by Aaron Pogue
“Why me?” Avery demanded. “You should go. I’ll stay here with Kellen. I’m just as concerned for him as you are.”
Corin rolled his eyes. “No, you’re not!”
“No?” Avery threw a look back toward the wounded soldier, then he turned back to Corin. “Even so. Even so. I do want the sword as much as you do.”
“Not even close,” Corin said.
“I’ll argue with you there. I have every reason to hate Ephitel for what he’s done in the last year.”
“One year?” Corin asked. “Talk to me again when you can claim a thousand.”
Avery stepped back, his jaw hanging. “Honestly?”
“Aye. Maybe more. And all of it a tyranny that I would see undone.”
The gentleman dropped his head and shrugged pathetically. “I won’t contest you then. But even so, the king will not see me.”
“With the news you have, I think he will.”
“Ah, but there’s the catch—until he sees me, he won’t know what news I have.”
“Avery, we don’t have time for this.”
“Then we don’t have time to waste on foolish errands.”
Corin shook his head. “I suspect your sister will already be there. I just need you to take the latest news.”
“But if she’s not…”
Corin caught Avery by the shoulders and turned the thief to face him. He recognized the fear in the other man’s eyes. Avery was out of his element, baffled by the unrecognizable mess his world had become within a few short hours.
Corin remembered that feeling well, and he remembered how he’d overcome it. “Remember who you are. You’re Avery of Jesalich, legendary founder of the Nimble Fingers.”
“Yes, but—”
Corin cut him off. “You want an audience with Oberon? Go and steal one.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
It wasn’t quite so simple as that. Corin and Avery stepped aside, scheming between them as to how the gentleman thief might infiltrate the impenetrable wall the courtiers formed.
“Is there another route into the throne room?” Corin asked. “A servants’ entrance, perhaps?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I never really learned the palace grounds.”
“That is unfortunate. We’ll need deception over stealth, then. Could you manage some distraction?”
Avery only shrugged, his attention fixed on something far away.
Corin ground his teeth. “Avery! This is important!”
“Nothing more in all the world,” Avery said, still not meeting Corin’s eyes.
The pirate sighed. “Perhaps he’ll fall for the same trick twice. He didn’t seem too attentive, either. Announce yourself as a man out of time.”
Avery nodded and strained up on his toes to peer past Corin’s shoulder. “Yes. Yes. There’s never enough time.”
“Or just pretend you have the sword! That might be—gods’ blood, Avery, what has you so distracted?”
Avery flushed red and stammered an apology. Corin spun, expecting to find chests full of dwarven gold or perhaps the legendary sword. Instead, he saw half a dozen dwarven lanterns gathered in a ring to illuminate the injured yeoman.
Kellen was pale as a sheet, his face drawn, his torn clothes now sodden with his blood. Dwarven medics worked around him, fretting ceaselessly, but for all their effort, Corin saw no sign of improvement.
Corin mumbled, “Oh.” He turned back to Avery. “You really do care about Kellen?”
The thief shrugged one shoulder. “Of all of us, he shouldn’t be the one who dies. We watched your fight with Ephitel, you know. We saw it all. The dwarves were waiting to see who would win, and Kellen…” He trailed off, choked up.
“He’ll make it through,” Corin said. “Heroes don’t die like this.”
“He is a hero.” Avery sighed with deep regret. “I called him a coward, just last night, and he proved more a hero than any of us.”
“He’ll come back,” Corin said. “The dwarves are master craftsmen, and their healers are no exception. They’ll bring him back.”
Avery forced a sad smile. Corin sighed. “You stay with him. I’m sure it won’t be long. Bring me the sword.”
Avery wrung his hands. “But you said—”
“No. This is best. I should have seen it from the start. The king will see me before he would see you. Just…take care. And do come quickly once you have the sword.”
“Of course! Of course!” the gentleman stammered. “Thank you, Corin Hugh. You have a noble heart.”
Corin couldn’t answer that. He left Kellen’s fate to fortune and the dwarves, and went off in search of Ogden Strunk. He found him not ten paces off, pretending not to listen. Corin forced a grin. “Avery is staying. I go to see the king. Can you find someone—”
“Aye. And someone’s me. You seem to be a man worth talking to, and there’ll be time while we walk.”
Corin watched while Ogden bustled over to his fellow dwarves. The chieftain spoke with them a while, then came back with a bundle tucked beneath his arm. He said nothing of it, merely headed off into the cavern’s depths, but the pirate’s curiosity wouldn’t stand for that. Ten paces in, Corin asked, “What’s in the rags?”
“A gift to make amends,” Ogden said. “You could call it a reward.”
They walked in silence for a while, the dwarf offering nothing more. Corin grunted. “I hope it’s something edible. I’m half-starved.”
Ogden didn’t laugh. “You’re talking to the wrong folks for that.”
“Oh. Aye. I suppose I am.” Corin licked his lips. “I’m sorry. I can speak to Oberon about that, too.”
Ogden cocked his head. “Can you really? Are you such good friends as that?”
“I can’t make any promises, but the king owes me a favor.” Corin looked back over his shoulder, toward the injured yeoman and the gentleman thief sitting anxious by his side. “The king owes a lot of favors.”
The chieftain snorted his agreement, but he said no more. For some time they walked beneath the city’s streets, until they left the sounds of voices and the workers’ lights all far behind. Ogden’s lantern was their only light, an eldritch thing that glowed without a flame.
While they walked, Corin made his plans. He would carry a warning to the king and beg transportation back to his own time and place. If the sword was really needed for that magic, Avery would bring it soon enough. But Corin suspected it was no such thing. Oberon had used him as a pawn against the lord protector. He had sent the four of them to find a lord of war.
Corin frowned. The four of them. Avery, his lifelong hero. Maurelle, the sister of his hero, whom Corin had chanced upon within a crowded plaza. The coward Kellen, an enemy of the House of Violets and yet a noble man, and one they’d needed to confront Lord Ephitel. There was too much of chance in all of that. If he considered this a plot, just how far did it reach?
Ogden interrupted his musing, though he never looked Corin’s way. “What can you tell me of Benjamin?”
“What?” Corin asked, caught off guard. “Ben—”
“My son.” Ogden kicked a stone, which skittered off with a hollow rattle that hung in the still air. The chieftain cleared his throat. “You said before that you knew my son. You come here from another time. What can you tell me of my son?”
Corin had no wish for small talk. Enormous things weighed on his mind, and this idle question only made it worse. What chance was it that he had stumbled across Ben Strunk’s father? But Ogden was yet an uneasy ally, and such things needed care. The pirate licked his lips. “I don’t…the druids said it isn’t wise—”
“Friya take the druids. I care little for their games. Just tell me what you know about my boy.”
“Ben Strunk. In my time, he is…an honest man,” Corin said, fabricating wildly. “Rich in valor. Honored for his handiwork. Everyone in Aepoli knows his name.” That much, at least, was true.
The chieftain wrinkled his nose. “A city dweller, then? Ah, I suppose it�
�s not so bad if he’s found fame.”
Infamy, more like, the pirate thought, though he kept that to himself. He’d never known a dwarf more desperate for drink or worse at playing cards. Between the two, he was a useful man to know. But Corin wanted done with this discussion, and a generous fiction would serve them both. “I rarely go a week without paying him a visit,” Corin said. “And I always regret it when I do.”
The chieftain took the lies with all the naive pride of a new parent. “It warms my heart. It’s good to know he has a future, despite the things I’ve done.”
That struck a spark of guilt in Corin’s breast, and he could find no answer. Ogden seemed happy with the silence for a while. He led Corin on among the pillars, until at last they reached an earthen wall stretching off into darkness on either side. The dwarf had come unerringly to the only breach in the wide, clean-cut wall. A rounded passage angled up through the earth, for all the world like a man-sized rabbit hole. Or…not quite man-sized.
“It may be a tight fit,” Corin said.
“Oh, aye! Good thing you’re hungry, eh?”
Corin sighed. He ducked his head toward the tunnel, but Ogden stopped him with a hand on his elbow. “This is as far as I go. We must make haste if my people are to survive the coming days. But I would give you this.” He held out the small hand lantern, and Corin accepted it gratefully.
“And this.”
Corin took the cloth-wrapped bundle. He’d hoped against reason that it would be the sword Godslayer, but it was far too small. Curious, he folded back the dirty rags and gasped to find the gleaming gold-plate stock of Ephitel’s revolver.
“That is a piece of master craft,” Ogden said. “Borrowed from the lore of yesterworld. There’s not another like it in the world.”
A gift of dwarven master craft. Corin was stunned. “I…I don’t know what to say.”
Ogden shrugged. “ ‘Thanks’ is pretty popular. Or ‘Give it here, ya stinkin’ dwarf.’ It’s probably fifty-fifty.”
Corin turned the pistol in his hand to catch the light. He remembered how the thing had felt when he’d fired on the prince—powerful and wicked and alive. Priceless treasure though the weapon was, Corin was not sure he could trust a thing like that in battle. He certainly had no desire to carry bags of its black powder with him.
It was just as well. He could see the glint in Ogden’s eye, the desperate, unspoken hesitation. Corin took his knee to meet the chieftain eye to eye. He had never bent his knee to god or king before, but he suffered nothing for the chieftain’s pride. “Why do you give me such a gift?”
“It’s a trophy won in battle. You left it on the field.”
There was some ritual to giving master craft, and Corin saw that it would take some ritual to reject it. He shook his head. “Not if it is dwarven master craft. Such things cannot be owned by men unless they’re given by their makers.”
Ogden grinned. “Well. Little Benny taught you something.” He cleared his throat. “Aye, well, that’s the heart of it. I made it as a heritage for Benny.”
A tension loosened in Corin’s chest as he pushed the bundle back toward Ogden. He had tried before to rob another people’s history, and it had ended badly. He could hardly rob a friend. “Then it belongs to Ben. I cannot take what you would give to your own blood.”
Ogden made no move to take the package. “You’re an honest manling, Corin Hugh. But you show more respect to my handiwork than I ever did. I broke the maker’s bond for greed when I offered Benny’s heritage to Ephitel. Greed and sin and—”
“Hunger,” Corin interrupted. “That is not a sin.”
“Be it what it is,” Ogden said, “I made the gun a gift to Ephitel, and now whatever falls, Oberon will learn of it. Even if you find us some clemency from him, he will not allow a gun the likes of that within my clan.”
“But Ben—”
“Will grow just fine without a weapon in his hand. I’ll teach him axes if it comes to that.”
Broken bottles would be better, Corin thought, but he held his tongue again.
Ogden went right on. “And if the tale you tell is true, if you can somehow go back through future ages to a time when little Benny is a friend, you may pass my heritage along to him if it please your heart.”
“You place a great deal of trust in me,” Corin said.
“I would. But no. If it never sees my son’s hands, that is my sin, not yours. If you keep it to your hoard, I can’t complain. You are a more worthy owner than the one I sold it to.”
Corin drew a heavy breath, sighed, and nodded. “Very well. If that’s truly how you feel, then give it here, ya stinkin’ dwarf.”
Ogden barked a laugh of sheer surprise, then he clapped Corin warmly on the shoulder. “You have a task I wouldn’t see delayed, but if you’ll tarry one more moment, I will show you how to use the thing.”
The chieftain taught him how to load the barrels, how to prime the pan and set the safety cock. He showed him how the revolving mechanism worked as well, though Corin had received ample education watching Ephitel.
Still, out of courtesy he waited through the demonstration—grateful when the dwarf refrained from firing the last live shot—then he expressed his gratitude with more sincerity, said his good-bye, and slithered up the rabbit hole.
It was no easy task, but he emerged into a bright midmorning. The songs of sparrows seemed like strident screeches after the ancient silence underground. The gentle sunlight seemed a searing blaze. But worst of all, by contrast, was the rushing tide of time.
Midmorning already. Time had felt imaginary underground, but based on the sun’s position, Ephitel must have gained an advantageous lead.
Corin cursed and caught his bearing. The bridge stood south, along the nearby riverbank, not half a mile down. Corin frowned, calculating. He didn’t recognize the place, but this could not be far from the path Kellen had shown him. That meant Ephitel’s mansion would be near enough to see…
He turned that way, in time to see the windows on the first floor light up red and orange, exploding outward in a rain of glass. The walls followed a moment later, firing bricks across the lawn like cannon shot. The second floor went half a heartbeat behind the first, and then a plume of fire lifted the shingled ceiling up into the sky.
So, he thought, I guess they found the storerooms.
The thunder of it hit him then, and Corin turned his back before the debris could start to fall. He threw his cloak over his head and started south beside the riverbank, heading for a meeting with the king.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Corin’s knee still twinged. His head pounded, and everything ached, but he was strong enough to walk. He pushed through the underbrush along the riverbank, climbing higher, and soon he broke free onto a narrow walking path. As he went, he worried at the questions he’d encountered underground. What was this place? What was this city, with its twisted fate? He traced the strange path of his journey here, considered all the strange events, and the more he thought on them, the more certain he became that there was some guiding force behind it. Some manipulating hand.
That thought lit a fire in his gut and drove him forward. He followed the secret footpath back to the winemaker’s shop, and this time he spent no time on subterfuge. He strolled through the back door, waved a greeting to the startled owner, and then went out onto the plaza near the palace.
Everything had changed. The crowd was pressing hard against the north gates, rattling the iron bars and shouting cheers while they watched Ephitel’s mansion burn. Corin scanned the crowd for some sign of Maurelle or the druids, but he found none. He did find evidence of Ephitel’s handiwork. There were bruises everywhere, bleeding wounds and black eyes where Ephitel’s guards had responded to the mob. Corin saw the fist-sized stones littering the courtyard, and he marveled that the crowd hadn’t flung them back. The people of Gesoelig were too kind.
There was no sign of Ephitel or his guards now, only rioters flush with victory, marveling at the bonf
ire atop the hill. That was no sure victory, though. Not while the wretched prince was still alive. Corin left them cheering and headed for the bridge.
When he reached it, soldiers barred his way. They did not seem hostile—not Ephitel’s men, then—but they were stout and they watched the thick black smoke with nervous eyes. Corin approached them at a stroll, trying hard to look uninteresting despite his limp. Despite the bundle in his arms and his mud-slick hair and clothes. He must have looked a sickly pauper, and the guards responded automatically with raised eyebrows and lowered pikes.
“Halt!” cried their commander. “The bridge is closed. No one’s to pass until that mess is sorted out.”
Corin went straight to him, heedless of the iron spear points aimed his way. “I’m on a mission for the king. He bade me bring him this—” he raised the bundle “—with every haste.”
The commander shook his head. “Orders were clear. No one’s to cross the bridge.”
Corin ground his teeth. “Very well. Send a messenger for me.”
The commander shook his head. “Come back tomorrow.”
“If I wait till then, we’ll all be rotting corpses,” Corin growled. “I have the answers you are waiting for. I can explain what happened over there, and I bring news of far worse things than that! Send someone to the king to tell him Corin Hugh—”
“You’re Corin Hugh?”
The burst of excitement in the soldier’s voice took Corin aback. He nodded slowly. “Aye.”
“You should have said! I didn’t recognize you under all that mud. Come through! Let him on through!”
Corin went mechanically, still shocked that it could be so easy. “Oberon’s expecting me? The king will see me?”
“Oh, not much chance of that. The king’s in a right pique. But you can wait with Lady Delaen and the others. They said you would be coming.”
Lady Delaen. The name curled Corin’s lip.