Yes, the appearance of the goblins had been helpful. Barax was a particularly powerful demon, and it troubled her she had left a loose end untied. There were documented histories of demons with goblin armies at their backs, or other intelligent races for that matter, but, hopefully, the creature and the goblin war party had injured each other so much they both had retreated to lick their wounds. It was too much to hope the demon had been dealt with.
The gem she had retrieved, from what had turned out to be a goblin warren, had proven to be perplexing in the brief periods of study she had each night before her rest. She knew from Jyuth of these objects, outcasts from the other worlds demons called home. He had collected more than one and had obliquely referred to them as being the source of his long life, but it was a tough nut to crack.
Neenahwi could create threads to any living thing to drain their energy—from a blade of grass to a human being—and though sentient creatures typically resisted more, they had a greater source of energy available. The injury to the cultist in the chamber had weakened it so much it could put up no fight as she used its life force to turn it into a living shield for her. That was typically more trouble than it was worth with a healthy man. But in all instances, she was able to see the energy that was available, and with rock, or sand, and even water, there was nothing to tap.
The point of power she saw within the gem was small in size, but of such a dark red she conjectured it was a thread to a major well of magical energy. But it was inside the gem, and she could no more make a connection with this particular stone than she could a pebble on the seashore.
For the past three nights, she’d spent some time considering the problem. And each night she’d decided to put it aside until she returned home where she could spend as much time as she needed to solve it, only to then pick up the challenge again the next night. As much unable to leave it alone as she could resist picking at her scabbed wounds.
Now, she was flying across the Arz Sea, and she’d be home before nightfall. The peace of embracing the bird form ebbed away as she saw the city of Kingshold, nestled at the foot of Mount Tiston, anticipating being back in the hustle and bustle of the city.
She began a slow descent over the sound, the harbor, and then the inner wall, sweeping over the grand houses of lords that surrounded the palace and the home of the king. She circled there for a moment before gliding on the winds that swirled in the cradle of the mountain, back out over the Floral Gate, and toward her home near the Judiciary.
Neenahwi noted the carrion birds atop the Floral Gate, her bird brain warning her of getting too close even though she was four times larger than any individual raven, her human brain noting some lord must have done something to annoy the king, as the heads of commoners ended up on spikes around the marketplace. Never the most appetizing scenery, as the citizens of Kingshold would gaze upon the remains of criminals, mainly poor individuals, who had been caught trying to feed themselves or their families, while shopping for their tables.
She flew through an open glass window into a tall round tower attached to a two-story wood and plaster house.
Her home had once belonged to a neighborhood loan shark, not accredited by the Moneychangers Guild, and he had favored the tower as a way to keep a good watch all around his place of business. That still hadn’t stopped the city guard from arresting him once the guild discovered him and wanted the enterprise shut down. At least it had given her the chance to buy the tower and get out from living in the palace.
Neenahwi kept the rooms she used in the tower. The rest of the building, though furnished, went mostly unused. She returned to her natural shape and immediately warmed a bath full of water, transferring the energy from the lit fire in the fireplace to the large copper tub. Neenahwi allowed herself the help of one person to keep the place spotless, ensure there was always a bath full of clean water, and a fire lit in the hearth, though weeks often passed between the time she saw the girl, Sarah (who incidentally was paid way above the market rate for such a low-maintenance mistress.)
Lying back and relaxing in the bath, the knots in her muscles unwinding, she began to drift off to real sleep for the first time in more than a week. The noises of the city infiltrated her room from the open windows, essential in the summer heat, especially with a fire always lit.
“Hear ye! Hear ye! Gather round for news of great import from Lord Eden!”
A town crier. There were hundreds of them across the country to communicate the news to all corners of the kingdom without bias. A simple, yet effective innovation from one of Roland’s predecessors, though she didn’t understand why they chose to talk in such archaic language. Tradition? And at certain times, the network could be employed by others who could afford it—and Lord Eden could definitely afford it—even though she couldn’t remember him doing so in the past.
“Lord Eden shall be arriving in Kingshold in two days’ time from the province of Northshire. Lord Eden has declared his intent to stand for lord protector of the realm of Edland and intends to root out the evil infesting this fair city!”
What!
Neenahwi sat up in the bath, sloshing water onto the stone floor, her full attention on the crier. She climbed out of the tub and ran to the window, not aware of her state of undress, and looked out to see the crowd gathered around the messenger at the street corner across from her house.
“Lord Eden shall defeat our enemies! Lord Eden will reduce your taxes! Lord Eden will introduce a new annual festival once he’s elected!” At the end of each exclamation, the gathered crowd cheered. It was by no means uproarious, but Neenahwi had never seen the citizens of Kingshold cheer for anything other than a public hanging. “Lord Eden will arrive in two days through the Excise Gate, and there will be gifts for all!”
She had been away from the city for less than two weeks. What had happened in the meantime?
Her pace was quick and her stride long. The impression she was aiming to present was one of storming as she threw open the doors of Jyuth’s apartment in the palace grounds. A servant Neenahwi didn’t recognize swirled around and made to head her off.
“Good morning, ma’am. How may I help you? Are you lost?”
“No, I’m not fucking lost,” she snapped. “I’m here to see the old fool. I suggest you move out of my way and go back to whatever you were doing before you regret it.”
Usually, that would have done the trick with any of the palace servants. This one apparently didn’t know who she was—and she was braver than the common breed employed—as she began to call for the guards.
“It’s alright, Alana. This whirlwind is my daughter, and by the looks of things, I’m in trouble again.” Jyuth had appeared at the threshold between the entrance hall and his sitting room. Neenahwi hadn’t seen him for many a month, but he looked the same as always. The sight of him was generally a comfort, so she had to remind herself she was pissed off. “If you could bring us some lemonade, it would be greatly appreciated. And then you are excused.”
“Yes, my lord,” said the servant, and she hurried out of the room, keeping a watchful eye on Neenahwi as she went.
“Daughter?” screamed Neenahwi. “Why didn’t you inform me of your plans to commit regicide? I thought you trusted me!” Neenahwi thought of this man as her father even though they weren’t blood-related. He had saved her from a different fate, taught her how to master her control of magic, and she had believed he thought of her as an equal. It stung she was discovering his plans later than everyone else in the whole city.
“First of all, I don’t think of it as regicide,” explained the wizard calmly. He gestured for Neenahwi to follow him into the sitting room and join him on the couch. She followed, but shook her head at the offered seat.
“I dissolved the monarchy, and a couple of roadblocks in the way needed tidying up first. And before you interrupt, yes, I do think I have a right to do it. This country wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for me. I put the first kingly arse on the big chair, and it’s only
fitting I dispose of the last one. You know I’ve had to be something of an interventionist in the past, and this was one of those occasions. Though you may not believe it, it wasn’t something I had planned before you went gallivanting around. New information came to light.”
“Gallivanting! I’ve been fighting demons and goblins, you old fool. And then I come home, looking forward to a good rest to find all this out!” Neenahwi belatedly processed what she had heard. “Wait, what new information?”
The servant Alana came back into the apartment carrying a tray with a copper pitcher and two glasses. They quietly waited while she brought it to the table, placing the tray down with care, then left.
“What new information?” Neenahwi repeated at a lower volume.
“You don’t need to know. Randolph was a turd of the highest order, and everyone will be better off without him.”
“What new information?” Neenahwi said through clenched teeth, her moment of calm evaporating before her frustrating father.
“We all knew he had increased taxes on the citizenry, and it was being pissed away somewhere. We also knew he and his wife had peculiar tastes in individuals to join their bedtime activities. What I didn’t know was what was connecting it all and how. It was Llewdon and slavery. That’s why I wasn’t sure if I was going to tell you.”
Hearing the name of Llewdon, the Sun Emperor of Pyrfew—a wizard in his own right and the person who had kept Neenahwi and her brother enslaved for eighteen long months—made her blood boil. She tried to keep a tight rein on her anger. “Go on,” she said.
“Randolph and his queen had been smuggling slaves into Kingshold. They had purchased a number of houses near the palace where they’d created brothels for the use of them and their friends. The workers at those brothels were people from all over the Jeweled Continent, held against their will. Pyrfew was gathering those people and bringing them to Edland for the king. The gold was all being frittered away on those houses, decorating them, paying people to keep quiet. In exchange for the slaves, the king was trading dwarves from Unedar Halt, live prisoners he had captured in secret over the course of the last two years. I don’t know who did it yet, but I have my suspicions. There have been three in total, and each dwarf was worth fifty of the slaves coming back in the other direction.”
Neenahwi’s hand came up to her mouth at the shock of what had been transpiring. She sat next to her father.
“What, daughter, do you suppose Llewdon wants with them?”
Neenahwi considered the information she had so far and what she knew of the machinations of Pyrfew. “A number of things come to mind, Father. Understanding of the war machines that the dwarves have created for our army and navy. Conscription to help with the mining of iron or gold in their territories; the efficiency of those slave mines must be appalling. And, it could be information about Unedar Halt itself, how to access and use it to gain entry to Kingshold!”
“Yes, my thoughts exactly, and my concern is that it’s the latter that interests him. If he could access the dwarven city in secret, take it before an alarm was raised, then Pyrfew would be able to prepare a force that could invade Kingshold from the inside. The defenses around the mountain door used to be considerable, but there have been three hundred years of peace and cooperation and what is there now isn’t sufficient to stop any significant force. What silver lining do you see to this cloud?”
Neenahwi noted, but didn’t comment, on the fact her father couldn’t stop being the teacher, always probing her thinking. “There have been three dwarves traded, presumably over a period of months. That means at least the first two haven’t talked, or they haven’t divulged enough information. Who knows about the third, though?”
“I do, thankfully. I discovered the plot in time to stop the last dwarf from making it aboard ship here in the harbor.”
“What did you do with him? If the Forger discovers the king of Edland was kidnapping and trading his people into torture, there will be war.”
“Yes, I thought of that. I took the dwarf to a safe house I have in the city, and I gave him a draught of Thoughtwart. Once I confirmed he remembered nothing of being captured, I left him in the mountains where his people could find him, the lost memory explained by a fall, evidence provided by a bonk from my trusty staff.” The wizard smiled as he pantomimed the swish of a stick.
“And after that,” he continued, “I came back to the palace and dethroned the royal couple.” He let the words hang there for a moment, the joy had fled from his face. Neenahwi was silent, too, intently focused on this old man she loved, mind racing with implications of Llewdon’s intentions.
“Why, Neenahwi? Why does it always come to this?” said the wizard. “No, don’t answer, I don’t need you to help me feel better. I know why it happens. I have to intervene because the kingdom has come to expect me to do something when things go wrong. Even those who think I’m a different Jyuth than the original one still believe that.” He shook his head, considering how some people couldn’t accept the evidence right in front of them.
“It sounds crazy, I know. The kingdom is just a group of people, most of whom don’t live long enough to see more than one or two changes in the throne. But the collective? That is ever-living.
“And then why are the kings getting shittier much quicker? At the beginning, we went hundreds of years with one bloodline; now I’m down to the next generation being one of the biggest royal arseholes there has ever been, and he was the son of a great king!”
“Father, this makes no sense. It’s not your fault if Rudolph didn’t raise his son correctly.”
“No, you’re wrong. I’ve given this much thought.” Jyuth’s face was set, and she could see he had made his mind up about something. Experience told her Mount Tiston was more flexible than her father in this mood. “My presence is woven into the history, the fabric of this realm, and it’s expected. And. I. Am. Tired. Of. It.” He paused for a moment and looked into her eyes. “I need to go away for a long time.”
His words took her breath away. “What do you mean? Where will you go?”
“I mean, I’m done with this place. I leave it to you to be its guide.” And he gave a seated bow in her direction. “Seeing through this transition of leadership is the last thing I’ll do for Edland. This country I founded. And then I’ll move away. I’m not sure where yet, but far away from here, from Pyrfew. Somewhere warm. You, dear girl, are the only thing I’ll miss about this place, but I won’t ask you to come and live the life of an old man. You have your own stories to write.”
She stood, her ire rising once more. “You’re leaving it to me? You mean you’re leaving me with your self-confessed fuck-ups and then you’re abandoning me! You arsehole! I don’t need you! I don’t want your help!” Neenahwi pulled her hair in frustration as the old man in front of her sat helpless.
With a flick of her fingers, the pitcher of lemonade flew into the air and dumped its contents over the wizard’s head. She turned on her heel and walked briskly toward the door.
The wet wizard remained in his seat, dripping with lemonade as his daughter stormed out.
Even though it was dark, she recognized it immediately as her tribe’s village.
How was she here?
She could hear shouts of alarm and warning coming from up ahead. The darkness didn’t help with navigation. Unseen rocks and other obstacles caused Neenahwi to stumble as she ran.
Her parents’ house came into view, and she made for it as the shouts turned into the sound of battle. More of the tribe’s men and women were appearing, armed with spear or ax or bow. Everyone fought when they were under attack.
Neenahwi remembered this night, the night when everything changed.
In the past, she’d been too young to fight, but here and now, she was an adult with real power. Power to change the outcome.
She ran to the house of her parents, looking for her brother, thinking of how to protect him from the dangers around them as she had eighteen years ago. She
slid to a halt when she saw him, the little boy who was nearly nine, bow and arrow in hand and looking blurry eyed as he emerged into the night air. A hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back inside.
“No, Little Hawk, you must stay here with your sister. I’ll be back.” The tall figure of her father’s champion stepped past her brother and ran into the dark. It had been so long since she had seen Kanaveen. She had to follow him.
Neenahwi set off at a run after this warrior from her past, and in an instant, she found herself in the middle of the chaos. Soldiers in plate and chain armor, with full helms and long swords, were cutting through her tribe.
Wolfclaw weapons were made of stone and bronze, most arrowheads made of sharp flint, and they did nothing against the armor of the troops attacking. And while they tried to fight bravely, the steel weapons of the attackers were too much.
One of the friends of her mother fell from a blow that severed her leg above the knee (Neenahwi had sat in her lap when they listened to Greytooth’s stories).
A boy not much older than she had been on this night—his name was Cadawa (a playmate on the plains around their camp) —charged a soldier with his stone spear. The spearhead ran off the breastplate of the soldier and slipped upwards, ramming into the soldier’s neck below his chin. A lucky strike, but Cadawa’s fortune had run out. The trooper’s arm was already descending, and the flat of his sword bashed the boy’s brains out as the soldier fell.
The destruction inflicted on her people, her friends, brought tears to her eyes and a pain to her chest. She began to run again, away from the current battle, in the hope of finding Kanaveen. She tripped and fell and found herself looking into the open eyes of one of her father’s hunters, blood running from his mouth and deep wounds to his chest.
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