The God King hotf-1 Page 25

  The trio rode on, fighting to remain on the wagon track in the face of a building sandstorm. The scant daylight weakened as the sun sank in the west, and every croft they passed was in worse condition than the first two.

  When they came to another ancient stone bridge, they carefully crossed over. The shaking of the world had damaged the structure, though someone had spanned the gaps with timbers. On the eastern shore, Kian and the others trotted their mounts up and over a steep embankment cut by millennia of spring floods. Expecting a village lighted by lamps and candles, he instead found a scene of destruction that defied comprehension.

  Teeko had originally been a smallish keep with four large towers at the cardinal points and high, crenulated walls of sandstone. Over the centuries, Teeko had become more of a village than an outpost, surrounded by a haphazard collection of shops, taverns, and brothels that catered to passing caravans and the crews of trade ships. Teeko’s keep had become an inn. As the village lay not far from Ammathor, the services they provided were not much needed, so even in the best of times, Teeko oozed an air of dilapidation.

  No one would ever again worry over that.

  Where the outpost had once stood now a gaping, water-filled hole remained, from which deep fissures radiated outward. What had survived being dragged down into the earth had been reduced to low piles of rubble, flattened as if an errant giant had stomped through the village. Unlike the abandoned crofts they had passed earlier, here there were people, but time, the arid climate, and carrion eaters had rendered the corpses into skeletons covered in patches of leathery hide and wind-tugged hair.

  The increasing winds, colder than ever, dissuaded talking, so they continued, now following Aradan’s southern trade road, each lost in their own thoughts. For Kian, there were no words to express what he felt after seeing what had become of Teeko. To be sure, remorse for so many lost innocents distressed him, but more, he found himself wondering how many other towns and villages and cities had suffered the same fate. His heart told him that in the coming months those who were still alive would suffer far more than those who had died quickly. Winter, seemingly already crouching in wait, despite that it should be months off, would destroy crops waiting in vain for harvesters to collect them. With hunger would come sickness, perhaps even plagues. To be sure, there would be violence. If things were as bad as they seemed on the surface, it could well be that the following spring would see Aradan torn asunder by desperation-and by those who exploited such desperation.

  The road climbed steadily, winding through weathered stone and pillars of red rock made all the darker by the setting sun. Of sentries or other watchers, they saw no sign. With the southern reaches of the Chalice still some ten leagues away, the absence of observers did not surprise Kian.

  In the lee of a rock, he halted long enough to suggest that they ride until they could find a suitable place to shelter from the wind, and then camp for the night. No one refuted him, and they rode on, bowed in their saddles, tired and hungry.

  As they crested a rise of land that overlooked the River Malistor and the Kaliayth beyond, Kian jerked his reins with a shocked curse. When the others glanced at him, he merely pointed west. Far off, a great curve of dark smoke was piling up, the winds pressing it east against the Ulkions. Before that roiling bulwark, all was as hazed and grim as ever, but behind that arc the sky was a startling indigo sprinkled with the evening’s first stars.

  “Look!” Hazad breathed.

  All eyes gazed at the distant opening in the sky, uncertain what should concern the big man. After many long moments, Kian felt an inexplicable unease stealing over him.

  “What madness is this?” Azuri said in a hollow voice.

  Kian looked between his companions, missing something. “What do you see?”

  “There is the Archer … and there the Turtle,” Hazad answered, pointing out the various constellations.

  “By the gods good and wise,” Kian muttered, recognizing what was amiss.

  Hazad twined his fingers through his braided beard and tugged hard, as if he meant to rip the hair out by the roots. “There, also, is the Bull … there the Maiden … the Four Sisters.”

  Kian swallowed. After his short-lived excitement at seeing a sky free of the pestilent smoke, he felt like he choking down shattered pottery. “Those are winter stars,” he rasped.

  Azuri cast about, eyes abnormally wild. “Have we somehow lost two seasons?”

  Kina looked for the last hint of the setting sun’s fading glow, and saw that it lay far south, just as in winter. Still, even with two pieces of strong evidence to support Azuri’s outlandish query, he could not accept that he had lost half a year of his life. With little enough effort, he could account for nearly every day since leaving Ammathor at the beginning of spring. At worst, he might have lost track of a few days while struggling to escape the Qaharadin Marshes.

  It was Ellonlef who dared answer the inexplicable question.

  “Whatever forces destroyed Attandaeus and Memokk,” she said slowly, “perhaps also caused the world to shift its place in the heavens.”

  It sounded like madness, something conjured from the mind of a swatarin-addled Madi’yin, but neither of the three men countered her statement.

  A skirling wind tore through the halted riders, bringing with it a deeper chill than any they had felt all day. If not for the fleeting appearance of steam puffing from the nostrils of the horses, Kian might have thought his mind was playing tricks on him. But no, it was getting much colder … by the moment.

  “We need to set camp,” Kian said. “One with a proper fire.”

  “A fire will give us away,” Azuri advised.

  “Perhaps,” Kian said, “perhaps not. But if we do not find warmth, we will not survive the night.”

  Hazad studied their surroundings. “If memory serves, the road takes an easterly turn around a cliff that runs a good league or more.”

  “And that cliff is pocked with shallow caves,” Kian said, fighting to keep his teeth from chattering.

  “We’ll need a cave,” Hazad said, “I smell snow on this wind.”

  Kian and Azuri nodded in agreement, but Ellonlef contradicted them.

  “You cannot be serious. It might snow on the highest peaks in Aradan, but that is all.”

  The three northern-born men looked at her, and Kian said with a disarming grin, “We may not know much, we Izutarians, but we know when winter is coming, whether it should or not.”

  Despite the inherent danger of riding with speed in darkness, Kian led them at a fast canter until the road turned. By the time they found suitable cave to accommodate them and their horses, a full hour had passed. Hunting for firewood proved to be a desperate, almost wild endeavor, but they soon had enough to last the night. To push back the dangerous cold, they built the fire large enough to heat the cave’s sandy floor.

  Once the feeling came back to fingers and toes, the foursome tended to their weary horses, then spread their blankets on the ground. Hazad produced a parcel of smoked meat from the pack he had taken off one of the begging brother’s followers. Knowing the Chalice was near, all agreed that he should dole it all out, saving just enough to break their fast in the morning. They ate in silence as the wind grew more fearsome outside, filling the cave with mournful wails.

  “I hope your friend has better fare than this,” Hazad grumbled to Ellonlef.

  “As do I. Normally, I’m sure she would … but there is no telling what we will find in the Chalice.”

  “Let alone in Ammathor,” Kian added quietly.

  He envisioned Varis as he had come out of the temple, a living corpse that had thrown about fire and death as easily as another man threw stones. He had faced Varis and survived before, as well as battling the mahk’lar, but he could not shake the feeling that things would be different this time. He did not fear what was coming, but neither was he eager to face it. As for the others, he silently vowed to do everything in his power to ensure that they did not follow him wh
ere they need not go. They would protest, without doubt, which meant he would need to deceive them in order to protect them. He had nothing specific in mind, so he had to keep his wits about him, his eyes sharp for the opportunity he needed.

  For now, he took solace that he was warm, fed, and among good company. When he rolled gratefully into his blankets, he fell asleep thinking about the softness of Ellonlef’s lips, and the impossible depth of her eyes. His dreams, however, were of Varis, a creature whose impossible light cast all the world into shadow, and from his hands flowed death.

  Chapter 33

  Dawn found the trio riding for Ammathor and, for the first time in what seemed an age, the sun shone from an azure sky. Bright and pleasing as it was, the sun provided no warmth. Sparkling frost covered everything. For himself, Kian was just glad the winds had died. They had not traveled an hour before Ellonlef halted beside a barely discernable trail leading up through a scatter of prickly brush and junipers, before vanishing over a ridge.

  Kian eyed the path skeptically. “Smuggler trail?”

  “One of many,” Ellonlef answered, pointing out a rock off to one side with a faint mark across its face. “These inscriptions point out secret paths into the Chalice.”

  To Kian’s mind, the scratch could have been left behind by another rock striking it, or from a sharp hoof. Either way, even if he squinted his eyes just so, it looked like a natural defect, and not at all something put in place by a human hand.

  He looked again at the steepness of the path, and said, “The horses will never make that climb.”

  “Then we’ll go on foot,” she said.

  Kian shook his head. “We will stay the road.” He had made the decision that he would not skulk into the Chalice, but go boldly.

  “You behave as if you want to be caught!” Ellonlef shouted unexpectedly, startling everyone. She quickly composed herself, but still looked flustered.

  Kian could not stifle a grin, but his tone was serious. “I appreciate your concern, but I will not sneak into Varis’s lair. The rest of you may go or stay, but in this, I will not command you to do anything against your best interests.”

  “It is your life to waste,” Ellonlef replied stiffly, her eyes a little too bright, then heeled her mount into a fast walk up the trade road.

  “She has a point,” Hazad said. “I don’t know that you wish to be caught, but you seem inclined to taunt the prince.”

  “He is surely a king by now,” Kian said absently. “As to taunting Varis, well, I’m not above needling him by riding openly into the Chalice. He is a proud one, and my goading will lead to him making poor choices in anger.”

  “A fool’s errand,” Azuri said.

  Kian shook his head. “Varis knows I am coming. Hiding my arrival will delay nothing, nor will it protect me from his ire. If I do not miss my guess, even if we cross any soldiers, they will let us pass unmolested. Varis, I am sure, will not act until I come before the palace walls.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Hazad asked.

  “Again pride, open or hidden, rules the hearts of many men, especially highborn, whether they call themselves gods, or not. As Ellonlef said, Varis fears me-a nasty thorn to any man’s pride. He will wait for me to come to him because he wants to destroy me, the only man who has survived his power. Doubtless, he wants to crush me in a way that removes all doubt of his supremacy, in his mind and mine.”

  “And what of Ellonlef?” Azuri said.

  “What of her?”

  Azuri’s gray eyes were hard as ancient ice. “You cast aside all caution, without a care for her feelings … or your own.”

  “I am doing what I am doing because I am burdened to be the only man who can,” Kian answered darkly. “What’s more, I go for her sake, as well as yours, Hazad’s, and everyone else who Varis would conquer. I must abandon her feelings. To carry them would be a distraction I cannot afford to have when I face Varis.” Such, Kian admitted only to himself, was easier said than done. It pained him greatly to anger or worry Ellonlef.

  Hazad dribbled the last of his jagdah in his upturned mouth, swiped his lips with the back of his hand. “If Varis cuts your heart out, or burns you alive, can I have your sword?”

  Kian scowled in consternation, then burst out laughing. Hazad joined in, his braying guffaws echoing in the rocky, mountainous terrain rising all around them. Even Azuri laughed aloud. Ellonlef, a hundred paces on, wheeled in her saddle at the outburst, staring as if the three Izutarian mercenaries had lost their minds.

  Perhaps we have, Kian thought when the hilarity passed, for even among Izutarians, laughing at death was ill-advised.

  “Come,” Kian said, “the Chalice, at the least, awaits.”

  As they rode by Ellonlef, Kian nodded to her as if nothing untoward had happened. Her lips thinned into a tight line, but she held her tongue-just, by the look of it.

  Over the rest of the day talk was scant, and the air grew colder. The horses seemed restive, as if they sensed the end of their long journey, and the riders did not hold them back. Although he took no satisfaction in it, Kian’s estimation of Varis’s plan to let them come unmolested proved accurate. Not once over the last leg of the trek did they see a soldier of Aradan, nor anyone else, until the Chalice’s southern wall came into view, just as night was falling.

  Only as they passed through the guarded gate did Kian notice anything that gave him pause. A beggar among the sea of desperate-looking people suddenly sat up straight, eyeing them with more than passing curiosity. A moment later, he lost the man amid the milling throngs. Unless he was wholly wrong, Varis would learn of his arrival within the hour. What would happen after that, Kian could not be sure. However, he was still certain Varis would wait for him. And after that … well, such was in the hands of the gods. For the time being, he concerned himself with the changes to the Chalice since last he had been there.

  The Chalice was a place of warehouses and bawdyhouses, trulls and whoremongers. All great cities had their sordid districts, places where depravity was embraced, even encouraged. Nevertheless, a quick inspection of those huddled near the gate told Kian these people were not of the Chalice, but new arrivals. The weakest of these the Chalice would devour, and the strongest would forsake common decency and live, perhaps even thrive.

  “Gods good and wise,” Azuri said, holding the back of his hand up to his nose. “This cesspit smells worse than I remember.”

  Unperturbed by the reek, Hazad said, “I have never seen this many folk in the Chalice.”

  “Doubtless people have come to hide behind whatever walls the king can offer,” Ellonlef said. “Better if they had stayed away.”

  Kian agreed, offering strategic glares to any who came too close. He did not see covetousness in the many hollow stares focused on him and his companions, but rather a desperate hunger. He pitied them, but knew as well that such a hunger could prove deadly to him and his companions.

  Before they had moved far into the Chalice, his hard looks began to lose their effectiveness. Eyes turned, mouths murmured, and hands stiff with cold reached, eager for anything to help them, freely given or not.

  With no other choice, Kian used his boot to shove people back. As well, he loosened his sword, a visual incentive to warn off the starving horde around them. It worked for but a short time. More and more people were taking notice of the riders. Despite that Kian and the others looked as ragtag as anyone, they carried with them the unfortunate perception of wealth, for they rode horses laden with panniers.

  Like a slow spreading fire, word passed from mouth to ear, telling that newcomers were amongst them, people who might be able to help. Farther back, the mutterings grew in volume, and the crowd started pushing forward. Demands quickly buried the pleas for aid. All at once the throngs surged, like an incoming tide, forcing those nearest Kian and the others even closer.

  Feeling like a crumb of bread before a swarm of converging rats, Kian looked to Ellonlef. “We must go to your friend, now,” he said in a tigh
t voice.

  Ellonlef scanned the mob with a nervous eye and nodded.

  Kian could have wished for more men to guard her, but he had what he had. “Hazad, Azuri, fall in behind Ellonlef. Watch her flanks and your own backsides. I will lead.” He did not have to explain that they should draw their swords, nor what they should do with them, if the crowds became dangerous.

  “And what should I do,” Ellonlef demanded, “cower and snivel?”

  “Draw your dagger,” Kian said gruffly. In the face of possible danger, a familiar grimness was falling over Kian, the blood in his veins cooling. There would be no mercy shown, no quarter given, should they fall under attack. He could forgive these wretches for thinking he had something to give when he did not, but he would not be their living sacrifice. “If one of them gets past Azuri or Hazad, kill them,” Kian said flatly. “Now ride!”

  With that shout Kian wrenched his sword free and brandished it overhead, kicking his mount into a plunging trot. The others closed in behind him. With the sudden movement of the horses, and facing bared steel, the crowd had no choice but to throw themselves out of the way. Most were too slow to react, and the horses battered them aside. Angry shouts went up, and in moments people were teeming about like a swarm of angry wasps.

  Kian paid those behind no regard, but focused keenly on those ahead. The people who had moved away from the gates and deeper into the Chalice, he understood, had begun to think about survival over safety. Although given no real choice, these folk had made the decision to turn their faces from light to darkness, no matter the cost. He did not fault them, for he, Hazad, and Azuri had done the same long ago, when they were but outland urchins fighting and stealing to survive the unforgiving streets of Marso. While he did not begrudge them, he was unwilling to bow to them. By their choice or not, they had come into a den of wolves, and so must learn the way of wolves.