Death's Merchant: Common Among Gods - Book One

by Justan Henner

  Tin gurgled as the fabric cut into her throat.

  “I am sorry, daughter,” Sybil said over their continued questions. There were caves to the north where they might be safe.

  Sybil glanced over her shoulder. We won’t make it. She didn’t dare skip again, and she couldn’t if she’d wanted. She had never taught her daughters how. There was too much she hadn’t taught them. But they’re so young, she tried to defend, but even to her, the excuse sounded hollow. Sybil’s eyes clenched shut as the tears began. Galina’s firstborn, Gemm, and now her daughters. All four will die for the same reason, because I withheld my knowledge. I have killed them all.

  Her arms strained in her sockets as both her daughters halted at once.

  “What is it?” Iri asked in wonder as Tin said, “It’s so pretty.”

  Sybil opened her eyes. Another portal sat before them, this one silver-lined, the surface pristine and shimmering. The room on the other end was dark, too dark to tell where the portal led, but that didn’t matter. Anywhere was better than here.

  She had never been much of a mystic, always dependent on her knowledge to accomplish her tasks, but this had to be the result of need. Unless…

  “Mother,” Sybil murmured, hopeful beyond hope. Is this finally it? Is it finally time?

  Sybil glanced over her shoulder to a burning world. A city of trees with a lone house on the edge of an inferno. It was just like her dreams. Just like the nightmares that had calmed her nerves.

  They were a sign of the future, said Sybil’s hope.

  There is no such thing, said Sybil’s skeptic.

  “A worthy prediction then,” Sybil said aloud. Her daughters stared at her, confused. “Inside, girls, step through quickly.”

  Iri ran through first, Tin glancing back at her mother, studying her with a frown. Sybil would give the world to know what that girl was thinking at times. And to hesitate, at a time like this!

  “Now!” Sybil ordered.

  Tin turned and followed her sister, and then it was Sybil’s turn.

  Finally time, Sybil repeated. Finally time. She could see and hear both daughters on the other side, their voices carrying as if through a long tunnel. The tears on her face were no longer of guilt or fear, but of joy. Sybil stepped through the shimmering silver film, back into the world of her birth. And then the portal was gone.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  “I thought you said he went this way?” the legionnaire asked.

  “He did, I swear I saw him at the top of the rise.”

  Loy’s favorite childhood game had not been Hide and Seek, but Cat and Mouse, a game he could not replicate at this age, at least not to the same effect, though his current circumstances came rather close.

  These were the final two from a group of eight. The mortals had been too foolish to send for help, overly confident in their talents, as the mortals in this land seemed to be. Another ten steps and they too would be dealt with. A few more minutes and it would be dark enough to enter the city without notice. These two carried no torches, no lanterns. Most likely they had been as confounded as Loy the night before when he had tried to light a fire outside his father’s city.

  The Legion garb was reassuring; confirmation that Scryer Fate and the mortals of Trel had spoken true about Just’s location. Indeed, he had seen the Legion camped outside the city’s western gate, sitting idle in a dark camp. For a wonder, the fools did not seem to be building siege devices, camped as they were on the city’s western plain, rather than outside the forest to the north. Surely this foolishness was more overconfidence, the kind that came with the divine leadership of a god like Just.

  It was too dark for shadows, but illusions for stealth did not require them – a mistake the young often made. Stealth was a matter of uniformity to surroundings, not darkness. A cloak of shadows at night only served to deepen darkness in a small pocket, creating a moving silhouette as noticeable as no camouflage at all. True stealth required shading and tact, something easy enough for a child to accomplish – at least a child like Loy. This was the reason he had so enjoyed Cat and Mouse. Unlike Sister Spade’s sleeping game, it required intelligence instead of brute force.

  Five feet apart and two feet from Loy, the legionnaire and soldier took another step in the darkness. One more and he would borrow Spade’s trick.

  Loy reached out his hands to grab a leg of each soldier, but as he did so, a million tears broke beneath his flesh. A rush of pain and confusion charged into his mind, whispering of failure and desolation. The violation shattered his focus, blinding his sight, and dulling his hearing. His control of the birthright faltered. Loy barely noticed the two soldiers as he screamed. What is happening? Loy pleaded. And then the feeling was gone.

  Loy’s vision returned to the sight of a sword swinging for his neck. He rolled into the soldier’s legs and grabbed the man’s ankle. In a fit of convulsions, the man toppled, then froze. The man wasn’t dead, just unconscious.

  “What did you do?” The legionnaire faced him with sword and shield drawn, the shield held level with his eyes.

  As he regained his feet, Loy cursed himself. It would be difficult to get through the man’s guard without taking a cut or two.

  “What are you?” the legionnaire asked.

  “You dare ask questions of me, mortal?” Loy demanded.

  The legionnaire dropped his shield a fraction, low enough that Loy could see the shocked frown on his lips.

  “Do none of you fools remember your gods?”

  The legionnaire gasped and tilted his head. The man glanced to the spot where Loy must have appeared from nothing. He nodded, as if he had made a decision, then dropped his sword.

  “I’m sorry, m’lord,” the man said. “I’m sorry. Don’t kill me. I’m a good Trellish man, I swear. We was just here to stop the heathens like ya asked us.” He pointed his shield at the sleeping soldier. “That fool Pin told me you was a Vandu. I’m sorry, m’lord. I’m a good whoresman, I am. A good whoresman.”

  Loy grimaced at the title and the man cowered, and pulled up his shield to protect his face.

  “No,” the man pleaded. “I serve Just, as I’m sworn to do. Spare me, please.”

  Loy smiled; this was how a mortal was supposed to behave. And Niece Kindrel as well, for that matter.

  “Do not cower, mortal,” Loy said. “Your friend is simply asleep. I am not going to hurt you.”

  “Oh, thank you, Lord. Thank you.” The man broke into sobs.

  “Quiet,” Loy said. “You will send a message for me, but you will wait to send it. I wish to see a bit of my father’s city before I speak with your master.”

  “A course, m’lord, a course.” The sobs slowed, but the man’s heavy breathing continued in panting gasps.

  “Tell your master to find me in the city. That I have need to speak with him, and that I have news from Father Order. You will do this, mortal, and earn my thanks.”

  The legionnaire nodded vigorously. “Yes, a course I will. I knew this day would come, m’lord. Martha always said I was special. I knew this day would come.”

  “Yes,” Loy said. With the poor management he had seen in Trellahn, it did not surprise him that the mortals here were desperate for a real god to lead them.

  Loy took a step closer and the man bowed his head, as if awaiting a blessing. Taking the man’s shoulder, Loy released a surge of birthright. Fast asleep, the man toppled onto his shield.

  Loy released a disappointed sigh. Cat and Mouse was not as fun when played with mortals, the creatures were too simple to play the game properly. Letting his gaze wander the sleeping soldiers, he thought of Sister Spade, and smiled. The sleeping game had always been her favorite, scuffling through the halls of Order’s Sanctum, putting the servants to sleep with a touch, but Loy had never appreciated the game as much as she; his first attempt had seen him beaten by Father Order for mistreating the lesser beings.

  Still, this confrontation might serve his needs. When the man awoke he would give
Loy’s message to Just and eventually the god would send for him. A well Ordered solution, Loy reflected.

  Before heading for the city, Loy wrapped the still forms in the same illusion with which he had hidden himself. The soldiers would wake within a few hours, but Loy did not want them found before the legionnaire awoke. A discovery such as that might cause alarm within the Legion camp and Loy did not want to be bothered yet, nor on such terms. The legionnaire had spoken as though Just were with his soldiers, but Loy had felt no sign of the god within their camp.

  The city itself was another matter. Standing outside Dekahn reminded Loy of Newfield. There were dozens of auras emanating from the city, like nothing he had sensed in Trellahn. It did not surprise him that Father Order’s ancient home would have become a stronghold for godkind, what with Father Order being who he was. Surely the Farmhold must have become a sanctuary for the birthright in this godsforsaken land.

  Loy stared to the northwest. Whatever had broken his focus had come from that direction. He had never experienced an intrusion like it before, and it made him wonder. Is that what Father felt when he sent me here? A power so great it intruded into his thoughts? If he had the time, and he were closer, Loy would investigate. That great a power must have come from the mightiest of gods. Perhaps even the Mother herself.

  But she no longer matters. My focus now is Just. Despite his thoughts, Loy reset his camouflage and set off for the city. Before meeting with the god, he would at least do as his father asked and extend asylum to the godkind of Dekahn.

  Loy had left Quill two days to the south, outside the city of Baylin. The man – nay, the god – had offered to accompany Loy to Dekahn, but Loy didn’t trust him. Niece Kindrel left the day of their argument about Scryer Fate. Neither she, nor her husband, had explained what threatened them about the scryer. When Loy asked Quill, he had spat and shook his head, refusing to speak of it.

  “That is in the past,” he had said. “We must focus on your future instead. When we reach Baylin, we will travel to Dekahn on foot, and I will accompany you to meet with Just. He knows my face, and knows that I can be trusted. If I am present, he will not kill you. Perhaps, he might even help us.”

  But Loy had wanted no more of Quill’s help. For a god, Niece Kindrel’s husband was a savage. Why would Loy trust the man after his deceit? After his lies? After Kindrel had made her claims and run? It all seemed too convenient.

  And yet… Quill seemed to have offered Loy a kindness, even if Loy did not know what it was, and that kindness had cost the man. Quill had not been a talkative man before, but it had grown even worse since Kindrel’s departure. His silence had taken on a somber tint, accompanied by sad scowls and grunts. Even the sway of Mystic’s Light on the waves had felt sorrowful since Kindrel’s leaving.

  And that was exactly why Loy had needed to set off on his own. It was all too convenient, all too… staged. The man was a god, and his wife an even older one. Gods did not pout. They were too great for that. It had simply been another trick, another scheme to make Loy drop his guard. Every last bit of it. Most like, Quill’s entire plan had been just another one of Kindrel’s sick games. Most like, they would have arrived at Just’s location to find Kindrel beside him, laughing and taunting as she whispered condescending lies into Just’s ear.

  Father Order spoke of the older family, the gods, and the older Seconds, as though they were grace itself, but Niece Kindrel and Quill must be the exceptions. Or perhaps Father Order was the exception. It seemed true that Order had not told Loy the truth about the family’s history, or about Trellahn. Yet, Father must have had his reasons. Kindrel claimed that the older Seconds had left Lendal by choice. That they had turned away from Father Order and his paradise. But how could that be true? If Trel was the alternative, why would anyone want to leave?

  Loy had given a great deal of thought to Kindrel’s claims and had come to the conclusion that she had lied. Father Order was a powerful man. Too powerful for the need for dishonesty. If his children had disobeyed, he could have handled the problem without losing their support. How could any of his children turn away from him? Lendal was indeed a paradise, and only a fool like Kindrel had the inability to see that.

  And yet, Loy had made a decision. From here on, he would make his own choices. He did not believe Kindrel, but there was still the possibility that she had spoken the barest minimum of truth. His father may have omitted facts, and until Loy knew the reason, he had to protect himself. He would continue to fulfill his father’s requests, but he would do it with thought for himself and his own well-being before his father’s. Kindrel was not returning to Lendal and perhaps Loy would not either. He missed Sister Spade and he missed his manor in Newfield, but if Father Order – Nikom, Loy tested – if Nikom had intentionally lied to him about Trel, about his role, about even his name, then how could Loy return? He could not. And here before him was a city, his father’s city, abandoned, but – by the feel – still a haven for godkind. I am the Farmer’s son, am I not? And this is Dekahn, this is his Farmhold. Should it not belong to me, his last heir in this land? I must have a haven of my own. A new manor, a new home. I shall meet with Just. I shall return to Fate. I will attain godhood, and then I will return here, to make a new home. I do not need kingship, I do not need the city. I just need a home. A home fit for a god.

  Certainly, the godkind of this city would accept him, he was a Second. And Loy needed to learn. He needed to find a teacher, someone native to Trellahn who could inform him of the land’s realities: the factions, the rulers, the people. Kindrel had been right in that. His knowledge would not suffice. And so, he must go into the city and meet these gods. He would offer the sanctuary of Lendal, as his father had requested, but he would give the offer as a convenient way of introducing himself to the local community. Perhaps he might even find some fellow Seconds, people with whom he could mingle, people who knew the rules of propriety and custom, who he could respect and cherish. In short, people unlike his foul niece.

  As Loy had expected, the city’s southern gate was barred. He could see the silhouette of soldiers on the walls, and could hear their shuffling and muffled voices, but hoped that they could not hear him.

  These walls were something of a surprise. Loy had read stories of warfare, legends about Just and his Legion before the Mother’s Faith had conquered the entire peninsula, so Loy knew what these walls were for, but he had thought this land long past the need for such things. Kindrel must have spoken a bit of truth. At the least, the godkind of Trellahn had fallen far since the Mother’s departure. Perhaps I should give Father some credit. At least his mortals do not fear each other, or us. There were no wars in Lendal, not even bandits brave enough to raid villages. All mortals and godkind alike, respected and obeyed the power of Order. More proof that Kindrel lies.

  But these walls did present a quandary. Niece Kindrel had disappeared from the deck of Mystic’s Light in a flash of energy, and if only he knew the same technique, this wall would not be a problem. There were ways to pass through objects, through stone and wood, there were ways to travel distances as though there was no distance in between, there were ways to jump any height or length, but Loy knew none of them. Among the Lendish godlings, he was sufficient in the birthright, better than most of his fellow Seconds, including Sister Spade, but compared to one like his father, or an older godling like Brother Rain, he knew very little. Sharing knowledge outside of one’s brood was rare for Lendish godkind, and Loy had only a brood of two; himself and Spade. Despite that fact, the two of them had done quite well in Newfield, besting many of the older broods in skill and knowledge to the point that both Loy and Spade had been assigned their roles a decade early. He hoped she was doing better in her task than Loy was doing in his.

  His lack of knowledge left the obvious route; he would have to climb this wall. Loy checked his camouflage then covered his mouth with a cloth. He did not like the idea of an arrow loosed at him because he had made too much noise in the darkness, so he would do
the best he could at silence, and hope it was enough. Luckily, vision was more easily manipulated than sound, for sound must be muted, while vision could be fooled. His illusions would hold, so long as nothing broke his focus.

  That left only the means of climbing. The wall was of rough stone blocks laid one atop another and packed with mortar, but obviously he was not going to climb it with finger and footholds like some sort of vagrant. He was godkind for Order’s sake and he would solve his problems as such. Besides, climbing would be too noisy, and he was not in as good of shape as he might have wished.

  Loy chose two dozen of the wall’s stones, a diagonal line of them, then let the birthright flow into his veins. With a finger, he sketched a mental border around the edge of each stone.

  Once his lines were drawn, Loy placed his palms together, pointed to the wall, and fed the birthright into the outlined mortar, eating away at the substance that held it together, until its hold weakened. He pulled his hands apart slowly to create a pocket of air in place of the dissolving grout. It would do him little good to let the stones grind together when he pulled them loose.

  Tugging on the birthright’s tendrils, he pulled the closest stone toward him, and was satisfied to see that the piece he revealed was wider than he and still only half free of the wall. He wrapped the brick in the illusion, so it would not be seen from above, and then pulled loose the second, and then the next, and the next. He repeated the process until he had made a staircase, supported by the birthright and the weight of the stones above.

  Loy could not see the steps of his creation, hidden as they were, but he could feel the birthright wrapped around them. Using the magic as a guide, Loy ascended to the top of the wall. Before climbing over, he glanced over the edge, looking for soldiers. He doubted that any had noticed his manipulations, but one could never be too safe.

  There was a single soldier within view, a woman wearing chainmail that covered all but her face. In the crook of her arm, she carried an iron great helm, pointed into a crest at the top with a hinged visor. She stared over the wall’s edge, her eyes wandering the shadows of the rolling hills and trees to the south. She paid him no mind as Loy climbed onto the wall, seemingly oblivious to the sound of his leggings brushing against stone. Loy glanced at his invisible staircase – or rather where it should be – then decided to leave it as it was. He had no way of knowing if he would need it again, and he thought it better to keep the option available.