light green bands from her shoulders to her chin. Her tail slithered into a neat coil behind her.

  Her dragon eyes saw perfectly in the moonlight, and Bands watched Zynder catch the updrafts along the edge of the Inland Ocean. With fear in her heart, she launched herself after him.

  40

  Medophae

  Medophae awoke, and gently pushed back the covers, rolling to a sitting position. Mirolah slept peacefully next to him, still asleep, but as he got up and began to dress, she woke. The barest hint of the predawn light played off the single window in the small room. Bringing a hand up, she scratched her head. Her hair was a tumbled mess.

  Medophae felt he should kiss her. A week ago, he would have, but now he didn’t know what to do. The two dreams Avakketh sent to him haunted him. Would Avakketh really come south and destroy the human lands? And Avakketh’s lie about Bands was clever enough to seem true, to make Medophae doubt himself. Once again, his heart was divided, dreaming of a Bands he could never reach. And suddenly, he didn’t know where he stood with Mirolah.

  “Another dream?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Come here,” she said, patting the bed.

  He hesitated a second—hoped she didn’t see it—then he went and sat down.

  “I’m eager to find out what changes have been wrought since I’ve been gone. I want to go take a look outside.”

  “Explore Teni’sia alone?”

  “That’s right.”

  “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” she said. “Even dumber than charging into a tainted forest without thinking it through. Zilok is here. He wants to catch you alone. The worst thing you can do is what he expects.”

  “We can’t send Stavark.”

  “No,” she said thoughtfully.

  “And we can’t do nothing.”

  “No...” she said, then smiled. “No, we’ll send you. We’ll just do it my way.”

  Medophae left quietly and made his way up the street to the castle gate. After witnessing his ridiculous kerchief cap, Mirolah had crafted a wide-brimmed hat for him. As the streets filled with people going about their business, he noticed a great many soldiers walking among them. The soldiers were stopping and inspecting people at random, and most were wearing the green and white livery of Sym’s and the burgundy of Bordi’lis’s. That made his stomach sink. Magal Sym had tried to overthrow the crown. Bordi’lis had been one of his allies.

  Medophae proceeded along with the small influx of people. A few servants of the castle led donkey-driven carts full of wares.

  The doors to the inner city were open, but passing through would be the test. He was certain one of the soldiers would ask him to remove his hat, and when he did, he gave himself good odds of being recognized by someone.

  For that, though, he would rely on Mirolah. He didn’t know where she was exactly, only that she was watching him from hiding, ready to threadweave. If he couldn’t talk his way through, then the plan was to let the soldiers take him in as a prisoner. Once they were inside the castle, Mirolah would put them to sleep and they’d continue exploring.

  Just as Medophae approached the guard house, however, he was intercepted. A child grabbed his sleeve.

  “Please sir,” the child said. Medophae could only see his chin beneath the wide cowl and cloak the child wore. “The cook says come quickly. They’ve made a mess of things, and she needs your help.”

  He was about to tell the child he was mistaken when he pulled back his cowl. “Please sir...”

  It was Casur, his page when he was Captain of the Royal Guard!

  “If you please, sir,” Casur insisted. He turned and led Medophae into a nearby alley, where he threw his cowl off.

  “Thank the gods I found you, Captain Medophae,” the boy said. “They said you were back in the city. I didn’t believe them at first, but they were right.”

  “Who said I was back in the city?”

  “Orvin, sir,” Casur said. “You never met him. Works for Lord Balis, he does, but he knew you. And he came to us.” Casur shook his head. “Dark days here since you left, sir. Dark days. Those you’d trust is looking to betray. Those you don’t trust is looking to help.” He shook his head. “But if you’ll come with me, I’ll take you to the person that can tell you what’s what.”

  “Who? Lo’gan?”

  Casur looked at his feet, then back up at Medophae. “Please, sir. They asked me to bring you first, as quick as I could find you.”

  “Then lead the way.” The clandestine behavior didn’t bode well. He followed the boy.

  They cut through darkened corridors, descending back down into the larger part of the outer city.

  Finally, they arrived at a respectable inn halfway up the slope that led to the castle. Casur led him through the common room and to the rooms at the far back of th
e hallway on the ground floor.

  He stopped in front of the door and indicated it with a wave of his hand. “Inside, my lord.”

  Medophae entered, closing the door behind him. Lit lanterns hung on the walls on either side, augmenting the natural light from outside the window. An old oak table, cracked and worn, stood in the center of the room. Lord Vullieth stood behind the table, flanked by two of his house guards. They held drawn short swords and watched Medophae carefully. He glanced over his shoulder and saw there were two other guards behind the door.

  Lord Vullieth looked impressive, as always, in his floor-length black cloak. His carrot-colored hair was pulled back tightly, and his black eyes were pinpoints of night in his pale complexion.

  “Please remove your hat,” Lord Vullieth said in his quiet voice. “I would see your face.”

  Medophae took his hat off and let it drop.

  A small smile played across Vullieth’s stern features. He did not look so gaunt as he had a moment before.

  “It is true, then. You have come in our hour of need,” he said. “You seem to have a knack for that.” Vullieth walked around the table and extended his hand.

  Medophae took it. He had only met with Vullieth a handful of times, though he had been one of Tyndiria’s favorite advisors. He was the most powerful of her nobles, and the most loyal.

  “It is good to see you, Captain Medophae.”

  “And you, as well. What is happening here, Lord Vullieth? Why are we meeting secretly? Why are there so many of Sym’s and Bordi’lis’s soldiers in the city?”

  “Please,” he indicated one of the chairs at the table, “sit, and I will tell you all.”

  In his deep baritone, Vullieth told the story of the coup in Teni’sia. King Collus had vanished, and Grendis Sym had seized the throne. Of the ruling nobles, only those who supported Sym remained. The rest fled the castle, or they had been killed outright.