by Dorian Hart
Kibi looked on stoically. Mrs. Horn was dead, and Grey Wolf had been magicked away. If Ernie died, it would leave just five of them, and even he could see that was a poor rate of attrition. And he liked Ernie. The boy was a good soul, and on top of that there were the golden circlets that linked them together.
Dranko took out a silver pendant and draped it around his neck, then knelt before Ernie and put his hands right on the damp ruin of the boy’s chest.
“Lord Delioch, I pray for your intervention. I pray for healing, that this man be made sound and whole.”
Nothing happened. It was just like in Verdshane with Mrs. Horn. Kibi fought down an urge to say something encouraging. Tor bit his lip.
“Please, Lord, I entreat you,” said Dranko. It was odd, hearing such serious, pious words coming out of Dranko’s irreverent mouth. “Let Ernie be made sound and whole.”
Ernie breathing was ragged, his eyes closed. There was no golden light shining from Dranko’s fingers the way there had been on the ship when he had healed Morningstar. Dranko continued to pray, rocking back and forth on his knees, hands covered in Ernie’s blood.
“Come on, Dranko…” Tor whispered.
Ernie stopped breathing.
Dranko lifted one hand from Ernie’s chest and wiped his own brow with his forearm, as though his prayers were physically taxing. Maybe the pain he was in from Hodge’s fire was keeping him from concentrating. He pressed his hand down again; gore oozed between his fingers.
“I know the price!” Dranko’s voice was hoarse. “Damn it, Delioch, take whatever you need! Let Ernie be made—”
Light burst outward from Dranko’s fingertips, spilling over Ernie and flooding down the aisle between the pews. Kibi was forced to close his eyes, so bright was the blessing of Delioch, and when he opened them again, Ernie’s skin was smooth and unburnt. Dranko swayed on his knees but managed to steady himself with one hand against the floor.
“Burn cream,” he slurred. “For the rest. Green stuff in the round jar.”
And with that he toppled over, head falling onto Ernie’s torso, and he immediately began to snore.
There was no doubt about Dranko, that was sure. For all his goblin blood and hard drinking and foul language, the man was right in Delioch’s favor. Kibi rooted around in Dranko’s pack until he found the salve, then divvied it up among the others. There wasn’t enough, but a single jar was better than nothing. Morningstar was worse off than the rest. Though Dranko’s healing had cured her of the burns suffered in the desert, her skin was still pale and sensitive to heat, so Kibi doled out an extra dollop for her. Same for Aravia, who still hadn’t recovered fully from the sunburns suffered on her trek across the Mouth of Nahalm. She was staggered after blasting Hodge’s door off its hinges. Tor was less badly off, more shaken up than injured, though his fingers were badly blistered from where he had grabbed the hot brazier. Ernie was in perfect health and was sleeping peacefully with Dranko on top of him.
Thank the Gods no one was burned too badly. He and Tor had cut short Hodge’s ritual just in time. And as for himself, Kibi wasn’t burned a bit, aside from his beard. The fires of Hodge had felt warm to him, but obviously nothing like what the others had experienced. He chalked it up to having been farthest away from Hodge when the man had done his magicking—that and a dollop of good luck. He said a quick prayer to Corilayna, Goddess of Fortune, and took stock of their situation.
“We got hours yet before sundown, but we oughta be well out a’ here by then,” he said to those companions who were conscious. “I ain’t got no desire to try convincin’ the townsfolk that we killed their priest a’ Brechen because he was actually worshippin’ some foreign fire god.”
He thought some more. “Course, only way out is by ship, and the only harbor is by the town. But we’ll work that out once you’re all feelin’ better. In the meantime I guess I’ll see what Hodge has been keepin’ in his office. Will you be okay restin’ here?”
No one objected, so while everyone else recovered, Kibi ventured into Hodge’s office.
The door had been wrenched out of its frame by the force of Aravia’s magic, which was mightily impressive. Inside the place was in a bit of a shambles, not even considering Hodge’s body or the pool of blood under it. Hodge had not been one for cleanliness or organization, leaving clothing, papers, and religious accoutrements out in untidy piles. There was a desk and a wardrobe, the former covered with various Brechenish holy books and some candle stubs, the latter filled mostly with Brechenish vestments, though with one long red robe forced all the way to one side.
There was nothing incriminating to be found, not in or on the desk, not in the wardrobe, and not in the large trunk pushed up against the back wall. The trunk was half-filled with intricate scrimshaw, which Kibi had not seen before, but it seemed like something an authentic priest of Brechen would keep. Hodge had been thorough in maintaining his pretense.
As Kibi closed the trunk, he felt an odd twinge. It was a jarring resonance in his bones, warning him of a mismatch between his observations and the reality of the room. He placed his palm against the cold stone wall. A whisper tickled his mind.
Behind the trunk.
He crouched down and shoved the trunk aside easily; the wall behind it was slightly discolored. Where two masonry seams met, the mortar was curiously indented. Kibi pushed the indentation with his thumb. There was a click, some hidden mechanism in the wall whirred and slid, and a large section of the wall pivoted on a camouflaged hinge.
Kibi whistled. “Nice bit a’ work.” He stepped through the revealed door into a hidden room, not much more than a glorified closet. There wasn’t enough light in it to see, but when he had fumbled for his light-coin and held it up, he discovered a second trunk, an enormous redwood chest banded with gold. Kibi slowly lifted the lid.
Its interior was nearly full, packed with a variety of fascinating treasures. On the top was a two-foot-tall bronze statuette of a man with his arms raised, his mouth open in a scream, painted flames all over his body. Kibi picked it up, hefted it, grimaced at its lifelike expression of a person who was burning to death, and set it aside.
Kibi next withdrew a half-dozen bottles of dark red wine and a smaller flask filled with brandy. Beneath those was a collection of little pyramids made of a lightweight red-gold metal. Each was four inches to the edge. He wasn’t familiar with the alloy. One by one he took these out of the trunk until he had counted twenty-seven.
Near the bottom was a red leather-bound book, its cover showing a burning man in the same pose and proportions as the bronze statuette. Kibi flipped it open to a random page, but the writing was in a foreign language. As he tossed it to the side, a single loose leaf of aged parchment fluttered out from just inside the front cover. This had only two short written paragraphs, and though the first was in the same unintelligible language, the second was in archaic but understandable Chargish. Kibi read.
As the Emperor was driven out, so were we also, for a long season, a bitter season and a cold. But in the Book of the Burning God it is so writ, of the land beyond the Churning Sea, a Ventifact Colossus will again walk the earth and three Stormknights will lay it low. Then, on the fingertip of lands once ours, the Gate will be open, forced ajar with souls, and the Children of the Burning God will return to conquer.
Kibi read this over several times and frowned. Aravia would be better suited to decipher its meaning. He slid the parchment back into the leather book and peered into the trunk to see what remained inside.
His thoroughness was well rewarded. Pushed up against the front panel of the chest was a small leather bag half-full of small rubies. Kibi didn’t possess Dranko’s ability to gauge their value, but he guessed they might fetch a couple dozen crescents all told.
Finally, rolled up at the bottom and pushed to the back of the trunk was an orange carpet tied up with three loops of red silk ribbon. Kibi figured that was a prayer mat, but he pulled it out anyway and stacked it with everything else. After lean
ing bodily into the trunk with his light-coin to make certain it was empty, he made several trips to carry the plunder out to the sanctuary, stepping over the stiffening corpse of Hodge each time. Tor watched him, and Kibi knew the boy would be happily helping him if his fingers hadn’t been so scorched.
Aravia wobbled over and sat down next to Tor. “What’s all that?” she asked, pointing to where Kibi had piled up the contents of Hodge’s trunk.
“Hodge’s stuff. Figured we’d take as much with us as we could. There’s some kind a’ prophecy you should take a look at.”
Aravia stepped up onto the pew and looked out over the nave. “Looks like Ernie and Dranko are the only ones out. Kibi, I can get us straight home from here without needing a ship. We must get everyone together, in physical contact, and someone needs to be carrying everything we want to take with us.”
It took Kibi a moment to work through all that. “Are you sayin’ you can magic us all out a’ here?”
“Yes. In theory. Teleporting. That’s most of what I’ve been studying since we last left the Greenhouse. I’m confident it will work.”
“You sure, missy? You look like someone’s been beatin’ you with a stick.”
Aravia stood up a bit straighter. “I’m not sure. But I’m confident, and we don’t have a choice. You’re right about the townsfolk. Either they’re unwitting dupes, in which case they’ll think we killed their priest, or they’re all in league, in which case—they’ll think we killed their priest.”
Kibi clicked his tongue. Gods, what a mess. He stuffed as many of the little metal pyramids into his pack as would fit, and was able to carry the book and the sack of rubies. Morningstar took the idol, and Tor held the rolled-up carpet.
They gathered in a circle around Ernie and Dranko, both still lying unconscious.
“Morningstar, make sure you’re in physical contact with Ernie. Kibi, same with you for Dranko. You and Tor should also put a hand on my shoulder; everyone needs to be in contact either with me or with someone I’m in contact with. Even just touching them with your foot is fine, but I very much do not want to leave them behind. Everyone ready?”
Kibi shoved his foot under Ernie’s shoulder to be certain and placed a hand on Aravia’s shoulder as instructed.
“This should take about thirty seconds,” said Aravia. “And I need to say a number of syllables quite quickly in that time, and perform intricate gestures with my fingers. Please don’t distract me. Right?”
“Right,” said Morningstar. Kibi just nodded.
Aravia cast her spell, speaking so quickly he couldn’t begin to guess what words she was saying. Her fingers danced and twirled, her hand flexed, and…
Starry black flying vertigo darkness hurricane screaming shifting…
…and something even more uncomfortable happened at the end, as if he had been shunted, violently, about twenty feet to one side. It felt like the whole world had tilted quickly, then righted itself.
All of that took about five seconds, and he stood, blinking rapidly, in front of the Greenhouse door.
Morningstar looked at him with some relief. “There you are. I was starting to think you hadn’t come with us.”
Kibi couldn’t focus on what Morningstar was saying; his innards were still swirling like water in a washtub.
“Oh,” said Aravia. “The Greenhouse is protected from that kind of ingress. Should have thought of that. By the Gods, I’m tired. I think I’ll—”
She lay down suddenly on the front path and closed her eyes.
Kibi looked around, impressed. The girl had done it!
“You go on ahead,” he said to Tor and Morningstar. “I’ll carry these three inside.”
* * *
With Morningstar’s assistance, Kibi set Aravia and Dranko down gently on couches in the living room and propped Ernie in a padded armchair. With many apologies Tor headed up to his room to immerse his hands in cold water. Morningstar likewise excused herself to lie down after all were inside. Only when everyone was settled in did Kibi stump upstairs, intending to wash away the soot and grime he had acquired during their encounter with Hodge. He found two things amiss.
First, the door to the secret room was open, and it had been closed when they had departed for Seablade Point. Maybe Abernathy had called and chatted with their butler while they were away, or Eddings had just been dusting in there and forgotten to shut the door behind him. He poked his head into the little room with the crystal ball and found it undisturbed. Well, no matter; he’d ask Eddings about it later.
His own room was the next down from that one, and there he discovered the second disturbing thing: Abernathy himself was sprawled out on his bed, face down, limbs splayed, as though he had gotten himself drunk and wandered into the Greenhouse by mistake before passing out. His body was outlined in that blue radiance that meant he was both here and still in his tower; Kibi never quite understood how that was supposed to work.
He hurried over and turned the old wizard onto his back, then drew away in shock. One side of Abernathy’s face was badly burned, and the other had three oozing claw marks raked across the cheek. His torn, singed robes were spattered with blood and shimmered with tiny flakes of something like red-orange mica schist. It was as if someone had sprinkled him with rock dust.
Abernathy’s eyes fluttered open.
“Kibi…”
“Mister Abernathy, what in the Gods’ names happened to you?”
“Listen to me,” Abernathy whispered. Kibi had to put his face all the way to Abernathy’s to hear. “The…blood gargoyle. Attacked my tower. I was prepared to fight it off, thanks to your warning, but still…still…”
“Sir, you need help, but Dranko’s out cold. What should I—”
“Listen! While I was…distracted fighting the gargoyle, something…new got through at Verdshane. Not…not Naradawk, but someone very dangerous. Salk…saw him as he made the crossing; a man wearing the…crimson armor…Naradawk’s servant.”
Even Kibi could add two and two. Morningstar’s dream-assailant!
“Kibi…” Abernathy was gasping out his whispers now, his chest bucking with silent punctuating coughs. “I’ll be…fine…eventually, but…we need the Crosser’s Maze. Arch…Kivian Arch…counting on you…”
Kibi wanted to fetch the others but refused to leave Abernathy alone. “What about yer archmage friends? Can’t they help?”
“Busy,” Abernathy wheezed. “All they can do to…keep Naradawk out…has to be…has to be you.”
Abernathy’s eyes closed, and his coughing ceased. For a terrified moment Kibi was sure the wizard was dead, but the old man’s chest still rose and fell, barely.
“Abernathy? We just came from the arch. It ain’t open! And somethin’ happened to Grey Wolf; he’s gone missin’. You need to tell us what to do next. Abernathy!”
But the old wizard was comatose.
Kibi knew he should go tell the others right away, but he had to sit a minute. It was too overwhelming. Here he was, in a fancy house in a city far from his home, magicked there by the world’s most powerful wizard and charged with protecting the kingdom from an ever-expanding roster of enemies—cultists, fire-worshippers, a locked-up monster king, a guy who could stab you in dreams—and now, here was that wizard, injured and unconscious, in his own room, having just reminded him that the survival of Charagan hinged on the efforts of him and his companions.
The Gods had made him strong, but damn if they weren’t giving him a heavy burden to shoulder.
“I ain’t cut out fer this,” Kibi muttered. “Better warn the rest.”
He turned to go, but something out of place caught his attention, something sitting on the lip of the water tub in the corner. He stared at it for a moment, his distracted brain a bit slow in recognizing it.
It was Bumbly, Ernie’s stuffed bear, its head drooped low over its chest.
Kibi took a step towards it, and at his approach the head perked up and its left eye blazed green. Living crystal sprea
d across the bear’s face from its embedded gemstone, then down its body until the entire animal looked carved from frosted jade.
“Not now, you blasted bear!”
It wasn’t enough that Abernathy was out cold in Kibi’s room. He was tired and still woozy from being teleported, and this whole thing felt like a mostly bad dream, and now his mysterious talking green rock was coming to life again? Gods, it was too much!
I LACK TWO WILLING BROTHERS.
“You said that before!” Kibi shouted at it. “Just tell me what you want and stop with your stupid riddlin’!”
YOU MUST BRING MY BROTHERS. ONE IS CLOSE.
“Are your brothers more Eyes of Moirel, like you?”
IN THE YOUNG HILLS EASTWARD, THE WATER BENDS ’ROUND. A MOUTH OPENS. INSIDE IS MY BROTHER.
“Dammit, be more specific!”
HASTEN. THE SHARSHUN SEEK US, AND IF THEY FIND US, THEY WILL UNMAKE THE WORLD.
“But I don’t…”
KEEP ME SAFE, KIBILHATHUR.
The Eye dropped from the bear’s socket and clunked onto the wooden floor. Bumbly quickly shed its green coating into the air and toppled backward into the empty tub. Kibi picked up the Eye of Moirel, no longer colored, just a large round diamond with a tiny heart of jet.
“Guess Abernathy’s trunk weren’t good enough,” Kibi said wearily to the diamond. “Not sure how to keep you any safer.”
* * *
Kibi was unused to talking, but he had a lot to say.
Finally, two hours before midnight, everyone was awake at the same time. Kibi could have knocked over any of the company with a feather. It had been a long, trying day, a bloody day after a late night camping in the woods, but he knew he shouldn’t wait until morning.
“I got some things you’ll all want to hear.”