The Ruin of Kings

by Jenn Lyons

  Kihrin jumped out of the way and reloaded. He shot two of the men while they were entangled. Then Kihrin pulled himself up on top of a rafter. He reloaded again. His heart was numb. There was no expression in the young man’s eyes as he looked the last assailant in the face, saw the now free man’s eyes widen in fear. The guard ran for the doorway. Kihrin fired a crossbow bolt through the assassin’s back.

  Quiet settled over the room.

  Kihrin sat there, perched up on the rafter with his back hunched over. It had been easy to kill those men, easier than he thought killing should be. That seemed wrong. A detached, emotionless part of his mind suggested he was too numb to feel anything. If his encounter with Xaltorath hadn’t been enough to freeze his soul, finding his father’s murdered corpse had finished the job.

  Had it been so few hours since that meeting in the street? Years had gone by since then. He had aged decades.

  Kihrin reloaded the crossbow. He looked at one of the men, at the weapons scattered on the floor, then looked over at the covered bed. The soldiers hadn’t carried edged weapons. They didn’t do this, he thought. He had to leave, fast. Ola—he didn’t want to think about the implications. He climbed down, pausing only to kick a still-struggling form and pick up a mace as he walked through the curtain to the front parlor.

  And stopped cold.

  All of Ola’s candles were lit.

  A woman lay on top of Ola’s glass table, breasts and hips pressed against the glass. Her arms draped over the side in a way that reminded Kihrin of the brothel cat, Princess, just after she’d caught a mouse and was feeling smug about herself. The woman had pulled down Ola’s stuffed raven and was looking at it, nose to beak.

  The woman’s skin was honey-gold and her brown hair was long and silky. Candlelight gleamed pink over her lithe body. Her clothing consisted of black leather belts, worn crisscrossed over her breasts, her stomach, her hips. The straps didn’t serve as either protection or modesty. She wore no weapons he could see, and he could see nearly all of her.

  She might have been stunning if not for the madness in her dark eyes.

  He almost told her this was the wrong brothel and she should go down the street to the Red Marks if she was looking for rough trade, but the sass died in his throat. She wasn’t there for sex.

  She was there for him.

  “How right you are, my pretty angel,” her sugar-sweet voice purred. “I’m here for you. You are my sweet little coconut, and I’m going to crack you open to get at the meat.”

  She smiled as she leapt to her feet with such light grace she didn’t even tip the glass. Standing, the belts hid even less of her. She tossed the raven aside.

  He swallowed hard. “Did I say that out loud?”

  “No, Bright-Eyes.” She grinned. “You didn’t.”

  “That’s what I thought.” His heart pounded fast inside him. Another demon. Oh Taja, not another demon.

  “Oh, I’m not a demon, love. Demons don’t have real bodies. I do.”

  “Stop reading my mind!”

  She smiled at him fondly. “Now you’re being silly. Well done in there, by the way.” She nodded back to the jade curtain. “Most people lose it when they see their loved ones murdered. Freeze or run screaming, and either one would have had you clubbed like a veal calf. Of course, you should’ve finished your kills. One of those men is still alive.”

  “How sloppy of me. I’ll just go back and fix that.”

  “I don’t think so, ducky.” She licked her lips as she stared at Kihrin, still smiling, tapping the nails of one hand against her hip. Those nails were long and sharp, painted dark red or black. They looked wet.

  Kihrin looked around. “More toughs on the way?”

  “Just me,” she said.

  “Just you. Who are you again?”

  “So sweet of you to ask. I’m Talon. I’ll be your murderer tonight. You should feel honored, really. I’m only sent after the important ones.”

  “I’ll pass, thanks.” Kihrin raised his crossbow and fired, praying she wasn’t reading his mind enough to dodge.

  She didn’t. The bolt hit her in the chest. She staggered.

  There was no blood. She smiled at him like a lover as she pulled the bolt from her body. The wound closed at once, leaving no sign of any injury.

  Kihrin stared at her in disbelief. “I just want you to know this has been a really bad day.” He tossed the crossbow aside as he readied the mace.

  She nodded, still smiling. “Don’t fret too much, beautiful boy. It’ll all be over soon.” She tossed the bolt behind her and advanced on Kihrin. “That can’t be your real hair color, but you’re pretty. I wonder why you’re so important.”

  “Promise not to kill me and I’ll explain it to you. Over dinner perhaps?”

  She looked at him like an eagle examining a squirrel. “So sorry. I’m planning on having a blind musician and a dancing girl for dinner. Don’t worry, I’ve saved you for dessert. You look tasty.”

  All the blood flowed out of his face. “You’re a mimic.”*

  She clapped her hands together, a happy child delighted at the compliment. “Someone’s been paying attention to his children’s stories.” Her body shifted then, flickered, and for one brief second, he saw her as a mirrored reflection of his own form before she was a beautiful woman again. “Of course, that was an improvisation. True mastery of your form will come after snack time.”

  “Oh goddess.”

  “Gods can’t save you, sweet.” She was calm as she walked toward him and he backed up. “Believe me, I know. I used to be quite devout in my day, and when I really needed my goddess, where was she? Nowhere in the City, let me assure you.”

  “What have you done with Ola?”

  “She’s up in one of the cribs banging some cute whore.” The mimic lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “Doesn’t know this is happening.”

  “But I saw Ola—” His eyes widened. “That was you? You let me walk in here, knowing what I’d find?”

  “What can I say, darling? I like to play with my food. I wanted to see how you’d take the news. Rather deliciously, in fact. Now instead of three brains to eat, I have seven to add to my collection. It’s a good thing I can’t overeat.”

  “I can pay you.”

  “Oh, that’s sweet—but I don’t do this for money.” She grinned. “I can’t wait to see the look on Ola’s face when she walks in here and sees what I’ve done with you. It will be worth so many years of aggravation. I think I’m going to torture her to death. Slowly. Oh, truly, this will be an evening to savor through the centuries.”

  Kihrin frowned. “You—wait—this is because of Ola? I thought—Darzin D’Mon—”

  Talon paused. A petite frown crossed her features. “You did mention him earlier. What did you say your name was again?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Kihrin?” She cocked her head.

  “Stay out of my mind!” He backed up.

  “Kihrin.” She said his name again, pronouncing it wrong.* “Different color hair—” Her eyes widened. “She kept you? Ola kept you here?”

  Her eyes wound their way up and down his body as if he were a rare work of art. “I can’t believe—why that crafty little cunt.” When her eyes reached his face, she gave him a warm smile. Her expression was joyful. “You have a necklace. The Stone of Shackles. Oh, never mind the name. You probably don’t have any clue what its real name is. To you, it’s just a blue stone wrapped in gold. It would have been with you when Ola found you in Arena Park.”*

  “Ola didn’t find me in Arena Park.”

  She laughed. “Oh yes, she did. Oh yes. She did. I was there. I was there with my hands wrapped around that little bitch’s stinking throat—” She reached out to the air, as if she could still see the memories in front of her. Her whole body shifted again to the form of a man he didn’t recognize, before returning to the original form once more. She closed her eyes for a second and shuddered. “Sorry. Sometimes he slips out. Jerk thi
nks that just because he killed me that gives him special rights or something.”

  He would never get past her. His fingers tightened their grip on the mace.

  Talon lifted a hand toward him. “And I was about to kill you.” She started laughing hysterically. “Ohhh, well! That would have been—oh. That was close.” She grinned and fanned herself with a hand. “That was very close. To think I almost made the same mistake my murderer did. Trust me: never kill the person who is wearing the Stone of Shackles. Disaster, every time.” She made a swiping motion with both hands.

  Kihrin paused. “Wait—are you saying you don’t want to kill me?”

  “Kill you? Oh darling! That would be terrible. Trust me, that’s the last thing you want me to do.”

  Kihrin looked nonplussed. “Uh . . . yeah, you’re right. My position on you killing me hasn’t changed in the last five minutes.” He shook his head. “Great. Not just a mimic. A crazy mimic. Isn’t that nice?”

  “Oh, my darling, I have so much to tell you. I have found you at last.” She glanced past Kihrin then, and her face distorted into a screaming mask of hate. “NO. YOU FOOL!”

  Kihrin glanced behind him in time to see one of the assassins standing in the jade-bead doorway. He was desperately injured, but making one last heroic attempt at completing his mission.

  The man had a crossbow of his own aimed straight at Kihrin.

  Kihrin jumped out of the way, diving to the floor. Initially, he thought he was successful, but that was shock. He felt a dull blow to his chest, like being hit with a reed pillow. Kihrin staggered back, and the world swung forward to greet him at a tilt. He couldn’t breathe. Gods, he couldn’t breathe. As he tried to draw in air, the pain hit. Kihrin realized he wasn’t nearly as lucky as he liked to pretend. The stone at his neck felt bitterly cold, so cold it felt burning hot.

  As he fell, not understanding there was a crossbow bolt in the middle of his chest, Kihrin saw something strange. Even though Kihrin was the one who’d been shot, his attacker was the one screaming. The man screamed for good reason: a mass of tentacles, covered in sharp claws, was busy tearing the assassin in half. Bloody gore sprayed all over Ola’s fine tapestries.

  As Kihrin saw this, he heard a commotion, a door banging open, more voices. But he wasn’t really interested anymore. Everything began to darken.

  A face filled his vision—a familiar, unwelcome face. Pretty Boy—Darzin D’Mon—looked down at him with undisguised worry. “I arrived just in time.”

  Talon said, “I had no idea—”

  “It’s not your fault, Talon. I won’t blame you if he dies.”

  “He won’t die,” Kihrin heard her answer before he passed out from the pain. “I’m not finished with him yet.”

  25: INTO THE JUNGLE

  (Kihrin’s story)

  I heard shouts behind me as I ran. Someone called my name. I ignored that too. I sprinted down the steps and ran into the jungle. Under the canopy, the light dimmed as the jungle air filled with mist and the fetid smell of earth and orchids. I kept running, jumping over vines and roots and moist green ferns. I ran until I was out of breath and my sides ached.

  I didn’t think they were following me. I listened and heard nothing but jungle noises.

  Something rustled in the underbrush.

  I stopped. There was another rustle. I slowly reached down to grab a rotten piece of wood from the jungle floor.

  A low throaty noise came from my right, almost a slowed cat purr. A moment later, the head of a lizard poked its way into view. It was a golden-green color, and more like the head of one of the crocodiles living in the Senlay River than a small garden lizard. The head was too high off the ground. As the creature stepped closer, I realized that was because the head belonged to a reptile standing on its hind legs. The reptile opened its mouth in a grin, showing rows of sharp teeth. It purred at me and regarded me with intelligent dark eyes that reminded me of a parrot. It also stood three feet tall at the shoulder.

  Another purr answered it, from behind me.

  There were two of them.

  I raised my arms and waved the stick, yelling, “Hyah!”

  The reptile in front of me lowered its head and hissed before making a clicking sound. The reptile circled around me.

  I put my hand to my tsali stone. It was neither hot nor cold.

  Great. What did that mean?

  I looked at the reptile, then at a tree. The lizard looked stable enough on the ground, but I bet it wasn’t much of a climber. The reptile saw the motion and crept closer, putting itself between me and the large old tree. I broke and ran. With a staccato cry, it chased. As it closed the distance, I grabbed an overhanging vine, flipped myself up and over, and actually landed on part of the beast’s tail as I ran back the other way. As it tried to turn, and I ran for the tree, five more monsters darted from the underbrush and rushed me. I jumped up, grabbed another vine, and pulled myself up enough to hook my foot over a branch. One beast jumped and snapped at me, but missed grabbing a mouthful of my hair. I swung up and clutched at the branch, pulling myself out of the reach of the pack of lizards. They looked up at me and made that clicking sound, which was starting to seem like their equivalent to a growl. One of them tried to climb the tree, but its fore-claws weren’t strong enough and it slid impotently back down.

  I heard a whirring noise.

  One of the snake men stood in a gap in the jungle foliage. He held a long black metal chain with a weighted end in his hand and he was whirling that chain above his head faster and faster and faster.

  “Damn,” I growled, and reached for a vine.

  I swear the bastard grinned as he let go of the chain.

  I swung to the side. The chain missed, but my sense of victory was short-lived. He hadn’t been aiming for me, but the branch I perched upon. The wood splintered with a cracking sound as the metal sheared it. I put my full weight on the vine I held. The vine snapped.

  Thanks, Taja.

  I fell to the ground. Before I could do anything, one of the lizard-hounds had put a foot on my chest, lowered its head until it was almost touching mine, and made its clicking growl of disapproval. Several more snake men with spears appeared, all leveled at me. Fortunately, they seemed content to point and hiss.

  I exhaled slowly.

  The first snake man, the one who had thrown the chain, said something sharp and hissing in the same language Khaemezra had used. All but one of the giant hunting lizards backed away. Then the snake man said something else, and there were hissing responses and laughter. Human laughter joined it. I craned my neck and the lizard hissed again.

  “Szzarus says he’ll order his drake off you if you promise not to act like a monkey,” a female voice said. The ranks of the lizard men parted, and a woman walked into view.

  She was not a vané, but human, with a skin color somewhere in between the olive brown of a Quuros and the ebony of a Zheriaso. Her black hair was matted in long locks, the knots fitted with copper rings, skulls, and roses. She wore a patchwork of leather pieces cut into a tightlaced vest, a loincloth, and tall boots, over a brown and green chemise net that likely made for excellent camouflage in the jungle. Under the netting I saw a lacy outline of black tattoos. She wore two daggers in her belt, a curved sword, and the little sister of the long chain the lizard man used.

  She also wore a hell of an attitude.

  “Now are you going to play nice?” She cocked her head and looked at me in a way that reminded me of the hunting lizards.

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “Of course. I could bring you back to Mother in chains.” She patted her belt. “Some men prefer it that way.”

  “I’m not one of them.” I glared at her. Something about her seemed familiar.

  “I imagine not, although you’re fetching in nothing but irons.”

  My eyes widened. “You were with Khaemezra and Teraeth in Kishna-Farriga.”

  “I was.” She smiled. “I’m Kalindra. Mother asked me to keep an eye on y
ou. She thought you might do something foolish when you saw the Maevanos.”

  “The Maev—” I stopped. “The Maevanos is a nude dance, not a human sacrifice.”*

  She snorted and motioned. Two of the lizard men dragged me to my feet.

  “Only Quuros would take one of Thaena’s most sacred rituals and turn it into velvet-hall entertainment.” She glared. “It is the most profound, most holy show of trust we can give our Lady: to ask for her forgiveness and blessing in her own realm, where her power is absolute and no dissemblance is possible. If a petitioner is truly sorry, she Returns them. They are purified and made free of sin.”

  “And if they’re not really sorry?”

  “Then they’re dead.”

  “What a shame. I was just starting to like Teraeth.”

  “Really?”

  “No, of course not. He’s an ass.”

  Kalindra smiled. “Shall I tell him you said that when he Returns?”

  “If it makes you happy.”

  The snake men seemed to think the situation was basically handled. Most of them retreated to the jungle with their lizard pets. The largest said something hissing to Kalindra before he joined them. I suspected he lurked a short distance away, just in case.

  “What did he say?” I asked her.

  “He said, ‘Be careful. He looks harmless, but the monkey moves fast when he wants to.’ I think Szzarus likes you.”

  “Everyone likes me. Just ask Relos Var.” I rubbed my hands over my arms as I looked around. “Am I a prisoner here?”

  She cocked her head and looked at me. “You’re on a tropical island a thousand miles from the nearest village. How well can you swim?”

  “A prisoner then.”

  Kalindra shrugged. “If you like. I can’t change the local geography just to make you feel better. I can’t easily leave either. Sometimes the things that protect us are the same things that limit our freedoms.”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “Oh well. That changes everything.” She rolled her eyes. “Oh wait. No, it changes nothing.”

  “So, I should stop complaining?”

  “Your words.” There was laughter in her eyes, and I’ll admit I found it hard to keep up my indignation. “Let’s go for a walk. We’ve time for explanations before Teraeth Returns from the dead.”