by Mark Eller
Frowning with worry, Joss traveled down two familiar streets, and then on a whim, turned down a lane he had never traveled before. The people down this way, he saw, looked slightly more prosperous and in less of a hurry than at his last station. Before long, he reached a place where street venders were almost absent and none of the storefronts owned peeling paint.
This, Joss thought, might do. He paused in the center of the street, looked at the falling sun, released his frown into a forced smile, and raised his voice.
“Witness the miracles of Nedross,” he intoned. “Is your heart broken, your cupboards bare, or your spirit empty? Nedross will answer your need. Nedross will grant peace to your soul and health to your body. Come to him; worship him at temple, and he will—”
When a heavy hand fell on his shoulder and twisted him slightly around, Joss found himself staring up into the face of a scruffy, scar-cheeked man.
“You got it wrong,” the man said, a forced smile pasted on his cruel lips. “Nedross doesn’t like to be worshiped. Just say a prayer to him when you’re up against it and he’ll help out if he happens to be listening and isn’t too busy with something more important— like taking a nap. Otherwise, shut up and leave him alone.”
Reaching up, Joss tried to pry the man’s fingers from his shoulder but they were like bands of steel. “I assure you, sir, Nedross is a god. Like any other god, he wants our worship and our alms. He—”
The man shook his head and frowned. “Nope. You got it wrong. Nedross never asks for money. I should know since I invented him.” He cocked his head slightly to one side. “Up until about two minutes ago I thought I was his only priest. Imagine my surprise when I heard you speak up. So how much does this scam get you?”
Joss tried to break free once more. Failed. Apparently, steel was weak when compared to this man’s grip. Well, Joss’s body was weak in comparison, at the least. His shoulder was already numb.
“It’s not a scam,” he insisted. “Nedross is real. He has a high priest and a temple right here in Grace. He does miracles.”
“The only temples remaining in Grace belong to Zorce or Athos,” the scar-faced man pointed out. “Vere won’t allow any others.”
“The king gave Count Wencheck special dispensation,” Joss corrected him, wondering if his arm would ever work again. This fellow was really, really strong.
The man’s face stilled. “Wencheck?”
“Nedross’s High Priest on earth,” Joss said. “Do you know him?”
“Intimately,” the man said. “He almost hung a friend of mine for sleeping with his daughter.” Turning his head, he spat contemptuously on the ground. “Hell, everybody but me has fucked his daughter. The wench doesn’t know how to keep her legs closed.”
“Nedross’s Priestess Whore,” Joss supplied.
“What?”
“Meliandra Wencheck. She’s Nedross’s Priestess Whore. For a suitable donation, she’ll give Nedross’s blessing to any man through the use of her body.”
The man ran an angry hand through his hair. His scowl grew deeper. “This isn’t right,” he snapped. “I’ve taken what wasn’t mine. I’ve killed men who tried to stop me, but I’ve never laid claim to an idea somebody else invented and then twisted it up into something so obscene.” He released a bitter laugh. “You’re coming with me. There are some people I want you to meet.”
Swallowing, Joss searched desperately around for some sort of succor. Nobody seemed to be paying them much mind. Unfortunate, because he suddenly didn’t feel so very comfortable with this conversation. “Um… do I have a choice?”
“There’s always a choice,” the man said, fingering a knife hilt near his waist. “For instance, I could choose to kill you right here.”
“In front of all these people!” Joss yelped.
“Yep,” the man said nonchalantly. “People seldom involve themselves in somebody else’s troubles. Killed more than one man in the middle of a crowd without nobody raising a hand or saying boo. Let’s go, kid. You‘ve a queen to meet.”
* * * *
Joss chewed a chunk of chicken, gulped down a swallow of a sweet red wine, and decided if being kidnapped meant a fellow got to eat like this then he was going to get kidnapped more often. Looking down at his empty plate he belched happily and released a satisfied sigh.
“Are you finished?” the woman claiming to be Queen Elise asked. Her plate was also empty, but only because it had been set before her for the sake of politeness and not to hold food. On one side of the woman sat the scar-faced man whose name, Joss had discovered, was Harlo. On the other side sat a rather ineffectual looking fellow going by the name of Ludwig. Joss found it easy to keep the two separated in his mind. Harlo was the fellow owning a scarred face and a killer’s eyes. Ludwig seemed almost effeminate in a rough, unkempt way, and he wore an amulet about his neck.
Except for those three and Joss the rundown tavern was empty. Even the cook, a dangerous looking rat-faced fellow, left once he set the plates down on the table. Overall, it was exactly the type of place a fellow would expect to meet over-indulged royalty more used to having servants wipe their ass than to actually being useful.
Or perhaps not.
“I never met a queen before,” Joss said carefully. Remembering his manners, he wiped his hands clean on his tunic and cleaned his greasy lips with a sleeve. After all, queen or not, at least one of the others was most decidedly a woman. “I always thought a queen would have softer hands and wear some type of brocade and lace dress instead of trousers. Kinda figured their attendants would be dressed better, too.”
“A dress,” the supposed queen said, “is very unhandy when a person needs to wield a sword. As for the hands, my father would curse my name if I ever lost the calluses he made me earn.” Leaning slightly forward, she studied him with eyes that seemed to dissect his soul. “Tell me of this temple you serve. How has dear Count Wencheck worked his way around the new laws? Who are you, and why are you working his scam?”
Joss shrugged, seeing no reason not to answer since the Harlo fellow looked more than a little dangerous. “I’m just a fake magician trying to make his way. I used to give street shows, using slight-of-hand and some other tricks to convince people I had real magic. The count saw me working a few weeks back and decided he wanted me for a priest because some of my tricks could be passed off as miracles.” Shifting in his seat, he looked towards the tavern’s closed door, wondering at his chances of escape. Since they seemed low, he leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Just so you’re aware, Wencheck knows some real magic. He put me under a geas of obedience and laid a seeking spell on me. He always knows where I am so if you’re thinking of doing something unkind to me—” He shrugged again, a motion which was quickly becoming a favorite move. “—well, he’ll know where I am.”
“Tirelle,” the queen said.
“Paltry spells,” a thin, female voice replied.
Surprised, Joss jerked his gaze around to see who spoke, then suddenly realized the voice existed only within his mind.
“I took care of the things as soon as he walked through the door,” the voice added.
Elise relaxed and smiled. “Thank your lady, Ludwig.”
Ludwig frowned. “I didn’t ask her to do it.”
“All the more reason why you should thank her,” Elise pointed out.
Ludwig touched a hand to his amulet. “Thank you Tirelle.”
“Do you love me now?” the amulet demanded.
“No,” Ludwig answered.
Tirelle almost purred. “No matter. You will.”
“Getting back to the matter at hand—,” Elise broke in, “—the temple?” She fastened her expectant gaze on Joss.
Joss looked down at his plate and wished there was more food on it. Of late, good food had been in short supply, what with the count and his bitch daughter grabbing up almost everything he managed to scam. Calto Morlon could have provided him with some funds for food, Joss figured, but the self-centered bastar
d never gave much thought to things outside his goddess, revenge, and finding the damn lost girl, something hellkind also seemed to find important if the rumors Joss had encountered regarding hellborn spreading pretty much everywhere in search of the child proved true. It was something else he needed to pass on to Lord Morlon. According to three of the rumors, many of the better known hellborn seemed to be searching areas north of Grace.
“Wencheck needed money and people need hope,” Joss told Elise. “King Vere recognized that most people don’t want to work hard and sacrifice just to earn a better place in Hell, but he also didn’t want to invite the other gods back into his kingdom. When Wencheck approached him about creating a church to worship a non-existent god, Vere jumped on the idea and ordered Wencheck to see it done and loaned him Trelsar’s ruined temple. Said he figured Trelsar wouldn’t mind since the meddlesome god had originally stolen it from Flinstar. Happened only a few weeks back. The temple already has almost two thousand worshipers and at least twenty priests.”
“He’ll have one less after tonight,” Harlo growled. “Nedross is my god. I won’t have you changing his nature.”
Joss shifted uncomfortably in his chair. His forehead suddenly felt damp and his heart beat heavy. “I’m not sure I can stop preaching. In fact, I don’t even know if I want to stop. Nedross might not be real, but Wencheck is at least partly right. People need hope, and I’m one of the people giving it to them. Yeah, it’s a lie, but sometimes when I’m talking it almost seems like Nedross is listening.”
“Oh good gods,” Ludwig exclaimed. “Listen kid. Nedross isn’t one of the Nine and Two. Trust me on this. I was there when Harlo invented him, and I’ve listened to the fellow prattle this nonsense ever since.”
“Seven,” Harlo said.
“What.”
“Four virtuous gods. Three neutral gods who are most often lumped in with the virtuous ones, and the two gods of Hell. That makes for the Seven and Two.”
“Unless you count Nedross and the several dozen other made up gods,” Ludwig snapped. “Who has the time to keep track of how many gods there are? Who even knows if the Seven are real?” Grabbing his wine tumbler, he emptied it in one long swallow and glared at them all. His face had the slightly slack look of someone who’d had more than a little too much to drink.
“How often,” mused Elise, “does my husband check up on the dear count?”
Joss shrugged again because it beat using a hand gesture Harlo might interpret as him going for a weapon. “The count has a disguised devil always at his side. I suppose the devil must report to somebody.
“Devils,” Queen Elise muttered, “can be a problem.” She reached out and patted Joss’s hand. “We need a spy. How would you like to help overthrow my husband?”
Joss tried to swallow with a suddenly dry mouth. The woman seemed awfully sure of herself. Maybe she was the dispossessed queen. Stranger things had been known, such as hellkind crawling out of holes in the ground. “I’d rather not get involved in anything so drastic. People tend to die in revolutions.”
“Yes,” Elise agreed. “But sometimes it’s the people on the other side who do the dying.” Her back stiffened. Her neck straightened, and her face shifted into planes and lines that spoke determination and right. The slightly ridiculous appearance of a woman wearing a man’s clothing in a rundown tavern disappeared. Joss suddenly had no doubt he did, indeed, speak to a queen.
Queen Elise pierced him with her stare. “I seek a one-handed man who bears an evil imbued hook at the end of his empty left arm,” she said. “His face is scared, and it is rumored he travels with a female vampire. I also seek a young child who was kidnapped by hellkind. Have you seen such, or heard any rumors?”
Joss’s mind ran through the day’s events for several moments before he managed to pull up two faces. “Maybe,” he admitted. “I saw a woman as pale as a vampire earlier today. She walked with a scar-faced man, but I didn’t look to see if his hand was missing. As for the girl,” he shifted uneasily, “rumor says the hellborn are looking all over for her. Most of the stronger ones are looking north of Grace. Um, if it helps any with the vampire thing, I saw the scar-faced man speak briefly to a woman named Gertunda, some kind of arristo fallen on hard times, but you won’t get much out of her. Meliandra told me a demon is making her a special guest of Nedross’s temple tonight.”
Ludwig abruptly straightened, all pretense of boredom gone. “Is this Gertunda a woman of passable appearance but possessing a horrible demeanor?”
“That describes her fairly accurately,” Joss admitted, “except the horrible disposition part. I don’t know her well enough to judge. Um, she’s several months pregnant and an aristo if it helps you place her?”
Ludwig ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “You are unfortunately vague and unhelpful. If the woman is who I suspect, she is my wife. Since I have not laid eyes on her in several years, her pregnancy has nothing to do with me.” He grinned briefly, and then grimaced. “Apparently, my extended absence has not lessened her appetites.”
Queen Elise caught Joss’s eye. “You will return to my wayward count and serve him as he desires. While doing so, you will fulfill a task.”
Joss shook his head. “I won’t betray you, but I won’t help you either.”
“You would disobey your queen?”
Joss released a bitter laugh and shuddered. He smelt the sudden stink of his fear. Ludwig did not seem like much of a threat, but Joss had no doubt Harlo would kill him on little more than a whim.
“Obeying my queen sets me on the path of treason against my king. Besides, I’ve no proof you’re Queen Elise beyond your say-so. It isn’t as if me and the queen travel the same social circles.”
Her eyes were ice daggers. “So be it. Tirelle, replace the spells you removed. Harlo, make sure this tavern burns once our young magician is gone. I’ll leave no psychic trail for my husband’s masters to follow us by.”
Cold shock struck Joss. “Wait! You can’t put those spells back on me. It isn’t right.”
“Right!” Elise’s face was unforgiving granite. “What right was there when my husband murdered my child? What right when the Seven were cast out of Grace, and then out of the kingdom entirely? Where is right when my subjects die every day to appease the appetites of Athos’s minions?” Her lips curled with contempt. “What right when hellborn steal a child reputed to bear part of a goddess’s soul.”
Abruptly standing, she dropped a small gold coin on the tabletop. “We have filled your stomach with food, given you wine, and paid for your time. Now we return you to the exact condition in which we found you. You have no cause for complaint.”
“He will betray us,” Harlo warned. “I should kill him.”
“Let him betray us,” the queen snapped. “My husband knows we live. This coward can tell him nothing new. Leave him. We have a revolution to plan.”
She stormed out of the tavern, pulling the two men after her, leaving behind a bottle still containing a few dregs of fine wine.
Joss stared at the empty doorway for long moments. He leaned back in his chair, set his feet on the table, and thoughtfully lifted the wine bottle to guzzle the last of its sweet beverage.
Calto would be very interested in hearing this little tale. Apparently, the queen did still live, and it seemed she not only searched for the same child as Calto, but also planned rebellion against her husband. Well, be that as it may, he wasn’t in the business of chasing down lost kids, and her rebellion was one Joss couldn’t join. It was difficult enough being Calto’s spy against the man to whom Joss was a spellbound slave. Joining a second revolution against the Hell forged tyranny of king and gods would be impossibly awkward. After all, a fellow could only stretch himself so thin before something snapped.
* * * *
Three bells after midnight, long after most sensible people were abed, Joss hesitantly climbed the temple steps and pulled open its new, gold embossed door. Inside, the temple was greatly changed from when
he first entered it several weeks earlier, shortly after the purge, or maybe he had first seen it within the last two or three days. Of late, he often became confused regarding time, probably because of Wencheck’s geas. Either way, the rubble he’d previously seen had been cleared. The floors were repaired and cleaned, and the leaning pillars were straightened. Once crooked or fallen wall sconces now held half a hundred lit candles, and the shattered altar was replaced with an ornate stand of twisted iron and silver which framed the stone carved image of Nedross stamping his foot down on a barren field. The image stood nine feet high and held a patina of great age, lending credence to Nedross being a long worshiped but often overlooked god. Joss didn’t doubt the statue really was old since it had been brought out of a long ignored castle cellar only the week before. The original inscription had called it Giant Walking. The new inscription named it Nedross CreatingTerra Scientia.
He looked above him to see a dark sky and a spattering of stars. So yeah, the temple’s roof was still missing.
Watching him, Meliandra leaned against the statue’s ornate framework, gently caressing the cool metal with one hand. Instead of the layered dress she normally wore, she was now dressed in men’s trousers and a low cut tunic. Beneath the tunic something made of wire mesh stretched tightly across her body, creating a pattern beneath her clothes and causing dark veins to protrude from her neck.
“You are the last we will admit,” she said. “The other’s wait below”
Joss swallowed and his knees began to shake. He’d hoped his procrastination would have shut him out of the event. In no way did he want to see what he suspected would happen soon. Unfortunately, the geas of obedience would not let him delay further. He might as well stop dithering and obey orders before the geas made its displeasure known to him in an unpleasantly painful way.
Nervously shifting, he felt his possible bag bump against his hip and winced at the unsubtle reminder he was a fraud. Not for the first time Joss wished he knew real magic instead of mere fakery. With true magic he could escape his geas and maybe even leave Grace. Hell, with the real shit he might even manage to kill this bitch before doing so.