Song of the Risen God

by R. A. Salvatore

  She was thankful that such talk had been mostly quelled, and by a man whom Aoleyn considered an unlikely ally. The sharp-featured, sharp-tongued Master Viscenti had urged caution and had advised that they at St.-Mere-Abelle take a patient view of Palmaris, to see whether the situation would improve, and perhaps even spread to the eastern banks of the river and the sister city of Amvoy. Viscenti had argued that it was not insignificant that this Tuolonatl and her designs, however misguided and doomed, would keep a sizable number of enemy warriors tied up in the cities, while the monks of St.-Mere-Abelle faced more pressing problems confronting the land, like the huge force then encamped just outside of Entel, the last holdout city.

  His wink to Aoleyn as he finished had made her think, or at least hope, that Master Viscenti was hoping for more than a delay of the dire and inevitable battle in Palmaris.

  Still, Aoleyn felt silly for even considering the bubbling optimism that had brought her back from the west. By all reports, there was fighting between humans and xoconai all across Honce. In some areas of the northern Mantis Arm, battles waged among humans alone, even, with rival lords more than eager to fill whatever power void offered them some personal gain.

  The words of Scathmizzane reverberated in Aoleyn’s thoughts and followed her through every moment of every day. The demon’s claim that he was a manifestation of darkness in human or xoconai hearts and not some separate corrupting entity rang true to her, as did his prediction that he or Cizinfozza (or probably any of many others, she figured) would always be ready to return.

  Had they ever really left?

  I leave because I am done, and now my students continue my work.

  “Aoleyn?”

  The young witch spun about at the familiar voice, and despite all her worries, a huge smile erupted on her face at the sight of Sister Elysant. The monks on the dock had told her that Elysant had returned and was well, but having the confirmation, having the woman before her, overwhelmed Aoleyn with relief and gratitude. She opened her arms wide and caught Elysant in a great hug, and they held on to each other for a long while.

  “You have heard the tales?” Aoleyn asked, when the sister stepped back from her.

  “He is alive? It is true?”

  “Brother Thaddius resides among the xoconai in the distant city of Otontotomi, on the plateau of my old home,” Aoleyn answered. “He will learn of them, of their history and ways. I expect he will remain there for much of the rest of his life.”

  Elysant nodded. “I hope to go to join him.”

  Aoleyn smiled warmly at the thought. “He would like that, and the xoconai would welcome you, I believe.”

  “Do you think I can get there?”

  “Are you powerful with the gemstones?”

  The monk shook her head. “I’ve no affinity for them.”

  Aoleyn considered it for a bit. “Perhaps we can convince Father Abbot Braumin to send a group of monks, envoys to foster peace between xoconai and human.”

  Elysant seemed surprised by that suggestion. “Perhaps Aoleyn will take me,” she said.

  Aoleyn’s purely reflexive expression in reply was not the answer the young monk was seeking, surely.

  “If the father abbot gives me leave to go, I mean,” Elysant stammered.

  “I’ll not return there,” Aoleyn said. “It is not my place. But I will stand beside you to speak with Father Abbot Braumin and convince him that such a journey would bring hope and perhaps enlightenment to the world.”

  Elysant stood staring at her for a long while, until finally an accepting smile began to crease her face. “I must go back to my duties,” she said, rushing up and giving Aoleyn another, far less crushing hug.

  “I am glad that you have returned.”

  “And I am glad that you are alive,” Aoleyn said, “after the story Thaddius told us of your fall.”

  “It is surprising,” the woman replied. “And there is much to the tale that he does not know. After Vespers this night, sit with me and I will tell you, and you can tell me all about your journey to the west.”

  “I would like that,” Aoleyn answered sincerely.

  Elysant nodded, rushed forward to give Aoleyn another hug, then skipped away along the wall and gracefully slipped and then stepped down the nearest ladder.

  Aoleyn turned back to the dark waters and back to her dark thoughts. Elysant’s survival gave her courage against those thoughts now. It seemed impossible, given Thaddius’s recounting, but here she was, very much alive and well, by all appearances.

  Yes, the days ahead were dark—darker than she had imagined when she had started back from the Ayamharas Plateau. This war, these wars, were going to last for a long, long while, she believed, given all that the monks had just told her. Even if she could steer the Abellican Church correctly, even if Tuolonatl’s dreams for Palmaris came to reality, the struggle would continue, for these were wars for land, for riches, and for power, stoked by revenge and wounds still fresh.

  Racial wars, religious wars, and wars of opportunism.

  Aoleyn blew a long and deep sigh and lifted her gaze farther out to the east. Talmadge was out there, somewhere, Khotai and Catriona beside him.

  What of Bahdlahn?

  The mere thought of her oldest and dearest friend, her first love, her great confidant, had tears welling in the young witch’s dark eyes.

  “Be alive, Bahdlahn,” she whispered, her voice dissipating fast in the cold autumn wind.

  * * *

  Bahdlahn hustled to keep up with the graceful Ataquixt. The xoconai went over the wall of Palmaris so quickly that Bahdlahn feared his companion would be long out of sight before he ever reached the top.

  He caught a grip and pulled himself up, throwing his foot out to the side to set it on the stones, then paused and relaxed, more carefully picking his descent, for Ataquixt stood on the darkened field just to the side, waiting.

  “How did you do that?” Bahdlahn asked, when he stood beside the mundunugu warrior once more.

  Ataquixt flashed him that easy smile, one that Bahdlahn had seen many times of late. For some reason that Bahdlahn could not understand, this man, the trusted advisor to Tuolonatl, had befriended him and was staying quite close.

  “Practice and training,” Ataquixt replied. “You will learn, but it will take years, not mere days.”

  Bahdlahn shrugged and chased Ataquixt off into the darkness. He wasn’t sure where they were going, only that Ataquixt had promised him an important mission this night. Bahdlahn figured they likely were out hunting for more refugees to welcome into the city, as that had been the typical adventure he and Ataquixt had shared these last couple of weeks.

  “You always speak in riddles,” Bahdlahn called after the man. “Or in promises of the distant future!”

  “If I told you everything, then what would be the fun, for either of us?” the xoconai asked.

  Bahdlahn couldn’t suppress a chuckle. For all of his complaining, he was very pleased with his new friend. Julian of the Evergreen was now busy beside Tuolonatl, the two of them reordering the city to better serve human and xoconai alike. Even the Allheart Knights and some of the augurs had fallen in line with the idea of peace and compromise here in Palmaris, ideas they hoped to export to Amvoy soon enough, perhaps even before the first real snows of winter.

  Bahdlahn was surprised at the attention Ataquixt was showing him. The man was very important to Tuolonatl, clearly, and certainly would command a high position in the city.

  Why, then, would he waste his time with the likes of Bahdlahn of Loch Beag and Fireach Speuer, who was not a great warrior—certainly no real Allheart Knight—and was no leader of any faction in Palmaris?

  Why?

  He was still wondering this when he caught up to the fleet-footed xoconai along the forest trail, in a place where it widened into a small clearing.

  Ataquixt stood facing him as he approached, waiting for him.

  “You have been in many fights?” Ataquixt asked.

 
Bahdlahn slowed and stopped a few strides from the mundunugu warrior, caught off guard by the curious question.

  “A few,” he answered cautiously.

  “Are you confident with a weapon?”

  Bahdlahn shrugged, not wanting to tell the truth. He had seen lots of battles over the last few months, of course, but he had never trained with any weapon, beyond what Julian and the other knights had offered him in these weeks outside of Palmaris.

  Ataquixt turned his gaze from Bahdlahn to the ground at the man’s side, to one of the curious paddles the xoconai employed as favored weapons.

  “Go ahead,” Ataquixt told him.

  Bahdlahn stooped and retrieved the weapon, lifting it in the moonlight, running his fingers over the jagged edges, both sides set with real teeth from some fierce animal. The paddle was very light and very balanced, he realized, when he gave it a couple of easy swings.

  “It is a macana,” Ataquixt explained, and Bahdlahn nodded at the familiar word. “The foot soldiers of the xoconai are named after that weapon.”

  “Then you are a macana.”

  “No, I am mundunugu, a rider.”

  “Ah, yes, those lizards.”

  “Cuetzpali, and we think of them as friends.”

  “I wouldn’t share a meal with one,” Bahdlahn muttered.

  “Are you ready to learn?” It was a surprising question, and Bahdlahn looked up from the weapon to see Ataquixt approaching, macana in hand.

  “Learn?”

  “Do not be afraid to strike me hard,” Ataquixt said. “Swing with all of your strength and fury.”

  The words alarmed the man. What was this about? Was Ataquixt planning to kill him out here in the night? Had it all been a lie?

  “But I will not,” Ataquixt promised, leaping in suddenly and snapping off a sidelong swing, which Bahdlahn blocked awkwardly.

  “That hardly seems fair,” Bahdlahn said, trying to remain calm and trying to sort through this confusing turn. If Ataquixt had wanted to kill him, the xoconai was going out of his way to make it harder, after all.

  “It is more than fair, for I will strike you many times and you will never get near to hitting me,” said Ataquixt. “Come, fight, and fight well. Let me make a warrior out of you.”

  Bahdlahn, still full of questions, didn’t move.

  “You would not want to disappoint Aoleyn when next you see her,” Ataquixt teased. “Do you not fear that she will prefer the company of a great mundunugu like Ataquixt to that of a servant like Bahdlahn?”

  Bahdlahn leaped forward, swinging wildly and missing badly. He stumbled as he overbalanced, drove his front foot into the ground to abruptly stop, then spun about to see the mundunugu standing off to the side. How had he gotten there so easily?

  “In control, Bahdlahn. Never let your anger guide your swings.”

  The man moved in more cautiously this time, his macana held up before and beside him, vertically, in his right hand. Bahdlahn faked a swing, then another, sliding his right foot out to the side and then following with his left.

  Ataquixt turned with him, then came forward suddenly and snapped off a trio of strikes, first across, right to left, then a fast backhand, and then the third, which stopped the second swing short and prodded the macana straight ahead suddenly and unexpectedly.

  Bahdlahn, leaning far back to avoid the first slash and stepping out of range of the backhand, had planned to come right in hard behind the second swing, and even started to do so. But the macana tip slammed him in the chest, hard, taking his breath away. He reacted with a sweep of his arm, bringing his own weapon across to swat Ataquixt’s macana aside.

  He hit only air as his opponent suddenly dropped low. Bahdlahn felt the macana against the inside of his leading left leg, stinging him and then slapping across as he tried to rebalance, stinging the inside of his right knee.

  “Ataquixt!” he called, or started to call, for the mundunugu rolled past him. He tried to turn to keep up with the movement but got hit rather hard in the middle of the back, and when he did get around, bringing his macana to bear, Ataquixt struck it hard, once, twice, and a third time, nearly tearing it from Bahdlahn’s hand.

  “Fight better!” the xoconai demanded, and his fourth strike easily slipped past Bahdlahn’s weapon to slap him hard on the side of the head.

  Bahdlahn reeled.

  “You will learn,” Ataquixt promised. “Are you not impressed?”

  Bahdlahn leaped at him, but the mundunugu began moving in a manner that Bahdlahn had never seen before. His right foot was forward, toes facing Bahdlahn, but his left was back, bearing most of his weight. Shoulders turned, Ataquixt held his macana more like one might expect of a thin sword, pointed out before him. As Bahdlahn advanced, the xoconai retreated, right foot back to plant, left foot dropping, and all the while he remained in perfect balance, his head and shoulders and weapon bobbing not at all.

  Bahdlahn waved his macana before him, but there was no opening. He aimed for the extended macana and repeatedly thought he had a hit on it, but Ataquixt gracefully dipped or rolled each time.

  Spurred by frustration, Bahdlahn charged faster and swung harder—hardest of all when he was sure that he would strike the weapon and send it flying from Ataquixt’s grasp.

  He whiffed badly and stumbled forward, and with a speed so sudden that it didn’t even make sense to Bahdlahn, Ataquixt reversed his retreat into a sudden, fast-stepping charge. Three quick steps, legs never shifting their angle or balance, ended in a sudden thrust of the macana right into Bahdlahn’s throat.

  The man staggered backwards, gasping for air.

  “It is beautiful, is it not?” Ataquixt asked

  Bahdlahn couldn’t have found the voice to answer even if he had so desired.

  “It is a dance, my friend,” Ataquixt said. “A fight is a dance, and one of fluidity and balance.”

  Bahdlahn’s vision blurred. He grasped at his throat with his bare hand and finally managed to gulp down some air. Just as he tried to halt his retreat and set some defense, he felt the impact of Ataquixt’s macana striking his own with surprising power, sending it flying away.

  “Stop! Stop!” Bahdlahn pleaded, holding up his hands, turning his head defensively, wholly overmatched.

  “Admit the beauty!”

  “I do!” he cried in response, stumbling back another step. He held there, crouching, his hands out defensively before him, staring through the blur at Ataquixt, who stood barely two strides away.

  “Would you like to learn to fight like that, Bahdlahn of Fireach Speuer?” Ataquixt asked. “Do you think it beautiful, truly?”

  “Yes,” Bahdlahn answered, then felt a sudden sting in his neck. He reached up and slapped at it reflexively, thinking it a wasp.

  He was surprised when he brought his hand before him and found he was holding a small dart, its needle tip wet with blood. He looked at Ataquixt incredulously.

  “The world needs you to learn,” Ataquixt told him.

  “Learn?” Bahdlahn couldn’t follow. His thoughts spun and swirled.

  “It is called bi’nelle dasada,” Ataquixt told him. “The dance, I mean.”

  Bahdlahn hardly deciphered the words. They rolled about in his head, jumbling.

  “Remember the beauty, Bahdlahn, and forgive me this deception. Know that I am your friend, and know that, when we meet again, we will fight again to test our skills, and you will fight well.”

  Bahdlahn couldn’t reply. He shook his head, trying to find some stability here, trying to shake aside the darkness that seemed to be closing in on him.

  Ataquixt stood right before him. Or was it Ataquixt, he wondered, for the form was just a blur.

  He fell to his knees. He fell to his face and lay very still, and the world turned to darkness.

  “You did well, Ag’ardu An’grian,” he heard another voice, one that flowed through his thoughts like a soft breeze through the trees.

  “I am honored by your trust,” he heard Ataquixt answer, as the wo
rld fell toward silence, “Lord Juraviel.”

  TOR BOOKS BY R. A. SALVATORE

  The Highwayman

  The Ancient

  The Dame

  The Bear

  DemonWars: First Heroes

  DemonWars: The First King

  Child of a Mad God

  Reckoning of Fallen Gods

  Song of the Risen God

  About the Author

  R. A. SALVATORE created the character Drizzt Do’Urden, the dark elf who has withstood the test of time to stand today as an icon in the fantasy genre. He is also the acclaimed author of the Demon Wars trilogy: The Demon Awakens, The Demon Spirit, and The Demon Apostle, as well as Mortalis, Bastion of Darkness, Ascendance, and the New York Times bestseller Star Wars: The New Jedi Order: Vector Prime. You can sign up for email updates here.

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  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Map

  Prologue

  Part 1. The Western Winds Blow

  1. These Songs of Magic

  2. The Enemy of my Enemy

  3. Overcoming Reputation

  4. Flight and Fight

  5. Wilderland Wandering

  6. The March of Light

  7. The Big, Wide World

  8. Revelations