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  Ellonlef was not sure how to ask what needed asking, so she kept it simple. “Hya, my companions and I need your help.”

  “Companions, you say … Sisters escaped from Rida, perhaps?”

  Ellonlef shook her head. “Three Izutarians.” Then, registering what the old woman had said, added, “What do you mean, escaped?”

  Instead of answering, Hya pushed Ellonlef aside and leaned out the doorway. “Best hide those horses,” she advised, “lest some starving wretch hereabouts sees them. Braised horsemeat, is tastier than rats toasted on sticks, I assure you.”

  “Hya,” Ellonlef urged, trying to ignore the cold fist clenched in her belly, “what happened that our sisters should flee Rida?”

  Once more, Hya behaved as she had not heard the question, and shambled outside to motion to Kian and the others with her lamp. The trio dismounted and led their horses down the alley, curiosity and a measure of mistrust written plain on their northern faces. Hya shuffled deeper into the alley, her lamp swinging from its hemp handle. “It’s not a barn, but there’s room enough for your horses, and enough oats to feed them, a day or two.”

  As Kian passed Ellonlef, he whispered, “Can we trust her?”

  She wanted to reassure him, but in truth she simply did not know. Time and circumstances changed everyone. “I think, yes, but we should take no chances.”

  Kian accepted this as he seemed to accept all threats, with a grim expression and searching eyes.

  Hya stopped and held up her lamp before a slanting wooden door set in the wall. Eyes filmed or no, she knew what she wanted when she saw it. After passing over Azuri, pausing on Kian, her gaze lit on Hazad. “You there, open this door. Mind, the hinges are near rusted through, so don’t jerk it about.”

  Hazad grinned at her, but Hya’s intense stare ended that. Hazad grasped the door’s large wooden handle and lifted until the lower edge came out of the dirt. Straining, he carefully backed up, pulling the door open as he went, the hinges screeching loud enough to make everyone cringe.

  “That’s a good lad,” Hya said. She showed a handful of slanted yellow teeth a twisted grin. “Big and dumb and quick to obey-best qualities for any man,” she cackled.

  Azuri burst out laughing, and only quieted when Hazad turned an ugly glare on him. At Hya’s gesture, Kian led two horses into the enclosure, followed by a still sniggering Azuri leading the other horses. While Hya held the lamp, the three Izutarians made quick work of unsaddling the mounts. Kian fetched the oats from a near-empty sack.

  “Are you sure you would rather not keep this for yourself?” Kian asked.

  Hya’s face knotted into a frightful collection of folds and wrinkles. “Never liked oats. Consistency’s too much like throw up. Now, come along,” she urged, turning and leading them into her shop.

  Ellonlef followed close on the old woman’s heels through a doorway and into narrow aisle that ran from the back of the shop to the street beyond. On either wall, hundreds of small nooks and cubbyholes reached to the ceiling, filled with all manner of books, scrolls, vials, and substances folded into oiled parchment.

  “You spoke of help,” Hya said, turning through yet another doorway that led into a larger, drafty room with boarded windows. The scent of soot and sulfur was strong. Ellonlef realized they were standing in what used to be the main shop. A brazier sat in one corner, but the room was barely warmer than it was outside. “My guess is that you are not interested in elements used to create fire?”

  “Not yet, at least,” Kian said contemplatively.

  Hya bobbed her head and hung the lamp from a peg on the wall, then moved about the room lighting candles, though not in any way Ellonlef had ever seen. First she sprinkled something from a small vial around the wicks, then spat on the substance. With a hissing crackle, dark purple flames shot up from each candle. After a moment, cheery yellow flames replaced the purple.

  Hya noticed the curious looks, and held up a clear glass vial filled with dark red grains. Each crystalline speck caught the light, taking that light within itself, making it glow softly. “The Blood of Attandaeus, the Nectar of Judgment.”

  Hazad’s eyes widened. “You are mad.”

  Hya chortled and pinched his belly, causing him stumble backwards. “Mad, am I? Perhaps. But that changes not the name nor the potency of what is in this vial. When I could yet see clearly, and still had steady fingers, only I, a mere Sister of Najihar, among scores of pyromancers throughout Aradan and Tureece, dared labor on such a creation. And only I have succeeded in giving life to a substance that defies the properties of common fire. By blood or by water, by oil or by wine, all liquids set it alight. In quantity, it burns through flesh or iron, and nothing will smother the flames before the grains are spent.”

  “Such as that could bring you great wealth,” Azuri observed.

  “Indeed,” Hya said. “Yet, imagine if you will, an ambitious and cruel man gaining this knowledge and using it for war. There would be no stopping him. ‘Tis better the secret of its making dies with me, than to sell it and swim in gold tainted by the blood of innocents-or ashes, as it were.”

  “What if there was a brutally ruthless man with even greater strengths at his disposal?” Ellonlef asked quietly. “A man with abilities born not of potions and powders … but of the powers of gods.”

  Hya showed her few teeth in a slanting smile, and her misty eyes sharpened. “Then, Sister, I would seek out one such as myself.”

  “And what advice would you offer?” Kian asked, seemingly concerned that the woman had guessed more than she was letting on. Ellonlef knew that Hya saw much, because they had both been trained to observe and deduce. Such was the reason she had brought them to Hya in the first place.

  “I would suggest, Izutarian, that a man such as the one of which you speak should not be allowed to walk the face of the world. I would find those who could destroy such a man, and point them in the direction of those who could get the assassins close enough to make their attempt.”

  “Would you aid these assassins, even if that meant murdering a highborn?”

  “Highborn,” Hya whispered, clucking her tongue. “I would … even if that highborn were a king, I would.”

  “Why?” Kian asked, his eyes narrowed. He was not the only one looking askance at Hya. Ellonlef could not believe Hya’s words were coincidence, which proved she had been right to seek her out. Also, she wondered what Varis had done that the woman had come to her conclusions so quickly.

  “Evil is evil, and cannot be overlooked,” Hya said promptly. “Those who allow wickedness to exist are no less monstrous than those whom they choose not to face, whether their turning away is from cowardice or acceptance.”

  Kian stared. Hya returned the stare, unblinking. Moving slowly, Hazad peeked through a cracked board to the street beyond. Azuri shifted to one side of the doorway letting into the room, and pressed his back against the wall. Ellonlef could not help but marvel at these seemingly casual movements of preparation. Hya saw them, too.

  “You have nothing to fear from me,” she said, still gazing at Kian. “But there is one who should terrify you … perhaps he is one such highborn that needs to perish?”

  “Varis,” Ellonlef said, wanting to get to the heart of the matter.

  Hya nodded. “Our new king has only just begun to set up his rule, though rumors have reached even here-unbelievable tales that have spread like wildfire. And yet, some are already beginning to side with him.” She smiled darkly. “If half of what has been said about King Varis is true, then he is both evil and powerful. As well, he is cunning-a combination that cannot be allowed to exist.”

  Kian seemed to relax. “What has he done?”

  Instead of answering right away, Hya sat down with a gusty sigh in the room’s only padded chair. She waved for the others to sit where they would, which meant one listing stool, or on the dusty floor. Ellonlef was given the stool, but Kian and his companions remained standing.

  “Please,” Ellonlef invited, “
tell us all you can,”

  Hya leaned back in her chair, making it groan. “Big man,” she said to Hazad, “fetch me a blanket from that pile in the corner.”

  Hazad was moving before he thought to balk, and then it was too late. Scowling, he brought the blanket. Hya flashed her grin again, but this time kept her hands to herself. After she had swaddled herself, she shook her head in apparent disgust. “Never has a winter come so early to Ammathor, and never one so bitter. If such weather holds, or grows worse, by springtime the flanks of the Two Brothers will be covered with graves and snow-that is if anyone is left alive to dig graves.” She let those dire words sink in, then answered the question Ellonlef had forgotten she had asked.

  “My sister, you should know that you and I, and those not on the Isle of Rida, are the last of our order.”

  Ellonlef stared at her, too shocked to utter a word.

  “A great burning rock,” Hya went on, indifferent to the sudden tears sliding from her eyes, “as large as a mountain, some say, struck just off the coast of Aradan. No one who actually witnessed its fall are left alive. Those who saw the burning mountain from afar, out to sea and inland, went to the spot, then spread the word. They say Rida is simply no more. The sea churns over shattered rock, and the waves are the color of blood.”

  “No,” Ellonlef breathed, her own eyes welling. The order had never been large, but she had trained with dozens of girls, befriended most of them. They had spoken of future husbands, or coming adventures, of all they would see and do. She had spent nearly ten years apart from those girls and grown into a woman, the same as them, and had looked forward to returning to her island home to share tales of what they had done. The magnitude of what Hya told was too massive for her to fully grasp.

  “Too many people have carried the tale for it to be false,” Hya said, her now tender voice at odds with her careworn features. “Merchants and refugees all say the same. What’s more, they say that from forty leagues south of Kingsport to the Sunset Cliffs of Tureece, the lands are shattered and burned, much like a clay pot dropped into a hearth fire. Where once there were few islands and coves off the mainland, now there are hundreds, mayhap thousands, and not a one fit to tread upon. They say great founts of fire light the night, and by day molten rock spreads across those broken lands. The very air, it is said, is deadly to breathe.”

  Ellonlef felt a presence behind her, then strong fingers fell gently on her shoulder. She took Kian’s calloused hand in both of her own, wishing she could drag some of his strength into her, wishing she could fall into his powerful arms and hide her face against his chest. But that could not be, not yet, if ever.

  Hya noted the touch, but gave no indication of what she thought.

  “Tell us of Varis,” Ellonlef said, struggling to keep her voice steady. She wanted to hear anything, even if horrible, to mask the howling emptiness in her heart.

  “To understand the boy-king’s success,” Hya said after drying her eyes, “you must appreciate the circumstances he has used to ensure his victory.”

  “Very well,” Ellonlef said, though she could already imagine what those circumstances might be, after seeing how the rest of the kingdom had suffered.

  “Since the reign of King Edaer, Ammathor has never been able to fully sustain herself. After the faces of the Three were destroyed, it was but days before merchants and crofters ceased bringing supplies and food to the city. Even before true hunger came, lawlessness and disorder sprang up. It was and is worse in Ammathor than in the Chalice, for the people of this district have always had to survive each new day, even during the best of times. Sleeping under moldy blankets and eating rats in the Chalice, after all, has never been all that unusual. Ammathor is another matter. When the food ran out, those of noble birth became desperate, and began calling for unspeakable acts of tyranny. King Simiis, though he has been a good sovereign, bowed to that wickedness, albeit reluctantly.”

  “What did the highborn do?” Kian asked.

  “Wealth has always represented a bastardized power,” Hya said, “but not true power, that which is wielded by those who carve law into stone, and enforce edicts with iron and fire. The prosperous seek authority, mistakenly thinking it is a thing to be bought. The highborn make a farce of selling dribs and drabs of influence, and fill their coffers in the process. Then, in a moment and with but a word, they take back all they sold, and name the theft a levy. So they have done in Ammathor, using the opportunity of disaster to demonstrate that real power is more of birth and steel, than of gold. In less than a fortnight, the highborn set their soldiers to raiding and looting. First they went after the wealthiest merchants and guilds, then set upon everyone else. There was resistance, though it proved futile. After all, what does a merchant or a baker or a seamstress know of swords and blood?”

  “And at the height of the trouble, Varis arrived,” Ellonlef said, thinking of the ploy he had used in Krevar. “Did he present himself as a redeemer?”

  “A redeemer and a destroyer,” Hya said, with an expression that spoke of a curiosity to listen to the tale that had brought Ellonlef to the king’s city.

  “What of King Simiis, his advisors, those soldiers who are loyal to him?” Ellonlef asked. She would tell all that had happened to bring her to Ammathor, but that was for later.

  “As I hear it,” Hya said, “Varis arrived in the night, and ordered a gathering in the Golden Hall. There, he became a creature of light and power. He somehow froze the doors shut to the throne room, then declared that he was the destroyer of Geh’shinnom’atar and something he named the Well of Creation. He proclaimed himself king, and emperor of the coming dawn. As well, he named himself the god of men. Then, at a mere touch, he murdered his grandfather. King Simiis died with his blood boiling and his skin black.”

  “And no one resisted him?” Hazad blurted.

  Hya shrugged. “Would you have, big man?” Before he could answer, she snorted. “I suppose you would have, and died for the effort. That aside, Varis now commands obedience through terror … but also with bread.”

  “Bread?” Azuri said in puzzlement.

  Hya chuckled wryly. “Can you imagine a highborn lady nibbling rats cooked over a dung fire? Given the choice between rats or bread, cold or warmth, danger or protection, what do you suppose most people will choose?”

  “Bread,” Azuri said, this time in understanding.

  Hya bobbed her head. “For the promise of bread to fill their empty bellies, they gave up all freedoms. For a mere loaf a day, they willingly turned against those who would resist Varis’s tyranny, those whose actions and words might threaten their small comforts-even if those people were friends and family.”

  “Has that truly happened?” Ellonlef asked, wrath slowly overcoming the sadness of her own losses.

  “Too often to count, Sister,” Hya said grimly. “Our young king gives no quarter to troublemakers or to those he deems useless rabble. Each dawn finds the city quieter than the day before. I have it from those I trust that the complainers and the infirm, be they lowborn or high, are taken into the mountains and slaughtered, and their corpses dumped into ravines that feed the River Malistor. Some might argue that kings have always treated their rivals so, but in Varis I sense an insatiable hunger for power that can be nothing but evil.”

  “He will not stop with Aradan,” Ellonlef said. “He has named himself a god, and a god rules the world, not a mere kingdom.”

  Hya nodded slowly, then turned narrowed eyes on Kian. “Tell me something?”

  “Ask,” Kian said.

  “What secret do you hide?” She peered at him closely. “Perhaps I should say, what secrets, for you have more than one. I can fairly smell them inside you.”

  Kian looked momentarily troubled, but recovered quickly. “Varis stole the powers of creation, and in so doing, he loosed the mahk’lar upon the world, creatures of spirit that take and change the flesh of men for their own ends. As well, some of those abilities came into me. He has learned this, and
intends to destroy me before I can kill him. If there is a secret, it is only that I alone can stand against him,” he finished, without a hint of bravado.

  Ellonlef expected some amount of distress or disbelief, but Hya merely considered Kian’s words with a studied calm. After a time, she said, “The world is changed. There can be no denying it, and only time will tell what awaits us. That the mahk’lar are loosed from the Thousand Hells … well, that is troubling. I don’t expect you know how to put those demons back in Geh’shinnom’atar, do you?”

  Kian shook his head. “Varis is trouble enough, for now.”

  “Can you help?” Ellonlef asked.

  “Yes, but only if you can abide carrying inside yourself the cold heart of an assassin.”

  “I can,” Kian said grimly.

  Chapter 36

  Deception was not Kian’s gift, especially against his friends. They might understand that his nature would not allow him to wantonly kill a man from the shadows, but all would try to dissuade him from an open confrontation with Varis. Hya sensed something of his intentions, but as wise as she was, she had not yet put a finger on his secret-at least, she had not voiced any conclusions. So as they talked, he played the part of the conspirator as best he could, listened to Hya’s advice, and offered his own suggestions, as they planned the various elements of Varis’s assassination. But he knew it would never come to that. He would meet Varis as a man and an Izutarian, face to face, power of the gods against powers of the gods, and by the coming dawn the outcome of that meeting would be decided.

  At some point Hya suggested they eat, and surprised all with loaves of bread and a wheel of cheese. “I’d treat you to roasted rats,” she said in all seriousness, “but a debt to me was recently paid in food. The bread will mold before I can eat it all, and I’ve never cared much for cheese.”

  All were in agreement that the meal was fine, and the cold water they drank was sweeter than any wine. Kian told himself it was not his last meal, but could not be certain. He felt no apprehension for himself. He knew what he faced. Yet it was hard to watch a guffawing Hazad and listen to Azuri’s predictably sarcastic wit without feeling sorrow. They had stood at his side, and he theirs, for so many years that they had become more than brothers, they had become extensions of each other’s character. If he did not return, the loss would be devastating to them, much as if one of them fell and he was left alive.