A Painted Goddess

by Victor Gischler

“It would appear so,” Kent said dryly.

  Brasley helped Count Becham to his feet.

  “Why did you do that?” demanded the count.

  “Because it was doubtful you could affect the outcome of this unfortunate incident, and I’ll be damned if I’m going home to tell Fregga her father is dead if I could have prevented it,” Brasley said.

  “Oh, yes.” It was clear by the expression on Becham’s face that he was only just now considering his own mortality. “Thank you, my boy. Thank you.”

  Gant crossed the room and kissed the lord general on the lips. “How many of the other men and officers are with us?”

  “Not many,” the lord general said. “But the right ones.”

  “Secure the palace first,” Gant said. “Then the rest as we discussed.”

  The lord general gave Gant’s arm a squeeze, then left at a run to carry out his tasks.

  “I didn’t know you were going to do that,” Rina said.

  “I wasn’t quite sure myself if I’d go through with it or not,” Gant said. “No turning back now. I still wish you’d have married me. The nobility would have accepted me without question. I’m not quite sure how many will support me now.”

  “The lord general. He’s your . . . ?”

  “Yes. Nine years now.”

  “I’m sorry,” Rina said. “I’m sorry it’s going to be so difficult for you now.”

  “No, I’m sorry,” Gant said. “It was wrong of me to make you feel obligated, to make you feel like it was your responsibility to solve my problems.”

  “Speaking of problems, I have a feeling it’s about to get loud around here,” Rina said. “I’d consider it a great favor if I could get horses for me and my people. And maybe show us the back door.”

  Gant laughed. “Kent has something better in mind. I’ll leave you in his hands. Good luck to you, Rina Veraiin.”

  “And to you, Gant.”

  He turned to leave, but she grabbed his wrist. “Duke Sherrik.”

  “I’ll send troops,” Gant said. “I promise.” And then he was gone.

  It took about thirty seconds for Brasley to convince his father-in-law to go back to his estate and lock all the doors.

  “Go and get your people,” Kent said. “Then meet me, and I’ll see you on your way. And hurry. The king’s demise won’t be a secret for long.”

  “Meet you where?” Rina asked.

  “Our young Baron Hammish knows,” Kent said.

  “Oh, yes,” Brasley said, realizing what Kent meant. “I believe I do.”

  They should have been suspicious when there were no guards at the front gate of the palace. They entered and paused in the gigantic reception foyer, where a single man in palace livery sprawled on the tile floor, a pool of blood spreading from beneath him.

  “Something’s happening,” Bishop Hark said.

  Maurizan eyed him sideways. “You think?”

  The racket of metal on metal followed by screams and shouts came from a hallway to the right. Hark grabbed Maurizan and yanked her into an alcove down behind the statue of some long-dead ruler holding a trident aloft. The racket entered the foyer, and Hark motioned for Maurizan to stay put while he peeked around the base of the statue. A small group of soldiers in the same livery as the dead man fought another group of soldiers in a different livery. Men on both sides fell before the battle moved on to another part of the palace.

  “What was that about?” Maurizan asked.

  “I don’t know,” Hark said. “But let’s go in the other direction.”

  They headed down a hallway, past other dead bodies here and there, and ran into a frumpy woman in a maid’s uniform coming the other direction. She seemed scared and started to flee back the way she’d come, but Maurizan yelled for her to stop.

  “We’re not part of this,” Maurizan said. “We just want to find our friends.”

  The maid paused, still poised to run away, and then she came back. “Okay.”

  “Do you know Rina Veraiin?” Hark asked. “Duchess Rina Veraiin.”

  “No.” The maid shook her head. “Sorry, no.”

  “Alem,” Maurizan said. “Very good looking, rode in with a message for the king.”

  “No.”

  “Baron Hammish,” Hark said. “Brasley Hammish.”

  The maid raised an eyebrow. “The one who always wants the wine?”

  “Yes!” Maurizan said. “The lazy, drunken, lecherous wastrel that always wants the wine.”

  “Follow me.”

  She took them up two flights of stairs, then pointed down a long hall and told them it was the guest wing. That was as much as she was willing to do, and she turned and fled.

  The hallway was filled with women frantically pulling on armor and throwing packs over their shoulders. It looked like they were trying to move out in a hurry.

  And then there he was among them. He was there. He was alive and right in front of her eyes.

  “Alem!” Maurizan screamed.

  Alem turned, eyes wide, and the gypsy girl slammed into him, wrapping her arms around him as they both went to the floor. She kissed him hard on the mouth and kept kissing, heedless of the Birds of Prey, who gathered around and laughed.

  A moment later, Duchess Veraiin was in the hall, chuma stick stuck in the corner of her mouth, expression emotionless. “Maurizan. Bishop Hark. Just in time to leave. Follow me.”

  Kent led them down a narrow, winding staircase down below the dungeons. Rina was right behind him, followed by Alem, Brasley, Maurizan, Hark, Knarr, and the Birds of Prey. Deeper into the bowels of the dungeon didn’t seem like an escape route, but Rina remembered Kork taking her out through a secret tunnel down in the dungeons when she’d escaped Klaar so long ago.

  It seems like years. I’m not even the same woman.

  “You asked me if I were a wizard,” Kent said. “I am. I’m many things. I was admitted to the Abbey of Mordis when I was ten. I studied there. I went on to Tul-Agnon, where I not only attended the university, but apprenticed to a wizard. The Order of Mordis had big plans for me. I was meant to be close to the king. I was loyal to Pemrod but even more loyal to Mordis. My family has been among the faithful for eight generations. I believe I spent years just to be in the position for what I’m doing now.”

  They reached the bottom of the stairs and found themselves in a large chamber, a stone arch carved into the far wall, large gems at various points around the arch.

  “Baron Hammish says you’re going to send us through that arch,” Rina said. “That it somehow becomes some kind of portal.” She waved for Brasley to come stand next to her.

  “I’ve set the archway to deliver you to the Abbey of Mordis in the Great Wastes,” Kent said. “It’s at the base of a mountain, and on top of the mountain is the mother temple of our order. We in the Cult of Mordis have for centuries prepared ourselves for this very day. It’s fate that’s delivered you to us at this time.”

  “I don’t give a shit about your fate.” Rina reached into the bag Brasley was holding and came out with the scroll case he’d found in the Great Library. She waved it under Kent’s nose. “All I want to know is, how good of a wizard are you?”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  Empress Mee Hra’Lito heard the clamor and knew what was coming, but she sat cross-legged on the mat and poured tea, waiting. She sipped, offering an outward appearance of calm.

  There was a knock at the door. She’d been expecting it. “Come.”

  The door opened, and Third Steward Bel’Fre Logan entered. He held his left arm stiffly against his side, blood flowing freely from the shoulder.

  “Pardon, your highness, but it is my unfortunate duty to inform you that the imperial palace has been breached,” the third steward reported. “The bottom level is lost, but we’re holding them at the mezzanine.”

  “How long?”

  “There’s no way to say with complete certainty, highness,” he said. “But long enough for you to make . . . final arrangements.”
/>
  “My thanks, Bel’Fre Logan,” Mee said. “On your way out, will you please send my personal maids to me?”

  “As you wish, highness.” He bowed as well as his wounds would allow and turned to leave.

  “One moment.”

  The third steward paused. “Highness?”

  “Did we really never hear from the fleet?”

  “Alas, no, highness. We made attempts to contact them by every means we could think of. It’s as if they simply vanished.”

  “I see. Thank you.”

  He bowed again and left.

  Mee sipped tea. Well. That’s a shame.

  A minute later, her personal maids arrived, a dozen of them, their hair pulled tight in glossy black buns. They wore identical silk robes in the imperial colors. She ordered them to bar the main doors to her apartments and then asked them to line up so she could address them for the last time.

  “You are merely servants,” Mee told them. “The ones who are coming have no quarrel with you. Surrender yourselves, and you will likely be spared.”

  Mee wondered if the lie was as obvious to them as it was to her. They kneeled in a line facing the door, heads bowed, waiting for mercy that would never come. If they were lucky, the mob would be so enraged, they would kill the maids on sight. If unlucky, they would be raped first.

  She turned and left them, going to her private bedchamber. Mee opened the top drawer to her vanity and removed a hinged box of polished black wood. She opened it and took the dagger from within, gleaming and razor sharp. Her duty now was to plunge it into her heart.

  Not yet. Just a few more minutes.

  She threw open the double doors to her balcony and looked out across the city. Smoke rose in numerous places. As a child, she’d been taught that of all things, the Empire was eternal.

  What other lies had she been told?

  The harbor lay empty.

  She heard a crashing racket elsewhere in the apartments, followed by the screams of the maids. Mee put the point of the dagger against her breast, hesitated. She hated to admit it, but she feared the pain.

  Fists pounded the door to her bedchamber.

  She let the dagger drop and climbed up on the wide balustrade, balanced precariously a moment, the wind tugging at her robes. She heard the door smash open behind her.

  And jumped.

  She wanted to think she was flying but knew she was falling. They’d all been falling for years.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  They stepped through into a blizzard.

  Kent had warned them and given them heavy cloaks, but the bitter wind still cut through them. Snow slanting at them sideways. Rina pulled the cloak tightly around her, teeth chattering. She was glad she’d sent Zin away before going through the portal. He shouldn’t have to endure this.

  Neither should I, damn it.

  She looked around. They’d come out of the portal to a wide landing on top of a tall tower. Snowcapped mountains rose up around them. The edge of the Glacial Wastes, Rina realized.

  The rest of her people shivered in a semicircle behind her. They faced three men. The one out front raised a hand in greeting. The all wore heavy furs, and the two in back had their hoods pulled forward.

  The one who’d waved his greeting had his hood pulled back, an old man, but with strong features and alert eyes, a full head of pure white hair.

  “I am High Priest Bradoch!” he shouted over the wind. “Welcome to the Abbey of Mordis. The others have already arrived ahead of you.” He gestured to the two men behind him.

  The taller and larger of the two pulled his hood back, and Rina heard Brasley gasp behind her. She looked closer at the big man.

  “I know you,” Rina said.

  “You should.” Ankar swept aside the fur cloak, revealing his metal leg. “Your handy work.”

  Rina tapped into the spirit, and her sword was instantly in her hand. She noticed Maurizan had drawn her daggers just as quickly. The Birds of Prey had their weapons out a split second later.

  “I saw you fall,” Rina said.

  “You know what a person can do when tapped into the spirit,” Ankar said. “The world slows. I found an outcropping of rock to grab on to, then climbed down. It wasn’t quite as easy as I’m making it sound.”

  “So now what? We pick up where we left off?”

  “You’ve beaten me to two tattoos and taken one of my legs,” Ankar said. “It occurs to me I might be fighting on the wrong side. I want to join you, Duchess Veraiin, not fight you.”

  “Rina, no,” Brasley said. “He killed Talbun.”

  “And how many did you kill in Sherrik?” Ankar asked. “We pay a tithe in blood for what we do.”

  Rina flinched at that. There was some truth in what he said. Her hands weren’t clean.

  “How did you get here?” she asked.

  The shorter man next to Ankar threw back his hood. “I showed him the way, Duchess.”

  Rina narrowed her eyes. “Giffen.”

  High Priest Bradoch shuffled his feet, looked embarrassed. “Forgive me, but I thought you were all comrades. It seems I was mistaken.”

  “We’re old friends, aren’t we, your grace? You didn’t think you were rid of me yet, did you?” Giffen sneered. “Always people underestimate me, and always they pay for it.”

  “If you think you’re going to join me, you’re going about it the wrong way bringing him along,” Rina told Ankar. “He murdered my parents.”

  “I can understand why that might be off-putting,” Ankar said.

  One of Ankar’s huge hands shot out and grabbed Giffen by the back of the neck. A quick twist and a snap, and Giffen fell into the snow, eyes open and vacant.

  “Well, then.” Rina sheathed her sword. For so long she’d dreamed of killing Giffen with her own hands, but she was so tired. Giffen was nothing more now than a problem solved. She turned to Bradoch. “Can we continue this discussion inside? I’m freezing my ass off out here.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?” Ankar asked from across the table.

  They’d all been escorted to a rustic dining hall within the abbey. Fireplaces had been stoked, and they’d all been brought food and pots of hot tea. Rina wasn’t especially hungry but spooned a thick brown stew into her mouth simply because it was warm. As a woman of Klaar, she’d been raised to endure harsh winters, but the Glacial Wastes were something else altogether.

  She sipped tea, then said, “Why do you want to go with me to the top of the mountain?”

  “Why do you want to go?”

  Rina thought about it. It hadn’t occurred to her to put it into words. “Because then it will be finished. Because I want my life to be my own again. Something’s happening that could change the whole world. I need to see it through.”

  “I have spent my entire life making myself a being of power,” Ankar said. “I don’t mean a man who commands a city or army or a kingdom. Just me alone. Powerful. There is power at the top of the mountain. I want to face it.”

  I don’t, Rina thought. But I must.

  Krell’s words haunted her again. Fate was guiding her, pushing her in this direction.

  No. I make my own choices.

  “Let me see the new tattoo,” Ankar said.

  Rina glanced around the rest of the dining hall. The Birds of Prey took up two tables near the fireplace. Alem and Maurizan sat at their own table, holding hands. Knarr and Brasley sat across from Bishop Hark. They all talked and ate and sipped tea. Nobody was paying attention to the two ink mages in the corner.

  Rina slipped off her glove and held her hand out to Ankar, palm up.

  “I see nothing,” he said.

  Rina tapped into the spirit. A skeletal hand identical to the one on her other palm appeared, except it shimmered and pulsed with a silvery glow. A strange power flowed through it. It felt nothing like her other tattoos.

  Ankar raised an eyebrow. “What is it called?”

  “The God Eater.”

  Ankar chuckled.
“Can there be any doubt? Let us go to the top of the mountain and face this god together.”

  “And what do you want?”

  “I told you.”

  “And what else?”

  “That God Eater tattoo,” Ankar said. “Give it to me.”

  “It won’t do you any good.”

  “Let me guess,” Ankar said. “There was only enough ink for one application. I’ve encountered this problem many times. I will hunt the world over for the right wizard to figure it out. This is my life’s pursuit.”

  Rina looked down into her bowl of stew. “Let me think about it.”

  “Bradoch tells me there’s a mad abbot at the top of the mountain,” Ankar said.

  “Oh?”

  “His name is Bremmer, and it is said that he communes with Mordis. I’m given to understand he’s become something of a problem, his acolytes more loyal to him than the order. I think Bradoch wants to help us because he wishes this Bremmer would go away.”

  “I’m no assassin,” Rina said.

  “Then all the better I’m coming along,” Ankar said.

  Ankar seemed to think it had been decided, which in fact, it had. Rina wouldn’t stop the other ink mage from tagging along, mostly because she simply didn’t care. It was his life to risk, and he might prove useful. It was the others she was worried about. The Birds of Prey were brave, but what could they do against a god? She couldn’t ask them to come along.

  But she couldn’t send them away either. They’d come so far. Brasley wanted nothing more than to be home with his new wife, but he was here out of friendship. Hark felt he owed her. And Alem.

  More than anyone else she wanted to send Alem away but had the least willpower to do so. If I send him away now, I might never see him again.

  Rina drained her teacup and stood abruptly. She banged the cup on the table for everyone’s attention. The conversation died away, and all heads turned to her.

  “Ankar and I are going up the mountain,” Rina said.

  That caused a low murmur, which dried up when Rina started talking again.

  “Many of you don’t even know fully what this is all about,” Rina said. “I’m not sure I do either except that what I do could change the world. I know how that sounds. I value each and every one of you, and I won’t ask you to risk your life on something you don’t understand or believe in. Nobody is obligated to do anything they don’t want to do. I won’t think less of you.”