by Rachel Aaron
“Forgive my companion,” Sparrow said, his voice honeyed and dripping with sincerity. “She is a Spiritualist and a native of Zarin, and as such suffers from an overinflated sense of importance.” Miranda shot him a sharp look, and the grip on her arm tightened until she could no longer feel her fingers before he let go.
“It’s late,” Sparrow said. “Minds are tired and tempers are running short. I will bring your offer to my mistress and have an answer for you by morning. Thank you so much for your generous hospitality, King Izo.”
He bowed genteelly and turned on his heel, marching out of the hall. Miranda followed a second later, dragging Eli behind her. The thief went with a bemused grin on his face and a little wink at Sted, who was in the corner turning purple with rage while Sezri held him back. Gin joined them when they reached the keep stairs and fell in behind Eli, glaring straight at the thief with his teeth bared. Now that Gin was looking after their prisoner, Miranda was free to turn on Sparrow.
“We were just getting into negotiations,” she whispered. “Why did you make us leave?”
“Because it was time to leave,” Sparrow said. “Or didn’t you see the murder in the big one’s eyes?”
Miranda looked over her shoulder. Sure enough, she could see Sted through the iron gate shouting something at Izo, who was rising from his throne in red-faced fury as he answered.
“Stop looking,” Sparrow said sharply.
Miranda turned back to the torch-lit road. “Whatever you say; one night won’t make a difference,” she grumbled. “There’s no way you’re getting Whitefall up here.”
Sparrow’s grin vanished, and he looked sideways at her with a condescending sneer. “You assume too much, darling. There are two pillars that prop up the Council of Thrones. The first is Merchant Prince Whitefall; the second is Sara. If push came to shove she could have the entire Whitefall family up here tomorrow, and for a combination of Slorn, Eli Monpress, and the Heart of War, she just might. She’s been talking about that sword for years, but has never been able to find it.” His voice softened, and he tilted his head thoughtfully. “Who would have thought its current wielder would be traveling with the thief? Though it makes sense, considering the spectacular feats his group has pulled off.”
Eli burst out laughing at that, though the sound turned into a squeak when Gin bit him. Sparrow blithely ignored the entire affair.
“I’m going to check on Tesset,” he said. “Then I’ll drop by the infirmary to see this Heart of War for myself. You go back to the house and lock the thief down for the night. Tomorrow, I’ll answer Izo’s demands. You can come along if you promise to keep your mouth shut this time.”
“No promises,” Miranda said, halting at the door of the house they shared.
Sparrow didn’t even stop, he just waved his hand as he walked down the dirt street toward the barracks where the infirmary was set up. Miranda watched him go for a moment and then turned on her heel and stomped off the other way, looking for one of Izo’s men to bully into giving her her own building to stay in. Gin stayed close behind her, his eyes pinned on the water-bound Eli as he bumped along behind in his liquid prison.
Back in Izo’s hall the air was growing violently tense. Sted stood at the base of the stairs to Izo’s seat, held back only by Sezri’s slender hand across his chest. “You have no right!” he roared. “Liechten is mine!”
“I have every right!” Izo shouted back, standing before his throne with his hand on his sword. “Everything in this land is mine to do with as I please, and I will not have my rights disputed in front of my guests by one of my own men!”
“I’m none of yours!” Sted bellowed. “I’m no one’s servant! I am Berek Sted! I came back from death for this, and I will have my rematch with Josef Liechten even if I have to do it on your corpse!”
“Sted!” The demonseed’s thin fingers dug into the larger man’s cape-covered chest.
“No, Sezri.” Izo sneered. “Let the ox bellow. Your Master has been a good ally to me, but I will not be told how to handle my affairs. I rule this land, make no mistake, and I will use its prisoners as I see fit.” He sat back down on his throne, drawing his sword and laying it across his lap as he glared at Sted. “Leave. I grow tired of your tantrums. Tomorrow, I’ll decide what’s to be done with the swordsman. Beg your Master that I don’t also decide what’s to be done with you.”
For a moment, Sted’s eyes went wild. He pressed against Sezri until the smaller man began to tilt and it looked like Sted would fall on Izo like a tiger. But then, like a curtain falling over a lamp, the furious light went out. Sted stepped back, turned on his heel, and marched out of the hall, slamming the iron gate as he left. Sezri watched him leave, never moving until Sted’s enormous shadow vanished into the night.
“That,” he said, turning to look at Izo, “was a very foolish game to play.”
Izo waved dismissively. “I’ve been leading bandits for fifteen years. You think I don’t know how to handle men like Sted?”
“Sted isn’t one of your thugs.” Sezri’s voice was sharp with disgust. “Have you forgotten whom he serves?”
“Men like that don’t serve anyone but themselves,” Izo said, laughing. “Your Master is kidding himself if he thinks otherwise.”
“My Master sees all things,” Sezri said quietly. “It is by his goodwill alone that you have risen as far as you have. You would do well to keep that in mind.”
“He helped,” Izo said. “He gave me monsters like you, but I was the one who planned the raids, who beat the other bosses. I was the one who took every two-bit gang from here to the coast and turned them into an army capable of taking on Council cities. True, it would have taken me much longer without your Master’s aid, but he has received good payment for what he’s given. I’ve kept my end of the deal. Slaves flow from my camps to the Dead Mountain every day. Now it’s his turn. He promised to make me a king of the Council, and I will hold him to his debt.”
“And you shall be king,” Sezri said. “Offering them the swordsman was nothing but foolish arrogance and impatience.”
“Call it what you will,” Izo said. “I did what I had to do to make the Council move. If that upsets your Master’s deal with Sted, that’s not my problem. I’m not about to sit back and give up what I’m owed so your Master can pay another.”
Sezri clenched his fist. Izo’s arrogance was going too far. Inside him, he could feel the strength of the seed building, ready to lash out, to show this pathetic little man the true power of the Master. But before he could even think the command, the beloved voice filled his head.
Enough, Sezri.
The demonseed closed his eyes, nearly crying as the Master’s voice rolled across his mind.
Let the human do as he likes. All will be answered. Now, go and find a spirit you can devour without raising alarm. Your strength will be needed soon.
“Yes, Master,” Sezri whispered, bowing his head. “All will be as you command.”
The voice chuckled, sliding over his soul like a hand stroking a cat. Such a good child.
“What was that?” Izo’s voice snapped Sezri from his euphoria, and the demonseed glared in disgust at the tiny, human spirit on his makeshift throne.
“Do as you like,” Sezri said, turning on his heel. “King Izo.”
There was a scrape behind him as Izo stood up. “I hope you’re going to check on Sted.”
Sezri didn’t answer. He simply stepped into a shadow and vanished, sliding through the dark until all he could feel was the seed inside him and the fading power of the Master’s voice on his soul. He stopped when he reached the forest just beyond the city. There, in the dark shadow of the trees, he began to hunt for a spirit that would suit the Master’s purpose, unaware of the pair of animal eyes watching him from branches above.
• • •
Nico sat in the dark in the corner of the small house, her coat draped over her head like a funeral shroud. Directly across from her, the tall man in the brown coat s
at on a bench by the fire, staring at her. Outside, bandits were laughing and drinking; inside, the room was silent except for the low hissing of the coals. They hadn’t spoken a word to each other since the woods.
None of this would have happened if you’d just accept my gifts. The swordsman’s dead and it’s all your fault. You know that, don’t you?
Nico closed her eyes and buried her head in her knees.
Across the tiny room, the door opened, letting in a swirl of cold, smoky air before shutting again. Nico glanced up. A man wearing a green silk coat, green ballooning pants tucked into tall, polished boots, and a short blue cape with silver lining was standing in the entrance. He looked startlingly out of place, but the man sitting by the fire nodded a familiar greeting.
“Sparrow.”
“Tesset,” the foppish man replied as he bolted the door behind him.
The man in the brown coat, Tesset, waited until Sparrow was finished before asking, “How did it go?”
“The usual way,” Sparrow said, unhooking his cape with a shrug. “Wonderfully, then horribly, and finally stopping somewhere just short of acceptable. Izo’s no idiot, but he’s not subtle enough for politics. He played his hand straight and strong. Unfortunately, though not surprisingly, the Spiritualist and Monpress mucked things up. I had to make some large concessions, but I think we ended up with the better deal in the end.”
“What kind of concessions?”
“He wants his welcome to the Council issued by Whitefall himself,” Sparrow said, flopping down into a chair beside the fire. “Here, by the end of the month.”
Tesset winced. “That’s a tall order. Sara will have your skin.”
“I don’t think she’ll care one jot when she hears what she’ll be getting in exchange,” Sparrow said, grinning wide. “Not just the thief, but the Heart of War. Plus freedom to search for Slorn and all the other little things we’ll wring out once Izo’s prancing around in his crown like a little girl playing princess.”
Nico’s head shot up, and she wasn’t alone. Even Tesset’s eyes went wide.
“The Heart of War?” Tesset said. “You mean the great awakened sword?”
“You know of anything else with such a pretentious name?” Sparrow yawned. “I just got back from having a look for myself. No wonder no one recognizes it. It looks like a piece of junk. Great big dented black metal monstrosity, almost as bad as those Fenzettis Sara made us hunt down last year. It didn’t even glow. Even the cheap awakened swords glow, but I didn’t see a thing.”
“How do you know it’s real, then?” Tesset said. “Sara won’t be happy if you make her pull strings for a bluff.”
“Who do you take me for?” Sparrow scoffed. “I tried to pick it up, but I couldn’t even move the hilt. Couldn’t even wiggle it. That sword has the weight of a mountain, just like Sara said. Fortunately, its wielder is still breathing or we’d be in real trouble, paying through the nose for a sword we can’t move.”
“Josef’s alive?”
Both men turned to glare at her, but Nico didn’t care. Her relief was like a crushing weight on her chest, grinding every other concern into dust. “Is he all right?”
Sparrow considered a moment before answering. “He’s alive for now, and less bloody than I’d expect. But seeing as he’s under the questionable care of Izo’s surgeons, all of whom seem to be bandits no more intelligent or sober than the common rabble, that’s all I can say for now.”
Nico took a deep breath, and Sparrow chuckled.
“This must be what they call ‘loyalty among thieves,’ ” he said. “Your concern is truly touching, but I suggest you worry less about the swordsman and more about yourself, darling. Of every piece of this expedition, yours is the most expendable. The only reason you’re alive right now is because of Slorn.”
Nico shrank back into her coat. “Slorn?”
“You’re something of a consolation prize,” Sparrow said, taking off his boots. “Slorn’s research on demonseeds and the corresponding nature of the spirits they inhabit is priceless. However, with the death of his current experimental specimen, my mistress is worried he’ll drift out of the field. That’s why we’re giving him you. Sara has long known of Slorn and Eli’s friendship and the coats he makes to hide your … condition. Your job will be to keep Slorn happy, give him something to study once we bring him back to Zarin. Assuming, of course, we can find him at all.” Sparrow frowned in annoyance. “He’s being very difficult at the moment. But don’t fret, darling. If nothing else, we’ll trade you in to the League. Sara just loves having Alric owe her favors.”
He spoke so fast his words made Nico dizzy. He reminded her of Eli when the thief was making a particular effort to be as difficult as possible. Still, his point was clear enough. She was a payoff, either to Slorn or to the League. That alone gave her leverage, and if Eli had taught her anything, it was that leverage was never something to waste.
“If I cooperate,” Nico said slowly, “will you make sure Josef gets what he needs to heal?”
“Of course,” Sparrow said. “Considering we need his carcass to haul the Heart of War, he’s safer than you. Though don’t go getting any ideas. This can be as pleasant as you choose to make it. Sit in your corner like a good girl, don’t give Tesset any excuse to do what we pay him to do, and everything will be nice and smooth.” He reached into his waist pocket and pulled out something that looked like a blue glass ball on a leather thong, which he proceeded to roll between his fingers. “I’ve got to report in and get Sara to agree to all this, and then I’m going to bed. Tesset, since you never seem to sleep anyway, you’ve got night watch.”
Tesset nodded, never taking his eyes off Nico as Sparrow stood and climbed the ladderlike stairs into the house’s upper loft. There was some commotion as he settled into bed, and then a blue glow flashed in the dark. It shimmered for a moment, cold and watery on the cabin’s pointed ceiling, before vanishing as he threw his covers over it. If she strained her ears, Nico could just make out Sparrow’s hushed voice speaking as though he were having a conversation. No matter how hard she listened, however, she couldn’t make out the words. Eventually, she sat back against the wall and turned her attention to Tesset, who hadn’t moved an inch from his seat by the fire.
Unbidden, her eyes went to the smooth, unmarred skin of his throat, and the black arm she kept buried against her chest began to itch and tremble. How had he done it? She’d felt the connection open, felt the demon as it started to eat him. How had he pushed it back?
Across the room, Tesset’s eyes flicked from the fire to meet hers again. “You’re wondering how I stopped you?”
Nico froze. Could he read minds as well?
“Go on,” he said. “Ask. The first step toward knowledge is a question.”
Nico bit her lip. This could be a bluff, a trick to get her to reveal a weakness. But the man across from her didn’t seem like the tricky type, and Sparrow had made it perfectly clear she meant little to them. Underneath her coat, her arm was itching more than ever, and she decided to risk it.
“How did you do it?”
“I’ve already told you,” Tesset answered. “Back in the woods. You could not eat me because I did not will it.”
“I don’t understand,” Nico said. “Will stops spirits, not demons.”
“And what are you?” Tesset said.
Nico looked down at the floor. “A demonseed.”
“Wrong,” Tesset snapped. “The demonseed is what’s inside you. But you are a human, the greatest spirit of all. The spirit with will, who can control all others.”
“That’s not true,” Nico said. “A wizard can’t control another human.”
Tesset stood up, pulling his bench closer to Nico’s corner until he was almost on top of her. “We have a long night ahead,” he said, sitting down. “Let me tell you a story.”
“What kind of story?” Nico said, pressing her back to the wall. This close, it took all of her strength to keep her arm from lashing o
ut again. She kept it pinned behind her, the long demon claws scraping at the back of her coat.
“The best kind,” Tesset said, settling in with no care for the danger of being so close to a demonseed. “A true one.”
He gave her a knowing smile and began.
“I was born in these mountains, and like all male children born here, I joined a bandit gang as soon as I was old enough to follow orders. I was a hotheaded boy with a small, closed mind and a knack for getting in fights. A good bandit, in other words. I was also a wizard, someone who could listen to the winds and trees passably well. A powerful combination, and one that landed me a nice position in Mel’s Red Fist, the largest and most fearsome of the bandit gangs at that time. I loved being in the Red Fist. This was thirty years ago, before the Council of Thrones was around to give bandits a hard time. Pickings were fat, and we were the richest, scariest guys around. That’s a heady thing for a kid, and I was deadly loyal to Mel, the man who’d brought it all together and the greatest fighter I’d ever seen.
“The day after I turned seventeen, we returned to our camp to find a man waiting for us. This wasn’t unusual. We often had vagabonds and deserters from other bandit gangs show up begging to join the Red Fist, but this man was different. He was the largest man I’d ever seen. He had no weapon, and he was dressed in rags and cast-off furs, but the way he carried himself made other fighters look like bumbling toddlers. He just stood there in the center of camp as we rode in, making our usual ruckus, and when we were quiet, he asked which of us was the boss.
“After a good laugh at the stranger’s expense, Mel rode forward and announced that he was the leader of the Red Fist. As soon as he said this, the stranger challenged him to a fight. He’d heard Mel was the strongest of the bandit leaders, having the biggest, strongest gang and a nasty reputation as a dirty fighter, and he wanted to see for himself. Mel said this was all true and accepted the challenge. While Mel got his ax, we stood around laughing and arguing over who would get stuck digging a grave for this idiot who was stupid enough to challenge our boss. The stranger, however, was still unarmed. Mel told the man to draw a weapon, and the stranger replied that he would if he needed one. This made Mel furious, and he charged, meaning to cut the stranger’s head off. The next moment, Mel was on the ground in a pool of his own blood and the stranger was walking away.”