Liar's Island: A Novel (35 page)

There was no uproar at the sentence, only silence. Rodrick tried not to gape. Dawn. Less than a day away. What could he do in a day? Could there be an appeal? He'd made a point of learning the essentials of the legal systems of Andoran and Absalom and a few other countries where he did business, but he had no idea how things were done here. He'd have to take a leap and hope for the best. “I … Thakur, I request mercy.”

The minister of justice glanced at the thakur, who inclined his head a fraction.

“Mercy is granted,” the minister said. “Your death will be painless.”

Now Rodrick did gape. “I—that's not the mercy I had—” He took a breath. He didn't know what he could do to save himself. Maybe nothing. Maybe the bill for everything bad he'd ever done had finally come due. Karma. But he could speak up about one thing. “Thakur … I appreciate your mercy. If I may ask, what will happen to Hrym?”

The thakur just raised an eyebrow, and the minister of justice scowled. Rodrick hurried on before the man could order him hauled away. “I left Hrym with some friends of ours, and he is utterly blameless in all this. He did not join me when I stole the scroll, and in fact he counseled against it. If … if you intend to keep him, I hope you will keep him well, in comfort, and if not, let him go with whomever he chooses as a companion. I know I have no right or standing to make this request, but if a condemned man's last wishes carry any weight in this land, I want to make mine known.”

The thakur might have nodded, but it was so scant Rodrick could barely see it, and he wondered if it were mere wishful thinking.

“Take him away,” the minister of justice said.

Rodrick wasn't dragged to the dungeon, but instead taken to what looked like a study, with a writing desk, a shelf of books, and several comfortable chairs. The guard shoved him into one of those chairs and then left the room. Rodrick considered running for it. There was only one door, doubtless guarded, and he was shackled besides, but if he could find something here that might be used as a weapon …

The door opened, and the thakur entered, alone, and sat in a chair on the other side of the desk. He waved his hands, and Rodrick's shackles fell to the carpet with a rattle. Rodrick rubbed his wrists as several very dangerous ideas passed through his mind. None were more dangerous than certain death at dawn, though. “You don't mind sitting here with a condemned man, Thakur?”

The thakur smiled, and glanced upward. A faint disturbance in the air marked a djinni, and Rodrick dismissed those dangerous ideas. Death by djinni right now was unappealing. Dawn was a long way off, comparatively. A lot of things could happen before dawn. Though he wouldn't bet on the monkey learning to talk.

The thakur lifted a long wooden box from the floor and set it on the desk, then lifted the lid. The so-called Scepter of the Arclords was inside, its eyes rolling. “Do you know what you've brought me?”

“A fake?”

The thakur shook his head. “Oh no. It's genuine. Only two people besides you and I know that, now, and they only know because I needed my archwizards to authenticate it. This is the true Scepter of the Arclords, sought after for centuries, a relic of such power that it could shift the balance of power between Jalmeray and Nex, and cause ripples throughout the rest of the Inner Sea—perhaps even in the Impossible Kingdoms.”

Rodrick beamed. The scepter was real! Maybe he'd get his freedom and
more
than his weight in gold.

“You thought you were giving me a gift,” the thakur said mildly, “but this is a nest of vipers.”

Ah. So much for the gold.

“If the Arclords heard we had this in our hands, they would be outraged,” the thakur said. “Even those in Nex opposed to their faction would be unhappy to hear we possess a staff that, by some accounts, belonged to Nex himself. Factions in Nex might join together and attack us in force. Oh, we could fight them off … but it would be bloody, messy, and costly. Nor are the only dangers from the people of Nex. There are those in the Impossible Kingdoms who would see possession of the scepter as an opportunity to gain a further foothold in the Inner Sea—they might want to use the scepter as a pretext to invade Nex itself, to claim it gives them, or even
me
, the authority of the departed wizard. I am quite happy ruling Jalmeray, Rodrick. I have no desire to be used in some rajah's territorial ambitions—nor do I wish to be put in a position to
refuse
to do so, lest my lack of fervor for invasion be perceived as weakness. And those are just some of the potential problems this damnable scepter brings. There are factions you've never heard of, on both sides of the ocean that surrounds us, who could make the scepter central to their plans.”

“I take it you won't be giving it to your friend the rajah,” Rodrick said.

The thakur chuckled, a musical sound. “No. I will, in fact, be burying it somewhere very far away, where, with luck, it will never be found again. I have spent a long time trying to convince people this thing was only a story the Arclords told themselves.” He snapped the lid shut, and Rodrick could understand why. The scepter was certainly watching, and it gave the impression of listening, too.

“So are you planning to give Hrym to your friend instead? I assume Hrym is here, now. If you have the scepter, then Dhyana and Lais came to you.”

“They did. Hrym is here, but I don't
have
him. He is a free … person. He will not be forced to go anywhere he does not wish to go. He actually offered himself to me, you know, if I would spare your life.”

Rodrick perked up. Living without Hrym would be dreadful, but it would be better than dying. After all, if he was alive, he could always steal Hrym back.

“I declined his offer,” the thakur said. “Instead, I have acquired a relic I am assured comes from the Silver Mount itself in Numeria, a toothed wheel that sings when you spin it, though not very well. I purchased the wheel from a man in Almas who deals in such trinkets. My friend will be very pleased with it. Not as pleased as he would have been with Hrym, but…” The thakur shrugged. “I was quite impressed that you chose to speak on Hrym's behalf in court today.”

“I thought I should try to save
someone
,” he said bitterly.

The thakur nodded. “In fact, you saved many someones. You helped deal a blow to the Knife in the Dark—perhaps even a decisive one, though with that cult, it's hard to tell. Your friends, and Kalika, too, spoke out strenuously on your behalf. They would all rather see you paraded through the streets like a hero than put to death.”

“I'd prefer that, too, if it's an option, sir.” Hope was stirring again.

“Ah, but if I let an outsider steal from me without consequence, no matter what other heroic acts he performed, what does that tell my people? My minister of justice is a hard man, but fair, and he believes in the law. He sees no contradiction in putting a medal around your neck and then cutting your head off that same neck. He thinks both are justice.”

“Remind me never to turn myself in again,” Rodrick said.

Another chuckle. “I am a ruler, Rodrick, but I am also a poet. I can rarely afford to be sympathetic in my position, but there are times … You put the Scepter of the Arclords in my hands instead of trying to sell it or trade it to some other faction for favors. Oh, I know you tried to
use
it, that you thought by giving it to me you might save yourself, but you could have used it in ways that were destructive to me and all I hold dear. You did not. And so … I am inclined to mercy. Even more mercy than a painless death. Here's what will happen. A rumor will be started that you were executed at dawn, in private, as a kindness in recognition of your service, but no official statement will be made either way. At the same time, a very small note will be made in a file that will be shelved where no one is ever likely to read it, noting that your sentence was commuted by the thakur's order from death to exile.”

Rodrick nearly fell out of the chair from relief. “Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.” He paused. “Though it was a bit cruel to make me think you were going to have me killed all this time.”

The thakur's voice hardened. “Perhaps that fear will make you think twice before you next decide to
steal from a sovereign
. Really, Rodrick. There's such a thing as being too sure of yourself.” His tone eased. “You—and Hrym, since I assume he wants to stay with you—will be put on a ship tomorrow morning and taken to some foreign port, and you will not be allowed back on these shores unless I choose to summon you. I'm afraid the medal you're being awarded hasn't been struck yet—I'll have it sent to Absalom, to the inn where you were staying when we first contacted you. Here.” He tossed a jingling leather bag to Rodrick. “This is payment for bringing me the scepter, and for other services.” The thakur glanced upward, and the disturbance in the air materialized into a djinni. It drifted across the room and opened the door.

Lais came in, all boundless energy and smiles, and Dhyana, too, with Hrym on her hip. Lais leapt at him as he stood and gave him a hug. “I'm to enter the Monastery of Untwisting Iron!” she said. “All my expenses paid! The thakur put in a word for me personally!”

“That's marvelous,” Rodrick said, hugging her back. Very strange to hug a woman and think thoughts that were truly nothing more than brotherly.

“I am to be made a member of the thakur's household guard,” Dhyana said severely. “Be glad I did not hold that position when you had your little accident with Hrym, or I would have spitted you on a spear.”

“Dhyana, I'm so pleased for you. And, yes, I'm also pleased you didn't get the job sooner.”

“And I,” Hrym said grandly, “am stuck with you, I suppose, you scoundrel. I can't believe you got us exiled. I like it here. The place is
full
of gold.”

“You may visit with your friends here for a while,” the thakur said. “Then they must be about their business. I have set aside a room for you, in a private part of the palace, where you aren't likely to be noticed. You will
stay there
until it is time to leave. Do not think to pick up any further trinkets and take them with you when you depart. Is that understood?”

“My thieving days are over,” Rodrick lied.

27

The Knife in the Dark

The thakur didn't stay long, but Rodrick had more than an hour with Dhyana and Lais, the latter doing most of the talking, excited about her plans and hopes and goals. Dhyana spoke little—after everything, she still didn't like him much—and Hrym mostly complained about them leaving nearly as poor as they'd been when they arrived, but after a week of not hearing Hrym's voice at all, his complaints were like music. Eventually Lais and Dhyana had to go, and a guard led Rodrick, with Hrym on his hip again—though with no jeweled scabbard, alas—toward their private rooms.

These quarters were lavish, even more so than the apartments he'd been given earlier, and included a gold-rimmed bathtub with magically warmed water. He took a long soak, Hrym propped against the wall and complaining about the steam. “We didn't do badly,” Rodrick said. “We're getting out of here alive. We don't have to swim to Absalom. Not as rich as we could have been, no, but I looked in the purse the thakur gave me, and it's all gold, and good weight. We won't have to work again for a little while, and you can sleep on a bed of gleaming.”

“The last time you got me into a mess like this, we ended up saving the world from a demon lord,” Hrym said. “This time, we merely saved an island nation from a murderous cult. Perhaps next time we can do something even smaller, and just save a city, or a village.”

“I don't want to save anything. No more grand excursions. Next time a supernatural creature appears before me with an invitation, I will politely decline.”

“It's good to be back with you,” Hrym said. “I spent a week in the company of Dhyana, who wouldn't lie even if doing so would save her life, and with Lais, who's so sweet and earnest she would make my teeth ache, if I had teeth. I'm sick of the company of the noble and upright. Though I
was
touched that you spoke up in court to try to save me. As if I could be taken anywhere or destroyed without my consent. If the thakur had tried to give me away like a piece of silverware I would have wrapped his whole palace in ice.”

Rodrick laughed. He suspected the thakur had access to magics that could overwhelm Hrym given sufficient time, but was glad it hadn't come to that. “I will try not to be earnest in your presence. Except in my insults. Those will be as earnest and heartfelt as ever.”

After his bath, Rodrick toweled and dried off, then wrapped himself in a robe, picked up Hrym, and went into the bedroom. He'd be hustled out of the palace before dawn, and he'd hardly slept well last night in the dungeon. A long nap, then a hot meal, then a full night's sleep before the journey. Maybe he'd end up on Saraswati's ship again. She
had
made the voyage over more enjoyable, and maybe she'd forgotten about the cracks in her hull.

A tall woman was standing by the bed, her back turned to him, seemingly examining a tapestry. Her hair was long and black, her clothing rich and embroidered with gold.

Rodrick frowned. Was this woman meant as a gift from the thakur? He didn't like the company of women he didn't win with his own charms. “Sorry, miss, but I think you have the wrong room.”

The woman turned toward him. His eyes blurred when he looked at her. Did she have four arms, or six, or two—or only one, with the other a ragged, bleeding stump? Was she beautiful, or was her face a skull, and why did it seem to flicker from one to the other, her eyes sublime and placid pools in one moment, and empty sockets writhing with worms the next? Rodrick fell to his knees, his head pounding, and stared at the designs on the carpet. It was easier to think when he wasn't looking at her. A little.