“I am godkind, Null. Just like you.”
“You are a mage?”
The queen nodded. “Yes.” Still, she did not meet Null’s gaze, her eyes filled with shame. “I am. I’m sorry, Null… I could not tell you. Lock could not know that its queen was a mage.”
Null nodded her head to King Erin’s corpse. She felt the color rush to her face, already embarrassed by words she’d yet to speak. “And him?” she asked.
Queen Tepa dropped her chin. Her lids blinked rapidly as her eyes watered. “He…” the queen tried. It took her two heavy breaths before she spoke again. “He was godkind, but too weak to access the birthright – the… To access the magic we use. But he knew. That is why he took you in. He couldn’t abide mages being mistreated in his city. I… I will always love him for that.”
The king. A mage. Null felt guilty for asking such questions. She felt guilty for hearing the answer. Null had been mistreated far too long to think of that title as anything but an insult.
“What… what about Tyvan?”
“He doesn’t know. We appeased him to keep the Atheists in check, but…” Rin broke down into sobs. “I cannot do it, Null. I cannot speak of him.”
And Null knew that she didn’t refer to Tyvan, but to her son. Unable to let the woman suffer, she stood and hugged Queen Tepa, and surprisingly, the queen hugged her back. Null felt betrayed, as if she had never truly known this woman, nor the king, but in that moment, Null’s only instinct was to comfort the queen.
“And those people?” Null asked. “Who were they?”
Rin Tepa shrugged. “Old friends. Mentors. Family and in-laws.”
“And… and the madwoman?”
“An old friend… and an old rival.”
Null’s eyes fell on King Erin, his body crumpled beneath his throne like a child’s doll. Slayer’s fingertips had smeared the blood from his neck onto his chin and across his mouth. Null couldn’t take it. “I am sorry,” she said as she gripped the queen tighter. “This is my fault, Queen. I was supposed to serve him…”
The queen’s head lifted from Null’s shoulder. Tear stained and red-rimmed, Tepa’s eyes held a firm reprimand. “Do not think such a thing,” the queen said. “It is not your fault. Neither of us could have known this would happen.”
“But he’s gone…” Null lifted a hand to wipe her eyes. “What do we do now?”
Her sobbing finished, but her eyes still dripping tears, Queen Tepa fell silent. Her face turned to her son, and she dropped her embrace before stepping to his body. Afraid to face her king, Null didn’t follow. The queen kneeled before her boy and held his hand, meeting his open gaze with one equally hollow.
“We will recover, for his sake, and we will rebuild our lives.” Tense and reedy, Tepa’s voice rose to an angry rumble. “And then we will find Tabetha, and whoever sent her, and we will kill them.”
Compared to the queen’s boldness, Null spoke in an uneasy whisper. “But… but Mycah said that a mage should never kill.”
Tepa’s head did not turn. “And he is right, but I cannot let this happen to any other.” Lifting her son’s hand, Tepa pried it open. A small scroll fell from his grip. Tepa retrieved it, and rolled it open.
“What is it?” Null asked.
“A note from the Hegemon…” Tepa’s eyes flitted across the page before resting on the dead messenger still splayed on the far table. “He… The Old Guard will not arrive for another week…”
To punctuate the dire news, Null heard something drop. A black shard skid across the floor to Null’s feet. She knelt, and made to pick it up, before she felt the heat and realized it was a piece of coal. Her eyes traced the sound to one of the wall-mounted braziers. Another coal fell, and then another, before the whole pile fell out of the wooden bottom.
Crossing to the wall, she leaned over the brazier, and found the hole the coals had burnt through the frame, the wood ringed in black and white char. It reminded her of when she had lit the wooden lamp in the rot, and burned down her tent, but it must be some trick… wood did not burn in Dekahn.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
The guardsman swung and Bell grabbed his arm – the blade less than an inch from his beaked visor – as Tel drove her sword under the man’s shoulder guard and into his armpit. The man emitted a low whine, followed by a gurgling squeal and a spasm that nearly yanked the man’s arm from Bell’s grip. Tel squeaked, clearly thinking the man was trying to escape, and she drove her blade deeper with a hard thrust. The thrust must have pierced the man’s lungs, for blood spurted from his mouth, speckling the front of Bell’s shield. Bell hardly noticed, for he had the misfortune of watching the guardsman die, face to face; of watching the man’s eyes lose focus as the head lilted forward and the body sagged into him, as if seeking one last hug.
Bell swallowed, and stepped aside to let the man fall uninterrupted. It would be a cruelty to show sympathy for the man he had just killed, an intractable insult; I have killed you, but I did not hate you. It would be better if he did hate the man, if he could throw around words like ‘heathen’ or ‘savage’ as easily as Acklin, and believe this man had deserved his death, but Bell could not and this man had not. Better to ignore this death and pretend it did not happen, because he could not let the man’s spirit find that unforgivable truth within the sympathy; that I had no reason.
Bell broke his gaze, and stepping over the corpse, plucked the blade from the dead man’s hand. Without a second glance, he planted his shield to protect Tel as she retrieved her sword. Tel was quick, but she wasn’t trained to kill this way. She should not be here; she was their fall scout, the best and fastest rider should their patrol be overwhelmed, but there would be no running tonight.
Although he knew very little of her, aside from a few stories shared around the evening fire, he would do anything to protect her, just as he hoped every other pair he had organized would do the same. Footmen were supposed to be ruthless and aggressive, but that didn’t mean they had to be reckless. The Grand had as much as ordered their deaths, but Bell did not intend to make her wish come easy.
A horn sounded and Bell peered over his shield for a look. They had earned a reprieve, the guardsmen pulling back to reform ranks, about a dozen remaining. It had been like this for over an hour, since a patrol had escaped their ambush. It might be a reprieve, but it was no moment of rest; those moments were never silent.
The dying shifted and moaned, some grasping at the sky, as if reaching for the hand of an invisible god… And somehow their pain was not what unnerved him. His helm caught his breath, and echoed it like his namesake, an ever-present reminder that he was exhausted and would not last much longer. The other footmen had been relieved twice now, but not Bell’s squad. He felt responsible, and yet, if he had done some wrong, he didn’t know what. Even if his squad were guilty of the Grand’s imagined crime, Halls and the others did not deserve their same fate.
Tel stepped up beside him, sheathing a clean blade. Strapped to her back, she still carried the bow she had been issued while stationed with the archers, but he had yet to see her use it. “Thank you, Bell.”
Bell laughed awkwardly. Thank you? Gods, she saved me. “You’re doing well, Tel. I’m sorry for this.”
Tel shrugged. She opened her mouth as if to speak, instead, she leaned over to spit blood into the street.
“Okay?” Bell asked.
“Fine, his elbow…” She stopped and took a breath, short and frantic. “Sorry,” she gasped. “Elbow got me on the way down. Bit my tongue.”
The retreating guardsmen stopped at the next intersection and fell into ranks behind a wall of shields. Bell lifted his own shield and motioned toward the other footmen. Skibs waved, looking well rested and smiling like a buffoon. Bell loved the man, but he sure had some strange quirks.
“Let’s regroup before they charge again,” Bell said.
A light flashed at the end of the lane as pain tore into Bell’s thighs and then his back. Bell blinked the stars and tears fr
om his eyes. Everything had gone dark, except for a few bars of light. He lifted his hand to rub his eyes and his hand struck metal. My visor, he realized. He propped it open and looked around.
He was on his back, his shield propped on his chest. Dizziness overwhelmed him as he tried to rise into a sitting position. Moving made his head swim and he ended up on his back once more. “Tel,” he called, but she did not answer. His voice sounded muffled beneath the ringing of his ears.
“Tel,” he called again. A boot struck his right side, causing the metal chest plate to hum.
“Sorry, friend. Didn’t see you there.” The speaker, a tall man with light skin and brown hair, hopped over him, a book clutched under his arm. The man continued running, and another man, in an owl mask not unlike the visor on Bell’s helm, stepped over Bell, almost tripping on the tower shield.
“Rift, you fool! You must listen to me,” the masked man bellowed.
“She invited me to her bed,” the bearded man shouted back. “It was five hundred years ago! Can’t you forgive, you old prick?”
“I do not care about that, fool! You must not take the book from the city. It will undo the Blessing!”
“I’m not going back!” the first man screamed. Hysteria tinged his voice.
Bell lost the masked man’s reply as the two vanished around a corner. Hoping to clear his mind, Bell shook himself, but it only served to make the world spin. Nauseous, he unstrapped his shield, pressed his eyelids closed, and forced himself onto his hands and knees. Tel lay a few feet ahead, her breathing relaxed, her eyes closed.
“What the Butcher were that?” Halls shouted. Bell saw the footman shamble to his feet before offering a hand to someone on the ground. He pulled Rich up and the two retrieved their gear.
Bell pressed a hand to Tel’s neck.
“All right over there?” Halls asked.
“Fine,” Bell said, but he didn’t feel it. He removed Tel’s helm to check the back of her head for bruising. She seemed fine. Bell shook her and she moaned softly.
Her eyes opened. “What happened?”
“No clue,” Bell shrugged. “Can you stand?”
Tel tested her arms and legs with a shake before nodding. Bell managed to stand then helped her to her feet. The dizziness only served to amplify his weariness and she nearly pulled him down on top of her. On her feet, she looked as spry as ever.
“Gods,” Tel cursed.
Bell’s gaze followed her outstretched arm to the intersection. The guardsmen had vanished. In their place, a crater. Bell’s breath caught.
“Headcount,” Bell shouted.
“I got me an’ Rich over here. And your boy Bern. Looks like he’s helping Rise.”
“Aye,” Rise shouted. “We’re fine. I’ve got Bern and Skibs with me.”
“Where’s Kenneth?” Bern asked.
“What-yer asking me fer?” Skibs growled. “He’s yer shieldman.”
“Well, I lost him.”
“He’s over here,” Rich said, raising his hand to point. “Looks unconscious. His helm’s caved in some, but he’s breathing.”
“See if ya can get ‘im up,” Halls ordered. “Any other injuries?” No one spoke. “Well, that’s something at least.”
A mass of hooves clicked on the cobbles as the Grand and her daughter arrived. “What has happened here?” the Grand asked. “Why have you stopped?”
Halls mouthed silently, seemingly at a loss for words. With a sway of his entire body, he motioned toward the missing intersection.
“Have you lost your tongue, footman? Speak.”
Beside the Grand, Marl shuffled on her mount, looking rather like the Grand were chewing her out instead of Halls.
“There was a blast of some sort.”
The Grand scoffed. “All I see is an empty street. Continue on, and be sure to check those houses.”
Halls made no move to comply. Instead, he stared at the Grand with a quizzical look.
Rich spoke for him. “Grand,” he said. “We are exhausted.” He motioned to the unconscious Kenneth. “We lost three already, and now a fourth, not to mention those we lost in the plaza. There must be someone capable of relieving us.”
The Grand stared down at him with the eyes of a hawk. “We are all engaged now, soldier. There is fighting across three streets to the south, all to hold the southern garrison from your heels. It is up to you to continue the advance.”
“But we are only eight,” Rich said. “We cannot cut a path with so few. We have been lucky so far.”
Marl lifted her eyes and turned them on the Grand. “I have to agree,” the Herald said. “We should not be spread so thin. The New Guard has already found us out, why do we not fall back to the western plaza and hold in their abandoned garrison?”
“Are you now the Will of Just, daughter?” the Grand challenged.
“No, Grand,” Marl’s voice wavered. “But if we remain as we are, eventually the northern garrison will rally and we will be caught between two foes.”
“That is why we push onward. Continue forward.”
Marl opened her mouth then snapped it shut. The Grand clicked to her horse and the steed whisked away. The Herald watched her go, looking stunned. She faced Bell with a frown.
“What did you do?” Marl asked.
“The gods only know.”
Scoffing, Marl shook her head reproachfully. She flipped a wrist toward Kenneth. “I’ll send the courtesans to retrieve your wounded man.” She left scowling.
“The Grand is trying to kill us, isn’t she?” Tel asked.
Bell’s eyes flashed to Marl. Realizing she was too far away to hear, relief flooded him.
“Aye, she’s got a grudge fer us,” Skibs said. He and Rise arrived beside Tel as Halls, Rich, and Bern attempted to wake Kenneth. “She wants us deader’n the Butcher.”
Rise gasped. “Skibs!”
“What? It’s true. Look at what she’s doing. We’re up here alone, the – what? the seven of us now? – That last patrol was at least double that. I dunno what the Butcher just happened, but we’re alive because of it.”
“She doesn’t have any reason to kill us.”
“Course she does. Me and Bell’re Owl Guard. Halls is Lockish, Kenneth’s practically gone mad since Perval’s death…”
“Yeah? Then what about me and Tel?”
“Well, yer prettier than she is.” Skibs held his face rigid, free of emotion.
Rise’s cheeks flared red. “Do you think all women are that petty, you damned fool?”
The corner of Skib’s mouth quirked into a smile which vanished as quick as it had arrived. “Yawh,” he said simply.
Rise huffed and turned to leave. As he grabbed her arm, Skibs’ composure broke to a fit of laughter. “Ah, come on. Yer’ve never believed a word I’ve said in the past. Are yer really going ter choose that one ter start?”
“I was just going to find whatever rock shut Kenneth up and ask if it could do us another favor.”
“Hawh,” Skibs laughed. “With yer charm, I bet it’d be happy ter.”
At a loss for words, Bell shook his head. Whatever works for them, he marveled.
“He’s not even cold yet,” Tel said.
“Awh, I got a look at the bump on his head. He’ll be fine with a little rest. Besides, Bern’s better off without him. He’s been a sour bastard all night.”
“Can you blame him?”
“Nawh, of course not. That’s why I’m glad it happened ter him. He shouldn’t be fighting in his state. He should be with the courtesans, seeing his dead friend ter rest. This way he’ll be with Perval in spirit, at least.”
Rise’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Husband,” she asked, “should I find this rock, will I find it drenched in your rancid palm sweat?”
Skibs winked at her. “A course not. I have me a lovely wife, who powders the leather every morning.”
“You hit him with your sword hilt?” Bell asked, incredulous.
Skibs shrugged, lifting his shi
eld as he rolled his shoulders. “Yep. It wasn’t on purpose, of course. When that blast hit, I kind-er just fell on top of him. Mighta been the hilt, mighta been the beak on my helm. Either way, he went down quick. I’m sure he’ll be all right though.”
No one said anything, all of them staring at Skibs, the silence only interrupted by the arrival of two courtesans carrying a sling between them. “You got wounded?” the lead whore asked.
Bell motioned to Halls and the others. “Over there,” he said.
The lead courtesan bowed and went over to help Halls and Bern lift Kenneth onto the stretcher. The second whore examined the back of Kenneth’s skull then muttered something to her companion. When she met Bell’s eyes and smiled happily, Bell released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Thank the Mother, Bell thought.
“So,” Skibs said, “yer talked ter her, Bell. Why’s she want ter kill us?”
Bell sighed. They were going to die anyway, so there wasn’t any reason not to tell them. “She seems to think we’re involved in a coup, led by the First Legionnaire.”
“Oh.” Skibs lifted a hand and scratched his nose. “Are we?”
Bell shot him a glare. “Of course not.”
“No need ter get pissy,” Skibs said. “I were just curious. I dunno what the High Cleric told yer.”
“He didn’t tell me anything.”
“Really? Well shit. I hoped yer were lying about that.”
Bell stared at him. “Did he tell you something, Skibs?”
“Course not. That’s why I hoped yer were lying.” They fell into another silence. Finally, Skibs shrugged. “So… erm. If any of yer are planning on rebelling with Legionnaire Taehrn, can I just say that I ain’t as fond of me principles as I am me life. So there really ain’t any reason ter kill me.”
“Shut up, Skibs,” Rise said.
“What? Yer know it’s true.”
She smiled. “Yeah, but we don’t want to give away any leverage, now do we? What if they were going to buy our favor?”
Skibs wiggled a finger at her. “Aye, yer right. Good thinking.” He turned to Bell and Tel. “We’d prefer bribes ter knives. Thank yer very much in advance.”
Death's Merchant: Common Among Gods - Book One Page 67