at
the hands of the Lord of Bhrudwo.
At the end of the talking it was clear that the Falthans wanted to travel north, though their reasons for doing so varied
depending on which of them spoke. They apparently wanted to make common cause with the Undying Man against the gods.
Stella spoke last, and directed her speech to Noetos. “If you please, after the gods are brought low and the hole mended,
you may have your time with the Undying Man and receive satisfaction one way or another.”
Noetos muttered something they could take for agreement if they wished.
“You don’t intend to wait, do you, Father?” Anomer said, squatting on his haunches beside him. Around them the conversation
moved on. “You’ll move against the Undying Man before you know all the facts.”
“How can I wait?” he answered, stung by his son’s knowing voice. “In order to get an unguarded answer I must take him by surprise.
Otherwise he will dissemble and I will be no nearer an answer as to why he rules this land with such a heavy fist. And why
his servants take the tongues of innocents.”
And I do not want him forewarned of the fact I intend to drain his magic and kill him for what he did to your sister
, he thought after Anomer withdrew, apparently satisfied.
Satisfied? Not likely, not Anomer.
His son was building up to something. Unsettled ever since his mother died, Anomer had come to a truce of sorts with his
father aboard the
Conch
. But Noetos had no doubt his son would have more to say, and soon.
Arathé sat alone as the others cleaned up their camp. Because it seemed somehow sacrilegious to leave anything behind in what
was once the Throne Room of the gods, the travellers picked up every scrap of food and every bloodied cloth. The largest task
would be carrying out Dryman’s body; predictably, her father wanted to burn or bury it, but no one else would have this. Noetos
sat near the entrance to the room, glowering at proceedings as though he were a particularly dyspeptic overseer.
If only you could see yourself, Father
, she thought, but did not send the thought to him. She had her own distress to deal with.
It had been clear to her for weeks that the voice in her mind was not there to serve her interests. Although she could point
to times when it had warned her of approaching trouble, it seemed there were many more times when it had drawn trouble to
her. Comparing her experiences with those of Duon and Conal had revealed similar occurrences. The gods seemed to be able to
sense the connection between them and the voice, and it drew their power, as did any use of her magic. More, she now had a
name for this connection: a spike. At least, that’s what the voice had called it.
The voice had manifested earlier when Torve had been describing his participation in the tortures ordered by his master. As
always, it began with a warming at the back of her head, just above her neck. Then a torrent of derisive laughter cut through
her horrified thoughts.
So, you object to using other people to further your own ends, little swan?
He had taken to calling her this in mockery of the story of the beautiful swan maiden, which he must have pulled from her
memories.
I would have thought someone who has been given so much suffering herself would be pleased to hear that she is not alone in
the world.
Then you don’t know me as well as you claim
, she had responded with heat of her own.
I was under the impression your magic allowed you to read my thoughts. Clearly I was wrong if you really think I would be
happy to hear of anyone suffering.
Not even the one responsible for what happened to you?
The voice seemed to stroke her mind like a fret-board, plucking at memories of anger and resentment.
Yes, you know who he is. And I do know you. Deny you’ve thought of revenge, little swan, and I’ll prove you a liar.
Of course I’ve thought of revenge. But thinking it and acting on those thoughts are entirely