Entromancy (15 page)

“So,” Thog’run continued, “this is the Nightpath who has caused me so much trouble, only to deliver the city to me in the swiftest victory I have yet won.”

The king’s voice boomed from the throne, but he sat stock still, a giant upon the massive stone chair.  His jaw moved, but his body didn’t, and his hand never left the battleaxe propped on the floor.  He might as well have been carved from the same marble as the throne.

I am not often intimidated by people, aurics or otherwise.  I have wrestled trolls, fought off assassins, and been hunted by all manner of humans and beasts.  Yet, in the presence of the auric king, I felt a strong urge to bow, flee, or a combination of the two, simply by virtue of his bearing and implicit command.  He was huge, the grey muscles of his powerful arms naked from the shoulder down.  His blue and white tabard and brown pants were tight on his stocky body, and a simple gold circlet sat atop his massive head, placed neatly around his long topknot.

It wasn’t his size, posture, or even the enormous battleaxe that impressed me.  Nor did his distinctive face, with its protruding brow, menacing tusks, and strangely humanoid snout frighten me.  What pierced me to my core, exhorting me to kneel or flee, were his eyes.

They were black, but not the flat emptiness found in a shark’s lifeless orbs.  The king’s eyes were obsidian pools that were hard and calculating while still emanating pride and command.  As I met his gaze, I felt that I was being laid bare in front of him, each part of my physical and mental form appraised and catalogued for another time.  Not many could hold his scrutiny, and I nearly faltered, recognizing why so many humans and aurics alike continued to swear fealty in his presence.  I had thought him imposing in our video call, but meeting him in person was a different thing entirely.

I managed to hold his stare, and realized awkwardly that he was waiting for me to respond.  Not knowing what to say, I stupidly raised my fist in the Aurichome salute.

I could see Vasshka glare at me from the corner of my eye, but the king returned the gesture.  “Tell me, Nightpath Eskander Aradowsi,” he said, “how you managed to defeat the Inquisitor General and his lackey, Agrid the Betrayer.”

A dozen platitudes came to mind, unquestionably dug up from the tripe that one hears passively from commentators during televised sports games.  I tried to keep it simple.  “They underestimated us,” I said, opening my hands to include the group.

“They were not alone in that,” Thog’run rumbled, shifting his grip on the battleaxe.  Slowly, the king rose from the throne, the light glinting from his eyes and tusks as he moved.  Ponderously, he stepped down from the little platform upon which the throne sat, his heavy footfalls audible even on the thick carpet.  His movements were slow but smooth, as though each step were precisely calculated.  He reminded me vaguely of the Destroyer, but far more powerful.

The ring of guards parted as he advanced towards us, and Thog’run nonchalantly handed the battleaxe to an auric on his right as he approached.  The king’s wife and firstborn peeled away from the royal party to follow him, standing slightly behind.

The king of Aurichome stopped in front of me, towering over me by a head and a half.  He was well over six feet tall and as thick as a NIGHT double-cruiser, eclipsing the throne and people behind him.  It took every ounce of will that I had to not take a step backwards.

“It seems that I owe you an apology, Nightpath Aradowsi,” he rumbled, “for thinking of you as collateral damage in my collusion with the Inquisitor General, rather than the savior of our people.”

I licked my lips nervously.  “It was nothing,” I said modestly.

“On the contrary!” the king boomed, smiling a little.  His breath smelled like cardamom.  “Were it not for your efforts, and those of your companions,” he swept a hand to include the group, “we most of us would have perished in the worst way possible, according to the Inquisitor General’s machinations.”

I bowed slightly, not knowing what to say.

“You have delivered the city into my hands, and my nephew-” the king inclined his head in Tribe’s direction, “-home.  For these deeds, I am in your debt.”

I shuffled in place, feeling the weight of my friends’ eyes on me.

Then Thog’run did something unanticipated.  More swiftly than any motion he had made in our presence, he thrust out a hand expectantly in my direction.

I looked sideways at my friends frantically for support, being completely out of my depth.  Finding no forthcoming suggestions, I offered my hand to the king.

Thog’run took it, still towering over me, his rough hand grasping my arm in a warrior’s clasp.  He leaned in towards me, smelling like herbs and sandalwood.  “I am not used to misjudging people,” he said dryly, and quietly, so that only I could hear him.  “Let’s not make it a habit.”

I nodded, understanding his statement.  The king was not above apologizing for ordering my assassination, but would not hesitate to do it again if I proved untrustworthy.

He pulled away, releasing his grip on my arm and marched back up to the throne, collecting his battleaxe as he walked.  Fazgha Hezdottr and Thog’run III followed in his wake after the king’s firstborn gave me a long appraising glance.  The guards and dignitaries stood patiently as the royal party passed them, murmuring in spite of themselves at our exchange.

Thog’run sat on his throne, resuming his statuesque position with his hand leaning on the battleaxe.  He lifted his free arm, and Tribe soberly came forward from the shadows, sidling in between the ring of guards with a small pillow balanced on his palm.  On it rested four small brooches, round platinum coins emblazoned with the seal of Aurichome atop tiny blue and white pennants.

The king spoke as Tribe began affixing the clasps to each of our jackets, starting with Gloric.

“The four of you shall now be known as friends to Aurichome.  These clasps will identify you as such throughout the kingdom and the world beyond its doors.  Their internal chips have been encrypted for authenticity.”

Tribe stooped to offer a brooch to Vasshka, who gave him a companionable pat on his shoulder.

“Moreover,” Thog’run continued, “my court has need for the likes of your skills, beginning with yours, Gloric Vunderfel.”

For once, the gnome appeared surprised, looking up from fiddling with his new medallion.  “Your Highness?” he said in a small voice.

The king graced him with a rare smile.  “I would have you as my Chief of Technology, technomancer, if the Sigil would permit it.”

“I...um,” Gloric stammered, blushing uncharacteristically.  “I...yes, Your Highness.”

I shared a smirk with Tribe, who moved over to pin a pendant to my lapel.  That would put bees in the bonnets of all of the corporations who were after Gloric for his technomancy.  When the king asked, you didn’t have much of a choice.

Thog’run nodded, turning his attention to Doubleshot.  “Vasshka Lestrage,” he grunted, “you have already sworn fealty to Aurichome, and I bid you continue in your service to the crown.”

The dwarf bobbed her head solemnly, clenching her hand in salute.  Belatedly, Gloric remembered the gesture, hastily copying Vasshka and putting his fist in the air.

The king skipped over me and spoke to Alina, who was receiving her pendant from Tribe.  I was grateful for the reprieve from the court’s attention. 

“Alina Hadzic, Aurichome is in need of a liaison between its capital and the newly acquired territory.  The Consulship is yours.”

The Pitcher brightened, smoothing her new medallion against her chest.  She saluted the auric king with the crispness of a soldier.  “It would be my pleasure, Your Highness.”

Tribe stood off to the side, holding the empty pillow, and I waited for the king to dismiss us.

He didn’t.  Thog’run turned towards me, a shrewd look in his hard eyes.  “Nightpath Eskander Aradowsi,” he rumbled, “I need a spymaster.  One who knows the mind of humans but has the heart of an auric.  And more importantly, one with the skills to uncover what other plots the Inquisitor General and Agrid the Betrayer may have put in motion, and quash them.”

I hedged, feeling my palms wet and my mouth dry.  Madge had made it clear to me that I still had a job at the NIGHT headquarters if I wanted it, but I had thought to give it more time before making a decision.  My physical wounds were on the mend, but the psychological ones were a little too fresh.

“OK,” I said dumbly, remembering to salute, and feeling instantly sorry for laughing at Gloric.  When the king asked, you really didn’t have a choice.

Thog’run saluted us all once again, and Tribe embraced us each in turn, returning to the shadows near his surrogate uncle.  We knelt in appreciation, thanking the king for his audience.

“Go,” he boomed, “and may Aurichome go with you.”

My companions and I rose together, Alina nudging Buster with her foot to wake him.  The wolf shook himself, panting happily.

We bid our goodbyes and walked down the curving steps and out of the audience chamber, the king’s guards taking point and rear as before.  They stayed at the entrance of the palace as we made our way back through the checkpoint and parking lot, chatting lightly about the night’s turn of events.

“Drinks?” Alina asked as we got back in the car.

“I do owe you a beer,” I said.

The others murmured their assent, and we took the long drive around the Bay and back into the city, each of us lost in thoughts of the past and future.  Alina drove us to an underrace bar in SOMA, one of the few pubs still open after one in the morning.

Gloric and Vasshka walked up to the establishment, an edgy-looking place called
City Sparks
.  I waited for Alina to lock the SUV, putting my hand on her arm as she began to follow the gnome and dwarf.

“Wait,” I said hesitantly as she turned back towards me.  Buster leaped ahead, knowing he wouldn’t be allowed inside but excited by the din of the bar.

The Pitcher looked at me quizzically, a glint of mischief in her eyes.  “What is it?”

“I just want...” I coughed, embarrassed.  “I haven’t thanked you, for everything.  For healing me, for coming with me, and for believing me.”

She grinned impishly, the night wind blowing wisps of curly hair out from under her cap.  “You still haven’t.”

I chuckled involuntarily, removing my hand from her wrist.  “Thank you,” I said simply.

“You’re welcome, Nightpath,” she replied, grabbing my hand in hers and pulling me towards the pub.  Her grip was soft but strong.

I took a chance, and held onto her grasp, drawing her back towards me.  She turned, surprised, but acquiesced into my grip.

I kissed her, putting my hand in the small of her back and holding her against my body.  She melted just the tiniest bit in my arms, resting her palm on my chest.  The sounds of the tavern wafted out into the wind around us, and traffic continued to move behind and above us.

I pulled away, opening my eyes and looking into hers, which were an incandescent shade of blue even at night.  She bit her lip, smiling at my boldness.

“Call me Eskander,” I said.

EPILOGUE

A
grid the Destroyer sat in his cell, staring at the stone wall in front of him.  He shifted slightly on his wooden cot, ignoring the itching of his powerful hands trapped within the metal cylinder.  The manacle restricted any fine motions of his fingers, and was latched to his ankles by a ceridium-laced cord.  A reinforced kerchief of sorts, bound by steel and pocked with ceridium stones, was wrapped around his mouth and lower jaw, removed only when he was allowed to eat and surrounded by guards.  Each of the bonds had been ensorcelled with anti-mancy spells, and any potential object that could be used for magical purposes had been removed from the otherwise stark chamber.

Though his hands and mouth were shackled, the entromancer yet worked.  His eyes traced the subtle curvatures in the wall, memorizing the patterns and keeping his mind agile.  He isolated each muscle in his body that was free from bondage, flexing and relaxing them to ensure they remained strong and flexible.  Above all, he
thought
, reviewing the countless number of spells in his repertoire, cataloging his memory of the past while calculating the possible outcomes of present and future.  He sent his mind to the farthest reaches of the Earth, returning only to take care of his bodily needs at the prescribed times.

On a day that could have been any other, Agrid was wakened from his reverie at a non-appointed time, the reinforced metal door of his cell sliding into its stone casing with a whisper.  As though pushing a button on a holovid, he paused the stream of his thoughts, turning his head slowly to see who had come to visit him.  Despite his efforts, his neck muscles were stiff and sore from the lack of movement.

A solitary figure stood in the doorway, shadowed in the murky overhead light by an enormous hooded cloak that covered the person from head to thigh.  The figure paused for a moment, then entered the room, allowing the door to close and lock them both in the chamber.

The entromancer smirked within his kerchief, turning his head back towards the wall and away from the newcomer.  He waited for the person to walk over and touch a button on the side of the kerchief, which responded to a chip in the figure’s hand, retracting the metal to rest on the side of Agrid’s face.  The entromancer flexed his jaw, grateful in spite of himself for the reprieve.

“Brother,” he said wryly, his voice dry and scratchy from disuse.  “I thought you’d never come.”

The figure stood watching him, thinking within its hood.  The entromancer waited patiently, staring at the stone.

After a long moment, the figure lifted huge hands up to the cloak’s cowl, pulling it back in the privacy of the chamber.  Yellow tusks gleamed in the meager light, a long topknot unfolding freely as the hood fell.

Agrid the Destroyer looked up at Thog’run expectantly, waiting for him to speak.  The king continued to stare, his black eyes hard and unreadable.

“Indeed,” Thog’run rumbled, his low voice booming in the small cell.  Ponderously, the king pulled up a wooden chair, the room’s only furniture save the cot and a small desk.  He placed it in front of the Destroyer, close enough to be uncomfortable, and sat down heavily, his armor creaking quietly.

“We have much to discuss,” the king said.