Conviction stops, his hand upon the rotten canvas. He hates his heckler, but he cannot hide his smile.
“Is that what this was all about?”
The heckler nods. “All this time, did I not tell you that I was your ally? This, dear Justice, is all that we have waited for. If Death kills Fate, that will be the end of it.”
“I see… Well that… that, my dear heckler, is something I can understand.”
EPILOGUE
Null was waiting in her tent, staring at the spellbook to pass the time; not as much reading it but simply staring at an open page as she waited. Despite their fears, Priest Twil had not resisted as they dragged him to his prison. He was chained now, wounded, but alive, in a large tent far away from her own.
And now, Null was waiting, certain that they would call for her, but uncertain as to when. She still didn’t know why she was here, why the queen had sent her here to accompany the army, especially when the queen had insisted that they do nothing to upset Just. Yet, here she was.
Her camp was too far away to hear the fighting – well on the other side of New Luddahn with the rest of the Guard – but she was still anxious. The sound of servants and soldiers hammering stakes into the earth did nothing to calm her. She’d seen a bit of the fighting while helping to capture Twil, and that was the last time she ever wanted to be near bloodshed. The screams of horses… the cries of soldiers… the crackle of the fires as the Guard set the Legion camp ablaze… and blood spurting as the arrows had gone through Twil’s chest. She didn’t want to be near such things again.
“‘Step one-’”
Null started and turned. Beda was standing behind her, leaning over Null’s shoulder and staring at the spellbook.
“‘String the man up by his heels,’” Beda continued. “‘Step two: make a precise cut to the following arteries – the more precise the cuts, the better quality of blood…’ grisly reading for how engrossed you seem.”
Null blinked as her gaze shot to the spellbook and read the words Beda had quoted. With a whimper, she scooted her chair two steps back from it, nearly plowing over Beda’s foot. Null had only gotten as far as the header, ‘How to Make a Candle,’ and had assumed the content would be far more innocent. Clearly, she should have known better.
“I…” Null started, trying to think of a way to explain herself, and then she stopped, turned, and glared at Beda. “You can read it?”
Beda’s frown was faint. “Of course, why wouldn’t I be able to?” She turned away and headed for the exit, clearly thinking that Null’s question had been stupid, and her own reply rhetorical. “Come, Null. The Hegemon wishes to see you.”
It took Null a moment before the statement registered, she was still thinking about the book. Why can Beda read it when the queen can’t? She didn’t have time to think it over before Beda was outside, and Null was forced to scramble after her. The night was chill, the sun long set, but the camp far from asleep. Men and women hustled everywhere, some erecting tents, others digging trenches and planting torches.
Beda kept a brisk pace, ignoring the soldiers who nodded as she passed – the closest thing the Guard had to a salute. Null ran a short distance to catch up, yet slowed to stay a few paces behind. She watched Beda with a cautious eye, still not knowing what to think of her. Was she a friend, or something else? Friendliness could be faked by anyone, she supposed, though most people Null had met in her life had struggled to fake it with her.
Beda glanced behind, her gaze seeming mildly annoyed, but her mouth and cheeks entirely relaxed and entirely unreadable. Their walk led them past rows of dark tents, until they reached a bright circle of torches, wherein the Hegemon’s command tent dominated.
There were no guards posted outside, and none within the tent as they entered. They entered into a narrow space, partitioned from the rest of the tent by a cover of fine silk. The Hegemon awaited them in the next partition, sitting alone with his back turned to them, before a small table of dark-colored wood. There were no guards here, either; seemingly he had nothing to fear, even on a night like this.
“Oh, Commander. Thank you. You are dismissed.” He turned as they entered, nodded in a satisfied way, then motioned with one hand to the chair across from him. “Mage, sit there. We need to speak.”
Null hesitated a moment, not sure what to think. Why was there no one else here? Why was Beda being sent away? A few moments after Beda left, Null gathered her courage and walked toward the open chair. The Hegemon did not glance back again, either confident that she would sit, or not caring if she really did so.
The chair creaked as she seated herself across from him, the lantern hanging above the Hegemon’s shoulder shining a glowing light that reflected off his bald spot. He smiled at her.
“You are the mage, Entaras Null?”
Null swallowed as she nodded.
“You go by Entaras?”
“Most just call me Null.”
“Good. I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced.” His tone was neither polite, nor sarcastic. Despite what seemed like kind words, he seemed indifferent.
“No…” Null said slowly. They had been in the same room before, but it wasn’t like they’d shook hands, or shared a private word. “I don’t think so.”
“Well, it seems that is going to change. Do you know why Rin Tepa sent you here?”
“No.”
“Me either. But, you’re here, and you’re a mage, which means you’re going to work. Is that acceptable?”
“I…” Null had to keep her mouth from hanging open. This was a new kind of subservience for her. No one had ever asked her permission, they’d only ever told her to get it done. “I suppose,” she said.
“Excellent. I’m told you’re very skilled in your appointed duties. I was also told that you received a letter from the Trellish Cleric recently. Do you remember what his signature looks like?”
She nodded, uncertain where this was going. “Vaguely.”
The Hegemon nodded. He furnished a scrap of paper from underneath the small table and set it in front of her. It was the torn stub of an official looking document, in its center was the Cleric’s signature.
“Is that it?”
“Yes.”
The Hegemon nodded. “Excellent,” he said, then leaned forward to reach beneath the table. He set a full sheet of paper beside the signature. It was blank. “Forge it.”
Instinctively, Null glanced behind, looking for the trap. Tyvan was nowhere to be found. “Pardon?” Null asked.
“I’m told you’re very good with magic, and that you’ve done something similar in the past. Forge the signature, please.”
Null did know how to do such things; one of her primary tasks as librarian of the king’s library, had been to copy texts and documents, many of which would be sold or gifted to the queen’s various contractors. Null gathered the birthright, then placed her hand over the signature. She slid the blank sheet of paper under her hand, released the birthright, then pulled her hand away. She set the page and the scrap side by side, then glanced at the Hegemon. The signatures were exact replicas. If they’d been on the same size of paper, they’d be impossible to tell apart.
“Good,” the Hegemon said. He was smiling as he said it, barely looking at the signature. Suddenly, the smile slipped. “Were you sleeping with the king?”
Null gaped at him. “Wh- what?”
He repeated himself slowly, “Were you sexually intimate with the king?”
“N-no!”
“Are you his illegitimate daughter?”
“I…” Null closed her eyes and shook her head. Her thoughts were all blurring together. What was he asking? “No. I’m not.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Queen… Queen Tepa told me so.”
“You asked her?”
“Yes, we discussed it.”
“I see.” The Hegemon lifted the sheet of paper from the table and held it in
front of him, the signature pointed to Null.
“Have you ever forged the king’s signature?”
“No! Of course not!”
“But you could have?”
“I…” Null’s tongue kept catching. Did he think she was guilty of something? Of what? “Yes, I suppose I could have. But I… but I haven’t.”
“Have you ever used your magic to copy any official document?”
“I… yes, several times.”
He raised an eyebrow at her.
“At the queen’s behest,” Null added.
“Have you ever done so for purposes outside of your official duties?”
“Never.”
“Are you a liar, Null?”
“I…” Her instincts told her to be truthful here. She’d been in these situations before. If he was looking for guilt, and if he was anything like Tyvan, then the Hegemon would use any sign of dishonesty as proof against her. “Not usually.”
“But you do lie.”
“Occasionally. Doesn’t everyone?”
The Hegemon shrugged. He pulled a satchel out from under the table and set it beside him. He dug through the pages then set an envelope on the table.
“Do you know what that is?”
Null glared at it. It was one of the king’s official envelopes. Only Mr. Goodall, his manservant, and a handful of his couriers had access to them.
“The king’s stationary.”
“Yes, but I mean, do you know what’s inside?”
“No. How could I?”
“You’ve never seen it before?”
“No.”
“Well, we’ll see about that.” The Hegemon raised his voice and shouted. “Avign! Come here!”
Null turned as one of the silk drapes – which she had assumed was a wall – opened and revealed a stocky, brown haired man; muscled, his face feminine yet beautiful. He came to the table and stood beside them. The Hegemon handed Avign the sheet of paper with the copy of the Cleric’s signature, never taking his gaze off Null.
“Well?” the Hegemon asked.
Avign looked at it, then to Null’s surprise, lifted it and sniffed it vigorously, his nose fluttering like a mouse.
“No,” Avign said. He handed the page back to the Hegemon.
“No?”
“No. Not the same scent. Blood related, though.”
“I… see. How curious. Thank you, Avign. Please stand over there.” He pointed to a spot behind Null. Avign vanished from sight.
“What… what is going on?” Null asked.
“Null, were you loyal to your king?”
“Of course.” She didn’t even need to hesitate. “It was my duty.”
“Was?”
“Is,” Null corrected.
“Are you loyal to him, or to your country?”
Null paused. “Well, both, I suppose.”
“You suppose?”
She decided again to be as honest as possible. “My country is not as supportive as Erin was.”
“Will you be loyal to me?”
“I… it is my duty.” She said the words, but they made her nervous. He was Hegemon. With the king’s death, and war in Lock, he was the rightful regent, but that didn’t help make him seem kind.
“And when this war is over? Who will you be loyal to then?”
“The next king, I suppose.”
“Even if it is Tyvan Dahl?”
Null paused. “No… no, I suppose not.” Had she said yes, anyone would have known it for a lie.
The Hegemon nodded. “Thank you for being honest.” He picked up the envelope and opened it, before removing a stack of papers and tossing them onto the table in front of her.
She read the first few words, then frowned and stopped. “I…” she said, “I don’t understand.”
“These were delivered to me a few days ago. They were signed shortly before that.”
“A few days ago?”
“Yes, they are dated the day before the king’s death.”
“But…” Null thought back to everything that had occurred that day. She thought of the conversation they’d had about her name the day of his death, and how he’d told her not to be ashamed of it. “I don’t understand.”
The Hegemon turned the pages toward himself, and read aloud. “‘I, Erin Dahl, King of Lock, hereby adopt my ward, Entaras Null – henceforth to be known as Entaras Null Dahl – into my house, as my legal daughter and heir. In the event of my death, I hereby bequeath all that I own to her, including all of my lands and titles. Signed, Erin Dahl, King of Lock.’” The Hegemon looked at her. “Well?”
“I…” Null couldn’t believe it. It didn’t make sense. The queen had said that Erin had loved her like a daughter, but this… a tear welled in her eye.
“Null,” the Hegemon said, “do understand what this means?”
She shook her head, not because she didn’t understand, but because she didn’t believe it. It had to be some kind of trick. This was Tyvan’s doing, or Beda. Someone was doing this to her. Someone was trying to hurt her.
“You see my concern, yes?”
Again, she shook her head. Of course she saw why he would be concerned, but it was too fantastical to believe. Would the queen have done this? Would she have made Erin sign this?
“Do I have to say it?”
Null didn’t answer.
Winter Blake, Hegemon of the Lockish Guard, stared her down with a foreboding glare. His hand was tight on the page, his gaze filled by hate, his frown one of annoyance. Avign, who she knew to be somewhere in the corner, was silent, as the weight of the world was crashing down on Null. How could Rin Tepa have sent me here alone?
The Hegemon grunted. “If this document is real, legally, you, Entaras Null…” The distaste was clear in his voice, the words biting as he said her name. “…are the next Queen of Lock.”
Ivan opened his eyes as the heavy door creaked open. He had hoped for Sybil, instead, he’d gotten Lu. The old Cleric looked fraught, his lips drawn tight and his brow furrowed. Though Ivan had always chosen this rooftop for his quiet contemplation, the Cleric looked surprised to see him.
“Oh,” Lu said. “I didn’t mean to bother you.” His gaze drifted to the balcony overlooking the city. It was almost dawn, but the city held a peaceful calm, the sky not yet brightened.
Ivan made to stand. “It is fine,” he said. And it was fine. His vacation had been nice, but he had known the Cleric must return eventually, and the suspense had begun to grate.
“No,” Lu said. “Do not get up. I will stay out of your way.”
Ivan’s jaw hung a fraction. He had never seen the High Cleric so deferent.
With his back to Ivan, Lu stepped toward the balcony, and then he stopped and turned. He looked troubled.
“Ivan?” he asked. “Have I cured you of your delusions?”
Ivan blinked. “And what delusions are those?” Ivan asked.
“That all your beliefs might be correct,” he said. “And that it is they which make you moral.”
“I…” Ivan didn’t know what to say. This was the same man that had hounded him for years, for so long and to such an extent, that he was no longer certain what he believed.
“I don’t know,” Ivan said. “Were any of them right?”
The Cleric shrugged.
Ivan thought of all the lectures the Cleric had given him over the years, and it led him to a mocking question. “And which of your beliefs are correct?”
Lu smiled a wry grin. “Why, all of them, of course.” The High Cleric turned once more and moved to the balcony. With one hand on the rail, and the other to catch his fall, the old man set aside his staff and eased himself to the floor. He sat with a column wrapped between his legs, his arms resting on the balustrade, and his chin on his hands.
Ivan sipped his morning tea and watched the old blooder. He wondered, not for the first time, if this was the true man, and all the rest an act. He didn’t think so.
The door opened a second tim
e. Sybil too, looked wretched. Ivan had heard the young man’s screams as she had brought him in and laid him in the chapel. It was marvelous to learn that she had found another god, and this one a young man, but horrifying to learn that their kind could die.
“He is back?” Sybil asked.
In answer, Ivan nodded to the balcony. As her eyes fell on the Cleric, she pursed her lips.
“Is the boy okay?” Ivan asked.
Sybil’s gaze returned. “Loy will be fine. I don’t know what that woman did to him, I’ve never seen its like, but he should be fine.”
Ivan nodded, then sipped his tea. Her gaze broke, drifted to the floor, then finally to the Cleric. She said nothing more as her feet took her to the Cleric’s side.
“I’m leaving,” she said as greeting.
The Cleric did not look at her. “I know,” he said.
Sybil’s hands wrung the fabric of her long gown. “I don’t know who you are,” she went on. “Sailor says you aren’t Dydal, and maybe you’re not, but I don’t think that really matters. When Loy recovers, we’re going to look for Just.”
Lu nodded. “He knew you would.”
“If I can help him, I have to try.”
The old man grimaced. At last, he turned to her, glanced up at her eyes, then turned back to the city. “Conviction is an impossible foe,” he said.
An awkward silence followed as Sybil stared at his back, waiting for some kind of explanation, but the Cleric offered none.
When she sighed and turned to leave, the Cleric spoke.
“We hoped to make for them a paradise,” he said. “But look what they have become. They no longer study science and art, they have no culture, they study only us. We had hoped to make a paradise, instead, we have ruined them.”
“And what do you intend to do about it?” Sybil asked. Her voice was quiet.
“I have already said.” The Cleric’s fingers clicked on the balustrade. “Conviction is an impossible foe.”
With the painted flesh and mask of a courtesan, Minnerva stepped out of the portal and onto a barren world. Though a Mother to some, she had always been a Whore, and she had never been ashamed of it. She wore her robes of mourning, as she had since the day her Temple fell. In the days since, she’d had moments of hope, and of worry, of sadness, and fatigue, but measured by intensity, none matched the emptiness she felt at this moment.
Death's Merchant: Common Among Gods - Book One Page 123