James West - The God King

Hya continued to direct their course but she was flagging, growing confused, and more often than not led them down alleys that ended at brick walls. After taking a long, deliberate moment to get her bearings, Hya eventually led them to the mouth of yet another alley, this one cluttered with all manner of crates, pallets, and wine casks. To Kian, it looked like any of the other places she had led them, and his heart began to sink.

Unperturbed by the skeptical faces surrounding her, Hya nodded in satisfaction as she peered at the broad doors end of the alley. After a moment of contemplation, she advised, “If things go wrong, do not hesitate to kill every last one of these wretched fools.”

“I thought they were your trusted friends?” Hazad blurted.

“This night, I have seen the true manner of friends in the Chalice. We can trust no one. Besides, I never said that I trusted them, least of all the man I seek.”

The sound of approaching riders grew loud too quickly. Kian and the others sprinted down the alley as far as they dared, then threw themselves behind any available cover. Kian ended up sheltering at the back a wobbly pyramid of casks. Through a gap he saw a passing rider-one of the House Guard, by his green and gold cloak, and presumably a lead scout-glance down the alley, then abruptly jerk on the reins, his horse skidding to a halt. Leaning over, the warrior stared at the ground. The storm had provided cover before, but now marked out Kian and the others by the fresh tracks left in their wake.

For a heartbeat it seemed that the guardsman would ride on, but then those trailing behind him, along with their leader, came into view and drew rein. There was a long moment of conversation, then all eyes turned to study the alley. All wore the green and gold cloaks of the House Guard, marking them as Varis’s men.

The leader, a master of spears by the triple-knotted scarlet cord of rank on his shoulder, kicked his mount past the scout. Sword already in hand, he raised it up. “Show yourselves!”

Kian gritted his teeth in frustration. There was simply no time for this nonsense. He tensed, then stood in one smooth motion, his own sword bared and ready. Borrowed though it was, and dull besides, it felt good in his hand. “I am the one you seek, though it would be best if you moved on, and told the demon-spawned fool you call king that you could not find me.”

“Such is not my desire,” the master of spears said. By the glint in his eyes, he had given himself over to Varis’s rule heart, body, and soul. Without question, Varis had promised much to those who remained loyal.

With a shrug, Kian thumbed the edge of his sword; it was sharper than it looked. “Come for me then, and learn the bitterness of your own death sooner than you might have otherwise.” The man’s glare shone with hatred. “Take him alive for the sport of King Varis!”

At once, a handful of guardsmen surged forward, not one with a look in his eye that suggested they had any intention of following their leader’s command to keep Kian alive. As Kian settled into a guarded stance, ready to cleave spirit from flesh of the first fool to attack, a clamor went up behind him. Ellonlef screamed, and before Kian could look about, rough hands caught his shoulders and hauled him backward. Both Hazad and Azuri spewed curses. Hya said nothing. Kian struggled in vain, heels dragging through the snow. He only ceased when the pair of heavy doors slammed shut on the night, barring the storm and Varis’s henchmen from sight.

Just as Kian was recovering his footing, the hands supporting him withdrew, and he tumbled to the dusty floor. At the same instant, a dozen or more steel arrowheads thudded against the closed doors. A few punched through, sending splinters flying. As his captors backed away, two other men, one stocky and the other merely fat, hacked the intruding arrowheads away with short swords, then hastily dropped a thick wooden beam into a set of iron brackets to bar the doors. Even as the hooves of the warhorses began pounding the doors, the men placed two more beams into brackets set lower and higher than the first.

Kian jumped to his feet, sword slashing in a tight, deadly pattern to ensure no one came too near. Besides the shouts and thuds from without, the warehouse was silent. Two score rough men and women holding torches aloft stared at Kian and his fellows with a mingling of curiosity and contempt. Overhead, a dozen or more skinny children sat upon sagging rafters, eyes overly wide in their hungry faces. Stacked everywhere in the storehouse were towering mountains of everything from bolts of silk and wool, to casks of ale and wine and jagdah , to bound bushels of dried firemoss and swatarin . This last filled the air with a heady fragrance.

A tall thin man draped in ratty, pale green robes stepped forward. He peered at the newcomers over a nose that was long and sharply hooked. After a quick study that ended on Hya, he offered a humorless and wholly unwelcoming smile full of small, pegged teeth.

“O’naal,” Hya said, “it appears that you are my rescuer this night. Such is a change from the many times I have had to tease life back into your veins.”

O’naal’s narrow-set black eyes were twin points of night that showed much cunning and little mercy. In a light, mocking voice, he said, “Sister Hya, as I have promised before, I am forever in your debt. However, these others … well, they are strangers to me, and so must be deemed trespassers. While the Chalice is a den of unlawfulness, it does have its rules and consequences-as you well know.”

Hya harrumphed. “They are with me, you scrawny wretch. The big one is Hazad, the pretty one is Azuri.” She nodded at Ellonlef then, “She is a fellow Sister of Najihar. The last is Kian. They … we … I need your help to gain access to the palace.”

At the mention of Kian’s name, O’naal’s long face grew thoughtful. “I had heard that our new and great king had given over an ice-born barbarian of that name to the Priests of Attandaeus for torturing. After they had their way with him and sent him to the Pit, a pack of rabble-rousers somehow managed to set him free. While the story of getting free of the Pit is hard enough to imagine, what I find even more unbelievable is that you could be that same man, who was said to have been tortured near unto death. Unless, of course, the priests of the Watcher Who Judges have gotten soft with their ministrations.”

“It is enough to say that I was tortured, and that my companions ensured my escape,” Kian growled. “Now, it is in your best interest to help us, and the sooner the better.”

O’naal turned his head. “Help you? I’m afraid that may be difficult.”

Kian’s sword was still firmly in hand, but unless he intended to kill O’naal, and then die with his friends, it was useless. “Then why did you spare us?”

O’naal frowned at the thuds against the door. “As I said, I am indebted to Hya, and it so happens that I despise being a debtor. That, now, has been seen to by my estimation … yet this other task, well….”

“You expect payment ,” Kian said in disgust, but closed his lips on anything else. Recompense, even if coerced, was acceptable if it meant he could get to Varis.

“I’m glad we see things the same,” O’naal said. “And if I am not promised the proper degree of compensation, I expect King Varis will reward me with both gold and a vision of your head on a pike.” A few hard chuckles met this.

Before Kian could utter a word, Hya asked, “What is your price?”

“One hundred aridols,” O’naal answered promptly. “And mind that they are minted in the image of our befallen Simiis-his grandson, it seems to me, might well be the sort of sovereign to mingle gold with brass, and take the head of any honest man who voices a concern.”