by Aaron Pogue
But the commander didn’t seem to notice. He frowned, lost in thought. “Where’s the other two?”
“They’ll be here shortly,” Corin said. “Send them on through, even if they’re dirty.”
The commander chuckled, his cheeks a little red. “I will. I will. I’ll see it done. But you go on to the Midnight Grotto. That is where they’re waiting.”
“To where?”
“Oh! Ha. She said you’d need a guide. Pothamer! Show the man the way, and make it quick. We wouldn’t want to keep the druids waiting.”
The Midnight Grotto proved to be the same chamber Corin and the others had ducked into before to hide from Ephitel. Corin’s escort pointed out the doorway, clearly hesitant to approach the room, and when Corin nodded understanding, the soldier turned and scurried back toward the bridge.
Corin watched him go, then steeled himself and slipped into the room. His gaze went to the distant corner, where delicious-smelling fruit had grown before, but now the bushes were picked bare. Corin sighed and turned himself to business.
Maurelle was there, and Corin was glad of that. The lady’s hair was disheveled, her sleeve ripped, and a scrape across her temple was just now beginning to bruise.
She was not alone. Aemilia was there as well, stretched out on the grassy floor, apparently asleep. And there, of course, was Delaen, expression grim beneath that stark white hair. She was watching Corin with appraising eyes, and as he considered her, he felt a rising tide of anger.
He stalked toward her. “Good morning, druid. You won’t—”
Maurelle wrecked his stormy entrance. As soon as she turned his way, she screamed, “Corin! You’re alive!” and wrapped him in a crushing hug.
“I’m alive,” he said, smoothing down her hair. “And Avery as well.”
“Where is Avery? And Kellen?”
“Together,” Corin said, not yet prepared to tell that tale. “In a cavern underneath the Piazza Autunno.”
Delaen spoke up. “There is no cavern under the piazza.”
“There is now,” Corin said.
Maurelle gasped in shock.
Corin nodded. “Ephitel’s handiwork. Just one of many ugly surprises he had planned.”
Delaen narrowed her eyes. “I hear a note of accusation in your voice, but I cannot guess what you mean to imply.”
Corin pushed away from Maurelle so he could face the druid. “Then I will tell you plainly. I begin to see a guiding hand at my every turn. Someone sent me to the Piazza Primavera at just the right moment to encounter the sister of Avery of Jesalich. Someone helped me when I went to rescue Avery. Someone arranged for me to pass the blockade on the palace bridge—”
Delaen tossed her hair. “If you object to friendly aid—”
“You do not aid me,” Corin said. “You use me like a puppet—like a blacksmith’s hammer—and I grow tired of the pounding.”
The druid frowned. “I don’t underst—”
“You sent me to the king! You told me what to say. You promised it would get me home, but instead he sent me on an errand.”
“The king has unpredictable—”
“No!” Corin snapped. “You did this to me! From the moment I arrived in this city, someone has been twisting my fate. One of your druids took me in? Oh, and just as Ephitel was at her shop? You showed me his tyranny. You gave me over to one of his pretty, pitiful victims—”
Maurelle squeaked in objection, but Corin paid no mind. He felt a throbbing fever in his temples, and he gave it vent.
“You handed me to Avery, whom I’ve admired since I was a child. You paired me with a noble warrior badly used. You primed me like a pistol so that Oberon could fire me upon your foes.”
Delaen arched an eyebrow. “Are you opposed to fighting Ephitel?”
“This is not my war! I only wanted to go home. But you have broken me.”
“I have done nothing,” Delaen said. “I could not arrange a tenth of what you say.”
“So it is chance? Pure chance I met the ancient father of the only dwarf I know in all the world? All my life I’ve walked with fortune near at hand, but even I cannot believe…what?”
The shock and fear in Delaen’s eyes stole Corin’s fury. He trailed off, then asked again, “What have I said?”
“I could not arrange these things,” Delaen said, her voice far off. “But there is one who could.”
Corin didn’t have to consider long. “Oberon?”
“Oberon. His will can tug the threads of fortune. He has been known to twist a fate.”
“I am done with being twisted,” Corin snapped.
“Then on your own, you would not have challenged Ephitel?”
“I never would have dreamed to! No!”
“And now that you have dreamed?”
Corin’s chest heaved, but he could not easily answer that question. He furrowed his brow, thinking hard, and when he spoke his voice rang hollow to his own ear. “That is why I rage. My heart is mine. It is not yours to manipulate, and it is not Oberon’s.”
“But you do not want to fight Ephitel?”
“I want to see him dead!” Corin shouted. “Like I have wanted nothing else in all my life. I want to kill that wretched snake…”
“And yet?”
“This is not my home. This is not my world at all. You have abducted me, and I may never see my home again.”
“Or Iryana,” Maurelle said, speaking to Delaen. “That’s what really troubles him. He loves her, and she does seem something wonderful.”
“I barely know her,” Corin growled. “But I owe her a debt. I should be focusing on that. I should be back in my own time.”
Delaen came forward and laid a gentle hand on Corin’s arm. Her voice was just as soft. “But you are here. It must be for a reason. If Oberon brought you here, he has a plan.”
“He’s mad!” Corin shouted. “I’ve spoken with him once, and his is not a wisdom I would trust to rule a household, let alone a kingdom. Let alone a world!”
“The elves do not think as we think—”
“He doesn’t think at all! He is a fool.”
“He is under such a strain.”
“And still he plays these games. Still he shuns his dedicated friends. Why are you waiting in this room while rebellion builds? Why won’t he grant an audience even to you?”
“He must have his reasons. We bide until—”
“No,” Corin said. “We bide no more. This kingdom is about to tear in pieces. I won’t just sit here.”
He headed for the throne room, and both women trailed after him. “I’ve told you,” Maurelle said, “it’s no use to try. You can’t get in unless they let you.”
“They will let me,” Corin growled. “I’ve brought a present.”
Maurelle brightened. “Oh? Did you bring the sword? That’s what we were waiting for.”
“Games,” Corin grumbled. “His head is on the block and he plays games!”
Corin burst around the corner onto the landing overlooking Oberon’s distant throne. The king was seated there, but he sprang to his feet as soon as he saw Corin, hope glowing like starlight in his eyes. One glance told him Corin didn’t have the sword, and that spark died as quickly as it had kindled. He clapped his hands together, no words spoken, and the courtiers formed their unbroken wall, locking Corin out.
Delaen sighed, clearly disappointed. “This is why we wait. You should have brought the sword.”
“I brought something better,” Corin said. He drew his bundle, shook the rags loose from Ogden’s pistol, and raised it overhead. He fired straight into the air.
The powder flashed unnaturally bright, flaring red and angry in the living cavern. The thunder crack rolled out, breaking all the careful decorum of the synchronized courtiers. Some screamed. Some fainted. No one held his ground. They broke apart like ocean swell against a ship’s bow, peeling back in a frenzy until a path opened between Corin and the throne. The king alone stood unmoved.
He stared at
Corin across the gap, then raised his voice. “Ethan Blake never owned a sword like that.”
“No, he didn’t,” Corin called back. “But Ephitel did. And he has more.” He held the monster’s gaze for one heavy heartbeat, then he started down toward the throne. “Clear the court. It’s time we had a talk.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Oberon clapped his hands together, and the courtiers poured from the room. Maurelle stuck close to Corin, hanging on his arm, while Delaen watched the gun with nervous fear. The pirate ignored them both. He didn’t run to meet Oberon. He went at a walk, head high, while the gun exhaled its noxious smoke in his wake.
Ten paces out, Corin stopped. He met the mad king’s black eyes. “You have a problem on your hands.”
“An armed intruder, marching on my throne?”
“As it happens, yes.” Corin carefully stowed the gun beneath his cloak, then raised his gaze to Oberon again. “But it isn’t me.”
“The prince.”
“Aye. Ephitel of the High Moor. A lord of war.”
“He called himself that?”
Corin nodded.
Oberon sighed. “That was the title Memnon took when he posed a threat to my city. I saw he was destroyed.”
“No, my lord. You watched him be destroyed,” Corin said. “I know the story. Aeraculanon slew him.”
“In my name.”
“Yes. But by his mortal hand. By his will.”
The elf king shrugged. “I rewarded him most kindly. I elevated him to the gentry, made him a place at court—”
“You used him,” Corin said, marveling. “Just as you used me.”
Oberon arched an eyebrow. “Just the same? I had not heard that Ephitel was dead.”
Corin shrugged. “He was dead. I shot him through the heart. But no. He yet lives.”
“Impossible!”
Delaen pressed forward. “’Tis true, Your Majesty. We saw his carriage force a way through the crowds outside his mansion, nearly two hours ago now.”
“The crowd?” Oberon asked, chastising. “That is a rather friendly name for the mob you raised.”
“It was a friendly act on your behalf!” Corin snapped. “You owe her gratitude, not rebuke.”
Maurelle gasped and shrank away. Delaen frowned and shook her head, but Corin wasn’t through. “Your kingdom balances upon the brink of ruin and you do nothing. You dare to despise the ones who do. That is as much a tyranny as anything that Ephitel has done.”
The king drew himself to his full height, three paces tall and thick with wild power. He threw his head back and roared, but Corin didn’t flinch. Corin screamed into the madness. “Do you want to be king? Do you want to be king? Then stop playing foolish farces and do your job!”
The king subsided. He stumbled back a step and collapsed into his chair. “Y—you dare demand of me—”
“Not of you,” Corin spat. “You’re a shell game. You’re a parlor trick to buy some time. You are not a king at all. But if there is a king, a true and loyal leader anywhere beneath that cheap facade, then yes. I do demand of him.”
For a long time the monstrous king stared down at Corin. Then he heaved a weary sigh and clapped his hands. Something like a summer breeze rolled down upon the throne, splashing out across the clearing and carrying with it a multicolored fog that quickly burned away.
Behind it, on the throne, the goat-legged monster was replaced by an ordinary man. He had been tall, once. He had been handsome. And by the breadth of his shoulders, he had been powerfully built. But now he just looked tired. Old. Kind. Corin recognized the face from the sandstone cliffs at the edge of the Endless Desert.
“Oberon,” he said.
Maurelle gave a squeak. “It was all a glamour? All these years?”
Delaen didn’t look surprised at all. Corin took note of that. But she seemed to look more kindly on the poor old man than she ever had the beast.
True to his character, Oberon paid her no mind. He looked down at Corin. “How did you know?”
I didn’t, Corin thought, but he kept that to himself. He’d never guessed the strange appearance was a ruse, just the wild behavior. But it little profited him to tell the truth, so he shrugged and said, “A liar always knows.”
“So he does,” Oberon said. “So he does. But if we’re done playing at farces, tell me plainly: What does Ephitel intend?”
Corin shook his head. “You owe me an accounting first.”
“There is no time. Tell me—”
“No. In all this land, I alone am no subject of yours. You cannot command me, elf king. You will give me an accounting, or I will withhold my own.”
“You would risk the lives of all my people?”
“That choice was never mine to make. It is yours.”
The old man tapped his foot impatiently. “I should have known. You are a pirate after all. How much gold will satisfy your greedy heart?”
Corin shook his head. “You do not have enough gold to satisfy me.”
“I create the gold.”
“And still you do not have enough. It is not a ransom I demand, but an accounting. Tell me what you’ve done to me.”
“Done to you?”
“You stole my destiny. You twisted fate. You threw me in the paths of Avery and Ogden. You sent me after Ephitel—”
“I’ll take the blame for everything except the last. You went after Ephitel. You used Avery for good and found the valor in poor Kellen’s heart. You had your chance to take the sword and run, and that was all I ever asked of you. But you, out of the good in your own heart, chose to defy the prince.”
“I am not a righteous man. I defy Ephitel for no more noble reason than hatred. I hate the things he’s done, the evil he’s promoted.”
“Then you are good enough for my name’s sake.”
Corin frowned. “How can you know these things?”
“This is my kingdom. How could I not know?”
“You know, and you do nothing?”
“Tread carefully where your eyes barely see. I am not a wicked man. I work in ways you cannot even guess at.”
“More glamours? More silly games?”
Oberon shook his head. “I hold a world within my head. That is no small feat. I change one tiny pattern, and it breaks a million others. I cannot end Ephitel, but I gave you Avery. I changed a thousand years of history in subtle ways to give you Ogden Strunk.”
“You can do these things, but you cannot stop Ephitel from buying guns? You can’t stop him hoarding writs of provender? You can’t feed the starving dwarves?”
Oberon looked away. He seemed so small within the monster’s throne. “Once the story’s told, it becomes real. I cannot shape it. Once Ephitel became a legend, I could not undo him. Once the sword Godslayer gained a name, I couldn’t give it to you. You had to find it on your own.”
Corin ground his teeth in anger. “How can you be so powerless over your own creation?”
“How could you suffer mutiny to Ethan Blake? No matter how you play your hand, free will may always thwart you.”
“But still you sent me for the sword,” Corin snapped, focusing on something he hoped he might truly comprehend. “So tell me plainly. Why is that sword so important? Do you intend me to kill Ephitel by its blade?”
“Would you do that?” Oberon asked quietly. “Are you another Aeraculanon to serve me?”
“What else could you want it for?”
Oberon shrugged. “To send you home. That was what you asked of me.”
“You…you need the sword to send me home? You truly meant to send me home?”
“That is how the story has to go.”
“But…what of Ephitel?”
“The Ephitel out there…the one you’ve faced within this city…he is my concern, not yours. You’ve done more than any subject could be asked to thwart the traitor’s plans. You have earned your just reward.”
“But Ephitel is coming! He is real. He brings a regiment with guns against the
city.”
“We can confirm that,” Delaen said. “Jeff and Kirk are on surveillance. Ephitel is with his regiment right now. He’s given orders to the others to stand pat.”
“Then they will be outside the fire,” Oberon mused. “That is good.”
“But if you bring them in, they could stand against Ephitel’s men,” Delaen said.
“They would be cut down,” Oberon said. “If Ephitel has guns, my other regiments would be no more challenge to him than my chefs and linen maids. No. Leave them where they stand.”
“But we need them—”
“We might have needed them,” Oberon said, “in another time, when the story went another way. They might have been useful rescuing survivors from the ruins of the Piazza Autunno explosion. But our friend prevented that disaster.” He looked to Corin. “For that alone I owe you a great debt. I would not much like to live through that again.”
Corin frowned. “Again? What do you mean?”
Oberon shook his head. “Silly farces. Silly farces. What more can you report to me?”
Corin searched his memory. “Most of it you seem to know. That Ephitel collected writs of provender in order to buy guns and powder from the starving dwarves. That he has his regiment already armed. That he intended to collapse the plaza and isolate the palace. And that Kellen and the House of Violets acted as heroes in your name. They deserve a rich reward.”
“They do. I won’t deny it.”
“Oh! And there are heroes too among the dwarves. Even those who served the prince showed honor when it didn’t serve them. I beg some clemency on their behalf.”
Oberon spread his arms. “They will not suffer by my hand. You have my word. I will spend what energy I can to protect them from Ephitel, but I must protect the city first.”
Corin felt some tension ease within his breast. “You have some plan for the city, then?”
“Of course, but it is complicated. It will take a mighty effort on my part, and I do not have much to spare.”
“Can I help? Corin asked.
“Or I?” asked Delaen.
“Or…or I?” Maurelle asked, her eyes wide.
Oberon gave a weary chuckle. “You all will help, in time.”
Corin frowned. “How much time is there?”