Liar's Blade

by Tim Pratt

  They didn't reach the river that day, much to Obed's dismay, and Rodrick listened from their camp—an abandoned lean-to probably used by a hunter—as the priest complained in a low voice and Zaqen tried to soothe him. "Can you hear what they're saying?" Rodrick asked Hrym.

  The sword said, "Oh, the general idea is that everything is too slow, this godsforsaken country is huge, and so forth. Zaqen is telling him that we'll be able to move faster once we reach Daggermark, where the roads are better. He doesn't seem mollified. Now he's asking her to ...Ha. Watch this."

  The priest moved a bit farther into the trees, and Zaqen followed him, carrying two huge waterskins from the supply horse. There was a flash of pale flesh between the tree trunks, and Rodrick realized the priest had disrobed again. Then came the sound of splashing water. "Is Zaqen dumping out those waterskins over him?" he asked, incredulous.

  "Seems so," Hrym replied.

  "But why? He went bathing last night. All right, Zaqen said it allowed him to connect through the stream's flow back to the great ocean of what-have-you. But what good does being doused in cold drinking water do?"

  "Perhaps it's some sort of ritual cleansing?" Hrym said.

  "It had better be. I hope it's not simple fastidiousness. We're going to be traveling for weeks—he'd better get accustomed to being dirty. And it's a waste of water."

  "We're hardly in the desert, Rodrick," Hrym pointed out. "And even if we were, I'm a sword of magical ice, and ice is just frozen water. I can generate all the water we need. You just have to wait for it to melt first."

  "You know I don't like drinking your meltwater. You talk. You're more or less alive. It's like drinking someone's tears. Or sweat."

  "More like drinking someone's urine, I'd think," Hrym said.

  "You are amazingly disgusting for something that doesn't even have a fleshy body, sword."

  Zaqen returned after a while, cheerful and chattering, while Obed sulked or meditated or otherwise occupied himself among the trees. "No fish tonight, I'm afraid," she said. "But I thought I'd see if I could catch some fresh game. No reason to resort to our dried meat yet. Don't rabbits feed at twilight?"

  "The feeding habits of rabbits are not one of my areas of expertise," Rodrick said, and Zaqen shrugged and slipped away. You wouldn't think she could move stealthily, given her awkward gait, but he didn't hear a rustle as she moved off into the bushes. Barely half an hour later she returned with the carcass of a rabbit dangling from each hand. One of the rabbits was missing its head, and the other was distinctly scorched. "You used magic to hunt?" Rodrick said.

  "How else would I hunt? Do I look like a marksman to you?" She tossed the rabbits at his feet. "Care to prepare those for me, Rodrick dear?"

  "I thought your master liked doing the cooking?"

  Zaqen shrugged. "By ‘cooking' I mean ‘catching fish and eating them raw,' mostly, but we're all out of fish here."

  "He's a priest, isn't he? Can't he just ..." Rodrick waved his hands around vaguely. "Conjure food?"

  "Of course he can. But have you ever eaten conjured food? It's always tasteless bread, or oatmeal, or some other bland stuff. Not the sort of thing anyone would choose to eat, especially with plump rabbits at hand. Besides, my master prefers to save such spells for emergencies. Go on, get out your knife—you didn't have to do even a token bit of fighting today, so the least you can do is butcher a bunny."

  Rodrick dressed the carcasses while Zaqen brewed another pot of her medicine, then started to set up a spit over the fire. "Don't cook mine," Zaqen said, snatching up one of the rabbits.

  "You're not going to eat that raw, too? The fish, all right, I've been in port cities where eating fish fresh and uncooked was the style, but raw rabbit?"

  "Cooking ruins the flavor," she said.

  "Aren't you worried about getting ill? I knew a fellow once who ate undercooked pork and died horribly—"

  She pointed to her own chest. "Student of the mystic arts, Rodrick. I don't fall prey to things like ordinary diseases. I'm far more likely to die in a horrible magical mishap. Eaten by a spectral monster summoned inexpertly. Inadvertently transformed into a salamander. Things like that."

  Rodrick set about roasting his rabbit, deliberately not looking at Zaqen as she tore the raw muscle from her own rabbit with her teeth. "No food for your master?"

  "He's fasting," she said around a mouthful. "Just for tonight."

  "Oh, good. I'm sure being hungry will improve his mood."

  She swallowed and grinned. There was blood on her teeth.

  "For a student of the mystic arts," Rodrick said, "I haven't seen you do much studying. I thought wizards had to pore over spellbooks at all hours of the day and night. Doesn't the magic fall out of your head on a regular basis, and need to be jammed back in by reading?"

  "How do you know I don't read by firelight in the hours before dawn?" she said. "I don't sleep as much as you do."

  "You didn't read last night," Hrym piped up. "You were awake, but not studying books."

  She shrugged. "I have a very good memory. I don't need the books in front of me. I can see every page in my mind when I close my eyes. Much easier than lugging around a bunch of heavy volumes everywhere."

  "I wasn't aware it worked that way," Rodrick began.

  For the first time, Zaqen snapped at him. "I don't tell you how to swing a sword, so don't tell me how magic should work." She took her rabbit and stalked away to the other side of the fire.

  "You've charmed another woman senseless," Hrym said.

  "It's a gift." Rodrick roasted the rabbit over the flames and ate the hot, savory fragments with his fingers. Not quite the feast he would have chosen, but better than going hungry, and certainly better than eating raw anything that had once breathed and run.

  He drove Hrym into the center of the campsite to keep watch again, then took a walk around the general vicinity of the shack just to move his muscles in a way that didn't involve being jostled all day on a horse. When he returned to camp, Obed was sitting with his back against a tree, eyes closed, either deep in meditation or asleep sitting up, and Zaqen was on her back, apparently watching the smoke from the fire drift up into the cloudy sky. Neither of them spoke to him, so Rodrick said goodnight to Hrym, gave in to his exhaustion, and curled up by the fire, too tired even to plot or scheme or fantasize about the pleasures he would enjoy as a wealthy man.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  The next morning, after a breakfast eaten largely in silence, they finally reached the tributary of the Sellen that divided Tymon from Sevenarches to the east and Daggermark to the north. The water here was wide but relatively sluggish and not terribly deep—a nice surprise, as the River Kingdoms had a tendency to become the Marsh Kingdoms in places. Once the river was in sight, Obed drove his horse faster, and before Rodrick and Zaqen caught up, he was already in the water up to his neck, swimming far enough out that Rodrick still couldn't get a good look at his face.

  Rodrick dismounted from his horse, then led the animal to the river to let it drink. After a glance at Zaqen, he sighed and led the other mounts to the water as well. The camel leaned its head down, sniffed at the water, then turned up its nose. Probably not the sweet oasis water it preferred, or else it was just being generally contrary.

  "Your master must be half fish," Rodrick said, strolling over to join Zaqen, who was shading her eyes to gaze across the river.

  "He gets his power from his connection to the sea," Zaqen said. There was no trace of annoyance in her voice—whatever he'd done to offend her the night before, she'd either forgotten or forgiven. "Not the path to power I'd choose, but it works for him. I hope there aren't any carnivorous monsters in this water."

  Rodrick snorted. "Isn't there an entire settlement of horrifying carnivorous monsters not far away?"

  "Outsea," she said. "Yes, a city of refugees from the waters of the Inner Sea, or so I'm told. Sea devils, merfolk, the occasional naga and sea hag and even a few ulat-kini and gillmen. I'd love to know how a
bunch of creatures like that ended up stuck in a river settlement here. In the ocean most of them are at war with some subset of the others, but I suppose being so far from their ancestral homes, they have good reason to make common cause here."

  "Will your man Obed be wanting to visit? Surely he's got friends among those races, and other worshipers of Gozreh?"

  "I'm sure he'd love to pay his respects, but as you may have noticed, he's in a hurry. He wants to be out of the River Kingdoms and into Brevoy before the month is out."

  Hrym laughed from Rodrick's back. "I hope he's packed a magic carpet, then. You feeble bipeds and your rideable quadrupeds will never cover the distance so quickly."

  She sighed. "Yes, I tried to tell him his expectations were unreasonable. My master is a zealot, though." She glanced at him. "I don't mean that in a bad way. He has passion, and drive, and the impatience that comes with those qualities. It's admirable. But, I mean ..." She shrugged, one shoulder dipping rather lower than the other. "The artifact we're going to recover has been waiting a long time. Another few weeks won't change anything. And it's not as if we're paying you by the hour."

  "We would make better time if we went through Sevenarches," Rodrick said. "It's right there, just across the water. The grass is actually greener there, you can see it."

  Zaqen shook her head. "Planning our route isn't one of your responsibilities. Get the horses ready—my master will want to push on soon."

  Rodrick shrugged and busied himself with the mounts. "Ah, Rodrick, we have a problem," Hrym said from his back a moment later.

  When Rodrick turned around, there was a short man wearing dirty leather armor behind Zaqen, holding a knife to her throat, and another man the size of a draft horse aiming an arrow at Obed, who bobbed in the water—not close to shore, but well within bowshot.

  "Nice sword," the brigand holding Zaqen captive said. "I'll take it, along with everything else."

  Chapter Six

  Sword Against Banditry

  Rodrick cocked his head at Zaqen. "No tentacles this time? Forgot to study your books this morning?"

  "May I speak?" Zaqen said. The thief behind her frowned and mumbled something in her ear. It must have been assent, because she said, "My master instructed me to refrain from defending us if we were attacked again. He'd like to see if he's getting his money's worth out of you, I suppose."

  Rodrick sighed. "Really? He's testing me? I'm offended."

  "Just throw down your sword," the bandit said. "And move away from the horses. And the, ah—that animal that's not a horse. Whatever it is, I'm sure it's valuable. We're not committed to killing you—murder sometimes spooks the animals, and they're worth money—but we'll take the risk if you give us any trouble."

  "If you insist," Rodrick said, and drew Hrym fast, whipping him down into guard position. Foot-long spears of bright ice—overgrown icicles, really, and ultimately about as aerodynamic as a bunch of fireplace pokers—flew from the length of Hrym's shaft, piercing the bigger bandit's leather armor and making him drop to his knees, gurgling. As soon as the bandit's aim wavered, Obed vanished from sight, head disappearing beneath the river's surface.

  The bandit holding Zaqen's throat shouted, "I'll kill her!"

  Rodrick shrugged. "The man in the river pays my wages. The one you've got there is just another employee. Do what you must."

  "Oh, that's nice," Zaqen said, but she was grinning. "Good to know where I stand."

  "Although, to keep the boss happy ..." Rodrick approached the thief with Hrym's bright length in his hand. "I will kill you, after you've killed her. Just to show the local bandits that no one can harm a member of my party without dying, that sort of thing. And my sword here—which drinks souls, by the way—will taste your essence and consume your memories, and in my spare time in coming years I'll track down any friends and relatives of yours, and kill them, too. It seems excessive, I know, but I am a professional, after all, and I take my job seriously." Hrym then emitted a suitably eldritch modulating hum, which sounded a bit like a choir of angels having all their wings pulled out.

  The bandit, altogether less cocky than before and stealing glances at his ice-speared compatriot, said, "Surely we can work something out?"

  Rodrick smiled widely. "That depends. How much gold do you have on you?"

  The thief sighed and let Zaqen go. "This is how I turned to banditry, you know," he said glumly, handing over his purse, and then his blades when prompted. "I was just a traveler passing through, and I was robbed, and I thought, ‘Bugger working for a living, I'll just steal like these fellows do.' I joined up with Fat Belwas over there and we've made a decent living ever since. It's not even really against the law, depending on where you are in the River Kingdoms." His face took on a hopeful expression. "I don't suppose you lot are looking for any additions to your party?"

  Rodrick, who thought that having two party members who planned to rob everyone else at the first opportunity was enough, said, "That would be up to the master, I suppose."

  The thief squinted at the river. "He hasn't surfaced. Are you sure he didn't drown?"

  Zaqen snorted. "He's fine."

  The thief glanced at her. "Sorry about the knife to the throat, and all—"

  She shrugged in her ungainly way. "It's not the first time I've been threatened with death. Or the first time someone in my group said, ‘If you have to kill her, go ahead, we understand.' Story of my life."

  "It was a bluff, Zaqen," Rodrick said.

  "Now you tell me," the thief said. "And all that about your sword drinking souls and consuming my essence, that was a trick, too?"

  "No, that was true," Rodrick lied.

  There was a flash of movement by the river bank, and then Obed strode forward, dressed in his now-dripping robes. "I did not hire you to recruit people to our party," Obed said. "Or to show mercy to brigands. I hired you to kill those who threatened us. Kill him."

  Rodrick raised an eyebrow. "This fellow is no threat to us now. He was never a threat to us to begin with. I won't murder an unarmed man. There's no point. I already have all his money."

  Obed clenched his fists together. "Kill. Him."

  "No," Rodrick said, not angrily or aggressively, but more in the tones of someone declining an offered cup of tea.

  The two men stared at one another—or so Rodrick assumed. Obed's eyes were hidden in the depths of his hood, but he was literally shivering with rage.

  "I'll just be on my way then," the bandit said, backing away rapidly. "Sorry to have inconvenienced you all—"

  Zaqen gestured at him, almost casually, and a spray of hissing droplets flew from her fingers and spattered across the man's face and chest. He screamed and flailed his arms, dropping to the ground and rolling and writhing as thin tendrils of smoke rose from his body.

  Rodrick raised his sword instinctively, but Zaqen just smirked at him and shrugged. "I kill whomever my master wills." Obed didn't overtly react to her action, but he was no longer clenching his fists or quivering.

  After a moment the bandit went still, but kept whimpering. "What did you do to him?" Rodrick asked.

  "Acid," Zaqen said. "Nasty stuff. Eats through leather, skin, muscle, bone. It'll even eat through steel, given time. I can spit the stuff out, too, so keep that in mind if you ever decide to steal a kiss." She winked. "Without asking permission first, that is."

  Rodrick strode over to the bandit, who stared up at him with open, terribly conscious eyes. His face was ravaged, his skull showing through in places, and coin-sized spots of acid slowly burned all over his throat and chest. "Sorry," Rodrick said, and plunged Hrym into his heart.

  "Ahh," Hrym said. "That's nice. Warm. Unfortunate circumstances, but still, feels good."

  Rodrick withdrew Hrym, and blood geysered briefly from the bandit's wound, then subsided to a trickle. The man's eyes took on the glassy, empty quality of the newly dead, like the windows of an abandoned house.

  "Mercy," Obed spat, and stalked away toward the horses. Rodri
ck started to walk after him, but stopped after a few steps, unsure about what he could possibly say—and about what he might want to say.

  Zaqen, meanwhile, sidled over to the acid-spattered corpse, knelt down for a moment, and then rose. Rodrick didn't look, but he was fairly sure she'd scooped out the dead man's eyes for her grisly collection. The wizard came over and patted Rodrick on the shoulder, making him flinch. "Come along," she said cheerfully. "We've got miles to cover."

  "Obed still wants me along on this little trip?"

  "Until he tells me otherwise, I assume so. Do you still wish to accompany us?"

  "Ah, well." Rodrick forced himself to brighten. "It's not as if the fellow wouldn't have killed us if we'd given him a chance."

  "That's the spirit," Zaqen said. "No one forced him to take up the life of a bandit, and being spattered by acid occasionally is just the cost of doing business. Best hang back on your horse for a while, though. I'll try to talk to Obed. He listens to me, sometimes, when he feels like it."

  They mounted and continued on their way, Zaqen drawing her camel as close to Obed's horse as she could. Rodrick brought up the rear, some distance away, for once not really interested in eavesdropping. From his back, Hrym said, "It's not as if you haven't murdered people before."

  "Not murder, as such. I've generally killed just to save myself from being killed."

  "Yes, but frequently you were saving yourself from being killed by people you'd recently robbed or cheated," Hrym pointed out. "It's not as if they didn't have legitimate grievances."

  "I don't consider any grievance legitimate enough to stab me over. And killing for no reason at all? What's the point? I already had his purse."

  "The master wanted to see if you could protect the party. Makes sense to me."

  "‘The master,'" Rodrick said. "Listen to yourself!"

  "Hmm, good point. The way Zaqen talks, I'd forgotten that wasn't actually Obed's name."

  "Perhaps he wanted me to die, so he could try to steal you, Hrym."

  "If he wanted you to die, Zaqen would just shoot acid into your face."