The Mad God's Muse (The Eye of the Lion Saga Book 2)

by Matt Gilbert

  It took Maklin a moment to shift his mood, but at last he smiled ruefully. “Aye.”

  Sadrik said, a sour look on his face, “This is, all my cousin’s fault. We shouldn't go at each other about it. I can think of much more satisfying reasons to kill the lot of you, after all.”

  “Just so!” Maklin shouted. “I told you we should have put her to death months ago, and no one listened to me!” He paused a moment as if replaying Sadrik's words in his mind, then shot the younger man a dirty look. “Just the first part, I mean, not the rest about killing us. Fat chance, junior.

  Ariano turned to Sadrik with a scornful look. “I seem to recall having a similar discussion with you.”

  “About me killing you all?” Sadrik tittered.

  “I am not amused by such talk. I'm talking about your idiot cousin, the one only slightly more stupid than you.”

  Sadrik’s left eyebrow rose high on his face. “You three voted to return her to power. She hardly needed to be killed to declaw her.”

  Maranath pointed a gnarled finger at Sadrik, not so much in accusation as to prod at him for sport. “And who would take the throne, then?”

  Sadrik blanched and began fidgeting, his recent abuse seemingly forgotten at this new topic. “Well, who would take the throne either way?” he stammered, looking back and forth at them.

  Ariano spat on the ground in disgust. “Theron, if you hadn’t killed him.”

  Sadrik’s pallor vanished, his cheeks flushing bright pink. “You know full well I never meant to kill him! Why else help cover it up!”

  Ariano gave him a disinterested shrug. “It seemed a shame to lose two Meites instead of one. The both of you were fools to go at it as you did. It was wasteful.”

  Sadrik ground his teeth and nodded. “I am well aware of that. Why do you feel the need to rub my face in it?”

  Maranath chuckled softly. “Practice and repetition, young one.” He gave Sadrik a wink. “And for amusement, of course. We old coots like preening.”

  Ariano gave Maranath a sour look. “You wouldn’t know it from your dress.”

  Maranath picked at his brown robe and considered taking up the barb, but thought the better of it. It's a distraction, and I've have quite enough of those. “We need to make a decision here. What is our goal? To stop Aiul at whatever dark business he’s up to, or to secure the Eye?”

  Maklin stared at Maranath in disbelief. “To secure the Eye, of course!”

  Ariano wrinkled her nose. “It’s more complicated than you think.”

  “Why not uncomplicate it?” Sadrik asked with a smirk.

  Maranath nodded his agreement. “Quite so. Ariano, my dear, I love you, but you’ve been holding out on us too long. We can’t make a good decision without all the pieces before us.”

  Maklin eyed her with clear suspicion. “Yes, do tell.”

  Ariano rolled her shoulders, suddenly reticent and seeming very uncomfortable. “I haven’t put it all together yet, but I'll tell you this: the Torians did dark sorcery, darker than anything you can imagine. Secrets men were never meant to know, much less apply. The Eye reappearing, Aiul, Southlanders, Elgar’s return, madmen running around setting fires, it’s all connected. Aiul is key, here! The Eye is meaningless if we interdict whatever dark purpose Elgar has for it.”

  Maranath scowled at her. “And what is that purpose?”

  “I don’t know!” she shouted. “But I am very close to it. I don’t have all the pieces. I need more time! Will you not trust me just a bit longer?”

  Maklin folded his arms across his chest and declared, “I will not. You're lying, or at the very least holding out on us.”

  Maranath shook his head tiredly, ignoring the pleading look Ariano gave him. “You leave me little choice. Either you don’t know, or you won’t tell. In either case it is the same.” He turned to Maklin. “We need to consult with Cruentus.”

  Ariano jumped with alarm, her eyes wide in what looked for all the world like genuine fear. “What? That's madness! We can’t afford the delay!” Maklin is right. She's hiding something, and unless I miss my guess, Cruentus knows something about it.

  Maklin nodded his agreement as he said, “The dragon is the only one who actually witnessed things. If there are any answers, he will have them.”

  “Or Tasinal,” Maranath noted. He stared pointedly at Ariano, who was looking ever more miserable and trapped.

  She shook her head, defeated. “I told you, I don’t know how to find him. He found me.”

  Sadrik’s eyes grew wide as he suddenly understood their meaning. “He lives? How?”

  Maranath grimaced, not particularly wanting to go down this path, but seeing no way out. “He does, though the semantics could be argued. It’s unseemly.”

  Sadrik slapped both hands against the sides of his head as if his brain were about to escape the confines of his skull. “It’s impossible!”

  “Apparently not,” Ariano sighed.

  “But how?”

  Maranath felt his temper rising. This was no time to play twenty questions. “By deciding otherwise, just like flying or setting things on fire.”

  Sadrik stammered unintelligibly for a moment, trying to absorb the implications, as Maklin aped him in mockery. At last, he said, “Did he look – ? Well, I mean, was he – ?”

  Ariano rolled her eyes. “He was thin, and a bit pale, but he was no corpse. He damned well propositioned me, even as he took me to the woodshed.”

  Maranath stared at her a moment in shock, struggling not to laugh. “You never told me that! Did you take him up on it?”

  Ariano looked at the ground, her cheeks burning. “Submit to the stronger, we always say.”

  Maranath and Maklin burst into peals of laughter as Sadrik looked on in shock and horror, and Ariano's face turned a brighter shade of red.

  At last, Maranath wiped tears of mirth from his eyes and said, as seriously as he could manage, “I suppose that settles that question, but he's of no concern to us at the moment. Are we resolved?”

  Ariano, near tears now, continued to stare at her feet. “It seems you are.”

  “You keep too many secrets. If you would tell us the whole tale, perhaps we would choose otherwise.”

  Ariano sighed again, defeated. “There are too many gaps. You would still want to go, and Cruentus will demand the tale from me anyway. I might as well tell it only once.”

  Maranath waited a moment, to see if things were really settled, or if they were just pausing for breath, but it seemed over. Ariano was muted, Sadrik in a state of shock, and Maklin was twirling his hands in “hurry up” gestures. “Alright then, let's go. I intend to sleep in my own bed tonight.”

  Sandilianus struck flint to steel as he bent over the makings of a fire and breakfast. Sparks flew, and a tiny wisp of smoke curled from his kindling. He blew softly, and flame sprouted. “They are strange people,” he opined. “But there is honor in them, after all.”

  Ahmed and his men had managed perhaps three hours of sleep, less than he would have preferred, but better than none, certainly. Good food would help the lack of sleep, as would the coffee the Nihlosians had brought. Ahmed placed his open palms near the flame, savoring the warmth of the burgeoning fire. “Aye. Perhaps we truly are no longer at war with them.”

  Sandilianus shrugged. “That is for The Prince to decide.”

  “Do not be naive.”

  The veteran frowned at him, obviously offended. “A strong word from a boy who has seen little of the world.”

  “Even so, it is the right word. You apply it to me often enough, eh? We are Philip’s eyes and ears. It is for us to decide. It always has been.”

  Sandilianus prodded at the fire, his expression thoughtful. “It is for you to decide, then. I fight wars. I do not know about beginning them, ending them. Or avoiding them.”

  “Nor do I.”

  Sandilianus registered surprise at this, and beneath that emotion, a bit of anger. “Ilaweh is with you.”

  Ahmed w
aved the thought aside. “Ilaweh is with all men.”

  Sandilianus shook his head in amusement, and offered Ahmed a look that was now familiar, one that said a lesson was in the making. “Ilaweh speaks to you in ways he does not speak to others, Ahmed. You have vision the rest of us do not share. We can but defer to that vision.”

  Ahmed rose with a sigh and stared at the flames. “Do you truly want to know my vision? It has not changed since you first knew I bore this gift, since I pointed to that place on the map. We are not here to destroy Nihlos, or rescue slaves, or even gather information for the prince. We are here to put an end to Torium, and Yazid would not listen.” He kicked at a stone, sending it off into the snow. “If I had been stronger, if I had fought him, he would still be alive today. But I was weak, and acted like a boy, and he went to his doom. I am a coward.”

  “Ah, no, I will not hear of that. You may be young and foolish, but you are no coward.”

  “Then why did I not fight Yazid, when I knew he was wrong?”

  “It was not Yazid that made you flinch. It was the will of Ilaweh himself you chose not to defy.”

  Ahmed looked at him in confusion. “Eh?”

  Sandilianus cocked his head and looked at Ahmed with bewildered eyes. When he spoke, it was as if he were trying to communicate with a child. “Ilaweh called Yazid to him as a reward, and to leave you with no crutch to lean on. It is the same as with Brutus and me. Yazid died well, so that you would have no choice but become the man Ilaweh wanted you to be: the man in this place, now, with me.”

  Ahmed gave a sad laugh. “You still call me boy, though.”

  “Aye, it is my way.” Sandilianus laid a hand on Ahmed’s shoulder and looked him in the eye. “But would a boy have given the order to attack those dogs back there, knowing the risks? No, only a man of exceptional courage would have done that.”

  “Or a madman.”

  Sandilianus shook his head in denial. “Truly, Ahmed, I think I would have let the foreigners die. It was not practical. But saving them was righteous, and Ilaweh walked with us because of that. You saw that. I did not. I could not. Not until you explained it to me.”

  Ahmed stared intently at Sandilianus for long moments, considering. “Then are you with me, brother? Will you follow me into that pit and put whatever lies there to the sword?”

  Sandilanus smiled and nodded without hesitation. “Aye, or at least die well by your side, and so will our men. But how could we destroy such a place?”

  “I spoke to the sorcerers' leader. We are to palaver tonight, after we make camp outside Nihlos. He claims to know much.”

  “Does he know of this Torium?”

  “He says so, and I believe him. It's the best we have.”

  Sandilianus banged his fist against his chest. “Ilaweh is great. It will be enough.”

  “Ilaweh is great,” Ahmed answered with a confident grin. But privately, he was anything but certain about how things would play out. Perhaps there was no hope to avoid doom, and never had been.

  I think we have a chance. It was the best they could hope for. It would have to be enough.

  I do not belong here. That single thought resonated in Rithard's mind like a scalpel scraping along bone, as he looked in awe at the great desk, the fireplace, the shelves of books of the Library of Amrath.

  The funeral had been a spectacular affair, which was another way of saying everyone had wasted a tremendous amount of time, money, and energy disposing of the corpse of someone that they didn't even know. Of those that did, many had loathed her. It would have been far more dignified had we sent her on privately, just a few of us from Amrath.

  Prandil said she had leapt from the top of a wall, convinced she had recovered her Meite powers. It was a pathetic lie, made all the more pathetic by the fact that her heir was also her coroner. There hadn't even been a need to open her up. One look at the blood spatter showed she had been flung at the wall with killing force, the sort only a Meite might muster with his bare hands. Only a fool could examine the scene and not know Prandil had killed her.

  The problem being that everyone was a fool, most Meites included. Rithard was alone with the knowledge. It would do no good to expose the lie. It was what everyone wanted to believe, and self deception was a high art in Nihlos. No one, least of all the ignorant, would appreciate his contradicting the official story. Meites killing each other was of less concern than commoners slitting one another's throats, as long as they kept it to themselves. Even Caelwen would simply say there was no proof, whatever his own thoughts.

  I might sleep better if I could bring myself to think the same thing. But he had, unlike Meites, never been good at lying to himself. I am as guilty as Prandil.

  Teretha, as if reading his thoughts, caressed his cheek and whispered in his ear, “You will bring this house back to glory, Rithard.”

  “I will bury it's dead, Mother. But breathe life back into it? I'm not the man for that task, however fortunate you've been in your machinations.” He glared pointedly at her. “

  Teretha's eyes narrowed in anger. “I was protecting you. I never intended this! I sought her as an ally, not en enemy.”

  “Is that so?” Rithard asked, his tone saying he didn't believe it for even a moment.

  Teretha drew back her hand as if to slap him, then seemed to reconsider. “Even you couldn't have predicted that chain of events.”

  Rithard gazed warily at her a moment before submitting and turning back to look at the shelves of books again. “No. It's unfair of me to accuse you. But my own guilt is not so easily set aside.”

  The old slave, Slat, cleared his throat. “If I may say so, sir, her choosing you was no accident. But I can only speak of that to you.”

  Teretha gave Slat a sour look, but nodded and departed the room.

  Rithard nodded respectfully to Slat. “You've taught me any number of lessons with a switch. What would you teach me with words, now?”

  “First, she had already renounced her vengeance on you. I heard her say it in this very room, that she held no grudge for you trying to keep yourself alive. She just wished you had sought her protection.”

  “And second?”

  Slat reached beneath his robe and produced a sealed letter, and a small leather packet. “I believe you will find some of the answers you seek within, young Master.”

  Rithard took the letter and packet from him. “What's this, then?”

  “Instructions, from Mistress Narelki,” he said, indicating the letter. “Not for my eyes.”

  Rithard held out the leather packet. “And this?”

  The old slave seemed pained, as if even looking at the packet caused him some harm. “My first thought is to say it is cursed. As for what lies within, I can't say for certain, but I know there are secrets there, passed down from Amrath himself. Things no one in Nihlos knows, things that could start wars, ruin lives.”

  “Such things generally are,” Rithard observed as he toyed with the catch on the package. “Cursed, I mean.”

  “Heirlooms?”

  Rithard grunted at this. “Secrets. Fortunately, I have some experience working with them. Perhaps I can avoid the grim fate others have found.”

  Slat nodded, the ghost of a smile on his lips “Perhaps. I will leave you to peruse it, young master.” He bowed somewhat stiffly, his joints no doubt pained, and stepped out of the library.

  Rithard waited until the huge doors were closed again, then took his two new bits of evidence to the great desk and pondered them a moment. He looked about and found, to his pleasure, several small glass tumblers. He drew a small bottle from his coat and poured three fingers into it. Medicinal? No, not this time. Just for pleasure. He adjusted the lantern on the desk, broke the seal on the letter, and began to read.

  Rithard,

  Forgive me.

  Forgive me for not recognizing you as family when I should have. Forgive me for being so blinded by my own needs that I did not see yours. Most of all, forgive me for placing a burden on
your shoulders that you are ill equipped and untrained to bear. You have shown me you have genius and resilience, courage and cunning. You have shown me you can and will serve this house in capacities beyond your comfort zone. You will need those qualities now. The Great Father calls you to step in and fill the breach.

  I will not explain myself to you beyond noting that I acted as I chose. Take no vengeance. This was my will, and it is my right to command you on this.

  As for the rest, I will not deign to advise you overmuch. Trust Slat for guidance, and remember that he is wise and old. He has served us beyond what we ought to have asked of him, and when you can make your way without him, I urge you to retire him with dignity. Let him live out his last years in comfort. He will never tell you how tired he is, or how much he aches, both in his body and his soul. He has suffered much in our service. As a physician, I trust you will see this more clearly than even I did, and serve him as he has served us.

  It is a heavy burden I place upon you. I know this all too well. Nihlos has ever looked upon House Amrath as arbiters, speakers of truth or at least not of lies. Do not embarrass us. As to how to accomplish that, I can offer no counsel, or even a good example. I can only hope I have chosen well.

  Slat will have given you The Papers. That is the only name I know for it. It contains the private thoughts and knowledge of every House leader since Amrath. We have, all of us, recorded truths we chose not to reveal to others, but that we wanted our heirs to possess. Amrath's are, of course, the greatest, and when you learn them, you will know much about Nihlos that you did not before. You will understand more clearly why I harp upon the notion that your position is a great responsibility.

  I urge you to take note of one truth in particular, that I myself recorded. It has to do with the true nature of Theron Tasinal's death, and the subsequent cover up. Many of the secrets in this packet should never see the light of day, but this truth, I think, may be an exception.

  That decision, though, I leave to you. As for me, I must fight my own battle, and die well. Know that I was the aggressor, that I intended to kill, and if you are reading this, I failed. I am wrong in what I intend. I know it all too well. I plot cold-blooded ambush and murder of someone who least suspects it, because I see no other way. I fight, for all the wrong reasons, against someone trying to do the right thing, because in the end I cannot accept the truth: my son has become a monster, and much of the blame for it falls at my own feet. I must do something,even if it is the wrong thing. It is preferable to simply accepting the dictates of fate.