by Jenn Lyons
There was cacophony after that; people screamed and sobbed. But Gadrith’s voice cut over the tumult. “Quiet!” he said. “Now you understand the price of rebellion. Be. Quiet.” The necromancer turned to Thurvishar with an aggrieved expression. “Do something.”
The man nodded, squared his shoulders, and bowed his head, concentrating. A lull fell over the group of prisoners.
Thurvishar had not calmed them, I realized. He had stopped any sound from escaping their immediate presence. It was the same trick he’d used during his duel with Jarith years before.
Gadrith returned to his work as I surveyed everyone around me. No one had any visible weapons I could see. I didn’t think there would be any exceptions: it was too easy for a wizard to tell if someone wore metal.
A scream cut short returned my attention to Gadrith, who had bent Bavrin over the table. He had one hand clenched like a claw over Bavrin’s chest, a gesture I also recognized from the first time I’d spied on Gadrith. I watched as thin filaments of light floated up from Bavrin’s chest and coalesced into a ball in Gadrith’s outstretched hand. Bavrin began to spasm, then he stilled, and never moved again.
Gadrith pushed Bavrin’s body off the table and set a delicate uncut blue crystal on a black velvet cloth: a tsali stone.
“No,” I said. “No . . .”
“Bring that one.” Gadrith pointed to Master Lorgrin.
I remembered what Tyentso had said about Gadrith’s witch gift: he could pull someone’s soul out of their body and add its power to his own. “You can’t kill everyone here, damn it. You don’t think the Emperor won’t figure out what you’re doing?”
Darzin walked over and kicked me in the face. My vision flashed white as the pain hit, then I turned my head to the side and spat blood. When I looked back, it was to see that Gadrith had already killed Lorgrin, and was placing a yellow stone next to the blue one.
“He’s right, you know,” Gadrith said in a conversational tone to Thurvishar, who was watching his father with such a careful poker face he might have been listening to a lecture on the best crops to plant come spring. “Not everyone here would make a good tsali stone.” He paused and removed the silence spell around Tishar. “Hello, dear Tishar. Have you been enjoying your carriage? I made it for your brother, especially for you.”
The vané-blooded woman looked stricken. “Enjoying it less now I know your vile hands touched it.”
“Ah, that saddens me to hear.” He motioned with a hand. “Her next.”
“Gadrith, please, I beg of you!” Tishar pleaded as the undead took her by the arms.
“Alas, such entreaties mean little,” he reassured her.
“Gadrith, stop this,” I said.
Darzin hit me again. “Shut up.”
Tishar spat on Gadrith as the zombies hauled her to the table. She cast around the room for any means of egress, any possible escape. Her eyes met mine. “Please,” she mouthed, but I don’t know if she was asking Gadrith or asking me.
It hurts to think about it. It hurts to remember. I watched her die. Watched as that bastard pulled Tishar’s soul from her body.
She made a beautiful blue stone. Of course she did.
“Stop this!” I shouted, not caring if Darzin hit me or worse. I knew he wasn’t trying to kill me: not when I wore the Stone of Shackles. “What do you want?”
Gadrith paused and turned. “Ah? I’ve been hoping you’d ask, though young man, you shouldn’t ask questions when you already know the answer. You know what I want.”
I looked down at the outline of the Stone of Shackles through my shirt. “You want this.”
“I want that,” Gadrith agreed.
“For fuck’s sake,” Galen cried out. “If that’s what he wants, give it to him!”
“Your son is wise,” Gadrith complimented Darzin.
Darzin’s mouth twisted into the ghost of a smile. “Thank you.”
“Him next.” Gadrith ordered his undead to take Galen.
Darzin’s smile faded. “What? Killing my heir was not part of our agreement.”
Gadrith didn’t answer except to raise an eyebrow.
“He’s my son,” Darzin reiterated. He crossed over to stand in front of Galen, who seemed more shocked by his father’s defense than by the deaths of family.
“Make another,” Gadrith suggested. “You said Kihrin cares for him.”
“Go ahead,” I said. Oh, it hurt to say those words. Hurt because I knew Gadrith wasn’t bluffing, but I sure as hell was.
Gadrith cocked his head at me. “What was that?”
I shrugged. “Kill him. Kill all of them if you want. All you’re doing is destroying the only bargaining chips you have. You can’t kill me. I know you can’t kill me. You can disfigure me, torture me, rape me, whatever—we both know it’s not permanent. You have one of those zombies do it and the stone won’t let me die. I’m not giving you the Stone of Shackles, and there is nothing you can do that will convince me otherwise. How long do you want to play this game? Until the High General shows up? The Emperor? I’ve already messaged the Emperor, so your chance to catch us by surprise is gone.”
“You mean with one of his little toy rings?” Gadrith gestured in the general direction of my bound hands. “I really don’t think you did.”
“I told him you were still alive before that,” I sneered. “He’s on his way.”
Gadrith smiled. “That’s very helpful of you. I didn’t need the assistance, but I’m not so proud I’ll refuse it.”
I fought to keep the sneer on my face, to not look at Galen, to not give them any sign I actually cared what happened to him.
Gadrith turned to Thurvishar. “Is he telling the truth about his loved ones? Is there no one here whose death would touch him?”
Thurvishar flinched, as if that were the one question in all the world he had hoped Gadrith would not ask.* He gave his father an open glare.
“Tell me,” Gadrith said. “Now!”
The next flinch I recognized: self-correction from an almost-disobeyed gaesh order.
He sighed and pointed. “Her.”
Thurvishar pointed at Lady Miya.*
“I don’t care about her,” I protested, keeping my voice steady, keeping the disdain clear. “Why would I care about some vané slave? She’s nothing.”
Darzin sighed and rubbed his jaw. “Kid, even I’m not buying that one.”
“Bring her,” Gadrith said.
I could barely breathe as I watched them pick her up, still unconscious, and drag her over to the table. “Look, there’s really no point—”
Gadrith formed a claw with his hand over her heart.
“Stop!” I screamed. “Stop. Please stop. If I give you the stone, will you let everyone else live?”
I knew. Even then I knew there would be no letting me live.
Gadrith paused, letting the few strands of light fall between his fingers back to her body. “I’m not interested in them, young man. What you wear is all I desire. Their deaths are only meaningful if they will lead me to that purchase.”
I licked my lips. “Release me. Release me so I can give you what you want.”
Gadrith studied me, then motioned to Thurvishar. “Do it.”
Darzin walked back over and yanked me up to my feet. “Don’t try anything stupid,” he suggested as I felt Thurvishar’s marble binding fall away.
I yanked my arm from Darzin’s and slowly played with the fastenings of the necklace. I needed to buy time. I needed to delay things just long enough—
Gadrith formed his hand into a claw again over Miya. “I will count to three.”
I pulled the Stone of Shackles off my neck.
It was easy this time. I held it out to Gadrith. “It’s yours.”
Thurvishar shook his head and turned away as though he could not bear to watch.
Gadrith’s fingers trembled as he walked away from my mother and claimed the gemstone. “You’re brave,” he said. His voice was flat, and I couldn’t te
ll if the emotion he was expressing was sarcasm or sincerity.
He fastened the Stone of Shackles around his neck.
The room was quiet. I couldn’t hear the sounds of sobbing although I knew the dead were being mourned. Still, everyone seemed to be holding their breath, as if waiting to see if Gadrith would break his word.
“Well?” Darzin asked.
Gadrith put his hand to his neck and smiled. “It’s everything I’ve always wanted.”
Then he waved his hand. “Bring Kihrin. Leave the others.” He turned and walked from the room, his undead falling in behind him.
And that’s the end of my story.
I lost. You all won.
And we all know what happens next.
78: THE LIGHTHOUSE AT SHADRAG GOR
(Talon’s story)
That’s it? That’s where you’re leaving off?
Oh Kihrin, I never protested that you didn’t fill in the gaps while you were a slave on board The Misery, but you can’t just leave the story there.
Very well. I suppose I started all this, it’s only fair I finish it.
Kihrin made the barest of token protests as Thurvishar D’Lorus took him by the arm. He moved with the slowness of one drugged or injured, but then he looked at the wizard.
“It would have been better if I’d given you that stone years ago, wouldn’t it—before I was kidnapped?” His voice was dull and black.
“Probably,” Thurvishar agreed. “I can’t claim to know for certain.”
“Where are we going? Ol’ Pedron’s summoning chamber down in the crypts?” Kihrin hadn’t forgotten certain conversations overheard in years gone by.
“Not yet,” Thurvishar said. The wizard paused and stared at a section of wall that glowed with spiraling runes of rainbow colors. The wall faded, grew misty, and then Kihrin could see beyond into a giant chamber of rough, natural stone with large shuttered windows. The new room was lit by mage-light. It could have been anywhere.
“Hold on,” Talon said. She looked like Talea (although more accurately, she looked like Morea). “I’m coming with you.”
Thurvishar scowled at the mimic. “Would you mind looking like someone else?”
She shrugged and changed into Lyrilyn’s form. “Where is Talea, anyway?”
“Safe and a long way from you,” Thurvishar answered. “I’m not inclined to let you collect the whole set. Where have you been?”
“Pretending to be the High Lord in case anyone showed up asking questions. Don’t worry, I’ll go back to sentry duty once we’re finished.” She gave Kihrin a wink before returning her attention to Thurvishar. “Shall we?”
He blocked her way. “Your skills aren’t needed here.”
She smiled. “Ah, ducky, don’t be like that. Besides, someone needs to be the dear child’s jailer while you and Gadrith are busy preparing your little spells. Would you rather it be Darzin? I don’t think that would work out.”
Thurvishar studied her. “Fine. Go.”
He held open the magical gateway until the others were through.
They arrived inside a thick stone tower, with walls that slanted inward. A strange noise came from outside—a low thrumming hum. Thurvishar banished the gate. He paused, and frowned as he looked around. He kept wards here to tell if the lighthouse defenses had been breached. Those wards had been triggered. Someone had been here and then left again.
He would mention it to Gadrith later, but only if he was asked.
“Something wrong?” Talon asked.
Thurvishar shook his head. “Nothing that concerns you. Bring him upstairs,” Thurvishar said, “and be careful. He’s thinking of running.”
Kihrin threw Thurvishar a shocked glance. “How—?”
Talon raised an eyebrow. “How indeed?”
“Never mind that,” Thurvishar said. “Bring him along.”
Talon reached for Kihrin; he shook her off. “Don’t touch me,” he snarled.
“Aw, ducky, you’ll hurt my feelings,” she told him.
“Good.” Kihrin turned back to Thurvishar. “This won’t work, you know. I brought friends with me. They’ll find us.”
Thurvishar motioned for Kihrin to follow up a set of winding stairs around the edge of the tower. “Yes, I know. Teraeth and Tyentso. Actually Teraeth and Raverí D’Lorus, which will be a fascinating reunion when Gadrith finds out.” He shrugged. “I’m sorry, but they won’t make it here in time.”
“You sound awfully certain,” Kihrin said.
“I am.” Thurvishar unlocked an iron door nestled under the landing between one stairway and the next. He opened it for Kihrin. “You’ll stay here until we need you. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry it worked out this way.”
Kihrin looked inside. It was a jail cell, and not a huge one, although it seemed cleaner than most of its ilk. “Why are you so certain?”
“This is Shadrag Gor,” Talon said, wonder and awe in her voice. “This is the Lighthouse at Shadrag Gor. I thought this place was a myth. Is it really outside of time?”
Thurvishar ignored her question. “Don’t kill him. Don’t hurt him. Don’t eat him. I don’t have to spell out the consequences if you have a lapse in judgment, do I?”
Talon shrugged. “I know why you want him. Gadrith didn’t kill all Darzin’s family. You can always use someone else—”
She made a gurgling sound as a green energy field arched out of Thurvishar’s hands and pushed her form to the wall, pushed so hard that her body deformed and pulsed. Talon tried to shift, but the field of energy conformed to her every shape and edge, so she was the one forced to accommodate it.
“I’ve had time to research dealing with you,” Thurvishar said. “I took advantage. Do as you are told or I will destroy you. Understood?”
“I should have killed you in that bar when I had the chance,” Talon muttered, “but damn, you’re sexy.”*
Kihrin sat down on a small stool, the room’s only furniture, kicked it onto two legs, and balanced with his back against the wall. “Never mind Talon’s flirting. Why are we going to fail? The Emperor’s waiting, Thurvishar. He knows. Even if you try to use me as a hostage, he’s still going to stop Gadrith.”
“You’re going to fail for the same reason we were able to respond so quickly. Because time does move differently here in Shadrag Gor,” Thurvishar explained. “It may not take long for your friends to conclude something is wrong. But by the time they realize that the plan has gone awry, several weeks will have passed here. And you will already be dead.”
And then Thurvishar left. Which brings us full circle to now, doesn’t it? Several weeks have gone by, we’ve had a lovely time and . . . oh yes . . . I hear footsteps on the stairs.
Now it’s over.
Thanks for the rock, ducky. I’ll keep it safe.
PART II
THE SUNDERING
(Thurvishar—an aside)
There is a consensus held amongst most living beings that, given a choice between life and death, most of us will choose life. Life, with her bed mistress Hope, is laced with infinitely more possibility than her sister Death. People address her as Queen of the Land of Peace but flinch when her name is uttered out of turn. There is, always, that nagging suspicion that Death is a cheat, that the Land of Peace is anything but. Death offers no solace. Or worse, Death might truly be as the priests commend it: a place of justice where we get what we deserve.
And truly, few among us are willing to stare at that bright mirror and see our reflections. For all of us harbor that secret guilt, we shall be found wanting, shall be judged undeserving. Death is that last and most final of exams—and the majority of us, I suspect, would wish for a few years’ more preparation.
Not yet. Dear goddess, not yet.
I found myself thinking of this as I watched a boy of twenty years offer his life to save his family from certain death and oblivion. There were few in that room who would have volunteered to take his place. Darzin thought him a fool, no doubt. And Gadrith admired hi
m as one might admire a strange, alien creature one could only study but never understand. I cannot say what I would do, were I given the same option as Kihrin.
But then, this is not my story.
79: BEGINNING DEMONOLOGY
Kihrin paused after he had finished telling his story to the mimic. He shook his head. “Juval had described my seller as someone who looked like Faris,” Kihrin said. “I never doubted it was him. His final revenge. He was always drugging people at the Standing Keg. But it was you, wasn’t it? You would never let me escape.”
“Never let you escape? Have you spent the last four years under Darzin’s thumb? I orchestrated your escape so perfectly even you were fooled.” Talon shook her head. “I suppose it is too much to expect a little gratitude from my own son.”
“I’m not your son!”
“You were Surdyeh’s and Ola’s son. And they are me. It’s close enough.”
Kihrin lunged at her, but the bars blocked his progress. “I was gaeshed because of you . . .”
“Shh,” Talon said. “Quiet. Let’s leave that as a surprise for the others, shall we?”
They both paused at the sound of footsteps on the stairs above. Someone was whistling a jaunty tune. Kihrin’s gut tightened, recognizing who it had to be.
“Hello, Darzin,” he said.
The Lord Heir of House D’Mon grinned. “Hello little brother. Ready to die?”
Kihrin shook his head. “I don’t know. How long have I been here?”
“Three weeks, give or take.” Darzin smiled at Talon, grabbed her hand, and presented her knuckles with a kiss. “Did he give you any trouble?”
“He’s been a very good boy,” Talon said.
“No,” Kihrin said. “I’ve decided. This isn’t a good time for me. Why don’t you come back never?”
“Bring him,” Darzin said, and then wrinkled his nose. “Hm, he’s ripe, isn’t he?”
“Do you see a bathtub in this cell with me?” Kihrin snapped.
“I offered to clean him with my tongue but he said no,” Talon complained. She opened the prison doors and formed a large violet tentacle that reached out to wrap around one of Kihrin’s arms.