Death's Merchant: Common Among Gods - Book One

by Justan Henner

  He had considered that possibility, but if Father had wanted him to succeed, then why not tell him everything? Order must have known that he would learn it all anyway, so why not provide him with the knowledge required for success?

  “Do you think someone might give that trust in the hopes you would fail?” he asked.

  “You mean your father?”

  He glared at her.

  “Sorry,” she said. “Quill has told us a bit of where you come from and why you’re here.” Leaning back into her chair, she folded one leg onto the opposite thigh. “It seems a lot of trouble if he expected you to fail. I mean, would your father have a reason to want you out of the way? And if he did, would it matter?”

  “What?”

  “Well you’re here, right? From what Quill says, it sounds like your father would have more control over you back home than he does now, so whether he wanted you to fail or not, you’ve got a chance to be what you want to be. So why not work towards that?”

  “It is not so simple, Rise.”

  “Sure it is. Skibs and I packed up our life because we thought you might offer a better one. If you think you might know what you want, then why not try to attain it?”

  She had a point, but clearly, she did not understand. “Because, mortal, I cannot. What I desire is beyond my reach.” Or at least, beyond his wisdom. His birthright was waning, and he didn’t know who he could trust. Quill seemed honest, but so had Fate. And thus far, only Fate had been there to help him when he had needed it. Only she had been there to help him speak to Just… but that wasn’t fair. Quill had tried, and Loy had left without him. And even Fate’s assistance had not been that helpful; she had left, with nothing more than the command that he complete his task. And then he hadn’t… He didn’t know what he should do.

  “But I don’t get that,” Rise said. “You are a god, there should be nothing beyond your reach.”

  “And that is exactly it.” His words were bitter, and despite the kindness of her words, he wanted nothing more than to throw them back in her face. “I am not a god. And now, it seems that I am not even a godling. Since I healed you, I have not been able to use my birthright.”

  She stifled her laugh, but too late. “So?” she said.

  “You dare laugh at me, mortal?”

  “Well, I’m not quite sure what that means, but I’m no godling either, and since it hasn’t made me completely helpless, I suspect you’re not helpless either, just upset.” She waved her hand to the candle. “Look at me and Skibs. We were practically dead when you found us. That was the situation, but it didn’t decide how we were going to face it. It’s the same for you, I imagine, even if you don’t want to see it. I mean, it might take some thought, but there must be some way to still get what you want. If it’s that important to you, you can’t have had just the one option.”

  “You are an insufferable fo-” he began, and then the thought struck him. She was right. There was an option he had not considered. Quill had said that Loy would not have his desires until Scryer Fate was satisfied… maybe she had taken his gift because he had run from Just in Dekahn, because he had abandoned their deal, and if so, maybe she could restore it. He didn’t know who to trust, but he did not have to trust Fate to deliver on their bargain. He bounded to his feet.

  “You are a genius.”

  “Insufferable genius?” She smiled as she rose to her feet. “Seems about right.”

  Loy had struggled with his loss because it had affirmed all of his fears. It had proven to him that it meant nothing to be a Son of Order, a Second, or even a First, but if his gift had been taken because he had run from Fate’s task in Dekahn, then maybe he still had a chance to reclaim it. What did it matter if he had been made a fool? If all around him thought him foolish? If he could not trust them? All he had to do was complete Fate’s task, to try again, and this time prove himself not to be a coward.

  Loy stood, but as he reached the door, he realized he had nowhere he wanted to go. Turning back to Rise, he kept his gaze from the candle. Maybe it did not mean anything to be a Second, but it would mean something to be Loy. And he was certain that Fate was the key to getting what he wanted. It made perfect sense. For one as great as himself, surely the universe must have arranged for him a destiny. Being born great was not enough in itself, Loy’s life must be great in every sense of the word, and at every moment, filled with heroic revelations and times of unparalleled genius. Quill wanted to return to Trel? Fine. Fate should have to carve out the world around Loy, anyway. It should not be the other way around.

  He did not need a mantra this time, just a single, damning glare. As his eyes met the wick, the flame roared into life. There was still pain, and his skin crawled as though he had tried to force the blood nodes out through his flesh, but he knew that he was right; a life without a destiny would be too mundane for one such as himself. Loy would be a god and nothing would keep him from it.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  Jem was collecting and storing Taehrn’s papers when the messenger arrived. The door was already open for the servants, but she knocked anyway. She was a younger woman, only a few years older than he, and she wore the same uniform he had worn for nearly three years as the herald to his father; a red tunic with black fringe, black breeches, and a red cap shaped like a short cylinder. He smiled at her in spite of himself, though he hated many of the memories that uniform represented, it was difficult to hate those things which reminded him of his more innocent self.

  “Pardon,” the woman said. “I have a letter from my mother.”

  She had the grace to let the uniform announce her mother’s standing instead of voicing it herself. Jem admired that.

  “The First Legionnaire is preparing for the march,” Jem said. “But I would be happy to take it.”

  The young woman stepped to the table and bowed as she handed him the letter. “Deacon Lissahn asks that he read it as soon as possible. She has traveled all morning to see him.” She smiled a polite and somewhat flirty grin.

  Perhaps she had misread Jem’s features, or perhaps she had read something there he had not realized himself, but he found himself returning the smile. This was her then. This was Lissahn’s daughter, the woman that Taehrn intended for Jem to marry.

  She was pretty. Prettier than Elyse, even, but in a different sort of way. This woman was rounder, her body fuller, but with finer cheeks and nose. As she turned away, glancing over her shoulder with a coy smile, Jem hated himself. Not because of any betrayal toward Elyse, but because he felt such things for one who conspired with Taehrn. It was possible that Lissahn’s daughter was a pawn in this game as much as Jem was, but he doubted it. Though young at the time, he had lived in that world and knew what it was like. As the herald exited, Jem wondered if she knew who he was… If she knew, that if Taehrn’s plans came to fruition, then Jem would be her husband.

  Glancing at the letter, he saw what he’d expected. A salmon colored envelope, perfumed and sealed with a jaybird in brown wax, signed D. Lissahn. He recognized the seal and even the handwriting. Over the years, more letters had come from Lissahn than from Godahn or Taehrn. Even in his father’s darkest moments, when drink and depression had left him wasting in his own filth, Lissahn’s letters had ever put a smile on Indaht’s lips.

  Sighing, Jem stood and walked to Taehrn’s bedchambers. The door swung open as he reached it. With drying hair and an unwrinkled undercoat, Taehrn looked freshly groomed and dressed. Behind Taehrn, Jem could see the First Legionnaire’s tabard lying on the bed beside a lint brush. To Jem, it seemed a pointless accessory with all of the dust their clothing would accumulate during the day’s march, but Taehrn was meticulous when it came to appearances.

  “Who was that?” Taehrn asked. As always, his words were overly polite. The politeness did not seem forced, but even so, Jem had a difficult time believing it genuine. He was beginning to think that perhaps ‘scheming bastard’ and ‘well-mannered’ need not be mutually exclusive. Taehrn seemed a nice enough
person to the people he chose as friends, it was only those people he saw as competitors that he seemed abusive toward. Well, so long as putting one’s supposed friends in harm’s way for political gain was not considered abuse.

  “A messenger from Deacon Lissahn.” Jem chose his words carefully as he held the letter up for Taehrn. “It sounds as if she’s come to see you.”

  Taehrn said nothing as he pulled the letter from the envelope. His eyes scanned the page, an annoyed look creeping across his face. “The Magistrate has left her in the dark on the Legion’s activities, and now she expects me to enlighten her, but if Godahn did not tell her, then I certainly will not.”

  “Is she not…” Jem began, then thinking better of it, stopped.

  Taehrn glanced up from the letter with an inquisitive stare. “Not what?”

  “One of your… confidants.”

  “You mean co-conspirator,” Taehrn suggested, a smile spreading.

  Jem nodded. That was exactly what he had meant to say.

  Folding the letter, Taehrn wrapped an arm about Jem’s shoulder and guided him toward the fireplace. The black candle, the one which could seal the Well, rested on the mantelpiece. “There are all levels of ally, Jem. There are close allies and confidants, like yourself, and then there are allies of convenience, those who you rely upon for special necessities, but who you cannot always trust. Deacon Lissahn is one of the latter. She is loyal to Magistrate Godahn, as am I, but she is not someone who the Magistrate confides in.”

  So Taehrn was plotting against everyone. Not just Indaht, but Lissahn as well. I wonder if there’s anyone Taehrn trusts. If there’s anyone he sees as a true friend.

  “But, is it not her daughter that I am scheduled to marry?”

  “Yes… that is true, but when it happens, you must remember that though Lissahn and her daughter are family, they are not your friends. We bind your family to hers to restore the legitimacy of your father’s claims and your family’s rule, nothing more.”

  “But…” In order to ask his question in a way that would not compromise him, Jem had to stop and think about it. “But, will she then interfere with our plan to kill Indaht?”

  “Of course, she’ll try, but once I convince Godahn that you are of more value to us than your father, she will be easy to override.”

  Taehrn handed him the letter then gestured to the fire in its hearth. “You may read it if you like,” Taehrn offered. “Or you may cast it into the fire.”

  Jem did his best to avoid looking at the letter. He hesitated a moment to allow himself a chance to think.

  “And what separates the two?” Jem asked.

  “The two what, my boy?”

  “The two sorts of ally.”

  Taehrn answered without a moment’s pause. “A level of trust that can only be forged from friendship. From mutual experience.” It was difficult to know whether Taehrn’s quick response was the result of honesty or if he had anticipated the question. Either way, Jem did not want to be friends with Taehrn.

  “And you have that friendship with the Magistrate?”

  Taehrn’s hand fluttered on Jem’s shoulder, a quick retraction as the hand lifted. When the hand returned, the touch was lighter; it hovered. His face was unreadable. “Yes, Jem, we do have that friendship.”

  “And with your spy who writes the black starred letters?”

  “Hmmm,” Taehrn considered. “No. The tallow mage is of the Assassin’s Cult, trained in Gellin. He is a professional; a hired man, loyal to our coin and the knowledge that not even the High Cleric could pay him more than myself and Magistrate Godahn.”

  Jem left the last question unasked; if he were to ask about their own relationship, there was no guarantee that Taehrn would answer honestly. Jem glanced at the letter. Folded as it was he could not read anything, but the urge to examine the letter did not include its contents. Jem couldn’t decide; did Taehrn wish for a blind follower or a like-minded colleague? It only took one glance at the man for Jem to answer the question. He cast the letter into the hearth.

  Taehrn made an audible click as the weight of his arm vanished from Jem’s shoulder. “Just a word of advice, Jem,” he said. “Never waste information. Especially when it is freely given.” Entering the windowless bedroom, Taehrn lifted his tabard from the bed and held it taut for inspection. He nodded his approval before sliding it over his head and walking to the apartment door. While retrieving his cloak from its hook, Taehrn continued. “I must attend to the deacon. I’ll be back shortly. If the servants return, see to it they don’t forget anything. Once you are finished, meet me at the Tan Inn. I think it’s nearing time we introduced you to your fiancée.”

  In answer, Jem offered a simple nod. After Taehrn’s exit, Jem counted to ten before releasing his sigh, slipping the deacon’s letter from his pocket, and letting the Well slide shut. Taehrn’s advice had been good, but Jem didn’t need it. He already knew better than to deprive himself of any information, especially when a simple trick could provide him both Taehrn’s trust and the desired knowledge.

  Jem laughed when he unfolded the letter. The message was unimportant:

  I wish to speak with you. You will find me at The Tan Inn.

  - D. Lissahn

  It seemed there was no end to their insanity. Had he not tossed the copy into the hearth, he suspected Taehrn would have chided him for not being trusting enough. With all the politicking between Legion and priesthood, Jem was beginning to understand how the fear of failure could have driven his father mad.

  Another knock announced the arrival of two servants. Jem recognized the two men by appearance, but he was not familiar with them. As greeting, he offered a polite nod, which the men returned before entering Taehrn’s bedchamber and retrieving his travel chest. By the time they left, Jem had already returned to his papers, but he could not help but smile about it.

  Though their stay in Derlin Keep had been short-lived, Taehrn had appropriated one of the keep’s private apartments to serve as his office and bedchamber. Whore Dellings and most of his soldiers had marched with the Grand, so the quarters had already been vacant, but Taehrn had chosen an apartment on the keep’s highest floor. Of course, the apartment’s existing furniture had not been of sufficient quality to satisfy Taehrn’s tastes, so all of it had been replaced by his own end tables, sleeping pallet, clothing chests, and even his desk.

  Luckily for Jem, it had not been his responsibility to haul Taehrn’s belongings up to the office, nor to return them before the march today, but from the whispers he had heard amongst fellow staff, the servants were not happy. Taehrn’s decision had set a standard, and as such, he was not the only officer to impose such an inordinate cruelty on his servants. Indeed, it seemed the entire keep had been refurnished and then subsequently unfurnished in the span of three days.

  To Jem, it seemed a wonder that a beast as inefficient as the Legion could not only have ruined his life, but instilled such unwavering loyalty in his father.

  For several minutes, Jem was left in silence. He was coming to value these moments of privacy, not for any perverse reason, but because they had become rare. He enjoyed rooming with Trin, but between their moments together and the moments at Taehrn’s side, he had far too little time alone. The moments of silent work were his favorite, when he could write his letters or sort Taehrn’s papers without interruption. He had accepted his guilt, and finally, he was no longer afraid to be alone. His grief did not hound him as it had, it simply existed, in the back of his mind, ever present but unaffecting. Like the ink stains on his hands and wrists, those old emotions were nothing but a reminder. His only concern was that he did not know whether it was Trin’s friendship that had brought him peace, or his plotting to kill Taehrn.

  The plotting was certainly enjoyable, he had even decided on the method for killing the man. Jem would stop Taehrn’s heart, let him die the simple death of an overworked man. There would be no questions, no finger-pointing.

  He was somewhat worried that Taehrn h
ad spoken the truth, that maybe Taehrn was the only thing holding Trin’s family together, but the better Jem had gotten to know Trin, the less he believed it. Trin would hold her family together just fine, and with her sense for business, she’d do a far better job than Taehrn could with his politicking.

  That meant that all Jem needed was to figure out a way to dismantle Taehrn’s network of spies in case one of them had been given the order to kill Jem – or maybe even Trin; Jem had considered the idea that Taehrn’s previous comments about her had been an implied threat – upon Taehrn’s death. The obvious suspect was the Gelliner assassin, but Jem still had no indication of who the assassin might be, or how far he’d be willing to go to avenge Taehrn. Considering the Gelliner was a mercenary, Jem hoped the answer to that question was ‘not very far.’

  The servants returned as Jem was bundling the last of Taehrn’s papers into a portfolio. They looked relieved when Jem stood and bowed his head to signify that he was finished with the desk. When they prepared to lift it away, Jem offered to carry the chair for them, an offer which brought a smile and a thank you from the elder of the two men.

  The two servants exited, and as Jem made to follow them, he was stopped by a clicking sound and a flash of light. Recognizing the sound, Jem stopped and turned. One of the black starred letters lay on the mantelpiece, next to the black candle. At first glance, he thought nothing of it. None of the previous letters had held any information that was of personal importance to him.

  On the second glance, he thought of Taehrn’s advice. Never waste information freely given. It wasn’t ‘freely given’ exactly, but even so, Jem didn’t intend to waste it. Taehrn’s sleeping pallet had been taken away, the desk was gone, his chests returned to their place on the wagon; only the candle, the letter, and the chair sitting in the apartment’s entranceway were left. The servants would not be returning. No one would know that he had stolen the letter.